iluvroadrunner6 | prompts { 2025 } fictober

Sometimes, you have to make a deal with the proverbial devil. In this instance, the devil is the Star City justice system.

Laurel isn’t under the impression that all cops are bad. Her father, after all, is a police officer, and she knows he does his best to do his job for all the right reasons. But there are things that make being a cop in Star City complicated, and a lot of it has to do with parts of the system that Quentin Lance can’t change all by his lonesome. Never mind that her father can have a bit of a single-minded focus on who he thinks the “actual” bad guys are, and his and Laurel’s don’t always line up. That’s part of why Laurel went to work for CNRI rather than the ADA’s office. Sometimes, the regular people of Star City need help on the other side of the courtroom too.

However, this is an instance where having a cop on her side may be useful, and she’s done her homework. Her dad isn’t a good option, not if she doesn’t want to look like a little girl who went crying to Daddy, and for good reason, a lot of the beat cops hate her. She has a tendency to shred them on the stand when they don’t do their job well. But she’s gathered enough intel that this one may be a good option. He hasn’t been up against her in court, and he hasn’t had a lot of direct contact with her dad.

And the rumor on the street is that he actually cares. That’s rare enough for a cop, so she’ll take it.

She strides into the Star City bullpen, scanning the faces until she finds the one she’s looking for. She spots him over by the coffee machine and puts on her best smile before making her way forward.

“Officer Hargreeves?”

He doesn’t look up at her at first, intently stirring some artificial sweetener into his coffee. “Who wants to know?”

“Laurel Lance, CNRI.” She extends a hand out to him as he finally looks up, and he shakes it, but his eyes narrow as he studies her.

“Lance. Like Detective Lance?”

“One and the same.”

Hargreeves nods before smirking slightly. “Patch warned me about you.” He turns to head back to his desk, and Laurel follows.

“And what did she warn you about me exactly?” It could go one of two ways, especially since he brought up her dad first. The fact that it was Patch that warned him gives her some kind of hope it won’t be completely gross, but hard to say, really.

“She said that if I didn’t do my job properly, you would shred me to ribbons on the stand without even blinking.”

Laurel can’t help but be a little pleased that this is becoming her reputation. “If you don’t do your job well, you deserve to be shredded on the stand. You’d be shocked at what some cops think they can get away with.”

“See, that doesn’t make me feel any better about why you’ve come to see me specifically.” He settles back at his desk, coffee cup in hand, and raises an eyebrow at her. “I don’t think you’ve been brought in as counsel on any of my cases.”

“You’re right, I haven’t.” Laurel reaches into her briefcase before pulling out a file. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

“A defense attorney. Asking a cop for help.” He takes the file from her and flips it open. “That’s new.”

“Believe it or not, we’re not actually on different sides. We both want justice.” Laurel’s version just wants to make sure that the prosecution is actually doing its job in proving it and not creating some kind of frame job. But that is neither here nor there. “This case wasn’t justice.”

The defendant in question is named Declan Monroe. An underprivileged kid who is just trying to feed his siblings, all of whom have been shuffled into foster care while he’s been stuck in prison, serving far too heavy a sentence. He has an appeal coming up, but Laurel needs to find the evidence that could at least reduce his sentence, if not release him.

Declan isn’t a perfect defendant, but when all people have are tough choices, Laurel is of the opinion that justice should have some compassion.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me. Guy had drugs, guy was caught with drugs, guy went to jail.”

“Do you honestly think guy deserved to go to adult prison for fifteen years? On a first offense for being caught with weed?” Laurel raises an eyebrow. “He was sixteen years-old. Does that seem fair to you?”

The officer’s face shifts as he looks down at the folder again, taking in the larger picture. She knows cops are trained to strip away the external factors, just focus on the perpetrator and the crime, and keep things very black and white. But Laurel knows better than anyone that the world exists in shades of gray. Sometimes, forcing them to look at those shades can be the difference between what makes a good cop or a bad cop.

“I’m not saying he didn’t commit the crime. But I am saying that maybe there were better options, and Declan has an appeal coming up. I want to get him a reduced sentence, maybe time served. Five years seems fair for the amount he had, don’t you think?”

“So why do you need me?”

“We need character witnesses. People to vouch for him. And if I can put a cop on the stand who would do that, it could go a long way.” This is the hardest sell she knows. But cops have a lot of weight in a courtroom, especially with a judge. It’s just a matter of finding the right one to help you. “Look, all I need is a day of your time. Come with me to meet him, meet his siblings, and if you still think you can’t do it, then you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” She pauses. “At least until you have to face me in court.”

He snorts before nodding. “I’m off Friday. You get one day.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you Friday.” She leaves her card and takes her file back and heads out of the bullpen with a bounce in her step. She catches her father’s eye on the way out the door, and smirks.

That’s going to be a third-degree conversation later, but that’s a problem for later Laurel.

* * * * *

“You got the Kraken!”

Laurel doesn’t know what it is about Diego Hargreeves, but somehow in the moment of seeing him, the hard-won prison façade that Declan’s had to put on to survive melts away as he slides into his seat next to Laurel. Laurel must clearly look confused, because Declan scoffs.

“Man, you really know nothing. From the Umbrella Academy!”

That name rings a bell, if from nothing else but her father’s rants about how eccentric billionaires shouldn’t be running around raising children to be vigilantes. But she had been young when the Umbrella Academy was in its heyday, and found it was best not to get invested.

“Sorry, I wasn’t a superhero kid,” Laurel says, amused.

Declan shakes his head before turning his attention back to Diego. “You were always my favorite, with the knives?” Then, to give Laurel more context. “He throws knives, and he can curve their trajectory so that they always hit their mark.”

Diego looks amused, but she can already see him engaging in the way he leans forward and grins. “Thank you. My siblings never thought so, so it’s nice to be properly appreciated.”

Laurel just leans back and lets them talk, the conversation flowing freely. Eventually they get around to what happened the day Declan was arrested, and she sees Diego really listening. He can see the cracks in the police file versus what Declan is saying and how it all doesn’t add up, not really.

From there they head to the foster home for some of the younger siblings, and his sister, who’s aged out, meets them there. They’re good kids, and good advocates for their brother, who only did his best to take care of them. By the time they make it back to CNRI to pick up Diego’s car, she feels like she already knows his answer, but it’s still good to hear him say it.

“I’m in,” he nods. “Whatever you need me to say, I’ll do it.”

Laurel feels a weight lift, and she nods. “Thank you, Diego. You don’t know what this is going to mean to him.”

She just hopes it all works.

* * * * *

Sometimes you can do everything right, and the world will still be stacked against you. It’s nothing new for a kid like Declan, but it still makes Laurel furious.

Diego is perfect on the stand. Acknowledging that what Declan did was wrong, but that the amount he was caught with wasn’t enough to justify a fifteen-year sentence. The other character witnesses did their jobs too. The problem was the judge.

The other lottery draw of the justice system is, unfortunately, the judge. Get the wrong one, and no matter what argument you make, it’s like you’re arguing against a brick wall. In the end, the judge denies their appeal, focusing too much on the letter of the law and not the spirit of it. Laurel promises Declan they’ll try again, but getting another court date will take years of hard time that will only chip away at more of him, and they might be better off looking to the parole board rather than an appeal.

What she doesn’t expect is how hard Diego takes it.

She finds him at a bar later and buys them both another round. At first, she’s not sure what to say, but leans on reassurance more than comfort.

“That was good work, Diego.” He looks over at her, and she continues. “We all did our jobs. Unfortunately, with our system, good work doesn’t always magically unlock the result we hope for.”

“How do you do it?” Diego asks. “Stand on the opposite side for these people who have everything stacked against them, knowing that you might not win?”

Laurel takes a deep breath before shrugging. “Someone has to. The upper elites of Star City, they can afford a hotshot defense attorney with all the resources and bells and whistles. I could have joined one of those firms and won every case I took, but I’m not sure I would sleep any better. I still don’t sleep great when the cases don’t go my way, but at least I know that I’m trying. That I can take the law that’s being wielded at this people like a cudgel and try to fight back.”

He nods slowly, picking at the label of his beer bottle before admitting: “Being a cop isn’t what I thought it would be. I wanted to help people. Protect them from actual bad guys. Instead, I’m on the street catching people who are just trying to get by, breaking the law because they don’t have any other choice. That’s … it’s not why I want to do this.”

Laurel nods. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” He smirks a bit. “Maybe I should go back to being the Kraken.”

Laurel laughs before lifting her glass to clink against his beer bottle. “Well, if you get arrested for vigilantism, you have my card.”

He grins before taking another long pull on his beer. “Thanks for the round.”

She nods before glancing over at the dartboard. “Those powers of yours work on anything?”

Diego follows her eyeline before pushing up from the barstool. “Buy another round and maybe I’ll show you.”

How can a girl say no to that?

Steve heals faster than the average human, and while normally that would be a relief, Laurel can’t help but wish that he would take it a little bit easier after having an entire airship come down on top of him, preceded by having another enhanced superhuman beat the crap out of him, and followed by a bout of almost drowning.

She would have preferred him to have taken it slow for at least a month or two.

Steve has other ideas, however, and she understands the reasons. Bucky is out there, and Steve wants to find him, to make sure he’s okay, to reclaim some part of his past that he’s lost. And she allows it (“allow” like Laurel could stop him if she tried, but she could ask and he would be miserable), so long as Sam and Natasha are with him and making sure he doesn’t go too far off the rails trying to save his friend. Mostly it works. He calls to check in, even flies out when CNRI collapses and Tommy dies saving her. That’s not so much quality time as him holding her through her grief, holding her hand through the funeral when Oliver is nowhere to be found, and making sure she eats, but it’s at least seeing him in one piece, having one week where she doesn’t have to worry.

Worrying about him is an excuse for not having to worry about herself. Worrying about him means she can ignore that she may have one too many glasses of wine or a little too much whiskey. Somewhere in the middle of that, her sister comes back from the dead and she truly spirals, but that isn’t Steve’s problem.

She has enough people trying to fix her already.

She comes home after her fight with Oliver and reaches for a glass of wine, his condemnations rattling in her head, like all of this isn’t his fault. She’s trying to deflect blame? She wants to throw the glass at the wall when her phone buzzes, stalling the action briefly. It’s a text from Thea.

Sorry but also not sorry.

Before she can even process it, her phone lights up with Steve’s picture. She closes her eyes before answering it. “Hi.”

“Your sister is alive?”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The silence stretches as she tries to find a suitable answer. She doesn’t really have one, not one that rings true. He’s hurt, she can tell, and she can’t tell if it’s the fact that Oliver is right and she’s trying to give herself reasons to just wallow in the hurt she’s created, letting the hooks of a problem she knows all too well drag her deeper, or if she thinks that not even Steve could pull her back to the surface when she’s already drowning.

The silence seems to be answer enough. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

There’s no room for argument, no debate. Steve Rogers is a man who flies by his own internal north star, and she knows that if he wants to be here, he will. “Okay,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Another stretch of silence, this time on his end. So many things he can fill in the blanks for, but he doesn’t. “I’ll text you when I have an ETA.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, likely because this isn’t a finished conversation, just one on a slight delay. She places the phone down, staring into the distance, before reaching for the glass of wine again and downing half of it, but it immediately sours on her tongue and instead she winds up spitting it out into the sink.

She pours out the rest and then turns her attention to the rest of her apartment.

Maybe if she starts now, she’ll have it clean enough that she’ll feel like a person who has it together by the time he gets here.

* * * * *

She feels slightly more with it by the time Steve gets here, but she still does not know what to say to him. He doesn’t seem to either, but she can see the strains of guilt in the tension of his shoulders and immediately feels terrible because this isn’t his fault. None of it is his fault.

This is all on Laurel.

“How long has she been back?”

“I don’t know. I only found out a few weeks ago.”

That seems to ease some of the tension. Some, but not all of it. Which is fair, as Laurel has been on a downward spiral long before Sara came back into the picture. As he turns to face her, his shoulders slump, and he asks again the question she couldn’t answer yesterday.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because that would mean having to tell you everything else.”

His eyebrows go up. “There’s more?”

Laurel takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, trying to straighten up, to seem like she’s not a person scrambling to get her head above water. She’s not sure how well it’s going to work, considering what she has to say. “I lost my job. I was attacked because of a case I was investigating, and I killed my attacker. They cleared the charges because it was self-defense, but with it also came out that I’ve been drinking too much and there were some drug issues and … and I might get disbarred to boot so … ” Concern furrows in his brow and she breaks off before shaking her head. “I’m just having a really hard time.”

“And you thought you couldn’t tell me?”

“You were doing something important. I thought I could get it together. Because that’s what I do. I’m Laurel Lance. I’m the one who holds everyone else together when everything is falling apart. I survived the Gambit going down, no problem. I should be able to survive this.”

