iluvroadrunner6 | get your words out { 2025 } yahtzee tracking

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get your words out { 2025 } yahtzee tracking

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Running Score: 140 (5/8)
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Edited 2025-04-21 12:38 (UTC)

Gunther leaves her rooms and Gertie already knows how this is going to go.

It’s the third—no, the fourth time that they’ve done this dance, and she can’t help but she’s seen the ending before. She tells Gunther the truth. He goes to confront Archeron because he doesn’t quite believe her. Archeron does what he does and the whole cycle starts all over again.

She’s tired. But she is also determined to pry Gunther out of Archeron’s hands.

She gives it a few days, before she finds herself on Archeron’s front door again, prim and poised, only instead of Gunther answering the door, it’s Archeron. Her back straightens, but she doesn’t give away anything just yet.

“Good morning. I was looking for Gunther.”

“He’s sleeping. And I think we’re done with this little dance, Gertrude.”

She scowls. “I am not done. I’ll pry him from your cold, dead hands if I have to.”

“Threatening me will not get you what you want.”

“You can’t stop him from seeing me.”

Archeron’s face darkens as he leans in to meet her. “I will erase every inch of you from his memory if I have to. You can’t stop me, no matter how hard you try.”

She knows that. The problem is, she doesn’t understand why. She doesn’t know what it is about Gunther that Archeron feels the need to hold on to. She wishes she did. Instead, all she can do is look up to the bedroom window and see Gunther staring down above her, black circles under his eyes, and knows that she can’t simply let this go. She thinks of his finger locked in hers when they were younger—a promise to keep each other safe. She will find a solution.

Her attention swings back to Archeron. “Watch me.”

I like the tension in the character interactions here.

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Solomon King’s gambling parlor is alight in washes of color, intended to lure in the magpies most willing to separate themselves from their money. Gertie weaves her way through the poker tables until she finds where Sol is entertaining.

Entertaining, but not playing.

He flashes her a grin and snakes an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “Gertie Devereaux. What brings you to my fine establishment?”

“So this is a fine establishment now?” she teases. “I thought this was a back-room casino.”

“Eye of the beholder, Gert. Always in the eye of the beholder.”

Gertie laughs before leaning in and lowering her voice. “Can we talk?”

“Always.” He excuses himself from the table and leads her back to his office, where it’s much quieter. He shifts to lean back against his desk as he watches her. “This about Gunther?”

She nods. “I can’t get him out on my own. I tried, but every time he wants to go back and confront him and Archeron—”

“Takes advantage.” The casualness of Sol’s tone belies the anger there. They’ve been keeping Sol away from things, because Gertie has her advantages against Archeron—Sol doesn’t. But they’re running out of options. “Have you talked to the others?”

“They’re just as vulnerable.”

“Maybe. But you said it yourself—you need another option. If for no other reason than having other excuses to get Gunther to leave. If you keep running yourself against the wall—”

“I know.” She runs a hand over her face. “It’s so frustrating.”

“I know.” His hand squeezes hers. “But you can do this. And I’ll put whatever resources behind you I have to. He’s my brother.”

She takes the comfort offered before leaning back and nodding. She needs help. Maybe it’s time to give Mason a call.

Edited 2025-04-24 23:57 (UTC)

“Gertie Devereaux. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Snow lightly falls around her shoulders as she moves closer to Mason, quietly trying to determine her play. Will he be suspicious? Will he listen?

Will any of it matter if Archeron gets his hands on him?

Still, Mason wants an answer, so she keeps it casual. “Interested in grabbing a drink? I have a proposition for you.”

“Color me intrigued.”

It doesn’t take long for them to find a quiet booth to talk in, and she crosses one leg over the other as she leans in to him. “We need to talk about Gunther.”

“Gunther? What about him?”

“He’s in trouble. I don’t think he should be with Archeron anymore.”

“Why not?”

That’s the harder thing to dance around. She can’t tell him the truth. He won’t believe the truth. He’ll fall into the same trap that Gunther has, over and over again. She takes a breath before shaking her head.

“It’s hard to explain. It’s something I think is more effective if you see it for yourself.” She pauses before reaching over and squeezing his hand. “Just go see him? Please?”

Mason seems concerned, eyes narrowing as he tries to discern her meaning, but in the end, all he can do is sigh. “Gertie, I’m really busy—”

“Just go see him, Mason. And then tell me whether or not you’ll help.”

She pays for their drinks and sends him on his way. Two days later her phone rings, and when she answers, Mason’s voice is on the other end.

“What is Archeron doing to him?”

Some tension relaxes in her shoulders, and she lets herself have a bit of hope once again.

“Archeron has magic. He’s using it to abuse him.”

“Then let’s get him out of there.”

Edited 2025-04-26 01:18 (UTC)

Mason says he’d reach out to her the day after he sees Gunther. She doesn’t hear from him for a week. She delicately swings by Archeron’s house, and Gunther is still there, jumping to his captor’s every beck and call.

At Mason’s office, the door is suspiciously locked. She stares it down until she hears the set of footsteps coming up behind her. “Virgil. Where is your patron?”

“The country,” Virgil replies, his tone amused. “I can give him a call for you, if you like?”

She flashes him a smile. “I’ll just take an address, if you do not mind.” This is a conversation best had in person.

Two days later, she arrives at the Morrisons’ country estate—so far to the south that the winter flurries have faded to golden fields and sun. When she is shown to the parlor of the manor, Mason looks up and is as delighted to see her.

“Gertie Devereaux. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He says it just as he said it a week ago. She sighs. “Mason, when was the last time we saw each other?”

He blinks, confused before shaking his head. “I think it’s been a couple years, actually. Why?”

Gertie blinks, trying not to seem disappointed, or more importantly, frustrated. She isn’t interested in dancing around the point. At least not when she feels she’s not sure she’ll be believed.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Mason frowns, almost as though he’s seeing more than she wants to show and he reaches forward to take her hands. “Stay for dinner, won’t you? Let’s catch up.”

She isn’t sure she wants to. She’s not sure she can do all of this again. But Mason is her friend and it’ll probably be good to keep the door open. Just in case.

Gertie doesn’t want to poke this bear but with Mason failing and needing to protect Sol, she’s running out of allies. She reaches out to Jo and tries not to get overwhelmed by the nostalgia that comes with it. The close bond, the stolen kisses, all the softness first love should be, before the horrors of Archeron’s house cause her not to trust it.

How can you, when the man can alter everyone’s memories of things but your own?

Jo meets her at the carousel, and the smile that crosses Jo’s face is heartbreaking. Still, Gertie offers her a smile all the same. “Thanks for coming, Josie.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“I’m worried about Gunther.” She can see the light dim in her eyes. Is she disappointed that this is not a romantic rendezvous? “Archeron won’t let him leave. He won’t let him get another job. He’s trapped and I don’t know what to do.”

“Does Gunther want to leave?”

“Do you think I would be here if he didn’t?” She realizes how it sounds as soon as she says it, and sees Jo’s eagerness retreat into something colder. She huffs a breath before reaching forward to cover her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just … I’m worried he may kill Gunther.”

That brings Jo back to the matter at hand, and she nods. “Alright. Do you want me to go check on him? See what I can do.”

“Please. Maybe he’ll listen to you more than he listens to me.”

They part ways there, promising to provide updates when they have them. And when a week goes by with no answers, Gertie resolves to take matters into her own hands again. Even if she has to get them dirty to do it.

Edited 2025-04-26 15:47 (UTC)

Mason arrives in front of his office door and is surprised to find someone lounging against the door frame. The man cuts a stylish silhouette in a slick suit, well-tailored and of the moment, though he can tell that it was recently done. He looks trim and professional, with dark hair and eyes focused on the newspaper in front of him.

Mason pauses, sliding his hands in his pockets before he speaks up. “Can I help you?”

The man blinks and looks up before glancing at his watch. “Punctual. I appreciate that already.” Mason raises his eyebrow again, before the man continues. “Virgil Claybourne. I’m here about the secretary position.”

“Oh.” Mason’s expression turns curious. “You aren’t what I was expecting.”

“I live to surprise.” Virgil steps back, giving Mason room to open the door to his office. He steps inside, leaving space for Virgil to enter behind him and heads to his desk.

“Do you have any reference letters?”

“I do.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out an envelope with his letters, before moving to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. “There are references in there from my last three roles.”

“Three?” Mason raises an eyebrow, looking him over. “You’ve had three roles already?” He seems fairly young. Why would he have to move around so many times?

“The first was a temporary role, filling in while the original secretary was out with an extended illness. Another from one who had a baby, and then the last role I actually held for the past five years.”

Mason nods, pulling them out and shuffling through the pages. “Why are you looking to change?”

“My employer is looking to retire. I thought it was best to try something new.”

Mason’s eyebrow raises again, sensing a slight twisting of the truth there, but he doesn’t push it for now. People have their reasons for moving on. It’s not his business, and it seems from the tension in his shoulders, Virgil isn’t looking to share it.

“So why me?”

Virgil tips his head to the side curiously. “Is wanting employment not motivation enough?”

“Your references are impeccable. Your employers clearly think the world of you. You could find employment at any upper-class law office or politician’s desk. Why work for a man who solves mysteries for a living?”

It’s clear the man is ambitious. Everything about his very presence says that he intends to do great things. So why wrestle with a man looking for small potatoes?

Virgil leans back in his seat, studying Mason just as much as Mason is studying him. He can see the way his eye for detail skirts over every inch of him, and he Virgil tips his head to the side. “I think what you do is important. And I appreciate you work for everyone, regardless of what they can pay you. I enjoy knowing that I’m working for someone with integrity.”

That ticks at one question itching in the back of his mind. Something about his previous employers lacked integrity. Mason would do his best to live up to what his reputation has made of him.

“Well, I need a secretary sooner, rather than later, and I would be remiss to turn down someone so highly recommended.”

Virgil brightens. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“Wonderful.” Mason reaches over to shake his hand. “I think we’ll work very well together.”

“You and I both,” Virgil nods with a smile. “Dare we say it’s the beginning of a beautiful partnership?”

Mason smirks before shrugging. “Suppose we’ll see what happens.”

Every so often, Mason trips over a gap in his own memory. He finds a spot where something is supposed to be and what is there isn’t quite right. For a long time he ignores them, assuming it is simply the cracks where memories have fallen through. After the train, however, he can’t help but retrace all of them, finding the corrected memories and doing his best to slot them into place.

It’s harder than he thinks. Harder to skip some of them and not mourn what changed, how relationships changed, and how things could have been different. All the work that Archeron put into alienating Gertie from all of them.

“Tea?”

Virgil’s voice draws Mason out of his thoughts, and Mason glances over at him, blinking in surprise. “Right. Please.”

Virgil pours the tea, before moving to sit across from him at the table. Mason reaches for his tea, taking a deep breath of the familiar scent.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Virgil prompts, taking a sip of his tea. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“I’m not sure,” Mason admits. “I’m not sure I would know how to explain it. How do you talk about all the little ways your life was altered and trying to figure out how to put all those pieces back into place?”

Virgil swallows as he considers him. “I’m not sure there is an easy way to do that. Archeron took things from you, and while you got them back, some things you now can’t change. Relationships you can’t get back.”

“Exactly.” Mason smirks as he sips his own tea. “Turns out you still know how to read my mind.”

Virgil laughs. “Working with someone, you get to know them pretty well.”

“I suppose you do.” Mason frowns. “Unless your employer plays with your memories to keep you all apart.”

“Are you worried about Gunther?”

“I think we’re all always worried about Gunther.” Mason sighs as he leans back in his chair. “But I’m also worried about Gertie. There’s probably a toll that comes with being the only one to truly remember everything.”

“Have you talked to her since the train?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve tried. Called her apartment and sent some letters, but she hasn’t responded.”

“Maybe she just needs more time.”

“Maybe.” Mason runs a hand over his face. “It’s all such a mess.”

“Yes, it is.” Virgil takes another sip of his tea before placing it down on the tray in front of him. “But you’ll all figure it out. You have the memories now. It’s up to you to decide what you do with them.”

Mason nods as he continues to ponder his options, before glancing up. “Do you think I should stop by her apartment?”

“If it will set your mind at ease, maybe. But I also think that she also has the right to her space.”

Mason nods again before offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being there to listen.” There are feelings there that are hard to articulate, but Mason wants to try. “I know you’re my employee, but you’ve always been a good friend to me, Virgil. I appreciate it.”

Virgil pauses in gathering the tea tray, and Mason wonders if he’s crossed one of the firm lines that have existed between them. Lines that Virgil put there, and rightly so. He’s about to apologize for crossing it, before Virgil gives a small smile.

“You’re welcome. I have some filing to do, but after that, I’m heading home. Goodnight, Mason.”

Mason watches him leave before nodding to his back. “Good night, Virgil.”

Gertie’s instructions are very specific. Pay a call on Gunther and the old man. See if you can get Gunther out of the house for a drink. See the clues and then try to convince him to walk away from the house. He does the first two, despite Archeron’s intense gaze, but the clues are still eluding him. At least until a few drinks are warming their bellies, and Gunther looks up at him curiously.

