Oh! I forgot to announce this when I first posted the chapter, but I also released the first chapter of a mid-quel story called 'Snapshots from a Nikon FA'. It's not necessary to continue reading 'Brown Eyes', as it's more of a series of mini stories set between the two main fics. So if you want more of this AU, I hope you check it out!

June 9th, Six and a Half Years Ago II

It had been two hours and 57 minutes since Malcolm's son had run into the woods, and Thomas was still nowhere in sight.

"He'll be here," Malcolm repeated, for what might have been the tenth time that day. "He's taking his sweet time, but he'll be here."

Sitting on the hood on the station wagon, Malcolm fidgeted with the end of the rope in his hand. Every time he stilled his hands, or forced himself to take a deep breath, his leg started shaking with nerves. It's not that Malcolm didn't trust Thomas, but every second made worries start to crawl into his head.

What if someone had wandered away from the hiking trail, and Thomas had run into them? What if Thomas had tripped on a tree root and cracked his head open? Or what if Thomas broke the rules and had let go of the rope, out of fear he'd lose control, and was now running as far away from Malcolm as he could? To some place where Malcolm couldn't help and wouldn't know if his kid was okay, or hurt, or—

"No. I need to give him more credit," Malcolm said. "Thomas wouldn't do that. He can be dramatic, but he's true to his word. At least with me. Heh. Kind of like you, Maggie. But I shouldn't be so surprised. He's your kid, after all."

Malcolm glanced at his watch again. Two minutes to go.

"He'll be here," Malcolm repeated. Even as his fingers tightened themselves around the rope and his boot bounced against the grass. "He'll be here."

It was one minute, twelve seconds before the time limit when a rusting came from the treeline.

Malcolm lifted his head and watched as Thomas slowly made his way out of the woods. His head was bent, to avoid the branches, and had left the rope on the ground.

Relief rushed out of Malcolm in a long breath.

"You cut it close," Malcolm said. He pushed himself off of the car's hood and headed toward Thomas. "One more minute and I would've—"

"Stop walking."

Malcolm stuttered to a halt.

"Don't walk. Don't move. Don't come near me," Thomas rasped. "I came back because I had to. Not because you're safe."

Thomas stopped at the very edge of the treeline. Now that the sunlight reached him, Malcolm stopped and looked, really looked, at Thomas.

He looked awful. His chest rattled with shaky breaths, and stray leaves had tangled themselves in his dark hair. His entire body was tight, like a spring pushed all the way to the floor, where one wrong move would set everything into motion. He looked restless and exhausted all at the same time. He hadn't even bothered to fix his slim glasses, which were teetering on the brim of his nose. His pale skin had a strange glow to it, and it wasn't just reflecting the afternoon sun. It was actually shining—shining! Like a diamond under the light.

But worst of all were his eyes. They were still blue, but they were wide. Wary.

Hungry.

Malcolm forced himself to measure his breathing. Thomas was one wrong breath away from panicking, and if Malcolm panicked, there was very little stopping Thomas from turning tail and running back into the woods.

Malcolm slowly raised a hand. "Thomas, take a breath."

"I have been," Thomas hissed. "I have been for three hours, and it didn't work. I can still feel the Hunger, and now that you've made me come back, I can't promise it won't come out."

"It won't."

"You think you know better than me?"

"I do—" Malcolm cut himself off with a grimace. "Agh. No. I didn't mean it that way."

Thomas glared at him. His skin seemed to glow brighter—God, since when did Thomas glow? "You sure about that?"

Malcolm winced and glanced away.

This was different. Ever since Thomas turned 15, they'd had moments where the Hunger had tried to take over. But this? Thomas looking like a caged lion, one moment from pouncing and ripping someone to shreds? That was new.

Did you ever feel this out of your depth, Maggie? Malcolm thought. Because I'm flying by the seat of my pants here, and I missed the lesson on glowing teenage not-yet-vampires.

"The Hunger should've started to die down by now," Malcolm said. "If it's gone on for this long, and is this strong, then there's something—Thomas!"

Malcolm's yell stopped Thomas mid-step. He'd almost slinked back into the woods, and now that Malcolm had caught him in the act, his mouth twisted itself into a sneer.

"Stop," Malcolm said. "Thomas, it's okay."

