Chapter Sixteen
—=—
Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea. Bad idea! Bad idea! Bad idea! BAD IDEA!
Anya stepped off the bus, heart in her throat with clenched fingers reluctant to let go of the rail on the bus, one foot still planted on the last step as if it was really a possibility that she could reembark.
As they usually did, as they would always do, Damian, Becky, Ewen, and Emile waited for her.
Anya should have had her papa drive her early. Who cared if he had to work? He could have driven her. Her mama had easily kept pace with the bus and was around here somewhere, but feeling safe wasn't the issue. Damian was here. She knew he would be. But she hadn't realized just how strongly she would regret making that promise to him yesterday and she so quickly considered forgetting it.
"Um. . .Anya? Are you getting off?" Becky raised a quizzical brow and Anya's uneasy eyes flicked to her without moving her head.
Slowly. Reluctantly. Her fingers slid from the rail and her foot left the last step. Her gaze darted to Damian again. His face was calm. His thoughts were weirdly quiet.
Bad. Idea.
What was wrong with her?! Why would she promise such a thing? He knew. He knew, he knew he knew. He knew! He knew! She would never get used to this. Her feet told her to run. Her brain told her to stay. Her heart told her she wanted to.
Her feet told her to run.
She regretted it. She didn't. She did, she didn't, she did!
As Becky hooked Anya's arm around her's, she tried to block it out. Tried not to think about it. She shouldn't have asked to be friends. That was the wrong decision. It was the right decision.
You belong here.
It was the right decision.
No! Why did she do that! She shouldn't have told him anything! Anya resisted the urge to pull her hair out.
No, she was glad she did it. She wouldn't have Damian's words telling the rest of her brain to shut up and trying to saw the knots loose in her stomach. They wouldn't be friends and this was such a bad idea! Where did they even stand?! They hadn't even talked about how her telepathy effected their friendship, how Damian felt about it, but they were friends! If they were friends, didn't that mean it didn't bother him?! But it did bother him! The idea that she was reading his mind made him so uncomfortable and vulnerable and he didn't like it. But he hadn't told her that. He hadn't even thought it at her! Not to mention the other reasons she had avoided him like the plague and she furiously told herself that everything was fine. It was fine, it was fine, it was fine.
Everything was not fine!
What if she was wrong?! What if they all got hurt, what if her father was right and she shouldn't be here, and EVERYONE DIED?!
It's not your fault. You belong here.
Anya heaved a deep breath, frowning anxiously. Becky gave her a curious look.
Anya wanted to go home.
—-
Something was different.
Anya was antsy in a calm sort of way. The tendency to forget that class was happening, was less of a complete blank, and more of a nervous, spacey, hyper focus on her thoughts that Becky couldn't see, but she saw how jittery her leg was. She saw how she bit her lip and how her pen wobbled up and down in the the air as she leaned heavily on her desk, a hand propping her face up. She saw the anxious knit in her brows and her notebook that remained empty. Becky didn't know if this was better or worse.
This was his fault somehow.
Becky's narrowed eyes spun behind her to the boy in the back.
What had happened yesterday?
Becky wasn't blind. She had seen it. Of course, she had been watching Anya lately and, of course, she had seen them talking during capture the flag. And while she initially thought Desmond added Anya to his team because he liked her, she quickly realized that wasn't the case.
Something was going on. Anya had been so weird lately. Tired and stressed. Distant and cold.
And Desmond knew why. And it was something serious.
Becky wasn't blind. Despite her ideas of a romance between Anya and Damian, she had noticed. She saw how differently Anya acted since they went missing at the zoo. She saw the pensive, distressed looks Damian sent her when he thought no one was looking or how he chewed nervously on his pencils. And she had definitely noticed the lengths Anya had gone to avoid him.
Especially the last couple days.
And she had noticed when Anya went missing from lunch. After her plate flipped over when she saw him.
Somehow.
This was his fault.
After eyeing him suspiciously for a full minute, Damian sensed her attention on him and his gaze flicked up from his notes. They darted around confused like a yo-yo. Glancing here and there, but always returning to Becky. She was making him uncomfortable, but his head never left his palm and he returned to his writing, darting back up once or twice, clearly wondering what was wrong with her.
Yes. Somehow this was his fault.
Becky turned back around.
But why wouldn't Anya say anything?
Something was definitely different, because when class ended, Anya didn't run. She didn't disappear until the next class, and she didn't avoid Damian. She gave him weird side-glances and clung tight to Becky's arm as if that very act was keeping her from abandoning them.
