***TRIGGER WARNINGS IN THE SECOND SCENE FOR CREEPY BRAINWASHING AND TORTURE STUFF. IT'S NOT THAT GRAPHIC, BUT IF THAT BOTHERS YOU EASILY, PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION***

Lu invited Matthias to dinner that evening, but one glower from Emil ensured that the werewolf would decline such a request (though it wasn't intimidation so much as polite avoidance that motivated him to do so.)

Dinner was eaten in silence for the most part, the tension palpable enough to cut through with the butterknife Emil was using to spread margarine on his bread. His sister looked at the ground, her face trained into a stoic mask that refused to budge. Lu's hands moved to halfheartedly cut the meat on her plate, then pick the tomatoes out of her salad before taking a small bite, only to place her fork back down to wash down the lingering tomato taste with some water.

Emil had taken to making dinner lately (actually, he was starting to find cooking quite therapeutic now that he'd gotten the hang of it), and he'd forgotten that she didn't like tomatoes. He glanced up at her, expecting the usual criticisms: 'Emil, for the love of god, hold the tomatoes. How many times do I have to tell you?' and all that business, but she didn't say a word.

She continued to eat small, unwilling bits of dinner, between which she would sulk and gripe inwardly about whatever the hell she was sulking and griping about.

Finally, Emil gave up, tossing down his own silverware in frustration. "For Christ's sake, Lu, what is going on with you?"

Lu only shook her head. "It's no big deal, really. I'll get over it."

"What are you feeling?" Emil pressed, undaunted. "You know you can tell me these things. Is it because I kicked Andersen out? Look, I just-"

She shook her head again. "Stop that. I probably shouldn't've had him over for dinner, anyway. I need to clear my head... Honestly, I don't even know how to feel right now. Today should've been amazing—I'd imagined it being amazing in my head—but, I kinda feel like shit."

Great, great, but what exactly was she talking about? "Why so mysterious?" he asked. "Did Matthias do something to you?"

Likely seeking to look casual, she poked at her dinner again as she replied, "he figured out that I'm his soulmate."

Emil's jaw dropped and his eyes widened so that his purple irises were entirely visible under his platinum-blond hair. "You're joking."

"I'm being completely serious," Lu promised with a light smirk that signaled to Emil that she hadn't completely lost it yet. "He also said he's willing to help break the spell. And..."

"And what?"

"We kissed," she said, brow furrowed in thought as her index finger inadvertently brushed across her chapped lips. "That bastard is so confusing, I swear to god. The spell couldn't have changed me into a guy if there was a possibility he could become attracted to me. Why would he kiss me like that if he didn't want to be with me romantically?"

Emil paused for a moment, before his eyes lit up with a newfound idea. "That's a good question. Maybe his romantic tendencies don't align with his sexuality?"

"What?"

"Y'know, like Vladimir," he explained. "He's pansexual as hell, but he doesn't do romance."

That situation had actually really confused Lu at first. Why would Vlad not have a romantic relationship with his soulmate? But, after a long-winded explanation on the joys of queer-platonic relationships, Lu seemed to either understand or pretend to understand well enough that it was no big deal.

"So you're saying that Matthias is into guys, but he's not…" She searched for a phrase, but only came up with: "y'know, into guys."

Emil seemed set on washing his hands of the matter once Lu had heard his hypothesis. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just speculating."

"Huh."

Tino had never been so shockingly close to his breaking point before. The tall, Russian man grinned down at him from his place behind the lights (the bright, blinding lights), and the shadows cast on his face made him look like a Cheshire cat.

When was the last time he'd slept? Eaten? Hell, when had he last bathed?

"Tino," the man asked ever-so-sweetly, "you look so tense. Why do you think that is?"

Such a dull question shouldn't have caused him to shudder, to close his eyes, hoping in vain that he would forget that awful leer for just a moment, to stop imagining such an expression on Berwald of all people. What were they doing to him? Why did he feel this way?

Apparently, Tino had taken too long to respond, for the Russian man calmly walked up to him, a hand reaching up to grasp his jaw with strong, calloused hands that were eerily similar to Berwald's. "Tino, you answer me when I talk to you. You know that we expect proper behavior from our houseguests, no?"

He wanted to respond, but his breathing only came in shallow gasps, and he found himself rendered dumb. Even his mind, which (though damaged) had at least remained sharp and vivid throughout this torment, had been reduced to an endless mantra of 'no no no, don't do this again, don't do it again, you can't-' as he tried and failed to get his breathing under control.

This must have displeased the man, for he tightened his grip on Tino's jowl as he leveled the boy with a pout. He said, "you remember what happens to improper guests, do you not? You already face indefinite punishment on account of your choosing to be a rabid mutt. Do you not wish to reduce your inadequacy?"

Fuck, he really did have to say something right now — if he didn't, who knew what he may be subjected to? "C-can you repeat the question?" he gasped, barely loud enough to be heard. He pinched his palms, hoping that the pain would draw him away from his imminent panic, or at least slow his breathing rate to something below the verge of hyperventilation.