"I don't want to hurt you!" Thomas growled. "If I lose control, you're the only one here. If I kill you, that's on my hands. Do you want that? Do you want to make Harry an orphan?"

A shot of fear made Malcolm's stomach twist.

As much as Malcolm hated it, there was some truth to Thomas' words. Maggie died giving birth to Harry, all while Malcolm was miles away. She never even had the chance to hold him. And though Malcolm had tried his best to raise Harry, he didn't have a big family to rely on. Aside from Thomas, the only family Harry had was Maggie's dad, and the old man was already keeping them at arm's length.

But more than that, Malcolm couldn't even imagine leaving Harry. Not when he still had to watch his little boy grow up. Harry was nine years old now, but there was still so much of his life Malcolm had to see. His graduation. His first crush. His first time behind the wheel, where, hopefully, he wouldn't crash the station wagon. And what if Harry needed him? What if he was scared or in trouble? What if Malcolm just… wasn't there?

There were so many moments in Harry's life when he needed Maggie. When he needed her to tuck him into bed after nightmares; to talk to during Mother's Day; to explain the world of magic that Malcolm still struggled to comprehend. But he didn't have her, and Malcolm had been struggling to fill that void ever since they lost her.

God, the idea of Harry—that bright, crazy kid—losing both him and Maggie, made Malcolm want to hurl.

Malcolm forced himself to take a long, deep breath. "That's low, and you know it."

"You think I care?" Thomas asked.

Malcolm nodded. "Yeah, I think you do," he said. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not gonna work."

Thomas eyed him, but Malcolm knew his son. Even at his worst, Thomas didn't say mean things with the intent of being cruel. He knew those words would trigger something in Malcolm. But that was the point. Thomas hadn't convinced Malcolm to leave him alone, which meant that now he was trying a different approach. To make Malcolm so mad he'd either let Thomas leave, or leave himself.

"We made a deal, remember?" Malcolm said. "When the Hunger hits, you trust me to help you, and I do everything I can to do just that. That means staying where I can help you."

"Me killing you won't help!" Thomas yelled.

"You won't!" Malcolm yelled back. "I've said it a million times, and I'll say it a million more. You won't hurt me, Thomas. And you know why."

"I don't."

"You do," Malcolm said. "And I know you do, because I was at the diner, too."

Thomas bit his lip and looked away.

It happened over a year ago. Shortly before Thomas' 17th birthday, his sister, Lara, had paid them a visit. They were at a town in middle-of-nowhere Nebraska, and somehow, Lara Raith had casually strolled into the diner where they were having lunch.

According to Thomas, she was there to give him an early birthday gift. Malcolm had let the two of them talk. He was well aware that it was a rare moment Thomas had with his sister, and that they'd all be better off by not antagonizing Lara Raith. In hindsight, that was the best thing he could have done, because Thomas had challenged his sister to a darts competition.

And when Lara reached into the old container full of mismatched darts, she burned the tips of her fingers.

There was a wedding ring at the bottom. It turned out that one of the regulars at the diner was a seventy-year-old woman, whose ring kept slipping off her aging fingers. Lara didn't acknowledge it after the fact—not even to Thomas, and definitely not to Malcolm. But that day, Malcolm learned something. He learned it after finding the old woman at the back of the diner, giving her the ring, and then using every shred of his supernatural connections to confirm his theory.

The Raith's demons were burned by love.

It was a rumor, and one that the Raiths had repeatedly rebuffed and redirected. There was no proof aside from what Malcolm saw, but it was something, and it matched with what Lara had told Malcolm over four years ago.

Thomas had a demon inside him. During its first feed, it would Turn Thomas into a vampire. With one sole exception.

If Thomas' first time was with someone he truly loved, and who loved him in return, then his demon would die.

It made sense. If an act of love could burn away the demon inside Thomas, then love could also protect others from those demons. And if someone's last time had been an act of love, then those people would be protected.

It had been many years, but Malcolm's last night of love had been with Maggie. And he knew, with every shred of his heart, that it was love. Love with the woman he still admired every day.

"Lara could've been overreacting," Thomas said.

"You really think I'm gonna buy that?" Malcolm asked. "The day your sister willingly shows weakness is the day Houdini pops out of his grave."