With each sentence, Steve takes another step closer until he’s close enough to touch. One hand slips out to rest against her side, steadying her, and it’s as if she can breathe again. And then, just like that, everything crumbles, tears slipping down her cheeks as she tips forward to bury her face in his chest.

“Why can’t I keep it together this time? Last time I could do it all by myself.”

“You weren’t by yourself,” he murmurs, sliding his arms around her to pull her close. “You had Tommy.”

That seems to unlock a whole new wave of grief, and she crumples into him, using his strength to steady her. Somehow in the haze of it all, he scoops her up and moves them to the couch, letting her curl up against him. It feels like she finally has someone in her corner, and some of it relaxes.

“I’m still so angry with her. It’s been a long time. I shouldn’t still be this angry.”

“You thought she was dead, and now she’s not. There are a lot of things you never really worked out between you.” Steve runs his fingers through her hair soothingly. “I’m working through some of that with Bucky.”

“Have you found him?” It’s a desperate distraction from the topic at hand. Unfortunately, Steve sees it for the dirty pool it is and shakes his head.

“No, I’m just saying it’s one thing to be angry with someone who’s dead, and another entirely to be angry with someone who’s here to be angry at.” Steve shifts to face her more. “Before she died, she hurt you. In fact, the way she hurt you ended in her getting killed. That’s a lot to process.”

She sits with that, realizing that there may be some truth to it. Maybe too much truth. She’s also not sure one talk with Steve is going to resolve all her problems. There need to be other steps for that. No one can do any of this alone. You'd think she would have learned that by now.

“If I go to a meeting, can you clear out my apartment while I’m gone?”

“I can do that.” She can tell that the request eases some of the tension, giving him a practical way to help. “I’d also like to meet her while I’m here. If you’re feeling up for that.”

“I think I have to talk to her alone first.” They need to resolve whatever this thing is sitting between them before moving forward. “And also only if you can get through it without punching Ollie in the face.”

“You know I don’t like promising that with Oliver Queen. And why would that matter when I’m meeting—” Steve’s face flattens. “You’re kidding.”

“Sadly, no.”

“And they’re upset with you for being angry?”

She shrugs. “In their defense, I haven’t exactly been my best self.”

“You’re making me promise not to punch Oliver. I think you’re being better than they deserve.” That makes her laugh, and more of the tension flows out of him. He sighs. “Fine. I promise I will make a good impression and not punch your sister’s boyfriend.”

“Thank you.” She sits up, reaching for her phone. It doesn’t take much googling to find the nearest AA meeting, and she glances at her watch. “I have about half an hour, so I’m going to get ready to go.”

“Sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

She shakes her head. “This I have to do on my own.” She then shifts before leaning in to kiss him. “But thank you for coming. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on.”

“Always,” he murmurs. “And it’s okay. As long as you’re not angry with Thea for ratting you out.”

She shakes her head. “She was right to do it.” Even though Laurel wishes she had enough sense to reach out on her own, Thea was looking out for her. She wouldn’t fault her for that.

With that, she gets up to wash her face and heads out to the meeting. When she returns a few hours later after talking to Sara, her apartment is cleaned out, Steve has a fresh shirt and a fresh pie from Mario’s, and oddly enough she feels lighter. Like she’s heading in the right direction for the first time in a long time.

Like she’s stopped sinking and finally started to swim.

[Part 1]

Sam shows up two days after Wynonna realizes she’s pregnant, a one-two punch that knocks him on his ass without even trying. Neither he nor Wynonna were trying for a baby—Wynonna, especially, is panicking at the idea of being a mother—and then he finds out his brother has been alive for the better part of two years without saying a goddamn word to him.

Yes, he’s fucking pissed about it.

Dean drags his brother out of Shorty’s by the arm, eyes narrowing as he tries to pin down what exactly is going on. He fumbles through the car until he finds the silver flask with holy water whiskey in it before passing it to his brother with a firm nod.

“Drink up.”

Sam rolls his eyes before doing as he’s told. No smoke. No flinching. Not a shapeshifter. Not a demon. Sam.

“There. Happy?”

That’s a complicated question if Dean’s ever heard one. On some level, yes. He’s very happy to see Sam, the only family he has left. But there are too many questions that come with how Sam is here.

“How long?”

“Dean—”

“How long, Sam?”

Sam shrugs so nonchalantly. “A while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Almost two years.”

“And you’re just showing up now?”

There’s that shrug again. So callous. So unlike his brother that he isn’t entirely sure what to do with him. If he hadn’t just tested him, he would have assumed that he was possessed. “Well, I couldn’t find you, for one. That’s kind of what happens when you disappear to Bum-Fuck, Nowhere.”

“Bobby knew where I was.”

“Yeah, and he also said you were happy. Having a life. I figured you didn’t need to be dragged back into my bullshit.”

That feels slightly more like Sam, but it still feels not quite right. It itches at the back of his mind, and he can’t decide what’s more wrong—Sam’s behavior or his excuses.

“Could have still picked up the goddamn phone.” Dean takes a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So why are you here now?”

“Need your help. But it’s also going to mean you leaving town.”

Of course it does. Because this is the worst possible time for him to do that, naturally that’s when he’d have to head out. He exhales slowly before nodding. “I have to talk to Wynonna. She’s back at the homestead.”

“Wynonna.” He waits, then he stares at his brother. “Soulmate Wynonna? You found her.”

“Yep, Wynonna Earp.”

Sam snorts. “Of course, your soulmate is the Earp Heir.”

Dean grins in return. “That’s what I said. C’mon, you should come meet her.”

Sam hesitates, but in the end he concedes, sliding into the passenger’s seat of the Impala next to him. A piece of Dean’s world feels a bit righted, even if he doesn’t fully understand how. He pauses as he slides his keys into the ignition before looking back at his brother.

“Really good to see you, Sammy.”

“You too, Dean.”

It still doesn’t feel right, but it’ll do for now.

* * * * *

Waverly’s bundled up on the porch when they arrive, and she perks up when she sees Dean, before promptly frowning at Sam. Sam seems a little uncomfortable, and instead of heading into the house, he hangs back and leans against the hood of the Impala.

“Hey Dean. Who’s your friend?”

Dean hesitates before turning back to his brother. “This is Sam, my brother. Sam, this is Waverly, Wynonna’s sister.”

Waverly is bundled in at least two heavy quilts, but Sam still gives her the most overt once-over that Dean has ever seen. From Sam. His brother usually needs two dinners and a movie before he even acknowledges that he might be sexually attracted to someone—something that obvious is usually beyond him. Dean’s brow furrows, something protective rising in him as Waverly flashes him a confused look.

“Hi,” she says awkwardly. “Wynonna’s inside.”

“Great. C’mon, Sammy.”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna stay out here.”

“Don’t you want to meet her?”

Sam shrugs. “Maybe another time.”

“Right. Well, it’s freezing, so I’m going inside.” Waverly turns to lead the way back into the house, and once they’re inside and the door is closed, she turns back to Dean with a frown. “Was Sam like that before he died?”

To most other people, Dean would brush it off. But there’s something about Waverly—something they’re still trying to figure out—that has him shaking his head. Waverly sets her jaw. “Are you leaving with him?”

“Maybe. Have to talk to your sister first.”

Waverly nods. “If you do—be careful, Dean. I don’t know how I know, so I can’t tell you how I know, but … something’s wrong with him.”

That much feels obvious. He nods slowly. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Waverly nods in agreement before tipping her head to the side. “Wynonna’s in the living room.”

She disappears up the stairs and lets out a heavy breath before following the path around the corner to the living room. Wynonna sits on the couch, as promised, staring down at her stomach as though she can make eye contact with the baby—their baby—through her skin. Dean moves to sit next to her on the couch and takes her hand, drawing her attention to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Wynonna’s eyes narrow. “Who died?”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

“You look like someone hit you emotionally with a two-by-four, so yes.”

Dean shakes his head. “No one’s dead.” He pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Sam’s back.”

“Sam. Your dead brother Sam.” Wynonna hesitates as she tries to figure out how to approach this. “Is this like my dead sister Willa, where he’s secretly evil and looking to blow a hole in the Ghost River Triangle?”

“God, I fucking hope not.” He doesn’t know if he’d be able to bring himself to kill his brother. He couldn’t do it before he went to Hell. Not much has changed in his codependence on Sam on that front. “But he says he needs my help with something. Something out of town.”

Wynonna tenses, trying to shore up her emotions, but the downside of being soulmates is that he can feel that flare of disappointment, matched right along with a stoking of the low-key fear that’s been there ever since she found out about the baby.

“Oh.”

“I can tell him no, if you want me to. I know we have a lot to sort out with—”

“My body, my choice. You get that right.”

“I do.” Dean tries not to let on how it twists him up inside that he may choose to do that, but he would never want to force her. Never want her to feel resentful. “And I’m not gonna try to twist your arm. But I want to talk about it.”

Wynonna nods slowly, shifting so that she’s propped against the arm of the couch, tucking her legs under her as she studies his face. “You really want this.”

“Only if you want it.” Dean’s a convincing liar; he knows that, but Wynonna sees right through him, shaking her head with a half-laugh.

“Liar.”

Dean’s eyes drop to the space between them, and nods. “Guilty.”

Wynonna reaches for his hand, turning it palm up in hers so that she can trace over the lines of his palm, idle movement designed to help her gather her thoughts. “It won’t be safe. Not here. Not with me. I mean, it’s not like I have any good examples.”

“And you think I do?”

“Not making me feel better.” She pauses before finally looking up at him again. “I know me, Dean. I’m a train wreck even on my best day. No one deserves that for a mother.”

“I know you better,” he counters. He shifts closer, scooping up her legs and pulling them into his lap so she’s forced to meet his eyes. “I know how you love people, how you go to bat for them. Everyone deserves that in a mother. Everything else, we can figure out.”

Wynonna swallows hard. “I still don’t know. I need … more time than right now. And you need to go deal with Sam.”

“I can stay—”

“No, it’s okay. I need to think, and I can do that without you here. You need to find out if your brother is evil. I’ll call, alright?”

“Alright.”

“If I do—”

Dean sets his jaw before nodding. “I’ll deal. But I’ll understand.”

She nods before leaning in to kiss him softly. “Be safe. Get that ass back here in one piece.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs with a smile against her lips, before getting up and going to pack his things. He still feels uneasy leaving without a decision made, but he trusts Wynonna. He doesn’t know what decision he trusts her to make, but whatever wants he may have, she is more important. She’ll always be more important.

* * * * *

Sam is not evil. Sam is not okay, but he’s not evil either. He’s a third, more complicated thing, and it takes Dean much longer to get back to Purgatory than he initially expected. Weeks pass, and while he and Wynonna talk, she dances around the decision, almost as though she hasn’t made it yet. Part of him wonders if she has and just hasn’t worked up the nerve to tell him yet.

Then, one day while he’s at Bobby’s, doing research on a job, he gets a message from Wynonna: an ultrasound photo, followed by one line of text.

It’s a girl.

A wave of happiness and relief swells through him. That’s his kid. He’s going to have a kid. He’s going to be a dad. Almost makes the piles of shit he’s shoveling through at the moment feel a little less heavy.

Bobby swings around the corner, and his eyes narrow when he sees the look on Dean’s face. “What? What’s wrong?”

Wrong? Absolutely nothing. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

Bobby’s face softens, and he gives him a small smile. “Good for you, kid.”

His phone buzzes again, with another text from Wynonna: We’re in this together, right?

To hell and back he replies. They have a lot to figure out along the way, but whatever comes at them, they’ll handle it together.

[Part 3]

What some people don’t realize is that the Powers That Be is not actually a euphemism for God.

They are separate entities, separate purposes. God is pure creation, both the good and the bad, set to craft the world to his specific machinations, but the universe quickly realized that balance was required. Not so simple as Light versus Darkness, but more author versus editor, ensuring that one side of the tale the Creator was weaving doesn’t overwhelm the other.

It takes thousands of years, multiple attempts at an apocalypse, but it becomes all too clear, all too quickly, that the breaking point has come. Things are spiraling out of control. The Creator’s fixation on the Winchester brothers has become … untenable.

It is with that realization that Cordelia Chase stands in front of the Powers That Be, years after her “retirement,” and she doesn’t realize why yet, but it has her on edge. She was supposed to be done. So why is she here now?

“We have an assignment for you.”

“We require you to return to Earth.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“A mission most dire.”

“The current champions of this Apocalypse are faltering.”

“Their oracle has fallen.”

“And her successor is not ready.”

“If they are to achieve their goal of killing the Creator, they require a more seasoned conduit.”

“You know how to read the visions. Your body is prepared for the weight they carry.”

“We need you to succeed where others have failed.”

Cordelia nods slowly. “Okay. What’s in it for me?”