Luckily, with that, the man let go of his jaw and stepped back to admire the bruises on Tino's cheeks (or at least, that's what Tino assumed he was doing). "Certainly. I simply asked why you are so tense."

A few short weeks ago, he would likely have said something like, 'god, I don't know, Mr. Creepy Russian Kidnapper, sir. Maybe it could be because you're torturing me?' or perhaps 'y'know, sitting in this chair is really making my back stiff. Wanna find a sauna somewhere?'

Now, he whimpered like a kicked puppy (which, to be fair, he was a werewolf being subjected to physical and mental abuse). "I don't know," he sighed, in pain, exhausted and out of breath. "I keep doing things wrong. I don't know why."

"You do know why, don't you?" the Russian man replied, his face suddenly morphing into something somber and almost genuine that made Tino think that perhaps there was some sort of inner kindness within his captor after all.

Was that the Stockholm Syndrome talking? Probably, but Tino had long since passed the point of caring.

After a few moments of consideration, he nodded hesitantly, blowing a loose lock of overgrown hair out of his face. Tears stung his eyes. "Yeah, I think I finally do. I… finally realize now."

The twinkle in the man's eye was so, so satisfying after weeks of feeling that he'd constantly let his captor down. "Oh?"

"Uh-huh," he confirmed with a pathetic hiccup more fitting of a frail child than a werewolf-boy who was strong in both body and mind. "You're right: my temper, my refusal to cooperate, my pain and suffering… they're all just a result of my being a werewolf. It's wrong, and it's my fault."

A smile. A real, sincere smile. "Very good. And how do we fix this?"

"I think…" He trailed off, his tears receding in his distraction. "I have to kill Berwald, right? He's the one who turned me into this monster, so if I kill him, I'll turn back?"

Bullshit, some deep, untouched part of his brain cried out as his eyes screwed up. That's bullshit, and you know it.

Unfortunately, that inner voice of reason had been all but washed away and beaten out of Tino, and the rest of his thoughts moved in to quell his doubts. He remembered the man's rough hands, but in his mind they had turned to Berwald's, punching and choking and shoving him . Every single insult thrown his way—both during this torture session and before, from all sorts of sorcerers who thought he was an animal, a monster—were reimagined through Berwald's lips. He remembered the day he'd met Berwald, the day Tino had begged his now-estranged lover to bite him in his wolf form, the day that Berwald had actually done it and changed the boy's life forever. This time, though, Berwald wasn't gentle and calm; he was vicious and cold and it didn't fit him at all, yet somehow, deep inside Tino's mind, it made sense. His tears returned unbidden, silently rolling down bruised and bloodied cheeks.

When he opened his eyes, all he could see was Berwald in front of him, smirking maniacally and looking him up and down like Tino was some sort of fucking chattel made to do his bidding.

Tino blinked, shook his head, and (with the last of his sanity) looked up again.

His captor replaced his soulmate, and Tino breathed out a sigh of relief. For some reason, that made it better. As his breathing slowed, he almost wondered how twisted it was that this brought him some form of comfort, but he couldn't be bothered to reason through it. The man's smile was no longer manic but genuine, his glare no longer repulsed but endeared. He leveled Tino with a victorious smirk, biting his lip as if to reign in his excitement. "Good, good. I shall tell Natalya to untie you now that we have your cooperation."

"Oh, thank god. I'll finally be rid of this curse!" Tino exclaimed as the Russian marched out of the room entirely, likely to tell his dear sister of the marvelous success they'd had that day.

Without the fear of embarrassment, his quiet crying escalated into full-blown sobs that shook his chest and left him gasping for air. His eyes went bloodshot as his cheeks were entirely dampened and his nose ran, but he did nothing to stop those (nor could he, really, since his arms were still bound and there were no tissues in sight). "Thank god," he repeated, overwhelmed with the sense of relief crashing down on him like a tidal wave. "Thank god, thank god, thank god!"

Honestly, the turning point in the brainwashing had been when he'd felt his connection to Berwald fade, likely through sorcery on his soulmate's end. Before then, he'd been immovable and unwilling to see the light. It was difficult, but with Berwald clearly still trying to empathize and communicate with him, it had been bearable. However, though at first he'd been heartbroken by the fact that his own mate had decided to stop suffering through this alongside him (if not in person, then through the bond), he quickly realized that this attachment had blinded him from the truth: the soulmate bond was a lie.

Not since he'd met Berwald had his mind been so clear. As the agony of lost love and torture and his own wrongdoings faded, he noticed that he could easily live a better life without Berwald in it at all. It only took a few weeks of convincing on his captor's part, but he'd finally seen it like everyone else. It was Berwald's fault he was a werewolf in the first place, invulnerable but dangerous and angry and wild and so, so disgusting. He didn't think he had the guts to take him out yet, but he would learn quickly enough.

Once he was detached from the cause of his misery, he could finally move past this.

A bond unbound could easily be forgotten.

A/N: THANK YOU ALL FOR THE WONDERFUL REVIEWS, THEY'RE AMAZING. Also, that last scene is about as graphic as it gets, so don't worry about Tino being subject to any more torture. The damage is done. It was brutal, but it has been finished. Now for phase three, which will be from Emil's perspective...