"What the hell? Where are we? Why's it so dark? HEY! HEY!! SOMEONE LET US OUT!"

*Argh. You don't care. And will you please stop screaming?* Ira asks. *I have a killer headache.*

"But... What if no one ever finds us!" Tor counters, knowing he keeps sounding like more and more of a wimp.

*If no one comes for us in the next hour, you can go scream all you want again.*

"Okay, okay." He sat down, and Ira started to sleep on Tor's lap. "Hey! Wait a minute!"

*What now?*

"How are either of us going to tell when it's been an hour?"

*We guess. Now let me sleep.*

"Yes, Sahib."

*And none of that mockery.* Thankfully for him, Ira was met only with silence. He curled up even more tightly, hoping he would not gore Tor anytime in the near future.

Tor, for his part, stayed awake for a longish time before, without the interaction of another, he too fell asleep.

Carmello had long-since forgotten the joys of having children. Life was not the same since both his children - Rosina and Salvatore - died. Lucia was away with some church function, one of the things he had been shunning for over three years now.

Sighing, he walked upstairs, his arms laden with towels to put away. Listening to the eerie and still alien silence in the house, he rounded a corner, passing both Rosina's and Tor's rooms, pausing long enough to stare longingly to each door. It was hard, living longer than his children had, but he had resolved to continue living. After all, suicide is not forgiven often by the church.

At the end of the hall, next to the bathroom, is the towel closet. He opens it silently, and the towels fall from his hands. There is a person and a blue, spiney, winged snake in his towel closet. He promptly closes the door and opens it again, distressing that they are still there, and both of them are asleep.

He blinks before closing the door a second time and having it interrupted by a foot stuck between it and the wall. So much for ignoring them. He stares at the door, not wanting to know.

"Heeeyyy, man! Don't lock us back in..." a low, groggy voice requests, the foot not moving. Carmello glares at the door and the voice inside it. He doesn't say anything, and he opens the door and flicks on the light.

The man is dressed in ridiculously antiquated clothes, but he still looks at least somewhat familiar. Dark pools of eyes stare up at him, radiating typical teenage insubordination, crowned by dark eyebrows and lavender hair.

Carmello blinks before collapsing to his knees. "Hail Mary, full of grace," he whispers, crossing himself before lunging towards the man and taking him in his arms, crying. "Hail Mary..." he whispers again.

"Hey, old man! Don't tell me you go around hugging everyone who comes out of your closet!" the man protests.

Carmello laughs a little, still crying and not releasing him. "Don't you 'old man' me, Salvatore," he whispers, withdrawing to kiss Tor's cheeks firmly before rolling back on his heels and pressing his hands on Tor's face, smiling sadly.

"Eh?" Tor asks, narrowing his eyes, peering at the man. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"You don't recognize me? How sad..."

"Name, Mister. Pronto."

"I'm your father, Salvatore," Carmello replies, narrowing his eyes and poking Tor in the chest.

"Oh..." Tor replies simply, blinking.

"Now, I'm going to put a kettle on the stove, and you're going to tell me why you're not as dead as you looked four years ago." He rises and grabs the towels, throwing them over his forearm as he walks, descending the stairs to head to the kitchen.

Tor blinks slowly, nudging Ira gently with his hand on the blue dragon's side. "Hey. I'. Wake up."

Ira opens his large black eyes in the darkness. *The man was squishing my head,* he protests.

"The man was my father. He says I'm dead."

*That and extremely close to mindless; I've been awake since the towels dropped. Where are we? Tell me I wasn't dreaming?*

"My bathroom closet. And dreaming about what?"

*Growing up. This is a dumb place to be. Let's go have some tea.*

"Since when have you liked tea?" Tor asks, helping Ira to a more upright position before standing.

*Since when have you cared enough to wonder that?* Ira shoots back, narrowing his eyes in a slightly cynical manner.

"That was low," Tor replies, narrowing his eyes and matching the glare his dragon is giving him. That established, he stalks out of the closet and into the hall. Memories flood back to him, and he can not help to pause at the first door on the right. He finds his breath caught in his throat as he stares at the door. So little has changed without, and he knows just as little has changed within as well. Without a word, he turns the knob and pushes the door open.

The window is open, as it always is in the spring. This was the time of year she died, on a warm day like today, early in the morning. Ripe at the age of five, she had been harvested.

