Chapter Text
The sisters blinked several times, dazed, before finally locking their eyes on the woman in front of them. Their expressions sharpened all at once — like the impossible had finally clicked into place.
“You… you’re a witch!” Branch breathed, his voice barely more than a tremor, thick with horror.
Asteria let out a low, amused laugh, as if Branch had just paid her a compliment. “I thought you didn’t believe in them.”
Clay jerked forward, incredulous. “So you turned our lives upside down because we didn’t believe you? Seriously? That’s your logic?”
John’s patience snapped like a twig. He stepped forward, chin high, and barked, “You have to return us to our bodies right now!”
Asteria merely arched an eyebrow, unbothered. “Careful with your tone, John Dory Valtren. I might grow tired of seeing you as a woman and turn you into a fly instead. I’m sure Rhonda would love having a new toy to hunt.”
John’s face drained of color. He folded his arms stiffly and muttered, “...I’m shutting up. Just don’t bring my daughter into this.”
“The chaos could have been avoided if you had shown a little respect that night,” Asteria went on, her tone still maddeningly serene. “I would have spoken to you of love, success, destiny… instead of this.” Her attention slid toward Bruce with a spark of mischief. “Speaking of which — Bruce, dear… what do you think of Brandy? Quite the delight, isn’t she? Makes a person rethink some life decisions.”
For the first time that night, Bruce had no sarcastic comeback. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she focused on the floor like it had suddenly become fascinating. No way she was giving Asteria the satisfaction.
Floyd stepped forward before the silence stretched too long. “I’m sorry my brothers are idiots. Could you forgive us?” he asked softly, sincerity dripping from every word.
Asteria studied her for a moment, the sharp edges of her presence softening. Then she nodded. “Of course. I forgave you long ago. But I have to admit, watching all of you adapt to your new reality has been… entertaining.” She leaned in closer to Floyd, her voice turning almost maternal. “And before you ask: no, you did not disrespect me. You owe me nothing. But listen closely, Floyd Valtren — by walking in a woman’s shoes, you learned to fight your own battles. To raise your voice. While your brothers struggled, you flourished. You stopped being the peacemaker and became a warrior. You showed them the wolf you’ve always carried inside, disguised as a lamb. And I couldn’t be prouder.”
Floyd’s breath caught. “Thank you…” he whispered, eyes glistening.
John, impatient as ever, broke the moment with a huff. “Okay, so— is there a way to get back to our male bodies?”
Asteria’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Of course there is. You want to be men again? It’s very simple: tell the truth to the important people around you. Stop hiding… and the spell will be broken.”
Silence fell over them like a dropped anvil. The five siblings traded looks, processing her words, until Clay finally frowned and blurted out the only thing her brain could produce:
“…What?”
Asteria gave her a look. “I believe you heard me perfectly well, Clay.”
“Yes, we heard you,” Branch cut in, still visibly lost, “but we don’t understand you. What do you mean by ‘stop hiding’?”
Asteria arched an eyebrow. “Branch, please. You know exactly what I mean.”
Bruce scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, Branch might be a smart boy, but I need clearer instructions than this, please.”
John immediately nodded, pointing at her as if that proved something. “Yeah, agreed. Be specific.”
Asteria let out a long, dramatic sigh, as if the collective stupidity exhausted her soul. “Fine. I’ll make it clearer. You want your bodies back? Confess the truth to the people you truly love. And I don’t just mean the truth about who you are… but the feelings they’ve awakened in you.”
All five of them opened their mouths to protest, but Asteria lifted one finger, and that finger shut them all up.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not that cruel.” She pointed lazily as she went down the line. “Bruce, I already told you yours during the card reading. John, Clay, I gave both of you direct advice as well. Floyd, sweet one, I spelled it out for you when I ‘accidentally’ dropped that book: this is about true love.” Finally, her gaze landed on Branch— soft, knowing, and just a little too amused. “And you, Branch… I didn’t appear mysteriously in front of you or give you a cryptic prophecy because, unlike your brothers, you are neither that much of an idiot nor that blind when it comes to love.”
Branch’s eyes widened, unsure whether to feel complimented or deeply offended.
“In your case,” Asteria continued gently, “you only need to break down those walls you built to protect yourself… and allow yourself to be loved.” Her smile softened. “And I suspect you’ve already begun doing that, haven’t you? You’re letting someone outside your family see the real Branch Valtren.”
Branch stiffened.
“I like Poppy for you,” Asteria added with a tilt of her head. “Her energy balances yours beautifully.”
Branch went scarlet in an instant, dropping her gaze to hide the flush spreading across her cheeks.
“So… if we want to go back to normal… we have to confess our feelings and say who we really are?” Floyd asked, his voice careful, almost tiny.
Asteria nodded with deliberate calm. “In everyone’s case except yours. Boom already knows that ‘Flo’ is really Floyd. Now all that remains is for him to hear—directly from you—what Floyd Valtren feels for him.”
Floyd’s breath hitched. She dropped her gaze, cheeks blooming pink.
