Casey found Mark sitting by a rushing creek at the edge of the meadow, tearing the petals off a large daisy-like flower, with his bare feet soaking in the water. Pollen frosted Mark’s abundant arm hair, and bits and pieces of ripped-up flora were sorted by color into little piles on the dirt beside him.

  "Hey." Casey slumped down next to the other man, grateful for a chance to sit. He was exhausted in ways he'd never experienced before — but he was also the person most adept at Mark-wrangling, so he'd volunteered to find him. The others had been gathered around Todd’s injured horse when he’d left.

  "I hate you," Mark said without much rancor.

  Casey asked, "Do you, really? Or is that just anger talking?"

  Sullenly, Mark said, "Anger."

  "Mmm. I'd be mad too. You got excluded from something important." Casey didn't bother to tell Mark how bad the fight had been. A man had died, and Casey was reasonably sure he'd have nightmares about everything for the rest of his life. Right now, though, he just needed to put a few Band-Aids on Mark's feelings and get him into a cooperative frame of mind.

  "I wanted to help." Mark pulled a foot out of the water and picked at a blister on his heel. His cheap cowboy boots sat on a rock beside his hat. "But it always goes bad when I try to be the good guy. I'm not the hero of my own story; I'm the villain."

  "Sometimes," Casey said, "a villain can also be a hero. I don't think they're mutually exclusive. You leaving was the right thing to do."

  Mark snorted. "My brain is missing an important piece. I ain't got that little voice that tells everyone else to stop and to shut up. If I think it, I'm gonna say it, and my mind's a dark place. Then later I ask myself, why did I do that? That was dumb! But it's like Groundhog Day. The next time, I do the same damn thing."

  Casey sighed. "Can you do good things, though? Or say nice things?"

  Mark gave him a sideways look. "Maybe. Depends on my mood. It’s a lot easier if I’m happy, but I’m pretty much mad all the time, at all the things. Had a therapist who tried to get me to substitute a kind word whenever I felt a mean one coming on. That didn't end well."

  "What happened?"

  "You know how mad people get when you say things like, 'I like your blouse, I can see your bra through it, and it makes me hard?' Yeah. That happened." Mark plucked another flower and rolled it around between his palms. Then he stared at the crushed bloom. It had left a yellow stain on his skin, which he scratched at with a thumbnail. "I didn’t mean to say the second part to a teacher, just the first, the nice bit, but it all came out. She was like ninety years old, and I wasn't even remotely interested in her bra, but my brother had been talking about women's underthings the day before, and what he'd said about Chloe kept running on repeat in my head because I hated it. Then I said the thing I hated the most. It just came out."

  "Oof. Didn't you have special protection because of your disability?" He knew that had been how Mark had gotten away with so much of his bad behavior toward Tara, Avery, and others. The school had claimed that they could do nothing punitive toward him. Perhaps they were correct, but Casey thought it was unfair that nobody had intervened to protect the other kids from Mark, or Mark from himself.

  "I mean, yeah, but the teacher called my mom, and Mom said to punish me because I could control myself if I really, really tried hard. Then, she told Todd to spank me when I got home. I was thirteen. Too damn old to be popped with a ping pong paddle until my ass cheeks were purple.” Mark chucked a rock bigger than his fist. It arced into the water with a huge splash. "Casey, I was just trying to say something nice to her, ‘cuz my shrink had been encouraging me. She said I could do it. Be nice to people. That shrink was a nice lady, but she was fucking wrong."

  Casey’s head hurt, and not just because of the null ring he'd somehow managed to cast earlier. He was exhausted to the bone. Slowly, he said, “I’m sorry, Mark. I know you just meant to be nice to her. I remember that time you gave the art teacher a bunch of roses at the end of the year for putting up with you ... you can be decent. You care about people.”

  Mark scowled. “I found the roses in the dumpster after school.”

  “Oh.”

  “That teacher really, really hated me. I just wanted to say I was sorry to her, ‘cuz I kept disrupting her class, but I think she thought I was being creepy.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Mark, you gave some pretty specific examples of some awful things, like eating shit, and peeing blood because you were kicked earlier. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Mark spat a gobbet of saliva onto the ground. “No. Tried to tell a new therapist once. She told me confabulation was sometimes a symptom of the type of brain damage I got and then told my mom about what I’d said. That was the last time I saw that therapist, an’ I got my ass whooped. I ain’t no liar, Casey. The internet said she was supposed to get me help ‘cuz she’s a mandatory reporter. Instead, she assumed it was just a symptom.” He paused, then added, “I tried to tell a teacher once, too. She told me I must have done something to deserve being beaten. And then laughed at me.”

