mint choco antis DNI!!!!!!!

He's not about to admit to it, but Shion spends the weekend on edge. The moon is, inconveniently, a supermoon this month, and by Sunday night, though it's not yet full, it looks it. He has to do lots of covert online searches to reassure himself that he didn't put it in his calendar wrong. And then there's the fact that this will be the first time Solon sees the old castle in about a century. If just knowing Sophie is present was enough to bring Solon as close to tears as Shion has ever seen him, he's worried what actually being at the place where she died will do.

By now, at least, getting ready for a night or two in the countryside is routine. They spend enough time at the castle that Shion has it stocked with everything he's learned will be helpful for Sophie before, during, and after, as well as a myriad of things that probably aren't necessary at all. He's been perhaps overly cautious these last few months as he figures things out, but he's not taking risks when it comes to Sophie. He'd rather have way more things than he needs than risk not being ready. He's called to arrange her absence from school on both Monday and Tuesday, and thrown together a small overnight bag for himself. He's not going to sleep, probably, unless Sophie takes a nap, too, but he doesn't mind that. It's nice, actually, being out in the countryside all night, letting her run wild and enjoy herself. He just brings snacks and a charger for his phone and a book mostly.

The only part of this he doesn't know how to prepare for is Solon. It is, he's aware, the first time he's been with his brother on a full moon with the truth in the open. He's not about to start curbing his tongue at all times, because that would feel weird and wrong, but he's done his best to avoid anything that so much as sounds like a wolf or a dog joke (less of a habit these days than it once was, anyway, with no sports rivalry to be had and Sophie the only wolf he knows). Solon had no choice in their finding out, but Shion still has the uneasy feeling that he's been invited into a secret, and he doesn't want to get it wrong. So he tries, he really tries, both to imagine if there's anything he thinks an adult wolf might need that a baby doesn't, or that he'd need more of, or if being a vampire, too, alters things. He tries, too, to ask Solon, cautious in this as well, factoring in what little he can glean.

He'll never completely understand the experience, he knows that, and that's fine. He just wants to be sure he understands enough to make it better for them, to take care of them. For Sophie, it largely seems to be an enjoyable experience, and that's exactly how Shion wants it to stay.

They leave earlier than usual on Monday, the sun still high in the sky when they're dropped off in front of the castle. It's better, Shion figures, to get this part out of the way. Bag slung over his shoulder, he positions himself at Solon's side. "Alright, here we are," he sing-songs. "Let's get inside."

Giving Solon his bed for the night is, to Shion, the only thing that makes sense. One, it's just being a good host and a good brother, and sometimes he has some fucking manners. Two, the couch is a perfect place to lie awake staring at the ceiling and whispering "What the fuck" to oneself until the sun starts to rise.

He catches snatches of sleep here and there, he's pretty sure, and he's thankful that they seem to have been dreamless. If nothing else, he doesn't remember any dreams, and that's good enough. He's already emotional from the events of the last ten-ish hours, and seeing the rest of his family in any iteration, be it ancient memory or just his mind conjuring them up as he last saw them, might be too much. Just having Solon here has him such a mess that he was talking about his feelings. For hours.

Not that he regrets it. He's going to be absolutely mortified, he knows, when he has to look Solon in the eyes again, but he's grateful for it anyway. They should have talked about all this decades ago. At home, maybe they never would have. Maybe they needed this — an unfamiliar land, Sophie's presence, the weight of all of Shion's grief and yearning and how desperately he'd missed his brother and all the guilt and questions that had piled up for months. Years, really. If it means they finally find some small measure of peace, well, he's been humiliated for far worse reasons, usually far less pleasant.

He gives up on pretending to sleep after what is either his fourth or fifth brief nap, knowing he doesn't have long before his alarm goes off anyway. Coffee doesn't do much for him, as most things don't, goddamned vampire physiology, but he makes a cup anyway. Sophie should be up soon, getting ready for school. He has a feeling she's going to come and find him before she does that, though. There's no hiding that Solon is here, not from a little wolf with a sensitive sense of smell. Better that he be the one to see Sophie first and let her know what's going on. He doesn't trust Solon not to yeet himself off the fire escape if Sophie goes to him first.