They stare at her in unison, almost as though they don’t understand the question, before one of them finally stammers out. “You’re … negotiating?”

“Hell yeah, I’m negotiating.”

“That is not your role.”

“You are the Oracle. You do as we command.”

“No, we’re not doing that. I know my worth.” Cordy crosses her arms in front of her chest as she stares them down. “I did my job, and I paid the price for it. I’m not going to be your little vision monkey again without proper compensation. Especially if this is who I think it’s for.” She waits expectantly for them to confirm or deny her suspicions.

“The champions are the Winchester brothers.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So are you going to listen to my terms or are you going to risk this without an Oracle in their corner?” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for their response.

They exchange a glance before their shoulders slump ever so slightly. They’re not ones to risk the balance. Cordy may not have known how to negotiate when she was younger, but she does now. She will not let herself get screwed over again.

“What are your terms?”

She smiles. “I want my team to help. I may watch the boys’ backs, but I need someone to watch mine.” She knows in her heart that they won’t give her all of them, but she has to try. Some of them had consequences to bear, but not all of them. They all deserve to be free of what Wolfram and Hart dragged them down into. The silence stretches for a moment before they nod in concession.

“You may have two.”

Two. Okay, two is not great, but if she plays her cards right then maybe—

“Of our choosing.”

Her shoulders slump some, because fine. Fair enough. At least it guarantees that whomever she gets will be useful to the mission.

“Is that all?”

“No,” she continues, lifting her head. “If we succeed and we survive this, we get our lives back. No hanging out on Earth just long enough to get the job done and then going back to being dead. We get to stick it out for however long it takes to kill us again.”

“You know that their mission is to kill God.”

“That the Winchesters lives are messy and bloody at the best of times.”

“And this is likely to be one of the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Odds of survival are low. But if I beat those odds, I think I’ve earned a second chance. Don’t you?”

They stare at each other silently for a moment, a complex conversation held in total silence, before they turn back to her and nod.

“Very well.”

“Should you survive.”

“And you succeed.”

“Your life will once again be yours.”

“We accept your terms.”

“Good luck, Cordelia Chase.”

“You will need it.”

The light swirls around her, along with their voices, and soon everything fades to black.

* * * * *

She wakes up in her room in the Hyperion, and for a moment, she almost forgets what she’s here to do. Almost. Realization comes that she has to hurry, because if she’s at the Hyperion and she has to make it all the way to Kansas before the boys do something stupid and get themselves killed, well. There goes her reward.

First, she charges over to the closet. The clothes inside it are dusty and probably at least fifteen years out of fashion, but it’ll have to do. She drags out a suitcase and begins packing at least enough to get her started until she can make it to a mall or department store. She’s going to need toiletries, food, a car, maybe stop at a laundromat if she can scrounge up some quarters—

“What the bloody hell—”

The voice springs up from the hallway, and Cordelia’s head tips back with a groan. Right. Spike. Of course it’s Spike. Why would she expect anything else? At least he has a soul now.

(She hopes he still has his soul.)

Zipping up her suitcase, she drags it out into the hallway when the familiar bleached head comes around the corner and his eyes widen.

“Cordelia?”

“Hey, Spike. You didn’t see anyone else around, did you?” The Powers That Be promised her two. Spike is one, so where is the other?

“No. Do you know why I’m suddenly not in a corporate hellscape being tortured by demons who want to ‘circle back’ on the matter of whether I’m allowed to keep my intestines?”

“I do. But we kind of only have time to do this once, so there’s still one more person we have to find.”

“And they’re in this hotel?”

“Probably.”

“Lovely. You go down, I’ll go up?”

“Deal.”

She drags her suitcase with her and begins circling down to the lobby, her heart sinking the more she finds empty. She woke up in her own room, so she checks for Fred, Wes, Gunn—all their rooms empty. But when she comes down to the lobby, stepping into the setting sun of the LA day, her heart leaps as Angel comes out from the shadows behind the front desk.

“Hey.”

He looks up at her, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem to be sure what to say. He just looks at her, and she can’t help but feel like this is the boon she was promised. This is their second chance. It’s been so long that maybe he doesn’t want it, but that’s a conversation to have another time, when Spike isn’t likely eavesdropping.

“Hey,” he finally says, before following up with: “Are you real?”

“Yeah. And so are you, just in case you were worried.”

Angel studies her, then takes a tentative step forward. “How?”

“Long story. But before we get into that—”

“Nothing upstairs,” Spike cuts in as he steps off the elevator, and makes his way closer, and his eyebrows go up when he spots the two of them. “Oh sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” Angel replies, just as Cordy says, “No.” Angel looks back at her, eyes narrowing, and she sighs before gesturing to the collection of chairs nearby.

“Sit down. This is going to be a long one.”

By the time she finishes telling the relevant parts of the story, the two vampires look a little shellshocked, and she can’t say she blames them. Not every day that you ask someone to help you kill God. Angel, especially, looks a little perturbed.

“Sorry. I’m just processing. The Irish Catholic in me is having a hard time with this one.”

“I know it’s a lot,” Cordy sighs. “But if we make it out the other side, we get to live. That has to be worth at least trying, right?”

“I think this sounds like fun.” Spike shrugs. “I mean, I’ll probably die again. But killing God is a hell of a trophy.”

Angel meets Cordy’s eyes, possibly hears all the things she isn’t saying in mixed company, before nodding. “I’m in too.”

“Good. Okay. So, I’m thinking one of us should try to get in touch with the Slayers. The Winchesters have to do parts of this themselves, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have backup, or have things taken off their plate.”

Spike holds up a hand. “I’ll take that one. I’ll ask around, see what the Slayer cells are looking like these days, and keep in touch.” A beat. “How will we be keeping in touch?”

“We’ll get phones, exchange numbers before we split up.”

“I’ll check and see if our old bank accounts are still active,” Angel says slowly. “I have a feeling no one reported us dead.”

“Okay. So Angel and I will go out to meet with the Winchesters, Spike will talk to the Slayers, and we’ll coordinate from there. Once Chuck realizes that the Powers That Be have put help on the board, this is probably going to escalate fast, so we can’t waste time.”

Angel nods as he gets to his feet. “I’ll go check and see if my car is in the garage.”

Cordelia and Spike both nod as he goes, and once the door closes behind him, Spike looks back at her. “So just us, then?

“What do you mean?”

“You really mean to tell me that the Powers That Be let you build a team and you didn’t reach for the others? Gunn or Wes or—”

“They only gave me two.” Cordy says quietly. “And I didn’t get to choose.”

She’s not sure if Spike reads between the lines in her saying that if it were her choice, he wouldn’t be. Still, he takes that in quietly before nodding. “Right. Then let’s make this all worth their while.”

* * * * *

Once they get their phones, and Cordy raids a drugstore for skincare and other necessary toiletries, they part ways with Spike and head in opposite directions. She and Angel head out of town, while Spike heads deeper into the city. By the time the sun rises on this long night and they’re tucked away in a motel to wait out the sun, Cordelia has a small vision, barely even a blip, really, of where she might find a witch who will make traveling a little easier.

She sneaks out while Angel sleeps, and when she returns, she’s made a run to the butcher shop and a convenience store for food for them both and has traded a considerable amount of their remaining cash for a small silver ring with a blue stone. Angel is also awake when she returns, considerable concern written all over his face. “Where did you go?”

“I had a vision. And I needed to run some errands.” She places the food down on the table nearby before making her way closer to him and holding out the ring. “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a daylight ring.”

Angel stares at it for a long moment before shaking his head. “I can’t take that.”

“It’s not like the other one, Angel. This isn’t going to make you invulnerable or give you any extra power. It will just protect you from the sun.”

“After everything I’ve done—”

“Yes, after everything you’ve done, you deserve this. And we also can’t promise that the problems we’ll be trying to solve here will be at night.” Cordy steps closer. “If you want to stop wearing it when we’re done, that’s up to you. But for now, we need this tool in our arsenal.”

Angel hesitates before nodding and taking the ring from her. As he slides it on his finger, he looks back at her. “I wish it weren’t just us.”

“I tried to get everyone,” she admits. “They didn’t let me choose.”

“They wouldn’t.”

He turns away from her, moving towards the cooler for some of the blood, and Cordelia hesitates, playing with one of her rings before she turns to face him.

“Angel, I—”

He turns to face her, and she almost chickens out. Does still, slightly. What she says isn’t really what she intended to say, but it gets the point across well enough.

“Even if I could choose, I still would have chosen you.”

It’s a dim representation of the things she wants, of what she wants her life—potentially their lives—to look like if they make it out the other side, but it says enough. He watches her for another long moment before nodding.

“Let’s eat, and then we’ll get back on the road?”

She nods, reaching for the food, and hoping that settles things enough for now.

* * * * *

It’s another day and change before they finally arrive at the front of the bunker. The Winchesters are not present, the telltale Impala missing, so they have some time to talk before they have to get down to business in convincing these two paranoid men that they are on their side.

Angel has the hood of the convertible down. He’s had that more and more since getting the ring, letting himself soak in the sunshine. His head tips back against the rest of the seat, eyes closed, and Cordelia can’t help but smile. Things have gotten easier the longer they’ve had to find their rhythm again. The words they need to say to each other don’t feel so hard.

“See? Told you it was a good thing.”

“You were right,” he says dryly. “I should always listen to your words of wisdom.”

“Thank you.” She takes a deep breath before looking over at him. “Angel … I know it’s been a long time. I was dead. You were in a Hell dimension.”

He opens one eye and looks over at her curiously. “Where is this going, Cordy?”

“I just … I would understand if you’d … moved on.” He opens the other eye and turns his full focus on her. Her stomach sinks, wondering if it’s acknowledgement or understanding, but she keeps pushing forward. “But … if we win, do you think maybe we could try again? Have a real chance this time?”

One of his hands comes up, cupping her face and letting his thumb brush against the apple of her cheek. She wants to lean into it, but she holds his gaze, waiting for his answer.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I think we should. If we win.”

“If we win.” All the more reason to win in her opinion, but before they can push the issue further, a car rumbles in the distance. They turn to see a black Chevy Impala pulling into the spot next to them, and the driver rolls down the window.

“Hey! This isn’t some make-out spot. Go get your kicks somewhere else.”

Cordy rolls her eyes before pulling away from Angel and climbing out of the car. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“Oh, really?” The driver climbs out of the car. Blonder than the other. Dean? “Then why are you here?”

Cordy sighs. “I’m Cordelia Chase. This is Angel. The Powers That Be sent us here to help you kill Chuck.”

The other brother joins him, and Dean stares back at her for a moment until he realizes she’s serious. Then his eyebrows go up.

“Bullshit.”

Cordy and Angel share a look before she holds up her hands and goes to get back in the car. “Okay, fine. If you don’t want prophetic visions designed to give you a competitive edge, then I’ll just get back in my car and—”

“Wait.” The taller one—Sam?—speaks up as he stares back at them. “You’re a prophet?”

She shakes her head. “Oracle. Totally different gig. Think more like Missouri Mosely. You lost her, and her granddaughter isn’t ready yet. So the Powers sent me instead. They want you to win.”

“And the big guy?” Dean asks.

“He’s my backup. I watch your back, and he watches mine.”

The brothers exchange a look, and Dean’s eyes narrow. “How do we know any of this is true?”

“Call your angel. My reputation may not be super common knowledge for humans, but he’ll know who I am.”

“Fine.” Dean points to the door. “We’re going to go inside and talk to Cas. You stay here.”

Cordy nods, hands up as she leans back against the side of the car. Angel gets out to join her, and as the door closes behind the Winchesters, he smirks.

“This is going to be fun.”

Edited 2025-09-25 22:52 (UTC)

He’s your problem now.

Ben stares at the text from Marla on his phone uncomprehendingly. There’s something about it that doesn’t make any sense. Who and why is he Ben’s problem and what does that—

Then his brain actually wakes up. Clearly, it’s too early to be doing this kind of mental math. Instead of responding by text, he hits the phone icon and places his phone to his ear and waits until Marla answers the phone. She answers on the second ring, already sounding annoyed.

“Jesus, do I have to break up with you too?”

“So you did leave him.”

“You sound surprised. Didn’t he tell you?” Ben’s silence seems to speak loud enough, and she snorts. “Typical D.”

“Why?”

“You really have to ask that question?”

Ben falls silent again because no, he probably doesn’t. Ben likes Marla, and thought that she and Dickerson were happy, but he also knows that there is something about them that just felt a little too … safe. Not that there’s anything wrong with safe, and maybe that’s just Ben’s fucked-up way of looking at the world, but they never actually seemed that into each other.

“No, I guess not.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”

Marla sighs. “It’s fine, Ben. I should have done it a long time ago, because he clearly was never going to.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

“You know, it’s really hard to hate you when you’re not being an asshole.”

“I could go back to being a dick if that would make it easier for you.”

