triskehale | (no subject)

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Derek is on a run through the woods, following a trail that he wore into the earth himself. He could follow it with his eyes closed, which is why he's so surprised to suddenly find it blocked by a strange, squat little cabin that he couldn't see or smell until he was suddenly right in front of it. He has to skid to a halt to avoid crashing into the side of it, and he cautiously walks around to the front of the small structure. It looks a little like something out of a fairytale, like a place that shouldn't exist outside the pages of a children's book.

This is Darrow, so it isn't like a building suddenly showing up is anything particularly out of the ordinary, but Derek is annoyed to find it so close to what the wolf considers his territory, blocking the path that he made himself. He definitely isn't about to inspect it closer, no matter how piqued his curiosity may be, but as soon as he turns away from it he hears a voice calling for help from within. It sounds like a child and while it's suspicious, Derek finds that he can't ignore it.

It doesn't occur to him to let anyone know where he is as he climbs up onto the porch. The place smells like cookies and peppermint and he breathes in deeply as he steps over the threshold. Inside there's no child in need, nothing at all except for a sensation like cool water running down his body and washing away all of his memories, clearing his mind of everything he knows, everyone he loves.

A growl comes up from his throat as he feels his face shift into his beta form, eyes a blazing red as his memories are replaced with something new. He tries, but he can't shift back. He's stuck like this, the cruel result of an enchantress' curse. His feet take him back through the woods to the cursed summer chateau where he's meant to spend the rest of his days with dwindling hope that it will ever be broken.

The chateau is surrounded by an eternal winter and as soon as Derek steps into the snow, vines close the opening behind him and he knows that he won't be able to leave again. He isn't sure how he even got out in the first place, but now he's home.

"There you are, sir!" Derek looks over at the tall, narrow bookcase that serves as the head of household as it toddles over to him, rocking back and forth on worn corners as the small books that serve as its eyes widen in surprise. "What is it that you're wearing? Those are not clothes befitting a prince. My word, where did you even find them? Up to the bedroom with you. Change for dinner, young man."

Derek rolls his eyes with a growl, claws clicking over the ornate doorknob as he lets himself inside. The house is large and quiet, and Derek stares up at the ornate staircase as he heaves a weary sigh. He's been here for years, cursed to be stuck in this form, and time is running out for someone to come and break the spell.

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He's been running for days.

Two, maybe three. One of the many caveats of the speed force is that it can stretch any moment into eternity, which makes the happy moments glorious, and the terrible ones an infinite, bottomless agony.

Barry learned his lesson after his father died. He woke up in a bed without Derek, and he didn't try to escape. He didn't cause a singularity - when he ran, it wasn't to tear a hole in reality, it was to search.

Because Derek's still here, he has to be. The people Barry has talked to say that he'll know, he'll just know when his world is over, just as he'd known when he saw his father's headstone. And Barry's world doesn't feel over. It feels wrong.

So Barry runs, he runs and he runs and he speeds through the forest like he has thousands of times before in the last few days, and when the weather turns cold he's almost excited, because this? Is different. It's not miserable, sticky air making Barry's discomfort so much worse, it's cold and refreshing, and the longer Barry runs in it, the better he feels.

In fact, by the time the snow is swirling around his shoulders, Barry's having trouble remembering why he was upset at all. The air is crisp, and his feet slide along the ground in a way that makes him snort. He stops running and starts gliding instead, laughing aloud as he flies across the ground, dodging tree after tree and grinning like a loon.

It must be a relief to the squirrels watching him when Barry miscalculates, gliding into a tree branch so hard that his laughter winks out in a second, as Barry falls, blessedly silent to the ground.

There's someone else on the grounds. Derek is very familiar with the sounds that all of his, well, companions make and this is something new. Someone new.

He stands and makes his way to the window, watching in surprise as a man dressed in head to toe crimson races around the garden. That is, until he crashes into a low hanging branch and crumples to the ground.

"Sir! Master Hale!" His coffee pot comes tearing into his room spilling dark roast all over the hardwood, and the mop follows dutifully after. "There's a person outside! A real person!"

"I see that," Derek growls, and his bookcase toddles over to look out the window.

