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It wasn't supposed to become such a big thing. It really, really, wasn't. He wasn't a baker by any means, by profession or by hobby, but he'd just been wanting to do it for a while now, and today was as good a day as any.

His personal favourite was chocolate, one of those things that stuck as a child and have yet to see any kind of change. Lucila's favourites changed every once in a while, and last he checked (Which... actually, he never did. It was mostly guesswork on his part.) her favourite at the moment was lemon and blueberry. Since the beginning of forever Pa had always been insistent that he didn't have a favourite, so there's no need to go out of anyone's way to make anything specific just for him, and at this point no matter how fake that absolutely is it's just the unspoken and mutual knowledge between everyone in the house that there's never going to be a different answer out of it.
(He and Lucila have an ongoing bet about it. He was putting ten pios on coffee, while she was saying vanilla.)

But he really just wanted to make one batch of cupcakes, and he'd feel bad if he just made one person's favourite. Though given what day it was today, he figured the best and easiest answer would just be to make— ...

What was Erion's favourite flavour again?

His hand stills above the bowl on the table, mind drawing a complete, total, blank.

He— Eri had to have had a favourite, right?

There was no way he didn't. Everyone had some preference over another, no matter how slight, and children especially tended to fixate on something they liked. Erion had really liked birds for example, the snow owl specifically, because it looked like him. Fixation. He had a favourite. So— This couldn't be different, right? So why didn't— He couldn't—

It's been eleven years since he's gone missing (Died. He's dead. It's better that way — The other possibilities are only worse.) and it's— Both a long and short period at the same time. Eleven years is more than a decade, that was a long time. But to lose someone— To get over that loss— That had been his little brother, he's not sure a century'll even be long enough to get over that.
But he's sworn that no matter how long it may be he's never going to forget Eri, he's going to remember everything about his little brother 'cause even if he was just another number to add to some list of kids who died young, even if no one else in the whole damn world remembered who the question-loving white kid with the white hair on Tempus with dark-skinned and haired family was, Cole would until the day he died and then some.

But—

There's spots in his memory, and the realisation leaves him terrified. He can't remember what Eri's favourite flavour of food was, or conclusively if he even had one. Favourites, favourites, speaking of favourites, what had been his colour? That one he knows for a fact Eri had one, but he can't— The memory won't come to him. Oh god he's forgotten his little brother's favourite flavour and colour and he just realised he didn't know what his hobby had been before he—

Lucila finds him five minutes later, on the brink of a panic attack on the floor and bowl of cupcake batter long forgotten (And unflavoured.) and left on the table.

She recognises what's happening as soon as she sees it and sits down on the floor beside her brother, pulling him into her lap. Her voice is quiet when she offers her usual reassurances, " you're alright, you're safe. Nobody's going to hurt you. "

But he— He knows that. He's not scared of being hurt, he's not scared of dying as much as it feels like he is with his mind racing and chest constricting and hes's shaking and oh god maybe he is dying, he's scared because he's slowly forgetting more and more about the little kid who was probably scared for the last few moments of his life, and maybe even long before then, because how long had he continued to live before dying? Was it quick and painless? Was it prolonged and tortured? Maybe he had continued to suffer for years after he'd gone missing and through all that time Cole's just been safe at home and with his family and developing new favourites and hobbies and never thinking about his little brother's suffering—

" Cole, are you with me? " Lucila's quiet voice is enough to barely cut through the thundering everything in his mind, " I need you to breathe with me, alright? " — breathe with you breathe with you Eri will never breathe again he's dead dead dead and he's starting to forget his dead little brother— " Listen to my breathing, I want you to follow it as much as you can, alright? In four counts, hold it for seven, exhale for eight... "

He manages to blurt out, choked, " what was Eri's favourite flavour? "

There's silence for not even a beat, but now that the dam's broken he can't get himself to stop in time for a response, " o- or— Colour? H- Hobby? He's— D- Did he ever— Have? F- Favourites? Did he die before— Before— We'll never— I- I— E- Eri'll never— N- Never have the ch-chance to— To— Find out th- things he l- likes— "

Lucila cradles him closer, silent for a few moments, before finally murmuring, " he liked purple. Lilac. "

She offers nothing else while he rides out the rest of the panic attack. It isn't until she's given him a glass of water and wiped his face down, until he can stably stand on his own and finish the unattended cupcakes, until Lucila's left the house entirely, that it dawns upon Cole that his sister only gave him one answer. She, too, didn't know the rest.

Maybe... Well, no, he doesn't know what that says about him, what that means for all of them. As people and as family members, not remembering more about their lost one. Maybe it meant it was fine as long as they remembered more than they didn't. Maybe it meant they were all terrible together.

Swallowing hard, he reaches into the cupboard for the food colouring.

She's not very intent to know how she found herself walking to the store to buy candles.

She's busy, just because she supposedly had no work today didn't mean she couldn't do extra. There's a few newcomers who could use some more training. There's a new missing person's report; a child, nine years old, and it's suspected to be a case of child trafficking. There's— The whole thing with Seraph, because only two days ago did Father finally decide to tell them the truth about the reason he resigned from his last job. There had been accusations against the man in question for weeks now, maybe a month, but those were pressed by a group of vigilantes with questionable evidence at best. But now with her pushing for the case herself (The vigilantes — Snow Owl — Had talked about taking the case to Urbis' courts instead, because Seraph Blackwood had too much power in Tempus, and the current, most important accused crime among others of being involved with kidnapping in the first degree had been committed on Arctus. She... was inclined not to go with the words of illegal vigilantes, because their power was mostly based on Arctus, but even without that in mind, she still had mixed feelings about the idea.) there was finally some headway being made with bringing the case to court. They just didn't know which court yet, and maybe if she was there she could be helping with decision making. Or helping with any other number of things.