“Please.” Marla pauses. “Take care of yourself, Ben. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

He takes a heavy breath as he hangs up before sending off a text to Helene to see if she heard anything. She had not. Neither of them is particularly surprised, but Ben forces himself out of bed early and goes to check on Dickerson himself.

* * * * *

Given that he’s never seen Dickerson go through a breakup, he decides it’s best to show up with options; the options being coffee, doughnuts, and booze. He doesn’t know what to actually bring inside, so he starts with the coffee and goes from there. He’s grabbing the to-go tray and climbs out of his car when he sees Dickerson, acting like it’s just a normal day, making his way out of the door like he’s going to go to work.

Like nothing happened.

Ben’s eyes narrow as he takes in the scene, before drawing Dickerson’s attention. “Dude.”

Dickerson turns towards the sound of his voice and immediately looks confused. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you?”

“Why would you do that?”

Ben gapes briefly before his shoulders drop. “Marla told me what happened.”

“Oh.” He reaches over and takes one coffee before shrugging. “It’s fine, man.”

“It’s fine?” Ben stares even harder. “You were engaged.”

“And now I’m not.” Dickerson shrugs. “It’s fine.” He takes a sip of the coffee. “Good coffee. Were you worried about me?”

“The woman who was your fiancée broke up with you, and I didn’t hear it from you; I found out from her. So yeah, I was worried.” He stares back at him, not really understanding the level of fine Dickerson is experiencing right now. “But you’re good?”

“Yeah, man. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely. It’s a new day, let’s go.” Dickerson flashes him a smile as he opens his car door. “I gotta get to work. But drinks? Later? We’ll meet up at Helene’s new gig.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

Dickerson gets in his car to head off to work, and as Ben watches him go, he feels his feelings shifting, for reasons he’s not entirely sure why. He takes a swig of his own coffee before sighing and climbing back into his car. Time to pick that feeling apart while he fixes other people’s cars at work.

* * * * *

“Marla and D broke up.”

Helene’s eyebrows go up, considering Ben as he sits at the bar working through a plate of fries. “Why do you sound like you’re having complicated feelings about that?”

Ben’s eyebrows go up as he pops a fry in his mouth. “Seems like I’m the only one who’s having feelings about it.” Helene’s brow furrows, and he sighs. “One, I heard about it from Marla, not from him. Two, I get there this morning and he’s just fine. Like nothing happened. They’ve been together as long as I’ve known him, and she dumps him and he’s just … fine.”

“Ahh,” Helene nods slowly. “This is your first time with the Dickerson special.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Explain.”

“Dickerson is a fixer. That’s his thing. He wants to solve everyone’s problems, because he wants no problems, so naturally when he has problems, he’s going to make sure no one knows about it.” Helene pauses as she wipes down another part of the bar before continuing. “Or maybe he just actually doesn’t care.”

“He proposed to her.”

“Yeah, because he’s been with her forever and ‘it was time.’”

Ben can read the implications, and he doesn’t like them. That the comfort of having a relationship is more important than whether it’s the right one. He sets his jaw before looking back at her. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Helene squints at him. “I’m not trying to get him to marry me. Why would that bother me?”

Ben isn’t entirely sure he knows why it’s bothering him. He’s not Marla. It’s not his relationship that fell apart. He’s not Dickerson either. This shouldn’t matter to him. If Dickerson’s fine, he should let it go.

Helene leans forward, elbows resting on the edge of the bar. “Ben. Why are you acting like you’ve just had some grand revelation about your best friend?”

Ben tips his head to look at her more before shaking his head. “I’m not.”

“So you’re having a grand revelation about how you feel about your best friend.”

That strays closer to the truth, but he’s not sure he wants to unpack that with Helene either. She’s available for specific conversations, and they aren’t deep or complicated. But also they are the kind he can’t really have with Dickerson.

She waits quietly for him to confirm, then sighs. “Look, you two have your thing, and I’m not trying to get in the middle of it. But I’ve known you long enough to know that you have a lot of big feelings. So if you want to talk about it with someone who is not Dickerson—”

“I’ve been Marla. In fact, I’ve pretty much always been Marla.” He sets his jaw before leaning back on the stool. “I didn’t think that Marla was me.”

What he doesn’t say is that whatever feelings he may or may not have for his best friend, things stuffed down hard because Dickerson was engaged to someone else, none of them ever equated to the fact where it could be just another take on any of the relationships he’s ever had. Just another blip on the radar, another bit of fun until something actually serious comes along. Or worse, someone just going along for the ride because something easy was presented to them. He doesn’t think he could handle that from someone who is so important to him.

It makes him want to pull back in a situation that maybe could have had him leaning in.

“Marla isn’t you.” Helene points out. “None of your people has ever deluded you into thinking that they would marry you.”

He snorts. “Yeah. Probably should be grateful for that, shouldn’t I?” He’s about to say something else, when Dickerson walks in the door, and he shifts his body language to lean in towards her, looking for the distraction from his thoughts. “I’m off tomorrow. Want to hang tonight? My place?”

Helene looks back at him, raising an eyebrow almost as though she realizes that she’s being used as a distraction from something else, but she also never seems to mind. “You’re not going to get stupid drunk and pass out on me halfway through, are you?”

“Do I ever?” Ben is almost offended she has to ask. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Her eyes sparkle with an edge of almost feline intrigue. “Good point.” Dickerson’s almost at the bar, and she nods. “Yeah, sure. I get off at one.”

He grins, an escape secured as she places another ginger ale in front of him. Dickerson’s hand comes down on his shoulder, and he gives it a firm squeeze.

“So, what are we drinking? Beer?”

“Beer. Sounds good,” Ben nods, settling in to have a relaxing night with his friends. Not to think about things that aren’t important. And put a nail in the coffin of things he never put actual words into hoping for.

“We have a new Valkyrie.”

Rosalina pauses before stepping back and raising an eyebrow at Hecuba. She stands at the entrance to the stables. “Odin’s dead.”

“Yes, and Thor felt the need to call one of the Indebted into service.”

“Oh.” It’s not unprecedented. Odin chose several Valkyries from the first iteration of the city. But after Odin died, Rosalina assumed their ranks would not continue to grow. Clearly, she was wrong. “Thor. Not Freyja?”

Hecuba nods. “Her name is Sarah. She’s remaining in Teleios for now, it seems. But I wanted you to be aware, as she will likely be brought here for training at some point.”

Rosalina nods with a smile before turning to head back towards the training grounds. “No trouble at all. Do we know whether she has any previous combat training?”

“Unclear, but according to Thor she has psychopomp experience.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Rosalina’s shoulders relax some. “That’s always the hardest thing to teach.” Having empathy in the face of death is hard. Some of the Valkyries who are already warriors have a hard time meeting it head on. Sometimes, it's easier to teach a psychopomp to fight than it is to teach a warrior to guide the dead.

Hecuba nods in agreement. “I’ll let you know when she arrives.”

Rosalina nods before turning and going back to work. It’ll be nice to have a new student again.

* * * * *

It’s about a year before Sarah arrives in Valhalla with the intent of training, with Teleios having closed its doors (again) though this time less brutally than in times past. She arrives with more training with a blade than Rosalina expected, and that is also a boon in their favor. There’s also been some time of recovery, for Thor to find a rhythm with his mother, especially with Asgard being its own realm again. Freyja has taken charge of the Valkyries, but Rosalina knows the agent well enough to know that things will be calmer for it.

“Hello!” she says with her usual cheer as she makes her approach, holding out her hand to shake hers. “I’m Rosalina Frostward. I’ll be responsible for your training from here on out.”

“Sarah,” the young girl says with a smile. “Thank you.”

She’s younger than Rosalina expects, but there’s a weight to her that Rosalina recognizes. Something that feels older than her few visible years, and the older Valkyrie can’t help but be curious—but first meetings are not the place for those conversations.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sarah. Have you been given the grand tour?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Well, then. Let’s get started.”

With the Vikings gone, the Valkyries could reclaim some spaces of Valhalla that they had originally ceded to the comfort of the survivors. But things aren’t quite back to normal yet, so the tour is short, and ends on the fields where she will train with the rest of her class.

“What kind of combat is expected? Will everyone have to use a sword?”

“Most choose some kind of blade, yes. But the types vary. Personally, I am more of a fencer, so I use a rapier more than a broadsword, but your fighting style will be unique to you. We’ll try many things before we settle on your signature weapon.”

Sarah nods slowly before her face becomes more somber. “How often do we go into battle?”

“Not so often as we used to. Agents get along a lot better these days, or what’s required is smaller expeditions. I haven’t seen a battlefield since … Asgard, I suppose. The first time.”

Sarah nods slowly. “Is there a reason you haven’t?”

Rosalina pauses before nodding. She doesn’t bring up Mira often, not after this long, but from the way Sarah is studying her, she feels she might be more astute than most other new Valkyries. “There is. But it’s not currently part of the tour.” She says it lightly, and Sarah nods, offering a small smile in return.

“I understand. Thank you for showing me around. I should find my way back to my room.”

“Yes, indeed.” Rosalina’s eyes sparkle as she goes to lead her back to the dorms. “We start bright and early in the morning. You’ll need your rest.”

Sarah’s nose wrinkles. “How early, exactly?”

“Not before the sun’s up. We want you to see what you’re stabbing, after all. But … not long after it rises.”

She makes a bigger face before nodding. “Well, I wasn’t really a big sleeper, anyway.”

Rosalina won’t comment on how heavy days of training may change that, because that isn’t true of everyone. She’ll simply nod and smile before leaving her at the entrance to the dorms.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Sarah. Looking forward to getting started.”

As she turns to go inside, she can’t help but feel like this is going to be promising.

* * * * *

Sarah catches on quickly compared to most. The training she had before she came to Valhalla helps at least in terms of familiarity with a sword and some other weaponry, but she’s still new to this, and Rosalina spends time with her making small corrections to her form, shifting her steps in the dance just so in order to help her improve.

It also helps that Sarah seems determined to improve. She catches her practicing on her own after classes are done for the day. One quiet evening she comes across her moving through the motions of the forms they learned earlier that day, a series of blocks and parries, and the teacher in her can’t help but step forward out of the shadows before she can pull away from one particular thrust forward.

“Good, good. Don’t pull back yet.” Rosalina moves forward to stand behind her. “Do you feel how your weight is shifted, all to the left? That’s going to give your opponent an opportunity to catch you off balance.”

Sarah nods, watching carefully as Rosalina ever so slightly shifts her weight so that the sword is in the same place, but Sarah’s weight is a little steadier.

“Does that feel better?”

“Yes.” Sarah ducks her head. “I didn’t realize you were—”

“I was not spying. Well, not intentionally spying.” Rosalina moves around to face her at the front. “I was passing by, and I fully intended to leave you to keep practicing. But so much of this is muscle memory, like a dance. I don’t want your muscles to learn the wrong thing.”

Sarah nods in understanding. “When you were learning, did you feel you were never actually learning anything, and all you had was a series of fancy dance moves?”

Rosalina laughs. “Frequently. My fencing instructor was rather demanding. But over time, I saw the ways it helped. Especially when you’re in the midst of a great battle, you can’t waste time thinking about placement—you simply need to act.”

Sarah lowers the sword slowly, considering her instructor. “I saw the aftermath of Asgard. Hundreds of years down the line, I know, but … I can see how any of that would cause someone to walk away. But I don’t think that’s why you did.”

Rosalina raises an eyebrow because in the time they’ve spent together, she’s realized that Sarah is perceptive. And maybe, because she was a psychopomp once upon a time, she’s intimately familiar with the signs of grief, even in someone who is several centuries removed from that great loss. Rosalina doesn’t wear her grief as openly as she used to, but it’s still there, if you know where to look.

“I lost someone very dear to me in Asgard. And while that isn’t the reason, it’s a wound that isn’t easily healed, no matter how much you wish it would.”

Sarah nods. “So what is the reason?”

Rosalina takes a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself. “For a long time, there was the temptation simply to throw myself into battle recklessly, and that is an urge that will do no one any good. I turned my focus to training instead, and the more and more of my students came back, the more that soothed. But sending myself into those battles … I’m still not sure I trust myself not to find a way to the other half of my heart. And I have promises I intend to keep to the living—including you.”

Sarah frowns. “You haven’t promised me anything.”

“On the contrary. The moment you agreed to let me teach you, I promised that I would have you ready. And that is a promise I take seriously.”

“Do you think you will ever go back into battle again?”

Rosalina considers that quietly. “I can’t say for sure. I’m not giving up, but I’m not rushing things either. And every day, the sword sings in my hand more and more. One day my sisters will need me, and I will take up the call. I’m just not sure I know when.”

Sarah nods, consideration on her face before she lifts the sword again. “Can you show me the second form again? Make sure I have it right?”

