iluvroadrunner6 | get your words out { 2022 } yahtzee tracking

get your words out { 2022 } yahtzee tracking

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Running Score: 260 (8/8)
Word Count: 36,156

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Edited 2022-03-09 00:20 (UTC)

“Do you think we’re making a mistake?”

Sam pauses from where he’s pulling up the painter’s tape and cardboard and glances to where Allison is sitting on the floor. Around her are the bright white walls that they had spent hours painstakingly plastering. On the one hand, he doesn’t want to answer that question in the affirmative, given all the work that was put in, but he also knows that Allison can be indecisive.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do you think we’ve made a mistake?”

“Maybe?” She glances over at him with an apologetic look. “Just … we do come home covered in blood a lot.”

“We do.”

“And occasionally, that might extend to our walls.”

“Also true.”

“So maybe we might want to opt for a darker color that wouldn’t make that quite so … obvious?”

He nods once, considering, before moving to sit next to her, staring up at the whiteness of the blood again. “Are you trying to get out of decorating or are you trying to get us stuck in a painting loop until one of us meets an unfortunate death?”

Allison laughs before pushing at his shoulder lightly. “You knew this about me when you agreed to move in with me.”

“I did,” Sam sighs. “Which is why I’m prepared to tell you that the walls will be just fine. One, because we’re bringing home a lot less bloody after work activities lately.” He pauses and picks up the can to hand it to her. “And two, because the paint is scotch guarded to be easy to clean.”

“Against crayons and fingerprints. Do you really think that qualifies as supernaturally tested?”

“Probably not.” He smirks as he drapes an arm around her shoulders. “But I’m willing to test it with you and find out.”

Banshees don’t go wrong often, but when they do, it’s messy.

Allison knows this all too well, having signed up to help Lydia on her quest to find more girls like her, who just need help and have nowhere to turn when they stumble over dead bodies, but this lead had already gone wrong long before the three of them arrived. Lydia, ever determined, not wanting to give up on someone like her, tries to reason with her, and the tunnel vision causes her to miss the signs.

The growing stench of death. The cloying thickness of it in the air. The gnarled hand coming up over the top of the ridge and reaching to grab —
“Sam!”

The word flies from Allison’s lips just in time for Sam to turn, gun out and back towards her. Lydia catches on at that point, turning from soft pleas to determined anger while Allison and Sam do what they can to keep the corpses from getting closer. She should have known that they were walking into a place where the banshee, Maria, would have the biggest advantage: a graveyard full of potential zombies.

In the end, Lydia takes control, returning the dead to their rest and crossing off another name on the list of banshees she had to track down. As they walk out, Allison drapes an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer.

“It wasn’t what she wanted,” she says softly. “Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do.” Sometimes all you can do is lose.

Sam meets her eyes in the rearview mirror as they pile into the car, understanding all too well. For every banshee they lose, however, there’s always another one they can save. All it will take is time to find that person.

And they’ll do whatever it takes.

Sam pulls the wires away from the wall as he makes his way through the building, trying to find the one he’s looking for. Allison comes up beside him, bow drawn.

“How much time do you think you need?”

“Hard to say.”

“Do you think Dean will buy enough time?” Sam gives her an exasperated look. “Right. Sorry, not helping.”

Sam turns his attention back to the mess in front of him, shuffling through the wires until he finds the right one, a large plug that belongs to the magical contraption that seems to hold the spirits in place, storing them until they’re ready for whatever infernal purpose the bad guy of the week has conjured up. That they’ve combined magic and technology in this way gets under Sam’s skin—gone are the days when ghosts had a body to burn or unfinished business to resolve.

He doesn’t want to think what could happen if they don’t resolve this now.

A heavy thump sounds on the floor above them, and he snaps out of his thoughts, startled into action. Wrapping his fingers tightly around the heavy cord, he pulls as hard as he can, yanking the plug clean off the wall. He stumbles back into Allison and she turns to catch him, although he’s much taller than she is. By the time their feet were steady and the house quiets, they both let out a sigh of relief.

“Dean?” He shouts up at the floor.

“I’m good.”

Sam relaxes and turns to Allison. “You?” She nods, and he relaxes even more. “So that’s the Dread Doctors, huh?”

“Yeah,” Allison nods. “I really want to put a stop to them once and for all.”

Sam nods in agreement, before turning to lead her up out of the basement. “Right behind you.”

“You’re making this too complicated.”

Dean watches his brother as he scowls at himself and tosses another piece of crumpled paper onto the motel floor. Sam then turns that impressive scowl on Dean as he shoves the pad away from him.

“What part of asking Allison to marry me isn’t complicated?”

“The asking part. She isn’t looking for poetry, you know. She just wants it to mean something. Not that I understand why you want to get married in the first place, but if you’re gonna, you should at least remember who you’re getting married to.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “We still actually want to be part of the world, Dean. Do normal things every once in a while.”

“Yeah. Only you realize there’s going to be nothing legal about it. You might as well just get married in Vegas under one of your aliases.”

Sam’s jaw clenches. But Sam also knows that Dean isn’t wrong, and eventually the tension falls away.

“I just want it to be perfect. To be something we remember and tell our kids.”

Dean smirks before getting up to grasp his brother by the shoulder. “Assuming you live long enough to have kids and I live long enough to be the cool uncle, I’m one hundred percent sure that when asked about how their parents met, I’m going to make it really, really embarrassing on your part. Allison will look cool, though.”

The door to the motel room swings open, and Allison enters. “Allison will look cool in what?”

Sam looks panicked, but Dean smirks. “The Lifetime movie of your and Sammy’s love.”

Allison snorts. “Are you sure it won’t be a horror movie?” She makes her way to the bathroom and Dean grins.

“See? Practical.”

Sam sighs before shaking his head. “I hate you.”

Sam lays motionless in the hospital bed, and Allison doesn’t know what to do.

Allison used to have Dean to wait with her. They would trade off, being concerned versus being reassured, a delicate balance in their love for Sam. Allison misses those days. She misses Dean.

But Dean is gone, and she’s still here—eventually she was going to have to do this on her own.

The hunt had been a messy one. They weren’t alone in the woods. She had thought it was an omega, and it turned out to be a pack instead. A pack bent on making sure the latest head of the Argent family didn’t get what she wanted.

So when all you want is to live peacefully, naturally, the best target is your spouse, even if he’s a hunter himself.

Reaching under her shirt, she pulls out the long silver chain she keeps her wedding rings on when they are out hunting. She undoes the clasp, sliding them off the chain and into her palm, before slipping them back on her finger. It’s a gesture that’s grounding enough, for now.

Reaching out to take his hand, she curls her fingers around his and gives his hand a soft squeeze.

“You tell your brother that I’m not done with you yet.” Her voice is soft, trembling. She knows enough of being a hunter to sense that Sam might be somewhere in the room, stuck in the in-between, so she’ll talk to him like he’s there and make sure he understands her. “You tell him it’s still my turn. And you get to go when I’m good and ready.”

Nothing happens. Then, the heart monitor blips and his fingers twitch around hers. It’s not much, but she’ll take it as a promise until he’s awake again.

Edited 2022-05-05 22:20 (UTC)

“You make ambition sound like such a dirty word.”

The melodic voice pricks up in Yennefer’s ears as she circles through the court at Aedirn. She isn’t sure what piques her interest, but she investigates regardless. A willowy blond woman stands surrounded by powerful men, staring at her in confusion. She dresses well enough, though not well enough to match the court’s finery. They give her an element of deference all the same.

Yennefer finds her way to the king’s side, still intrigued.

“I wouldn’t say it’s a dirty word, exactly,” he murmurs, nodding in assent at Yennefer’s appearance. “Just…strange, coming from a woman of your…caliber.”

The blond’s eyebrows raise, tipping her head to the side like a cat, intent on playing with its prey before she eats it. The king at least has the common sense to look uncomfortable as she asks. “And what, exactly, do you know about my caliber?”

“I…” He hesitates, trying to avoid the trap she’s clearly laid out for him, but there’s something about this woman that inspires fear, not anger. All the more intriguing. “Tales of your brother’s exploits travel, but…”

“But the bards don’t sing of my cautionary tales, so you presume Klaus gets to have all the fun. Presumptions can be dangerous, my lord. I would be more careful with where you step.” Then, her attention finally turns to Yennefer, and she smiles. “Especially when your court boasts powerful players.”

“Sometimes he forgets the people who got him here,” Yennefer teases, before extending her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“Freya Mikaelson.”

It’s in that moment that it all clicks into place. The interesting dress, the uncomfortable tension. The Mikaelson family has been lurking in the shadows for a millennium, making their own political moves as they suit their fancy. No one is certain of what monstrosities the witch Esther cursed her children with, but they are strong enough and cunning enough that most learned long ago that trying to send a witcher after a Mikaelson was a recipe for a dead witcher.

That being said, Freya smiles as she takes her hand. “I’ve been wanting to make your acquaintance, actually.”

Yennefer nods as she takes her arm, choosing to ignore the surrounding men. “Shall we take a stroll around the garden?”

“Let’s.”

* * * * *

“So why did I catch your interest?” Yennefer asks, as they walk, disappearing into the hedges and the prying eyes of the party.

“I think we have a great deal in common, you and I.”

“Have we?”

Freya nods. “Trained at Aretuza. At first had my ego buffered by being assigned to court and manipulating things as instructed, but as time passes the tedium of it all started to feel … stifling. And I decided to go my own way.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “I have no intention of abandoning my place at court.” That would be foolish, and Yennefer did not consider herself a foolish woman.

“Perhaps not now.”

“Freya!”

A harsh voice appears out of the fog, and as they round the corner, Klaus Mikaelson stands, raising an eyebrow in half-interest at what Yennefer assumes is his sister’s dalliance in the shrubbery.

Freya sighs, before turning back to the other woman. “But should you ever want to find yourself other work, please do not hesitate to reach out.” She presses a kiss to the other woman’s cheek, before moving back to her brother’s side. “Until then.”

Yennefer watches them go, and exhales slowly. She doesn’t know what Freya is after, exactly, but she can’t help but be intrigued.

A bitter aftertaste lingers in Freya’s mouth at her brother’s interference, but she dutifully follows Niklaus out of the party. He glances over at her, the edge of a smirk crossing his features.

“Oh, don’t look so sour, sister. I didn’t mean to interrupt your dalliance with the court witch.” Over his shoulder, Yennefer remains watching their exit. “I’m sure you could smuggle your way back into the castle to pay her a visit later.”

“No, it’s too soon. She needs more.” Klaus raises an eyebrow curiously, and Freya continues. “For all that I know of Yennefer of Vengerberg, and what I know of her time in Aretuza, Yennefer doesn’t like to do anything unless she believes it’s her own idea.”

“I know you are subtle enough in your manipulations to achieve that.”

“Perhaps. But it’s better if it’s not a manipulation. Don’t worry, brother. If there’s anything we have, it’s an abundance of time.”

Their mother saw to that, after all. Not for Freya, necessarily—her gifts she came by as honestly as she could as a mage. But for Niklaus, and Elijah and the rest, her mother’s dark arts granted them all the vitality and weariness an eternal life could offer.

Klaus presses his lips together, frustrated. “The longer we let Stregobor work is machinations, the larger the chance that Hope—”

Klaus’ daughter, the rare miracle that she is, sits in a cottage far from here, with her mother and aunt doting on her while Klaus, Freya and Elijah do the work that needs to be done to ensure her safety. She knows as well as Klaus does Hope was born under an eclipse, the object of Stregobor’s latest fixation.

She also knows, better than Klaus, that Stregobor would burn the world to ensure that no woman had power, and any who would dare to use it against him quickly becomes a monster in his chosen narrative. But that doesn’t mean they could afford to speed up their timetable.

“Hope is safe. Stregobor will have to become twice the wizard he is to break through my cloaking spells. But regardless, rushing Yennefer will not help. We need to take our time. Do this right.”

Klaus grits his teeth, eventually yielding to the promise she offers. They will protect Hope.

They just need a little more time.

* * * * *

Later, when she’s alone in her room at the inn, she turns to find Yennefer sitting on the bed. Well, not Yennefer exactly, but a projection of her. Quite the skilled sorceress, indeed.

“What did you mean, if I ever wanted to find other work?”

Freya tips her head to the side. “I have a quest. More of a crusade, really. To destroy a man who takes delight in destroying women like us. Something I could use your help on, in fact.”

“You mean Stregobor.”

“Amazing how fast his reputation comes to mind, isn’t it?”

“I won’t deny that he is what you say. But why now? You’ve lived a long time, and so has your family, without taking an interest in meddling in the affairs of magic. What changed?”

Freya hesitates, unsure how to proceed. It’s possible this tenuous illusion might not be Yennefer at all. “A conversation about when we meet again.”

“Why?”

“Because. Trust is earned. I think you understand that.” Freya leans in closer, getting in the illusion’s space, admiring how real it feels. “So until we meet again.”

Yennefer smiles, as the image flickers and disappears. And with her, the bitterness fades, glad that she said enough to make an impression.

It’s decades before the two sorceresses find each other again. This time, it’s Yennefer who finds Freya.

It doesn’t take much. The Mikaelsons leave quite a violent footprint, and their campaign against Stregobor has become much more apparent. She’s heard through the cracks that he’s come demanding help from the Conclave in return, trying to pick among the few remains of the witchers to see if any will take up the cause, but so far, they refused him.

Eventually this struggle will come to a head with the Conclave picking a side, and it likely won’t be the Mikaelsons. But it’s interesting that it hasn’t happened already.

The journey to the keep is long, but eventually she makes it to the front gate, demanding entrance and an audience with the eldest of them. Freya comes down to the gate, surprised, but pleasantly so, her expression stretching into a warm smile.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. You have come a long way.”

“Freya,” Yennefer says, her voice desperate. “I need to speak with you. In private.”

“Of course.” Freya waves a hand for the gates to open.

It’s then that Yennefer takes stock of each man and notes that there’s something distinctive about them. Monsters, all of them. And yet the human village nearby remains unharmed. The intrigue follows her into the halls of the keep, noting each person who captures her attention. Eventually, they enter a magnificent hall where Freya’s brothers, Klaus included, sit at a long table at the head of the room. On Klaus’ left is a woman Yennefer doesn’t recognize, with a sharp gaze, who studies her critically. On his right is his brother, Elijah, and the family spreads out from there.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” he speaks. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“I’m sorry to intrude without warning,” Yennefer begins, drawing on all that remains of her courtly manners. “But I had an urgent matter that I needed to discuss with your sister.”

“Of course. But when you’re finished, please. Come dine with us. It appears you have been on a long journey, and we are hospitable to our allies.”

From his tone, he very much hopes that by the end of the evening, she will be an ally. Yennefer nods with a deep curtsey, before Freya escorts her out of the main room to somewhere more private. She understands the detour—Klaus had his pleasantries to extend. But soon, they’re alone, tucked into a room that she can only presume is Freya’s bedroom, and the witch’s soft cadence meeting her ears as she sits her down on the window seat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you have the power to break the spell of a djinn?”

Freya’s eyes widen in surprise, as though no one has asked her that question before. “A djinn.”

From there, the whole sad story comes. Meeting Geralt, the djinn, the twisted dance that they found themselves in that she once thought was true importance, true love. Something real in all the fake niceties. She can see something sour in the witch’s expression, almost as though the news that this is for the love of someone else disappoints her.

“I can’t make any promises. But I’ll need the exact wording of the wish, and time.” She gathers some items into a bowl before glancing back at her. “And my brother will expect something in return.”

“I know. I’m prepared to give whatever he needs, if it means my freedom.”

If it means sacrificing Stregobor, it will not be that hard a challenge.

“Good.” Freya nods, before turning back to her with a small smile. “Let us begin.”

Mikaelsons only serve the best, so everything that sits on their plates has an oily richness that sits heavily in the stomach. Freya knows it is a tactic designed to make their visitor feel drugged and drowsy as their digestive system tries to process all the food.

He’s trying to knock Yennefer off her guard, and Freya intends to allow it. She’s prepared the other witch as best she can.

Klaus’s smile stretches out like a shark. “Can I ask what you came to request of my sister?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your concern.”

“You may not know this, but my sister can be quite softhearted. I wish to ensure that you compensate her properly.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow curiously. “Do you feel as though I’m cheating you, Lady Mikaelson?”

“Not at all. Though my brother is not well-versed in the idea of altruism.”

“In my experience, it’s a rather meaningless word that people throw around when they want to imply that they are better than they actually are.” Klaus reaches for his own glass, taking a long sip. “You and I, Yennefer, I think we understand that the world is a bit more cut and dry than that.”

“Unfortunately.” Yennefer sighs. “Still on your quest against Stregobor, I see?”

“Well, he’s not dead yet. So I would say yes, we still intend to solve the Stregobor problem.”

“You know, I’m ever so curious. What exactly is it that Stregobor did to offend you so?”

“His mere existence and general temperament aren’t enough?”

“Play coy all you like, Klaus, but it’s been decades. Eventually, we all learn to live with his general temperament. You seem overly invested.”

“Have you heard of the Curse of the Black Sun?”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “His conspiracy theory about Lilit? Yes, I’m familiar.”

“It’s hard to dismiss as a conspiracy theory when he’s been acting on it, slaughtering princesses and commoners alike to avoid the sixty from being chosen.” Klaus sips his wine. “Any time he finds a baby girl born under an eclipse, and he hears reports of them bearing uncharacteristic behavior, he has them killed.”

Freya sips her wine. “You should ask your witcher the next time you see him. Story says he is the one who dispatched of Renfri of Creyden.”

“Geralt wouldn’t.” But that retort isn’t as confident as it could have been, given the circumstances. She changes the subject. “What does this have to do with you? Were you or Rebekah born under an eclipse?”

“No. My daughter was.”

Her eyes snap back to Klaus. “You have a daughter? A living daughter?”

“I’m as surprised as you are. Or at least I was.” Klaus smirks. “She was born three months before we first met. And she is a woman of great power. I refuse to let Stregobor get his hands on her, and given that I am who I am, I will settle for nothing less than tearing his heart from his chest.”

“If she has power, why so concerned with one man?”

“My hands may be black with blood, but my daughters are clean. Should she kill him, she will awaken a curse from our family bloodline. Should she die, she will become like me, a creature forced to live by consuming the life of others. All I wish is for my daughter to have a life. Do you really believe that an innocent girl should stand the risk of dying for things she could not control?”

Yennefer’s face sobers. “Will you give me time to consider?”

“Of course.”

Freya feels she will say yes.

Yennefer loathes reaching out to Geralt, so opts for Tissaia instead. As the astral projection takes form, Yennefer inquires whether the Mikaelsons’ claims have merit. How Tissaia schools her features in response says enough.

“The Conclave is just…allowing him to go after these innocent women?”

“By the time we are aware of his actions, they are hardly innocent. Just look at Renfri of Creyden—a witcher was the end of her, and if a witcher is involved—”

“A witcher will do whatever they have to get what they want, and you know they value coin most of all.”

Even she doesn’t believe the words, knowing it was Geralt that was her end. She doesn’t trust the story paints him as the Butcher of Blaviken, but she pushes those feelings down, still not sure if they are true or machinations of the wish he made.

“I did some digging, and it turns out that Stregobor was in Blaviken, hiding from this girl who claims he ruined her life. Why does his word matter more over hers?”

“Because you know how the Conclave works.” The first thing Tissaia taught her was that the men of the Conclave let the power go to their heads and will protect themselves before anyone else. “And given his experiments—”

“Experiments?” She straightens. “What experiments? What does he do to these women?”

Tissaia doesn’t respond, and Yennefer waves away the illusion, ending the connection between them. Pieces of her loyalty continue to flake further and further away, and she wonders what these men have ever done to make them think they could own the world.

“Is now a bad time?”

Yennefer’s head snaps up from her thoughts to see Freya standing at the door ahead of her. “No, not at all.” She gestures for the other witch to come in. “Close the door.”

Freya does as she’s told and makes her way closer. “Would you like the good news or the bad news?”

“I’m not sure what could make the news I already received much worse.” Yennefer goes to sink down into the seat. “Let’s go with bad and try to end on an up note.”

Freya smirks as she nods. “I summoned the djinn who cast your witcher’s wish. He cannot break his own wishes, especially when we don’t know exactly what Geralt wished for.”

“So I’m cursed, then. To continue to be drawn to him like a magnet.”

“You had me start with the bad news.”

“Is there any good when you begin like that?”

“There are still options.” Freya tips her head to the side. “You can always end the wish by ending the witcher.”

Yennefer starts, before shaking her head. “Not on the table.”

“I could also continue to look for options. Djinn magic may be beyond my current expertise, but magic is magic. If it cast a spell, we can break it.”

Yennefer glances over to the other woman and nods. Her words make sense, and she’s grateful that Freya will continue to try, even though it’s not an easy fix. It’s a gesture of good faith worth rewarding.

“I don’t think that I should wait that long for my part in our quid pro quo.”

Freya looks surprised at the statement, then nods. “Klaus will be pleased to hear it.”

“And you?”

Freya pauses, considering, before looking up at her again. “I am grateful for your help, but I do not require it. I’m helping because I want to help you, Yennefer.”

Yennefer can’t help the way her stomach twists at that, but nods. “Good. Then let’s get started.”

Edited 2022-05-15 14:49 (UTC)

Nate rounds the corner of the science building at Central City University and is immediately attacked.

