Chapter Text
Daeron
Of all the places to be stranded, Illinois had to be the worst. Daeron knew they wouldn't be here much longer, but it was truly terrible. Chicago was big and loud and with winter creeping in, it was very cold.
He wasn't sure when they'd be leaving, but he knew it wouldn't be long. Valarr didn't believe him when he said they'd be somewhere warmer and safer. He assumed Daeron was trying to comfort the little ones, but there was little comfort about where they were going.
He'd dreamt it. Blood and teeth. Fire and Ice. A beautiful valley in the shadow of a dark forest. An elm tree hiding a dragon's egg. An empty throne. Death waiting for them with an outstretched hand.
The usual portents of doom, you know?
Daeron made his way through the tunnel to where the family was camped out. The cousins had set up in one of the abandoned subway stations. It was dark and cold, but out of the elements. The monsters hadn't found them here, but they would soon enough.
"Where the hell have you been?" Valarr asked, stepping in front of him. Daeron glanced around to see Aerion napping on one of the old benches with Rhae sitting near his head. She was playing with his hair. Daeron wondered vaguely if she was cold. They were all cold.
Aemon was reading to a sick Daenora. She had an infected wound at her shoulder where a harpy had dug in its dirty claws. Matarys was playing cards with Aelor and Aelora. The deck was missing one of its queens, but it wasn't likely they cared. Aegon and Daella were cuddled up in blankets next to a candle. Telling stories maybe? Daeron couldn't quite hear them.
"-eron! Daeron!" Valarr was waving his hand in front of his face. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Uhh, I brought back a box of granola bars and I swiped some toothpaste from a gas station," Daeron said.
Valarr was looking at him through narrowed eyes. "Are you drunk?"
"No," he lied.
Daeron was not a very good liar. His dear cousin scoffed and turned away, walking to sit next to Matarys and watch the card game. Daeron pulled the half empty bottle from his bag and walked it over to his brother. The closest any of them got to having a real doctor was little Aemon and his box of off-brand variety pack Band-Aids. Aemon had asked for disinfectant if Daeron could get ahold of it, but he'd had little luck. Aegon was the only skilled little thief among them, and Daeron was shoddy with sleight of hand even when he wasn't a bit tipsy.
Sweet Aemon didn't judge him for having drunk half the bottle, not outwardly at least. He just put down the book and accepted it gratefully. Aemon pulled out a clean(ish) cloth from the open bag next to him and used it to disinfect Daenora's injury. Daeron watched numbly, sure that his little cousin would be alright soon, even if the rest of the family was fretting so terribly.
He left Aemon to his doctoring and went to tend to Rhae. At just five years old, she struggled the most. He stooped down and plucked her off the bench where she sat playing with Aerion's hair.
"Hello, sweet sister."
"Daeron!" Her skin was colder than it should've been. "Did you bring me back something?"
He had actually. A cute little purple hat he'd snatched out of a donation bin.
"Of course I did," he told her. "Close your eyes."
She squeezed her eyes closed and held out her hands. The sight was almost enough to make him smile. Daeron pulled the hat out of his jacket pocket and pulled it onto her head and over her eyes. She giggled and took it off to look at it.
"I like purple," she said.
That did make him smile. "I know," Daeron said softly. He watched her run her fingers over the stripes and grab the pompom on top.
Rhae put the hat back on and demanded Daeron put her down. "I'm not a baby," she insisted.
She basically was, but he wasn't going to argue with her. She ran over to Aegon and Daella to claim their attention and show them her new hat. It was too big for her and kept slipping down over her eyes.
Daeron wondered if Rhae would be happy in that new place. The meadow with joy and laughter and blood. The place with the big blue house and the forest full of death. Probably not. Daeron never dreamt of happy things.
They were running out of food. It had been a couple days since any of them had eaten anything substantial. Valarr, Aerion, Aelor, and Aelora were going to go out and bring back something to eat. Daeron had used some paracord to tie Egg to one of the benches so the little wretch wouldn't try to sneak off and join them. He was a good sneak and a clever thief, but it was freezing, icy, and he was just a little boy who couldn't defend himself or find his way back if something happened.
Daeron was content to ignore Aegon's whinging, just as he was content to ignore the feeling of unease creeping up his spine. Of all the cousins left in their little subway station, only Daeron had a weapon. Aemon had no skill or mettle with one, and the others were too little. (They also didn't have any more.) At ten, Aelor carried a crowbar and Aelora had a pocket knife. Valarr had a spear with a bronze tip that they'd taken from a monster months ago. Aerion had a length of metal pipe he wielded like the world's most terrifying improvised sword. Daeron carried an expandable baton they'd lifted off a cop that tried to bust them for stealing.
Only Valarr's weapon had any real effect on the monsters that hunted them, but the others had their uses. It wasn't just mythical beasts they needed to fear.