"Oh dear," he begins in a droll voice. "The poor thing appears to have knocked himself unconscious."

Derek rolls his eyes and heads outside, padding barefoot through the snow until he reaches the stranger. He's sprawled inelegantly in a snow bank, and Derek sniffs at the air. He smells fantastic and the sound of his heart, though much too fast, is soothing in a way. He crouches down and carefully pulls back the strange cowl that he's wearing, if only to check for injury, but he pauses when he sees the man's face.

He's beautiful.

After a few moments of staring, Derek shakes himself and carefully lifts the man up, carrying him into the house. His appliances all dance excitedly around them, whispering to themselves, and Derek ignores them as he takes the man to his own bedroom. He isn't sure why, because there are plenty of spare bedrooms. He tells himself that he wants to keep an eye on the man, make sure that he's okay.

And that's why he lays the man on his bed, brushing his hair away from his face and then retreating back into a shadowy corner of the room to drop into a chair and wait.

Barry heals quickly, and even so, when he wakes it's with a languor that only comes from excellent sleep. The bed beneath him is soft and comfortable, the air warm, and when Barry blinks to full wakefulness it takes him a few moments to recall that he can't actually remember how he got here.

Barry sits up, feeling at his forehead. Right, he hit his head, and of course there's no lump now, but there's also no cowl. Barry gasps and struggles to pull it back up, wondering who's seen him. "Hello?" he calls, pushing the blankets aside so he can stand. "Is anybody - "

The shadow in the corner moves, and Barry's heart nearly stops when he realizes he's not alone. "Um, hello?" he says, approaching with tentative steps. "Is this your house?"

When the man shows the first signs of stirring, Derek shoos all the appliances from the room with instructions to prepare food. He stands and hangs back in the shadows, head turned to the side to hide the glowing red of his eyes. Nerves shoot through him as the man sits up, and he swallows hard at the sound of his voice.

"It's my house," Derek confirm in his usual low timber, though he does his best to keep out the growl. "You were hurt, so I brought you inside. I mean you no harm."

Derek watches the man out of the corner of his eye, head tilted curiously as he keeps his face hidden in shadow. "Why do you cover your face? It's certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

The voice that emerges from the darkness is deeper than Barry expects, practically vibrating the floorboards beneath Barry's feet, and he hesitates. "It's to protect my identity," he says. "I try to help people, and the really bad ones would come after the people I care about if they knew who I am."

His hands return to the cowl, but Barry doesn't pull it off just yet. Yes, this man has probably seen him, but he might not be alone. "I'm Barry," he offers. "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"I see," Derek replies, taking in everything the man-- Barry tells him and mulling it over. "Well, your secret is safe with me. I couldn't tell anyone even if I wanted to."

The question brings a wry smile to Derek's face, though he does take a step back as Barry moves forward. His body is visible in the beam of sunlight coming in through the window, but his head is still hidden in shadow.

"That's a complicated question," Derek tells him. "Technically no, but--"

Before he can explain further, the door bursts open and a serving cart rolls in with the coffee pot and blender fighting on top of it, nearly sending a sandwich toppling to the floor.

"Everyone likes coffee!" The French press shrieks, sending droplets flying all over. The blender roars to life, sending something thick and green spinning around its insides.

"No, no!" It replies snootily. "There are better ways to get energy! He needs something healthy and green to get his strength back, not your dried out old beans!"

"That's enough," Derek says sternly, and the appliances clatter into silence as the mop moves to clean up the mess. "We have a guest, in case you've forgotten."

He gestures at Barry with clawed fingers and both appliances bow, nearly spilling even more of their contents. "Apologies, Master Hale!"

"They can't tell anyone either," Derek adds, sounding amused and embarrassed all at once.

"Why couldn't you - " Barry starts, only to hear his voice die away in astonishment as a rolling cart careens into the room, spraying him in a few stray drops of coffee. There are voices, and even with all that Barry's seen here and at home, it still takes him a moment to process that the appliances themselves are speaking.

"Wow!" he exclaims, immediately lifting the coffee press, "Is this robotics? This is crazy advanced! How did you - " He lifts the press over his head to see its base, prompting a flurry of new shrieks and flailing metal arms as it tries to cover its hindquarters.