Rosalina smiles and nods before moving to stand next to her, drawing her own rapier. “Let’s take it from the beginning, shall we?”

The social worker had warned them that adoption could be a long process. But when conversations about it take on the tone of, “I’m stalling because I’m not really sure what to tell you,” Aiden smells a rat. He doesn’t think Josh does. In fact, he’s fairly certain he only smells it because he grew up with Selina, said social worker, and knows what it looks like when she’s trying to dance around something.

So, one morning when Josh is busy with meeting the new human faction leader, he makes his way over to Selina’s office with coffee and opens with: “What the hell, Selina?”

Selina’s eyes narrow as she takes the coffee from him. “Good morning to you too.” Aiden continues to stare her down, and she rolls her eyes with a huff. “You know that doesn’t work on me. I’m a werewolf too, and if I remember correctly, I could kick your ass nine times out of ten, so intimidating me into moving this faster is not going to work in your favor.”

“Sure, it won’t.”

“This is the government, Aiden. It’s slow. It’s the defining feature, especially when doing something arguably good for their community is concerned.”

Aiden nods slowly. “I know for a fact that Shelby and Joaquin started talking to you after we started talking to you about Erroll and they had their kid placed within the month. It’s been nearly four. So, I repeat, what the hell?” Having one of their own in the office is supposed to make things like this easier.

Selina gives a small shrug. “There’s been a bit of red tape, but I’m working on it.”

“What kind of red tape?” He pauses before running a hand over his face. “Is it because we’re both men?”

“No.”

“Because, given that we’re in the south, it would make sense if—”

“No. That’s not the problem.”

Aiden takes a deep breath, taking a sip of his own coffee to steady himself. “Then what is it?”

Selina glances around before pulling Aiden into her office and closing the door behind him. The soundproofing quickly shuts out the rest of the noise from the office, but it also means no one can hear them either.

“It’s the foster mother.”

“Virginia?” Aiden’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Selina raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, she has not given me the reasons beyond ‘I think Erroll needs more time to adjust’ or ‘I’m just not sure they’re the right fit’ and it makes me want to strangle her but because she is the current guardian, we can’t complete the adoption process without her say so.”

Aiden sets his jaw. He and Virginia have never had a problem. They’ve never been close, particularly after he and Josh got married, but she’s never been outright hostile either. She’s one of the stauncher members of the pack, more set in her ways, but it’s been over a decade.

“What do you think the issue is?”

Selina is perceptive, and she knows Virginia better than he does. Selina makes a face, and he knows it’s an answer he’s not going to like. “Your place in the pack is hard to impeach. I mean, you’re Hayley’s right hand. But … you’re also married to a vampire.” He opens his mouth to respond, and she holds up a hand. “And you know I love that vampire for you, and even as we’re supposed to all be besties now, it’s still complicated for a lot of us.”

Aiden exhales slowly, trying to let some of that anger recede, but it’s not easy (it’s never easy). It doesn’t help that after everything Josh has done to prove that he has the best interests of the pack in mind, it’s still not enough.

“If I talk to her about this, will it get you in trouble?”

Selina waves a hand. “Only if you don’t convince her to be on your side. And if you don’t … well, then I can play a little dirty too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“No, you do not,” Selina replies before giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Good luck.”

He nods before turning and making his way out of her office. He was going to need it.

* * * * *

Josh and Aiden have another scheduled getting to know you visitation coming up, so Aiden doesn’t make a separate trip out to the bayou. He doesn’t tell Josh either. It’s mostly because he doesn’t want Virginia to see him coming, and if Selina is right about Virginia’s issues with them, Virginia will watch his husband like a hawk. He’ll tell him after the problem is resolved—or maybe if he’s lucky, he won’t have to tell him at all.

Erroll brightens when he sees them both and immediately takes Josh’s hand to lead him up to his room to show him something in the backyard, and Josh looks back at them and Aiden shakes his head.

“I’ll be right behind you. I just want to talk to Virginia for a second.”

Josh frowns, confused before nodding. “Alright. See you soon.” The two of them head out, and Virginia turns her shrewd expression on Aiden.

“What is it?”

Aiden holds up a finger, waiting until he hears the back door close, followed by the fading footsteps into the distance, and once he’s sure both husband and child are out of earshot, he turns back to her with a frown. “You want to tell me what your problem is?”

Virginia flusters. “Excuse me?”

“I talked to Selina, and it turns out everything is fine on CPS’s end, but you’re the one holding up the adoption. I would like the opportunity to resolve whatever the issue is, so I repeat—you want to tell me what your problem is?”

Virginia’s eyes narrow, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively. “Maybe I want to keep him myself. Did you ever consider that?”

“Then you would have moved forward with the adoption yourself, and you haven’t. So let’s try again.”

She grits her teeth before leaning in to meet him. “You’re being a real asshole right now, and it’s not exactly changing my mind on things.” She turns to walk away, and he moves to follow her.

“Yeah, I’m an asshole, but that’s only because you’ve been in our face, every time we’ve had a visit, pretending like everything was just fine, so maybe being an asshole is the only way to get you to talk.”

“Well, that was a miscalculation on your part. And this isn’t something you can pull rank on as Hayley’s second. I am doing what is best for that child.”

“How is keeping him here when two people who want to adopt him and give him a good life doing what is best for him?”

Virginia sighs. It’s hard to push like this when he’s known her his whole life, but he’s not going to not fight for his family. So if he has to challenge her, he will. Eventually, she speaks. “You married that boy, Aiden. And that’s your life to choose. You’re an adult; you can take care of yourself.”

“So this is about Josh.”

“He’s a sweet boy. I’m not saying he’s not. But he’s also the leader of the vampire faction, and while I certainly prefer him over someone like Marcel Gerard or, heaven forbid, one of the Mikaelsons, it’s not the least dangerous job in the world. He was kidnapped to be executed, you realize. And then there were more hunters with the kill list—”

“Everyone was on that.”

“Yes, but he was probably worth quite a bit more than the rest of us. And so were you.” Virginia sets her jaw. “Look, I don’t feel great about this, but I’m responsible for that child’s safety. Can you really guarantee that he’ll be safe?”

Aiden looks out to the front yard, trying to keep his temper calm because yes, her words anger him, but he can’t say she’s wrong, either.

“We had peace for a long time. This was one blip; maybe things will quiet down again.”

“Maybe. And maybe it won’t.”

“So you’re saying that unless Josh steps down from his job, you won’t sign off on us adopting Erroll. You realize if he does, that just opens us up for one of the people you don’t want. Davina and Marcel are still close, so he’ll probably stand in until we pick someone new. Elijah Mikaelson is back in town, so maybe he might take a hand in it. He originated the role way back when, so he might find it stimulating. Hell, I’ve even heard the Salvatores have been hanging around. Maybe one of them might want the job.”

The vampire they’d want—Cami, mainly—would be ineligible because of her role in the community. You can’t have your therapist also be deciding for the collective, never mind the fact that she’s Klaus’ wife. They’re all compromised in different ways. Josh is just cleaner than most.

Virginia raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“No, not a threat. I’m just saying this is something we both really want. So we’ll make the choices necessary to make that happen, but I just want to make sure you’re aware of what the consequences will be.” Aiden shrugs. “You want us to prioritize the kid, we’ll prioritize the kid. But I think we can find a better compromise here. Just … think about it.”

And with that, he will head out to the backyard to find his husband, and hope that Virginia will actually think about it. He steps out onto the grass, scanning for any sign of trouble, when a small, bespectacled face pops up from behind one bush and shouts:

“Follow me if you want to live!”

Aiden laughs, some of the weight lifting as he turns to head in that direction. “Right behind you, buddy.”

* * * * *

Aiden tells Josh about his conversation with Virginia the moment they’re home, because that didn’t feel like the right secret to keep, especially when it may involve giving up his job. And he can’t, in some instances, say that Virginia is wrong to worry. She doesn’t even know about San Francisco, about the two timelines bouncing around in Aiden’s head—Josh barely knows about that.

He’s wondering if she’s right, and needs someone to tell him otherwise.

“Everyone is always in danger! Danger is what New Orleans is!” Josh huffs. “Honestly, I’ve lived here for over a decade, and this is literally the safest it’s ever been, and we just had a hunter invasion.”

“I know.”

“And part of that is because of work I did.”

“I know.”

“Does she really think it’s going to stay that way if I step down?”

“That’s what I told her.”

“Also, I resent that I’m the dangerous problem. You’re Hayley’s right hand. If they can’t find Hayley or Derek and want to come at the pack, they’re going to go right for you.” His stomach sinks slightly, and Josh must see it on his face, because he leans in closer. “I don’t mean that you’re a problem. Neither of us is a problem.”

Aiden rubs his eyes as he straightens. “I don’t think she’s wrong to have us thinking about it. It’s one thing when it’s the two of us; it’s another when there’s a kid involved.”

Josh studies him before moving closer. “Are you rethinking things?”

“No. No, not the bigger question. This is what we want.” What they’ve wanted for a while. “I’m just maybe wondering if there’s a way we can make this work. We will need to have plans to keep him safe if something happens again.”

Josh nods slowly. “Ways we can convince Virginia that we’re taking his safety seriously.”

Aiden nods as well. “Maybe we could ask Davina—”

The question is cut off by his phone ringing, Virginia on the caller ID. He reaches for it, answering on speakerphone, even if he doesn’t have to. “Hey, Virginia.”

“Is your husband around?”

“You’re on speaker.”

Virginia sighs. “I assume you told him about our conversation.”

“He did,” Josh interrupts, the annoyance clear in his tone.

“Good. Well, I thought about what you said about there maybe being a better compromise. So I made a list—”

“Of demands?” Josh cuts her off.

“Of suggestions.” There’s a pause, and Aiden’s phone buzzes again with a text message. “The big one is spending more time in the bayou. I understand you need to have a place in town, but it may be better for him to be here with other kids his age who are like him, and more people who will protect him if necessary. I don’t know what contingencies they have for children in the Quarter but … ”

Werewolf children are less able to protect themselves if they haven’t turned. Witch children at least have their natural protective magic.

“We’ll have a look and let you know.” Aiden pauses. “Anything else?”

“I’m sorry for not discussing it with you directly. I should have instead of just stalling.”

“Thank you.” Aiden hangs up before pulling up the list and showing it to Josh. “Okay, these are not unreasonable. But I think there are ways we can make the Quarter safer. Talk to Davina and see if there’s like … magical ways that we can give him places to hide. Teach him who the safe adults are, that kind of thing.”

Josh nods slowly. “I’m having coffee with her tomorrow. We can brainstorm.”

“We’ll figure this out.” Aiden glances over at him before pulling him close. “I know we can protect him. We just have to spend the time thinking about it.”

Josh nods slowly. “I’m still allowed to be sulky at her for making this my fault, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” Josh sighs as he leans in to kiss him. “Maybe if we’re lucky, we can have him here by Christmas.”

“Maybe.” That would be nice. “In that case, we’d have to make sure we have presents for Christmas.”

“Maybe we'll go shopping this weekend? Just in case.”

Aiden smiles, because it’s the hopeful distraction that they’re both in need of. “That sounds perfect.” And maybe it’ll bring a bit of good luck too.

If nothing else, it’s one more step closer to what they’ve been working towards.

It takes some time, but slowly Zari gets over her initial flustering and is more herself, which helps Behrad be more himself, and things feel something akin to normal. It helps that she knows who his Zari is and can manage those expectations, but she still can’t help but feel like she’s sitting on a secret.

Probably because she is.

Every time she feels like a conversation could lead them towards her Behrad, she delicately sidesteps it. She steers the conversation away from the things that hurt her most. She knows that he’s going to ask one day—how could he not? Zari would. But she keeps kicking the can down the road, hoping that maybe he’ll forget.

Behrad does not forget.

“So what’s your me like?”

It feels like such an innocent question as the two of them trade off parts while they work on the front desk computer, and Zari freezes. She knows she can’t truly avoid the question, not really. So she takes a deep breath and wades into things she doesn’t talk about often.

“Not that different, not really.” She keeps her eyes on the screwdriver she’s using to release the cover so she can get at the circuitry underneath. “He was a little harder sometimes, but that’s only because he had to be. He wasn’t usual with me.”

She can practically hear the frown in his voice as he considers that. “What do you mean?”

Zari pauses before straightening and turning to look at him. “Our timeline wasn’t a great one. ARGUS declared martial law shortly after the Metahuman Registration Act was signed; organized religion was outlawed—people were suffering. And you saw that, and you couldn’t stand by and let it happen. You had the totem, but I wasn’t going to let you do it alone. I was your girl in the chair while you went out and helped people move around or broke metahumans out of jail. You were really good at it too. Charismatic. You always knew just what to say to get people to follow you.”

Behrad considers that for a moment before shaking his head. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”

“Well, that sounds to me like you don’t give yourself enough credit. You became a Legend after all.”

