At night, with no fire to offer warmth, Ivan's cavern became a frozen mass. The air was numbing ice against any bared skin, and even when buried under layers of animal hides, the cold still managed to seep down into the bone and make sleep almost impossible. Alfred hadn't realized this the previous few nights, so his last night was spent curled on his side, teeth chattering and limbs trembling. "Goddammit," he had thought, clamping his eyes shut. "Why is it so cold?"

The only difference between that night and all the others was the lack of another body against his. There was only bed in the cavern, and Alfred hadn't been stupid enough to think Ivan would let him keep the amenity to himself. Therefore, every night Alfred would climb into the mess of blankets and hides first and get comfortable; then Ivan moved in next to him. Between the two grown men, there was little space, so physical contact was expected. "But Ivan's kinda cold all on his own. Maybe I warm him up, and the heat grows from there?" he wondered, nuzzling into one of the few cloth blankets.

The cloth smelled raw and had a slightly bitter hint that came with aging. When Ivan was there, his scent overpowered any other, filling Alfred's dreams with towering pine trees, winsome waters, and succulent smoke. Oh, how he wished he could return to those vast fantasies!

Sleep eluded him; however, he allowed himself to remain in the icy tomb until after the sun brought forward a new day. Even then, his body willed him to linger, begging him to wait for Ivan to return so he could finally catch some rest. The image of the demon's pained face flashed through his mind, and he knew. "He's not coming back. Not as long as he knows I'm leaving."

Alfred heaved himself to his feet, and after ten minutes of rummaging around, he located his original clothing. The shirt was no longer covered in blood, but there were small tears here and there, telling the story of Alfred's fear filled climb up the mountain. His pants were in worse condition. He hadn't been able to remove all of the blood, so little rusty spot littered the calves and outer tights. The cuts and gashes were worst along the bottom hems; in some parts, whole sections of cloth were either missing or hanging onto dear life by a thread.

Waiting for him at the mouth of where the lake fed into the river was Ivan. Most of his face was hidden by his scarf; he had pulled the article up over the very tip of his nose while he hiked his shoulders up and forward like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. Light violet bags stained the pale skin under his eyes; his hair stuck up here and there, telling of his own rough night. When Alfred came to stand in front of Ivan, his eyes focused on the grass, the water, the round pebbles on the ground- anything but the man before him.

Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat, but his voice to trembled slightly as he said, "Ivan, I have to go back. My family needs me." The ability to blink was lost to him as he waited for Ivan's reaction. Part of him wanted the demon to rage at him. Beat him for leaving Ivan alone. Damn him for his selfishness. Anything. Any affront or injury dealt to him then would have been enough encouragement to never look back. If Alfred could say that he suffered damage, be it emotional or physical, at the hands of Ivan, he would be free of any comfort or joy that tied him to the man.

"I know you must," Ivan began slowly, choosing his word as though each was a precious jewel, "but nothing will be the same." Finally, their eyes clashed. Ivan's smoldered; his impending dejection swirled as dark purple exhaust in his irises, turning them into puddles of a hazy poison. Any elation Alfred's presence had offered had been torn away and discarded, but the scar would remain, waiting to be alleviated by the impossible.

Tears crawled like insects into Alfred's eyes; he was the first to look away. He gasped in air and clenched his eyelids shut. In the pit of Alfred's stomach, he felt the sharp kick of disgrace. The guilt was like a knife, digging around under the flesh and damaging any organ it found. He wanted to comply; all he had to do was remain, and Ivan's torture would be deserted. The water was blinked out of his eyes before he stood straight. Again, he met Ivan's gaze.

"I'll miss you."

Ivan raised his hand. He cupped the curvature of Alfred's face. His thumb brushed against Alfred's cheekbone, making the smaller man shudder. "And I, you," he whispered. His voice carried softly for a moment and died.

Alfred pulled away. Without the light touch, his skin felt bare, exposed. One last glance of Ivan, he allowed himself. That image of the demon would forever be burnt into his memory. "Even with age, I won't let this memory fade," he thought. Then, he turned on his heels and marched. Not once did he look back.

Time passed in a blur. One moment, he was in the cavern, cuddling into heaps of cloth for warmth and waiting so patiently to be joined by another; the next, he was standing inside the mist, staring at the village through the moving white filter. The prickling in his knees and calves told him all he needed to know. He had been standing there for an hour now, motionless. "In the mist, I am dead," he told himself, cocking his head to the side.

