Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A/N: Hello everyone! So this is my third and final (and incredibly late) prize for the SpringFRE. I'm still working on the next chapters but knowing that I've posted it will help push me to complete it as it's now out there in the open.

The gist of the prompt was that SarcasticSmiler isn't a fan of red apples due to some childhood stuff and had mused about whether that could be fitted into a fic. I had a think about what I could do and once again I had a brain fart and this idea appeared, and the more I toyed with it the more I thought that I could very well come up with something cool for this. So, without further ado I present you with Dreamland!

I'm REALLY hoping it works out the way I want it too, as I can do a lot of awful things to the boys! XD Mwahahaha! And it fits in perfectly with the Britchell series I have running atm, which has a few more stories to be added before it's completed. So not only am I picking the "We Are One" series back up again, but we also get a three new characters! Woohoo!

I hope you all enjoy it, and I can't wait to hear what you think!

An Air New Zealand plane touched down at its home base at Auckland International Airport and began taxiing down the runway, ground crew directing the Boeing 777-300 towards the tunnel lying in wait so its passengers could begin the process of disembarking.

“Welcome to Auckland ladies and gentlemen. Its 25 degrees outside, blue skies and no clouds; clearly the City of Sails is putting on a show for you. I hope you enjoy your stay and thank you for flying with Air New Zealand.”

“For crying out loud,” one of the passengers grumbled, only a hint of his Greek accent audible after spending the last five years in England. “How can these people sound so pleased after being stuck in a pressurised tube for twenty-seven hours - ow!” He turned to glare at his brother, his dark brows drawn down into a fierce scowl, “what the fuck was that for?”

“Watch yourself Aeton,” Leon hissed, green eyes that matched his brothers flashing dangerously. “The last thing we want is to draw attention to ourselves. We’ve landed and we have a job to do, so shut your mouth and behave.”

“Who died and made you boss?”

“Mother, apparently,” the third brother grumbled, blatantly checking out the young woman who had been sitting two rows ahead. She turned and caught him staring, but rather than looking away he winked shamelessly and smirked when her pale cheeks suddenly turned pink. “Or have you forgotten that the oldest gets to run the show?”

Aeton opened his mouth to retort when Leon elbowed the pair of them in the ribs, making them wince. “Shut it the pair of you. Seth, stop checking the lady out and get up, I want to get this job done as soon as we can. The less time we spend in this blasted country, the better.”

After going through customs and the compulsory baggage check the three brothers left the terminal building with their suitcases in tow, their black leather jackets and dark denim jeans providing a warmth unnecessary in the face of the gorgeous Auckland weather.

“Urgh,” Seth muttered, glaring up at the sky as he slid his sunglasses onto his face, “who the fuck turned the sun on at this time of year?”

“It’s summer here you dick,” Leon replied in exasperation, peeling his jacket off until he was just in his singlet. After slinging it over his shoulder he wheeled his suitcase towards the rental car company nearby. “Their seasons are opposite to ours, or did you not do your research before you came here?”

“Did you not do your research like me?” Seth mocked in a childish voice as he followed him, “the bookworm and general knowledge freak? Of course I bloody didn’t. I was preoccupied with gathering the information we actually needed.”

Leon rolled his eyes and didn’t deign to answer. If he did it would only serve to ignite his little brother’s incredibly short temper and the last thing he needed was him blowing up and losing focus on the task at hand. He carried on towards the rental company, leaving his suitcase with the other two who continued bickering while he approached the main office. He loved his younger brothers, he really did, but it was during times like these that he wished his family was normal.

Or as normal as Greek Gods could get.

He often envied families that seemed to have achieved the right balance of conflict and cohesion; bickering, roughhousing and name calling would occur one moment only to see them turn and defend their own with a fierceness one would be unwise to challenge the next.

Unfortunately for him the veil of normality his mother had worked so hard to achieve was lifted the moment he had turned eighteen. At first his brother’s and sister had accused him of taking the role of being an adult too seriously, saying that he was becoming broody and quieter as the days wore on. He ached to tell them the truth, to scream and shout that he hadn’t changed, but had instead been forced to adjust to becoming the host of something that shouldn’t even exist.

But he couldn’t. Instead he had had to wait patiently for the years to pass before one by one first Aeton, then Seth and Aella turned eighteen before the family secret could be revealed.

His mother has left it to him to explain what was happening to them, what had happened to him and they quickly understood that it wasn’t that he’d been trying to be the more mature one, but rather he had been adjusting to the fact he was now the vessel of a Greek God.

Something they too would have to learn to adjust to.

The following years had been interesting to say the least. Where he had been somewhat fortunate to share a body with Morpheous, the God of dreams, his two brothers had been blessed - or cursed depending on who you spoke to - with Gods much darker than his.

And more dangerous.

Aeton, who was the second of the four siblings had ended up with Phobos, the God of Fear. The first few years following his ceremony had been tumultuous at best; the normally happy go lucky outlook he had given life had disappeared and been replaced with a constant battle of anxiety and anger, a battle which Leon and their mother had been helpless to stop. After he’d turned it was all they could do to be the guiding light Aeton so desperately needed in a life suddenly filled with darkness.

It took an age, but eventually after many trials and more than a few tears a balance between the two personalities was found, allowing Aeton to slowly get on with his life once more, or as much as he could with his body’s new and unwanted resident.

And then there was Seth.

Seth, who had been even more innocent than Aeton had found himself sharing a body with Deimos, the God of Terror.

Whether it was because of his innocence, or the fact he had been babied along with his twin sister, watching Seth succumb to his God had nearly torn their family in two. Seth, who had treated all life like it was precious, had become almost cruel; his actions tinged with malice, pain and no small amount of fear.

If it wasn’t for Aella who had become the vessel of Aphrodite - who was the complete opposite to Deimos in every sense of the word - they might have lost Seth to the darkness completely.

As it was, their family teetered on the edge of destruction. Aella was the one who kept them sane, together and in line.

And it was because of Aella they were here.

“LEON!”

He blinked in surprise, shaken from his reveries by Seth’s yell. He turned and looked over at his brothers who were staring back at him and looking unimpressed. “What?!”

“Quit staring at the wall and get the keys already! We don’t have all fucking day!”

He turned his head and discovered that he was in fact standing beside the admin building for the rental car company. Blushing slightly in embarrassment he flipped his brother off before rounding the corner in search of one of the employees.

After filling out the appropriate forms and getting a run down on the basics of the car the brothers stored their suitcases and left the parking lot.

“It’s 9:52 am in Auckland and what a gorgeous day it is today…”

“I swear to god Leon if we have to listen to this for the whole trip I’m going to fucking lose it!”

Leon rolled his eyes and sighed, adjusting the volume of the radio until it was gentle background noise.

“There,” he snapped, “happy now?”

Seth shot him a glare before focusing on the road ahead, and well versed with his youngest brother’s mood Leon promptly ignored him. He pulled out his notebook that he’d been working on on the plane and turned in his seat so he could talk to the pair unimpeded.

“So, here’s the plan. We go to the office building he’s working at, scope it out for a few days to get an idea of his work hours, plus those of anyone else who works with him. We’ll also follow him home so we can find out the other ones habits. The sooner we know this, the sooner we can try and target the pair of them individually.”

Aeton frowned, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “What if we can’t get them alone? This won’t work if we can’t give them a full blast of our powers.”

“We’ll get them alone, don’t worry. They can’t stick 24/7.”

“We don’t even know how powerful they are, Leon,” Aeton replied. “It’s one thing to use our gods on those in our own pantheon - and that’s hard enough as it is - but against those in another pantheon altogether? For crying out loud, up until two months ago we didn’t even know they existed!”

“I’m not sure if they’ll work Aeton, but sticking to the plan is the best we can do for now. If they turn out to be stronger than us then we’ll have to see if our Gods have any extra tricks up their sleeves to help us beat them.”

“Well we aren’t leaving until their minds are so broken they’re begging for death,” Seth hissed. “After what they did to Aella I won’t let them walk out of this alive.”

Leon and Aeton both reached over and put a hand on their baby brother’s shoulder in comfort. “They will pay, Seth,” Aeton told him, “you have our word. No one messes with our family and gets away with it.”

Seth nodded, tightening his grip on the steering wheel slightly before letting it go. “They will regret the day they laid eyes on her, let alone a finger. Now hurry up and pull up the coordinates of this place we’re going too. And for Christ’s sake put on some music!”

Reaching forward Leon input their destination into the GPS and fiddled around with it until they could hear the instructions. “Right,” he said over the female voice coming out of the unit, “let’s go get these bastards.”

“Destination: Johnson Public Relations. Your estimated time of arrival is thirty five minutes.”

Chapter Text

A/N: Hello everyone! Yes, still alive and kicking, I've been lingering on the edges of the Hobbit/Britchell/DarkHawk/AiDean fandoms for the last couple of months as I stupidly read a Stucky fic and found myself hooked. Trying to find time to juggle the two different fandoms has been a nightmare, plus trying to write with my creativity dragging it's creatively big concrete heels?

Not helpful.

Anywho, hope you enjoy the chapter, our mystery travellers from chapter one are on the hunt and their prey are busy boning each other (or trying too). What could go wrong?

Feedback is greatly appreciated, especially with my recent absence so I'd love to hear what you think and also your thoughts on where this might go! Translations are a hover function again, but for those on mobile devices they're also at the end :) Also any butchering of the Greek language is solely the fault of Google Translate!! :D

Special shout out to bammes, PadBlack, Silva_13, Iscalibtra, White_raven_1188, Froot_Luips, ThornyHedge, Bubbles759, Makojupiter, Lakritzwolf, msilverstar, Blueskydancers, and WanderingHobbit as well as the guest who've left kudos or comments, you guys are amazing.

Enjoy!

The smell of coffee drifted through the bedroom door and roused the slumbering blond from his sleep. With a groan Anders turned onto his side, his limbs aching with a bone deep tiredness that came from long hours at work and little rest. Sleepily he ran a hand across the opposite side of the bed only to find it empty; the spot still warm from where Mitchell’s body heat had built up throughout the night. He blinked slowly, eyes still crusted with sleep and looked for the clock Mitchell kept on his bedside table, blinking in surprise when he realised he’d been asleep for well over twelve hours.

“Christ,” he grumbled, clumsily swiping a hand across his eyes in a weak attempt to clear them, “no wonder I feel like the goddamn walking dead.”

Once his vision cleared he stretched, his lower back arching off the bed and causing the sheet to slip down slightly and pool at his waist. He stretched his arms, reaching them into the air as a sinful moan escaped at the satisfaction of feeling his joints pop and crack. As he was settling back into the mattress he contemplated whether he should ask Mitchell oh so nicely to treat him to breakfast in bed when movement by the door caught his eye.

“Pervert,” he greeted the brunet who was leaning against the doorframe and watching him intently. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Mitchell growled, stalking into the room and slamming the coffee cup he was holding onto the dresser before clambering onto the bed.

“Yeah?” He purred, smirking when the vampire crawled towards him and essentially trapped him against the mattress. “You really are a pervert,” he sniggered, biting his lip to stifle a moan when Mitchell’s hand cupped his quickly filling cock. “I could have you arrested for invasion of privacy.”

“You could,” the vampire agreed, his voice husky with want as he settled in his lap, “but then I couldn’t do things like this.”

And with that Mitchell dove in for a kiss, slamming their lips together so hard their teeth clacked painfully. The vampire pinned him down by the shoulders and licked into his mouth forcefully, Anders moaning softly and responding in kind; curling their tongues together as he deepened the kiss further.

It was sloppy and wet and Anders was certain his lips would be well and truly bruised by the end, but it was perfect and very much needed; his workload from the past week having robbed them both of any chance of intimacy.

Determined to turn the tables and regain some form of control he ran a hand through Mitchell’s curls; scratching at the base of his scalp to make the vampire whine softly before giving them a firm tug.

“Anders…” Mitchell growled warningly, pulling back just enough to speak but not enough to break contact.

He tugged again, knowing full well what would happen when he did. “Yes?”

Mitchell growled louder this time, tilting his hips so he could grind against the blond. “You little shit,” he hissed, kissing Anders breathless as he manoeuvred the sheets out of the way, “you’re going to pay for that.”

“Am I now?” He asked, feigning innocence only to yelp when cold fingers brushed his hips as Mitchell tore off his underwear. “Oh for fuck sake. That’s the third pair this mo- mfph!” His protest was silenced when Mitchell shoved his tongue back in his mouth, distracting him momentarily until he felt the vampire’s long fingers wrap around his now painfully throbbing cock. “John,” he moaned, tendrils of pleasure beginning to curl in his stomach. “Please-”

Mitchell released his lips to focus on the underside of his jaw. “Mmm,” the vampire hummed, worrying the flesh with his teeth and making Anders eyes flutter shut. “You beg so prettily.”

“Fuck you.” His fingers trembled where they rested on Mitchell’s shoulders, trying to hold on and failing as they spasmed with each bolt of pleasure that raced through him. “Get a move on would you?”

Mitchell released him long enough to manoeuvre his own underwear down to his thighs, spitting into his hand before wrapping it around both their lengths, his grip firm and making them both moan loudly.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, head tipping back and keening when Mitchell tightened his hold, “fuck, John, please-”

Mitchell smirked before silencing him with a kiss as he began to move his hand, the pull and drag of his skin making them both groan brokenly. It was fast and messy; the pair grinding and thrusting against each other as Mitchell’s fingers danced over their lengths, quickly pulling them higher and higher towards completion while their tongues battled for dominance.

They finished almost simultaneously, Anders burying his face in the crook of Mitchell’s neck as he cried out, the vampire groaning as he also came, his hand and their stomach’s covered in their seed. The room was silent save for the sound of their panting, the pair too lost in their endorphins to talk or even bother with cleaning themselves up.

“God that was good,” Mitchell eventually sighed, his tone light and mirthful as he slowly regained control of his breathing and lowered himself down beside Anders. “I’ve missed you this week.”

He snorted. “You don’t say, Vlad. The fact that you pounced on me the moment I woke gave me some idea.” He turned onto his side, moving Mitchell’s arm so he could rest his head on his shoulder and cuddling into his side. “That, however, was long overdue.”

Mitchell’s arm came up and wrapped around his waist, the long fingers lightly stroking his hip and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. No matter how much he’d deny it to anyone else, cuddling with Mitchell – especially post sex - was something he loved, and he cherished each and every time he got to experience it.

Regardless of how often he pretended to grumble about it.

“Damn right it was,” Mitchell agreed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t get me wrong, fucking you until you can’t walk straight is and will always be a favourite hobby, but I’ve missed just having you here -”

“Oh god, you’re such a sap -”

Mitchell rolled his eyes at the interruption. “Your romantic is showing again,” he warned sarcastically, “better hide it before it gives me any ideas.”

Chuckling he pecked the now pouting vampire on the cheek. “I do it for you babe,” he told him, “but I hate to tell you this; there’s a slight issue with our little session this morning.”

“Oh yeah? The fact you’re not aching from my cock inside you and my come leaking out your ass an issue for you? Because that’s easily resolved.”

“Crude. No, my coffee’s cold.”

The subsequent thwack of the pillow hitting Anders in the face nearly had the God falling off the bed with laughter.

Mitchell hummed quietly to himself as he flipped the bacon, scratching absentmindedly at his bare chest as he did so. After their little session Anders had somehow wrangled him into cooking breakfast - how he did it he still wasn’t quite sure - and now he was waiting for the blond to finish up in the shower.

It had been a tossup between joining him or cooking the food, but Anders had insisted on eating, especially as he had to go back into the office for a couple of hours before he and Dawn submitted all the work they’d been swamped with over the past week to their clients.

Warm arms wrapped around his waist and he grinned as he felt Anders press up against his back, the heat from the shower still clinging to his damp skin. “Breakfast is almost ready,” he told the blond, a shiver racing through him when Anders lightly stroked his stomach. “Coffee’s nearly ready too.”

“Smells good,” Anders murmured, pressing a kiss to his spine before moving away to fetch some plates, “this’ll be the first proper breakfast I’ll have had all bloody week.”

He took the plates that Anders handed to him. “I’ve offered to bring you food -”

“I know, babe,” Anders interrupted, “but you shouldn’t have too.” He huffed out a breath, leaning against the counter and watching as his lover began plating up their food. “Besides you know what happens when I get overworked.”

He did know. It had taken a while to work it out, but whenever Anders was stressed or completely focused on something he’d stop eating. It wasn’t deliberate on his part, but an entire day could pass before Anders’ stomach felt like reminding him it was time to find food. Dawn often did her best to get the blond to eat, but they’d both realised that if he was pulled out of his funk before his mind was ready it took a long time to refocus again.

Eventually it became a mutual agreement to just leave him to his work, and to have food nearby if and when he needed it.

Mitchell handed a plate heavily laden with bacon, banana, eggs and toast to his partner. “Well, once you’ve sent these proposals through to your clients you’ll have a chance to relax,” he told him, grabbing his own plate and following his lover to the table. “And I’m very much looking forward to getting you to myself this weekend.”

Anders smirked fondly at him as he sat down and the pair dug into their meal in silence, their feet tangling automatically under the table. Even though he wouldn't say it out loud, he was looking forward to not having anything to worry about that wasn't work related, and that thought was what drove him to eat quickly, the temptation of having no plans for the afternoon too great to ignore.

Once he’d finished every last skerrick of food - ignoring the look Mitchell gave him as he mopped up the rest of the egg yolk with his fingers - he stood, dumping his plate in the sink. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, giving Mitchell a look that spoke of trouble, “it's nice to know you’ve learned how to cook bacon properly.”

Sniggering at Mitchell’s food muffled protest of outrage, he headed off to the bathroom, quickly doing his teeth before snagging a suit jacket out of the closet and heading back to the kitchen. His vampire was still at the table finishing his coffee when he re-entered the room, and taking a slight detour to his shoes he went over a dropped a kiss on the dark curls. “I’ll be back soon babe,” he promised, “a couple of hours, tops.”

Mitchell tilted his head for a proper kiss, Anders obliging with a soft laugh. “Text me when you’re done?” he asked, “I’ll come pick you up and we can go for lunch.”

“Copy that,” he replied brightly, giving Mitchell’s shoulder a squeeze before grabbing his keys and walking out the door.

“And. I. Am…” there were several hard clicks of the mouse that echoed in the near silent office before one final slam of the button and “done!”

Anders let out a long winded sigh, leaning his head against the back of his chair so he could savour the feeling of freedom he finally had again.

“Over dramatic, much?”

He rolled his head to the side and gave his vampire who was sprawled on his couch an unimpressed look. “I’m sorry, who’s been slaving away for the last week again?”

“The moron who agreed to take on all of said jobs, apparently.”

Flipping Mitchell off he folded the cover over his IPad, more than glad that he wouldn’t have to see it again until the Monday. He stood up and moved away from his desk with a smirk on his face. “Right, you promised me food so, y’know, get me food.”

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Sir yes sir,” he huffed, giving the blond a mock salute. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

He followed the brunet from his office and stopped at Dawn’s desk, pushing the lid of her laptop down and earning a glare for his troubles.

“Anders -” she huffed, trying to reopen her laptop but was unable to with Anders keeping his hand pressed against it, “Stop, I need to -”

“You need to go home, and enjoy your weekend, Dawn. We met our deadline and everything’s done.”

Dawn sighed. “There are emails,” she protested half-heartedly, “phone calls that -”

“That can wait until next week,” he interrupted, “and if they don't like it? Tough shit. We’ve earned more this week than we could ever hope to in three months. It won't kill us if we miss out on some work. Come on,” he held out his hand for her to take and pulled her from her chair. “Don't make me call Ty to drag you outta here.”

