[BL]My Two Dads Are Trying to Kill Each Other

The wind was sharp.

It bit through even the thickest coat. Dry, cold air swept across the hills like an old ghost. The carriage wheels creaked as they rolled to a stop at the gates of a half-broken estate.

Lucien stepped out first.

He looked around.

Stone walls. Bare trees. Frozen soil. No garden. No people. The main house looked like it had been abandoned for at least a decade. The front door hung slightly crooked on its hinge. One of the windows was shattered.

This was their land.

Their new "peaceful" home.

A gift from the emperor.

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "Gift, my ass."

Eliot followed, stepping out behind him with a groan. He wore fur-trimmed gloves and a warm cloak, but still winced as the wind cut through it. His silver hair was tousled by the chill. He looked around, then slowly folded his arms.

"Did they send us to die?" Eliot muttered. "This is barely fit for rats."

Lucien didn't answer. He walked forward, boots crunching over frozen gravel. The front door creaked louder when he pushed it open. Inside was worse—dust, mold, a fireplace long cold, and furniture barely covered with worn sheets.

Cassian clung tightly to Eliot's coat as he stepped down from the carriage. The boy flinched as the door banged open, as the cold air bit his skin, as a crow screamed overhead. He followed the two tall men with slow, cautious steps.

Eliot glanced down at him. "Don't trip."

Cassian didn't reply. His fingers stayed clenched.

Lucien stepped inside first. The ceiling dripped slightly in one corner. He examined the fireplace, pulled off the sheet from a chair, then tossed it to the side with a heavy sigh.

"This place needs rebuilding."

"No, it needs divine cleansing," Eliot replied. "Twice."

Lucien walked through the hall. Eliot followed, dragging Cassian behind him like a shadow. They checked each room—most of them had broken windows or missing doors.

Eventually, Theorne and Weyl arrived with a few hired workers. Instructions were given. Fires were lit. Sheets were removed. Food was prepared. Cassian, still quiet, was ushered upstairs to one of the rooms with a working bed.

Theorne helped him change into clean clothes and brush out his hair. The room was simple. One bed. One lantern. A blanket.

Cassian said nothing.

He climbed into bed, pulled the blanket over his head, and curled into himself.

The window rattled. He flinched.

He stared at the wall.

His chest tightened.

His throat burned.

It had been cold like this in the slums too. His mother always left at night. Men came in and out of the house. Some left coins. Others left bruises. He remembered the night he touched the rabbit, the moment it healed, and how quickly that miracle turned into a curse.

The temple had taken him.

Fed him rules.

Punished him for questions.

Praised him when he smiled and bowed.

A good saint must never cry. A good saint must never eat before prayer. A good saint must bless the cruel, and offer light even in pain.

Cassian breathed quietly, fingers twisting the edge of the blanket.

No one had told him these two would be so tall.

So loud.

So cold.

He wanted to go home. But he didn't have one anymore.

Downstairs, the fireplace crackled. It had taken two hours and three spells, but Eliot managed to coax it into life.

He tossed his gloves onto a chair and slumped into it, rubbing his temples. Lucien stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out into the endless white.

"Any idea who we should hire?" Eliot asked without looking up.

"Local help."

"In this wasteland?"

Lucien didn't answer.

Eliot sighed and sat up. "Fine. I'll have my guild send a few options. Nannies, guards, tutors. Someone has to deal with Cassian when we're busy."

Lucien turned. "Did he eat?"

"Half a roll. Then went quiet. Theorne tucked him in."

Lucien sat down across from him.

For a long moment, the only sound was the pop of the fire.

Then Lucien said, "Rift numbers are rising."

Eliot nodded slowly. "Reports came in from three separate checkpoints. One from the south-east. One near the border of Arganis. And one directly under East's edge."

Lucien frowned. "Border zones again."

"All of them. Always near old magic lines. I compared it to the last surge..."

He pulled a map from his coat and unrolled it on the table between them. Points were marked in red.

"See? Same pattern. Only now it's wider."

Lucien leaned over, eyes narrowing. "It's like something is testing the perimeter."