Blood. Teeth. Fire. Ice.
Death.
Daeron needed a drink. Maybe Aerion would bring some back for him? Daeron could dream hope. The burning liquid might quiet his thoughts, steady his shaking hands, or keep him from the visions that plagued his dreams.
Mayhap today would be the day this new dream started to come true. Gods, Daeron wanted a drink. He wanted to stop thinking, stop caring, stop breathing, stop hurting. The creature, the goat-man would come soon. Then, they'd leave Chicago. Maybe then it wouldn't be so cold anymore. They didn't do well in the cold. It made the whole family completely miserable. The only one that hadn't complained was Aemon, but he certainly didn't like it either.
If the goat-man would come then they wouldn't freeze. Maybe they'd make it to spring.
Spring.
A shadow over a field. A sickness. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death. Death Death.
Daeron let his head fall back and slam against the rock-hard wall of the old subway station. His headache flared harder than ever before. Perhaps it was splitting his skull open?
Even if he'd cracked his head open, at least he could no longer think of springtime deaths. All he could think of was a broken skull.
Valarr
Stolen cans of soup would not get all eleven of them through the winter. Band-Aids would not help Daenora recover. Ratty blankets wouldn't help the little kids sleep. Aerion's attitude wasn't conducive to any of them remaining safe and murder-free. Baby wipes wouldn't fix the fact none of them had showered recently.
Briefly, Valarr thought of Daeron's drunken ramblings. A safe haven for the children of the gods, a beautiful valley, and vast strawberry fields. It was a nice thought for the little ones. Even Matarys tried to believe in it. Valarr just wanted to make it through the winter.
The sidewalks were icy, the temperature was in the negatives, and everyone's gloves had holes in them. He felt like he was failing his family.
Valarr, for the record, did not want to be responsible for nine children and a useless drunk. He didn't want any of this. He wanted to be back home, safe with is father and brother, in front of a roaring fire, and nothing to worry about at all.
Instead he was herding immature cousins on a stealing spree through the dirty streets of Chicago in the middle of winter while trying to avoid police, muggers, those gross creeps that sometimes stared, and the bone chilling growls coming from the dark alley they'd just passed.
…
Well fuck
"RUN!" He shouted as a a hulking black dog leapt from the shadows.
Surely it was terrifying, but Valarr did not look at it near long enough to see it clearly. All he could do was think 'I'm going to die'. Eloquent, right?
He grabbed the twins and pulled them along. He heard Aerion curse and knew he was running too. The absurdity struck Valarr. Why on Earth did he bring two ten-year-olds out onto the streets when he knew the kind of dangers that were hunting them? Was he an idiot? He had to be.
They made a sharp turn onto another street when Valarr felt a tug on his hand and a yelp from behind. Aelor had slipped on the ice and fallen face first onto the concrete. He couldn't slow himself into a stop in time, but it didn't matter. Aerion grabbed him by the back of the collar and hauled him up.
A flash of bright red on the boy's face told him that Aelor was bleeding. They'd all be bleeding soon when that dog the size of a car got it's teeth around them. They kept running. Aelor mostly stumbling as Aerion dragged him alongside, and Aelora slowing Valarr down by constantly looking back over her shoulder at her brother instead of watching where she was going.
They were going to die. Valarr and his sweet, ridiculous little cousins were going to be killed by some horrific monster and none of their family would know what happened to them. He was going to leave Matarys with only drunken Daeron to keep him fed?
Even without Valarr there to lead them, Aerion and the twins would do their best to take care of their family (even if Aerion was insufferable and the twins were stupidly immature.) But if they all died out here? The rest of his cousins and his wonderful little brother would all either freeze or starve to death.
He couldn't let that happen. Valarr skidded to a stop. "Keep running!" He told them.
Valarr pulled the spear off his back and stood to face the monster. He heard Aelora call for him. The sweet girl likely turned back to help him, but Aerion would've made her keep going. He, out of everyone, would understand doing whatever it takes to keep the family alive.
Valarr wanted to see spring, but he'd settle for facing his doom head on. Would his father be proud of him? Did it matter?
He could see the beast properly now. A hulking mass of shadowy black fur with razor sharp teeth and claws. It wasn't even chasing them very closely.
No, it was toying with them. Herding them around for fun because it liked the chase. The monster was playing with its food.
Valarr was going to be food.
He always imagined he would be brave in the face of death after a long, happy life. But with a vicious monster currently running toward him, Valarr was scared.
His hands shook as he clutched the bronze spear tightly. He felt a little lightheaded. There was a pounding in his ears.
As the monster drew closer, he could hear its low growls and thudding steps. The thing bared its teeth and for a moment Valarr wondered if it was grinning.
The monster leapt at him.