Thomas shook his head harshly. His glasses flew off his nose, and he didn't even try to catch them.

"You could be thinking about it all wrong," Thomas said. "Maybe it's only wedding rings. Maybe it's only after a five year anniversary. Maybe—I don't know—maybe it runs out after a few years."

"It doesn't," Malcolm said.

"You don't know."

"I do."

"How?"

"Because I talked to that woman at the diner," Malcolm said. "She was married for thirty years. She was there because that's where they met—"

"And?" Thomas demanded.

"And she was alone," Malcolm said. "Because her husband had died five years ago."

Thomas' eyes widened. His breathing slowed, and his skin lost some of its glow. Not all of it, but enough for Malcolm to notice.

This was the calmest Thomas had been since stepping out of the woods, so Malcolm took a chance. He started walking toward Thomas, making sure to keep his steps slow and his voice even.

"Her husband had been dead for five years, and that ring still burned your sister," Malcolm said calmly. "If that doesn't prove the protection, I don't know what could."

"And who says you still have it?"

"I do. Because I haven't been with anyone but Maggie since your brother was born. That means I'm protected. Your mom is still protecting me."

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. "I could still be right," he said. "It could still take time to activate, or fade after too long. You and Mom, you didn't even hit two years of marriage. And she died almost a decade ago."

"You're right. I don't know for sure, but I believe it."

"Why?"

A smile found its way to Malcolm's face. "Because I still believe in your mom."

It was an easy thing to say. Some people called him foolish, others naive. Why trust in the words of a woman who's been gone for years? Who had such a reputation in the supernatural world, that Malcolm still had trouble convincing people that Maggie had married an ordinary man like him. But Malcolm knew her. He saw how, if she could, Maggie would have challenged the world just to steal the stars from the heavens. She had shown him a world he could have only dreamed of, all in exchange for Malcolm trusting her. And he did.

To this day, there was nothing and no one Malcolm believed in more than Margaret LeFay.

Thomas opened his eyes and let out a watery laugh. "So I can't give you shit for staying single, huh?"

Malcolm should've scolded Thomas, or at least say that he shouldn't give Malcolm any shit. But he'd made a joke, an actual joke, in the middle of all this, so all Malcolm could do was laugh.

"Maybe it was your mom's supernatural insurance policy," he said. "Why look for another woman when she left me with the best in-house security system?"

Thomas was still wound tight. But Malcolm must've been doing something right, because he'd walked until he was a few feet from Thomas. He was still wary of spooking him away, so Malcolm settled for picking up Thomas' glasses that had fallen to the ground.

"Breathe. Just breathe." Malcolm tucked the glasses into his pocket and slowly stood back up. "The Hunger can't hurt me, Thomas. I'm safe. You're safe."

"That's not enough." Thomas grimaced, and something shifted in his eyes. The fear was still there, but it had mixed in with something else. "If I'm like this later, what if—what if I hurt Harry?"

Malcolm shook his head. "You won't."

"My Hunger—"

"Won't hurt him," Malcolm said. Every part of Malcolm wanted to rush forward and grip his son's shoulders, but Thomas was still just out of his reach. And he was faster than Malcolm. If he chose to turn and run, Malcolm would lose him before he could even get to the treeline.

So Malcolm kept talking.

"The Hunger only wants people you'd be attracted to, right?" Malcolm said. "But we're family. That means I don't count. Harry doesn't count."

"Lord Raith's family," Thomas hissed. "He's still my father, and his Hunger… he consumes Lara. He takes her, he takes Natalia, Elisa—all of my sisters. His family counts. So what if—"

"You're not him," Malcolm said. "You're not—Thomas, stop!"

Thomas paused, one foot behind the treeline. His skin still had that unnatural glow, making it paler and brighter than it should've been, but another color had snuck in. Thomas looked… green. Like he was sick.

"I can't risk it," Thomas said. "If I lose control around Harry, I—I…"

"You won't."

"I could!" Thomas screamed, and there was a desperation in his voice Malcolm had heard only a handful of times. "Lara said the first feed is always lethal. I'm not risking your life, and I'm sure as hell not gonna risk my little brother's."

"You're not risking them," Malcolm said. "Thomas, you're talking as if you want to feed. As if you want to Turn. And I know you don't. You don't want to feed on Harry—"

"I'd rather die," Thomas rasped.