She chuckled, grabbing her coat and purse. “Alright alright.” Dawn turned and looked at Mitchell with a twinkle in her eye. “I hope he’s this demanding with you.”

“Worse,” Mitchell laughed. “Glad to know I’m not the only one who had to suffer him.”

Anders rolled his eyes at their teasing. “Oh bite me the pair of you.”

“Maybe later,” Mitchell promised with a wink, “right now I want food.”

With a shake of his head Anders headed for the door and held it open for the others which Dawn and Mitchell thanked him with by curtseying and laughing as they headed outside.

“Why do I even bother?” Anders grumbled to himself, unable to keep the grin off his face as he followed the pair out the door, locking it behind him.

They walked out into the sunshine and almost simultaneously the three of them pulled their sunglasses on.

“Christ it’s hot,” Anders grumbled, loosening the top two buttons of his shirt with a huff. “Remind me again why I wore a shirt. In summer.”

“Because you’re vain and wouldn’t be caught dead in casual clothes at work,” Mitchell replied absently. With his eyes hidden behind his glasses neither of his companions noticed his sudden alertness as he scanned their surroundings. “Dawn, we’ll walk you to your car before we head off.”

Said blond waved him off. “Don’t worry about it Mitchell,” she told him as she headed off down the street, “Its broad daylight, no one’s going to try anything.”

“My mama raised me better than that,” he countered, plastering on a smile and offering his arm to her, “come on, let me be all gentlemanly and escort you. Lord knows the little shit I’m tied too would never let it happen.”

Laughing at her boss’s protest Dawn threaded her arm through Mitchell’s and allowed him to lead her to her car, and after pressing a kiss to his cheek and saying goodbye to Anders she climbed in and pulled away from the curb.

“Well that’s just bloody rude,” Anders huffed, glaring at the vampire over the top of his glasses, “I too would let you be all gentle - Mitch?” It was only then that he noticed the tension, which had been absent before, in his partner’s shoulders. “Babe, everything alright?”

Rather than replying Mitchell held out a hand for him to take, and after a brief moment of hesitation Anders took it and let the vampire lead him down the street. “John, what is it?”

“You ever had that feeling like you’re being watched but you’re not sure?”

He froze for a split second before continuing on, his grip on Mitchell’s hand tightening by a fraction. “We’re being watched?”

When no answer came straight away he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see his partner purse his lips, the only giveaway that he was unsettled. “I don’t know,” Mitchell admitted, “but I’d like us to get off the street all the same.”

Not needing to be told a second time Anders led his partner over to his car and the pair got inside, Mitchell getting into the driver’s side without a word. They stayed silent, Anders not questioning the seemingly random destinations the vampire was taking them. He knew that they’d be touring the city until Mitchell thought he’d lost them, and until such a time he might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.

An hour later Anders had slipped into a light dose when the car finally slid to a stop, and it was the hand on his thigh that drew him from his slumber.

“Mmwha?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Babe? Wasgoin’ on? You lose ‘em?”

“I think so,” the brunet replied quietly, giving his knee a gentle squeeze. “About twenty minutes ago, but I wanted to be sure.”

The confirmation made him slightly more alert. “So there was someone there?”

Mitchell hesitated. In all honesty he wasn’t sure; he was certain he’d seen the same car more than once but it was hard to tell with how far back it had been and how randomly he had seen it. He’d noticed during his time in New Zealand that Aucklanders seemed to have a really bad habit of having near identical cars and the layout of the roads in the city had made it even harder to tell if his hunch had been correct or if he’d simply been paranoid.

Although the sudden weight he’d felt leave his shoulders him when he’d felt he’d lost them told him that maybe he wasn’t being so paranoid after all.

“I think so,” he admitted, “but I figured the best bet for us for the next few hours was to go to your brother’s bar for a bit -”

“You mean hide there?” Anders interrupted, annoyance heavy in his tone.

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Yes, hiding, if that’s how you want to class it. Babe, I don’t know who was following us or why, but the safest course of action is being in familiar territory until we can find out. Strength in numbers, and all that.”

“Yes, but it’s the weekend John, and aside from big brother Mikkal my dumbass relations won’t be here.”

“Mike invited everyone over a few days ago for a barbeque, but I told him with how busy you were at work we might not make it there. But you finished early, we’re both hungry and we need somewhere to lay low for a couple of hours so… there you go.” Mitchell unbuckled his seatbelt and ruffled Anders hair, much to the blonds annoyance if his grumbling was anything to go by.

“Come on babe, look lively now, we only have to be here for food then we can go.”

He grinned as Anders swore under his breath and climbed out of the car, coming around the front to take his partner’s hand before they headed into the bar.

“Play nice,” he reminded the blond as they walked through the door, raising a hand in greeting when Olaf spotted them, “a few hours then we’re gone. I promise.”

Anders huffed quietly and strolled over to the bar, smirking at Mike when the older Johnson rolled his eyes at the sight of him.

“I thought you weren't coming.”

“And miss the free booze, food and spending time with my loving family? Never.”

“Right, how stupid of me to think otherwise.” Mike cracked the lid off a beer and handed it over. “But seriously, Mitchell said you were flat out at work. If Ty finds out you left Dawn in the office to deal with it herself he’ll kill you.”

Anders rolled his eyes as he took a drag from the bottle. “Give me some credit Mikkal, I wouldn’t do that to poor Dawnsie. Besides, I’d be last at the office if we were inundated with work.”

“Yes you would,” Mitchell cut in, handing over a plate with a couple of burgers and chips from the barbeque that had been fired up earlier, “and no, you wouldn’t.”

“You’re faith in me is astounding,” he replied dryly, giving Mike the finger when he sniggered. “Really John, I’m hurt.”

Mitchell didn’t get a chance to answer. At that moment the door opened and three men entered; similar in looks and clothing. It was easy to surmise they were brothers, and going from their tanned skin and dark hair Anders guessed they weren’t exactly locals, either.

“Sorry fellas, bar’s closed,” Mike told the newcomers, a friendly smile plastered on his lips but his tone brokering no argument. “Family function.”

"Noiázomai lígo gia tin oikogéneiá sas, thnitós," the one on the right spat. “Boreíte katafýgio daímones, kai gi 'aftó tha prépei na plirósei.”

Silence fell in the bar the moment the foreigner spoke, the Johnson’s and those present watching the group warily. Anders chanced a quick look at his vampire and the hard look and tension in his shoulders was enough to confirm that these were the ones who had more than likely been tailing them earlier.

“Ftánei, Seth,” the middle one replied quietly, his tone warning but no less hostile as he glared at the ones opposite him. “Tha plirósoun arketá sýntoma.”

“How about speaking English?” Mike snapped, “If you’re gunna threaten us, in my bar no less, you might as well do it in a way we all understand.”

The trio glared at Mike, and Mike glared right back, walking out from behind the bar top to stand beside Mitchell and Anders in a show of strength. And he wasn’t alone. Without a word Ty, Olaf, Axl and the Goddesses joined their side silently.

Michele looked between her companions and the men by the door when the silence stretched out further. “Well go on then,” she drawled, folding her arms and giving the three men an unimpressed look. “Tell us what you’re so clearly desperate to say.”

“You are traitors,” the man on the left hissed, hands clenching into fists. “Traitors to your own race!”

The confusion on their faces must’ve been clear for the main on the right spat in annoyance. “Demons hide in your midst and yet you still shelter them! You allow evil to walk amongst you while pretending not to see the crimes they commit!”

Anders took a step forwards and growled low in his throat, shaking off Mitchell’s hand that had shot out and gripped his shoulder. “Clearly you’ve taken a wrong turn, sirs, because there are no demons here. So before you make complete asses of yourselves I suggest you leave. Now.”

“Boreíte fáoul katharóaimos plásma!” The man on the right screamed, his dark eyes glinting in the artificial light and Anders could have sworn, for a brief second, that they changed black. And there was only one explanation for that he realised in alarm.

Vampires.

But it made no sense. The only demons he could be referring to would be vampires, and Mitchell was the only vampire they knew. But the man was ranting about demons, as in several of them and unless someone in his family had gone into the bloodsucking business there was something seriously wrong with the situation.

“Boreíte viázoun kai leilasía kai na katastrépsei ta pánta sto pérasmá sas. OCHI pia! Orkízomai apó to ónoma tou Día, pou den tha epitrépsei állo na érthei se zimía apó ta chéria sas, vdélles!” the man continued, and it was only then that Anders realised his thinking had taken no less than a second. He turned his thoughts to Bragi, calling on his God to assist him.

“They speak the truth, little sparrow,” Bragi whispered in his mind, his voice clear and strong like it so usually wasn’t. “Or they believe they do, which makes it harder to discern the truth. You and yours must tread carefully, for unknown reasons drive them, and they could inflict great harm if you are careless.”

“Do you know what they’re saying?” He asked back silently. “If we knew that then it would make things a lot easier.” In fact the fact that he hadn’t known what they were saying straight away was cause for concern, especially when Bragi took great pleasure in translating everything he didn’t understand and telling him loudly in case he wasn’t paying attention. It made walking past signs for international shops incredibly frustrating when he was trying to talk to Mitchell and Bragi was reminding him that ‘the dish of the day was Chicken Chow Mein for only $7.99!’

It got pretty fucking infuriating, to put it mildly.

“I wish I did.” Bragi’s tone was almost frustrated, and Anders could practically picture his God glaring at the three men in annoyance. “There is something blocking me from understanding them, and what it is I know not yet. Give me time, I will do my best to figure it out.”

“For fuck sakes man!” Axl snapped, his cheeks flushing in anger and drawing Anders back to the scene before him. “We don’t speak the same language, so either speak English or don’t speak at all!”

“Or better yet get your arses out of my bar!” Mike tacked onto the end. “I don’t take threats against my family lightly, so I suggest you remove yourselves willingly before I make you.”

“Very well,” the man in the middle said, inclining his head slightly as though in respect, however they all knew it was anything but. “We will leave, but do not think this is the last you shall hear from us. As my brother said, you will pay for what you have done.” Without another word the trio left the bar, slamming the door shut behind them.

The group looked at one another and it was eventually Axl who said what they were all thinking.

“What the fuck just happened?”

Chapter Text

A/N: Hello everyone! I'm just going to stop making excuses because I keep saying I'll try to be faster and it just ain't happening. I don't get a lot of down time these days and work no sooner goes quiet then I'm training someone new then we hit a busy patch again, and then after work its generally the gym or Pole and home for a quick snack then bed. I hate working -.-

Despite also lacking motivation as I feel like I've kinda dropped out of the fandom a bit (which I hate and have no idea how it happened) I have managed to get this AND the next chapter (or next half depending on how long I want it to be) written, as well as having started on the next part of Snow Bunnies. My goal is, however, to get most of my stories wrapped up over the next few months as I'm applying for a job which, if I get it, will remove me from continuous internet access for 6 months. I'm super excited so watch this space!

Here we get to learn a little about Anders messed up childhood and how much of a dick Mike could be when they were kids, plus we get to the initial prompt for the story!

As always if you pick up on any mistakes please let me know, and general feedback is always appreciated too!

Special shout out to Sparklebird, Ruairi, pandorasxbox, islandkate, childermass, Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat), bammes, PadBlack, Silva_13, Iscalibtra, White_raven_1188, Froot_Luips, ThornyHedge, Bubbles759, Makojupiter, Lakritzwolf, msilverstar, Blueskydancers, and WanderingHobbit as well everyone else who has commented or kudosed. You guys are awesome! 

Also, credit goes to DandelionPower for thewonderful manip of Anders and Mitchell thats taken centre stage in my little  photo header. You can see her original post here 

“Seriously,” Axl repeated, looking between the people gathered. “What the fuck just happened?”

Olaf shrugged, taking a long drag from his beer before belching loudly. “Who knows, and frankly who cares. They’re mental, they’re gone and now I want food.”

“Are you serious, Olaf?” Ty asked disbelievingly. “Three men come in here, threaten us about hiding demons in our midst and all you can think of is your stomach?” When his grandfather shrugged indifferently and headed back to the table of food he shook his head in annoyance. “Please tell me I’m not the only one worried about this.”

Mitchell clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re not the only one,” he assured him, “question is, what do they want?”

“Well the rambling about demon’s kind of gives it away,” Michele snapped, waving a hand at Anders and Mitchell as she talked. “Seems like the only ones they’re after is you two dickheads, and maybe we should get out of their way and let them do whatever it is they came here to do.”

Anders, Mitchell and Ty all glared at the goddess, sharp retorts on the tips of their tongues but before they even had a chance at taking a breath Mike beat them to it.

“Seriously, Michele?” He said, shooting his girlfriend an unimpressed look. “That’s all you can say about this? ‘Let them at them’, when we haven’t even heard from Anders or Mitchell about what they did to piss them off?” Without letting her answer he turned to his brother and the vampire and said “Seriously, what the fuck did you two morons do?”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Gee Mike, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Well you do have three very pissed off people calling for your blood Anders. I’d like to know what you did this time so that I’m more prepared to deal with them next time.”

Mitchell looked between the two Johnsons, and when it was clear Anders was about to give his brother what was likely to be a less than mature answer he jumped in. “Mike, we haven’t done anything to them. I only feed from Anders so it can’t be about a murder, and we haven’t really been anywhere in the last two months with how busy we’ve both been. Plus, I never forget a face and I have never seen them in my life.”

Mike looked back to his brother and found Anders nodding in agreement. “Okay, say you’re telling the truth -”

“He is telling the truth!” Anders interjected angrily.

“A version of the truth then,” he amended, “because let’s face it, they’re pretty certain of themselves, just like you are which means their grievance is based on something factual. Which leads me back to my original question; if you’re telling the truth and haven’t done anything that could possibly draw attention to yourselves, why would they be after you?”

Everyone remained silent as they looked at each other, no one really having an answer that could be plausible.

“Maybe they got them confused with someone else?” Axl asked eventually, giving a hapless shrug when all eyes turned on him. “Just a thought.”

“It’s a pretty fucking long way to come for a mistake,” Anders sighed, shooting his brother a wry smile. “It would be nice if it was something as simple as that though.”

“Well whatever their problem is they’ve clearly got a bone to pick,” Mitchell replied. “Best thing for everyone is to keep your heads down and your ears pricked for the time being, at least until we figure out what’s going on.”

Mike nodded. “Try and stick to routine, and to places where there are people about so they can’t try and corner you. And for the love of God, don’t goof off and do something stupid.” Mike looked at Axl pointedly as he said this and raised an eyebrow when the youngest Johnson let out a squawk of protest.

“I don’t -”

“You do, Axl,” his brothers all said automatically and in unison.

“You’re kinda infamous for doing stupid shit, Axl,” Mitchell admitted to the God. “Sorry dude.”

Axl huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. “Rude.”

Anders loosened his tie and groaned in satisfaction at the feeling of the constricting fabric leaving his throat. With a flick of his wrist he tossed it onto the bed and slipped out of his clothes, swapping them for a pair of flannel pyjamas pants and one of Mitchell’s ratty t-shirts before making his way out of the bedroom.

Entering the kitchen he glanced to the couch where Mitchell was currently sitting, remote in hand and a frown on his face as he scrolled through the movie menu in search of something for them to watch. He grabbed a bottle of white wine and two glasses off the shelf before making his way to the living room and joining his lover on the couch, placing his burden next to the large bowl of popcorn Mitchell had prepared.

“So, what are we watching Vlad?”

Mitchell grinned at him and pressed play, the black screen suddenly coming to life from where it had been paused in preparation. “A classic!”

“Oh god,” he moaned. “Please tell me it’s not Casablanca again.”

“A Disney classic, then,” Mitchell amended. “And shut up, Casablanca is a good movie.”

“If you say so.” Anders shook his head fondly and leaned forward to pour them each a glass when the opening credits made him freeze mid-motion. The feeling the music gave him was not a good one; like slush sliding from his shoulders and down his spine to pool uncomfortably in his gut with every chord pulled from the various string instruments.

“Turn it off,” he whispered shakily, struggling to swallow down the bile that was quickly rising at that sound.

But it kept playing.

When he realise Mitchell was completely oblivious to his discomfort he cleared his throat and tried again, cursing how badly his voice shook when he spoke louder. “Mitch, please. Anything but this.”

Mitchell paused the movie and turned to look at him in confusion. “It's just a cartoon, babe.”

“I'm well aware it's a cartoon,” he ground out, “and so are other Disney movies. So put one of them on instead.”

Mitchell snickered. “Anders, its Snow White. Everyone loves Snow White! You can't seriously have an issue with her. Or is it the Queen?” When his only response was a deepening of his glare at the brunet, Mitchell howled with laughter. “Holy shit, it totally is! Fucking hell this is priceless!”

Anders shot to his feet, glaring daggers at the chortling brunet. “Well if you think the movie is so great then you can fucking watch it by yourself, you dick.” As he went to storm away he found himself being pulled to a stop by Mitchell's hand wrapping around his wrist.

“Babe, I was kidding,” the vampire said, still chuckling despite his effort to placate him. “Your reaction to the movie is funny, is all.”

“You think that's funny, do you?” He snapped, tearing his wrist out of the vampires hold and storming away because fuck Mitchell if he thought he'd get to sweep this under the rug with a couple of words and big doe eyes. “You think my fear of red apples is a fucking joke, huh? Well please, feel free to clarify for me just what's funny about a five year old seeing the movie for the first time and his older brother joking that some red apples are dangerous, but you would never be able to tell until you bit into one? Or seeing the same brother bite into a red apple the next day when it was just the two of you alone in the house and start choking, only for you to find out after screaming and crying and pleading for your big brother to wake up and not to leave you alone that he was joking but the stunt he pulled was enough to scar you for life, and that you've never been able to eat, let alone look at, red apples since?” Mitchell was silent, horror writ across his face and Anders sneered. “Yeah, I don't see you laughing now. So please, enjoy your fucking movie, and the couch while you're at it.”

Without waiting for a response Anders stormed back to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him with more force than was probably necessary, relishing the sound of the finality with which it shut.

The moment he was alone, however, he regretted his reaction instantly. Sure, Mitchell giving him shit about not wanting to watch the movie made the vampire a colossal dick, but it didn't deserve banishment to the couch. After all, how was Mitchell supposed to know about his fear of red apples? It’s not like he went around advertising just how fucked up his childhood had been - even though Mitchell had an inkling of some of the shit he went through - and with all the craziness that was Helen and Iðunn, apples weren't exactly a part of their staple diet. Unless they were having apple pie - which happened to be all the time - but even then that came out of a tin to save time.

“Fuck,” he sighed wearily, running a hand through his hair as he sat down heavily on the bed. “Fuck.”

He wasn't going to go out and apologise, his pride prevented it, but he also felt guilty enough about it that he wasn't going to lock the door and bar Mitchell from entering either.

Something he prayed the vampire would notice.

He brushed his teeth and switched off the main light, leaving Mitchell’s bedside light on with the hopes that should the vampire enter the room he’d see he was welcome, despite his earlier words. Crawling into bed he buried his nose into Mitchell's pillow and wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes with the hope that either sleep, or Mitchell, would come.

With any luck, neither would keep him waiting.

Mitchell dropped his head into his hands with a groan the moment the door slammed shut. How many times had he tried to get Anders to open up to him about his childhood? Both with tentative questions and - he was ashamed to say - outright demands. He had learned enough to know that Anders had been treated like shit during his childhood, but there was still so much he didn’t know.

Like this.

He was normally pretty good at identifying the signs of Anders panicking when something from his childhood came up, but he had remained blind in the face of his own humour. And felt like a bigger dick for it.

To be fair, it wasn’t like he knew to expect this to be a fear; after all fears of fruit were pretty uncommon, but he knew it had to do with what they represented in the movie that had caused the problem, and unfortunately with a fear as deep seated as this one it was unlikely to be one he could help get rid of.

