NOTE: The death tag is really because of undead characters, of which one is, ah, Frankenstein-ish, so kind of body horror as well, but nothing actually gore-y.
I should also note that I'm taking my own liberties with the magical beings portrayed as I'm kind of tired of some cliche powers ascribed, so this is my little playground to mess around with things.
Names:
Emma Peeters - Belgium
Daan de Boer - the Netherlands
Gilbert never did like beginnings. They meant something new, something unknown, something entirely different. They meant that, most likely, something had come to an end, which generally meant he and his brother had to pack up and move away from their family again.
This time, however, Gilbert had thought that enough was enough and had decided on a town where they weren't ostracized in the slightest; a town in which they would be welcome.
It was tucked away in a forested, back-water area of the United States, the supernatural population well-integrated and accepted by the human population. From what he had heard from Erzsébet, who had gone there once out of honest curiosity, it was protected by a triumvirate of witches and offered freedom to creatures of all sorts as long as they didn't cause any trouble.
Personally, Gilbert thought that three witches was a little ridiculous to oversee one little town in Nowhere, America. After all, in Europe, it was hard enough to find just one witch willing enough to extend their powers beyond the boundaries of their own home.
However, for such a place to exist, it had to be a pain to get to. The closest airport had been across the state border, the long train ride from there just barely taking them within the limits of a three-hour drive. Gilbert had bought an old Volvo from an admittedly shady-looking man, but so far it drove smoothly.
Ludwig was fast asleep in the passenger seat, having spent most of his energy stressing about the flight. They had had to apply to so many extra documents and visas before they could even leave Germany, let alone enter the United States, that Gilbert had come this close to giving up entirely. If it hadn't been for Roderich and his many connections, they would still be stuck in Leipzig.
Gilbert really hoped they could settle here. After all the chaos of their previous year, they just needed some time to regain their bearings. Gilbert had managed to arrange a job within his actual field, though sixth-grade teacher was quite a leap down from high school chemistry teacher. But teaching was teaching and kids were kids, so Gilbert couldn't complain. Ludwig was a little less lucky, needing to start anew with saving for his tuition. He would come to work for a collector, someone who needed help with taking inventory as well as keeping his shit clean. Honestly, he could have done much worse.
Gilbert let out a quiet whoop when an overgrown sign announced they now entered the town of Anthos, Washington. Population: 2,839 (and soon to be 2,841).
It was a breath of fresh air, both symbolically and literally as Gilbert cranked open the window. The gentle warmth of a protection ward settled over him and it surprised him a little that it really reached this far out. Then again, with three witches they could probably afford to extend the boundaries quite far.
The town was quaint, very reminiscent of the old German streets Gilbert had grown up in. People spared them a cursory glance, eyes glazing over the beat-up little Volvo before going about their business as normal.
Nudging Ludwig awake with his elbow, Gilbert turned into the last street he could remember from the directions, and Ludwig scrambled for the paper, muttering the directions until they reached an old block of houses. They were supposed to live on the upper floors of number sixteen, having their own front door at number eighteen. Their keys, however, had to be picked up at their downstairs neighbour's.
Thus, after parking the car, the brothers clambered out of it, stretching stiff limbs and slumped spines, and rang the doorbell.
A shout, followed by a noise that sounded suspiciously like glass breaking, and the door swung open.
A young man blinked at them from behind his glasses, straw blond hair brushed back haphazardly. His blue eyes twinkled along his smile, but Gilbert couldn't shake the feeling that something felt incredibly wrong about this man.
"'Sup!" said the man cheerfully. "What can I do for y'all?"
"We're the Beilschmidts. Our keys should be—"
"Oh!" The man vanished back inside, leaving the brothers to share a look. When he reappeared, he was reading through some papers, keys swirling around his finger. "So, Gilbert and Ludwig—" He squinted— "Beilsmith? Anyway, ID and proof of contract?"
Ludwig retrieved them from his backpack, deciding not to comment on their surname after Gilbert's sharp look. The man nodded after a lot more squinting that had Gilbert wonder whether he needed new glasses, handing them back their stuff before he tossed the keys to Gilbert.
"I'm Alfred Jones. Welcome to the neighbourhood." Alfred grinned, leaning forward and waiting for Gilbert and Ludwig to do the same. "Between you and me, I think you'll hold out way longer than the previous renters. They were only human after all." Alfred winked at their slightly disturbed expressions before he closed the door.
"That was," Ludwig started as they returned to the car to retrieve their two suitcases. He was clearly looking for any other word to finish the sentence with than his muttered, "disconcerting," but never managed.
Gilbert snorted as he jammed the key in the lock of their front door. "Lutz, according to a lot of people, we're disconcerting."
Ludwig pursed his lips, but followed his brother inside without another comment.
Their suitcases were a bitch to get up the stairs, but, after a near-accident where Gilbert lost his footing and Ludwig just about managed to grab his arm before he broke his neck, they stood on the dusty landing of their "ground" floor.
The house had come furnished, something that neither brother wanted to look too deeply into why, so all they really had to do was remove the plastic sheets from the hideously flowered couch and sit down to take a moment to recover. The living room was cozy, if terrible old-fashioned, and Gilbert missed all the sentimental crap from his old house terribly, but a house was a house and he would be damned if he didn't make it a home too.
Once they had caught their breath, they got to cleaning, throwing open windows and airing sheets and rugs as they stormed the house. It didn't matter they had just spent an ungodly amount of time travelling; they were still awake and functioning and this had to be done.
(It also helped that their innate powers could stave off sleep for a little while longer. They could catch up in the next day or two).
It was around midnight when the brothers finally fell into bed, three days of nonstop stress and travelling finally coming to a close, house in fairly livable condition and what little belongings they had brought stashes away.
Two days later found both men feeling slightly better but absolutely famished, so they left to stock their kitchen.
The supermarket was as local as they came, but beside the odd glance or two and a lot more friendly smiles, they were left to their own devices. Neither brother had anticipated the kind old lady directing them toward the right aisles, nor the polite patience once they finally got to the register with an overflowing cart and little understanding of dollars.
