"Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and such an extraordinary part of the lives we live."
― Nora Roberts
Hey guys, I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Part One - Chapter Ten
"The Brave Little Dragon"
Once winter's shed most of its chills and springs had the chance to take over, the coven deems the little dragon healthy enough to venture outside.
With the entire house being magic—something that is more extensive than the hatchling first realized—they have a doorway to a field in the middle of a forest that they own. The house is technically there and here, both in the town and not, though the shop doesn't transfer over and is instead another living room over there.
It's weird but he's too excited to be in the sun to question the how.
Though they're not scared he's going to run, because he's not going to, Athanasius and the others are still rather wary about letting him outside.
The big dragon still thinks it's a little too chilly out there for him and pulls him back to the nest at the tiniest of shivers; Ras is paranoid that a dangerous animal is going to come out of nowhere and just scoop him up; Oziamon simply does not like being in the sun too much.
But with grass being below him and being able to get fresher air than the balcony railing can provide, Stray is absolutely loving this new freedom.
He can run and play and be as loud as he wants. As long as the hatchling stays in the yard and has supervision, he can do whatever he would like to. It'd be easy to escape, really—but Stray finds that he no longer wants to.
There's nothing for him out there and entirely too much here to lose if he were to go.
He has a nest here, a hoard with lovely things and lovely people. There's warmth and kindness, there's touch that does not hurt.
There's Athanasius, his favorite. His protector.
If he can, Stray's going to stay with them forever. He's going to stay and he's going to try like he has been trying. He's going to stay until they don't scare him at all anymore and even after that.
They've never said anything to make him think he can't.
When he's outside (and truly, all of the time), Athanasius is the best to play with.
Outside, when the big dragon's busy, Oziamon's the most fun to play with.
The big dragon is, well, rather big to play with and is too concerned to wear him out and the phoenix is too cautious to have careless fun if it involves fire.
The witch, however, is the perfect height to play fight while sitting down and has no problems throwing him up into the air a couple feet to let the baby glide and twist on the way down.
Plus, on days they don't play, Oziamon sings him songs and has him bring the witch random things to fit into his lyrics. He laughed until he cried, once, when Stray caught him a ladybug but it wouldn't get off his snout.
The little dragon really likes it here, more than he likes anywhere else.
It's nice, being able to be warm and have fun—to play and not worry about surviving. It's also nice to be loud and, as loud as Stray gets, Ozzy's even louder!
When they get into their squeaking matches—the hatchling yelling for the sake of yelling alone and Oziamon with a purpose of mocking him—no one hurts them for any of their noises and if they're being too distracting, they'll simply be asked to quiet down.
The baby dragon no longer questions if he's safe with them or not, he simply is.
"Come on, sunshine!" Oziamon cheers, laughing as he watches Stray flip mid-drift at a solid gust of wind.
Athanasius, from the porch, makes an unhappy noise but doesn't move to intervene as the hatchling calls out a growl saying he's okay and flits down to the witch's feet. He's picked up again, playing is the only time he's really okay with such cold hands wrapping around his ribs, before getting tossed into the air.
The little dragon gives a happy squeal, flapping his wings to boost himself even higher, steadily coming down in a circle even when the wind pushes at his side.
"Good job, mate!" Ras calls, laughing with the big dragon when Stray lands on their witch's head.
Oziamon grumbles, fake-annoyed the baby dragon knows, and throws him again.
-——-——-
Spring's nice, he has a firm but very short sort of trust with the coven, but it's warm enough outside now to make him nervous.
Spring is usually when he'd trade scales for skin and slip back onto two legs instead of four; usually when he could survive well as a boy instead of a monster.
His old catchers used to hurt him when he shifted forms without permission.
Athanasius did catch him, they have held him here without asking if they could (not that he'd leave if the offer came up), but the big dragon and his coven are not his catchers—not like the ones who came before them.
Stray wants to shift. He really, really wants to.