The thought resounds through Tor's mind as he stares around. The room is covered in pastel shades of yellow and blue. A rattan bed covered in countless stuffed animals sits in the corner. The billowous lace curtains flood into the room in the breeze. It was from that window that he had taught her myths and legends, much against their mother's request.

To her, there was only God. The mighty deeds of gods and mortals who paint the sky were blaspheming tales sent by Satan to corrupt her all-too-innocent children. Perhaps they had. Rosina had been lucky to leave this world when she could.

No, Salvatore, he thought to himself. You can't mean that.

Beside her bed was a small shrine to the little girl. Her picture and first set of rosary beads lay on the bedside table. A small candle burned beside that. For some reason, fire hazards were never an issue with the Pulvinus family. To Tor's mother and her ancesters, and to a point his father and his family, they had all preferred to burn in the mortal life than in the hereafter. He disagreed and watched as the wind snuffed the candle.

*Tor?* Ira's raspy voice called, mingling with the sound of the wind.

Startled, Tor jumps a little and stares down at his bonded dragon. He has grown so big since he first hatched, and their dark eyes lock.

*What's wrong?* Ira asks. *What is this place? Why does it feel so... dead?*

"This is her room," Tor replies, his voice as dead as Ira feels the room is.

*Her?*

"Rosina. My sister. It's been more than eighteen years," he whispered. He closes his eyes and walks lightly across the floor to the window. He pops out the screen and steps out onto the roof below it. "We used to spend summer evenings here, staring at the sky, making up stories for the constellations we didn't know. I would read spreads for her when it wasn't breezy. We were..." he trails off, choking on his own words as he sinks to the shingled roof, his back against the wall, beside the window. He had thought he was over this. Only once a year did he permit himself to break down like this over her, and that was the aniversary of her death. She had been too young, yet had she been ripe for the harvest from this sinning world? He wonders.

A light flutter of wings announces Ira's arrival beside him. *Tor?* he asks, his voice still soft and little more than a whisper. *What happened to her? How did she die?*

Tor leaned his head back against the wall. "I don't want to talk about it," was the curt reply as he stared up at the late afternoon sun. The sky is an eerie shade of grey, and yet the sun is so bright. It doesn't work, in his mind, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to ignore it.

Ira lets out a slow, low whistle, trying not to get annoyed. *Fine. I think the tea's ready, anyway,* he says before turning. *I'll be downstairs with your father. Telling him about my dream.* That said, another rustle of wings marks his bondmate's departure.

Tor sat, alone, on the roof, watching the dappled sunspots dance across the yard and the porch. He remembered running about there with friends, and all the girls he had snuck out to see late at night through the windows and roofs that seemed all over the house's second floor. Finally, he remembered Sandy, who was evidently dead for four years.

The gory imagery of the death of his comrade, his lover, was almost too much for him to handle. He burried his head between his legs and sucked in air through his teeth. Sandy's wounds spontaneously appeared after the assassination by the church. He clenched his eyes tight against the thoughts and tried to ignore the tears pressing from between his lids.

He stayed like this for a while before a car pulled into the driveway. His ears, long honed to the sound of an incoming vehicle from making hasty retreats with his lovers and friends, pricked up, and he jumped to his feet. "Oh no," he whispered, his immediate thoughts being that his mother was home. "Ira!"

Ira's head raises as Tor comes thundering through the front door and into the house. "IRA!" he gasps, leaning forwards, pressing his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.

*Oh. It's about time you got here. I was just finishing up,* Ira replies casually, lapping tea out of a bowl on the floor.

"Ira! We have to go!" Tor replies, his exhaustion momentarily derailed by his sense of panic. "It's not safe!"

"What's the matter, Salvatore?" his father asks, entering the room from the other opening that leads into the rest of the house.

"Someone's home! Why didn't you tell us that someone would be coming home soon!"

*Tor, will you relax?* Ira asks nonchalantly.

"I mean, do you have any idea what somebody could do to Ira and I?"

*Nothing's going to happen. Chill out.*

"Especially if it's Mom! What kind of overly-super-Christian thing would she do to see a demon-type-thing and her dead son in the house!? She'd burn it, that's what she'd do!"

*TOR!* Ira snarls, learing at him. Tor jumps and whips his head around, the panic obvious in his deep brown eyes. *RELAX!* He pauses for a moment. *NO ONE is going to come get us and do you have ANY clue WHY that could be!? Is it possible that it's because NO ONE knows we exist except YOUR FATHER!?*

Tor considers this. "You're absolutely right. If there is a leak, it would come from Dad."

