red wine supernova 🍉

a diagram with arrows pointing between characters from the starving saints by caitlin starling. in the middle is ser voyne, and then clockwise from the top left corner is the loving saint, the constant lady, phosyne, and treila. the arrows are as follows, with the relationships afterwards:

loving saint → constant lady: employee/drone

loving saint ↔︎ treila: lust/wants to control

constant lady → loving saint: boss/queen

constant lady ↔︎ treila: loathes

constant lady → ser voyne: lust/ownership/possession/literally prevents her from being able to see treila by magic blurring wherever treila stands or obscuring her speech

constant lady → phosyne: wants to indoctrinate and own

phosyne → constant lady: former worshiper

phosyne → loving saint: former worshiper

phosyne → ser voyne: madwoman/captive goddess

phosyne ↔︎ treila: pities but psychosexually joined by love/lust/ownership by ser voyne

treila → ser voyne: long burning (blood)lust; wants to/successfully kill(s) her when she mistakes her for the loving saint (but brings her back)

ser voyne → treila: killed her father making her homeless, in love/lust with her; mistakes her for the constant lady

ser voyne → constant lady: worships, gets brainwashed by

The Walker manor perches at the apex of the vineyard, presiding over the sprawling fields and trails of Bloodvine. Muted cheers and the scent of bonfires fill the air at the base of the hill, wafting up on the late spring winds to the sensitive nose of one Logan Walker. The village celebrates his accomplishment, after all; coming of age is a big deal. Especially here, where it means Logan can take on larger community roles. Maybe he'll be able to lead some art classes for the little ones, like he'd been planning for the past few years. Or maybe he'd be able to go to Seaport, and finally see the sea – something he's only heard of, and seen in grainy clips on the television inside the house.

Sweat drips down the back of his neck; the citronella candles take their job seriously here, though the heat is getting to him a little bit. He swipes at the droplets on his forehead, bringing the beer bottle up to his lips. Adulthood comes with other perks, as well. It's not good, but it makes him feel cool, so he drinks it.

He sits on the porch, ankles crossed before him, not quite ready for the night to end. There's a hollowness in his chest, an ache he'd felt since last September when Hesh had shipped out. Freshly 18, he'd not waited longer than was mandatory; he needed to prove himself, according to their father. So out he went, leaving Logan in his wake. The celebratory nature of his birthday takes on a lonely edge, a twist that cuts deep inside. He misses his brother so much it makes his throat clench, but Hesh is doing what all men must.

The door opens, bathing Logan in light for a moment before darkness prevails. Heavy, steady footsteps make their approach, the comforting creak of the hunting knife's leather case marking his father's appearance.

Logan tilts his head back, taking in his dad.

Elias gazes at him with something heavy and unnameable, before shifting to a soft, paternal pride. One hand gently settles on Logan's shoulder as he sits down on the bench beside him, the wood creaking with the additional weight.

"Not ready for bed yet?" His voice, gruff and low, wraps around Logan like a hug.

He shakes his head, fingers fiddling with the beer bottle. It's just the two of them, and he feels more comfortable than he has in a while. So he speaks, instead of signing.

"Too wired." He gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Missing Hesh."

Elias leans back, his spine touching the picnic table edge. "He's proud of you too. And he'll be home before you know it."

Logan chews his lower lip. That's what Elias and Hesh both said when Hesh got in the car to go to the bus station, two hours away. Logan watched until he couldn't see the car anymore, then cried into his needlepoint on the couch.

"I hope so." It's all he can say without his throat tightening, so he hopes Elias changes the subject.

Luckily, he does.

"Your mom would be proud, too. You've done real well, finding yourself here. The kids love you, the teachers love you, and you do your part for this place, these people; I couldn't be more proud of the adult you've become."

There's a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders now. He'd taken his binder off when he'd retreated home from the party, leaving him in a t-shirt and jeans from earlier. Anything to catch a breather, though it does make something warm slip down his spine to feel another's touch over the sensitive marks on his shoulders. He leans further against Elias, chasing the feeling.

"Thanks, Dad. I'm glad I make you proud."

"You always have, Lo," Elias murmurs. "And I know you will, with the changes."

That gets Logan's attention. Dark brown eyes turn to Elias, curiosity hanging from every lash. Elias meets his gaze, one hand moving up to touch his cheek briefly.

"You're an adult now, Lo. That means you have additional responsibilities. Homemaking, teaching, cooking, cleaning; you'll do it well, I know you will."

A bashful smile and he bows his head to his fathers words. "Right, yeah. Mending clothes and selling the lotions and stuff?"

Elias nods. "That's right. You'll need to fit in with the other women in the village."

Logan considers this for but a moment, but accepts it as truth soon after. There are no others like him in this village; no others whose body does not match their soul. Logan never minded being a woman, and his name is unisex, which also helps. But his "condition," as Elias refers to it, was kept strictly on a need-to-know basis.

(That Elias had taken Logan to get something in his arm to keep him from falling with child was also on a need-to-know basis, because it meant he'd gone to a doctor outside the village. In both cases, no one in Bloodvine needed to know.)

Sometimes Logan dressed more masculine, especially if he was unaccompanied. But if he was with the children, or his father, or the women, he wore his linen dresses, light tops and skirts, his hair down and long. So of course now, being an adult, he would need to fit in with the other women in the village.

He is not a man, after all. A woman and a son; a woman and a brother. That is what he could be, and he adored it, for who needed to know his truth beyond his family?

"The other women in the village have households of their own. Which is to be mine?"

The hand on his shoulder seemingly grows hotter, like a brand, as Elias lightly squeezes down. "The Walker manor could do with a woman, don't you think, Lo?"

