Seriously, what a nice surprise!

*cutely jump back the fandom*

It didn't matter if the stranger was taller than him or not, he's trying to look tough, not pathetic and weak after all the body had pushed itself through thanks to good ole hormones. This facade likely didn't fool the man before him. Yet, unyielding to the whole vulnerability front- a quiet, firm gaze is shot toward company. It takes a few minutes, but it somewhat softens after scent let it be known the man wasn't was of them. "You don't look like you have water on you." As if Damien could really see all that well to begin with.

Seeing some shit was an understatement, yet the kind of shit Horangi saw as a soldier was the different kind of... weird that was going on in front of his eyes. He was told the mission would be different, but what was like a woman saying she was different. He took his CO's officer for word but different varied in the eye of the beholder. Granted, civilian streets, a solitary subject, and a lack of armed persons was extremely different. It was off in a way which made his knee jump and his fingers drum against his leg like he was itching for a bet, except he hadn't been feeling excited-- more like feeling anxious.

He didn't question his orders. He had paid his due long ago doing things a normal person only saw in fiction and reality would make them sick to their stomach if not their soul. Horangi was used to ruthless missions with nameless targets; this was some kid who looked like he was one step away from either a party of being in a grave. Kim didn't let any of his emotions show except whatever hint of amusement the stranger brought out. He snorted a little and let out a careless shrug.

“ It's in my car but... ”

Gloved hand waved in the air to make his point; like he didn't care whether his help was accepted or rejected. In the kid's shoes he'd be suspicious too. It was only a matter of time, and really, for all his little anxieties, this was getting to be too easy. He felt like a vulture waiting for a rat to die. Thought was becoming something of reality as the so called rat toppled over, and in came the vulture. Shit. He did feel bad, probably more than he should have considering his past. Even before serving he'd done some shady shit except then it had been in the name of degeneracy and desperation.

This was law and order. Following orders; being a good little soldier. Kim's eyes swept the area before he approached the fallen kid and bent down to first, check his pulse, two check that damn eye of his, and three... haul him up and over his shoulder. Kim was shorter but was built for carrying 70lbs of gear in the field. Lifting up the target was no sweat, just bloody. What the fuck happened? Feeling and smelling all the blood made him groan low, so he made sure to carry him gently.

He already had planned on carrying him gently. It was just the depositing him into the back of the van that needed to be handled with care. Balancing him on his shoulder, he opened the back of his van and very slowly set him down. The zipties and gag would have to wait. Kim hopped inside and shut the doors, then began running his hands up and down his body for an assessment. The facility was waiting and prepped with everything to hold a subject, including a doctor and nurse full time on staff.

Caution didn't cost anyone anything (not generally), so at the very least Kim ziptied the kid's ankles together, then took off his own jacket and bundled it as a cradle for the other's head. Who said KorTac operatives weren't kind? He sort of shoved the kid against the side of the van so he wouldn't roll around. Funny he had enough supplies to bind five men and enough supplies to feed an additional five, but he didn't consider straps to keep an unconscious person secured. Horangi glanced at him.

A bit of worry. A bit of curiosity. Made sure he kept breathing before he made his way to the driver's seat. There was a metal barrier between the boot of the van and the driver's seat, so Horangi went the long away around while making sure all doors were locked. From the driver's seat he gave the kid one last look through the rear view mirror before he was. Least the kid would get someone to look him over. Of course that came with a steep price.

He felt it before he fully registered it—that shift in Megumi. Subtle. Fragile. But unmistakable. Megumi leaning into him. And it knocked the air out of his lungs in a way no fight, no injury, no near-death scrape ever had. For a second, Toji didn’t move. Didn’t breathe right. His body—so used to reacting, adjusting, calculating—just… stalled. Like if he moved too fast, too suddenly, he’d break whatever this was before it had the chance to settle. His hand stayed buried in Megumi’s hair, fingers still at first, then slowly—carefully—threading through again. Not ruffling this time, not careless, but deliberate. Intentional in the way his fingers sank into those soft, dark strands. His other hand shifted from Megumi’s face to the back of his neck, palm spreading there, firm and steady.

Then Megumi’s hands clenched in his shirt, and that did something to him.

Toji’s gaze dropped, catching on the way Megumi held onto him—like he used to. Like nothing in the last ten years had been enough to break that instinct completely. And it hit him all at once—

A memory.

Small fingers tugging at his pant leg. Impatient. Stubborn. A quiet little voice refusing to ask outright, just hovering there until Toji gave in anyway. The weight of a much smaller body hauled up into his arms, Megumi settling immediately like that was exactly where he belonged. Like there had never been a question about it. Like Toji had always been something solid. Something safe.

Toji’s jaw tightened hard enough to ache. Because he hadn’t been. He hadn’t stayed. And still… Megumi was here. Still reaching and still holding on.

Toji’s grip shifted without him thinking about it. His hand at the back of Megumi’s neck pressed a little more firmly, fingers curling just enough to anchor. His other hand slid deeper into his hair, palm settling against the crown of his head. Closer. He drew him in that last inch—careful, measured, like he was handling something that might slip through his hands if he wasn’t paying attention. 

His shoulders lowered a fraction, tension easing in a way that felt unfamiliar, almost wrong—but he didn’t fight it. Not this time. His head dipped slightly, breath uneven as it brushed past his lips, his chest tightening around something he couldn’t shove down fast enough.

Then—

“…dad.”

The word landed soft… So fucking soft it wrecked him. 

Toji went completely still. His fingers tightened reflexively in Megumi’s hair and at the back of his neck—not harsh, but immediate. Instinctive. Like he needed to keep him right there, keep that moment from slipping away. His gaze dropped, shoulders tensing again—not in defense, but like he didn’t know where to put the weight of that word. Like it didn’t sit right on him anymore. Like it belonged to someone else—someone who hadn’t left, hadn’t failed, hadn’t come back too late.

And still… Megumi said it.

