I Dream a Nation of You (3/5)

[foxxcub]

Dawn brought gray clouds and a constant rain that wasn't heavy enough to soak them through, but was steady enough to make for miserably slow travel. It didn't help things that Brendon was skittish around Ryan, who quietly kept to himself, barely speaking in single word sentences to Spencer. Jon knew Brendon wanted to apologize again, could feel the nervous energy swirling around him, but Brendon didn't say a word. He hung back and watched Ryan with anxious eyes instead.

Jon would have told Brendon to get it over had he not looked up and spotted Helia limping slightly on her left foreleg as they made their way through the trees toward the main road.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath as he ran ahead to catch up with them. Spencer was still riding her, and Jon noticed he had his leg bent higher over Helia's left flank, almost as if he were trying to ease his weight on her.

You're limping, Jon said, frowning as he splayed his hand over her hip.

I'm all right, she replied. It's just the rain. She sounded tired, and they'd only been walking for a couple of hours.

"Okay, stop." Jon ran around in front of them and held both hands up. "She's hurt, and I need Brendon to take a look-"

"It's her tractle ligament," Spencer said, shoving his rain-soaked hair out of his eyes. His coat was dark from rain, and his gloves dripped against Helia's scales where he held on to her neck. "It's best if she just keeps walking and lets it stretch out."

Had Jon been rested and not staring at Spencer through a film of hazy, cold rain, he might have calmly asked how it was that Spencer seemed to know so damn much about his dragon, or dragons at all. As it was, Jon cracked a little and blurted out, "And how the hell do you even know that? You just ride my fucking dragon for a couple of days and suddenly you know everything there is to know about her?"

Jon, Helia started, but Jon shot back, Not now.

Spencer flinched slightly, but his tone was even as he answered, "I know how dragons work, Jon." He ducked his head, his beard dripping onto his coat.

"Yeah? Next you'll tell me you're secretly a Rider, too?" Jon hated that his heart was pounding so fiercely.

"No, I'm not a Rider." Spencer pulled his bad arm closer to his body. "My parents were breeders," he said softly.

Jon's mouth fell open a little, his eyes flaring. He hadn't met anyone remotely associated with breeders since he'd been on his own; as far as he knew, they'd all been wiped out during the Revolution. They were considered traitors to the Government just as much as Riders, perhaps even more so-without breeders, Riders wouldn't have dragons. Suddenly, Ryan's story about Spencer losing his parents at a young age made perfect sense.

"I...I didn't know," Jon finally said, feeling his cheeks flush.

"I know you didn't. But I never could figure how to tell you without..." Spencer gestured to Jon with his good hand. "You know, making you feel like I was telling you how to care for your dragon." He smiled weakly, since it was obvious that was exactly how Jon had felt.

That's why he's always felt different to me, Helia said, shaking the rain off her wings. He's got breeder talent in his blood.

Jon rubbed at his neck. "Is that why you're part of the Resistance?" he asked. "Because you know how to take care of all those dragons who lost their Riders?" He knew with fairly strong certainty that others like Spencer were few and far between.

Much like Riders.

Spencer nodded. "My parents continued breeding even after the Government ban because they believed in supporting Riders, and that the Government was wrong. So after they were-when the first raids were over, I decided to do what I could to continue their work." He looked down as he ran a hand over the ridge of scales along Helia's neck. "My sisters were too young to have really learned much as far as breeding goes, but they know a little. It helps."

"Everything okay?" Brendon finally caught up with them, his breath coming in white puffs in the cold air, glasses speckled with rain drops. Ryan brought up the rear, and he narrowed his eyes curiously at Jon and Spencer.

"Yeah, we're fine," Jon said. "Helia's got a cramp, but Spencer says she's fine."

Brendon blinked, and Jon felt a quick flare of hurt before he laughed and replied, "Oh, good." Since Jon had known him, Brendon had been the one to see to Helia's injuries or sickness. It was the reason they'd become friends in the first place, and Jon could understand why it seemed odd that he was suddenly relying on someone else's advice. Jon considered telling Brendon about Spencer's parents, but he knew it wasn't his place.

"Are you still okay to ride?" It was the first full sentence Jon had heard Ryan say since the day before.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "She's just got a strained ligament, the weight will do her good." Then he smiled tentatively at Jon. "I mean, as long as you're all right with me riding."

Jon cupped his palm over Helia's muzzle. I am if you are.

I already told you I was, and Spencer is very careful with me. She had affection in her voice that was normally reserved for Brendon.

Jon nodded at Spencer. "You're fine. We've got to keep moving, c'mon." He shifted the weight of his pack and pulled the collar of his duster closer against his neck, even though every inch of his skin felt cold and wet.

But then Spencer smiled at him, a full, genuine smile, before he whispered something to Helia and nudged her along, his good hand still splayed gently against her neck.

Jon didn't take his eyes off them for several miles, an unfamiliar warmth settling deep within his chest.



It was almost dusk when Jon heard Brendon make a loud whoop of surprise from a few yards back and say, "Holy shit, Ryan!"

"Keep your voice down, god."

"No, I swear, I was thinking about pistachios, and you just made a face and said something about how all nuts are vile. And then you rolled your eyes when I thought about pistachio ice cream!"

Jon looked over his shoulder at them. Brendon was practically skipping beside Ryan, beaming as if he'd discovered buried treasure, while Ryan frowned at the ground with his mouth twisted to one side.

"We can't both be thinking about nuts at the same time?" Ryan mumbled.

"Sure, but it's different when you read my thoughts!" Brendon met Jon's eyes and pointed at Ryan. "Jon, I think he's psychic! Have you noticed?"

Jon laughed and replied, "Was he reading Helia's thoughts, too?" But he was remembered clearly the handful of times over the last few days where it seemed like Ryan was reading his mind, and his laughter was lighter than he felt.

Brendon came to a stop, his expression serious. "I...hadn't thought of that." He cocked his head at Ryan as he bit his lip. "I mean, you'd know, wouldn't you?"

"I'm not a Rider," Ryan said, making a show of rolling his eyes and marching ahead of Brendon. "Spence, tell him I'm not a goddamn Rider."

