Author's notes: *sets head on desk* I have so many feelings. Why do characters make things so hard? I had to keep stopping because of tears again. Augh. ;_; But as an aside, updates to Green & Gold will be coming every Monday now! So you have a reason to look forward to Mondays. :) Also, included with the chapter updates my Tumblr will be a sketch or detailed drawing of characters from Green & Gold.

Warnings: Child abuse. Grief.

They camped while the sun was yet in the sky, for Thor did not fail to notice that half his company was swaying in their saddles. This would not do if they were to rush into battle, so the eldest Odinson declared they had gone far enough and they prepared a rudimentary camp. Balder disappeared soon after and Fandral mentioned seeing him head into the forest, perhaps with the intent of foraging. Hogun promised to watch Sif, and Thor left in the direction Fandral indicated.

Balder was indeed foraging, but Thor was uncertain that it was for food. He recognized only a few of the plants Balder had so far procured, and he thought, perhaps, they looked a little like some of the herbs Loki used in healing poultices, when they were stranded and the supply of healing stones was scarce.

Thor wasn't sure if Balder knew he was there. His younger brother's back was to him, a single knee driven into the ground while he carefully dug up a root for purposes Thor did not know. Thor cleared his throat and the other Asgardian paused.

"Hello, Balder," Thor said. His fingers tugged at Mjolnir's strap without aim.

"Hello, Thor," Balder responded politely. He did not turn around, setting a severed root among his collection and continuing to dig.

"I cannot help but notice…" Thor hesitated, awkward, and debated moving closer to his sibling. "Something troubles you, brother. Deeply." Thor's gaze was concerned. Though he could not see it, Balder's was not.

"I am only tired, Thor," Balder replied. He was being evasive. Why? It was so much like Loki and it hurt.

"This is not mere weariness," Thor persisted, wondering where Balder's resistance sprang from. "The one statue that remains, the great cat—Volstagg told me that he was a dear friend of yours. That you were forced to choose between him and I. Is that what causes your distress?"

Balder didn't answer at first. His hands brushed against each other, earth falling to nestle amongst blades of grass. He carefully folded his cloth of roots and green shoots. "Some of it," he admitted, and Thor's stomach sank, for Balder did not say 'all of it' or 'most of it.' There had been something worse that had happened to his little brother, whilst Thor had been off selfishly seeking his own glory. Truly he was a terrible kinsman, and he only proved it time and time again.

"Balder, please tell me," Thor pleaded softly. He wanted to be the brother he ought to have been all along, yearned for it with a desperation that squeezed like a claw around his heart. Seven hundred years he had never been there for Balder, seven turning of the centuries, and the shame was as a knife. How could he never have known until now? Something was lost in his little brother, something that would never be found again.

"Please, Balder," Thor asked again. His voice had faded, the blue in his eyes was dull. He longed for this chance, for Balder to give him one more chance, but… But.

Balder hesitated, diverting his attention by carefully storing his wrapped harvest into the satchel ever hanging by his side. In the brief time that took, his eyes closed even further, as though he were afraid of the consequences confiding in his brother might have. He shook his head. "Not at this time, Thor," he said quietly. "It is… too near a thing to speak of."

He stepped past Thor and went to where they had prepared camp. Thor stood frozen, as though Balder's handful of words had rendered him stone once more.

Balder didn't trust him. Careful and courteous he had been, maybe even kind. But he didn't trust Thor. Didn't trust his own brother. Why? Why?

Tears pricked at Thor's eyes and he blinked fiercely. He took a different route back to the camp, one that wandered. As he returned to the others, he met Volstagg's eyes briefly and shook his head. Volstagg's lips turned down in a sympathetic frown.

"Mr. Hemming?"

This was becoming a frequent call, and Tom had begun to understand that none would speak it to him but the young. He turned a saw a girl, close to Matthew's age. He had met her earlier that day, when walking Matthew to school; Paige was her name.

"Yes, that is me," he confirmed, sliding down on one knee to be closer to her level. "How may I help you, dear?" For Tom had learned that, above all else, the children came to him for assistance. And he found the strangest, happiest satisfaction in giving it to them.

"Matthew told me you know about all kinds of stuff," Paige said to Tom. "And I was wondering… could you help me with my rabbit?"