Toji swallowed hard, his throat working once before he forced a slow breath out through his nose. His grip eased just slightly, thumb shifting against the back of Megumi’s neck in a small, grounding motion. He didn’t correct him. Didn’t push him away. Didn’t tell him he was wrong. Instead, Toji pulled him closer. Just enough…His forehead dipped, stopping just short of resting against Megumi’s head—like he couldn’t quite cross that last line—but everything in his posture leaned toward him. Toward his son.

His hand in Megumi’s hair moved again, slower now, smoothing instead of gripping. Memorizing the shape of him, the feel of him—solid, alive, here. His gaze flickered over Megumi’s face again, closer now, sharper in the dim light—but not searching for damage. Seeing. Taking in the lines of him, the strength in his features, the quiet resilience sitting under everything else. The way he still softened when touched, even after the world had clearly tried to grind that out of him. It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t have survived. And yet there it was. Perfect. Not untouched. Not unscarred. But perfect in a way Toji didn’t have words for. Because Megumi had endured. Because he was still capable of this—of reaching, of holding on.

Toji’s thumb brushed once along the base of his neck, slower this time, subtly pulling Megumi just a fraction closer into him, like he was setting him there—fixing him in place where he could keep him close. Keep him safe.

Toji’s jaw tightened again, but he didn’t pull away. This time, he didn’t stop himself. His arms came around Megumi fully, solid and unyielding as he pulled him in—real, undeniable. His head dipped, pressing his lips firmly against the top of Megumi’s head, lingering there longer than he should’ve, longer than he’d ever allowed himself before.

He wanted the truth. He wanted his father to know the truth-- to feel everything he experienced across the ten years of being apart. If that meant his father would get hurt then good. Megumi didn't blame his father for anything that happened. He did blame him for what was happening in the moment; the reunion of strangers instead of loved ones. Everything was being forgiven and Megumi was learning how to be vulnerable again. He completely melted in his father's arms and despite his initial reluctance, he completely gave himself to his father's touch.

He wanted to grip his father so the man didn't run away, but he was warm putty to the touch. Torso was pressed against his father, head inclined slightly for forehead to reach lips, and he was eventually crawling into his father's lap to make the hug closer. As close as possible. The gentle reverberation of Toji's words were felt and heard. A rumble inside the man's chest that Megumi felt against his own chest and head; he felt like a toddler being rocked to sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he was hugged or touched in a kind manner.

Tsumiki had been the last person... and back then she had always initiated the contact. She needed it more than he did. He could close himself off from the world. Little did he know he needed love too, but he needed it from a specific source. Megumi's belly tugged with hunger but it was a familiar feeling and enough that he could ignore it. He fell asleep just like that-- awkwardly leaning over, half on his father's lap and half off. His head fell against his father's chest and his sleep was without sound but gentle. Very gentle.

Toji could see it in the way Megumi held himself, in the tightness of his shoulders, in the way his gaze lingered just a second too long before pulling away. He could see the thoughts turning over behind his eyes, sharp and restless. Weighing. Comparing. Trying to make sense of something that didn’t fit. Toji didn’t need him to say it out loud to know what it was. Megumi was looking at him… and seeing him for what he actually was. Not the version he’d built as a kid. Not the one softened by memory and time and the quiet kind of love children give without question. No—this was reality. The ugly, brutal truth of it. A man built for violence. A man who disappeared. A man who failed. Not a hero. Never was. Toji let that sit…

He didn’t try to correct it or try to dress it up into something easier to swallow. If anything, he leaned into it—let it exist between them like it belonged there. Because it did. Megumi deserved the truth. Even if that truth meant hating him… His jaw tightened faintly, gaze shifting just slightly as if he were checking the room again—but it was a lie, a reflex to buy himself a second longer with the weight settling in his chest. If Megumi decided he didn’t like him… That was fine. Expected, even.

Toji was used to that. Used to being something people recoiled from, something they looked at and decided wasn’t worth keeping around. He knew how to exist in that space. It was easier than the alternative. Easier than this. But even if Megumi hated him… Even if he couldn’t stand the sight of him… That didn’t change anything.

Toji’s fingers curled slowly at his side, tension building and settling all at once into something solid. Something unmovable. Megumi could feel however the hell he wanted. It wouldn’t change the fact that Toji loved him with every fiber of his being… and he wasn’t letting him go again.

Not this time. Not ever. Ten years too late didn’t mean he got to walk away now. He’d already made that mistake once. He wasn’t making it twice. The thought sat heavy in his chest, sharp at the edges. There was no undoing what had already happened. No rewinding it back to something softer, something easier… something that looked like the life Megumi should’ve had. Toji felt it then. That pull. That instinct buried deep in his bones, the one that wanted to close the distance, drag Megumi into his arms, hold him like nothing had changed, and tell him it was fine now. That he was safe. That Toji was here. That he’d kept his promise.

His jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Because that would’ve been a lie. He hadn’t kept it. He’d been ten years too late, and that was something that wasn’t ever going to wash off. It stuck to him. Sat under his skin. Followed him into every quiet moment, every breath that came a little too slow. He had no right. No right to reach for something that had already slipped through his fingers once. No right to expect Megumi to meet him halfway. And still—

When Megumi finally looked at him… Really looked at him… Toji faltered. It was small. Barely there. But it hit harder than anything else had. Because it wasn’t hate. It wasn’t rejection. It wasn’t even cold. There was something else still there—something softer, buried deep under everything Megumi had been forced to become. Something that shouldn’t have survived all of this. And it cracked something in Toji’s chest wide open.

His breath caught—just for a second, just enough that it didn’t come out clean when he exhaled. His shoulders tensed, like his body didn’t know what to do with that kind of weight pressing in from the inside. He almost stepped back… Almost.

Instead, his hand moved. No hesitation this time. It came up slower than it should have, like he was fighting himself every inch of the way, like something in him kept trying to pull it back—but he didn’t let it. His fingers brushed into Megumi’s hair. Gentle. Careful in a way that didn’t match anything else about him. The texture of it—real, solid—grounded him in a way nothing else had since he walked into that room.

His hand lingered there for a second too long before it moved again, trailing down, rough calloused fingers catching slightly before settling under Megumi’s chin. He tilted it up, not forcefully but just enough, like he needed to see him properly. Like he needed to know.

