Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Steven noticed? It was cold, and wet.

Rain again.

It always rained in Lavender Town when he visited Miki.

That's right.

The second thing he noticed: he was lying beside Miki's grave.

Steven sat up, brushing himself off. He must have fallen asleep while staring at Miki's gravestone.

Her entire life hidden under dirt and a small, insignificant rock.

He sighed, the rain harshly drumming on his hat. Removing it, he placed it beside him and hugged Miki's gravestone.

"I miss you," he whispered, foolishly waiting for a response that never came.

No chittering, no happy chirps.

Nothing.

He stood up, staring down at the grave. It was time to go, he decided.

Brushing himself off, he winced as a sharp pain sliced through his skull. Another migraine? No, something different.

Suddenly, Steven's body convulsed violently. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Agony tore through him.

It hurts.

So

Bad

It hurts as two horns erupted from his forehead, breaking through with a sickening crunch.

It hurts as wings tore from his back, bones cracking and flesh tearing as they unfurled with a disturbing flutter.

It hurts as his hands and feet twisted into clawed appendages, joints popping and skin stretching unnaturally.

It hurts as his spine elongated, a tail snaking out of his lower back with a grotesque snap.

But above all, it hurts as the rain hammered down on the flickering flame at the end of his tail.

In a blurred frenzy of pain and confusion, he staggered to his feet, wings lifting him up off the ground in a clumsy ascent that crashed him into the sidewalk of their house.

He reached the door, his desperate claws tearing deep gashes into the wood, splintering its once pristine surface as he crashes through the entryway, into the hall.

He needed Mike.

Mike.

Rage surged through him.

Mike took his Miki.

His fault.

His fault.

Fault.

Fault.

Fault.

With a guttural growl, he tears down the bedroom door.

Chapter Text

Mike jolted awake at the sound of cracking wood, sitting up in bed.

He stared wide eyed at the door—
no, at the empty space where the door had been.

Instead, there loomed a tall figure, backlit by an unknown source of light. Huge wings were highlighted against the dim light, the vague silhouette of a human barely visible.

But it couldn't be human.

He scooted back, sheets tangling around his legs.

Had Steven already been hurt?

"W-what are y—who—are you? Get away from me!"

Mike's heart raced as the creature lunged at him with a feral snarl, its clawed hands closing around his neck, cutting off his breathing and scratching his neck.

Panic surged through Mike as he struggled against the creature's iron grip, his vision darkening with each passing moment.

But just as Mike felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, the creature suddenly collapsed to the floor, still for a moment, then convulsing. Relief washed over Mike, though fear and confusion still gripped his mind.
He hesitated for a moment, then carefully, cautiously, Mike approached the thrashing figure. Rain continued to drum against the windows, a steady rhythm amidst the chaos. Kneeling beside the unconscious creature, he studies it.

As Mike takes in the creature, his heart drops, dread filling his body. He knows who this is.

It's his little brother.

Steven's familiar features were now distorted, parts of his arms and legs covered in scales. Wings lay awkwardly at his sides, their tips scraping against the floor with each spasm. Mike noticed the two horns protruding from Steven's forehead.

Gently, Mike reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed aside a lock of Steven's hair. Despite the terror of the situation, he felt an overload of sorrow for his brother.

Mike's mind raced with questions—what had caused this transformation? Was there any way to reverse it? And most importantly, was Steven still in there somewhere?

Mike hesitantly, but carefully lifted Steven into his arms, surprised by how heavy he had become. With struggle, Mike carried his brother to the living room.
He laid Steven down on the couch, covering him with blankets to ward off the chill that seemed to seep into the room.

Standing back, Mike took a deep breath, his mind racing with questions and uncertainty. He needed help, someone who could understand what had happened to Steven. Thoughts of Professor Oak, the renowned Pokémon researcher, flashed through his mind. The professor had always been a source of knowledge and guidance. Perhaps he would have answers, or at the very least, know where to find them.