No frowns, no muttered gossip or wary shielding of children, not even an employee following them around until they left the door. Once they stood outside the store, Ludwig exhaled in relief and Gilbert almost dropped his grocery bags as he cheered, Ludwig refraining from elbowing him as he shared Gilbert's happiness.
After breakfast they set to doing the final chores that had the house sparkling clean, marking down items that had to be replaced the moment they had saved enough money on a note stuck to the fridge. Gilbert opted that the couch had to be the first to go; Ludwig rationed it should be the coffee machine, so naturally it became the satellite because how else were they supposed to watch German soccer?
Day three had Gilbert on his final interview for the job at the primary school around the block with the principal. It was more formality and the final step to signing forms than anything else as they had done most interviews and qualification checks via Skype.
Daan de Boer was tall and unmoving, eyes much more piercing now than they had been on camera. Gilbert fiddled in his chair as the principal outlined the school regulations, expectations, expected problems and anything else Gilbert had read up on one last time.
Gilbert signed the contract, feeling slightly odd about it as he always did, then shook hands with De Boer. The man looked at him for a long moment.
"There is one last thing," he said slowly, as if he was coming up with it on the spot. "You might want to talk with Mr. Williams and Mr. Oxenstierna before classes start. They're our only other members of faculty like you; they'll help you settle in."
Gilbert wanted to say that he knew very well what it was like being what he was in combination with being a teacher, worry-for-the-children and judgement included, but instead he said, "Thank you," and left the school with two phone numbers and a sense of accomplishment he hadn't felt in quite some time.
That evening Ludwig collapsed into the couch with a heavy sigh. He had just returned from his first day working, having left early that morning. Gilbert couldn't say he was jealous, and was glad he still had a week to adjust before summer ended.
"That bad, huh?" Gilbert stood to fetch two bottles of beer, speaking loudly to be heard from the kitchen, "Is he that much of a hoarder?"
"Mr. Fernández," Ludwig started, then hesitated. He cleared his throat, accepted the beer gratefully, then continued, "Mr. Fernández is a vampire. The amount of stuff he and his brother have accumulated over their years is astounding. It hardly fits in the house."
"Really?" Gilbert settled in his armchair, propping his feet on the coffee table. It earned him a frown from Ludwig, but he ignored it. "We probably should've gathered that from the 'collector' bit in the advertisement."
Ludwig hummed. "I only saw one room today, but according to Mr. Fernández, it has been a while since anyone came and cleaned, so I'm a little hesitant on what's to come honestly."
Gilbert stared at the fuzzy picture on the old TV, mentally adding that to the to-buy list as well. "What if I come tomorrow and help out?"
"You don't have to."
By the way Ludwig sagged in the couch, Gilbert knew his brother would appreciate it immensely. "Listen, I still have holiday. One day and then I have to prepare my classes and meet with Williams and Oxenstierna." He shrugged. "It's cool."
Ludwig sipped his beer, giving his brother a small smile. "Thank you."
Mr. Fernández opened the door cheerfully, not at all surprised to see Gilbert there as well. He showed them to his living room, chattering on the way there.
"You two are very similar, you know. I sensed Ludwig, but it took me a moment to feel your presence too, Gilbert," he said, dropping down on the couch and gesturing to another, smiling as the brothers sat. "I haven't met many demons, or half-demons—however you want to identify. I guess I'm kind of a demon, to the church anyway, though really what isn't?" He laughed, then tapped his lips thoughtfully. "Honestly, I think I'm more undead than demonic, but then we go into the semantics of things and, really, the lines are so blurry that it doesn't matter all that much in the end."
"Right," Gilbert said, a little uncomfortable. "Well, Lutz and I are brothers, so we blend."
Fernández made a noise of understanding. "Full?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." Fernández leaned back, thoughtfully. "That's rare."
"Mom and dad were in love." Gilbert shrugged. "Anyway, Fernández—"
"Antonio. I keep reminding Ludwig."
"Sure, Antonio." Gilbert shared a quick look with Ludwig. "I just want to make sure this whole job is fair on Ludwig."
Antonio blinked. "Oh. Well, cleaning can be done at his own pace. I'm in no particular hurry." He grinned, showing off his sharp canines. "Honestly, I'm more interested in what exactly I'm owning at this point. Júlio and I never bothered with inventory before, but I think it's about time we sold some of our stuff. The town could use a little extra."
"You're going to give the money to the town?"
"Gilbert," Antonio said seriously, "have you seen this house? I don't need more money. Anthos could use it more. It's falling apart, just a little bit. Francis and Emma think we should invest in tourism, but Lovino and Arthur are staunchly against it. They think it'll open the town up for discrimination again, and I understand their point, I really do, but I also agree that something has to be done soon."
At their confused expressions, Antonio pursed his lips. "Francis is a dryad. If you stay for dinner tonight, you can meet him." Before Gilbert could ask about the feasibility of a vampire eating anything beside blood, Antonio moved on, glancing at the large standing clock next to the mantel. "Emma, Arthur and Lovino are the triumvirate. Lovi and Arthur created the town way back in the 1800s. Emma only arrived here early last century, so she's a little more modern than them."
"When you say 'created'…"
"I don't know the specifics, they're really secretive about it all, but you can feel it too right? How this place is brimming with magic." Antonio flicked his wrist and the clock wound itself, the gentle ticking easing the silence.
Ludwig fidgeted in his seat. Gilbert placed a comforting hand on his knee.
"And that's normal then, here?" Gilbert watched the clock, expression carefully guarded, flicking his eyes back to Antonio.
Antonio hummed softly, not really affirming or denying anything. "A little. Humans are still humans, so we keep it to the small things. They're getting used to it, though, and the children are taught that there is nothing scary about magic if you learn it well."
"Right." Gilbert stared at the tea cups on the table, which had definitely not been there before, steam curling above them.