His eyes traced over Megumi’s face almost as if making sure he truly had no injuries but really he was just admiring how painfully gorgeous Megumi was…Memorizing…

There was a tightness in his chest that made his next breath come in uneven, shallow. He held it there for a second before letting it out slowly, as if he rushed it, something would break. Then Megumi spoke. And everything in him went still again.

“Gumi…”

The name came out low—rougher than he intended, something almost strained sitting underneath it. Not quite a warning. Not quite anything he could control. His body moved before his thoughts caught up this time. He dropped down into a crouch in front of him, closing the distance fully now—no space left to hide behind, no distance to soften the edges of what this was. His hand didn’t leave Megumi. If anything, it settled more firmly—sliding from his chin to cup his face properly, thumb brushing against his cheek in a slow, grounding motion.

“You’re the only reason I’m still here, kid. The only reason I’m still alive.”

His voice came out low, but there was something under it—something tight, something barely held together.

“Only reason.”

His thumb dragged once across Megumi’s cheek, slower this time, like he was making sure the words landed. Like he needed him to understand—not just hear it, but get it.

“Do you understand?”

The question wasn’t really a question. It was a need. Something raw pushing through the cracks. Toji’s grip didn’t tighten—but it didn’t loosen either.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he added, quieter now.

And that was the closest thing to breaking he’d allowed himself. His jaw clenched right after, like he regretted letting it slip out that softly.

“But I’m not losing you again.”

There was no hesitation in that. No room for argument. His hand shifted, sliding up into Megumi’s hair again, rougher this time as he ruffled it—something familiar, something that almost looked like it belonged to another life. His fingers were still there. Lingering even after the motion ended.

“Even if you don't want me around... Even if I have to chase you down myself.”

He had never been a child or young adult who held a lot of doubts and definitely never experienced self-esteem issues, but he felt that nervous tickle of anxiety when his father approached him. Was he supposed to be taller, more muscular, stronger, show more expression? Megumi didn't know what he was supposed to be yet it none of it felt like enough in that moment. Perhaps all Toji wanted was that little dotting boy, so no matter how similar or dissimilar they looked, his father would be disappointed.

He was hitting himself with new found feelings of self doubt while waiting for the inevitable PUNCH of his father's reply. Don't ask a weighted question if you can't handle the force. No one could accuse Megumi of tip-toeing around pressing problems. He was too aggressive with his thoughts and words, so Toji, funny enough, was getting the more reserved side of questioning. Megumi wasn't recoiling or throwing something smug in his father's face. He stayed still but he was anything but a statue.

His adam's apple moved in a way that could give away how nervous he was if his eyes didn't already. Green eyes lost the cool edge that cut cut a diamond. Soft and vulnerable like the eyes of an abused and weary dog. Walls built up were hit with a hammer and shattered. When he was TOUCHED, they were hit again where stone and metal melted to reveal his soul. He had not been touched that way for nearing ten years and while he loved his parents, hadn't desired being touched intimately.

Thought and reality were two different things when it came down to action. He had expected so much from Toji's reply, but it was funny the words didn't matter when he was being touched like THAT. The words did matter, of course. Everything his father was saying and doing captured Megumi's heart and nurtured it-- fed something that was starving. He felt LOVE again, and he didn't want to lose it. Never again. Slooowly, Megumi's eyes shut, long lashes kissed his cheeks, and he even leaned into the affectionate touch.

He was scared. Megumi was petrified. Terrified it was a dream or worse even, that his father would disappear out of his life. He thought of his mother, Tsumiki, and what a terrible thing life had become, and he almost cried. Megumi leaned not only into the touch but into his father, enough that his rear lifted off the ground. His hands also moved forward to grip the hem of Toji's shirt and jacket; maybe if he gripped hard enough his father wouldn't disappear. He couldn't speak. Even if the words would form what could he say his body wasn't already saying? And then...

"....dad."

His eyes widened—just barely, just for a second—when he caught it. That look on Megumi’s face. For a moment, Megumi wasn’t grown… He was a kid again. Face scrunched tight, fighting it—like he always used to when he didn’t want to cry. Megumi never liked crying. Back then, Toji would tell him it was fine, that he could if he needed to. There were times Toji had wished he would. Anything but turning out like him. …Though that fear felt stupid now. Obvious, even. Megumi was nothing like him. And thank God for that.

Toji stepped forward before he could think about it, instinct, pure and simple. The movement stalled halfway, his body catching up with his head a second too late. He stopped. Whatever Megumi had gone through all these years… Toji didn’t know. Didn’t know how bad it had been. Didn’t know what it had cost him. And he hadn’t been there. Hadn’t been there to shield him. To take the hit instead. His hand curled tight at his side, fingers digging into his palm. Toji’s childhood had been hell. He’d sworn… without ever saying it out loud… that Megumi’s wouldn’t be. And he’d still failed.

He lingered just outside the threshold, posture loose but deliberate, eyes sweeping the perimeter out of habit and out of necessity. But also because it gave him a second longer to steady the thing in his chest that hadn’t settled since the words left his mouth. The quiet inside felt different from the open dark…

Toji exhaled slowly, then stepped in. His boots were quiet against the concrete as his gaze adjusted to the dim light spilling up from Megumi’s shadows. He didn’t move in right away… kept his distance, enough not to crowd him, but he didn’t stay by the door either. He circled instead. Slow. Methodical. Checking angles, exits, weak points in the walls, and the door, automatic, ingrained. Something to do with his hands, his eyes… so he didn’t have to deal with everything else clawing under his skin.

He stopped a few steps off to the side of where Megumi sat. Arms crossed loosely. Head tilted just slightly. His gaze flicked over him again—taking it in. The way he folded in on himself. The tension that hadn’t eased. The way he hid his face like he didn’t want to be seen like that.

“…Yeah.”

The word came out low, rough. His kid had learned everything Toji had never wanted him to. Silence stretched between them. Toji shifted his weight once, jaw tightening faintly before he pushed off the wall he hadn’t realized he’d leaned against. His hand dragged down his face, fingers catching at his jaw like he could pull the right words out of himself… and coming up short. He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd him. Just enough that the space between them didn’t feel like a gap anymore.

