#But that's what you get when you bring up Silver Spoon MPreg and have a fankid with him

[spiritmander13]

WHAT IS THIS

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

[tinybibmpreg]

finally got over my writers block and wrote the next part for my story Bed of Thorns! This chapter is more of a prequel lol. Contains past mpreg. warnings for not too graphic violence/child death/allusions to past noncon. dritan is from a murderous cult family so. murderous cult stuff ahead

Bed of Thorns: Wings (Part 3)

As his sister preened his second set of wings for him, as he always had such trouble properly tending to those ones, Dritan swung his legs. The two siblings were seated on the edge of their porch, basking in the summer evening warmth. Their mother was preparing dinner inside with their grandfather and the two children had been tasked with preening themselves and telling any arriving relatives to get ready for the evening meal. Something special was going on, Dritan thought. Since he was only ten, he hadn't been told what his older relatives had been whispering amongst themselves about. His grandfather and a few aunts and uncles had been going in and out of the barn all day, wrapped up tools in their hands. As far as he knew, there wasn't any holiday they were supposed to be celebrating. No new family members had arrived, nor had any current family members passed. He hadn't heard that anyone was getting married or baptized, and those sorts of things wouldn't have been kept secret from the children anyway.

So, Dritan thought, it must have had something to do with his missing cousin. He and the other children had been forbidden from discussing his adult cousin, Boniface, after the man had suddenly vanished from the family home. 

His sister had whispered to him one night that she thought perhaps a demon had killed their cousin and everyone was too embarrassed to discuss it, but he didn't agree. The night before his cousin had vanished, he'd snuck into the kitchen for a glass of water and heard him arguing in hushed tones with their grandfather. They spoke too quietly for him to make out much, but he was certain they were bickering over something belonging to the family, being angel-born. Dritan didn't dare ask anyone what that meant, in case it got him in trouble for eavesdropping. Boniface had snapped that if their grandfather wasn't going to quit being foolish, he'd take matters into his own hands.

The next morning, Boniface was gone.

And the day after that, when the little children began questioning where he was, they were forbidden to speak of him. So Dritan didn't correct his sister, even though she was wrong. Didn't try to discreetly ask what was going on like his other cousins had been doing all day. Good behavior was always rewarded, his mother and grandfather often said. He would be on his best behavior, and hopefully, his reward would be to find out what was going on soon, perhaps even find out what had happened to his favorite cousin.

His sister finished preening his wings, giving an exaggerated sigh. "Goodness! Your wings take forever!" He gave an experimental flap of all of his wings, smiling a bit when she got a mouthful of feathers and shoved him forward. "Hey!" she shrieked.

Landing on his feet, he stretched his wings and arms out. Then he relaxed them, turning around to see his sister glaring down at him. He grinned up at her. "Thanks, Dilaran."

She crossed her arms, huffing. "You're welcome. And thank you for checking on my wings before." He gave her a mock bow, and she rolled her eyes. Standing up, she reached down and pulled him back up onto the porch. "I still don't get why you have so many sets of wings. I only have two. That's not fair," she said, almost whining. She lifted her hands to fix his hair.

Once his hair was perfect and her arms were folded against her chest once more, he replied, "I've got eight sets because I'm like Grandfather." And cousin Boniface, but he left that unsaid, as instructed. "You got Mum's fluffy wings. They're prettier than mine."

"I suppose. Yours are so nice and sleek and white, though." Dilaran's feathers ruffled. With only two sets of wings, she and their mother had the least of anyone in the family. Everyone else had three to five sets. And most everyone but he and Boniface and sometimes Grandfather Faust had color to their wings, silvers and browns and reds and golden yellows.