Antonio picked up his, smiling over the lip. "You should probably meet Lovino, Arthur and Emma sometime soon, if they aren't planning on meeting you sooner instead." He chuckled, then paused, tilting his head as if listening to something. There was nothing but the gentle ticking of the clock however. "Actually, Arthur and Francis seem to be having a, ah, thing again, so he'll probably tag along tonight."
"You really want us over for dinner, don't you?" Gilbert said with a sigh, waving his hand above his cup to dispel the heat.
The smile Antonio wore was both knowing and excited. "Absolutely." Then, he wagged his finger at them, mock seriousness in his eyes. "But after tea, it's sweating and scrubbing. I want Júlio to be impressed when he returns from Portugal next week."
Arthur Kirkland was not nearly as impressive as his position in the triumvirate alluded to. Short, stocky and somewhat snobby, it surprised Gilbert that a man like that had even wanted to create a town, let alone keep it running for as long as it had. Yet with the way magic practically oozed from the man, it didn't surprise Gilbert one bit that he held part of the incredibly complex boundary upright.
Francis Bonnefoy, while definitely a character, was much more pleasant to hold conversation with, mostly due to their shared dislike for human panic. Dryads were rare in Europe nowadays, what with the panic a scandal had caused in the 1700s that saw entire forests go up in flames. Francis had taken the wise decision to pack up and move to the Americas during the 1850s, holed up far away from society in these woods.
Dinner was prepared by him too, with Antonio hovering in the background, reciting recipes he remembered, but no longer had the taste buds to make well. Arthur did not come near open fire anymore, so he talked to Ludwig about his plans for the future and why in Heaven's name he decided to work for Antonio.
"Politics, really?" he echoed, thick eyebrows vanishing behind his bangs as he stared at Ludwig over a glass of wine.
"It interests me," Ludwig said with a shrug. "I know that with what I am, it's not an ideal career choice, but I feel there's a desperate need for more supernatural beings in the government."
"Oh, I agree," Arthur said with a wave, and a painting dropped from the wall behind them. Arthur scowled, snapping his fingers to return it to its place. "We've needed people like us in higher office for centuries." He tapped the side of his glass, frowning at the gaudy old table cloth that Antonio claimed came from Poland. "But many of us have reputations, tarnishes and blemishes attached to our names, and humans are terrified of anything that's lived beyond a normal life span. Understandable, but a terrible nuisance."
Gilbert scoffed. "It's so stupid. It's not like Lutz and I will be writing up contracts for any unfortunate souls like some fucked-up door-to-door salesman. Hell, our mother didn't even do that."
Antonio bounced into the room again, falling into a chair and reaching for the bottle. Pouring himself a generous glass, he entered himself in the conversation. "Can you, though?"
"We don't need more demon contractors in this town, Fernández," Arthur said. "Alfred is bad enough."
"Alfred's a demon?" Gilbert would have known, though. And Alfred did not exude anything demonic. There was just… something off.
Arthur shook his head. "Human. Or former human. Necromancer."
Gilbert actually dropped his glass, staring at Arthur, unheeding of the wine dripping onto his trousers. Arthur gave the spill a dry look as Antonio whined about his precious table cloth from 1846.
"You're joking," Gilbert said as Ludwig caught his abandoned glass before it rolled off the table.
"Honestly, Antonio. I think it's an improvement," Arthur sneered, but at a look from the vampire, he flicked his wrist, causing the wine to extract itself from the fabrics it stained and return to the glass. "And, no, I'm not, Gilbert. He's a necromancer, though I supposed he's all right. He's a great lawyer too."
"He's our downstairs neighbour," Ludwig said quietly, eyeing the glass with trepidation.
"Lucky. He bakes great cupcakes," Antonio chirped.
Ludwig placed a hand on his brother's arm, recognizing his expression as one that spelt trouble. Clearing his throat, he returned to the previous question. "Gilbert can make contracts, if he wishes to. I can't. My powers are more, um, latent."
"And I do not wish to make contracts." Gilbert reached for his refilled glass, drinking angrily. "I just want to teach kids about, well, preferable chemistry, but I'll take whatever I can get at this point."
"What grade are you teaching?" Antonio asked, turning momentarily in his seat to glance at the kitchen. "Hold that thought, Francis needs me."
Arthur rolled his eyes as Antonio hurried back into the kitchen. He turned back to the brothers. "I don't intend to be rude, but I have to ask, for our community's safety. Were there any previous incidents with your powers? Anything we should know about?"
Ludwig and Gilbert shared an uncomfortable glance, and Gilbert said, "There was an incident, but it was beyond our control."
"I trust you, so I won't ask," Arthur assured, holding up a hand. Yet, his green eyes were piercing as he watched both men. "Most of us have had 'incidents'. As long as you have a handle on yourself, it's really no issue at all."
Gilbert nodded and Ludwig deflated just a bit.
Francis marched into the room then, Antonio on his heels, carrying too many plates to be physically possible, but somehow they managed. He had prepared something vegetarian with a stupidly difficult French name that Gilbert forgot immediately. Not that it mattered because it tasted absolutely heavenly. Gilbert had to be reminded of his manners thrice by a gentle nudge of his brother's toe against his shin.
"So," Antonio started, pointing his fork at Gilbert, "what grade?"
Gilbert almost choked. "Sixth."
"You'll have Peter in your class then," Arthur said. "Please do look out for him."
"He special to you or something?"
Arthur paused, pursing his lips. "He… has a lot going on right now. You'll hear."
Gilbert gave him a long, searching look, but Arthur ignored him, turning back to Ludwig. "If you do intend to pursue a career in politics, you might want to find time to speak with Toris Laurinaitis sometime. He's the treasurer of the town and good friends with the mayor; you might learn something useful."
The next day brought him to Berwald Oxenstierna's house. Tino Väinämöinen, their spouse, opened the door, assured him that Berwald's face was simply like that and that they had nothing against him personally. He left Gilbert slightly disconcerted, but hey, what else was new?