Sort of.

If by “attacked,” you mean “collides with someone because he was too busy FaceTiming with his best friend than watching where he was going,” then yes, he was attacked.

Normally he can navigate the halls of crowded students like a pro, whether his attention is elsewhere or not. But today, he stumbles backwards, smacking into the wall behind him, and his phone goes flying. “Nate?” he hears in his earbuds, as likely the screen has gone black or features a sea of moving student legs. “Nate, buddy? You okay?”

“Watch where you’re going.”

The voice of the cannonball is sharp and angry and he turns to find himself face to face with the scariest-prettiest person he’s seen since Amaya Jiwe. Long dark hair pulled back into a sensible ponytail, tan skin and brown eyes narrowed into a squint. She is not as intrigued with him, that is clear.

Briefly, to Ray he says: “Hold on, buddy.” Then he pulls out his earbuds as he turns to the woman in front of him. “I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely. “I was on the phone with a colleague, not that that’s any excuse.”

She seems taken aback by his immediate sincerity, but immediately recovers to a scowl. “You should be more careful.”

“You are absolutely right.” He can’t tell if she’s a student, TA or professor, so he goes for the most formal introduction possible, just in case she’s a colleague. “Doctor Nate Heywood.”

Hesitantly, she reaches out and shakes his hand. She has a firm grip, almost as though she’s used to having to compete. “Zari Tomaz. Aren’t you a little far from the history building?”

At that, he can’t help but grin. “You’ve heard of me.”

“You’re very popular with my freshman students who have to take a quick history class for their gen ed courses.” There’s a beat as she adjusts her bag. “I’m in the Computer Science department.”

“Post-doc?”

She shakes her head. “Have to get the doc first to be post-doc.”

“Ah.” So grad student. Not his grad student, but still a student. Which he recognizes as a rather sleazy thought before it finishes forming in his mind. As much as he has had his fair share of interdepartmental relationships, he tries to stay as professional as possible. “Doctor Palmer is one of my good friends. I was heading over to meet him for lunch.” He glances around. “Have you seen my phone?”

The flood of students has ebbed somewhat and as they glance around, they recognize the iPhone that has slid across to the other side of the hallway, wrapped in a Beebo blue case. Zari picks it up from the ground and sees Ray’s concerned face staring back at her. “Hi, Doctor Palmer.” Then she turns back to Nate. “You’re coming to see him for lunch but also … FaceTiming on the way to meet him.”

Nate has the decency to look a little guilty. “We’re great friends?”

“Uh-huh.” She passes him his phone, only slightly raising an eyebrow at the Beebo design. “Have a nice day, Doctor Heywood.”

“It was a gift—” He tries to explain, but before he can, she’s already brusquely headed off to wherever she had to be next. He sighs, watching her disappear, before popping his headphones back in his ear, and turning back to Ray. He’ll probably never see her again, but there’s something in him that wants to.

* * * * *

A few days later, Sara’s foot nudges his as they sit together in the crowded student center. “Hey. Where are you?”

Nate blinks as he snaps back to attention, before shaking his head. “Sorry. Just thinking about someone I met a couple of days ago.”

“Oh, really?” Sara gets that mischievous look on her face as she takes a bite of her apple. “A potentially romantic someone?”

“What? No.” Even he realizes he scoffed at that answer a little too quickly. But he continues on the denial head on. “Just someone I met.”

“Oh, come on. It’s been almost a year since Amaya moved out to DC. You deserve to put yourself out there again.”

“If you two are just going to discuss Pretty’s love life, I’m going to eat my lunch somewhere else.” Mick states gruffly, leaning over his burger and fries.

“You literally teach fake romances for a living, but you can’t deal with the real thing?” Sara teases and the massive man shakes his head.

“Those romances have a point. You endlessly questioning Nate about his usually doesn’t.”

Sara rolls her eyes before turning back to Nate again. “So who are they? Anyone I know?”

Nate’s about to point out that given that he just met her, he can’t tell if Sara would know her, when a familiar face appears in the crowd. Tray in hand, she scans the tables, looking for an empty one, but he knows at this time of day that she’ll have no luck. So, regardless of knowing that he’ll open the door even wider for Sara to walk through, he waves to get her attention.

“Zari!”

Zari turns at the sound of her name, and she seems surprised that he’s getting her attention, but makes her way over all the same. “Hi, Doctor Heywood.”

“Nate, please. Need somewhere to sit?”

“…Yeah. Thanks.” She seems hesitant, because he is sharing his table with two other people, but Sara immediately clears her bag off the remaining seat, not giving her time to question it, quickly extending her hand to the other woman.

“Sara Lance. Kinesiology. And that’s Mick Rory, he’s in the English department.”

Zari seems startled at where Mick works, but that’s par for the course. She does, in time, recover and shake Sara’s hand. “Zari Tomaz. Computer Science.”

“Ahhh, Felicity’s been talking about you.” Sara grins. “Says you’ve been terrifying the freshman into shape. Good for you.”

“Thanks, I think?” Zari settles into her seat, opening up the various portions of her lunch. “Dr. Smoak has made the transition so much easier.”

“What, being one of the few women of authority in a male department isn’t easy?” Sara laughs. “Who would have thought?” And then, because she can, she immediately segues to: “So how did you and Nate meet?”

“Uh—” She glances over at Nate, almost as though to ask how brutal he wanted her to be.

“I was FaceTiming Ray and slammed into her like an idiot.” He’s willing to take the blow here. He knows Sara won’t think less of him.

“You know, I’m surprised that you haven’t slammed into more innocent bystanders, given how often you do that.”

Nate shrugs. “Normally, my radar is pretty good. This time, unfortunately, it wasn’t.”

“So I see.” Sara smiles. “Well, welcome to the staff. You’ve run into a good one. Nate is a good guy to know when you’ve run into an interdepartmental snafu.”

“So I’m seeing,” Zari nods as she reaches for her sandwich. “Guess I got lucky.”

Nate watches her for a moment, trying to see if he can read the in-between of what she’s saying, but after that, the conversation slips back into his normal flow, and he lets it go from there.

* * * * *

“Doctor Heywood?”

He turns at the sound of his name as he makes his way out of the history building. He sees Zari coming up the sidewalk, clutching her bag almost defensively. She seems uncomfortable, and while he wants to correct her to call him Nate, this doesn’t seem like the time.

“Zari. What can I help you with?”

“What Sara said, about you having a lot of interdepartmental ins? Is that true?”

“I guess?” He has a lot of friends. He wouldn’t call them “ins” but that’s a matter of perspective. “Is there something you need?”

“The Computer Science department is getting ready to launch this huge project, and Dr. Smoak nominated me to run it, which I’m very grateful for and I can totally do it, but it involves going to each of the different departments and giving them a digital upgrade, coding specific classrooms and apps for keeping track of work, but…I have to contact all the department heads, walk them through the project, make sure that they’re able to get the rest of their staff on board and … I’m not … great with people.” She shifts on her feet. “Coding it will be a breeze, and I know that this is important for my development, but…”

“You’re brand new to this school and looking at that long list of directors and professors is making you want to scream inside?”

Zari laughs before nodding. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Nate glances down at his watch before looking up at her. “Got anywhere you need to be?” She shakes her head, and he continues. “How do you feel about pizza?”

“I like pizza.”

“Great.” Nate nods as he gestures for her to follow him. “I know just the place.”

* * * * *

They split a veggie pie—Zari is Muslim, and it’s better to err on the side of halal—and by the time they’ve worked through it, they’re rounding the corner on the science department and Zari has notes of Nate’s connections and information to help her make the best pitch to each of them.

“Okay, what about Stein?”

“Nice guy, genuinely, but can get a little in his own head with the sound of his own voice.” And Nate means that with love. “Go to my buddy Ray, and he’ll help get you in the door. And also keep Martin on task.”

“Got it.” Zari scribbles that down underneath her notes she’s already written about Ray, and looks up at him again. “Thank you, really. I honestly don’t know how you do it.”

Nate shrugs. “I like people. That’s all history is, really. People making choices, and I enjoy spending time with them, and figuring out what got them to where they are.” He leans on the table, resting his chin in one hand. “And there’s nothing wrong with people not being your thing.”

“I guess not.” She shrugs. “My brother Behrad was always great with them. Sometimes a little too trusting, though. I had to step in to protect him a lot.”

“And I’m sure that America’s attitude towards certain things hasn’t helped either.” Nate nods in agreement, picking a stray pepper off the metal stand where their pizza was sitting. “People can really suck sometimes.”

“Yes, they can.” Zari leans back in her seat to watch him. “I’m not used to people being this nice to me. Without wanting something in return, anyway.”

“Does wanting to be your friend count? Because I would consider that mutually beneficial.”

“Are you sure just being my friend is all you want?”

He raises an eyebrow as he looks back at her, surprised. It’s not that what she says is untrue. It’s just not the turn he expected this conversation to take. “Not if you don’t want it too.” She raises an eyebrow, and he shifts forward. “I’ll admit that you intrigue me, and I’m attracted to you, but we also barely know each other. And you’re a grad student, so I’m not looking to make your life more complicated, even if you’re not in my department and it technically wouldn’t be unethical.”

Something in her seems to relax at that, and she nods. “I appreciate that.”

“I enjoy talking with you. I enjoy getting pizza with you. So if all we do is talk and get pizza, then I am a-okay with that.”

Zari nods as she considers before flipping her notebook closed. “I think getting pizza would be nice.”

“Good.”

Where it goes from here, he doesn’t know. But of all the choices that he could make, he can’t help but feel like this one is going to be a good one.

“You’ve had a request for a collab.”

“What?” Zari’s head snaps towards her agent, studying Ava with a suspicious eye. “I thought my brand was in the toilet.”

Not one known for shying away from her hot takes, Zari Tarazi is going through her latest round of being canceled. Not for anything overly serious—she made an offhanded comment about an upcoming movie and brought down the wrath of that movie’s star upon her, but enough that she’s wanted to stay out of her Twitter and Instagram mentions for the past few days. A stream of reaction videos have already made themselves known over the last few days.

“Are you intending to make any kind of apology?”

“Absolutely not. Even your wife agrees it wasn’t her best work.”

“Then yes, your brand is still in the toilet.” Ava seems exasperated with her client’s antics, but it’s nothing new. Zari moves from from agent to agent at the Waverider Talent Agency, each citing her increasingly difficult behavior. Having been an influencer since an accidental viral CatChat video at twelve, Zari’s gone through image after image revamp, having eventually settled in the fashion/lifestyle vlogger arena. Known for her brutal opinions on everything, they occasionally got her into trouble when she spoke about the wrong person, but things usually bounced back eventually.

She doesn’t enjoy what she’s doing, and that only makes it all the harder. Part of her wishes she could get out, find something better to do with her life, but given that this job is paying her parents' mortgage and her brother’s tuition, she can’t see herself stepping away from what works soon.

Still, regardless of the numbers she could pull in, the offer for a collab is a surprise. Most of the bigger names involve burned bridges and story-time videos she doesn’t want to commit to, while the younger set really wants nothing to do with her. But a collab is a collab, and she’s ready to use anything that could help her image at the moment.

“Who requested it?”

“Nate Heywood.”

Zari blinks because she doesn’t recognize the name. Then, her eyes widen as it clicks into place. “The ‘History Tube’ guy? He does collabs?”

“It’s a new series on his channel that he’s planning. He wants to do the pitch himself.” Ava turns and looks at her curiously. “Are you interested?”

Zari purses her lips, weighing the pros and cons. “I’m not not interested.”

“So I’ll set up a meeting. Say you’re uncommitted until you hear the full pitch, but you’ll still hear him out.”

“Good.” Zari lets silence fill the sedan as their driver continues to weave them through LA. “Do you think this is a good opportunity?”

Ava considers, before shrugging. “I don’t think it’s a terrible idea.” Which is neither a yes, nor a no. “I think it’s all going to depend on the angle. Which is why listening to the pitch is a good idea.”

Zari nods, before turning her attention back to her phone and scrolling through CatChat. One of Nate’s thumbnails pops up on her feed, almost as though her phone truly is spying on her, and she sighs.

If she has to step into a weird collab with someone, at least he has a sense of production value.

And it doesn’t hurt that he’s kind of cute.

* * * * *

Nate Heywood turns out to be even more handsome in person than he is in his high production videos. Slicked back dark hair, bright eyes, strong jaw—if Zari had a type, he would probably be it. He walks her through his pitch, determined.

“So what we’re thinking,” Nate begins as he and his partner Wally sit in the room's front. While Nate is clearly the charm and face of the channel, Wally handles a lot of the behind-the-scenes action—set building, costume design and other engineering feats. “Is that while, yes, I could do an incredible amount of research on a topic? The authenticity goes in the toilet if I’m talking about topics not related to my lived experience in any kind of meaningful way. I can quote studies and signal boost other people’s stories, but it’s not really going to resonate.”

“That’s why we’re expanding outside the box,” Wally grins. “Starting with CatChat creators that are famous enough to bring in the eyeballs and then hopefully if the series gains traction, we can work down to more academics and experts.”

“So what’s the angle with me?” Zari tips her head to the side curiously. “I mean, I get that. I’ve got the following, but I’m not exactly a historian.”

“That’s what we would try to figure out,” Nate replies, moving to lean against the edge of the table. “We’ll have some meetings to decide on a topic. We were thinking something in Persian or Muslim history, but I’m open to whatever vibes with you. You, me and my researchers will put together a script and then we’ll get to the set, stage costumes, all of that and put together the video.”

Her stomach twists—scripted content isn’t normally her thing. She has more off-the-cuff curated moments. Trying something new is never a bad thing, but ever since Ava had set up the meeting, she had been binging through Nate’s content, and she doesn’t know if she’s good enough for this.

Her ego is well known. She doesn’t want to make a fool of herself. This isn’t her brand and after so long of being stuck in one silo, she’s terrified of trying something new. She doesn’t want to voice those insecurities aloud, however, so she glances at Ava and Ava nods.

“This is a very interesting pitch. Can we talk it over and get back to you?”

Wally opens his mouth to protest, but Nate puts his hand over his partner’s before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Great. We’ll be in touch.”

They get up and make their way towards the door. Nate gently steps in front of Zari, not attempting to touch her, but definitely attempting to hold her attention. “Are you going to the S’More Money launch party tonight?” A beat. “Never mind, that’s a dumb—”

“Not a dumb question.” She admits, because S’more intended to announce the end of their relationship tonight. In a very amicable, we’re still going to be friends kind of way, but some had heard the rumors. “We’re not—”

Ava places a hand on her shoulder, because those aren’t details she should spill yet, and Zari closes her mouth before beginning again.

“I’ll be there, yeah.”

Something on Nate’s face shifts, curiosity warring with something that might just be compassion, but he breezes past it and moves on. “Great. Then maybe Wally and I can put a few topic ideas together and I’ll see you there.”

“Yeah,” Zari nods. “See you there.”

It might be the only enjoyable part of this evening.

* * * * *

Tonight is one night that Zari wishes she could drink.

She can’t even eat her feelings because the food isn’t that good. Or halal. What an asshole.

But what’s done is done, and the party has moved on from their sad announcement. She’s already done with it and trying to see if there’s a way for her to escape when she hears a voice next to her.

“I really hope you knew that was coming before he made that big announcement.”

She turns and finds Nate leaning against a wall nearby. She offers him a small smile and nods. “Yeah, we ended things months ago, but he didn’t want to distract from the hype he was trying to build for the launch. I'm over it.”

She’s not over it, but her life is in the public eye, so she has to be. Nate nods before glancing over his shoulder. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Zari blinks. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I mean, you already did your part, right? Do you actually want to be here?”

The answer to that question was no. Without conferring with her agent, only sending her a quick text message letting her know where they’re going and who she’s with, she lets Nate sneak her out the back door and into his car, where they head off for somewhere more acceptable. He asks her what she’s in the mood for and there’s only one answer to the question.

Gourmet doughnuts.

They find a place still open at this time of night and pile into a booth after placing their orders. She’s two doughnuts deep. Nate has just finished telling her the history of the dessert when she looks up at him.

“Okay, I have to ask. Why me?”

Nate looks up at her, confused. “Why not you?”

“…I don’t follow.”

“You’ve been in this game for so long, and you’re still pulling consistent numbers. Aside from the offhand comment or two that gets you into trouble, everyone who’s actually worked with you can only talk about how professional and polished you are. And…I don’t know, I’ve always admired you.”

Zari blinks in surprise. “Really?”

“Really.” He pulls apart one of the remaining doughnuts and offers her half. “You’re a badass. And everyone thinks they know you, but I would really love to help you give them something new. To … help you talk about the parts that maybe you don’t feel are sellable, because fuck how the rest of the industry works.”

“Easy for you to say,” she retorts, and he grins.

“Maybe it is. But I would still really love for you to be a part of this.”

She doesn’t comment on it further, but now the wheels in her head are spinning.

* * * * *

Early the next morning, she sends a text to Nate for him to come over. He arrives about an hour later and tells him the door’s open. Her kitchen is an aromatic blend of saffron and curcuma, and when he arrives, his eyes wide at the spread of Persian dishes laid out in front of him.

“Oh, my god.”

“I want to do food.” Zari pauses. “For my topic. For our video. I want to do Persian cuisine.”

Nate blinks up at her before making his way closer. “I didn’t even know you cooked.”

“I’m full of surprises,” she retorts, before holding up the bowl of albaloo polo for him to try. “I was thinking maybe we could base the set off a cooking competition. I’m not sure if the high energy of MasterChef would work—”

She’s cut off as Nate lets out a pleased groan before digging into the food. “Oh, my god.”

“—and then interspersed in between the reality TV sketches we could go into the history, the spices, what dishes became famous for what and when—all of that.” She watches him as he shovels the food into his mouth and, when he continues to eat without responding, she hesitates. “What do you think?”

“I think this is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.” He glances up at her, surprised. “Why didn’t you become a food influencer?”

“They weren’t really a thing,” she shrugs. “They were looking to capitalize on me as I was then, not where I am now. But if I want to shake things up and really change and feel good about the content I’m producing again. Maybe it’s worth a shot.” She pauses, letting that sink in before looking up at him hopefully. “So—you like my idea?”

“I think it’s a fantastic idea,” he grins, before placing the plate down. “And it’s exactly what I’m looking for. So thank you.”

“Good,” she smiles softly, before leaning in closer. “And just so you know, I am quite the perfectionist, so it’s going to be a lot of long days and a lot of food.”

Nate grins as he meets her in that lean, staying close as he can. “I think I’m up to the challenge.”

Living as an archivist isn’t the easiest job in the world. Nate loves it, though.

He loves cataloguing the stories and seeing the changes, following the histories of the different tale types as they work through time and mold to fit the world changing around it. And working at the ATI Bureau has its bright sides. When they let him out into the field, he gets to help people. When he’s stuck in the office, he gets to learn.

There is a soft rap on the door, and Zari pokes her head inside with a soft smile. “Hey, Nate.”

“Hey, Z,” he smiles. “What’s up?”

Zari had been a hard one to win over. Not that any member of their team is ever easy, given the kinds of tales it takes to join the ATI Management Bureau. A lot of princesses in villains, but Zari is different. Zari is a Scheherazade, a storyteller, which means if she tells stories, true or not, at the wrong moment she may never top. Nate’s story almost seems simpler in comparison.

But slowly, he likes to think they’ve built a bit of a rapport. He still doesn’t know much about her, other than she has a brother and her parents don’t understand her. Mostly, they play video games and talk about food, but it’s still nice to have that kind of camaraderie with another member of the team.

Possibly even more than camaraderie, if the way she kissed him

“We have another assignment. Sara wants us in the bullpen.”

Nate nods before closing his notes. “Be right there. Any idea what kind of tale type we’re dealing with?”

“She thinks it might be a Bluebeard? Hard to say, but a lot of women seem to go missing.”

“Duly noted. I’ll grab what I can.”

“See you there.” As she disappears out the door, he reaches out to take her hand.

“If we get out of here in time, we’re still up for dinner tonight, right?” His thumb brushes over the inside of her rest, and he notices the creeping of a blush curling over her cheeks. She smiles in return before nodding.

“Definitely. But my place this time.”

“Deal,” Nate grins. “I’ll be right there.”

* * * * *

It turns out it isn’t a Bluebeard. It’s a Shahryar.

His name is Bishop and six months ago, he discovered his wife had been cheating on him. After killing her for her treachery, his story took hold and while he began dating again, each potential match would only last for one night, and then he killed them, before they could take root in his heart. They arrive at his expansive estate to find Bishop covered in blood and ready to take his next bride.

The team had spilt up, and it would take time for them to trace the breadcrumbs of their lead to find them. Nate can’t think of that now, however, having taken a blow to the head and finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun. All he can think is that this isn’t how his story is supposed to go.

“Please,” he hears Zari’s voice from the opposite corner. “You don’t need to kill him. I’ll be your next bride.”

Bishop pauses, turning to her with wide eyes, Nate looking equally concerned. If she activates her story, there’s a chance he could lose her for good. That’s not what he wants, but it also might be the only way they stay alive.

“Fine,” Bishop agrees, because he must. He moves to her, pulling her into his arms and brushing his thumb against her chin. “You’ll make a beautiful bride for the night. And in the morning, you’ll be gone and so will he.”

Zari swallows hard, glancing back at Nate, and then turning back to Bishop again. “I was telling Nate a story in the car. Do…do you mind if I finish it? I can start at the beginning, if you prefer.”