"Spots look way better than white," he assured her, quite honest. He preferred the spots of her and their mother's wings far more than the blank white he'd inherited from their grandfather. Dilaran's wings were dappled with silver and far fluffier than his own. But even being so fluffy, her four wings took far less time to preen than his sixteen. He wondered if his mother ever felt cursed for having children with such difficult to manage wings. All his siblings had her fluffy feathers, and he'd gotten her father's extra sets. Though his sister occasionally envied his extra sets, he knew it'd drive her mad if she had to preen more than two sets of such voluminous plumage.

Dilaran hummed in appreciation. "We both look nice!" she decided, smiling. The smile faded as she caught sight of something behind him. "Huh? Oh!"

He spun around and gasped just as his sister had at the sight of two of his cousins and one uncle nearly dragging someone up to the house. An aunt lingered behind, holding something bundled up and wailing in her arms. The sound was dreadful, unlike anything Dritan had ever heard before. As his relatives approached the house, he could see whoever they were bringing had their head hanging, making it impossible for him to see their face. He doubted he would have been able to recognize them even if he could, for he didn't know anyone but sometimes his grandfather who had black feathers in their wings and hair. The color was dark as night, like gashes in the otherwise pure white feathers. He did a count of their wings and was surprised that the mysterious person had the same eight sets as he did.

Even though whatever was in his aunt's arms only seemed to grow louder and more ear-splitting as they came up the stairs, everything, including sound, seemed to freeze as the angel with sixteen blackened wings lifted their head, revealing that they were Dritan's cousin Boniface. Dritan could only stand there, eyes wide, mouth open. Dilaran asked their cousin's name aloud. The group stopped on the porch, looking down at them. Boniface's eyes were looking directly at them, but he wasn't looking at them. Dritan could swear his cousin was looking right through him, an impossible distance within his red-rimmed, puffy eyes. It was as if he wasn't even there, in his body.

He wrenched his gaze from his cousin to the wrapped bundle in his aunt's arms. A tiny arm pawed at his aunt's shirt. A baby. His aunt was holding it wrong. Babies' wings were fragile, they had to be held carefully. She wasn't holding it as one would an angelic child. But its cries didn't sound pained.

He closed his mouth, swallowed hard, and then said weakly, "Dinner is almost ready."

Cousin Boniface and the screaming baby were brought inside.

-

Dinner was a quiet, tense affair.

Everyone took their usual places after the table was set and food was served. Arrangement was based on wing sets once one graduated from swaddles and then high chairs, so Grandfather Faust sat at the head of the table, and Dritan sat on the next seat. The seat across from him had been vacant for months but was now filled by cousin Boniface, who held the strange baby. He didn't want to be seated across from his cousin, so near their grandfather. If six sets of his wings could fall off so he could sit next to his mother and sister, Dritan would be overjoyed. But his wings did not spontaneously fall off, so by his grandfather and cousin he stayed.

After his grandfather's prayer, everyone started eating, except for Grandfather Faust. Dritan picked at his food, taking a few small bites. Cousin Boniface was eating slowly. He'd only been given a spoon to eat with. Glancing down the table, Dritan could see that everyone was looking down at their own plates. Only he and Grandfather Faust were looking elsewhere. Grandfather Faust was watching Boniface, a despairing look in his eyes Dritan had only seen up close twice before. His hands were clenched on the table.

Was Grandfather Faust upset because of the argument he had had with Boniface before his disappearance? Or because of how long Boniface had been gone? Or was he upset that Boniface had brought home a strange baby?

The baby was no longer crying, settled down now that it was in Boniface's arms. It mewled and squirmed, but did not wail. Cousin Boniface held it in that odd way, rocking it slightly.

Stealing a quick look at the bare patches on his grandfather's wings, the lack of feathers growing in his hair, Dritan thought that what was upsetting Grandfather the most about the situation was the new black feathers Boniface now had. His cousin had once shared with him in being the only two family members with true white wings, but now had jet black mixed throughout. All of the white feathers that once grew in and beautifully contrasted the rich black hair his cousin had were now the same inky shade, not a single one as it used to be. Pure angels weren't supposed to have black feathers. They could not be born with them.

