Chapter Text
Somewhere along the base of snow-capped mountains, there lies a small village by a stream. Population in the hundreds, rumours by the dozens — one of which haunts the walls of homes in the dead silence of winter storms.
If you so choose to cross the northern bridge over the frozen waters and into the white woods, under no circumstances should you wander off the dirt road.
Do not be curious, and do not be brave. Else the monster will find you and drag you to your early grave.
The winter spectre, they’d call it. A manlike creature of unknown origin and identity concealed by a sheet of snow. None have seen it and lived to tell the tale — or so they say.
At first, an innocent white lie, a precautionary tale spread amongst the masses to protect the children from arctic predators seeking prey. Then, those children grew taller, older, started families who bore more children of their own. But perhaps growing older doesn't mean they’ve grown up, or grown out of the fear that resides in shifty eyes if so much as a rustle ever comes from the bowels of the forest's beast.
Most die without ever stepping a foot into those woods. Some are braver, even daring to be curious, but none have ever been crazy enough to cross the line.
Just remember, always: no matter what, do not ever go off the beaten path.
—
Somewhere far off the beaten path, there lies a modest cottage by a stream. No one in the village knew who originally built it, nor were they eager to find out. The last they’ve heard, it had been abandoned, left to the maws of nature to be swallowed and forgotten under towering weeds and creeping vines.
Surely a lost cause — until it was miraculously found by a pair of travellers from afar. Equally lost, but who have found themselves in each other once more.
Unanimously, they made this place their new home. A fresh start away from the place that failed them, now content in their own little world that's about to become a bit bigger and a lot brighter.
No one in the village knows where these travellers came from. Or rather, they’ve only actually seen one of them in person — a bearded thirty-something man named Jake with a bad leg, a mean face and a penchant for grumbling to no one but himself. His companion, meanwhile, only exists in the chipped fragments of his gravelly voice. Vic this, Vic that, who loves strawberries and hates being left alone for too long.
Unfortunately, these vague accounts sound no different than comforting lies. For all the villagers knew, this man had gone mad, and this partner of his was just a pity fantasy to maintain whatever sanity remained.
And that's all the villagers were alright with knowing. No one wanted to poke the bear that looked one bad day away from biting back.
—
It starts with a blood-curling scream.
Jayce wakes with a choked gasp and a million fire ants crawling under his skin. Bloodshot eyes immediately search the room for ghosts, desperately trying to find the source of the horrible scream that still rings like death in his ears. His head throbs with a weight that threatens to crush him from the inside out, but something in his subconscious seems to be holding it back.
“Jayce.”
A pair of hands are immediately on his face, guiding him to meet frantic eyes that search for his pain, thumbs rubbing soft circles against burning cheeks. If not for the aching familiarity etched in each practiced stroke, Jayce would have jerked away from the touch; instead, he melts.
It's only when he tries to speak that he realises the scream had come from him.
“Viktor,” Jayce manages out between laboured breaths, and he winces at the feeling of his own voice. It scratches roughly against his throat like sandpaper, leaves his tongue dry and raw.
“Jayce.” Viktor's hands stop, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that hurts so much more. “Another nightmare?”
That last word shatters the mental barrier like a bullet to glass. Jayce doesn't have time to brace for the flood that swallows his mind whole, consumed by afterimages of broken bones and bloody fingers. He nearly doubles over from the slam of pressure against his conscience, hunching over with a groan through gritted teeth.
One of Viktor's hands leaves his cheek and drifts down to the span of Jayce's sternum, applying firm pressure to the stuttering lungs underneath.
“Breathe slowly, Jayce. In, out. In, out.”
The following minute is agony, only filled with the sounds of dry heaving and that damn ringing in Jayce’s ears that just won't go away.
Eventually, Jayce shakes his head futilely, hanging it in shame. He should have known that his night terrors would make their fateful return during the winter period, but he had at least hoped that they would be less gruesome — less real.
“I was back at the bomb attack on the council,” he mumbles out. He doesn't think he can bring himself to lift his head and meet Viktor's kind eyes without cracking. “But I wasn't in the council room. I was already in the lab… your crushed body already on the table.”
He leaves out certain details, like how his stomach sank into a bottomless pit when he saw the runes carved into Viktor's still flesh, like chisel to unfeeling stone. The scars of a desperate, abandoned man who just wanted to feel alive, like he mattered.
Jayce gulps around nothing, feeling guilt well up in his eyes.