“And there’s no other cure? No secret shortcut? No back door to fix this?” John’s voice cracked despite his best attempt to sound authoritative.
Asteria looked at her with a sweetness that somehow made it worse. “John Dory… this is the only way.”
“It can’t be,” Bruce muttered, shaking his head hard. “There has to be another way. Something. Anything.”
“My little stars,” Asteria said, the softness in her tone shadowed by sternness, “you do not lie to or hide the truth from the people you love. That is a lesson you needed to learn.”
The sisters fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them like a wet blanket. No one dared breathe too loud. It was only when Asteria spoke again that the air seemed to move.
“There is one more thing,” she added calmly. “You must all confess. You won't get back to your bodies if only one of you gathers the courage. You were transformed together… and you will return to your bodies together.”
Clay let out a strangled noise. “This—this has to be a horrible nightmare,” he blurted, dragging both hands over his face.
Asteria’s smile tilted, amused. “Would you like me to prove otherwise?”
“No!” the Valtrens shouted at once, backing up as if expecting her to turn them into turtles.
The witch chuckled, light and musical. “Relax. My magic can be entertaining too,” she purred, snapping her fingers.
At once, dozens of fireflies flickered into existence around them. They drifted and twirled like glowing specks of stardust, forming swirling constellations that hovered above their heads. Their soft light washed over the sisters’ faces, pulling a childlike awe from each one— even Clay, who tried very hard to pretend she wasn’t impressed.
“Magic is not something you should fear,” Asteria said, her voice echoing faintly as if layered. “But it is something you must learn to respect.”
As she spoke, the fireflies circled tighter and tighter, weaving a delicate sphere of light around them… before dissolving into the darkness as quickly as they had appeared, leaving the Valtrens alone with their tangled thoughts, hammering hearts, and insecurities they thought they’d buried years ago.
“I think… I think it’s time to go home,” Clay said, pushing himself to his feet with an awkward little wobble that betrayed how rattled he still was.
The others exchanged a series of exhausted looks—no words needed—before quietly rising to follow her.
Branch lingered for a second, then offered Asteria a small, respectful nod. “Thank you… for the answers.”
“You’re welcome, little stars,” Asteria replied, her eyes glinting with mischief as she gave them a playful wink. “When you need me, you know where to find me.”
One by one, the Valtrens said their goodbyes, not chaotic like usual but almost ceremonious—soft voices, careful steps, each of them hugging their own cluster of swirling thoughts and half-formed fears.
For once, not a single one of them tried to joke or argue. They simply walked out together—quiet, thoughtful, and more vulnerable than any of them would ever admit.
******
When they arrived home, Clay, Floyd, and Branch headed straight to their rooms—each one lost in her own thoughts—though not before being nearly tackled by a joyful Rhonda. Clay offered a weak laugh, Floyd held her a second longer than normal, and Branch gave her head an affectionate ruffle before heading up the stairs. Only Bruce remained, her serious gaze fixed on John.
After a heavy moment, Bruce turned away toward the kitchen. John didn't acknowledge her. She walked to her room, grabbed her guitar, and headed upstairs to the rooftop, with the ever-loyal Rhonda trotting at her heels.
The rooftop welcomed her with the smell of vines draped over the railing. A rickety table and an unused bar collected dust in one corner; a small washing area cluttered the opposite side. Chaotic, mismatched, lived-in—just like the Valtrens. John ignored the scattered chairs, leaned her back against the wall, and slowly let herself slide to the ground. She tilted her head up, staring at the star-filled sky as if searching for answers there.
A long sigh left her chest, heavy and shaky. John began tuning her guitar—not aiming for perfection, just grounding herself in the familiar ritual. Melody was her refuge, the language she used when actual words refused to cooperate.
Bruce appeared moments later, the sound of strings guiding her up the stairs. She paused at the entrance, watching her older sister. John wasn't just playing—she was bleeding into every chord.
Bruce didn’t dare interrupt. But John glanced sideways for the briefest second, and that was enough. Bruce offered a small, crooked smile and crossed the rooftop. She plopped down beside John, shoulder to shoulder, matching her posture without speaking. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was warm, steady, shared.
A few notes drifted into a melody, and then John’s voice followed, soft and rough:
“So just give me one more night
Hold me like you're still mine
Oh,love me for right now before you leave me…”
Her voice cracked, raw and tangled with pain. Bruce winced—not at the song, but at how exposed John suddenly seemed. So she joined her, barely above a whisper, like she was cushioning the fall:
“I know it's gonna hurt
Watching your footsteps strides
So love me for right now before you leave me
Oh,oh…
Love me for right now...”
The last chord faded into the night like a breath they’d both been holding.
They exhaled at the same time.
Bruce bumped her head lightly against John's, then held up the bottle of whiskey she’d brought from the kitchen. No words needed. John let out a small, tired smile—one that didn’t quite erase the sadness in her eyes—and took a long drink straight from the bottle.
“What are you doing here?” John finally asked, his voice worn thin, while Rhonda tried to stick her snout between the vines, sniffing at the night air like she was curious about the outside world.