Mug in hand, he goes to stand in the hallway, watching and listening for Sophie. He is, he realizes, excited. He can't wait to tell her Solon's here now, to see how happy she is when she finds out. The situation may be emotionally complex for him and Solon, but this part is so simple. Everything else can be sorted out as they go. For now, he can just... be happy.

"Hey, kid," he says when he spots her emerging. "We've got company."

The world beneath Darrow — or wherever it is, it really isn't clear to Shion how literal its location underneath Darrow is — is a strange and fascinating place, and he doesn't much care for it. If pressed, he'd say he came here by accident (a lie) or that he's bored (true), but really, he's only here for answers. Maybe it won't get him anywhere, but neither has anything else he's done in the last several months, and he's not about to stop trying. Finding a way out of Darrow and into another shadow Darrow is simple enough, but maybe finding the path out will give him some notion as to how he might escape the first one.

It's too many Darrows to keep straight even in his own head.

The ash is thick enough in the air in places that even vampire lungs struggle with it, but he grits his teeth and bears it (admittedly an option humans don't typically have), because he doesn't feel any particular desire to draw attention by coughing. He has no qualms about fighting the various monstrosities roaming about the dark streets, but he's also trying to be vaguely reasonable about not overdoing it. As far as he can tell, hardly anything here is truly alive, and he's not taking his chances feeding on one of those things, so he can't push himself past what he's equipped to handle if he wants to get out of here just fine. Which he very much does.

During the day, dodging them is easy enough, but as night comes over the city — hard to tell with how dingy it already is — their numbers grow. He's starting to think he'll need to find a place to hide for the night, and isn't that funny? He's the one who's supposed to be active only at night. His kind anyway. That's never been an issue for him, after all. Walking in the sun easily has long been a perfect disguise.

From what he read and heard from others in his snooping, consecrated ground should be safe. All he has to do is get to one of Darrow's various places of worship and he's in for a long, dull night. He's not rushing to find a bunker because he still has exploring to do, but he makes his way in the general direction of the street behind Petros Park that houses several churches. The park itself as a pathway is out of the question — it's giving tar pits more than picnic spot — so he takes his time working his way around the outer edge, observing the creatures he sees, dodging when they get close. Though they seem to be in the countryside, as are a couple known points of entry, the bulk of the entities seem to flock to the city itself. What's the reason for that? Is there something within the city itself, the same thing that causes the churning flames below its surface? He hopes not. He has no desire to walk through fire. Or is there some point in the city that might prove to be his answer? He contemplates staying out and following some of them about a while longer, and he might yet, but first he wants to stake a claim on a spot to rest tonight and make note of some of his thoughts.

He's not far off from one of the churches when he hears what sounds like a voice, a markedly human one. One he is, in fact, extraordinarily familiar with. Poking his head out from around the corner rather than just striding straight ahead as he'd been about to do, he observes the scene before him — Elora with her funny little stick in hand, poised to do damage to a couple of the gruesome beings that inhabit this particular hellhole.

He moves closer with purposeful steps — loud ones, particularly given how quietly he usually walks — making sure he doesn't catch her off-guard. From what he's gleaned, she's got power enough to take care of this duo on her own. He hasn't yet seen her do anything like that, though, and if she can't, he will, but he's not going to assume that he's misunderstood her capabilities or that she's in distress.

"It's just me," he says, lingering a few feet away, poised to step in at the first sign she wants him to.

"Tell me this isn't your idea of fun," Shion says airily, though his grin is warm as he approaches Neve, his steps languid, hands in his pockets. There's no command in it, his amber eyes not glowing. It's just gentle teasing between... whatever they are. Friends, perhaps. Shion would like to think so. It's probably not smart, but who cares?

It took him a little while to decide how best to approach Neve again after she found out about Sophie, but ultimately he's found the best way to behave around her is to go on as he began. She's seen under the surface and knows he's not as happy-go-lucky as he tends to appear. Suddenly dropping that veneer, though, now that he's been vulnerable with her would only seem more suspicious. He's not entirely a fool; she already knew there was a mask on his pretty face. But someone who wears that mask day to day doesn't give it up just because its presence isn't a secret. So he continues to keep his behavior light. It's not hard to do. That's just how he is, how he's long been.