"I must confess, I am not much of an expert on rabbit-keeping," Tom admitted. "However, I do know where some excellent resources on the care of them are located. Come with me." He rose to his feet and Paige followed his lead. "What sort of problem is your rabbit having?"

"Jeffy won't eat his food," Paige said worriedly. "It's been two days now. But Hat's okay."

"Hat?" Tom glanced over at her as he kept walking.

"He's my other rabbit," Paige explained. "I named him Hat because the top of his head is all black, all the way up his ears. Like a hat. Jeffy's all white."

"Ah, I understand now," Tom nodded. "And here we are." He pulled out a thick tome, quickly scanning through the index for anything pertaining to Paige's issue. "Has anything different happened lately that would affect Jeffy?"

"Our cat died," Paige said sadly. "Jeffy has always liked to break out of his cage and get Alice to chase him all over the house. It freaked Mom out, but Dad and I knew Jeffy did it on purpose. He's a crazy rabbit." Paige's smile waned. "But now he won't eat."

"It seems to me that he's grieving," Tom said. "If I may ask, Paige, what happened to your cat?"

"She was hit by a car," Paige told him. She hugged herself. "I miss her."

Tom rested a hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, Paige," he said sincerely. "Alice must have been a dear friend to you."

Paige nodded, biting her lip to stop its trembling. She looked back up at Tom. "Do you think that's it?" she asked. "Jeffy's not eating because he misses Alice?"

"It is the most plausible reason for Jeffy's condition," Tom replied.

"What should I do?" Paige wondered.

"Well, he's in mourning for someone he misses very much," Tom said. "And being a rabbit, it's difficult for him to understand why Alice is gone. I would recommend patience and some extra tender loving care. And since he won't eat on his own, I suggest you help him along. Remember to be kind to him. Be gentle."

Paige stepped forward and hugged him. "Thank you, Mr. Hemming," she said. "Matthew was right: you do always know what to do." She rushed away to Jeffy's aid and Tom chose not to reprimand her for running in the library. Not like there was anyone for her to run into.

On impulse, Regina went to Jefferson's house. After all, the Mad Hatter was well-travelled, and familiar with things Regina had no knowledge of. So if anyone besides Mr. Gold knew who Loki was, it would be Jefferson.

He didn't answer the door so Regina unlocked it herself, finding him up in his high room with the telescope. "Long time, no see, Regina," he said flatly, not turning around. "Such a shame it wasn't longer."

"Hello, Jefferson," Regina purred in reply. "I've come here to ask you about something."

"If it's help you want, then you already know the answer no," Jefferson snapped. He wanted to be difficult. Regina didn't have time for this; she had other things to tend to. Like the fact that Kathryn Nolan was still alive.

"Not help, Jefferson," she told the once-thief. "I don't need that yet. What I do need from you is a simple answer: do you know a Loki Laufeyson?" When she didn't get a response, she reiterated. "Though you might him as Loki Odinson?"

That got Jefferson's attention, and he finally turned around. "I know him," he confirmed. "I noticed him in the library some time ago. Why did you bring him here?"

"I didn't," Regina bit. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Only that if he remembers who he is, ever, you're screwed," Jefferson told her bluntly. "This whole town is." Seeing Regina's confused—and alarmed—expression, he went over to a chest of drawers and withdrew a file. "Case in point," he said, and handed Regina a photo. "This is the city of Manhattan; a metropolis greater and grander than has ever been constructed in our world."

He handed her another photo. "This is Manhattan after Loki stopped by for a visit."

Regina stared in horror at the damage the single photo portrayed. "How—"

"He led an army from another world in an attack against the city, almost razed it to the ground," Jefferson replied. "Why? Because he wants to subjugate this entire planet. Don't know what happened to him to turn him into this, but it must have been one heck of a thing."

"Then, he didn't used to be…" Regina didn't know how to finish her sentence.

"A mass murderer? No," Jefferson shook his head. "Trust me, if he was, you'd know. Loki's been around for… a while. I'm guessing that's why the assistant librarian isn't homicidally inclined: his years of being chaotic good outnumber his years of chaotic evil."

"He's a danger," Regina said.

"Understatement of the millennia, Regina," Jefferson answered dryly. "If he remembers, he'll see this place reduced to ash."

"Does he have magic?" Regina asked.