“I thought you might need some company… and a drink,” Bruce said with a shrug, lifting the bottle slightly.
John let out a humorless chuckle. “Thanks, Brucie.”
“Are you okay?”
John didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on Rhonda’s curious little dance. “I don’t know. We got a lot thrown at us today. I just… needed air.”
Bruce studied her face carefully. “Is it Hickory? What the witch said? You know you can talk to me, Johnny. I’m always gonna listen.”
John took another long sip before answering with a deep, throat-scraping sigh. “Yeah, you heard her. I have to tell Hickory the truth. But it doesn’t matter what I feel — whatever’s happening between us has an expiration date.” He paused, softer. “I’m mostly sorry for my girl… Rhonda already sees him as part of the family. She’s gonna miss him as much as I will.”
Bruce gently took the bottle from her and drank. “Don’t write it off yet. Johnny, Hickory might be bisexual. You don’t know how—”
“Yes, I do,” John cut in, voice cracking despite his effort to sound firm. “First, he’ll be mad I kept this from him. And second…” He swallowed hard. “…when he finds out I’m a man, he’s not gonna stick around. He’ll end it. Simple as that.”
Bruce frowned and handed the bottle back. John took it immediately.
“You sound way too certain,” Bruce murmured.
“I am,” John insisted. “Because last time we went out — just us — I kinda tested the waters. I discreetly asked him what he'd do if I were a man.” He laughed, but it came out bitter. “And Hickory dodged the answer completely.”
Bruce pressed his lips together, then quietly leaned in and wrapped his arms around her. “That sucks,” he whispered.
John gave a small, broken laugh. “You don’t say.” He let the silence stretch before nudging her with his shoulder. “And what about you? Why are you so convinced Brandy’s gonna toss whatever you two have straight into the abyss?”
Bruce exhaled, shrugging with one shoulder. “I’m not convinced. I’m just… not expecting miracles. Honestly, I doubt she’ll want to stay once she knows.”
John pulled back from the hug, looking at her with the full weight of a big brother. “Don’t say that. Brandy likes you. The real you. She won’t care about the body.”
Bruce gave a sideways smile — small, sad, a little self-deprecating. “You think that because you see me like a brother. And that gives you rose-colored glasses, Johnny. Need I remind you who I was before Asteria flipped us upside down?”
“My little brother,” John replied immediately. “That hasn’t changed. Your body doesn’t get to rewrite who you are.”
Bruce snorted. “I was the damn heartthrob.”
“So what?” John arched a brow. “You never played with anyone’s feelings. You were always honest from the start. That’s a hell of a lot more than most can say.”
“Do you really think Brandy will stay when she finds out the only reason I didn’t ask her to be a one-night stand and then vanish from her life… is because I’m in a female body?”
John didn’t hesitate; he shook his head sharply. “Come on, Bruce. Stop lying to yourself. Brandy was different for you from day one. We all saw it at the carnival — the way you looked at her like she was holding the damn constellations.” He nudged her arm gently. “And you know it. Even if you pretend you don’t.”
Bruce stared at her for a beat, jaw tight, then exhaled heavily. “I wish I could believe that. But I don’t know if she’ll stay. And if she goes… I won’t be able to blame her. Feels like I already betrayed her trust just by—” He gestured vaguely at himself, at the situation. “—existing in this mess.”
John offered her the whiskey bottle again, the gesture soft, familiar. “Whatever happens, we’ve still got each other. And the rest of the idiots who are already on a tour bus on their way home.”
A small laugh escaped Bruce — worn-out but real. He took a swig. “Always. And hey, looks like Floyd’s about to get his happily-ever-after.”
“Yeah…” John tilted his head, accepting the bottle back. “And I doubt Viva or Poppy are running away from Clay or Branch anytime soon. They’ll be alright.”
“Three out of five,” Bruce murmured, managing a tired smile. “Not bad odds.”
“Definitely not.” John lifted the bottle and took another drink.
Bruce extended his hand. “Then let’s drink to the ones who actually succeed in love.”
John snorted but handed over the bottle. “Cheers,” he said, before taking it back, drinking long and slow, then holding out his fist. “And do we fist bump for the disasters in love?”
Bruce huffed a sad laugh, tapping her knuckles. “To the broken hearts club.”
“The broken hearts club…” John repeated, leaning his head back as he gazed at the stars. “At least our misery comes with a badass name.”
That made both of them laugh — quiet, tired, but warm. Bruce leaned over to hug her again, and John wrapped her arms around her sister without hesitation. They stayed like that for a while, listening to Rhonda’s soft barks and the distant hum of the city below.
“We should get some sleep,” John muttered eventually. “Tomorrow’s the battle of the bands.”
“Yeah,” Bruce agreed. “We should.”
John let out a soft, almost guilty laugh and let his head fall gently against the wall behind him. “But… staying out here a bit longer isn’t gonna kill us, right?”
“Right,” Bruce said, lifting the bottle toward the sky in a lazy toast. “To whatever comes next.”
John mirrored the motion, and for a heartbeat, the rooftop felt sealed off from the rest of the world — a little pocket of safety where time moved slower.