How much time had he spent watching the mist as a child? Before the pass time had almost been a game. He would count how many figures he saw among the tossing and twirling white puffs. There were tall spindly ones and round corpulent ones that waddled past him before fading. There were ones with foot long teeth, glowing eyes, long tentacles, multiple heads or limbs, spines sticking out of their backs, tongues that hung to the ground, and so-on. He use to give himself nightmares thinking about what may lay two feet away, claiming it was all for fun.

And there he stood, two feet on the opposite side with no monsters trying to devour him. Something akin to disappointment made his stomach clench. "It'd be easier if they all shot fire at you instead of helping you," he told a nearby tree. "If they all tried to kill you, you wouldn't feel like shit for leaving them. You wouldn't stare at your home, wondering if you really should go back." He patted the tree twice and sighed. "It's getting late."

"Yup, really late. Sun's set and everything. And I'm tired. I'm talking to a tree for fuck's sake," he sighed again. He buried his face in his hands and groaned, loud.

"W-who's there?" a voice yelled out of the darkness. A lantern appeared through the mist, but it dared not penetrate the veil. If Alfred was seeing things correctly, the lantern was shaking violently. He hadn't realized that nightly patrols started; they usually waited until an hour after sun down. "Show yourself, Demon!"

Alfred sighed for a third time. "I'm going to die young, sighing all the time," he grumbled, shaking his head. He moved forward, holding his hands up. "Calm down, dude. It's me." He stepped out of the mist onto the dirt road. He took a quick glance at the guard and recognized the man within seconds. Only three men in the village shook so much, and two weren't part of the patrol. "Sup, Toris."

Toris' jaw dropped and shut, dropped and shut. The lantern clashed to the ground; glass shot out several ways, and embers danced before being suffocated by gravel. Still gaping like a fish, the man muttered something that sounded like the love child of "ghost" and "monster." He then shot down the road, aiming for the fishery and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Alfred watched him running and couldn't help but chuckle. "See? I wasn't gone long. Nothing's changed. Toris still's jumpy as a cat. Ludwig will still scold me. I'll work down in the lumber yard. Help out in the garden. Everything will be fine. Everything will be normal." Grinning a wide-tooth smile, Alfred started after the fleeing man. He couldn't run, his feet wouldn't allow him, but he made well enough time.

The racket attracted the other guards to the fishery as well, so when he did finally limp over, there was a crowd of nineteen men. Toris' panic had spread to some of the others. Shouts of war rang through the air. "We're under attack." "We need to evacuate the women and children." "We need to fight!" Others insisted on waiting for Ludwig to form a plan. Most just wanted to know what the hell was going on.

Ludwig shouldered through the pack, glowering. "Everyone shut up," he shouted, commanding their attention in a single swoop. Eyes turned to him. He was dressed for the night, a tight black shirt that clung to his well formed physique and loose trousers with a short sword hanging on either side. He raised his lantern high above his head and scanned the crowd. "Who caused this chaos?" he demanded. His tone was harsh and merciless.

"Me." Toris stepped toward Ludwig. He didn't meet the man's eyes; his hands were clasped in front of him.

"This better be good, Toris." The light was lowered. "How would you feel if you saw the men that are meant to protect you fleeing with their tails between their legs? Would you feel safe? Content? The comfort and protection of our people is our responsibility. Without them, we are nothing. Lost souls without loved one. Without us, they are as good as dead. Acting out of fear will only harm them and yourself. Do you understand?"

"Sir," Toris stammered, "I know how important it is to remain calm. I can handle demons– " There was a snort from the crowd as he said this, but a glare from Ludwig silenced them. "As I was saying, demons are one thing, but I am not prepared to face ghosts." Now, whispers of specters rose up. He looked up at Ludwig, eyes wide and daring the man to call him a liar. If Toris was anything, a storyteller he was not.

Alfred moved closer to the pack and cleared his throat. His grunt was lost admits grumbles of the supernatural.

Ludwig shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you certain you saw a ghost?"

"Completely."

"How can you be so sure? I'm not doubting that you saw something, Toris. Don't give me that look. Some demons may be able to take a semi-permeable form."

"Hey," Alfred said, trying again to bring attention to himself. It didn't work. "Maybe I really am a ghost."

"I know it wasn't a demon. It couldn't have been."

