1 - 11

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."

― Roald Dahl

Hello everyone! I hope that you enjoy this chapter and have a great day/night!

Part One - Chapter Eleven

"The Clumsy Little Dragon"

His two-legged form is uncoordinated and clumsy; gangly and loud, unsightly in an ugly way. His old catchers did not like to look at his human face when they were cruel, it made them far more uncomfortable when he'd whimper or cry.

Stray never really understood why—never got how the two sides could be viewed so differently than one another.

They were still him, under the scales or the skin. Same eyes, same scars, same monster.

When the hatchling wakes up, it's abundantly clear that although both forms are him, he's much better at being a dragon than he is at being a boy.

Athanasius is still sleeping, holding him close and tucked around him like he's being hidden away. They're at the far side of the nest, the one past the large pile of soft things that prevents others from seeing them—it's where they sleep when his protector is in this form.

The hatchling is grateful for it now, he's not sure if he wants the witch or Ras to meet him like this, yet. He's not sure if they'd appreciate the change.

His hands are still a bit fuzzy, everything's more sensitive in this form. Softer or rougher, his hands are better at feeling things but his ears are worse at hearing. His eyes stay the same but his wings get more twitchy, flicking every so often with his tail.

It's hard to balance, even sitting up, everything's off.

It's very different, in this form. Everything too much but not enough, walking's weird, and even just trying to get his arms to move where he wants is a challenge. He thinks they're longer than they were before.

They have color in them now, as well. The hatchling doesn't look so ghastly pale, anymore—or, at least, the skin that he can see isn't.

He sits there, resting against the big dragon's chest, and staring at his hands.

His scars are different, Stray notices.

They're a deep red, like someone stained him with blood. The older ones are a pale pink but stick out against him a lot harsher than they did in his other form.

He wonders if they'll ever fade.

Athanasius shifts in his sleep, snuffling as he pulls the baby dragon closer to him. A giggle leaves the hatchling's lips as the other cuddles him, happy that he can finally wrap his arms around him and hug back.

"Hm?" The big dragon hums sleepily.

Stray presses closer, face into his neck and butting his small horns into the other's cheek.

"S'everthin' okay?" His protector asks, voice husky from sleep. "Runt?"

"Mhm," he hums, throat scratchy from misuse. Good-yes-yes.

It feels different, talking Dragonian in this form than the other. Strange.

Athanasius stretches out his legs slightly, hand coming up to brace the little dragon so he doesn't get jostled too much—stilling when his hands brush against his wings.

Stray looks up, blue to red, and he gives the other a slow blink.

The big dragon blinks back and moves his hand a bit over, eyes moving up past the little dragon's shoulders. His usually calm face twists up slightly like he's seen something sad.

Stray doesn't think there's anything sad about his wings.

They're really strong, all things considered. He can fly real high with them!

"Hello," Atlas says, looking back down at him when he squeaks. His gaze softens, a small smile meeting his lips. "It's nice to see you, runt. I thought I was dreamin' about you shiftin'."

That's... a bit silly.

The baby dragon giggles again and brings a hand up to lightly press it against the other's jaw, pushing for a couple seconds before bringing it back to himself.

His protector chuckles and his smile grows wider, eyes wrinkling up at the edges.

Atlas brings a hand up, brushing through the little dragon's hair. Sitting up, he takes the hatchling up with him, so Stray wiggles away slightly to sit cross legged by the other's side.

He's watched the whole time but, being used to that, the hatchling just settles down.

Even in this form, his protector is a giant.

"Runt," he says. The baby dragon looks over, tilting his head curiously at the sheepish grin. "Since there's no good way t'introduce ourselves in the other form, we use titles 'n all that, I've taken to callin' you Aster—which I know is not your name, so uh... I'm Athanasius."

Aster? The hatchling pauses, staring up at the other with wide eyes.

Then he laughs loudly, hands coming up to stop the sound but it's so funny for absolutely no reason.

He loves his protector, utterly and honestly, and they haven't even exchanged names!

That's so stupid.

It gets to the point where it's hard to breathe and he's hunched over, cheek pillowed onto the other's thigh, staring up at him through teary eyes and a large grin.

He takes a deep breath, giggles, and reaches up to where the big dragon's hand is still outstretched in front of him. Atlas had been chuckling a bit too and his red eyes were gleaming with amusement.

"At... Atlas," Stray stutters, not used to speaking, but moves their hands side to side. He thinks that's how you shake hands. "M'Stray. Astraeus."

Their movement switches, now moving up and down. How odd.

"Stray," Athanasius lowers his head to rest their foreheads together. He pulls back after a moment, moving their hands to his knee. "You're mine, yes? My treasure."

His? The baby dragon is his?

His runt, his hatchling? His, fully, completely? His treasure?