It's night, right now—not late enough to make him super tired but dark enough to give him the illusion of absolute safety—and his protector is the only one in the room.
The witch and Ras have left for the night, off to their own nests.
Atlas isn't asleep but he is in his dragon form, red scales gleaming in the candlelight and eyes closed. A rumble is in his chest, snout pressed into the baby's side as both of them purr, happy to be close to one another.
The little dragon would usually be asleep by now but he's itching to ask, to know the limits of their hospitality—if it is only for him when he's on four legs or if they'll treat him nicely on two as well.
Is it better to ask and get a no, or to do it and risk a punishment?
Back with his old catchers, he knows which he would take: neither. He wouldn't even consider it. He'd do nothing but what was asked of him, but what was told of him to do.
Escaping was... a one time act of disobedience.
Stray doesn't really remember why, why everything changed from being just what happened to too much. He just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't take it anymore.
The cold room, the small cage, the ropes.
It was all too much, he couldn't just sit there, he had to leave, leave, leave—so he did.
The decision here is far different. If the baby dragon does it anyways, regardless of asking, then he risks getting hurt by people he never wants to be hurt by. If he asks and gets a no, then he finds out that the care he's receiving has conditions, rules.
But still—he doesn't think there'll be any pain.
Stray will give it one week, one week and then he'll change forms.
-——-——-
The first three days aren't too bad, they don't weigh him down, but by the fourth night he gets a little antsy.
Three days left don't seem like a lot.
Day five, he stays in the nest but day six, he spends it with the coven.
Day seven, he has Atlas read to him and Oziamon play with him, has Ras show him how to make a chunky sandwich without it falling apart, and falls asleep with the big dragon keeping him warm.
Then, well, then it's day eight.
-——-——-
The hatchling refuses to let Athanasius out of the nest.
The big dragon huffs at him, a little confused and a little concerned, but lets the baby growl and stomp his feet and lay under his wing anyway. He doesn't pull away regardless how easy it would be, he simply lets it happen.
Oziamon's running the shop and Ras' out doing some errands, so it's just the two dragons at the moment.
Stray's against his protector's front, curled up between his large paws.
Atlas's head is off to the side, long horns arched in the air. He's facing his own legs, red eyes pinned onto the hatchling.
Good-safe, you're alright, yes? The big dragon asks, head tilting closer—hot breath across the little dragon's body. Stray huffs a yes back and baps his front paws against the other's snout.
Confusion, he growls softly, nudging his nose against his paws. Purpose?
Curious, safe-safe, the baby butts his little horns against the other. Waiting.
Waiting? Good-bad-cautious, Athanasius growls back, shifting a bit.
Waiting, the hatchling repeats. Good-good, safe?
Safe-safe-safe, Atlas rumbles. He pulls back slowly and gently blows smoke towards the little dragon, who squeals happily and flaps his wings to make the small sparks in the cloudy air dance upwards.
They play for a little while, the big dragon only using his head and paw to 'tackle' the baby—he's very careful not to use too much force and only pins the other for a second before letting him up again.
The hatchling retaliates by throwing himself at the other's leg and wrapping himself around the other's claws or wing hooks before flitting away, repeating the process as he squeals happily.
Stray eventually gets tired, he does not have nearly the same stamina that Atlas does, and flops onto his protector's giant paw.
He lays down and shakes his wings out, huffing up as the other rumbles down.
His protector settles after a couple seconds, so he follows suit, legs settling comfortably underneath him—a purr starting in his chest as he braces for the pain but none comes. He's healed.
He's healed and now, now he can shift.
Curious-curious, ask? Stray snuffles, stretching himself over the big dragon's paw to be able to look the other face to face. Yes-good?
Athanasius gives a half-nod, red eyes locked onto the little dragon.
The hatchling just stares for a couple moments, heart pounding a bit harshly in his chest. Blood rushing in his ears, claws coming out, spikes twitching.
He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it go.
He gives a low churn, hunching down.