She can tell from the look on his face that he doesn’t think the two are quite the same, and fair. Being part of the Legends can feel like a wild and wacky adventure more than it does saving the world. Instead, he looks back down at his work and refocuses.

“Are we happy? Even with all that happening?” Dexterous fingers work one chip free while he continues to speak. “I mean, makes sense that you would hook up with the Legends in a world like that and try to change the timeline to make it better. But I don’t get why I didn’t come—”

She hears it the moment the penny drops, and he realizes the reason. She can’t bring herself to look at him just yet, because the realization is heavy, especially when she knows what question is going to come next.

“Mama and Baba?”

She can’t say those words aloud. All she can do is shake her head, confirming what is likely sinking into the pit of his stomach. And suddenly the lobby of the Kashtta feels stifling, and she needs to be somewhere else.

“I need to get some air.”

“Z—”

“I’m okay. I just … I need some air.”

He lets her go, and she rushes out into the streets of Chicago. She knows this conversation isn’t over, not yet. But she’ll at least put it on pause for a little while.

* * * * *

He finds her a couple of hours later, sitting on a bench in the subway station, staring down the empty tunnel. He moves to sit on the bench next to her, placing a box of doughnuts between them, almost like a peace offering.

Behrad also doesn’t ask, but she knows she needs to say it all the same. “It was a trap. And I didn’t realize it until it was too late. We had been contacted by someone who knew all our protocols and was looking for a way out of town, and I should have vetted it better. That was my job. We were being so careful, especially because ARGUS had long since moved on from non-lethal methods, but … I missed it. And by the time I realized—”

It was done. The sound of the guns over their earpieces still rattles in her head sometimes, usually after a vicious nightmare.

“They left you behind, but they took the totem. And I knew I had to get it back. I tried to hack in on my own, but they were waiting for me there too. The only reason I probably didn’t wind up dead too was Kuasa tried to kill me first.”

Behrad snorts. “Weird to be kind of grateful to her for that, right?”

She laughs before reaching for one doughnut and tearing off a piece. “I got away from her, and then the Legends showed up. They claimed they were there to help me, so I … conned them into helping me break into ARGUS’ headquarters so I could get the totem back. I thought that once they figured that part out, they would abandon me, but they didn’t.”

“They’re good like that.”

“Yeah, they are.” She takes another bite of her doughnut. “It took me a while to convince Sara to help me change the future. I’m still not sure how I did it, what I changed. The timeline has so many dominoes in it, I knew there was a risk that maybe I wouldn’t still be me, but it was worth it. You were always worth that risk.”

He leans back on the bench, staring down the empty tunnel, almost as though they’re both waiting for a subway train that’s never going to come. He’s quiet, digesting all the information.

“When the Legends showed up, for me, it was like I was waking up. That there were parts of me I never realized were there, and maybe I wasn’t a hero yet, but I could be. I could be the totem bearer. I could help save the world. Me, who spent the entire time hiding in my sister’s shadow, with no followers and no audience and no clout. It felt like something worth doing.” He glances back over at her, and she can see him doing the math. “Maybe you’re right, and it was always there. I just needed something worth fighting for.”

Zari smiles softly. “Do you think there’s a timeline somewhere where we just get to be? No evil government organizations or crazy time-traveling heroes?”

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug. “But then we wouldn’t be us and therefore would be significantly less cool.”

“Fair,” Zari snorts. She leans back against the bench, staring down at the remains of her doughnut. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

His eyes shift to her, curious. “Even though I’m not your Behrad?”

She nods. “Ever since your Zari showed up, I’ve … been struggling with it, a little. Not that I did it—I would do it again, every time. But that I would do all that work and just … disappear when it was done.” She knew Zari was aware of her, but that didn’t mean she was real. “It’s still hard. But having you here remind me why I did it. The person I was fighting for.”

Behrad glances over at her with a small smile. “You just miss your Behrad sometimes. Because I’m not quite the same.”

She nods quickly, one tear slipping down her cheek, and as she reaches up to brush it away, he moves the box of doughnuts between them and slides over to wrap his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for a tight hug. She leans into it eagerly, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“I get that,” he murmurs. “I think I feel the same way sometimes. You’re Zari, but you’re not quite Zari enough.”

She laughs. “Which is probably for the best, because I barely know how she manages to be that much Zari.”

He grins. “I’m not sure she does either.”

“Sometimes I would look at her though and … she feels like everything I could have had the potential to be. If things were different.”

“Maybe.” Behrad pauses, and she feels him wrestling through his own complicated feelings about his sister. “Zari and I didn’t always have the best relationship. Since she’s been on the Waverider, I think we’ve been getting better. But I like that we don’t have the same kinds of thorns in our relationship. We can start from scratch.”

Starting over feels good in its own way. None of the complicated emotional tangles, but still siblings. Still Behrad and Zari. If they start there, they can figure everything else out.

“Okay,” she says with a nod as she sits up. “Let’s start from scratch.”

Behrad smiles before picking up a doughnut of his own. “These are really good doughnuts, by the way. I can see why you keep going to Griddy’s.”

Zari nods, going back to what remains of hers. “Have you met Five yet?”

Behrad pauses before tipping his head to the side. “I don’t … think so?”

“You’d know him if you met him. I’d probably keep the complications of this—” She gestures to the space between them. “—away from him. I don’t know of ‘paradox psychosis’ applies with siblings from alternate timelines, but probably best not to get him started.”

“… Do I want to know what paradox psychosis is?”

Zari wishes she didn’t. “It starts with denial and itching, ends in acute paranoia and homicidal rage.”

“Yikes.” Behrad shakes his head. “Thankfully, we shouldn’t be triggering any paradoxes.”

“I think in Chicago, paradoxes are the least of our problems. Besides, your Zari and I lived here together for months, and we were fine.” So clearly she thinks Five is overreacting, but that also doesn’t seem abnormal for him.

“Got it. Keep things chill with Five.” He’s quiet for a moment before he glances back at her. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here too. I’m glad I’m not doing this alone.”

She smiles softly before nodding. “Me too.” And then, as she gets to her feet. “Want to go get dinner at the Crowbar? They have really good potato skins.”

“Yes, please.”

Two weeks after the London attacks, Bairre tries to go back to work. An hour after the first batch of rolls comes out of the oven, Patrice, his longtime second in command, sends him home again and calls the twins.

“The entire front room was in tears. And not in the good way. They were all crying like they lost their spouse of almost twenty years. Some of them haven’t even lived for twenty years." Patrice sighs heavily. “He’s my boss, and I wasn’t keen to do it, but that’s not the experience we want for our customers.”

That, and Bradan can read between the lines that maybe Bairre isn’t as okay as he’s trying to be. Who would be okay, having lost what he’s lost and still trying to manage the grief of three girls on top of it? But not being able to work is not good.

“We’ll check on him. Thanks for letting us know, Patrice.”

“You tell him if he needs anything, I’m here. I’ll bring over some meals after my shift.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Callahan says, before they say their goodbyes and hang up. Cal glances down at his watch before sighing. “My morning is pretty booked, but I can probably clear my afternoon.”

“Let me go check on him first,” Bradan replies, already texting his assistant to move his morning meetings, possibly the day. “I’ll let you know.”

Cal glances back at his brother. “Do you think he’ll be alright?”

Bradan nods. “I think he will be. Just not right now.”

Cal nods again before grabbing his gloves and heading out to work. Bradan takes a deep breath, rubbing at his eyes, before steeling himself to go deal with his brother.

* * * * *

“Bairre? You in here?”

Bradan quietly lets himself into the house, looking over the furnishings and pictures, all dark and still. Bairre doesn’t respond, but Bradan follows his instincts, coming around the corner of the entryway to the living room where his brother sits in an armchair, glass of whiskey in his hand. Bairre isn’t usually a whiskey-before-noon kind of person, but Bradan’s not about to judge him for the day he’s had.

“Patrice call you?” he asks, and Bradan nods.

“She’s worried about you. Said she’ll bring by some meals after work.”

“Mmm.” Bairre doesn’t respond much further than that, just staring out into the middle distance, not looking at his brother.

Bradan sighs before moving to sit on the ottoman across from him. “It’s only been two weeks, Bar. It’s not the kind of thing that’s going to heal overnight.”

His oldest brother looks back at him, and he can see that he’s holding himself together by a thread. It’s probably just the girls that’s pulling him out of bed in the morning. Bradan’s never been in love the way his brother and Laurie were, the way where it felt like someone’s carved out half of you and left the rest once they’re gone. He doesn’t have the tools to make this better.

“What do you need, Bar?” Bradan waits, trying to rack his brain for what might actually be useful. “Do you want me to call Ma?”

That gets Bairre’s attention, and his eyes snap to Bradan suddenly. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Bradan smirks. “Alright, fine. No Ma. Anything less nuclear that Cal or I could do?”

Bairre’s eyes drift away again, but this time Bradan can see he’s actually thinking. “Can you take the girls? Just for the weekend.”

“Yeah, of course.” That is probably one of the easiest things they could do. “When do they get back from school?”

“I can have them ready by four.” Bairre finishes his glass. “Will that work?”

Bradan nods. “Cal was going to clear his afternoon, so he can pick them up. I’ll head back to the house and make sure we’re set up.”

Bairre shakes his head. “Me having a bad day is not a national emergency.”

“No, but my job especially is not life and fucking death. We can move some things around. No one will die.”

“Guess so.” Bairre pauses before nodding. “Thanks, Bradan. I’m … I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You lost your wife.” Bradan gets to his feet and gives his brother’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re grieving. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

* * * * *

Friday night is devoted to pizza and getting the girls settled. Ciara and Maeve share the king in the guest room while Quinn has the sleeper sofa to herself. They eat and watch movies and do their best to laugh and pretend things are normal, even if they’re really not. Saturday becomes “Whatever the Nieces Want Day” which really translates more to “Whatever Ciara and Maeve Want” as they’re much more likely to buy into the premise than their seventeen-year-old sister, who has a much sharper understanding of what’s happened to the family than her younger siblings.

““Don’t listen to me; listen to them.” Cal says to the doorman at the location the girls have selected for tea. The two girls are all done up in colorful dresses, ready for their fancy tea. “They’re the ones steering this ship.”

Ciara and Maeve beam up at the doorman, and the man does his job well, shifting his attention to the girls as they make their way inside for their appointment, but Quinn hangs back, eyes scanning the streets.

Bradan shifts back, nudging her side gently. “You alright, love?”

Her gaze snaps back to him, and she shrugs. “They wanted to do this with Mum.”

The silence falls between them for a moment, and he can’t say he’s surprised. This feels more like a mother-daughter event than niece-uncle. It probably says how much they’ve accepted the fact that their mother isn’t coming back. Or maybe it’s the only distraction they could think of.

“Is this what you want to do?”

Quinn stares at the door for a long moment before shaking her head. “Not really, no.”

Cal glances back at them, raising an eyebrow, and Bradan shakes his head. Cal nods before turning to herd the girls inside. Bradan glances back at Quinn. “So what do you want to do?”

They arrive on the edge of the Knightsbridge Coven’s territory twenty minutes later—it isn’t a far walk from the teahouse. Quinn stares out at the buildings, still in the process of recovery, but doesn’t move much further. Bradan just waits quietly, here to be supportive, rather than steer the outing.

“I don’t know what to do,” Quinn admits, shoulders slumping. “I mean, I don’t even know where she—I just know it was in there.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Bradan replies. “We can just stand here, as long as you want.” Bradan knows he’s not her uncle of choice. If there’s anyone she’s going to confess her secrets to, it’s Colm, not him. But he’s here if she wants to talk about any of it.

“Do you think Dad’s going to be okay?” She diverts the conversation from herself. “Because he’s not right now? He pretends he is, but it’s like … a light went out or something.”

“He loved your mom a lot. He’s loved her his whole life. I don’t think he knows what to do in a world where she isn’t there.” Bradan isn’t sure he can promise her that her father will be the same, because he likely won’t. None of them will be. “But I think he will get better. He wants to, for you, if nothing else.”

Quinn stands next to him, eyes fixed on the thing that had been part of her mother’s world much more than theirs. “But he won’t be the same.”

“I don’t think any of us can be. So much of who we were required your mother to be there. So we have to become someone new.” Which sounds more daunting than it should, but that’s always how Bradan has understood grief. A piece of you is never coming back, and you have to discover who you are without it. Bradan’s just also never lost something this large.

That seems to release something in the tension of her shoulders, like she was holding together the person she was before the Solstice, instead of trying to figure out who she was after. She glances back at him finally before nodding.

“Can we get Starbucks? And cake pops?”

Bradan can hear his brother’s tirade, how the coffee is terrible, the sugary drinks are terrible for you, and the baked goods are processed garbage, but this isn’t Bairre Gets What He Wants Day, its Nieces Get What They Want Day, so Bradan grins.