"Yes, of course," the agreement comes easy, "but you could have your pick of any in the village. With Hesh gone and me of marrying age…would you pick someone?"

He looks over at his father then, and finds that same unnameable, heavy look from earlier has slunk back to his gaze. Elias looks him over, and Logan dutifully holds still, letting him drink his fill.

He sees the way his father looks over his face, gaze hungriest at his lips, before dipping down, stopping at the hollow of his throat and the sweat collected there, then sliding down to the swell of his chest. Elias rubs his thumb over Logan's shoulder, and he sits up a little bit more, trying to get more of the gentle touch.

"I would." Elias' words don't break the tension; if anything, they add a tangible weight to it. Logan can practically taste it with every breath.

(Is this what beer does to a person? No wonder it's rationed, he thinks.)

"But she'd have to prove that she's right for me and my priorities. She'd have to know the house, including you and Hesh, better than anyone else. She'd be happiest within Bloodvine, and trust in my leadership. I'd never have to over explain. She'd be a perfect match."

Logan looks up, pupils blown wide. "That sounds…pretty specific."

"I won't settle for less," he murmurs, and Logan can practically feel his head swimming from the proximity. When did they get so close?

Elias studies him once again, and Logan feels like a rose before the wasp; his petals open, welcoming his father inside. He feels Elias' gaze dance across his exposed flesh, the little crawling sensation making him shiver ever so slightly. His father leans in, lips parting – and ducks his head to the side, blowing out the candles.

"Time to get inside, Little Lo," he murmurs. "It's past your new curfew."

Indeed, the sounds of the party from earlier had completely faded away, and the scent of the bonfires grew thinner. The bugs begin to swarm, and father and son stand, moving inside the house.

…

Logan awakens in his father's bed, nightgown twisted about his hips and his skin dewy with sweat. Though the ceiling fan is on, he hardly felt it. Elias puts out so much heat that just sharing a bed with him is too much sometimes. Yet Logan has no desire to change such a thing.

Being only freshly an adult, he had very few reasons to feel shame about sharing a bed with his father. Logan and Hesh each had their own rooms, but many times in their childhoods had shared a bed, either together or with their father. It was how things were in their house. While Bloodvine was the culmination of their father's vision, at the end of the day, all they had was each other. Elias taught that to them from a young age.

So Logan spent his first night as an adult in bed with his father, and didn't think much of it. His heart still ached with grief over his brother missing this milestone birthday, but the heat, socialization, and alcohol had sent him to a restful sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He lays on his back, adjusting his nightgown and separating the fabric from the sheets. He tries to focus on what today holds: newfound responsibilities, and familiar ones too, with his morning debut as a woman of the village. But in his current position, warm and still clinging to the fading wisps of dreams, he recalls what he felt last night in his dream.

Pleasure.

Not the kind derived from creating a beautiful artwork or eating a perfectly ripe orange, but the carnal, wet pleasure his body instinctively recognizes. His dream comes to him in starlit patches, smudged with the morning light. He recalls heat on his neck and touches at his breasts, his hips, his thighs, and that delicious, heady, final contact between his legs that makes him clench his thighs at the memory. The pressure makes him whimper softly, and the noise startles him free from his reverie.

Prickles of shame erupt along his shoulders, chest, and cheeks as he swallows back any possible other noises. What happened must have been something from the alcohol. It was just a dream, encouraged by new adulthood and the privileges that come with it. There's nothing wrong with having these thoughts.

Even if the guilt rises, hot and heady, telling him that there is if they're about the wrong person. He thinks of his father and his brother; he can't do this without them. They would guide him to make the right choice. He must remain untouched until he has a household of his own.

With a sigh, Logan sits up and gets out of bed. He firmly shoves the confusing thoughts aside as he makes his way to the bathroom.

He will not let himself be distracted by such dreams.

He will make Elias proud.

…

Despite dreams continuing, Logan excels with his daily chores and community tasks. He's thrilled that he's able to add an art lesson to the schooling. He cannot wait to guide young hands in the creation of beauty and joy, both functional and fantastical. Regular meetings with Lily and Vera bring his plans to life, and soon class preparation takes up a decent chunk of his day.

Between lesson planning and house preparation, Logan also gets to put his name into the Registry. It's the one public document Bloodvine has that keeps track of the villagers. Only adults are added into the Registry; now, Logan counts. His father accompanies him for the trip, Logan in a sundress and leather sandals in contrast to Elias' muscle tee, jeans, and boots.

When Logan asks to join the pool of those waiting to be vetted for Seaport trips, the clerk looks from her paperwork to Elias. Though Logan is an adult, Elias would be the one to decide his eligibility, even without their relation. Whatever she finds there, the clerk turns the page without marking his entry as interested in Seaport. Disappointment wells in Logan's heart, but before he can say anything, Elias clears his throat and puts his hand on Logan's shoulder, and says they'll discuss it back home. But between small home maintenance and repairs, mending, village trading, cleaning, and cooking for Logan and all the tasks Elias has - both public and secret - they don't find the time.

Logan vows to himself to bring up Seaport in the morning, when they're both breaking their fasts after Elias' morning patrol and Logan's meal preparation, but his dreams keep him heavy in bed. Especially when he shares it with his father.

Each night, they get more and more real feeling; he's even woken himself up with his moans before. The insistent subconscious demand for pleasure is something Logan's never dealt with before. He wishes Hesh were here; he could tell him about it, and surely he'd have an answer. But Hesh isn't here, and thinking about him makes his body hot in ways that have nothing to do with the weather.

Kind of like how Elias makes him feel.

Over the past few weeks they've settled into morning and evening routines.