Berwald was a giant of a person, most likely due to his ice giant blood. They stood stiffly in the doorway, either glaring or staring at Gilbert awkwardly wringing his hands in the kitchen. Tino smiled warmly at Gilbert before standing on the tips of his toes and pressing a kiss to Berwald's cheek, chirping something about seeing them later tonight.
The slam of the front door spurred Gilbert into action, thrusting his hand toward the other and introducing himself. Berwald grunted, fingers firm, but not painful as they squeezed Gilbert's hand.
Berwald gestured to the kitchen table. "Coffee?"
"Would be nice." Gilbert grinned, drumming his fingers against the wood nervously. He watched the giant potter around, jumping slightly when they placed a tin of cookies on the table.
"Self-baked," came the explanation. Then, "Milk?"
"Neat. And no, thanks." Gilbert wondered if it was all right to reach for the tin and eat his nerves away. He doubted Berwald would appreciate.
Berwald took the seat opposite of his, lacing their fingers together, and Gilbert had the odd feeling he was back in university with his pedagogy teacher giving him the Beilschmidt-I-don't-think-you're-suitable-for-teaching-children-because-I-have-trouble-teaching-you talk.
"Taught kids before?" Berwald asked, but it was normal, and without judgement. Just simple curiosity.
"Yeah. I have five years of experience. Though, sixteen-to-eighteen-year olds are a different kind of kids, I suppose."
Berwald nodded. "Sixth-graders need guidance. A friend."
"Is this about Peter?" Gilbert asked, then almost wished he hadn't when Berwald glowered at him.
"What d'you know about Peter?"
Gilbert fidgeted in his seat, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Nothing, really. Arthur kind of mentioned that the kid needed someone to look out for him. That's all."
Berwald was silent long enough for the coffee machine to start beeping and they stood slowly, thoughtfully fiddling with cups and sugar. When a steaming mug was placed in front of Gilbert, Berwald took their seat as slowly as they had gotten out of it.
"Confidential," they grunted eventually. That really meant that Gilbert had to speak with the school psychologist and nose through the kid's file during the first week of school. Though, Berwald did add, "He's a good kid in shitty circumstances. It's good if they have adults they can be comfortable with, adults that listen."
"Look, I know chemistry teacher give me a reputation, but I used to be the cool teacher back home. I'll be great," Gilbert assured, leaning back in his chair as Berwald blinked at him. "I know what it's like to be in shitty situations. I just came out of one. Believe me, I'll be there for the kids."
Berwald nodded, tracing the pattern on their mug absently. "Good."
Gilbert sipped his coffee as conversation lulled, feeling just a little awkward. Berwald wasn't a person of many words, but they weren't a bad person, no matter how intimidating they appeared. Gilbert wondered just how the third-graders dealt with it.
Then Berwald asked how Gilbert had gotten their number, and Gilbert mentioned the principal, which then devolved in a slow, but surprisingly intriguing discussion on the supernatural in teaching positions.
"It's not so bad for me," Berwald said. "Height and good against the cold. I used to cause small blizzards when I sneezed, but no longer."
Gilbert snorted. "Damn, glad for that. I've got a handle on whatever I can do as well. I just freak people out because of my dashing looks." He brushed his hand through his white hair, though he smile fell as he added, "That, and my, um, aura. They can tell I'm not human, no matter if I dye my hair or wear contacts."
"Kids don't care." Berwald glanced at the table shortly. "It's the parents that worry. Usually. Not here. They worry for your inexperience, not your being."
"I hope. People always immediately assume the worst when they meet me." Gilbert settled his chin in the palm of his hand, staring out the window just past Berwald's head. "Sick and tired of being a stereotype."
Berwald hummed. They finished off their coffee, then asked, "You're going to meet Matthew too, right?"
"Yeah. Sunday." Gilbert gave them a curious look. "What's he like?"
"Kind. Very friendly. Alfred's half-brother."
"Oh, great."
Berwald smiled, a small quirk of their lips, then stood up to refill their mug. "You'll see.
The next morning, Gilbert was setting up his first classes as he nibbled at his breakfast. He used to never put a lot of thought in his lessons, mainly because he knew his material and the course book through and through, but now he was dealing with eleven-year-old children, no chemistry, and a variety of subjects he hadn't thought of for quite some time.
Berwald had given him some extra materials and advice on how to keep a handle on everything, which was certainly appreciated. Gilbert would have to pay extra attention to what he said and taught for now, until he had settled in and knew what to expect anyway.
The doorbell interrupted his muttering, a habit he had whenever he was alone, and he stumbled down the stairs.
Francis winked, eyeing Gilbert from tip to toe, and Gilbert realized belatedly that he was still in his pyjamas. Francis absolutely did not mind, neither did he mind following Gilbert up the stairs nor sitting down at his kitchen table and stealing bits of toast from Gilbert's breakfast. At least he was careful not to smudge Gilbert's notes as he peered at them.
"Coffee?" Gilbert asked, mainly because his own brain was still functioning on the dregs of some.
"No, that is absolutely not necessary." Francis smiled. "I just need you to put on something decent for public and then we'll be off."
Gilbert blinked at him. "Off? I… did we… had we…"
"Nope!" And Francis shooed him to the bathroom.
Half and hour later, he was more-or-less ready to move out, though he wasn't given a choice as Francis dragged him off. They walked toward the city centre, Francis chattering about nothing in particular, recognizing that Gilbert was only about twenty percent present.
It wasn't until they reached the first shops that Gilbert felt marginally awake enough to actually understand what Francis was saying. He was told of all the shops and their owners, Francis knowing every single one of them. He knew all the secrets, the gossip, the family history, and by the end of the morning, Gilbert felt as if he had known them all their lives as well.
"Oh, but you must come over for dinner again soon," Francis said after they exited the local shoe maker (divorced, two children, great-grandmother was a harpy, an absolute pro with leather).
"Sure." Gilbert shrugged, then grinned. "I bet anything you cook is a million times better than anything Lutz and I can come up with."