So. . .did they work something out or not?!
What were they talking about yesterday?! Why did they leave the gym?! When Becky asked the professor, he said she went to the nurse's office, but that couldn't be true. Surely. If Anya needed to go to the nurse's office, she would ask Becky!
Were they secretly dating after all?! Did they sneak off so they could be all romantic or whatever?!
No, no. Becky shook her head and nearly snorted.
Anya was not so advanced when it came to love. She still had a ways to go yet.
Pfft. And Damian. That kid was terrible at expressing his love for her.
So what was it?
Becky couldn't ask it out loud. It was obviously a touchy subject and though it broke her heart that Anya couldn't tell her, Becky could wait until she did. Or rather, she didn't know what else to do but wait.
Besides. Damian might know what was going on, but Becky was Anya's best friend. She was sure there was a good reason for Anya's silence and Becky would wait.
Either that, or she'd figure it out for herself.
—
Being friends with Forger.
Damian had wondered if it would actually ever happen.
As Ewen and Emile had a philosophical discussion with Becky over lunch about wether or not people should have to apologize for the perfectly natural bodily function of passing gas (most of which was Becky declaring them uncivilized barbarians), Damian absent-mindedly picked at his food, his attention on Forger across from him.
She was in her own world, distractedly poking holes in her omelette rice and remembering to take a couple bites every now and then, and he wondered what she was thinking about.
Their conversation from yesterday was still so fresh and Damian was amazed they had reached this point. She was uncomfortable around him and he saw the glances she sent his way, her hands that clenched uneasily, but she was here and she wanted to be. She wanted to be friends, they were friends, and though she was still figuring out how to do that, this just felt. . .right. Like something was finally settling into place, deciphering how to fit just so, and every time he thought about it, a tension left his body and he could think with some ease and breathe with overwhelming, chest shuddering, lung filling relief.
This was just right.
"Oh my gosh!" Blackbell grumbled, taking both Anya's and Damian's attention as Blackbell held her forehead. She snapped her head back up. "How can you two be so dense!? Obviously, Annabelle is in love with Damon!
"Heck, no!" Ewen rose on his knees and planted his hands on the table. Blackbell followed suit. "Annabelle is in love with Killian. What are you talking about?!"
"Are you stupid!? Why would she love Killian!?" Becky rebuffed.
"Because he's a gentleman?" Emile's voice pitched high in indignant defence.
Blackbell's jaw dropped in disgusted horror. Her tone went high and soft. "He kidnapped her!" A hand went to her chest.
"Because. He. Loved. Her." Ewen emphasized each word with clear enunciation, aggressively moving his hands from one side to the other in up and down motions.
"Uggh!" Blackbell threw her head back and made a very un-Blackbell like sound. "No, you neanderthals! He was only a gentleman and got close to Annabelle so he could steal the cure for Mononucleic peridcardial staphococcus infection from her and save his failing career! But Annabelle knew all along he was trying to steal it and hid her work! So when he couldn't find it, he kidnapped her to make her redo it! They never loved each other, where did you get that idea?!
Ewen and Emile paused and thought about that for a moment.
"Ohhhhh." They said in unison.
"Thaaat's why he kidnapped Annabelle. . ." Ewen breathed.
Blackbell shook her head at them, deadpan. "How could you possibly think they were in love after that?"
Emile shrugged. "Love makes you do crazy things?"
"Annabelle and Damon literally kissed right after she was rescued!" Blackbell sighed hopelessly into her hands. "Why are boys so dumb?" She groaned.
"You guys have been watching Blackbell's show?" Damian blinked at his friends in surprise.
They both turned to him. "We're hooked." Emile said simply.
Blackbell returned to a normal seating position. "I had to talk to someone about it." She said. "But these bozos don't know the first thing about love!" She cried dramatically and pushed her plate away to rest her head in her folded arms.
"I liked that scene where Annabelle's mother stabbed that guy." Ewen smiled at the memory and jabbed a make-believe knife at his food.
"You mean Killian?! Who you just thought Annabelle was in love with?!" Blackbell's head lifted just enough to look at him.
"Oh." Ewen paused again to think. "Yeah, I guess so." He shrugged.
"Uggghh." Blackbell moaned into the finely manicured wood.
". . . I think I'm going to go to class now." Damian said and got down from the table. The bell would ring soon anyway, and he couldn't care less about this particular topic of conversation. Besides. At the moment, Ewen and Emile seemed too engrossed with pretending to stab each other to hear anything he might say.