In the morning, Elias goes on patrol around Bloodvine. While he's gone, Logan cleans out the house from any bugs and plant matter, opens the windows for fresh air, and begins on breakfast. He has it ready for his father by the time he returns from patrol, and they dine together, discussing plans for the day. If Logan must go into the village main, Elias will clear part of his schedule the following day to take him; otherwise, Logan remains at the Walker manor, gardening and sketching crochet projects and preparing items for trade.

In the evening, Elias returns from his tasks, only some of which Logan knows about. He prepares supper with what was in the garden and whatever meat he can find - in the freezer, salted in the barrels below, or fresh caught and prepped by the hunting party, if his father partook. They dine together, and Logan shares what he's learned or how classes went or what his projects are, and then they retire to the living room. They open the windows and leave the screens in, turn the ceiling fan on, and Elias reads while Logan works on his personal fiber arts, the things that can stay with him instead of for trade or selling for Seaport cash. Despite the heat, they sit beside each other, Elias' hand on Logan's thigh like a brand, lifting only to turn pages. They remain like this until Elias finishes his section of his book or Logan's fingers grow numb, and then they retire to bed; often the same one.

All of it makes Logan feel settled, at home, balanced. It's the best he's felt since Hesh left, and he's sure Elias can see that too. But it also makes him wonder how another woman could possibly fit into such a dynamic. Elias, Hesh, and Logan are the triad of Bloodvine; if they were to falter, what would become of their home? Logan wants his father happy, but as late spring stretches luxuriously into early summer, he cannot help but wonder if anyone could make him happy in the ways he needs.

He wants Elias happy. He wants to be everything he can be for his father.

His secret dreams, though, lounge as a sensual barrier between them. He has yet to tell him of what happens, yet Elias doesn't seem to notice anything is amiss; not even when Logan wakes with his thighs wet and pulse racing, nightgown rucked up to his chest, bare before the night air and mere inches from his father's sleeping form. In those moments, Logan almost wishes Elias would wake up and see what's becoming of his son. He wishes he would take him into his arms and teach him all he needed to know to make the frustration stop.

He cannot be everything Elias needs if he cannot be honest with him.

There's only one thing to do.

…

"Dad?" Logan whispers in the pool of moonlight at his father's doorway.

There's the shifting of sheets and Elias pushes up on his elbow, giving Logan his attention. Now that he has it, he's unsure what to do, so he simply goes closer, a haunting vision in white in the glow of the full moon.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" His father's voice is rough, thick with sleep.

Logan swallows, his pulse quickening. "I'm alright. I just, had a question for you."

Elias nods and sits up properly now, one leg moving out of the bed to rest on the floor, the other tucked under him. "Must be important if it couldn't wait until morning," he lightly teases. "What is it?"

A smile whisks across Logan's face, but then his father asks the obvious question, and the anxiety wells. His voice is stolen from him, but it's dark in this room, and he can't help but feel unprepared for this conversation. There's a hush-click, and then a lighter pressing flame to wick on the bedside candles. The warm glow spreads enough light, with the moonlight, that Logan's signing would be visible.

As always, Elias knows what he needs.

It happens at night, he begins, signing. I have these dreams…they feel good but I, they've never felt so real before. I wake up feeling like it actually happened. But my body wants more.

Logan can't see too much of his father's face, only a sliver in the candlelight. His father is in shadow, while he himself glows. He can only hope he hasn't made his father upset by this revelation.

"How often do you have these dreams, sweetheart?"

No upset so far. Logan eagerly offers the truth, once again.

Once or twice a week; sometimes more, never less.

A low hum in the darkness. His father thinks, ruminating over the information presented.

"You said they feel good…how, Lo? Show me."

Heat zips down his spine, pooling at the muscles and tendons that cradle his hips. My body, he says, gesturing down to his chest, his hips, and his thighs. He's come this far, he can't falter now. Not when he's so close to an answer.

I don't know where they come from, he whispers, fingers returning to their cramped grip in the hem of his nightgown. One strap falls off his shoulder, giving his sunburnt skin a break from the friction. Only that they leave me warm and hungry.

A warm hand slips over Logan's right, gently working loose his grip from the linen.

"You're an adult now, sweetheart. These things are bound to happen." A pause, and then, "Do you ever touch yourself, to get rid of the feeling?"

Logan blushes so warm he may just melt, and he shakes his head, ashamed of his lack of action.

"Really?"

The surprise in his father's tone makes the shame all the heavier. Was he supposed to? How would he know to do it? He's heard a few things from the rare times he's been around other teens, but they hardly had those conversations with him. He had assorted information and nowhere to put it.

I don't know how? His brows furrow, turning the statement into a question. Perhaps it is one. A question only his father could answer.

Elias shifts in the bed, and pats the middle of the mattress. Obediently, Logan crawls to the singled out spot, kneeling on the mattress. It takes him from the candlelight, but closer to his father, so maybe his signing could be seen better.

"Do you ever dream of anyone in particular?" Elias asks.

Logan swallows, but shakes his head. It's not entirely true; when he wakes, he's often thinking of Elias and Hesh, wondering if they, too, feel similar urges. He wonders if any woman is making Hesh feel that way, wherever in the country he is now. He wonders if any woman has caught Elias' eye, and will be taking the household responsibilities from Logan as soon as she proves herself. He wonders and his stomach ties itself in knots and so he doesn't stay in the pleasure and instead gets to work, wanting to prove himself good enough to his father. That he needn't settle for less than perfect, because Logan will be here to make all the pieces fit together.

Logan lifts his head, when he realizes it's been silent for a while.