With resolve hardening his voice, Mike picked up his phone and dialed the familiar number. After a few rings, a tired voice answered on the other end.

"Hello?" Professor Oak's voice, though weary, held an undertone of curiosity.

"Professor Oak? It's Mike. I... I need your help.”

Chapter Text

Steven blinked awake in a dim, vacant room, the air thick with silence. As he sat up, disorientation washed over him, his heart pounding in his chest.

The bare walls loomed around him, and a narrow window near the ceiling let in a sliver of light, casting eerie shadows that danced across the floor.

He looked down at himself and froze.

His hands were clawed, covered in orange scales, and the wings he could feel unfurling awkwardly at his sides sent a shiver of dread through him.

"What the f-fuck..?" he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling.

His anxiety flared as he tried to stand, the weight of his new features throwing him off balance.
His wings flapped instinctively, knocking over a lamp that shattered on the floor, sending shards skittering across the ground.

As he turned, his tail swung in front of him, flickering with sparks of fire that danced in the dim light.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his mind to clear.

The last thing he remembered was rain—a downpour, drowning out everything else. The memory was elusive, slipping through his newly clawed fingers like sand.

He groaned, pain pulsing through his skull..

Struggling to his feet, he noticed a door at the far end of the room.

It felt like a lifeline.

He took a step, awkwardly adjusting to his new form, every movement a reminder of how foreign he felt in his own skin. He reached the door and grasped the knob with clawed fingers, the metal cool against his skin.

He twisted it, heart racing, and pushed it open, revealing a dark corridor beyond. Shadows pooled in the corners, and he hesitated for a moment, doubt and panic creeping in.

That's when his mind drowned in deep red.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Steven comes to with a grunt, his clawed hand pressing against his throbbing temple. The lights above are unbearably bright, like needles stabbing into his skull. He wants to shatter them, but before he can fully process that thought, he hears it.

A sharp, breathless gasp.

Mike.

A strange pang of guilt twists in Steven's gut, though he can’t quite place why. His tail lashes out behind him, the flaming tip just missing the bed’s edge. He doesn't know why, but he feels… something is wrong.

"Hey—Hey, Steven. How are you feeling?" Mike’s voice cracks a little, shaky, unsteady, like he’s walking on eggshells. The hesitation in his voice makes Steven pause.

Hesitation?

Mike’s never hesitated to help before. Not once.

A scowl pulls at Steven’s face as he pushes himself up, grimacing from the soreness that blankets his body like an oppressive weight. But as he sits up, something metallic shifts beneath him, sending a jarring noise through the silence.

He glances down.

Cuffs.

His hands are shackled to the damn bed, the cold steel biting into his skin. A chill runs through him, gnawing at his insides. Slowly, Steven raises his eyes to Mike, who’s pale and backing away, his face twisted in some unreadable expression.

"Mike," Steven growls, his voice low and controlled. "What the fuck is going on?"

After a moment, a long, agonizing, moment…

Nothing.

Mike doesn’t respond. He just looks away. Ashamed.

It’s like a switch flips in Steven’s chest. Anger. His vision blurs with frustration, his pulse hammering in his ears. He wants to rip those chains apart. Tear everything in the room apart.

The thought rises like poison. He wants to hurt someone. Wants to rip Mike apart, slowly, piece by piece.

…

Where did that thought come from? Why?

His head spins, the hallway from his dream flashing in front of him. His wings flare, instinctively curling closer to him, trying to shield him from the overwhelming thoughts.

Mike is staring at him now, a worried frown etched over his face. He’s seemingly taken that as some sign of surrender, judging by the fact that he comes closer.

An excited jolt rushes through Steven. This could work for him.

He further curls into himself, the chains clinking as he hides his face in his knees, a diabolical grin spreading over his hidden face.

Yes. If he plays this right, it could all work for him.

And then the door creaks open, the sound all too loud in the quiet room.

The professor takes a moment to take in the situation, and sighs, crossing his arms.