Bishop sets his jaw, not wanting to give that kind of leeway, but the narrative is always in control, and it forces his hand. “Yes. Start from the beginning.” He moves to sit on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “I want to hear the whole thing.”

Zari nods, moving to Nate’s side and making eye contact with him, but he can see that her eyes are looking glassy. He doesn’t know what it feels like to have your story try to take hold when it’s your only option, but he will do whatever it takes to keep her here with him. He reaches over and takes her hands, giving them a soft squeeze.

“Start at the beginning,” he nods.

Zari takes a deep breath and begins: “Once upon a time…”

* * * * *

It’s five nights of storytelling before Sara finally finds them. He doesn’t know what takes them so long, but he’s grateful it wasn’t longer. Bishop is so caught in the story that he doesn’t know what they’re doing, and doesn’t notice when the arrow slices through the window and through his throat.

Oliver Queen is still a deadly shot.

Zari collapses, and Nate catches her as the rest of the team bursts in. “Shit. Shit, Z?”

“I … what’s going on?”

“He’s dead, Z.” His voice murmurs softly as she passes out against his shoulder. “He’s dead.”

It’s another few days before she awakens again, lying in an infirmary bed at the Bureau, Nate by her side. He squeezes her hand gently as she comes around, and he smiles. “Hey you.”

“Hey,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand in return. “Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone except the brides that Bishop got to first.” He moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” Zari frowns. “Do you know what happens when someone’s story gets cut off in the middle like that?”

“Hard to say. The Bureau’s going to want to monitor you for a while, and your designation will change. But probably not much more than that.” He brushes a thumb against the back of her hand. “That was an enormous risk you took.”

“It was the only choice I had,” she sighs. “Once we knew what he was, I knew what I had to do. How I was going to keep us alive.”

He nods, because he gets it. “I’m just glad you didn’t tell him stories long enough to fall in love with him.”

She laughs before shaking her head. “No, not yet. Unfortunately, the only one I have to worry about falling in love with is you.”

Nate turns back to her, eyebrows raised. “I heard that.”

“You were supposed to,” she points out.

He grins in return, before leaning in to kiss her. “I’ll take it.”

“Good.” She kisses him back. “Now we just have to worry about what happens when your story activates.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he smirks. “You come kiss it better.” She raises an eyebrow, and he laughs. “I didn’t tell you I was a Sleeping Beauty?”

Nate knows he’s never going to live that confession of, but it’s worth it to see the smile on her face.

“Oh, Nate. Not again.”

Zari looks over at the man resting in one of the ER beds, IV in his arm, and a disgruntled look on his face. While there are at home treatments for this sort of thing now, Nate’s case of hemophilia had always been intense. He winds up in the hospital anyway, just to be on the safe side, which means every few months, Zari finds him in the ER for treatment.

Not that she minds, as currently it’s the only way she gets to see him. They don’t really see much of each other beyond these hospital visits, mostly because he’s a patient, and she’s a doctor, occasionally his doctor, and she doesn’t want to be inappropriate. But he turns and smiles at her when he sees her, and she can’t help but think about what could happen if she will be inappropriate.

“Hey, Dr. Tomaz,” he sighs, holding up a bandaged hand. “Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?”

“I would hope so,” she tips her head to the side. “How did you wind up with this one?”

“I was making dinner for a special lady,” he sighs. “And the onions took their revenge by making my hand slip, so I stabbed myself.”

“Very rude to those onions.” She tries to ignore the way her stomach twists when she hears the words “special lady.” “Hopefully your dinner date won’t be too upset about getting stood up?”

“Oh, she’s used to it,” he sighs, and before he can finish, a short, middle-aged woman makes her way into the room.

“I couldn’t find anything interesting in the cafeteria, but the vending machine had a few gems.” Mrs. Heywood looks up and offers Zari a smile. “Oh, hello, Dr. Tomaz. Have you been assigned to Nate’s case?”

“No, no. Just was passing by and saw that your son continues to be terrible with sharp objects.”

Mrs. Heywood laughs, before going to sit next to him. “You would think I would be used to it by now.”

“I think at some point you have to expect him to learn.” Zari teases, feeling that knot in her gut unclench when she learns its just his mother. “I have to continue with my rounds, but I’ll swing by later to check on you.”

She gets thank you's from both of the Heywoods before she turns to head on her way. She hates to say it, because in some ways it makes her a terrible person, but her night just got so much better.

* * * * *

On a break between rounds a few hours later, she swings her way back around again. It’s getting to the quiet hours of her graveyard shift, and so long as nothing too crazy happened that night (knock on wood), the rest of the evening shouldn’t be too terrible.

Mrs. Heywood is curled up in one of the reclining chairs next to Nate, fast asleep, but Nate is awake, flipping silently through the channels while on mute. She gives a small wave, and he smiles when he sees her, gesturing for her to come in.

“I tried to convince her to go home, but she insisted on staying.”

“Even when you’re all grown up, you’re still her little boy,” Zari smiles. “She wants to take care of you.”

“She is good at that. I just wish she would give herself a break sometimes.” He then turns to look at her with a grin. “I’m not a complete disaster in the kitchen, you know.”

“Did you know that may non-hemophiliacs make it through their lives cooking without cutting themselves even once?” Zari retorts, and he rolls his eyes.

“Look, sometimes there’s only one way to learn.” He then turns one of his charming grins on her. “And I get to see my favorite doctor, so it’s a win-win.”

“Well, your favorite doctor would prefer to see you a little less,” she sighs, moving to lean against the edge of the bed. “At least in this scenario.”

“Fair. She would probably worry about me far less.”

“Oh, immense weight off her shoulders.”

“Does that mean, though, that she would like to see me in other scenarios?” He raises an eyebrow curiously, shifting more of his attention fully to her. “Maybe ones with softer lightning and dinner made by someone, not me, so there is no danger with very sharp knives?”

Zari’s eyes narrow, trying to read between the lines. “Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe.” A beat. “If I was, would you say yes?”

She hesitates, worrying her bottom lip as she considers. “You’re my patient, Nate.”

“Technically, I haven’t been your patient for months now.” He reaches for her hand, pulling it closer. “And I’m a-okay with you never being my doctor again if it means you get to be more than that.” Then he grins. “Besides, having a doctor on hand all the time might make for fewer trips to the hospital in the long run.”

That makes her laugh, because she doubts that’ll be the case. Brushing her thumb over the back of his hand, she sighs before looking up at him again. “I do like you. And wouldn’t mind if you were asking me out. But…can we take it slow? It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“We can take it as slow as you want,” Nate nods. “Promise. We could just start with pizza?”

She smirks. “A handheld food with no sharp utensils. Excellent choice.”

Nate laughs. “So, is that a yes?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “That’s a yes.”

“Good,” Nate grins, before reaching for his phone so that they could assign the details. But when it’s all said and done and the invite is sitting on her calendar, she can’t help but smile as she made her way back to work.

Maybe it was not such a bad thing to meet someone at work after all. It could be the best meeting she ever had.

After she changes the timeline, their relationship comes in starts and stops.

Stops, because Nate’s understanding of the past changes and their relationship disappears. They never met, they never fell in love, she’s a completely different person.

Starts, because Charlie tries to protect them and Zari needs to remind them who they are.

Stops, because if she stays, Behrad dies, and that defeats the purpose of what she came to do.

Starts, because the Tarazis give Nate access to the totem.

Back and forth, back and forth, up and down. She even gets to go back to the Waverider every once in a while to help with the Legends latest adventures, but there’s always a part of it that feels temporary. Part of her that wants to just release Nate out into the real world where he can be with a real girl, rather than her. But he keeps coming back, and when he’s here with her, she can’t help but want to cling onto him a little while longer.

It's not fair, really. And maybe she really is a terrible person because she keeps letting him come back.

Then they discuss him moving to the totem. It’s the last thing she expected, given everything he would give up, but the more they discuss it, the more she realizes they could do this. They could have a real life together. Maybe not the one she always thought of, but she could introduce him to her ancestors. (She could take him to see Amaya.) This? This could work.

What she doesn’t expect is for him to appear in a worn out, World War I uniform and what looks like burns on his face. Immediately she panics, making her way closer and reaching out to him. “What happened?”

“Mustard gas,” he sighs softly, leaning into her hand as it lands on his face. “It at through my steel.”

“What?” She must seem horrified because he reaches for her, pulling her in closer.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, closing her eyes and relaxing into his hold. There’s something reassuring about him being here, despite being hurt like this, but that doesn’t stop the worry from manifesting for long.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” He pulls back to look at her with a smile. “Really. I can’t summon my steel anymore, but … I don’t need that here.”

She finds herself confused, concerned, all over again, because even if this is what she wants, she didn’t expect it to happen this soon, or like this. “Are you sure?”

“I am. And if I’m ever not, or I need to go back to the real world for whatever reason—” He holds up his wrist, showing the air totem resting in his wrist. “—Fancy Z gave me this. But here is where I want to be.”

Her smile widens as she leans in to kiss him, pulling him close and trying not to let the happiness bubble up too fast. There has to be a catch somewhere—there always is. (It will be that her friends are stuck in Time Jail, and are in trouble, again, but that’s not a problem for now.) But she tries to just bask in the moment, reveling because he’s here and they can finally cease starting and stopping.

She’s been desperately looking forward to the time where they could just be.

As the kiss breaks, she squeezes his hand gently. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Honestly? So am I,” he murmurs.

She winds her arms around his waist and leans in closer, feeling his lips brush against her temple as she rests her head against his shoulders. This is where she wanted to be for so long, and now that it’s finally here, her mind is abuzz with all the things she’s wanted to show him.

“We have so much to do,” she sighs as she finally pulls back and he frowns at her in confusion.

“I thought we were doing something pretty good right there,” Nate teases, reaching for her hand to pull her back in. “And I, too, have a few ideas on things we can do.”

She doesn’t fight him as he pulls, but gives him a teasing look. “There’s so much I want to show you, though.”

“Later,” he says as he leans in to kiss her again. “We have all the time in the world.”

And as he backs her towards what is likely becoming a bedroom in her liminal space of a totem, she can’t help but relax and give in to what he wants.

He has a point. They have all the time in the world. And their time is all their’s.

No more stopping and starting. Time for them to move forward.

Edited 2022-05-20 22:11 (UTC)

There’s a new girl in the school.

Usually Matt doesn’t pay much attention to these things, nor does he care, but given what he’s just learned about Mystic Falls, he can’t help but look on her with a healthy amount of suspicion. This doesn’t help matters when the principal pulls him to the side and asks him to show the new girl around. He knows he needs to figure out whether she really is just the new girl or if there’s more to her than that.

How do you go about figuring out someone is a vampire? What did the Sheriff tell him?

Vervain and sunlight—though that seems to be hit or miss. Vervain is likely his best bet. He just has to figure out how to slip it to her. He waits by the front door of the high school, scanning for familiar faces until he hears:

“Matt?”

He turns and, for a moment, is flabbergasted. For all the things he expected about the situation, the last thing he expected was for her to be cute. Petite and blond, she smiles up at him, half-expectantly. Trying to be friendly, but hoping she had the right person. She pauses and extends her hand when he says nothing.

“I’m Buffy. The new girl?”

“Right. Sorry.” Eventually, he snaps out of it and shakes her hand. “I’m Matt. Welcome to Mystic Falls.”

“Thanks,” she grins, before pulling her hand back to her chest. “I’m kind of old hat at the new school game, but it’s been a while since I’ve been to a town this small.”

“Yeah, we definitely are that.” He turns and gestures for her to follow him. “So, where did you come from?” A beat. “Move from. Where did you move from?”

She laughs. “LA, mostly? California.”

“Oh, wow. Then this place must be tiny.”

“It’s not so bad,” she shrugs, before looking up and eyeing the numbers on the lockers. “My locker number is six-fifteen.”

“Ah, you’re down this way.” He points to one hallway before leading the way. “And I would wait until you’ve been here for a few months before you say that.”

“Hey, if I’ve heard nothing else, it’s that small town kids know how to party.”

He laughs. “That we know how to do. You are right.” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you angling to go to one?”

“Probably a good way to make friends, right?” she shrugs. “And the sooner I do that, the sooner I’m the weird new thing and more a part of the furniture.”

“I get that.” They stop at locker six-fifteen, and he shifts to lean against the closed one next to it as she opens it. “There’s usually one down at the Old Mill, first weekend of school. Probably would be your best bet.”

“Weekends at the Old Mill, got it.” She smiles back at him. “Sounds like fun.” After dropping off her belongings, she consults her schedule. “Seems like next up is history.”

“Ahh, then this is where we part ways. I’m heading off to chem.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “But maybe we could meet up for lunch? I can tell you more about the good hang outs.”

“That would be great,” she nods with a smile. “I’ll meet you at the cafeteria?”

Matt smiles. “See you there.” He drops her off at history, and as the door closes, he sees Caroline down the hall, watching them both with a slightly sour expression on her face. But as they’re not together anymore and she’s dating his best friend, how Caroline feels about things isn’t really his problem.

* * * * *

He slips some vervain in her soda at lunch, hoping the sharpness of the Coke will cover up the taste of vervain. When she drinks it, she makes a face, and a comment about it going flat, but there’s no smoke, no coughing, no weakness.

Not a vampire.

He then asks her if she wants to go to the party together. It appears he needs some new friends, anyway. And he likes her smile a lot when she says yes.

* * * * *

The Old Mill party is like most Old Mill parties—kegs and liquor scattered about the bonfire while teenagers get increasingly more intoxicated in the middle of the woods, fully convinced that they’re completely safe from harm. Matt can’t think the same way anymore, but Buffy is a welcome distraction, and he’s happy to introduce her to some members of the football team and cheerleading squad.

Eventually the crowd cycles, and they find their way in front of Caroline and Bonnie, who Buffy greets with a friendly smile.

“Hey. I’m Buffy. I’m new.” She extends a hand to both of them, but while Caroline is defensive and ignores it, Bonnie leans forward to shake her hand.

“Bonnie. And this is Caroline. Matt says you used to cheer?” Caroline seems almost disappointed when Bonnie relaxes and starts having an actual conversation with her, and he can’t figure out why. Probably because he doesn’t know enough about witches.

“Oh yeah, way long ago. My pep skills are probably a little rusty.”

Matt smirks. “If this conversation is going to devolve into cheer talk, I’m going to get us more drinks.” He glances to Buffy. “Beer?”

“Sure,” she nods, and Bonnie holds up a finger for one as well. Caroline huffs.

“I’ll come help you.”

He makes a face because he already doesn’t like where this conversation is going, but he doesn’t fight her. “Thanks,” he says flatly, before leaving Bonnie and Buffy to chat. Caroline waits until they’re firmly across the party before she takes his arm.

“So, you’re just hanging out with the new girl?”

“Yeah,” he replies sharply. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Maybe. You remember that the last time we got a new student at school, they were a vampire, right?”

“Yeah. A vampire who killed my sister and covered it up for months. I remember.” Matt looks back at her. “I already tested her with vervain. She’s clean. And she’s not wearing any lapis lazuli, and even Bonnie shook her hand with no sign of trouble. I don’t know about you, but I think that counts as passing the test.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you have to hang out with her—”

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t?” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you just saying that I’m not allowed to make any new friends now? Because right now my old ones aren’t looking that great.”

Caroline looks like he smacked her. “Ouch, Matt.”

Matt shrugs. “I just don’t understand why you’re allowed to make new friends and determine who’s safe and I’m not.”

At that, her hurt face softens and she nods. “You’re right. That’s fair. If you think she’s safe, then…I trust you.” She reaches over and places a hand on his arm. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I know.” Matt softens slightly as well, before filling one cup and handing them off to her. “But your mom trained me on all the signs to look for. Just…trust me? Please?”

Caroline nods as she takes the second cup from him. “Okay. I trust you.”

“Good. Now let’s just enjoy the party.”

* * * * *

This party ends where most parties often do, at the Grille. Buffy orders herself a large plate of greasy fries and some water, hoping to sober up a bit before she goes home to her mom. At this point she’s mostly been rambling about her family—mom, dad out of the picture, sister Dawn. It’s so similar to his own situation, except her sister is alive and her mom actually gives a shit.

It must be nice to have that kind of family. But at least they can bond about their absentee dad.

He goes to get them refills on their water glasses from the bar, and he feels a firm hand grip his arm. Suddenly, Damon is far too close, and he leans in to whisper in his ear. “Mind if I talk to you for a second?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” he replies, and the grip on his arm tightens to the point of pain. Matt grimaces before glancing back at him with a glare. “Fine.”

“Good.” Damon turns and escorts him out of the Grille and into the alley nearby, where they’ll have some privacy. He turns and shoves him against the wall, looking at him with that oddly uncomfortable Damon look, eyes wide and unnerving. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“When you assaulted me and dragged me out here? Getting a glass of water for my date.” Matt rolls his eyes. “Last I checked, that wasn’t illegal.”

“It is if we don’t know who or what she is. New people don’t just show up in Mystic Falls, you know.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “I already told Caroline this—I tested her with vervain, and she wasn’t wearing any daylight jewelry.”

“Yeah, well, Caroline is a little too willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I’m not.” He takes a step in, pushing her finger into his chest and not stopping until Matt’s back is against the wall. “Now, I want you to be a good little boy and abandon your date so I can vet her properly, and until then stay—”

“Hey!” Both men turn to see Buffy standing at the mouth of the alley. She stalks closer, immediately putting herself between Matt and Damon despite being the shortest of the three. “Leave him alone.”

Damon raises an eyebrow, but he turns and faces her, eyes meeting hers in a way that Matt knows is for compulsion. “Why don’t you forget him and leave town? Pretend you never walked into this one horse town if you know what’s good for you. Don’t worry about Matt. I’m sure he’ll do just fine without you.”

Matt can feel the rage boiling in his chest, as the glazed expression crosses Buffy’s face, and she turns to leave. She doesn’t say a word, taking herself to the mouth of the alley again as she follows Damon’s instructions. Matt grits his teeth before shoving the other men back from him.

“You didn’t have to do that. She was no one.”

“No one is no one,” Damon points out, turning to block Buffy’s exiting form from view. “At least not until I determine that they’re no one. Do you really think I’m going to let you bring someone around Ele—”

Suddenly Damon freezes. A hacking cough rises from his chest and blood spurts between his lips. Whoever’s assaulting him lands a kick to the back of his knees and he drops to the ground, and before Matt can do anything about it, Damon’s neck snaps and he drops to the ground, revealing the knife in his back.

When Matt tears himself away from Damon, he looks up to see Buffy still standing there. She holds up her hands when he jerks away in shock. “Don’t worry. He’s not dead.”

“I know that,” he replies, dumbstruck. “But when he wakes up, he’s going to be pissed.”

“Wait—you know about vampires?” Buffy blinks, confused.

“Yeah. So do you.” That much is obvious. “…He compelled you. Are you on vervain?”

“No. I can’t be compelled. It’s a really long sto—” Her eyes widen, and then she smiles. “That’s why my soda tasted weird the day we met. You slipped me vervain.”

“Yeah. You’re not a vampire, but you can’t be compelled?”

“As I said, long story.” She glances down at Damon. “Just…help me get him somewhere, and I’ll explain on the way?”

Matt looks down at the vampire at his feet, and while he doesn’t know what she’s going to do to him, he thinks that the person who ruined his sister’s life should get the chance to suffer, just a little. He nods, shifting to brace some of Damon’s weight as they get him up.

“Before we do this though—what are you?” Because she has to be something, right?

Buffy takes a deep breath and braces Damon on the opposite side with a nod. “I’m a vampire Slayer.”

There’s a lot Buffy really likes about Mystic Falls—a lot of the east coast, really. The homey little hovels, the cozy woods and quiet villages—they all have a warmth and welcoming air to them, she appreciates. It’s only when you get closer and look at what’s really happening under the surface that you see the cracks in the façade.

Like vampires. These little towns have so may vampires.

“Take a left up here.”

She points to the turn in question and Matt obediently follows, making the left before glancing back at her again. She trussed up “Damon,” as Matt calls him, in the bed of Matt’s truck, chained, muzzled and covered in canvas just in case he wakes up before they get there. Usually broken necks take a long time to heal, but if someone gets their neck broken often—and she senses Damon might—they might heal a little faster, so better safe than sorry.

Matt swallows hard. “So. Vampire Slayer?”

“Right. Explanation time.” It’s always the thing she finds the hardest to explain, really. What she is tends towards the long and complicated, and she doesn’t want to alienate him. But she owes him one, so she starts from the beginning. “A long time ago, when the Originals were first made and started terrorizing their way through the world—you know about the Originals, right? The first vampires?”

Matt nods, grimacing. “I’ve met a couple.”

Her eyes widen. “And you lived?”

His face falls slightly. “I wasn’t what they wanted.”

“Right.” Only not right, that means someone he cared about did die. “I’m sorry.”

He’s silent at first, before shaking his head. “You were saying. About the Originals?”

“Right. So vampires go against nature and the Originals, being the first and being neigh unkillable even more so. But witches can only do so much, so while the spirits were trying to force compliance out of the Original Witch—”

“Original Witch?”

“Not the first witch. The witch of the Original family. The one who turned them into vampires.”

“Got it.”