"You coming?" He directed to Forger and she startled.
Oh.
Well.
Damian was wrong.
That seemed to grab his friends' attention. And of course Blackbell was attentive to anything involving Forger.
The girl in question glanced at Blackbell who raised her eyebrows, failing to hide her smile when she bit her lip.
What was Blackbell's deal? They were just going to class? Was Damian missing something?
Forger also bit her lip, but her's was a result of uneasy nerves, rather than whatever nonsense was going on with Blackbell.
Forger got down from the table and though she walked with him out of the cafeteria, it didn't feel like enough. As if they weren't close enough. As if being with her wasn't enough. As if he should be. . .holding her hand or something and never let go. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .Because she kept getting kidnapped and he was afraid she might vanish the moment he took his eyes off her.
Yeah.
That was why.
As the two continued down the halls, Damian stuck his hands in his pockets and Forger hugged her arms to her stomach. She seemed a little. . .different than yesterday and he worried. Was she okay? What was she thinking about? How long would it be before she could forget about the director? Would she ever be able to? Should Damian be worried about that too? Could he do anything to help? How did he make things easier for her? What did. . .he do?
Damian had promised he'd be there for her, and he would, but surely he should be doing something more, though he had no idea what.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
But she was here. They were friends. Despite his concerns that yesterday was a fluke, that Forger would change her mind, she was still here and everything was finally setting right again.
She was here.
'Yeah'. Damian thought.
'This is just right'.
—-
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The office was quiet after Twilight's patient left and the clock was suddenly louder than all of his thoughts.
How many days had it been? How many hours, minutes, seconds? It seemed to have been an age since Twilight requested Franky to look into the Dempewolfes and he was itching to act on this bit of intel before he even had it.
And so, he had been at the school. Watching Anya. He'd been on missions. He had been here, being a psychiatrist. Keeping up appearances and slowly driving himself crazy with anticipation.
How long did it take to find one piece of information? Franky was decent at his job, how deep did he have to dig for this?
Twilight scratched notes into his notepad as after thoughts about his patient surfaced.
He glanced at the phone.
Looked back to his notepad.
Twilight was an excellent spy. He was a master spy. He was perfectly patient, happy to plan and ruminate and think and prepare—
Why the heck hadn't Franky called yet?! Didn't he know how important this was?! This was about Donovan Desmond. The biggest threat to all of Berlint and world peace!
No, no, no. Twilight chuckled lightly to himself and shook the thoughts from his head as if they were but an insignificant fly buzzing around his ears.
No, no. This was fine. Franky was doing his job. Twilight could wait if it meant securing—
Riiiiing.
Thunk. Twilight's chair fell backwards as he leapt for the phone.
"Franky?"
". . . Yeah. Loid? Is something wrong?"
"What? Of course not, why?"
"Oh, nothin' I guess, you just sound a little—"
"Did you find anything?"
Franky's silence on the other end spoke volumes. "Yeah."
"I'll be right over."
—
Twilight sauntered casually down the street with his hands stuffed in his overcoat pockets, appearing deceivingly unprepared for any sort of sudden attack. With the attempts on the Forger's lives lately, he was on high alert whenever he stepped outside. Or when he was at home. Or at work. Or watching Anya. Or on an outing. Or driving, eating, sleeping, cooking, thinking, reading, walking, or talking. It wouldn't do to get too engrossed in any one thing and be taken by surprise.
He pulled down on the rim of his hat against the breeze trying to fly it off his head and glanced surreptitiously into dark corners and discreet ally's that blended with the shadows. With innocence plastered on his features, he lifted his face to the sky, enjoying the blueness of the sky while taking a scan of the rooftops.
Twilight nodded to Franky in greeting as he approached his booth.
Franky clicked his tongue. "If I looked half as good as you walking down the street, I'd be married by now."
"Franky." Twilight prodded. He didn't have time for this. Or rather he didn't want to have time for this.
"Yeah, yeah." Franky covertly peeked around and procured one single sheet of paper. He placed it on the counter.
"What is this?" Twilight picked it up and noted Franky's handwritten work divided into two columns.
On the left was a list of names, and on the right, a list of dates.
All the names were Dempewolfes.
Donovan was at the top.
"For the past forty years, Dempewolfes have been going missing. Donovan Dempewolfe is the most recent. Apparently he was around twelve." Franky reached over and tapped the date corresponding to his name.