"Yes, yours, I'm—m'yours." The hatchling's face grows warm and he looks away, hiding his face against the other's pants as he gives a slow nod. He doesn't know why it feels shameful to be wanted. "And... and you're mine? Or no?" Curious-cautious-uncertainty.

Can he be the other's without the other being his?

"Of course, we are each other's," Athanasius rests his heated palm against the back of his neck, making the little dragon melt against him. Mine-mine-mine, he rumbles. "You are mine and I am yours."

Stray nods and squeezes the hand holding his. It squeezes back.

After a couple moments of them sitting together, the big dragon sighs and stretches again. Hoisting Stray to his feet, it's only a second before he's standing too and picking up the hatchling again.

"We," he says, "are goin' to give you a bath, new clothes, and then we gotta find somethin' to eat before Ras scolds me for breakin' the routine. How does that sound?"

The baby dragon gives him a thumbs up—something Ras does a lot.

Atlas pauses before shaking his head to himself and starts to carry him out of the nest.

It's weird getting carried like this. He's resting on the big dragon's hip, hands fisted into his shirt but they don't provide much support. He has no good way of resting his wings to hook onto his shoulders or a way to grab with his claws without ruining something; he's completely reliant on the other to make sure he doesn't fall.

His nose wrinkles as they leave the nest, staring balefully at the wooden floor.

It's always so cold in the morning and he knows it'd be much worse against his skin than it is against his scales.

They go a different way than they usually do—towards the big bathroom instead of the one with the large sink they usually use to give him a bath.

It's large and very green, tiled floors and shiny walls.

The bath looks like a massive hole in the ground, like a pond that the hatchling used to pick wildberries by, it'd probably be big enough for three—no, four!—Athanasiuses to fit inside of it.

Maybe a quarter of an Athanasius when he's on four legs instead of two.

A leg and his tail, or something. Definitely not his wings, though, they would be far too big for the pond-bath thing.

The big dragon doesn't bother locking the door before walking over to the bath, which makes him a bit nervous, but Stray doesn't say anything.

He trusts Oziamon and the phoenix, for the most part.

He just... doesn't trust them how he trusts his protector.

"Alright, first goal: warm water." Atlas nods to himself, holding him closer as he leans over to some odd rocks on the wall. By now, Stray knows that when they get turned, water starts to come out from the wall, but no one's explained what they were and he never had a way to ask.

"Name?" Stray reaches out and pats it, making the big dragon pause.

"The... bath?" He guesses. Shaking his head, the weird rocks get patted again. "Oh, uh—they're just called shower handles." He points to the awkward part of the wall where water is going to come out of. "That's the faucet, sinks have 'em too."

The baby dragon nods and brings his hand back to himself, letting Athanasius turn them this time to make water rush out of the 'faucet'. It's a bit loud and as soon as it starts from one, it goes around the bath quickly from the others.

Steam fills the air, thick against the chill the room has before.

There's no way it got warm that quick. Even in the summer, ponds would take forever to get warm from the sun and the sun isn't even in the room!

"The bath has its own magic," Atlas says, noticing his confusion. "Ras and I take ungodly hot showers, as Ozzy would say, so we had to adjust it to everyone's preferences. The water never runs out 'n it doesn't get cold."

Stray nods, reaching out with his energy to feel around the bath's stone and tile surface. The wards there are different, weaker than the ones in the walls. Still fairly strong but not a spell that needs to be renewed often.

It's stained with Oziamon's magic and his magic alone, no help from the familiars.

The witch was really powerful. Very few, he knew, could do even the most basic of spells without a partner.

That's why his old catchers had him.

"I am going to put you down, okay?" Athanasius warns, pausing at the unhappy snuffle he gets in return. "Alright, listen—I need t'get you a towel and some clothes that'll actually fit you. Yer tinier than we expected, runt, younger too based on the size of your wings. I'll only be gone a minute at most and be comin' right back."

Stray hesitates, because he doesn't want to be left alone in a large room, but nods.

The big dragon sighs and gently places him on his own feet; the floor in here isn't cold. He gets a pat on the head, his cheek cupped, and a forehead kiss that makes him smile.

Then Atlas's going out of the room, long strides graceful but quick.

Stray churrs sadly to himself and sits himself on the ground, waiting.

His wings fold behind him, tail lashing back and forth. He stretches his fingers apart and then back together, trying to get used to them.

Hands are funky, he thinks he likes his paws better.

Not even five seconds later, he hears footsteps in the hall, towards the door, a knock—it opens, carrying the heat out of it just a bit.

"Atlas?" Oziamon peeks his head inside, glasses fogging from the steam and hair falling in front of his eyes. "Fuck, I can't see anything, why do you always take baths with so much hot water? It can't be good for your skin." There's a pause. Stray doesn't dare to speak. "Oh! Right. I had a spell I can't quite get correctly. Y'know the one I have for the shop's beads, to make them move out of people's way—?"

