Waking was not a good feeling for Jongin when he pried open leaden eyelids to blink dumbly at the wooden ceiling above him, aware of a vague sense of guilt and unease stirring in the pit of his stomach sourly.  He felt his body warmed by a blanket settled lightly over his prone form and he heard someone moving around quietly nearby, with muted voices whispering just outside, their conversation indistinguishable.  “Momma?” he croaked, his brittle question grating to his ears.

                “Jongin?” a soft and worried tone murmured as he felt warm hands clasp his right one tenderly and he saw his mother’s face appear over his, eyes creased in concern and her lips pursed noticeably.

                “They’re dead.  Aren’t they?” he whispered over cracked and swollen lips, still feeling numb as he recalled what had happened the last time he was awake.

                Unable to give a verbal response immediately, his mother chewed her bottom lip and nodded slightly, holding his hand tighter.  “The demon killed yer father and yer friend, Kris.  But ya got him, love,” she assured him, voice thick with grief.  “They’re gettin ready ta burn yer father today,” she informed her unresponsive son, giving his hand a comforting pat.

                When she didn’t continue, Jongin’s brow furrowed in confusion and he blinked slowly, focusing on her with tired but clear eyes.  “Kris?” he asked since she hadn’t explained what they were going to be doing for the other adventurer.

                She looked uncomfortable at the question and took a shallow breath.  “They couldna find his body,” she admitted.  “They said it looked like he… he tried ta crawl away or that somethin else dragged him.”

                That was odd…  They should have been able to find his body if he’d just tried crawling away but if that hadn’t happened, what other creature would disturb him like that?  What was more, even if something had dragged him, shouldn’t they have been able to follow the tracks as well?  Or did they just arbitrarily stop somewhere?  A red flag immediately went off in his mind but he couldn’t puzzle it out just then.  That didn’t sound right but she looked upset enough as it was so he didn’t pry further.  “Yi…”  Jongin had to catch himself, tripping on the name no one else knew.  “The demon?” he asked instead, throat closing of its own volition at the painful reminder.

                “Ya should rest dear,” she urged him, smoothing his bangs back from his forehead with a tender touch, her face distracted while she her lips.

                Jongin kept his unblinking eyes trained on her until she met his gaze again.  “The demon.”

                She tried to avoid his gaze again but when he simply continued to stare at her, she sighed heavily.  “Still stuck ta the tree,” she looked away, uncomfortable with the idea.  None of them had been brave enough to pull the sword free so they could burn the body.  As a result the demon was still attached to the tree in the woods.

                “Oh…” Jongin trailed off, not sure how he felt about that.  He didn’t know if he was just numb or if he felt too much so everything had shut off on him but there was a dull, lingering ache that burrowed into his chest, refusing to be banished.  Even though Yixing had killed his father, the thought of him impaled to a tree still hurt; especially because it was by his own hand.  “Water?” he asked, certain his throat resembled a desert just then.

                “Of course, love,” she smiled, the expression a bit shaky as she let his hand go and walked away, only to return shortly with a cup of cool liquid.  She helped raise his head and gave him a sip, making sure she didn’t spill it over him, before she set the glass on the table and patted his chest.  “I’m just gonna step outside fer a moment.  I’ll be right back, dear,” she promised, pressing her hand over as she retreated, opening and closing the door quietly behind her.

                Jongin blinked after her and closed his eyes briefly, opening them again to look sideways at the table where the water was.  He was in his parents’… his mother’s bed now, but there was a book that caught his eye on the table top next to him.  Oh so slowly, he watched his arm reach over to paw at the thin tome in annoyance, curiosity piqued.  Holding it in front of his face, he stared at the familiar cover for a long moment.  Fairy Tales.  Carefully, he opened the book and thumbed through the pages, pausing when he found the story he was looking for.  The Demon in the Woods.

                His eyes scanned the pages and he felt bitter tears pool on his lashes.  He remembered the way his mother had told him the story all those years ago.  He remembered learning to read it with her, painstakingly going over the words she’d been taught before she’d met his father.  And most of all he remembered how he had wanted to be that Prince in the story.  How Yixing had helped him to become that Prince.  To slay the evil demon and protect the people…

                He’d become an adventurer alright; a self-proclaimed Prince in his own story, and slain the demon after all.  He had protected the rest of the village but he’d failed to save his own father.  What sort of an adventurer… no son, did that?  Sadness welled up in him again at the thought and he bit the inside of his cheek, preferring the physical pain to something he had so little control over otherwise.  Despite his not inconsequential success, why did his victory feel so hollow and wrong?  Why did it feel like there was a hole where his heart was supposed to be that had nothing to do with his father dying?