“That’s not how that works.”

His voice wasn’t sharp. Just firm. Grounded. The kind that didn’t leave room to brush it off. His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted again, settling on Megumi.

“You were a kid,” he said, rougher now. The words didn’t come easy… but he didn’t stop them. “Doesn’t matter what you did. Doesn’t change anything.”

 Another pause. Heavier this time. His hand lifted, almost without thinking—like he was going to reach out… It stopped halfway. Fingers flexed. Then dropped back to his side. Small movement. But it lingered. Unfinished.

“…I said I’d find you.”

His voice dipped lower, steadier in a different way now…There was an edge to it. Failure, sharp and buried deep.

“I don’t miss.” 

He muttered, something bitter threading through it. A ghost of what he used to be. What the world still expected him to be. His jaw tightened, and he let out a low exhale.

“…Except that.”

He dragged a hand back through his hair, gaze breaking for a second before returning—less sharp now. Stripped down to something quieter. Something… human.

“…You don’t have to make that easier. Not for me.”

Silence stretched again. Heavy guilt that he doesn’t think will ever go away. Very much earned, though... Toji let his eyes flick around the room once more, a habit and reflex, before stepping closer. This time, he stopped within reach. He didn’t crouch. Didn’t lower himself all the way. But he leaned—just slightly—bracing a hand against the wall near Megumi. Not touching. Not forcing.

Just there. Present… When he spoke again, his voice softened in a way no one else ever got to hear.

He still couldn’t shake the image of his father being bound away from his head. How he had chased him down. WHAT he had said, almost in a mocking and antagonizing voice. The three versions of his father were hitting him at the same time. The man he knew who picked him up whenever Megumi was needy, the man who had joked about being held prisoner, and the man who was more closed off than a clam’s shell. It was frustrating and it HURT.

Toji had always picked him up, tied his shoe laces even when unnecessary, looked at Megumi’s crayon drawings with interest like they were actually good; Megumi wanted that FATHER. Probably Toji wanted that boy who pawed at his leg to be held in those arms. With his mind going too fast and way too slow at the same time, he came to the realization that maybe he had been the one to act cold and distant first. The little boy would have ran towards his father. Adult Megumi ran away. Even while thinking this, hearing his father FUMBLE at his words and trying to grasp emotions like they were noxious gases made him sick.

As fucked up as Megumi was, he couldn’t fathom how a man who once had a wife and a son– who had looked happy (was that a lie?) could fumble with the last piece of family he had left alive. More than anything Megumi wanted to hear the word LOVE come out of his mouth and he wanted those big arms squeezing him to the point it was difficult to breathe. He wanted vulnerability and affection in a world that had become so damn cruel, and he had become cruel with it too out of necessity.

The little Megumi in him CRIED. He moved his head from its shy position to watch and study his father. A crease in his forehead grew deeper and deeper the more convoluted their conversation continued, or more accurately listening to Toji’s ramblings. It was funny that he seemed much larger and imposing of a figure than when he was a child. It should’ve been the opposite considering the size difference, but in his memory his father had been smaller, softer, and more accessible. It was the accessibility and kindness which shaped his perspective.

Now he saw a man twice the size he remembered with muscles of barbed wire.  He was ready to lay some cards on the table, finally, and of those holding none would hold any kindness. Then his father hit him with his nickname. Gumi. It sounded so tender and familial. It took him back to days of happiness, and his stomach tightened uncomfortably. He frowned but no more than usual and not like the little frowns he would wear dramatically as a child.

Even if he wasn’t angry or sad– he didn’t know WHAT to do. Awkwardly his arms fell to his side and his knees came down just a little. What did he expect, a twirl and a show? Even in the dim light the head lamp provided he doubted he would get much of a good look, but Megumi looked at his father straight on regardless. 

"Did you look for me out of guilt and obligation or because you wanted to, out of love....?"

“Then I will take my leave. If you wake before dusk and require anything, feel free to seek me out. The castle provides more than enough shadows for a purebred vampire to move in. Rest well.”

Another intense glare before Alucard finally leaves the room, shutting the door behind him to give Olrox some privacy before he made his way down the hallway. It felt weird to have another guest within his castle after he had just lost his previous companions. If lost was the correct word to use, in any case, they were gone and now he couldn’t stop thinking about Olrox slipping into one of his beds, under one of his blankets.. he would use the blanket, wouldn’t he?

Clearing his throat he had to tear his mind away from the images forming in his mind and he eventually settled down in a room that had not been used in years; it was another guest room for when an important vampire would visit and it was Alucard himself who had exchanged the coffin for a proper bed just a few months ago when he tried to make the castle a better home for any humans who would visit. He slipped under the covers, but his mind kept wandering back to the events of the last 24 hours. Even though Sumi and Taki were gone, a new guest had arrived, and already the castle seemed livelier than his human companions had ever been able to make it feel.

Did that mean anything? Did that make him more vampire than human? That human heart of his. It surely would have been an insult coming from his father who had despised humans above all else, at least at the end, but from Olrox.. maybe it was simply an observation. An acknowledgment of the differences between them.

Alucard couldn’t sleep. Even though he really tried, and before he knew it, dusk was coming. Slowly he discarded his old clothes to rummage through the closet, finding a rather elegant pair of trousers and a matching black shirt, it was a little too big on his slender frame but it did not matter. He would go out to hunt. To hunt humans. The thought made him just a little uneasy. He worried about Olrox not keeping his word, about the unwanted attention a murder would once more draw towards the castle.

A dhampir… the word, the meaning, it left a tingling sensation on his lips; a starving man craving juicy meat. Vampires were gluttons. They could eat and eat until it hurt, but it really wouldn’t affect them. Olrox did find blood tasted less and less appetizing the fuller he got. Unlike other vampires, Olrox was MORE than a vampire and required more blood– more food. His belly didn’t just hunger for blood, or human blood at that, yet it depended on other factors too. He wasn’t just complicated in the way he thought and behaved. Biologically, Olrox was complicated. The Aztec waited a good long while until he couldn’t hear the thrum of Alucard’s beating heart.