"That is my own personal bottom, sir!" it shouts with such vigor that Barry places it back, blushing hotly. "Sorry," he says, "It's just really interesting, how did you - " He interrupts himself again as his eyes land on the sandwich.

"I'd actually be grateful for any food that you can give me," he tells the blender and the man in the shadows. "My metabolism is really..." The words die in his mouth.

"Sir," he says. "I'm sorry, but do you have claws?"

Derek can't help but to chuckle as Barry inspects the appliances, though he is grateful that the press doesn't throw hot coffee at him. It's done that to Derek more than a few times.

"Please, help yourself," Derek says quickly, gesturing at the food. He snatches his hand back at the mention of his claws and clears his throat, wondering where to begin. "I do, yes. You see, a curse was placed upon me years ago, and the entire estate was effected as well. My blender didn't used to have such an attitude."

"Hey!" The blender shouts, flicking its electric cord towards Derek as it tips itself up to pour a smoothie into a glass. "Drink up, Mister Barry. It has chia seeds!"

"Please don't judge Master Hale too harshly on his appearance, sir," says the mop in the low, solemn tone it always uses. "He's a very nice man."

"Well, most of the time," the coffee pot amends as it nudges a sandwich towards Barry, and the blender flicks it with its cord. "Ow! Almost all of the time!"

"You can all go now," Derek says loudly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose as they all toddle out of the room, leaving food behind on the thankfully inanimate serving tray. "As I was saying, Barry. I was cursed, and part of that curse makes it so I should really be the one covering my face here, not you. And please, call me Derek."

"Somebody cursed you?" asks Barry, aghast. "Wait, so those guys are actually alive?" He nearly claps his hands. "I mean, the curse thing sounds pretty terrible, but creating life out of something inanimate it pretty amazing. Do you think they'd let me study them? I could take a sample back with me to town."

Barry blanches, realizing his scientific inquiries are bordering on out of line. "Sorry, I'm being rude. So, you're Derek." Barry gives his shadow a little wave. "I'm really sorry for what happened to you," he says, "But you don't have to be shy. I've seen telepathic ten foot tall gorillas and an enormous man shark - I don't think you can shock me, whatever it's done to you."

He pulls his cowl off. "Show you mine if you show me yours?"

"I would rather you didn't. Those samples are the only company I have," Derek says dryly. "Well, until now."

This Barry is charming, aside from wanting to experiment on his appliances. That does make him take pause, because what if this scientist wants to make Derek his next sample?

"I've already seen yours," Derek reminds him, "but alright. And I'm not shy. Most people just tend to fear what they don't understand."

Derek is not a monster. He isn't ashamed of his beta form, but he knows that humans won't react kindly to it. But Barry, he can't be a regular human, not with that heart. So Derek takes a breath and steps into the light, chin held high as he meets Barry's gaze with eyes that glow like embers.

"I least must be more pleasing to the eye than a giant gorilla," Derek says in a bland tone, trying not to let his nerves show through. "Wolves are much more elegant, in any case."

Whatever he's seen before now, Barry's eyes still widen. He doesn't know the full extent of the curse, of course, but Derek still seems mostly human, apart from some very obvious differences. His brow is far more pronounced, as are his hair and his teeth, and there's no escaping those startling red eyes.

"This is a wolf curse?" Barry asks, stepping closer so he can see. He wants to reach out and touch, so much so that Barry balls his hands at his sides. "I've never seen a wolf with eyes like that," he can't help saying. "Why did they do this to you? And who is they?"

Whatever Derek was expecting, it wasn't Barry stepping forward with a gaze that's bordering on excited. Derek stands still, hands at his sides as Barry steps forward.

"I'm a werewolf," Derek tells him, lowering his chin so that Barry can better see his face. "Always have been. But then I met an enchantress who didn't take kindly to wolves, and after-- disposing of my family, she cursed me to remain stuck in this form. In this house."

Derek has never said all of this out loud to another person before, and it's almost a relief. His chest loosens a bit and he sighs, mouth quirking up in a wry smile. "I haven't seen another person since. Not until you knocked yourself out on my tree."