Besides, he figures, she'd understand. If he's hidden himself away, there's a reason for that, and that painfully pathetic figure he must have cut the night the castle arrived likely paints a perfectly clear picture of why he'd rather stay positive.

The beach is quiet down at this end and in this weather, still too cool for most people to come out for fun. He hadn't imagined her as someone who skipped stones for entertainment. Not that she looks like she's having a blast or anything, but it's a placid pastime for someone as electric as Neve. It makes him curious, though that isn't hard to do, least of all when it comes to her.

First, to be entirely clear, Shion does not stalk Daisy. Admittedly he briefly considers using his various skills, supernatural or otherwise, to find her more easily, but then showing up at her door seems like a horrible plan.

As it is, it takes him a week even to work up to making that decision. After he got home from his Purge prowl, he curled up on the couch and fed until he felt better, until he could hear Jaan in the back of his head sighing. Slow down or you're going to choke.

And that memory is enough to make him wish he would. But he focuses on pulling himself back together — self-care! — and drinks until he's sated before sleeping the next day away.

Later, he thinks to himself that it speaks to how much he actually does trust Daisy that he was able to sleep as long as he did. It's a strange revelation. He likes her, he knew that, about as good a friend as he could expect in this godforsaken place, about as good of one as he wants to have. Trust is something else, though. She could have found him, if she wanted to. Now that he's fed and rested, he'd be fine, more than capable of holding his own, and he's maybe a teeny bit curious if she'd actually win. That doesn't mean he wants to test it out.

She knew this whole time. He thinks about that a lot over the next few days. He bakes, he watches rom-coms, he watches horror movies, he tries not to think about much at all, because he is exhausted in every possible way, but he's him. He thinks anyway. Sometimes, he almost wishes he were someone who could be surprised by the horrible things he saw happening on Purge night. Almost. Instead, he's someone who's prepared, who can protect himself, who knows enough of what the world contains to have been able to help a few people, and in the end that's better. In the end, the only real surprise is that Daisy knew what he was and is what she is and still never lifted a hand against him. She had the advantage and never took it. He doesn't know if he would be able to say the same in her place. Probably not.

His heart aches fiercely — a little for Daisy, for emotions he saw in that not-quite-human face that he thinks he maybe understood but can't put into words; a little for himself, alone here with no one to talk to about this, no one who could understand or advise; a little, somehow, for Solon, which turns into aching for himself again. Unlike all the cuts and bruises he sustained that night, that's a wound that doesn't ever fully heal.

So he doesn't stalk her. In fact, he avoids her quite studiously when he starts going outside again as the week winds on. Solon would be in hiding right now, and Shion misses the Vamfield grounds, that quiet isolated spot behind some brush where Solon would sprawl out on the grass and ignore him until all Shion could do was lie down beside him and try to be quiet, quiet, quiet enough that Solon would just let him stay. He never said what was wrong, no matter how Shion badgered him, scolding and pleading by turns, until he learned there was no point. The only way to let Solon know he was there, ready, waiting, was to be there as quietly as he knew how to be.

And so, in a roundabout way, he thinks that perhaps Daisy, too, needs to be alone. He's not sure what he should say to her anyway. 'Thanks for not hunting me down'? Not an ideal statement. 'Sorry for finding out your secret identity even though apparently you knew mine for months! Won't tell anyone, I swear!' seems counterproductive, actually. He thinks about Jino, all those years ago, and his heart is raw again. He knows what Jino would say, did say, because, god, it's what Sophie would have said probably, so much wisdom in that tiny, tiny body. Maybe it's what he needs to say, but it's all too fucking vulnerable. Saying to her the things he needed to hear, that he thinks she maybe needs, too, it opens him up so wide. It's almost unbearable, that level of honesty. He hates it, hates the way his skin crawls thinking about how someone here knows, and even if he trusts her, it doesn't feel safe. He spent two hundred years hiding, first at Vamfield and then all over the fucking world, keeping this a secret to keep them all safe from harm, and there's this awful itchy part of him that feels like the others are going to get hurt just because someone knows, but they aren't here. They aren't here to get hurt and he is, and it's not fucking fair.