"He's not a Rider, Brendon," Spencer called back, sounding tired and worn. He and Helia were several yards ahead, and Jon could tell Spencer's energy was draining by the gradual slump on his shoulders.

"We should stop soon," Jon said, and he felt Helia breathe a sigh of relief; her leg hadn't really stopped bothering her all day, but she'd never complained.

Brendon ran to catch up with Jon. "You-you don't really think Ryan might be a Rider, do you?" he whispered. "I mean, this isn't the first time I've caught him...you know, acting like he knows what I'm thinking. I thought only Riders were telepathic."

Jon smiled crookedly and nudged Brendon's elbow. "Come on, Bren. He's just intuitive, that's all."

"But what if-"

"Don't worry about it. He's obviously not in any hurry to be one, anyway, so leave him be." But he kept playing Brendon's words over in his head: I mean, you'd know, wouldn't you? He glanced up just as Ryan passed them by, and Jon wondered just how likely it would be for someone to simply live out their lives and never realize who they truly are.

There's an abandoned barn up ahead, Helia called to him. I don't see any lights around. We should be safe.

Good timing, Jon replied, and tried to put all thoughts of Ryan's supposed telepathy out of his mind.



The barn was old, but it was warm inside. After Spencer dismounted, Helia promptly collapsed into a pile of musty hay as if falling into a feather bed; she sighed happily as she rolled onto her side, yawning loudly.

Perfect, she said. Jon shook his head at her, laughing; but he knew she deserved the rest.

Brendon was quieter than usual. He was watching Ryan with a mixture of curiosity and something that felt very much like envy to Jon. It made him wish Ryan were better at hiding whatever talent he had, and that Brendon wasn't so obsessed with dragons and the ability to communicate with them.

There was enough hay to go around for all of them have a decent bed for the night, or at least something better than cold, wet ground. Jon spread his blanket out and used his duster for cover; he planned to actually sleep tonight for the first time since they'd left Audrey. But plans or not, Jon was still aware of only two sets of steady breathing half an hour later, and he couldn't relax until he knew everyone was asleep. He rolled over and saw Spencer sitting up with his good arm hugging his knees to his chest.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Jon asked over the soft snuffling of Ryan and Brendon's snores.

"Pills aren't working," Spencer replied. In the dim moonlight peaking through the cracks in the barn walls, Jon saw him wince and grit his teeth.

After a pause, Jon said, "Want me to wake up Brendon?"

"No. It won't do any good anyway."

As tired as he was, Jon found himself still unconsciously straining to feel even a hint of pain from Spencer, or exhaustion, anything that didn't leave Jon feeling so damned disconnected from him.

"Why do you always do that?" Spencer asked.

Jon frowned and turned onto his back again, staring up at the rickety eaves full of cobwebs. "Do what?"

"You always look at me like you've seen a ghost-a ghost that frustrates the hell out of you." And this time, Jon heard that same frustration echoed in Spencer's voice.

He dug his thumb into his eye until he saw stars. "It's just...I can't understand why..."

"Why what?"

Jon covered his eyes and sighed deeply. "I can't read you," he whispered.

Spencer was quiet for several seconds. "You mean, I'm void to you?"

"Yeah. Being around you is like-like trying to stare into a fucking brick wall."

"But that's not possible, the only way that would be true is if-" Spencer stopped abruptly.

"The only person I ever knew who was void to me was my father," Jon said. "And I was used to it, I grew up with it. His being void to me was just...a part of who he was."

"Did he ever tell you why, though? Why it was you couldn't read him?"

Jon shrugged, letting his hand fall back down at his side. "No. I never really thought about it."

"He was present at your bonding ceremony?"

"Of course he was."

"Then he should've told you that anyone present at a Rider's bonding ceremony becomes void to that Rider for the rest of their lives." Spencer shifted against the hay. "No one knows why, it just happens that way."

"That doesn't make any sense, Spencer, that would mean you-" Suddenly he had a flash of memory to a room twice the size of the barn, a room full of warm, coopery smells, and a baby dragon waiting for him. And in that room he remembered a man and woman standing behind his father...with a little boy.

"You were there," Jon breathed. He sat up again and truly looked at Spencer for what felt like the first time. Spencer's eyes were wide as they watched Jon carefully, and while the light was too dim to see their color, Jon knew the color of blue was the same.

"I only went to one bonding as a child," Spencer said softly. "I wanted to see one so badly, but my mother kept insisting I wasn't old enough. But I remember begging her to let me go to this one boy's ceremony, because I was almost the same age as him, and his dragon's mother was my favorite." He laughed to himself. "I...I thought Helia looked familiar when I first saw her, but I never really considered the possibility...She looks just like her mother."

Helia's mother, Jon thought. No wonder she felt Spencer was different than the others.

"I remember Helia being so small," Spencer went on, head slightly bowed. Jon wondered if he were blushing. "I wanted to steal her and hide her in my toy box." He laughed again softly as he absently pushed the hair out of his eyes with his good hand.

"I'm glad you didn't," Jon said with a small smile. This time he didn't feel the tug of frustration and helplessness when faced with the now-familiar blankness, but he still found himself wishing he could feel Spencer, just to know that his heart was beating just as fast as Jon's.

They fell silent for awhile, and Jon let his eyes close as he concentrated on the steady rhythm of Helia's breathing and the way her stomach expanded and contracted slowly.

"It was the same for breeders, you know."

Jon opened his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, watching the barn dust float through the thin beams of moonlight.

"My parents supported the Guild for years, and they didn't back down just because the Government told them to. They kept breeding in secret, holding bonding ceremonies in the middle of the night and then smuggling the Riders and their dragons out before sunrise. When our home was raided, it was like we were all Riders ourselves." Spencer sounded different, younger, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jon could picture it all in his mind: the smoke from the torches being thrown through open windows, the sounds of gunfire and dragons screaming. Spencer didn't have to tell him anymore; Jon had been there himself, only he hadn't had a best friend and two sisters to escape with. He'd only had Helia.

"It was right after my birthday," Jon said, his heart thumping heavily in his chest. "My father had given me a telescope, and we were going to fly out to the coastline near our house and look at the steam freighters. I woke up thinking I heard fireworks outside my window..." He swallowed tightly, hating the way his voice caught in his throat.