Barry smiles. Werewolves don't exist. At least, not in any version of reality he knew before Darrow, but he's probably being too Earth centric. So he does his best to listen, wondering why some random woman would think it's alright to just curse werewolves she doesn't know to live in some house out in the woods. And also -

"She disposed of them?" he asks, shocked. "To other houses or - " Barry swallows. "Permanently?"

"Permanently," Derek confirms, brow furrowing as he lowers his head for a moment. Barry seems shocked, at least. He doesn't seem to think they deserved it. "She chose to spare me, and curse me with this. I don't know why."

That last part is a lie. He does know why. She wanted him to suffer a fate worse than death, to have to remain alive and miserable without his family. She wanted to prove to him that no one could ever love a beast like him.

"Sir," comes a voice from the doorway. Derek's head snaps up to see his bookcase lingering there, somehow managing to look sheepish as it gestured towards Barry in a way that Derek assumes is supposed to be subtle. "The spell can be broken. We mustn't give up hope."

"That's enough," Derek warns, and the bookcase sighs before toddling away. He turns his attention back towards Barry, moving a bit closer and giving him a wry smile. "I must admit that it's nice to talk to another actual person again."

"I'll bet," says Barry with raised brows. He wonders how long Derek has been stuck out here, and is thankful that he's at least had company, albeit in the form of talking housewares. He stares after the retreating bookcase.

"What did he - er, it? - mean, the spell can be broken?" he asks Derek. "If you need help with something, I'm sure I can do it." Barry smiles a little. "It's sort of my thing."

"You don't need to concern yourself with that," Derek says kindly, giving Barry a wry smile as he moves to sit on the padded bench on the bay window overlooking the grounds. Barry could help, but he thinks "all you would have to do is fall in love with me" would come off as a little desperate. Not to mention being a very tall order.

"Please, eat." Derek gestures again at the tray of food, pleased at the spread. There are sandwiches and plates of fruit along with a plate of something that appears to be a kale and quinoa salad that must have been the blender's doing.

"You help people, then? Is that what the strange clothing is for?" Derek asks, letting his red eyes drag slowly along Barry's narrow frame. He's not sure that he's ever seen anything quite like the form-fitting crimson suit, but it does suit him. "I'm sure I could find you something more comfortable, if you'd like."

Barry needs no more invitation and drags the tray to the edge of the bed so he can work his way through it. Between the running and healing his concussion, he's extra ravenous, but he still saves the kale and the quinoa for last, powering through it with extra quick snaps of his teeth.

It doesn't take long, and Barry soon breaks out of his food coma to say, "It's not strange, it's friction resistant. Otherwise, I run so fast my clothes burn off." He grins, for that's always been a hilarious image to him, though one he never wants to live through. "But yeah, at home everyone knew me, or the Flash, at least." Barry's chest puffs out the smallest bit. "The Speedster of Central City."

Derek opens his mouth to continue speaking, but realizes how pointless it would be as soon as Barry starts eating with a speed and intensity that stuns even Derek into silence. It's good to see him satisfied, however, and he's smiling when Barry finally looks back at him.

"A speedster," Derek replies curiously, quirking a brow. It's not hard to imagine given how quickly he devoured all that food. Derek stands and squares his shoulders, daring to brush by Barry as he moves to stack up the plates and move the tray away. It's heady, being so close to another person after so long, and he would be lying if he said he didn't find the smell of Barry wholly enticing.

"Did you want to take me up on my offer of spare clothes, or do you plan on running from here so fast that they would burn?" Derek says it like it's a joke, but his smile is a little tight. What reason would he have to stay? "Though I suppose I've taken up a lot of your time already. It sounds like there probably plenty of people missing you."

Derek swallows hard at that, because he'll never again know what that feels like. There's no one left to miss him.

Barry can't help staring as Derek edges past him. He's a werewolf, sort of like Barry always imagined and sort of not. He'd thought there'd be more fur, for one thing, and that a werewolf would more fully transform into a wolf. Instead the transformation is mostly claws and fangs and a permanently angry looking forehead, but it's not frightening. At least, not like this.

"I haven't actually made that many friends in town," says Barry with regret, "But the city does need me. But don't worry." Barry reaches out a tentative hand to rest on Derek's shoulder. "I can run back in time. I'm pretty sure I can speed canon you a way out of some silly woods."