“So what brought you over? You don’t exactly make social calls with us anymore.”

Mason raises an eyebrow. “I’m not allowed to visit my mentor?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying there isn’t precedent.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” He leans back in his seat, studying his friend carefully. The bags under his eyes, the sallowness of his skin—something isn’t right. He can see now why Gertie is upset and looking to get him out from under Archeron’s thumb.

“So? Why are we having this drink, Mason?”

“Gertie asked me to see you. I think she was trying to make sure that someone else is seeing what she’s seeing.” He grimaces as his fingers tease the edge of the glass. “And I’m thinking I am.”

Gunther blinks, looking confused. “I haven’t seen Gertie in months.”

“She said she saw you last week.”

Gunther’s brow furrows, trying to put two and two together. The more he tries, the more frustrated he gets, before he shakes his head. “Why can’t I remember anything properly?”

“Does this happen all the time?”

“I … I don’t know. It’s just that I’ll think things are one way, and then someone will correct me, and it’s like I’ve forgotten entire events. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Mason reaches a hand forward, gently placing it over his. “We’ll figure it out, alright? Gertie seems to think that Archeron or that house has something to do with it.”

“I don’t know,” Gunther sighs. “It might be medical? Like maybe something’s going wrong in my head.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Archeron has needed me a lot lately. He’s been keeping me busy.”

“You need to take some time for yourself.”

“Hard to do that when you’re the only one left.” There’s an edge of bitterness there, something he hasn’t seen in Gunther before. Mason doesn’t like it.

“I’m sorry. But this is just a job, Gunther. You could just quit.”

A wave of emotion stirs over his face, trying to parse the different level of emotions that come with it. Mason can see he’s struggling with it and doesn’t rush him.

“I don’t know how to leave.”

“Maybe right now, we just don’t go back. You can come stay with me until you land on your feet. I can send for your things. A clean break.”

A desperate one, to be sure. Mason doesn’t know if it’s worth going to that extreme, but sometimes you simply need to walk away. Gunther doesn’t seem convinced.

“Give me some time to think about it. I don’t know if I could do that to the old man.”

“I understand.” Mason gives his hand a squeeze. “Why don’t we have another drink in a few days? You can let me know then.”

They agree, but when Mason arrives on their designated day, Archeron greets him at the door instead of Gunther. He winds up in the country, instead of having that drink. He doesn’t regain this memory until after Archeron’s death.

It’s hard to imagine how he never saw the problem staring him right in the face.

When Mason sees the way Gertie answers the door, he’s glad he didn’t bring Virgil with him. No one deserves to be seen like this, and Mason is almost ashamed that he’s here to witness it.

Her blond hair is astray, makeup smudged, and her blue eyes are unfocused, like she’s been drinking. And, in the most shocking turn of events, she seems to be dressed in something dare he say comfortable. Well-worn silken pajamas that are not intended for company surround her slim frame, and she adjusts her shawl to hide the worn parts.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You didn’t answer my calls. Or my letters.”

“They say that a non-answer is in fact an answer.”

“Are you going to suffer my good intentions or are you going to leave me standing out here like an unwanted caller?”

“The latter is certainly tempting. But fine. Come in.”

The interior of her apartment isn’t any better. Various papers are strewn about. Trays with half-drunk tea or various other debris lie scattered.

“Where’s Brinkworth?”

“On vacation. I gave him the week off.” He gathers one tray, and she shoots him a look. “Don’t. That’s precisely where I want it.” She then immediately shifts topic. “Where’s your errand boy?”

“Working. Where I should be instead of trying to make sure you haven’t thrown yourself off the deep end.” He continues gathering trays, and she doesn’t stop him. “You look awful, Gert.”

“Flatterer.” Her face sours, and she gathers some papers. “Gunther won’t let me see him.”

“What? But you two—”

“I went down to the prison and was told that I was not an allowed visitor. And then I received a letter saying that he didn’t want me to keep waiting for him, or devote all my time to his defense.” Papers scatter from her hands and she slams her fists down in frustration, unable to avoid the crack in her voice. “After everything I did to—”

Mason’s trays join the papers on the coffee table and he sits next to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. It’s not the person she wants to be holding her, but he can stand in as a suitable substitute. “I’m sorry, Gert. But I also can’t say he’s wrong. No one knows better than us how hard you worked to get Gunther out from under Archeron’s thumb. But in the end, you couldn’t save him from himself.”

Gertie huffs. “I don’t know what to do now. If I’m not trying to get him out of prison then …”

Mason pauses, before picking up a calling card off the table. “What’s this?”

“O’Rourke gave them my name. Says they’re looking to form an organization to crack down on magical corruption. An excellent use for my particular set of skills.”

Mason nods slowly. “Maybe you should pay them a visit. See if it is something you’d be interested in.” Gertie frowns up at him and he explains. “You need to do something for you for a change.”

Gertie pauses, considering. “If I do, will you try to convince Gunther to at least let me see him.”

“I will drop by and see if I can ferret out something reasonable. But you need to actually make progress. Deal?”

She sighs before nodding. “You drive a hard bargain.”

He smiles before tucking her in closer. “If you go get cleaned up, I’ll take you to lunch at that spot you love? How does that sound.”

She glances up with the barest of smiles and nods. It’s not perfect, but for now it will do.

“You’re still here?”

Mason glances up at her with a grin. He knows the cue she gave him to leave when she left to go file her paperwork. His choosing to ignore it should be expected, but apparently Jo isn’t here to play today.

“I thought we could go for a nightcap.”

Jo arches an eyebrow before shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you, and a nightcap is never a nightcap. It also becomes more nightcaps, and then dancing and then me waking up in the park at sunrise, unsure of how I got there.”

Mason pauses before pointing back at her. “But you can’t say you didn’t have fun?”

“No, I can’t. Because I don’t remember most of it.” She rolls her eyes. “Not tonight, Mason.”

“C’mon, Jo. Just one drink. I swear I will make sure you make it home to your intended destination.”

Jo holds his gaze for a moment, then sighs heavily. “One drink?”

“Just one.”

“No dancing?”

“Only if the sober mood strikes us.” He grins at her.

“You also buy dinner.”

“Done. I know a great place right around the corner from here.”

She pushes up to her feet and takes his arm. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“I make no promises in either direction.”

* * * * *

Mason wakes up with an uncomfortable taste in his mouth and a crick in his back, rubbing his eyes to make the pain of the light go away. With each blink, things seem to come blearily into focus, and he realizes that he’s sprawled on the couch in his hotel room.

He doesn’t remember how he got there.

His head whirls around the room, and eventually his eyes land on the bed, where Jo’s sprawled widthwise across it, still in her suit, and out cold. Relief surges through him. He at least held up the end of the bargain, where she doesn’t wind up in the park again. The problem is, he’s not sure how.

There’s a knock at the bedroom door and Jo jerks awake, hand going to her waist where he imagines her gun usually is, before she lets out a whimper of pain at the sudden light and buries her face in the comforter. “What? Where?”

“My hotel room.” Then to the door he says: “Come in!”

Virgil pushes the door open and offers them both an amused smirk. “You two look like hell. I brought you some recovery aids.”

“Bless you.” He reaches for the water first, and Jo inches closer to the bed so she can grab the cup of coffee.

“Virgil, how?” She hasn’t quite recovered enough for articulate sentences, but he answers all the same.

“Mason called me, said that if he hadn’t returned to our suite in two hours that you’d gotten carried away. He asked me to come retrieve you and ensure you made it back to the hotel safe.”

As he talks, the conversation bubbles up in his mind and he takes a few more sips of the water before nodding. “I owe you a raise.”

“That you do. But you said it would be worth it for the detective to not wake up with sticks in her hair.”

“You are a gentleman and a scholar.” Jo sips her coffee, her shoulders slowly relaxing. “Thank you.”

Virgil steps back out again to order them breakfast, and Mason glances over to her. “See? This wasn’t so bad.”

Jo grumbles. “Next time, we have lunch. There are no nightcaps at lunch.”

Mason laughs, before wincing as his hangover objects. “Deal.”

Edited 2025-05-26 13:28 (UTC)

Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.

Tristan Moore stares at the last line she has written and wills herself to believe it’s true. It’s probably fortunate that her husband won’t be staring her in the face as he processes her request, but she knows he will listen. He will do as he asks. He will protect their children as she throws their safety away. With so many unknowns laid out ahead of her, that her husband will keep their family safe is the one thing she can rely on.

She looks down at the blood spattered across her armor, and knows that as much as she would wish it, there is no other way.

Tristan seals the letter, placing it in the harness of one of the carrier birds and sending it off toward their home. She then moves to take another bird off its perch and sends another letter towards the sea. If she’s going to do this, betray everything she’s ever known, she’s going to need help. Raff will answer the call. She owes Tristan that much. Best to be prepared either way.

Caliphan’s voice echoes in her head as she makes her way down the stone stairs. Find out which one is the oracle and eliminate the spare. He’s made no bones about her defying him if she chooses another path. Part of her isn’t sure she can commit to what he asks of her, while what remains is simply screaming.

The problem is, she knows which is the spare. It’s easy to figure out if you spend any kind of time with the twins, which the Emperor hasn’t. What use has he for his half-siblings-in-law unless they’ve had some kind of vision of the future?

But Tristan knows. Tristan trained them both. Only one of them moves, not with anticipation but with a certainty of where the blows will come from. Never moving to block or dodge, but to place themselves elsewhere. It’s a subtle distinction few would notice, but there’s nothing Tristan knows better than combat. She can tell the difference.

Moving through the palace, she pauses outside one bedroom when she hears footsteps inside. Soon, the door opens and Oliver Tannenbaum slips out, tall and spindly, and meets her eyes with concern.

“Have you figured it out yet?”

He shakes his head. “No idea. Some kind of alchemy. I can’t figure out how he’s giving it to her. I handle all her food, and as far as I know, she’s been given no extra tinctures.”

Tristan’s eyes close. “Damn.”

“Why? Has he ordered something?” The tension in his voice gives away that if Tristan were anyone else, he would have her by the shoulders, shaking out answers. “Are you to kill her?”

“Not her.” Tristan’s jaw sets before she looks up at him again. “He wants me to determine which twin is the actual oracle and kill the other. Apparently, the ruse that they need each other and that the power resides between them is no longer working.”

Oliver’s face turns grave and she frowns.

“What? What do you know?”

“I’ve heard rumor that the court alchemist is working on a tincture. One that place the oracle into a state that will force a vision.”

Tristan doesn’t know enough about magic to do the math, but she knows enough about oracles to know that it isn’t ideal. “Isn’t that dangerous? Once the oracle speaks the prophecy, it becomes true.”

“I think the Emperor will take that risk, so long as he’s only asking about the truth of his enemies.”

Tristan’s eyes drop to the rug, staring at the intricate pattern beneath her as she weighs her options. She doesn’t have many. One, she kills the spare twin. Two, she steals both of them and tries to make her escape without the guards catching them. Three—

She’s not sure there’s an option three.

“Might I suggest you follow through with His Imperial Majesty’s request?” She can hear the remorse in his voice, but that doesn’t make his question any easier. Her eyes flash up, anger flaring as she meets his gaze.

“They’re children, Oliver.”

“And your children are the ones who will pay the price if you don’t, Tristan. It is a cold calculus, but we need time. Time to figure out what he’s done to Talia and how to reverse it. She is our only chance of deposing him.”

“Talia wouldn’t want us to kill one of them for her sake.” Even saying the words, Tristan can’t be entirely certain they’re true. The Empress had a certain amount of fondness for her half-siblings, but she could be as ruthless as they come when the moment called for it. Would she sacrifice a child if it would save her own life?

Oliver glances back at the door, and she could see the uncertainty in his expression. He knows Talia better than any of them. He’s loved her longer, kept her confidences. Tristan lets the silence grow between them, demanding that he find an answer despite the urge to beat it into him. Eventually he sighs, before turning back to her again.

“You’re right. But that doesn’t change that we need time, Tristan.”

Tristan nods before looking down at the blood on her armor again. If nothing else, it seems to strengthen her resolve with what needs to be done. “Then I’ll buy us time.”

Tristan changes out of her bloody armor before making her way to the twins, opting for something lighter and quieter than her usual breastplate. The leather armor adds speed to her step as she makes her way to the twins’ room and quietly lets herself in the door. They both look up in surprise from their chess board, blinking at her with wide eyes. She stares into their young faces, not even fifteen years-old, and she knows that killing either of them isn’t an option. It never could be.

“We need to leave.”

They both blink at her again, more surprise coloring their features, and she sighs.

“The two of you aren’t safe here any longer. We need to get you both away from the Emperor.”

“Tristan,” Kira begins cautiously, “are you sure about this?”

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” Saying it out loud feels infinitely harder, and possibly a little desperate. These children’s lives are in her hands. If she doesn’t know what she’s doing, then there’s no way they survive this.