He heard Spencer shift against the hay, and then callused fingers touched his arm. "It took me a long time to realize that it wasn't because of who they were that got them killed," Spencer said. "The Government promotes fear and hate, regardless of who we are." He pulled his hand away slowly, but he stayed close with his head pillowed on his coat and his wounded arm tucked against his chest. "What I'm saying is, it wasn't your fault."

Jon took a deep, unsteady breath. "I know that."

"But you don't believe it. Believing's half the battle." Spencer winced again in pain. "You should get some sleep." He carefully eased himself onto his back with a soft sigh.

"I don't sleep," Jon replied out of habit, ignoring the fact that his eyes had suddenly grown heavy.

"There's a first time for everything." He could heard hints of a smile in Spencer's words.



The rain turned to snow the next morning.

If only the rain had held out a little longer, Helia grumbled as she tiptoed through the dusting of snow on the ground, her tail held high to keep from dragging through the cold.

You could still try gloves, Jon replied with a gentle smirk. They were in open country now, with very few trees to give them cover, but Ryan had insisted that the Resistance headquarters weren't far. Still, Jon didn't feel safe letting Helia fly in such unpredictable air, especially when the snow was turning everything colorless and indistinguishable.

I'll steal your shoes and make you walk barefoot. She shook her wings in a huff, sending a flurry of white swirling around her.

Brendon, who was a few feet behind her, laughed and said, "She still really doesn't like winter, does she?"

"No, she never has," Jon replied, beaming in earnest when Helia looked over her shoulder to glare at him.

Barefoot, she repeated sharply, and this time it was Ryan who laughed. Jon blinked at him for a moment; the timing was too close to Helia's comment, which had to mean-

"Her mother was the same way," Spencer said fondly. He sounded strained and slightly winded, but he had been adamant about walking, regardless of the snow. Jon didn't know if it was because Helia's limp still lingered or because Spencer was tired of riding, but he hadn't argued. Brendon had frowned and made it clear he wasn't condoning Spencer's actions, and then promptly handed him a handful of pain pills.

"Spence." There was a nervous warning in Ryan's voice.

"I told him last night, Ry, it's okay."

Brendon grabbed Jon's elbow as they all came to a stop at the top of a hill overlooking a barren field. "Told you what?" he asked softly.

Jon never liked to blush, but it was something he couldn't control. "Spencer's parents, they-they bred Helia." It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Brendon the rest, but it felt personal somehow, like a secret he wasn't quite ready to share.

Brendon nodded slowly as he chewed the corner of his thumb. "I had a feeling that was the case," he replied carefully, and for the first time, his emotions didn't flow as easily through Jon. There was a mixture of confusion and uncertainty bleeding together into something else, something that felt far too much like the jealousy he'd been directing toward Ryan the day before.

"Bren," Jon started, but he was interrupted by the sudden, abrupt pounding of wings in the air and a voice calling out, "There's a gun pointed at your heads, so don't take another goddamned step."

Jon's brain immediately went into fight mode. He shut out whatever words of comfort he had ready for Brendon and dropped his pack to the ground, drawing his rifle and cocking the hammer in one swift move. He felt Helia circle behind him, her body hugging the ground as her wings fanned out to protect him. The air was too bright with snow; Jon could barely make out the outline of a figure hovering above them as he squinted at the sky.

"Now there's a fucking gun pointed at your head, so we're even," he said through clenched teeth. He would kill them if they so much as tried to take Helia, or hurt Brendon-or Ryan and Spencer, for that matter-

A thought, crystal clear as if it were from Helia herself, slipped into his mind and said, Jon? Jonny Walker? The voice was so familiar, like something out of a dream.

Jon swallowed and tightened his hands around his rifle. "I'll fucking kill you, don't think I won't," he yelled out loud.

"Holy shit." The shadow in the air landed not far from them, and Jon could finally see the sweep of wings, and what looked like a man dismounting...

"How 'bout you give us some warning next time," Ryan said dryly, and Jon felt an intense rush of exhausted relief from him as the man came closer.

"Maybe you should let me know when you bring another Rider into camp, Ross," the man replied, and Jon's heart suddenly began to race. It was impossible for the man to know who he was, he couldn't possibly-

Stranger things have happened, Jonny. He heard an awestruck laugh in his head as the snow gave way to reveal the face of Tom Conrad.

Jon dropped his gun.

For years following the first raids, he'd wondered if he'd ever find Tom again, and had all but convinced himself that there was no point to looking; he was dead like every other Rider Jon knew. And yet here he was, looking straight into the eyes of his childhood best friend for the first time in nearly thirteen years. He was taller and had a scar above his right eyebrow, but somehow Tom looked mostly the same.

"How...I thought you were dead," Jon whispered. It didn't dawn on him until after he'd spoken that he didn't have to say the words out loud.

"I could say the same for you," Tom said as he came to a stop in front of Jon. His black leather coat was worn, yet oddly formal, like it had once been military issue; instead of Rider's gloves, he had plain fingerless wool ones that looked to be a hundred years old. But unlike the other Riders Jon had encountered over the years, Tom didn't look as if he were being hunted.

Don't worry, you're safe now, Jon heard Tom say before an intense rush of assurance nearly overwhelmed his as Tom grabbed his arm and tugged Jon into a tight embrace.

"God, how long have you-" Jon mumbled into Tom's shoulder, barely conscious of how hard he was clinging to Tom, but Tom shushed him with, "Questions later. We've gotta get you all back to camp. Especially Helia." Jon felt Tom smile at her, and Helia shivered from the cold and said, Yes, please. But it's good to see you again, Thomas.

Jon opened his eyes and finally noticed Tom's dragon standing behind him, poised and waiting patiently even as the snow gathered on her bridle and harness. She was taller than Helia, but just as lean, and her emerald green scales were a bright contrast to the stark white all around them.

"You remember Kyryn, right?" Tom let him go and took a step back, waving his hand in the direction of his dragon.

Jon nodded at her, his throat still uncomfortably tight. Hello, he said tentatively; it had been years since he'd spoken to another dragon. It's been a while, huh?

Kyryn's eyes flashed gold as she smiled affectionately at him. It certainly has, Jonathan Walker.