“Absolutely we can. There’s one over here.”

* * * * *

On Monday morning, they drop the girls off at school, and Bairre will welcome them home. They drop their things off so that the girls don’t have to lug them to school, and when he answers the door, Bairre looks … better. Not perfect, by any means, but maybe like he’s had the chance to fall apart, then pull himself back together away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world.

Cal and Bradan both take the day off, so once everything from their whirlwind weekend is settled, they drop onto the couch with the cats and sigh.

“He seemed better.”

“He did.”

“And Quinn?”

“I think she’s okay. She just wasn’t sure how to process this any more than any of us.” Bradan rubs his eyes. “It’s a pretty shitty situation all around, though. I don’t blame any of them for not knowing how to handle it.”

Cal nods, looking down at Teabag in his lap and stroking the top of his head. “I miss her too. It’s still so weird to realize she’s not there anymore.”

“Me too,” Bradan agrees. “I don’t think that’s going to be going away anytime soon.” Maybe not until his brother moves on for good, and who knows when that will be. Bairre’s never really loved anyone else. He’s always been decisive , and Laurie was the soundest decision he ever made.

“Well, we’ll figure it out,” Cal decides—not as decisive as their brother, but decisive enough. “And until then, we’ll play fucking Full House if we have to.”

Bradan digests that sentence, then laughs because it’s true. They had far more siblings than Danny Tanner has, but in this instance, is very much Full House. “I call dibs on Uncle Jesse.”

Cal looks up at him and narrows his eyes. “Rude. We have the same face.”

“I have better hair.”

“And I do not do impressions.”

“Might have to brush up on your Bugs Bunny.” Cal chucks a pillow at him, and Bradan catches it with a laugh. “Alright, alright, truce. We can share Uncle Jesse.”

“Thank you.” Cal glances over at his brother. “We’ll figure this out, won’t we?”

“Of course we will.” Bradan isn’t as confident as he sounds, but he knows they will. It’s just going to take time.

Sometimes, time is the only guarantee you get.

Allison really likes Bruce.

Sure, this started as a one-off with her trying to find out about his questionable adoption practices, but he’s charming and understands the more complicated parts of her life. He even understands the Claire of it all. He’s a catch. She’s aware of it.

She’s doing her damnedest to make sure her brothers aren’t aware of it. Because sure, they saved the world once and things have been quiet ever since, but it was a rough situation, especially for Allison, so if they found out that she was cozying up to someone they were already suspicious of, all six of them would be on his doorstep ready to use all kinds of intimidation tactics to determine his intentions with their sister.

No, thank you. Not happening.

So she keeps Bruce her secret, even if she knows she probably shouldn’t. Even if she knows that in all odds they can’t, because he’s a billionaire and she’s a famous actress, but her brothers don’t read the tabloids. They should be fine. Everything should be fine.

Allison and Bruce are sitting down to dinner at his manor, flirting heavily. Allison fully intends to stay the night rather than returning to the hotel until she hears something crash in one room above them.

Bruce frowns, both of them tensing their hands around their forks. “Alfred?”

“Yes, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks as he comes around the corner. That doesn’t make Bruce feel any better.

“The boys?” Allison asks, and he shakes his head.

“Not tonight.” He then gets to his feet. “Stay here.”

“Hell no.” Allison pushes up to follow him, kicking off her heels as she does. Delicate date heels are not great for kicking ass. “I’m a superhero too, remember?”

Bruce nods before leading the way up to the second floor, heading towards the sound of the noise. Allison stays quiet on his head, head running through potential rumors that may come into play, but just as they’re making their way to the door in question where the visitor is still rustling around, Allison realizes exactly who is nosing around Bruce’s house.

“Bruce, wait—”

The door to the room flies open, and it takes all of a moment for both their eyes to land on the curly-haired young man rifling through the desk of Bruce’s office, and he glances up with a smile at both of them.

“Oh, hey guys. Did I interrupt your date?”

Allison pinches the bridge of her nose as she sighs. “Klaus, what the hell are you doing here? What are you even doing in Gotham?”

“Nothing too crazy. Just you know, poking around to see what you and your new friend are getting up to.” Klaus smiles as he leans casually against the desk, playing with one of Bruce’s probably expensive pens.

“You know this guy?” Bruce asks.

“Unfortunately.” Allison presses her lips together before looking up. “Klaus, Bruce Wayne.”

“Hi.”

“Bruce, this is Klaus Hargreeves, one of my brothers.”

“Ah.” Bruce nods slowly as he ruminates. “How did you get in here?”

“I’m a man of many talents. You know we all have powers, right?”

Allison scans over to see the open window, which she crosses through to look down at the exterior wall. “He climbed the garden wall.”

“That too.”

Bruce seems annoyed that their evening is being interrupted—and also, more likely, that his house was broken into, and Allison knows that she’s going to have to smooth this over (and probably won’t be getting laid, thanks Klaus), but for now she does what she can do and looks at her brother.

“Empty your pockets.”

Klaus gives a mock gasp as he turns back to look at her. “Allison. I wouldn’t dare—” The sentence trails off as it becomes more and more clear that Allison isn’t having it, and he smiles. “Eagle Eye Allison. Nothing gets past you.” He slowly empties his pockets of more fancy pens or random accouterment that he might sell for a quick buck.

Bruce looks even less impressed. As she herds her brother out of the office and back into the rest of Wayne Manor, Bruce catches her arm gently and pulls her back. “Is this normal?”

“For Klaus? Unfortunately.” She pauses. “Look, I don’t know why he’s here, and I’m really sorry for it. I’ll just take him home, and we can reschedule.”

Bruce considers her briefly before shaking his head. “Not at all. Klaus, do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, do I.” Klaus’s voice rings delighted through the hallway as he pokes his head back around the corner. “It just smells delicious. Compliments to your chef.”

Bruce nods before slipping away. “I’ll go have Alfred set another place.”

“Thank you,” Allison says softly, before letting Bruce go. She then reaches out to take her brother by the arm and pull him back. “What the hell, Klaus?”

“Okay, I know, but before you get too angry at me, be aware that there is a version of this plan where it was Diego instead of me. You’re lucky that he was all the way in Star City and I was closer.”

Allison groans, head falling back towards the ceiling. “How did you all figure out I was here?”

“Five saw a picture of the two of you in People magazine looking very cozy, if you catch my drift. And since you told us it was just a one and done, you can’t blame us for getting a little curious.”

“You could have just asked me.”

“See, I think you and I both know that is far too sensible for this family. Especially when Five can’t arrange a proper confrontation.”

“We’re just dating.” Allison turns to face him. “Really. I like him.”

Klaus looks at her softly before reaching over and placing his hands on her shoulders gently. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to tell them. But you also could have just told us yourself.”

She shrugs. “It was new. There wasn’t anything to tell yet, and you know how this family is.”

“I do. Which is why I insisted it be me instead of someone else.” He turns, hooking his arm in hers before leading her down the stairs. “Relax. We’ll have some food, I’ll be delightful and charming, and I’ll go back to leaving you two to your own devices.”

Allison sighs as she follows. “I think the mood is well and truly broken, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Fine. Then we will have dinner, and when he sends us home, you can give me all the juicy gossip that I will absolutely not tell our siblings. Except for Ben, of course.”

Allison smiles softly before nodding. “Ben is allowed to be in the secret circle.”

“Good.” They hit the bottom of the stairs, and Allison leads him back into the dining room, where Bruce is waiting with dinner and drinks. Klaus squeezes her hand gently before moving over to his seat, facing the other man with a nod.

“Alright, Brucie. What do you want to know?”

* * * * *

Turns out Bruce has far more questions than either Allison or Klaus thought, and Klaus answers them with his typical aplomb. Allison can catch how Klaus keeps being distracted by figures in the room's corner, and Bruce seems confused by it, but Allison is not.

It makes sense that Bruce Wayne, the orphan, lives in a manor full of ghosts.

As they finish their meal and the Hargreeves make their way out to the cab Allison called, Klaus pauses and places his hand on Bruce’s for a moment before staying, far more confident than he should: “They’re proud of you, by the way.” He then turns and heads off to the car, giving Allison and Bruce a moment alone.

Bruce looks at her, confused. “Who is he—?”

“Klaus’ power is talking to ghosts,” Allison says softly. She’s fairly certain that Bruce can fill in the blanks from there. His face is hard to read—it usually is when talking about his parents—but he grips her hand tightly as he nods.

“I see.” Bruce then looks down at their joined hands and sighs. “This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.”

She laughs. “Me either. I had plans for one hundred percent less Klaus.” And maybe one hundred percent more other things, but best not to linger. “Raincheck? Once I ensure he’s back on a plane and none of my other brothers will come to bother us?”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Currently living? Five.”

“Do they all commit breaking and entering?”

“More or less, yeah.”

He winces before nodding. “Then yeah. Let’s wait until you get things cleared up.” He pulls her closer, almost as though he’s going to kiss her, but then he glances back at where Klaus is watching them from the car window, chin in his hands like a schoolgirl, and settles for a kiss on the cheek instead. “Call me when things are settled.”

“I will.” She squeezes his hand before turning and heading back to the car. As she slides in next to Klaus and gives the directions to her hotel, she glances back at him. “I’m still not happy with you.”

“Don’t worry. He’s still totally into it. I have a sixth sense about these things.” He pauses before kicking his legs up into her lap. “Now. Give me all the dirty details.”

Allison shakes her head before leaning back with a nod. “Alright. You guys wanted me to talk to him so I went to this party…”

Stefan and Buffy haven’t been dating very long when a specifically Salvatore problem comes home to roost.

Things on the Buffy side of things are fine. Sure, Spike crashed a few dates, still convinced that Stefan was going to be a problem eventually, and he goes patrolling with her sometimes—she calls it a work date, he then takes her on a better date because he is not Barry Allen. He doesn’t believe in work dates. Things are going really well, actually, and Stefan feels settled and secure in a relationship for the first time in a long time.

Naturally, this is when Ric calls, asking for a favor.

“You know I’m in Europe, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling you.” Ric sounds tired, and Stefan doesn’t blame him, given that he’s running a school full of supernatural teenagers who probably get into just as much trouble as regular teenagers but worse because magic and supernatural strength is involved. “How familiar are you with Aurora de Martel?”

“Enough to stay the hell away from her.” Stefan likes the sound of this even less, and he didn’t like it much before. “I was at Klaus and Cami’s wedding, and I know what she did to Cami. Isn’t she supposed to be bricked in a wall?”

“‘Supposed to’ being the operative phrase. Someone let her out.”

“Klaus clearly needs to guard his prisoners better.”

“I’m going to tell him you said it so he’s less likely to rip my heart out about it.” Ric pauses again. “Fortunately, that someone left blood behind, and Freya could cast a locator spell. They’re somewhere in the south of France. I’m going to send you the location.”

Stefan nods slowly before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do we care, exactly? I know why Klaus is pissed, but they’re pretty well insulated and—”

“We need her for Hope.”

“Elaborate?”

Ric then tells him about Malivore, how it was built, and how in order to fully destroy Malivore, Hope would have to go full tribrid. None of the adults in her life are looking to make that an option for her until she’s ready. Stefan can’t really say he blames them.

“We think Aurora may have been the vampire portion of the Vampire-Werewolf-Witch triad. So we need her back to convince her to undo the spell.”

“Which starts with figuring out where her would-be rescuers took her.” Stefan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, fine. Send me the location and I’ll see what I can find.”

Ric thanks him, and his phone pings with a WhatsApp message not long after. He also has a brief conversation with Klaus to learn more about the escape to see what he’s getting himself into and is treated to a frustrated rant tinged with concern. The last time Aurora was free to roam, she came after his wife rather relentlessly. Cami was turned into a vampire against her will, and then she almost died. Klaus is in overprotective mode, and Stefan doesn’t blame him.

He promises to do what he can before going in search of his own partner. Aurora is much older than he is. He’s not going into this without backup.

“Want to come with me to Montpellier for the week?” He holds up a finger before she can fully interject. “It’s for work, not for fun.”

“So a romantic work vacation,” she teases, and he sighs.

“This will not be romantic. I have to see if I can track down an old enemy of the Mikaelsons in order to see if they can help with something for Hope. This may be all work, and this also may be really dangerous.”

The seriousness seems to get to her, and she nods. “I will take it seriously. I promise. But as a compromise, I get to scope out potential locations for a future actual romantic week away in the south of France.”

“Deal,” Stefan nods. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back.” Buffy leans in to kiss him softly. “How soon do we need to leave?”

“As soon as we can.”

“I’ll go pack.” She gives his hand a squeeze, and Stefan releases a breath, hoping that he’s not walking them both into a trap.