“Do you?” Kira’s always been the more realistic of the two. It makes sense that she’s the one questioning Tristan now. “Because what you’re suggesting sounds a lot like treason. And trust me, while I’m not exactly opposed, I want to make sure you know what it means for you.”

“I don’t care.” That’s wrong, she cares. But she doesn’t care enough to override what she feels she needs to do here. “The new Emperor, he’s … it’s not the same. And I can’t let him do to either of you what he did to Talia. What he plans to do to the Oracle once he finds out who they are.”

“He doesn’t know,” Asheron protests, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That’s what this whole charade has been for this entire time.”

“Yeah, and he’s gotten impatient. He’s ordered me to determine which one of you is the Oracle and execute the other.”

Both children go still, trying to process that information. Kira comes out of it first, and Tristan recognizes the look on her face from their training: calculating and looking for angles of escape or flaws in the existing plan. “How does that get him what he wants?”

“It eliminates another heir and allows him to foretell when his enemies are coming for him.”

“He should know that I won’t give him a single vision if he kills my sister.” Asheron’s anger is nearly palpable. He doesn’t hide the truth of him from her, now when it comes down to lives on the line. Or maybe he suspects that Tristan already knew the truth. “How will he know if he’s being told the truth?”

“Oliver Tannenbaum says he’s been cooking something up with the court alchemist. Something to increase the potency of your visions and not allow for any … subterfuge.”

Both their faces pale, and again, Kira snaps to attention first. “We have to go. We can’t allow him to have access to that kind of power.”

“No,”

“No?!” Kira turns on her brother with fury in her voice. “Alright, fine. At least let Tristan take you. I can stay here and play fake oracle instead.”

“No, that’s insane.” Tristan doesn’t know if she’ll be able to swing getting both of them out, but she knows for sure that if she leaves a decoy behind, it won’t end well for her. “He’ll kill you the second he finds out you’re the wrong twin.”

“He can’t. Then he has no leverage to bring Ash back. Besides, Ash has already seen how I die.”

Tristan’s feels that statement sink into her stomach like a stone. She doesn’t want him to make anything about Kira’s potential death true and she can feel herself holding her breath as Asheron opens his mouth to speak.

“I have. It’s not tonight. And Kira’s plan is the right one—” Kira’s fist rises into the air in victory before Asheron continues. “—but for the wrong twin.”

Kira wheels on her brother, eyes flashing with betrayal. “I can’t leave you here.”

“You have to.”

“You’re what he wants! If I leave, there will be no one here to protect you.”

“I’ll figure it out. But if you stay here, you die, and if you try to get both of us out, Tristan will.”

“I’m okay with that,” Tristan interjects, without even thinking twice. “That’s my job.”

“You have children,” he points out, and she shakes her head.

“I’m a soldier. That was always part of the deal.” She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Carver will take care of them. He’s already moving them somewhere safe so that the Emperor can’t find them when this is done.”

Asheron, however, does not seem convinced. “They still need you, and Kira is going to need you to get her somewhere safe so that she can disappear. Taking me will not help you.” Asheron glances between both of them, knowing that this is something neither of them want but what has to happen. There’s a moment where Tristan can see in his bearing that of his mother, the previous oracle, when she’s issuing a command. “You haven’t seen the future. I have. So will you trust I know what I’m doing, too?”

Tristan nods slowly, before stepping back and moving to watch the door. “I’ll be waiting at the door. Take some time to say goodbye, but we don’t have much.” Even as she eyes the hallway, she can still pick up the soft tones of their conversation from afar.

“We will be together again. We will find each other and we will have a life free of this place. But I need you to trust me and go with Tristan now, understand?”

“I don’t like this.”

“None of us do. But it is what must be.”

“Now you sound like Mom.”

“I better. I’m taking her place.”

Tristan’s heart clenches when she hears how Kira’s voice breaks as she continues. “You keep your necklace on you at all times, so I can reach you whenever I need to.”

“I will.”

“And you’ll be careful with how much you tell him.”

“I’ll try.”

Footsteps pick up in the hallway and Tristan tenses, a hand on her sword. “Kira, if we’re doing this, we have to go now.”

Kira breaks away from her brother, pulling on a cloak and some other necessities, before moving to stand next to Tristan. “Okay, okay. What’s the plan?”

Tristan takes a deep breath and nods as she pulls the young girl into the shadows. “Let’s go.”

The servant corridor stretches off the side of the twins’ room, winding like a spiderweb throughout the inner walls of the palace. They are made for expedience, allowing servants to carry meals or other needed items throughout the palace more directly, but the Emperor has become insistent as of late that servants remain inconspicuous. The small globes of witch light increase in frequency the closer they get to a hub of activity, like the kitchen or the laundry rooms, and eventually they’re going to get caught.

“Run this by me again?” Kira asks again, trying to keep her voice low. Tristan doesn’t mind explaining herself again. It keeps them both focused, and ensures that Kira knows the plan, in case the two of them get separated.

“An old friend is waiting for us in the harbor. Her ship will provide us safe passage to another port so we can meet up with another old friend who will take your somewhere safe.” Tristan keeps her eyes straight ahead, pausing and listening at each of the invisible entrances. “What you do after that is up to you.” She lets that sink in, and when Kira’s expression spirals, Tristan draws the young girl back into the matter at hand. “Where’s our best exit?”

Tristan asks as though it’s one of their training sessions, and this isn’t a life-or-death escape. Kira calms, her expression relaxing as she searches for the answer.

“Probably the ballrooms.”

“Why?”

“This late into the evening, any parties or events have likely ended, giving the staff plenty of time to clean before they resume business in the morning. So, the rooms are likely dark and have plenty of doors to leave from.”

Tristan nods, considering, but as they head towards one of the narrow stairwells, looking to make their way down to the ballroom, they hear the gruff voice of one guard: “One twin has escaped. She may be still in the castle. Find her, now!”

“And there goes our hopes for a quiet exit.” Tristan draws her blade, before picking up speed and moving faster down the stairs. Her steps slow as they reach the entrance to the ballroom, taking in the obstacles ahead.

Darkness shrouds the ballroom, as Kira predicted, but a camphoric scent bursts through the air, as baubles of witch light appear hovering around the heads of the guards as they move to search the room. Tristan places a finger to her lips before pointing toward the balconies. All they have to do is get themselves over the edge and into the gardens without being noticed. Kira nods, falling in behind her on quiet steps and inching along the back wall.

Globules of light continue to float through the air, and the searching guards are keeping quiet, alert to any sounds of escape. Kira moves on cat’s feet, but even with the lighter leather travel armor Tristan wears, stealth isn’t her strong suit. Fighters like Tristan intend to plow through obstacles, not sneak around them, so it’s only a matter of time before her boot scuffs against the ballroom’s polished marble, and all the movement in the ballroom falls silent.

The witch light flies forward and illuminates both of their faces. Footsteps shuffle closer, and when the guards come into view, Tristan can’t help but tense. The guards know that Kira “escaped.” They haven’t realized yet that Tristan is the one who helped her.

“Captain,” one guard, Devon, says with a smile. “You found her. What a relief.”

Tristan looks back at them, before glancing over at Kira. Tristan knows that this is her men, but part of her that’s still loyal wars with itself as she tries to decide how to play this. These are her men. She trained them, worked with them. She thinks of nights shooting the shit in taverns and battlefields standing side by side. Tristan knows these men like she knows the back of her own hand, knows each of their names, and now knows that she’ll have to betray them in order to do what she thinks is right.

Tristan tries to ignore the betrayal in their eyes as she shifts her stance and lifts her sword. “No,” she says, “Not exactly.”

Tristan backhands Stephen, the guard closest to her, using the hilt of her sword for extra weight. He drops to the ground as Devon and Marianne, the third, get their swords up and charge. Tristan parries both their swords, losing track of Kira. All she can focus on are the blades in front of her. Two more slices push them back from her, when suddenly Stephen drops to a kneeling position. Kira’s face appears over his shoulder and Tristan lunges to stop her before the dagger comes down.

“No!”

A warring moment hangs between the two of them. They’re escaping, but Tristan won’t kill the people she’s betraying. Eventually, the teenager huffs in agreement, before flipping the dagger to the hilt and slamming that into his temple instead.

He stumbles forward, dazed, and the witch lights flicker. Kira arches an eyebrow before turning to bring her knee up against the man’s face. The ballroom plunges into darkness. Tristan slams a fist into Marianne’s face and the final guard drops.

There’s an exit. But she can also hear the rapidly approaching boots from more guards, looking to cut off their escape.

“Time to go.” Kira grabs the straps of Tristan’s armor, dragging her backwards towards the edge of the balcony.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Tristan finally asks. She knows she agreed to this exit, but she’s never been good with high jumps.

“I make jumps like this all the time.” Kira glances back at her with a smirk. “Don’t you trust me?”

Tristan swallows, then nods. She takes a breath, then closing her eyes and preparing to haul herself over the side. “Yeah, okay. Three, two—”

She barely manages not to scream as Kira yanks her over the edge of the railing and into the darkness.

It’s a quick drop from the balcony to the ground, buffeted by some shrubbery that provides a prickly but safe landing. Tristan, unfortunately, is not graceful, and flails a bit in the dismount, landing in a heap on the ground, while Kira lands in a graceful tumble before pushing herself back up on her feet.

“Pull yourself together. We gotta go.”

“Sorry, not all of us can be acrobatic ballerinas.”

Shouts from the balcony above try to rouse another team of guards into the garden. Tristan pushes herself to her feet, scanning over the shadows of the garden.

“What’s our way out?”

She can see the moment she says it that Kira may not have an answer to that question—or maybe more that things have become real. They’ve reached the bounds of her knowledge based on her cloistered palace existence and she may know the answer.

“The maze?” Kira glances over to Tristan, the look on her face hoping for it being the right answer. “It’ll at least give us a place to hide.”

Not the best exit, but with boots slamming on the steps nearby, they have little choice. Tristan takes Kira by the arm and heads towards the hedges. “It’ll work for now.”

Darkness shrouds them as they weave their way through the high walls, trying to move as quietly as possible. Tristan’s grip on her arm loosens, but doesn’t completely go away, wanting to guide through the twists and turns of the maze without them getting lost. For a while, it appears they may get somewhere. If they can make it to the back wall, and can get over it, maybe they actually stand a chance.

Kira’s arm wrenches from Tristan’s grasp. Tristan whirls on her feet, drawing her sword when her eyes meet those responsible, and she freezes. She kicks herself for not seeing the shadows of the gryphon flying overhead, but how could she when everything is shadows?

A soft sound, a mix between a coo and a purr, emanates from Iris, and Kira also freezes, not sure what else to do. When being held by a gryphon, you don’t want to give them a reason to take flight.

“Captain.”

Tristan’s eyes float back to the rider sitting in the saddle and she faces her worst-case scenario.

“Sebastian.”

Sebastian Vale, Tristan’s latest protégé, is a problem. Not only because with human versus gryphon, a gryphon is far more likely to come out on top. Iris is one of the fastest in the fleet. She already has Kira in her grasp. But also, Sebastian is just a kid, barely old enough to be joining the guard, and one that Tristan both cares about deeply and knows all too well. Sebastian’s loyalty is just as strong as hers, and he will give his life for his orders and Tristan doesn’t think she can bring herself to kill him.

They’re sunk.

“Why are you trying to escape with one of the oracles?”

Tristan can’t help her smirk. “You always were a smart kid.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” The conflict in his voice is evident. Tristan is his mentor, and she’s working against the Emperor. He’s being torn between two loyalties. Tristan knows the feeling all too well. She observes him as Sebastian slides down from his saddle, staying just within the shelter of Iris’s wings.

“Because she’s not actually an oracle. And if she remains in the palace, the Emperor will discover that and have her killed.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I know too much.” Kira twists ever so slightly, trying to get a glimpse at Sebastian’s face from where she’s held. “Because I know what’s really going on with the actual Empress, and because he can’t control Asheron if I’m here to protect him.”

Tristan takes the opening offered to her: “Kira doesn’t deserve to die for any of those things. I just want to protect her. Take her somewhere safe where the Emperor can’t find her.”

She studies Sebastian’s face, and while his voice is cold as he speaks, she can see the intense scrutiny. The weighing between what he’s been ordered to do and what his gut tells him is right.

“Is that worth what it will cost you?”

“Fuck you, Sebastian.” Kira struggles in earnest, trying to wriggle herself out of Iris’ grip. “Iris, put me down! I need him to ask that question to my face.”

“Kira.” Tristan’s tone admonishes her, but she doesn’t stop.

“No. He doesn’t get to imply that I shouldn’t get to live so that you can continue furthering your career. I’m a person, not some trophy that the Emperor keeps in his vault.”

“Iris, drop her.”

Obediently, the gryphon releases her, and Kira drops gracefully to the ground. She should run, but she doesn’t. Instead, she moves just past the edge of the beautiful gryphon, in all her gray-scale feathered glory, to stare defiantly at Sebastian from behind Tristan’s shoulder.

“Ask again what my life is worth.”