The witch takes off his glasses as he enters the room full, squinting around as he hooks them onto his shirt. His gaze locks onto the empty tub and his face goes all confused.

"Atty?" He calls, looking around. "Where—oh."

Stray sees the exact moment the witch spots him.

Oziamon's eyes go all wide, his mouth drops open, and he takes a half step back in surprise. Then he looks around again before settling back onto the little dragon's frame, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

He looks really stupid like that.

Stray waves.

"What the fuck," Oz breathes out heavily. He still waves back, though. "Alright, this is fine. Just a random child in my... my—you have wings."

The hatchling looks behind him at his own wings, flexing one. He turns back and nods, he does have wings. They are still very much attached. He hopes they stay that way.

Athanasius doesn't carry them over to this form, which he's confused about, so it makes sense that Oziamon would be confused about it, too.

"And a tail." Oziamon says, voice high pitched. He's still gaping. "And horns."

The witch looks ready to, honestly, cry.

It's very unsettling.

Stray doesn't know what to do. What did Atlas do when he saw him in the morning? Oh. Oh! They still don't know each other's names!

"Oz!" The little dragon blurts, pointing at the witch, who visibly startles. He then points to himself. "S-tray, St-ray, Stray!"

"Your, your name is Stray?" Oziamon says, eyes still all wide and goofy. "That's uh, fuck, shit, wait, I can't swear—I'm bad at this. Stray, that's a nice name, sunshine. You're, just to be sure I'm not going crazy, you're Atlas's runt, yeah?"

The hatchling beams, nodding. He is Atlas's. Atlas is his.

"...okay," the witch squints at him again. "Where is he?"

Stray shrugs.

He doesn't know where they keep the towels, or the clothes.

"Right." He nods, pursing his lips. "And he left you by yourself?"

"I was gone for less than a minute, stop doubtin' me," a deep voice rumbles from the doorway and oh!—there Atlas is, holding stuff in his hands, giving a scowl to his witch. "Only forty-six seconds and yet, you still manage to have bad timin'."

"I just wanted to ask you a question!" Oziamon defends himself. "I didn't do anything wrong. Besides, Stray likes me. He doesn't mind." He waves towards the little dragon.

Both sets of eyes turn to him.

The hatchling gives both of them a thumbs up, Athanasius snorts.

"Well," Oziamon says, staring at him still. Stray can't tell if he's okay with the shift or not. "At least Ras will be happy he picked up that instead of a different hand gesture."

And, because he's proud of himself for knowing what the witch is talking about, Stray lifts his hand higher, puts down his thumb, and raises his middle finger.

The witch gives a startled laugh as his protector sighs, coming over to him and scooping the little dragon up. He easily settles against the other's chest, hands coming down to clutch onto the shirt below him.

"Don't do that unless you're tryin' to offend someone, runt," Atlas says. "Or if that person is Ozzy, since he knows you don't mean it and he'll deserve it."

The baby dragon laughs at the witch's offended 'hey' and lays his head on Athanasius's shoulder.

Oziamon's expression slowly goes back to normal as he begins a conversation with the big dragon, eyes a bit more squinty without his glasses but shoulders relaxing and hands gesturing more as his posture loosens.

He's alright with seeing him like this, without the scales.

There's nothing upset in the way he moves or talks.

"Alright," Athanasius eventually says, setting the clothes and towels down onto a counter next to the pond-bath, holding the baby dragon closer to his chest with the other hand. "Gotta get him in the bath, so get out and lock the door after you."

"Yeah, yeah, you overprotective softie," the witch grin widens at the half-assed glare the big dragon throws his way. "I'm leaving."

As he walks away, the hatchling waves, offering a small smile and a tail flick.

Oziamon pauses at the doorway, steam slightly blurring his frame.

"Stray?" He says, the little dragon looks up—brown to blue. "I'm glad that you're here and... that you felt comfortable enough around us to shift. You're always welcome here, in our home, in this form or not."

Stray's eyes widened and so did his smile—he made a grateful little growl towards the witch. Ozzy's not angry. He's okay with Stray like this.

Scales or skin, he's welcome here.

Oziamon dunks his head, his own smile on his lips and a light pink to his cheeks as he slinks out of the door, the lock clicking behind him as it shuts with a soft thunk.

"See, treasure?" Athanasius says, a low chuff in his throat as he nuzzles his nose into the little dragon's hair. The hatchling gives a curious snort and turns to nuzzle the other back. "We all want you here, four legs or two. Besides, I'd fight anyone who has a problem with you and I never lose."

Stray purred, warm and content, pleased with the words.

He didn't doubt that his protector never lost a fight.

-——-——-

Taking a bath in his human form is weird.