“Steven...”

Professor Oak’s voice is steady, almost too steady for the storm of chaos in Steven’s mind. His hands strain against the cuffs again, the cold metal biting deeper into his skin. His vision swims with frustration, and the anger that’s simmering in him only grows.

The professor doesn’t flinch. His expression is unreadable. “You’re not yourself, Steven. We need to help you.”

The cuffs dig into his wrists as he pulls harder, trying to get any kind of relief.

But they don’t give.

The words, in any case, felt like a slap.

Help?

No, Steven doesn’t need help.

He needs the chains to break. Mike can help-

No.

Mike—Mike is just standing there. Frozen.

Steven can’t even look at him without feeling a mix of betrayal and longing.

His brother, the one person who’s always been there, is standing back, unable to move. Steven’s heart pounds, his thoughts tumbling, and for a moment, he thinks he might choke on the overwhelming sensation of isolation.

It’s just like when he lost her.

“Steven…” The word slips out before Mike can stop it, quiet.

Mike’s gaze flickers away from him, but Steven can see it—Mike is terrified.

It makes Steven want to tear the inhuman parts off of him.

To hide.

The last thing he wants is to see that look on his brother’s face.

The professor speaks again, his voice softer, but still firm. “Steven, please. We aren't sure what's happened to you, but we can help. Let us help.”

That damn word again. Help. He doesn’t want help. He wants freedom.

But as he stares at the professor, something in Steven snaps.

His pulse hammers in his ears as his wings flare again, pushing against the walls as his tail lashes furiously.

He pulls again at the chains, but they only tighten, the metal biting deeper.

Why
won’t
they
just
give?!

He turns his head slightly, his eyes catching Mike’s again. This time, there’s a brief moment where Steven sees it—Mike’s gaze, a mixture of fear and concern, locked on him. It’s not pity. It’s something else.

Steven is desperate.

“Mike… please…” The words come out almost broken, raw, like the last part of him that’s still Steven is clinging to the hope that his brother will understand. His chest tightens. His head spins. The emotional pressure, the confusion—everything feels too much to handle.

Mike takes a hesitant step forward, his hand trembling as he reaches out, fingers hovering just inches away from Steven’s shackled hands. The warmth of that simple gesture makes something shift in Steven’s chest, like a softening, a brief flicker of the brotherly connection they used to have.

Before the trade.

Before this.

Before Steven or Mike can do anything, Professor Oak’s voice cuts through the tension, sharper now. “Mike, stay back. He’s not in control.”

Steven’s whole body tightens at the command. It’s like a hand around his throat, suffocating him. Not in control. As if he were a stranger to his own body.

Though, he is now, isn't he?

“Shut up.” The words are barely a whisper, but they carry weight. His eyes narrow, and his muscles tremble with a mix of rage and fear.

He tugs again at the chains, but they won’t break. His chest heaves with frustration. His wings flare outward again, slamming against the walls, as if they, too, are trapped inside this suffocating space. He feels cornered—physically, emotionally, mentally—and every instinct in him screams to escape.

And then, Mike steps closer. This time, it’s different. There’s no hesitation in his movements. He steps forward as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hands outstretched.

Mike’s hand hovers just in front of Steven’s cuffed wrists, offering an unspoken promise—comfort, connection, reassurance.

But Steven’s breath hitches. His body betrays him, and the moment stretches longer than he wants it to.

A flicker of panic rises in his chest.

What if he lets his brother too close?

What if he can’t control it?

What if he hurts him?

A flash of…something, flashes through his mind, hands tensing at the missing memory.

Steven blinks, the air in the room growing heavier. For a moment, it feels like everything has stopped. Like he’s back in the hallway, in the dream, with the fear of what he’s becoming creeping into his mind.

Mike’s eyes are full of something Steven can’t place, but it’s not just pity, not anymore. Mike is still holding on to the idea that his brother is still in there.

And he is.

Right?