"I, uh, hate to break up the reunion and all, but should we really be standing out in the open like this?" Brendon asked, and his voice was a little too high and sharp. Jon felt a small, very distinct tug of annoyance from him that echoed the jealousy he'd felt earlier.

He frowned at Brendon in confusion, but then Spencer said, "He's right, and I'm sure Pete'll be happy to see we're back in one piece."

"Relatively speaking," Ryan sighed.

Tom frowned at Spencer's arm in a sling. "Did you get shot or something, Spence? Fuck, is that why we didn't hear from you?"

The mention of Spencer getting shot automatically brought out the guilt in Ryan; Jon had almost grown used to it. "Long story," Ryan replied, looking out over the white countryside. "Just take us home."

Home, Jon thought. It was a word he'd stopped using a long time ago.



The Resistance camp was situated on an old plantation that had once specialized in cotton. Old abandoned steam pickers sat scattered throughout the grounds like rusted dinosaurs as they followed Tom through the tall iron gates guarding the entrance. A few men stood watch with rifles, and they nodded at Ryan and Spencer as they passed through.

"Pete's having a meeting in the house, I think," Tom said, pointing toward the huge, sprawling mansion not far ahead of them. "But I know he'll be more than happy to see you all." Kyryn swooped down and landed smoothly on the gravel path leading to the house, crouching in the snow to let Tom dismount.

"Come with me," he said to Jon, smiling wide. "There's a dining hall in the house, and Spencer knows where Doc Greenwald's office is. They'll be fine."



Jon looked over at Brendon, and mouthed, "You all right?" He couldn't stop worrying about Brendon's constant fluctuation from anxiousness to envy, with something very much like anger mixed in between. It all felt so muted, like Brendon was hiding his emotions from Jon, which he'd never done before.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Brendon said, smiling weakly. "Go catch up with Tom." He wouldn't meet Jon's eyes.

Helia butted her nose up against Jon's shoulder. He'll be fine, I'll stay with him, she said. And I need heat before I freeze to death.

So altruistic, Jon replied, quickly nuzzling his cheek against her muzzle. "Keep an eye on Helia for me?" he asked Brendon, gently touching his elbow. He wondered how in so few days he'd grown more tactile than he'd ever been in his life.

Brendon glanced down at Jon's hand on his arm, then nodded slowly as he took a deep breath. "Of course," he replied softly, and he finally met Jon's eyes with a genuine smile. There was a swirl of muddled emotions, followed by a clench in Jon's chest that felt as if someone was trying to hold on to him tightly.

"If you need us for anything, just ask around," Spencer said to Jon, blinking the snow out of his eyes. "We'll be with Pete, and everyone knows where Pete is at all times."

"Yeah, and he's been trying to rectify that since he got married," Tom drawled.

Suddenly the door of the main house opened, and female voice called out, "Oh my god, Spence? Ryan? Is that you?"

A brilliant, relieved smile broke out across Spencer's face. He waved with his good hand, and there were happy screams and more yelling as a dark-haired girl ran down the snow-covered path to greet them, a blond girl following close behind. They weren't wearing coats or boots, but they didn't seem to care as they threw their arms around Spencer, and then immediately pulled Ryan into the hug as well.

"You're late," the dark-haired girl mumbled into Spencer's shoulder.

He laughed softly and shrugged, looking up at Jon over the top of the girl's head. "Um, Jon, Brendon, these are my sisters, Crystal and Jackie."

"Hi," the other girl said, not letting go of Ryan. "We were baby-sitting Bronx while Ashlee took a nap, and Pete's in a meeting. God, what happened to your arm?"

Spencer wiggled free long enough to hand his pack to them. "Carry my stuff up to the house and we'll tell you everything, okay?" he said, kissing Crystal's temple.

Jon watched them head up the path to the mansion, Spencer's sisters clinging to him as if he'd vanish into thin air if they so much as let go. He wondered what it was like to come home to a family, one who was alive and happy, and the swell of envy in his chest was sudden and almost painful. He could see Helia bringing up the rear with Brendon, and he waited for the dread to set in, the buzz of fear beneath his skin that always came when he let himself be separated from his dragon-his only family.

C'mon, Tom said, splaying his hand lightly over Jon's back and shaking him from his thoughts. Let me show you where you should've always been.



The grounds were much more sprawling than Jon had initially thought. There were designated outposts all through the camp, makeshift cabins built from scraps of wood and metal that made Jon's cabin back in Audrey look luxurious. But there was smoke coming from the chimney stacks, and Tom insisted that each outpost was quite comfortable, even though the winter months weren't exactly ideal.

"Where do you live?" Jon asked, grimacing as he realized yet again that he'd forgotten his telepathy with Tom. It had been too long since he'd been around another Rider, and since he'd been surrounded by Ryan, Spencer, and Brendon for days, it was difficult to remember that he didn't always need to speak his thoughts out loud to another human.

But Tom didn't seem to mind. "I have my own room at the main house," he said. Kyryn walked silently at his side, her wings folded tightly against her body. Tom had yet to take her bridle and saddle off; Jon thought of Helia and how she would take to wearing her riding gear without actually flying.

"How'd you manage that?"

Tom came to a stop and smiled. "Because I'm a Rider."

Jon blushed and gave an embarrassed laugh. "Oh. I see." He rubbed his gloved hands together absently. "I don't need my own room, of course, I'm perfectly happy to stay out-"

"Jonny." Tom burst out laughing. "You've been on the run, what, almost ten years now? It's time you realized that you're not an animal-you're Guild, you're special, and everyone here knows it. We all have a purpose, and it's not to be hunted like dogs." He laid both hands on Jon's shoulders, oblivious to the snow clinging to his shaggy blond hair. "When my father and I got out during the raids, we came here after we heard rumors of a safehouse run by ex-Government ministers-Pete's parents. This was the one place where we felt safe, and where my father felt he could make a difference. He died a few years ago, but I've never wanted to be anywhere else."

The instantaneous surge of jealousy Jon felt when Tom mentioned escaping with his father made him flinch and look away. He knew he had no right to fault Tom for having those years with what was left of his family, but a part of Jon resented him for never knowing what it was like to be utterly lost and alone. "How many others of us are there?" he asked softly.