Twilight wasn't sure what to make of this. What was this even supposed to mean? "Is someone targeting the Dempewolfes or. . ." No. That wasn't it at all. Donovan—" They're leaving on their own. And changing their identities."
Franky nodded. "That's what I think too."
Twilight mulled on this. What reason could they possibly have for this? One or two family members might be reasonable—being cut off from the family or leaving to make a new life for themselves, but thirteen? And how could Donovan possibly integrate into the Desmonds so seamlessly if there wasn't more to it? There were no records that Donovan Desmond was adopted.
"What else did you find?"
Franky sighed deep through his nose, thinking. "Not much. The Dempewolfes are spread all around the country and they all seem like pretty typical families. Just. . ." He shook his head. "Average joes." He shrugged.
"That can't be right." Twilight looked up at him.
Another shrug from Franky.
"And what about Donovan Desmond?" Twilight asked.
"Right. Well. Turns out, he was abroad during his childhood and came home years later. When he was around twelve."
"Oh. . ." Twilight understood. "I see.
But that still didn't explain why. Why he would leave his family at the age of twelve to become a Desmond, or why his family would let him. Was it just to become a politician? Did Donovan choose the Desmonds specifically or would any high status family have worked? And why did the Desmonds accept him into their family without records of an adoption and lie about his origins?
Twilight would have to do some more digging. He sighed and folded the paper, pocketing it. "Thanks Franky. Let me know if you find anything else."
"Don't I always?" He answered glibly.
Twilight ignored his tone and turned to leave.
—-
The way Demetrius saw it, he had three options:
One—He could shove Anya off his lap where she slept like a hibernating bear and incur Yor's unsettling displeasure.
Two—He could move her carefully without waking her up which seemed impossible when Anya held his left arm like a security blanket.
Or Three—He could let her stay there.
Demetrius didn't like the third option.
This wasn't fair. Just because she liked being around him didn't mean she could use him as a pillow! Why couldn't she sleep on Yor's lap?! Why did she go straight for Demetrius when they got back from school and curled up in his lap like an old lady tired from work?! He thought she was mad at him!
With his free arm, he leaned on the sofa's arm rest and supported his head with a hand. He half sighed, half grumbled. He should shove her off, he thought spitefully. But for some reason he couldn't bring himself to do it.
With no intention to, and with every annoyance, he wondered if he would have done the same if he was in her position. Growing up, the idea that he could have someone the way Anya had Demetrius was absurd. Demetrius basically was a security blanket to her. If Demetrius had found someone like that when he was a kid, would he have clung to them too, like Anya did to him?
. . .
The very notion irked him.
Though he might have when he was as young as her. It's not like he didn't understand. He had from the start. He just found the situation less than ideal and aimed to minimize contact with her.
It didn't seem to be working very well.
He wondered how Damian tolerated her all day at school. He had a crush on her, sure, but didn't he get tired of her at all?
The way things were going, Anya was just going to get more and more attached to Demetrius and he had to be careful how he severed their relationship or Damian would be mad at him.
Demetrius hadn't meant to let it get to this point.
He'd let her hold his hand at the amusement park. He had tried to get her out of her funk. Demetrius made the terrible mistake of assuming that it wouldn't spur some affection on her part and now she was sleeping on his lap and holding his arm like it belonged to her.
It drove him nuts that he hadn't foreseen this. It drove him nuts that he had, and still, let Damian influence how Demetrius interacted with Anya. It drove him nuts that he couldn't figure out why he couldn't just shove her off his lap.
It was so annoying. Irritating. Aggravating. An unpleasant weight that kept him from moving. From wanting to move.
What a drag.
—-
The curtains shielding the windows dripped moonlight between every crack and the room was dark. All the lights were snuffed out. The clock somewhere in the apartment resounded into a full, encompassing silence that filled Demetrius' ears where he lay on the sofa as he was dragged from blissful oblivion.
It was the middle of the night.
So why was he awake?
His bleary, sleepy eyes blinked up at the darkened ceiling, a little disoriented. Demetrius was pretty good at sleeping through the night without waking. He had learned to be.
Then something nudged into his ribs and he realized it was the same thing that had pulled him out of slumber.
He slowly turned his head to set his dead eyes on the little girl poking him.
"Anya had a nightmare." She whispered roughly like she had just choked on water.