He misses them. He misses Sooha. He misses Sophie. He'd even take one of those fucking wolves right now. They'd understand. He hates that, too.

And there's the fear, a different one, not the kind that comes with being hunted, but the kind that comes from being alone. In another life, they didn't want him. Logically, he knows that if his being a vampire was enough to put Daisy off him, she would have ignored him or killed him ages ago. That doesn't make him any less annoyingly nervous that she might yet decide he's not worth the trouble.

God, he's a fucking mess. He wants to imagine how his brothers would scold or comfort him now, and he can't, because he can't get around his own stupid mind.

He doesn't find out where she lives or works, he doesn't follow her. He remembers, he wanders, he picks up her scent here and there. Maybe if he had Solon's sense of smell he'd have found her sooner, but as it is, he thinks it might be close to two weeks when he finally intercepts her, not far from the bakery he went to for his birthday. She goes for runs.

He stops. For once in his long life, he doesn't know how to speak, until finally he croaks out, "Hey."

It's not that it's been a bad day, precisely. He spent it with his brothers and Sooha, after all, and if there's one thing Shion is, it's adaptable. And also good at enjoying himself regardless of the circumstances. Oh, and parties, but that's the problem, right? Parties are great, but a werewolf party — ugh. What was even the point of going to celebrate that dumb mutt's birthday?

Okay, fine, yes, Khan and his pack really helped them out a while ago with Dardan and they'd probably all be dead for real if either of their sets had tried to handle all that alone, but that doesn't mean Shion has to like any of them. They're annoying, smelly, and nowhere near as good at nightball as he is, and they didn't even appreciate his generous birthday gift (an absolutely stunning portrait of himself, courtesy of the art club at Decelis). And, okay, he doesn't like sharing Sooha with them. She's his friend, not theirs.

And maybe he doesn't like sharing Solon with them either. Maybe his skin's felt like it's been prickling for hours, an irritable edge dancing underneath — since he first set foot on Sunshine City School property, but intensifying from the moment Solon extended his stupid hand to stupid Enzy, like he had a right to declare some kind of truce or something on all their behalves. They were there because Sooha wanted them to play nice and he wasn't about to let her wander off into wolf territory on her own, even if he does know, really, that Khan would never let any harm come to Sooha. Somehow that annoys him even more, that she's as safe with them as she is with his brothers, even though the last thing he wants is for her to get hurt.

"It's dark out here," he whines, hands clasped behind his neck as he walks through the woods back to Decelis, the rest behind him. "Can you start a fire, Jino?"

"Excuse me, I'm not your torch." Shion's mood must be rubbing off a little for warmhearted Jino to sound annoyed with him so quickly. Or else he's just tired from a whole afternoon and evening of wolves, too. "Also you all can see fine in the dark."

Shion pouts audibly. "But when else will you get to use your abilities? We don't get to use them much." Granted, that's a good thing. Just because he's immortal doesn't mean he liked it when they were up at all hours protecting Riverfield from other vampires, and he gets way more sleep now. But it's... boring. Things are peaceful. And he should be grateful for that after the lives they've led — after how many times he nearly died for real in a matter of days not long ago — but that grates, too. Things are quiet and they've apparently decided to be on halfway decent terms with a bunch of mutts who are their only real rivals for the nightball championship, although he'll cut his own arm off before he admits that aloud.

Whirling around to look at the men behind him, he says, "When was the last time you used your abilities?"

Why do they look so perplexed? Like he's being weird or something? It's a valid question!

"Well... maybe when I made Sooha s'mores?"

"What a waste," he groans.

"Or during nightball practice?" Bewildering that it seems to take Jaan so much thought to dredge this up. It's barely been weeks. They used to do this shit without a thought beyond whether or not anyone might see who shouldn't.