“Other witches knew they needed to have a more proactive course of action, especially when they started turning other humans into vampires. So they took their preferred prey of choice—” She gestures to herself. “—and turned them into magical sleeper agents. Stronger, faster, unable to be compelled, and trained with the tools to take them out.”

“So you’re still supernatural?”

“Kinda?” Buffy shrugs. “We’re all magical constructs in the end. Even things like werewolves have an origin in magic somewhere. Anyway. It’s a chain of power passing. When one of us dies, the next one is awakened, and so on and so forth. But there are Slayers all over the world trying to fly under the radar.” She pauses and then points to the right. “Up here on the right. Just pull in on the dirt driveway.”

Matt nods before doing as asked, turning into the space and pulling up to the abandoned warehouse where she and her team have been making camp. Faith sits on the second floor and Buffy can see the way she tenses at the unfamiliar car, but Buffy climbs out quickly, giving her a wave.

“Give us a hand?”

Then an eyebrow arches as Faith slips through the window and lets herself fall to the ground. She lands easily and strides closer, giving Matt a once over as he climbs out of the truck. “Bring us a new friend?”

“This is Matt. He goes to school with me. Be nice.” Faith grins, showing that she intends to do no such thing, and Buffy rolls her eyes. “Matt, Faith. Take everything she says with a hefty grain of salt.”

“Hey, now. I don’t exaggerate that much.”

“You exaggerate enough.” Kendra’s soft Caribbean accent trills as she appears in the doorway, looking annoyed—whether it’s because Buffy brought an outsider into the situation or Faith and Buffy’s general banter is unclear. Probably a little of both. Still, she’s polite as she extends a hand to the newcomer. “Kendra.”

“Matt,” he shakes her hand firmly. “So—are you all Slayers?”

“Yep,” Faith grins. “What are you?”

There’s an awkward pause as he swallows. “Human.”

“Huh. That’s a break from B’s usual type.”

Matt looks confused as Buffy rolls her eyes again. “Enough about Matt. I brought you guys an actual present.”

She leads the way to the back of the truck and reaches for the canvas blanket, pulling it back to reveal the trussed-up vampire underneath. His bright blue eyes are open and Matt is right—he looks pissed—but he’s not going anywhere but into their personal vampire holding cell, so she’s not too concerned about it.

“Damn. Why do they always have to be hot?” Faith comments, shaking her head, and both Buffy and Kendra give her a look. “What? It’s true.”

Kendra crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Who is he?”

“Damon Salvatore,” Matt supplies helpfully, still lingering by the driver’s seat and Faith’s eyes go even wider.

“No shit?” Faith inches closer, getting a better look at him. “Is his brother in town, too?”

“Stefan, yeah,” Matt nods. “But he’s…it’s a long story that I only know part of.”

“Whatever you don’t know, I’m willing to bet that he knows the rest.” Kendra jumps up onto the bed and reaches for the chains. “Let’s get him inside and find out.”

* * * * *

Once they get him inside, Buffy snaps his neck again so that when they get him in their magical, witch-blessed holding cell and unchains him without worrying about him pulling a fast one. When Damon is settled, Matt fills them in on the parts of the story that he’s aware of, and as he says, it’s not much. He knows Stefan disappeared shortly after the funeral of his girlfriend’s aunt. He’s been gone all summer, and apparently was with Klaus, the Original hybrid. There are a few alarming parts of the story that Kendra catches hold of, always being the one of the trio that’s a bit more book sharp than the rest, paying attention to the details.

“He turned your friend into a hybrid?” she frowns, and Matt nods. “He must have broken the curse.”

“What curse?”

“The Sun and Moon curse. Originally thought to be a curse that would free the wolves from the moon or the vampires from the sun, depending on who broke it first, it never was that. It was a curse placed on Klaus specifically, binding his werewolf side. He would have needed a doppelgänger for that, though.”

“Yeah,” Matt swallows awkwardly. “My friend Elena is the doppelgänger.”

“Shit.” Faith shakes her head compassionately. “And I thought our gig sucked sometimes.”

“So the curse is broken,” Kendra shifts and leans back in her seat. “And the Ripper of Monterey went with him, but he’s here now doing what, exactly?”

“Whatever Klaus tells him to.” The four of them all turn at the sound of Damon’s voice. He still looks pissed, but it sounds like he’s almost concerned about what would happen to his brother if they went too far into this conversation with just Matt. “Klaus is compelling him.”

“The whole time?” Buffy asks, and from Damon’s stony silence, the answer to that seems to be no. “When did he compel him?”

“At the gym, when Klaus was trying to turn Tyler.”

“So not even a week ago. Which means all the bodies that he and Klaus were dropping over the summer, all the werewolf packs he tore through—he did that of his own free will.”

“He’s a ripper.”

“And it’s not his first time at the ripper rodeo. So unless you’ve got some clearly interesting reason that he went on a murder spree…”

“He did it to save me.” Buffy raises her eyebrows at that, unsure what to believe, and Damon sighs. “A werewolf bit me. Klaus’ blood is the cure, and he would only give it to Stefan if he went full ripper.”

“And as much as that lovely brief story might have worked on the people who actually care about you, I don’t.” Buffy tips her head to the side. “You really shouldn’t have tried to compel me. I didn’t even know what you were until you did.”

Damon glares daggers at her. “What are you? Witches? Werewolves?”

“Vampire Slayers.”

“Bullshit. They’re just myths.”

“Unfortunately, all the people who think that are myth-taken.” Buffy grins, and while Faith laughs and Kendra rolls her eyes at the pun, a flicker of a smile crosses Matt’s face and she smiles even wider. Damon seems less than impressed.

“Doesn’t matter. When I get out of here? I’m going to kill all of you.”

“That’s a witch-blessed cage, designed to keep vampires in,” Faith points out. “And last I checked, there were three of us, one of you. So temper your expectations there, buddy.”

Damon grits his teeth before looking at each of them. “What do you want?”

“We want Klaus, and the rest of his family,” Kendra replies simply. “We want your brother off the chessboard. We want people? To stop dying.”

“You realize the hypocrisy of the fact that you’re going to do that by killing a bunch of people, right?”

“People who are murderers.” Buffy points out.

“Eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”

“At least we’re trying to do something about it.” Buffy gets to her feet, before looking over at Matt. “C’mon. I’ll walk you out. I think everything here is going to be a while.”

Matt watches her with a grim expression before nodding and getting to his feet. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

“There are people who are going to be looking for him.”

“I know,” Buffy sighs. Likely people that Matt cares about, and she doesn’t want to get him into trouble with his friends. “Look, you don’t have to lie to them. If they want to know about Damon, you can tell them to come talk to me.”

Matt seems almost relieved at that, before nodding in agreement. “I appreciate that. But you realize that telling some of these people might make things get a little messy.”

“I can handle messy. I’ll be okay.” They reach the driver’s side of the truck and she smiles. “I really had a great time tonight. Until the vampire interference, anyway.”

Matt’s face softens into a smile and she feels her heart flutter a bit. He really is cute, and she hates she got him in the middle of this. “Yeah. I did too.”

“I’d get it if you wanted to keep your distance.”

“No!” It explodes from him a little too sharply, and she blinks in surprise, but eventually it fades to a smile as he laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, I mean, no. I’m good at staying friends.” He rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “It was nice to have someone really stick up for me for a change.”

“Happy to do it,” she smiles before he opens the door and climbs inside. “See you at school on Monday?”

He nods. “Yeah. See you then.” And with that, he drives off into the night, leaving the Slayers to their vampire captive.

Edited 2022-05-21 14:46 (UTC)

Elena catches on about the lack of Damon quickly.

He shouldn’t be surprised. She and Damon have gotten close for reasons that Matt doesn’t understand, but it’s her life, and he can’t stop her. He just wished sometimes that their friendship meant enough that Elena would stand up for him occasionally. He’s at his locker when she approaches him, books held tight against her chest as she waits for him to acknowledge her.

“Hey, Elena.” He closes the door to the locker before turning to face her. “What’s up?”

“Have you seen Damon? Caroline said that he was going to the Grille looking for you, and I haven’t heard from him all weekend. Did he get there?”

Buffy said that he didn’t have to lie, and he certainly didn’t want to lie to Elena. But the idea of telling her the truth when she’s only going to launch a rescue mission that he doesn’t think she should. Still, probably better to get this out of the way now and not keep secrets.

“Yeah, he did. Where he threatened me, threaten my friend and compel her to leave town and never come back.” Because maybe starting with the behavior might make things easier for her to understand. “Considering she can’t be compelled and doesn’t like it when vampires try, though, she took it a little personal.”

Elena’s eyes widen and he can see the panic about to start and he holds up his hands.

“He’s fine, Elena. Buffy and her team just needed some information out of him so they’ve…got him on house arrest.”

“Okay, but what do Buffy and her ‘team’ have to do with anything? Team of what?”

“Of vampire Slayers.”

They both turn to see Buffy standing behind Matt, probably just coming over to say hello and stumbling into that conversation instead. Elena doesn’t like that even more than she likes the first part.

“You just left Damon, a vampire, with a bunch of so-called vampire Slayers? How did you know they wouldn’t kill him?”

Buffy holds up her hands for a moment, trying to get between the two, almost as though she senses that one of them might say something they can’t take back. “He’s fine, Elena. Maybe a little ornery, but we’re not torturing him or anything—”

“Oh, because that’s such a low bar to meet after kidnapping.” Elena looks over at Matt, and he can see that she’s hurt by this. “Matt, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Something in his patience snaps and he’s had enough. “Damon berates me constantly. He manipulated Caroline for months and almost killed her. He killed my sister. He’s killed so many people and you keep defending them, both of them, like they have done nothing wrong and aren’t dangerous people to be around. You’re pissed at me for wanting to get him under control. What’s wrong with you, Elena?”

Elena recoils like he slapped her. He seems to do a lot of that lately without meaning to. Then her eyes fall to the floor and he thinks that she just might be about to acknowledge that he’s right about the Salvatores when —

“What’s this about my brother and vampire Slayers?”

Buffy arches an eyebrow, turning to face Stefan with an appraising look. He doesn’t think she’ll start a fight with a vampire in the middle of a hallway, but if provoked, she’ll definitely finish it. “Hi. I’m Buffy. We haven’t been properly introduced, but I’m thinking you’re Stefan.”

“Buffy. Wow. I didn’t think there were Buffy’s anymore.” Stefan looks amused, and Matt isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. At least for this version of Stefan, anyway. “So tell me, Buffy, why did you decide to kidnap my brother? Just for fun, or is there something you want?”

Buffy takes a step closer, meeting his challenge head on. “I took your brother for information about the other vampires in town. Just trying to get the lay of the land.”

“Well, given that you’ve had him for a couple of days now, it’s probably time you give him back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to do that. Because I can connect Damon to at least a dozen deaths between the time he came to town and now, never mind what I’ve connected to you. So until I get everything I’m looking for, Damon stays right where he is.”

“What are you going to do with him when you’re done?”

Buffy glances over at Elena, who asked, and her face softens. Matt almost reads something like understanding in her expression, for this girl who loves and is loved by vampires. But what she says isn’t comforting.

“That depends on Damon.” She shrugs. “But with a body count like his, there’d have to be a really exemplary case for letting him go.”

Stefan reaches out and takes Elena by the arm, preparing to drag her further down the hallway. Elena lets him take her and when she looks at Matt, he sees the pleading in her expression. To not have her lose someone she loves in the worst way all over again. He doesn’t have any reassurance for her, however, and by the time she’s gone, Buffy nudges him gently.

“I’m sorry to put you in the middle of that.”

“Don’t be,” he sighs. “I don’t think you’re wrong.” He closes the door to his locker and turns his attention to the surrounding school. Frustration churns in his stomach as he grits his teeth and then turns back to Buffy. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Buffy blinks, surprised, before the bell rings. “Before we go to the classes part?”

Matt shrugs. “I just…don’t really want to be here right now.”

Buffy nods slowly, before turning to follow his lead. “Yeah. Then let’s go.”

* * * * *

He drives them out to the trail, head for the path to the falls and breathes in the piney scent of the trees. This is one of Elena’s favorite places, he knows that, but he just needs to be the place where everyone will least expect him to be. Buffy falls into step next to him without a word, following his path up to the waterfalls, until they reach the overlook where there’s a place to sit. He settles on the bench and she goes to sit next to him, before finally breaking the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even know how to talk about it,” he admits, before glancing back to here. “Elena and I have known each other since we were babies. She was my first love. I know her better than I know anyone, and sometimes it feels like I can’t recognize her anymore.”

Buffy nods. “People change, sometimes. Because they have to, not necessarily because they want to.”

“And she’s lost a lot in the last year or so. Both her adopted and bio parents, her aunt, friends. She was in love with Stefan until he just left her, and I know that she’s clinging on to both him and Damon because she loves them, and she’s worried that there will be nothing left if she doesn’t save them, somehow. But—”

“You don’t think they’re good for her, either.” Buffy looks up at him with a smile. “I know what it’s like to care a little too much about people that aren’t good for you. People who are dangerous. Sometimes, it’s not really something you can control, and it’s hard to dig yourself out of. That’s the first step, getting yourself out. After that, you can try to make better choices, but that doesn’t mean that losing them won’t be hard.”

Matt nods, before glancing over at her with a sly smile. “So, am I a terrible choice or an attempt at a better choice?”

Buffy laughs, before shrugging. “Currently leaning more towards the latter, but we’re still figuring each other out, I think.”

“But so far, so good?”

“Definitely firmly planted in the good category.”

Matt nods as he turns his eyes back to the water again. “Good to know.”

They sit in silence for a moment, taking in the water's silence, when footsteps sound on the path nearby. They both turn towards the sound and find Elena standing there, and she holds her hands up in understanding. “It’s just me. No Stefan. Truce?”

Matt’s face softens. “I’m not angry with you, Elena. I get it.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t have the right to be angry.” Elena takes a deep breath before glancing over to Buffy. “And I’m sorry that we’re meeting this way. Usually I make a much better impression.”

Buffy offers her a small smile in return. “Being worried about a friend isn’t a bad way to meet. Trust me, I’ve had worse meetings.”

Elena nods before moving closer, sitting on the opposite side of Matt on the bench. “I get why you feel that way about Damon. Sometimes I wish I still could because it would make everything so much easier. And I know that he’s done terrible things to all of us. I just—if you kill Damon, I don’t know what Stefan will do. He’s the only thing keeping him somewhat balanced.”

“We’re not planning on killing him. Not right now,” Buffy admits. “Our priority is something a lot bigger.” Elena’s brow furrows and Buffy sighs. “We’re here for the Originals.”

“All of them?”

“Every one.” Buffy glances around. “Are you sure your guard dog isn’t around?”

Elena swallows before shaking her head. “I think I lost him, but you can never be sure.”

“Then better safe than sorry. But we’re here for Klaus and Elijah. Not small potatoes vampires, though the Ripper of Monterey, Mexico, isn’t exactly small potatoes.” She holds up her hands. “Point being, Damon isn’t dying soon. But he was an opportune distraction.”

Matt’s eyes widen. “Because if they think you’re here for the Salvatores, they don’t think you’d be prepared for the Originals.”

“Originals can’t be killed,” Elena points out. “What are you going to do? Dagger them all?”

Buffy licks her lips, glancing over her shoulder and shaking her head. “Now isn’t really the time or place. But trust me. We have a good plan. Or are building one?”

Elena exhales slowly, before nodding. “If Matt trusts you, I trust you. Just know that…Damon will not be nice when he gets out of wherever you’re holding him.”

“I can handle Mr. Nice Guy.” Buffy nods. “But are you okay with the Stefan of it all?”

Elena shrugs. “Not really? But…it’s what I have to deal with until we break Klaus’ compulsion. And he can’t be daggered.”

“I can look into it too. A humanity-less Stefan isn’t necessarily a controllable thing. We’d rather have the one that can be reasoned with.” Buffy smiles. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you,” Elena sighs. “And I’m glad you were there to protect Matt. I know I haven’t been doing a great job of that lately—”

Matt lifts an arm and wraps it around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Elena.” Granted, it’s not okay, her feeling like she has to protect everyone and it constantly slipping through her fingers, but they’re okay. That matters. “We’re okay, alright? I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I think it’s already too late for that.” Elena takes a breath, returning his hug for a moment before pulling away. “But I’m interrupting your date. I should go.” Simultaneously, but he and Buffy went to protest that this isn’t a date, and Elena grins, before turning to walk away. “Sure, it’s not.”

As she disappears over the top of the hill, Matt turns to her with a confused look. “Is this a date?”

Buffy shrugs. “Do you want it to be a date?”

“I wouldn’t hate it if it was a date?”

She laughs. “That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

Matt nods, because she’s not wrong. “Then how about we make plans for an actual date? Is that a happy medium?”

“Plans sounds perfect,” she nods, before inching closer to rest her head against his shoulders. “What do you do for dates in Mystic Falls?”

Matt shrugs. “Get burgers at the Grille and try not to die?”

Buffy laughs again, before nodding. “Yeah, that sounds about right for most of mine, too.”

I see a lot of potential in this little AU and am enjoying it so far. I don't know if you have plans for more, but I'm interested.

Thank you! No plans for more at the moment, but I'll never say never.

Edited 2022-05-25 11:33 (UTC)

Kate can feel Peter’s eyes digging into her back as they ride towards the small village. She knows he has questions about why she’s chosen him for this mission, rather than someone she trusts more, but oddly enough, of the options available, Peter is the one she trusts the most.

It’s sad for the state of her life, she’s sure, but to his credit, he doesn’t ask it. At least not yet.

“Tell me about La Bete.”

That is a question she can answer. “His name was Sebastien Valet. He was the older brother of my great-great grandmother, Marie-Jeanne. He wasn’t a soldier of particular renown, but I was told he had a mean streak a mile wide. They say that he drank water from the paw print of a wolf and, as a result, became a werewolf.”

She doesn’t put much stock in that, being turned without a bite, and she’s unsure if Peter does either. He only raises an eyebrow and she shrugs.

“That was the story.” She wasn’t there, obviously. “He turned rather monstrous. Officially killed a hundred and thirteen people, but some accounts say it might be closer to five hundred. Marie-Jeanne had to put him down herself.”

Peter frowns. “That must have been difficult for her.”

“I’m sure.” Kate isn’t sure she believes it. If her brother had killed over a hundred people and didn’t regret a moment of it, she would have no trouble shoving a pike through his chest. But Kate, she’s learning, isn’t most people.

“So what are these Dread Doctors?”

“Marie-Jeanne instituted a Damnatio Memoriae, to erase Sebastien from memory. But his best friend, the one who covered for him and helped hide the bodies, didn’t take his death so well and was determined to bring him back. He formed this…collective, dedicated to that cause. Mixing science and the supernatural to extend their lives until they could find a viable solution to the problem.”

“And you’ve been tracking them?”

“Not exactly. But sometimes their work finds its way to my front door.”

The village itself is small, a little hamlet close to Orleans. Few villagers are out at night, but the few that are eyeing them suspiciously, as given everything that’s happened, they’re not much for strangers at the moment. Eventually, Kate brings the horses to a stop in front of one house, where a straight-backed young man stands, eyeing them both curiously.

“Is this your backup, Lady Argent?” he smiles magnanimously, almost teasing. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

“Would you trust you?” she retorts as she slides off her horse. “Peter Hale, Marcel Gerard. The current head of the vampire faction in Orleans.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Peter acknowledges.

“Likewise,” Marcel smiles. “A werewolf, a vampire and a hunter walk into a house. Sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

“I am curious what your interest in this is.”

“This is technically my territory. I enforce the rules. And one rule is that you don’t mess with kids.”

Peter turns and gives Kate a shrewd look and she turns to lead the way in to the warm house. The sound of soft sobs coming from within make her heart sink. As she rounds the corner into the room, the man sitting by the side of the bed straightens, comforting his grieving wife. On the bed is a young girl, likely not over sixteen. She’s been dead for a few hours, and the scene is quite gruesome.

“Lady Argent. You’ve returned.”

Kate nods. “This is Lord Hale. He’s going to assist me in finding out what happened to Madeline.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Peter nods.

“Would you give us a moment?” Kate asks, and Madeline’s father nods, taking his wife and heading back to the kitchen. Once they’re gone, Kate turns back to Peter. “We have little time. The hellhound will be here soon.”

“The hellhound?” Peter frowns. “I thought they were myths.”

“There’s one in this village. It usually happens when there’s a nematon around. Originally Marcel heard that there was a case of body snatching, but when we tracked the bodies to the nematon, we realized it wasn’t stealing them—”

“It was protecting them.” Peter lets the subject drop at that and focuses on the matter at hand. “This body makes little sense.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Kate sighs, before making her way closer. “Never mind the fact that she hasn’t returned to human form, but the coloring is nagual while the teeth.” She pushes back the lip of the girl to reveal wendigo fangs.

Peter’s eyes widen in horror, and he keeps looking her over. He swipes his thumb through the strange liquid coming out of her ears. “This smells metallic. Mercury, maybe?”

“Can you pick up anything else from the scent?”

His eyes narrow at her. “I see. You needed me for my nose.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “Later, Peter.”

He smirks before taking a deep breath, trying to get as much as he can from the body, as well as looking for any additional clues. Just as he finishes, Marcel’s voice comes from the door. “Kate. She’s coming.”

Kate takes Peter’s arm, pulling him away from the body and back into the kitchen where the parents waited. From there, they watch as a woman on fire, clothes burning away as she walks, walks into the room and heads straight for Madeline’s body. Her parents cry out in protest, but Kate and Marcel hold them firm as the hellhound takes the body and leaves.