Dread shot through Malcolm's chest. Because he knew, with every part of his soul, that Thomas wasn't exaggerating. And if it did come down to it, Thomas would do the deed himself before he even had the chance to get near Harry.

It took all of Malcolm's willpower to keep himself still. "It's not gonna come to that. I know you, son. And I know you would crawl through glass rather than risk Harry. But you won't have to, because he's your brother, and you love him too much to even think of hurting him."

"Then what about Lord Raith?" Thomas' face twisted at the end of that sentence. As if he'd bitten into something sour and bitter at the same time. "Because he doesn't give a damn about hurting family. He hurts Lara, and he's more than capable of hurting me."

"You're not him."

Thomas took another step back into the treeline, and the pale glow bounced off the leaves. "You haven't seen him," he said. "You don't know how much I look like him."

"You're not him!" Malcolm cried.

Thomas paused. From the shock of Malcolm's yelling, or something else. Malcolm didn't know. He didn't even know his voice would be so loud, and Malcolm didn't have time to stop and think of what else to say. Instead, he had to rely on the one thing that had gotten him through nine years of single fatherhood.

His gut instinct.

"You won't hurt us," Malcolm said. "Whatever Lord Raith is, he's not family. He may be your blood, but any man who abuses his kids like that doesn't deserve to be a dad. He doesn't deserve to have a family."

"And I do?"

"Yes," Malcolm said, with all the confidence in the world. "Yes, you do."

Thomas grimaced.

"It doesn't matter how much you look like your dad," Malcolm said. "It doesn't matter if you talk like him, walk like him—none of that matters. You'll always have part of him in you, but he does not make you. He doesn't define what you think, what you believe, or who you are. You know how I know?"

"Because I'm Mom's kid?" Thomas asked.

"Because you're you."

Thomas sucked in a breath. He stared up at Malcolm with wide eyes, and the eerie glow around him flickered.

Malcolm wasn't thinking anymore. The words he was saying came by instinct—only being said because that's what his heart needed to say. He wasn't sure why those were the words that came, but they were all he had. So he said them.

"You're stubborn, you hate chores, and you're a wiseass," Malcolm said. "You're strong, you're smart, and God, you care so much. More than you think you do. Most kids your age would give anything to get away from their family, to go to parties and sneak out and just be a normal teenager. They would give anything to have a life different to yours. But you've accepted it, in a way I sure as hell couldn't have when I was your age."

Thomas stayed silent. His eyes flickered, and the glow on his skin dimmed.

"You're good," Malcolm continued. "You're a good kid, a good son, a good sibling. I mean, you're the kind of big brother most kids wish they had. And Harry knows it. He knows it when you babysit him when I've got a job, when you play with him at eight in the morning on a Sunday, and even when he's goading you into a fight! That kid—he loves you so much, Thomas. And he knows just how lucky he is to have a brother like you."

Malcolm took a step forward. When Thomas didn't move, he took another, and another, until he was at the edge of the treeline.

The glow around Thomas was faint, and the gaze in his eyes had changed. There was still hunger, but it was fading, slowly being replaced by a swirl of emotions Malcolm didn't even know how to name.

"You're a kid who got dealt a rough hand, but you've done everything you could to make the best of it," Malcolm said. "And, yeah, maybe part of it is because you're Maggie's son. But that's only because she left the best parts of her in you. The parts that you've made your own. You're you, Thomas. You have always been you. And you are so much more than what your dad left in you."

"Stop calling him that," Thomas said, with no more heat in his voice. "You're my dad."

Malcolm couldn't stop the smile that came to his face. He reached out a hand—slowly, so Thomas could see it—and placed it on his son's shoulder. Malcolm's thumb grazed his neck.

Skin sizzled beneath Malcolm's finger, and Thomas screamed.

Malcolm jumped back. On Thomas' neck was a thumb-sized burn, fresh and red.

"Thomas!" Malcolm yelled. "Are you—"

"It's real," Thomas said. He felt the burn with his fingers, and his breaths came in quickly. "The protection. It's real."

"Are you okay?" Malcolm pressed.

Thomas nodded. In a moment, his body stopped shaking, and he looked up at Malcolm with a face of pure relief. "I can't hurt you," he whispered.