“Fucking Mike,” he grumbled in annoyance, switching the TV off with a sigh. He set about tidying up the living room; putting the wine and the glasses away and placing the popcorn into a container to be eaten the next day before switching the lights off and making his way towards the bedroom. There’d been a distinct lack of a bolt sliding into place which meant that, while pissed with him it wasn’t bad enough that Anders had been serious about him sleeping on the couch.

He turned the handle tentatively, part of him still unsure of his welcome. When there was no yell for him to get out he turned it the rest of the way, pushing the door open enough to slide inside. He tiptoed to the bathroom; giving his teeth a quick go over before relieving himself and moving back to the bedroom, hesitating for just a second before walking around to his side of the bed and slipping beneath the covers.

Throughout it all Anders didn’t say a word, just watched as Mitchell moved around the room but kept his distance the moment the vampire joined him on the bed, which is how they found themselves facing each other, eyes not quite managing to meet.

The silence that had been building since he’d entered the room had bloomed into one of the most uncomfortable feelings he’d ever had the displeasure of experiencing with someone he loved, and something told Mitchell that if he didn’t do anything to resolve it he would regret it forever.

“‘M sorry,” he whispered, his voice shattering the silence despite its softness. “Anders, I am so sorry.”

The blond shook his head minutely, the corner of his lips twitching briefly. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he countered, voice just as quiet. “You have nothing to apologise for, John. I promise.”

“I hurt you -”

“You upset me. There’s a difference.”

Mitchell sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Anders. I -”

The blond cut him off with a finger against his lips, silencing him immediately. He scooted across the bed and placed a feather light kiss to the tip of the vampire’s nose, following up with one to his lips. “It does matter because you didn’t mean to. If I’m honest, it's a stupid fucking fear anyway. Like, red apples? Fuck, if Ty or Axl or even Mike found out I'd be the laughing stock of the family. And let’s be honest, the whole concept is stupid as well; only true love's kiss can cure all? Please. True loves kiss my ass.”

When the pained look didn’t leave the vampire’s eyes he let out a sigh, reaching past the vampire to switch the light off before leaning back into his pillows and opening his arms. Mitchell immediately folded himself in Anders embrace and fingers dug into limbs tightly as the space between them became non-existent.

“I love you,” Mitchell whispered into the crisp blond fuzz littering Anders chest, “so much.”

“Love you too,” he muttered, dropping a kiss onto the dark curls. “Now, sleep.”

“Sleep,” Mitchell agreed, snuggling further into the firm arms surrounding him.

Sure enough, it only took a matter of minutes for their combined body heat to drag them off to the land of dreams.

“It’s off.”

“Christós. It’s about fucking time.”

“Language,” Aeton chided absentmindedly, the binoculars never leaving his face. He kept his eyes glued to the now darkened window, watching for any sign of movement within the room whilst keeping half an ear open for his brother who was shuffling around behind him, Seth’s footfalls near silent on the wooden floor.

They’d been unbelievably lucky that the building opposite their target had been easy to get into, and even better was that one of the apartments facing the window to the Johnson apartment had tenants away on holiday, which meant they could take their time setting up without fear of being caught.

He turned to look at Leon who was sitting on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a golden tinge to his unseeing eyes as he exercised his God’s powers. He’d been at it for the last hour, and Aeton prayed it wouldn't take him any longer; Leon had never used his God for so long before, and every moment spent in Morpheus's mind the harder it would be to draw him back.

As though he’d heard his brother, Leon let out a shuddering gasp and coughed violently, collapsing sideways onto the couch and sending Aeton and Seth scrambling to his side.

“Anapnéfste, o megálos adelfós," Seth murmured, feeding his older brother small mouthfuls of water. “Aplá anépnefse.

Leon did as instructed, and after several minutes of pained breathing filling the room his eyes fluttered open. “Ow,” he groaned weakly, “I am never doing that again.”

Aeton let out a small laugh. “I hate to break it to you, but-”

“I know, I know,” Leon interrupted, “but next time I’ll be channelling off the pair of you to do what needs to be done. And that’ll drain me less.”

The younger two hummed in agreement but otherwise remained quiet until he had enough strength to push himself into an upright position, although Seth did have to help him the rest of the way. “It’s done,” he told them quietly, drawing his blanket around his shoulders tighter. “They’re out cold and ready. How are the other two?”

“Asleep,” Aeton replied, “but only just. They may need a nudge but we need to get this done, sooner rather than later.”

He nodded and closed his eyes once more, summoning his God to the forefront of his mind, Morpheus's powers flooding his soul and seeping out like tendrils of smoke slowly unfurling. He focused on the building opposite and allowed the numbing feeling of his powers at work to fill him, the heartbeats of all living souls blinking around him as he sought out the two lights he wanted. Their heartbeats were a bit too quick for them to be asleep, but they were close, and with a gentle nudge he connected himself to them enough to speed them towards a deeper state of slumber.

Satisfied they were well and truly out cold he withdrew hastily, not wanting to waste any more energy than he already had, for he’d need as much strength as he could muster to reach so many people who were spread out so far.

Coming back to himself he blinked and nodded at his brothers who helped lever him off the couch and towards to spot they’d cleared on the floor. There were three pillows in a triangle formation and they each lay down, placing their heads on them until they were close enough their temples were almost touching.

“Are you ready?” He asked, slowing the beat of his heart as Morpheus had taught him to the point it was a sluggish thud in his chest. To connect to two other Gods and project their powers was an intricate process, and achieving a near REM like state was what would get him through it.

“Ready.”

“Let’s do this.”

He let out a deep, slow breath and closed his eyes, feeling the twinge in the back of his head that was Morpheous’ power for the third time that evening.

“Let’s begin.”

Chapter Text

A/N: Hello everyone! Look what I did! I actually managed to do an update in less than a month! *Blatantly ignores the fact that there's only 4 days difference...*

To recap, the Greek boys are pissed and the Kiwi boys confused as fuck. Unfortunately they better start trying to work things out quickly or they might not like whats coming their way... Correction: they're going to hate what's coming their way regardless.

I'm glad I've managed to keep you guessing with what's occurred, I promise all will be revealed soon so hang in there! We're getting there I promise!

Shout out to dandelionpower, waterlilyblue, WerewulfTherewulf, MegaBubble, Sparklebird, Ruairi, pandorasxbox, islandkate, childermass, Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat), bammes, PadBlack, Silva_13, Iscalibtra, White_raven_1188, Froot_Luips, ThornyHedge, Bubbles759, Makojupiter, Lakritzwolf, msilverstar, Blueskydancers, and WanderingHobbit as well as the 5 guests who have commented/kudosed, you guys are awesome!

Mikes Bar

A creaking door had him sitting up with a gasp, wincing when his face peeled off the table top that was covered in drying beer. He was in his bar, that much he could tell; because despite the darkness that surrounded him the weak moonlight filtering through the stain-glass windows and the smell of alcohol and varnish lingering in the semi stale air had become as familiar to him as fresh bread would be to a baker.

But while he knew he was in his bar, why he was there was another mystery.

Sadly, it was a mystery that would have to wait because the door chose to make another ominous creak at that exact moment. He crept towards the bar top, hands out in front of him as he felt around blindly for the metal bat he had stored underneath after Colin's first unwelcome visit. He knew how cliché it was - Anders went to great lengths to point that out whenever he decided to introduce it to too-rowdy guests - but it served its purpose; protection without the need to use Ullr and expose his fellow gods.

There was another creak, a floorboard this time and he swapped his thoughts for his weapon, silently making his way to the staircase now that he knew where he was and where he was going.

Every step up was a struggle, like he was wading through knee high molasses that was determined to hinder him as much as possible. But upwards he moved, step by step, until he was entering the living room of his private residence and stumbled to a stop at the sight before him.

To put it simply, it looked like a bomb had gone off.

Everywhere he looked there was broken furniture; the bookshelf was in pieces, the table and chairs nothing but a pile of kindling, there were holes in the walls and glass scattered across the floor, crunching underfoot as he moved further into the room.

“What the fuck happened?” He asked no one in particular, his concern growing by the second as he took in the endless devastation. He tried the light switch but nothing happened and with a growl of frustration he began to search around for something, anything that indicated what had happened in his home.

That was when his shoe slid in something wet.

Crouching down he ran his fingers through the puddle and lifted them to his face, the trace amounts of light showing that whatever it was was dark in colour, and the strong smell of copper had him standing upright in a flash, heart beginning to hammer wildly in his chest.

It was blood.

And there was a lot of it.

A chime on his phone reminded him that the device was in his pocket, and ignoring the text he switched the torch function on, using the light to examine his surroundings and that was when he saw the shoe clad foot on top of the overturned couch.

He sprinted over and found Axl, the youngest Johnson’s limbs splayed wide as though he’d tripped while walking backwards and had yet to pick himself up. He crouched down, digging his fingers into the side of Axl’s neck only to recoil in horror when he discovered the flesh beneath his fingertips was ice cold.

“Axl?” He whispered, using the single beam of light to try and find what had slaughtered his baby brother.

It didn't take long; a gaping four inch gash in his abdomen had left him to bleed out slowly on the floor while the weapon, a branch sharpened into a stake and covered in blood and rested in his lifeless hand.

“No. No nononono please, oh god, please no!”

There was nothing he could do for his brother, no way he would be able to patch him up like he had when Axl was only young.

Gripping his phone as tightly as he could in fingers slippery with blood he held his phone higher, using the small amount of light it provided in an effort to search the apartment for the remainder of his family.

“TY! ANDERS! OLAF!” He called, choking on a sob when the light of his phone spotted another lump several metres from the couch. His feet slipped on the bloodied floor as he hurried over to the prone form, throwing himself to his knees and dropping his phone so he could turn the person despite already knowing from the thin clothing that bunched under his fingertips it was his Grandfather.

“Olaf? Olaf! Come on Grandpa! Oh fuck, please no. Nonono Olaf come on…”

But it was pointless, the stale stench and dried vomit inside and surrounding the oracle’s mouth told him that the overdose had happened some time ago.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!” He yelled at the darkness, looking around while fear sent tremors careening through his body. Something wasn’t right here, something was very not right and two of his family members had already paid the price because of it.

“He…lp...”

His head whipped around at the soft plea, ears straining and heart pounding at the thought there was someone nearby who was still alive.

When several moments of deafening silence passed he called out in a carefully controlled, waver free voice. “Ty? Anders?”

“He...lp… ple...a...se…”

“TY?!” He recognised who the voice belonged to, and the pain that laced it had him scrambling upright, phone held high so he could see.

“Ty! Ty, talk to me buddy. I don't know where you are so you need to keep talking to me.”

“Pl...pl..ea...se...do...n’...”

“Please don't what T - TY!” He sprinted to his brother's side the moment he spotted him, tucked between a partially damaged table and the wall. The light from his phone was bright in the dark corner, making Ty wince when it was shone in his eyes.

But he wasn't really focused on Ty’s reaction, but rather on the ice pick that was sticking out of the middle of his chest.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, the horror that he’d been feeling the moment he entered the room filling his chest once more. “Ty…” he looked into his brother's eyes and blanched at the look that filled them.

Because it wasn't pain that filled them, no.

It was fear. Pure fear.

“Ty?”

But the middle Johnson just shook his head sluggishly, eyes never leaving his even as he tried to draw away from him as far as possible. “N...n...o… p...p...lea...se… ‘m… s...s...o...rr...y…”

He moved back slowly, heart aching at the terror so evident on Ty's face.

Fear of him.

But he wouldn't get a chance to ask what he had done to frighten his brother so much, because just as he opened his mouth there was a hiss behind him, the same moment Ty began choking on his own blood.

“Ty? Ty?! No, no no hang in there Ty, come on you’ll - Ty?” The last call of his brother's name came out so soft, so defeated, as he watched his brother's eyes glaze over and a final soft yet icy puff of air leave his body.

He couldn't even watch the light that gathered around Ty's form as Höðr’s spirit departed because there was another, more feral hiss behind him. There was only one person it could be, because aside from him there was only one family member unaccounted for.

He stood and turned slowly, fury radiating off his body in waves now that he knew who was responsible for killing his family. He moved forward slowly, heart pounding faster as he realised that what he'd thought was just a weirdly shaped lump was in fact a person hunched over on his bed. With his phone raised high he found Mitchell; hair matted, skin bloodied Mitchell hunched over an equally bloodied Anders.

Or rather, Anders body. The gaping hole where his throat had been meant his brother, his cocky, arrogant, pain-in-the-ass-but-still-needs-protecting little brother hadn't stood a chance.

“What. Did. You. Do?” He asked, words jilted and laced with enough venom to poison a person. “What. The fuck. Did you DO TO HIM?!”

He lunged forward, throwing all caution and self-preservation to the wind as he wrapped Mitchell's curls in his fist and yanked hard, drawing his other hand back ready to strike when he froze.

There was fury on Mitchell’s face; wholesome, murderous white hot rage, but his eyes weren't the black of a demon, but a brown that looked one spark away from catching fire.

And while his hands and clothes were covered in blood, his face was not.

“Not me Mikkal,” Mitchell snarled, voice strangled with his anger and was that grief he detected? “I didn't do this to him, I didn't do this to any of them.”

“Then who did?” He replied, his voice just as venomous.

“Why don't you look behind you, dolofónos."

He turned, and all that was behind him was one of the support pillars. He looked back, but when Mitchell hissed at him he walked towards it, eyes just making out something that was attached to it.

When he got to it he realised it was a mirror, and heart sinking to the pit of his stomach he looked into it. The frameless, dust covered mirror was big enough for him to see his whole face clearly if he needed to, but it wasn't his face staring back at him.

Or rather, the him that he recognised.

Because the Mike that was staring back at him had a feral smile and a wild look in his eyes, streaks of blood running down his face and he was laughing. Maniacally.

“What -”

“You did this,” Mitchell growled, his arms never releasing their hold on his lover’s body. “You and your inflated ego, you who wants to be the one on top, all the time. You killed your uncle. You killed your brothers.”

He turned to look at the vampire, heart racing a mile a minute as he tried to comprehend what was being said to him. “I couldn't’ve, I didn't -”

“Oh, you did.” Mitchell lowered Anders limp body to the bed, hand stroking over the soiled blond hair in a final, tender embrace. “It's their blood on your hands, Mikkal Johnson, and now?” There was a dark chuckle as Mitchell climbed off the bed in one fluid movement.

“Now you die.”

Mitchell launched himself at Mike, eyes obsidian pits and fangs extended. Mike threw his hands up to defend himself -

And he woke up, a strangled noise that was half scream and half sob tearing free from his mouth.

A light clicked on beside him and Michele sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she looked over at him.

“Jesus Mike,” she murmured around a yawn. “What the fuck?”

“S-sorry,” he gasped, hand coming up to clutch his chest where his heart was struggling to slow down. “N-nightmare.”

Michele looked at him, properly looked at him and placed a hand on his shoulder when she saw how pale and sweaty he had become. “Shit, you okay?”

Mike shook his head, reaching a shaky hand out for his glass of water that he kept beside his bed. “N...n...no,” he stuttered, eyes still filled with the sight of bloodsomuchblood and the manic laughing that had been coming out of mirror-Mike’s mouth.

“No, I’m not.”

Chapter Text

A/N: Hello everyone!

Haha I love your responses to the last chapter, it was pretty dark I won't lie. Poor Mike, he truly does have some demons inside, but then again they all do. As some may have suspected, we'll be journeying through the Johnson's deep dark fears, because those Greek Boys are doing some digging, and who knows what they'll find.

I do apologise if this brings down the speed of the overall story, I'm beginning to realise this is a bit more of a slowburn fic, I suppose? I haven't really done one before that was going for suspense, not that I can remember anyway, and I feel like if I try and pick up the pace I'll rush it (lol that's the whole point ain't it), but I feel like we won't get to experience just what fears drive the boys. And for me I feel like this is a great way to explore the what if's because we don't really know at the end of the day, and especially for Mike, Olaf, Ty and Axl it's been a lot of fun trying to work out what scares them the most.

I won't lie, I had quite a bit of fun with Axl's. It turned out a bit darker than I thought it would! O.o

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, feedback is much loved as always. We have Ty and Axl to get through, the Mitchell and Anders but their ones will actually drive the story towards the finale. I'm predicting another 5 or so chapters till the end.

On a random note, I'm working on the next chapter of Snow Bunnies (yay) I'm reediting In Our Time Apart so I can finish it (finally) and I found a request made ages ago in a comment on one of my 22 for 22 birthday fics of a Fili/Bard/Eomer sexucation fic. I admit I have started plotting it.

My bad :3

Shout out to: RollingDwarves, Sg97714, eyesonly, KLeonard, dandelionpower, waterlilyblue, WerewulfTherewulf, MegaBubble, Sparklebird, Ruairi, pandorasxbox, islandkate, childermass, Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat), bammes, PadBlack, Silva_13, Iscalibtra, White_raven_1188, Froot_Luips, ThornyHedge, Bubbles759, Makojupiter, Lakritzwolf, msilverstar, Blueskydancers, and WanderingHobbit as well as the 8 guests who have commented/kudosed, you guys are awesome!

Trigger warnings in this chapter: Strangling, child abuse (not particularly graphic but it is kinda depicted?) Child neglect.

Norsewood

Elizabet and Johan’s house

The sound of birdsong and the sun on his face dragged Olaf from his slumber, his bleary eyes cracking open with some effort and drifting over his surroundings to try and figure out where he had woken up this time.

He was in someone’s backyard by the looks of things; the bikes and tricycles in need of some rust remover dotted the lawn and the old weather-worn house with its peeling paint and overflowing gutters itched at his subconscious, like he should recognise his surroundings.

With a groan he stood, brushing the leaves and twigs that had stuck to the seat of his pants away and headed towards the house. His progress was slow; wobbling around on unsteady legs could likely be attributed to the joint he had smoked earlier. Not that it had happened before. He looked around, frown deepening the more familiar the house grew to be, but he still couldn’t place where he knew it from. If he had lived here before, it must’ve been long ago.

Then again with the state it was in it was entirely possible this decrepit building was from his past.

While he was still trying to figure out where he was there was a piercing cry, a cry that only a small child could make. With the drugs seemingly evaporating from his system he hurried to the front door - how did he know what side of the house it was on? - and burst inside as gracefully as someone who had tripped over a handful of children’s shoes could. He cursed, testing his footing to ensure he hadn’t twisted his ankle and when he was satisfied it wouldn’t let him down he pushed through to the living room.

There was a playpen in the middle of the floor, the barriers just as worn as the house itself but appearing to still be sturdy enough to keep its occupant inside. He came to a stop in front of it and peered in, blinking in surprise when the wide eyes of his youngest grandson looked back at him tearfully.

“Axl?” He murmured, heart squeezing slightly when he realised the state the toddler was in. Dirty clothes which could only come from a dirty nappy, snot smearing his small face and a redness that lingered in his eyes from the last time he cried. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, utterly appalled at the state his grandson had been left in.  “Hold on buddy, we’ll sort this out.”

He looked around, eventually finding what he guessed was supposed to be a bag of nappies, although the fact it was a pile of dirty ones didn’t help the situation any. “Jesus fuck,” he cursed, storming through to the kitchen and near ripping the tea towels off the hooks in his anger. He stormed back to the living room, forcing a smile onto his face for the one and a half year old currently watching him warily. “Hey champ,” he cooed, leaning in and picking Axl up, grimacing at the smell and wet clothing that met his skin. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

He carried Axl over to the couch, using a free hand to push the few children’s books and beer bottles off the cushions before laying him down. With years of practise guiding him he removed the soiled nappy and wiped away the mess left behind with one of the towels before using another to serve as a cloth diaper. “Better than nothing,” he murmured, using the third to tidy up the little face.