Two complicated beings…. He got up from the bed and walked around the room.

His bright green eyes scanned everything and his fingers skipped over every surface. It was dusty, underused, but held a lot of different scents. A farmer’s barn smelled worse but was, arguably, tended to more often. The bed was left for last. He punched the pillows in and made a mess of the comforter and sheets. Hungry, interested, but restless… irritated perhaps. His expression was stone as he undressed. Unlike his usual self he didn’t take care of folding and setting his clothes to the side in a neat way. Things were stripped off, buckles were undone, and then he was completely nude.

The room was fit for a vampire but that didn’t meant it wasn’t impregnable. He floated to the top of the room where that was a small window and covered. up It was nothing but decorative, and the glass was stained red, green, and dark gray. He dragged his fingertip around the edge but found no weaknesses. He broke two of the stained panels instead. It was large enough for a moth or a mouse to go through… and it was small enough for Olrox to pass through as he moved from his human phase to his particle phase. He floated out of the room and away from the castle in a dark stream of particulates.

He looked like fine obsidian dust moving with its own mind. He stuck to the shape of the castle, followed its shadow, followed the canopy of trees, and on and on he moved until he found shelter inside a cave. It smelled of a mountain lion. There were traces of various fur and blood. It would do. He transformed to his humanoid form, laid down on the dirty cave floor, and fell asleep as soon as his eyelids closed. He heard the leaves rustle and the birds sign but he slept through it. A very large cat’s rumbling voice woke him up fully. The smell of blood was sharp.

So sharp it almost sent him into a killing frenzy. Blood dripped from the puma’s mouth but Olrox was off again– dust in the wind. The lion continued to look where Olrox had been laying down moments ago and Olrox’s particles danced around the creature before going into the purple darkening sky. He was hungry and he wanted to bathe in the rivers and streams. Against his desires, the magnificent being returned the same way he came in. Obsidian dust and then a GOD. He was hungry and anxious to spread his legs. Otherwise he would have lied in bed naked awaiting Alucard to find him.

Shocked, disgusted, or… something else. Still naked he walked to the washroom where he cleaned his face and rinsed out his mouth. The castle didn’t answer him back; he hated how quiet it was. He took his time walking back to the guest room and getting dressed in spite of his hunger. Expecting to get messy or HOPING to get messy, Olrox dressed in all warm grays and blacks from trousers to socks to button down. He didn’t wear a blazer or tail coat and only fastened the buttons of his black shirt to his sternum.

Perhaps he was in more of a teasing mood than anticipated. Still, he hungered and hungered greatly, so he walked purposefully to the foyer. The heels of his clogs hit the stone loudly. It was there he smelled Alucard and heard his faint beating heart. One of the large doors to the entrance was opened just enough to let him slip through and he joined Alucard. Of course emerald eyes drank up the sight of him openly.

"I am ready for our little rendezvous, kind host. Lead the way?"

He’d expected distance. Cold, maybe. Suspicion. Even a knife to the throat. He hadn’t expected this…

Not the silence that wasn’t empty, not the way Megumi spoke like they were just… two men walking the same direction for convenience, not the absence of anything that used to be there. Toji’s jaw tightened faintly as he followed him down into the wash, boots finding steady ground without thought, his body moving on instinct while something else worked slower beneath it—something that didn’t come as naturally.

He’d handled this wrong.

The realization came blunt and unwelcome, sitting heavy in his chest. Too flat. Too controlled. Like he was talking to a contact, not his kid. Not that Megumi was a kid anymore—that part was obvious in every step he took—but still. Megumi was HIS kid. His blessing, even now after all this time, he realizes, finding him again felt like a whole new blessing. Looking at him, even if he’s grown so much, still gave him those feelings he had only ever felt with Megumi around. Toji exhaled quietly through his nose, gaze dropping briefly to the bones scattered along the wash before lifting again, settling on Megumi’s back.

Toji’s eyes narrowed just slightly at Megumi, saying he wasn’t hurt, not doubting him, but filing it away. Talk… not pushing for details. He could ask later. Or not at all.

They moved in silence after that, the distance from the camp stretching out behind them until the noise finally died for good, swallowed by the open dark. Toji tracked the shift in Megumi’s movement when he realized he wasn’t immediately behind him earlier, the slight hesitation, the adjustment—small things, but they didn’t go unnoticed. Nothing about him did.

When Megumi climbed out of the wash, Toji followed without breaking stride, pulling himself up and over with the same quiet efficiency, boots hitting the ground without much of a sound as he straightened. His eyes adjusted easily to the moonlight, but he didn’t comment when the headlamp clicked on, just let his gaze move past it, checking the structure ahead, the angles, the possible entries and exits.

“I won’t unless you give me a reason to.”

Toji huffed quietly under his breath at that, something dry in the sound, but it didn’t carry much bite. His head tilted just slightly, gaze cutting toward him for a second before returning forward.

“…Fair enough,” he said, voice low, accepting it for what it was. It was more than what he deserved. Even if it felt off…

They slowed near the broken building, Megumi stopping first, light sweeping across cracked concrete and blown-out walls. Toji didn’t stop immediately. He took two more steps, then turned slightly, putting himself at an angle where he could watch both Megumi and the surrounding darkness without making it obvious.

Then—

“How long were you looking for me?”

Toji went still… Not visibly. Not in a way anyone else would catch. But something in him locked for half a second before settling again. His gaze shifted, not to Megumi right away, but to the building, to the edges of it, like he was assessing it—buying himself time in the only way he knew how. The easy answer would’ve been short. Dismissive.

A few years.

On and off.

Enough.

He’d given answers like that his whole life.

This time, it stuck in his throat.

Toji’s jaw flexed once, subtle but there, his hand lifting briefly to drag across the back of his neck before dropping again, fingers curling loosely at his side. When he finally looked at Megumi, it wasn’t sharp or assessing—it lingered, just for a second too long.

“Since that day.” 

He said, voice lower than before, rougher around the edges in a way that didn’t quite smooth out, but it was the truth. His gaze shifted away again almost immediately, like holding it there any longer wasn’t something he knew how to do, settling instead somewhere off to the side, watching nothing in particular.