Barry's heart beats so fast, but it's not out of fear. It's an entrancing sound, and Derek can't help but to hone in on it once he discovers how soothing the thrum seems to be.

He isn't expecting the touch to his shoulder, and he tenses slightly before his knees nearly buckle and he lets out a shaky breath, head hanging for a moment. He hasn't been touched my anyone since his family died, and the effect is staggering. He looks down at Barry's hand with a wounded, longing expression before swallowing dryly.

"You're welcome to try. Maybe your powers exceed hers," Derek says after a moment, low and rough. It doesn't occur to Derek that Barry might be unable to leave; the curse is only on himself, after all. He lets himself imagine leaving, eyes brightening for a moment before his expression goes pained. "Even if I could leave, there's no place for me out there."

He wants to ask if Barry might come visit him sometime, but he can't seem to make his mouth form the words. Instead, he reaches up to curl his fingers carefully around Barry's wrist. He can feel the thrum of his pulse faintly through the suit, and swipes his thumb carefully over the back of his hand before pulling it away.

Barry watches Derek's reaction with some surprise, but then he realizes it must be ages since someone touched him. He squeezes once before letting go, vowing then and there that he's not leaving these woods until he finds a way to take Derek with him.

"You'd be surprised," he says gently. "There's a dude who's half bull in town - this is nothing." Barry smiles. "So I'm going to go outside now and work on getting you free."

"Half bull?" Derek asks, obviously surprised. He covers it up quickly enough, huffing slightly. "Wolves are still more elegant."

Barry's smile leaves Derek vaguely breathless, but it's not only that. It's the conviction in his voice when he says that he's going to free Derek. He has no idea why Barry would go to the trouble, but then again, that's apparently what he does. He helps people, even people like Derek.

"Okay," Derek says slowly, sounding a little unsure. There's a heavy coat in the closet that Derek rarely uses, and he retrieves it to drape it over Barry's shoulders. He had seemed so cold outside, lips faintly blue by the time Derek got to him. It's better that he stay warm.

They head outside with Derek very aware of all the appliances and housewares watching them closely. "Have fun," the teapot calls out in her high, whistling voice. "We'll have something warm waiting when you're done."

Snow is falling softly, catching in Derek's dark hair, melting on his eyelashes and the fur sprouting from his jaw. He huffs in a snowflake and then sneezes softly, wriggling his nose as he watches Barry move through the snow. "Watch out for trees."

"Hey," says Barry half-heartedly, for there's no getting around his ignominious arrival after braining himself on a branch. He stands clutching at his arms, reluctant to take off the coat when it's so warm, but he makes himself shrug out of it.

"It'll just catch fire," he explains, and pulls up his cowl. "If I get out, don't worry, I'll come back," he says, giving Derek a quick little wave before he digs his toes in for traction.

With a crackle of energy, Barry sets off, taking care to dodge the trees at first, and then concentrating on building more speed. After a few passes at nearly mach II, he accepts that the recurring sight of Derek's cabin isn't in his imagination, and arrives back at Derek's side after only seconds have passed.

"Okay," he says. "Maybe it will be kind of hard. But don't worry, there's more I can try."

"Right," Derek says as he takes the coat back. Barry's scent clings to it already and Derek holds it stiffly over one arm, like a server with a tea towel. He merely nods when Barry says he'll be back, not quite believing him but wanting fiercely to.

When Barry moves, it's quick enough that Derek's eyes cross as he tries to focus on the red blur. By the time that he decides to stop trying to watch, Barry is back at his side. Perhaps the spell isn't focused only on Derek.

"You couldn't leave?" Derek asks, looking troubled by the notion. For as much as he enjoys Barry's company, he doesn't want him kept here against his will. "I'm-- I thought it was only me."

He watches Barry with concern and tilts his head, holding out the coat like a token of apology. "What other things?"

"It's like the land just loops - one moment I'm running towards the city, and the next I'm back at your cabin," says Barry with a shake of his head. He waves off the coat and stands with his hands on his hips, considering.

