Van sat on the bench at the bus stop, berating himself as seven different kinds of idiot, even making use of one of the phrases he'd picked up from Dice.  He still didn't know what it meant, but it sounded full of spit and venom whenever Dice said it, so it couldn't be complimentary—unless Dice was saying ridiculous things and passing them off as insults, and the kid really wasn't that clever.

But thoughts like that only detracted from his own lack of sense—not even Dice would have been stupid enough to get on the wrong bus and end up in…Van didn't know exactly where he was, but it definitely wasn't Butirk.  Falling asleep on the bus certainly hadn't helped anything.

To make matters worse, the sun had obviously set hours before, the buses had apparently stopped running for the day, and there was no one to be seen.  Convenient tall gray poles with impersonal neon lights affixed to their tops were strategically placed along the sidewalk, sparing Van the complete dark of night, but also ruining any chance of falling asleep.  Annoyed at the lights, he started walking in a random direction to find someplace relatively dark.

It wasn't long before he found a forest that looked promising; he made a note of its distance from and location regarding the bus stop and walked in, then started looking for a good tree to sleep in.

This proved to be much more difficult than he had foreseen.  There was much less light available in the forest than there had been on the street, and his eyes were taking their sweet time to adjust to the difference.  But no matter how much he blinked, it didn't seem to get much better, and he started to wonder if he'd accidentally healed something and lost his sight.  That would explain the ache traveling throughout his body…  Damn, damn, damn, shit, MERDE.  Probably another damn rabbit. I hate those things!  Or maybe I killed something and then brought it back to life at the same time.  Huh.  Well, that'd explain why my sight didn't come back right away…  The thought provided him with some philosophical amusement until he remembered to be annoyed that he couldn't see.  He knew that he probably should have fumbled around for a tree to lean against and wait for the blindness to pass, but instead he kept going, keeping his arms out in front of him to at least prevent walking into a tree.

Another mistake.  St. Paul on a cracker, I must be nearing a record.  Whatever he had collided with was too warm and soft to be a tree, so Van decided it was either a person or Big Foot.  Given that Big Foot was definitely hairy and probably not as skinny and bony as whoever Van had bumped into, he concluded that it was a person.

Something wet had splashed in his face and was making his eyes sting terribly.  He rubbed them, but that didn't help much, and only seemed to turn the black darkness obscuring his sight into a variety of colors.  After a few painful seconds, the colors faded back into blackness with a jarring speed that made Van blink—and when he opened his eyes he saw the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life.

He was tall and amazingly thin, long-limbed like Roman, but with an air of grace that canceled out any appearance of being gangly.  However, his height notwithstanding, he was obviously younger than Van, if only by a year or two.  Messy brown hair fell in front of bright green eyes and Van found himself wanting to push it back to better see the beautiful face, wanting to touch and explore the blade-thin nose and tempting mouth.  He raised his hand, then hit it back down with his other hand.  Dammit, stop being an idiot!  Green eyes and brown hair are not fucking extraordinary.  He looks like any other…  Then he saw the ears and his jaw dropped.  Long and pointy, just the way Roman had described demons' ears; not as long or big as Frall's had been in Dahniem's memories, but Frall was considerably older than this person.  He burned to ask about them, but couldn't find the words.  Was it possible for a full-blooded demon to be in the human world?
~

"Oh, crap."  Cayn stared at the guy who had crashed into him and wished—not for the first time—that life came with a rewind button.  Or at least an eraser.  Yeah, a big friendly pink eraser, like the ones they gave you in grade school.  But life was too cruel for such niceties.  The cork on the vial had obviously not been on as tightly as it should have been, and when this guy had bumped into him, the contents had spilled out and caught the stranger full in the face.  To make matters worse, the Moon Moth had disappeared; but hopefully Cayn could find his way back out of the woods anyway.

One look at the guy was enough to tell he wasn't from around—well, anywhere that Cayn could tell.  But the oddity had nothing to do with his looks, exactly.  He was a few inches shorter than Cayn himself, with more muscle, but not enough to really deserve any attention.  His face was about as unremarkable as his build; the overall shape was rather round, and his small nose and mouth made his blue-green eyes look oddly large, even though he was currently narrowing them and frowning.  No, the strange thing about him was the way he was dressed, a shirt with the words 'le fromage!' and a picture of a mouse on it, a pair of very ripped, stained jeans, and some kind of skirt.  Cayn did a double-take when he saw the skirt, then shook his head when he realized it was a kilt.

The entire time he was looking at this guy, trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing in the woods, neither of them said a thing.  Kilt Boy stayed on the ground, staring up at Cayn as if he were trying to burn the sight of him into his memories.  The only move he made was to smack his own hand and change his facial expression every few seconds, as if he were talking to himself inside his head.

If he didn't get home sooner than now, Dad would blow a blood vessel, but he couldn't just leave this guy in the woods by himself.  What if he was mentally handicapped and had wandered away from somebody or something?  "Hey, uh, are you okay?"  He reached out his hand to help the guy stand up, but was shocked when it was slapped aside, with enough strength to make the skin where he'd been struck turn red.

"Don't touch me!"  The strange boy scooted backwards, but didn't make a move to get up and run away.  He stopped when he was about two feet away, then fisted his hands and held them against either side of his head.  "Stay away."

The word 'fruitcake' immediately leaped into Cayn's mind, but then he remembered who he had just met with and what he was, and wondered if he was allowed to judge anyone else's sanity.  In any case, this person obviously didn't want his help, and he could already hear Dad lecturing and layering punishments, so he shrugged and started walking, careful to keep a fair amount of distance between himself and the weirdo.