“Didn’t stop…” 

He added after a beat, quieter this time, like it had been dragged out of him instead of offered. The words sat awkwardly between them, unfamiliar in his mouth, but he didn’t take them back. A pause stretched, heavier now. Toji exhaled slowly, shoulders rolling once like he was shaking something off, but it didn’t quite work.

“Megumi… I should’ve found you sooner.”

That one came out with more hesitation and almost as if it struggled. His brow knit faintly, more irritation than anything else—but not directed at Megumi, never at him.

At himself. Always at himself.

“…That’s on me.”

It wasn’t a long apology. It wasn’t clean, practiced, or even complete. But it was real...

Toji shifted his weight slightly after, grounding himself back into something more familiar, his attention snapping outward again, scanning the building, the dark, the quiet that never really meant safe. But he didn’t move away, didn’t create distance, staying right there within reach, like letting that space open up again wasn’t something he wanted to risk

There was toeing the line questioning, and there was the bomb he threw at his father. The only thing worse than that would have been asking if the man still loved him. Toji's response might as well been i love you because Megumi's heart squeezed so painfully tight that it immediately showed in his face. His forehead wrinkled and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as a profound sadness washed over him. Whatever blurred edges the images of his memory had were sharpened with the uptick of emotion.

From that day, Megumi could remember the taste of blood in his mouth from how much he sucked on his cheek while trying not to cry. He remembered hearing other children cry in the transport truck, some wailing, others sniffling. Tsumiki had moved from the back to join his side, and her hand had been covered in little cuts and dirt when it grabbed his for support. He didn't know who needed it more at that point.

He remembered how heavy Toji's hand had been on his head, patting it one last time, right before the doors were shut for the truck to drive away towards supposed safety. Megumi had craned his head over the side of the truck to watch as his father's figure grow more and more distant. A rock upturned from the tires moved past the canvas panel of the truck's siding and hit Megumi right below the eye. Eye twitched as a large tear welled on its edge... but that was in the present.

Megumi's hand jerked up to knuckle the rise of moisture, and though any burst of tears was subdued, his emotions still made his throat itchy with pressure. He had cried  many times since being separated from his father. Perhaps below the average for a child going through trauma, but he had never been one to cry not even as a baby. He had whined for his parents’ affection, primarily that of his father, but was never much one to cry. He cried one week after parting with his father when he saw how grave things were, and the gut-twisting feeling of never seeing his dad again hit.

His cries were painful but silent. The dam broke when Tsumiki was murdered in front of him. It had been years since he last cried. Sadness was shoved away or was transformed into something else– intense focus or rage. He didn’t want the dam to break AGAIN. He tilted his head back, the light of his headlamp disappeared into the night, and he released a tremulous breath. It would be loud enough for Toji to hear, and that was fine. He WANTED to say something too but couldn’t risk it. He walked past that protective barrier Toji put up and walked into the shambles of the building.

It was a small place though Megumi couldn’t make sense of what it had been previously. Two rooms were blown open and exposed where only rubble and garbage remained. The intact structure had a small room that might have been a storage or supply room, and a room adjacent that had its walls and door in tact. The metal door was dented and looked burned but it opened easily, and it was opened only with Megumi’s hand hovering on the grip of his knife. He jerked his head to flash the light everywhere.

No humans or the sick were inside but a rat skittered through some litter to escape out of a small hole. There wasn’t much other than garbage, two broken chairs, and a broken vending machine filled with coils and glass. He removed the headlamp from around his head but kept it on; he used it like a flashlight while he walked to the back of the room, kicked away some garbage, and sat down with his knees to his chest. He tilted the headlamp to hit the ceiling, spreading light around in a small area.

"...It's okay.... I learned A LOT."

He didn’t know if he actually meant it but he didn’t want his father living with that guilt. Would life have been better by his father’s side? At least Megumi had been there for Tsumiki’s last years and last moment. He hugged his legs closer to his chest and hid the majority of his face behind his knees.

“I’ve survived this long by myself.”

Toji’s eyes flicked to him at that, sharp and quick, catching the line of his profile in the dim light before returning forward. There was no immediate answer, just a beat of silence where something shifted behind his gaze, something heavier than irritation but just as sharp, before it flattened back into something controlled. 

“…Didn’t say you didn’t or couldn’t,” he replied at last, voice low and even, not dismissive, not patronizing—just a fact, stripped clean of anything else.

 And it was true. He could see it. Every step Megumi took, every decision in his path, every ounce of tension held instead of wasted—it all spoke for itself. Survived wasn’t the right word anymore. Adapted was. Toji’s jaw tightened faintly at that, not in disapproval, but in the quiet acknowledgment of what it had taken to get there, of what the world had forced him to become without him.

Silence stretched between them again, not empty, but full of things neither of them was saying, and in that space something else surfaced—sharp, uninvited, and far too clear. 

Megumi, at six, crouched low in the dirt with a stick clutched in his hand, brow furrowed in concentration as he scratched uneven lines into the ground with a seriousness that had always felt older than him. Toji had been leaning against the doorway, watching longer than he’d admit before finally speaking.  “What’s that?” Toji asked The kid hadn’t looked up right away. “A wolf.”  Toji had stepped closer, glancing down at the rough shape and snorting lightly.  “Looks like a dog.”  “It’s not.” Firm. Certain. “It’s watching.” Megumi had immediately frowned, shaking his head.  “Watching what?” Toji had huffed, folding his arms.   There’d been a pause then, longer than expected, before Megumi finally glanced up at him. “…Everything.” 

The memory faded as quickly as it came, but the echo of it lingered as Toji’s gaze sharpened slightly on the figure ahead of him now. Yeah. Still watching. Still thinking. Still…His eyes dropped briefly then, catching the blood on Megumi’s clothes… fresh in places, not all of it his, and the shift was subtle but immediate, something tightening low and quiet in his chest before he spoke again. 

“…You hurt?” 

The question came more directly this time, voice lower, stripped of anything but intent. No pressure, no demand, just there, offered… They walked a few more steps before Toji spoke again to answer Megumi’s question, quieter now.

