Signed in Blood

Dray woke to dim light filtering through curtains. And a thousand dull aches that all flared when he shifted, blinking gummy eyes.

Eyah, what'd I do this time...?

Scattered, fuzzy memories crowded at the corners of his mind as he levered himself up with a wince. Some kind of nightmare all jumbled up. His hand reached for the curtain, pulling it back, a deeper ache in his shoulder twinging....

A flock of little birds startled, one on the windowsill nearly beating the glass with its wings as it fluttered away. And the twinge deepened into needles digging down into his shoulder.

His slack hand fell.

No, it hadn't been a nightmare.

“You’re up.”

A voice, at the doorway. Dray twitched around to see Dad offering him a small smile.

Dad, at home, and he was—

He tried a smile back, a thousand thoughts fluttering through his head. "Morning. I...."

Had he... gone home? With the force probably looking everywhere for him?

"...Do they know I'm here?" he asked weakly.

"The force? No. I don't believe they managed to ID you. The news has only given a generic description, so far." Dad leaned against the door-frame, hands in his pockets. Reminded him of Uncle Ment for a moment, distantly, as his head spun.

They didn't know. They didn't know it was him.

"Neri came by this morning, though. She was happy to hear you're doing alright." Dad watched him. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore." Dray avoided his eyes. “And... what about you?”

“Hm?”

Taking a deep breath, Dray met his gaze. “Happy to have me here?”

Dad's eyes narrowed, and he stepped into the room.

Dray didn’t move. He also didn’t realise how tense his shoulders were until a larger hand rested gently on his good one.

“That isn’t a valid question, Dray. You know we won’t turn you out. We’ll have a talk about this after you’ve eaten.” Dad patted it, guiding him towards the living room. “Come on. There are still brekk-cakes in the warmer.”

He let himself get pushed along down the hallway, Dad's steady hand warm, real. Still there.

"DRAY!"

As soon as they stepped in, a blur of little sister launched off the back of the couch away from the wallscreen playing Open Lure. And abruptly stumbled to a halt just out of arms’ reach, her eyes wide. He'd... said something about injuries last night, hadn't he?

Who cared about that? He laughed, kneeling invitingly, and she leapt forward with a beaming grin. “Hey ‘Tia! What’s on?”

“You slept forever,” she groaned, squeezing him tight, but not as tight as he knew she could. “I helped make the brekk-cakes, and they’re all old and crispy now.”

He smiled, squeezing her back. “It’s fine, I like them with crunchy edges anyway.”

She pulled back, giving him a pouty scowl and grabbing at his hand. “Yeah but you gotta put the right stuff on this time. You always put weird stuff like crinkles and granola. You need bubbleberries. And cream.”

He threw a helpless look at Dad as he was tugged insistently over to the kitchen, and got nothing but a badly-hidden smile. “Look, I don’t like sweet things, ‘Tia—has anybody bothered to tell you about the concept of different tastes? I’m pretty sure we’ve been over this.”

“Bubbleberries! And cream!” She stated cheerfully, leading him around the island counters. “And you have terrible taste.”

...She’d gotten that one straight from Erold.

“I do not,” he grumped at the back of her head, seeking help from Mum as she turned from the drink maker with a smile. And again, didn’t get any.

“Did you sleep well?” She pressed him into a one-armed hug, kissing the back of his head.

“Help. Me,” he scream-whispered.

“No! He needs bubbleberries and cream! For the injuries! It fixes you up!” Atia tugged at his arm, almost threatening to wrench it off.

He dramatically stumbled after her and out of Mum’s hold, half-heartedly reaching back with his best pathetic look. “This is so unfair. When you’re sick do I make you eat what I like?”

“No, because what you like tastes disgusting,” she chirped, still clasping his hand in a slightly sticky one and reaching to lift the lid of the warmer with a huffing grunt.

Revealing a stack of golden-brown brekk-cakes. He attempted not to drool, inhaling the golden-buttered scent as Atia fussily plated up a teetering tower. Which he didn’t actually mind. Might go back for seconds, actually....

“Hey hey hey.” When she reached for the bowl of translucent berries, though, he guarded the plate, frowning at her. “Not so fast.”

She deflated, throwing puppy-eyes at him. “Just one?”

He internally groaned, but he also knew he wasn’t saying no to that face, either. Yeah, I spoil her too much. “...One. Put ‘em on the table and I’ll sort it out.”