"Magic?" Jefferson scoffed. "Regina, you have no idea. And trust me, you really don't want to know what his parents are capable of."

Regina handed the photo of desolated Manhattan back to Jefferson. "Thank you for your help, Jefferson." She hurried out of his house, afraid for her town as well as her own life, and Henry.

Jefferson watched her go with a cold smirk playing across his typically somber features. He turned back to his telescope and peered through, eyes going to the schoolyard and seeing, along with his daughter Grace, the profile of Tom Hemming.

"Come on, man, remember," Jefferson murmured.

Night had fallen. Balder frowned up at the dark sky, nibbling on one of the roots he'd foraged from the woods. There wasn't much it could do for Balder's state, but anything that competed against pain was something he would use, so long as it didn't dull his reflexes overmuch. "We've lost nearly a day's ride," he said.

Thor was seated next to Fandral, cross-legged as Balder was. "This does not bode well for us?" he asked.

Balder frowned again, looking down at the map spread out on the dry blades in front of him as his fingers lightly drummed the open pages of the book in his lap. Firelight cast shadows across the paper. "You are concerned for Loki's doings," Hogun observed.

"I am concerned for a great many things, Hogun," Balder replied. "Yet Loki, not as much as I had been initially. I have been searching through this book, and if I correctly understand what it tells me, the curse placed on Loki will have taken from him all recollection of who he truly is. Memory will only return with the breaking of the curse, which he cannot initiate himself."

"You have known this how long?" Sif demanded. Balder glared at her.

"Only shortly," he said, his words to her curt. "While you have rested, I have read, and so learned." The truth was that Balder was frantic to find out what was happening to him, why things had not gone as the book said they would. No answers had he found.

"No memory," Thor murmured. "But how does the curse break?"

"That, I have not learned," Balder said. He looked back down at the book, but before he had a chance to resume his reading, the book was snatched away by Thor, who looked down at him with grim countenance.

"You have evaded both my presence and my questions, through all this day," said Thor. "I came here to request your help in finding Loki, yet now I wonder if perhaps it is you who is the missing one." His eyes narrowed, suspicious.

Balder seemed calm, but Thor could see his apprehension. "I see you've lost your patience," he remarked. "It lasted longer than I had expected."

"I have changed," Thor answered. "But more importantly, so have you." He extended a hand to Balder, which the younger Asgardian reluctantly took, and both of the brothers walked away from the camp and into the black woods. Each brought their weapon in case of need.

The remaining Asgardians looked at each other. "Well," said Fandral. "It would seem that at least one of us is going to figure Balder out."

"Not so long ago, Thor's concept of a discussion was a round of fisticuffs," Volstagg recalled. "A fortunate thing he has changed."

"Balder is more akin to Loki than Thor," Sif said, a concerned crease in her brow. "Yet while Loki's words are as silk, Balder's are a sting. Those who he does not trust he stabs. And he does not trust Thor."

The Warriors Three said nothing. Thor and Balder disappeared at last from their sight, going on until they found a small copse. They seated themselves upon a fallen tree, Thor setting Mjolnir down in the moss. Their only light out here was moonlight, which was so bright that, were it not silver, one would think it to be day.

"I haven't the slightest idea how to tell you this, Thor," Balder said.

"I have the feeling you don't want to have the slightest idea," Thor replied, but he kept his tone gentle. "Do you fear that I will scoff at you?"

"Fear? I know you will!" Balder snapped. "You have never had anything but derision for love, and—"

"You're in love?" Thor sat erect and beamed excitedly at his brother. "Who is she? What is she like? What's her name?"

Balder was stunned. "You… care?" he croaked in astonishment.

"Of course I do!" Thor exclaimed. "When do I get to meet her?"

"You… you won't," Balder said in a low voice, unable to look at Thor. "Thor, I lost her." He twisted something on his finger: a ring that Thor hadn't noticed before. "We had been married for only two weeks, she and I. Two weeks, full of such happiness."

His eyes closed and he whispered her name, a prayer under starlight. "Julia."

Thor's hand touched his shoulder and stayed there. "What happened?" he asked, his blue eyes filled with care.