Elias regards him with careful scrutiny, before he reaches forward and cups Logan's shoulder - the one without a strap. Slowly, he slides his hand down, touching over the heated skin in the moonlight. Logan's breath hitches, but he remains supple beneath his father's touch.

"It's alright if you do. It's natural." As he speaks, he rubs his thumb along Logan's bare skin, gooseflesh erupting with each pass of searing heat.

It's natural, his father says. He trusts his father.

I can't see who it is, but I know it's a man.

Elias nods in approval. "Of course it is. You're newly of age, you would be thinking of things like this." His touch remains at Logan's shoulder, but Logan wishes to feel it in other places.

Really? he asks, trying to distract himself.

"Yes, Little Lo." A warm smile, indulgent and soft, that makes Logan's head swim and his thighs clench. "Here; let me help. I'll show you how to feel better."

Pink lips part as Logan nods, breathless with relief.

His father's grip shifts, now guiding Logan closer to him, laying him down in the middle of the bed. Elias moves over him, his leather necklace with the silver charm dangling down from his bare chest as he does. Logan lifts the hem of his nightgown up to his hips, as if to take it off, but his father slides his hand up his thigh, savoring and slow, and Logan freezes. Elias hushes him, parting Logan's thighs to kneel between them. Logan feels his heartbeat between his legs, looking up at the shadowed figure of his father.

This is what his dreams are made of, he realizes. Biting his lower lip, he reaches up to untie the central closure of his nightgown's top, letting the fabric fall to the side. He bares his chest to his father, nipples hard and rosy in the summer heat. He's barely breathing with anticipation.

Logan wraps his arms over his father's shoulders, not knowing what he intends to do but needing him close regardless. Elias leans down, his chest brushing against Logan's as he does so, making him feel warm all over. Their faces are a few centimeters apart, their hips pressed flush against each other. Logan squirms, just a bit, feeling the swells of his chest brush against his father's pecs and the soft, wet space between his thighs meeting his father's hardness.

Oh.

This, he's heard of before.

"Do you dream of me too, Dad?" Logan whispers, gathering his scraps of courage to voice his question. His lips almost brush Elias' as he speaks.

When Elias nods, their lips do brush. It's Logan's first kiss.

He opens his mouth to speak, to ask if he should have been serving his father like this for longer, if his father's dreams left him, too, unsatisfied in the morning. But Elias takes his mouth for his own, in a gentle, yet all encompassing kiss, and Logan melts.

Elias pulls back after a few moments. Logan squeezes his arms around him, not wanting him to leave, holding on for all he can.

"Easy, baby." One hand soothingly rubs along the outside of Logan's bare thigh as he speaks. "I'm going to go slow tonight. Teach you how to make yourself feel good."

"What about you?" The thought of not learning how to satisfy Elias makes Logan's heart race, and not in a good way.

Elias chuckles softly, and takes Logan's mouth in another soothing kiss. "We'll get to that. Tonight's about you, Little Lo. Let Daddy help."

Pacified and aching, Logan nods, his father's words a heady refrain in his mind.

Let Daddy help.

He parts his thighs, baring his cunt to his father. Elias touches him over the soaked cotton, and Logan arches his back in bliss.

Keegan isn't even sure if this is worth his time. They're out of money, time, and options, though, so this is it. He slides the note into the mailbox for the missed connections and hurries back through the ever present rain to the tiny little mom & pop inn they're staying in.

When he opens the door, Logan pops out from his hiding place, ears perked up as he trots over to Keegan's side. He's on all fours again, and Keegan can't help the queasy feeling that he gets upon seeing this. But whoever – if anyone, the bitter part of his mind reminds him – answers the connection he put out there, he at the very least can get money to then get someone else's opinion on...well, how to move forward.

There's plenty use for hybrids in the military, especially with the types of units Keegan was working with. Hell, they'd even joked that Hesh and Riley together made one hybrid, from how closely the two worked.

But that was different. What happened to Logan in that jungle...there is no sugarcoating it. His change was by force – Keegan would even go so far as to say a form of torture, given the withdrawal symptoms and the bruising around his hips that he'd seen when he undressed him – and that Logan seems content with it is even more alarming. The brainwashing, the forced change, all of it to make a docile mockery of the Ghosts.

And it worked.

Elias and Ajax KIA, Logan and Keegan presumed POW and AWOL respectively, and only Merrick knowing what actually happened. There's no going back. Not when Merrick knows what would happen to Logan if they did.

Not if Keegan has anything to say about keeping Logan from more experimentation and exploitation. Their career with the Ghosts was shot from the moment Keegan stole Logan back. And now, after laying low and expending too many resources on getting the hell out of the US, they're at the end of any good graces the universe felt like expending to them.

Lost in his thoughts, Keegan automatically shucks his jacket and boots, gently passing a hand through Logan's hair between his ears. He makes his way to the duffel bag, beaten and well worn but good enough to keep leftover supplies in.

"We're alright," he mutters, and sends Logan over to one of the beds. The hybrid doesn't move, so Keegan tries a different tactic.

"Hungry?"

They have nothing but some granola bars he stole in the airport but it's gotta be better than nothing. They have no cash anyway.

Logan makes a small noise of uncertainty, and gently headbutts his hip. Keegan assumes it's to make sure he eats too.

To satisfy the pup, he takes a quarter of the granola bar, before offering the rest to him. It's not the best for either of them but it's better than nothing, and not nearly as messy to prepare or keep edible. From there comes basic hygiene and preparing for bed, even as it pains Keegan to have Logan looking at him all pathetic from the foot of the other bed.

Logan needs boundaries, after everything he's gone through. He deserves his own space. And no matter how many times Keegan tells him it's okay to want his own space, to need it, Logan still looks at him like he's just taken away his one and only joy.

