Flynn knelt on the floor at the foot of his bed and set his hand to the wooden trunk in front of him. Taking the key from his pocket, he unlocked the padlock and set it down on the ground with a clunk. The hinges creaked in protest as he folded back the lid, and let it fall back against the bed frame. He reached inside and closed his fingers around his father’s book, bound shut with a long brown thong. The green leather was smooth and the gold lettering on the cover obscured by a thick layer of dust. Flynn lifted it into the light, blowing the debris away. Tiny particles danced in the soft light pouring in through the open windows. Setting the book on his lap, he unfastened the string and opened it carefully.

At his back, Denahi whined sadly as Flynn traced his father’s letters with the tip of his finger, following the familiar loops and tails. A book and his children; the only things left of Castiel. Flynn closed the book and climbed steadily to his feet. He tucked it under his arm and turned to leave the room. Something small fell to the ground with a clatter. Flynn froze, his shoulders tense, and then slowly turned around. A gold coin glinted at him from its place on the floorboards, innocent and innocuous. Forcing back the wave of guilt rising in his gut, Flynn crouched down, picked it up and flicked it back into the trunk with his thumb. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his captain’s badge and threw it after the coin. Following after it, he closed the lid again with a snap.

“We’re doing the right thing, Den,” he said frowning, turning back towards the door. “A drunk who wants to get better doesn’t keep drinking.”

Denahi pushed his nose against Flynn’s hand, his tail wagging.

“We’ll be okay,” he promised, before slipping past and trotting out into the family room. Flynn sighed and followed after him. He settled himself on the couch, and put his feet up on the coffee table – his last chance before Renn came home – and opened the book again.

Cal’s signature knock echoed. Flynn smiled, set the book down on the table and climbed back to his feet. Weaving around the pouffe and the armchair he made it to the apartment door and opened it wide.

Her grin was contagious.

“Always,” he told her, shutting the door. “I’m raising teenagers.”

Flynn crossed to the drinks cabinet in the corner and selected one of the older bottles. Setting it down on the dining table he collected a couple of glasses from the kitchen and poured.
He’d only just managed to put them down on the table when she threw something at him. It was cold, metal. Flynn glanced down at his hand curiously, his smile widening.

“Congratulations,” he beamed at her, “you deserve it.”

And then he faltered. His smile grew sheepish.

“About that...” he muttered, handing her a glass and gesturing her to the sofa. Flynn let her sit first and then perched next to her.

“I’ve got some news too,” he confessed, taking a long sip of his drink, “and I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about it.” Glancing up, Flynn held her eye, his expression faintly imploring, willing her to understand.

“I um..I talked to the king this morning about something that’s been on my mind for a while. And given everything...me staying here with Mordred, he didn’t seem very comfortable with me staying on as Captain right now.”

Flynn shrugged, he hadn’t liked to explain why he’d stayed after Cal had left.

“I asked for a different job instead, and he agreed. I’m going to be working in the library, organising the archive, maybe do some teaching and um...”

He paused, reaching for the book. Flynn handed it over to her.

“I’m going to continue what my father started...” he explained, gesturing down at it. “It’s his history of Shaman. I’ve got his research too.”

Flynn smiled. “I’m actually excited about it,” he confessed, “and I haven’t felt that way in a long time.”