"She was stolen from me," Balder said in hollow tones. "When the Curse swept over this land, it took her also. We gazed into each other's eyes, we both knew we were afraid, and when the smoke was gone… so was she." Balder blinked, but rather than pushing back his tears it pushed the welling ones off the edge. "That was twenty-eight years ago, Thor. Nothing to someone of Asgardian life. But it was Helheim, brother, eternity after eternity of Helheim."

His fists clenched as his eyes shut, a sob wracking his body. "Why?! The same witch who cast the Curse was taken by it. I don't know where to find Julia, I don't know if she's—" He couldn't finish. He could barely breathe for his despair. "I'm helpless, Thor! Balder the Questor, the Bright, the Oh-So Clever, and I cannot find my own wife! My own love!"

He wailed, face in his hands. "I worked and fought for years to win to heart, Thor," he cried. "I strove, and she was worth every second of that struggle. Now she is gone, taking everything I love with her. And then it was me and Bagheera, and while saving my life he forsook his. Must I slay everyone I touch? Even you came here and were entrapped in stone!"

"But you saved me," Thor replied.

"Barely," Balder spat. "And I wasn't going to. You know why, Thor? Because I didn't care. I didn't care about you because I made myself forget how to care about my family, about Asgard. I don't even consider myself Asgardian anymore. And look at you!" He gestured to Thor frantically. "You've changed, grown into a prince that will always do Asgard proud. And I… I am the same. Alone. Bitter. Without everything. Without my true love." He shook his head. "I tell you, Thor, unforgiveness will drive you mad."

He twisted the ring on his finger again. "When I first kissed her, the whole world came alive," he whispered in wonder. "There was color everywhere, Thor—everywhere! It was true love, and we both knew it. We had known it a long time. For Julia I scaled the mountains, crossed deserts, and battled every foul creature to be found. It was all for Julia! But now it is for nothing, only a memory of light."

Balder couldn't stop weeping. His nose dripped with tears. "I loved her so much, Thor!" he wailed, raw with a heart torn apart. "And now she's gone!"

Thor didn't hesitate but wrapped his grieving little brother in his arms, aching that his youngest sibling, only just over seven hundred years, should know such pain. "I know, Balder," he whispered into his brother's ear. "I know."

So much, Balder kept sobbing into Thor's shoulder. So much. The youngest son, so long estranged, was held securely in arms strong and kind. The tears of brothers mingled.

Tom hung back as Lillian tended to a library visitor at the checkout counter. Once the coast was clear, he strode forward and took the returned books she handed him. "Lillian," he began, "do you mind if I leave work a little early today? I shall be able to make up for the time later."

"What for?" his employer inquired.

"Well, I…" Tom hesitated and then continued. "There was a young lady, a girl, who came here some days ago. Madge. She is at the hospital right now, being treated for chemotherapy." Lillian gave a soft gasp and Tom quickly went on before she could interject. "I have offered to bring and return books from the library for her, since she cannot do it on her own. She is quite an avid reader."

"Oh," Lillian said. "Oh, she sounds like a wonderful girl. So sad that she has… you know. Of course you may go see her, Tom, only… may I come with you?"

"Well." Tom hesitated. Lillian was letting him go, after all, despite the odd hour. Was having her come with him all that bad? "Alright."

Lillian smiled. "No one is in the library right now. We'll just make certain to be back within the hour. Doable?"

"Certainly."

Tom retrieved the book bag he had prepared while Lillian set up the sign indicating apologies and the time of their return. Tom locked the doors and they walked to the hospital. Tom ducked out of view when he spotted Mrs. Lykke coming down the hall and waited until she was gone. "Madge's mother," he explained to Lillian. "A rather… distinctive character. Not exactly the sort I readily interact with."

Lillian frowned. "Yes, I know the Lykkes. I hope their daughter doesn't take much after them."

"She doesn't," Tom assured her. He opened the door. "Madge?"

The girl smiled, and something inside Tom lurched. Every golden hair the girl had once possessed was gone, and her cheekbones were already sinking in. She had changed a lot. A nurse walked past, and Tom could catch a whiff of vomit. Madge was not getting better.

Lillian was the one who knew what to do. She stepped forward, her face bright and kind. "Hello," she said, taking Madge's hand with her own. "I'm Lillian, the librarian."

"And I'm Madge," Madge replied, and her eyes sparkled with welcome, "the girl who loves going to the library."

"What a coincidence, so do I!"