Keegan closes his eyes and reviews the plan for the next day. Minor thievery, scoping out the south side of the town they're in (they took the busses so far north, Keegan isn't even sure if they're still in England), maybe finding a laundromat if that's an option. He hears a whining sigh from the bed next to him, but refuses to look over. There's a small shuffle against the covers, but then Logan's breathing begins to even out.

Keegan peeks over, and finds Logan curled up on top of the covers, tail tucked between his legs, big brown eyes staring at Keegan as if begging for something. At the eye contact, his tail begins to wag, and Keegan feels overwhelming guilt rise once again.

If only he'd been faster if only he hadn't waited if only he'd been there since Vegas to stop him from being taken if only if only if only

It's going to be a long night for both of them.

...

For Military & Muzzled —

Saw you with your hybrid in the overhang outside of Emma's. He was muzzled with a working vest, you were masked and in all black. Recognized the boots from my own service. Have some hybrid behavior questions, and hope you can answer them.

— K. Russ

...

As is usual after the completion of a project, it's going to be a lazy day, and that means Simon gets to front. As is usual when Simon fronts, he wakes up to Johnny nosing at him in their bed. As is usual when Johnny noses at him in their bed, he's already gotten the newspaper from the driveway.

What is not usual is that he's already opened it to a particular page.

"Mmngh? What, what is it, pup," Simon manages, reaching a hand up to scruffle Johnny's grown out hair. The happy thump of his tail against the bed shows that he's gotten the right spot. But before Simon can fall back asleep, Johnny whines and puts his hand over the newspaper, crinkling it into the bed.

With a sigh, he pulls his hand back to rub at one eye, forcing himself to sit up a little more. "Okay, okay. Show me. Show."

It's one of the earlier commands, replacing the ones given to him by Makarov, giving him guidance when he's overwhelmed by the sheer options of behavior that freedom provides. Simon and Ghost have both given it to Johnny plenty of times that it overcomes his memory lapses these days, more often than not.

There's a bark, with an inside voice this time, before he takes his hand off of the paper. A yellow Post-it note with the mailman's scrawl lies, crumpled, but legible.

Someone's missing you - check page 9.

Johnny nudges the note out of the way and taps his claw on the section he wants Simon to read.

"The missed connections? What, you looking for a friend?" he asks, but does pick up the paper (and his glasses) before Johnny can start howling at the injustice of Riley taking time to read something.

He scans through them, finding tongue-in-cheek references to other community members. The tiny seaside town they've found retirement in isn't exactly home to a bustling populace, but there are enough disparate groups that make missed connections both fun and semi-useful. It's the last one that catches his attention.

military and muzzled, Ghost echoes with no small amount of exhaustion as Simon reads it, co-fronting just enough to bother seeing the salutation line of the posting.

A semi-wordless sharing of memories helps Simon recall that day. They'd been out picking up more coffee beans for the house, and checking on the Campbell's roof with the first bout of rains since they'd fixed it up. Johnny was working, which limited the amount of reactivity – but it hadn't stopped him from adjusting his stance just enough to bring Ghost to the front as Johnny alerted of a different kind.

It had been long enough that neither of them were wanted, per se, but it was always a fear in the back of their minds.

But this person cast a few glances their way and then kept on walking, head down, not talking to anyone. Which was weird enough, in a place where everyone knew everybody. A few questions at Emma's and he'd learned that the stranger taking more than a couple looks at he and Johnny was an American by the name of Keegan with a hybrid staying at the inn. He'd paid for their room in cash, both looked skittish as all hell, and reminded Connor of the two of them when they'd blown into town. Comparison and information secured, Ghost had filed it away for later use.

It appears later use had come, a few days later.

When Simon can focus back on the present, he sees Johnny now sitting on the floor, one clawed hand on the bed, clearly about to alert that he had taken too long in his discussion.

"Sorry pup, we're alright," he murmurs. He scruffles his hair and moves back to the newspaper as he sits up. "Looks like we're getting out of the house today after all, huh?"

Johnny rolls his eyes, before moving towards the stairs from their little bedroom loft with a happy tail wag. "C'mon c'mon c'mon!"

With a sigh, Simon makes his way out of the bed. Jokes on him for thinking he'd have a day to himself.

Oh well.

...

Keegan wakes and does their usual morning routine. With an actual bathroom in their room, it's even easier to get Logan to drink some water, clean his teeth, etc. He wants to have Logan take a shower, but he doubts the hair dryer attached to the wall would be enough to completely dry him, and the last thing he wants is Logan getting sick.

(Maybe it's an old wives tale, but it's something he remembers of his mother – never leaving the house with wet hair, and yelling at him when he did.)

He'd been saving the spare set of clothes he'd managed to swipe back in the States for an opportunity like this, though. He triple checks that the doors are locked and windows can't open, and then finally, finally is able to take a proper shower.

Upon exiting, he finds himself caught with the foggy reflection in the mirror.

His hair has grown out, these past two months, and it's now beginning to cover his ears. Definitely not regulation, and definitely a perk towards staying hidden. Keegan lets his gaze go a little soft, helped by the obscuring steam across the mirror. It's easier, now, to imagine his hair longer; spilling over his shoulders, brushing his collar bones, long enough to pull back if he wanted. It's easier to imagine his body being softer, for once, instead of starved and dehydrated and decaying military muscle running on pure adrenaline. It's easier to imagine some curves here and there, a softness to all of him that he'd been haunted by for almost his whole life. Certainly for longer than he was with the Ghosts.

It's easier to imagine him being her.