Satisfied with his work and that Axl wouldn’t get sick any time soon he picked the toddler up again, the little body burrowing into his side immediately. It was only then, with the feeling of Axl against his side, the disgusting mess in the room and the rundown look of the house that had familiarity striking him so hard he choked out a gasp.

“Ty?! Anders?! Mikkal?!” He looked around, dread settling into his gut when he remembered not only where he was, but the day as well. While he hadn’t woken up under the tree when this had happened two and a bit decades ago, everything else from his memory was exactly the same.

There was a bottle of formula lying on its side on the table which he grabbed and handed to Axl, the toddler taking it with a pleased chirp and immediately sticking it in his mouth. He headed into the hall and looked under the staircase where he found tear stained blue eyes peering up at him, Ty’s small body tucked into the corner as far as he could get it.

“Hey buddy,” he murmured, giving the five year old what he hoped was a kind smile when all he could feel was fury eating away at his innards. “You okay?”

Ty shook his head, tears running freely down his face and blood stained hands coming up to wipe them away.

What the?

There hadn’t been blood when this had happened, had there? He thought quickly, brain trying to grasp onto the memory he had to compare it with in this twisted dream - was it really a dream though, Olaf? - that he seemed to be suffering.

“Ty, little popsicle, where did that blood come from, huh? Did you hurt yourself?”

Ty shook his head frantically at the same time there was a muffled yell from up the stairs. Olaf looked at his grandson when he let out a whimper, arms coming up to wrap around his head as though he were trying to protect himself from the noise.

There was a crash, followed by further yelling and he looked at his grandsons, both who were watching him fearfully.

“Tyrone, I need to go up there and see what’s going on, okay? I need you to take Axl out to the garden, can you do that? Go sit under the big tree in the yard and wait for me there.”

Ty nodded hesitantly and held his arms out for his brother, pausing and wiping the blood onto his clothes before reaching out again. He watched Ty and Axl disappear down the corridor before he took the stairs to the next landing two at a time, growling when he found the room where all the noise was coming from with the door locked.

“Open the door!” He yelled, hammering on the wood and causing it to rattle in its frame from the force he was using. “I said, OPEN IT!”

Rather than listen, the yelling increased further and he took a step back before kicking the door with such force it went flying inwards to slam against the wall. What he saw when he stepped in the room had him stumble in place, his feet suddenly feeling like they’d turned to lead and he couldn’t do anything but watch.

There was Anders, all of ten years old and lying on the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, face pale and blood pooling around his head. The boy had always been small, but never had he looked as fragile as he did now.

He looked up at the other two occupants and felt a hoarse cry rip free from his throat; the sight of Mike’s feet barely touching the floor, hands beating weakly against Johan’s hands as they choked him against the wall.

“JOHAN!” He screamed, running forward to intervene in whatever way he had to if it meant stopping his failure of an offspring choking his own child to death. “JOHAN, STOP THIS!”

But all his running across a distance that seemed to span forever was hopeless. There was a crunch and Mike went limp, his head dropping to an odd angle before the God turned on him, malice curling his lips as he dropped his eldest son beside his blond brother.

“You’re too late, dad,” Johan spat. “I never wanted these fucking brats in the first place, and now I have just rid myself of two of them.”

“You killed him,” Olaf whispered, eyes never leaving the two bodies on the floor in the middle of the room. “You killed both of them.”

Johan laughed, the sound pure evil from his mouth and sending Olaf into a flying rage. “YOU BASTARD!” He roared, lunging for his son and fully intending to wrap his own fingers around his throat. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

His hands reached out, the same time as one of Johan’s fists connected with his face and -

He woke up, bolting upright with sweat sluicing off his forehead and terror making his heart jackrabbit in his chest. He scrambled for his phone, clammy fingers fumbling with it several times until he could get it unlocked and scrolled through his photo album where he found several photos of his grandson’s, all as adults and all four of them very much alive.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted, dropping his phone into his lap and grasping his head with both hands. “Fuck.”

He could feel the adrenaline draining from his body rapidly, leaving him shaky and unsteady as he clambered off the couch he was crashing on and made his way to the kitchen to splash cold water over his face.

As he switched off the tap he caught sight of his reflection in the window, still too pale to be normal and eyes as wide as saucers.

“What the fuck was that all about?”

His reflection held no answers, but then again, neither did he.

Chapter Text

A/N: Hi all! I'm still here! I LOVED your comments last chapter, they were awesome! Three Johnson's down, two to go. Plus a vampire. Can't forget the vampire! :D

This was probably the hardest one to come up with a fear for, but I got there eventually :) I feel like it may be the weakest one out of all them, but no less important!

Thanks for sticking with me and my irregular updating. I'd hoped by this point I'd have it sorted but whatevs.

Special shout out to KitsuneGirl, RollingDwarves, Sg97714, eyesonly, KLeonard, dandelionpower, waterlilyblue, WerewulfTherewulf, MegaBubble, Sparklebird, Ruairi, pandorasxbox, islandkate, childermass, Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat), bammes, PadBlack, Silva_13, Iscalibtra, White_raven_1188, Froot_Luips, ThornyHedge, Bubbles759, Makojupiter, Lakritzwolf, msilverstar, Blueskydancers, and WanderingHobbit as well as the 8 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!

The smell of incense dragged the slumbering god from the land of dreams, the aroma curling thick and heady in his nose. Ty groaned and turned over with a huff, wrinkling his nose when the smell only seemed to increase rather than disappear.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and peered around the room only to frown when the multitude of candles that been lit left an odd reflective sheen on the walls. There was a small lamp on the bedside table that he reached for, his thumb pressing against the button but failing to produce any light when all the switch did was click several times.

“Weird,” he muttered, only to pause in confusion when a cloud of mist drifted from his mouth. He exhaled again, heavier this time and his confusion only grew further with the cloud that accompanied it.

“What…?” climbing out of his bed he looked down, brain dimly registering his state of near undress amidst the growing concern for the frost covered carpet his feet had landed on. This wasn’t good, not at all. He thought he’d had Höðr’s powers well under control, but this? This was something terrifyingly new. If he was losing control in his sleep in his own home, how the hell was he supposed to control himself in Dawn’s presence?

He moved towards the door, frozen carpet fibres crunching under his bare feet as he made his way across the room, and it was only then when he got closer that he suddenly realised why the candlelight was reflecting off the walls.

They were covered in ice.

“What the fuck…?” He murmured in alarm, momentarily wrestling with the door handle that had frozen in place before he managed to wrench it open and tumbled into the sitting room, fully expecting his feet to hit stiff, scratchy carpet.

Instead they nearly slid out from under him on the ice coating the floor.

He cursed loudly as he tried to regain his balance, arms wind milling wildly beside him and eventually slowing when he managed to remain upright.

When he was satisfied he wasn't going to be on his ass any time soon he moved towards the table where a candle had been left burning in a cup, the flame giving him minimal light but still enough to see his surroundings. He picked it up and held it over his head hoping to extend its reach, only to blanch at the sight before him.

His entire living room, and likely his entire house, was filled with snow and ice; the building so cold the mist ran off the walls in waves to pool on the floor like early morning fog.

“Oh my god…” he said weakly, disbelief and fear making his stomach roil unpleasantly. “What the hell have I done?”

Before he could answer his own question his eyes spotted some misshapen lumps on his couch, five of them to be exact, and he made his way over to investigate. What he saw had him falling to his knees, a wail of pain and terror ripping free and fingers shattering the cup still somehow held in his hand.

Because they weren't just random lumps on his couch, but people. Or rather, they had been people before they had frozen to death, huddled together to try and stay warm.

He'd killed the people he cared most about in the world.

Mike and Axl were on the ends, bodies curled inwards and arms wrapped around the men next to them, whether it had been to give or receive warmth he wasn't sure, but knew that at the end of the day it wouldn't have mattered.

Axl was huddled against Olaf, his giant of a grandfather who had stood no chance in his singlet and shorts. Mike was huddled against Anders, the older of the two dwarfing his blond sibling with his size.

And there, between Anders and Olaf, was Dawn.

The tears that ran down his cheeks froze the moment they hit the open air as he stared at the one he loved with all his heart, her body nearly swallowed up by Anders and Olaf in their attempt to protect her from his powers.

“Dawn,” he whimpered, trembling fingers reaching out to touch her cheek. It was the same temperature as he was, the frost removing the fire that he normally felt from her skin.

“T...y…”

He gasped as a tiny puff of air left Dawn’s lips and he surged forward, both hands cupping her cheeks as carefully as he dared.

“Dawn,” he breathed, fingers tapping her cheek to get her attention. “Dawn, look at me honey.”

“She won't wake you know.”

He spun around so quickly he was surprised he didn't get whiplash and found himself staring up at the one person he never thought he’d see again.

“Eva?”

The goddess’ lips curled up into a cruel smile, her eyes glinting manically in the candlelight. “That's right. I'm hurt you left me in bed all alone.”

Eva looked anything but hurt and he glared at her, rising to his feet and pointing at the bodies on his couch.

“What the fuck did you do, Eva?”

“Me?” She giggled, strutting over in her black lace sleepwear, the fabric skimpy and barely leaving anything to the imagination. “I didn't do anything except help you loosen up. You were so… wound up all the time, like a coil. I helped free you.”

“YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!” He roared, surging forward and wrapping his hands around her throat before he even registered the movement. “YOU KILLED DAWN!”

Eva laughed in his face, the sound cruel to his ears and he tightened his hands in retaliation. “I did this for you,” she crooned, seemingly unaffected by the pressure he was now putting on her neck. “For us.”

“You killed them,” he hissed, dragging her forward until there was only a few inches between them. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't snap your neck right now.

“Ty Ty Ty,” she sighed, a smirk playing on her lips as she gave him a look that made him want to recoil in dread.

“I didn’t kill them. You did.”

Ty sat bolt right up with a yell, fingers spasming in the sheets as he gulped in lungful’s of air. His heart was racing and his body was drenched in sweat, Eva’s words echoing through his mind.

A soft whimper escaped, quickly followed by a strangled gasp when a hand lightly brushed his arm. He turned the lamp on and looked over, only to find himself staring down into Dawn’s concern filled eyes.

“Ty?” She asked hesitantly, quickly sitting up when he let out a sob and wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him towards her chest. “Sweetheart what's wrong?”

He wrapped his arms around her and held on, well aware his body was trembling but he couldn't care less now that he was in her embrace. “I didn't mean to wake you,” he apologised, voice hoarse and wavering slightly. “m’sorry.”

“Don't apologise,” Dawn scolded quietly. “Clearly you had a nightmare bad enough to scare you. Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, a fresh tremor shaking him to the core when he saw her frozen body in his mind and Dawn quickly shushed him when she felt it.

“Alright, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Here,” she removed her arms from around his neck and lay down, pulling him down to rest his head on her shoulder. “Try and forget about it and get some sleep if you can, okay?”

Ty nodded, still too breathless to answer, but then again he knew Dawn wasn't expecting him to. He curled further into her embrace, hands holding onto her as tightly as he could without inflicting any pain.

He doubted sleep would come again that night, but if listening to Dawn's heart was the result of no sleep, listening to it beat steady and strong, then it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

Chapter Text

A/N: Hi all! One day my life actually might settle down, and I might be able to find enough energy to write. I am pottering away with this when I can, but training new staff is absolutely exhausting. I'm off house sitting for the next couple of weeks, so hopefully with just me and some cats I'll get to finish the next chapter!

I'm loving your comments! Your reactions and insights are brilliant, so please keep them coming! I can't wait to see what you think of this!! :D

Special shout out to Eternally_Lost_in_Sorrow, KitsuneGirl, RollingDwarves, Sg97714, eyesonly, KLeonard, dandelionpower, waterlilyblue, WerewulfTherewulf, MegaBubble, Sparklebird, Ruairi, pandorasxbox, islandkate, childermass, Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat), bammes, PadBlack, Silva_13, Iscalibtra, White_raven_1188, Froot_Luips, ThornyHedge, Bubbles759, Makojupiter, Lakritzwolf, msilverstar, Blueskydancers, and WanderingHobbit as well as the 9 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!

Axl, Seb and Gaia’s Flat

Living Room

A noise, which started out as a low buzzing and turned into a persistent, soon-to-become-incredibly-irritating ringing echoed around the flat. Axl jolted in alarm, realising with some surprise he’d passed out on the couch. He groaned and turned over, smooshing his face into the cushions before flinging an arm out and groping the coffee table beside him to try and find whatever blasted device had pulled him from his sleep.

His fingers eventually bumped into his phone, the device vibrating madly as it rang against the scarred wood of the table. Without even opening his eyes he swiped to answer, nearly dropping it on his head when he brought it towards his face.

“‘Lo?”

“Axl? What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

He blinked, pushing himself into an upright position with a groan. “Olaf? What?”

“Don't you ‘Olaf’ me, boy,” his grandfather said, his voice unusually stern for his normally carefree attitude. “Please tell me that what I've heard is just gossip and there's no truth to any of it.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, mind still too heavy with sleep to hold a conversation let alone play guessing games. “Well shit, Olaf, considering I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, why don’t you just tell me why you’re pissed off at me. Save us playing twenty questions and all that shit.”

“You. Gaia. Getting fucking married when you were warned not too!”

He blinked, a goofy smile curling his lips at the thought of the ring he’d given Gaia the night before. “Yeah, Olaf, we’re getting married. And I don’t care what you say. Fuck the prophecy, fuck this whole bullshit that says I have to marry someone else because ‘the gods demand it’. Like I care what they want, it’s not like they’ve ever done anything for me.”

There was a forced exhalation of air and, now he was feeling more coherent he realised Olaf was probably trying keep his temper in check.

And boy if that didn’t get his hackles up.

“Now you listen here, Axl -”

“No Grandpa, fuck you and your Oracleness, and you fucking listen,” he snapped. “I love Gaia, okay? No if's, but's or maybe’s; I love her. And she loves me. And to hell with what Odin wants, or what you want. We’re going to get married and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.”

“This isn’t about you, boy!” The anger in his Grandfather's voice made his skin crawl, and he wondered briefly if he’d just made some kind of horrendous mistake speaking to him like that, but he was nothing if not stubborn and he was going to stand his ground, regardless of who got in his way. “You do this, you marry the wrong person and you are condemning your countrymen to death!”

“And what has society ever done for me?!” he hissed. “What have the Gods ever done for me? Aside from make my life fucking miserable because they have to exist in the first place?! No Olaf, I refuse to continue this quest any longer. I will not marry Frigg, I will not whore my body out because Odin is so fucking weak he needs a vessel to his job for him. If he wants his powers back, if he wants his wife back, then he can fucking well find her himself. I’m done.”

He hung up and silence that rung out in the apartment was near deafening, like all the noise had been sucked out of the world. Chest heaving he grinned, satisfaction filling him to the very core at the fact that finally, finally he had stood up for himself and told his fate to go fuck itself.

However his satisfaction didn’t last for long.

The house began shaking minutely, like a heavy truck slowly reversing down the street. It was quiet at first, only noticeable by the clinking of glasses vibrating on the various counters in the flat. He frowned, dropping his phone onto the coffee table as he clambered off the couch and padded down the hall to look out the window, but no sooner did he reach it than it stopped, just as suddenly as it had started.

“Weird.” He lifted a hand to scratch at his stomach only to yelp when he was thrown to the floor, hard, as the house gave a massive lurch.

“What the fuck?!”

He yelped at the massive crash behind him and whipped his head around, cursing when he realised nearly every unsecured item in the house had been thrown on the floor.

With a sigh he clambered to his feet, only to be thrown to the ground for a second time as the house gave another massive lurch.

Only this time, the lurching didn’t stop.

The doors to the bedrooms burst open as their frames buckled from the movements, the old windows creaked and groaned before the glass burst, the shards showering the floors. Cracks started appearing along the walls and he cried out in alarm as a bookshelf collapsed, narrowly missing his head.

Rolling onto his hands and knees he pushed himself up, cursing when glass sliced deeply into his palms. He grabbed a pair of shoes that had been flung across the room and shook them free of glass before slipping them on and staggering down the hall to search for his phone. Once he had it he made his way back to the front door, stumbling as the house did its level best to knock him on his ass. Clearly Odin was pissed with his refusal to help find Frigg, and this was how he was going to punish him. Well fuck Odin, he could collapse his house completely if he wanted to throw a tantrum. He and Gaia were going to get married, end of story.

He made it out of the house - admittedly he had to shove hard at the door to get it open - and more or less fell out into the daylight.

It was then that he registered the screaming.

He looked around, eyes wide in horror as he took in his street.

Or what was left of it.

Most of the houses had been reduced to rubble, and those that hadn't collapsed were on the verge of doing so. Power lines were on their sides, cars crushed beneath them or on houses and sparking furiously. But the sight that made him sick to his stomach wasn't the houses, or the powerlines, or even the flooding that was quickly filling the streets. It was the sight of the people; his neighbours, crying out in fear, clutching injuries or frantically searching through the rubble they once called home in a desperate attempt to find their loved ones.

He looked around at the people in the street and thought he was going to vomit. There was Mrs Macintyre, the grandmother who lived across the road wailing as she stared at the home she’d been in for the last fifty years, reduced to nothing but splintered wood and shattered glass. There was the group of frat boys who were known for their partying surrounding the car of the newlyweds that had moved in not three weeks ago, yelling as they tried to get into the vehicle to rescue them.

And there was Daisy, the little five year old sitting outside her house, sobbing uncontrollably, her face covered in blood and dust as she clutched at her stuffed dog that he and Zeb had given her when she’d fallen ill the previous winter and called out for her mother who lay motionless beside her.

He swore and sprinted down the stairs, dodging fallen debris and running people until he was beside her.

“Daisy! Daisy, hey, look at me honey,” he instructed as he picked her up, wrapping her in a hug and turning her away from her mother. There was nothing he could do for the woman, the large shard of glass sticking out from her chest and her open, unseeing eyes telling him she’d gone almost instantly.

“What the hell happened?” He muttered, looking at the devastation surrounding him disbelievingly.

“Mummy!” Daisy sobbed, shaking uncontrollably in his arms. “I want my mummy!”

“I know sweet girl,” he whispered. “I know.”

His phone rang, and as he scrambled to answer it there was an almighty roar as the ground shook again, nearly throwing him off his feet.

That's when the explosion happened.

People around him started screaming and pointing, some falling to their knees and wailing.

He turned around and felt his stomach drop at the sight of multiple ash clouds rising from the city.

Auckland was well known for the multiple extinct volcanoes it had been built upon - forty three of them in fact - but it appeared they were extinct no longer, the plumes thick and black as they shot to the sky.

His phone chimed with a message and he pulled it from his pocket, unlocking it with shaking hands.

It was from Olaf, and what he saw nearly made him vomit.

You were warned there would be consequences if you didn't find Frigg, and you didn’t listen. This is the result of your selfishness. This is Ragnorok. I hope you're happy knowing your stubbornness is what killed your brothers and every single person on this planet. Well done Axl.

“No,” he moaned, blinking away the tears that were making his vision swim. “No, please no.” He closed his eyes and tried calling on his inner god, desperate to take back his words if it meant stopping what was coming. “Odin please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Please stop this, and I'll do whatever you ask of me. I beg you!”

But there was no response, no indication Odin had heard. In fact there was absolute silence when normally there’d be a soft hum to indicate the God's presence.

Odin had left.

The realisation struck him hard, and he watched as the plumes grew in size, blanketing the city in darkness and filling the air with hot ash.

