Rough, calloused fingers brush Aster's forehead, press against his neck, dragging him from the depths of unconsciousness. The touch should trigger his defences, but exhaustion has drained him of even that basic instinct. He manages a weak grumble, batting at the intrusion with heavy limbs.

A murmur of a voice reaches him through the fog, and though he can't make sense of the words, he recognises its timbre. Sable.

“‘m fine,” Aster manages, but it must not be very convincing, because Sable doesn’t go away. The world tilts as hands haul him upright, and then cool plastic presses against his lips—a water bottle. He inhales the first few swallows before his body remembers how drinking works.

He hopes that's the end of it, but then Sable drags him to his feet, slinging Aster's arm over broad shoulders as he guides him to the bathroom. Aster really does need to pee, so maybe he should be grateful. He might have ended up pissing the bed otherwise.

Despite the fog of exhaustion clouding his mind, Aster remembers to wait until Sable turns away before tugging down his boxers and dropping onto the toilet. He mostly trusts Sable, but the secret tattoo above his cock needs to stay exactly that—secret. He does let Sable help him back to his bed, though, because he can’t actually walk.

Sable disappears after that, though he returns what feels like hours later for another round of forced caretaking. Aster's more cooperative this time, his thoughts less scattered. When he insists again that he's fine, the words come out clear, and Sable's sceptical frown is only half as deep.

The next time Aster wakes, it's without assistance. His elbow bumps something solid as he stretches, and he cracks his eyes open to find he's sharing his bed with a jar of peanut butter and a box of crackers.

Sweet.

He wobbles to the bathroom under his own power and gulps down tepid tap water. His mouth tastes like something died in it, so he brushes his teeth.

The necklace pulses against his collarbone like a second heartbeat, Nash's tooth unnaturally warm against his skin. The magic thrumming through it is the most powerful he's ever attempted, but the peace of mind is worth the cost. Maybe it won’t ever get any use, and if so, good. But this thing with Nash is escalating, and Aster can see the path it's going to sear through both their lives clearer than even Nash himself probably can. If Aster doesn't want to yank the emergency brakes and bail on this whole situation, he needs certain assurances in place.

By the time he scrapes the last of the peanut butter from the jar and inhales the final cracker, the world feels more solid beneath him. His laptop screen tells him he's only lost a day and a half. He would have survived without Sable's help, though probably not with dry sheets. He owes him thanks he has no intention of giving.

As if summoned by the thought, the distinctive clop of hooves echoes down the hall, followed by a gentle tap that could only come from one of Sable's big, meaty hands. Aster weighs his options before hauling himself up to open the door.

“Oh, good, you’re up,” Sable says. His hairy goat legs don’t bend in a way that allows for pants, so he’s wearing a tunic. Curved horns sweep back from his temples, and rectangular pupils study Aster from eyes set unnaturally wide. "I have work waiting for you, but the room is shielded, so it's not urgent."

Aster sighs. And here is how he expresses his gratitude, since it’s less annoying than trying to force himself to emote appropriately. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

Once he's thrown on clothes appropriate for the outside world, they head down to Sable's car. Aster claims his usual spot in the back seat, settling in to glare out the window. Sable knows better than to attempt conversation. Aster does this work as a kindness, carefully budgeted out of the amount of bullshit he can put up with before he inevitably snaps and spontaneously combusts or whatever the fuck would happen if he ever truly lost control. Their silent agreement is simple: he shows up, does the job, and owes nothing more. Not even basic human decency.

They pull up in front of a familiar apartment building, and Aster follows Sable inside and up the stairs. He’s already thinking about the milkshake he’s going to get after they’re done here. And he'd better get that milkshake—the crackers and peanut butter sitting in his stomach don't count as a substitute.

As Sable gets the apartment door unlocked, Aster is so deep in his milkshake thoughts that he’s barely paying attention. It’s only as he steps into the single room apartment and he feels the sudden prick of tension that his eyes snap up, zeroing in on two pale-haired figures. His stomach drops.

The twins have grown in the years since he's seen them, but he knows them instantly—Gisele and Gale. His cousins.