"It was when Jaan picked up the ball that flew off-campus," Jakah adds.

Noa's brow furrows slightly, in that gentle, serious way he has, and for a moment, Shion's heart is a little bit soothed — just a tiny bit — but then Noa says, "I made a crab-shaped shadow with my fingers" and Shion wishes he'd lost his ability to hear for a moment there.

Well, actually, it's pretty adorable, and Noa's lucky Shion doesn't reach out and ruffle his hair until it sticks up every which way, but he still asks, "Did you need your abilities for that? See? Our abilities are being underutilized. For me, the last time was when I asked the art club people to paint my portrait."

"Don't use your abilities on those things!" Solon snaps, and Shion rolls his eyes. Holier-than-thou little jerk. "I haven't used mine since the battle!"

"That's because there's nothing to do as a wolf!" snarls Shion, heat creeping up his neck. "At least give us a ride!"

"I should transform today to attack you!"

"Gimme a ride!"

He's aware that he's being ridiculous. He knows that. It's an uncomfortable feeling, something that heightens the way he feels strange in his own skin. He's good with words usually. He doesn't even need to be because people just listen to him anyway, but he is, and still he doesn't know how to string together a way to voice the scraps of thought that have been flickering through his head today. Today and yesterday and for weeks now, if he's honest. Doesn't know how to explain that he can't seem to make himself stop behaving the way he does around Tahel and Najak, but that it doesn't mean anything when it comes to Solon. That he doesn't like wolves, but Solon's not a wolf, not really. Or he is, but he's a vampire too. That he's family before anything else, but it's hard for Shion to be quite that forthright. There's so much he could say, and so much he does say, an endless spill of chatter from his lips, but it gets harder when he means it, when it matters. When he has to figure out a way to reconcile two centuries of vocally disliking wolves with the knowledge that one of the people who most matters to him is one. He's still trying to untangle the memories of another life that have begun to trickle back into his head, but they weren't enemies a millennium ago either, he's pretty sure, all serving under the same knighthood. Saying that, though, that he knows he's being annoying and petty, and that he's still trying to make sense of who he once was and who he is and how they fit together — it's too earnest, and for all that Solon is one of his best friends, sometimes it's just easier to pick fights with him than to talk.

His expression both a scowl and a pout, he harrumphs, turning his head away from Solon to listen to Jakah, but Jakah's voice fades on the wind.

It's a dry wind, rattling down a dark street, the ground beneath Shion's polished shoes suddenly concrete instead of packed earth. The change is at once immediate and fluid — so abrupt it happens in the space between breaths, between one footstep and another. It's warm out, something he's all too aware of in his long sleeves, vest, and blazer, though it doesn't help that he's already flushed with irritation and something that might be embarrassment. He should apologize, he thinks, but he's so bad at it.

It's an absurd thought, too, because he's alone. The flush gives way to a frisson of genuine fear. Dardan, he thinks, and it's insane, because he saw the guy die, die for real. All those other vampires wouldn't have vanished if that hadn't been real. But no matter what he's seen in the last 200 years, it's hard to come up with a better explanation for whatever this is.

He stops on the sidewalk outside a dark shop, slowly turning to take in the street behind him. He doesn't scare easily and he hides it well, but it hits him now, gut churning. If he turns his head to the right now, Solon won't be there, the same way Jino isn't to his left and Jakah isn't behind him, so he doesn't. Seven of them. All gone, and the forest with them, and — wait, it's him. He's the one who's gone.

Heli? he calls out in his head, met with the silence he somehow expects. His voice unexpectedly hoarse, he adds aloud, "...Noa? Solon? Sooha?"

It doesn't take sharp hearing to pick up the sound of footsteps, and ordinarily he would whirl toward those, letting some kind of relief sweep over him, but he knows. It's not them, not any of them. They wouldn't have left him on purpose, not for anything, so they can't be here. Shoulders slumping, he lifts his head, glancing ahead to seek out the source of those steps. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to pull on a better façade for dealing with strangers, a tentative smile, bashful and self-deprecating, as he lifts a hand in a wave that doubles as a gentle plea for help.

He's alone.