"That's a bet I'd be very willing to make." Francis took his hand and shook it, waggling his eyebrows. "How does next Friday work for you?"
"Great, probably. Something to look forward to after a whole week of relearning to be a teacher."
"I'm sure you'll do fine. Berwald has confidence in you."
Gilbert stared at him. "They do?"
Francis hummed, giving Gilbert's arm a comforting squeeze. "You'd be surprised. They take teaching very seriously. If they hadn't thought you fit for the job, you would've known."
"Oh." Gilbert's attention was caught by the colourful display of the shop they had stopped in front of. There was something oddly alluring about the place, and he tried to peer through the glass to learn more of Mindful Tailoring.
He was so caught up by all the colours that he didn't notice Francis steering him to the door, the little dingle of the bell startling him from his daze.
Francis clapped his shoulder, wished him bonne chance and left, the door closing behind him.
Gilbert stood on the welcome mat, slowly getting used to the bright light illuminating all the colours and patterns and walls hidden by large cabinets containing buttons, needles, pins, everything a person could ever need for sewing. A woman perked up behind the counter, green eyes sweeping over him.
"Good afternoon, Gilbert," she said, smiling. She shimmied her way toward him, taking his hands in hers, staring into his eyes intently. "Welcome! Making friends with Francis already, I see? Oh, but you didn't bring Ludwig, though I suppose Toni is keeping him busy. I'll talk to him some other time."
Gilbert blinked. "I, uh, hello?" he said slowly, and wondered if it'd be rude to take his hands back because hers were a little sweaty, but then she chuckled, let go and patted his cheek kindly.
"I'm Emma. Sorry, I have a bad habit of, well, mind-reading. Sorry." She did not sound sorry at all as she stepped back, brushing her skirt a little absently.
"Oh."
Emma winked as he tried to wrap his mind around that. "You don't have to worry. Thoughts are private and it's kind of disconcerting to pry into them, you know? But I like to just glance when I first meet someone to grasp their character." She nodded at him. "You have good character, Gilbert."
Gilbert blinked, narrowing his eyes as he said, "Thanks? That's still… invasive."
Emma shrugged. "We've had some, ah, incidents. But I don't touch secrets. Not unless I really have to and that hasn't happened since the 1920s, so let's keep it that way, hm?" She gave him a once over, then pointed to a corner holding a full body mirror. "Stand over there, will you?"
He wasn't given much of a choice as she guided him and had him spread his arms as he faced the mirror. He almost expected something to happen to his reflection, but his hair was a white as ever and his eyes had that same old red glint.
A tape measure wrapped around his torso and Emma started rifling through her many cabinets for tools.
Gilbert glanced back at her. "Emma, I really don't need new clothes. I don't have the money either."
She smiled and gave his arm a squeeze. "The first is always on the house, sweetie." She winked, then left Gilbert to the tape measure's mercy.
Gilbert felt a little uncomfortable, but he figured there was little he could do. And he couldn't say no to something that could impress the parents on his first day, especially because the nicest thing he owned was the suit jacket he had worn for his graduation five years ago. Suffice to say, he doubted it fit anymore.
"So," Emma said as she rifled through the many, many, many, different colours and patterns of fabric she owned, "a teacher?"
Gilbert shrugged. "Kids are neat. Sometimes. And I liked chemistry, a lot, so then that happened. No need for high school teachers here, though, so then I'll deal with the kiddies. I'm lucky they're desperate, to be honest, because I'm not really qualified to be a primary school teacher."
"Cute." Emma grinned, returning with a deep burgundy-patterned fabric, allowing Gilbert to feel the texture. It was thick and surprisingly soft. "Can I ask about your family?"
"Lutz is seven years younger than me. Mom and dad have passed away. The only grandparents we have, my dad's, still live in Leipzig." Gilbert hesitated, scuffing his shoes. "I don't think Lutz really remembers our parents. He was four when they died."
"I'm sorry." Emma paused as she made the scissors cut out the appropriate lengths of fabric. "Were you close?"
"Dad was a teacher," Gilbert said with a small, sad smile. "Mom used to work in her own flower shop, but she had to sell it. They were great, and in love, and did not deserve the end they got."
Emma touched his arm, a small waved of comfort spreading through his veins and settling in his heart. "I really am sorry."
He looked at her, breathing a little shaky, and he blinked rapidly, abruptly turning back to staring at his reflection in the mirror. Emma helped him into the jacket, the fabric still breathing magic, and he hoped that when she would speak with Ludwig, she wouldn't force that on him. A needle worked on the shiny silver buttons as Emma made it fit his frame perfectly.
It was a rather gaudy jacket, the dark, saturated red matching his eyes, but it was nice and new and honestly fit him fantastically. He tugged at the lapels, puffing out his chest as he turned this and that way in the mirror, Emma hovering behind him with a small smile gracing her lips.
"Thank you," he said, meeting her eyes.
"Anytime, Gilbert. Anytime."
Gilbert had seen Alfred exactly once since they had moved in on Monday, and he could confirm that his cupcakes were, indeed, divine. He had also discovered that Alfred's necromancing was limited to people that really should not be dead, and it involved a lot of discussion with the triumvirate. Really, Alfred was just a lawyer with very strong convictions on death and morality.
What he hadn't been told was that the necromancing was all that kept Matthew Williams alive and attached to Earth. Frankly, it was all that was keeping him attached, period.
Gilbert was really, honestly trying not to stare because he had been raised right, but it was hard not to trail the scar that carved over Matthew's nose, down to his mouth. The neon green thread keeping his neck attached was not great either, nor the sky blue in his left wrist or the red in his right elbow. Even Matthew's eyes were a little disconcerting, a light purple hue to them as he watched Gilbert with interest.
"You can ask, you know," Matthew said, brushing his hair behind his ear, revealing some yellow stitches that vanished below his shirt. "I don't mind nearly as much as Alfred does. I'm quite used to it."