But Tom was shaking his head, and suddenly Jon was surrounded in sympathy. We all suffered differently, he said before replying out loud, "There's about a dozen of us, but only half still have their dragons."

Jon shivered. "They were kidnapped?"

"Yeah, and if they're lucky, they're being held at the compound I'm assuming Ryan and Spence found." He paused in thought. "Are they all in the meeting with Pete now?"

Jon blinked at him. "Um, I guess so?"

"You mean, you can't just ask Helia to tell you? She's with them, isn't she?"

"I...yeah, she is, but the house is all the way back there." Jon waved his hand over his shoulder. "I can't communicate with her from that far away." He felt his cheeks blush again; he sensed through Tom's incredulousness that he was missing something important.

"You've never learned how to project, have you." It wasn't a question, and Jon heard him add, Of course you wouldn't, you've never had the chance.

"It's just-for a while, after my father died, I found a teacher, and he taught me a lot, but he never said anything about projecting." He couldn't possibly list everything Frank had taught him during those two years, but Jon would have remembered if the topic of long distance telepathy had been mentioned. Granted, Frank had been more focused on dragon flight and survival techniques, something a fifteen-year-old Rider and his dragon would need to stay alive.

Tom's eyes flared slightly. Frank? As in Frank Iero?

Jon sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, which was growing damp from the snow. That's him. But he's been dead for years now. Even ten years later, Jon's heart still sunk a little.

Tom smiled. No, Jonny, he's actually very much alive.

Jon's head snapped up. What do you mean? How could you know?

"Because he lives here in the camp." He paused again, and Jon felt an uneasiness about him. Frank keeps to himself most of time. I only really see him when he comes to briefings-he's the only Rider who doesn't live in the main house, Tom added. There was a very cautious tone in his voice.

But Jon was too focused on the fact that his old mentor wasn't dead after all, even after years of Jon convincing himself that there was no possible way anyone could have escaped from that fire. Is Gerard with him, too?

"I think you probably already know the answer to that question." He pointed toward what appeared to be a barn that had been boarded up with sheets of metal. Bits and pieces of machinery and scrap iron littered the ground on all sides. "That's Gerard's place."

Jon cupped both hands over his face and blinked back the hot tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "Can...can I go see him?"

You don't have to ask permission for anything here, Jonny, Tom replied, nudging Jon's shoulder toward the barn. I've got to get Kyryn back to the house before she freezes, are you okay to get back on your own?

Jon nodded as he swallowed tightly. "I'll manage."

Tom squeezed his shoulder once. I'm glad you finally made it here.

Jon shut his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to sort through the myriad of emotions spinning through him. He thought of Helia safe and warm inside the giant mansion, and how both Tom and Frank had somehow survived here.

So am I, he finally replied, wishing he had Helia there to lean against.



Jon spent a good thirty seconds before knocking on the barn door worrying that Frank would not remember his face, that in all the chaos that came out of the Revolution, Jon had been forgotten.

But upon opening the door to the barn and finding Jon standing there nearly shaking in anticipation, Frank yelled, "Fucking Christ, I knew it!" and promptly threw himself at Jon, hugging him within an inch of his life.

"You're really here," Jon whispered, and the tears finally let loose, dripping onto Frank's shirt as he clung to him fiercely; Jon couldn't remember the last time he'd cried.

Frank's voice was slightly muffled from where his face was buried in Jon's neck. "Damn right I am, and I told Gee a little while ago that I could feel you coming. You don't know how long I've been waiting to actually be right about that for once." He finally pulled back and beamed at Jon, giving off an intense rush of happiness and relief. "Your hair's gotten all curly, kid."

"Helia always says it's too long," Jon replied, sniffing as he swiped the back of his hand over his eyes.

"Of course she does, she never let you get away with shit, did she?" Frank ushered Jon inside and called, "Gee, get down here!"

There was a loud crash from up in the barn's loft, followed by a stream of mumbled swearing, then, "Yeah, I'll be right there!"

Frank's hand was curled around Jon's wrist, as if Jon would disappear if he let go. "C'mon, kid, you need to tell me where the hell you've been for the past ten years."

He led Jon through a maze of sculptures cluttering the barn floor, all varying in size and shape and made from parts of old steam cars and dirigibles. They looked just like the sculptures from Gerard's old warehouse; in a way, it made Jon feel like he'd come home.

Hidden amongst the sculptures was a small open area with a worn velvet chaise lounge and a few chairs. Books were scattered in piles everywhere, and there was a single oil lamp on a small brass table beside the chaise.

Frank tucked himself into one corner of the chaise and pointed to the other side. "Sit," he said to Jon. "Start talking."

For once, Jon didn't hesitate to talk about his life following the raids. He was aware of Frank sliding in and out of his thoughts to say, Keep going, when Jon would start to falter, and he was just about to tell how he'd met Brendon when Gerard came rushing down the stairs from to the loft.

"Sorry, sorry, I just had one more adjustment to make, but I'm here now, what-" He came to an abrupt halt once he laid eyes on Jon. There was a pair of goggles pushed haphazardly up into his hair, which was in completely disarray, and his skin was smudged black from his forehead to the tips of his fingers. His clothes weren't much better off; Jon noticed he was missing a few buttons, and his suspenders looked frayed enough to fall apart. He looked exactly how Jon remembered him.

Gerard's mouth fell open, and he gasped, "Holy shit, Frank was right."

Jon didn't say anything as he got to his feet and hugged Gerard.

"He thought we were dead," Frank said, and Jon felt his regret.

"Really?" Gerard laughed in disbelief, ruffling a hand through Jon's hair. "Can't say I haven't thought the same about you, too, Walker. Where's Helia?"

"Back at the mansion." Jon swallowed before asking carefully, "And Xira?"

He felt a rush of grief and anger; it was so intense, Jon wasn't sure if it was from Frank or Gerard, or both. He didn't need an answer after that, but Frank still replied softly, "She was taken during the raid on the warehouse. I haven't seen her since."

Jon could not imagine what life would have been like for him had Helia been taken, and he hadn't spent as many years bonded to her as Frank had to Xira. Suddenly Tom's comment about Frank keeping to himself made perfect sense; Riders weren't meant to exist away from their dragons, and to force them apart usually lead to devastating side effects. Jon vaguely recalled stories his father had told him of Riders slowly going insane after losing their dragon.