They finish offering their condolences to the parents, and head back out into the village. Marcel leads them to a local pub where he orders them a round of drinks.

“So? Anything?”

Peter frowns and shakes his head. “Nothing that has context yet. How many children have turned up like this?”

“Five, including Madeline.” Marcel rubs a hand over his face. “And two still missing.”

“Do they have anything in common? Anything in their history that might show they could be viable for this sort of procedure?”

Kate’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

Peter turns to face her. “We don’t know for sure what makes someone viable for the bite. It seems at random, but whether it’s a question of metaphysical or circumstantial, sometimes the bite is rejected. These…chimeras must have a common criterion that makes these Dread Doctors think they’ll be viable.”

Marcel raises an eyebrow. “You assume that this is founded on logic?”

“They’re trying to raise a dead, mass murdering werewolf. There has to be some lunacy there.” Peter takes a sip of his ale. “But they call themselves ‘Doctors’—that implies some kind of knowledge of the sciences.” He sighs as he leans back. “I’ll have to send word to my sister. This may take more than a night.”

“Of course.” Kate takes another sip of her ale. “Wouldn’t want to leave the lovely Victoria waiting, either.”

Peter rolls his eyes at her, before excusing himself to ride back to the village to get his things and send his missives. Marcel raises an eyebrow and smirks. “That wasn’t bitter at all.”

Kate snorts. “I’m not bitter. There’s nothing to be bitter about.”

“I’m sensing a history.”

“Our families have history,” Kate points out. “Peter and I have nothing of the kind. In fact, I find him to be an insufferable asshole.”

“Yet you asked him to help with this.”

“We needed a werewolf.”

“I know werewolves.”

“We needed a werewolf I could trust not to murder me once they found out my family name,” Kate retorts, placing the mug down. “As much as you might trust your friends, I don’t. At least the Hales have signed a piece of paper promising not to kill me.”

Marcel nods, though he doesn’t seem convinced. “Fair, I suppose.” He then leans back in his chair. “When we find the Doctors and end this, will we be able to give these families their children back?”

“I don’t know. I think that’s going to depend on the hellhound.”

Marcel nods, before heading to the front to book them some rooms for the night. Kate finishes the ale and hopes against hope that they resolve this before they have to bury any more children.

Peter wants to see the bodies at the nematon, so to the nematon they go.

It’s not a simple journey, so even with getting an early start in the morning, they take most of the day to get there, particularly because traveling by horse is ill-advised on the rocky climb. And, in competition with a werewolf and a vampire, Kate is doing her best to keep up. Especially since Peter seems content to let Marcel lead but not move past her so that she doesn’t fall behind.

It doesn’t help matters that her foot slips mid-protest that she’s just fine, and she feels the velvety palm of his glove catch her side, holding her in place so that she doesn’t go tumbling down the hillside below. She grits her teeth as she steadies herself, before fixing him with a glare.

“I would have been fine.”

“Experience would beg to differ,” he points out, unapologetic and unmoved by her stubbornness.

Rolling her eyes, she turns and begins the climb again, this time paying more attention to her feet to ensure that she has a better foothold. Peter seems content to leave it at that, not wanting to push the matter any further, but she can still feel his eyes on her back, just waiting for her to have another misstep. It irritates her, but it’s nothing new to her relationship with Peter, so at least that feels normal, where asking him for help did not.

“I didn’t know you were one to consort with vampires.”

His attention is on Marcel as he moves ahead of them. Kate purses her lips before shrugging. “I wouldn’t call it consorting. But I’ve done favors for him in the past and he’s done some for me. A mutually beneficial relationship where we don’t kill each other.”

“I find it surprising that you would ask favors of a vampire, given your family’s edicts.”

“My family’s edicts would prevent me from asking for help from a werewolf, and yet you’re here.”

“Ah, yes, but our families are ‘allies,’” he sneers, lip curling as he makes his way upwards. He despises the forced peace of the treaty, just as every male member of her family does. “And since Gerard believes his son is going to have the run of my family one day, he’ll make exceptions. I don’t think he would be as fond of Marcel.”

“What my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Kate reaches up and grabs hold of one branch overhead, testing its ability to bear her weight before using it as a handhold as she navigates a tricky passage. “At least I'm using the treaty for our benefit, rather than just complaining that it exists.”

Peter scoffs as he navigates the same stretch. “And you’re saying that you don’t hate it? These forced niceties, the forced wedding for your brother? You realize that this could have just as easily been us. It should have been us—”

“It would never be us.” Kate turns to face him, with a firm stare and a set jaw. She shouldn’t blame him for being ignorant of the way her family works. He’s never had to live in an institution where children were property or chess pieces, meant to be moved about the board to Gerard Argent’s benefit. Peter meets her stare with the cold focus of his own.

“Why not? Technically, we were the living heirs. The agreement was that a Hale was to marry an Argent.” He places his hand to his chest. “Hale.” He points to her. “Argent.”

“And what you don’t understand is that in my father’s mind, whoever was donating a daughter to the equation? Would lose.” She sets her jaw. “Technically, I’m supposed to be the head of the family. Did you know that? He’ll never let me have it, but this family is supposed to go from mother to daughter, as Marie-Jeanne wished it. Can’t have an Argent leader who’s breeding mutts.”

Never mind the fact that Kate can’t have children at all. Not that she ever wanted them, but to add it to the list of things that made her useless in Gerard’s eyes. But that pain isn’t for Peter to mine at the moment.

Something shifts in Peter’s expression, whether it’s confusion or understanding. She can’t say for sure. Instead, she turns away and continues heading up the path. “It was always going to be Laura, Peter, because my father doesn’t like to lose, and even if it was to negotiate a truce, he was going to find some way to win.”

He doesn’t follow her at first, but eventually his footsteps sound behind her, and she hopes it leaves things there for now. What’s done is done.

Resolving the treaty is far over their heads, and there’s nothing they can do about it.

* * * * *

As they reach the top of the hill, the heavy branches of the nematon stretch out above them, creating beautiful kaleidoscopes of light from above. The thick, sturdy trunk twists above them, almost welcoming in its stature. Kate has always wondered what it would be like to be called by the beacon of a nematon, ever expansive as it is. It’s something she would likely never feel, given that she’s human and always would be. She had to imagine it felt nice to be wanted somewhere.

She might have asked Marcel, were it not for the immediate concern that came next.

“Where are the bodies?”

She dashes ahead of Marcel, circling the tree with wide, panicking eyes. All the children, all of their misshapen forms, they couldn’t have just gotten up and walked off again. They were dead. They had to be dead.

“They were here a day and a half ago.” Marcel joins her in their search, but he’s no more successful than she is. Peter seems to take his time, stepping back and circling the space to find any clues. She should probably do the same, but before she can get too far, she catches sight of a burned dress under one of the bushes.

“My God,” she whispers, making her way closer and pushing away the branches, revealing the body of the hellhound beneath. She drags her out of the way of the foliage and checks her pulse. “Wake up, please wake up,” she murmurs to herself, trying to find a sign of life.

As she goes to move her hand off the young woman’s mouth to check her breath, the hellhound jolts to wakefulness and gasps, looking around at the three strangers.

“Where am I? What happened?”

“Easy.” Kate holds up her hands. “My name is Kate Argent. This is Marcel Gerard and Peter Hale. Do you know what you are?”

The young woman swallows hard before nodding. “Of a sort. I know it’s called a hellhound, but unfortunately I don’t really have much control over when or where it appears, nor do I remember much.” Marcel opens his mouth, and she cuts him off. “So no, I don’t remember what happened.”

He closes his mouth, then starts again. “I was going to ask your name.”

She briefly looks sheepish. She likely gets asked this question a lot. “Sorry. My name is Danielle Maldeuax.”

“Danielle, could you find the bodies again? Or…could your other half?”

“I think so.” She glances over to the empty spot where the bodies used to be, and her face sobers. “All it wants is to not have them be made a spectacle of.”

Kate can respect that, even if she doesn’t think stealing the bodies is the answer. “I understand. We just want to stop this. Can you take us to them?”

Her eyes burn, and her demeanor changes in an instant, flames licking the side of her body. When the transformation is complete, the hellhound speaks. “You’ll have to keep up.”

“I’m faster than I look,” Peter nods.

Marcel does the same, before glancing over at Kate. “I can take you with me.”

At least they aren’t leaving her behind. She nods and reaches for his hand as he pulls her closer. “Let’s go.”

And with that, they take off down the opposite side of the mountain, following the flaming beacon ahead of them.

Kate loses track of how long or far they run for, given the way the countryside blurs around them as Marcel pulls her along at vampire speed. She tries to force herself to keep her eyes open, find a focus point that doesn’t leave her dizzy, but when they come to a sudden stop, she can’t help but feel a little green around the gills, her stomach twisting to find equilibrium again. Marcel keeps a firm hand on her waist as they arrive, holding her up with a frown.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll live,” she mutters, before looking up at the place where they’ve landed. Stretched out ahead of them, over an extensive field, is a worn down manor. It looks like people have not occupied it in years, yet even with her human eyes she can see the flicker of candlelight in some windows.

“They’re in there,” the hellhound states. She then glances back at the rest. “They won’t let them go without a fight.”

“Trust me, we’re more than willing to give them one.” Marcel rolls his shoulders, preparing for the fight. “Do we know what we should expect?”

“The Dread Doctors consider themselves men of science. Defiant in the face of divine will.” Not that Kate had much belief in a higher power, but she knows that the Dread Doctors definitely don’t. They’re willing to pervert the natural cycle of things to get what they want, and that Kate can’t align herself with.

What’s dead should stay dead. Especially when what’s dead is a vicious killer.

“Don’t hesitate,” she continues, though that directive is specifically to Peter. She knows Marcel will tear out the hearts of whoever he needs to, but the Hales could always be a little more recalcitrant with ending a life that needs to be ended. When Peter looks back at her, however, his eyes glowing gold, he nods.

“That will not be a problem.”

Good. She would hate to break unintentionally the treaty by getting Peter killed. She then turns to Danielle.

“Are you ready?”

The hellhound turns, then nods. “Let us begin.”

* * * * *

Inside, the manor is just as unsettling as the outside, walls caked in dust and spiderwebs. The floors creak as the four of them make their way in, and while Kate winces, there’s not much they can do to resolve it. Bringing up the rear, with Peter and Marcel side by side ahead of her and Danielle in the lead, she keeps glancing over her shoulder, keeping herself aware of what’s going on behind her.

As they come through the main entryway to the grand ballroom, Danielle’s eyes wander up, fixating on what she can see of the floors above them. “They need electricity to make their chimeras.” There’s no storm crackling above them now, but Kate can understand why they would need to be as high as they could.

“Then up we go.” Kate nods to the broken-down staircase nearby—rough looking, but still sturdy enough to be used. "Watch your step."

They continue to move in the same formation; the stairs continuing to signal their arrival. Still, nothing emerges from the darkness to spook them, nothing appears.

“Something’s wrong,” Peter murmurs, placing himself ahead of her on instinct. “It’s too quiet.”

Not literally, she knows. She can hear the hum of machinery as they get closer, and the static building in the air. Something that itches under her skin. But no footsteps, no voices.

“Can you hear any heartbeats?”

His head tips to the side, closing his eyes as he attempts to filter through the conflicting signals, and he slowly shakes his head. “No, not … not over everything else happening.”

Kate makes a face before they reach a door at the top of the staircase. The hellhound reaches for the doorknob, bearing the tension and regalness of her stature, and Kate wants to reach out and stop her. “Wait, don’t—”

She’s not fast enough, however. As the hellhound reaches for the door, something snaps in the ceiling above her, and she’s doused in a thick liquid that’s some kind of fire retardant, extinguishing her flames. Almost instantly, the hellhound is gone and Danielle returns, looking confused as she tries to shake her arms to relieve herself of the fluid.

“What? What is this?”

“Watch out!”

The doors swing open, and three men in strange contraptions emerge from the room. They wear leather, with various pieces of metal machinery attached to their bodies, and complex masks cover their faces, which makes it hard to tell any details about them. One fixes their eyes on her and sneers.

“You can’t just leave us be, can you Argent?”

“Let’s make a deal. I’ll leave you alone when you stop experimenting on children and trying to raise the dead. How’s that sound?”

They snort, before turning to retreat into the lab. “Get rid of them.”

From there, all chaos breaks loose. Not only do the two remaining doctors try to fend off a trained huntress, a vampire and a werewolf, but some of the twisted creations emerge from the floors below, coming to converge on them all. Kate tries to beat them off, trying to keep as much distance between herself and the claws and fangs as possible. She feels her heel slip on the edge of the broken floor, and her arms windmill, catching sight of the floor several stories below her.

“Kate?” Peter’s voice almost sounds concerned, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on that. She’s too busy trying to maintain her balance. Her arms swing again, but the creature that looks like something between a rugarou and a nagual snarls at her with a grin, before snatching her by the front of her shirt and pulling her closer.

“Farwell, Argent bitch.”

He shoves her back, letting her go as she falls. Time seems to slow down, and she regains composure, enough to bring her crossbow up and aim. The bolt fires, and she watches with supreme satisfaction as he catches him in the eyeball and the body drops to the ground.

Black sheep or not, she’s still her father’s daughter.

But soon after, the floors below catch up with her, and everything goes black as she lands.

* * * * *

She doesn’t know how long it takes, between her landing and her coming to. All she knows is that when she comes to, the battle seems to have ended. Marcel and Peter are all leaning over her, looking appropriately concerned.

“What happened?” she murmurs, but as she speaks, she tastes the metallic bit of copper on her tongue and she looks over at Marcel with more of an accusation than gratitude. “Damnit, Marcel.”

“You were dying, Katherine,” he says pointedly. “I’m not sorry.”

She flops backwards with a heavy sigh. Peter is still looking at her with a more than a moderate level of concern, and since she doesn’t know what to do with that, she tries to draw him back to business. “The Doctors?”

“Two of them are dead, but we lost the third. By the time we fought our way into the room, he was gone.”

“Danielle went to find the bodies of the children. They hadn’t resurrected them again yet,” Marcel adds. “Hopefully we’ll be able to get them back to their parents and they can be laid to rest, finally.”

“Good,” Kate sighs softly, running a hand through her hair. Marcel pats her leg gently before getting to his feet.

“I’m going to go see if Danielle needs any help.”

As he moves through the room, she looks around, and her eyes fall on a sharp protrusion of wood from a piece of broken furniture, with blood dripping from it. She then glances down at her chest and sees the bloodstained hole in her clothing that reveals fully patched skin. She makes a face before holding a hand up to Peter.

“Help me up.”

“Are you sure?” He doesn’t stop her, offering a hand to help pull her up, but staying in her space. She nods as she gets to her feet, not feeling dizzy in the slightest. Thanks, vampire blood.

“I’m fine. And as long as Marcel keeps me alive for the next day, I will stay that way.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s his responsibility now?”

“He gave me the blood,” she sighs. “He has to pay the consequences.”

He smirks at that. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you company for some of it.”

She thinks she wouldn’t mind that. Spending time with Peter without it being coerced. Something dangerously close to friendship, but if there’s something she’s learned, it’s that Hales and Argents can’t be friends. That would be too close to weakness, and her father wouldn’t tolerate it.

“Are you sure?” She flings the barb where she knows it will irritate him the most. “What would Lady Victoria think?”

At that, the mask seems to snap into place in an instant, and he nods with the courtesy expected of his rank. “You’re right. I should get back to her.”

Grateful for the reaction she’s a bit more comfortable with, she nods once and prepares to stride off to find Marcel. The sooner they wrap things up here, the better.

Kate can feel Victoria’s eyes on her from the moment she sets foot in the room.

She’s on her metaphorical throne, surrounded by her sycophantic ladies. It makes sense that Peter would gravitate to the belle of the proverbial ball. She can’t really say she’s surprised. But there’s an intensity to her stare now that she’s never deemed worthy of gracing Kate with in the past. In fact, they’ve rarely had occasion to interact, but from the announcement, the eyes bore into her like hot coals on her shoulder blades.

“Lady Katherine Argent, wife of the Earl of Fairveiw and her escort, Marcellus Gerard.”

A murmur flows through the room at Marcel’s presence, and his amusement shows on his face. Victoria tracks them as they move through the room to the dance floor, interrupted by the Lord of manor hosting.

“Lady Argent, I’m so sorry I didn’t expect you coming.”

“You couldn’t have. I didn’t know I was coming until this morning.” Which is true. Marcel had to talk her into it, saying that he could make sure she stayed alive in public just as well as he could in private. He wants to have fun before she leaves, and she assumes the party will be harmless enough. No one completely hates her here.

Save for one woman, at least.

“All the same, unfortunately, the only room we could arrange for you and your escort is at the Hale table. Since your families are … allies, I felt it would be appropriate.”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

The lord squirms a little too much for her taste, even if he had good reason to fear her family. All the same, the sooner he’s gone, the better for her general experience. And when he leads them directly to Victoria’s table where she’s holding court, she has the pleasure of watching the annoyance on her face drain from confusion to contempt.

“Lady Argent. I wasn’t aware you would join us.”

“I’m just full of surprises,” she chides, as Marcel pulls her seat out for her. “Marcel, have you had the pleasure of meeting Lady Delmonde?”

“I have not.” Marcel smiles as he reaches for the other woman’s hand and brushing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, the epitome of courtly manners even though he doesn’t have a title to his name. “A pleasure, milady.”

Victoria offers him a tense, but polite smile, before waving off her gaggle of women to leave the three of them alone, at least for now. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Gerard. Can I ask how you and Lady Argent know each other?”

“Oh, we’ve crossed paths a few times and enjoy each other’s company.” Marcel glances over his shoulder to the rest of the party. “I thought this was the Hales’ table.” Kate can hear the sly implication of ‘what is this woman doing here?’ in his tone, and Kate tries to suppress the quiet thrill as Victoria flusters.

“Lord Hale and I are betrothed.” Her course corrects a little too quickly. Marcel raises an eyebrow before straightening.

“Oh, no, Lady Delmonde. I meant no slight against you. I only recently made Lord Hale’s acquaintance. I quite enjoyed his company and was hoping he would join us.”

“Oh.” Victoria seems quite off her game. Maybe she should have kept some of her worker bees around as a buffer, but she didn’t. She drops right into the pit with people like Kate and Marcel, and as much as she is the belle of the ball, she doesn’t quite know how to swim with sharks. Kate almost feels bad for her. Almost. “Lord Hale will be here shortly. He had some business matters to attend to with the Earl.”

“Of course.” Kate turns to Marcel, placing her hand over his. “Why don’t you find us some wine? It’s been a long few days, and I could use a drink.”

“As my lady requests.”

Marcel sweeps away from the table, putting Kate and Victoria on more even ground. If she recognizes the advantage that Kate has given her, she doesn’t say it. Instead, she turns her eyes fully on Kate, determination set in her jaw.

“If you would be so kind, Lady Argent, I would request that you would not call on my soon-to-be husband in such a manner again.”

Kate recognizes that there’s a barrier being set here, one that she would normally have no trouble acknowledging, were it any other man. She knows that what’s being asked of her is to remove herself from Peter’s life and never see him again, because Victoria thinks of her to be a certain kind of woman.

And if Kate is honest with herself, Victoria isn’t wrong about that with most men.

“I wanted nothing untoward with your knight, Lady Delmonde.” Kate tips her head to the side. “I needed help, and he was the only ally available to me.”

“Clearly not, if Mr. Gerard was also with you.”

“That was a fortunate circumstance, but the Hales are my allies, and by the treaty—”

“As if you care about the treaty. You do this because you enjoy making him jump, and knowing he can’t say no.” She grits her teeth as he leans in closer. “Every time you force him to be in your company, he returns frustrated and angry—”

“Most women would be relieved if their husbands came back frustrated when dealing with me.”

“See, that is what I despise about you.”

Kate straightens some, because glib as she may be, word choice is important. “Why Victoria, I didn’t think you were capable of such an emotion.”

Victoria sneers at her before leaning back against her seat. “You have no respect for marriage. Not for other people’s and certainly not for your own. And I will not have you being a thorn in mine.”

“My husband disrespected ours first,” Kate replies smoothly. Plans are already in motion in the back of her mind for how things with that man were going to be resolved. “And I am not some witch, hypnotizing unwilling men into my bed. They make a choice. One that your wolf will never make.”

Kate has no illusions about that. Peter will be loyal, because that’s what werewolves do. Something she likely wouldn’t understand until they were truly married. But Kate understands, because she’s been around werewolves long enough to understand how things work.

She sees Marcel returning with the wine and she gets to her feet. “I call on your betrothed only as an ally and nothing more. Perhaps you should place some trust in him and worry less about me.”

Victoria doesn’t seem convinced, but she doesn’t have time to speak. Marcel arrives at the table, and Kate takes the goblet of wine from him, downing it in one long sip. Once done, she sets it on the table and turns to him.

“I want to dance.”

“Then dance we shall.” Marcel nods to the lady at the table and turns them towards the floor. He waits until they’re on the other side of the room, far out of earshot, before he murmurs at her. “Are you always this much of a hit at parties?”

“Oh, usually, I’m worse,” she smiles, before falling into the familiar steps of the dance. She knows he heard every word of what Victoria said—vampire hearing—but she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“She’s wrong about you, you know.” He leads her into a twirl, before pulling him back to her in time with the steps. “You’re not as heartless as she’d like to believe.”