"Exactly. Small class rifts first. Just enough demons to gauge response times. Then a commander. Then corruption signs. And the priests—" Eliot broke off.

Lucien waited.

Eliot continued, voice low, "They stopped sending exorcists to non-temple lands."

Lucien's jaw tightened. "They're preparing to abandon us."

"Or worse. Waiting for us to collapse."

Lucien sat back. "That's why they gave us this place."

Eliot's laugh was bitter. "Congratulations. We're bait."

"Decoys."

"Expendable."

They both went quiet again.

Lucien tapped the map once. "We need to station defenses here, here, and here. Train locals. Reinforce ward lines. Use your magic circles."

Eliot nodded. "Already sent instructions. I'll anchor enchantments when the weather clears."

Lucien didn't reply.

Eliot yawned, then leaned back in his chair. "We're going to die in this cold place."

"Then wear a coat."

"I wore three."

"Wear four."

"You're a terrible husband."

"I didn't marry you for your comfort."

Eliot threw a pillow at him. Lucien caught it without looking.

They went silent again.

Outside, the wind howled.

Inside, the fire dimmed.

Eliot finally muttered, "We should've brought a cat."

Lucien closed his eyes. "You're exhausting."

"You like it."

Lucien didn't deny it.

They stayed like that until the fire burned low, and the clock ticked past midnight.

Upstairs, Cassian hadn't moved.

He stared at the moonlight on the ceiling.

His hands trembled under the blanket.

He wanted to be brave.

He had to be brave.

Saints didn't cry.

Saints didn't—

His breath caught.

He closed his eyes and prayed silently.

Not for strength.

Not for peace.

But for someone to stay.

He didn't want to be alone anymore.

*****

The dining room was quiet.

The fire crackled in the corner, warm and steady, but the atmosphere was strained. Eliot stirred his tea slowly, watching the steam swirl up into the cold air. Across from him, Cassian sat on the edge of his chair, feet not even touching the floor, hands neatly folded in his lap.

He hadn't touched the bread.

Eliot cleared his throat and tried again.

"I asked the cook to make something sweet today," he said, voice softer than usual. "Honey glaze on the rolls. You said you liked honey bread, remember?"

Cassian blinked once. Then looked down at his plate. He gave a small nod. "Thank you."

His voice was barely a whisper.

Eliot managed a thin smile, but his chest felt tight. This wasn't working. He didn't know how to talk to kids. Every sentence he said came out awkward or too light or too heavy. Cassian's face barely changed. His violet eyes just stayed fixed on the bread like it might bite him.

"You don't have to eat it if you're not hungry," Eliot added. "But you can. No one's going to get mad."

Cassian glanced at him quickly, like he was checking if it was a trick, then nodded again. His fingers moved toward the bread, slow and hesitant.

Eliot didn't push. He sat back, trying to appear casual, as if this whole thing was normal.

It wasn't.

It wasn't even close.

The air shifted suddenly. The door opened behind them.

Footsteps. Heavy boots. Snow-damp cloak.

Lucien.

He walked in with his usual calm stride, closing the door behind him. His dark hair was windblown. His sword was still strapped to his back. His coat was stained—no, soaked—with blood.

He didn't even flinch as he dropped his gloves onto the table and removed his cloak, revealing more red streaks along his sleeves and chest. There was a long cut across his right forearm. His expression was unreadable, but his movements were steady, efficient, unfazed.

Cassian screamed.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't sharp.

It was strangled, quiet, and terrified.

His chair scraped back as he stumbled, slipping off and crawling away from the table. His small hands trembled violently. His eyes wide in pure panic. He was already crying.

Lucien stopped moving. His brows furrowed in confusion.

Eliot stood up instantly. "Whoa—Cassian, hey—"

But the boy wasn't listening. He pressed himself into the corner of the wall, tears spilling silently down his cheeks, trying to cover his eyes with his arms.

Eliot blinked. "What…?"

Lucien looked between the boy and his clothes.