"Other things," he says, "Like a lightning bolt." Boots grinding in the snow as he searches for traction, Barry takes off again, this time paying attention to the exact moment when the world around him seems to loop back on itself. He makes several passes to work up the speed, gathering energy until he can wield it like a spear, which he throws as hard as he can at the invisible barrier. It strikes with a tumultuous crack, but when Barry grins and starts forward, he finds himself back at Derek's side.

"Well, crap."

Derek ends up tossing the coat over the back of a rarely used patio chair dusted with snow, watching as Barry moves again. He can smell the electricity in the air and can't quite suppress his flinch at the crack of lightning, knowing just what that could do to a werewolf.

"Indeed," Derek says dryly, turning his head to look at Barry once it appears that he's planning on standing still, at least for the moment. He smells like raw energy on top of the more natural, almost sweet smell of him. There's a part of Derek that wants to lean in and inhale, but he manfully holds himself back.

"I'm sorry that you were swept up in this," Derek says sincerely, waiting to see how Barry will react towards him once it sinks in that he's stuck here.

It's been days in Derek's idyllic cabin. Snow falls from the sky in gentle drifts, softening the landscape and indeed, the very air, so that even the sound of footsteps outside are muted. The cabin is cozy and warm and full of books, the food is magically plentiful, and the days are long and untroubled.

Barry is so bored he thinks he might die.

Lounging with one leg on and the other off the couch, Barry hangs his head over the side and gazes around the cabin upside down. From the corner of his eye, he can see the blender staring at him with disapproval, but Barry's too bored to care. "Hey," he calls, lowering his voice even though Derek's outside. "What does he do for fun around here, anyway?"

The blender straightens up a little at being addressed directly, lid snapping shut as the dust buster sneaks in to clean where Barry's feet have rested against the sofa.

"Master Hale rarely has fun," the blender says after a moment, hopping a bit closer. "He likes to read," another hop, "exercise, and help the gardening tools tend the grounds. He grows beautiful roses."

It hops up onto the coffee table with a clatter, eyeing Barry specutively. "I think he's in the library now. I bet he would like it if you spent time with him."

"He would!" The radio shrieks from mantle before taking on an almost suggestive tone. "I bet you two could come up with all kinds of fun things to do."

"Behave yourself!" Shouts the blender, flicking its plug threateningly towards the radio before turning towards Barry again. "Master Hale hasn't had much fun since his family passed, to be honest. We do our best but he's quite lonely."

Barry groans his way through the first suggestions - he's already read every book in the house twice, thanks to his speed, and exercise is redundant. He really doesn't want to garden, either, but it's not as if there's anything else to do.

He sits up, now enduring the radio's suggestions, and gazes at both appliances. It's strangely uncomfortable to think about Derek being lonely, so he tries to think of other things. "How does he garden in the winter?" he asks. "Is that just another magic thing?"

"There are many things about this place that we do not understand," the blender says solemnly, hopping over to the large bay window looking over the garden. "But the roses grow, and he tends the hedges. There's a maze out there, but he always finds us. Because of his nose, you know?"

"Master Barry?" A teapot comes hopping into the room with a red rose sticking out of his spout. "Master Derek asked me to give this to you. He said he wasn't blushing but I think he was blushing."

The coffee pot follows, humming thoughtfully and joining the teapot on the coffee table. "He also said to make sure that you were warm enough. There's a fire roaring in the library."

The teapot sneezes, sending the rose shooting out to land on Barry's chest. The coffee pot hums again, steam rising slowly into the air. "So, you still haven't figured out how to break the spell? You could do it so easily! Don't you think that Master Hale is--"

A loud whirring from the blender cuts the coffee pot off, and they glare at each other as the tea pot hops over to the small fireplace. It sneezes again, sending out a spray of water that douses the flames. "Oops."

"For me?" asks Barry, plucking the rose from his chest. "That's...really nice." He smells it, a little surprised despite all he's seen that it smells lovely, just like a rose would if it had been planted somewhere warm. He smiles and stands, watching in resignation as the fire in the hearth is soundly put out. So much for keeping warm in the living room.

"The library it is," he says, saluting them all before he wanders down the short hall, holding the rose beneath his nose. Derek is just where they said he'd be, his large body curled into an armchair and a book beneath his nose. Barry wonders if anyone else has ever met a bookworm werewolf.