The professor moves then, his voice like ice cutting through the heavy air. “Mike, step away. We don’t know if he’s himself. It’s possible he can’t control—”

“Shut up!” Steven snaps, his voice rising with an angry, desperate edge. He jerks at the chains again, as though they could suddenly break free if he just tried hard enough. He can’t stand the professor’s calm, clinical detachment. Not now.

But the more he fights the chains, the tighter they seem to become, as if the very effort is suffocating him. Why won’t they just break? Why can’t he be free?

For a brief moment, Steven closes his eyes, and the room falls away. He can feel his wings trembling, the weight of the chains, the oppressive heat that crawls up from the base of his spine. His whole body aches. From the deep, gnawing sense of loss.

He’s not the person he used to be.

Ever since Miki.

He’s angry.

Angry at himself.

Angry at the transformation.

Angry that Mike is still standing there, looking at him like everything's still fine.

But it’s not.

He’s not.

Steven’s breath hitches in his chest, and in the silence that follows, his wings droop, heavy and defeated. His whole body slumps as the adrenaline fades, leaving only raw exhaustion. He doesn’t know how much more he can take.

Mike doesn’t pull his hand back. His eyes search Steven’s, like he’s trying to read his mind or something.

Professor Oak speaks again, his tone unyielding. “Mike, you need to step back. You’re not helping him by staying here. He’s a danger to both of you.”

Steven’s breath catches in his throat, and he can feel it.

The urge to lash out, to break free, to escape from this twisted reality, is stronger than it’s ever been.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of Steven’s ragged breathing and the quiet clink of chains as he slumps against the bed. He’s exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

“Please…” His voice cracks as he whispers, a quiet plea to his brother, to the professor. “Please... just let me out of these.”

Mike’s eyes soften, and for a second, Steven sees the smallest flicker of hope. He watches his brother’s hand inch closer to the chains. But before he can reach him, the professor steps forward, his voice firm, contradicting his pained expression.

“Mike, step back now. I won’t tell you again.”

The tension in the room skyrockets. Steven’s body goes rigid again, his claws digging into the bed as he grits his teeth. He wants out. He wants comfort. He wants his brother. But it’s like they’re all too afraid to let him have it.

He silently seethes as they both leave the room.

Chapter Text

The room is dim, the low crackle of the fire from the hearth casting flickering shadows against the walls. Steven sits cross-legged in the corner, his chest heaving, fists clenched tightly at his sides. The aftermath of the fight lingers in his blood, the adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. His breathing is uneven, but it's not just the fight he's struggling with—it's the anger, always the anger.
Another fight. Another moment of losing control.

His older brother stands at the door, watching him, arms folded, face unreadable. It's the look he always has after these outbursts. Not angry, but... something else. Disappointment, maybe. Concern? Steven can never quite tell, but it's always there, lingering in the way Mike’s eyes dart toward him.
“Why do you keep doing this?” Mike’s voice is steady, but there's a tension to it, like he’s trying to reign himself in.

Steven doesn’t answer, not just because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t. He’s still too caught up in the heat of the moment, the anger that won’t leave his chest, the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Then, he hears a sound—something soft, almost a chirp. Miki, his Charmeleon, watching him from the window. The small Pokémon’s golden eyes glint softly in the firelight, and she shifts her weight, standing up slowly, making her way over to him. Miki’s movements are smooth, almost comforting, as if she knows exactly what Steven needs. Without a word, Miki lowers her head and gently nudges Steven’s shoulder with her snout, the warmth of her body radiating against him.

The contact is familiar, soothing. The heat from Miki's body spreads through Steven like an anchor, grounding him for just a moment, and he lets his tense shoulders relax slightly. There’s something about Miki's presence that always manages to calm the storm inside him. It's a reminder that he’s not alone, that he doesn’t have to be like this.

Mike watches from a distance, his gaze softening a little as he steps closer, sitting down next to Steven. He doesn’t say anything at first—he doesn’t need to. Mike simply reaches over, brushing his fingers through Steven’s unruly hair. His hand moves slowly, carefully, the quiet motion somehow gentle in its familiarity.