Breathing was becoming difficult, the heat burning and blistering his oesophagus. He held Daisy against his chest, shushing her as her crying increased in volume because of the heat. “Daisy, honey, its okay,” he promised, grimacing when his tongue scraped against the blisters in his throat. He bit back a whimper of his own at the sight of lava bursting from the earth just ten meters away. He covered the Daisy’s eyes, tucking her against his chest and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It's okay sweet girl, it'll all be over soon.”  

“Promise?”

He fought to keep the waver out of his voice as he watched the lava race towards him. “Promise. You'll be with your mum really soon.”

Axl took a deep breath and turned, huddling over Daisy’s body to try and protect her from the brunt of what was to come.

The lava flooded closer, eating at everything that crossed its path. He closed his eyes as it reached him, bracing himself and -

Axl sat up with a cry of pure pain, his entire body tingling, as though his skin was peeling away, leaving nothing but exposed nerves.

There was a bang as Seb crashed into his room, slamming his fist on the light switch in his panic.

“Dude, what the fuck?!” It was then he noticed how pale and utterly terrified his friend was. “Dude,” he murmured, unsure of whether he should enter the room or keep his distance. “You all good?”

Axl drew his knees to his chest and buried his head in them, whimpering as he did so. It had been a nightmare, nothing more, but the taste of ash in his mouth, the smell of burning flesh, the screams of terror and agony… it hadn't left, it was still surrounding him, smothering him, destroying him from the inside because it had been his fault.

He had failed to find Frigg, had blatantly refused to complete his quest and the entire world had ended because of him.

No, he wasn’t okay. Not at all.

Chapter Text

A/N: welcome back everyone! Thank you for your patience, I do apologise for the delays in getting this next chapter out. I am hoping to do more writing over the coming weeks, so I'm VEEEERY hopeful this will be completed in the next couple of weeks!

Enjoy and all that jazz :)

WARNINGS: Homophobic slurs, insults, violence.

Special shout out to: Eternally_Lost_in_Sorrow, KitsuneGirl, RollingDwarves, Sg97714, eyesonly, KLeonard, dandelionpower, waterlilyblue, WerewulfTherewulf, MegaBubble, Sparklebird, Ruairi, pandorasxbox, islandkate, childermass, Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat), bammes, PadBlack, Silva_13, Iscalibtra, White_raven_1188, Froot_Luips, ThornyHedge, Bubbles759, Makojupiter, Lakritzwolf, msilverstar, Blueskydancers, and WanderingHobbit as well as the 9 guests who have commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!

The night was clear, the full moon bathing the outskirts of the city in its silvery light. Mitchell strolled down the footpath, hands buried deep in his pockets and head down as he made his way home from the pub, sticking to the shadows as much as he possibly could while he was so exposed.

He’d had an odd feeling all night that he couldn’t quite place, and sitting in the dark corner of the local pub hadn’t helped either; the sound of hearts beating in his ears and the hint of copper in his nose had become increasingly harder to bear.

But despite the overwhelming desire to bury his fangs into someone, even for just a sip, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He didn’t know why, not when his throat was practically screaming for blood, but even the mere thought caused a tug in his mind that held him back.

But why?

A cry of pain had him freezing, ears pricking at the sound. His eyes darted around the street but there was no one there, the street practically barren save for himself and so, with great hesitance he continued on, wondering if he was imagining things. There was another yell, followed by several jeers and a broken whimper. So, not imagining things then. He closed his eyes, calling on his inner demon and used his advanced hearing to track down the voices.

And track them down he did.

He followed the sounds that were echoing off the buildings and narrowed their location down to an alleyway, a couple of blocks from where he'd originally been standing. The smell that hit his nose had his fangs dropping and mouth salivating the moment he rounded the corner.

It was blood. Thick, rich, heady and so full of life that he moaned at the mere thought of it in his mouth.

He stalked towards the cries which were increasing in their desperation and he broke out in a run, covering the remaining distance in mere seconds before skidding to a stop at the sight before him; two boys, one curled on the ground and whimpering and the other worryingly still. Four men surrounded them; dressed immaculately in their suits with their trousers partially wrinkled from where they were kicking the two boys repeatedly.

He hung back, sticking to the shadows as he assessed the situation. It’d be so easy to scare the men away and feed off the two young boys - it would mean less effort and no witnesses. But as he stared at the pair he couldn’t help the pang in his cold, dead heart at the sight of them. The one who was valiantly trying to protect the other looked a lot like he had before the war; wild brown curls, long lean limbs and a fire in his dark eyes that burned brighter with every blow to his body. It was hard to make out the boy he was protecting, but the short blond hair sent a shiver down his spine, the colour reminding him of a smile and a laugh that he couldn’t quite place.

Despite wracking his brains further, he couldn’t work out why the blond hair was familiar, but it did help him make up his mind as to what he was going to do. Just then one of the four men spoke, and if he hadn’t been certain before, he definitely was now.

“You stupid little faggots,” the man sneered, delivering a solid boot to the defiant boy’s abdomen which resulted in a sharp cry of pain as he crumpled to the ground. “We warned you what would happen if we saw you again. You're an abomination! God does not stand for scum like you, and we've made it our mission to exterminate your kind!”

He sighed. Religious fanatics, just fucking peachy. Exactly what he needed tonight.

“Oi!” He bellowed, stalking towards the gathered men, making sure to stay on the edge of the shadows. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?!”

The men looked over, sneers on their faces when they saw him approach. They turned their backs on the boys, three of them flanking the fourth who was no doubt the ringleader. “You’ll fuck off and forget what you saw if you know what's good for you!”

“I'm known to be reckless so no, I won't be going anywhere.” He looked at each of the four men before glancing over at the two boys to assess their injuries and knew that they both needed urgent medical attention. “I'm going to give you one warning, and one warning only; fuck off and leave those boys alone.” His tone brokered no argument, close enough to a snarl without fully vamping out, but apparently religious dickwad number one had no sense of self preservation.

“What do you care? Huh? They’re faggots; they pervert the teachings of God. We've given them a chance to repent in the past but they blatantly display themselves for the world to see.” The man drew a gun and pointed it at the boys. “Do not get in our way while we show them the error of their ways.”

There was wet sob, and it only took a flick of his eyes to see the brunet scoop his boyfriend into his arms, curling over him to protect him from any bullets the so called religious zealot felt like letting loose.

“Well if you're going around shooting people I might as well give you my address so you can shoot me while I'm balls deep in my boyfriend -” – major exaggeration on his part seeing as he was lacking said boyfriend but whatever - “but seeing as you're too chicken shit to do so there's something you should know. Yes, God is real, but if he's real, then so are creatures of darkness.” He stepped into the light, fangs and eyes on full display and a grin curling his lips as the gun was turned on him. “I gave you one chance, and you ignored me. So consider this your trial; you have been found guilty, and your punishment is death.”

Not even giving them time to blink he lunged, a hiss escaping as he punched the leader in the jaw, sending him to the ground as he pounced on henchman #1 and wrapped his hands around his neck, snapping it as easy as one would a twig before lunging for henchman #2, his fangs digging into the pale flesh of his throat before tearing it out with a sickening squelch. He pounced on henchman #3, his weight dragging him down as he slapped his hands on either side of his face and twisted, snapping his neck as well.

He deliberately left the leader till last; waiting for him to pick his sorry ass up off the ground before chasing the moron down. He thought he was kind, giving the man a bit of false hope before he tackled him to the ground with his arm pressed against his neck and keeping him stock still.

Never say John Mitchell wasn’t a polite vampire when it came to a game of vampire and victim because he was, thank you very much.

He turned to look back at the two boys and saw the conscious one already scrambling onto unsteady feet, his boyfriend’s arm around his shoulder as he hauled him upright.

When the boy noticed he was staring he froze, and he could see clearly on his face the fear and defiance warring in his expression. “Thank you,” he said quietly, holding his boyfriend to him closely. “Thank you for saving us.”

He grinned, well aware of the blood dripping from his chin and - let’s face it, black eyes and gleaming fangs wasn't exactly a pleasant sight to behold. “Get him to a hospital,” he rasped, glancing down at the whimpering man beneath him. “I’ve got some unfinished business here.”

The boy nodded and limped out of the alleyway, half dragging half carrying the unconscious boy along with him. When the pair reached the entrance he turned his head, a stray thought crossing his mind and making him call out.

“Hey kid, don't ever let anyone tell you what you have is wrong, okay? If you love him, you hold on tight and never let go.”

The kid looked back and nodded once. “I won’t. Thank you, John Mitchell,” were his parting words before he turned and disappeared around the corner, a brief flash of gold visible before they were swallowed by the darkness.

Satisfied he’d have no witnesses he turned his attention back to his new friend, black eyes glinting in the poor light. “Sorry about that. I hope you didn’t think I was ignoring you.”

“You're a-a fuck-ing frea-k,” the man choked out, eyes bulging and skin turning a motley shade of purple from the limited amount of air he was receiving. “An ab-abomina-tion and you-u shoul-dn't -”

“Exist, I know,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes so hard he thought they might fall out of his head. “Christ you fuckwits need to get some new material.” Swapping his arm for his hand he hauled the man to his feet, slamming him against the wall with ease. When a final check confirmed they were alone he hissed, squeezing the flesh beneath his palm tightly and grinning ferally as the man’s struggling, which had briefly renewed in strength, became feeble.

And then, finally, stopped.

He snickered, pleased that the last thing that bastard had seen was him. To celebrate a job well done he opened his mouth wide, exposing his fangs and dove forwards, eager to drink his fill. Millimetres away from the man’s neck, however, he was stopped by a blast of pain through his skull.

The pain was so unexpected that it made him stumble. When he shook his head the movement made it throb further, and it kept throbbing until he dropped the body with a curse.

“What the fuck?”

He pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes and sighed in relief when it abated, albeit slowly. Why it had happened he wasn’t sure, but for all he knew it could be his conscience reminding him it was still there, but he’d be damned if he was going to let it interfere with a good feed.

With the body now on the ground he crouched down, but as he did so he could feel the niggling in the back of his head again.

This time he ignored it.

Eyes turning black and fangs out on display he dove in, latching onto the neck and biting down. He moaned as the supple flesh split apart like a ripe peach and the blood pooled in his mouth, spilling out and dribbling down his chin.

The coppery taste was like the sweetest ambrosia and he began to drink in earnest, savouring every drop that slid down his throat.

It was after the fourth or fifth mouthful when he began to realise something was really wrong; the slight tingling in his throat exploding into an all-out inferno and he threw himself away from the body with a grunt of pain.

He managed to get onto his hands and knees, gasping as the fire raced through his body to the point spontaneous combustion was a valid fear.

Luckily, he didn’t explode. But he did vomit.

Violently.

Everything he'd drunk and then some was expelled onto the concrete in a sea of red, and he couldn't help but whimper pitifully as his stomach cramped with each heave. He collapsed onto his side, eyes fluttering closed as he rode out the pain and prayed for it, or him, to come to a swift end.

“What’s hap-pening,” he grunted, groaning as his stomach cramped painfully. “Fuuuck.” He’d never reacted to blood like this before, never felt like his insides were trying to crawl their way out in the most painful way possible.

He curled into the fetal position, arms wrapped around his stomach tightly as he tried to counteract the pain all the while cursing himself for stopping to help those two boys. If he hadn’t stopped, if he had just minded his own business then four men wouldn’t have died, and he wouldn’t feel like he’d been poisoned.

But those two innocent boys would have been brutally murdered.

“Thank you, John Mitchell.”

Wait.

The bizarreness of the brunet’s words cut through the pain, and he frowned as he tried to focus on them. In fact, the harder he thought, the more freaked out he became.

He never gave the kid his name.

How the fuck had that kid known who he was?

As far as he knew, he’d never seen either boy before. He didn’t know them, he didn’t know their names, he didn’t know anything about them. The only thing he knew was that the brunet had reminded him of himself, way back when. But aside from looks their similarities ended.

And the blond?

He’d never seen him in his life; with his blond curly hair and short stature, his slightly crooked nose and golden ey-

He blinked as his mind stuttered over that minor detail.

Humans don’t have gold eyes.

So who the fuck were those kids?

His breathing sped up as he began panicking, his mind racing as he tried to place the familiarity of those golden eyes, tried to work out where he could have possibly seen them in his long life.

“Mitchell.”

The voice on the wind was so faint he thought he’d imagined it, but as he looked around he heard it again, the voice becoming louder and more incessant as he tried to focus on it.

“Mitchell. Miiiiiiiiitchellllllll. Mitchellmitchellmitchellmitchellmitchellmitchellmitchellmitchellmitchellmitchellmitchell -

MITCHELL!”

A strong burst of wind whipped through the alley and he fell on his ass with a cry. Static crackled and popped all around him, followed by a high pitched whine and a blinding white light that had him throwing up an arm to shield his eyes before it burned his retinas.

“What the hell?!”

As the light faded and his vision began to clear he made out a pair of old, worn boots of a strange design standing before him. He lowered his arm and looked up, eyes drawing up the bizarre clothing before falling on the man's face. The tunics of navy blue and gold, with a billowing cape were strange enough, but so was the long dirty blond hair braided in a simple but detailed do. But it was nothing compared to the man’s face.

The tanned, weathered skin drew his attention to high cheekbones, and eventually up to the piercing blue eyes that regarded him with an intensity that had him feeling bare.

“Who are you?” he asked quietly, drawing back when the stranger moved towards him, crouching down until they were on the same level.

“You know who I am.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Oh I think you do. In fact, you’ve known me for years.”

He shook his head slowly, refusing to take his eyes off the stranger with the deep, melodious voice. “I think I’d remember meeting someone like you.”

The stranger looked down at himself, and his eyes widened in what Mitchell could only guess was surprise. “You do know me,” The man repeated, his blue eyes changing to molten gold as he stared at him. “But not as I look now.”

Before he even had a chance to reply there was a hand placed on his forehead. He cried out, the pain so intense he thought his head might explode from the images that flooded in.

Bright blue eyes. A wicked smile framed by dimples. Curly blond hair. Nails digging into his back as he thrust harder and faster into the body beneath him. Laughter. Warmth. Love.

Happiness.

I love you, John.

I love you too -

“Anders!”

It was like a switch being flipped in his head, the memories of his time with Anders crashing into his mind, one after another like waves upon rocks.

“How?!” He asked Bragi desperately. “How did I forget?”

“That doesn’t matter now,” Bragi replied, his voice becoming urgent. “But something is going on. I cannot get through to Anders at all, it is as though he has he has blocked me from his mind. I have only just succeeded in reaching you. I’ve been trying since you went to sleep.”

“What the fuck? How is that even possible?”

“I do not know, but this is why I need you. You need to help Anders, John Mitchell. So wake up, please.”

“What?”

“Wake up.”

“I -”

“WAKE UP!”

Mitchell wrenched his eyes open with a cry. It had been a long time since he’d had a dream as vivid as that; with the taste of blood and smell of stale piss and beer in his nose. He groaned, clutching at his throbbing head and rolled onto his side, grimacing when his knuckles scraped against the ground.

With a herculean effort he wrenched his eyes open, and scrambled back in horror.

Because he wasn’t in his nice warm bed like he had been when he went to sleep. Instead, he was in an alley.

An alley that had four bodies scattered around where they lay, blood pooling together and slowly soaking his jeans and shoes.

He crawled forward, movements hesitant and jerky as he tried to get his limbs to cooperate and made his way to the nearest body, bile rising in his throat when he got a good look at the man’s face. It was the man from his dream, there was no two ways about it, and the other three men had been in his dream too. The throat of the body beside him had been shredded to pieces, and he didn’t even have to look at it closely to know they were the wounds vampires left on their prey.

Despite every instinct telling him he’d be better off not knowing, Mitchell wiped his fingers over his mouth and promptly gagged when it came away still slick with blood. There was no denying it now; not only had he been sleep walking, but he’d killed four men as well. The only thing he wasn’t sure of was whether the boys he’d helped in his dream were real or not, but in the grand scheme of things it didn’t really matter at this point.

‘You have to help Anders.’

Bragi’s words came flooding back to him, and in no time at all he was up off the ground and sprinting to the mouth of the alley, not even bothering to spare a glance behind him. Someone would find the bodies eventually, he was just lucky that no one had come through the alley while he was out cold, or had been around when he barrelled towards the entrance in his bloodstained clothing.

He was just lucky vampires couldn’t show up on film of any kind.

Without looking back he hauled ass down the street and sprinted the eight blocks it took to get to the apartment, blessedly with no one around that could be a witness to his bloodied state.

He didn’t stop until he got to the front door, barely avoiding a head on collision with old Mrs. Winters who had apparently decided it was the perfect time to go and walk her ten year old poodle Frank. There wasn’t even a chance for her to tell him off for running like a mad thing, nor for executing a perfect pirouette as he spun out of her way, and nearly slammed into the row of letterboxes as he tried avoiding her. The last thing he needed was to leave blood on her clothes, although he was beyond grateful that her eyesight was questionable at the best of times.

He sprinted up the two flights of stairs, taking them three at a time until he reached the door to his apartment, and at first glance there appeared to be nothing out of place. With a sigh of relief he found himself bent almost double, hands on his hips as he tried to calm himself down.

It was when the cotton wool of adrenaline feeling had faded from his ears that he heard it; a small enough noise at first, not loud noise enough to catch the attention of a human passing by, but more than enough to prick the sense of anyone with enhanced hearing.

He pressed his ear to the door and felt his stomach drop in horror.

The faint sound of gurgling, and a stuttering heartbeat had him pounding on the door frantically.

“ANDERS!”

Chapter Text

A/N: Getting there slowly! This was a fun chapter to write, especially when I wanted to deconstruct Anders a bit to see what makes him tick, what makes him behave the way he does. I hope I've done him justice, I can't wait to hear all your thoughts!

Special shout out to mina86, Tourmaline10, Eternally_Lost_in_Sorrow, KitsuneGirl, RollingDwarves, Sg97714, eyesonly, KLeonard, dandelionpower, waterlilyblue, WerewulfTherewulf, MegaBubble, Sparklebird, Ruairi, pandorasxbox, islandkate, childermass, Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat), bammes, PadBlack, Silva_13, Iscalibtra, White_raven_1188, Froot_Luips, ThornyHedge, Bubbles759, Makojupiter, Lakritzwolf, msilverstar, Blueskydancers, and WanderingHobbit and the 10 guests who've commented/kudosed, you guys are awesome!

WARNINGS: Mentions of child abuse, starvation, abandonment.

Often it was sound that dragged him from his sleep, but this time it was the smell of decaying leaves that woke him.

Anders groaned, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant odour that invaded his nostrils. He slowly opened his eyes, only to groan and quickly shut them when light stabbed unforgivingly at his retinas. From what he had momentarily seen, it was an endless sea of varying green hues directly above him, which made absolutely no sense at all.

Knowing that he’d likely be blinded again he covered his eyes before opening them, and slowly parted his fingers to let the light in so his eyes could adjust. It didn’t take long, and before he knew it he was staring up at the sea of green once again.

Only, it wasn’t a sea of green at all – rather it was a canopy of leaves, because as he turned his head left and right that was all he could see; identical trees – down to the last discoloured patch on their trunks. There was literally no difference, even Bragi who was strangely absent would have had a hard time coming up with a creative description for them.

The foliage was thick enough that it blocked out the sky but thin enough that ample light filtered through, and as he lay there leaves floated down around him; their thin membranes catching the light before they settled in their final resting place. He sat up and looked at the forest floor only to discover that, much to his discomfort, the fallen leaves lay unnaturally in straight lines with not a single leaf out of place.

Aaaaand let the first prickles of uncomfortableness commence.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, grumbling as he dislodged whatever foliage had attached itself before standing and looking further afield, hoping that the change in height might help him see an end to the forest.