“I know that,” she sighs. “And you know that. But we wouldn’t want the secret getting out. Wouldn’t want them to accuse me of getting soft.”

As he turns her into the next phase of the dance, she catches sight of Peter, making his way across the room to where Victoria is sitting. She watches as he kisses her hand, and the way he softens completely around her. No man has ever looked at her that way, which is why she is quite confident that Victoria never has to worry about her husband straying.

Marcel pulls her back against him, one arm coming across her waist, and pulling her close. “I think he knows it, too.”

She averts her eyes to the back wall and shakes her head. Part of her, a part buried deep inside of her that wishes to be seen as a person rather than a pawn, beats faster, but she pushes it down, knowing that’s a long shot in the dark.

“Let’s hope you’re wrong about that.” The Hales are the last people she needs, believing she has a heart.

Edited 2022-06-08 21:37 (UTC)

Someone is knocking on Jessica’s door.

There’s a slight grumble as she rouses herself from her stupor, scrubbing a hand over her face before looking at her watch. It’s late. Later than most people would attempt to pay her a visit, and she can’t help but be a little concerned that someone, somewhere, is dying. She almost debates not answering it, making it seem like she’s out and elsewhere, but the mysterious visitor knocks again and she rolls her eyes.

“Give me a minute!”

Silence follows, no witty retort. Frowning, she makes her way to the front door and pulls it open, surprised by who she sees on the other side. "Bruce?"

“Do you have a minute?”

“Do you know it’s almost four AM?”

“I know. It couldn’t wait.”

She steps back to let him in, still marveling at the fact that Bruce Wayne would slum it down here when he could have any private investigator he wants. If she didn’t know that he was Batman, she would find it much stranger. Bruce brushes past her, glancing around to make sure the windows are closed, and while she locks the door behind him, he pulls down the blinds.

He really doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here. Huh.

“Everything okay, Bruce?”

He pauses, drumming his fingers against the windowsill before he turns back to face her. “I had a ward under my care a few years ago.”

“You’ve had many wards under your care. It’s kind of your thing.” Jessica points out, reaching for the bottle on her desk that miraculously still has alcohol in it. She pours them both a glass of whiskey before passing one to him. “In fact, I think you still have one currently, right? Tim?”

They met once, when as Jessica dropped off some information Bruce had requested. Good kid, major smartass. Jessica likes him, mostly for the latter.

“This isn’t about Tim. Or Dick.” He takes the glass and downs it in one swallow before looking over at Jessica again. “Have you heard about a new vigilante in town called Red Hood?”

“Either they’re referring to Daredevil or they’re referring to the guy that Daredevil has been complaining about ruining his good name.” Not that Matt has much of a good name as Daredevil, but sure.

Bruce pauses as he goes to refill the drink before turning to look back at her again. “You know Daredevil?”

“What, did you think you were my only vigilante friend?” Bruce looks like he wants to press further on that point, but she interrupts him. “Don’t ask me.”

“Don’t ask what?”

“Who he is. I’m not going to tell you.”

“I’m not allowed to be curious?”

“Hey, Bruce, what’s Superman’s secret identity? Because I’m thinking of starting a file…”

He presses his lip together and just as quickly as it’s come up; the subject is dropped. “The guy ruining his good name.”

“What about him?”

“I need you to find out who he is.” He holds up a hand before she can protest, aware of the irony. “I know this is going to be dangerous. But you’re the person least connected to either of my personas at the moment, and if I go digging into things, it might just make things worse.”

Jessica knows she’s going to take the job. She’ll bring Luke with her, since Red Hood seems to be a fan of bullets, and less crazy people on the streets should at least make a little of her life easier. But before she can accept, there’s one loose thread that doesn’t seem to connect.

“So what does this have to do with Jason?” Process of elimination makes things easy to guess, but she tries to tread lightly over the name, knowing that it’s a sore spot, as losing a child would be. Especially in how he lost him.

“…I think he might be Jason.”

She knows better. She knows the world she lives in and the chances of things that are supposed to be concrete and sturdy making less and less sense every day. Even so, she has to point out: “Jason is dead, Bruce.”

“I know.” Bruce rubs the back of his neck. “But after what I did with Superman…maybe he isn’t?”

“Are you sure you really want the answer to that question?” However it is Jason returned, it likely was painful and traumatic. She knows how painful it can be when ghosts of your past returns in ways you don’t expect and it fucks you up in more ways than one.

“He’s calling me out, Jess. I can’t ignore it. But if it is him—”

“You can’t be Batman about it?” Jessica smirks. “Ever think that maybe being Batman about things isn’t serving you as well as you’d like?”

Bruce snorts before finishing his second glass. “Let’s just say I’m trying to do better.”

“Mmm.” Jessica nods. “I’ll look into it. See what I can find, but if I get shot during any of this—”

“I will work your medical bills into your—”

She hears the word retainer, even if she doesn’t hear him say it. She knows where the sentence was leading, and it’s jarring when he doesn’t get there. But she also hears the tinkle of broken glass landing on the floor from somewhere in the apartment, and the thunk of something hitting soft tissue. But it’s what she sees that forces her into action.

Bruce’s blue dress shirt dampens as a hole suddenly appears at his side. This likely isn’t the first time that he’s taken a bullet, but she knows that he’s not wearing his suit made of too many pounds of Kevlar. And tough as Bruce may be, when you get a through and through like that, you’re already fighting a losing battle. He stands there, hanging in suspended animation. As he collapses, Jessica is there to catch him, lowering him gently to the ground. She pulls out her phone and dials nine-one-one before providing whatever first aid she can.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance. Someone’s been shot.”

“What’s the address?” When Jessica gives it, the urgency seems to fly out of the conversation, at least on the operator’s side. “I’m sorry, but things have been quite chaotic today in Hell’s Kitchen. We’ll get an ambulance out to you as soon as possible but there will be a bit of a wait.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“So sorry, ma’am, but there have been other higher priority calls this evening.”

She looks down at Bruce in front of her, and then the blood curling up under her palms. They don’t have time for this. She knows Bruce likes to fly under the radar for things like this, but sometimes? The ends have to justify the means.

“Forgive me,” she murmurs, before turning back to the phone. “It’s Bruce fucking Wayne.”

“What the hell is Bruce Wayne doing in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“I don’t know. Getting ready to give to charity? Trying to find a cheap hooker. I don’t fucking know, I just know it’s him and he’s going to die if you don’t get us a paramedic here faster.”

“Ma’am, lying to a nine-one-one operator is a felony.”

“Yeah, well, the only way you’re going to charge me is if you get someone here and I’m wrong. Now do you want to play chicken with me, or do you want to be the one getting fired when Bruce Wayne dies and you had the power to help him?”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, followed by the tapping of keys. “The ambulance just finished dropping off at the hospital. They will be to you in two minutes. Please stay on the line.”

Jessica sighs in relief before looking down at the man in front of me. “Sorry, Bruce. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Edited 2022-06-09 02:11 (UTC)

The paramedics show up and it’s already a shit show.

She doesn’t know how the reporters found out about the nine-one-one call so quickly, but by the time the ambulance arrives, there are already photographers crowding outside her building, waiting to glimpse Bruce Wayne in peril. It’ll be great for the tabloids, should they sell it. Which is how Jessica winds up going through Bruce’s pockets, fishing out whatever cash he had and combining it with his own.

It's a considerable amount. She briefly wonders if he was already planning on paying someone off today. She doesn’t think it was for her—usually she trusts Bruce enough not to demand half up front.

“I will give you both a thousand dollars each right now if you do exactly as I say.”

The paramedics, undervalued and underpaid, don’t have to be told twice.

After they stem the bleeding, they obscure him enough through medical equipment and blankets to cover his expensive clothes, save for his shoes, which Jessica leaves in her bedroom for later. They keep to the story that it was just some Wall Street junkie, looking for a chemical fix, and the reporters almost seem disappointed, but it’s not enough to disperse all of them. She sends two text messages:

One, to Claire Temple, letting her know a VIP is incoming and if she could try to maintain Bruce’s privacy, she would appreciate it and add another favor to her ever-growing tab.

Two, to Alfred, letting him know what’s befallen his boss, and the precautions taken.

With that done, sneaks out the back, hoodie over her head, and tries not to catch the paparazzi’s attention. Moving quickly across the street to the roof where the shot had to have come from, she scrambles up the fire escape to the roof, allowing her to look down over the scene.

What she does fine is slightly anticlimactic. A sniper rifle sits on the edge of the roof, blatantly left, as though to send some kind of message. Raising an eyebrow, she snaps off some pictures of the scene, just as she left it, before sending a text over to Misty Knight.

This guy did some damage to a friend of mine. Think you can tell me who it belongs to?

A few minutes later, the message returns. Drop me a pin. I’ll be there in five.

Jessica does, before leaning back against the edge of the roof nearby. This is already shaping up to be a long day.

* * * * *

By the time Jessica makes it to the hospital, Bruce is out of surgery and sleeping off the anesthesia. Alfred perches in a chair near the bed, flipping through the paper, but he looks up when she enters the room.

“Ms. Jones. Thank you for the notification earlier. Master Wayne so often neglects to inform me when he’s got himself grievously injured. It was a pleasant change of pace.”

Jessica can’t help but smile at that as she goes to take the opposite chair. “How did the surgery go?”

“The doctors say he’ll be fine. Just need some recovery. Though they seemed to be quite concerned and have many questions about what he was doing in Hell’s Kitchen at that time of night?”

“Questions that I share, actually.”

Jessica’s head snaps around, and in the window she sees Dick Grayson, letting himself in from the outside. “What are you, too good for doors now?”

“If we were keeping Bruce’s presence here under the radar, I figured it would be best if I didn’t walk in the front door looking for my father.” He slips easily inside, before turning to close the window behind him. “Jones.”

“Dick.” There’s an edge of fondness to the banter, even though she leans into the word as though it was a character flaw rather than his name. “He wanted me to find out more about a new vigilante in town. He was just giving me the details of the case and we were negotiating payment when a sniper got him from across the street.”

Dick’s face darkens as he makes his way over to Bruce’s bedside, reaching for his hand. “Whoever it was didn’t take good aim.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It takes a lot of skill to shoot someone inside a building from the roof of the opposite.” Alfred adjusts his glasses as he folds the paper in front of him. “Perhaps whoever it was, wasn’t looking to kill Master Bruce so much as trying to prove a point.”

“Are we sure this wasn’t one of your enemies?”

If the question came from anyone else, she might take it as an insult. But Dick, for all her teasing, is just covering his bases. After all, Bruce was there as Bruce, not Batman. The list of people looking to kill Bruce Wayne is much smaller than the one for the latter.

“Can’t say for sure.” Jessica admits reluctantly. “They left the gun behind. I have a cop friend looking into it, but it could go either way.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Jessica.”

Whatever she intends to say Bruce’s voice interrupts, rough from sleep and surgery. The look he’s giving her is asking her not to say too much, but she’s going to push the issue. Dick doesn’t deserve to be blindsided by this.

“If it is him, he’d be coming after Bruce Wayne. You know that.”

“His problem is with Batman.”

“His problem is with his father, and you know it.”

Dick stands, pointing to the both of them. “I’m going to need someone to stop dancing around whatever this is before I go out there and find it out for myself.”

Jessica raises an eyebrow at Bruce, because Dick should hear it from him, not Jessica. Her phone buzzes, and she slides her hand in her pocket to check her texts.

Ballistics from the gun puts it at three different crime scenes attributed to the Red Hood. Luke’s busy, but Danny’s free.

Jessica fights the urge to roll her eyes, but texts back her thanks all the same. There’s nothing wrong with Danny Rand, he’s just a little too puppy dog for her taste. “Ballistics came back. Two guesses who the gun was connected to, and the first one doesn’t count.”

Bruce closes his eyes, leaning back against his pillow. He then turns his attention to his son and struggles through the next words. “I have a theory that the Red Hood might be Jason.”

Dick takes a step backwards, hand held out hesitantly in front of him. “Jason’s dead, Bruce. You buried him. We buried him.”

“I know. But I couldn’t say for sure, so I was asking Jessica to find out for me.”

Dick tears his gaze from Bruce back to Jessica. “Why would he do this? Go after Bruce.”

Jessica shrugs. “Coming back from the dead fucks people up. This could be a cry for help, or this could just be who he is now. We can’t say for sure until we find him.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Jessica turns her eyes back to Bruce. “Absolutely not.”

“Jessica.”

“Don’t Jessica me, you had a through and through in your gut. It’s a miracle you got this far. If you pull a stitch out there, or he tries to shoot you again, you might not be so lucky. More to the point, he’s going to be expecting you. He won’t be expecting me.”

“I’ll go find Jason.”

Jessica rolls her eyes up at the ceiling, before turning to look at Dick. “What did I just say about expectations?”

“I know him. Maybe I can talk him down.” Dick frowns. “And someone has to stay here with Bruce. I know he was hiring you to do this job, but I can handle it.”

“And what if you can’t talk him down? Who’s going to be watching your back when he puts a bullet in you?”

“The same goes for you!”

“Or you could both go together,” Alfred says, studying them both.

“Someone has to stay here and protect Bruce,” Dick points out.

Bruce briefly looks exasperated. “I’m not an invalid or a child.”

Alfred looks amused before “Actually, young Master Tim is on his way here to help watch over things.”

“And I have a friend coming who can help.” She glances over at Bruce with a thin smirk. “He’s great. You can bond over your charmed, rich upbringing and dead parents.”

Bruce looks dubious at this declaration, and she laughs before turning to Dick.

“If I can’t convince you to stay here, can I at least convince you to follow my lead?”

“Maybe.” It’s not a promise, but it might be enough to slow his ego a bit. She’ll take it.

“I’ll meet you outside. Just give me a minute?”

Dick nods, before turning to disappear back out the window again. Alfred makes a comment about going to get a fresh cup of tea before disappearing out the door. Jessica waits until the room is quiet, before she reaches over to take his hand. He squeezes it in return, pulling her closer.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It didn’t even graze me. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for my apartment. Apparently, you bleed a lot.”

He laughs, just enough for him to wince at the pull of the stitches. “I will add the costs to your fee.”

“Appreciate it.” She lets the silence settle for a moment, before looking up at him again. “I’ll find him Bruce. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.”

“I know.” He holds her in place, his grip firm. “I need to talk to him, Jess.”

“I’ll do my best.” She won’t make promises she can’t keep, but she will try her hardest.

The door cracks open, and Danny’s slim frame appears in the doorway. He gives Jessica a small salute of acknowledgement, and she nods, before turning back to Bruce. “I’ll call if I find anything.”

And with that, she pulls herself away to head back through the hospital. She has work to do.

Edited 2022-06-10 00:20 (UTC)

Misty passes them a collection of areas where she thinks Red Hood’s gang might hang out and warns Jessica to be careful. Red Hood is proving to be a vigilante in the Punisher's caliber rather than Daredevil, so she thinks he’s likely to shoot first, ask questions later. Jessica thinks that he’s already done the shooting, so it’s time to ask some questions.

And if necessary, she’ll punch first, ask questions later.

Dick insists on driving, and from the second he peels out of his parking space, Jessica regrets agreeing. Instead, her hand grips the side handle of the door and closes her eyes to calm her nerves. “Bruce, teach you to drive like that?”

She can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. “Don’t worry, I’ll get us where we’re going in one piece.”

Jessica forces her eyes open again and focuses on the street ahead of her as she tries to keep going. “Tell me about Jason.”

Dick frowns. “What do you want to know, exactly?”

“Anything and everything. He’s already clearly a few steps ahead of us, so if this is him, we need to get ahead of ourselves.”

Dick sets his jaw, but nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “He wasn’t a bad kid, but he had it rough growing up. Abusive home, living on the streets. He did what he had to do to survive, and then when Bruce took him in, he took to being Robin like a fish to water.”

“So what’s the but?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a but coming. I’d just like you to get there a little faster.”

“Look, just because you and Bruce have this, whatever it is you’re doing—”

“This has nothing to do with me and Bruce. This is me doing my job.” Jessica shifts to face him more. “If I don’t know what I’m walking into, people could get hurt, mainly me, possibly you, possibly Jason. So give me the information, Dick. You told me the good, what’s the bad?”

“He had … rage. A lot of rage. He and Bruce were working on it, and he was making progress, but if what you said is right and coming back from the dead messes people up—”

“Someone with rage issues finding out they died, and the world moved on without them probably isn’t an impressive combination.” Jessica swallows, turning her attention back to the window.

A light snow falls around them as New Yorkers on the street bustle their way home, and for a moment there’s silence. Jessica’s letting the wheels in her head spin, trying to make sure she has all the angles in place. There’s still a piece that’s missing, but before she can put her finger on it, Dick interrupts.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What is going on with you and Bruce?”

Unlike earlier, when he was trying to get under her skin, this he asks more earnestly. She and Dick have always gotten along, but she knows he has his reasons for looking at her sideways with Bruce. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Dick glances over at her. “He trusted you with this, which means he’s trusts you way more than he trusts other people. Even me.”

“He doesn’t trust you more than me. He just cares more about you than me.” Jessica glances over at him. “If he sent you in blind after Jason and something happened to you, he would never forgive himself. Something happens to me? Yeah, he’ll feel like shit about it for a while, but he’s not losing another son.”

“He still thinks you’re capable enough to find something.”

“And yet I’m not in the inner circle enough to know the secret identities of his friends in spandex, and I don’t trust him enough to know mine. Never mind that they’re not our secrets to tell.”

“I think you sell yourself short.” He pulls up to one of the first locations, an old apartment building that looks like it hasn’t seen a helpful landlord in a good long while. He turns off the car before looking at her. “But whatever it is with you two, I’m glad he has it.”

Jessica doesn’t know how to feel about any of that, almost like she’s been given permission or Dick’s blessing, and it feels all too formal and complicated for whatever she and Bruce actually are. So she deflects, because it’s what she does best.

“Stay close and be careful. We take this one step at a time.”

“Got it,” Dick nods, before they both climb out of the car and head inside.

* * * * *

They make it to the third of the locations Misty provided with no sign of Jason or any other members of the Red Hood gang (which, in Jessica’s opinion, needs a much better name). As they roll up to the warehouse, she can tell Dick is getting frustrated. She smirks before pushing open the door to the slowly accumulating snow.

“C’mon. Eventually, one of them has to pan out.”

Dick grumbles before getting out and falling in step next to her. They crunch their way through the front door, which is suspiciously open. Dick notices, before turning back to her and raising an eyebrow.

“You head in that way. I’ll see if I can find another way around the back.”

He smirks. “Ms. Jones, are you using me as bait?”

She grins. “I’m trusting that you’re smart enough to take care of yourself.” He wouldn’t have survived being a superhero this long if he hadn’t. He makes his way to the door, and she breaks off and makes her way around to the opposite side. She finds a broken window on the opposite side of the building and quietly eases her way inside, looking around for signs of life.

There isn’t much. Some empty offices, an abandoned machine floor—nothing that screams vigilante’s secret lair. In fact, she’s almost thinking that this is a dead end when she approaches the main room and hears scuffling.

She finds Dick tangling with a young man about his size and stature, but where Dick had the graceful poise of his acrobatic background, this guy is more of a brawler, throwing haymakers and occasionally being fast enough to get a few blows off on the faster man.

He gets off one lucky shot, and Dick takes one on the chin and goes down hard. The man grins before making his way closer. “What’s this? Seems like you’re getting rusty in your old age.”

“Jason—I just wanted to talk.”

“Too bad. I don’t.” He raises his foot to bring it down hard on Dick’s head and Jessica leaps into action, gripping him by the back of his leather jacket and yanking him backwards.

“Yeah, unfortunately, you’re outnumbered.”

Jessica spins on her heel, sending Jason flying towards the far wall. He skids as he hits the ground, his assorted leathers taking most of the blow, and he looks up at Jessica with wide eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Jessica Jones. You know, the PI who’s office you shot Bruce Wayne in this morning?”

She has to give Jason some credit. He’s got the face that would be hard to read—it sets naturally into a stern expression, and he’s seemed to school himself not to give away much. But as he pushes himself up to his feet, if she didn’t know any better, she might say he looked startled.

“Wait—someone shot Bruce?”

“Yes. By a sniper rifle tied back to your crime scenes.” Jessica crosses her arms in front of her chest. “So I really wouldn’t try to waste our time by playing dumb.”

“I’m not.” His eyes dart from her to Dick, who’s moved to stand behind her, nursing his bruised jaw. “Dick, I didn’t. I swear it wasn’t me.”

“So, are you saying you didn’t have a bone to pick with Bruce?”

“Of course I do,” he sneers. “I wake up from a dirt nap to find not only is the Joker not dead, he’s still walking around like he owns the fucking place. Wouldn’t you be pissed if Bruce didn’t do something about that?” He points to Jessica. “See you? You had the right idea. Killgrave needed to be put down, and you did it. I bet it wasn’t even hard.”

Jessica’s face turns to a glare as he steps on that nerve. “You’d be surprised.”

Jason shakes his head. “Still, just because I’m pissed doesn’t mean I want to kill him. It wasn’t me.”

“Then it was someone on your crew.” Jessica flips through her phone and pulls up the image of the rifle she sent to Misty earlier. “I had a police contact run the ballistics, and this gun was fired at several crime scenes you were definitely there for.”