But no. She's walking to the store to buy candles. Of all things.

She wasn't... angry about it, per se, because she'd feel guilty if she was. It was at Cole's request, and after sending himself into a panic attack less than an hour earlier, it's the least she could do for him, to at least make his life a little easier even if she really didn't care for wasting her time on—

Well. She'll just tell herself it's for Cole rather than a dead boy.

It wasn't that she didn't miss Erion. She did. Every day. But it's just— She's watched it drive Cole into a panic attack. She's watched it drive her mother to constantly scream and strike at her own husband. She's watched it drive Father to alcohol, drinking to the point of complete incoherence at times, even with two young children who needed him.

It was just easier not to think about it. She didn't want to find out where those thoughts would drive her.

It was just easier to— Bury it, along with the body they didn't. If she told herself she didn't care about Erion enough, maybe one day it'd finally be true and she could stop being haunted by the toddler who tore her family apart—

Lucila practically walks into a white-haired boy and she nearly screams.

An eye and eye socket stare back at her.

A beat of silence passes between them. Two, then she must look more frazzled than she's trying to let on, because the boy ventures, " are you, uh, doing okay there? "

She takes a deep breath, berates herself for letting weakness show — And over something so silly no less, because really, being startled just because she wasn't paying attention to her surroundings? — before trusting herself to speak, " I'm fine. "

There's another three beats of awkward silence before she pushes, mostly with valid reason for concern but just a small part of it because she'll be eternally chagrined the kid managed to startle her so badly, " what are you doing here? Or on Tempus at all? "

The boy has the gall to just shrug his free shoulder, " kinda wanted to look for Harvey. And to walk around a bit, I guess. "

" You aren't supposed to be walking. " She eyes the crutch under the boy's arm. He couldn't even be bothered to use two, by the Heralds... " And does your father know you're here? "

He grimaces, " what he doesn't know won't kill him. "

" Owl. "

" Nick's an ass, let me live. "

She sighs again, before deciding there's no point wasting her time here, and continuing on to the store. Well, she had basically been in front of it already, so she more or less just enters.

He follows her inside.

She waits until she's at the candles shelf, before she sighs, " I don't suppose you came here for candles as well. "

" No. But you didn't tell me where to find Harvey either. "

" He's at home. And you should know where he lives, right? "

" No. "

She doesn't have it in her to sigh anymore. She just pretends to be suddenly very interested in the candles before her. She's pretty certain Cole didn't expect her to get that many, or even any of a specific type, so she should just be able to grab one and get it over and done w—

" What're these for? "

" They're candles. Surely Talent hasn't neglected you that much to not tell you what something as basic as candles are used for. "

" I know what candles do, " and he reaches out to take one. A large birthday candle, dark blue in colour. He examines its bottom, " but these aren't normal candles, are they? I've never seen ones that're pointed at the bottom. What're they for? "

" Birthday cakes. You put them on top of the cakes then light the candles so you can blow them out. "

" So like, a tradition? Why do people do that? When'd it start, and what's it supposed to do or mean? "

And if anyone asks her about it later, she's going to vehemently deny it ever happened, or chalk it up to a lack of sleep or something, but—

Something about listening to a white-haired kid, curious to learn about everything the world had to offer, always asking questions about even the most inconsequential of things, especially today of all days—

" — Oh, crap— Hey, was it something I said? Are you crying? "

She is.

Tears are tracing down her cheeks, and Lucila hates herself for it.

She quickly presses the heels of her palm to her eyes, but instead of stopping the flow like she had hoped, it only seemed to worsen the situation. To her absolute horror, she feels sobs starting to wrack her body. There's a gentle hand to the small of her back, and she finds herself slowly being guided down to the floor onto her knees.

" Hey, hey, it's okay. " Owl's voice has taken on a quiet, calming quality she never imagined it could possess, " just let it out, yeah? I'm sorry if it's something I said. "

You should be sorry for existing, a horrible, angry, distraught part of her immediately thinks. But— it's not as if it's his fault, it's not as if he's at fault for anything here. She's just— She can't take it, today. As much as she tries to suppress, or pretend, every year hurts as badly as the first they'd had with Erion gone from their lives. And today just— And with Owl showing up and looking and acting so— So—

There's a hand on her arm now, too, as if to steady her, but she doesn't lean into the invite of an embrace. He doesn't push it either, just remains there, quietly, like an anchor to reality.

It doesn't last very long — Just a minute or two at most — but by the time she finishes weeping (Like a fool, right out in public for everyone to gawk at.) she's exhausted and embarrassed. But... exhausted, in a way that wasn't as bad as the word might imply. It felt, nice, in a way. Like some kind of weight she had needed to get off her chest for years now, and finally managed to do, if even just a little bit.

(Which was stupid. Crying wasn't a good thing. She was just being weak.)

When she finally dares to bring herself to meet Owl's gaze, it's not admonishment or pity she's greeted with. Just genuine concern, and maybe a bit of confusion.