She thinks she'd keep her name, she likes it, it was picked by her mother. She wears androgynous clothing that obscures her body most of the time anyway; looser is better for stealing, able to hide things in the waistband of pants or against her ribs under a sweatshirt.

She could try, even with just undergarments, and see how it feels. Maybe a tube or two of mascara or lipgloss. Small things she could reasonably afford on a runaway's budget of Free.99.

She loses herself in the fantasy for a few moments.

Too long, as the ancient fan in the bathroom begins to do its job and finally pulls the steam from the mirror, leaving Keegan in stark reality.

Swallowing, Keegan looks down, avoiding the too accurate reflection. Reaching for the pile of black clothing on the toilet lid, he hurries to get dressed, and to shove that curiosity and feeling far, far below. They so don't have time for this.

He leaves the bathroom, now dressed, and running his fingers through his hair in a way that simulates combing, before heading over to the duffel bag to see what they have remaining for breakfast. They're in dire straits here, as Keegan picks through and finds three granola bars and one small bag of fruit leather.

Fuck.

Logan's ears perk up from where he's standing next to Keegan, and he looks towards the door. Keegan hears it a moment later – tires leaving the paved road and settling on the gravel parking spots for the inn's rooms, the sound of an engine cutting off.

"Into the bathroom," he instructs, nudging Logan towards it. There's a small window in the bathroom – too small for Keegan but enough for Logan's newly skinny form – that could be an escape point. He herds Logan inside and closes the door, then doubles back to the duffel bag, grabbing the one firearm he was able to secure through the passages over here.

Extra-legal ways of travel had some benefits.

He listens as the voice – English, from the accent, but he's not well versed enough to be able to tell which kind – comes closer, with two sets of footsteps. He tucks the gun behind his back, listening as they approach.

"Mind yourself Johnny. None of this is yours."

There's an answering bark and a, "Quiet voice" in response, and then a knock at the door.

Keegan approaches and glances through the peephole.

Well he'll be damned.

Military and muzzled actually answered.

...

Riley stands with the newly purchased backpack slung over one shoulder, the other hand loosely holding on to Johnny's leash. The bag contains all the starter stuff he thinks they could use: a collapsible bowl, harness, leash, packs of jerky and treats that Johnny likes, and are suitable for a variety of diets, and an outdoor blanket that does a good job keeping the wet ground separate from the bodies on top. Johnny looks all too proud of himself, standing beside Riley but leaning down to sniff at the door knob, taking in as much information about the occupants through scent as possible.

The deadbolt unlatches and it opens, just a crack, as much as the chain allows.

Pale blue eyes and dark hair look up at Riley, assessing his masked face. A glance down to Johnny, who gives a little clawed wave. Satisfied, a low voice asks, "How can I help?"

"I think you've asked for our help," Riley replies. "Masked, and - well, he's not muzzled, but still. Russ, right?"

There's a small nod and the door closes, the sound of a chain moving behind it, before it reopens again, revealing a simple inn room. Russ stands to the side and lets Riley and Johnny enter, before closing the door behind them once again.

Johnny immediately drops to a squat, sniffing along the walls, scenting out the occupants of the room. He circles back to the bathroom door with a whine, which has Russ' hackles up. Riley, seeking to keep the peace, pats his thigh to call Johnny to heel as he sets the bag down on the chair in the room. Disgruntled, but obediently, Johnny makes his way over to Riley, sitting at his feet and looking up at him, waiting for his release cue.

Riley can see the way Johnny is making their host feel some type of way, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he asks, "So what exactly can we help with?"

Russ turns to look towards the bathroom, the shape of the handgun tucked into his waistband visible to Riley.

"Come on out, Logan."

The bathroom door gently opens, and out comes an awkward looking hybrid, dressed in an oversized shirt and sweatpants, definitely not meant for hybrid wear. He's far from Johnny's size, in terms of musculature, but he definitely is taller. Lean and willowy, with long blond fur and very, very cautiously optimistic brown eyes, His ears perk up from being almost invisibly plastered against his head, and he freezes as he takes in Johnny and Riley, glancing constantly to Russ for comfort.

Whatever happened, it's clear these two are in it for the long haul, and woefully unprepared at the same time.

Riley doesn't release Johnny from his sit, but does move over to be closer to Russ and let them both see he means no harm.

He offers a hand to Russ, who takes it on instinct. His hand is cold, but strong.

"Name's Simon. This is Johnny," he says, gesturing over his shoulder to the very intently sitting hybrid.

"Keegan, this is Logan. We're...transplants, you could say."

been there before, surfaces in Riley's mind, from both Simon and Ghost, with differing emotional states.

Riley offers a hand to Logan, palm up and fingers relaxed, inviting him to come closer. Logan casts several glances to Keegan for direction, and when he finally gets the go ahead, Logan delicately steps closer and sniffs at Riley's hand. His tail starts to wag, no doubt smelling food and a happy hybrid on his hands. It brings a small smile to Riley's mouth, hidden by the surgical mask.

"American transplants, all the way up here. What brings you?" Riley asks, gently giving cheek pets to Logan, who promptly melts.

"Couldn't stay where we were before," Keegan says, voice a bit strained. Riley would be a fool to assume that was solely because of memory. Out of respect for the weirdness here, he gently lets his hand fall from Logan's face, but does gesture over to Johnny.

"You can say hi. He's excitable, but he'll behave," Riley murmurs.

As usual, Logan checks with Keegan first, but at his small nod, he then begins to make his way over towards Johnny, who is fighting every instinct to not drop into a play bow and immediately try to tussle.

"What is he?" Keegan asks, blue gaze locked on the two hybrids sniffing at each other, Johnny's tail going a mile a minute and Logan's tentatively beginning to wag as well.