Sebastian meets her gaze, intense dark eyes boring into hers. Something flickers across his face when he finally looks away, turning his focus to his mentor. He squares his shoulders, and Tristan knows what her next move is going to have to be. “I can’t let you go.”

Tristan nods, taking a step closer, moving towards “I know.”

“And you will not allow Kira to return.”

“No, I can’t.”

“So you see, we are at an impasse.”

“We are. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“This.” Her fist comes up quickly, taking him by surprise when the hilt of her sword collides with the side of his head. He tries to recover, hand fumbling towards his sword, but she swings again quickly. Sebastian drops to the ground, unconscious.

Iris makes a cry of surprise, moving to get into a defensive position in front of Sebastian. Shouts sound further back in the maze, and Tristan grips Kira’s arm to pull her further into the maze. Kira follows without a word.

When they reach the palace walls, an overstretched tree provides a simple escape up and over. Once their feet land on the other side, there are numerous shadows with which to disappear. Tristan leads the way for Kira, keeping that firm hand on her arm as they move through the streets and alleys of the surrounding city. Eventually the alley breaks open and they can take a breath of the fresh salt air of the ocean.

Soldiers crawl across the imperial docks, searching ships for stowaways, but Tristan’s eyes aren’t on any of them. A familiar two-mast brigantine ship sits shadowed against the horizon and she breathes a sigh of relief. Raff’s here. That at least is one part of the plan down. They just have to make it to the ship. Tristan raises her hand to signal the ship, and suddenly, the fog rolls in. The billowing clouds obscure them from view—but also hide the soldiers from theirs. Pirates always love their dramatics.

She takes Kira’s wrist again and leads her forward. “Stay close and stay quiet,” she whispers, and Kira does as she’s told, following the captain with as much quiet as she can muster. The loud clanking of soldier’s boots echo through the clouds, and they do their best to avoid them, but a few collide with Tristan’s fist or the hilt of Kira’s dagger when they come out of the roiling shadows.

They’re about halfway to the dock and Tristan can almost see the light at the edge of the shore. Before she can turn to convey that, a scream from Kira splits the air behind her.

“Tristan!”

Tristan whirls, fists up, and she can just barely make out a guard holding a dagger to Kira’s throat as he holds her against his chest.

“Hello Captain.”

She recognizes the voice, even if she can’t fully see his face. “Hello, Sergeant.” Sergeant Harold Robeson is the man who believes he probably should have her job. He’s likely relishing this. “I need you to let her go.”

“Ah, ah. I think I control this scenario.” He keeps Kira close, blade precariously pressing against her throat. Him not knowing whether she’s actually the oracle is probably the one thing Tristan has in her favor. She just has to play it to her advantage.

“What do you want, Harold?”

“Oh, you know what I want.”

“Seems like you’ve already gotten that.” Tristan holds up her hands. “Let’s not harm the Oracle in the process.”

He seems to startle at Kira being called by the title, and it gives Tristan just enough of an opening. Her fist lashes forward, cracks against the cartilage of his nose. The man stumbles backwards, providing just enough room for Kira to slip free.

“Run!” Tristan orders. “Head for the shore!”

The girl disappears. Tristan draws her sword just in time to bring it up to catch Harold’s blade with a clang. Her knees buckle slightly on the slippery surface but she shoves him backwards. She swings again, refusing to let him keep her on the defensive.

Harold refuses to waste an opportunity. He comes at her hard and fast, blade sliding against hers as they struggle in the fog. Her heart pounds in her chest with each blow. This won’t be as easy as knocking out the other guards. With each song of steel against steel, she can feel a rock settling into her stomach. She can feel her resolve beginning to crumble that she would be able to make it out of this without blood on her hands. She wonders if Asheron was right, and this is the only way she and Kira would survive. She—

Blood splits the air as Harold’s blade draws across her side.

Tristan twists away to keep it from going deeper, but pain radiates through her. All her swirling thoughts disappear in a haze of needing to survive. He gloats, her blood dripping from the edge of his blade, and it provides her the opportunity she needs.

She spins, and her blade slices across his throat, opening a second smile underneath his chin. The blood flows quickly, splattering across her and it takes a moment of coming back to herself to realize what she’s done.

“Oh gods.” She lets her sword drop, not wanting it in her hand anymore. “Harold, I—”
He can’t respond. He can only gurgle as the last few breaths before his eyes go blank. She releases a shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are barely a whisper, before she turns and follows after Kira, heading to the shore.

The clouds part when she reaches the edge of the water and a small dinghy rocks against the waves with two sailors sitting in it. Caliban’s eyes are clouded over, hands poised as it’s clear they’re controlling the fog cloud, while the Wren is settling Kira on the boat. Tristan’s mind spins, unsure if she can go with them, given what she’s just done. Kira needs to be safe.

She’ll figure everything else out after.

“Quickly now. That spell only holds for so long.”

Wren reaches a hand out to Tristan next and she shakes her head. “I’m going to find another way off the island.”

“You’re not coming?”

The panic in Kira’s voice is clear, but Tristan can’t relent. She knows that this is the right call.
“They’ll be looking for both of us together. It’ll be safer if we split up for now. Raff knows exactly where to take you, and I will meet you there in two weeks.” Tristan reaches out a hand to Kira, and Kira takes it, squeezing it back as hard as she can. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Kira wavers, but nods. There’s no time to debate and she knows it. Instead, she pushes her dagger into Tristan’s hand. “Since you lost your sword.”

Tristan nods, sliding it into her belt, before looking back at the sailors. “Remind Raff that she owes me. And if Kira doesn’t make it to the commune safely, I’m taking back her ship.”

Wren smirks. “Will do. We’ll provide you as much cover as we can.”

Tristan turns and head back into the clouds, but stays towards the edge of it. She waits until the dinghy is fully set off from shore, before heading into the shadows of town and breaking into the trees. She needs an opportunity to patch herself up. She needs to gather some resources and find her own way off this island.

But for now, Kira is safe. That’s a job well done enough for one day.

Edited 2025-05-26 23:02 (UTC)

She sees the car almost as soon as she reaches the Daylight and everything about it tells her not to tempt fate. A 1967 Chevy Impala, well-loved, hums at the gas station pump and it sings to her with miles of unspent power. It’s like music to a hitcher’s ears, but she can also see it for the trap it is. Mixed in with the road dust is rock salt and gopher dust and all the other hunter calling cards that come with it.

Still. It’s so pretty. She can’t help but tempt fate, just a little. Especially when she catches the driver coming out of the mini-mart and is probably the most good-looking man she’s attempted to hitch a ride with in a while.

Why do hunters have to be pretty? She’ll never know, but it’s a cruel twist of fate she can’t help herself.

“Hey, handsome. Going my way?”

He glances over, eyebrow raising, as his eyes rake over her—not lecherous, but appreciative. She raises an eyebrow in return, and he grins.

“Sure thing.”

He probably should know better with picking up hitchhikers, but apparently he can’t help but tempt fate either.

“I’m Dean.” He takes in her tank top and cut-off jeans and the early spring chill in the air and he sheds his outer jacket. “Pretty cold out here for you to be all on your own in that getup.”

She takes the jacket with a grateful expression, slipping it around her shoulders and allowing herself to become solid once again. If he notices the shift, he says nothing, just tips his head back towards the car.

“Rose. My boyfriend ditched me. I’m just trying to get off this highway.”

“Sounds like a pretty shitty boyfriend.”

“Yes, well, once I find him, he will no longer be my boyfriend.”

He smirks. “Good plan.” He then tips his head back towards the car and she follows his lead, opening the passenger side door and doing a cursory glance over the door to make sure there were no tricks or traps. The Impala’s door hums with approval under her hand and once she’s satisfied it’s safe, she slides onto the well-worn leather seat with a happy sigh.

“Great car,” she comments, running her hand over the leather, and at that, a wide smile bursts across Dean’s face.

“Yeah, she’s my baby.” He runs his hand over the steering wheel with a fondness that could make a girl jealous. She has a feeling that while Dean had no trouble with women, it would be hard out ranking the car in his heart. She wouldn’t even want to try.

Then again, she was dead, so he probably wouldn’t want her to, anyway.

The few hours or so fade to casual conversation, simple getting to know you stuff that’s honestly the fun part. She can make up whatever she wants because odds are she’s never going to see Dean again, and she can just sink into the rustle and rumble of the car beneath her. The road is her favorite place to be, and honestly, she would let Dean drive her forever, just because it seemed to be his favorite place to be, too.

She wonders, briefly, if there’s a phantom rider somewhere in there, a boy and his car, unable to be separated in the afterlife any more than they could be in the land of the living. But these are thoughts she keeps to herself. At least for now. Especially when Dean says her next favorite phrase:

“You hungry?”

She perks up with a nod as she sees a diner approaching in the distance. “Starving.”

It’s not until twenty minutes later, when he’s nudging the burger, fries and milkshake across the table to her, that he lets the hammer fall.

“You know, you’re not what I expected?”

Rose can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the question as she reaches for her milkshake to take a sip. “You expect something of hitchhikers you pick up on the side of the road?”

“I expect something of the Phantom Prom Date.”

The milkshake immediately curdles in her mouth as she looks up at him, trying to judge where this line of questioning is going. He doesn’t seem agitated or angry. If anything, he seems amused at the way she immediately goes on her guard.

“What?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “You thought you were going to get into a hunter’s car and pull one over on him?”

“I figured if a hunter knew who I was, I wouldn’t be getting in their car. I’d be getting trapped in a spirit jar.”

“Alright, fair.” He reaches for one of his own fries and pops it in his mouth as he continues to speak. “There’s been quite a few sightings of you in this area. I’ve been driving around for days trying to see if I could catch you. I stop for gas, and suddenly, there you are.” He grins. “If I knew all it took was a handsome face, I would have spent less on gas.”

She laughs. “Wasn’t the handsome face, though that sure didn’t hurt. It was more the car than anything else.”

The fondness crosses his expression again as he glances out the window towards the Impala, and she places the milkshake down on the table in front of her. He doesn’t seem hostile, but she can’t help but feel like there’s still a trap she has to dance around the edges of to ensure that she could continue into the twilight. Maybe she should just take off the coat and disappear, but she has a feeling if Dean was actually a threat, she would be in said spirit jar by now.

“So if it’s not to trap me or to end me, what exactly are you looking for, Dean?”

“Answers, I guess.” Dean tips his head to the side as he watches her. “You’re seen at all these accidents, but we’ve been driving for hours and nothing. If you wanted to kill me, you could have done so easily. But you didn’t. And no new vengeful spirits pop up from any of your wrecks.”

“Cuz I’m not a killer.” She tentatively reaches for her food, swirling one fry in ketchup. “I’m a psychopomp.”

“So the poor saps are already dead.”

“I just make sure they can safely make it where they need to go. Not all hitchers are psychopomps, though. Most of them just want a ride and to play at being alive for a little while.”

“Mmm.” He eyes her carefully. “So what? You hop in a car and you’re a real girl for the ride?”

“Not exactly.” She chomps down on the fry before lifting the collar of his jacket with her free hand. “A coat or a jacket freely given makes me a real girl for a little while. Same with the food. If it’s given by a member of the living, it tastes like real food. And when I’m done, I just take off the coat and go back to the Twilight.”

“Twilight—is that ghost town?”

“It’s one layer of the afterlife, yeah. All this—” She gestures to the surrounding diner. “—we call the Daylight. And then there are layers after that, but Twilight is where the ghosts who still reach for the living are hanging out.”

“Huh.”

“And I’m not saying that there aren’t spirits that are dangerous. There are. But I’m not one of them.”

Dean nods again, processing that, before beginning to dig into his burger in earnest. Rose takes it as a sign that the interrogation portion of this conversation is over and digs into her own. She then notices as Dean glances down, his eyes raking over the slim line of her legs and almost as though she can see the wheels in his head turning—

“How real are you with that jacket?”

Rose can’t help it. She grins. “Wanna find out?”

Edited 2025-05-27 14:15 (UTC)

“Uh, Dean?”

Dean glances up from the phone in his hand, following the line of Sam’s gaze until it lands on his car. Reclining on the hood, one leg crossed in over the other and leaning back like she’s taking in the sun, Dean knows full well she can’t feel—at least not until she borrows a coat. Still, seeing Rose is like a breath of fresh air after a long run of badness and misery, and he can’t help the smile that stretches across his face.

She turns at the sound of the motel door closing, and flashes him a smile of her own. “Hey, handsome. You going my way?”

“Always,” he replies, shrugging out of one of his layers as he makes his way closer. “What brings you by?”

She shrugs, taking the shirt from him and sliding it over her shoulders. He’s getting better at seeing it now, the distinctions between when she’s real and when she’s not. But as soon as she’s solid, she swings her arms around his shoulders and pulls him in to a hug. He’ll never get over how much she feels like a real girl.

“Getting the itch to wander. Figured I’d make sure one of my favorite hunters hadn’t gotten himself killed doing something stupid.”

“Please. I’m your only favorite hunter.” She opens her mouth to contradict him and he shakes his head. “Those hippies don’t count.”