" I'm... sorry, about that, " she manages to croak out, " I don't know— what that was about. It wasn't— You didn't say anything offensive. I just— "

" Rough day? " He supplies good-naturedly. Rough eleven years, more like it, but she nods mutely anyway, deciding it really didn't matter what Talent's son thought of her.

Owl laboriously tucks a leg under him (He'd gotten down to sit on the floor cross-legged, with her. All because she'd broke down over nothing.) to push himself back to his feet with his crutch for support, before holding out his hand to her. There was absolutely no way in hell allowing the boy to pull her up would result in anything but disaster, but she took his hand nonetheless, simply holding onto it as she got herself up before he had the chance to attempt using his own strength.

She takes another deep breath, before resolutely turning back to the accursed candles. She grabs a plain white birthday candle, because she really doesn't need to dwell on this longer than necessary. Owl doesn't ask anymore questions. Just silently tags along with her as she goes to the cashier (Who either out of politeness or ignorance doesn't mention the time she spent crying on the floor. Judging by how she's fairly certain the price label at the shelf earlier indicated these by right cost five pios more, she'd assume the former.) and pays for the candle.

It doesn't strike her to say until the two of them exit the store, " you might not want to look for my father today. "

He cocks an eyebrow, and she makes a move to tuck the candle into her pocket, before thinking better of it and leaving it held in her hands instead. Too small, thin, fragile, would probably break in half. " He... won't be in a good mood. It's— a family matter. I'd say give it at least a day or two. "

The boy frowns, but nods anyway. He doesn't patronise her by asking if she needs company on the way back home, just turns on his heel and walks toward the Caelus Bridge.

She thinks to call out to give him pause, and thank him for his comfort earlier, perhaps, or for some inexplicable reason spill the reason her entire family was unstable and upset today.

Lucila doesn't, and silently watches Owl disappear from her sight.

The moment he steps out of the portal, he nearly walks right into someone else.

Thank God he didn't, because falling down would hurt like hell and getting up would be a special kind of pain in the neck, but his gratefulness is quickly squandered when he realises just who it is he's staring at.

Well, that makes it sound as if he knows who she is. He doesn't know her name. Sure knows her by face, though. Which is why he quickly says, " please don't throw me into anything. "

The woman stares at him for a beat, before finally saying, " I'm not going to. "

" Okay. Good. " He pulls his hood over his head. Just in case she changes her mind, " because I haven't had the chance to dye my hair, but I'm not trying to insul— "

" I'm not going to do anything. " She sounds annoyed. " So knock it off. You're can't even put any pressure on your left foot, I'm not about to attack a child I watched having a meltdown a few months ago. "

Wait, " what? "

The woman folds her arms across her chest, drumming her fingers on her bicep, now covered by the long sleeves of her black dress as opposed to the last time he saw her; she had a short-sleeve white one that time. " A few months ago, when you were in Tempus. In the hotel when your father tried to shoot himse— "

" How do you know about that? "

" Your father needed a doctor. I was the one they brought in. "

" Oh. " He shifts awkwardly for a while, because while his memories of that were all fuzzed he had no reason to doubt it was not a proud moment of his life, before blurting without thinking for lack of anything better to say, " he got shot in the arm two more times after that. When we returned here, behind the inn. Mugger. "

Owl doesn't know what kind of expression he's being fixed with right now, but he definitely senses some flavour of incredulity or exasperation and maybe disappointment. It's a long stretch of a few seconds' silence before he finally adds, " he got better. Arm's working normally too. "

She just continues to stare at him, and for a second he contemplates chalking it up to her forgetting how to function, saying 'fuck it' , and just going on his merry way, before she finally responds, " I guess I shouldn't be surprised with him getting into so much trouble, considering you. "

The hell was that supposed to mean?

He huffs, starts indeed going on his merry way, but she gives him pause when out of nowhere she says, " if you're ever in Tempus and need a doctor again, I have a clinic, along the main streets. It's not too easy to miss. "

And he sure as hell doesn't know what kind of incident in Tempus would make him need a doctor again, or why he'd ever be on Tempus again to begin with (Willingly going there to just look for somebody was absolutely a one-time thing.) , but instead he finds himself saying like a moron, " do I at least get to call you by a name? "

" Abigail. Abigail Farley. "

" Right then. " In his head she'd always been filed away as 'Hag' , and even now that he had a name to the face the nickname was still kind of there, but ever since Seraph, he'd, ah, 'un-learnt' calling people by nicknames.

Your friends have always been fine with you calling them by nicknames, that was purely a Seraph thing just so you'd be scared more in your daily life.

He pays Snake no mind as he starts walking again, and Abigail adds, " take care of yourself. "

It's not the same as being told someone cared about him. He knew for a damn fact the lady didn't care about him too. But Owl still feels weird as hell thinking about it all the same as he makes his way back to the cathedral.

She slowly lowered herself to a crouch in front of the gravestone.

It didn't matter that she wasn't a part of the family anymore, or that there used to be a restraining order against her (That one had been dropped.) , or that the rest might have some kind of objection to her being here.

Despite everything, this was her son.

Her flesh and blood, which she had carried for nine months. No amount of animosity between the rest of the living family members would change that, and they had no right to take her away from him. Not now.

Though he had already been taken away. Eleven years ago. Because of the incompetence of—

There's footsteps in the grass, approaching her. Slow but not attempting to be sneaky. If anything it seemed like the opposite, so she turned her head.

Speak of the fucking devil.