But there was none. He was entirely surrounded by trees, but even worse –

He was entirely alone.

Raising his hands to his mouth he cupped them and called out, hoping his voice was loud enough to carry and grab someone’s attention, because he surely couldn’t be the only one here.

“HELLO?! MITCHELL?! MIKE?! ANYONE?!”

But there was no answer.

With a huff he opened his mouth again but hesitated, the hairs on the back of his neck standing as an unpleasant thought hit him.

What if he wasn’t alone?

Okay sure, right now he might not be able to see anyone, but it didn’t necessarily mean he was completely alone - in fact there could be anyone hiding in the forest, just waiting for him to walk past them.

He sighed in exasperation because he knew it was likely his imagination getting away from him once again, but there was also every chance that someone out to get him – someone like Colin - had done all of this. After a moments indecision he closed his mouth and instead set out in a random direction, figuring that while calling attention to himself was a bad idea, there was nothing stopping him from going and trying to find some answers.

As he walked, he could feel there was something odd with the situation he was in. It wasn’t the identical trees or lack of people; although those were certainly weird, but something else - something almost suffocating.

And that’s when it dawned on him – there was no sound.

The forest was utterly silent; despite the breeze that he could feel on his skin there was absolutely no rustle of leaves, not even any birdsong. Hell, his yell hadn’t even garnered a reaction from anything.

It was completely silent.

Swallowing nervously he pulled out his phone because perhaps… but no. He cursed when he discovered it was dead; even if by chance there had been service he had no hope of contacting Mitchell, let alone anyone else.

Fingers drumming against his hips, he stood there, glaring around the forest as he thought. Escaping was priority, because what goes in has to come out at some point, and he had no intention of staying much longer.

With a decision made he set off once again, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he headed North.

Or at least, it was what he hoped was North. If he was honest he had absolutely no clue, but as he couldn’t see the sun and had no idea what time it was – plus it was the direction he was facing - it would henceforth be known as ‘Anders North’ until further notice.

With no one around and nothing to do but walk he began working through different scenarios to work out how he had ended up here, but every possibility was less likely than the last.

Mitchell had gone to work in the early hours of the morning, and judging by the fact that he could see everything clearly meant that it was some time during the day, which also meant that Mitchell wouldn’t know he was missing until he returned home that evening. But it also wasn’t in Mitchell’s nature to pull off such an interactive prank on the person he decided to annoy for the day, and he certainly hadn’t done anything to piss him off for about three weeks so the vampire being the culprit was out of the question.

He hadn’t pissed off his brothers recently - that he knew of anyway - so the chances of them being behind his unwanted nature tour was pretty small as well.

Other than that, he wasn’t sure who else could have been. Colin was above such a petty game, and… come to think of it, that was pretty much the extent of his social circle outside of J:PR clients.

“I swear to fucking god, if this is the dog food guy…” He muttered, only to freeze when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled again.

Now he wasn’t an overly perceptive human being - most of the time - but when ones hairs stood up when one was alone, one took notice.

Because he was being watched, he was sure of it.

Daímonas!

He turned his head quickly, narrowing his eyes and cocking an ear in the direction of the sound.

It had been soft, almost like a voice on the wind. And normally he would have dismissed it as a figment of his imagination, except the pronunciation was clear. He may not have recognised the word itself, but there was no way his brain had made it up.

Téras!

He turned and glared at the forest behind him, now completely certain he wasn’t crazy. Yet another word he didn’t recognise, but that didn’t matter. Not really.

What did matter was the confirmation that he wasn’t alone.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “But you need to show yourself. Immediately.”

There was no answer, just the utter stillness that was this accursed forest.

“If you think you can scare me with this mumbo jumbo shit,” he continued, voice raising a decibel to ensure it could be heard, “then you’re dead wrong. I’ve seen evil first hand, and I’ve faced things that would make you shit yourself in your sleep. So show yourself now, or I’ll make sure you suffer when I find you.”

DOLOFÓNOS!

He opened his mouth to respond to the screaming wind, the words sitting on the tip of his tongue when the cracking of twigs behind him had him spinning around and he couldn’t help but jolt in surprise when he came face to face with a woman.

The woman before him was rather attractive, at least by his standards. Her hair, auburn and wavy and sitting just below shoulder length framed a beautiful face that, had he not already been spoken for he’d happily snog to death. She had curves, which he had to admit he loved on a lady, and they were encased in a stunning emerald dress which tapered off at the knees. Her bare feet were unusual, especially in a forest, but it was a mere thought that crossed his mind before he continued his inspection.

But what really got him were the eyes. He’d never met this person in his life and yet the aura surrounding her made him feel like he already knew her; and if the way she was regarding him was any indication, then it was possible she knew him too.

“Hello Anders Johnson, vessel of Bragi,” she greeted, voice soft but with a strength behind it that hinted he shouldn’t take this woman for granted.

“Hi,” he replied, eyeing her up warily. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my forest?”

She blinked. “Your forest?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing at his lips at her surprise. “Well until you turned up it was a ‘population one’ forest. So yes, my forest.”

The woman laughed, her eyes crinkling in the corners and he couldn’t help but smirk in return.

“Do you have a name?” He asked again. “I can’t keep calling you ‘hot green chick’ in my head.”

“My name is Helen,” she replied, extending a hand which he shook after a split second of hesitation. “Helen Larvig.”

“That’s a rather interesting last name, Helen,” he mused, tilting his head in curiosity. “Sounds… Norwegian.”

Helen smirked, but said nothing.

“Those words from before,” he continued when he realised no reply was coming, “what did they mean?”

The smirk was replaced with a look of confusion, but whether it was genuine or not he couldn't tell. “Words?”

“I may not know what they mean, but I am very good at picking up on new words thrown at me,” he told her firmly. “Daímonas? Téras? Dolofónos? Care to explain them?”

Despite having heard the words only once before, they rolled off his tongue so smoothly it was like he spoke the language on a regular basis - at least he thought so. But even when he said them there was no glint of recognition in Helen’s eye, and the confusion on her face sent a trickle of unease down his spine.

“I’m sorry Anders, but that wasn’t me.”

That trickle quickly became a steady drip. There was no way that she hadn’t heard the words, not with how they seemed to fill every corner of the forest and roared past his ears. He rolled his shoulders in order to shrug it off, figuring it was something he could work out later when she wasn’t around and he plastered his smirk fully back into place.

“Must’ve been the wind after all,” he joked. “Now, why are you here?”

“I’m here for you, Anders.”

“Oh?”

Helen smiled. “Indeed, and there is much we need to discuss.” She held out her arm, and after a moment’s hesitation he offered his own, which she took and linked them together.

She began walking without warning, and he stumbled for a moment before regaining his footing as he followed along. “Much we need to discuss, huh?” he asked with a barely concealed wince. He was beginning to suspect he’d made a bad move when he subtly tried to loosen the painful grip she had on his arm, but it was strong, strong enough in fact that his efforts to free himself were failing miserably. “Like what, exactly?”

She hummed, tilting her head as though in thought but never actually looking at him. “You, your past, why you’re here. That sort of thing.”

“Why I’m here? I don’t understand, this is a dream, isn’t it?”

“Dream, vision, memory, enlightening moment. Call it what you will.”

When it was clear that was all she was going to say about it he rolled his eyes. “Well that explains absolutely nothing.”

Helen patted his arm in consolation, but said nothing more.

They walked for a while longer until, finally, the trees changed.

The type of tree was the same, but they were no longer in a perfect order, two of them bowed over and interweaved at the top to form an arch. Branches wrapped around the trunks as though they were vines, and there was a smattering of foliage along them that finished off their unusual shape.

Helen finally released him, only to draw a knife and he stepped back in alarm.

“The fuck are you doing?!”

She smirked but said nothing, turning her back to him as she drew the blade across her palm. He winced when he glimpsed blood before she placed her wounded hand on one of the trunks.

There was a flair of green light around her, and when he moved around enough to see her face he gasped when he saw her eyes were a vivid green.

“Prisen være den mektige Odin,” she chanted, her voice ringing through the clearing. “Hjelp meg å vise denne mannen det han har glemt!”

He leapt back when the space between the two trees exploded in a green light, and it was so bright he had to shield his eyes. When the light faded a deep silvery blue shimmer had taken its place, the rippling reminding him of the floating bowl thing from the Harry Potter series that Mitchell had gone uber nerd for.

As much as he’d been adamant not to enjoy it, it had frustratingly become a guilty pleasure.

Stupid Potter.

Despite his brain screaming at him to keep the fuck away, he inched closer, curiosity getting the better of him. “What is this?” he asked, reaching out and tapping the liquid, looking at his fingers in surprise when they came away wet.

“This is Drømmespeil,” Helen told him, her voice hushed as she looked at it reverently. “The Dream Mirror. It was a creation of the Goddess Sága, to help her focus on and explore her visions.” She turned and grabbed his hand, and before he even had a chance to register what she was doing she was slicing his palm open with her knife.

“Fuck!” he yelped, trying to pull his hand away from her. “The hell is wrong with you?!” He cradled his throbbing hand against his chest and glared at her, but she ignored him in favour of dipping the knife into the liquid. He watched in revolted fascination as the blood was sucked off the blade and floated towards the centre before swirling together.

Helen turned back to him and waved her free hand towards him, and he looked at his hand in surprise when he felt it tingle, only to blanch when he saw the wound disappear.

“Because that’s not at all creepy,” he murmured. He took a step back and scratched his chin, eying the mirror and Helen guardedly. “Okay, so now the forest has a creepy mirror thing. I still don’t understand why we’re here.”

Helen turned to face him, and he broke out in goosebumps from the look she gave him. “I’m here to remind you.”

He frowned, wariness clawing its way through his body. Something didn’t feel right. “Remind me of what?”

Helen blinked, and suddenly her eyes were glowing green once again. “Remind you of who you are.”

Before he even had a chance to respond the blood in the mirror began spinning before spreading out, almost like a spider web. The blood was absorbed by the blue liquid, and he watched mesmerised as an image appeared like a black and white t.v.

There was an old oak tree sitting before a house, a swing hanging from one of its sturdy branches with a small boy slumped against the rope, a tattered old bear hanging from his tiny hand as he watched the house mournfully.

He remembered this.

“Wha -?”

A shadow moved in the window, and he watched as his four year old self sniffled and wiped away tears. His mother walked past the window with Ty in her arms and a look of adoration on her face as she spoke to her dark haired baby, completely oblivious to her blond son outside desperately wishing for the same attention and love he had yet to be shown.

He remembered his mother sending him out of the house in a fit of rage when he had quietly asked if he could have a cracker, or an apple. Anything that would stop his stomach from growling constantly in hunger. He remembered her slamming the door on his retreating back, and tripping over his feet in fear at the sound. He remembered wanting Mike, wanting his brother and the comfort he brought, as rare as it had been of late. He remembered finding his teddy that his father had thrown out of the house a week ago and hugging it against his chest after brushing it free of dirt and bugs. He remembered clambering onto the swing, as hard as it had been at that height and watching his mother fawn over his new baby brother that appeared to have replaced him. He remembered not getting to eat for another three or four hours, when he was feeling faint from lack of food and his mother yelling at him for being outside past dark because ‘where were you?! I couldn’t find you anywhere you silly boy!’, despite the fact he couldn’t reach the door handle to get back in.

He remembered.

The image changed, and he was five years old, watching in horror as Mike bit into a red apple as happy as can be, despite the warning he had given him about them. He remembered what Mike had told him the day before when he watched Snow White for the first time; that some red apples were dangerous and you’d never be able to tell until you bit into one. He remembered wondering why people would chance something so dangerous, only to see Mike pull one from the tree the next day and bite into it, and the fear followed by relief he’d felt when nothing happened. He remembered screaming Mike’s name and pleading and begging his brother to wake up when he went from happily eating it to choking to unmoving on the floor within the space of a few seconds. He remembered Mike sitting up and laughing in his face, calling him a cry baby and pathetic for thinking what he’d said was true.

He remembered being so traumatised that he’d hidden in the cupboard under the stairs for hours until he could stop crying – as silent as it had been – and never being able to look at, let alone eat, a red apple again.

He remembered.

The image swirled and changed, and this time he was six year olds, cowering on the floor and littered in bruises from Johan’s belt. He winced at the crack of the belt against his flesh while his six year old self cried out. He remembered the feeling of his flesh burning with every blow, the feeling of the blood hot and sticky on his skin. He remembered his father yelling at him for not moving fast enough to do some stupid job he’d been asked to do because he hadn’t wanted to wake Ty from his nap. He remembered sobbing and begging his father to stop. He remembered the feeling of two of his fingers breaking from where Johan had stomped on them before finally, FINALLY his mother intervened and he was taken to a doctor by both parents and Johan had smoothed things over with a ‘boys will be boys and they’re always getting hurt’ which she accepted without question.

Just like she always had.

He remembered.

The image changed again. It was Mike’s tenth birthday and he hadn’t had any money to get his brother a present. It was his first double digit birthday, and he had to get him something, because what kind of a brother didn’t? He remembered talking to the kind old lady further down the street with the huge flower garden asking for her advice. He remembered her handing him over a beautiful looking sunflower, and telling him that they were known to bring joy and happiness and it’d be a really good present for his brother. He remembered his face cracking into a smile so wide that he thought his teeth would fall out in excitement before he hurried home.

He watched and remembered as Mike scoffed when he tried to hand it over, and instead got pushed to the ground by one of Mike’s friend, while the rest of them stood there laughing and pointing about what a lame present it was before leaving him in the dirt.

He remembered running into the house with tears streaming down his face and sitting in the corner of the shower, arms wrapped around his knees as he cried. He remembered being so exhausted from his crying that he struggled to wash himself before hiding in his room for the rest of the day and well into the evening; for the first time in his life ignoring the calls of his name to come and get food by his mother and Mike.

He remembered.

The image swirled and changed again. This time it was his tenth birthday, but rather than being surrounded by party decorations and friends to mark his big day he was standing with his back to Ty and Axl, glaring up at their father – who had only returned two days prior from his three month long disappearance and had yet to sober up - while he tried not to show how scared he was. He remembered the feeling of his head throbbing and his body aching from where Johan had thrown him into a wall hard enough to leave a dent. He remembered staggering to his feet, trying not to wince as he felt a bone in his arm shift from where he had used it to cushion his impact. He remembered the terrified cries of his younger brothers as he staggered upright and ran at his father, shoving him as hard as he could only to be sent flying when he was backhanded across the face. He remembered yelling at Johan not to hurt his brother’s, and the sneer on Johan’s face as he mocked him for thinking he was a man, that he could stand up to him. He remembered squaring his shoulders and telling Johan that only a weak and pathetic man would hit children. He remembered waking two days later in hospital to his mother dabbing his face with a towel, disappointment in her eyes as she scolded him for antagonising his father the way he had.

He remembered finding out his father had walked out the door as casually as you please while he lay there unconscious and bleeding, not to return for another year and acting like nothing had ever happened between them.

He remembered.

The image changed again. This time he was thirteen, in his first week of high school and already he was being bullied for his height, the faceless teens laughing and throwing his bag between them where he couldn’t reach. He remembered Mike chasing them off, only to sneer at him when they were alone about how weak and pathetic he was and telling him to harden up.

He remembered.

He was sixteen and standing at the bottom of the driveway in the dead of night, a rucksack over his shoulder with a sleeping bag, school books and a small tent he’d ‘borrowed’ from Olaf on his last visit. He remembered the fight between his dad and his mum and Mike, all of them yelling and Johan hurling a beer bottle at him as he snuck past to get some food for Ty and Axl who he’d locked in their rooms to keep them safe. He remembered that he’d had enough and he was leaving for good.

He remembered Mike dragging him home after tracking him down in the nearby reserve days later when Ty had called him in a panic to say he hadn’t been home, and the disgust in his eyes when he accused him of abandoning his brothers. His family.

He remembered.

He was nineteen, their father presumably lost at sea, their mother a tree and Mike hardly ever home enough to look after Ty and Axl. He remembers doing everything under the sun to ensure they never missed a meal, or a day at school, and got to participate in as many school activities as they wanted if it made them happy. He remembered starving for two days until money came in because Mike had come home with friends and they’d helped themselves to the food he’d painstakingly planned to get them through the week. He remembered ripping into Mike once he’d returned, telling him that his baby brothers had nearly starved because he and his friends were so greedy and ‘where the fuck are you? You’re the one supposed to be looking after them, not me’, countered with ‘don’t dump all your problems on me because you’re a fucking failure, Anders,’ before Mike had stormed out of the house.

He remembered packing a bag for each of his brother’s straight after and taking them to the neighbour who often helped look after them if he had work, telling her that he needed to leave his brother’s with her for a few days as Mike wasn’t well and didn’t want them getting sick, before returning home and packing his own bag.

He remembered buying a one way bus ticket to Auckland and leaving Norsewood and all its miseries behind.

He remembered.

He was twenty, and Olaf had turned up on his doorstep unannounced, only to scold him for leaving his family, his brothers and a ‘do you know how difficult a situation you put Mike in?’ before he slammed the door in his cousin’s – very soon to be grandfather’s – face.

He remembered.

He was a week shy of his twenty first when Mike turned up on his doorstep, with Valerie, Ty and Axl in tow and accusations of abandonment spewing from his mouth. He remembered Olaf turning up on the day of his birthday, and he and Mike dragging him away from his car and tossing him in theirs and for the first time in a long time he feared he was going to die.

He remembered being struck by lightning, and a second voice in his head, and feeling filthy and powerful all at once as he came to realise just what he could do with his new powers.

He remembered.

The image changed and he remembered feeling such guilt, such disgust in himself as he watched a woman hurry from the room, with Mitchell glowering at her from the doorway. He remembered not knowing how he got there, or how he even ended up that drunk and out of his mind that it was all a blank.

He remembered the utter disgust and disappointment that was evident on Mitchell’s face, and the feeling of being so alone for the weeks that followed until they made up again – even though their relationship had only been casual to begin with - because of his cheating.

He remembered.

The most recent memory to appear was one from two weeks ago, where he had gone into Mike’s bar to have a quiet drink after the chaos that had been work, only to discover the rest of his family joking and laughing and having a grand old time and going silent when he walked through the door. He remembered making a joke, a light hearted comment about them all drinking so early in the day and it falling semi flat, Olaf acknowledging him with a raised bottle and a ‘it’s never too early for booze’ while the other three refused to meet his eyes. He remembered the annoyance, disappointment and resignation swirling in his gut; knowing that he’d always be an outsider with his family. He remembered setting money down on the bar and asking for a couple of bottles of beer, and the badly concealed look of loathing in Mike’s eyes as he handed them over and took the payment. He remembered taking his beer off to a far off table and ignoring the feeling of eyes on his back as he sat down out of sight and pulled out his phone, flicking off a text to Mitchell to find out when he was due to finish work.

He remembered regretting even coming to that part of the city when he heard Axl’s muttered comment of ‘fucking prick’ as he walked off, and Mike and Ty’s badly stifled snorts.

He remembered.

The images faded and he stood there shivering; his face drained of all colour and feeling like he was going to vomit. He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks from all the memories he’d worked so hard to bury, so hard to hide.

Because if they were buried then they hadn’t happened.

And if they hadn’t happened, then he wouldn’t feel so much pain.

“Why did you show me all that?” He croaked, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down the taste of bile. “Why would you -?”

“Because you needed to be reminded.”

He stared at Helen in disbelief, rage rushing through his veins at her words. Who the fuck did she think she was, pretending to know him?! “Reminded of what, exactly?” He snarled. “My shitty childhood? The fact that I was abused as a child by the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally?! I haven’t forgotten who I am. I know bloody well where I came from and what I survived, and I won’t be that scared little kid ever again.”