"Hey," Barry greets, waving the rose in thanks. "They said you were in here. What are you reading?"

"Oh, Barry. Hello," Derek says as he approaches, lowering his book as the tips of his pointy ears go pink at the site of the rose. "It reminded me of you. Of your suit, I mean. It's the same crimson."

He glances down at his book and the blush spreads a bit further. It wasn't what he intended to pick up when he came in here, and for the first time reading this particular book doesn't make him sad. "It's a collection of old Spanish poetry. It was my mother's."

Now that he's wholly distracted by Barry's presence, he marks his place in the book and carefully sets it down on the table. "Not sure if you made it through this one when you blurred through my library. It's in Spanish."

"For a minute or two," says Barry, watching Derek's tipped ears go pink. It's pretty cute, especially against such fierce features, and Barry waves the rose around as he speaks.

"I mean, I can read Spanish, but I've never been one for poetry. Not because it's not good," Barry hastens to add, "But because I have trouble sitting still long enough to appreciate the meaning behind all the words. Numbers, formulas - those are what come easy to me."

He points the rose at Derek's book. "Which is your favorite?"

"I can see that in you," Derek says softly, smiling in fond amusement as Barry waves his limbs around. It's easy to see that his mind is as quick as the rest of him. The whole of him is this quick, breathless energy that stirs something inside of Derek that he hasn't felt in a long while. He's gotten used to the syrupy slowness of time, to growing nearly dormant and still for a lack of anything better to do.

It took him years to get to that point, so Barry must surely be going out of his mind. Derek feels bad about that, and resolves to try and find a way to cure his boredom, if only temporarily.

Barry asks him about his favorite poem and his heart lurches, clawed fingers curling protectively around the book. It feels like such an intensely personal question, but he knows that Barry didn't mean it that way. He's as curious as he is quick.

"It's called Sonnet 17," Derek finds himself saying, red eyes wide and open as he looks at Barry. He has the poem memorized by now. Ever since he was old enough to understand, at least in abstract terms, what love was, the poem has stirred longing in him. He wanted to know what that felt like, and now with Barry here in front of him like a gift, it all suddenly seems so real.

"Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde," he recites in a quiet voice, like the words are being pulled from deep within him. "Te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo: así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera."

Barry listens with his head cocked, enjoying the Spanish in Derek's deep, gravelly tones so much that he almost forgets to translate. "Yeah," he says when Derek finishes, "That's what being in love feels like, alright. He didn't add how much it hurts."

Barry flops into an empty armchair and looks back at Derek. "Your mom had good taste." His smile is soft, sad around the edges. "I wish I had my mom's book, though it would hardly dazzle you. I don't think The Runaway Dinosaur won any awards."

When Barry moves, it seems to break whatever strange spell had taken over Derek. He blinks harshly and blows out a breath, smiling bitterly as he runs his clawed fingers over the book.

"I wouldn't know," Derek replies, hating how empty he sounds. Kate had never loved him, and she made sure no one ever would. "Who could ever love someone who looks like me?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and he closes his eyes, head bowed in embarrassment for a moment. Barry speaks again and Derek lifts his head, setting the book on the table next to his chair and sinking back into it, suddenly exhausted.

"The Runaway Dinosaur," Derek repeats. It must be a children's book, and Derek wonders if Barry lost his mother when he was young. "As long as it makes you feel something. I didn't come in here for almost a year after my family died, but then I realized it's better to have the memories than not, even if they are painful."

Barry doesn't think he's ever heard anyone sound sadder than Derek does in that moment, and then he looks at the slump of his shoulders as he sinks into his chair, and it's even worse. It's unbearable, and while Barry can't seem to get them out of here, he can at least distract Derek from everything he's been through.

"Hey," he says, sitting forward, "Your blender told me you have no problem catching them in the maze." Barry waggles his eyebrows. "I bet you can't catch me."

Derek isn't expecting Barry to lean in towards him and challenge him to a game of hide and seek. It's enough to startle him out of his melancholy and he lets out a rare laugh, deep and throaty as he sits up and turns in towards Barry.

"My blender doesn't have super speed," Derek tells him dryly, red eyes glowing as he looks Barry up and down. "You are far too quick for me, little bunny."

