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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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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