He barely heard the guy get up, and suddenly there was a hand on his arm.  "Please don't go."  The hand quivered for a moment, as if he were trying to decide whether to let go or not, then his grip tightened—not painfully, but decisively.

Something was definitely not right with this person.  "I thought you wanted me to leave."  Which was exactly what he wanted to do.  And would do, as soon as he was able to pull his arm free; the difficulty of that task was quickly becoming scary.  "Let go," he tried.

"I can't.  You'll leave, and I think that would kill me."  Earnest feeling shone in the boy's eyes, but then it twisted into fury.  "Oh, bloody hell!"  He squeezed Cayn's arm hard enough to extract a small cry of surprised pain, then pushed him away.  "What's wrong with me?"

It was the perfect opportunity for escape, but pure feline curiosity held Cayn rooted to the spot.  Before he could stop himself, he said, "What's your name?"

The anger disappeared and was replaced with a happiness that seemed almost girlish.  "You want to know my—I'm Van."  Then, he smiled and said in a gentle voice, "And who are you?"

As narrow-minded as people in this town were, there were not many homosexuals, and in fact, Cayn had never had any real contact with one.  He had always thought that he would have been cool and accepting if the occasion arose, but now he was amazed at how wrong he'd been.  He bolted.

A heavy weight slammed into his back and he once again found himself reflecting on the cruelty of life.  He hit the ground pretty hard, thanks to the extra weight, although his reflexes had sent his arms out in time to catch him at least a little, so he did manage to avoid smashing his nose into the grass and the worst he'd walk away with would be scraped hands.  Then he felt hot breath on his neck and started scrabbling at the dirt.

In a last ditch effort to escape, he rolled onto his back, hopefully crushing the other boy—though it wasn't likely that Cayn was the heavier of the two—then got up, twisted, and sat on Van's stomach.  All he had to do was punch him in the stomach or the side of the head, anywhere that would knock him out.

But before he could even decide what to swing at, a scarred fist connected with his jaw and he saw stars.  He fell back onto Van's legs, then quickly rolled off to lay on his side on the forest floor.

"Who the hell are you, and what did you just try to do to me?"
~

At first, he didn't get an answer, the guy even tried to run off again, but Van tackled him and pinned him to the ground.  "Talk, dammit!"  He probably would have started twisting the guy's arm if he hadn't remembered something Roman had once said about people who were truly different, like the scarred ones.  They were always reluctant to give up their anonymity.  And if the ears were any indication, this guy was truly different.  So Van tried a new tactic.  "I know you aren't a normal human."

There was only uncomfortable silence.  But he could tell he'd struck a nerve, so he kept going.  "I'm not one either."

"Huh?"

He let the kid get up, trusting in the power of curiosity to keep him from running away.  Of course, there was the odd chance that it wouldn't be enough, but no one ever got anywhere by not taking chances, and it paid off.  Van started to roll up his sleeve, then stopped.  "What's your name, anyway?"

"Cayn."  He brushed dirt and twigs off of his clothes, then started to walk further into the forest.  For a moment Van was afraid that he was leaving, but then Cayn knelt down and picked up something that had been lying on the ground.  Van squinted and realized it was a small bit of stained glass.  "I guess you couldn't be a normal human.  I just figured out what this is, and if you were a normal human, you'd be reciting poetry to me right now."

Now it was Van's turn to be confused.  "What are you—"

"Ever hear of Robin Goodfellow?  The Puck?  He gave me this."  Cayn held out the vial for closer inspection.

A month ago, Van would have said it was impossible and laughed at Cayn, but after everything Van had learned from Roman, his definitions of 'impossible' were no longer as black and white as they had once been.  He had never been a fan of Shakespeare, but he also wasn't stupid; he may not have gotten a passing grade in English Lit, but he had been paying very careful attention, and he could put two and two together.  "So that's what that stuff was."  Then he grinned and shook his head.  "It's pretty damn powerful."

Cayn folded his arms and scowled.  "I'm not that ugly, thanks."

"No, seriously.  I'm straight, and face it—you aren't exactly Kate Ryan."  Not that she was perfect, either; Van preferred brunettes to blondes.  He looked at the vial in Cayn's hand and a thought started to form in the more wicked part of his head.  "Is there any left?"

A quick glance at the vial and Cayn nodded in the affirmative, and a wide grin crept onto his face.  "You got something in mind?"

"Maybe."  A flicker of movement caught Van's eye.  "Be right back."  He stepped cautiously over to one of the trees, then climbed up as quietly as he could.  It had been years since he had caught a squirrel, and he wasn't sure if he could do it anymore, but it couldn't hurt to try.  The furry little mammal stared at him with its black eyes and twitched its nose when he started coaxing it.  He frowned.  No, that isn't right, this thing isn't a cat.  He looked around and saw a hole in the tree trunk, a hole that, due to its proximity to the squirrel had a good likelihood of being a home or stashing space.  Van reached out a hand towards it and the squirrel attacked his arm.  While it was busy biting him, he wrapped his arm around it, then climbed back down.

The squirrel was now too frightened to chew on his arm anymore, and its teeth had mostly just gotten tangled in his shirt sleeve anyway, so he probably wouldn't have to worry about any new scars.  He carefully cradled it in his arms and looked at Cayn.  "I've got this friend, name of Dice Adams…"