"No, it's fine. Just, um, well, unexpected." Gilbert scratched his neck awkwardly. "I mean, just—how do the kids, um…"
"Oh, they think it's pretty awesome after they get over their curiosity. I always let them choose the colours." Matthew smiled, shifting a little in his chair. "The parents are used to it by now too, though they were a little worried when Al and I just moved here. Besides, Daan does a pretty good job of assuring everyone I'm a perfectly normal and sane human being. I'm just a little, uh, not-dead."
"How does that—" Gilbert waved his hand, trying to convey not so bluntly what he meant. "How does that work?"
"Being undead?"
"I don't know? Antonio is that too, right?"
Matthew thought for a moment. "Vampires are a kind of demonic undead, I think. Or maybe it's more of a disease? I don't know their technicalities, but for me, well." He chuckled, though it was somewhat uneasy. "As Alfred described it, he caught my soul—or whatever it is what makes a human, a living human—before it could leave to wherever dead souls go, and put it back in my body. You know, after he sewed it back together."
"No offence, but, uh, gross."
"Oh, it was." Matthew nodded. "I passed out the moment I woke up again because it freaked me out a lot."
"Right." Gilbert drummed his fingers against the armrest. "How old are you?"
"I was born in 1890, died in 1914. Alfred's four years younger than me."
Gilbert whistled. "You're immortal?"
"Technically, I'm already dead," Matthew said with a smile. "It's Alfred's magic, as well as Lovino's and Emma's that's keeping me functioning. But, yeah, for as far as I'm aware, Al is immortal due to the nature of his contract and so am I because my soul is inherently linked to his now."
Gilbert shifted in his chair, pursing his lips. "Contract?"
"Al made a pact with a demon like an idiot, didn't read the contract, and got stuck in a pretty bad deal until he managed to weasel his way out through abuse of the fine lettering."
"You're joking?" Gilbert stared as Matthew nodded. "That's fucking impressive."
"He studied law just for that honestly." Matthew shrugged.
"Vindictive."
Matthew laughed. "Just a little."
They side-tracked from there, returning to the topic of school and how the children would deal with the presence of a half-demon ("Like you're a teacher, but one that might claim their soul if they don't do their homework, I bet.").
Matthew picked at the stitching in his wrist, mulling something over. Gilbert let him, deciding that it should be perfectly all right for him to pillage the crystal bowl holding bonbons. Then Matthew tilted his head, meeting Gilbert's eyes curiously.
"Are you immortal?"
Gilbert blinked and sat back in his chair, frowning. Slowly, somewhat hesitantly, he said, "I'm not really sure."
Matthew hummed. "Lovino probably knows. You haven't met him yet, have you?"
"Last one on the list, or something." Gilbert really didn't know what to think of the last person of the triumvirate. Arthur had been polite, if a little serious, while Emma had been friendly, if somewhat unnerving, so Gilbert had no idea what to expect with Lovino.
"Well, I have to pick up my, ah, medicines today. Would you like to come with?"
Lovino Vargas' shop, Perimaktria, was located in an alley off Main Street. It was as much a shop as it was a pharmacy and a doctor's office. Lovino's knowledge of medicine and magic was vast and frankly unchallenged within the town, so he was considered the resident doctor for most non-specialist complaints.
But it was mostly a shop, with elaborate window displays advertising for either of Lovino's skills. Knickknacks of various sorts were splayed out, potion bottles showed off next to normal day-to-day medicine, flowers, herbs and insects on sale, and Gilbert found his attention momentarily caught by an engraved garnet set in a golden amulet.
Something pushed against his chest, and he recognized it as a repellent, a soft warning that he shouldn't come any closer. It curled around the amulet, not strong enough to actually hurt, only causing a mildly uncomfortable feeling.
And then it was overpowered by something else entirely, sheer magic pouring through cracks and spilling from behind the door. Overflowing and deeply unsettling, but so very invigorating as well, a warmth so old and familiar, settling in his blood, in his bones, in his very soul. Gilbert breathed deeply, relishing the power for a moment before following Matthew inside.
The shop's interior was cluttered, but not messy. Everything seemed to have its own spot, little signs above the aisles indicating what could be found, from cold medicine to anti-anxiety potions to sweet-smelling herbs hanging on the walls in neat little bundles.
Matthew dinged the bell atop the counter as Gilbert observed a bunch of vials labelled in Latin. He took one containing a murky yellow liquid, holding it against the light.
"You break it, you pay for it, Beilschmidt," a voice drawled and Gilbert almost did break it. He quickly returned it, turning to the dark man behind the counter and holding up his hands in innocence.
If Arthur Kirkland had been underwhelming, Lovino Vargas was unexpected. Dark brown hair, freckles and a slumped posture told one story, but the sharp, golden-flecked eyes showed many more. He embodied both a demure and overwhelming presence, magic tightly contained yet flowing freely, the very source of what filled the shop.
Gilbert swallowed.
Lovino blinked slowly, chin pillowed in his hand as he leaned on the counter. Three rings adorned it, seven others decorating the hand drumming against the wood, red nails reflecting the overhead lights. More jewellery pierced his ears, gemstones glinting, and a simple black cloak rested on his shoulders. He looked stunning, and handsome, sharp features that brought out everything beautiful about him.
Then, Lovino's eyes flicked to Matthew, and the spell snapped like a thin, golden chord. As Gilbert took a moment to recover, Matthew and Lovino spoke in hushed tones until Lovino stepped away from the counter and vanished into one of the aisles, cloak flaring, returning with two bottles and something that looked a lot like a lemon square.
Gilbert glanced at Lovino, found him already looking at him, and then didn't know what to do. Matthew touched Gilbert's shoulder, grounding him, just a little. But then Matthew's smile turned apologetic and he ducked outside, leaving Gilbert alone with Lovino.
"What the hell was that?" He wasn't so much angry as he was unsettled, confused by the strange pull of magic and that strange, connecting familiarity.
Lovino just raised an eyebrow. "What was what?"