“I—I couldn't save you. I tried to look for the hexcore, but it wasn't— I don’t— it wasn’t there. It was just gone,” he chokes out, “I couldn’t do anything, and you were dying. I could only hold you in my arms, and I felt your body grow cold, and I thought that if I squeezed you hard enough, prayed hard enough, you would wake up, and everything would have just been a bad dream.”
Jayce is a trembling mess now, shivering when he feels the slightest breeze nip cold at the back of his neck. His arms hug around his own midriff as he slightly rocks himself back and forth.
“But you didn't wake up, and I couldn't wake up, so I just kept squeezing, and praying, and I squeezed so hard until I felt your ribs crack.”
Viktor looks at Jayce for a moment, patient, waiting for him to continue. Except Jayce had nothing left to offer; that was the last thing he remembered before being violently ripped from his sleep with a scream. He can’t tell if it was meant to be a blessing or a curse.
The bed beneath Jayce shifts, and before he can react, there's that oh-so-precious warmth of life, wrapping him into a tight embrace.
“It was a bad dream, Jayce. Everything is fine now,” Viktor says, breath warming and tickling Jayce's nape in a way that is weirdly soothing. “See? I’m real. I’m safe. I’m alive.”
Real, safe, and alive. That's the motto that they've quietly settled on for moments like these. Moments of distress and panic where it feels like their whole world might end in the next breath; they happen more often to the both of them than either would care to admit, but thankfully, it’s gotten less frequent compared to the first few months, when they had been struggling learning how to live again.
Jayce all but falls into Viktor’s arms, his own finding their new safe space against his crooked back. God, how he always misses this, craves for it — it doesn't matter that it was mere hours ago when they had just been cuddling each other to sleep.
An ugly feeling still lingers in his gut when they pull apart. It must show on his face as Viktor already has concern playing on his lips.
“Is something still bothering you? Are you cold?” he asks.
Jayce shakes his head, doesn't bother holding back the tired laughter that escapes from him like the wheeze of an old machine, much less what his loosened lips decide to admit next.
“You know what's the worst part of that nightmare?” he whispers, almost afraid of what he’s about to say, “It just reinforced that the choice I made back then was the right one, and that I don’t regret what I did. I know, it was wrong — reviving you — but if I was sent back in time to correct my mistake, I know I wouldn’t have done anything different.”
Jayce pauses, feeling his chest somehow lighten up and weigh down at the same time.
“God, how am I supposed to be a good father?”
His heart sinks even more when his vulnerability is initially met with silence, though he doesn’t know what other reaction he expected from such a confession.
But then Viktor rests his hand back on Jayce's cheek again, a comforting constant that pulls him out of his own storm.
“We’ve already discussed this at length, Jayce. Unless you’ve forgotten?” Viktor’s voice is a calm, tender thing, one that Jayce promised himself to never take for granted. “You were in distress and acting on impulse. You did what you thought was best, which ultimately saved me from my demise. Meanwhile, I failed to disclose to you the true dangers of the hexcore due to my own selfish fear and guilt. You have been forgiven long ago, Jayce, and I still hold that same sentiment now.”
“Please, don't put yourself down for my sake.” Jayce moves his face away, feeling undeserving of Viktor's touch. “Even if you had told me, I still would have done it.”
Viktor keeps close contact anyway, his hand following like a magnet to his cheek. “Then I suppose we are both horribly selfish in our own ways, hm?”
Whether it was Viktor’s intention or not, Jayce thinks of the mage. How he refused to accept a timeline where the two of them never met, and how many worlds he had doomed as a result of that stubborn conviction.
Two sides of the same flawed coin. What a disastrous pair they make.
“How about you take the day off? You are in no condition to work,” Viktor whispers into his ear. He repeats the same soothing motion on his chest again with his other hand, palm kneading circles into the flesh.
Jayce leans into it with a low sigh. “But—”
“No buts,” Viktor shuts him down gently with a firm little push. “You need to rest. Partner's orders.”
“Now look who's talking.” Against all odds, Jayce feels the beginnings of a smile push at the corners of his lips. He puts a hand on Viktor’s tummy, admiring how nicely the small swell fits in his palm as he chides, “Could you remind me — who has repeatedly ignored my requests to stop conducting his personal experiments so that he can save his energy for the baby?”
At that, Viktor frowns. “Just because I’m with child doesn't mean I have to play a docile housewife.” The moment that term leaves his lips, blood rushes to his face, and he coughs into his fist. “I mean— eh, you know what I mean.”