The touch is steady, like Mike’s always done when Steven gets too worked up. A simple thing, but it works—soft, soothing, the motion of his fingers through Steven's hair making the anger in Steven’s chest start to ease, just a little. The tension in his muscles loosens. For the briefest second, it feels like everything is okay.

Steven doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t fight it. Instead, his eyes flutter shut, his breath slowly evening out as Mike continues, the gentle brush of his hand through his messy hair calming him. It’s simple, but it’s enough.

“Hey,” Mike says quietly after a while, his voice calm but steady. “You don’t have to be angry all the time. You’ve got me, alright? And Miki.”

Steven doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The words hang in the air, but it’s not about needing reassurance. It’s just the feeling of the moment—of Mike’s hand in his hair, of Miki close by, a quiet presence that makes him feel a little less like a storm waiting to happen.
…
The sterile office is cold, the bright lights, although now dimmed, still too sharp against his eyes. The restraints around his wrists feel heavy, and Steven’s breath hitches slightly as the feeling of the chains presses down on him.

His hand is in his hair, fingers digging into the messy strands, tugging harshly at it as if that would somehow help. It doesn’t, only making his pounding migraine worse.

The chains rattle with a soft clink as his wings twitch restlessly at his sides. He pulls at his hair again, more urgently this time, his body stiff with frustration. A desperate need to feel something, to feel comfort again. The warmth of Mike’s hand, of Miki’s presence—it feels like a lifetime ago.

He’s alone now, he realizes.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights in Professor Oak's office buzzed softly, casting an almost sterile glow over the room. The air smelled faintly of old books and something sharp—maybe antiseptic or medicine, but it made Steven's skin crawl. He could hear the faint rustle of papers, the creak of his chair as the professor moved behind his desk, organizing something Steven couldn’t even bother to focus on.

Steven’s arms were still bound to the arms of the chair, but at least the cuffs were no longer there, replaced by a gentler restraint in the form of Professor Oak’s apology. He had insisted—gently at first—that Steven needed to "work through this." The "this" being whatever the hell had happened the night before, the transformation, the monstrous rage.

He couldn’t help but feel like they were hiding something from him.

“Steven…” The professor’s voice was calm, kind even, but it only made Steven angrier. “I know you’re scared. I understand that you're confused right now, but I need you to listen. We can work through this, okay? It’s going to take time, but together, we can make sense of what’s going on in your mind.”
"Make sense of it?" Steven echoed flatly, his voice dripping with disdain. His tail twitched, sparks of flame flickering dangerously at the tip. "I don't need this…the therapy. I’m fine. I don’t need anyone poking around in my head."

Professor Oak sighed softly, settling into his chair and folding his hands together. “It’s not about poking around, Steven. It’s about helping you understand the changes you're going through. Your mind is as important as your body in all of this. What happened to you... the transformation... it’s not something you can just ignore."

“You….seriously?” Steven’s lip curled, his eyes narrowing into a defiant glare. “I didn’t ask for any of this. You think talking about it will fix it? You think talking will make me normal again?” He growls, tail lashing.

Professor Oak paused, then leaned forward slightly, his expression serious but not judgmental. “I think talking about it can help you understand what’s happening to you, Steven. This—" He gestured toward Steven’s body, his eyes lingering on the faint scarring, the remnants of his strange mutation. “—this is part of you now. And I know it’s scary. But it’s not something you have to face alone.”

Steven couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped him. “Alone?” He scoffed, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “You think I’m alone in this? I’ve got Mike.” His voice cracked at the last word.

Oak watched him carefully, not pushing, but not giving up either. “I’m not asking you to face this alone. But you can’t bottle everything up, Steven. Hiding from your emotions, ignoring the changes—it’s only going to make things worse. I’ve seen it before…well, most of it.”

Yeah, right. In regular people.