" You. "

The bastard just looks back at her solemnly, a— Cupcake? In his hand.

She at least waits for him to, too, slowly crouch down at the gravestone and reverently set the food down — It's a dark purple, which was probably meant to be a lighter shade without taking the darkening that came with cooking into account, with a white unlit candle stuck atop it — before she grabs him by the collar, " you did this to him! "

Harvey just looks back at her with sad, tired eyes, " I know. "

Abigail tackles him to the ground.

There's ugly screaming, there's fists being thrown, and they're all from her. How dare he. How DARE HE. She beats down on his chest, blow after blow, screaming because how DARE HE have the gall to show up at her (Their.) child's grave after it was HIS FAULT there was a grave for him in the first place and they didn't even have a body to bury if the useless son of a bitch had just BEEN BETTER IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HIM SIX FEET UNDER AND NOT ERION—

He doesn't fight back, just gives her the same defeated look and that infuriates her even more, " don't you have anything to say for yourself?! You DID THIS! IT'S YOUR FAULT HE'S DEAD! "

He doesn't have anything to say for himself. Just continues silently doing nothing as if that's— As if that's fine. No matter how much more she rains fists down on his chest and how much more she screams accusations. The fucker. THE FUCKER. Their child's DEAD because of him and he DOESN'T—

It goes on, it must've been at least half an hour by that point, until she's worn herself out. Her throat's on fire and she can't even bring herself to lift her hand again, let alone her entire body. She can't lift her head off of his chest and shaking sobs are all she has left to muster, as she lamely tries to land one last fist and it simply thunks down against him uselessly.

She feels an arm placed around her back, and her upper half is slowly raised from the ground. The bastard won't even stay down, but she can't find it in her to do anything but continue to cry even as Harvey sits up with an arm wrapped around her in what might be a hug, which he shouldn't be doing because she hates him she hates his guts.

There's a silence filled by only her crying, and it stretches under her sobs finally die down to the occasional, before Harvey says in a low voice, barely above a whisper, " do you remember the first time we took Erion to the Gramen Plains? "

She sniffs, " I do. "

" He ran around collecting fallen leaves, " he continues, " then held them up to the sky and compared them to every tree he could see. "

" He wanted to know why each leaf was differently shaped, or had holes in them, " she finds herself joining in quietly, choking on every other word, " or why some were green, and some were brown, and every shade in between. "

" Then he went over to the pond and placed all the leaves into the water to watch them float. Cole said they were like boats, so they named each and every leaf with all the boat names they could think of. "

" Erion asked why the leaves could float on water, and Lucila said it was because they were light, and that if he put his hand into the water he'd float too. He tried it and fell into the water. "

" Cole jumped in as well because he thought it looked like fun. He splashed water at Lucila and she joined them in the pond right after, since her clothes were already wet and she didn't see why she mightn't as well. "

" Lucila and Cole started to have a water fight, but Erion went and sat to the side to play with his leaf-boats. The other two joined him after a few minutes, they were pretending it was magic pirate boats. "

And the two of them remain that way until the sun's long since set. Abigail curled up, head against Harvey's chest as he keeps his arm around her back to support her, sitting on the grass of the empty cemetery and reminiscing about their child they had lost too many years too soon.

It makes nothing better. It's still his fault, she still hates the very fact he continues to live instead of their son, and none of this is going to bring Erion back. But just for now, there's a small comfort in the quiet stories they share.

He feels eyes on him the moment he enters the house.

Cole's sitting on the couch, head turned to him with a concerned — Or judgmental, maybe — expression. He must be taking in the way he's almost staggering rather than walking, and that his shirt and tie were probably a trainwreck of a mess, dirt and crumples clear as day even on the black clothing.

Harvey closes the door behind him, before turning back to assure his son, " I haven't been drinking. "

Cole looks at him with... a healthy amount of scepticism, eyes fixed on the arm Harvey has wrapped around his ribs (Which he slowly lowers, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.) , before he ventures instead, " where'd you go and what happened, then? It's nearly nine o'clock. "

" Visiting Eri took... longer than I expected. " Which isn't an answer of any kind, but his son seems accepting enough of it, probably just glad he indeed hasn't gotten himself drunk again. And he feels bad that that is enough to get his son off his back, because he is trying to quit, he really is, and he's made a lot progress in the past years, he's just... Had a track record of relapsing every year, on Erion's birthday.

He walks into the living room, and Cole gets up from his seat, tentatively approaching his father and ghosting a hand over his chest. Instead of trying to make up some kind of lie to convince his son there was nothing wrong with him, he pulled the boy into a hug, maybe a little harder than strictly necessary or intended, too. (Show, don't tell.)

It stung like a bitch when the head hit his ribs, but his son at least seemed to relax in the hold, wrapping his arms around Harvey and either oblivious or deliberately passing over the way his chest rattles as he takes each breath.

" Thanks. " Cole's voice is muffled by his shirt, " for... keeping your promise, this year. "

" Erion would've wanted me to, " even though he was very aware he was lying right through his teeth, the fire shooting from his ribs with each inhale and exhale being his reminder, " he was always an honest kid. "

They stay together that way for a minute, before his son finally retires to his room for some sleep, with the advice that he should, too, do the same soon. It's been a long day for them all.