Aster jerks backward, fingers splaying across his stomach where defensive spells lie dormant beneath his skin. But something in their expressions makes him hesitate. They look as shocked as he feels. Though he's not exactly living across the country, this is still far enough from home that their paths shouldn't cross by accident—unless they're actually here for his help, and this meeting is as unexpected for them as it is for him.

Gisele recovers first, stepping in front of her brother with arms crossed tight over her chest. Gale remains motionless on the couch, tucked deep within a hoodie two sizes too big for him. When the surprise drains from his face, nothing fills the void left behind.

Sable's hand lands heavy on Aster's shoulder. He shrugs it off, eyes boring into Gisele. "What are you doing here?"

Her lips press into a thin line. "I could ask you the same."

"I'm here because I ran away. If you have to ask why, maybe consult Gale—he's the smart twin, I'm sure he can figure it out." Aster forces out a harsh breath. "But again. How the fuck are you here?"

Sable shifts closer but keeps his hands to himself this time. "I'm not sure who these two are to you, but they came through the same channels you did."

As Aster turns the possibility over in his mind, it makes more and more sense. He's only a couple hours from home—he meant to put more distance between himself and his parents, but somewhere along the way, the boarding house became home. Claysey's perfect for laying low, too. Most cities have some magical force running things behind the scenes: magic users, werewolves, vampires, or something else entirely. But here, no single group dominates. It tends to attract a lot of smaller players who don’t want to live under someone else’s thumb. It's a great place to hide—except, apparently, from others who had the same idea.

Gisele plants her hands on her hips, eyeing him with barely concealed disdain. "So this is what you're doing with yourself now?"

“If you don’t want my help, I’m more than happy to leave.”

Gale's hand shoots out to grab his sister's wrist. "We do. Please."

Gisele shakes off his grip with a sigh. "Yes, we do."

Aster turns to Sable, still blocking his entry to the room. "Wait in the car. I'll be out when I'm done."

“Aster—” Sable starts to say, but he falls silent at the arch of Aster's brow. He nods. "Take care."

Take care of what, Aster wonders—the snakes he's now left with, or his own vile temper? He's not sure which is the bigger threat. He shuts the door behind Sable's retreating form.

"So, what brings you here?" Aster asks, striding to the chest of drawers near the bed to gather his materials.

Gisele glares at him, hatred burning in her eyes until Gale nudges her shoulder. Finally, she speaks. "Our parents are getting worse. Looking for risker solutions to our... problem."

Aster's gaze slides to Gale. "That's what we're calling him these days? I do so miss my lovely family."

"They wanted to summon a demon, bind it to him," Gisele says, her voice tight. "They're so desperate to give him power that they're losing their minds. You can't bind a demon to someone to give them power they don't have. It would have killed him."

"Better a dead child than one who doesn't reach his full potential." Aster steps in front of Gisele, fanning out his collection of markers like playing cards. "Which colour do you want? I like the purple, but the ink's running low."

Gisele stares at the markers, jaw set. "You know, if you just agreed to the transference spell, we could all go home. Gale could have the power he needs without anyone doing anything crazy, and you could live a quiet life of low expectations."

The markers hit the coffee table with a sharp crack. "The power he needs? Just because our family thinks it's a waste for someone to only be insanely smart without also being insanely powerful doesn't mean he needs my power."

“You don’t need your power!” Gisele snaps back. “Look at you. You’re doing nothing with your life, and you won’t give even half of your power to someone who could do great things with it. You’ll let all of this insanity continue instead of just… letting it happen. What’s the point of this stubbornness?”

Aster holds her gaze for a long moment before deliberately collecting his markers and turning to Gale. "I recommend the light blue. It gets less use because it doesn't show well against darker skin tones, but it's pretty. And, in my opinion, one of the funner colours."

"You're seriously going to destroy all our lives over this?" Gisele demands.

Aster rounds on her, magic burning beneath his skin. "The transference spell requires consent. I do not consent. In fact, I've said no so many times now that even if you did convince me, I'm not sure it would count. Now, someone pick a marker or I'm fucking leaving and you can figure this shit out on your own."