They giggled, and Tom could feel his heart calm. Madge's frame, her form was weak, but those eyes held so much life. He smiled a little as Lillian stood next to Madge, their fingers entwining, appearing as grandmother and granddaughter who'd known each other for all life. He was glad to see they liked each other.

"Speaking of the library," Tom said, and set his bag upon a chair. He started neatly emptying its contents onto Madge's bedside table. "I thought you would appreciate some books to keep you company. You don't mind that I added some of my own selections to the lot?"

Madge gave no reply, and when Tom looked over at her uncertainly, her eyes were shining. "No, no I don't mind, Mr. Hemming," she said, her voice cracking. She smiled, and tears mixed with it. "You really care."

"Of course I do," Tom replied, and his voice was tender. "How could I do anything less?"

Madge sobbed and Tom fidgeted desperately, not knowing what to do. Lillian grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer to Madge, and the girl seized him in a fierce hug. His eyes popped, but he failed to escape Madge's grateful grip in the slightest. He didn't even try. "Thank you, Mr. Hemming," Madge whispered.

Tom stooped over and, shocking Lillian, placed a gentle kiss on top of Madge's bare head. "You're welcome, love," he said kindly. Tears were in his eyes, too.

Lillian marveled. Tom Hemming had been here in Storybrooke for thirteen years and no one had really tried to reach him. Or, like Lillian, they had just decided it was simply the way he was, and left it at that. And now children like Madge were claiming him as their own, and Lillian could see that it was a sentiment Tom found strange and precious.

They left a number of minutes later, and outside Lillian gave Tom a hug. He went stiff with surprise and stared at her incredulously when she stepped back. "I am so proud of you, Tom," Lillian said strongly, and found tears in her eyes as well.

Tom blinked. "What did I do?" he wondered.

"That is being a friend, Tom," Lillian replied, smiling. "You've got it." Her phone beeped an alert and they both knew it was the signal for them to return to the library. Tom followed Lillian there, and she did not see the look of marvel upon his face as he mouthed the word friend.

Hours had passed by the time Thor and Balder returned to the camp. Shares of the dinner had been left for them, but neither of the two hungered. The others had gone to rest, so the brothers continued their speech in low tones. They were not aware that Sif was still awake—for how could she sleep with this guilt?—and she listened.

"I cannot ever recall holding a true conversation with you, brother," Thor mused. "I was a fool for never realizing what I had missed."

"You were not the only fool," Balder replied. They sat alongside by the fire. Sif's eyes opened and fixed on the outlines of their backs against the fire.

"How soon until we reach the panthers' gateway?" Thor asked.

"At a steady pace, we ought to be there by noon of the day following tomorrow," Balder told him. Apprehensively he added, "And then we shall see how things be." He looked over at Thor. "You are afraid."

"Each time I have rediscovered Loki, he has fallen further, become something worse," Thor said, grief in his words. "And with that, my hopes for his redemption grow ever weaker. Yes, I fear what version of our brother we may find."

"At least we have found each other," Balder said. "In all truth, finally."

"A shame it took all our lives," Thor replied. He noticed Balder's head drooping. "Get some rest, Balder. You have worked yourself harder than all of us."

"It is a strange thing to have others helping me," Balder murmured softly. "Most times I am alone. And before that was fine. But since meeting Julia… Thor, loneliness is more than I can bear."

"We will find her," Thor vowed. "Together. Once this is over, I will help you search every corner of the Nine Realms and beyond, until you and your wife are reunited."

Sif's eyes widened and she withheld her gasp. Balder, married? And at so young an age? He seemed to have lost his wife, however, and that did explain much. Why this Asgardian, so young, had wearier eyes than any of them. He had walked alone for too long.

Balder went to sleep. Thor stood protectively over all of them, Mjolnir in his hands.

Henry stopped in at Mary Margaret and Emma's apartment before Regina came back to his own home. "Did you ever look up Loki?" he asked.

Emma shook her head, sorting laundry with Mary Margaret. "I haven't had time for that, Henry," she replied. "With Kathryn's fake murder, and your mom tangled up in all of it, it's just not been a priority." She noted Henry's disappointed look and asked him, "What's so important about a guy named Loki, anyway?"

"I can show you," Henry told her, and opened Mixed Fables on the counter. Emma and Mary Margaret looked down at the picture of Loki and Rumplestiltskin, both interested.