"How can you be so confident–"

"It was Alfred," Toris said, quickly cutting Ludwig off mid-sentence. The revelation birthed a second silence from the men. "I heard a growl, and when I demanded that the demon show itself, Alfred stepped out of the mist. I know it was him."

"Hey," Alfred repeated, taking advantage of the quiet. Heads whipped to face him. Eyes grew round. Swords were drawn and aimed at his neck before he had time to react. Steel reflected fire light into his eyes, and he could see his own image in the blades. "Holy crap." Jumping back, he raised his arms in a surrendering gesture.

If shock had passed through Ludwig, it hadn't shown. The same glare remained cemented on his face as he came to stand in front of Alfred. He rose his lantern to view the teen's face. In the dull light, the scabbing on his cheek was nothing but a flat black mass, but other than that, his face was the same. Defiance sparked in his eyes; even his resting face held the shadows of a smirk, a grin. "Alfred."

"Luddy," he responded without batting an eye. "I'd love to have a rousing conversation with you, but I'm tired and hungry."

Ludwig held the lantern out, and with hesitant understanding, someone took it from him. He moved closer to the other. There was little space between them now; he could smell the teen's breath. Alfred carried the scent of wild flowers and pine trees. He placed his hands on either of Alfred's shoulders; he noticed how the boy cringed under his grip. "You're injured."

"You should see the other guy. It's probably still looking for someone to roast alive. It wasn't too pleased when I headbutted 'im."

Ludwig blinked twice. "You headbutted...a demon?"

"Knocked it right the fuck out." He stopped. There was no way he could get out of this acting all high and mighty. To the others, his life must have been a living Hell for the past five days. He should have been living in fear; yet, there he stood, mostly healthy and completely sound. "I ran up slope to get away, 'cause I wasn't sure when it would come back around. I lost my armor and boots along the way, too. I seriously jacked up my feet. Cuts and everything, you know? I found an old animal den burrowed in the land. The river was right there, so I didn't have to worry about dying of thirst. There were berries growing here and there, so I wouldn't starve. I ended up staying there until I felt strong enough to come back."

It was a shit story, he knew it. The glint in Ludwig's eyes told him that the man saw through him, too. What was he supposed to say? "Oh, a friendly demon took me in and made certain I was all fine and dandy"? His jaw clenched. If he revealed Ivan, without a doubt the pack would charge up the mountain and try to kill him. "I can't let that happen."

"What happened to you?" he asked, glaring at the taller man. "I came back to that clearing, and everyone was gone. I wasn't too far away. I should have been able to hear you shouting orders or something. It would have been nice to have some warning that I was about to be attacked by a fire flinging monster."

Now, Ludwig turned his head, eye cast down. His body was tense with every muscle clenched and ready to strike. Those who had been in the same group during the hunt did the same. Discomfort rolled off their bodies and hollowed their faces, turning them gaunt. "I made a decision." His words sunk the moment they were spoken as though they were too heavy to be carried with the wind.

"We became aware of the demon's presence before it came upon us, and a plan had to be created within moments. It was an A class demon; they are difficult to kill, even with numbers favoring our side. There were only two options available to us at that time: one was to engage the demon. We would have prevailed, I do not doubt that, but we would have lost more lives than the reward was worth. My goal on the hunts isn't to carelessly allow the blood of my brothers to be spilled for glory or money. It's to gain footing against the demons and reestablish the security of the village.

"The only other choice was to create an escape route. Three of the fastest men would stay behind as the remainder retraced their steps and redirected the path around the demon. The retreating group had to move silently; the slightest sound, the smallest snapping twig, or hushed crunching leaf could have given away their position. The three that faced the demon had to lure it away from the group, even if it meant becoming lost in demon territory. We all know the risks of going into the mist," he said as though he had to remind everyone.

"The plan went as expected. The runners lost the demon quickly, and no one was injured. However, we had to move quickly to put more distance between us and it. There was no insurance that our rerouting would work once more. A ranks tend to adapt more quickly than humans due. There's no helping that. East of the village and south of the mountains there is a low valley; we reached there by three and gathered our bearings. We crossed paths with a C rank, and Matthias was wounded in the fight. From there on, we were a mess, too trigger happy to keep a level head.

"By the time we came back to where we lost you, we assumed you were long dead. We found your discarded articles. We saw smoldering ash and burn marks. We followed the trail of blood to the river. It was the only conclusion we could manage."