“I was looking for you.” 

No explanation followed, no elaboration, just that simple truth laid between them, rough and unpolished, carrying more weight than he let it show. His jaw tightened faintly after, gaze fixed forward, but his attention didn’t leave Megumi for even a second.

“So don’t run off again,” he added after a beat, voice low, not quite a command, not quite anything softer either. “At least give me a reason first.”

The words settled between them, heavy but not suffocating, and Toji didn’t push past them, didn’t try to fill the silence that followed. He simply stayed where he was, close enough to close the distance if he had to, steady enough that the space between them didn’t feel like it was about to snap again... and when Megumi finally spoke, quiet and short—

“...Come on.”

If Toji had laid out even a little bit of care, then Megumi might have folded in his arms like he had many times as a little boy who dotted on his father. Ten years later, the two were men. Just men. Strangers. It made sense. After so long apart, the memory of his father began blurring at the edges with some memories disappearing altogether. He loved the father who had held him, smiled, tended to his wounds with gentle hands despite those hands being brutish. If Toji was no longer his father, then Megumi was no longer his son, and the love... was gone, wasn't it? Megumi grabbed the straps of his backpack unnecessarily and used more force than necessary in addition.

"No, I'm not hurt. All I did was talk."

Toji wouldn't understand it, and Megumi wasn't inclined to go into detail unless he was specifically asked. All he literally did was talk in the conflict and used blood-thirsty morons to do all the dirty work while he acted as a shadow. He didn't talk for a while after that, and for all his talk of surviving hadn't noticed that Toji wasn't following him. With so much time surviving on his own, he was used to sound of his own footsteps.

When footsteps finally came from behind him, he hesitated for a second, then pressed on. He wasn't alone anymore. For now. He didn't like walking in washes, but he had once. Cool rocks and interesting animal skulls always washed down into washes, but now they were littered with cumbersome rocks and the bones of the dead, not to mention garbage of every kind.

He walked it carefully until they were far enough from the camp that there was no more shouts of gun fire. He then climbed out and walked where it was easiest, guided by the moon light until he fished out a headlamp from his pocket for ease of navigation. With the conflict nearby, he doubted they would venture away from the camp, but Megumi wanted to place enough space between them and him just in case. Again? He let that one slide.

"I won't unless you give me a reason to."

He gave Toji the benefit of the doubt just like with any other stranger. Okay, that wasn't the truth, he definitely did trust... his father more than the average survivor. However if he turned out to be a psychopath or an abuser, he would drop him just as quick as any regular person. Megumi was tired from the day, but his feet kept moving forward while his mind was buzzing with thoughts. It was a miracle he didn't trip on anything as he moved with muscle memory. He slowly came to a stop and looked around frowning. He avoided looking at his father because what was the point? It was dark. It made no sense.

"How long were you looking for me?"

Just like his father's tone, the question was matter of fact. Void of any tone or emotions. He continued to stand there and flashed his light at the side of a building that looked like it had been partially blown up for some reason. It may have been a decent place to lay low for the night.

Tilting his head to the side Castiel’s gaze wandered over the gathered people, there were many people he recognized, they had a small community, it was like everybody knew the person sitting next to them, but once more he kept looking at a rather unfamiliar face. Well, it was not completely unfamiliar. It was a young man in a leather jacket, Castiel had seen him attending mass sporadically, he never talked to anyone, but people did not seem to be wary of him, so maybe he was someone who had just recently moved here. Hmm. The priest hummed quietly to himself and then, once the sermon had ended, he fixed his collar and smiled once more as some people remained inside the church to chat and laugh, but it was Castiel’s time to work now. Today was his turn to tend to the people that needed to confess.

Castiel slid into the confessional, he did the sign of the Cross before sitting down comfortably as he took a deep breath, calming himself, preparing himself to forgive in the name of God. He slid the partition to the side, but he kept his gaze forward, towards the door, not wanting to catch a glimpse of whoever wanted to ask for forgiveness. They would receive it, it did not matter who they were.

The voice that spoke to him was smooth, there was something melodic in it, but also something.. sad? Well, it was expected from someone who wanted to confess their wrong-doings and ask forgiveness for it. The priest was silent for a moment, waiting for the other to continue, but when there was silence, he spoke instead.

“Please, continue. There is nothing you have to be afraid of”, Castiel said gently and patiently. They had all the time in the world, he would always be patient, but he was worried the man on the other side would lose courage and leave.

Nothing to be afraid of-- Dean wanted to kiss the words out of his mouth. Hard. Hearing the priest's voice up close in that low but comforting gravel felt like god himself was cradling him in his arms, giving him the tit of salvation to suck on. The psychopath wanted to lean closer into the wooden and mesh partition between their bodies and maybe press his lips against the mesh so the priest could lean in, too.

More than gentility and longing, Dean also imagined how easy it would be to throttle him. He had a knife on him, as he always did, and cut easily cut the mesh to get to him. If he was truly mad enough, he could break the wood with sheer force. Of course the entire confessional would shake, and a scream would ruin everything. That was the thing about imagination-- turbulent thoughts were allowed to spin out of control, while he remained grounded in reality.

Brave enough. He definitely was brave, so that meant his soul would be cleansed of all blood and desire? Religion was easy. He refrained from scoffing, instead settled more comfortably into the bench as much as possible considering it was all wood and old red-stained leather. It made a little noise every time he moved. Dean normally would've laughed at that, but in the priest's presence he wanted to quiet all the noise of the world except for him. Except for THEM.

Anyway, Dean made a show of it. This humble contemplation, or was it the calming of a heavily burdened mind. Eh, whatever would earn him some sympathy and validity. He thumbed his heavily calloused fingers against his jeans and licked at his lips before coming out with it with some hesitation. Some of it was for show.

" I'm in love, maybe for the first time ever. They are..."

-- a man and a holy man at that.

"Taken. I've never felt this way before. The urge to hold and kiss. "

The killer looked through the mesh of the partition at the slightly skewed and darkened figure of Castiel. His voice got low there. Low with obvious desire mixed with conflict. The whole church was against gay shit and corruption a married person, right? Maybe the whole taboo of the matter made things spicy for religious freaks.

