"A fight without cause is a fight without reason."

It was wounding to his pride to ask Barbara to take him to the hospital when she got home. He would have walked himself, but the building was a good hour or so away on foot and in the dark, it wouldn't have been a very bright idea.

Watching the woman fret over him was very humiliating and even more so when he told her what had happened, leaving out the parts in which he found the path of destruction. Informing her of that would have only made her even more worried.

So, after waiting in the hospital for only an hour—a result caused by his previous experience of amnesia—and receiving strict instructions not to strain himself, he returned to the house with Barbara still doting on him. That was where they found Mr. Strickler, waiting by the door for a response. They had left the lights on after all.

"Good evenin', Mr. Strickler," Tyler greets with a wave of his right hand. 

"Ah, hello, Tyler," he replies before stepping aside to meet Barbara, "Mrs. Lake."

"Mr. Strickler," she smiles before unlocking the door and allowing him inside.

The boy glances between them with raised brows and a hint of amusement on his thin lips. It's not hard to see it. You'd have to be blind to avoid it entirely, and since he decided against gouging out his eyes the other day, he has no problem seeing the kind spark.

Or maybe it's another of those strange abilities he has. Just like being able to list the food items in a meal with only a sniff, perhaps he can sense feelings before someone expresses it for themselves.

"Are you coming in, Tyler?" his foster-mother asks with a slight teasing tone. "Or are you planning on sleeping outside tonight?"

While the idea is somewhat appealing, he steps inside without a second thought and abandons his boots by the door as usual. He has no interest in receiving another lecture.

"How did you manage that?" Strickler asks his student with curiosity and concern, gesturing to his arm.

"He took a tumble down the canal," Barbara explains, shooting a scolding look at the boy. "He's lucky it's only a fracture."

"Gràdh math, boireannach," he mutters, sighing to himself.

Strickler's eyes seem to light up at this comment, though it's clear he doesn't understand what was said. To him, things have just clicked into place, and everything makes sense.

"I'm sure it was an accident, right, Tyler?" the teacher smiles kindly at the boy.

He nods, walking past the man toward the kitchen where his newest book resides. Schoolwork can wait until the painkillers kick in, for now he'll relax as best he can with the leather bound book on Arthurian legends.

While the adults are talking—something about Jim and a play—the boy settles down at the dining table. Books are far more interesting than reality in his opinion, which is what leads him to delve into such depths of forgotten literature. Legends and myths have to have a point of origin, so why not look at the Holy Grail of all legends to seek the source?

"Were ye aware that Merlin was only half mortal?" he asks offhandedly, not looking up from the weathered pages of his book. 

Barbara chuckles lightly, looking over at the boy. "No, I was not."

"I believe it was his mother who was mortal," he continues, unburdened by Strickler's appalled expression. "But it's not really known who his father was."

"Some say he was a faerie, correct?" the visiting teacher comments, thanking his host for the cup of tea handed to him.

"Some," he agrees, flipping a page. "I don't think so."

"How come?"

It's only at this moment that Tyler pulls his gaze from the fading ink to meet the eyes of the two adults. His eyes swim with with an emotion that can't be explained, like molten metal and running water, nostalgia combined with heartbreak. He doesn't seem to be aware of this.

"If he were a faerie, every tale an' story would tell of it. But none of 'em do. They're all half-truths an' falsities," he shakes his head slowly, lowering his gaze slightly. "I think he's somethin' special."

Strickler blinks under the intense warmth of the boy's gaze, something violent flickering within. A warning, perhaps a threat. He doesn't know, but it unsettles him and makes his belief firmer than before. 

He adjusts his collar with a finger, glancing briefly at the book in the boy's hand, or rather, the boy's hand itself. It's covered in glyphs and old runes, wrapping once around his wrist in an artistically written bracelet and running down the back of his hand to encircle his middle finger. Maybe drawn in pen, but the meaning is no less unnerving.

"What's that on your hand, Tyler?" the man questions boldly. "I don't think I saw it during class today."

The aforementioned boy looks down at his hand and examines it briefly in the light. "Somethin' I did when I got home. Thought it looked wicked."

He nods slowly, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from Tyler. As much as the boy fascinates him, he's not here to observe and test him. No, for now his concern lays elsewhere.

The boy returns to his book, frowning a little as something within him flips in a warning. His teacher's inner demeanour has changed, though he doesn't know why. He wants to know why. But his destiny is not set on the path that tells him.

Sometime during the evening, Jim returns, though his foster-brother pays no mind to him. He's aware of his presence, but he's not going to talk to him until he receives an explanation for his earlier behaviour. He put too much energy into worrying over him and got himself injured in his concern.

"To be or not to be, right?" the black-haired boy chuckles nervously, and even though his friend pays little attention, the statement earns himself an amused snort.

"That would be 'Hamlet'," he concludes, grinning with a false smile, "not 'Romeo and Juliet'."

The fifteen year old flinches a little, once again seeing the almost predatory gleam in Tyler's eyes. It's a sight he hasn't seen since their first day of school together, and it scares him slightly.

Barbara offers the visitor another cup of tea, something he turns down after experiencing her tea-making skills the first time. "Thanks. I don't want to overstay my welcome."

"I would not say ye are," Tyler mutters, mainly to himself.

"My phone, Mrs. Lake," he hands the woman a small paper, intended for school purposes.

"Please, call me Barbara."

The eldest of the two boys smiles slightly while the younger pulls a face.

"Barbara," Strickler kisses the back of her hand, causing Jim to cringe. "Delighted to meet you."

As the door closes, Tyler speaks up, raising his voice so both can hear him, "I'd say that went rather well. All things considered."

"What things?" Jim asks him, only to receive no response beside the sound of turning pages.

It's not that he wants to turn a blind eye to his housemate, but he needs answers first. He needs an explanation of what happened this evening and why he found Toby's bag and bike abandoned on a trail of destruction. And he needs it to come from the aspiring chef himself.

The forgetting boy scowls at the words in his book, glaring at the details that contradict his own knowledge. He knows everything about these myths and yet they very often clash with what he believes. Even now, he questions the book's authenticity, but he knows it was written as an exact transcript of the original.

"Chan eil mi breugach..." he mumbles, flipping the page again. "I swear."

I'm still going! Ha!