It was another thing the children were forbidden to discuss, how Grandfather Faust's wings and hair grew black feathers. For as long as Dritan could remember, his grandfather had been plucking his black feathers, which grew in the same places as Boniface's did now. No one was to mention them if one had been missed during preening, and no one was to say anything if they saw the elderly angel yanking them out. Dritan hated to see his grandfather plucking his feathers. It was a bloody, depressing thing to watch. His grandfather would always burn the feathers, throwing them into the fireplace with trembling hands and glazed eyes.

Looking through old family scrapbooks in the attic had led Dritan to believe that something tragic had happened in the family when Grandfather Faust was a younger man. Old pictures showed Grandfather Faust with pure white wings, white feathers in his once blond hair. In a box buried deep underneath junk, almost hidden away, he'd found faded photographs with no labels of Grandfather Faust looking as happy as Dritan had ever seen, with an odd young girl with one set of black wings and a long black tail at his side. His white wings looked as Boniface's did, black feathers stark against his pale hair. Dritan couldn't find any more images of the young girl past her teenagehood, where her pictures showed more clearly eight horns protruding from her head, and past that point, Grandfather Faust plucked, and never seemed quite as happy as those old pictures with the strange girl.

Dritan looked back at Boniface and the baby. He wondered if the baby had the same tail and horns. Angels didn't have tails nor horns, only wings. Though it was a topic rarely touched on, Dritan knew that the only creatures with such tails and horns were demons. But demons didn't have wings, so the strange girl in the old pictures couldn't have been one. Cousin Boniface's baby could be, since it had no wings, and could have horns or tails.

Later on, during dinner, Dritan finally got to see what the baby looked like. It began to cry, drawing everyone's attention. Cousin Boniface murmured soothingly to it, unwrapping the blankets it was bundled with. Layer after layer disappeared until it was simply in a striped onesie. The baby looked a lot like Boniface, with the same raven black hair and golden eyes. It had no wings, no horns that Dritan could see, and no tail. Boniface sighed and unbuttoned his shirt. The baby's cries faded away as it found his breast and began to nurse. Boniface covered the child with one of the blankets, shifted a bit to get comfortable, and returned to trying to eat his meal with just a spoon.

The baby was Boniface's child, then. But why wouldn't his cousin have stayed with the family during his pregnancy? Why wouldn't he have given birth in the upstairs room like everyone in the family who had children did? Dritan didn't understand. Just why would his cousin have left for so long? Dritan counted back in his head how many months Boniface had been gone, with how old he thought the baby looked. His cousin would have been four months along, he thought. By then he would have certainly known of the child's existence, even if no one else in the family had noticed. How could he leave?

When everyone besides Grandfather Faust, who had not touched his plate nor glass, had finished dinner, Dritan helped gather the dishes. Once everything was brought into the kitchen to be washed, he stood off to the side and watched as Boniface handed over his baby to their aunt. The baby began to cry again, but nowhere near as loudly as it originally had. Then he was pulled to his feet, his arms twisted behind his back. His wings were slack, and the distant look in his eyes was back.

"It's time for the ceremony, right?" Boniface asked, not even looking at any of their relatives. "I haven't changed my mind," he said.

"Grandson. The nephilim is angel-born. She is one of us. It doesn't have to be this way," Grandfather Faust told Boniface, voice strained. "Don't do this, I beg you."

"If you think I'm letting her be stuck with this fucking family, you're insane," Boniface said, a step away from laughter. His head lulled to the side. He exhaled heavily, swaying on his feet. Voice breathy, he murmured, "I won't ever let you have her. I swear..."

"You are making a mistake," Grandfather Faust told him quietly. "You will regret this."

"No. You'll regret dragging me back to this hellhouse. I'll make you fucking regret it, you bastard. I'll make you learn how wrong you are."

His grandfather's hands were shaking. Dritan couldn't look away. They were shaking, and his cousin was swaying. Something was wrong. He didn't understand. Boniface, his favorite cousin, who was always so kind and loving and fun, was saying such confusing, horrible things.