"That looks a lot more violent than your fairytale book, Henry," Emma remarked. She set her unfolded towel on the counter.

"That's because it is," Henry replied matter-of-factly. "Tom Hemming—Loki's from a whole world of violence, it's what they do. Actually, two worlds; he was born on one and grew up in another. He looks human here, but he's not at all, he's something called a Jotun."

"What's a Jotun?" Mary Margaret asked. She tucked a hanger through the neck opening of the blouse she held.

"I don't know," Henry replied with a puzzled frown. "It has something to do with ice and giants, but it doesn't say much more than that."

"He doesn't look very icy here," Emma noted. Mary Margaret handed her the blouse and started folding the towel.

"His origins are a touchy subject, I think," Henry answered, shrugging. "Anyway, he's a powerful sorcerer; really bad news if he's still evil."

"Still?" Emma questioned.

Henry glanced down at his watch. "I have to get home before my mom does," he said, an anxious hint to his voice. "I'll leave the book here. Promise me you'll read it, Emma."

"Sure, Henry," Emma promised. Henry nodded and quickly ran out of the apartment. Emma closed the door and re-locked it. She mentioned August's offer to install a bolt-lock and Mary Margaret expressed enthusiasm.

Emma's friend looked back down at the still-open book on the counter, setting the neatly folded towel beside it. "Henry's really worried about Tom being Loki," she said. Her fingers traced a line across Loki's sharp and hateful features. "I can't see the resemblance."

"Because it's not him," Emma replied. She sat down next to Mary Margaret.

"I gotta admit, this worries me," Mary Margaret said honestly. "Right now Henry's convinced that Tom isn't even human—now, I won't argue that sometimes he acts inhuman, but that doesn't make him some kind of monster."

"I know what you mean," Emma replied. "Thinking Regina is the Evil Queen is one thing—and sometimes I'm inclined to agree with him, the way she acts—but to say that someone isn't even human? Yeah, it worries me."

"You're gonna have to talk to him about this sometime, Emma," Mary Margaret said. "Before he, or someone else, gets hurt."

Emma glanced over at the door Henry had left through shortly before. "There will be plenty of time for that when I get him away from Regina once and for all," she said seriously.

Tom moved quickly aside as a young man, whom Ruby had informed him was named August Booth, started his motorcycle and drove past. Where he could be going, Tom didn't know. He was already stepping inside the diner by the time Mr. Gold's Cadillac growled to life and followed after Booth.

"No Matthew?" Ruby asked as Tom took a seat along the counter.

Tom shook his head. "I haven't seen him today," he told her. It was strange; already it was becoming difficult for Tom to recall a time when Matthew hadn't been alongside. Was it already nearing two weeks since they had first met?

"That's not normal," Ruby said, her brow furrowing in concern. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Okay?" Tom blinked at her. It had not occurred to him that something could be wrong with Matthew. "Well, all was well with him yesterday…"

"Maybe you should check up on him," Ruby suggested. "I know where his house is, if you don't."

Tom glanced at the menu in his hand, then nodded and set it aside. "Yes, I would appreciate the address," he said. "I haven't known Matthew to stay away from me of his own accord." His lips twitched in an amused smile. "In fact, quite the opposite."

Ruby told him the street and house number, and Tom left. Granny stepped up alongside Ruby and blinked in amazement. "Did I just see what I thought I did?" she wondered aloud.

"That kid really has turned Tom around," Ruby said. Her grandmother nodded.

Outside, Tom blew out a long gust of air, and frowned slightly when it wasn't visible in the air. Winter really was ending. He mentally ran over the address Ruby had given him, and set off at a brisk walk.

It did not take long to find Matthew's house. The grand structure looked like a castle, complete with pointed towers and balcony. All black it was, with hints of gold catching what light there was in the street. Tom liked the design, but Matthew had to hate living here.

Tom went to knock on the front door, but then a window on the second storey was pushed open and Matthew poked his head out. "Mr. Hemming!" he hissed, and Tom wondered at the fear in the boy's face. "How did you find my house?"

"Ruby told me," Tom replied. "I haven't seen you at all today, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Matthew replied. He glanced nervously over his shoulder. "I'll stop by tomorrow or something. Just go away, please."