Demetrius couldn't see her very well, but glimmers of moonlight caught on the wet streaks on her cheeks and the scared, anxious frown pulling on her face. Demetrius couldn't read her mind, but he knew what she would ask before she asked it.
"Can Anya sl—"
"No."
"B-but—" She blubbered quietly, her face scrunching in heartbroken dejection. "Anya d-doesn't have n-nightmares with y-you." She hiccupped.
Demetrius fixed his face towards the ceiling again and draped an arm over his head. "Go back to bed. The nightmares can't hurt you." He mumbled, trying to return to sleep.
"B-but—" Anya said again, but Demetrius wasn't listening.
She didn't leave.
No.
No.
He wasn't listening to her sniffle and cry as she crouched on the floor.
She still didn't leave.
He wasn't listening.
Demetrius did his best to close his ears to it. He tried to remember if he was dreaming before and what it was. His eyes were so tired, his eyelids so heavy. The magnetic pull to sink into dark nothingness swam in his head and his limbs felt like rocks that he wasn't sure he could move if he wanted to. He'd be drifting deeper and deeper. . .
. . .if Anya wasn't still there.
Demetrius' face twitched.
This was getting annoying.
Was she going to sit there all night?!
Demetrius groaned tiredly. He just wanted to sleep. "Fiiine." He relented and Anya immediately stopped crying.
Suspicious.
"Oof!" Demetrius huffed as she climbed over his stomach and curled up on his chest against the back of the couch. She clung to that flying pig doll of her's, whatever that was, and pulled Demetrius' blanket over herself.
She was asleep in seconds.
Demetrius decided this would never happen again.
When the birds were chirping and the curtains held back sunlight instead of moonlight, Demetrius was awoken by the entirely unpleasant weight of someone's foot on his face. An eye blinked open, wondering how Anya had somehow turned completely around to try and take out one of Demetrius' eyeballs. Displeased, two of his fingers lifted it away and dropped it to the side.
She didn't wake up.
"Oh, good morning." Twilight said quietly from the dining room table that was spread with papers and adorned with a coffee mug.
". . .Yeah. . ." Demetrius mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on an elbow.
Anya's body shifted and she still didn't wake.
"What happened?" Twilight asked.
Demetrius shrugged, moving Anya off of him as he dragged his legs out from under the dog, and—
. . .
When did the dog get here?
Demetrius sat on the edge of the couch. "Said she had a nightmare." He said grumpily, finding and holding a patch of drool on his shirt away from his chest.
Never. Again.
Twilight saw it and snorted into his mug.
Demetrius deadpanned and glared at him.
"Good morning, boys." Yor emerged from the hallway with a yawn and automatically went to Anya when she noticed her on the sofa. She bent down, holding her hair out of her face, and kissed her on the forehead. "Good morning, Anya." She whispered.
Anya didn't wake.
"Loid, should I make breakfast this morning?" She said going to the kitchen when she saw Loid was busy with other things.
"No!" He said, shooting up from the table, wide-eyed. "I-I mean. No, it's fine." He quickly gathered himself and stepped away from the table before Yor could get too far into the kitchen. "I just got caught up with something. I'll make it now." He assured her and casually followed her inside, though he very much wanted to run and guide Yor out of it.
"It's alright, Loid. I don't mind." Demetrius heard Yor say. "You're busy aren't you?"
"No, no, no, not at all! Why don't you make some tea while I make breakfast?"
". . .Alright. . ."
As the Forgers went about preparing breakfast and tea, Demetrius got changed and readied for school. When the kettle whistled and Yor left the tea to steep, she returned to the dining table and cleared away Loid's mess of papers.
"Oh." She halted at a small stack of envelopes. "Loid, have you looked at the mail yet?"
"Hm? No, I don't think so." He called back.
Demetrius sifted through his schoolbag, recalling which classes he had today and which books he needed. He dug around the bottom for his pencil case, making sure it was there, and pulled out a worksheet he had finished last night.
As he gave it a quick look over, his thoughts were somehow drawn back to a couple days ago when he took his brother kite flying.
Demetrius hadn't seen him since then. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure if he was ready just yet. Damian seemed to have accepted Demetrius fairly well by the end of the afternoon, but Demetrius couldn't help the uneasy nerves every time he remembered it.
Anya was right to be angry with him. Demetrius had accidentally outed himself, and in turn, outed her. Anya may not be his favourite person, but it was just as scary for her that their secret might be exposed. How scary it was to even hold it.