He tried to remember what a nephilim was. It sounded important, like whatever angel-born was. It was something forbidden. Something... something human. Yes, Dritan thought, a nephilim was something human. In an instant, he was sure he knew what had happened. Their family prided itself on being so purely angelic, as was right. But other families weren't so upstanding. They would breed with the creatures of other realms. An offspring between an angel who had wings and a human who had no defining features was a nephilim, a human child that just didn't seem right. Odd eyes or hair or skin markings, heightened senses, strength, speed. His cousin's child, who looked very human but had golden eyes, was a nephilim. Boniface must have found a lover in the human realm, and conceived a child. That would certainly upset the family, which would explain why his cousin had run away, but it didn't seem right.

Even if Boniface's child was a nephilim, surely he would be allowed to bring her back into the family. Grandfather Faust seemed to want her in the family, calling her one of them. And if Grandfather Faust wanted her in the family, then everyone else would as well. And yet, Boniface did not want her in the family. Dritan couldn't figure out why. His cousin's daughter was wanted in the family, and Boniface had always seemed so happy before his argument with Grandfather Faust and subsequent disappearance. But now it was all wrong. It just didn't add up.

Something bad was going to happen. Of that, Dritan was certain.

-

Dritan would come to realize that sometimes when adults tell children not to sneak and watch something they've been told they're not allowed to see, that it was for a very good reason. However, after Grandfather Faust and the other older family members ordered him and the other children to clean up and head to bed, to stay in their rooms until morning and under no circumstance go to the barn, Dritan had been burning with curiosity. He'd been on his best behavior while Boniface was gone, he felt he deserved answers. His siblings were just as curious as he whispered to them about what he'd heard after dinner. With their encouragement behind him as a blessing to go ahead, he snuck outside and headed towards the barn.

There was a cool breeze making the old wood of the barn creak, so no one heard as he pushed in one loose bit of plywood covering a secret entrance and crawled in. A few of his relatives were gathered around the altar. Cousin Boniface was standing at the table, their aunt laying the baby down on top of it. Grandfather Faust stood at the other side of the table, wings drooping behind him as he lit a few candles. There were torches burning on the walls. On hooks normally holding up gardening tools were the largest pair of shears Dritan had ever seen, made of gleaming black metal. A smaller tool he didn't recognize hung beside them.

"Please, grandson, I beg you once more. Reconsider. Don't do this." Grandfather Faust's voice was thick as if he was on the verge of tears. Dritan couldn't tell if he was, his spot hidden behind a pile of hay too far to see.

"Shut up," Boniface hissed. "You don't understand. I have to do this."

"I do understand," Grandfather Faust gently insisted. "More than you know, I do."

"No, you really don't. My daughter has a family that loves her, in the human realm. Her father would never hurt her." He struggled against the two of their cousins that held his arms. "The only danger she needs protection from is you."

"This family exists to protect its members."

"Don't spout that bullshit at me! You put a curse on my daughter, you- Fuck! Trapped her here, like you let your fucking family head trap you! You're okay with that? Being stuck here? Fuck you!"

Many members of the family traveled between the realms. Dritan himself had gone to another realm a few times. But now that his cousin mentioned it, Dritan could not recall his grandfather ever even leaving the property. In all the years worth of scrapbooks he'd looked through, there were only a handful of pictures of his grandfather where the man had clearly been off of the family property, when he was a young man, before the pictures of the strange girl.

Boniface continued, raving, "You don't know what to do with me! You can't stand it, that I was happy! You had them all hunt me down, just like that demon hunted down you!" At that, Grandfather Faust visibly flinched. Boniface laughed, hysterical. "My daughter wasn't a burden on me- since the day I found out I was expecting her not once was I unhappy! But there's nothing in the family rules about that! Angel-born half breeds are supposed to be mistakes, aren't they? Oh, woe, an impurity of the bloodline, forced upon me! So you trap us here, trap the children, keep them hidden- for their protection, but what if they need none? I love my daughter, I love my wings! So you can't have either of them! You don't get to force me to become you- a hateful, resentful father!"