Jason takes the phone from her, staring at the screen, before looking up at Dick. “Did you drive?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because we need to get back to the hospital. Now.”

“So how do you know Jessica?”

Danny can tell that Bruce is just being polite, and isn’t thrilled to be babysat by someone he doesn’t know. He appreciates the fact that he’s trying to make conversation, though, rather than just ignoring him completely, as so many often have.

“Oh, Jessica’s one of my best friends.”

The older man’s brow furrows. He probably picked the wrong member of the Defenders to make that claim about, but Danny intends to stand beside it. “Jessica? Really?”

“Well. Probably more for me than it is for her.” He pauses. “I don’t really have a lot of friends.”

Bruce smirks almost knowingly at that. “Really? The CEO of Rand Industries is lacking friends?”

Danny can’t help but raise an eyebrow in return. “Some could say the same for the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.” Bruce has always struck him as a man apart, someone who could charm in the moment, but didn’t let people get too far past the surface. That kind of distance has never been Danny’s strong suit.

He’s a heart on his sleeve kind of guy.

“Touche. So, how did you and Jessica become friends?”

“We worked together on a big project.” To take out the Hand, which Jessica had gotten reluctantly pulled into. But Danny likes to think they really bonded, and that most of Jessica’s surly exterior is just Jessica being Jessica. “Fortunately, we were successful.”

“Was that the one that ended in the collapse of Midland Circle?”

Danny’s eyes narrow. He has a feeling that Jessica doesn’t give that information out to just anyone, and he shifts in his chair to reassess the man in front of him. Maybe they have a lot more in common than he thinks.

“Maybe.”

Bruce looks dubious. “‘Maybe’ may as well be a yes. You realize that, right?”

“Yes, my lawyer has tried to impress that upon me several times.” Danny smirks. “It hasn’t really stuck yet.” Bruce shakes his head, and Danny leans back in his seat again. “You know, I’ve always looked up to you. It’s always really admirable to find something who’s built something good out of our … situation.”

“Being really rich?”

“Being orphaned.”

Bruce’s confusion melts away to a look of understanding. “Right. The plane crash.”

Danny nods, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair. “I’m not on your level. At least not yet. My life kind of … curveballed into something bigger. But I’m trying to get Rand back to where it was supposed to be. Somewhere that my parents would be proud of—or, at least, I hope they would.”

“I think you’re doing just fine for only having been back from the dead for a year and change.” Bruce nods with a small smile. “You’ve been making more of an impact than you think.”

Danny can’t help but smile at that—Jessica isn’t wrong that he has the disposition of a golden retriever. “So, are you and Jessica close?”

It’s Bruce’s turn to seem awkward, reaching one hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Define close.”

Danny smirks. “I know Jess isn’t really the type to let people get super close. But I also don’t get calls from her all that often asking that I come in and help protect someone. Seems like she thought you were pretty important.”

“Why? Because you’re that skilled?”

“No, because I’m usually a last resort.” He grins. “If she thinks she can manage on her own or doesn’t care enough, she usually finds another way before she has to call me. But seems like she thought you needed someone with a special set of skills.”

Bruce tips his head back as he considers. “I don’t know if it’s what you would call close. But she is important to me.”

“Good,” Danny nods. “She needs people like that in her life.” But before he can say anything else, the door opens and someone wearing nurse’s scrubs walks into the room.

“Just checking in, Mr. Wayne.” The man is tall, and somewhat rugged looking, with a scar that cuts down the side of his face and some interesting tattoos poking out from under his scrubs.

“Who are you?” Danny asks, not rising to his feet yet, but all his muscles tensing in preparation.

He turns and points to the haphazardly nametag pinned to his chest. “I’m Nurse Walters.” He then moves towards Bruce and Danny interrupts again.

“Claire Temple is the only nurse who’s supposed to be covering this room.”

“She just clocked out for the day. I’m handling the night shift.”

“Yeah, she would have told us.” Danny fully gets to his feet now. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I just have to distribute his evening meds.”

“And I’m saying it could wait until Nurse Temple gets back.” Danny reaches into his pocket as he moves closer to pull out his phone. “In fact, I’m going to call her—” Before he can get his phone out of his pocket, the nurse’s hand is on his wrist and the other is forming a fist. Danny sets his jaw before looking up at the other man again. “You really don’t want to do that.”

“You don’t want to make that phone call.”

“Let go of me. I won’t ask you again.”

“What’re you gonna do, rich boy? Sue me?”

At that, Danny grins before launching into action. The hand in his pocket comes out and twists around to grab the wrist of the man holding him, twisting it around and pulling his shoulder into an awkward position, so Danny can lift his free arm and swing across, catching the nurse across the chin. The man stumbles backwards, surprised, before cracking his knuckles and launching himself towards Danny again.

What happens next is a blur of fast movement and slow blunders. It’s clear that when he throws a punch, he puts a lot of power behind it, but unfortunately Danny is faster, so not only do the blows rarely hit, but they throw him off his balance. He’s clearly a man who’s used to distance fighting, and that alone puts him at a disadvantage.

Eventually, though, he backs Danny into a corner, crowding him against the far wall. Danny pushes him backwards with a few well-timed punches, but he can’t seem to give himself quite enough distance. He’s briefly contemplating summoning his fist—it didn’t seem necessary at first, but now he’s lost the upper hand.

“Hey, Danny.”

He looks up, and Bruce isn’t in the bed anymore. He’s worked himself into a standing position, one hand braced across his side. Danny must look confused, and so does the nurse, who turns and is looking ready to turn on Bruce instead, the person he actually came for. Bruce squares up and quickly catches him by the throat.

“Duck.”

Danny blinks, as Bruce lands a few solid blows, forcing the nurse back towards the window. He then catches on, and just as Bruce rears back to land a kick to the gut of the nurse, Danny ducks, sending the nurse through the window in a shattering of glass, tumbling down onto the street below.

Right at the feet of Jessica Jones. Jessica looks down at the body, then up to the window as two men Danny doesn’t recognize join her on the sidewalk. He gives her a small wave in return, and she shakes her head. From the shaking of her shoulders, she might be laughing, though. He’ll take it as a win.

“Looks like Jessica’s got—” His voice cuts off as he turns back to Bruce, and he frowns. As skillful as that team up was, he can see the smear of red flooding the front of Bruce’s gown. “—Uh-oh.”

Bruce grimaces. “I think I ripped my stitches.”

The door blows open again, and this time it is the correct nurse, Claire Temple, looking between the two of them with a somewhat exasperated look on her face. Her eyes dart from the now broken window to Danny to Bruce, and she moves towards her patient with a heavy sigh.

“I swear, you’re just as bad as Daredevil.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow before tipping back and letting her do her job. “Everybody knows Daredevil but me.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” Danny replies. “He’s a deeply mistrusting person.”

Bruce chuckles before shaking his head. “Yeah. I can relate.”

After they place the shooter in proper police custody, Jessica slips out, giving Bruce, Jason, and Dick some time to themselves. They have their own family shit to work out, and she doesn’t want to get in the middle. Bruce will find her when he’s ready, and she can keep to herself until then.

She almost forgets about the fact that before they shot him, he intended to hire her. Almost because a couple of days after Bruce goes home from the hospital, a hefty check arrives for her in the mail. Gillian, her new personal assistant, places the check down in front of her with a sigh.

“Need your John Hancock on this.”

Jessica frowns, before flipping over the front of the check to see who it’s from. Her eyes widen at the number, and she reaches for her phone. Bruce doesn’t answer. Jessica waves Gillian off, says she’ll deal with it herself, and keeps trying him.

Repeatedly.

An annoying amount of times, and he still won’t answer the phone. If she didn’t know better, and that he’s trying to avoid taking his money back, she would assume something happened to him. Eventually, she gives up trying to do this the polite way and drives out to Wayne Manor, intending to settle this once and for all. She barely knocks on the door once before Alfred is opening it with a smile.

“Ms. Jones. How lovely to see you again.”

“He expecting me?”

“He is. He’s asked me to show you to the study.”

“Great.”

She follows Alfred out to the room in question, and he leaves her there, alone, staring out over the water that stretches out from the shore behind her. Leave it to Bruce Wayne to live in a flood zone. It’s so peaceful, which suits Bruce in its own way. While Jessica’s chaos explodes out over everything around her, Bruce has a great deal of practice at keeping things contained. That it extends out to his home, the perfect façade of a wealthy man of leisure, only makes too much sense.

The door opens behind her, and she hears the scuff of a cane against the floor. “It’s not like you to return payment for services rendered.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.” She turns to face him before holding out the check. “But it’s too much.”

Bruce shakes his head. “You asked me to include the cleaning fees.”

“That was a joke and you know it.”

“You may have been joking. I wasn’t.” Bruce steps forward, closing his fingers over Jessica’s and pushing her to take it back. The check crinkles as her fingers form a fist, and he nods. “You earned every penny of that.”

She’s quiet, trying to find a retort that isn’t ungrateful, but also doesn’t scrape too close to genuine feelings. It’s hard to find a line that doesn’t leave her too vulnerable, and Jessica’s never been good at letting herself be vulnerable. That’s usually when someone takes a knife to her gut. “I didn’t do it for the money.”

“I know.”

She tries to find what he’s saying in the in-between. Why he might need her to take the money, because if she doesn’t, this relationship isn’t a professional one anymore. And while she might say they’re friends, taking on something like this makes it a little too real, doesn’t it?

Not taking the money for finding someone so important to him and doing everything she did to get him to the hospital treads on that thing they don’t talk about. The gulf that exists between them, they’ve been doing their best not to touch. Jessica had made the first move before, when she was drunk and grieving and he told her it wasn’t the right time then.

Is this any better?

Still, she pushes back, leaving the check in his hand. “I’m not taking it.” And Bruce is just going to deal with whatever that says about them now. That this relationship is more than just a transactional one.

Bruce meets her gaze and nods. He steps back, heading over to the wet bar and grabbing a glass. “Stay for dinner? Alfred usually makes more than enough for guests.”

Jessica smirks. “Endless hoping that you’ll bring a friend home from school?”

Bruce laughs, but it still fades to a wince. “Something like that.”

“Sure,” she nods. “I’ll even take some leftovers back to my assistant when we’re done.”

Bruce nods. “I think he’ll like that.” He passes the drink to her, and as their fingers brush, he pauses. “Jess—”

She shakes her head. “Not now.” It’s not the right time. Some would argue that there’s never a right time, but they have time. They can do this right. “We’ll get there.”

Bruce nods, before moving to sit on the couch, and gesturing for her to sit next to her. “If I stop being your boss, does that mean I eventually get to find out who Daredevil is?”

She laughs before shaking her head. “That, I think you’re going to have to take up with my lawyer.”

Edited 2022-06-16 22:26 (UTC)

Werewolves are mind-numbingly political and it bores Malia to tears.

Peter had cautioned her they needed to be on their best behavior for this little mission to Mystic Falls, this meeting of the mind with the East Coast alphas. They are her aunt’s representatives, and needed to make a good impression before Talia arrives over the weekend.

Malia is officially over being the prim and proper werewolf girl that she’s not. For one, she’s a coyote, much to her aunt’s chagrin. And for another, Richard Lockwood has all the manners of a bag of dicks. She doesn’t blame his wife for flirting with her dad the entire trip because if that was her husband?

Well, he wouldn’t be her husband, because Malia doesn’t have time for that shit.

Dinner fades to mingling and drinks, and Malia grabs a drink off a tray before escaping out the back door for some fresh air. She jogs down off the back steps into the rear of the property, peeling off her uncomfortable heels as soon as her feet hit the grass. The stars stretch out above her, beckoning her to give in to her instincts and opt for the closest thing to freedom she has. All that stands between her and a refreshing run through the woods is a flimsy dress and a promise to her father, and she’s never really cared much for the former. The latter is also currently crumbling under the pressure of her wish to be anywhere but here. Before she can give too much thought to that, however, she hears a voice behind her.

“Thinking of making a break for it?”

She turns and sees Tyler Lockwood standing on the stairs behind her, looking amused. Tyler is probably the only part of this trip that hasn’t sucked, and that’s mostly because he’s got a primal charm she responds to. He’s about as into this bullshit and formality as she is, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s hot.

“Heavily considering it, yeah,” she smirks back before turning to face him. “Though my dad probably would be pissed at me for ruining the dress.”

Tyler shrugs. “Not like he can’t afford to buy you another one.” He moves closer, getting into her personal space in a way that probably would put most people on the defensive, but not Malia. She reads the challenge in it, and leans in herself, almost as though she’s daring him to blink and cave first.

“That and there’s not really a lot to do in this town. At least, not if you’re running alone.”

“I take it you have a better suggestion?”

He grins before reaching out, resting his hand against her elbow. “I’m just thinking of things that would really make things interesting with our parents.”

She knows exactly what he means. He’s coming on to her, and if she were any other girl, it might have gotten him slapped. But fortunately for Tyler, Malia’s been thinking the same since she met him, that he’d be an easy way to keep herself entertained while she’s here.

She takes a step back, tipping her head back towards the woods and flashes him a grin. “Want to go for a walk?”

Tyler smirks. “Lead the way.”

When they both return an hour later, with dirt smudges on their clothes and dried leaves in her hair, she’s significantly less bored and a lot more relaxed. Maybe hanging out with the Lockwoods wouldn’t be so bad.

Edited 2022-06-17 21:42 (UTC)

Running away from Mystic Falls isn’t as fulfilling as Tyler hoped it would be.

As much as Mystic Falls was not good for anyone who lived there, it was his home. He misses his friends, even if he’s not sure they miss him. Yet, going home doesn’t feel like a genuine option, so he keeps running. He heads to France, spending time in Paris cafes and practicing his terrible French, hoping that lightning might strike—hopefully not literally—and he’d figure out what he’s supposed to do next.

He’s sitting in a café, stirring his far too small coffee idly, until his ears pick up the sound of someone speaking even more terrible French than him.

She’s trying, don’t get him wrong. And she’s getting by. But it sounds atrocious on the ears and he can see the actual French people around them making a face. Regardless, she picks up her coffee and Danish from the counter and goes about finding a table, but as she brushes past him, both of them stop.

Because she definitely doesn’t smell human. And he’s willing to bet he’s just caught that neither does she. He glances back over his shoulder at her and she’s watching him, a long appraising glance as though she doesn’t know if he’s friend or foe.

Fair. But one of them has to break the tension, so… “Hi.”

For a moment she seems briefly disappointed, but she recovers. “Hi. Malia.”

“Tyler.” He turns and gestures to the table in front of him. “This seat’s open.” But only if she wants it.

Glancing around the rest of the café, she decides that it’s crowded enough it’s worth taking his offer. She moves to sit across from him, crossing one leg over the other. “Wolf, right?”

It’s blunt and to the point, getting the interesting questions out of the way early. He likes that about her. He likes that about her a lot, actually.

“Yeah. But … you’re not.” He can’t quite tell what she is. It’s wolf-adjacent, but not enough that he can definitively say werewolf.

“Coyote,” she fills in for him, and he nods. He didn’t know werecoyotes were a thing, but he’s willing to learn.

“Cool.” He tips his head to the side. “You seemed a little disappointed for a second there.”

Malia doesn’t seem bothered by being called out. Another thing he’s thinking he likes about her. “I came to Paris for hot French men. You’re hot, but you’re not French.”

Tyler laughs before shrugging. “Unfortunately, not something I can change.”

“True.” Malia takes a sip of her coffee as she studies him. “But I can make it work.”

It’s not the first time Tyler’s been judged like a slab of meat. But it is the first time since Liv that he feels like maybe it could be the start of something more.

Edited 2022-06-17 21:42 (UTC)

“Chris, don’t shoot him.”

Argent raises an eyebrow in Malia’s direction before turning his attention back to the young man in front of him. He has his hands up, and is looking anxiously between the Malia and the older man, as though he’s not sure what’s going to come next.

“Why not?” Argent asks.

“Because I have done nothing wrong?” He tries, and both of them give him a look. He sobers, pulling back to look elsewhere. “I’ll let you two discuss this.”

“Good.” Argent turns to face her again. “He could be a hunter working for Monroe.”

“No, he can’t. He’s a werewolf.”

“Being a werewolf doesn’t mean he’s a good person.”

“Yeah, well. We’ll figure that out as we go.” She pats Argent on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. If he turns on us, you’re free to shoot him.” That seems to satisfy the older hunter before they turn to face him again.

Malia knows Chris isn’t wrong to be suspicious. They’ve been in Chicago less than a day, and they already run into a werewolf supposedly in need of their help? But Malia’s trying to be a better person, so she adapts. She still regards this werewolf with a healthy amount of suspicion, but she’ll at least attempt to help.

“So. Who are you?”

“Tyler Lockwood.”

Chris frowns. “Aren’t you a little far west? They usually find Lockwood werewolves in Virginia.”

“Yeah, well. One, I’m the only Lockwood werewolf left. And two, Mystic Falls hasn’t exactly been home as of late.” Tyler crosses his arms in front of his chest. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because you and I have stumbled into the same problem.

“Monroe?” Malia tips her head to the side curiously. “How’s that?”

“Because there’s a school full of supernatural kids in Mystic Falls who’s going to be in a lot of trouble if she finds them. And she’s already made strides in that direction.” Tyler holds out his hands. “I have information that could help you. All I ask is that you watch my back while we figure this out.”

Turns out Tyler is adaptable too. Malia glances over at Chris and he shrugs. “Fine,” Malia nods. “Tell us what you know, and we’ll work something out.”

Tyler nods. “Ever heard of a company called Triad?”

Chris’s brow furrows. “Defense contractors. Not much beyond that, though.”

Tyler nods. “They’ve got a hell of a backstory–basically if they catch you, they can erase you from the collective memory. It’s like you never existed.”

Chris and Malia look at each other again. “Perfect for someone like Monroe who wants to make the supernatural disappear.”

Malia nods. “Can kill people with no one remembering you killed them.” She turns back to Tyler. “You know for sure that she’s working with Triad?”

“Not yet, but she’s heading in that direction.” Tyler rubs a hand against his thigh, a nervous gesture. “We could really use some help from someone who understands what we’re up against.”

“I’ll call Scott.” Argent steps back to leave the room, glancing between the two of them before looking back at Malia. “Be right back.” It’s said with the tone that also means “be good” and Malia fights the urge to roll her eyes.

Tyler watches the older man leave, then smirks. “So, should I be more worried about him or you?”

“Definitely him,” Malia snorts. “Piss Chris off and you won’t see him coming.” She takes a step closer and holds out her hand. “I’m Malia, by the way.”

“Malia.” Then he pauses. “Like Peter Hale’s daughter, Malia.”

The context doesn’t chafe the way it used to, but she doesn’t thrill her that Peter’s reputation continues to precede her. “Unfortunately. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

Tyler shakes his head, before flashing her a smile. “Not at all. I’m pretty sure I’ve been in worse trouble.”

Tyler seems to be severely underestimating himself. But regardless, this should be fun.

Edited 2022-06-17 23:08 (UTC)

Tyler’s never really been good at faking being one of the upper crust. His wants always seem to conflict with that’s expected of him, and his temper gets the better of him. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy the creature comforts of inherited wealth. Even when he’s out of town, visiting someone else’s small town elite, he finds easy access to liquor, a comfortable room to hide in, and the expectation that people will leave him alone until it’s time to go home.

He does not plan on making a nuisance of himself tonight. It’s even less becoming when you’re not on your own turf.

The expansive Hale house really is something else. Extravagant without being outlandish, set apart without being isolated. Owning an entire nature preserve is convenient for a family full of werewolves, practical even, but still sends a statement to the rest of Beacon Hills. They know how to play the power game, he’ll give them that.

Sinking back into one of the leather bound couches in the study, he lets out a small sigh before knocking back the rest of his whiskey. His parents will come find him when they’re ready to leave. He probably should snoop. His eyes wander up over the bookshelves, looking curiously to see if there’s anything worth digging into when his eyes land on a woman leaning over the banister from the second floor, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“Jesus!” he jumps, fingers fumbling as he almost drops the empty glass. “Where did you come from?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she teases. “This is my library.” A beat. “Actually, it’s my dad’s, but still technically mine.”

He blinks, turning his attention back to her again. Right, she is a Hale. Peter’s daughter, if he remembers correctly. Pretty hot too, though both of the Hale girls his age are hot. While Cora, the alpha’s youngest, had seems uninterested no matter how much Richard tries to nudge Tyler towards her, Malia is eyeing him with something much more akin to interest.

Less politically interesting, as far as Richard is concerned, but Tyler can’t bring himself to care at the moment.

“Malia, right?”

She seems surprised that he remembers her name. “Right. And you’re Tyler Lockwood. Have you noticed that your father is kind of a dick?”

“Why do you think I’m hiding in here?” he points out with a smirk. “To avoid him trying to throw me at your cousin.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s wasting his time. She already has a partner.”

“Yeah, she told me when I apologized.” He shrugs. “I’m just trying to make it through the trip without there being an incident.”

“Fair enough.” She makes her way down the steps towards him, smirking. “There’s no reason you have to hang out in here all by yourself, though.”

Interest piques immediately, watching as long, shapely legs make their way towards him. He knows, instantly, that he’s already courting trouble. There’s something about her that exudes danger. But Tyler’s never been one to run from that, and who knows? Maybe this kind of danger might even be fine.