The big dragon rumbles at him softly, slow blinks getting directed at him until the baby can do it back. Panic has no place with him, not anymore.
Ask, Atlas blows just a couple sparks at him. It's alright, runt, ask.
Cautious-curious. Both—Stray stops. He doesn't quite know how to say it. Language, speaking, gets difficult when fear clouds his mind like a fog. Both forms, uncertain-uncertain, both are yes-okay-allowed? The four and the two.
Four? His protector pauses. Both... forms?
Yes, uncertain-scared. Are both—good-good? Allowed?
The big dragon does not do anything for a moment, doesn't even blink. The hatchling tenses, begins to pull away, but his protector chuffs deeply and loudly—enough to make him relax slightly again.
It's okay, good-good, you're safe. Athanasius growls softly at him. Safe-safe-safe.
Scared, the little dragon whines. Sorry, sorry. Scared-sorry-scared.
Safe-protected, safe, the big dragon chuff grows. Mine-mine-mine.
Smoothly, his protector moves him to the top of the nest and within seconds he's shifted forms—gently picking him up and cradling him to his chest.
"It's okay, runt, you're okay," Atlas shushes him lightly when he whines, thumbs smoothing his spikes. "You're allowed to ask questions, nothin' bad is going to happen to ya." The other grows warmer, heated hands soothing as they pet down his wings and back.
He shakily purrs back at the rumble and clings to the big dragon's shirt.
"You're safe, treasure, you're safe."
He's brought up further, little horns butting against the other's cheek. Atlas leans down, pressing his nose lightly into the baby dragon's neck, crooning something soft and protective into his scales.
"You can shift, runt," Atlas says. "You can shift, you never have to ask for somethin' like that. It's okay, you did nothin' wrong. You're safe, no matter the form you're in. You don't have t'ask, you don't."
Stray whines, still so scared but wanting and it's been so long since he could want without waiting for the pain, without the cold hands and harsh hits.
His protector is holding him, gently but firmly, a rumble in his chest that echoes.
His protector is holding him, he's allowed to switch forms.
His protector is holding him, he's safe here—so Stray shifts.
To feel the change ripple over him is a relief that exhausts him. It's like he's been walking on a thorn for months on end, like he's so used to the constant ache he doesn't notice he's digging it into his heel.
The thorn's removed now, the pressure gone, the pain splintering off of him.
The boy sags against his protector, small chest heaving as he trembles.
His legs feel heavy, so do his hands. There's a weight pulling his eyelids closed—something warm rubbing up and down his back. It's Atlas's hand, he realizes slowly, eyes trying to stay open.
There's a low chuff under his ear and he clumsily tries to match it with a purr of his own. He's sinking, heavier but lighter, weightless.
"You did so good, runt," the big dragon places a barely-there kiss to his forehead. "So good, treasure." He tries to hold onto the other's shirt but his fingers are all awkward, fuzzy. He whines, upset; lip wobbling and tears gathering at his lashes.
His skin feels like lightning zapping through a storm cloud, all fast and sharp and too tight around places, too heated in others.
But it was nice, it was great, even—because it's his.
"You're okay, hatchling," Athanasius gives an echoing growl. Protected, mine-mine-mine. He gently grabs Stray's hand, holding it up by his chest. "It's been a while since you've changed forms, treasure, it'll take you a little longer than before to get used to everythin' again."
The little dragon gives a tired nod and tries to curl up further—tail curling around both of their legs. He wonders, briefly, why he still has his horns and wings and tail while the other does not.
"You can sleep, runt," Atlas runs a hand through his hair as his eyes drop closed. "It's safe here, I won't let anythin' happen. It's okay, you're safe."
With his skin buzzing, magic bubbling up to the surface in excitement of the change, it would usually keep him from sleeping—would make him antsy, panicked. He's not supposed to change when he wants to, only when others let him.
He's been given permission to whenever he likes, now, and he's being held so gently.
So the baby dragon falls asleep clinging to his protector, matching purrs in their chests.