"I never hated her," Grandfather Faust said softly.

"You let that demon kill her."

The elderly angel shook his head. Dritan could see torchlight reflecting from the tears on his face. "You weren't there, boy. That's not what happened."

"Of course it is. You're still here."

One day, Dritan would become a father much like his cousin and would believe that Boniface was right. But then, he was ten years old and didn't understand what his cousin was talking about. He knew their grandfather was a distant but loving man, who cared for all of his children and grandchildren, who gave thanks for them in prayer every day.

"So you won't change your mind."

"I won't," Boniface agreed.

Grandfather Faust gestured, and Boniface was released. An uncle handed him a ceremonial dagger, sharpened and shining. Dritan gasped and ducked down as his cousin raised the blade. He covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. He stayed still like that, counting to thirty in his head. That would be enough time, he thought. Once he reached thirty, he slowly uncovered his ears. His cousin was weeping, wordless sobs. He opened his eyes and peeked out over the hay.

His aunt had a bundle in her arms, wrapped up in white cloth. Red blood seeped through. The dagger was now in uncle's hands, being wiped clean over a trough. Cousin Boniface was bent over the table, wings splayed out. Another aunt was pulling the large shears from its place on the wall. A cousin took the tool hung underneath it, and a second cousin grabbed a torch. Dritan's mother grabbed one of Boniface's wings and pulled it straight and taunt. Her sister put the blades of the shears around the wing as close to Boniface's back as she could, and with a horrible crack and loud scream from his cousin, the wing was cut off. The first cousin brought the second tool and used it to cut the remaining stump of the wing off, digging right down to the joint. The next cousin pressed the torch to the bleeding wound, burning it to stop the flow.

Dritan pulled his wings as tight as he could against him, horrified. He covered his mouth to silence his sobs, tears springing to his eyes. Boniface groaned in pain. There was another crack and awful scream, and Dritan once again covered his ears. This time, however, he could not block out the sound. His cousin's screams were too loud. Despite how badly he no longer wanted to be there, he didn't dare move. He couldn't risk being spotted, and he didn't want to hear his cousin's screams full volume. But he also didn't think he could move at all if he tried. It was too much, far too much.

The ceremony seemed to drag on forever, but when it was finally over, it seemed as though it had happened in an instant. Cousin Boniface went quiet, and all Dritan could hear was his own sobs. He stayed there, eyes shut, ears covered, until hands touched his shoulders and then his face. Through a blur of tears, he could make out his grandfather's face looking down at him. He stood, shaking like a leaf, and then buried his face against the elderly angel, trying to cocoon himself in his own wings. His grandfather's wings came around them as well, and they stayed like that in the barn for a long time, Dritan sobbing openly, afraid and confused, his grandfather taking shaky breaths as he stroked the boy's hair with trembling hands.

-

Cousin Boniface survived the cutting of his wings, but he himself did not seem to have survived. No longer was he a fun-loving man always eager to spend time with his family, and no longer was he an upset father spitting venom and cruel words. He took his place at the end of the table without a fuss, and quietly looked after the children as they played outside, content to sit and watch. He and Grandfather Faust never spoke nor looked at each other, and no one was to discuss how Boniface was wingless, childless, and had been gone for so long. Dritan thought his cousin must have been like a nephilim himself, with his head feathers blending in so well with his hair as to make him appear human, golden-eyed, and at first tried to comfort him.

They had always been close, before Boniface had left. Dritan thought of his cousin as an older brother, even. He hadn't been involved in anything to do with the ceremony, didn't understand it yet, but had witnessed it. Surely then, he was the perfect person to try to comfort his cousin. He approached him one day when no one else was around to try to steer him away to the other children.