“And that is to be commended, it is,” Helen soothed. “It’s admirable, even. But your memories show that despite the world you have built for yourself, your attempts to be accepted - and more importantly loved - by your family has all been in vain. You’ve seen the looks they’ve directed at you when they think you’re not looking. You’re of no use to them, not when it’s always Bragi they desire. They don’t see you the way I do. They don’t understand just how important you are. Unlike me.”

She presented him with a green apple that she’d seemingly pulled from nowhere and after a moment’s hesitation he took it, swallowing heavily as he fought back the wave of hurt her words caused. When it was said so plainly, laid out so obviously for him to see the words cut deeper than he’d ever wanted.

Because she was right.

His family had never loved him, never wanted him around.

He had started as nothing more than a waste of space, another mouth to feed on an already tight budget and now he was nothing more than a tool in their eyes; to be used to gain whatever they wanted when needed and ignored when he wasn’t.

There was no Anders in the Johnson family, only Bragi.

“But I love you,” she whispered and he looked up, eyeing her with tired wariness. “I love you Anders, just as Bragi does. The apple you hold is a symbol of eternal life and love, a sign that you will never be alone in the universe.”

“But Mitchell -”

“You are but a speck on the vampire’s life,” Helen sighed. “You have always feared that he would one day leave you, and you are right. You are merely entertainment for him until you grow old and die, or he grows bored of you. You have known this for years.”

He bit back his retort because as much as he wanted to deny those words, deep down he knew they were true. He loved Mitchell, he truly did. But what was he, really, in the grand scheme of things?

A source of sex, food and safety and a warm bed at night. Something that Mitchell could easily get from any number of partners if he so desired, and yet he had chosen to get those with a god and shitty excuse for a human. He knew Mitchell didn’t like moving from person to person, but he also knew that with all the baggage his family brought him it would only be a matter of time before the vampire grew bored and left.

“You know I’m right, don’t you?” she said quietly. “Their love for you is as dead and rotten as the leaves beneath our feet. But my love for you, my lord Bragi, is as strong and real as the apple you hold.”

He raised the apple to his nose and sniffed, eyes closing at the tangy smell he could detect. He didn’t want to accept what she said, but perhaps she was right. Perhaps she was the only one who would accept him for who he was.

“You can take a bite,” Helen told him, “if you want.”

He did want.

He opened his mouth and took a large bite, moaning as the juice ran down his chin and the taste exploded on his tongue. It was crisp and sweet and probably one of the best green apples he’d ever had.

He was so focused on savouring the taste that he missed the glint in Helens eye, and it was only when he looked up that he realised her sympathetic, kind smile was gone - instead replaced with something cruel and treacherous.

His blood turned cold and he took a wary step back as the air around her began to shift; twisting and turning and folding in on itself as it turned black and green.

“You stupid man,” she laughed evilly, the sound booming and echoing all around them. “You are so desperate for love and attention, that you will accept any kind words directed your way like an abandoned dog. It’s pathetic!

“Your existence has been a blight on the Norseworld for far too long. You see, I am the vessel of Iðunn , the Goddess of life, and Bragi’s beloved. But you see, while Iðunn needs Bragi, the world does not need Anders, and we are more than content to wait for the next God to come of age.”

He opened his mouth to ask what the fuck she was talking about when there was a flicker out of the corner of his eye and he looked down, horror filling him at the sight.

The crisp green skin of the apple had morphed into a blood red one, and no sooner had it changed colour than its flesh began to turn black.

He gasped, only to begin choking when the piece of apple in his mouth turned rancid and suddenly became stuck in his throat. The apple fell from his hand as he scrabbled at his neck, wheezing violently as he tried to dislodge it and he fell to his knees, coughing and hacking as she stood over him, laughing delightedly.

Eyes wide he looked up at her desperately, feeling his hold on his consciousness begin to slip despite the pain he could feel beginning to form between his shoulder blades. He groaned, the lack of oxygen and increased pounding doing nothing for the spots that only grew in size.

“Why -?” he gasped, trying to blink away the black spots that began to dance across his vision. “Wh-”

“Why do this? This is because you did forget,” she cooed, crouching to his level and grabbing his chin in her hand. “And I have reminded you; I have reminded you that you are unloved, that you will die alone, and more importantly,

“I have reminded you that you are nothing.”

His body began to tremble violently in its last ditch efforts to find oxygen and Helen released him with a sneer, shoving his face into the dead leaves on the forest floor. He clutched at this throat feebly before even that became too much of an effort and he just lay there, watching her feet and legs as they walked away.

The pounding in the muscles of his back intensified, and he could hear the blood rush to his ears as his vision finally began to fade, and the last thought to cross his mind before he lost consciousness was a mental plea, for Bragi, for anyone.

I don’t want to die alone.

“-RS! –DER’s! WA- -P, -BY –LEAS-!”

Anders coughed violently, and there was a cry of relief before he was being rolled onto his side with a hand beneath his head supporting him. He groaned, his body wracked with violent shivers as he curled into the fetal position, desperately seeking warmth.

“-nders?! Thank god. Shit you’re cold. Hang on baby, hang on.”

His head was carefully lowered to the floor and Anders let out a whimper, causing whoever was with him to whine and apologise tearfully. Was it tearfully? That’s what it sounded like now that it no longer sounded like a waterfall playing in his ears on max volume.

Seconds, or perhaps it was hours later – not that he could tell anymore – something was draped over him before another body was pressed against his.

Anders was vaguely aware of his surroundings, and that his breathing was still laboured and raspy, so he was only just able to process the mutterings of ‘I love you, I’m here, I was so scared’ before he passed out again.

But the last thought to pass through his mind echoed what Helen had told him.

I’m alone.

In the building across the street three men began to stir, two faster than the third who had to be helped to even sit upright, so weak he had become from the continuous use of his powers.

After fetching their older brother some water and a chocolate bar to help with the weakness, Aeton and Seth looked at Leon expectantly.

“Well?” Aeton eventually asked, growing impatient when his brother did nothing other than sit there.

Leon opened his eyes and the brothers cringed, for his eyes still glowed softly which meant he wasn’t yet in full control of his mind.

“Well,” he rasped, “it was interesting.”

“Interesting how?” Seth asked, eyes laser focused on his brother.

“We were right. He’s one of them.”

Aeton sighed quietly in relief; they had finally found them. “And the other?”

“I’m not sure, but -”

“Who cares?!” Seth snapped, glaring at Aeton furiously. “It’s them, so we need to act now while they’re still down.”

Leon cuffed his brother over the head tiredly, before trying to push himself to his feet, as unsteady as he was. “Patience. They’re all shaken, some worse than others. I couldn’t see their dreams, or what fears Phobos showed them, but with Deimos’s help I could sense their terror. They’re all badly affected, and I don’t imagine they’ll recover as quickly as they’d like.

“We need to rest and recharge, and tomorrow is when we’ll tear them apart.”

Chapter Text

A/N: Oh look at that, another 11months gone before I update. I totally didn't realise it had been so long between updates, but I've been working on this as much as I can. I must admit I came to a bit of a standstill because I had no. idea. how. to. write. this. Like seriously, I just couldn't think of how I wanted to do this chapter without making it seem weird or weak, and then one day in December (I think) I'm biking home, a movie soundtrack playing while I thought about another story I was wanting to write (and haven't published due to my already current WIP's) then bam! Completely hits me from left field an idea on how to write this chapter. Couldn't believe it, I literally sped up my cycling so I could get home and write out my idea before I forgot it!

I'm all for listening to soundtracks to inspire my writing, and would suggest it to anyone suffering writers block - the emotion you get from them is incredible. My current favourites are How to Train Your Dragon (1,2 &3) and Hacksaw Ridge!

Anywho, for those still present I hope you enjoy this 7000+ word vomit. Let me know what you think!

As always, a shout out to all those wonderful people who comment and kudos!

PS I've yet to put together any art for this like my other chapters - although it never seems to show here so it'll likely only be shown on Tumblr :)

Mitchell had only just gotten Anders settled on the couch, a blanket wrapped around the blond’s shoulders when his phone chimed for what must have been the fifth time in the last few minutes. He ignored it, just like he had every other message that had come in since he’d managed to enter the apartment and instead glanced at Anders worriedly, unsure of what to do. The God had yet to respond to anything that had been said or done to him; in fact, he had yet to do anything other than stare off into space vacantly.   

Considering Anders usual temperament was loud and obnoxious on a good day or loud and foul mouthed on a bad one, the complete disassociation he was suffering was worrying; and the fact that he had no real evidence about what was causing this other than gut instinct meant he was clueless on how to fix it.   

He was dithering around by the side of the couch, unsure if his touch or even some form of verbal reassurance would be welcome when his phone started ringing, the sudden noise making him jump violently. Muttering under his breath he dug the phone from his pocket and growled when he saw who was calling him.   

“I’m a bit busy Olaf,” he snapped when he answered. “Make it quick.”      

“Are you and Anders okay?”      

Mitchell frowned, suspicion rising within him. “Define okay,” he countered. He knew Olaf was an Oracle, but considering the man spent most of his time stoned out of his mind he wasn’t willing to chalk this miraculous intuition up to anything but coincidental.      

“I don’t need to know if you two have been fucking, I know too much about my Grandson as it is,” Olaf grumbled, “but you’re okay? Nothing unusual happened tonight?”      

Never mind, apparently miraculous intuition was going to win this hour’s grand prize of ‘what the fuck?’ He wondered if Olaf’s weed had been spiked. “If you’re asking whether we chose to go for Thai rather than Chinese, the answer is no. However, if you’re asking about events that may or may not have resulted in someone being traumatized, then the answer for me would be yes.”      

Olaf swore colorfully in several different languages. He was impressed, he had no idea the man knew that many. “And Anders?”      

Mitchell glanced at his partner before lowering his voice. “I’m going to say yes as well, but only because he’s yet to respond to anything I’ve said or done since I found him on the floor not breathing.” Tacking near death onto that sentence probably wasn’t necessary, seeing as Olaf was smart enough to read between the lines.      

“Fuck. Is he alright?”      

“Like I said before; define your definition. He’s alive and conscious, but beyond that I have no idea, other than I think he might be in shock.” He looked away from Anders and he rubbed at his face, grimacing when he realized his hand was covered in flecks of dried blood. He’d have to shower, and soon, if he didn’t want to startle Anders when he regained awareness.    

He heard the God talking to someone but it was muffled, which was making him even more concerned. “Olaf, what’s going on?”      

“I’m not sure, but you two aren’t the only ones who’ve had a nightmare tonight, I’ve spoken to Mike and Ty, and Mike spoke to Axl and all four of us experienced a similar thing.”     

Mitchell blinked in surprise. “You think this is God-related?” At the man’s hum, he groaned. “Who the fuck has that ability? To affect people’s dreams?”     

“No Norse God that I know of.”     

Fucking fuck, he thought angrily. If there was another pantheon involved shit was about to get far more complicated than it had any right to be. “What’re we going to do?”    

“Mike wants us all together immediately, but as Anders is out of it we’re going to meet at yours and try and work out what’s going on. That work for you?”    

“Call when you get here,” he replied, heading for the front door and locking it securely. “If someone else is involved I don’t want to be opening the front door to anyone who isn’t you.”    

“No worries, we’re going to grab Axl and head to yours. See you in twenty.”    

Mitchell sighed as he ended the call, gnawing his lip nervously. Olaf hadn’t sounded the least bit aloof in that entire conversation and it was enough to make him worried; whatever was happening, it was something big.    

“Anders?”    

He knew getting a response was wishful thinking, but when none came he couldn’t help the ache he felt in his dead heart. He had always promised Anders he’d be there for him, would face every problem they were confronted with head on and together – but it appeared that this was one problem his partner was going to have to face alone.    

For the time being at least.    

With no other choice left to him, Mitchell made his way to the bathroom and flicked the shower on. He stripped down quickly and groaned when he realised just how much blood had ended up on his clothes; if being a vampire came with any saving grace, it was the inability to see him on cameras or in reflections because he was covered from head to toe.    

“I don’t think that’ll come out in the fucking wash,” he grumbled. He tossed the clothes into the shower before climbing in after them, allowing the hot water and soap to clean him and the bloodied items that sat at his feet.   

Bragi sighed in relief when Mitchell left the room. As much as he appreciated the concern Mitchell had for his host, the vampire’s fretting was distracting and pulling his attention away from where it needed to be. He waited until he heard the shower switch on before turning his attention inwards, following the faint trail of his host’s consciousness.   

What had happened to them tonight was beyond anything he’d ever experienced, and that was considering he’d been blocked from Anders’ mind in the first place. In all his years of living with different hosts, not one had been able to completely shut him out of his mind.  

And Anders hadn’t even done it knowingly.  

He’d felt a shift in… something, not long after Anders and Mitchell had turned in for the night, and by the time he’d realized that he was needed it was too late; the door to his host’s mind completely sealed, locking him out. 

It was almost like Anders had put up a ‘closed for lunch, back in 30’ sign in his head. 

With no other option, he’d latched onto Mitchell. Odin only knew how much of Anders blood the vampire had consumed since they’d met, and with the remnants of his power in Mitchell’s body it had been surprisingly easy to insert himself into his mind. Of course, trying to get through to Mitchell while he was literally sleepwalking in the streets had been a mission in itself – those assholes that had attacked the two kids had gotten what was coming to them, even if modern day methods didn’t agree – and it was a miracle that he’d even been able to stop the vampire from feeding, let alone communicate with him.  

But now that whatever magic had held Anders in its grasp was gone, it meant he could go seek out his host, who had been suspiciously absent since Mitchell had managed to get him breathing again. 

He followed the trail of emotions, as muted and dark as they were through a winding, confusing corridor whose walls were covered in photo frames filled with sepia toned moving pictures. It reminded him of a movie Anders and Mitchell had watched not long ago, that had wizards and dragons and… a massive chess game? It was… Garry Hooper? Barry Trotter? He couldn’t remember; he’d been sidetracked listening to the pair argue about the possibility of wizards whilst translating what the characters were saying into ancient Norse because he was bored and he hadn’t annoyed Anders in a while – note: it worked exceptionally well; but he did remember that out of the entire movie it had been the moving pictures that caught his eye.  

And that’s what the walls were bearing now. He looked closer at one and watched in astonishment as the monochrome of the photo swirled and changed until it was filled with colour; bright and vivid and drowning out all the others. The scene was of Anders and Mitchell, sitting on the couch facing each other with a look of intense concentration on their faces as they held some playing cards.  

He remembered this, he realised. Mitchell was teaching Anders how to play Gin Rummy, the vampire taking great joy in the blond’s constant frustrations as he learned. It was such a trivial memory, as far as he was concerned; nothing more than a lazy afternoon with a way to entertain yourself and others through non-technological means.

And yet here it hung – front and center and just as important as all the others.

Such a strange thing to remember, really. 

As it came to an end it shifted again, back to monochrome to match in with the all the other photos the walls held.

He looked around in interest, watching snatches of Anders life play out before his eyes in a seemingly random order.

And it was then that he realized what he was looking at.  

Anders memories.  

The walls were heaving with them; important, trivial, forgotten… they were there, layered haphazardly on top of one another so not even a millimeter of wall was showing.  Many of the memories here he recognized; the events occurring since their cohabitation began, but the further he walked, the older they became. Anders in his twenties, late and early teens, his childhood…

He paused, frowning at the pictures he was seeing before back tracking to where he’d been. There was something different about these older memories, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He retraced his steps to the section Anders twenty first birthday had been, and noticed the faint golden hue that wrapped around not only that picture, but every picture after it.

So. There was evidence of his presence in those memories. That was easy enough to understand.

One of the frames after the first golden tinged one caught his attention and he looked at it closely, watching as the colour bled into the picture to bring life to the scene it showed; Mike and Olaf grabbing Anders and shoving him into the car to take him to the forest, where mortal and God would join souls.

Bragi raised his hand to the frame, but he didn’t need to touch it to feel the terror emanating from the picture. The terror was how his host had been feeling when he’d been grabbed and shoved into their car, when they refused to answer his questions about what the fuck was going on…

It was the kind of terror one felt when they knew they were going to die and were hopeless to stop it.

He snatched his hand away, feeling sick. But he knew now what it was that had caught his attention. It wasn’t the emotions that were pulsating around the memory, oh no; rather it was the dark tinge that surrounded it like a veil - and as he made his way down the hall he was sickened to see that the majority of what he was seeing was coated in it.

It was important to note that not all of them were, but Bragi couldn’t help the anger that bubbled up inside of him to see that, while there were some happy memories of his host’s childhood here, the majority of them reeked of one pain or another.

It explained a lot about the kind of person Anders had become. And oh boy did he wish he could give Mikkal a hiding for what he had allowed to happen all these years.

“They’re hard to look at, aren’t they?”

Bragi turned around in shock, and found himself face to face with the last person he expected to see in this room of misery and pain.

“Anders.”

Because it was, but not as Bragi knew him. There was a lightness to him, as though his frame hadn’t been laden with the stress of his life, nor the trauma he’d been put through since he could walk. This was an Anders who had laughter lines around his eyes, and an aura of kindness and understanding - something his Anders was only capable of showing in his most vulnerable moments.

This was Anders as he could have been. Should have been, if not for his failure of a family. Where his Anders was cut suits, sharp wit, assessing eyes, silver tongued and ready to verbally flay anyone who so much as threatened him; this Anders was smiles, warmth and… beach clothes. Huh. If Anders hadn’t been raised by the devil himself, he apparently would have been a beach bum in his spare time.

Olaf would be so proud.

“What’s going on, Little Sparrow?” he asked once he shook himself out of his stupor, waving at the photos that surrounded them. “Why are we here?”

“Because everything that happened tonight has brought up the memories your Anders has tried so hard to forget,” other Anders replied cryptically. “He’s always done his best to live in the moment, to forget about the evils that shaped him into who he is today.” A small furrow appeared on his brow as he stared at a photo, and when he next spoke it was quietly; as though he was talking more to himself than his companion. “Why hold onto memories of the past you’d rather forget entirely?”

Bragi looked at the photo Anders was looking at and swore under his breath. It was a memory of Johan advancing on a six year old Anders who was standing in front of Ty, trying to protect him, despite the belt that was being lashed menacingly through the air.

The memory of the belt meeting skin, tearing flesh open with every strike was hidden just behind it.

Never mind the hiding to he wanted to give Mikkal. He wanted to tear Johan to pieces.

“I can’t do anything for his past,” he said quietly, drawing the blond’s attention back to him. “But I can do something for his future. But I can’t do that until he’s back where he belongs.” Bragi placed a hand on this notAnders shoulder and looked at him beseechingly. “Please, where is he?”

Anders searched his face, before finally nodding. “It’s better I show you, come on.”

The pair walked down the remainder of the corridor until they hit the back wall, and with only a glance as warning did Anders raise a hand – and their surroundings changed.

No longer were they in a narrow corridor, but instead a large room; each wall inset with a wooden door. Bragi turned slowly, taking in the utter bleakness that surrounded him - shivering as his mind so helpfully reminded him this looked more like a dungeon than a room - before looking to where notAnders stood in the middle, watching him intently.

And annoyingly, there was a distinct lack of his Anders.

“So?” he asked, moving towards the man. “Where is he?”

Anders clasped his hands in front of him before sighing sadly, his sea blue eyes glinting in haunted remembrance. “As you were absent for the nightmare that got us here – and be grateful you were, for it was less than pleasant – it’s important you know that the dream version of Iðunn he encountered has reminded him of everything he hates about himself, his family, his life.