"Some kind of wolf mix," Riley replies. "Not exactly sure. He wasn't born a hybrid and the details around his transition are more than a little murky. He's got enough dog in him to not completely hate humans, though, but I'd wager a large part of that is that's just...Johnny."

Keegan swallows, and perches on the edge of the bed he had slept on, gesturing for Riley to do the same on the still made bed Logan had curled up on the night before. They have a moment of heavy silence, watching as Logan rolls onto his back, baring his tummy and throat in submission, and Johnny takes advantage to scent and nuzzle all along the new hybrid, claiming him as his own pack, even for the afternoon. The tension radiating from Keegan has Riley turning to look back to him.

"You said you had behavior questions, I brought some stuff that might help. Just general care stuff, you know. A bowl, harness, some treats; the basics. Consistency is key, as is meeting them where they are."

"How do you know where they are?" Keegan's tone betrays a hint of the desperation Riley's certain he's feeling in vast amounts. He remembers drowning in it himself, when he and Johnny first arrived in some semblance of peace.

"It takes some getting used to, for sure," he allows, rubbing his thumb over a scar on the side of his hand in absentminded thought. "But you do get a sense for how they're feeling. Johnny lets us know his needs, don't you boy?"

Johnny perks up from where he's all but draped over Logan, tail wagging. He makes a noise of the affirmative, a husky-talk kind of sound, before he flops onto his side and sniffs at Logan's face.

A glance to Keegan shows him carefully schooling his features. "Is that…what he wants, though? He wasn't a hybrid before, does he miss being…not that?"

"To be honest, he's not all that different from how he was. Always gregarious and friendly and a spitfire." His smile fades beneath the mask as he wrestles with sharing the next bit of information. Ghost seems to think it's important enough, muscling his way to the front to share.

"He got shot in the line of duty. Caused some brain damage, and now his short term memory ain't what it used to be." Gloved fingers gesture to the newly revealed scar on Johnny's temple, his long hair having mostly hid it while he was rightside up.

There's a pause from Keegan then, the other man clearly weighing something in his mind. Ghost gives him the space, and Simon nudges Ghost back again, not wanting to possibly remind this guy of all the horrors he's seen over the course of his service. The silence stretches into companionable lengths before Keegan speaks again.

"Are there a lot of other hybrids in town?"

Riley shakes his head, tearing his gaze from watching Johnny trying – and failing – to coax play behavior out of Logan. Play bows, sneezes, pawing – none of it elicits any response save for Logan looking more insistently to Keegan for guidance, and Keegan steadfastly looking away from Logan, refusing to give it. This in turn has Johnny looking back up at Riley for assistance, as if to say, why can't he play?

"No, not really. Occasionally some will pass through, but it's mainly Johnny. He likes it though; I think he considers it all to be his town." A beat, and then, "Seems like he enjoys having a playmate though."

Johnny turns back to Logan and noses at him, trying to get him to move. He growls as he stands, moving on all fours over to the other side of Logan's stringy body.

"Is he– are you sure?" Keegan asks, alarmed at the noise Johnny makes, which in turn makes Logan's ears go back as he tries to sit up and move closer to Keegan.

"Oh, he's just being playful. He's definitely got some huskie in him. And he's always had a lot to say, haven't you, Johnny?" he murmurs, patting his thigh. Johnny hops over Logan's body and happily trots over to his person.

Johnny sits near Riley's feet, looking up at him expectantly.

"What? You want a treat?" Riley asks, hoping to burn some of Johnny's energy away so Logan can have a minute to recover. Already he can see the other hybrid jumping up onto the bed, but keeping a distance from Keegan, with great remorse on his face.

The guilt in this room is stifling.

wonder if he's Catholic, Ghost pipes up, and Simon has to bite his lip to focus on not snorting. It's not funny, not really, but Ghost's delivery makes it so.

Johnny, meanwhile, had started to do his trick repertoire, which is equally mental stimulation and physical stimulation, testing his memory and his flexibility. He sits, spins, rolls over, shakes, spins the other direction, and barks with his inside voice, before Riley gives him the treat. He happily chows down, turning away from the crowd.

It's the most polite his food aggression has ever been, and Riley makes a mental note to reward him for being good.

…

Johnny didn't leave the conversation's general area until he needed to piss. He left Logan's side, trotted over to the front door of their little room, scratched once at it, and that was that. Riley gives an apologetic look to Keegan, promising to return shortly. The two exited the room, and Keegan was left alone with Logan and a bag of hybrid supplies that seemed far too canine for his comfort.

But maybe that's his problem.

Keegan has spent the past few minutes of this conversation feeling a stonefruit pit form in his chest, hard and unmoving, crystalized guilt. Watching Logan so uncertain of how to play with another hybrid, one who seemed friendly enough if not a bit intense, made Keegan feel like he was fucking up all of this. The Logan Walker he remembered wasn't coming back, if Johnny was any indication. He could be happy again, though. He could find peace in this new life.

Keegan just isn't sure he'll be able to give that to him by himself. Not when he looks at him and feels the weight of Hesh's swift decline and Elias' death on his shoulders. Neither of them would have wanted this for Logan. Keegan doesn't want this for Logan, yet the newly-made hybrid himself seems just fine in his new form. A bit gangly and awkward, but fine.

That hurts Keegan most of all.

Rorke is dead but his taskforce continues, as do the Ghosts, a fact that feels like a bandaid on a floodgate. He's not fooling himself; there is no returning to the past. He and Logan have to fade into the margins of Ghost history.

Where does that leave their present?