"Your Hunger can't hurt me," Malcolm corrected. "You would never even try."

Malcolm dug into his pockets and pulled out his white magician gloves. The moment they were on, he reached out and gripped the sides of Thomas' head with both hands. The layer of fabric was enough to protect Thomas, and Malcolm used the contact to push away loose strands of black, curly hair.

"You're not a monster, Thomas," Malcolm said. "You know that."

"I'm not a monster," Thomas said softly. "I'm not a monster."

Malcolm pulled Thomas close, wrapping the boy in a tight hug. Thomas shuddered and shook, even as his own arms wound their way around Malcolm.

"It's okay," Malcolm said. "You're okay. I've got you, Thomas. I've got you."

Thomas choked out a wet noise. He buried his face into Malcolm's jacket, nearly brushing his forehead against Malcolm's exposed collarbone. Taking extra care with the exposed skin between his gloves and his jacket, Malcolm carefully cradled the back of his son's head, keeping Thomas still and away from the skin that could burn him again.

"You're okay," Malcolm repeated. "Let it go, son. Focus on me, and let it go."

There was a moment of silence. And then, all at once, Thomas began to cry.

Thomas wept, harder and longer than he had in years. The only times Malcolm had seen him collapse like this were in the years after Maggie's death, when waves of grief would crash into the child and leave him breathless and shaking. Malcolm would soothe him and hold him. Whisper words he wasn't sure Thomas could hear.

Now, Malcolm did the same. He held Thomas close to his chest, and repeated the same phrases over and over again. How Thomas was okay. How Harry was okay. How Malcolm was protected, and that he was here, holding onto his son with all the strength in his body.

"I've got you," Malcolm said, even as he held back the tears that burned behind his eyes. "I've got you."

Malcolm watched as Thomas slowly took the glasses from Malcolm's gloved hand. He pushed them onto his nose, but kept his gaze firmly on the ground. The small burn on his neck was still there, and Malcolm had to force himself to look away from it.

The two of them were leaning on the hood of the station wagon. Once Thomas had calmed down, Malcolm had guided him to the car to catch his breath. Malcolm wasn't sure exactly what finally did it, but the unnatural glow had faded from Thomas' skin, and the primal hunger had disappeared from his son's eyes.

"I made you miss your gig," Thomas said. His voice was raw and hoarse.

Malcolm shrugged. "I'll find others."

"Word's gonna travel fast."

"Usually does, in places like this."

"We should leave. Find another town."

"After you graduate," Malcolm said. "I made you a promise. No moving until you get your diploma."

"I can get a diploma anywhere," Thomas countered.

"And I can work anywhere. But even you have to admit that you don't wanna deal with the hassle of transferring two weeks before you finish high school."

Thomas fidgeted with the cuff of his shirt. "How much money do we have saved?"

"Enough," Malcolm said. "We'll be alright."

Pulling off his gloves, Malcolm reached out a hand. Thomas winced in anticipation.

Malcolm laid his palm on the back of Thomas' neck. There was no rush of energy, and Thomas' neck stayed cool. Not a burn in sight.

Thomas sighed in relief, and Malcolm hid an exhale of his own. After a moment, Malcolm guided Thomas' head so it would rest on his shoulder, and though Thomas let him, his son's shoulders were still tight with tension.

"It's getting worse," Thomas rasped.

Malcolm rubbed the back of Thomas' neck with his fingers. "What triggered it?"

"Gym class." Thomas scoffed. "It was so stupid. Teacher decided to set our final early, so we wouldn't be complaining about running before our actual finals next week. Made us run as many laps as we could before the bell. First place for each gender got an automatic A for the whole semester."

"How'd you do?" Malcolm asked.

"I smoked 'em."

Malcolm grinned. "That's my boy."

Thomas shook his head. "I shouldn't have done that," he said. "I must've pushed too hard. I started feeling it right after. I thought it was just normal hunger, and that I was tired. I showered, I used up my dollars at the vending machine. Someone even gave me their banana because I looked like I was gonna pass out. And then…"

"Then?"

"The nurse," Thomas said. "The new one. She was walking down the hallway. She asked me what was wrong and—"

Thomas shuddered violently. Malcolm tucked him beneath his arm, using his other hand to card through his son's hair.

