Chapter Text
Taking care of a cub not his own has been... difficult. Especially a tiger-demon hybrid cub he has no relations with, found in the dark, fiery pits of the Nether one day—alone, crying, and at risk of being brutally murdered if not taken care of.
And while Mane, only sixteen at the time, would rather throw himself into a pit of lava than adopt an orphan kid—he did so anyway. Out of the kindness of his heart or motherly instincts, Mane will never share.
Raising the bitch wasn't easy. There was no book given to Mane about how to raise an orphan tiger—blaze—hybrid—demon cub—and Mane was left with many questions, stress, and genuine urges to kill himself. As well as the fact that he's used to living alone. He got kicked out of his pack years ago, forced to grow up alone on Unstable.
And he's been fine since.
But now he has two mouths to feed, two people to dress, two people to protect, and two people to home.
And while his treehouse is big.. Flame grew.. fast.
He ate more—back then as young as six or seven years old he would go through half a stack of cooked steak; and while Mane had plenty of cows to spare, it's never enough.
When Flame hit ten, he would go through a single stack, a stack and a half sometimes—of cooked steak or chicken. Sure, Mane had a pretty big appetite, but this was just insane.
And that was horrendous to deal with.
Until Flame started growing horns, canines, wings and fire powers he couldn't control.
He was thirteen when that happened—Mane was out, having left Flame alone to cater to the treehouse. He comes home and half of it is burning down, a sobbing, screaming pool of Flame circled up amidst the ruins begging for it to stop.
Mane had been too busy putting out the fires caused to stop and wonder what had happened.
It was horrendous dealing with normal kid shit—this was just insanity.
Mane felt horrible when he realized what had happened. The little cub was going through the human version of teething—but worse.
Mane was around a few demons to know the gist—the pains of growing horns manifesting as pounding, screaming migraines with no end in sight, the unstableness of a sudden pair of wings ripping through rib bone and flesh, leaving him raw and bleeding—like a molting deer. The sheer gruesome formulation of canines replacing old teeth.
In the few books Mane read about fire-demons, this was all supposed to happen sooner, supposed to be spread out in age. But no, it seems Mane's little fiery cub was a late bloomer.
It was hell calming Flame down during that. Ice hurt him, so he couldn't even numb the pain. Heat helped a bit—but it did nothing since.. well, Flame's made of heat. Mane had to enchant a separate pair of netherite armor with fire protection to simply get close to Flame at some point.
It was hell.
Yet, nothing could prepare him for now.
Adolescence.
Biology's cruelest punishment to all parents alike.
Mane was sitting in the living room, watching reruns of his favorite show on the couch with a huge bowl of popcorn on his lap, legs, and feet sprawled up on the coffee table. Flame had been down in the training grounds figting some dummies—boy is really getting into fighting, trying to be more like Mane, Mane once heard him mutter in his room. It's cute, Mane can't deny—when the fiery cub walked into the living room and stood in front of the TV, effectively blocking it with his form.
For someone who was so small as a cub, Mane is arguably annoyed to admit Flame is gaining height on him—something the younger boy likes to taunt about.
Mane groans.
"Whaddya want?" He questions, shoveling a handful of popcorn into his jaws. Flame loses his big bad wolf persona for a minute, the hands crossed over his chest falling limp against his sides. For a minute he looks like a little cub once more, tiger ears laying flat against his black, unkempt dreads.
God, Mane has asked him constantly to let him rebraid them, but no, the fiery fucker thinks they're fine.
Pride, he tells ya.
Flame's eyes, red like netherack, look to the side before meeting his.
"I want to go to a fighting tournament." He says. Manepear frowns, brows furrowing into the silk of his orange blindfold. He shovels another handful of popcorn in.
"Ay, sure, we can go watch one later." He agrees, mouth full. "Now shoo, I wanna see if Jessica is really preg-"
"No- I wanna fight in one." That makes his jaw close with an audible snap.
"You're fifteen, you need t-"
"I don't care!" Flame stomps a foot. I'm more than trained enough to fight, I've shown you!" The cub argues, arms crossed against his chest. This has been a constant argument since Flame saw Manepear win a tournament. Now, holy glaze—but jesus.
Mane rolls his eyes. He's glad Flame can't see it.
"No. I'm not allowing it." He says.. and shovels another handful of popcorn into his mouth.
Flame growls, tail thrashing behind him. "All you have to do is sign a stupid form! Y'know, as my guardian or whatever?" Flame huffs, rolling his eyes.
"Watch your tone bro—I'm not some guardian, I'm your-"
"'Older brother', meh meh meh!" Flame sticks out his tongue. "No you're not! I found out, you're just... some guy! I don't even know why I listen to you anyway!" Flame growls.
Mane groans. God, this kid is a genuine pain in his ass.
"Whatever bro, blood related or not—I raised you, and I get a say in what you do or don't do." He comments, tone hard and strict. He stands up—and while he isn't as tall and empowering next to Flame, it still makes the tiger-boy scoff, tail between his legs.
"Whatever, I hate you!" Flame yells, stomping back up the treehouse and into his bedroom, a path of fire in his wake.
Mane sighs as he goes for a bucket of water.
But not before heeding a warning to the fire boy.
"Mind you, if you try to escape I'll find you!" He yells up the treehouse.
"Meh meh meh!!" Flame mocks back.
Teenagers. God.