He'd hoped finding another hybrid would give them answers, but it seems to only raise more questions. They can't stay here another night, but maybe Keegan could score some money from Riley, just enough to keep them moving until they got somewhere Logan would be alright. Somewhere with others like him, with humans who could look at him without guilt and pain and self-hatred. Deep down, Keegan knows it's not fair to Logan to look at him this way, but he can't help it.

He's got his own skeletons in his closet.

A wet nose presses against the back of his hand, startling him. Ice blue eyes look down to find Logan staring up at him, ears half perked, tentatively trying to lay his head on his lap. His long shaggy blond hair melts into the rest of his coat, hidden by his clothes. A soft huff escapes, and he noses closer into Keegan's lap when he's not pushed away.

Tentatively, Keegan settles his hand over Logan's head, fingers burying into his hair. Logan's tail tip wags furiously, the majority of it tucked under his hip. Keegan swallows back the conflicting guilt and hope that arises. Softly, his fingertips move in circles, gently massaging Logan's scalp. He's careful to avoid the scars where his ears join his head, but it doesn't matter. Logan's trembling like a leaf, pressing closer into Keegan's grasp.

He likes being pet. For a moment, Keegan lets himself forget, lets himself pet down his head and neck, as if he's just running his fingers through his hair. For a moment, things are okay. For a moment, he doesn't fail Logan's needs.

The door opens.

Keegan freezes, looking up at the doorway. Johnny trots inside, followed by an apologetic Riley.

"Sorry about that, we-"

Johnny goes right up to Keegan and Logan, sitting on the floor between the two beds in the room. He sniffs at Logan, who sniffs back without moving, craving Keegan's touch.

"We want you to stay with us. Be a pack. You need it." Johnny speaks, taking Keegan by surprise. He hadn't so far, but had been very vocal in other ways; he'd assumed Johnny had lost the ability to speak in the transformation. It appears not.

"Johnny!" Riley admonishes, though there's no heat to the words. "You can't make them."

An annoyed huff as Johnny looks back at Riley. "I dinnae make 'em. I tell them. They come now."

A blush of overwhelm ghosts across Riley's face, and Keegan gives a little sympathetic look and wince.

"If it's alright, I wouldn't say no. We don't have much, though, and you've already done so much." He looks over at the bag of supplies and materials, meant for a life with much more structure and independence in it than Keegan thinks they can afford.

Riley shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. Consider it us paying it forward."

Johnny nods, panting happily and tail wagging as he once again tries to coax Logan into playing with him. Logan sits up, stretching as he looks up at Keegan, yawning and showing all of his teeth. He's a bit overwhelmed, and Keegan claws desperately at the idea of giving Logan agency in any part of this.

"Whatcha think, kid? Wanna check it out?" he asks, voice low, just for Logan.

He watches those big brown eyes glance between Keegan, Johnny, and Riley, realization slowly dawning on him. His tail wags, more insistently than before, and he snuggles against Keegan with a happy noise.

"Well," Keegan starts, then has to clear his throat of the emotion lodged there. "Yeah, lets load up. C'mon Logan."

Johnny jumps up onto the other bed, tail wagging as he watches them pack up. Keegan hears Riley talking him into some semblance of calm, giving him scruffles and pets as he does a final check of their gear, making sure that they've got everything.

When they're ready to go, they file out of the room. Johnny jumps up into the truck bed from the ground, and Logan looks between Keegan and Johnny, torn.

"Let 'em up there, 's alright." Riley's calm insistence somehow doesn't rub Keegan the wrong way. Maybe he's just tired of making all the decisions for both of them.

With permission, Logan hops up into the truck bed, where he settles down out of view. Keegan hops into the passenger seat, the back bench filled with their meager belongings. Riley gets into the driver's side, and starts up the truck.

"Wait, should we check out or something?" Keegan asks, and Riley waves a hand.

"Nah. Stacy saw the truck, she probably suspects what happened."

Sable brows furrow, ice entering Keegan's bloodstream. "What do you mean?"

A glance from Riley, and a small smile from beneath the mask. "At ease, solider. Like I said, we're paying it forward. You two aren't the first pair to come her way in need of help."

Keegan falls silent as they rejoin the main road through town, buildings and pedestrians passing by. A few call out towards the truck, and they get a wave from Riley or a howl of recognition from Johnny. They're well known here, well liked. It's nice to see.

About 20 minutes later, they roll up to a small, mostly sand and stone, road. It veers downhill, to a little house with no direct neighbors. There's no gardens but there are a few bird baths and bird feeders; a bit of evergreen shrubbery around the base of the house and along the side to break up the winds out here. A parking spot for one car – the truck he's riding in, Keegan supposes – abuts a wooden privacy fence, which strikes him as odd given the lack of proximity to anyone.

It looks well loved, cared for. It looks like it is everything to someone who knows what it is like to have nothing.

Keegan swallows back any words as they park. He sees Riley reach up and remove the black surgical mask from his face, hanging it on the rearview mirror. The scars aren't surprising to Keegan, and it does irritate his curiosity to life, but he knows he needs to remain considerate. Grilling his host isn't the way to camaraderie.

Not yet, anyway.

Whining comes from the back of the truck, followed by a scrabbling of nails on metal and then impact on stone. A dark brown blur races towards the front door, where Johnny then sits and howls against the injustice of being kept out from his home.

"At least he waited until we were parked this time," Riley mutters, and opens the door. "C'mon; it's not much, but it's home."

Keegan steps out of the truck as well, heading to the back first to help Logan out of the truck bed, and then grabbing their belongings from the back seat. Logan sits, looking up at Keegan with curiosity and hope. It twists the knife so deep Keegan's breathless for a moment.