"Blood," said a maid, trembling at the door. "Children…they…some children fear blood. Especially noble ones. I… I apologize, your grace—I should've warned you—"

Eliot stared for another second, then burst out laughing. Not hard. Just a single, sharp sound of disbelief. He turned to Lucien with an exasperated grin.

"You scared the boy. Bad daddy."

Lucien scowled. "I didn't even say anything."

"Doesn't matter. You walked in like a horror show."

Lucien didn't reply. He turned and left the room to change.

Eliot turned back to Cassian, kneeling slowly, hands raised to show he wasn't going to touch him without permission. "Cassian, hey… hey. It's okay. He's gone. It's just me now."

The boy didn't move.

Eliot carefully reached out and placed a hand on the edge of the boy's sleeve. "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you. It's okay."

Cassian flinched but didn't pull away. He sniffled once, lowering his arms slightly. Eliot moved in closer and gently scooped the boy into a hug, holding him against his chest. Cassian's small hands grabbed his shirt like lifelines.

Eliot rocked him gently.

"It's okay," he murmured. "You're alright. You're home now."

Lucien came back ten minutes later, clean and dry, towel over his shoulders, hair still damp. He paused at the door, watching Eliot sit on the floor with the small figure curled in his arms. He stepped closer, voice flat.

"What happened?"

Eliot didn't look up. "You came in like a butcher."

Lucien frowned. "He overreacted."

"He's five," Eliot snapped. "What do you expect?"

Lucien crossed his arms. "He needs to toughen up."

Cassian flinched again.

Eliot turned and glared. "Not like that."

Lucien sighed and leaned against the wall.

Cassian stayed silent. Tears had stopped, but his face was pale, his expression blank. Eliot stared down at him, mind spinning.

Something didn't feel right.

This wasn't just a noble boy scared of blood. Like the scream had come from somewhere buried too far inside for a normal child.

He watched as Cassian wiped his eyes and tried to sit straight again. His hands still shook. He kept murmuring, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'll be good. I'll be good…"

Eliot froze.

That wasn't a normal child's apology.

Lucien watched too. His face was unreadable. But he didn't say anything.

Eliot quietly stood and carried the boy out of the room, handing him to Theorne at the hallway. "Let him rest. Keep him warm. No questions."

Theorne nodded.

When Eliot came back, he didn't speak for a long time. He sat at the table again, poured himself tea, and stared at it.

Lucien raised a brow. "You're being dramatic again."

Eliot didn't smile. "You ever seen a kid apologize for crying?"

Lucien tilted his head. "Plenty."

"Not like that. He sounded like he was begging for his life."

Lucien didn't answer.

Eliot leaned back. "That kid flinches like someone's going to hit him every time someone speaks. You notice that?"

Lucien was quiet.

Eliot looked at the fire. "He's not just a delicate saint. He's a broken one."

Lucien sat down too, arms crossed.

Eliot rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what they did to him at the temple. Or before. But it wasn't love. And now we're the ones stuck figuring out how to fix what we didn't break."

Lucien stared at the wall. "He's scared."

"No. He's trained to survive," Eliot said softly. "Smile. Bow. Say thank you. Say sorry. Hide the fear. Be perfect. He acts like a tool, not a boy."

Lucien didn't look at him. "What do you want me to do?"

Eliot shrugged. "Nothing. Just don't scare him again."

Lucien sighed. "I was patrolling."

"I know."

"I had to kill."

"I know."

"I didn't think."

Eliot looked at him. "Neither did I."

They sat in silence again. The fire popped. The room was still.

Lucien stood and turned toward the hallway. "I'll try not to scare him next time."

Eliot chuckled. "That's all I ask."

Lucien paused at the door. "You're serious about this?"

Eliot exhaled slowly. "I hope he doesn't look at me like I'm a monster. That's all."

Lucien didn't answer.

The fire burned low. Eliot finished his tea in silence.

Somewhere upstairs, Cassian was asleep — or trying to be.

Eliot didn't know how to fix him.

He wasn't sure they could.

But he knew how it felt to flinch at kindness. To prepare for punishment. To expect to be discarded.