"I guess I can't blame you," Alfred said after mulling over Ludwig's story. "Good of the few over the good of the one, and all that jazz, right?" He shifted his weight to his heels and bit his bottom lip. Judging by the look the men continued to send him, he wasn't leaving anytime soon. "How's Matthias?" he asked, hoping to shift the topic of conversation away from him. The diversion worked, somewhat. News of Matthias' condition carried on for a few moments, and this opened the flood ways for casual chatter among friends.

Ludwig said, "While we're standing here, flapping our jaws, the village is in danger. Everyone get back to patrols. Toris, you can go home. We don't need any other abnormalities this night." He watched each of the men disperse to their appropriate destination with a silent judgment. Emotions battled within him when he thought of Alfred. Above all, he felt rage. Everything he went through- his guilt and remorse of losing a hunter, his mourning with the teen's family, his speaking with Arthur- all of it had been for nothing. A waste of time produced by teen's inability to get his ass back to the village sooner. At the same time, he was concerned. How had Alfred survived? Most men wouldn't spend an hour out in the mist alone; yet, he managed five days. He was barely an adult, still stupid and naive. He shouldn't have even been on the hunt in the first place. A final, smaller emotion also rested in his chest. Relief that he hadn't allowed one of his men to die kept him level. The hunt may have been a failure, but he had not. "Boy," he growled, exposing his anger, "how did you really survive?"

Taking a step back, Alfred's face adopted neutrality. Eyes glazed over and mouth forming a grim line, shadows clung to the contours of his face, making him appear years older. Maturity was an unfitting mask; yet, he wore it as though it had always existed, simply hiding beneath the surface. "I'll never tell you what happened out there." In a moment, the mask shattered. Alfred's eyes widened in horror. The words burned his tongue and scorched his throat with a fiery remembrance.

They were the same words Arthur had spat at him the first time he bombarded his brother for details of his demon killing. They were the same words Arthur raged at him after his accident.

He had never thought it possible that he imitate his brother. They were too different, or they should have been. That didn't stop his tone from coming out with the same weight and intensity he remembered from all those years ago. There was such a firm finalizing edge to his voice. The topic was done, laid to rest with the mixture of fury and misplaced grace only Arthur seemed to manage. And it frightened him to no end.

"Look," he said, quietly now, "I just want to go home. See my family. Sleep. I'm not... feeling like myself."

The flood of emotions conflicting Alfred hadn't gone unnoticed; ignoring them would have been more difficult than addressing them. Ludwig hesitated though. "I understand, Alfred," he finally said, relaxing his posture. "I'll escort you."

The family was sitting down to a late dinner when a knock came from the door. Amelia had returned from work only a half hour before and spent said time reheating the stew from the previous nights, so she sleepily waved Matthew to the door with out a word. She didn't turn to their guest when Matthew opened the door with a quiet, "we weren't expecting company."

Alfred wasn't sure what he was expecting when he first saw his twin. He had predicted yelling or crying or bursts of anger from Arthur or expressions of disappointment or any combination of events. He never had imagined that Matthew would simply stare at him, face void of any emotion. He hadn't changed over the five day period; it would have been ridiculous to assume otherwise. However, Alfred still found his brother's seemingly frozen appearance strange. "It's because I look like hell," he decided, containing a sigh.

Suddenly, arms were flung around him and clung to his back. Matthew's sobs were loud and uncontrolled as he buried his face into Alfred's shoulder.

Matthew's outburst had forced Amelia to her feet. Seeing her son injured and disheveled but alive was one of the greatest moments of her life. "Alfred," she whispered. "Alfred. Alfred. Alfred." Her body was weak; exhaustion threatened to collapse her, but chanting his name over and over again, she went to him. She wrapped herself around her twins. "My Alfred. My little boy."

Alfred's eyes went past the two embracing him to the table. The piece of furniture was uncharacteristically clean. All of the junk that had cluttered it was discarded haphazardly onto the floor in a large pile. Arthur sat in his usual spot, eating as calmly as normally did. He didn't even look up. He must have heard Amelia; he would have understood Matthew's crying. He simply didn't care.

Tears stung his eyes, clouding his vision. It wasn't from Arthur's rejection.

The table was set for four.

Matthew would later informed him that Arthur refused to eat if there wasn't a place saved next to him. Just in case.

A/N: Short chapter is short. I've been particularly busy lately with college and all that stuff. I hope it's just my paranoia, but I fear the quality of writing in this story is steadily declining. It doesn't help that most of this chapter was repetitive talking...