Later that night, lying in bed alone in the dark of his room, Harvey can barely breathe, from the pain burning in his chest. From the bruised ribs and crushing guilt of living both.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

It wasn't supposed to become such a big thing. It really, really, wasn't. He wasn't a baker by any means, by profession or by hobby, but he'd just been wanting to do it for a while now, and today was as good a day as any.

His personal favourite was chocolate, one of those things that stuck as a child and have yet to see any kind of change. Lucila's favourites changed every once in a while, and last he checked (Which... actually, he never did. It was mostly guesswork on his part.) her favourite at the moment was lemon and blueberry. Since the beginning of forever Pa had always been insistent that he didn't have a favourite, so there's no need to go out of anyone's way to make anything specific just for him, and at this point no matter how fake that absolutely is it's just the unspoken and mutual knowledge between everyone in the house that there's never going to be a different answer out of it.
(He and Lucila have an ongoing bet about it. He was putting ten pios on coffee, while she was saying vanilla.)

But he really just wanted to make one batch of cupcakes, and he'd feel bad if he just made one person's favourite. Though given what day it was today, he figured the best and easiest answer would just be to make— ...

What was Erion's favourite flavour again?

His hand stills above the bowl on the table, mind drawing a complete, total, blank.

He— Eri had to have had a favourite, right?

There was no way he didn't. Everyone had some preference over another, no matter how slight, and children especially tended to fixate on something they liked. Erion had really liked birds for example, the snow owl specifically, because it looked like him. Fixation. He had a favourite. So— This couldn't be different, right? So why didn't— He couldn't—

It's been eleven years since he's gone missing (Died. He's dead. It's better that way — The other possibilities are only worse.) and it's— Both a long and short period at the same time. Eleven years is more than a decade, that was a long time. But to lose someone— To get over that loss— That had been his little brother, he's not sure a century'll even be long enough to get over that.
But he's sworn that no matter how long it may be he's never going to forget Eri, he's going to remember everything about his little brother 'cause even if he was just another number to add to some list of kids who died young, even if no one else in the whole damn world remembered who the question-loving white kid with the white hair on Tempus with dark-skinned and haired family was, Cole would until the day he died and then some.

But—

There's spots in his memory, and the realisation leaves him terrified. He can't remember what Eri's favourite flavour of food was, or conclusively if he even had one. Favourites, favourites, speaking of favourites, what had been his colour? That one he knows for a fact Eri had one, but he can't— The memory won't come to him. Oh god he's forgotten his little brother's favourite flavour and colour and he just realised he didn't know what his hobby had been before he—

Lucila finds him five minutes later, on the brink of a panic attack on the floor and bowl of cupcake batter long forgotten (And unflavoured.) and left on the table.

She recognises what's happening as soon as she sees it and sits down on the floor beside her brother, pulling him into her lap. Her voice is quiet when she offers her usual reassurances, " you're alright, you're safe. Nobody's going to hurt you. "

But he— He knows that. He's not scared of being hurt, he's not scared of dying as much as it feels like he is with his mind racing and chest constricting and hes's shaking and oh god maybe he is dying, he's scared because he's slowly forgetting more and more about the little kid who was probably scared for the last few moments of his life, and maybe even long before then, because how long had he continued to live before dying? Was it quick and painless? Was it prolonged and tortured? Maybe he had continued to suffer for years after he'd gone missing and through all that time Cole's just been safe at home and with his family and developing new favourites and hobbies and never thinking about his little brother's suffering—

" Cole, are you with me? " Lucila's quiet voice is enough to barely cut through the thundering everything in his mind, " I need you to breathe with me, alright? " — breathe with you breathe with you Eri will never breathe again he's dead dead dead and he's starting to forget his dead little brother— " Listen to my breathing, I want you to follow it as much as you can, alright? In four counts, hold it for seven, exhale for eight... "

He manages to blurt out, choked, " what was Eri's favourite flavour? "

There's silence for not even a beat, but now that the dam's broken he can't get himself to stop in time for a response, " o- or— Colour? H- Hobby? He's— D- Did he ever— Have? F- Favourites? Did he die before— Before— We'll never— I- I— E- Eri'll never— N- Never have the ch-chance to— To— Find out th- things he l- likes— "

Lucila cradles him closer, silent for a few moments, before finally murmuring, " he liked purple. Lilac. "

She offers nothing else while he rides out the rest of the panic attack. It isn't until she's given him a glass of water and wiped his face down, until he can stably stand on his own and finish the unattended cupcakes, until Lucila's left the house entirely, that it dawns upon Cole that his sister only gave him one answer. She, too, didn't know the rest.

Maybe... Well, no, he doesn't know what that says about him, what that means for all of them. As people and as family members, not remembering more about their lost one. Maybe it meant it was fine as long as they remembered more than they didn't. Maybe it meant they were all terrible together.

Swallowing hard, he reaches into the cupboard for the food colouring.

She's not very intent to know how she found herself walking to the store to buy candles.

She's busy, just because she supposedly had no work today didn't mean she couldn't do extra. There's a few newcomers who could use some more training. There's a new missing person's report; a child, nine years old, and it's suspected to be a case of child trafficking. There's— The whole thing with Seraph, because only two days ago did Father finally decide to tell them the truth about the reason he resigned from his last job. There had been accusations against the man in question for weeks now, maybe a month, but those were pressed by a group of vigilantes with questionable evidence at best. But now with her pushing for the case herself (The vigilantes — Snow Owl — Had talked about taking the case to Urbis' courts instead, because Seraph Blackwood had too much power in Tempus, and the current, most important accused crime among others of being involved with kidnapping in the first degree had been committed on Arctus. She... was inclined not to go with the words of illegal vigilantes, because their power was mostly based on Arctus, but even without that in mind, she still had mixed feelings about the idea.) there was finally some headway being made with bringing the case to court. They just didn't know which court yet, and maybe if she was there she could be helping with decision making. Or helping with any other number of things.