"Cousin Boniface?"

"Ah, Dritan. Look at you. You're so big now." Boniface smiled down at him. It was strange, looking up at him without his wings behind him. He seemed so small, so much less expressive. "Care to chat? Walk with me."

"Sure!" Dritan let his cousin lead him away through the garden. They walked in easy silence together. It was a breezy day, the perfect temperature for a stroll outside. They slowed as they reached a grove of willow trees, a spot they had used to spend a lot of time together in. Dritan thought this meant his cousin was finally behaving a bit like his old self, but when he turned to look at his cousin and ask if he wanted to play one of their old games, his cousin was staring at him with empty eyes, an unreadable expression. "Boniface? Are you alright?" he asked, worried.

"You tell me. You saw it all."

He felt cold, felt wrong. "Yes, but..."

"Right. You're not supposed to talk about it. That's what this family does. Forbids itself from talking about upsetting things."

"We can talk about it, Boniface. No one can stop us out here."

Boniface grabbed his shoulders. "I have something important to tell you, Dritan," he said, digging his fingers into his skin. "There are things you don't understand. But you're an eight-set white feathered angel. We're hardwired to go wrong. We're too pure."

"I- I guess so."

"Don't be scared of me. I just need you to know this, okay?" His cousin squeezed his shoulders hard enough to bruise. He nodded, wincing. "It happened to Grandfather and I. We're too perfect, we're drawn to impurity. Grandfather wanted to explore friendships in the demon realm. I found love in the human realm. You'll do something foolish and wonderful when you're older. And it's tradition, of course, to have children. Since I've been cut, I won't ever be family head. Grandfather wants you to succeed him. You'll have a family."

He nodded again. That seemed fine. He did want to have children of his own one day. But in the distant future, when he was ready. Dritan didn't really want to think about it yet.

His cousin's grip on his shoulders didn't loosen. "You need to understand. This family hates hybrids. More than anything. All it cares about is keeping the bloodline pure. Angels, only angels. If you father any hybrid children, Grandfather will have them killed. They'll be Other-born. You'll be forbidden from seeing their mothers if they aren't killed as well."

Dritan didn't want to believe that, but after seeing his family cut off Boniface's wings, he wasn't sure anymore.

"Only angel-born hybrids are allowed to live," Boniface explained, desperate. "Like my daughter. Like Grandfather's daughter. If you have your own child, the family will be forced to accept it. No matter what, they will believe the child is a burden. They will force you to hate that child, to resent that child for its impurity. They'll force you to come home, and put a curse on the child so it can never leave the property. For its safety, supposedly- but that's a lie. If you agree, they'll trap you as well, so you can't have any more hybrids. So they can keep you under control, ignore the family shame-"

"You... You killed your daughter. How is that better than-"

"You don't understand!" His cousin shook him. "They would have made her miserable- made her live for years wishing she'd never been born! I killed her so she died feeling loved, instead of letting them torment her for a decade or two before arranging for her to get killed!"

"When has that ever happened? That's insane!"

"Why don't you go ask Grandfather? His demon-hybrid daughter lived like that for sixteen years. Trapped on this property, surrounded by people who hated her, a father who resented her for being born- he hated her! And when his family let her demonic father onto the property, he didn't protect her at all! He let her die! They would have done the same to my daughter- And if you ever have your own, they'll do it to yours!"

Dritan ripped away from his cousin, falling back on his rear in the grass. "Get off of me!"

"I'm trying to help you!"

"How do you even know that stuff? I searched everywhere! I've only ever found pictures of her!"

"I spoke to her father."

"The monster who actually murdered her? What a reliable source!"

"You'll get it when you become a father one day," Boniface snarled. "It's unforgivable, what he did."

Getting back to his feet, Dritan took a few steps back, putting distance between him and his cousin. "Whatever. I don't care! So what if Grandfather had some demon kid? He seems pretty torn up about it, and it's been forever!"