She settles on the couch next to him, crossing one leg under herself. “So, what do you say? Looking for some company?”

He grins, before nodding. “Who could say no to that?”

Edited 2022-06-17 23:59 (UTC)

Malia doesn’t know why she spends ninety percent of her time in the sewers. It’s not a life choice she ever chooses for herself, and yet. Every time a new bad guy comes to town, somehow she and Scott, or occasionally Liam and Theo, wind up chasing it through the sewers. It’s enough to make her regret having super senses.

Unfortunately, on this trip, they have come up with nothing. A few carcasses, some interesting vermin, but no enormous creature to worry about. Fine by her, she’d much rather be anywhere but here, but it still makes her sulky to have had to come down here.

Scott frowns as they reach another junction. “Well. I guess we lost it.”

The other downside to being in the sewer—it makes it easy to lose a scent when your nose is on overload.

“Great,” Malia sighs. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Scott gives her arm a reassuring squeeze, but she can tell he’s worried. Unsettled, even. But then again, Scott spends a lot of time worried. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Of course we will,” Malia nods, preparing to follow him back to the entrance. She’s about to turn and head towards the ladder when her nose catches something new. Turning back towards the sewer, her eyes narrow as she heads back the way they came.

“Malia?” Scott frowns. “What is it?”

“Something’s wrong.” Rounding the corner of the junction, she sees a body slumped against the wall, clutching his side. Eyes widening, she darts forward to check his pulse.

He’s a werewolf. That much she can tell. But he’s not healing, a nasty gash in his side making up most of his injury. Her hand moves to rest against his throat gently, before closing her eyes and focusing her hearing until she could hear the faltering thump-thump of a heartbeat that matches the pulse against her fingers.

It’s weak, but it’s there.

“He’s alive.” She glances back as Scott appears over her shoulder. “We need to get him to your mom.”

Scott, fortunately, doesn’t argue with her.

A couple hours of fluids and blood transfusions later, his eyes open, and Malia is there to see it. She’s not sure why she stayed, beyond the fact that she had a lot of questions and he might have the answers. He blinks, confused at the hospital ceiling before turning and spotting her in the corner. He then jumps, glancing around the room, panic rising like a cloying perfume in the room.

“Relax. You’re in a hospital.” Malia pushes up and makes her way closer. “I’m Malia Tate. I’m part of Scott McCall’s pack.”

That seems to relax him enough that he stops immediately trying to leave. “What happened?”

“That’s what we wanted to ask you.” She pauses, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “We found you bleeding out in a sewer.”

He makes a face at that, but he doesn’t seem surprised. “I was tracking something, and it got the drop on me. Looks like I was lucky you found me when you did.”

“Looks like.” She tips her head to the side. “So. Do you have a name or are we just going to call you Sewer Guy?”

He snorts, wincing as it pulls at his side before nodding. “Tyler. My name is Tyler.”

“Nice to meet you, Tyler,” she sighs, before pulling up her seat and settling down next to him. “Now tell me about the thing you’re hunting.”

Edited 2022-06-18 00:28 (UTC)

Edited 2022-06-20 01:10 (UTC)

This is the third crime scene she’s been at.

Not that Sam and Dean have any business being there, being that they’re not actual FBI agents, but a girl like her is hard to miss. Long red hair, plaited into an elegant braid over one shoulder. A velvety dress that hugs her curves with a split skirt revealing hints of leg and an impressively high heel.

The local police don’t seem that thrown that she’s made an appearance again, and there’s a part of Sam that needs to know the answer to why. Does she have some kind of hypnotic power that means they just don’t notice her? Either way, Sam’s hackles are up, and he turns to Dean, jerking his head in her direction.

Dean’s brow furrows as he recognizes her, nodding. Once is nothing, twice is a coincidence, but three times is a pattern. Time to talk to the pretty redhead.

They weave their way through the crowd until they reach the girl, flipping out their “badges” to address her.

“I’m Agent Plant, this is Agent Page. We wanted to ask you a few questions.”

She raises an eyebrow, leaning in to get a better look at the badges before nodding. Her face is impassive, and Sam can’t help but wanting to crack in and see what secrets she’s keeping. She fishes out her phone from her purse and shrugs.

“I already gave my statement to the sheriff’s office.”

“Well, that’s the sheriff’s office,” Dean points out. “We’re the FBI. So if you don’t mind, we’d like to ask them again.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She sends off a quick text before crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Fine. Ask away.”

“Can we have your name, please?”

“Dr. Lydia Martin.”

“Medical?” Sam asks, curiously, as he writes it down.

“Mathematics.”

“We noticed you called in the last three bodies related to this crime.”

“Yes, I did.” She doesn’t flinch. “Is that a problem?”

“It seems pretty unlucky that you have stumbled over three dead bodies in the last week,” Dean points out, and Lydia raises an eyebrow in his direction.

“Quiet. Is there a point you’re trying to reach with these questions, or…?”

“Some would say that someone who finds this many connected bodies had something to do with how they ended up dead.” Dean glances over at his brother. “Wouldn’t you agree, Agent Page?”

“I would, Agent Plant.”

“They would, wouldn’t they?” Lydia’s phone dings, and she glances down at it, before raising it and snapping a picture of them. Dean and Sam both blink at the flash. Then she tips her head to the side. “Well, the local cops have already eliminated me as a person of interest, so perhaps you should confer with them about the evidence they’ve found and worry less about me.”

Sam’s brow furrows. “What was that picture for?”

“That is a picture I’m sending to my contact with the FBI. Apparently, when he looked up your names and badge numbers, he couldn’t find Agent Plant or Agent Page. He’s very interested in who might impersonate a federal agent in his jurisdiction.”

The color drains from both Dean and Sam’s faces, and she smiles pleasantly before stepping away. “So if that’s all, gentlemen, I think you might have more important things to worry about.”

As she turns to stride back towards her car, Dean stares, stunned, and Sam reaches for his shoulder. “We should go.”

“She’s probably bluffing.”

“Do you want to stick around and find out?”

A phone rings somewhere nearby, and one deputy answers: “Agent McCall, good to hear from you.” A pause, then: “Agent Plant and Agent Page?”

“Fuck, she was not bluffing.” And with that, Dean and Sam put their skills to use and disappear from view. As they land in the car, Dean glances over at his brother with a frown. “Who the fuck is she?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighs. “But I think we should find out.”

“We have a problem.”

Lydia pushes into the veterinary clinic, and the door slams behind her, rattling the cat knick knacks on their far wall. Their weighted paws swing back and forth as Scott looks up at her in confusion.

“We already had a problem of undefined supernatural origin.”

“Well, now we have a problem that is more of a human one.” She takes a deep breath. “I had to call in a favor with your dad.” Scott’s eyebrows go up. “Fake FBI agents were trying to investigate the crime scene, and more to the point, investigate me, so I needed to throw them off the scent.”

Scott nods slowly. “So you called my dad instead of Stiles, who is also in the FBI.”

“Calling your dad doesn’t end in a long string of texts and phone calls that require me to reassure him I’m not asking for trouble.” Even though she and Stiles are no longer together, his overprotectiveness has not died down. One of his less attractive qualities, but Scott nods his agreement.

“Point. So, what did my dad find out about them?”

She’s about to respond when her phone rings. “Agent McCall” flashes across the caller ID. She frowns, then sets the phone on Scott’s desk, placing it on speaker. “Hi, Agent McCall. Scott’s here too.”

“Do you still have eyes on our fake FBI agents?”

“No, I left the scene twenty minutes ago. Why?”

“Because Parrish lost them. While I was calling to deliver the details, they must have caught wise and slipped out.”

Lydia sighs. “That might have been my fault. I wanted to get them off my trail, so I tipped them off, sorry. I didn’t think you would seriously want to apprehend them. They’re probably just hunters.”

“Hunters?”

“Supernatural hunters,” Scott clarifies. “Argent says that sometimes they pose as law enforcement in order to get information about the bodies. Most local cops don’t feel like calling in favors to the FBI.”

“These guys had pretty decent fakes,” Lydia comments. “Whoever they are, they’ve likely been at this a while.”

“Who they are is Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Scott frowns, his forehead wrinkling. “I’ve heard of them. Argent gave me a list of all the big hunting families—Winchester was one of them.”

“Well, they’re not just hunters. They’re actually wanted for a very long list of charges, including murder. Lots of murder.” Agent McCall is quiet for a moment, trying to think things through. “I’m sending some agents out to see if they can follow the trail. These guys have slipped through the radar and faked their own death too many times for it to be strictly the supernatural at play. If you see them, just—stay away from them, okay? They’re dangerous.”

“Dad, we can handle some hunters.”

“There’s no guarantee that they’re just some hunters, Scott. Just … humor me, okay?”

“Okay.” Scott scrubs a hand over his face and leans back. “Let us know when your guys are getting here, but if Lydia really spooked them, they might be gone already.”

“We’ll figure that out when they get there. Talk to you soon.”

Agent McCall hangs up, and Lydia’s eyebrows climb up into her hair. “Scott, I didn’t know.”

“No, I know. Sounds like you did the right thing calling in my dad. But if this is pulling in outside hunters, we need to solve it now. Are you any closer to figuring out what this thing is?”

“I sent pictures of the bite marks off to Derek and Malia, hoping that either of them recognizes it or can twist Peter’s arm for it. Hopefully, it won’t take the time for another body to drop for them to get back to us.”

Scott nods, before the door to the vet clinic jingles, and he tenses. “I’m not expecting any more patients today.”

Lydia spins around at the sound of footsteps, and gasps when she sees the two tall men standing behind her. “Well, hey there Doc,” the shorter one smiles. “We need to talk.”

The vet behind the desk tenses, staring down the Winchesters with an intensity that Sam isn’t expecting. Dr. McCall is aware of the world, but Sam doesn’t know how all this connects to Lydia.

Lydia squares her jaw and stares them both down. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Easy, chica. We just want to talk.” Dean holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “After ratting us out to the FBI, seems like the least you could do.”

McCall glances between the two of them and raises an eyebrow. “I take it these are the Winchesters?”

Sam tips his head to the side curiously. “You work fast.”

“The FBI agent I tipped off called and warned us about you.” Lydia crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Apparently, you two are some kind of serial killer.”

Sam tenses, because it’s a problem that just doesn’t seem to go away. Dean also looks annoyed, but he shakes his head. “We’re not. We’re just hunters—though a serial killer stole my face once, and that seemed to stick a little too well.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow back at McCall, almost as though she’s deferring to his lead, which is interesting. The man straightens, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but hunters really aren’t needed in Beacon Hills.”

“Your body count says otherwise,” Sam points out. “Especially with the three bodies in the last five days.”

“We’re working on it. That doesn’t mean you can just walk into my territory and start threatening members of my pack.”

Both brothers look at each other in surprise, confusion crossing their features. “Sorry,” Dean frowns. “Your what?”

“My pack.” McCall crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You really don’t know where you are, do you?” When the brothers don’t respond, the vet’s eyes flash a deep red. “My name is Scott McCall.”

Sam’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back. Dean frowns at his brother. “What?”

“Scott McCall is a true alpha. Garth told me about him.”

“I am a true alpha, and Beacon Hills is my territory. We don’t need hunters here.” Scott reaches into his pocket for his phone. “And the FBI is headed here to find and arrest you for your alleged crimes. So if you don’t want to spend today in jail, I would recommend you leaving this situation to us and getting out of town.”

Sam glances over at Lydia. “So are you a werewolf too?”

“No,” she sighs. “I’m a banshee.”

Understanding dawns, and Sam knows they’ve made a giant misstep. “Which is why you were at all the crime scenes. And why it didn’t bother the locals, because you must be at all the crime scenes.”

“The sheriff knows what I am. And none of this is the point.” Lydia arches an eyebrow. “Are you leaving or not?”

Dean and Sam give each other a look, having a silent conversation about what to do next. Eventually, Sam turns back to them. “How about we help each other? We don’t want to leave business unfinished. Not when someone else might get hurt.”

Lydia turns back to Scott, and they have a silent conversation of their own. Whoever they are to each other, they seem to know each other well enough to trust each other with next moves. They’ve been “pack” for a long time.

“You follow our lead?” Scott asks them. “I prefer not to kill people. Only if there’s no other option.”

“Rumors say otherwise,” Sam points out, and Scott shrugs.

“Sometimes it wasn’t my call. My point is, this isn’t a shoot first, ask questions later kind of situation. If I can help them, I will.”

“We understand,” Sam nods. “We’ll back your play, as long as the bodies stop dropping.”

Dean gives him a look that says he’s less than thrilled with that proposal, but Scott accepts the answer. “Good. Let’s get started.”

The Winchesters think it’s some kind of ghoul. Lydia makes a face but will follow along with the Winchesters lead if it gets them closer to stopping people from being killed. Scott and Dean walk ahead, scanning the preserve for any sign of trouble, while she hangs back with the tall one, Sam. She’s not sure she’s wholly comfortable with this idea, but she’s trying to be a team player. Scott seems to think that they can trust the Winchesters, but Lydia isn’t so sure.

“You don’t trust us, do you?”

Lydia tips up her head to look at him, and raises an eyebrow. “How astute of you.” She shrugs as she turns her eyes back to the woods again. “Scott is easy to persuade, but I’m not. Someone has to watch his back.”

Sam nods. “It’s good that he has someone looking out for him.” He pauses, awkwardly. “Are you two—” His voice trails off, and she shakes her head.

“No. We’re just friends.” He dated her best friend, she dated his best friend—it probably isn’t ever going to be anything more between her and Scott and that’s for the best. But he’s still one of the most important people in her life. “But he is one of my oldest and best friends. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

“Being a banshee must be tough.” Sam makes a face. “I’m around the dead a lot, but I don’t think I would have been able to handle it if I just were stumbling over dead bodies all the time.”

“Yeah, it sucks.” Lydia sighs. “But it’s nice to be in the position to do something about it. To find the bad guy so it doesn’t happen to more people. Or to help the person who’s having trouble staying in control.”

“Scott realizes that this might not end as happily as he hopes, right?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow in his direction. “Scott’s been an alpha since he was seventeen. He’s well aware of how the world is. He’s lost many people. But he’s also saved many people too, and helped them to be better. He’s not going to give up someone unless they decide they don’t want his compassion.”

And if they do, sucks to be them.

“That’s honorable of him.”

“He’s doing his best.” Lydia shrugs. “Not all monsters do monstrous things. Scott is living proof of that.”

Sam nods slowly, almost as though he doesn’t know quite what to make of it. She is used to that, with most hunters coming after Scott. They take advantage of his kindness and try to be the hunter that took out Scott McCall. But Scott’s survived long enough that those people haven’t come his way in a long time.

Things are almost peaceful in Beacon Hills. Except when there are things like this.

Ahead of them, she sees Scott’s head snap to the side and his whole body tense. His head tips up just slightly as he takes a deep breath. She reaches forward for Sam’s arm, stopping him as she tries to follow Scott’s line of sight.

“He’s got something. Let’s go.”

Sam nods, following close behind her as they make their way over one of the ridge in the preserve. Scott comes to a stop at Lookout Point. As the four of them look down over the edge, they see a pile of corpses, some more disfigured than others, and a ghoulish-looking creature munching on one of the bones.

He looks up, seeing the four standing above them, and rears up to his full height with a growl, revealing its destroyed teeth.

Dean glances over at Scott. “Are we doing this your way or our way?”

Scott looks disappointed that this is the outcome, but he nods. “Do whatever you need to do.”

The ghoul takes off into the woods, and the Winchesters are quick to follow. Lydia takes a deep breath before following.

Tracking down the ghoul doesn’t take long. The Winchesters are terrifyingly efficient at what they do. As soon as the ghoul is in their sights, it isn’t long before the situation is resolved. Scott isn’t thrilled with how, but the ghoul clarified it had no intent of changing. So there’s no place for it in Beacon Hills, so best to let the hunters do what they do best.

Scott also calls off his father, letting him know that the Winchesters have skipped town, even if they haven’t. At least not right away. Lydia is fairly certain that they’ll leave soon—places to go, monsters to hunt—but there’s a sense that Scott is trying to orchestrate something.

“You’re up to something,” she confronts him as they get drinks at the local bar. The Winchesters are settling into the booth while the two of them get the first round. Scott glances back at her, fighting to hide his smirk.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I know you.”

Scott shakes his head as the beers appear, and he reaches to pick up two of them. “I know you didn’t get off on the best foot with them, but we should try to mend bridges. The more hunters we actually have on our side that trust us, the safer the pack will be here.”

Lydia sighs. “I don’t think you’re wrong, but I also don’t think that’s what you’re up to.”

Scott smirks before heading over to the table. “Just…try to have fun, alright?”

Lydia shakes her head before moving out into the table, sliding in across from Sam. Scott slides in next to her and passes out the drinks. Dean glances between her and his brother and claps Scott on the shoulder.

“C’mon, McCall. A few drinks in you, and I bet I could kick your ass at darts.”

Scott frowns, but gets up to follow him. “You know I can’t get drunk, right?”

Dean looks back with a smirk and nods. “Challenge accepted.”

Sam shakes his head as his brother and Scott disappear, before turning back to Lydia. “So. Guess we make a pretty good team.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him in return. “One job done and you’re already assuming we’re a team?”

His head tips to the side before taking a sip of his beer. “You’re hard to win over, aren’t you?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No. Just wondering why so mistrusting?”

“I’ve gotten involved with the wrong people before. And we’ve trusted the wrong people. I’ve trusted the wrong people.” Lydia picks up her beer and takes a long swig. “So, if you want to be friends? You’re going to have to work a little harder than that.”

Sam nods slowly, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “I get that. That’s fair.”

Lydia observes a moment before leaning forward in her seat. “But I will say this earned you a bit of good will. Maybe we’ll have the chance to work together again.”

Sam glances up at her, a small smile creeping at the corner of his lips before nodding. “I can work with, maybe.”

“Good.” Lydia tips her beer bottle towards him. “To…potential?”

Sam nods, before clinking his beer bottle against hers. “To potential.” He glances over to where Dean and Scott are going at it with darts and turns back to face her again. “They’re probably going to be at that a while.”

“Are they?” She tips her head to the side curiously. “Dean knows he can’t win, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he is not too stubborn to give up.” Sam smirks around the lip of his beer bottle. “Should we try to save him from himself?”

Lydia tips her head to the side before shaking her head. “No. I think I want to see how this ends.”

“So basically you just want to see Dean cry.”

“At least it’ll be entertaining?”

Sam laughs. “I can work with that.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

get your words out { 2022 } yahtzee tracking

Running Score: 260 (8/8)Word Count: 36,156

SET #1: PICTURES (ACES)

to make a house a home | supernatural/teen wolf | 300

fathoms below | supernatural/teen wolf | 300

like lightning in a bottle | supernatural/teen wolf | 300

more than words | supernatural/teen wolf | 300

better together | supernatural/teen wolf | 300

SET #2: WORDS (FIVES)

i want to watch the world burn | tvdverse/the witcher | 600

the sacred geometry of chance | tvdverse/the witcher | 600

burning lines in the book of our lives | tvdverse/the witcher | 600

i don't know if it's cloudy or bright | tvdverse/the witcher | 600

when love is returned there's a price to be paid | tvdverse/the witcher | 600

SET #3: WORDS (SEVENS)

in a hundred lifetimes | dctv | 2000

in a hundred worlds | dctv | 2000

in any version of reality | dctv | 1,200

i'd find you | dctv | 1,000

and i'd choose you | dctv | 800

SET #4: COMBO (3 OF A KIND)

i knew that she'd be mine | buffyverse/tvdverse | 2,042

you took the blue out of the sky | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,878

but it's not enough | buffyverse/tvdverse | 2,066

Re: but it's not enough | buffyverse/tvdverse | 2,066

Re: but it's not enough | buffyverse/tvdverse | 2,066

SET #5: COMBO (4 OF A KIND)

running from our elaborate ruse | regency au | 1,375

we've got these chains hanging round our necks | regency au | 1,374

i'll make you a believer | regency au | 1,547

cause it's safer to hold every card | regency au | 1,452

SET #6: PICTURES (FULL HOUSE)

shot through the heart and you're to blame | marvel cinematic universe/dc extended universe | 1,317

we call it smart family business | marvel cinematic universe/dc extended universe | 1,688

i wanna die with my chin up | marvel cinematic universe/dc extended universe | 1,507

brass knife sinks into my shoulder | marvel cinematic universe/dc extended universe | 1,404

well now i'm no hero that's understood | marvel cinematic universe/dc extended universe | 847

SET #7: COMBO (LARGE STRAIGHT)

little more bite, little less bark [1/5] | teen wolf/tvdverse | 580

little more bite, little less bark [2/5] | teen wolf/tvdverse | 476

little more bite, little less bark [3/5] | teen wolf/tvdverse | 662

little more bite, little less bark [4/5] | teen wolf/tvdverse | 555

little more bite, little less bark [5/5] | teen wolf/tvdverse | 586

SET #8: COMBO (YAHTZEE)

i'd rather kiss a rattlesnake | supernatural/teen wolf | 660

guess i'll try my luck with you | supernatural/teen wolf | 660

i'll let you play the role | supernatural/teen wolf | 660

just searching for a world with some soul | supernatural/teen wolf | 660

lovely lady, let me drink you please | supernatural/teen wolf | 660

Running Score: 260 (8/8)
Word Count: 36,156