He pulled up to the secluded campground the Toivonens always chose, 104. The silhouette of a woman occupied the porch. The lights had been turned off, but the moon was full and it bounced off Moira's curly hair and straight rifle.

Daiman sucked in a breath. He'd deliver Elio like a package and leave. Home – his apartment – wouldn't be safe but he couldn't stay here, at campground 104 in his favourite place in the world.

As Moira descended the steps, he shook Elio's shoulder. He'd scooted his legs away whenever his head rolled closer during the drive, but he had to touch him to wake him. “Elio. Elio. We're here.”

He didn't make a sound. His hands were so limp that his silver pipe had rolled to the floor.

“Daiman Zacharov, you get out of that car right now before I put a bullet in your only headlight.” Moira called out, gun raised to her shoulder.

“Elio, I swear to god if your mom kills me-” He looked down at the unconscious lump. His hair spilled across his peaceful face. He was drooling onto the seat. “I'd deserve it.”

He jumped out of the truck and held his hands up in surrender. She looked like she might consider shooting one of them.

“Where is my son?” she ground out. “Don't think I won't shoot you if you've hurt him.”

Daiman would have flinched away from the words if he didn't think that she was a creature agitated by movement. “He's here.” He inclined his head towards the cab, where Elio was unconscious and unaware.

“Why is he not awake and speaking?”

He squinted at her. She looked like a different person when the kindness had been scrubbed free of her face. “He passed out.”

This seemed to make her angrier and there was an unsettling click as she turned the safety off. “Why did he pass out? You were at a park giving him a single earring.”

“Opium? Alcohol?” He could've laughed if there wasn't a gun pointed at him. Moira Toivonen, nosiest woman on the planet, must have noticed both these issues.

“Or you drugged him,” she hissed. “Wake him up. Don't think I haven't seen every single possibility of where you can go wrong, Daiman. And since you no longer speak to my son, I wonder which direction you have chosen.” He hesitated and she gestured the barrel. “Well? Wake him up.”

His chest was drawing tighter. His trembling hand fumbled with the door. Moira stared at him, eyes harder than he remembered. “What? Moira. You can't possibly fucking think I'd... I'm still me.” He managed to get the door open and reached inside to shake his shoulder. “Elio. Elio?” He groaned softly but didn't move.

“I watched you break my son's heart into teeny tiny pieces without a single apology for it. I'm unsure if I'd recognize you.” She came around behind him to look in the door. The rifle never wavered. “Why does he look like you dragged him across a field?”

He took a shaky breath. He was more afraid of her and the things she said than the shadow that had burst out from under the picnic table. He shook Elio's shoulder again. “He's not waking up, I don't know how to wake him up.”

She growled behind him and he stiffened. “That fucking pipe...” she ground out through her teeth. The rifle barrel lowered an inch and then immediately raised again. “Pick him up. Carry him inside. We'll see if you're telling the truth. He looks too roughed up to have just passed out from opium and you're obviously a liar.”

If an Oracle said it, it was true in some capacity. Daiman blackened on the inside and stiffened on the outside. “He doesn't want me to touch him. Can't he wake up here?”

“Inside of your truck?” She scoffed, incredulous. “No. He knows I can't pick him up. The elixir has to be prepared. If he says you're telling the truth, fine. If he says otherwise...” Her fingernail tapped the trigger.

When relayed the information that a group therapist had called him potentially dangerous, Moira had said he was never capable of this. Now, she looked so sure that she probably had a gravesite in mind already.