"I'm telling you because if you have an angel-born hybrid child, Grandfather is going to bring it here. And I'll kill it the second I see it's trapped."

"What? Why?"

"It'll be a mercy, little cousin. I'll do it as painlessly as possible, I swear it. So it won't ever suffer here."

He clenched his fists at his sides. His shoulders burned. "I don't care about any of this!" Dritan yelled. "You're a jerk! You should just go back to whatever human you liked so much and leave me alone! Don't ever touch me again!"

"Dritan-"

"Get away from me! I don't even know who you are anymore! You're not my cousin!"

"You'll be grateful for this one day if you get black feathers, you little brat."

Dritan ran back to the house, deciding that Boniface was now his least favorite cousin and that he'd forget about everything the man had said to him. He didn't expect to have any hybrid kids anyway. Just because his grandfather had gotten into trouble and his cousin had been willing to leave the nest didn't mean that he would.

-

"He has to stay here in this realm, okay? He can't ever leave," Dritan told Haydyn. The demon nodded, only half-listening as he dangled a toy above their son, who was in a carrier on the coffee table. The baby babbled, reaching for the toy, his little tail curling and uncurling. "Haydyn, I'm serious!"

"And I'm serious...ly not getting what the big deal is. I don't care about the other realms anyway. Why would I bring a baby there? That's a recipe for a horrible day trip."

"Haydyn. This is life or death-" he tried to stress, but Haydyn just smirked at him and put a finger on his lips. He grumbled. Haydyn leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Haydyn, please?"

"Alright, alright. Life or death. Some angel thing I don't know about?"

"My family. They're... fanatics. Slightly."

Haydyn grinned. "I knew it!" he crowed. "You're totally from a cult." The baby made an excited noise. Haydyn turned back to him and cooed, giving him the toy. He squeezed it, chewing on it.

"It's not a cult."

"This is the greatest day of my life."

"This is why we broke up."

"Aw. I thought we were in a transitional phase."

"I don't know what that means," Dritan admitted. He really didn't understand his relationship with Haydyn. Sometimes he was utterly infatuated with the man, other times he completely hated him. And now their son was two months old and he wanted to be there for the baby but wasn't sure if he could cope with dealing with Haydyn through all the ups and downs of their whirlwind of a romance. "As long as it means open on my end and I can show up whenever-"

"Yeah, my open dating life is over. No desire to date with a kid. How about that, Moira? Moira-" The baby paid no mind to them, focused on his toy. "Momo, darling. Momo Momo. Ah. We're working on the whole name thing, I think. So take it from the top. Your cult family. Life or death."

Dritan ignored him. He almost went to ask about Haydyn apparently calling their son 'Momo' as a nickname, and what Haydyn meant by his open dating life when they'd only just agreed to be open after the baby was born, but didn't. If he got off track, he'd get too frustrated with Haydyn to get back to what was really important. The downside of demons, he supposed. Far too distracting and infuriating. "My fanatic family- Haydyn, for once, please." Haydyn had his mouth open to say something. Dritan hoped his expression was showing how sincerely he wanted to be listened to and not be made into a joke. Haydyn looked away, his cheery expression fading. "They worship purity. A pure bloodline, a perfectly functioning family. It was hard enough letting them loosen up enough to let me get a proper job, to move out to another realm for work. But they can be more extreme."

Haydyn leaned down to their son. "That's called a cult, Momo," he whispered conspiratorially. Moira reached up and grabbed his nose. "Ouch."

Of course, Haydyn didn't care. He couldn't take anything seriously but childcare and artifact preservation. Moira would be perfectly well cared for, had been perfectly well cared for, but would be in danger. Dritan supposed that was a failing on his part, that he was so serious and closed off as a result of his strict upbringing that Haydyn couldn't discern him actually being serious and genuinely annoyed from his usual no-nonsense self. He wouldn't be able to get through the entire warning. Or even if he managed to get it all out, Haydyn would continue with the cult joke, and not take it seriously.

