Chapter 1
At only seventeen, Barty was cast out of his home. His father's fury echoed in the bitter winter air. The night before Christmas was supposed to be filled with warmth, joy and family, but for Barty it was the worst night of his life. His father's cruel words still burned through his ears as the heavy door slammed shut behind him.
Worthless. Disgrace.
His father's venomous words had always been a constant, but tonight, they were final. There was no turning back.
The cold bit into his skin like a thousand needles, the harsh wind biting at the exposed parts of his face. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flicker of the lights in the distant windows and the muffled sounds of distant holiday celebrations. It was as if the entire world had moved on leaving him behind.
He didn't care about the cold, there was no reason to. He didn't care about the snow that began to fall in a soft flurry. All he could focus on was the searing pain in his chest-- the red marks across his body from his father's throws. His nose was broken, he knew that much. Barty felt broken inside, as if he were only skin and bones existing.
Barty didn't leave without a mark however, the house-- his house-- his prison-- was now just a burning wreck behind him. The sounds of the flames roaring, consuming everything in it's path, echoed in his ears. It felt like freedom. He couldn't help but laugh, a crazy maniacal laugh, as he ran from the crime scene.
He ran because there was nowhere else. He ran because the only thing that made sense was running away as far as he possibly could. He didn't know where he was going, didn't know how far he'd already gone, Barty could only feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
How long was he running for? 30 minutes? An hour? He wasn't sure. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his body growing weaker with every step he took. He couldn't keep running forever. The lights from distant houses blurred in his vision, mocking him with their warmth.
His legs felt like lead, the thumping in his chest matched the pounding of his aching feet. His body was trembling now, mixed with exhaustion and the numbing cold seeping deeper into his bones. Every step was harder than the last, and the world began to shift out of focus, like a dream that lost clarity and meaning.
Eventually, his pace slowed to a crawl. The adrenaline that had kept him moving through the night-- the surge of fear and rage that had pushed him so far-- had started to ebb away, leaving him with nothing but the gnawing ache. He needed to stop. He needed rest.
But there was no home, no sanctuary, no one waiting for him. Only the cold streets and empty sky.
Barty stumbled forward, trying to keep moving, but his legs gave out beneath him. His knees hit the pavement with a dull thud, sending a shock of pain through his body. He was so tired. So fucking tired.
He dragged himself to his feet forcing himself to keep going, but his body refused. Just a few more steps, he thought, just a little farther. But when his eyes landed on a small bench tucked beneath a flickering streetlight, something inside him snapped. He couldn't do it anymore.
Barty stumbled toward the bench, his body sinking into the hard wood, the chill of it seeping through his denim jacket. He could feel it digging into his skin, but he didn't care. He closed his eyes, the weight of everything pressed down on him. The stars had seemed distant, as if they too had abandoned him.
He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them in a desperate attempt to warm himself. His teeth chattered, his lips numb from the cold, but his mind was too tired to focus on anything else other than the overwhelming exhaustion.
He'd spent so long running in circles, chasing the approval of his father, but it always felt like running toward a brick wall that grew taller with each step. It had taken years for him to realize that no matter how hard he tried, how far he pushed, he'd never be the perfect son. The one who could make his father proud. The world didn't care. It didn't stop for him, it didn't wait for him.
He had been a child once, eager to please, to earn that love that seemed so elusive. And when the realization hit that it would never come, it shattered something inside of him. The bitterness grew like a poison in his veins. There was nothing he could do, and the world didn't care. The world moved on, whether he was a part of it or not.
It was strange to feel completely alone, not in the way one might feel lonely in a crowded room, but in the absolute, hollow sense of isolation that came from being cut off, even from the idea of being wanted. And now, here he was, a man broken, lying in the aftermath of trying too hard for a lost cause.
Barty's eyelids fluttered, the cold starting to seep deeper into his bones. His body felt too heavy, his mind too foggy, like he was floating in some void between consciousness and sleep. For a moment, he wondered if he would just slip away. The thought came like a fleeting whisper in the back of his mind—maybe he could disappear into the cold, let the world keep spinning, keep forgetting about him, just as it always had.
But then, in the stillness, he heard it. The faintest rustle of leaves, followed by a soft nudge at his neck. It was warm, comforting in a way that didn't make sense. He tensed at first, too tired to even turn his head, but the warmth pressed closer, as if whatever it was had settled right up against his skin. A soft, almost affectionate weight, curling into him.
For a moment, he wondered if it was a hallucination—just his tired mind, craving something as simple as comfort. His eyes fluttered closed again, the exhaustion pulling him back into a haze of unconsciousness. The creature, whatever it was, felt soft. It nuzzled his neck again, a gentle, almost tender motion, like it was trying to give him the very thing he had never known: care.
It didn't matter what it was, really. In that moment, he allowed himself to feel it. The warmth, the small creature that was keeping him company, the quiet hush of the world that felt far away from the storm of his thoughts. It was enough, he told himself. For now, it was enough. He didn't need answers or promises. He just needed to know that, for a fleeting moment, he was not completely alone.