“Y–yeah? Of course, Vik, but I don't want you to accidentally hurt yourself,” Jayce nods, even though he doesn't understand why Viktor is suddenly acting so awkward. Maybe Jayce was just too distracted by the rosy heat colouring Viktor's cheeks, or the way he chews on his bottom lip a little before he speaks.
“You could say the same thing about anything. I could accidentally cut myself on a thorn while tending to the flowers. I could accidentally slip on a wet rock by the river while doing laundry.”
“But you and I know how unpredictable the arcane is.” Jayce’s voice dips lower, a warning. “Not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t want to risk it.”
“Rest assured, I am testing within reasonable limits. Safe, simple runes, no more than an hour, away from any wolves,” Viktor speaks in a way that reminds Jayce of when they had first met — cautious yet confident, with twinkling eyes and a spark in every word.
There’s still an edge and a shift in Jayce’s eyes, but he eventually relents with a soft okay. It's still going to take some more time before he successfully rewires his brain to trust Viktor over his own overprotective tendencies.
A smile sneaks onto Viktor’s face. Jayce knows that look. He’s not satisfied yet.
“You, on the other hand, need to clear your head first. The last thing I want is for you to accidentally hurt yourself with a hammer. Again,” Viktor says.
“I’m supposed to be on firewood duty tomorrow— today, I mean. Don't know how effective a hammer would be at cutting down trees,” Jayce corrects him with a smirk.
“Your axe, then,” Viktor replies, back to being unamused. “My point still stands. Dangerous objects combined with stress and lack of sleep is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Then, promise me you’ll stay in too?”
Jayce reaches up to hold the hand still on his face, larger fingers wrapping around the delicate wrist. He presses his face further into Viktor’s palm, reveling in its softness, before tilting his head down to kiss the inside of his wrist. His lips linger there just long enough to feel Viktor's rising pulse through the skin.
“You don't have to do all that, you know,” Viktor sighs with a shake of his head. He makes no attempt to pull his hand away. “I would have said yes to you regardless.”
Jayce feels his body swell with something so suffocatingly warm. It threatens to bubble and spill over, and some of it does.
“Viktor, I—”
But something gets caught in Jayce's chest. It's that something that he hasn't quite put his finger on just yet. Everyday, that something lurks like a thought in the back of his head, a phrase on the tip of his tongue. And every time he tries to examine it closely — coy fingers, sunkissed hair, clever lips — there's a sudden force that grips him whole, making him momentarily forget how to breathe. His heart would start beating so hard that he could physically feel the blood rushing through his veins, stringing him tight.
But it isn’t fear or panic that he feels. Those emotions run as cold as the blizzard that he can’t ever seem to shake off. This something is the opposite yet somehow distinct from the red hot blaze that burns in his gut when bare skin meets skin. It shines more like the warm afternoon sun on a nice summer day, so bright that Jayce has no choice but to avert his eyes else he blinds himself.
He returns to reality with a sharp inhale, pulling himself back together.
“You’re so kind to me, even after… everything. Sometimes, I don't think I deserve it.”
There's a pause where Viktor simply slides his hand up and down Jayce's jaw; a split second where his thumb catches the corner of chapped lips, rubbing on worn skin, before it retreats. Jayce has to hold back a disappointed pout.
“That makes the two of us,” Viktor hums. He lightly nudges at Jayce's face, and when Jayce doesn’t meet his gaze, he nudges again.
When Jayce does, he is greeted by eyes of fused pearl and gold.
“Neither can I fathom why you chose to stay with me. Maybe I never will. But what I know for certain is that we fought for each other to be where we are — right here, together, with our child on the way. And for that, I will forever be in—in deep gratitude.”
Jayce senses something in that single stutter in Viktor’s voice. That same something that’s been left purposefully unspoken between them, too much power held within the words that neither of them know how to wield. That emotion is in Viktor’s gaze too, swirling iridescent, almost glowing with the reflected light of the full moon.
Viktor doesn't say it out loud.
Neither does Jayce.
—
The next time Jayce shows up to the village’s forge, he's warmly welcomed with a reprimand from the head blacksmith.
“There’s that bastard. Can't believe you actually got me worried about you. Ridiculous, I know,” Frank remarks without even looking away from the furnace on full blast, his words barely audible over the collective noise of banging hammers against hot metal.
Jayce can't tell if this man is trying to be an ass on purpose, or it's just his cynical sense of humour. It's just one of the many mysteries he'd given up on solving a while ago.