“The Prices very much do count, thank you very much.” Rose smirks before glancing over his shoulder to where Sam stands behind him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, that’s Sammy. Sammy! Get over here and say hi to Rose.”

“Sam, like your brother Sam?” Rose turns to Sam curiously and only looks up as he gets closer. “You undersold how tall he was.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Dean laughs, before clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Sam, this is my friend Rose.”

“Rose.” He can tell from Sam’s tone that he knows something’s up but can’t quite put his finger on what. Better to let him stew on it for a while.

“Finally nice to put a name to a face,” Rose smiles. “This one talks about you non-stop.”

“Funny. Dean hasn’t mentioned you at all.”

Rose laughs. “I’ll try not to be hurt by that.”

Dean rolls his eyes before gesturing to the car. “Sam and I were about to go grab dinner. You hungry?”

“Always.”

* * * * *

“So Rose, where are you from?”

“Buckley Township, Michigan,” she replies casually, in between bites of her burger. One thing both Dean and Rose agree on is that burgers are one of the best creations of mankind, and she doesn’t like hers to go to waste any more than he does. One thing he likes best about her.

“Is that where you and Dean met? While he was on a job?”

She shakes her head. “I met your brother on the road. He gave me a ride.”

“Technically, the Impala won her over first,” Dean grins, trying to see if his brother is actually circling around the answer. “She knows a good thing when she sees it.”

“That I do.”

“So how’d you find out he was a hunter?”

“He didn’t exactly try to hide it,” Rose shrugs. “That car is basically covered in rock salt.”

“And you got in?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Rose blinks.

“I think we both know why.”

Dean and Rose look at each other. Rose raises an eyebrow and Dean laughs under his breath. “You want to spit out what you’re circling around, Sammy?”

Sam sets his jaw before leaning back in his seat. “I think you’re Rose Marshall.”

“Damn, you’re right.” Rose’s eyes fix on Dean with a smirk. “He is much smarter than he looks.”

Sam, for all his deduction skills, doesn’t see that one coming. He blinks at her, before glancing back to Dean. “You knew?”

“Yeah, dude. I’m not an idiot.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“We wanted to see if you would figure it out,” Dean shrugs. “And Rose prefers not to make a big deal out of things, anyway.”

“Dude. She’s a spirit.”

“She’s a hitcher, Sammy. They’re not the same.”

“All of those accidents—”

“I’m a psychopomp. Correlation does not always equal causation.” Dean glances over at her with a frown and she grins. “Alex taught me that one.”

“Nerd.” Dean takes another sip of his coffee before looking over at his brother. “Rose isn’t hurting anyone, Sammy. Hell, if she was, I probably would have died a long time ago. I’ve been giving her rides for years.”

Sam doesn’t seem like he’s convinced Rose is as harmless as she is, so Dean takes a deep breath before leaning back in his seat. “Is this gonna be a problem?”

“No.” His tone is still unconvinced, but it’s solid. “So how do we know when you’re here because someone’s going to end up dead?”

Rose swallows uncomfortably before shrugging. “Can’t always tell. But usually the closer I get, the more likely I am to be wearing that prom dress I’m so famous for.”

Sam nods, before glancing over to Dean. “Are you sure she’s safe?”

“Yeah, man. Now, will you relax and eat your damn dinner?”

Sam sighs before acquiescing. After their bill is paid and they head back to the car, Rose gives a tug on Dean’s hand, pulling his attention back to her.

“Hey. I can go catch another ride if this isn’t okay.”

“Nah, you’re fine. Sam’ll loosen up.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean meets her gaze, and he knows that she’s offering him an out. That she’d drop his shirt and disappear into the Twilight if it means she doesn’t make things more complicated with his brother. And he appreciates that, but he’s also not going to give her up all the same.

“Who knows when I’ll get to see you again?” He realizes, after he says it, how desperate that sounds. Like he’s a guy in love with a ghost, and that’s never smart for anyone involved. Still, he swallows and squeezes her hand. “I want you to stay. And it’s my car, so I make the rules.”

Rose watches him carefully, before nodding. “Okay.” She then pushes up, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek before pulling out towards the car. “I’ll just have to win him over, then.”

He grins as he follows her. “I have every faith in you.”

Edited 2025-05-29 01:27 (UTC)

Some deaths come on slowly, where Rose doesn’t know quite where she’s headed as she moves from Twilight to Daylight and has time to enjoy being in the land of the living again. This, unfortunately, isn’t one of those times.

This time, it’s almost as though she’s yanked, forced to bear witness. As though something is calling to her, she lands on the side of the road, a heavy silk skirt swirling around her ankles and the sinking sensation that something bad is about to happen. She barely has time to process that the car speeding past her is the Impala, Dean’s Impala, let alone the fact that Sam is the one in the driver’s seat before the demon-driven tractor trailer slams into the side of the car.

She slams a hand over her mouth before the scream that wants to escape can give her away. With ghost versus demon, the demon wins every time. But once the cloud of black smoke escapes the body, and the driver collapses to the ground, she breaks across the twisted wreck of the Impala and peers in the window.

Sam looks pretty beat up, but he’s still breathing. So is the man seated in the passenger’s seat next to him she doesn’t recognize. But in the back—

“Rose?”

The voice comes from behind her and her heart sinks. When she turns to face him, Dean stands in front of her, wearing the same denim overshirt and black t-shirt that he currently wears in the back seat of the Impala, but it’s not covered in blood from chest wounds she doesn’t know how he got.

He doesn’t look past her. Instead, his eyes focus on the swirl of her gown, almost as though he’s remembering conversations about the difference between the harmless hitcher and the psychopomp who’s just here to make sure someone gets home.

“Am I … ?”

“I’m so sorry.” It’s all she can say. If he can’t say the words, how can she? She’s given this speech a hundred times, but it’s rarely ever been to an actual friend. Not in a situation like this.

“What about my dad? Sam?”

The older man’s identity clicks into place and she shakes her head. “No. I think they’re okay.” Almost as though to lend credence to that statement, Sam moves, arm shifting, as he comes back to consciousness.

Dean relaxes at that, before looking back at her. He hasn’t been on this side of the line before, and she knows that there are lots of ways this could go. “So … how do we do this?”

“We—” Her eyes drift past him, and she smiles softly. Of course, his best girl will not let him go alone. “—We take a ride.”

He turns, and something in his shoulders relaxes even further when he sees the Impala sitting on the road behind him. He steps forward, running his hand over the hood with the same fondness he did in life, and looks up at her with surprise.

“She feels real.”

“Cars have ghosts too. When they’re well loved, anyway.”

Something in him is struck by that, and he looks down with a frown. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s not your fault.” Rose makes her way over to the passenger side. He glances up at her and tries to convince himself of that, but it’s not really landing. Instead, he opens the driver’s side door and slides in next to her, keys appearing in his hand without even thinking about it, and he starts the car.

“I don’t know where we’re going.”

“That’s okay. I do.”

* * * * *

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to go.”

Dean sits across from her at the Last Dance Diner, the last place between the world of the almost living and the world of those fully gone. She doesn’t blame him for not wanting to go. He’s twenty-six years-old. He was supposed to have a whole life ahead of him and now all he has is an afterlife.

“That’s okay. I mean, I would be pretty judgy if I said you had to go when I’m still here.”

He gives a half-hearted smirk as he plays with the straw of his milkshake. He’s had it more for comfort than for eating, and she can’t really say she blames him. “What would it look like if I stayed? I wouldn’t go all vengeful, would I?”

“Can’t guarantee that.” Rose won’t lie to him and say she can. “But I know that with your car, you’d probably be a phantom rider. And I’ve known a lot that just spend their time driving.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” He glances over to the Impala sitting outside the window. “Could I give other people rides?”

“If they’re ghosts, yeah.” She leans forward and takes a sip of her own milkshake. “People, maybe not until you’re older.”

Dean nods again, drumming his fingers against the table, but before he can ask his next question, Rose feels a strange sort of twisting in her gut. It must show on her face because Dean’s features shift from morose to concern. “Rose?” he asks. “You alright?”

“I’m not—” is all she gets out before the world turns upside down and she’s yanked away from the diner to somewhere else.

* * * * *

It’s been a long time since she’s been summoned like this. It’s difficult to do. They have to know very specific details about the ghost they’re summoning, and with hitchers that’s hard to nail down. Which is why she isn’t too surprised that when the world rights itself again, she knows exactly who is standing in front of her, shrouded in candles and looking a mix between heartbroken and furious.

“Hi, Sam.”

It’s all she can say. And maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. He must have seen her before the truck hit. He must have recognized the signs. Sam always has been too smart for his own good, at least according to Dean. But Sam isn’t the one that scares her. The one that scares her is John Winchester. Every angle of his body tells her that if she answers even one of their questions wrong, all that waits for her is a spirit jar and a lot of misery.

“Where’s my brother, Rose?”

“Having a milkshake. We were having a chat about his options.” She has no reason to lie to Sam, even though she knows that’s not what he wants to hear.

“Having a milkshake?” John, clearly, is not pleased with her answer, but she and John don’t know each other that well. She’s choosing not to take it personally. “Well, bring him the fuck back.”

“I can’t do that.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, doing her best to hold her ground. “I’d have to go back to the diner, and you have me trapped in here good.” She tips her head to the side. “Besides, even if I do, it won’t change anything.”

“How do you know?”

“Because your son will still be dead.”

Sam’s face crumples like it’s a truth he doesn’t want to face, and he shakes his head. “He doesn’t have to be. My dad says there might be another way—”

“What other way?” Rose turns her focus back to John. “If you’re looking for a deal with the Crossroads, you summoned the wrong ghost.”

“Not the Crossroads. With something else. But it can’t do what I need it to do if—”

“If what?” Rose tips her head to the side curiously. “The only thing other than the Crossroads that can make those kinds of deals are demons.” She then smirks. “Let me guess. Your demon doesn’t want to pick a fight with the Ocean Lady.”

“What’s the Ocean Lady?” Sam looks confused, trying to follow the back and forth of this conversation. But Rose ignores the question, not wanting to stop backing John into a corner.

“The roads have already taken him as one of their own. Don’t take that choice away from him. And don’t make him live with whatever cost you’ll have to pay.”

“I don’t care!” John spits out. “I don’t care, as long as he’s alive.”

“But he’s not.” This isn’t the first time she’s had to talk a loved one off a cliff. She’s never done it successfully, because grief is a bear that no one can wrestle themselves free from, not when they’re in the bargaining stage, the anger stage. “He’s not alive. And you making a deal will not make that better. It just means you’ll probably force them to grieve you instead.”

“What do you know about my grief? You were what? Seventeen, eighteen when you died?” John’s eyes blaze as he leans in to her, placing him between her and his still living son. “You’ve never had a kid. You don’t know what this is like.”

“No, I don’t.” Rose can acknowledge that much. “But—”

Before the conversation can go any further, a familiar rumble-rattle sounds from outside the door. Headlights shine across the windows, and she can feel the hope rising in the room, like something might change for the better, but when the driver moves into the open doorway, it’s clear that this Dean isn’t the Dean they wanted. That the demon hadn’t pulled off his end of the bargain while his minder was distracted. Light slants through him how it does all ghosts and they both can see the way both the living Winchesters’ faces fall.

“Let her out, Dad.”

“Dean. You don’t understand. I’m doing this for you.”

“No, you’re not doing it for me if you’re hurting my friend.”

John grits his death, getting more defensive. “Dean, listen—”

“No, Dad. Listen to me. Do you think I want to be dead? Of course I don’t. But that doesn’t mean we should run around making deals with demons or the Crossroads or whatever else.” Dean stares his father down, until John blinks, because he has to, because he’s alive and Dean’s not. “Let her out. This isn’t Rose’s fault.”

“Are you sure?” Sam’s voice is so quiet, Rose barely hears him, but he asks all the same.

Dean glances over and he nods. “Yeah, Sammy. I’m sure. You two have work to do. And I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”

Sam swallows hard, then nods, before making his way over to break the line on his trap. Suddenly Rose feels like she can breathe again, and she dashes herself out of the range of it, so she doesn’t accidentally slide back in. She steps outside so Dean can say his goodbyes, and soon John and Sam leave.

Dean comes out of the building a few minutes later, and she tips her head to the side.

“Hey handsome,” she says softly. “Going my way?”

Dean swallows, then nods as he moves to the driver’s side of the Impala. As they both slide into the seat, Dean reaches over and takes her hand. He says nothing else, so she just holds his hand as they slip back over into the Twilight.

It’ll take some time until things are okay. But for right now, all they have to do is drive.

Edited 2025-05-30 12:50 (UTC)

Buffy’s closet seems to have exploded all over her bed.

She stares at the empty cavern where all her clothes used to be, before throwing her hands up in the air with a sigh. “Why do I have nothing to wear?”

Somewhere in the house, Faith laughs. “If you’re really put out, I’m sure I have something you can borrow, B.”

Buffy wrinkles her nose before shaking her head. “No offense, but anything you have that will fit me might give him the wrong idea.”