But no. She's walking to the store to buy candles. Of all things.

She wasn't... angry about it, per se, because she'd feel guilty if she was. It was at Cole's request, and after sending himself into a panic attack less than an hour earlier, it's the least she could do for him, to at least make his life a little easier even if she really didn't care for wasting her time on—

Well. She'll just tell herself it's for Cole rather than a dead boy.

It wasn't that she didn't miss Erion. She did. Every day. But it's just— She's watched it drive Cole into a panic attack. She's watched it drive her mother to constantly scream and strike at her own husband. She's watched it drive Father to alcohol, drinking to the point of complete incoherence at times, even with two young children who needed him.

It was just easier not to think about it. She didn't want to find out where those thoughts would drive her.

It was just easier to— Bury it, along with the body they didn't. If she told herself she didn't care about Erion enough, maybe one day it'd finally be true and she could stop being haunted by the toddler who tore her family apart—

Lucila practically walks into a white-haired boy and she nearly screams.

An eye and eye socket stare back at her.

A beat of silence passes between them. Two, then she must look more frazzled than she's trying to let on, because the boy ventures, " are you, uh, doing okay there? "

She takes a deep breath, berates herself for letting weakness show — And over something so silly no less, because really, being startled just because she wasn't paying attention to her surroundings? — before trusting herself to speak, " I'm fine. "

There's another three beats of awkward silence before she pushes, mostly with valid reason for concern but just a small part of it because she'll be eternally chagrined the kid managed to startle her so badly, " what are you doing here? Or on Tempus at all? "

The boy has the gall to just shrug his free shoulder, " kinda wanted to look for Harvey. And to walk around a bit, I guess. "

" You aren't supposed to be walking. " She eyes the crutch under the boy's arm. He couldn't even be bothered to use two, by the Heralds... " And does your father know you're here? "

He grimaces, " what he doesn't know won't kill him. "

" Owl. "

" Nick's an ass, let me live. "

She sighs again, before deciding there's no point wasting her time here, and continuing on to the store. Well, she had basically been in front of it already, so she more or less just enters.

He follows her inside.

She waits until she's at the candles shelf, before she sighs, " I don't suppose you came here for candles as well. "

" No. But you didn't tell me where to find Harvey either. "

" He's at home. And you should know where he lives, right? "

" No. "

She doesn't have it in her to sigh anymore. She just pretends to be suddenly very interested in the candles before her. She's pretty certain Cole didn't expect her to get that many, or even any of a specific type, so she should just be able to grab one and get it over and done w—

" What're these for? "

" They're candles. Surely Talent hasn't neglected you that much to not tell you what something as basic as candles are used for. "

" I know what candles do, " and he reaches out to take one. A large birthday candle, dark blue in colour. He examines its bottom, " but these aren't normal candles, are they? I've never seen ones that're pointed at the bottom. What're they for? "

" Birthday cakes. You put them on top of the cakes then light the candles so you can blow them out. "

" So like, a tradition? Why do people do that? When'd it start, and what's it supposed to do or mean? "

And if anyone asks her about it later, she's going to vehemently deny it ever happened, or chalk it up to a lack of sleep or something, but—

Something about listening to a white-haired kid, curious to learn about everything the world had to offer, always asking questions about even the most inconsequential of things, especially today of all days—

" — Oh, crap— Hey, was it something I said? Are you crying? "

She is.

Tears are tracing down her cheeks, and Lucila hates herself for it.

She quickly presses the heels of her palm to her eyes, but instead of stopping the flow like she had hoped, it only seemed to worsen the situation. To her absolute horror, she feels sobs starting to wrack her body. There's a gentle hand to the small of her back, and she finds herself slowly being guided down to the floor onto her knees.

" Hey, hey, it's okay. " Owl's voice has taken on a quiet, calming quality she never imagined it could possess, " just let it out, yeah? I'm sorry if it's something I said. "

You should be sorry for existing, a horrible, angry, distraught part of her immediately thinks. But— it's not as if it's his fault, it's not as if he's at fault for anything here. She's just— She can't take it, today. As much as she tries to suppress, or pretend, every year hurts as badly as the first they'd had with Erion gone from their lives. And today just— And with Owl showing up and looking and acting so— So—

There's a hand on her arm now, too, as if to steady her, but she doesn't lean into the invite of an embrace. He doesn't push it either, just remains there, quietly, like an anchor to reality.

It doesn't last very long — Just a minute or two at most — but by the time she finishes weeping (Like a fool, right out in public for everyone to gawk at.) she's exhausted and embarrassed. But... exhausted, in a way that wasn't as bad as the word might imply. It felt, nice, in a way. Like some kind of weight she had needed to get off her chest for years now, and finally managed to do, if even just a little bit.

(Which was stupid. Crying wasn't a good thing. She was just being weak.)

When she finally dares to bring herself to meet Owl's gaze, it's not admonishment or pity she's greeted with. Just genuine concern, and maybe a bit of confusion.