                Because the demon he’d killed had been Yixing?  The one for whom he’d always been a Prince?  The one who had trained and taught him to be a better fighter… a better adventurer?  He’d killed Yixing who loved him above all others…  Whom he… loved as well…?  “Stupid demon.”  Angry, he closed the book forcefully and hurled it across the room, crying at himself that the effort left him exhausted still.

                His mother came back in when she heard the projectile hit the wall and put it up so he wouldn’t have to worry about it.  With false cheer, she set her attention to making breakfast while Jongin continued to wake up begrudgingly, not ready to greet the day.  The smell of food made him slightly nauseous so he rolled over onto his side, curling further under the covers, trying desperately to stop thinking about everything.

                Despite his complaints otherwise, his mother badgered him into getting up so they could eat together at the tiny table.  He put up a pitiful fight, eventually letting her drag him to the table where he slouched in his chair, clothes hanging loosely on his leaner than usual frame.  Half-heartedly, he nibbled on his food while she glared at him in reproach and growing sadness, her eyes drifting to the empty seat her husband usually sat at.  It was obvious she was functioning on reserves as well and it made Jongin feel guiltier for not grieving as much about his father’s death.

                 Of course he missed his father, the man that had supported him endlessly throughout this whole thing and who had been so set on helping him… but it hurt so much in losing both of them that the pain sort of cancelled each other out.  Maybe it was because he’d actually killed Yixing himself…  The thought still made him sick to his stomach so even though he tried to eat more for his mother’s sake, forcing food down a throat that wanted none of it was not a pleasant experience.

                He didn’t succeed particularly well despite his efforts and when he tried to help his mother with the dishes and the leftovers, she waved him off hurriedly.  He wasn’t entirely sure if she did it more for her sake or his but he retreated to the bed again while she was busy, listening to her clear the table with a wince and cringing when she reminded him about the cremation ceremony later that afternoon.  He didn’t want to go.  He wanted to stay in bed and forget the outside world existed but it kept intruding upon him anyway.

                When it was clear he was awake and functional, friends and visitors made their appearances, bearing condolences and gifts where they could.  None of them knew quite how to act around him.  He’d just lost his father after all and though they understood he wouldn’t be particularly enthused after something like that, he seemed far more downcast than they would have expected for someone who had slain a demon.

                Some gave him encouraging smiles, filled with pride that he’d taken care of the creature that had been troubling them.  Others were sorrowful and sad, mourning his loss with him; not as if they knew what it felt like.  Not one of them understood any of what he was feeling.  Not even his mother.  They hadn’t lost anybody and they sure as hell hadn’t killed someone they cared about.  And they expected him to be happy about it?!  No.  He resented all of them for it.  Why should he be the only one to have lost the most…?

                Expression unusually stoic, Jongin wore a severe mask that provided him a necessary measure of protection against their empty words as he prepared to head out with his mother.  They were going to send his father off in the middle of the village and it looked as if everyone was present by the time they plodded into the front of the ranks, his mother clutching his hand so tight it hurt.  Someone had covered his body with a protective shroud, hiding the ghastly wounds and the man that he had once been from their sight.

                Staring at the shape under the covering, Jongin stepped close and peeled it away as his mother moved with him, the fingers of her free hand his shirt in a white knuckle grip.  His father’s face was serene in death and had it not been for the blood still marring his features, he might have thought him asleep.  His eyes narrowed slightly when he looked slightly further under the cloth and noticed what appeared to be bite marks on his father’s shoulder.  Those had not been there before…

                Jongin didn’t say anything about them though and remained particularly quiet in the company of his mother, but it was another thing that made him feel slightly uneasy.  After a long, thoughtful moment, he finally lowered the cloth back down and stepped away, not really paying attention to whoever was carrying the torch to set it alight.  He simply held his shaking mother in his arms and stared as the fire was started, keeping his expression empty of emotion.