A few moments later he was being unsubtly watched from her perch on the couch, Open Lure playing in the background as he dutifully munched his one creamy sugar-bomb. She made a face but didn’t protest when he moved on to shaking out some nut-mix and sprinkling a few spicy crinkle-roots in.

He might've taken advantage of her watching the screen again to plop a little cream on the top, though, before rolling it all up and chomping down. If there was one thing she hated, it was mixing different tastes she insisted belonged in their own little categories. Doesn’t taste half bad with the cream.

By the time Erold shuffled out, Dray was on his second helping. He absent-mindedly scattered a bubbleberry or two in with the crinkles and another dollop of cream, taking a bite and waving at his little brother.

A small smile answered him as Erold actually waved back. Weird. Then... stood there blankly. Yep, still half-asleep.

Dray raised an eyebrow. “’Oo’ in’a ‘armer.”

Erold squinted. “What?”

In return, he stuck a thumb at the kitchen. “Ea’.”

“...Sure.” Erold glanced at his plate and narrowed his eyes. “Did you put bubbleberries in with crinkles?”

He radiated perfect innocence, just as a single bubbleberry escaped. Niff.

“Heathen.” Erold swept past into the kitchen, but Dray still spotted the smirk on his smartass face.

He wrinkled his nose at Erold’s back, chewing. Everyone had to have an opinion.

His brother returned to sit beside him with a plate of his own and his favourite velvet-root spread, casually stealing the granola—which was Dray’s—and the bubbleberries. “So... how are you feeling?”

Swallowing another bite, he glanced in Mum and Dad’s direction. “Pretty sore.”

Erold gave him a sideways glance. “Just sore?”

He sighed. And he'd almost forgotten the throbbing in his shoulder, too. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”

“Okay, that’s good, that’s great.” The relief made Dray's eyebrow twitch up, and Erold returned his look with a spark of worry. “That... does mean ‘yes’, doesn’t it?”

“Awoo,” he said flatly, ignoring the twist in his filling stomach. “Yes, I’m just sore.”

For a moment they both went quiet, only the sound of the screen playing Atia’s show filling the background, and the low murmur of their parents’ conversation.

“Do... you know what’s going to happen, yet?”

“No. I... no, I don’t. Dad said we’d talk about it after breakfast-slash-early-evenaste.” His hand half-consciously drifted up to his shoulder, and he rubbed gently at the side of his neck. “I’m a fugitive. They’ll be looking for me.”

“We’re not handing you over,” Erold all but hissed, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

For a moment Dray just looked at him. "Even though I got bit?"

Erold flinched like he'd been slapped. "That's not— you're not—"

“This looks like an intense discussion, boys.” A hand settled on his good shoulder, mirrored on Erold’s, and he glanced up to find Dad standing there.

"We're not handing him over, Dad, right?" Erold blurted, his face twisting, and Dray winced internally. He hadn't meant it like he was accusing Erold, it was just....

He hadn't really thought about it last night, but nothing was ever going back to normal, was it? No matter what he wanted or what he did, he'd—

"No, of course not, not unless Dray wants to," Mum cut through his thoughts, scooting a chair forward. "We've been talking about leaving Alerra, actually. It's the best option we can think of."

Wait, leave the country?

“Is that even possible?” The words came out automatically. They were thinking of leaving?

“I know a few ways to get the necessary documents and pass the checks,” Dad said with a smile.

A haze dropped over him. If he couldn’t live here without being hunted, he could just leave the country. Leave home, leave everything. Everything they’d ever known, all the friends they’d ever made; their lives. Start over.

His chest felt hollow.

Erold, though, lit up. “Just like that?”

“Well, not quite, but I can get everything in place quick enough that we could be out before the week is over. We can make a new start.” A hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and his eyes drifted up, not quite focusing on Dad’s. “I know it won’t be the same, but we’ll still be together.”

He couldn’t answer that. He didn’t know how to answer that.

"Hey.” Erold narrowed his eyes, half-hidden under his fringe. “You're not gonna come up with a bunch of arguments, are you?”

“No, I....” He turned away, running a hand through his tousled hair. This wasn't... he hadn't meant it to be like this. "I just... are you sure this is worth it?”

"Oh Dray." Gentle hands took his face, turning him to Mum's smile, her eyes sad. "Of course it is. We'll do everything we can. You'll be alright."

He tried to smile back. It would never be the same again, would it? "...Sure."

You'll be alright....