Gale's fingers reach out to take the light blue marker. Aster nods his approval. "Let's get started."

Without his oversized hoodie and most of his clothes, Gale looks painfully exposed on the floor, stripped of more than just fabric. He's only eighteen. His eyes have that distant, glassy look they've had since Aster walked in—like he's watching everything happen from somewhere far away.

Maybe Aster should feel guilty for not volunteering to be the solution to all his problems, but letting their family Frankenstein together the perfect kid isn’t any kind of answer.

The tracing spell their family uses is challenging, but at least it's clean. It holds together, firm and unyielding, as Aster chases it down with carefully aimed counter sigils. Once he's cornered it in a single finger, he draws blood with a sharp pin, letting crimson drops fall into a bowl of vinegar. The spell fights him, trying to slip away, but at least it doesn't shatter and leave him picking up magical shrapnel.

Gisele proves far more irritating to work on than her brother—she's actually present, each sigh and pursed lip grating on Aster's nerves. Worse, having an almost naked girl laid out in front of him stirs up memories he'd rather keep buried. But they know where he is now—if they get found, it's his problem too.

When he's done, he's done. The moment the last drop of blood hits vinegar and the spell dissolves, he abandons his supplies where they lie and he's out the door. Gisele calls after him, but she's no longer his problem.

Aster jogs down the stairs and finds Sable waiting for him in the car. He climbs into the backseat, pulling his knees tight against his chest and fixing the back of Sable's head with a glare. When Sable turns to look at him, he jerks his gaze to the window.

“All done?” Sable asks, seeming unsurprised when Aster doesn’t give him an answer. He taps the steering wheel. “Are you going to put on your seatbelt?”

Aster decides to aim his glare at him after all.

"I'm sorry," Sable says softly as he starts the car. "I never intended to..." He trails off, probably because he doesn't actually know what he's apologising for. Not that it matters—it never crossed Aster's mind that any of this was Sable's intention.

They go through a drive-thru, where Sable orders him a milkshake—and a burger, and fries. Aster manages a few sips of the shake, but it sits in his stomach like concrete. He's beyond cranky. He's...

There aren't words for what's churning inside him. His emotions are everything, too much, all at once, drilling into his skull until the world starts to dissolve. He's been here a thousand times before, but each time feels like drowning, like a tiny boat in a hurricane. He latches onto whatever he can—a stray strand of Sable's hair catching the light, the warmth of the food in his lap, the icy sweat beading on his milkshake cup. These tiny details anchor him to reality, if only barely.

The moment they reach the boarding house, Aster bolts for his room, food clutched against his chest. He knows Sable wants answers about what happened back there, but if he can't see that Aster's barely holding it together, he's blind.

Though really, Aster has no idea what he looks like in these moments. It feels like his skin should be crackling with electricity, like anyone looking at him should see him coming apart at the seams. But probably all they see is a blank stare.

Back in his room, Aster tries to force the tension from his muscles, but his body won't cooperate. He's not exactly crying, but tears leak from his eyes anyway, and his throat burns raw. A door slams somewhere down the hall and the sound crashes through him like breaking glass.

He is not safe.

He doesn't waste time analysing what that means. He is not safe and he needs to be safe. He swipes at his eyes, pulls his shoulders back, and strides down the hall with purpose.

Layna is quick to answer when he knocks on her door, her eyes going wide as she takes him in. So it does look like something. Or maybe it's just the evidence of tears on his face that startles her. Before she can step toward him, he throws up a hand between them—a barrier. She nods, understanding, and backs away as he enters her room.

Her phone lies in plain sight on her bed. He snatches it up and holds it out to her, password screen glowing. She takes the hint and unlocks it.

Aster sends a message off to a number he has memorised—Niko’s.Send Nash to pick me up. Do not reply. Aster.

Message sent, he erases it from her phone. She's already more curious than he'd like; no need to feed that flame.

They haven't exchanged a single word, and they don't start now. He hands back her phone and walks out. He heads straight outside to wait. Nash might come, or he might not, but right now he’s the only lifeline Aster has.