Jayce rolls his eyes anyway, taking off his outer coat in the blazing heat of the workshop. “I wouldn't dream of it.” He then folds his arms. “Did something happen?”
“If something was Shiloh bugging me about where the fuck you were yesterday, then sure did,” Frank answers with an annoyed gruff.
Right. Jayce reminds himself to apologise to Shiloh later during his break. She’s a good woman, and the last thing Jayce would want is to upset her, especially when the Winter Awakening celebrations are so close by. Frank, though, can get the shorter end of Jayce's sympathy stick.
“Didn't feel well yesterday, so I just took the day off,” Jayce simply says.
At first, his words are only met with the loud hiss of red hot iron being dunked into the quenching bucket, causing the water inside to rapidly boil and steam. Frank then looks back at Jayce with scrutiny, giving him a once-over. “You? Sick? So all that muscle you got can't even fight back the common flu?”
“Give me a break,” Jayce sighs.
“You’ve already had plenty,” Frank snarks back. But then, there's something in him that shifts. Shoulders falling a fraction, a deeper exhale. The sizzling sounds stop.
“But if you asked me, it was for the best that you weren't here.”
Jayce is nearly unsettled by his concern. “Why?” he asks.
Frank’s face draws tight. “Well, when you were gone, some bloke thought it would be a brilliant idea to get piss drunk and go into the woods in the dead of winter's night. And, frankly, he would have been dead by morning if not for the scream he said he heard from the woods. Ran back here like a headless chicken with a pair of soiled pants.”
For a few seconds, Jayce goes silent. No, it can't be what he thinks it is, surely. There's no way that these people actually think that someone died in the woods because of him.
Jayce belatedly recovers himself with a nonchalant huff. “He did not shit himself.”
“Tell that to the poor woman who had to clean up after his sorry ass,” Frank chuckles, “and that ain't even the end of it. The man wouldn't shut up about it the next day, crying about how the spectre was out for blood, warning mothers to protect their children. Whole town's been on a dagger’s edge ever since.”
A few gears in Jayce's head start to turn. He recalls hearing loud whispers of this fiend amongst the townsfolk during the first few times he visited the village, when he would emerge from the snowy forest to the poorly-disguised stares of disbelief from the guards at the northern gate; a faceless creature cloaked in a pure, eerie white blanket, blending in with the fresh fallen snow. Its only other discernable trait is the long wooden stick it uses to traverse the icy terrain — the same ashen colour as the trees surrounding it — stalking the withered forest with the unwavering watchfulness of a groundskeeper to his own graveyard.
“Including you?” It's Jayce’s turn to be in shock as he gawks at the blacksmith. “Don’t tell me you, of all people, believe in what this man is claiming.”
Frank lets out an offended grunt. “Horseshit from that drunkard? Who do you think I am?”
Jayce is not sure if that's a question he’s willing to answer, so he just shrugs in response.
“That said, I don't blame folks for being scared. Fear is what humans need to survive.”
Then, unexpectedly, Frank moves to fully face Jayce, putting aside his current handiwork. “My gran had seen the wicked workings of the creature firsthand,” he reaccounts with a fully serious expression that Jayce rarely ever sees, “They don't mention this stuff in the legends, but that thing can do unspeakable things. Make the frostbitten trees grow and crack like bone, trapping animals under cages of branches for it to feed off with its magic energy, cold and blue as ice.”
Jayce’s mind stumbles at that last new description. Suddenly, everything seems to slot perfectly into place.
White cloak. Wooden stick. Magic, blue energy.
Jayce bites his tongue. Even if he wanted to finally put this generational rumour to rest, he doubts anyone in the village would believe him. Not when half of them still think he's some level of lunatic.
Viktor would understand.
“Unlike me, my gran ain't crazy, so I’d be even more a fool to not believe her word.” Jayce distantly hears Frank finish his impassioned speech, and even though he has the prideful urge to argue, he resists, only answering with a begrudging nod of sympathy.
There isn't much evidence to prove his conspiracy theory true, but Jayce genuinely can't think of any other possible explanation that lines up this well with what he knows. The fact that he and Viktor were sent to the exact same place that he and his mother ended up at after being saved. The mage must have been up to something before that. Something catastrophic enough to set off a ripple effect of mass hysteria that continues to spread even to this day.
However, as much as he wants to share and expand on this theory with his partner in science, the subject in question remains a rather touchy subject for Viktor in particular. The last thing Jayce needs to give Viktor right now is more stress that may burden their baby.
So, for the second time this week, he decides not to say anything to Viktor. For now.