"Hey, it's okay," Malcolm soothed. "You're okay. You're okay."

"That shouldn't have happened," Thomas hissed. "The Hunger's not supposed to start unless I'm injured, or having sex—or if there's trauma. But there wasn't anything. I was just running. I was just running and there was a girl, and it—why?"

"I don't know, son," Malcolm said. "I don't know, but, God, I wish I did."

It took some time, but little by little, Thomas' shudders died down. Malcolm loosened his hold, but kept one arm wrapped around Thomas' shoulders.

"We'll figure this out," Malcolm said. "Until then, you pace yourself. No running more than you usually do, and if you feel anything, you stop right away."

"What about training?" Thomas asked.

"I think you can take it easy for a while. But nothing at the school. Tell your teacher the migraine did a number on you and you have to sit out for the rest of the year. They try to argue that, you tell me and I'll go down there myself."

Thomas let out a breathless laugh. With how hoarse his voice was, it almost sounded like a croak. "So I could've used that excuse this whole time? Heh. Should've triggered it last year. Would've saved me a whole lot of sweat and tears. Literally."

Malcolm huffed. "Thought I taught you not to lie like that."

"Like you taught me to not lie about Mom being a witch?"

If Malcolm had been a couple decades younger, he might've rolled his eyes.

Yep, he's definitely your kid, Maggie, Malcolm thought. Never thought I'd meet someone who makes more wisecracks than you. Well, you and Harry. He gives Thomas a good run for his money, and he hasn't even hit puberty yet!

Thomas shifted, straightening himself up. "Sorry about… all this," he said.

"Don't be sorry about that, Thomas."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm your dad," Malcolm said. "Being there, for you and Harry; that's my job. The most important one I'll ever have."

Thomas winced. "Harry…"

"Is okay. Your brother's okay."

"I know," Thomas snapped. He winced immediately after, and shot Malcolm an apologetic look. "Sorry."

Malcolm huffed. "Now that you can apologize for."

"I just don't want him to see me like… you know."

Malcolm sighed. "I can't promise he won't. But I can promise I'll do my damn best to make sure he doesn't."

Thomas smiled. It was small, and it was fickle, but it was real. "Thanks."

Malcolm gave Thomas' shoulders one last squeeze before standing up. "Speaking of your brother, it's high time we picked him up from school."

The two of them shuffled into the station wagon. The entire time Malcolm was out there, he had seen one, maybe two cars pass by. So when he pulled onto the road, it didn't take him long to get to the main road back to town.

"Hey, Dad?" Thomas said.

"Yeah?"

"Harry wanted to try that donut place we saw by the fire station, right?"

Malcolm glanced to the side, just in time to see Thomas pull out a fifty dollar bill from his jean pocket.

"Thomas, I've told you, save that money for yourself," Malcolm said. "It's a gift for you. And if your sister found out you were using it on me—"

"Oh, this isn't Lara's money."

Malcolm paused. "Can I ask where you got it?"

Thomas chuckled. "Let's just say someone shouldn't leave their purse unattended after gossiping about my dad."

Malcolm stuttered.

The infirmary. The woman and her big bag, which she'd left on the nurse's desk. The desk that Thomas had moved to stand next to while the woman and the nurse smoked by the window.

"I taught you that trick so you could help me with my show," Malcolm exclaimed. "Not so you could pickpocket a nurse!"

"Technically, it was the secretary's purse," Thomas explained with a shrug. "Hey, she insulted you to my face. I say this is a fair enough tax."

"You should return that." Malcolm sighed. "But you have had a rough day. And she was being a…"

"Absolute bitch?"

"Don't talk about a woman that way," Malcolm scolded. "Thought I taught you better than to use that word."

Thomas huffed. "Fine. She was an absolute bastard."

Malcolm sighed. Again.

"Smartass," he muttered. "Just make sure you and your brother save a couple donuts for me."

I've always found it super fascinating how Thomas' demon is described to be super strong—on par with Lara's. Details of this scene (like the glow) were definitely based on Inari's almost-Turn in Blood Rites, and I can imagine that they must've been even more intense during Thomas' Turn, since his demon is canonically pretty powerful. It also made for a scene that was really fun to play around with!