Yet again in his life, he was at a loss for what to do. He wanted Moira to be safe, needed his son to be safe. His family would kill the boy, one way or another. Dritan had grown distant from them, had arguments with his cousin, arguments with his grandfather. There'd been similar ceremonies to the one when he was ten. His brother had fathered some half nymph child by accident when he went away to college. He'd been transferred to a different university and the child had been taken care of. Dritan had had to use his own methods to find out since he'd been left out of everything. A young cousin had given birth to a nephilim at the family home. A doctor had said it was sudden infant death syndrome, perhaps faulty genes that had taken the three-week-old, but Dritan knew what Boniface had done. He didn't know how exactly the man had done it, but he knew he had. Shortly after that, his cousin had gone missing again, for over a year. He'd only just returned home.

Dritan feared Boniface had been following him, that somehow he knew about Moira, though he'd been so careful to mask everything.

"Come on, Dritan. Don't do that." He startled back to reality. Haydyn rolled his eyes. "I know you always think you know what's best for us. But listen, I can decide things too. I'm perfectly capable of protecting Moira. I'm older than you, I've been through way more."

"You don't get it."

"No, you always do that. Listen. I'm smart and strong. I can take care of our son, okay?"

"That's not what this is about."

"Isn't it? You've decided pretty much everything since the day we found out we were gonna have Moira."

"It's not. Haydyn, please. Just let me explain. Without any jokes or funny looks or-" Haydyn rolled his eyes again, sighing. Dritan slumped. His eyes and throat burned. Though Haydyn's earlier joke held some truth, that bringing the baby along would mean a less than stellar outing to another realm he didn't care about, it also meant he couldn't rely on Haydyn to keep Moira in the one realm his family would never potentially see him. Haydyn did occasionally make trips to other realms, for exchanges and meetups with old friends. Trips that Moira wouldn't actually ruin by being brought along on. Moira was a quiet baby who enjoyed being in a sling. He'd be fine on a trip.

Trips that would risk Moira being exposed to his family's prying eyes and lethal traditions.

His vision blurred with tears. He turned away before Haydyn could see him crying, but it was too late. The demon spotted his face going red and ducked to check on him. "Whoa-" He wrapped an arm around him and grabbed his hand. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

He hated that he could only be taken seriously when he was crying. "My family's going to kill Moira."

"I wouldn't let them do that. And I thought your family loved you."

"They do. So they'll think I'm insane for being happy about having a hybrid baby. They'll either send someone to kill him or try to steal him and curse him to be trapped at the family property. Then my cousin will kill him. And if he goes into any of the other realms there's a chance that they'll find him because they're always traveling a lot and have people watching me sometimes, but none of them ever come to this realm."

"Oh. Has that... happened before?" Haydyn asked. Dritan nodded, sniffling. "Recently?" Haydyn used his sleeve to wipe his face.

"Yes," Dritan replied. "My cousin, a year ago. Her baby suddenly died at three weeks. I know it was my other cousin. He ran off right after. He swore when I was younger after he killed his own daughter and had our family cut off his wings that he would kill any hybrid trapped in the family home. And my brother had a baby a few years ago, and that one died too."

Haydyn squeezed him tighter. "That's... a lot. Hey. I promise I won't take him anywhere, okay? I'll find babysitters if I have to go on a trip. Or arrange it for when you come down. I promise." Dritan turned and hugged him. Haydyn rubbed his back. "None of that will happen to our Momo."

The baby made an unhappy sound. Haydyn laughed quietly. "I think somebody's jealous, hon," he told Dritan, gesturing to their son. Dritan detached from him to pick up the baby. Moira gurgled a bit and then purred as he settled. Dritan leaned back against Haydyn. "Hey! That's his first purr," Haydyn said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. He must want you to feel better."

"What a sweet boy. I'll be alright, Moira. As long as you're safe."