He packed up his clothing the following afternoon, hanging his new MAD SCIENCE garment bag next to the one labeled PROM before going about his usual business. This business apparently included enchanting half a pot of pale blue ink to sing as it was used, or it did until he realized the exercise was rather pointless. He needed a real distraction, something to dull his thoughts of dances and schoolwork for a time. He wanted to go home. The realization was a bit of a shock.
- - -
Brenley had only been on a train three times in his life prior to this. There was nothing particularly nervewracking about this mode of travel, but the boil had never done it alone, and understandably, he was bored. For a time he practiced his speed with spells, creating twenty-two glowstones—each with a different trigger—in a little under an hour. He stared out the window after that, watching the suburbs of Halloween Town shift to farms and fields. Eventually, he nodded off as greens began their fade to browns and tans.
He dreamed of a demon who called herself Weber for some inexplicable reason, a small and chatty ghoul who was entirely too sarcastic for one so young. Even so, she wasn't threatening in the slightest and she liked his work. At least, she said she did. Bren didn't remember much else. He also didn't notice that one of his glowstones was missing as he dropped them back into the pouch at his waist and groggily left the train.
- - -
Nerves finally descended upon him when he stepped past the scrubby stand of trees at the edge of their property and caught a glimpse of his house. It had been the better part of a year since he had seen it, since he had run from that strange power he hadn't understood but had since come to terms with. It wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but it was long enough for his memory of the place to go fuzzy around the edges. Amityville was his home now. It remained to be seen if there was a power that could take that from him.
The people of Nel didn't lock their doors, largely because the town was relatively small and its members trusted one another, or so he'd always thought. He realized now that much of that trust was just for show. It was likely that many attached tracking spells to their possessions that would reveal their locations were the items stolen away. Today, his mother's adherence to the appearance of kindliness and her perfectionistic cleanliness proved beneficial. The back door swung open silently when he pushed, its well-oiled hinges masking his intrusion. Brenley thought he'd find his mother in the front room, basking in the sunlight that streamed through the glass ceiling there, but he was halted halfway to his destination by low, bubbling laughter drifting from off to his right. He turned toward it, stopping in the door frame when he saw who was giggling.
His father sat at one end of their small sofa, snapping the grapes his mother threw to him out of the air as if he currently possessed the beak he wore in his natural form. Her feet were nestled in his lap, his large hands rubbing at the tattoos that covered their tops and continued up her legs. Brenley watched them curiously, and would have continued to do so indefinitely had Twiz not come barreling down the hall, snuffling and barking as she fiercely headbutted him in the calf. His father turned, the most recently tossed grape bouncing off of his cheek as his mother's grin widened to almost frightening proportions. Her glee was palpable, so strong a weapon that Bren's first reaction was to take a step back. It was only a small retreat, and luckily it served to brace him when she slammed into him as well, much higher than the puggle had. He looked over her head—which was, incidentally, a lot easier to do these days—and gave his father a courteous nod, its seriousness marred by his smirk.
"Mother, I'm sorry I..."
She shushed him, clasping him close. "None of that is important. All that matters is you're here. Both of you."
- - -
Surrounded by her family, Mira Quinn was a different woman. The last time he had visited she'd been vindictive and accusatory, loneliness eating a hole in her heart he had rebelliously avoided filling. But now she practically levitated through the house, planting kisses on cheeks and breaking into unexpected grins. She helped him choose a pair of runes to commemorate his advancement to Hob-hood and watched as he marked his skin with them, nodding at his technique and baking him cookies when he was done.
Davis marveled at the son he hadn't seen in a year and a half, and his attention left Brenley a little uncomfortable, especially when his father suggested they spar. Things didn't go all that badly at first, but it soon became rather obvious that Bren was the definition of all power and no technique.
"Start small," his father told him as he helped his son up off of the ground. "Observe. Everyone fights differently, and there's tons you can learn at the start of a match that will help you with the rest."
Brenley nodded, committing his words to memory. It was only much later that he wondered where his father had picked up so much fighting knowledge in the first place.
- - -
He had only been there for two days before he knew that he had to go. His fingers ached for his vials and beakers, and his parents... well... Bren had the feeling they hadn't been this happy since before he had been born. His mother didn't need him there, and he was okay with that.
His father told him, at breakfast on that third morning, that his business was going so well that it practically ran itself, and that he planned to stick around Nel for the foreseeable future. Brenley's expression must have said something then, because the gryphon quickly added that if staying put became impossible for whatever reason, he would be bringing Mira wherever life took him. It was a nice sentiment, at the very least. Davis made sure Bren had his cell number, and when he told him to call if he needed anything, the boil believed the call might actually be answered for the first time in his life.
His mother nodded hesitantly when Bren told her he'd be leaving that afternoon. Instead of bursting into tears like he expected her to, however, Mira hugged him as tightly as she had when he'd arrived and told him how proud she was of what he had become. Maybe next time he would be ready for renhore. He had no idea what she was talking about and he told her so, but she only smiled and reached up to rub his shoulder in response.
They accompanied him to the train station to see him off. The entire endeavor made him feel a little like he had the first time he had left for school, only this time there was no guilt eating at the lining of his stomach. For such a short visit it had been remarkably soothing. He hoped all of his future visits proved as satisfying.