He finally took a closer look at Frank now that the initial shock of seeing him again had worn off. Frank had always been thin, but now the edges of his shoulders looked sharper, his face more gaunt. There wasn't a nervous energy surrounding him anymore. Frank didn't fidget like he used to, and instead of him instantly curling into Gerard's side, it was Gerard who sat down carefully beside Frank and looped his arm around Frank's narrow shoulders.

It was the most inadequate thing in the world to say, but Jon still whispered, "I'm sorry."

Frank shrugged, and the smile he gave Jon was that of a man twice his age, one who had been worn down by time. "Wasn't your fault, kid. At least you've still got Helia, you know?" Be grateful for that every day of your life, he added.

I am, Jon said, feeling the lump in his throat again.

"So how did you end up in our happy little camp?" Gerard asked, and Jon didn't miss the way he hugged Frank a little tighter.

Jon picked up his story where he'd left off; he told them about his second day of living in the cabin in Audrey, and how Helia had come down with a vicious cold that had her shivering and coughing. In desperation, Jon had done the only thing he think of-he sought out the town's veterinarian, and prayed the man wasn't loyal to the Government. But instead he'd found Brendon, who-though he had never seen a dragon in his life-had always adored them as a boy.

Frank tipped his head back against Gerard's arm, grinning. "Sounds like this Dr. Urie is a good man."

"He's the best. I stayed in Audrey for him." Jon felt his cheeks grow hot, because he'd never admitted it to anyone out loud. "And he was there to help when Spencer was shot."

Gerard sat up. "Spencer was shot? You mean, when he and Ryan were coming back from...?" He flailed his hand a bit, and Jon nodded, filling in the details of Ryan and Spencer being ambushed on their way back from scouting the dragon training compound, and how the four of them made it back to the camp.

Frank watched Jon closely as he spoke, and for some reason Jon continued to blush. Spence told you about his parents, didn't he? he asked, and Jon could hear that hint of knowing in Frank's voice that was still familiar to him.

Yeah. Actually, his parents bred Helia. Jon laughed sheepishly. And he was present at my bonding ceremony.

Ah, that would explain Helia's eyes, then. Dragons sometimes take on the traits of other humans present in the room, but usually it's just personality traits.

Jon eyes widened in surprise, and Gerard poked Frank in the arm. "Talk so us regular humans can hear," he said, kissing Frank's temple lightly.

"How well do you know Ryan?" Jon asked suddenly.

"Ross? Just that he and Spence stick together like glue, and that they both came to the camp with Spencer's twin sisters years ago. He's a bit of a romantic, but a good kid." He narrowed his eyes at Jon. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that he..." He couldn't quite bring himself to ask about the possibility of Ryan being a Rider to someone who was still coping with the loss of his own dragon. It wasn't fair to Frank. "He kind of lives in his head," he finally said, avoiding Frank's gaze.

"Yeah, well, he's always been a little weird like that," Gerard replied good-naturedly, flicking his goggles down onto his nose.

"Hey, why don't you show the kid what you've been working on for Pete?" Frank said, abruptly changing the subject. "You told me this morning it was almost finished, so you might as well give him a sneak peek."

Gerard beamed. "Excellent idea!" He clapped his hands together and practically bounded off the chaise to the loft stairs. "I promised Pete he'd be the first to see it, but I'll make an exception for you, Walker."

Jon got up to follow Gerard, but Frank grabbed his wrist again. You're uneasy about Ross aren't you? he said. Is there a problem we should all know about?

No, it's not that at all. Jon shook his head. I've...caught him reading my and Helia's thoughts sometimes. But it's hard to tell what he really hears, and what's just a coincidence.

Frank sighed. I sometimes wondered, he finally said. In the beginning, when he and Spencer first arrived, I'd catch him looking at me funny, almost like he was uncomfortable to be around me. Then I saw him reacting the same way to Tom and the other Riders, but I never...

He let go of Jon's wrist and rubbed a hand over his eyes. His skin was covered in the same intricate tattoos Jon remembered, designs that Gerard had created for him over the years, each one having a meaning that only the two of them knew. He'd been so jealous of Frank as a boy, wanting his own skin marked in ink forever with symbols only he himself could truly interpret. In many ways, Frank's tattoos represented the life of a Rider that Jon had always wanted.

But he's an adult, Jon said. Can someone really live out their lives never knowing that they're a Rider? Is it even possible?

Frank shrugged. It's been known to happen, especially with orphans. If they're never brought to a bonding ceremony, they would never know their true potential.

He thought of Ryan telling him about growing up in orphanages until Spencer's family eventually took him in. Jesus, surely Spencer would know by now.

Ross has probably spent most of his life holding back, keeping his abilities hidden because he figured they just made him a strange kid, not a Rider. Frank's smile was so melancholy, it made Jon's heart ache a little. But he's too old to participate in a bonding ceremony, anyway. A baby dragon won't bond with an adult human, and adult dragons without Riders are... He looked away, and Jon watched him swallow tightly.

Even if he is a Rider, he'd never believe it, Jon said.

Maybe he'd believe it from you. Test him sometime, see what happens. He gave Jon a long considering look. Did you ever learn to rein in that emotional radar of yours, or do you still let it get out of control?

The night Spencer had the bullet removed from his shoulder was still vivid in his mind, how the emotions in the cabin nearly split his head open. I...do all right. Most of the time.

Frank snorted. You need to focus more, kid. It's gonna get a lot worse before it gets any better.

"Hey, you two coming up or what?" Gerard called down.

"Yeah, yeah, one second," Frank yelled back. He raised an eyebrow at Jon. In case I forget to tell you later, it's good to have you back. He shoved Jon's shoulder affectionately, but his eyes were a little too bright.

When Jon got to the top of the stairs, he saw Gerard standing amidst a pile of what looked like old zeppelin parts and other various metal pieces strewn over a wide wooden table. The entire loft appeared to have been converted into Gerard's workshop; it reminded Jon of a smaller, more condensed version of his warehouse.

But once Jon finished looking around the room, he noticed what Gerard was wearing.