"You—you did something! Are doing something! I can feel it." Gilbert gestured vaguely, pausing when he noticed Lovino's confused expression.
Straightening his back, Lovino slowly strode from behind the counter, purposeful yet careful, eyes never leaving Gilbert's. The magic Lovino exuded made Gilbert feel incredibly on edge, but he refused to be pushed into a corner by it, squaring his shoulders as Lovino stopped right in front of him, close enough for Gilbert to catch a whiff of sweet-smelling spices.
The magic swirled and swelled, taking over Gilbert's senses, drowning them. Gilbert had to close his eyes, breathing harshly as the magic coursed through him, warm and powerful, everything and nothing, making it impossible to think clearly. He felt his instincts, just barely, wanting to push back—to lash out, but even if Gilbert desperately wanted to be released, he couldn't let himself slip. He never had and never would; his mother had taught him so much better than that.
What he did dare was to let himself fall, into a place where he was everything and nothing too, where he could see Lovino first, or his soul, bright and loud and demanding, yet burdened and melancholic. Reaching further out, he found Matthew, and he was strange and out of place, small, unobtrusive, but a person and still very much alive. He flowed down the street, touching upon people he had never met, living their normal, daily lives. He found Emma, kind if a little sad, and Arthur, strong but terrified. Then Francis, Alfred, Berwald, Tino, Antonio, Ludwig—
He was jarred from wherever he had gone by a firm hand around his wrist, a softer touch against his cheek, and Lovino's golden eyes peered down at him, so very intensely. Gilbert slowly felt his surroundings return to him, realized it was the ceiling beyond Lovino's head and felt the cold, hard floor underneath him. He tried to sit up, but Lovino moved his hand from his cheek to his chest and pushed him back down.
"Stay put," he ordered, voice clipped and tight, so Gilbert did as he was told. By the looks of Lovino, Gilbert had done something he wasn't supposed to, and a weight pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
It became even harder when Lovino released his wrist, the little grounding touch he so desperately craved, but then Lovino pressed his hand against his forehead, and for a moment, magic seemed to vanish from existence, giving Gilbert the mental space to piece himself back together.
They stayed like that for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time as Gilbert sank back into himself, felt everything settle where it should be and dared to open his eyes again. Lovino's fingers had absently trailed into his bangs, and Gilbert found the other sitting cross-legged, eyes unfocused.
"What—" Gilbert winced at the tremor in his voice, then again when Lovino's eyes snapped to him immediately. They were a little kinder, a little softer around the edges, and Lovino's fingers trailed from his hair, over his temple, along the line of his cheekbone before falling off Gilbert's face altogether. Magic slowly seeped back into Gilbert's being the further those fingers moved, and Gilbert sighed when it all returned to him. "What happened?"
Lovino pursed his lips, hand settling in his lap as Gilbert slowly pushed himself up, still feeling a little out of sorts. "You tapped into my magic."
Gilbert stared at him. "I did?"
"Yes." Lovino made an intricate movement with his hand and a steaming mug appeared his other. He pressed it into Gilbert's hands. "Drink."
Gilbert did, mainly because he didn't quite feel like unpacking what exactly that meant. The chocolate milk was thick and sweet, with just a hint of spice and peppermint, reminding him of Christmas holidays with his grandparents. He sipped it, sighing as warmth spread through his body. Lovino hadn't moved from beside him, though he was no longer paying attention to Gilbert, thoughtfully staring at the shelves opposite him.
"I'm going to ask you a couple of questions. You're going to answer them as completely and honestly as you can. That means I don't want to hear 'I don't know'. You find a way to explain," Lovino said then.
Gilbert nodded, shifting to a more comfortable position on the floor. He leaned back against the counter, bringing his chocolate milk back to his lips.
"Do you know how you did it?"
"I…" Gilbert trailed off, frowning at his mug. It was an immediate 'not sure', but then again, that wasn't true either. He had a vague idea, but no clue on how to put it into words. Thinking back to it made him feel terribly cold. Lovino noticed and gestured to the mug, telling him to keep drinking.
Gilbert took a while to figure out an answer, but Lovino didn't rush him, just sat quietly, peacefully, soothingly. Eventually, Gilbert said, "I allowed myself to fall."
Lovino tilted his head. His expression didn't really give anything away, but then he asked, "So you fell; do you know where?"
Gilbert shook his head. "No." He paused. "It was like, hm—like I wasn't me at all, and you weren't you, and Matthew wasn't Matthew, but we were all still there. I think… Your souls, I think I felt them."
"Did you feel your own?"
"No."
Lovino drummed his fingers against his knee, contemplating. Gilbert expected more in-depth questions on what he had seen exactly or what he had felt, perhaps even more questions on what he had done, but instead Lovino turned to him again, plainly curious, dismissing the topic entirely.
"Why didn't you push back?"
"What?"
Huffing impatiently, Lovino jabbed a finger against Gilbert's sternum. "You have magic. You're brimming with it. When I pushed, why didn't you push back?"
"Are you mad?" And he slapped Lovino's finger away, almost spilling the contents of his seemingly bottomless mug as he righted himself. "That's so fucking dangerous!"
Lovino scoffed. "You suppressed your instincts. No one is supposed to just do that."
Gilbert's mouth dropped open. "You pushed that far on purpose?"
"I need to know what I'm dealing with here," Lovino said harshly. "And so far I have more questions than I have answers."
"Listen, you don't have to worry about me," Gilbert said, placing the mug on the floor and leaning toward Lovino. "I have no intention of using magic. Not beyond like, calming down my brother or the children."
Now Lovino stared, confused. He grabbed Gilbert's chin and titled his head back, peering deeply into his eyes. Gilbert wrapped a hand around his wrist, but couldn't move beyond that; Lovino didn't let him.
"You don't?" Lovino sounded borderline upset.
"Hell no!"
Lovino released him immediately, fingers closing momentarily around one of the pendants around his neck. "You don't," he repeated, softer, thoughtfully, just a touch of honest wonder underlying it.