Faith’s curious expression peers around the doorframe. “It’s a date. You should be all about giving him the wrong idea.”

Buffy tips her head to the side, before shaking her head. “I don’t want totally wrong ideas. I want … little sprinklings of possibly wrong ideas.” She picks up one of the already rejected dresses and holds it up to her frame in the mirror. “Just enough wrong ideas to keep things interesting, but not so much that I’m giving my answer away before he even asks the question.”

“You make this way too complicated.” Faith shakes her head. “He’s hot. He gets you hot. In this town, vampires may kill either of you tomorrow, so why waste time?”

Buffy can’t say that Faith doesn’t have a valid point—mostly with the last part. But she can’t help but feel as though she needs to take things with Matt a little more slowly than she has in the past. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone, let alone a human. I want to take things a little slow. Who knows, maybe Matt is a take things slow kind of guy?”

“He’s a teenage boy. None of them are taking things slow kinds of guys,” Faith points out bluntly, before moving over to the pile of clothes on the bed and shuffling through until she pulls up a cute blue sundress. “This one. It shows enough leg to be tempting, and because I know you, it matches his eyes.” She says the last bit in a tone intended to mock her.

Buffy, predictably, snatches it forward and turns to study it in the mirror. “It does! You are a genius.”

“You make me want to puke,” Faith teases, before backing away from the bedroom door. “Now get dressed before I wind up going on your date instead.”

What follows is a whirlwind of showering, pressed powder and hairspray, and Buffy’s putting the finishing touches on her makeup when a knock sounds on the door. A few minutes later, the door opens. “Hey, Matt,” Faith teases. “Those for me?”

“Uh—”

“I’m kidding. She’ll be down in a minute.”

Buffy delivers, sliding on her shoes and coming down the stairs to see Matt in a nice shirt and jeans with a bouquet in hand—nothing too expensive, but enough to be sweet. The smile stretches across her face as she makes her way closer. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he smiles. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” She makes her way to the door and glances back to Faith. “Tell Kendra I won’t be late.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Buffy rolls her eyes, before hopping into the passenger side of Matt’s truck, and glancing over to him with a sigh. “I’m sorry about her.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Damon’s been making comments since you let him out of the cage. How did you get him not to kill you, anyway?”

“Trade secret. And I don’t think he would appreciate me sharing.”

“Fair enough. But that’s enough of Damon for one evening.” He puts the truck into gear and pulls out of the long driveway that leads to the Slayer house. “I was thinking food, and then I have a surprise.”

“Oooh. I love surprises.” At least the ones that don’t involve someone trying to kill her. “Let’s do it.”

* * * * *

The Grille is a little crowded, but that’s not all that unusual for a Friday night, and the two of them grab a booth and some burgers as they sit and talk. Buffy is doing her best to deliver her usual bubbly despite her nerves, despite how much she and Matt already know about each other. There’s something about a first date that always feels a little but awkward, but endearingly so. No matter how well you know each other, you’re transitioning from one thing to another.

Buffy can’t help but hope this transition goes well.

They eventually move over to a pool table, Buffy doing her best to keep herself in the moment, but she can’t help but notice the eyes on them as they move through the room. She glances in its direction, holding the gaze of the dark-haired teenager at a high-top, and then gently nudges her date.

“Not to be Paranoid Girl, but I think that guy is watching us?”

Matt glances up, following her eyeline, before rolling his eyes. “Dude. Stop creeping on my date.”

Buffy blinks, confused, but the guy’s intense look softens to something of a self-satisfied smirk. He gets up and makes his way closer. “What? You know the deal with new people in town.”

Matt shakes his head, before gesturing back to his apparent friend. “This is Tyler. Tyler, this is Buffy.”

“Oh! The best friend.” The hybrid is what her brain fills in the blanks with next, but she’s quick enough not to say it out loud. “Nice to put a face to a name.”

“You too. Matt’s only been talking about you non-stop.” There’s something about Tyler’s effortless charm that feels a little off. Like maybe he wasn’t supposed to get caught. But it’s too late now, so Buffy just brushes it off to focus on the moment she’s in.

She’s not Slayer Buffy right now. She’s On-a-Date Buffy now is not the time to get squirrely about said date’s best friend.

“What can I say? I’m an interesting girl.”

“So you are.” His eyes linger a little too long before he nods. “Anyway. I’m heading out to meet up with Caroline. But I’ll see you two around.”

They both watch him go, and she can see a furrow in Matt’s brow, almost as though something isn’t quite right with his best friend. But eventually, he shakes it off and turns back to her. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Sure do.” She flashes him a grin. “You still owe me a surprise.”

“I do, don’t I? And I am a man of my word.” He offers her his arm, and she grins as she takes it, letting him lead her out of the Grille.

* * * * *

The Falls at night are really something else.

She’s seen them during the day. Kendra sends them on patrols around here because some of the local color likes to use the woods to dump bodies but tonight, on a date, watching the moonlight sparkle over the rush of falling water, she can’t help but have her first instinct come out of her mouth.

“Oh, wow.”

They’re still in the cab of his truck, keeping out the chill of the fall air, and she smiles as she watches the sparkles dance.

“You can really see why this town earned its name.”

“The Falls are the Falls for a reason,” Matt nods. “It’s not often that I meet someone I can really impress with them, though.”

“Oh, no?” Buffy laughs. “I guess when a girl’s lived here her whole life, they become old news.”

“A little. It’s less romantic when you just jump right to the making out.”

“Oh-ho. So this is a prime make out spot. I see how it is.” She doesn’t sound put out, though. If anything, she’s leaning closer.

“Can’t blame a guy for shooting his shot, can you?”

Matt’s sly smile has a way of making her stomach do flip-flops, and she tries not to lean in too hard. Instead, she just curls her hand around his collar, her lips a hair’s breath from his.

“Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

* * * * *

By the time Matt gets her back to the Slayer house, it is late. Later than she implied, she would be home, but she doesn’t think anyone is going to judge her. Kendra’s probably been out late patrolling, anyway.

He pulls up to the head of the driveway and she pats his arm. “You can drop me off here.”

“Are you sure? I can take you to the door.”

“I appreciate the gentlemanly attention, but if you come to the door, Faith’s just going to rag you even harder, and I’m trying to save you some trouble.”

He laughs before nodding. “Alright, deal.” He leans in to kiss her one last time before pulling back with a nod. “Talk to you later?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’ll text you.” She then hops out of the truck and starts making her way down the driveway.

Buffy listens to the rumble as Matt’s car drives off, and then there’s nothing but the silence of the woods. Crickets chirping, the occasional wild animal rassling around in the woods nearby—nothing out of the ordinary until she hears the snap of a twig behind her.

She whirls around, nerves on edge, and blinks when the face standing behind her is familiar.

“Tyler?”

“Hey, Buffy.” The energy he’s giving is off, just like it was at the Grille. He doesn’t want to be here, yet he’s here all the same, which has Buffy tensing, watching for what comes next. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about this.”

He moves so quickly; she doesn’t realize she’s been hit until everything goes dark.

“Hey, Matt.”

Matt practically jumps out of his skin as he whirls around, turning to face Faith standing behind him. She hadn’t been there when he pulled into his parking spot at the Grille, but he has a feeling that it’s a Slayer thing, the ability to appear out of nowhere. She grins at him like that is exactly the reaction she was looking for. Matt doesn’t know what to make of Faith most of the time, but Buffy trusts her, treating her antics with an eye roll or a brush off, so he tries not to make waves.

“Faith.”

“I know I said don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but I at least make the guy drive me home after keeping me out all night.”

“What?” Matt blinks in confusion.

She holds up her hands placatingly. “Look, I’m not mad. B could use some time to unwind. Did you just leave her at your place?”

“I dropped Buffy off last night around eleven.”

The playfulness in the other woman’s expression drops, and she steps forward, backing him into the truck, using her ability to intimidate to its full advantage. “Say that again?”

“We hung out at the Grille for a couple hours, then we went to the Falls and I dropped her off around eleven.”

“I didn’t hear your truck.”

“She told me to drop her off at the head of the driveway so you wouldn’t give me shit.”

She blinks before giving a nod. “Okay, that is something I would do.” She studies him again, before leaning back, relaxing as the intimidation gives way to something more like worry. “Problem is, Buffy never made it to the front door.”

“What?” Matt matches her worry, because people going missing in Mystic Falls is never a good sign. “Did you check her location?” He assumes, given what they do, the girls share their location on their phones.

“I did, and it wasn’t on, and her phone is going straight to voicemail.”

“So someone probably turned off her phone.” Matt relaxes somewhat, and Faith raises an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t think of that as a good thing.”

“It means that your problem probably isn’t…past a certain age.” He can’t see Klaus, for example, worrying about Find My Friends outing where he’s keeping his hostage. He uses a cell phone, but he likely doesn’t plan for it.

Faith nods as she connects the dots, before frowning. “So what does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t think Damon would—”

“Damon’s not this subtle.” Matt would like to pin this all on Damon, but he’s gotten to know him well enough at this point that he can notice the difference. “He can plot and plan when he has to, but he’s a lot more reactionary. If he hasn’t gotten back at you guys for holding him hostage by now, he’s not going to do something like snatch Buffy without leaving some kind of display behind. He doesn’t have a reason to keep her alive.”

Faith takes that information and processes it, before tipping her head to the side. “But he might know something. He’s still playing house with Stefan.”

“He might.”

She nods before pulling away. “Right. I’ll go swing by his place—”

Matt grabs her wrist before shaking her head. “No. Stefan might be home.”

“So?”

“So, the story still is that Buffy is the only Slayer in town, right?” Matt gives her a look. “You show up there asking Slayer specific questions, and …”

“I don’t think our cover really matters when Buffy is in trouble.”

“When it comes to Klaus, one Slayer is an annoyance, but three is a problem and as far as we know, everything Stefan knows goes right to Klaus. You guys need to stay under the radar.”

“Yeah, but you can’t lose your job, and we can’t afford to waste time if it is Klaus.”

Matt blinks, surprised that she would be that considerate over his work shift when he was fully planning on calling in sick from the parking lot and going with her to look for Buffy. He turns to glance towards the door, before tipping his head to the side as he notices Alaric heading across the parking lot to the door.

“Actually, I have a better idea.” He tips his head towards the door. “C’mon. I’ll buy you lunch while we wait.” Faith squints at him, unsure if she wants to follow his lead, and he releases her wrist with a nod. “Trust me. You may know the supernatural better than I do, but in this town, I know the people.”

She swallows hard before nodding. “Okay. I could eat.”

* * * * *

Ric goes along with the plan, thankfully, and a half hour later, Damon swings into the Grille to take a seat at the bar next to his friend, hand already up for a bourbon. Ric looks up to meet his gaze, and he winces before saying. “Sorry, man.”

Damon’s eyebrows raise as Matt brings him his bourbon. “Sorry about what?”

“Hey, D.” Faith uses that ability of hers to appear out of nowhere and slide onto the stool next to him and flashes Damon a familiar smile. “Miss me?”

Damon’s eyes narrow, glancing at Matt, then Alaric, and sighing. “You’re buying as recompense.” Damon then turns to face Faith more fully. “What do you want now? I’ve been playing by our agreement.”

“You have. This isn’t about that.” Faith glances over her shoulder to make sure the bar was empty of any extra ears before leaning in. “Buffy’s missing.”

“Oh. What a shame.” From Damon’s tone, he’s taking that with his usual brand of sarcasm. “And this is my fault now?”

“No. We figured it wasn’t you. But since you’ve been hanging out in a house with Stefan, you might have overheard something.” Matt braces himself against the bar with a frown. “I know you have no reason to tell us, but—”

“Oh, no, I heard something.” Damon runs his finger around the rim of his glass. “But you’re not going to like it.”

Faith leans in, menacing. “I can guarantee you’re not going to like it if you don’t get to the damn point.”

Damon glances to her, before turning and looking over at Matt, blue eyes holding his gaze. There’s a certain amount of relish that Damon has when he knows he’s about to hit you where it hurts. Especially if it’s something that really twists the knife.

“Talk to Tyler lately?”

Matt feels himself going cold, heart pounding louder in his chest. “Tyler wouldn’t—”

“Old, just-a-werewolf regular Tyler? No, probably not. Though he did make out with your mom that one time. And messed around with your sister. Clearly, he’s not so good with boundaries.” Damon finishes his glass. “But current, hybrid Tyler? I think we both know he has a problem with telling certain people no.”

Faith’s eyes round on Matt, and then they narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean, Matt?”

Matt doesn’t really have an answer to that. Instead, all he can do is pull out his phone and hope that while Tyler was smart about Buffy’s phone, he wasn’t as careful with his own. Sure enough, the little red dot showing his location hangs on the map like a noose around his neck.

“What did Klaus tell him to do?”

“That, I don’t know.” Damon frowns as he reaches over the bar to take the bottle of bourbon and refill his glass. “All I know, from the other half of Stefan’s phone conversation, is that he was asked to take care of a problem. Your cute little blond hasn’t been making herself a problem, has she?”