The foam of soap clings instead of sliding off and his hands are softer, smoother, the skin wrinkling at his fingertips and feet. Shampoo stings his eyes and makes his hair darker, the conditioner sticking to the strands even after he rinsed it out with water multiple times.

The dirt streaks instead of clumps, it needs to be scrubbed off instead of wiped. His wings are a lot harder to wash in this form, his neck doesn't turn as far as it can as a dragon.

Hair tangled, soap slips, eyes sting—being a human sucks, sometimes.

Athanasius keeps him focused, though, sitting on the edge of the tub and reading a book. He scrubs between the little dragon's wings and gets the suds out of his hair when Stray's clumsy hands fail to do so.

He's there, mostly, to make sure that the hatchling doesn't hurt himself.

Apparently, a lot of children can accidentally drown. Water in their lungs is deadly but he's been swimming before—thrown into ponds or shallow pools. He's caught fish, too, when salmon came through a small river last summer.

Despite this, his protector stays. Stray's grateful for the company.

After he's all clean, and smelling greatly like the soap the big dragon uses, the baby dragon watches as the water is drained. The steam leaves with it, leaving damp stone and thick air in its wake.

He climbs out of the pond-bath once there's no water left and is immediately wrapped up into a fuzzy towel.

It's soft and was given to him, so even once the hatchling's dry, the big dragon has to bribe him with equally soft—but not as fuzzy—clothes for the little one to wear before he agrees to let go of the towel.

Underwear is weird. Even when he used to stay more boy than monster, Stray didn't see the point in having clothes under clothes.

But they're soft and the pants he pulls over them are too.

They're too big, though, and Athanasius has to bundle it up around the waist and tie it so they stay up. There's a hole in the back for his tail and the back of his shirt's bare to let his wings out.

His sleeves are long as well but he refuses to get them rolled up, not wanting them fixed.

He likes the feeling of them over his hands, it's like a blanket he gets to wear.

The clothes are thick and keep the heat in but his protector still scoops him onto his lap to make sure he's warm as a different towel is grabbed to dry his hair.

Being mindful of his horns, Atlas moves it through his curls until they're no longer dripping, brushing them out of his face. Stray opens his eyes, peeking up at the big dragon past the towel's edge.

An eyebrow gets raised at him, so he tries to do it back, but all he succeeds in is accidentally crossing his eyes. Athanasius laughs and drops a kiss to his forehead, smoothing down a wrinkle with his thumb when the hatchling frowns up at him.

"C'mon, runt," his protector says, setting the towel to the side. "Let's get some food into ya."

Stray makes a face as he realizes he's going to have to use silverware. That seems complicated and he's convinced that the knives don't belong in the kitchen.

"What?" The familiar says, seeing his expression. "What's the face for?"

Stray shrugs. He'll figure out how to hold a spoon, it can't be that difficult. Or he'll just eat apples, those don't need spoons. Or forks.

The big dragon stares at him for a moment before looking away, eyes lifting to the door as he picks Stray up and places the baby on his feet. He stands too and offers a hand, which is taken in a light grip. Athanasius grabs his book and the socks he had for the hatchling.

They make their way to the door and he steps back slightly as it opens, cool air smacking him in the face.

"You cold?" His protector asks. Stray looks up at him, tilting his head all the way back. He shrugs. "Do you want me to pick you up?"

The little dragon points to the socks.

"You want to put 'em on before we go out?" Atlas guesses. He nods. "Alright, c'mere."

Stray drifts closer, easily letting himself get moved to sit on the other's thigh while the big dragon crouches to show him how to put them on—unlike the pants and shirt, socks are really easy.

He never wore socks before.

After they're on and he's done the experimental toe wiggle and kicks, he's set on his feet. His protector holds his hand again, having to hunch over kinda far to do it, and then they're walking to the kitchen.

It feels a lot farther to walk than it feels to be carried but at least now the floor isn't so cold.

Athanasius holds the door open for him so Stray gives him a thankful headbutt. Spotting Oziamon hunched over the table as he eats something from a bowl, brown eyes pinned onto an object in front of him, the baby dragon points at him.

Silently, the familiar walks them over to the witch.

The hatchling lets go of his hand and tugs at the witch's pants, easily startling him and getting his attention in one go.

"Oh sh—crap, you scared me," he breathes, moving back in his chair as he sets his spoon down. Stray shuffles closer, not bothering to reply as he clambers up Oziamon's chair and sits down in the witch's lap. He wraps his arms around him, head over his heart. "Oh."

He's hugged back, under his wings but over the base of his tail, tight but not restrictive.

"Oh wow," Oziamon says, sounding awed. "I can see it now, Atty, why you're such a softie."

Athanasius doesn't dignify that with a response. He pats Stray on the head and rumbles something soft at him before pulling away to make them food.