" I'm... sorry, about that, " she manages to croak out, " I don't know— what that was about. It wasn't— You didn't say anything offensive. I just— "

" Rough day? " He supplies good-naturedly. Rough eleven years, more like it, but she nods mutely anyway, deciding it really didn't matter what Talent's son thought of her.

Owl laboriously tucks a leg under him (He'd gotten down to sit on the floor cross-legged, with her. All because she'd broke down over nothing.) to push himself back to his feet with his crutch for support, before holding out his hand to her. There was absolutely no way in hell allowing the boy to pull her up would result in anything but disaster, but she took his hand nonetheless, simply holding onto it as she got herself up before he had the chance to attempt using his own strength.

She takes another deep breath, before resolutely turning back to the accursed candles. She grabs a plain white birthday candle, because she really doesn't need to dwell on this longer than necessary. Owl doesn't ask anymore questions. Just silently tags along with her as she goes to the cashier (Who either out of politeness or ignorance doesn't mention the time she spent crying on the floor. Judging by how she's fairly certain the price label at the shelf earlier indicated these by right cost five pios more, she'd assume the former.) and pays for the candle.

It doesn't strike her to say until the two of them exit the store, " you might not want to look for my father today. "

He cocks an eyebrow, and she makes a move to tuck the candle into her pocket, before thinking better of it and leaving it held in her hands instead. Too small, thin, fragile, would probably break in half. " He... won't be in a good mood. It's— a family matter. I'd say give it at least a day or two. "

The boy frowns, but nods anyway. He doesn't patronise her by asking if she needs company on the way back home, just turns on his heel and walks toward the Caelus Bridge.

She thinks to call out to give him pause, and thank him for his comfort earlier, perhaps, or for some inexplicable reason spill the reason her entire family was unstable and upset today.

Lucila doesn't, and silently watches Owl disappear from her sight.

The moment he steps out of the portal, he nearly walks right into someone else.

Thank God he didn't, because falling down would hurt like hell and getting up would be a special kind of pain in the neck, but his gratefulness is quickly squandered when he realises just who it is he's staring at.

Well, that makes it sound as if he knows who she is. He doesn't know her name. Sure knows her by face, though. Which is why he quickly says, " please don't throw me into anything. "

The woman stares at him for a beat, before finally saying, " I'm not going to. "

" Okay. Good. " He pulls his hood over his head. Just in case she changes her mind, " because I haven't had the chance to dye my hair, but I'm not trying to insul— "

" I'm not going to do anything. " She sounds annoyed. " So knock it off. You're can't even put any pressure on your left foot, I'm not about to attack a child I watched having a meltdown a few months ago. "

Wait, " what? "

The woman folds her arms across her chest, drumming her fingers on her bicep, now covered by the long sleeves of her black dress as opposed to the last time he saw her; she had a short-sleeve white one that time. " A few months ago, when you were in Tempus. In the hotel when your father tried to shoot himse— "

" How do you know about that? "

" Your father needed a doctor. I was the one they brought in. "

" Oh. " He shifts awkwardly for a while, because while his memories of that were all fuzzed he had no reason to doubt it was not a proud moment of his life, before blurting without thinking for lack of anything better to say, " he got shot in the arm two more times after that. When we returned here, behind the inn. Mugger. "

Owl doesn't know what kind of expression he's being fixed with right now, but he definitely senses some flavour of incredulity or exasperation and maybe disappointment. It's a long stretch of a few seconds' silence before he finally adds, " he got better. Arm's working normally too. "

She just continues to stare at him, and for a second he contemplates chalking it up to her forgetting how to function, saying 'fuck it' , and just going on his merry way, before she finally responds, " I guess I shouldn't be surprised with him getting into so much trouble, considering you. "

The hell was that supposed to mean?

He huffs, starts indeed going on his merry way, but she gives him pause when out of nowhere she says, " if you're ever in Tempus and need a doctor again, I have a clinic, along the main streets. It's not too easy to miss. "

And he sure as hell doesn't know what kind of incident in Tempus would make him need a doctor again, or why he'd ever be on Tempus again to begin with (Willingly going there to just look for somebody was absolutely a one-time thing.) , but instead he finds himself saying like a moron, " do I at least get to call you by a name? "

" Abigail. Abigail Farley. "

" Right then. " In his head she'd always been filed away as 'Hag' , and even now that he had a name to the face the nickname was still kind of there, but ever since Seraph, he'd, ah, 'un-learnt' calling people by nicknames.

Your friends have always been fine with you calling them by nicknames, that was purely a Seraph thing just so you'd be scared more in your daily life.

He pays Snake no mind as he starts walking again, and Abigail adds, " take care of yourself. "

It's not the same as being told someone cared about him. He knew for a damn fact the lady didn't care about him too. But Owl still feels weird as hell thinking about it all the same as he makes his way back to the cathedral.

She slowly lowered herself to a crouch in front of the gravestone.

It didn't matter that she wasn't a part of the family anymore, or that there used to be a restraining order against her (That one had been dropped.) , or that the rest might have some kind of objection to her being here.

Despite everything, this was her son.

Her flesh and blood, which she had carried for nine months. No amount of animosity between the rest of the living family members would change that, and they had no right to take her away from him. Not now.

Though he had already been taken away. Eleven years ago. Because of the incompetence of—

There's footsteps in the grass, approaching her. Slow but not attempting to be sneaky. If anything it seemed like the opposite, so she turned her head.

Speak of the fucking devil.