"What do you think?" Gerard spread his hands out, which were encased in fingerless leather gloves covered in burnished metal, each knuckle hinged together by tiny bolts and cogs that looked to be taken from a pocket watch. The metal encased his arms all the way up to his shoulders, patched together with strips of leather and brass fittings, before connecting to a wide breast plate of solid brass and wire meshing.

Jon blinked several times in amazement. "It's-"

"Armor!" Gerard flexed his hands a few times, then wiggled his fingers in Jon's face. "It's a lot lighter than it looks, trust me. I tried the first prototype with cooper, but brass seems to be much more resilient to gunfire. But wait until you see the dragon version-I don't have a good model for it yet, but after I show this to Pete in the morning, I'm sure we'll find someone."

"You created armor?" Jon asked, running his fingertips over the bolts at Gerard's elbow. "For what?"

"For flight," Frank replied as he came up behind Jon. "Can't exactly go into battle if you're not protected."

Battle, Jon thought with a shiver.

Like I said, kid. Frank bumped Jon's shoulder with his own, but Jon felt a heavy rush of deep, sinking exhaustion from him. It'll get worse before it ever gets better.



It was dark by the time Jon made his way back to the mansion from Gerard's barn. The heavy front door creaked loudly as it swung open, but no one came running; everything was calm and quiet.

The mansion was just as sprawling on the inside as it was outside, and while the furnishings were modest and slightly shabby, there was still a warm, inviting feeling of security throughout the house. A fire blazed in the fireplace off the main lobby, and two sets of staircases lead up to a second floor balcony, then to a third. The ceiling seemed to go on forever, ending in a giant chandelier covered in filmy, ghost-like cobwebs.

Jon stood in the foyer, snow melting off his boots onto the cracked marble floor as he stared in awe.

"You must be Jon." Jon looked over his shoulder and saw a small man with dark hair falling into his eyes walk toward him with a lazy sway in his step. He was dressed in loose breeches and a leather waistcoat; his feet were bare, and he was barechested underneath the coat. He gave Jon a wide smile as he held out his hand. "I'm Pete."

Jon's eyes flared as they shook hands. "You're-"

"Whatever it is you've heard, it's a lie," Pete laughed. "If you're looking for your dragon, she's passed out in den. I'm pretty certain she's never leaving here after tonight." He pointed down a hallway to their left, where a door at the very end stood open a crack, letting a sliver of soft light escape. When Jon peaked inside, he saw a massive room, larger than anything he'd seen in years. Another fireplace was lit in the far corner, and sleeping on top of huge satin pillows piled everywhere were at least half a dozen dragons, including Helia, who was sprawled on her back on a jade green pillow, snoring softly. Not far away from her, Jon noticed Kyryn curled into a tight ball, the tip of her tail draped neatly over her nose.

"Do they always sleep here?" Jon whispered to Pete.

"Most of the time, at least when the weather's bad. The room is protected with an alarm system in case someone tries to break in." He patted Jon's shoulder. "She's perfectly safe, trust me. Are you hungry at all?"

Jon hadn't eaten since that morning, but he was too exhausted to consider food. "No, I'm all right. Thank you, though." He gave Helia one last glance before shutting the door to the den.

"Your room's all set-first door on the right, third floor." Pete handed him a brass key. "Breakfast is usually at seven-thirty sharp, unless you're a coffee drinker, then it's six forty-five."

Jon looked down at the key in his hand. "I...I don't need a room, I told Tom-"

"Then humor me for tonight, huh? Try it on for size and decide in the morning whether you'd really rather sleep on the floor instead of having your own bed." He smiled crookedly at Jon. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a six-month-old son who only lets me get a good four hours of sleep a night. I'm past my bedtime." Pete bowed his head. "'Night, Jon Walker." He left Jon standing alone in the foyer once more, clutching the key in one hand and his knapsack in the other.

He didn't completely realize just how exhausted he was until he began climbing the stairs to his room, his muscles groaning in protest, but soon he saw the first door to the right on the third floor. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the tall four poster bed with the moth-eaten quilt spread over it, and the small oil lamp burning on the nightstand. There was a wooden trunk at the foot of the bed with the lid raised, as if someone knew he'd need a place to store his Rider gear.

Jon gave a long, bone-deep sigh, and let his knapsack slide down his arm to the floor. He set his bag in the trunk and quietly shut the lid, thinking about his own trunk back in the cabin in Audrey. But thinking about Audrey made him think of Brendon, which then reminded him of Ryan and Spencer and how he hadn't seen them in hours. He wondered if Spencer had gotten his arm looked over by the camp doctor, if Brendon was getting homesick at all, if Ryan had told Pete about his and Spencer's escape to Audrey.

It was strange not having Helia close by and constantly in his head, but in a way Jon appreciated it; she wasn't there to smirk knowingly at him as he told himself he just needed to check on them to make sure they were all right before he went to sleep.

Jon didn't know which room any of them were in, let alone where those rooms would be located. So he stood in the hallway and took Frank's advice to concentrate more; he closed his eyes and pictured Spencer, Brendon, and Ryan in his mind, imagined the sounds of their voices and thoughts.

Bit by bit, the image of a door began to form in his head, and eventually he opened his eyes to find himself looking at that same door at the end of the hall, not far from his own room. He turned the knob, and the door swung open without a sound. There was another four poster bed, bigger than Jon's, with a single candle burning beside the bed on a stack of books.

In the center of the bed, slumped against a pile of pillows, was Spencer, his arm in a fresh white sling. He was shirtless, and his hair looked slightly damp, like he'd taken a bath before going to sleep. Ryan was curled against Spencer's good side, his cheek pressed to Spencer's shoulder, an open book lying on the bed at his feet. Brendon was in a chair beside the bed, his head buried in his folded arms on the mattress next to Ryan's thigh. Ryan's hand rested palm-up against the top of Brendon's head.

They looked so content and at peace, Jon couldn't bring himself to disturb them. But he also found himself eyeing the slice of space on the bed beside Spencer and thinking that, possibly, if he was careful, maybe he could fit in...

Jon shook his head. He'd gotten what he'd come for, and now that he knew they were all safe and sound, he could go back to his own room, alone, and-

"Wondered if they'd let you come back," Spencer murmured. His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled sleepily at Jon. "Brendon was getting worried about you."

