Lost Destinies

↳ 25: Not-So-Welcome Home

Gray's rough-terrain tires screeched against branches and dirt before coming to a skidding halt. Baby Bear unbuckled quickly, everyone scrambling to get up with a haste they weren't used to as Claude held up a barely-conscious Penny, dark hair spilling over her shoulders and across his white suit. Ramona grabbed her bag before ducking out of the van, motioning for the other girls to help her throw a tarp over it and make a time-pressed effort to conceal the vehicle among underbrush and large tree branches. Bear helped Claude maneuver Penny out, and led the way down a worn dirt path to a cozy cottage hidden in the trees.

They all recognized this place.

Bear passed by the all-too-familiar wooden mailbox, the paint rain-spotted and muddied—he could still make out the name BEAR in white on the side. Some of the trees surrounding his childhood home had been long reduced to stumps, and there was a large stack of logs piled up against the side of the house, waiting for future use in the fireplace. The red paint, the shabby roof that Papa had always talked about re-shingling but never actually intended to, the quaint circular windows... Even the doormat was still there, faded letters spelling out Welcome Home!

As he stepped toward the big bear-head knocker, he was consumed with the sudden and overwhelming fear that he would not, in fact, be welcomed home.

But—he glanced back at everyone—his friends were depending on him, and Penny needed help. His mother was a healing expert. He didn't know who else to go to who wouldn't rat them out to the law.

He knocked once. Twice. Three times.

(Third time's always a charm.)

There was a shuffling and muffled noise inside, and then the door swung open. Bear felt like a little boy again, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was so small compared to his father's towering figure, even though he was quite sure they were around the same height. It was like all the disappointment and his own personal guilt were looming over him, daring him to speak.

He cleared his throat. "Pa—"

"Bernard?" His father tore a hand through his hair, eyes wide with disbelief. He was wearing loose brown flannel over army-green pants and mismatched fuzzy house socks. Two years really didn't change anything at all. "Bernard," he breathed, pulling him in abruptly for a tight embrace, pressing his face to Bear's long, tangled hair. He pulled back, eyes roving him. "Mari! Mari, Bernard's home!"

He hadn't heard that heavy northwestern Fairy accent in a long time. It felt like a warm mug of nostalgia.

The unmistakable sound of lightweight, padding feet ran towards the door, before a young girl popped up behind her father. "Holy shite!" she blurted. Papa Bear spun to snap his fingers at her.

"What did I tell you about mindin' your language?"

Bear's little sister Libby ignored him, craning her neck to get a better look. "Baby! Why'd you bring home so many girlfriends?" She tilted her head and scrunched her nose at the sight of Claude. "And a boyfriend!"

In spite of the situation, Bear wanted to laugh. Nothing had changed. Nothing has changed.

He was relieved beyond measure.

Papa did a double take, as if Libby's comments had made him aware of the horde of people standing out on the front path. "You've brought your pack! Oh, how rude of me," he muttered, opening the door wide and moving out of the way to let everyone in. "Please, come in. All you."

Grateful, Bear headed inside, all the others following behind him. "Papa," he said urgently. "Penny. She's hurt. She's got an infection; it's manticore poison. Er—venom."