'Deme—'
Demetrius startled, blinking at the worksheet he had forgotten he was holding, as a single, unfinished thought rang in Yor's head like a car screeching to a halt. It was a spark of surprise jumping out at her and Demetrius shivered with goosebumps.
Dread. Cold, icy fear wrapped him tight in a blanket as he understood what she had reacted to.
Slowly, as if his body was physically unable to move faster, Demetrius turned to look at the woman who had halted by the dining table.
She held an envelope.
She stared at it.
The air was sucked out of the room. Demetrius' blood ran frozen. His jaw clenched together as if it might never loosen again.
Yor looked to him.
He looked back. Imploring her to tell him he was wrong.
"It's—" She said quietly and Demetrius didn't want her to say it.
Don't, don't, don't, don't don't, don't.
"It's for you." Yor hesitantly held it out to him and Demetrius' shoulders rose defensively as he inhaled sharply through his nose as if he had been holding his breath. Which he had.
No.
No, no, no.
Fear clung heavy to his body and ached in his muscles as if he'd swam ten kilometres. He was a rock sinking in the ocean. A gong that had been rung and shook with resounding clarity. He tried to swallow and found he could not. His mouth was dry. His palms—no, his entire body was sweating. His entire body was shaking.
He stared at the envelope. He didn't want to touch it. He didn't want to read it. He didn't want to see his name written on it or the familiar return address.
There was a letter for him. Only one person besides his brother would bother to learn where he was staying and send a letter.
Of course he knew where Demetrius was. Demetrius knew this, he knew it, and yet he couldn't fathom how the letter came to be here.
"Does it say who it's from?" Demetrius unintentionally whispered, hoarse and raw, though he already knew.
"Yes." Yor said. She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to.
Twilight appeared just outside the kitchen, overhearing the conversation.
Demetrius licked his lips. His heart pounded on his chest like a battering ram banging loudly on a castle gate. Hard and twitch inducing. He rose from the living room floor.
He didn't want to touch it. He didn't want to read it.
He wandered over to Yor by the dining table.
It was just a letter. It was just a letter.
Yor waited for him to take it. Demetrius reached out his hand. He couldn't seem to place his fingers near it.
Demetrius didn't want to know what was inside. He couldn't look at it. He couldn't, he couldn't. How bad was it going to be?
Demetrius licked his lips again and took it. He wanted to burn it the moment his skin touched it.
And there it was.
Unbidden, Demetrius sucked in another shaky breath at the sight of it.
Donovan Desmond's name written above the return address.
Demetrius glanced at Loid who maintained his distance by the kitchen door. His face was unreadable, but his thoughts were apprehensive.
It didn't help Demetrius' nerves.
He flipped the envelope over. His hand clenched before raising to graze over the flap glued down and he paused.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it.
It was just a letter. Just a stupid, freakin' letter. 'Open it.' He told himself.
Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't. You don't want to. You'll regret it. You'll regret not opening it.
Demetrius couldn't seem to get a handle on his breathing. It seemed to hover in his lungs, unsteady and unwilling to be used.
He opened it.
The edge of a single card of thick, high-end paper showed against the back of the envelope and Demetrius slid two of his fingers on either side.
Another pause.
He was going to throw up. What was inside? What had changed?
Donovan Desmond wouldn't send a letter for no reason. This was intentional. This was here with every purpose to alter the situation. Something had shifted in Donovan's favour and he was going to make it known.
He wouldn't send this letter otherwise.
Demetrius knew this. He knew what his father wanted. And it shook him. It hit him harder than before and his chest heaved fast and unsteady.
No. No. He was too scared, he was too scared. What if he told him—
Demetrius gasped in a breath. He couldn't do it, he couldn't do it.
His eyes pricked with tears.
He had to. If he didn't, the consequences could be astronomical.
With trembling fingers, he pulled it out.
His father had written in calligraphy:
Demetrius,
It is time to come home. You have
responsibilities to attend to. I have
permitted your foolish rebelliousness
long enough and there is much to do.
I have acquired resources to make
the necessary changes if you do not
return in two days time at the point of
receiving this notice.
Demetrius stumbled back, the card slipping from his fingers.
He knew. It was as he feared, but it didn't stop the dread from stealing his breath and seizing his body. He couldn't form thoughts. He couldn't form words. He had escaped from his father only to be sucked right back in, the chains he had shed that were once more wrapping tightly around his body.
He couldn't do this, he couldn't do this.
He was choking. He was paralyzed. Something was crushing his chest. His heart had stopped beating.