"I've had... how do I say this, dirty thoughts. Dirty dreams. What am I supposed to do, father? "

Horangi as cat memes featuring König

From these

He had asked for it. The word still lingered awkwardly in his mouth, unfamiliar yet satisfying in a small way. But asking and taking were not the same thing. For several breaths, he remained perfectly still, listening instead to the cabin around him. The fire crackled softly, wood shifting and sighing in the hearth. The man across from him ate in quiet patience, movements slow and unthreatening. No one rushed him. No one barked orders. Eventually, curiosity pushed past the thin barrier of fear. The creature leaned forward slightly. One long finger extended first, brushing the rim of the cup as if to confirm it was truly there. The ceramic was smooth and cool beneath his skin. Carefully, he lifted it with both hands.

“Thank you.”

The first sip was small and tentative. Cool water slid across his tongue and down his throat, clearing the richness of the rabbit from his mouth. His shoulders loosened a fraction. He drank again, a little more this time, before lowering the cup and setting it down exactly where it had been placed. He made certain of that. Nothing spilled. Nothing broken. That seemed important.

Only then did he return to the rabbit, finishing the remaining meat slowly. Each bite was deliberate, thoughtful. He watched the man between mouthfuls, head tilting faintly every time the other shifted or reached for something.

The man moved differently from the humans in the creature’s scattered memories. There was no sharpness to him. No impatience in his voice or his gestures. Even the quiet between them felt… gentle. Strange… The creature finished the skewer and stared at the empty stick for a moment before placing it carefully beside him. His hands settled on his knees afterward, long fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his clothes. Warmth continued to gather in his chest. Not magic. Just food. Fire. Shelter. And something else he couldn’t quite place.

He sat in the glow of the hearth and listened. Then something caught his attention. A faint draft slipped through a narrow seam in the wooden wall, brushing past the hearth and making the flames flicker unevenly. The creature noticed immediately. Subtle shifts in temperature were impossible for him to ignore. Slowly, he leaned closer to the fire and extended one hand again, palm hovering above the flames. The warmth kissed his skin. This time, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he focused carefully on the heat itself—not the cold that usually answered his magic, but the opposite. Something softer. Something he had tried to imitate earlier when he touched the man’s back. Warm.

The power inside him stirred hesitantly, like a sleeping creature testing the world outside its den. The fire responded first. The flames steadied, lifting slightly higher as the draft near the hearth softened. Heat gathered gently around the fire instead of slipping away through the gaps in the wood. The creature froze. His hand jerked back a little, fingers curling tight against his palm as realization crept in. He hadn’t summoned frost. He hadn’t brought snow. The fire simply burned a little warmer.

He sat very still after that, as if waiting for the moment something terrible would follow. For the air to freeze again. For the man to shout or recoil. But nothing happened. The cabin remained quiet. The fire continued to crackle softly. Slowly, the creature turned his head toward the man again.

Not exactly seeking praise or expecting approval. Only checking.

"You're welcome."

Suguru said warmly but very softly. The smile on his lips was difficult to make soft so that he didn’t even dare attempt. He still kept his eye level down in what he hoped was read as non-threatening. When he was done with his portion of rabbit, he licked the bone clean, licked his fingers clean, and set the clean bone by the logs so he could dispose of it later. Had he not licked it, he would’ve used it for a broth. It would be used as fertilizer or, more likely, a meal for a poor, hungry animal. Did the creature eat bones? Did the creature eat raw meat?

The body moving in his peripheral vision grabbed his attention, but he didn’t jerk his head to look for fear of intimidating the the white-haired creature. He lifted his head only slightly, just enough to look at the way it looked at the fire… approached the fire. Was it cold? Suguru almost moved to get more chopped wood for the fire, but he didn’t even get the chance to sit up. A lump formed in his throat. He wasn’t scared of what the creature could do; he was scared for his well-being.

But he watched and watched silently. The smile was gone from his face. In all honesty, Suguru hadn’t felt the draft. It was his home and a home he had inhabited for years. It wasn’t perfect, but he grew used to its flaws. So, he had no clue what the creature was doing except the fire was not hurting it, and it appeared to be in control. Whatever was transpiring just made Suguru suspect more that the creature was a god, and perhaps a god of the elements.

Suguru didn’t know how much time had passed until it was over, and those eyes were on him, warmer than the fire’s energy. Suguru’s purple eyes blinked, eyes a little wide, and he looked at his company while forgetting he was specifically trying to avoid eye contact. Suguru’s face said it all, what did you do? He didn’t know if the creature would be able to read his expression.

"....You are more than welcome to lay by the fire while I start cleaning up. Okay?"

He didn’t want it to look like he was scared or running away. Frankly there was nothing he understood that would make him run away, but he didn’t know what else to do. Perhaps the creature wanted to play with the fire or… whatever it had been doing; it wasn’t any of his business unless his home burned down. Suguru wiped at his pants before getting up slowly. He smoothed his long hair over his shoulder as he rose, then went to the kitchen to wash his hands with a pitcher of water, and put everything in its place.

The night was still young. Suguru moved from the kitchen to his bedroom and returned back only a few moments later. An oil lamp was in one hand, and a pile of cloth was in the other. He sat on the wood and animal skin chair that was facing the fire, lit the oil lamp where he then placed it on a table beside the chair, and unfolded the cloth on his lap. He had several pairs of shirts, socks, and pants that needed mending. His needle wittled out of bone was already set with thread, and he used the light from the fire and lamp to get to stitching.

Three pokes through with the needle and his gave found the creature's body again. It knew how to talk but wearing clothes must have felt unnatural. Perhaps like speaking, the creature took to it and would enjoy other human aspects and comforts. Suguru looked down at his pair of pants and finished stitching a hole together, then he looked back to his guest. While there was something endearing about how tight and short Suguru's clothes fit it, it also looked a little pitiful, like the youngest sibling wearing their eldest's clothing.

"Would you like, mm, other clothes. Clothes that fit you, I mean. Like mine?"