Matt’s eyes drift from Damon to Faith’s, and he doesn’t know if he can trust her to do this. If he can give her this information and come out of it on the other side still having a best friend. Faith holds his gaze, waiting, but eventually she gets impatient.

“Do you know where he is, Matt?”

Matt swallows before nodding. “Don’t kill him. Please.”

“I can’t promise that.”

Matt’s hand curls into a fist, and he understands why she’s saying that. He understands why she can’t make that promise. “If she’s still alive, please try. He’s my best friend.”

Faith studies his expression for another moment before nodding. “Okay. I’ll try.”

He glances over at Damon. “He’s in the werewolf tunnels. I can’t leave. Can you show her?”

Damon finishes his second glass with a sigh. “Fine. But both of you owe me for this. And if I get bitten, I’m haunting you both forever.”

He’ll take the risk. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Damon pushes up from the stool and gestures for Faith to follow. “They still might not both come back alive.”

Buffy comes to somewhere dark and damp, with her arms twisted into an odd position above her head. She can feel the familiar tell tale numbness of her wrists in restraints and does her best not to panic impulsively. She tries to work her way backwards to remember how she wound up in this position until a panicked voice breaks through her thoughts.

“Please don’t be dead. Matt will never forgive me if you’re dead.”

“I’m not dead.” She blinks her eyes open to look at Tyler, blinking until the two versions of him coalesce into one Tyler. “Though I’m not sure Matt would be thrilled with you kidnapping me, either.”

Tyler, if she’s honest, looks miserable, which is not the expression you normally expect to see on a kidnapper. Usually there’s gloating, some taunting. Maybe a little grievous bodily harm. But Tyler looks as though he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and she has to wonder why exactly she’s found herself in this position.

“You know, if you objected to Matt and I dating, we could have talked about it. You didn’t have to escalate to kidnapping.”

“I don’t—” There’s a huff as he slumps to the ground, staring into his hands. “I didn’t want this.”

Buffy’s head tips to the side curiously as she studies him. “Then why am I here?”

“Because Klaus told me to get rid of you.”

“Oh.” The three of them all knew that at some point, Klaus would notice at least Buffy’s presence, as she’s the one out and about being publically a Slayer at school, near Stefan Salvatore. She hopes that it’s still true that only Damon knows about Faith and Kendra, but it’s hard to say. She glances up at the cramped tunnel they’re currently sitting in and frowns. “And this is getting rid of me?”

Tyler shakes his head. “No. This was as far as I could get before whatever makes me do what he says realized I was following the letter of the orders but not the spirit of it and I had to stop. I hoped I could just get you out of town to buy me some time to figure out what to do, but …”

“The compulsion caught up to you and now you’re stuck.” Buffy sighs. “Well, I appreciate the effort, but this isn’t going to end well for you. You get that, right? There are going to be people looking for me.” I’m not alone is what she wants to say, but who knows how much of this conversation will get back to Klaus.

“It’s not compulsion.”

Buffy blinks, before turning back to him in confusion. “If it’s not compulsion, then why?”

“I don’t know. I just … I can’t say no to him. I used to be stupid about it, like Klaus’s orders just rewrote the logic in my brain, but now that I see it, I can’t unsee it and there’s this part of me that just has to make him happy and …”

“Oh. You’re sire bonded.”

Tyler glances up at her and frowns. “Yeah, that’s what Damon called it. That’s really a thing?”

Buffy grimaces. “You see it with vampires sometimes. If someone is really into the vampire that turns them, it gets amplified into a full on obsessive stalker level of being in love with that person, doing whatever it takes to make them happy.”

“But that’s not me. I’m not in love with Klaus.”

“You must feel some kind of big positive feeling about him, or you wouldn’t be stuck in this situation.” Buffy doesn’t say it the way she does to be cold, but given that he did kidnap her, it’s hard for her to be in full comfort mode.

Tyler looks down at his hands again. “Now that I’m a hybrid, I don’t have to turn anymore.”

“Oh.”

It’s hard not to hear that and swing to the side of sympathy. Tyler isn’t the first werewolf she’s met. She’s heard—and seen—the horrific transformations, the terror it inspires. Of course, that he’d never have to turn again would be considered a boon, a swing of gratitude so strong that the magic that makes them vampires would twist it into something awful. That’s all that magic ever does.

“I never wanted to lose control. I could feel it sometimes when I would just get so angry I’d see red. I’d grown up my whole life with my dad and his temper and I knew that wasn’t what I wanted to become, but my temper would rise and it would just feel … inevitable. I always knew that eventually I was going to hurt someone in a way that I couldn’t take back. And then I did.” Tyler’s eyes don’t meet hers, and she can see the shame lurking under the weight of it. “And then it was like I was losing control all the time. Every full moon I would become this thing that I didn’t want to be. Yeah, there was the pain and the nightmare fuel, but every time I worried I was going to wake up one morning with blood on my lips and not know what—or who—it was. I don’t want to kill anyone else.”

Tyler finally meets her eyes as he continues. “And then Klaus turned me, and I realized I would never have to do that again. How do you not be grateful for that? That you have a choice again?”

“Except you still don’t,” Buffy replies softly. “Not when Klaus snaps his fingers and you snap to attention.”

Tyler’s eyes drop again, but he pushes forward. “You said you’ve met other vampires with it. Does that mean you know how to fix it?”

Buffy hesitates on the edge of the answer to that question, because she knows how to fix it. But she’s not sure that fix is the right fix for Tyler. It will not solve his problems.

“You have to stop feeling that feeling.” Tyler blinks at her in confusion and she continues. “The bond is rooted in that powerful feeling you have for that person. So when it’s these vampires that were in love with their sires, you have them flip their humanity switch. Turn it all off for a little and when they turn it back on again, the bond is gone. Can’t say their relationship is recoverable, but at least the baby vamp has the agency to make their own choices again.”

“Do you think that would work for me?”

“I think it would work. But I don’t think it’s the right move.” Buffy looks up at him. “You talked a lot about losing control, and how scared you are of it, and I—turning off your humanity switch, even if you have a plan to turn it back on again, is a gamble. You may decide to renege on the plan. Or you’ll do it, but you’re going to go on a minor killing spree first. You’ll be in control, but you may not like yourself in the morning, and I think you already have enough of that going on.”

“So that’s it? I’m just stuck like this?”

“No. You have to get rid of the feeling.” Buffy looks at him meaningfully, hoping he’ll read between the lines. “Have no reason to be grateful. Be able to change so easily that you don’t even think of it. In a way, that means you have control of the wolf. To regain control of yourself, control all of yourself.”

Tyler looks dismayed, like his worst nightmare is coming to pass, but before he can respond, there’s the sound of footsteps coming up the tunnels. Tyler zips forward, pulling her with him against the wall. Buffy obliges, not really in a position to do much else, until two familiar brunettes stride onto the scene—one, she expected. The other—

“You brought Damon to my rescue?”

Tyler’s hand comes up against her throat, and Faith turns immediately at the sound of her voice, holding up a crossbow. “Back up,” Tyler says weakly, and Faith shakes her head, a slow smile crossing her lips.

“Bad move, buddy. I promised your boy that I’d try not to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make this hurt.”

“Faith, don’t! He’s sired!”

Faith’s arm falters, dropping slightly. “Shit, really?”

“Yeah. It’s not his fault.”

“Still don’t like his hand on your throat, B.”

“Neither do I,” Buffy admits, before glancing over at Damon. “What are you doing here?”

“Your boyfriend was unavailable to give a tour of the werewolf tunnels. He twisted my arm. You’re welcome.” Damon’s eyes dart past her to Tyler. “And I don’t know why you’re telling her to stop. There’s only one cure for a sire bond.”

“Yeah, they flip their switch.”

That seems to take Damon by surprise, and he glances over at Faith. “What?”

“Most sire bonds only last until the vamp in question flips their switch,” Faith glances back to Damon, amused. “Do I know something the ancient-ass vampire doesn’t?”

Damon seems flustered, before shaking his head. “That can’t be the plan. If Tyler’s emotions are off and he slips his leash and stops listening to Klaus, that’s a recipe for a dead Tyler, anyway. Might as well save the time.”

“There’s another way.”

“He kidnapped you.”

“Yeah, and we talked and I feel kind of bad for him.”

“Thanks,” Tyler mutters, but she ignores it.

“The best plan is the one that gets all of us out of here alive.” Buffy takes a deep breath. “So here’s what we’re going to do.”

It’s not a plan she loves, but it’s a plan she will make work. And for now, that may have to be just enough.

Matt gets a text towards the end of his shift that both Tyler and Buffy are okay. The anxious nerves he’s been holding on to since Damon and Faith left the bar ahead of his melts out of him and he closes his eyes to take a breath. They’re okay. This probably isn’t over, but his two most important people are okay.

He doesn’t know when Buffy became important, not in a real way, but she is. Or he thinks she at least could be, if they’re allowed to have the time.

It would have been great if it hadn’t been followed by the text that comes after: Come by the house. We have to talk.

That feels like another rock sinking into the pit of his stomach, but he says he’ll be there in twenty minutes, gets in his car, and drives to the house. Trying to avoid it has never made anything in Mystic Falls go away. The body blow is coming. It’s just a matter of how much he can take of it.

Faith is waiting for him outside the farmhouse, leaning against the railing of the porch and smoking a cigarette. She stabs it into an ashtray as he gets closer and speaks, but is cut off by something clanging against the iron bars inside.

“What the hell?” he blinks, and she holds up a finger.

“Before I explain, this was Buffy’s idea.”

“Then maybe I should hear it from Buffy.”

“Yeah, but to get to Buffy you have to go inside, and you’ll see the part I was supposed to explain first, so just bear with me.” Faith holds up her hands. “So Tyler is sired to Klaus.”

“Yeah, Damon keeps saying that, but he’s pretty light on what that actually means beyond the fact that it’s bad.”

“Because it is bad. It means that basically whatever Klaus tells him to do, he has to do.”

“So, how do we fix it?”

“We don’t. Tyler fixes it. Option one is flipping your humanity switch, which he doesn’t want to do.”

“So what’s option two?” He tenses. “You said he was fine.”

“He is. He is. Killing him is option three, and Buffy said that was off the table. We’re going with option two.”

He stares at her for a moment, trying to parse the details of what she’s saying in between the lines, when something clangs against bars again. “Okay, what is that?”

“It’s Tyler. Because option two is that he turns repeatedly until he’s fully in control of his shifting. Until it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

It dawns on him what’s waiting behind the door the second after that. “You have him in the cage.”

“It’s the safest place for him to turn if he’s going to stay in town. If he leaves, Klaus might get suspicious and that could be worse for him.”

“And could also continue to do thinks like keep ordering him to kill my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, that’s the other thing. But you’re going to want to talk to B about that one.” Faith gestures for him to move ahead of her to the door, and he follows. As he moves inside, he hears the roar of the angry werewolf raging against the cage holding it, while Kendra watches on, weapon in hand, just in case.

He can’t think about it, so he does his best to look away. Faith leads him through the house and drops him off at the door to Buffy’s bedroom, where she’s curled up on the bed, nursing some bruises that weren’t there when he dropped her off the night before.

“Hey.”

She looks up and blinks in surprise before it relaxes into a smile. “Hey.”

“Got some room over there?”

She nods, inching over to give him some space. He makes his way over, making sure his shoes hang off the edge of her bed but leaving her room to cuddle in close. She tucks her head against his chest and lets out a small sigh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank you for sending Damon to come find me.”

Matt laughs. “Yeah, he’ll probably hold that over my head for a while. But I’m glad you and Tyler are both okay.”

“Did Faith fill you in on the plan?”

“The Tyler part. She didn’t get around to the you part.”

“Ah.” Buffy shifts to glance up at him with a small sigh. “We want Klaus to think Tyler did as he was told, so I’m gonna lie low for a while. Maybe fly out and see my mom if I can sneak away.”

He feels his heart sink, because things were going well. Of course, that means it’s going to slip through his fingers. “For how long?”

“Until we have a clear plan on how to deal with the Originals. Faith and Kendra are going to stay, keep an eye on things. But I need to be out of view.”

“Well. That sucks.”

“Does it?” She glances up with a small smile, resting her arm across his chest so she can leverage herself up. “Does that mean you’re going to miss me?”

“Probably more than you think. But we can talk, right? You’re not going full radio silence?”

She nods. “We can. And text. But you should probably avoid mentioning me around people who it might pass back to Klaus through.”

“Does Ty know the plan?”

“Only his part of it.” Buffy sighs. “I feel bad for him. He’s going to need you to have his back.”

“I know. I’ll be here. He’s … pretty much all I have left.”

“Seems like he’s a good guy to have when he’s not being mind controlled by a thousand year-old psychopath.”

“He is.” Matt nods. “And he’s not. He’s complicated.”

“I guess we all are.” Buffy leans in to kiss him softly, before looking up at him. “Stay until I have to go?”

“I have to work tomorrow. But otherwise, yeah. I can stay.”