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. His lungs were on fire, burning and icy at the same time.
The arm chair was suddenly at his back and he wheezed, turning around and leaning over it.
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. His eyes stung, droplets dampening the fabric of the chair.
Voices were beside him, but he didn't know what they were saying. A hand on his back.
He wheezed again, but it wasn't enough.
Necessary changes.
Changes to Damian.
His father had a way. He had the scientists.
Demetrius wheezed again, clutching at his chest. His heart was being torn open. Raked with claws, seared with a hot iron, pulverized into tiny pieces.
It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.
He couldn't go back. He couldn't do it again, not again, not again, not again, he just got away—
A broken sob coughed it's way out of his throat like an attack on his lungs. Something was wrapped around his throat, constricting it, there had to be, but there wasn't.
He couldn't breathe.
It was already back. The darkness that weighed a million tons and waited to descend on him. He had waded through it his entire life, becoming one with it just to survive. He had thrown away hope. He had thrown away desires. He had thrown away every piece of him that offered any bit of light before he could feel the pain of it being smothered and pulverized mercilessly into the ground.
There was no way out. No way up, or down, or forward, or back. There was nowhere he could go without taking another step deeper, another step heavier, another step that his body dragged to take. It was everywhere. A pitch blackness reaching the entirety of existence and stretching far into his future, promising it would never go away. An endless, suffocating, crushing, barren void of hopelessness where nothing he did, nothing he thought, nothing he believed mattered. It made no difference. Another step that led nowhere. Forever trapped and alone with no escape. No one who could reach him. He could reach no one. There was no hope. Light didn't exist. It never would.
Only the darkness that chained him down. Sucking his soul dry and bleeding away his will to live until he was a husk of himself. Not even allowed to die.
Then there were hands on his shoulders.
Quiet murmuring in his ear.
Someone gently stroking his hair.
There were several instances Demetrius could recall having an episode. Most of them ended with him passing out and waking up in a cold sweat. They came viciously and left silently. Like a winter, stormy night that raged in a forest, leaving only a chilling, haunting darkness to surround him in it's wake. Lost. Cold. Scared. Blind. And alone with whatever crept in the frigid, howling winds that lingered.
But there was warmth at his shoulders and voices telling him to breathe. He wasn't alone and it was disorienting.
"It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. We're right here."
Why was her voice so soft? Why was it so soothing? Why did they care if he wasn't okay?
"Just breathe. In and out." Twilight said at his right.
Why did they care if he couldn't breathe?
Yor's touch was a strange presence on his head. A warmth he didn't understand. It felt vaguely familiar. A fuzzy recognition of a time before the lab when his mother held him. Another strange warmth slid around his neck and suddenly Twilight was holding a bag steady on either side of Demetrius' mouth.
Demetrius wheezed and it crinkled.
"It'll be okay. We're going to make it okay." Yor promised softly, still stroking his head and holding his shoulder steady.
Demetrius wheezed and he hadn't passed out yet.
"It's okay. It's going to be okay." Yor murmured over and over again as if realizing her voice was keeping him tethered.
The darkness hovered. And waited. But did not come near. It didn't crash down on his head and drown him. It hung back, something keeping it there. Something preventing it from coming closer.
"It's going to be okay. You'll be okay." Yor continued to pet his head. Her other thumb rubbed up and down where she held his shoulder, supporting his body weight that leaned far over the chair. Twilight's hands near Demetrius' face edged his vision, pressing lightly against his skin.
They stayed close to him. He felt them close to him. They were near and warm and. . .there.
Demetrius knew what he had to do, knew what was coming, it was inevitable, and yet he wanted to lean into the warmth. He was taken hold of by the indescribable, incomprehensible. . .care that they held him with. And he wanted to sink into it. Sink, sink, sink, like a scared child hiding behind their parents for safety.
The Forgers enveloped him in a comfort he had not known. He was safe in a way he had not known and his wheezing breaths that barely kept him conscious gradually loosened until his crying could seep into it.
When was the last time that had happened? When he hadn't passed out and woken up alone on his bedroom floor?
Demetrius shuddered and breathed. He exhaled and sobbed. Again. Again. Again. And again.
Everything in him rattled. Everything in him pushed and pushed against his throat and chest, forcing his emotions out before they forced a hole in his body and spilled out.
His emotions were unclear. Fear, certainly. Of the future he couldn't escape. And raw, unfiltered feelings he could only describe as not being alone.