And with that, Barty let the darkness pull him under, the whisper of the wind and the warmth of the creature lulling him into a deep, peaceful sleep.
- ☀︎ -
"James, darling, don't wake him, just put the mug on the table."
Barty's eyes cracked open, the sound of the voice pulling him from the edges of sleep. His body tensed immediately, a raw reflex from the long night he had spent in the cold. He wasn’t on the bench anymore. That much was clear. His mind tried to make sense of the soft, warm surface beneath him—softer than any surface he’d ever slept on.
He blinked slowly, letting the room come into focus, and instinctively reached out for the familiar weight that had kept him company the night before—the creature. But it wasn’t there. His pulse quickened as his body surged with panic.
Where was it?
His eyes snapped open, wide and alert, and his head whipped around, searching the room. His stomach churned with unease.
“Where is it?” he demanded, his voice rough from sleep and panic, completely ignoring the stranger who had brought him inside.
James, standing beside a table, mug in hand, looked at him with mild surprise before he answered, his voice soft but firm, as if he were speaking to someone who should have known better. “It’s over there. The raccoon’s fine.”
Barty’s breath caught in his throat as he scanned the room, finally spotting the small creature curled up on the floor in the corner. Relief hit him like a rush of air, but only for a moment. He still couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. This wasn’t his life. These weren’t his people.
He let out a harsh breath, irritated by the very fact that he’d woken up in some stranger’s home. His eyes narrowed as they locked onto the mysterious man -- James, he assumed, whose gaze was now softer, more sympathetic. Barty’s instinct was to push that sympathy away.
“I didn’t ask for help,” Barty shot back, his tone defensive and cold. He stood, fists clenching at his sides, eyes sharp as they glared at James. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m fine on my own. You could’ve left me where you found me.”
James sighed, exasperated but not angry. He set the mug down on the table, making no effort to push further. Instead, he simply shook his head. “You’re not fine. You’re freezing, and you were on the streets.”
“I can take care of myself, alright?” Barty growled, still glaring at him, refusing to let his guard down. “I don’t need some bleeding heart trying to play savior."
James didn’t flinch. He just looked at him with quiet understanding, as though he were waiting for Barty to say what he really meant. “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself.”
Barty scowled, his jaw clenched tightly as his eyes flared with frustration. “Don’t act like you know me,” he snapped, the words coming out harsher than he intended. It wasn’t fair, and Barty knew it, but he couldn't help it. He was just standing there, calm, composed, his expression unreadable, and Barty hated how that made him feel — exposed, vulnerable, like he could see right through him.
"I don't," he replied, his voice unbothered, almost too relaxed. The calmness was infuriating, like he wasn’t even affected by Barty’s outburst. It wasn’t even that James didn’t care — it was that he simply wasn’t rattled, wasn’t giving in to the tension. How could he just stand there like that?
Barty picked up the porcelain mug, his grip tightening around the handle. he felt warmth against his palm. He lifted it to his lips but hesitated, eyeing the liquid with suspicion. "Did you fucking poison this?" he muttered, half-serious but with a biting edge to his tone.
“If I wanted to poison you, I’d make sure it was a little more... effective. There's nothing in there that's going to kill you.”
For a moment he just stared at him, before looking outside the window. The street felt like a lifetime ago, but it was still in his bones, still lingering in the cold spaces of his chest. He should've been left out there, it's what he deserved, surely. If he lived, great, he could carry on with his life and find another city to walk in. If not, well it was just one person less in the world. There was no one to miss, he left that life behind him.
"The name's James, by the way." He said once Barty looked back, offering a smile that only dissipated the fight within Barty. "Happy Christmas."
"Cheers." Barty grumbled, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. He brought the cup to his lips, expecting the bitterness of coffee or something stronger, but instead, he found hot cocoa. Sweet, comforting, rich in flavor. For a brief second, the warmth spread through him, chasing away the cold that had been gnawing at his insides. Barty paused, mid-sip, staring down at the mug.
"Settle in, if you need me I'm the third door to the left." He gave Barty a moment, just enough time for some sign, some flicker of acknowledgment. But all he got was silence.
Barty didn’t look up, didn’t even bother to nod. He was still holding the mug, eyes focused on the dark liquid swirling inside, like it could reveal some hidden truth. There was something in the way he was avoiding looking at James, like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to respond, or if he was afraid of what would happen if he did.
He heard James' footsteps as they left the room and for the first time in what felt like hours, Barty was left alone. The room seemed quieter now, the walls less oppressive, and Barty finally had the space to breathe—really breathe, without feeling as though his life were falling apart at the seams.
He let out a long, slow sigh, as if exhaling everything he’d been holding in. It wasn’t the relief he’d hoped for, though. It never was. It was just the same empty feeling that followed him everywhere, a hollow ache that nothing could ever possibly fill.
His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where the raccoon sat. It was oddly serene, sitting still with its dark eyes locked on Barty. The creature didn’t move, didn’t shift its gaze. It just sat there, content in its own little world, as if nothing else mattered.
Barty watched it for a moment longer, his lips curling into a faint, dry smile. "No," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "We don't belong here."