Gilbert rubbed his chin, scowling at Lovino. Now that he had more or less recovered from Lovino's magic, his annoyance finally caught up to the situation. "Are you always like this?"
"Just with aggravatingly obtuse half-demons," Lovino snapped, brushing his hands on his jumper before climbing to his feet. He glanced down at Gilbert, any concern washed away in favour of plain condescension. "I suppose Arthur and Emma were right about you; condensed and well-trained, but horribly repressed."
"Hey!" Gilbert scrambled to his feet, relishing a little in the height he had over Lovino. "I'd rather be repressed than pushing my shit unto others!"
Lovino's eyes flashed as he leaned right into Gilbert's space, height be damned, and he hissed, "Repression will lead to an absolute meltdown, you dickhead. You're a walking Chernobyl and I will not have it!"
"Well, guess what!" Gilbert followed the sweep of Lovino's cloak, stopping abruptly when Lovino swivelled around, hand slamming against an empty wooden shelve next to the window display as his other twisted in the fabric of Gilbert's shirt, yanking him down to his level with surprising ease.
"Listen here, you dense bastard. There is no need to repress anything here. You're more of a danger keeping that shit inside than if you just let go." Lovino released him, searching his expression for a tense moment before sighing, holding up a hand to stave off Gilbert's response.
He turned toward the window, moving aside pots and boxes and flowers and gemstones, leaving Gilbert to stew in silence for a while.
Really, the man had a lot of nerve to delve into a part of Gilbert he hadn't allowed himself to touch for years. He couldn't just let that go without severe repercussions. He might have been taught how to control his magic, and he had tried his best to teach Ludwig similarly, but his mother had always been so very careful with magic, so scared herself of what might happen to them were it discovered her sons were just like her. And rightly so too.
Lovino touched his arm, and it dissipated the angry fog clouding Gilbert's mind, giving Gilbert a moment to collect himself again.
"This," he said, and he showed Gilbert the garnet amulet from before, "is a charm."
"I know," Gilbert said dryly. "It warned me not to come close earlier. Maybe I should've listened."
"Maybe." And Gilbert did not miss the hint of amusement in Lovino's voice.
"And charms don't work on demons," Gilbert added.
"Nope. They do not," Lovino agreed, but he clasped it around Gilbert's neck anyway.
Lovino pressed his hand against the stone, placing it just above Gilbert's heart, and closed his eyes, forcing Gilbert to do the same. A pleasant warmth spread from the amulet, to the tips of his toes and the ends of his hair.
"Charms don't protect demons from magic, but then again, you do not need protection." Lovino let the amulet fall from his hand, wiping them on his skirt. "You don't want to deal with you magic; that's perfectly fine." Lovino's tone suggested how not-fine he was with that, but before Gilbert could comment, Lovino continued, "I changed the spell. It should now keep your magic at levels that allow me to sleep with a somewhat clean conscience at night."
"You're curtailing my magic."
"Are you complaining?"
"No." Gilbert stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I thought you'd like, I don't know, try to convince me to take lessons or something."
Lovino scowled. "Have you been listening to anything I've been saying today? You're well-trained, well-disciplined. I don't know who, I don't know how, and I really don't care either, but your magic is tamed and controlled. And you, for some reason I don't want to know either, choose not to be in touch with your magic altogether, not beyond quiet emotive control, so we improvise."
"Oh." Gilbert watched as Lovino fiddled with the golden brooch keeping his cloak fixed in place, unclasping it and allowing the garment to fall to the floor. It glimmered before vanishing. "Thanks, I guess."
Lovino shook his head, frowning. "It's a damn shame, but whatever. You do you." He brushed a hand through his hair, curls shining auburn in the low lamplight.
Gilbert shrugged. He didn't quite understand why Lovino was so upset with Gilbert's unused magic, not when demon magic was supposed to be so much worse than any other. Shouldn't Lovino want him to keep that locked away, to protect this town he so painstakingly set up?
Lovino turned abruptly. "Give me your hand," he ordered, holding out his own.
Gilbert felt it was perfectly reasonable for him to be a little distrustful by now. "What? Why should I?"
"Gilbert." Lovino's voice held no room for argument, so Gilbert did as told reluctantly, stiffening when Lovino caught it tightly.
Tilting his hand so the back of it faced up, Lovino breathed deeply, eyes falling shut as magic spluttered between them.
Gilbert's breath hitched as gold lettering engraved itself into his skin, forming what Gilbert recognized as Greek letters. He was vaguely aware of Lovino muttering in front of him, more focused on what could only be described as ice cold fire carving into his skin.
Just as suddenly as the spell had begun, it sizzled to a halt.
Lovino's eyelashes fluttered as he turned Gilbert's hand enough to see the marks vanishing into the depths of Gilbert's skin and he squeezed in quiet reassurance.
"What did you—"
Lovino tipped his head back, meeting Gilbert's eyes.
"Gilbert Maria Beilschmidt," he said and his other hand covered where the marks had been. "As officiated by Lavinius Aineías Apolousis Vargas, reviewed and agreed to by Arthur Kirkland and Emma Rosalie Peeters, witches of the triumvirate of Anthos, you have transcended the barrier laid before you." Lovino squeezed his hand again, a hint of playfulness sparkling in his eyes. "Welcome to Anthos, Washington. Population: two thousand eight hundred and forty."
You ever write something so self-indulgent you can't even put down the pen because you're enjoying writing it so much? Yeah… this was it for me.
(also eyy watch me abuse Greek and Latin in names of characters and locations. Don't take them too seriously. They have a purpose, but also like, eh)
BUT yeah this is the Spooky Town AU that might become a series if people have interest? Like, I have lots of ideas and purposes for characters and ships and stuff, for example Lud and Feli's story or the Beilschmidt past or just plain old slice of life stuff if I think of things (or if people request so?). Leave me a comment if you'd like to see more because this is a universe I very much enjoy so I hope y'all do too?
Originally posted on the 30th of October on AO3. Last of my catching up spree!