*Of course I'm ri--*

"So, naturally, sorry, Dad, but we have to kill you now."

*Wah-WHAT!?* Ira sputters.

Tor clears his throat and grins. He looks at Ira, then his father, and then the blue again. "What? You guys didn't think I was serious, did you?" he asks, laughing.

Ira hangs his head, reminding himself that he is not hallucinating, and that his bondmate is indeed an overly paranoid drama queen. Only, he's male, Ira reminds himself.

"So. How about that walk, I'?"

Ira leers at Tor. *In broad daylight, a dead man and his draconic bondmate would go for a walk. I can see that now. Yes. Very clearly, we're being carted away as freaks or someone is throwing salt on us and muttering mumbo-jumbo. You're so smart, Tor.*

"Shut up. I'll find a way to get us out."

"I --"

"Like you could hide under a long coat and stuff --"

"I may --"

"And we could sneak out --"

"--have a suggestion on--"

"--and paint the town pretty--"

"--how to fix your predicament with--"

*Tor, listen to your dad before--*

"--colors and stuff and --"

"--walking around in--"

*--I want to rip your testicles through your trechea and use--"

"--go places with--"

"--broad daylight and not be noticed by--"

*--them as a punching bag accessible only by the dingiest of --*

"People," the three finished together.

Ira sighs and returns his attention to his bowl of tea. *If you're finished, your father can begin.*

"Right. Shoot, Dad."

"Well, what you want to do is wait until it's twilight, and then no one will see you come or go."

"Ouch. The simplicity. It hurts. Why didn't I think of that?"

*God only knows.*

"Quiet, I'."

*Yes, Sahib.*

"I umm... don't know when or if I'll be back again, Dad."

Carmello sighed and continued rinsing out the teapot. "I know," he said quietly. "It's hard, though. You were dead to me once, and now you're not, but you have to be dead to me again."

"God's a weird guy. Puts us everywhere we'd rather not be."

Carmello chuckled lightly. "I would have thought you'd've blamed Fate for this one."

"Mm. Fate. She's a cruel, cruel mistress," Tor replied, pulling on a much more comfortable shirt than the strangely ridiculous tunic he had been running around in. He ran his hands through his wet hair, effectively spiking it.

Carmello watched him carefully for a moment. Tor stared back at him as if to say 'what?' and Carmello blinked. "How do you keep it purple?" he asked.

Tor shrugged. "Last dye job just never faded."

"Mm." He set the teapot down on the stove and dried off his hands on a towel before opening a drawer. He pulls out a wad of papers before handing them to Tor, who stares down at them.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Everything related to you and Sandy I could dig up over the years."

Tor opened one of the papers, a newspaper clipping, detailing suspicions on his death. It was so surreal, browsing through an account of his own suicide, narrowing his eyes at parts and raising an eyebrow at others for the sheer quality of the speculation involved. "But why?"

"Why?"

"Why save them? Why give them to me? Why anything?"

"You know, that morning, I woke up at three to a phonecall to come ID the body. Again. I came home, and every half-batch of cookies you never made, I baked them. Every one."

"That's creepy beyond thought and reason."

"Quiet, will you?"

"Mm. Sorry. We should umm... probably get going," Tor decided after a moment, tucking the notes in a deep pocket of the voluminous blue coat he'd taken to loving over the years. "Thanks, Dad," he said, hugging his father before ducking in the other room. "Yo. I'. Let's go."

Ira's head jerked up suddenly. *But the Biiibblleee,* he projected, looking up at Tor with pleading eyes.

Tor sighed. "Dad?" he called. "My crazy blue dragon wants to steal your Bible."

"By all means, let him," Carmello called back. "I'm going to sleep. Thank you for visiting me."

So formal? Tor thought to himself. "Dad says you can steal the book, I'."

*Yay!*

"Right. Come on."

Ira picked up the book and glided towards Tor, dropping it in his hands. Tor pocketed the book and then really looked at Ira for the first time all day. "Dude. I'. When did you get wings?" he asked, totally stunned.

Ira sighed. *I had a dream.*

"A dream?"

*We were in this really cold place and a bunch of people came to see us and you freaked and they freaked and --"

"I get the idea, I'. Let's go."

They left, and as Tor closed the door to the house his parents built, he began, slowly, to close a door on the life he used to long for. It was a new path, now, and he was ready for it.