Before he'd realized it, Jon had taken several steps toward the bed, until he was close enough to reach out and touch Ryan's foot. "I was just making sure you all were okay," he whispered. "How do you feel?"

"I'm not on cat tranquilizers anymore, so I feel great, considering."

Jon hugged his arms to his chest and nodded. "Good, that's good." He bit his lip. "I guess I'll just head back to my room and see you all in the morn-"

"Jon." Even half asleep and on stronger pain medication, Spencer still managed to roll his eyes. He jerked his chin toward the small empty spot on the bed. "Stay. There's room for you."

"I..." He rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple. "I don't want to disturb you guys..."

Brendon snuffled softly, and without raising his head, he slid one arm out along the mattress toward Jon and wiggled his fingers slowly, silently beckoning Jon to stay.

Spencer grinned and shifted his shoulders against the pillows. "See? You're not disturbing anyone."

It was as if Jon's body gave in before his mind could catch up; a wave of exhaustion swept over him, and somehow it wasn't nearly as hard as he thought it would be to take those last few steps and crawl into the bed. He sighed deeply when the mattress gave under his weight, and he was only a little too aware of his legs sliding against Spencer's as he pulled the covers up and around himself.

When his cheek hit the closest pillow, he felt a hand reach over and take his own. Jon opened his eyes and saw Brendon's arm stretched across the bed, his fingers laced together with Jon's.

"Are you glad you came after all?" Spencer whispered, his voice already sinking back into the rough undercurrents of sleep. He turned his head on his pillow toward Jon, and Jon felt the warmth of Spencer's breath skim over his chin.

I'm glad I came with you, Jon thought automatically, tightening his hand around Brendon's. Helia wasn't around to hear, so Jon didn't hesitate to think the words, even though he refused to think about what they really meant.

"So are we," came Ryan's mumbled reply into Spencer's shoulder.

Jon went very, very still. Spencer frowned sleepily, but then yawned and let his eyes close; Jon tried to concentrate on the slow pattern of his breathing over the pounding of his heart, but all he could think was, It's true.

But his body was tired and drained, and eventually he fell asleep with his legs tangled with Spencer's, his hand clutched in Brendon's, and Ryan's words playing in his head until they faded out into nothing.



Jon dreamed that night that he was sixteen again and back in Gerard's safehouse.

But the building was stripped and empty, every last one of Gerard's sculptures gone. There were no other Riders or dragons around except for Frank and Xira; Frank's eyes were heavy and sad, and he looked almost regretful as he splayed his hand over Xira's neck.

Nothing's certain, he said to Jon before he dropped his hand and took a step away from his dragon, pulling Jon with him. Nothing.

Jon stumbled back a bit. "What do you mean?" he asked out loud. "Why are you leaving Xira? Where is Helia, why can't I see her-"

There was a sudden bright flash of light, and the warehouse exploded in fire. The force of the explosion knocked Jon onto his back, and his mind was flooded with the horrific screams of dragons being burned alive. The smoke blinded him and filled his lungs; Jon flailed his hands out to find Frank, but all he felt was empty air and the heat of the flames.

"Frank!" he screamed, feeling hot streaks of tears coursing down his cheeks. "Helia! Helia!!"

"She's all right, Jon, she's all right, you're all right..."

It didn't sound like Frank at all, but the whispering voice was soft and soothing. While the smoke still stung his eyes, Jon felt a cool hand shaking him gently. He wondered how someone could have such cool skin when there was so much heat.

Jon shook his head, and a sob stuck in his throat as he tried to suck air into his lungs. "She's dead, they're all dead, I couldn't do anything, it's all my fault." He shoved the hands away from him and yelled for Helia again, wishing that the fire had somehow taken him as well, because he couldn't go on like this, he couldn't live alone and scared.

"No one's dead, Jon." The hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over his eyelids, over his wet lashes. "Please wake up, it's not your fault."

Jon started to shake, his whole body trembling beyond his control. "I'm so fucking tired of being scared," he said in a broken whisper. "I just, I just need to stop, please make it stop, just for a little bit..." He reached up and blindly wrapped his hands around the wrists framing his face, waiting for the fire to overtake him. "Just let it burn," he whispered.

"Jon, no, no."

It took him a moment to realize that the soft, desperate pressure against his mouth was a kiss.

"Was never your fault," the voice said against Jon's lips, and suddenly Jon was being pressed against warm skin, tears still running down his jaw. His lips parted instinctively as he let himself be kissed, gentle and slow. Gradually, his heart stopped its frantic pounding.

Fingers skimmed over his cheek as their mouths parted softly. "Wake up. Open your eyes."

Jon swallowed as his eyes slowly opened. Everything was a disoriented blur until he blinked once-and found himself staring into blue eyes.

Spencer bit his lip. "Hi," he whispered, watching Jon tentatively. They were facing each other on the pillow, his hand still cupped to Jon's cheek. But he looked ready to pull away at any second if Jon asked him to.

Jon blinked back the last of his tears. "I-I'm sorry I woke you."

Spencer shook his head. "You...you were moaning in your sleep, saying Helia's name over and over again, and then you started to cry and..." He pushed his face a little deeper into the pillow, dropping his hand. "I couldn't figure out any other way to wake you up, so I just..."

"Yeah." Jon swiped his fingers over his eyes. "I'm really sorry," he said again, blushing.

"Stop apologizing, I'm the one who kissed you." Spencer laughed, sheepishly. Almost like an after thought, he lifted his hand again and pushed the sweaty curls off Jon's forehead. "Are you okay?" he added, fingertips lingering at Jon's temple.

Jon sighed as he let himself lean into Spencer's touch. His brain was still a hazy chaos of memory, but he kept thinking, over and over, He kissed me. It had been too long since Jon had someone to wake him from a bad dream, let alone kiss him; now more than ever, he wanted inside Spencer's head, to know if the kiss meant more than a simple moment of comfort.

"Maybe," Jon finally said, and Spencer nodded as he tucked his good hand back against his chest. A part of Jon wanted to reach out and pull it back, thread their fingers together so Jon could press his thumb against Spencer's pulse and at least feel his heartbeat.