Regular humans, if he could be considered that anymore.

Steven’s eyes darkened. “I don’t care what you’ve seen. I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do with my life.”

The fire in his voice almost startled the professor. It was raw, full of frustration and a kind of pain that went deeper than anything Oak had imagined. He had seen this kind of rage before, in others who had been through unimaginable loss or who were dealing with something they couldn’t control, couldn’t understand. It was understandable, with him losing his pokemon, of all things..

But Steven... Steven was different. He was like a storm, chaotic and unpredictable, a volatile force that’s nearly unpredictable.

“Steven,” Oak said softly, the words coming slowly, carefully, like a steady hand reaching out. “I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. What happened to you isn’t fair. But this anger... it’s only going to eat you up if you don’t let someone help you through it.”

Steven’s hands curled into fists, his claws scraping against the armrests of the chair. His tail flicked violently, flame roaring, and for a moment, it looked like he might lash out.

But then... nothing.

He just sat there, staring at Oak, breathing heavily.

Oak didn’t flinch, instead encouraged. “You don’t have to talk about everything right now, Steven. But I want you to know that this... whatever this is you’re feeling, it doesn’t define you. You don’t have to let it control you.”

The silence stretched out between them. Steven’s mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, emotions, and memories he didn’t want to face. His brother, Mike—Mike was the only one who understood him, who ever really understood. But even Mike didn’t get it. Not fully.

Suddenly, the weight of everything hit him. The dreams, the transformation, the thing he saw in the mirror. The rage. It was all there, swirling inside of him, pushing against his chest like it wanted to break free.

He looked away, his face hardening. “I don’t need your pity, Professor.”

Oak exhaled a long, steady breath, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not pitying you, Steven. I’m trying to help you. This anger you’re carrying—this pain—it’s a part of who you are now. And it’s not something you can just outrun. You need to understand it. Control it.”

Steven’s eyes flickered toward the door, then back at Oak. His mind felt like a storm cloud, full of static. And somewhere, he knew the professor was right. He couldn’t keep running from it.

But that didn’t mean he had to accept it.

“Fine,” Steven muttered, almost too quietly for Oak to hear. “What do I need to do?”

Oak leaned forward, his tone softening. “You don’t have to do anything right now. But we can start small. We can talk about the things that are bothering you. It doesn’t have to be all at once. Just take it one step at a time.”

Steven shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fists unclenching. His mind was still a disorganized mess, but maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that was willing to listen. Not yet ready to open up fully, but a little willing to start.

Mike had always been there for him, but Mike wasn’t here right now.

Maybe Professor Oak could be, in some way.

A small, barely perceptible nod from Steven was all Oak needed. And with that, the first step—however small—was taken.

Mostly.

Chapter Text

The air was still thick with the scent of fresh rain as the sound of soft, rhythmic footsteps echoed down the quiet halls of Professor Oak's office. It had been a few months since Steven's first therapy session, and the space still felt strange to him—sterile, full of soft, pitying glances. It hadn’t been easy. Nothing ever was. The first few weeks were an emotional battlefield.

Steven had resisted, of course. Every word out of Oak's mouth felt like an intrusion at first, each question like an unwanted push deeper into the confusion and pain he didn’t know how to deal with. He tried to hide behind the walls of silence, to lock away the things that he didn’t want anyone to see.
But gradually, through the gentle persistence of Professor Oak, the silence had started to break. It was hard. Damn hard.

It helped that not everything he said was true, and almost everything was coated in half truth, half lies like some carnival candy apple.

It also helped that any topics concerning Miki seemed forbidden to both, not brought up once. He was grateful for that, if only a little. He could breathe again without feeling the tightness in his chest.
Still, it was far from perfect.

There were days when Steven felt the familiar surge of rage bubble to the surface, days when he struggled to hold onto the delicate threads of progress he had made. But somehow, sometimes, just sometimes, he’d leave Oak’s office feeling a little less lost.

A little less like a monster, and more like who he was before.