He wasn't alone.
And more fear that it wouldn't last. That it was a temporary illusion that only served to temper the darkness. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Just waiting until he was alone again.
After a few more minutes, Demetrius raised a shaky hand towards the bag and Twilight removed it.
"I—" Demetrius croaked. "I have to go back." His throat was raw and his words unsteady. He couldn't seem to bear to remove himself from the chair completely and his hands gripped the back of it.
"What?! Why?!" Yor kept a hand on his back.
"If I don't, Father will just—-he'll just—." Demetrius covered his eyes with a hand, unable to prevent the sob. "He'll use Damian instead."
"What?!" Anya squeaked from the sofa.
"I can't—I can't—" Demetrius cried, lowering his elbows to the chair, both hands covering his face now. "I can't protect him." He sobbed. "Even if I took him and ran, Father would find us anyway and make me regret it."
"No!" Yor came around the chair and leaned a knee on the seat. She held his head, startling his hands away from his face and his wide gaze was pulled to her own. "No, no, no! We'll protect you! We'll go get Damian and—and—"
"I have a place we can go." Twilight cut in and everyone turned to him.
He. . .he couldn't be serious. Demetrius stared at him for a moment, stupefied. ". . .What?" Demetrius croaked wet and broken, barely above a whisper.
"Yor." Twilight turned to her, his voice shifting focused with intent, instantly grabbing her attention. "Can you pack some necessities for you and Anya, please?"
She nodded and Demetrius watched, mouth slightly agape, as she pushed off the seat of the chair and went to the hallway.
What was happening?
"Demetrius." Twilight spoke softer, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you sit for a moment? You can get your things after."
Demetrius stared at him.
"Anya. Why don't you keep him company?" Twilight said and she nodded numbly.
Twilight withdrew to his bedroom, presumably to gather his things, and Demetrius watched after him dumbfounded. Speechless. Lost for every word in any human language. He stood breathless, each brain cell frantically attempting to adapt to what just happened. He couldn't—understand. How did—Why did—
Inhaling unsteadily, he slowly sank to the floor as an arm clung to the back of the chair to ease his descent. His emotions coursed erratically, tumbling indecipherably like clothes in the dryer and he knelt there like that, struggling to even out his breathing.
What had just happened?
One moment, he was sure he'd have to return to that house and the man who lived there, and the next, the Forgers were offering their protection and help. Why would they do that? Why go to such lengths? Harbouring Demetrius when Donovan couldn't do much to him was one thing. But taking the Desmond boys and going into hiding, essentially kidnapping them in the eyes of the law, was another. If both Demetrius and Damian disappeared, Donovan wasn't going to stay still. He was concerned with his public image, sure, but he would do what it took to get his sons back. Donovan would take things to the next level. The Forgers had to realize this.
And if so, they were insane.
But either way. . .
Demetrius didn't want to go back. He was terrified of what might happen if this went badly. If the Forgers failed to protect him and his brother. The consequences Donovan would bestow upon his sons for their idiocy, but. . .he didn't want to go back and the Forgers confidence made him want to believe them.
He didn't have to go back and he shook uncontrollably.
The telltale sound of Anya's feet slid to the floor and pattered over to him.
As he looked up to her, she sat at his side and clung his arm to her body, leaning against him.
Demetrius got the feeling it wasn't just for his benefit.
His hands still shook and he let go of the chair to dry his face. His shoulders trembled and he thought his knees would give out if he tried to stand. He shuddered and he thought he might cry again by the rattle in his chest and the way it heaved without his permission.
With only one palm to use, he tried to force the tears to stay in his right eye. Demetrius sniffed and took a steadying breath.
Damian.
Demetrius couldn't sit here. He had to get himself together.
He needed to get to Damian.
Cutting his moment of collection short, his arm slid out of Anya's grasp and found that his knees were indeed working. Staggering unsteadily and wearily into the living room, his schoolbooks were shoved into his bag and he glanced around for his few belongings randomly placed around the apartment.
Demetrius had to gather his things. He didn't have time to pull himself together.
He had to go fetch Damian.
—
Authors Note: Hey guys! I hope you liked this chapter. I hope Demetrius' part came across right. Some of this was literally just me having fun with the characters, and as a result, someof it kinda just devolved into nonsense, but I hope it was enjoyable nonsense. My sister who is a vet tech came up with"Mononucleic peridcardial staphococcus infection", and yes, it is fake. I felt I had to mention her contribution. XD