  “I’ll listen. If you ever want to talk about it. And I’ll believe you.” Casey reached out and squeezed Mark’s shoulder. His Gift was going crazy. Whatever had happened in that Riley house had been horrific, and he’d never even known. He could make a difference for Mark now, though, and he wanted to.

  Mark added, "I asked Todd if he could fix me with magic, after I saw that necklace heal the dogs. He said I was so annoying it'd be worth it, so he put the necklace on me." Mark gave Casey a sideways look. "It didn't do shit. Maybe who I am is not actually caused by a hole in my brain. Maybe there was nothing to fix, and this is just me — who I always would have been."

  "Or maybe Drel can only accelerate healing. Perhaps he can't fix old injuries. Avery's got some pretty good scars." Casey paused, then added, ”And, you know, I remember you when you were little. You were funny, cheerful, kind, and really spontaneous, kind of a clown, but never inappropriate or mean. Tara adored you. Avery, too. That’s who you are, really, I think.”

  "Tara fucking hates me now. Who’s Drel?"

  "The name of the spirit caught in the necklace." Casey tilted his head. "We could ask him, you know, if your damage could be healed, and why it didn’t work earlier. Apparently, I'm a medium, and I can talk to the dead."

  "You're scary, is what you are," Mark said, then added, "but not as scary as my brother. He's evil. You're a good dude."

  "See, you can give compliments."

  Mark ducked his head and muttered, "Sometimes. If I really like the person enough that no angry thoughts are breaking through. Yeah. Though sometimes I'll say shit anyway. I like you, Casey. Always have. Hell, you were my hero that time you decked Todd."

  Oh. The Gift flared at that statement. He needed to tread cautiously. Casey sighed again. There was a potential complication here that he neither wanted nor needed. "You know I'm interested in Simon, yeah? And... you're not my type, Mark. Physically. Lots of guys like bears, but it’s not really my preference. I'm really sorry." It was as tactful as he could be, given the circumstances. His actual reaction to the thought of a relationship with Mark was hell to the fucking nope.

  "I'm not gay," Mark said, eyes widening in alarm as he realized what he'd said. "I'm not! I don't want to have sex with dudes. Or anyone!"

  Casey said, "But you like looking at attractive guys, and you like hanging out with them, and girls are kinda meh, right?"

  Mark ducked his head. "Oh, just fuck off."

  Coming from Mark, in that specific resigned tone, the profanity was practically an endearment. It was definitely an acknowledgment of the truth.

  "You like drawing men, right?" He kept his voice soft and questioning.

  "I draw junk to piss people off," Mark said, sullenly.

  "And sometimes, it even works. I’m still impressed by the water tower." Casey summoned the energy to elbow him playfully. His head was truly starting to throb. The gesture was worth it, though. Mark ducked his head and smiled.

  Casey said, "In that storage unit of your mom's, there was a box of vintage art books of naked men. I found some pretty good sketches in with them that I believe you did — they were signed 'M.R.' and tucked into the pages of the books. Those weren't dumbass dick drawings. You've got real talent, and it looked like you enjoyed the subject." Casey smiled at him. "Mark, some guys do like men, but just don't want to have sex with anyone. You can be both gay and ace. Do you want a partner?"

  "Nobody would ever want me." Mark wouldn't look at him. He was shredding a piece of grass into the tiniest of pieces.

  "You'd need to find somebody with a very thick skin, for sure," Casey said. Privately, he wasn't sure if that would be possible, but his Gift whispered the man was not a lost cause. He asked an important question, "Do you want someone?"

  Mark said, "Fuck off and die."

  "I'll interpret that as a yes." Casey's Gift agreed.

  "Do you think there's a spell that could help me? Or a magical healer or something?" Mark threw another rock. "Say I wanted to meet somebody, which I don't, but if I did... I'm an awful person. I'd treat them terribly. That's just not right. Maybe if I knew I could be a good partner, maybe then I could be brave enough to try."

  “That you are worried about treating people right tells me you’re less of a villain than you think, Mark.” Casey offered him a hand up.

  Mark blinked at him as he stood up. "How come you're so nice to me? I've always been an asshole to you."

  "I'm nice to everyone." Casey clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's go. The others are waiting for us."