…

Steven sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the trainers and pokemon walking down the street and passing the trails. The world outside was just as it had always been—busy, chaotic, full of life. But inside, it felt quieter, lonelier somehow.

It had been a week since his last therapy session, and Mike was still trying to get him to open up about his progress. The older brother had become increasingly concerned, hovering over Steven more than he liked, but today, Mike had a little more distance. A brief respite.

Steven’s hand twitched at his side, and his tail flicked nervously, brushing against the chair leg. He hadn’t let anyone close in weeks—at least, not like that. Not in the way Mike used to.

And now, there was the quiet knocking at the door. It wasn’t the first time. Neighbors, people from town, they all had questions. Everyone wanted to know how Steven was doing. Was he alright? Will he come out? Was he getting better?

What…happened?

It had started out as a trickle, but now, the inquiries were becoming more persistent, as if he had become some kind of town-wide spectacle. Everyone wanted to know. Everyone was worried. Everyone wanted to see the kid who used to be a little troublemaker, the one with the big dreams, and now…the depressed mess that, secretly, was technically not human anymore.

Mike was still the first to step up, as always. He answered the door, gritting his teeth as he faced the well-meaning but nosy townsfolk each time. His voice would be firm, polite, but there was always a slight edge to it, the annoyed kind.

“Steven’s doing fine,” Mike would say, giving the crowd a practiced, reassuring smile. “He’s still recovering, and he’s working through things. We’re taking it one step at a time. Thanks for checking in, though.”

The neighbors were always satisfied with that, but both Mike and Steven knew they wouldn’t stop asking. They’d always been like that—too curious, too eager to know everyone’s business.

…

The house felt quieter than it had in months. Mike had gone out, leaving Steven home alone for a few hours. He still hated being left alone—still hated the feeling of being adrift, the silence pressing against him like a suffocating weight. But Mike had insisted. He needed to get groceries, take care of a few things, and he promised he’d be back soon.

Steven stood in front of the mirror in the living room, his claws poking at his long hair—still as unruly as ever. His reflection stared back at him, but the eyes staring at him weren’t quite his own anymore. A deep red, not the calm, warm brown they were before. The transformation had left its mark, and while the physical changes had settled, the mental toll had yet to fully dissipate.

His fingers hesitated, tangling in the dark strands of his hair. He was used to it—used to the mess, used to the frustration of not being able to keep it in place. But something else tugged at him, too.
Something familiar.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

It was Mike.

Mike entered the room quietly, as though sensing the tension that still hung in the air. He walked over to Steven, pausing only briefly before taking a seat next to him on the couch.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Then, Mike cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said, his voice quiet but warm. “Your hairs a little….tangled”

No shit, sherlock.

Steven didn’t look at him. His tail twitched restlessly. “It’s just hair. Doesn’t matter.”

But Mike, ever patient, didn’t back down. “It matters to me,” he said gently, his hand reaching out cautiously, hesitating for a second before he started brushing Steven’s hair with the same steady, careful movements he had when they were younger. It wasn’t something Steven had ever asked for, but it was always there, the familiar touch of his brother’s hands. His wings lowered, moving out of the way.

Mike’s fingers worked through the tangled mess of Steven’s hair, soft but deliberate. Steven stiffened at first, uncomfortable with the touch. He hadn’t let anyone get this close in weeks—hell, in months—but as Mike continued to comb through his hair, there was something comforting about it. Something that brought him back to a time before everything had fallen apart. A time when Mike was just his older brother, his protector. Back when he could still rely on someone, before all the changes had begun.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for a moment, just a brief moment, Steven felt the tension in his body ease. He let Mike continue, his tail still but his mind wandering back to a simpler time, when things hadn’t been so... complicated.

Eventually, Mike finished brushing his hair, and the room fell into a comfortable silence. He didn’t say anything more. There was nothing left to say. Not today. Not yet.

But Steven knew, somewhere deep inside, that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as alone as he had been feeling.