“As you’ll well know from your many hosts over the years, our family is who shapes us, and our past is what defines us – every decision made, every person we come into contact with, right from when we are small we are forged into what our environment forces us to be. Anders, as you’ve seen, has had a difficult life; and there are three times in particular that always echo loudest, that he always comes back to.”

Anders sighed and glanced at the room to his right. “I cannot take you to Anders, as such, but I can guide you on the path to finding him.”

Groaning, Bragi pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for a dream quest, I have to find Anders and get him home!”

“Guess you better get started then. Besides, if you want Anders back, you’re going to have to take all of him, not just the part you want.”

Bragi glared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

In answer, the door to the left swung open with an ominous creak. With a growl at the annoyingly cryptic blond he marched into the room, fully prepared to shake some sense into his host for all these ridiculous riddles.

He was not, however, prepared for the muffled sob that reached his ears.

Bragi froze, looking around the room – which was just as empty and bleak as the main chamber he’d been in moments before - to try and find the source of the noise. It took no time at all to see the huddled form on the floor that was doing its best to become one with the wall in an effort to hide.

If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say that this Anders was no older than five or six; the memory wall in the previous room confirming his suspicions that the blond had always been small for his age. Seeing him now, this tiny wee thing quivering in fear tore at his heart; no child should be afraid – least of all by another person.

However if a child quivering in fear tore at his heart, then the sobs tore at his very soul; soft, keening cries interspersed with a repetitive plea that he wouldn’t have made out if the room wasn’t as silent as a tomb:

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.”

He dropped to his knees, stunned. He’d ask what had befallen this helpless child, except he knew; he knew the utter hell Johan and Elizabet Johnson had put their son through during his childhood, knew that if two people deserved to burn in Muspelheim for all eternity, it was them.

“Anders?” He kept his voice as soft and unthreatening as possible so as not to startle the boy further. “Little Sparrow?”

Instead of replying, Anders wrapped his arms around his head and his entire body flinched – like he was expecting to be struck.

“I’m not here to hurt you, little one,” he soothed, “I promise I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a friend.”

“YOU STUPID, GOOD FOR NOTHING PIECE OF SHIT!”

Bragi jumped in fright, whirling towards the one who’d spoken while Anders shrieked and buried his head in his knees, arms wrapping around his head even tighter in an effort to make himself as small as possible. Johan stood in the doorway, eyes blazing in fury with a belt hanging from his hand. The sight had Bragi leaping to his feet, snarling at the threat before him.

“You leave. Him. Alone.”

But either Johan didn’t hear him, or he chose to ignore him, because he flicked the belt enough that it cracked in the air before he advanced on them slowly. “I KNEW YOU WERE FUCKING USELESS! A GODDAMN WASTE OF SPACE, WE’D ALL BE BETTER OFF IF YOU WERE DEAD!”

“I SAID STAY AWAY FROM HIM!” Bragi roared, crouching slightly in front of Anders in an effort to shield him, but Johan, or what appeared to be an apparition of him just strode through the God like he was nothing. He spun around, fully intending to do whatever he had too to get rid of this specter, but was only able to watch in horror as Johan raised the belt and brought it cracking down onto the cowering boy.

Both Johan and Anders evaporated into smoke as the blow struck, nothing left of their presence except for the sound of a belt hitting flesh and an ear piercing wail.

He stood there, frozen in horror at what he’d just witnessed, and he knew if he were still alive and able to eat he’d be vomiting up the contents of his stomach. But as he couldn’t do that he staggered out of the room and fell to his knees, breathing harshly as he tried to fight back the acid that had risen in his throat.

“Horrible, isn’t it?”

He looked up to where the other Anders was and found him kneeling in the exact spot he’d been previously, except this time he had his arms wrapped around his waist and was looking distinctly green.

It took him several attempts to find his voice again, and when he did it was wavering horribly.

“Why did you show me that?”

Anders raised his head and looked at him evenly, and despite the green tint his voice was as even and firm as it always was.

“Like I said before, if you’re going to take Anders back, then you need to take all of him; and that means being the first person to actually take the time to learn about the hellfires that forged him into who he is today.”

He swallowed and looked towards the second door that swung open. “I don’t think I can bare it,” he admitted quietly.

Anders hummed in agreement, drawing Bragi’s attention back to the man and the sad smile on the blonds face made him anxious. “Someone has to.”

He knew this notAnders spoke the truth, and he knew he owed his host this much, at the least.

With a steadying breath he pushed to his feet and strode across the room to the door, taking another fortifying breath before pushing it open and entering yet another bleak chamber.

‘Fucking Johnson family,’ he thought absently, scanning the room to find a form once again huddled on the ground. Rather than cowering, this time Anders had his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs and he was staring blankly at the floor.

At a guess, this was Anders as a teenager; probably around fifteen or sixteen years old if the gangly limbs – or as gangly as they could get on someone so small – and more defined features were anything to go by.

Bragi sat on the floor in front of the boy and allowed his eyes to roam over every part of him, allowing himself to see the scars – physical and mental and everything in between – clearly for the first time.

And he had to admit; he had thought bearing witness to a terrified child was bad, but seeing the utter desolation in Anders eyes was almost worse.

It was worse because this was a teenager, still a child really, who had given up all hope; both for himself and for his future.

“What do you want?”

The question was asked quietly, but it still had enough of a rasp behind it that it made Bragi want to cough and find a liquid of some kind to whet his throat. “I’m here to help you, little Sparrow,” he replied. Once again he found himself keeping his tone low and soothing; because Odin knew the kid had been subjected to enough shouting in his life. “I’ll always be here to help you.”

Anders snorted, but it was a weak, dry thing that spoke volumes of the mindset he was currently in. “Sure you are,” the blond muttered, locking dead eyes with the God. “No one will help me, because I’m not worth it.” A ragged inhale, followed by the faintest “I never am.”

“You’re goddamn right you’re not!”

Bragi growled under his breath and turned to face the newcomer, and this time found himself face to face with a younger Mike.

Oh good, he was looking forward to beating the crap out of him.

“Fuck off Mike,” Anders muttered, looking up at his brother dispassionately. “You’ve already told me how fucking useless I am, so let me be fucking useless in peace.”

“I agree with Anders,” Bragi snarled, rising to his feet in one fluid movement and standing protectively in front of his charge. “Fuck off if you know what’s good for you.”

But once again, he was invisible.

Mike strode forwards and grabbed Anders by the collar of his shirt, hauling him off the ground and slamming him against the wall.

And that? That was the final straw for Bragi.

He threw a punch at Mike’s head, roaring in frustration when it did nothing more than go through the man. He struck out again and again, but it was like trying to punch smoke from the air; it just wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m not going to let you hide, Anders,” Mike snarled in his brother’s face, lifting the blond higher until his toes barely scraped the ground. “I’m going to keep telling you how fucking useless you are until it sinks into that brain of yours and changes this attitude you’ve got. Your brothers are starving, and for what? Because you’re too fucking lazy to feed them?”

It was incredible to see how quickly life flared bright in Anders eyes. The blond grabbed onto Mikes shirt and pulled until there was barely any space between their faces. “And what would you have me do, Mike?” he snarled. “Mum and dad fucked off because they’re too weak to look after their own children, and you fuck off for weeks at a time with your whore of a girlfriend because looking after your brother’s just ‘shouldn’t be my responsibility, I need to have a life!’” Boy, the acidity in Anders voice damn near poisoned the air in the room.

“If I drop out of school to get a job, when I’m underage might I fucking add, child services comes knocking and take Ty and Axl away; and if I stay in school, they get to stay in their home, but they get the food rationed out with the fucking pittance you leave us!” Anders struck out, and his knee hit true when Mike dropped him to the ground with a wheeze, but he wasn’t given a chance to recover when Anders lashed out again, dragging their faces together until they were once again only centimeters apart.

“The ONLY reason I’m still here is because those two boys need someone to look after them,” he snarled, and Bragi could’ve sworn he could see fire in the blond’s eyes, so fierce was his anger. “And seeing as you’re just as useless as mum and dad, they’ve got me. Or would you rather I call child services?” his tone was mocking now, and Bragi could only watch with growing dread as the upper hand Anders held was about to be blown to hell. “See what they say about three underage boys being abandoned by the only adults in their life? Being abandoned by their brother who thinks partying is more important than their welfare.”

Mike let out a roar and buried his hands in his brother’s hair before throwing him bodily across the room; and it was with complete helplessness that Bragi watched as Anders hit the wall before he and Mike disappeared in a puff of smoke.

When he made it back to the inner chamber he found Anders resting on his knees, the blond frowning; possibly in concentration but in all honesty, it was hard to say.

“That was… interesting,” he ventured, stopping in front of Anders and crossing his arms. “I’m beginning to understand why ‘argumentative brat’ is his default, with a childhood like that.”

Anders opened his eyes and squinted up at the God. “You’d be surprised, standing up for himself was something Anders just wasn’t accustomed to doing. That particular fight did happen though, and if you went back through the hallway I found you in you’d find the memory that covered what happened; which was Anders ending up in hospital with a concussion and Mike using Ullr to bullshit his way through an excuse to the nurses.”

“Like father like son,” Bragi muttered.

“Mike was nowhere near as good as Johan,” Anders replied as he stood in one swift movement, dusting himself off as he did so. “But yes, he picked up a lot of his habits from his father; no matter how much he tries to deny it. Ullr may be the God of games, but any God can take a crap story and give it enough of a shine to make it believable.”

“Lovely.”

Bragi turned to face the last door, rolling his shoulders back as he braced himself for whatever he’d find when a sudden thought occurred to him, one that – now he thought about it – was somewhat important for understanding Anders as a whole.

“What was it that happened in your life that left you unscathed?” He asked the blond. “What should have happened to spare Anders from all of this?” Anders looked at him in surprise before his expression morphed into one of understanding.

“Child services were called a week after Axl was born,” Anders admitted. “A neighbor caught Johan beating me with a belt, and had a video camera nearby that he used to get evidence before calling them and the police. Johan may be good, but he can’t bullshit away footage. So, we were taken off them and raised, together, in a foster home with parents who actually loved us.”

Bragi sighed in defeat. “So my Anders never stood a chance. What created the different outcome, I wonder,” he added quietly, trying to think back to the memory room to see if he could recall what had happened that day.

Anders shrugged. “The neighbor’s camera wasn’t working. The police were still called, but without proof Johan managed to convince them nothing was amiss.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

With that rather depressing revelation he walked to the final door. When it didn’t open he looked over his shoulder to ask Anders to open it when he found the man just behind him.

“Any particular reason you’re standing this close to me?” He asked mildly. “I did manage to get through the last two without help.”

Anders merely rolled his eyes and waved a hand at the door. It opened silently, and when the blond stayed quiet Bragi shrugged and entered the room.

What he found was… not what he was expecting.

At all.

Based on what he’d seen so far he expected to find an Anders with his soul laid bare, broken and battered and bruised and in need of healing. Or wary and skittish, depending on how badly damaged he was after this apparent journey Iðunn had sent him on .

But it wasn’t the dingy and poorly lit rooms like before; instead the walls were covered in Old Norse runes, the words golden and constantly shifting to form new sentences faster than he could read. It was incredible, to say the least, and he would have loved to spend longer deciphering what he was seeing, but he had a mission, one he needed to focus on.

He was embarrassed to admit, but as soon as he laid eyes on Anders his jaw hit the floor.

In the center of the room on a raised dais, surrounded by a ring of fire was his Anders; the golden words crawling over his skin as though they were alive. That was nothing, however, compared to the man’s eyes – framed by gold they burned with a fire so bright Bragi was instantly wary; he’d never seen Anders this furious before.

This murderous.

He moved closer, only to leap back when the flames in front of Anders flared up, as though defending the one behind them. “Little Sparrow?” He asked hesitantly, “what’s going on here?”

“You should have stayed away,” Anders snarled, and Bragi blanched at the wrath that rolled off him in waves. In all the time they’d been together, Bragi had never seen his host lose control like this; and he was glad he hadn’t, because this was fucking terrifying.

“You had no right bringing him here,” Anders continued, talking to his counterpart over the God’s shoulder. “You had no fucking right bringing him past that door!”

NotAnders looked at the man evenly. “You need help, Mørkbror,” he replied. “You need saving from yourself before you lose who you are completely.”

Anders cackled, and Bragi watched in fascinated horror as the gold that crawled over the walls and Anders skin bled into his eyes, making them glow and giving him even more of a demonic aura than before. “Oh brother, but this is who I am!” he waved at the room and both God and spirit watched as the writing on the walls disappeared, swallowed up by the photos from the memory hall. “I tried to bury my past, tried to forget! But Iðunn reminded me of who I really am; NOTHING!”

The blond clenched his fist, and one by one the photos burst into flames.

“STOP THIS!” Bragi roared, horrified to see the memories; treasured and despised and everything in between go up in flames. “YOU CANNOT BURN AWAY YOUR PAST! THIS IS WHAT MADE YOU WHO YOU ARE, ANDERS!”

“And what’s that?” Anders snarled back, “aside from the hopeless, good for nothing loser my family ensured I would be?”

“A survivor,” notAnders replied, walking through the fire like it was nothing to stand in front of his counterpart. “Someone who has walked through hell and come back damaged, but alive. Someone who deserves the chance to put those who wronged him back in their place.”

Anders growled and, faster than Bragi could register he had his hands were wrapped around his counterpart’s neck. “Your optimism does you no credit you fool!” he snarled, shaking the blond slightly for good measure. “We are nothing more than what they made us; useless!”

Despite being slowly choked, notAnders gave him a feral grin. “Our human bodies, perhaps,” he agreed before motioning to the God, “but combined with your Norse guardian, you are so much more. The God’s of your world have always viewed Bragi as nothing more than a poet.” Here, he locked eyes with said God, his next words falling from his tongue as though they were laced with a hidden power. Or a prophecy. “But they have no idea what we are truly capable of!”

“LIAR!” Anders roared, tightening his hold and cutting notAnders air off completely. “YOU’RE A FUCKING LIAR, JUST LIKE THE REST OF THEM! WE. ARE. NOTHING!”

Bragi had had enough. He refused to listen to his host’s self-castration, and he certainly refused to watch him strangle someone who wasn’t Mike or Johan. He stormed through the flames and wrapped his arms around his Anders from behind before prying the man’s hands from his counterpart’s neck. It took a bit of effort – a furious Anders was stronger than he appeared – but eventually he managed to pin Anders against his chest; the blonds arms pulled across his torso in a self-hug to stop him from doing any more damage.

“ENOUGH OF THIS!” He ordered, yelling to be heard over the roar of the flames surrounding them while manoeuvring his arms enough so that they were wrapped around the man more securely. “THIS HATE, THIS ANGER… YOU NEED TO LET IT GO; IT’S NOT WHO YOU ARE!”

“You don’t know me!” Anders sneered, wriggling this way and that in order to break free. ”You know nothing about me! So let. Me. GO!”

“No.”

Rather than let Anders slip away, Bragi tightened his hold further, ignoring the flame and heat that was beginning to lick at his skin incessantly. “You are important, little Sparrow,” he said firmly, not even flinching when a stray elbow hit him in the stomach. “You’re important to me, you’re important to Mitchell, and we need you.”

“LET ME GO!” It didn’t matter how much Anders wriggled, he stood no hope of breaking a God’s hold; something Bragi was infinitely grateful for.

“What happened to you, for all those years never should have happened –“

“SHUT UP!” The flames surrounding them grew stronger, while the photos began burning faster.

“You never deserved the wrath of your father, or your mother. A parent is supposed to protect and love their child, not beat them and leave them broken and scared -”

The roar Anders let out was inhuman, and Bragi watched as the words crawling on the man’s skin shone brighter; in fact he was almost certain he could feel heat emanating from them.

One word that was crawling across Anders face caught his attention, and it took a second for him to recall its meaning.

But when he did, he snarled.

Verdiløs

Worthless

Everything suddenly made sense. The words on Anders skin weren’t random; they were every single derogatory name and scathing insult he’d been called in his lifetime – verbal chains that were binding him within his mind and forcing him to relive every pain he’d ever suffered at the hands of his family.

He locked eyes with notAnders, and saw the man looking knowingly back at him. The blond nodded before he too disappeared in a puff of smoke, signalling not only his end in the quest, but reaffirming what he knew he had to do.

It was now or never.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, drawing on the power he hadn’t felt in centuries and was surprised when it came to him easily; lighting his very soul on fire. He knew without even looking that his eyes, his very aura was glowing gold, just like it used to back on Asgard. “I am Bragi,” he boomed, and the entire room shook with the outburst of his power. “God of Words and you will hear me. You are not worthless, nor inferior. You are not what your family says you are. You are brave, and strong, and kind hearted. But more importantly; You. Are. Mine. You are mine to protect, mine to defend, and I will do so until I no longer draw breath! By the power of the God’s you will. BE. FREE ! ”

Anders screamed as the words burned brighter before suddenly, like a weakened chain they snapped, falling from his skin. Bragi moved quickly, wrapping his arms around his host as the man collapsed, moaning softly.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, eying the flames surrounding them warily – but they too had extinguished the moment Anders had been freed. “You’re okay Anders.”

The body in his arms began trembling, likely from exhaustion and so Bragi scooped the man into his arms and carried him swiftly from the room; needing to get them both away from the place that reeked of smoke and echoed with pain to somewhere clearer – even if that somewhere was a desolate chamber with nothing in it.

When he pushed through the door Bragi stumbled in surprise. Gone were the bleak walls and utter bareness of the room, instead it was filled with a couch nearly identical to the one in Anders flat, surrounded by candles and blankets and pillows in abundance. It was a room that looked cosy.

That looked safe.

With the utmost care he deposited Anders on the couch before fetching a number of large, fluffy blankets and wrapping them around his host, chuckling when the blond tried to push them away – as weak as his movements were.

“You need this, little one,” he told the blond gently, securing the last blanket around his host before sitting beside him and pulling Anders into his side. “Let me take care of you.”

“’m not little,” Anders protested weakly.

Bragi held Anders tighter in response. “You’re not,” he agreed, “but you are, and always will be, my little Sparrow.”

There was a grumble, but Anders eventually accepted the hug for what it was, leaning into the God gratefully.

A comfortable silence fell over them, Anders taking the comfort given with Bragi only too happy to oblige whilst he tried to work through what had happened, and what would need to happen when Anders regained consciousness.

He was still uncertain as to what had caused the events of the night, but one thing was for certain; he recognised the work of a God when he saw it. Add that to the fact that they’d had a run in with three rather aggressive men not even a day before and he was pretty certain he knew who the culprits were.

In fact…

“Jævel,” he swore quietly.

He may not have recognised the exact words being used, especially since he was rusty on a dialect that had been extinct for several thousand years, but he recognised enough of the modern variations of words to recognise the Greek influence on them. Coupled with the tanned skin and dark hair… yeah, he knew who they were alright.

The men were Greek Gods.

Fucking marvellous.

“What is it?”

Bragi looked down at Anders who was leaning against him, eyes cracked open and watching him curiously. “It’s not important right now,” he told the blond, “it can wait for a while.”

“No,” Anders countered, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “It can’t.” His eyes unfocused for a moment, and Bragi honed in on what the blond was looking at, and sighed.

It appeared they’d been out of it for well over twenty minutes, because the rest of the Johnson brothers were there, gathered around the couch and looking at them worriedly; and apparently talking if the moving mouths were anything to go by.

Anders blinked, refocusing his eyes before looking at the God questioningly. “What’s going on? Why is everyone at my house and staring at me like that?”

He sighed, knowing there was no way of getting out of this, nor avoiding the subject for a later time. Bragi looked Anders in the eye whilst securing the blond against his side further.

“It’s probably best I start from the beginning.”