                Grimly, he stood on weak legs watching as his father’s body was burned on the wooden pyre, the hungry flames devouring all that was the great man that had taught him so much.  He was the first person that had instructed him in hunting and to practice with the sword.  He’d even helped support his decision, albeit reluctantly, when he’d made the choice to become an adventurer.  And he’d died looking for Jongin when he thought he was in danger…

                People filed away little by little; some eager to leave and others reluctant for fear it would upset the grieving young man.  Only his mother remained at hand and even she finally walked away, unable to watch her husband burn any longer, departing before the pyre had been reduced to coals with her hand over and her eyes glued to the ground.  It was easier for Jongin to just watch the flames though.  They didn’t feel.  They didn’t pity him; smile at him with arrogant pride; whisper behind his back when they thought he couldn’t hear them.  The flames didn’t care that he’d killed a monster and a piece of his heart in the same .

                Hunger eventually gnawed on his backbone, a welcome discomfort that had nothing to do with emotion.  Feeling drained, he watched the dying embers as they crumbled apart while the day wore on into the afternoon hours and looked over slowly when he heard someone call his name.  “Jongin?”

                “Hm?” he grunted roughly, blinking at the hesitant Tao and Sehun who looked as if they weren’t entirely sure how to approach him.  Other villagers had wandered by here and there, looking at him with pity and in some cases confusion, but they were the first to actually come close.  He couldn’t say he was honestly surprised, all things considered.  They’d always been close before he’d left and that had not changed since he’d been back.

                “Ya okay?” Tao asked, his eyes looking more worried than usual for the still pronounced circles under them.

                “No.”

                “Oh…”  Clearly that was not the answer he’d been expecting.  Sehun didn’t even try to say anything.  He just walked up and threw his arms around Jongin, hugging him tightly.

                Jongin wanted to push him away.  He didn’t want comfort or anything like that, but the younger boy didn’t try to tell him it would be okay or offer empty platitudes.  He simply gave him his presence; the silent promise of someone to lean on.  In a matter of seconds, he felt Tao approach and wrap his arms around him too.  Jongin tried to keep the mask in place; to not feel or let his defenses fall, but the tears came of their own accord, staining Sehun’s shirt quietly at first.

                His vision blurred entirely and he clung to Sehun as if the younger male was the only thing keeping him standing.  “He’s gone…” he cried, finally giving voice to some of his hurt.

                “I know.  He was a great man,” Tao soothed softly from behind, resting his chin on Jongin’s shoulder as he held him tighter, not knowing what else he could do.

                No.  He didn’t know, but how could he?  They couldn’t possibly understand the man he was speaking about was not his father.  And that fact made him cry even harder, bawling into Sehun’s shoulder while his fingers gripped his back tightly, his cries muffled by the fabric of the other’s shirt.  The seemingly endless sea of tears carried with them all his sorrow and regret; heartache and bone deep weariness that came from losing both of them.  And when he was finally done with the overwhelming outpour of emotions, hiccupping softly against Sehun’s shoulder, he felt tired but not unbearably so.  Unable to express even a sliver of his gratitude in words, he sniffed softly and relaxed his grip, embracing Sehun in a thankful hug.

                “Yer welcome,” Sehun murmured quietly, a smile in his voice as he held his friend as long as he needed until he finally moved to free himself from their arms.

                Standing between the two unlikely pillars, Jongin wiped at his eyes, feeling marginally foolish and yet… relieved.  At least somewhat.  “Thank you,” he murmured, glancing between them.  “You two should go on now,” he urged, nodding towards their homes nearby in the fading light of the day.

                “Ya sure?” Tao asked, gripping Jongin’s shoulder with his hand, reluctant to leave him alone.

                “I’ll be alright.  Momma will probably be getting worried about me anyway,” he swallowed with a slow nod.

                “Okay,” Tao nodded, nudging Sehun’s shoulder lightly as he nodded.

                Jongin watched them leave, hands clasping lightly as they walked off, and then headed back to his own home, hugging his mother tightly when she approached him.  “It’s going to be alright, momma,” he promised, holding her close.  He wasn’t better by any means, but at least he was closer to being functional again and he knew his mother was going to need his strength as well.  His father had been everything to her after all.

                “Oh, Jongin,” she sighed, her voice shaking as she started to cry against his shoulder, holding him tightly in her arms in return.

                Dinner was a quiet, simple affair and they didn’t try to speak beyond the expected pleasantries, though he still could not force himself to eat much.  Feeling slightly better or not, his hunger quickly faded after the first few bites after days of not being able to eat much of anything.  Without being asked, Jongin took up the dishes and made short work of them, helping to tidy the place by rote.

                Once he was finished, he patted his hip where his sword always hung and frowned when he couldn’t recall where it was, missing the familiar weight of it.  Memory struck painfully and he winced, closing his eyes until it passed: Demon Killer buried in Yixing’s chest.  “Momma?  What did they do with Kris’s stuff?” he asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him.