" You. "

The bastard just looks back at her solemnly, a— Cupcake? In his hand.

She at least waits for him to, too, slowly crouch down at the gravestone and reverently set the food down — It's a dark purple, which was probably meant to be a lighter shade without taking the darkening that came with cooking into account, with a white unlit candle stuck atop it — before she grabs him by the collar, " you did this to him! "

Harvey just looks back at her with sad, tired eyes, " I know. "

Abigail tackles him to the ground.

There's ugly screaming, there's fists being thrown, and they're all from her. How dare he. How DARE HE. She beats down on his chest, blow after blow, screaming because how DARE HE have the gall to show up at her (Their.) child's grave after it was HIS FAULT there was a grave for him in the first place and they didn't even have a body to bury if the useless son of a bitch had just BEEN BETTER IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN HIM SIX FEET UNDER AND NOT ERION—

He doesn't fight back, just gives her the same defeated look and that infuriates her even more, " don't you have anything to say for yourself?! You DID THIS! IT'S YOUR FAULT HE'S DEAD! "

He doesn't have anything to say for himself. Just continues silently doing nothing as if that's— As if that's fine. No matter how much more she rains fists down on his chest and how much more she screams accusations. The fucker. THE FUCKER. Their child's DEAD because of him and he DOESN'T—

It goes on, it must've been at least half an hour by that point, until she's worn herself out. Her throat's on fire and she can't even bring herself to lift her hand again, let alone her entire body. She can't lift her head off of his chest and shaking sobs are all she has left to muster, as she lamely tries to land one last fist and it simply thunks down against him uselessly.

She feels an arm placed around her back, and her upper half is slowly raised from the ground. The bastard won't even stay down, but she can't find it in her to do anything but continue to cry even as Harvey sits up with an arm wrapped around her in what might be a hug, which he shouldn't be doing because she hates him she hates his guts.

There's a silence filled by only her crying, and it stretches under her sobs finally die down to the occasional, before Harvey says in a low voice, barely above a whisper, " do you remember the first time we took Erion to the Gramen Plains? "

She sniffs, " I do. "

" He ran around collecting fallen leaves, " he continues, " then held them up to the sky and compared them to every tree he could see. "

" He wanted to know why each leaf was differently shaped, or had holes in them, " she finds herself joining in quietly, choking on every other word, " or why some were green, and some were brown, and every shade in between. "

" Then he went over to the pond and placed all the leaves into the water to watch them float. Cole said they were like boats, so they named each and every leaf with all the boat names they could think of. "

" Erion asked why the leaves could float on water, and Lucila said it was because they were light, and that if he put his hand into the water he'd float too. He tried it and fell into the water. "

" Cole jumped in as well because he thought it looked like fun. He splashed water at Lucila and she joined them in the pond right after, since her clothes were already wet and she didn't see why she mightn't as well. "

" Lucila and Cole started to have a water fight, but Erion went and sat to the side to play with his leaf-boats. The other two joined him after a few minutes, they were pretending it was magic pirate boats. "

And the two of them remain that way until the sun's long since set. Abigail curled up, head against Harvey's chest as he keeps his arm around her back to support her, sitting on the grass of the empty cemetery and reminiscing about their child they had lost too many years too soon.

It makes nothing better. It's still his fault, she still hates the very fact he continues to live instead of their son, and none of this is going to bring Erion back. But just for now, there's a small comfort in the quiet stories they share.

He feels eyes on him the moment he enters the house.

Cole's sitting on the couch, head turned to him with a concerned — Or judgmental, maybe — expression. He must be taking in the way he's almost staggering rather than walking, and that his shirt and tie were probably a trainwreck of a mess, dirt and crumples clear as day even on the black clothing.

Harvey closes the door behind him, before turning back to assure his son, " I haven't been drinking. "

Cole looks at him with... a healthy amount of scepticism, eyes fixed on the arm Harvey has wrapped around his ribs (Which he slowly lowers, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.) , before he ventures instead, " where'd you go and what happened, then? It's nearly nine o'clock. "

" Visiting Eri took... longer than I expected. " Which isn't an answer of any kind, but his son seems accepting enough of it, probably just glad he indeed hasn't gotten himself drunk again. And he feels bad that that is enough to get his son off his back, because he is trying to quit, he really is, and he's made a lot progress in the past years, he's just... Had a track record of relapsing every year, on Erion's birthday.

He walks into the living room, and Cole gets up from his seat, tentatively approaching his father and ghosting a hand over his chest. Instead of trying to make up some kind of lie to convince his son there was nothing wrong with him, he pulled the boy into a hug, maybe a little harder than strictly necessary or intended, too. (Show, don't tell.)

It stung like a bitch when the head hit his ribs, but his son at least seemed to relax in the hold, wrapping his arms around Harvey and either oblivious or deliberately passing over the way his chest rattles as he takes each breath.

" Thanks. " Cole's voice is muffled by his shirt, " for... keeping your promise, this year. "

" Erion would've wanted me to, " even though he was very aware he was lying right through his teeth, the fire shooting from his ribs with each inhale and exhale being his reminder, " he was always an honest kid. "

They stay together that way for a minute, before his son finally retires to his room for some sleep, with the advice that he should, too, do the same soon. It's been a long day for them all.

Later that night, lying in bed alone in the dark of his room, Harvey can barely breathe, from the pain burning in his chest. From the bruised ribs and crushing guilt of living both.