"Is something wrong, Matthew?" Tom asked. His brow furrowed worriedly, and another question nearly fell from his lips, but he bit it back, it was none of his business. Matthew looked back down at him and Tom was struck to the bone as he saw within the boy the same fear that had once dwelt in himself.

They stared at each other. A yell came from inside. "You need to go," Matthew whispered. "I'm fine, Mr. Hemming, but you need to go." He disappeared back inside, closing the window. Tom vanished into the yard's shadows before Matthew's father reached the window.

A black house full of rage, and Matthew trapped inside of it. Tom shuddered. There had to be something he could do, something to spare this boy his fate. His eyes fixed on the house across the street, an elegant building that declared wealth: Mr. Gold's home.

Tom wondered if he should. But no one, in all of this town, terrified him more than Mr. Gold. He didn't know why exactly, but Tom wasn't of the mood to question his instincts. He looked back over at Matthew's house and cursed himself for not trying to learn more about the boy, about his friend.

He waited, hesitating and wondering, until his ears could just catch the sound of a slap across the face. Matthew's face.

Something inside of Tom exploded with rage. This was wrong, so wrong, and a boy like Matthew never deserved what Tom had gotten in life. It was no longer about what Tom should do, it was about what he had to do.

There were many outhangs and rivets on the surface of the house, and that made Tom's scaling of it quick and simple. He could hear the father snarling hateful things at the boy and cringed, for all he could hear was his own childhood snarling at him. Fear gripped Tom's heart and he couldn't move, hanging below Matthew's window.

He heard Matthew's whimper, Dad, please, cut off with a blow.

Tom pulled himself up and kicked the window in. Matthew's father spun around and stared, Matthew's bruised arm held in a death grip. It occurred to Tom that, before now, he had never seen Matthew in anything less than a long sleeved shirt. Another sign he shouldn't have missed.

"Who are you?" the older man barked.

"A friend," Tom replied, and was astonished that his voice reflected none of his fear within. "Matthew's friend. Unhand him."

"How I treat my boy is none of your business," Mr. Frog snarled.

"He's not your boy anymore," Tom replied flatly, and his blue eyes blazed with fire. "He's mine." His long fingers wrapped around a heavy bookholder on the desk and lifted. "Let. Him. Go."

"You can't—" Matthew's father lurched back as the bookholder flew from Tom's hand, releasing his hold on Matthew. The boy rushed over to Tom and hid behind him, eyes wide.

Matthew's father surged forward but then jerked to a halt before colliding with Tom's chest. Tom stood nearly a foot higher than him, though perhaps only half as wide. The dangerous glint to Tom's eyes was intimidating, and combined with the facial tattoos he appeared as a barbaric giant bent on vengeance.

Tom could feel the rage in him pounding at his temples, but then the hardness to his gaze faded, the rage digressed from its boil. He didn't want to hurt this man anymore. Take Matthew away from him, yes, but not hurt him.

"If you follow," he warned softly, keeping his voice low so that Matthew would not hear. "If you try to take this boy back into your hell… there is nowhere you can hide."

For the first time, Tom realized that people could be afraid of him too. He spun around, grabbed Matthew, and quickly climbed back down the front of the house. By that time Mr. Frog had recovered and came roaring down the stairs. Tom and Matthew reached for each other's hands and fled down the street.

"So, I guess I'm staying at your place?" Matthew panted.

"Ah." Tom realized that, for a change, he had not thought things through. "Yes." He looked over at Matthew. "Can you keep a secret?"

Matthew's eyes were nothing but pain and weariness as he looked back. "You're the first person to know about my dad," he replied. "What do you think?"

Tom stopped, so suddenly that Matthew jerked at the end of his hand, and looked down at his friend. "Matthew, I'm so sorry," he said. "I should have seen."

"That's okay," Matthew replied, not looking at him. "I should have, too." He blinked in surprise when Tom picked him up and carried him down the street. The assistant librarian's gruff explanation was that he could hardly allow his boy to run around in the night lacking shoes.

"Do you really mean that?" Matthew questioned, looking Tom in the eye. "That I'm your boy?"

"Every word," Tom replied. Matthew's arms coiled tightly around his neck and he rested his head on Tom's shoulder. Tom said nothing as Matthew's tears soaked into his jacket, continuing his brisk pace and wondering what on earth he was to do.