An Empty House

Blackbird ran from the gala venue, phone already in hand as he took flight soon as he was outside. Carson, Uxie, Logo, Maneater, Gods and Wolves, Tyrant, Thunder Kiss, who else? He went through the list of people who'd been left behind in some way, first calling Carson. She had to make sure Sonics' family was okay, then she could check in with the rest of them. Then she could figure out-- what? Everything? Her house was paid for, so it would still be there, right? What about her pets, his animals? What had everyone done about Dillon going missing? Her family probably threw a big fit, trying to start fundraisers to milk out some more money from her even while she was missing for years. He wouldn't be surprised.

Birdie turned to DMs after getting a hold of Carson, confirming he and Jada were still all right. It was a relief to hear from him, glad that they were still living in their new -- not new, anymore -- town a couple hours away, and the relief in his own voice to hear from her again was equally comforting. They were family, even if they weren't really. She'd have to visit them soon as she was settled back into her life. His friends gradually replied to his DMs, as well, Logo polite as ever, Maneater upset but enthusiastic as word spread that they'd all returned, Gods relieved that her old mentor wasn't dead. Uxie was offline, and she hoped, hoped it was just a routine thing. God, and her civilian life was going to be an even bigger mess to clean up.

Finally, Blackbird reached her home. Everything was dark and silent, no animals, gardens overrun. God, hopefully someone took in his pets, at least. She shot a text toward her nearest neighbor to ask exactly that as she walked up, reverting to her civilian form. Everything was so worn and uncared for. This would be a big clean-up, and Ritz and Foxtrot were coming over to stay, too. Get to the guest room and guest house, first, so at least have somewhere to go while she gets to the rest of the house. At the mailbox, Dillon pulled out the piles and piles of mail, more than he expected even given all the time passing. She glanced at one of the envelopes -- but quickly, immediately dropped it, the paper landing softly in the snow. The cheesy, sports-pattern "THE RIVERA FAMILY" return address sticker glared at him from the ground below. His family had written? How had they -- oh, it must have been sent to her PO box, and maybe her agent had just...piled everything into the mailbox. ...They'd actually tried to write to her.

Walking into the dusty house, Dillon carried the mail in. The lack of Bobo greeting her was...unsettling, but she'd gotten a text from her neighbor confirming the animals were safe with him. What a kind neighbor, always so nice and generous, she'd have to pay him back somehow. ...Maybe...maybe her family was actually reaching out for similar reasons, too? They'd gone out of their way to write to him, so maybe they'd been worried? He'd made sure they had no way to reach him, save for his email -- and PO box, which was public -- so the fact that they wrote a letter, maybe that meant--

Dillon, what are you doing? You already ran away when you retired, when you CUT US OFF. Why are you running even more? What does randomly disappearing do to help anyone, especially your family? Your father was smart enough to set up some fundraisers to help find you, so that'll keep us afloat for a while, at least. No thanks to you...--

Dillon didn't bother reading anymore. So much for that. Running away, always running away. And maybe he was, sometimes. A lot of the time. But he hadn't been this time. The fundraiser confirmed her suspicions, and yet it still...a fundraiser! To keep them afloat, not for a charity, or to fund trying to find her. What a load of bullshit. They'd been fine before he'd gone professional, they just chose to keep wasting all that money on things they didn't need once the wealth came pouring in. She'd fallen for the money obsession as a kid, but it didn't work on her anymore, refused to let it work on her anymore. But it didn't quell the sting in her chest after reading that. ...Whatever. They'd find out he was alive once people saw him in public again. Word would spread fast. He wasn't about to reach back for them, not when their hands were actually just aimed at his wallet.

Dillon got to work, cleaning the guest room for Ritz first, the guest house for Foxtrot, and moving out toward the main rooms. She was exhausted, even before cleaning up, but there was no way she'd sleep when her poor house was like this. The gardens could wait, though, and she'd get her pets tomorrow. The simplicity of his life helped make the cleaning up simpler, too, at least. Simpler than calling her agent, which he'd have to do tomorrow. That would be an entirely different ordeal -- but it would wait, whether it wanted to or not. What was another day to two years? He had a guest coming, and a bed to retreat to eventually. For now, she could just focus on the house, on cleaning and settling in. This was his space, his little nest where he could be what he wanted, be it relaxed or angry or weak. To be comfortable. And after all she'd been through with the other magicals, that was exactly what she needed. She wasn't about to force herself to be something she wasn't. No, right now he was going to be exactly what he felt -- and what he felt was tired.