                She looked confused by the question, as if she didn’t immediately know what he was asking about, and then shrugged.  “I’m not sure dear.  I don’ know if we even thought about it today.”

                “Oh,” he sighed, glancing at the door speculatively.  “I’m going to go check it out real quick.”

                “Jongin…”she started to say with a nervous look outside.  It was dark, yes, but there was no more demon to worry about.  “Be careful, dear,” she sighed reluctantly, one hand reaching out as if to stop him though she put it down after a brief pause.

                “I will,” he assured her, heading out and towards the stables where he ascended the loft and approached the spot Kris had spent most of his time sleeping.  He was halfway there before he stopped and turned around, sticking his head down the ladder to peek into the stalls below him.  Kris’s horse was still here, though he looked considerably more aware with clear eyes and he was actually nosing about instead of just standing there…  “Strange,” he murmured, blinking in confusion.  He couldn’t recall a time ever when he’d seen the horse being responsive in the slightest.

                Chewing his lip thoughtfully, he hauled himself back up and returned to the gear that was still lying haphazardly over the hay.  His sleeping roll, travel pack and weapon were all in plain sight.  Jongin scanned the items and then reached immediately for the weapon he’d been so curious about.  Now that he thought about it, he had to wonder why Kris didn’t have it with him the other day.  It seemed odd that an adventurer wouldn’t have his weapon on him at all times; especially with a demon in the area.  When he picked it up though, he stared at it incredulously.  Just to be sure, Jongin shook the scabbard and frowned more when it was far too light in his hands.  Grabbing the hilt, he tried to pry it free and grimaced when it remained stuck until…

                “Yah!” he yelped, eyes widening as the hilt came off with nothing attached.  Peering into the scabbard showed an empty case with no blade inside.  “What the hell?” he asked, setting it aside as he yanked the travel pack over and dumped it out unceremoniously on the straw, pawing through the items that emerged.

                A random assortment of things fell out but none of them seemed particularly useful for an adventurer.  Some extra bits of clothes and leftover pieces of really stale dried meat; a couple coins that he wasn’t familiar with and a small vial of something that had no label comprised the large majority of the contents.  Carefully, Jongin took a tiny whiff of the unknown liquid and felt his vision blur as a general sense of lethargy settled upon him.  He corked the vial immediately and set it aside, mind filled with more questions than answers.

                “What the hell kind of an adventurer were you, Kris?” he muttered to himself, glaring at the items with disdain, feeling unsettled by his discovery.  He’d never felt fully at ease around him, even when he’d first met him, and this only added to that sensation.  Why would an adventurer, who was so keen on weapons, his in particular, have one specifically for show?  Wait…  What was it that he’d said about his weapon?  The sigils…  Binding?  A binding blade?  But the creatures he’d fought had all perished in his use of it against them, looking like any other corpse after the fact.  And yet… Yixing had frozen in place when he’d stabbed him to the tree.

                His gaze turned speculative and he stood up, shuffling towards the edge of the loft so he could peer out in the direction of the forest, lips pursed with his breath whistling steadily through his nose.  He wouldn’t go tonight.  Even though he’d taken care of the demon, he was in no condition for it and he wasn’t completely stupid, but tomorrow morning.  Tomorrow morning he would go to see Yixing.

                There were too many little things that kept bothering Jongin and not just the niggling sense of guilt that refused to leave him alone when he thought of the demon.  If Yixing was so evil, why did he still feel so bad about it?  What had happened to Kris’s body that the villagers couldn’t find it?  And why were there bite marks on his father’s body?  When he’d knelt beside him the other day, there had only been claw marks on his person before he’d chased Yixing down.

                Now Kris’s sword, which he’d neglected to have on him yesterday when he’d encountered the demon, was fake and his horse was acting completely normal…  He had foreign currency on his person and no food Jongin would eat; plus he hadn’t the slightest idea what that stuff in the vial was.  Each new discovery made his stomach clench with the certainty something was amiss.

                He didn’t know what it was, but something wasn’t right.  Tomorrow, Jongin had every intention of finding out what the hell was going on.

(a/n: And the wheels are turning!  Now that he has a clear head and all.  ;)  I'm sure you've all got some theories at this point so feel free to share or not, but I can guarantee a fair bit is going to happen the next update.  ^_^  Whenever I get it out.  School is being  total pain right now so please bear with me and I'll try not to make you wait too long for the next posting!  Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!  As much as possible anyway.)