Buffy nods, closing her eyes and curling in closer. “That’ll work.”

Matt relaxes as he feels her relax against him, and closes his eyes. Tomorrow is going to be harder, watching his tone and making sure he doesn’t say the wrong thing. Klaus will probably watch, after all. But for now, this will have to do.

All he can hope is that this won’t take too long.

Edited 2025-06-05 22:49 (UTC)

Wanda thinks he knows what to expect when Carol tells her they’re going to space. Wells and wells of inky blackness sprinkled with the sparkles of stars. Occasionally, a planet or two. But as they get into Carol’s ship and take off into space, she’s surprised at how much color it has.

Swirling seas of dust and all kinds of transcendent colors stretch out ahead of them. It’s so much more alive than Wanda ever thought it would be, and she feels like after everything she’s done, she’s somehow cheated to see something so beautiful.

“Wow.”

“Right?” Carol smiles, glancing back at her. “I knew from the first time I flew up here that there was nowhere else I wanted to be.”

“How did you get to space, anyway?” Wanda turns, asking her curiously. “All I really heard was that you were up there until Fury called you.”

“That is a long, complicated story. But the short version is I was working for a member of the Kree who was trying to stop a war, and then I absorbed the energy of an Infinity Stone, and the other members of the Kree decided I was much more useful to them with amnesia and under their command than I was wandering around on Earth.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Yeah, but I got them back for it, so I consider it a score settled.” Carol glances over at Wanda again, before turning her eyes back to the stars beyond. “We can talk about the long version over drinks. And if you want to share some of yours? I know a place where no one will care.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking me to Thor?” Wanda isn’t sure if that’s an earnest question or just a dodge. It might be good to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge her, and Carol seems pretty nonjudgemental. But she isn’t sure she’s ready to go there yet.

“Thor is off with the Guardians, so we may not get an answer right away.”

Wanda nods slowly, keeping her eyes on the swirl ahead of her. “I could use a drink.” She can’t promise she’ll talk, but she can at least settle in for a drink.

Carol grins before nodding as she calls up the gate system. “I know just the place.”

* * * * *

Knowhere, where Carol takes her, sports the chaos that Thor would enjoy. The two of them curl up in a booth towards the back and begin trading drinks. Carol tells her stories about the Kree, the Skrulls, some from her time in the Air Force. She says she’s still fighting to get some of them back, and part of Wanda is tempted to just reach out and touch, see if she can find them.

But she waits. There’ll be time for that later.

Eventually, Wanda is drunk enough that: “Everyone came back from the Snap but him.”

“Vision?” Wanda must have flashed her a look because Carol holds up her hands. “No judgement. Love takes all kinds of shapes in space.”

That makes Wanda smile slightly, before nodding. “I didn’t have time to really think about it at first. There was the enormous battle and then the funerals, but slowly … slowly people disappeared. Vision was already gone. Natasha died getting us back. Then Steve left, and Sam had to do damage control, and Thor was gone and Bruce was gone and—”

“Soon you had no one.” Carol nods. “I would have lost my mind a little too.”

Is that what New Jersey was? A psychotic break? A delayed wall of grief that Agatha manipulated to her advantage? Or was it Wanda’s intention all along to take back what she had lost? No one can stop her, after all.

“Doesn’t make it less wrong.” Wanda sighs. “Doesn’t make what I did after less terrible, either.”

Carol watches her. “Personally, I’ve never been a big fan of bad things, being the end of the road for anyone. Maybe it’s because I’m usually the most powerful, unkillable thing in the room. I don’t enjoy taking people out just because they’re causing problems. I don’t—” She makes a face. “—The Kree call me the Annihilator. Because I didn’t think things through and did a lot of damage. I don’t want to be that anymore. If my stubborn head can change, so can you.”

Wanda nods. “I think the problem is, I’m not even sure if it’s worth trying. Who is left for me to prove myself to?”

“Who gives a shit about anyone else?” Carol points out. “Do it for yourself.”

Wanda thinks that’s easier said than done, but she does set aside that question for later, trying to see if there’s something there worth exploring. Carol lets the silence sit for a moment, before tipping her head to the side.

“You like sitcoms. Do you like musicals?”

Wanda raises an eyebrow. “The happy ones, yes. Why?”

Carol grins. “I know where we’re going next.”

But before she can elaborate, another ship lands nearby and a loud booming voice rings through the air as a familiar tall blond steps into the parking lot below them.

“Wanda!” Thor’s voice roars through the air. “Welcome to Knowhere! Come, meet the Guardians.”

Wanda smiles in return, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it doesn’t feel so forced.

The neon lights of the bar fall over Wanda’s face as they sit on the balcony of the bar, watching as Carol chats with the other members of the Guardians. Thor can see the weight of loss weighing on her, something he’s been all too familiar with in his time. He takes another sip of his ale, quietly contemplating, before drawing her attention back to him.

“How are you enjoying your first time in space?”

Wanda blinks, coming back into the focus of the moment, and nods. “It’s … different. But also, in some ways, the same?” The wry smile crosses her face and she shakes her head. “That must sound stupid. People are always people—why wouldn’t some things be the same?”

Thor smiles before shrugging. “I found things quite strange on Earth the first time I came. New foods, new technology. It takes time to adjust, regardless.”

“That’s true. All change takes time.”

“How long do you think you’ll stay?”

She turns back to look at him, and he can see from her expression that there’s something she isn’t telling him. Something haunts the edges of her expression, but he doesn’t push and waits for her to decide what she wants to say.

“No one is really waiting for me back home,” is what she finally settles on before taking another long sip of her drink. “I haven’t fully decided yet, but I can’t help but feel like this is going to be a one-way trip.”

His face softens, studying her expression to find what he’s missing. “Not even Clint?”

“Clint hasn’t exactly been the most available,” she says dryly. “He holed up in his house with his family and aside from some mentions of him in New York, he hasn’t exactly reached out.”

Thor’s fingers grip tighter on the tankard, trying to compress his annoyance. He would think, being as Clint was a man who once lost everything, he might have been more understanding of someone who has lost everything.

“I’m sorry that I have been neglectful in my duties as a friend as well. I thought that those on Earth would have been more attentive.”

“It’s not all their fault.” Wanda pauses as she glances back at him, when he finally reads her expression for what it is: shame. “I’ve done some terrible things.”

He reaches gently across the table for her hand. “We all do terrible things when we’re grieving.”

“I held an entire town hostage, and then killed … so many people throughout the multiverse.”

He can’t say it doesn’t catch him by surprise, and his eyes narrow. “For what injury?”

“The town, nothing. I … I wasn’t fully in control of that. But the people in the multiverse … simply standing in my way.”

Thor nods slowly. “And you think because of these acts, you should be denied companionship and compassion?”

Wanda glances up at him uncertainly before shrugging. “You know that most of our friends back home are very black and white in their lines of thought.”

“Most of our friends are dead or gone,” Thor points out, and her eyes drop to her glass in agreement.

“Well, I … most of the world thinks I’m dead. So it’s probably for the best it stays that way.” She swallows before looking up at him again. “I’m grateful to Carol for giving me the out. If she hadn’t, the Sorcerer Supreme would have tracked me down eventually.”

“Strange? Eh, he’s not as scary as he looks. Loki and I met him once when we returned to Earth for my father’s death.” Those words don’t feel as heavy as they used to, weighed both with the grief from his father’s death and his brother’s.

“I know he’s not. But he takes his vocation seriously.” Wanda shakes her head. “I don’t want to put him in that position.” Then she narrows her eyes. “Are you sure you want to spend your time with me?”

“You’ve met my brother, haven’t you?” Thor points out with a small smile. “If I can forgive Loki for his much more personal transgressions, when he has done harm on a much grander scale than you, why would I take any issue with your company?” He squeezes her hand as he leans in close. “You are a brave compatriot and a worthwhile companion, Wanda Maximoff. Whatever penance or exploration you intend to do, I would be happy to do it by your side.”

Her eyes glisten, almost as though there are tears beginning to form, but before she can say anything, Carol appears at the head of the table, bringing her hands down.

“So. Are you sticking with the Guardians, or are you coming with us?”

“Where are you going?”

“Aladna.”

His eyes light up with interest – it has been a long time since he’s beheld the waters and singing of the Aladnean people. But he doesn’t want to crowd Wanda on her adventures. He glances over at her, waiting for an answer to his offer, and she offers a small smile before nodding. He smiles widely in return.

“Wonderful. When do we leave?”

“As soon as you’re ready. It’s a pretty long trip from here, so we should probably do the gate hopping while we sleep it off.”

“Let me gather my things from the ship and I will meet you at yours.”

Carol nods before heading off to pay her and Wanda’s tab, and Wanda catches Thor’s hand before he can get up from the table. “Thank you,” she whispers, and he smiles.

“Of course.”

Less than an hour later, the three of them are climbing onto Carol’s ship, and Thor makes his way to a comfortable chair while Wanda and Carol sit up front. An orange cat hops off the table and into his lap and sniffing at his hand. He stares at it closely before glancing over to Carol.

“Is this a Flerken?”

“Yep,” Carol smirks. “That’s Goose. She won’t eat you if you don’t make her mad.”

“Wonderful to make your acquaintance, Lady Goose. I should hope we will be good friends.”

Wanda glances back over to the cat, almost as though it’s the first time she’s seen it. “What’s a Flerken?”

Carol laughs. “Give it time and you’ll find out.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

get your words out { 2025 } yahtzee tracking

Running Score: 140 (5/8)
Word Count: 19,678

SET #1: PICTURES (ACES) (gertie)

i think i've seen this film before | murder train | 300

Re: i think i've seen this film before | murder train | 300

Re: i think i've seen this film before | murder train | 300

i'm laying odds on tomorrow | murder train | 300

like a fire that keeps on burning | murder train | 300

blame me for the rocks | murder train | 300

would've folded but i can't now | murder train | 300

SET #2: WORDS (FIVES) (mason)

i wanna walk through walls | murder train | 600

diving too deep for coins | murder train | 600

now i don't take pleasure in a man's pain | murder train | 600

it's the terror of knowing what this world is about | murder train | 600

baby i'm only here for fun | murder train | 600

SET #3: WORDS (SEVENS) (tristan)

why did love put a knife in my heart | fantasy girl gang | 900

this night ain't for the faint of heart | fantasy girl gang | 1100

it's a long way down to the bottom of the river | fantasy girl gang | 1,000

bury a friend, try to wake up | fantasy girl gang | 1,000

if history is dead and gone | fantasy girl gang | 1,100

SET #4: COMBO (THREE OF A KIND) (dean/rose)

we gotta get out while we're young | supernatural/ghost roads | 1,327

i got some beer and the highway's free | supernatural/ghost roads | 1,080

we're riding out tonight to case the promised land | supernatural/ghost roads | 1,880

SET #5: COMBO (buffy/matt)

so let's face it, you had me at hello | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,619

you won't hurt anymore | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,474

too late for you, too late for me | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,630

i don't want the world, only you | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,068

SET #6: PICTURES (FULL HOUSE) (cosmic mcu)

seems they've dried up all my tears | marvel cinematic universe | 897

truth be told, my problem's old | marvel cinematic universe | 1,045

get your words out { 2025 } yahtzee tracking

Running Score: 140 (5/8)Word Count: 19,678

SET #1: PICTURES (ACES) (gertie)

i think i've seen this film before | murder train | 300

Re: i think i've seen this film before | murder train | 300

Re: i think i've seen this film before | murder train | 300

i'm laying odds on tomorrow | murder train | 300

like a fire that keeps on burning | murder train | 300

blame me for the rocks | murder train | 300

would've folded but i can't now | murder train | 300

SET #2: WORDS (FIVES) (mason)

i wanna walk through walls | murder train | 600

diving too deep for coins | murder train | 600

now i don't take pleasure in a man's pain | murder train | 600

it's the terror of knowing what this world is about | murder train | 600

baby i'm only here for fun | murder train | 600

SET #3: WORDS (SEVENS) (tristan)

why did love put a knife in my heart | fantasy girl gang | 900

this night ain't for the faint of heart | fantasy girl gang | 1100

it's a long way down to the bottom of the river | fantasy girl gang | 1,000

bury a friend, try to wake up | fantasy girl gang | 1,000

if history is dead and gone | fantasy girl gang | 1,100

SET #4: COMBO (THREE OF A KIND) (dean/rose)

we gotta get out while we're young | supernatural/ghost roads | 1,327

i got some beer and the highway's free | supernatural/ghost roads | 1,080

we're riding out tonight to case the promised land | supernatural/ghost roads | 1,880

SET #5: COMBO (buffy/matt)

so let's face it, you had me at hello | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,619

you won't hurt anymore | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,474

too late for you, too late for me | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,630

i don't want the world, only you | buffyverse/tvdverse | 1,068

SET #6: PICTURES (FULL HOUSE) (cosmic mcu)

seems they've dried up all my tears | marvel cinematic universe | 897

truth be told, my problem's old | marvel cinematic universe | 1,045

Running Score: 140 (5/8)
Word Count: 19,678