Barry laughs, too, surprised and delighted by the deep throated laughs coming out of such a fearsome mouth. "I am way too tall to be a bunny," he says. "And way too clothed to be a snow bunny. C'mon."

Barry stands, offering Derek his hand. "You've got other skills, I bet." He winks. "Maybe I'll go easy on you."

"Not a bunny then," Derek replies, smiling to himself. Barry holds out his hand without hesitation, even though he knows that Derek has sharp claws. He's smiling invitingly even, and Derek swallows hard as he reaches out to carefully take it. Barry's skin is warm against his palm and Derek daringly lets the pad of his finger glide along the inside of his wrist, feeling the quick thrum of his pulse through the delicate skin. "Perhaps a hummingbird."

He stands up and leads Barry towards the front door without letting go of his hand, not wanting to be the first to break contact between them. "Wolves do make great hunters. Maybe I'll be able to sneak up on you after all."

Barry follows with a strange, light feeling in his chest that surely doesn't belong in a prison. With its warm glow and rustic wooden walls, some days it's difficult to remember that's what this place is, especially with such good company. Barry tries to remember he's supposed to be unhappy, but the truth is, he's excited about running. He's excited, too, to see how his skills compare to a werewolf's, and maybe even a little excited to see what happens if he gets caught.

"I'd ask for a head start," he says when they step into the snow outside. "But I don't need it." Barry grins cheekily and takes off, hitting a hedge or two in his quest to reach the deepest part of the maze.

Derek feels almost bereft when Barry is suddenly no longer by his side, replaced instead by a gust of cool air that rushes by him. There's the sound of cracking branches and Derek laughs, bouncing on his toes a little as he prepares to follow him.

"Don't go busting through my hedges!" Derek calls out, trusting that Barry will hear him. And then he goes quiet, slipping out of his shoes so that he can pad silently through the snow. It's cold against his bare toes, but it's worth the trade off. Barry has his speed, but Derek has other ways of finding him. There's the vaguest scent trail, one Derek might not even have noticed it if he hadn't become so attuned to Barry's scent during his time here, and Derek follows it as quietly as he can.

It's thrilling, in a way. He's been stuck as a wolf for years but he hasn't had the occasion to really put his senses to work like this. He can hear Barry's heart somewhere up and to the left, smell the cinnamon-lightning scent of him. He's close, and Derek holds his breath as he inches closer to his hiding spot.

Barry honestly has no idea where he is within the maze. Every hedge looks like the same snow covered, pokey leaved hedge, and he just has to trust that if he sees Derek, he can still run away in time. It's thrilling to run just for the sport of it, with no villains before or behind him. Just Derek. Barry bounces on his toes and, for no reason that he can pinpoint, thinks of chasing after Iris and pulling at her pigtails.

She'd screamed and smacked at him, but the both of them were laughing, because Barry never did it hard enough to hurt. He just liked to see her laugh. Barry smiles, enjoying the memory until he sees - or thinks he sees - something from the corner of his eye. Barry tenses, then shrieks aloud and runs when the dark smudge explodes into motion -

- of flapping wings. "Aw, for real?" Barry asks, slowing.

Derek can hear the bats, but he has long since learned to tune out the chittering and rustling of wings. They seem to enjoy the dark solitude of the hedge maze, full of places to hide and rest, at least until Barry's shriek startles them enough to send them flying. Barry slows to a halt in front of the still quivering bush, distracted by the small creatures that make their way to a sprawling oak tree across the grounds.

It's the perfect opportunity. Derek holds his breath and silently creeps around the corner, taking advantage of Barry's confusion to spring forward and wrap his arms around Barry's waist from behind. There's a mound of dry, dead leaves and Derek gently tackles Barry down into it, twisting him as they fall so his back lands in the soft pile of leaves. Derek lets his palms meet the ground on either side of Barry's shoulders, looming over him with a smug grin. It hasn't even registered yet how very close they are, legs entwined as they catch their breath.

"Caught you," he breathes out, eyes glowing red as he smiles excitedly. His lips feel stretched too thin, and he realizes how long it's been since he's smiled like this. It's been years since his life has been defined by anything but fire and curses, and now Barry has come to remind him that he's still alive.

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