* * * * *

The address in Montpellier is a rather nice villa, rather well lived in. He can’t get into the house—Aurora is old enough and smart enough to put a human on the deed if needed, so it doesn’t surprise him. He does the polite thing instead; he knocks.

The person who answers is human, slim and lovely and recognizes him instantly. She raises an eyebrow before saying in French: “Stefan Salvatore. I’m not inviting you in.”

Stefan raises an eyebrow, but responds in English. “I speak French, but my companion doesn’t, and she may get a little cranky if we have a conversation without her.”

“Very,” Buffy agrees. “Hi. Buffy Summers. Nice to meet you.”

The witch’s eyebrows go up at the name drop and is starting to truly look concerned. “My apologies. I was simply informing your companion that I wouldn’t be inviting him into my home.”

“Fair enough,” Buffy nods. “Maybe we can have this conversation by the pool instead, like fancy civilized people?”

“That depends,” the witch replies. “What’s this conversation about?”

Stefan considers her for a moment, debating which card to play. “This is about Malivore.”

The witch blanches at the name, and it seems to be the right card. She swallows, then nods. “Come around to the pool. We will talk.” She then closes the door behind her.

Buffy glances over at Stefan, and he shrugs in return. It’s better than he thought they were going to get. They follow the path around the side of the villa and find the witch waiting there, pouring alcohol into flutes of orange juice.

“It’s early for drinking, but I thought the conversation warranted it.” She sets two of the glasses on the other side of the table before sitting and taking a sip of the third. “Now, why are you asking about Malivore?”

“Because Malivore’s made itself our problem. He’s trying to take possession of a seventeen-year-old boy, and we intend to stop it before that happens.”

“And what is your relationship to this boy?” The witch raises an eyebrow. She catches Buffy’s questioning glance and immediately addresses it. “The request from you, Madame Slayer, would make sense. But your companion is not known for being as altruistic.”

“Hope Mikaelson is also seventeen years-old,” Stefan points out. “And in order to stop Malivore on her own, she would have to turn. Speaking as someone who was turned at seventeen, I wouldn’t wish that on her. Would you?”

The witch considers him quietly, then changes the subject. “How did you find me?”

“Aurora de Martel was released from her prison in the Abattoir. Whoever did it left their blood behind, and the locator spell pointed to here.”

The witch rolls her eyes before leaning back in her seat, taking a long pull on her flute. “I did that at the behest of my coven, but I don’t know where she is now. We parted ways before I returned to France. I certainly wouldn’t house her in my home. I don’t invite vampires in carelessly, as you know.”

“I do.” Stefan nods, because that’s what he’s worried about. “And I assume she had you shield her in some kind of cloaking spell?”

The witch nods. “Tracking her will unfortunately be difficult.”

Stefan nods again. “Any way I could convince you to release that spell? It may earn you some favor with Klaus.” May being the operative word. It depends on how much damage Aurora does before they’re able to find her.

She tips her head to the side. “Are you saying that now that he’s passed a millennium in age, Klaus Mikaelson has gotten into the habit of forgiving his enemies?”

“Not at all,” Stefan smirks. “I simply mean he’s learned when it’s beneficial to court an ally rather than make another enemy.”

The witch smiles, but shakes her head. She then gets up, moving towards what looks like a small altar on the side near the pool. She picks up a small flask, a ceremonial bowl and a knife before making her way back.

“I cannot betray what I’ve done for Aurora de Martel. Those are promises and alliances nearly as old as Klaus himself. But I will offer you a different boon.” She slices into the side of her hand and lets it drip into the ceremonial bowl, then cleanly transfers it into the vial. “In my bloodline runs the blood of the witch part of the triumvirate. I don’t know where the wolves are, and you will have to find Aurora yourself, but hopefully this will provide part of the solution needed for Malivore.”

She passes the vial over to Stefan, who takes it, studying it carefully before glancing back at her curiously. “Thank you.”

The witch nods. “I was a seventeen-year-old girl once, feeling as though her blood put the weight of the world on her shoulders. I do not wish that on anyone.”

* * * * *

“Well, that worked out great.”

Buffy huffs with her hands on her hips as Stefan texts back and forth with both Ric and Klaus for the information the witch provided. Stefan glances up at her and flashes her a fond smirk.

“Actually, that went about as well as I expected.”

“Maybe you should have let me punch her.”

“With a witch like that, it probably would have made things worse,” Stefan tucks an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “But I have good news.”

“Oh, I do like good news.” Buffy tips her head up to look at him with a smile. “What is it?”

“Well, the rest of the Slayers aren’t expecting you back until the end of the week and I have to go to Tuscany to meet up with Bonnie so she can magically deliver the blood back to the Salvatore School. But once that’s done, we could stick around for a while. Eat a truly impressive amount of Italian food and drink fantastic wine.”

“Have an actual romantic vacation?” Buffy grins up at him. “You’re right. I think that is pretty good news.”

“Good.” He smiles as he leans in to kiss her softly. “Thank you for coming with me on this.”

“Always,” she murmurs, before pulling back and reaching for the handle on his rental car. “C’mon. I’m ready to eat an ungodly amount of pasta.”

He grins before sliding into the driver’s seat and carrying them off into the sunset.

There are many complications and quirks of the rift, some of which Rosalina finds more charming than others. The one she doesn’t particularly enjoy, however, is the green rifts.

She considers herself an adaptable person. You don’t get to be a Valkyrie of her age without being able to think on your feet. But the green rifts don’t allow for proper preparation of any kind, especially since when you get caught up in one, you could land somewhere completely benign for tea with some kind of supernatural entity, or you could land somewhere that’s trying to kill you.

This one is feeling more of the latter, unfortunately.

The jungle feels familiar, like Rosalina has been in it before. Not any of the Teleios realms, from what she can tell, but maybe another rift that she’s been pulled through. She glances around, trying to see if she’s alone when she spots a familiar form nearby.

“Fay? Are you alright?”

Fay stirs slowly, blinking as she looks around at the jungle with a frown. “This isn’t good, is it?”

“I think we’ve been pulled into a green rift,” Rosalina sighs. “They take you away for a little while and then put you back in Chicago when they’re done with you.”

Fay’s nose wrinkles, and Rosalina can tell she’s as displeased with the problem as she is. She can’t say she blames her—it certainly throws a wrench in your day. “So there’s no way out on our own?”

“The rift likely has some kind of end goal in mind, but we have to find it before—” A roar splits the air and Rosalina tenses because yes, that is very familiar. She reaches for Fay’s hand and pulls her up to her feet. “That. Before that happens.”

“That sounds like an enormous creature.”

“It is. I believe it’s what the locals call a dinosaur.”

“Oh.” Fay then lets go of Rosalina’s hand and starts moving quickly. “Then we need to find shelter now.”

Rosalina has so many questions, but she’ll save them for later. Instead, she’ll pick up her skirts and start moving through the trees. Cave or somewhere else to hide first, insatiable curiosity later.

* * * * *

They find a cave in a different part of the jungle, just as the sun is setting. After thoroughly investigating to make sure it isn’t already occupied, they settle in, build a fire, and Fay makes them a handful of what she calls “good berries” for sustenance. It’s clearly some kind of magic because why would one berry make you feel as full as it does, but Rosalina doesn’t think about it too hard. She’s accustomed to the different uses magic can have, depending on who wields it.

Once the fire is properly stoked, Rosalina leans back against the cave wall and turns to her friend. “So they have dinosaurs in Faerun?”

Fay nods. “Not everywhere, but I’ve read about them. They sound incredible.”

“We didn’t have them in my world,” Rosalina shakes her head. “At least not in any of the realms I’ve been to. We had other creatures, of course. Dragons and the like. Similar but … not quite the same.”

“Have you been through this green rift before?”

Rosalina nods. “The rift sent all of us once. We made it through with no one getting eaten, thankfully, but there’s something about large creatures that makes you feel so very … small.”

Fay nods slowly before tilting her head to the side curiously. “You know, if I could get a better look at one, I might be able to wild shape into it.”

Rosalina raises an eyebrow curiously. “That may make traveling through easier. Though we still haven’t figured out where we’re traveling to yet.”

“First things first,” Fay says with a nod. “Safety in size and then finding our way back to Chicago.”

Rosalina nods at first, then shakes her head. “First things first is sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

Fay nods before shifting to curl up on her side and drift off to sleep. Rosalina minds the fire before turning her eyes out to the jungle, shifting through the uncertain noises. They’ll find their way home.

And in the meantime, getting to see Fay turn into a dinosaur will probably be very cool.

* * * * *

The first dinosaur they find is what Fay calls a “brontosaurus,” and it is incredibly large. Long necks and tails with thick legs like tree trunks and they are beautiful. It seems to be the thing that Rosalina recognizes most as they move through the world of these giants that she couldn’t recognize before when she was running for her life. This is a world where these beautiful creatures could thrive, in a way they couldn’t while they were in the world of Chicago.

Fay moves slowly, lumbering through the world, though using her telepathic abilities to keep up a conversation with Rosalina. Rosalina’s “speak with animals” ability helps as well.

This place is so beautiful. Do you know why dinosaurs are no longer in Chicago?

“I did some reading on it when we came back the last time. Apparently, there was some kind of meteor that changed the environment so drastically they all died out.” Rosalina shakes her head as they continue to move through the world. “It’s a shame, really. Though it’s also probably true that mortals probably wouldn’t have been able to develop without dinosaurs going away. It’s hard to be something small living in a land of giants.”

I think I do just fine, Fay teases, and Rosalina laughs.

“Well, not everyone can change their shape into something larger,” she points out, before a thud, thud, thud of footsteps sounds in the distance. “Did you hear that?”

I did. We need to hurry. I may have to—

“Whatever shape you need. Maybe horses will manage better for something small and fast?”

Fay nods before the brontosaurus shrinks down to a normal-sized halfling, and then shifts again, just as quickly, into a fine mare. Rosalina quickly slides onto her back before drawing her rapier, a weapon that may be ill-equipped for killing dinosaurs but will do just fine for cutting down brush that may be in their way.

“We do this together,” she says softly, before patting her neck and urging her on. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

They keep ahead of the dinosaurs without getting into too much trouble, either through blending in as dinosaurs or talking to them. Most of the herbivores are actually friendly, fascinated by talking to someone so small. But by the time the rift scoops them up and deposits them back in Chicago again, their clothes look worse for the wear, but she feels somewhat lighter than their last adventure through dinosaur territory.

And Fay has a fun new wild shape.

She glances back over at her companion before smiling. “As interesting as the dinosaurs were, I think I need a good hot meal. Perhaps we can get something at the Crowbar together?”

“That sounds perfect.” Fay nods as they turn to head toward the bar.

Allison Hargreeves arrives in Chicago with little money to her name and a dream. She knows New York is the theater epicenter of the world, but Chicago promises freedom, both from her father and from the way the rest of the world sees her, so she intends to make it work. They still have a theater district. She’ll find her way.

And until she finds a way, she’ll get a job.

That’s actually what she sets out to do the first day she arrives: find a job. She has enough money to float her rent for a couple of months, but she also needs to do things like eat so a job is the priority. She tries everything from secretarial work to restaurant jobs and strikes out every time they ask for something like “experience” or “knowledge” or “high school diploma.”

Allison speaks five languages and can recite the history of the United States backwards and forwards, but apparently not having a piece of paper that says she can do that is where they draw the line.

By the time she makes it into the Crowbar—which she already loves as an establishment, just from the look of it—she’s tired and just wants a drink and something fried and greasy. She had hoped that she would celebrate her victorious new job, but instead she is buying herself the cheapest pity drink and appetizer she can manage.

“Bad day?” the bartender asks her, and she glances up at him with a curious expression. Angel. He’s cute, in a rugged, laid-back kind of way.

“Long day,” she qualifies, because it appears her day is getting better. “I’m new in town. Trying to get a job, but apparently I’m unqualified for many things.”

“Are you?”

“I mean, probably. I’ve never had a job before.” Allison makes a face. “I also don’t have a diploma, because my father had very specific ideas about our education, and apparently that’s a deal breaker for some places.”

“Apparently.” He smirks before looking her over. “You looking to wait tables or bartend or what?”

“Anything that will let me keep affording my apartment in two months,” Allison sighs. “I swear I can do the job. I know how to fix drinks, I’m friendly, I speak multiple languages, but apparently none of them translate into ‘hire me.’”

“Multiple. How many?”

“Five other than English.”

“Five?”

“French, Spanish, Chinese, Korean and Russian.”

“But you don’t have a high school diploma or GED.”

Allison holds up her hands like, “you see my problem.” Then she shrugs as she takes another sip of her drink. “I’ll figure it out. I’ve got a couple of months, and there has to be some place somewhere who’s willing to give me a shot.”

He pauses, contemplative, before extending a hand across the bar from her. “I’m John.”

She shakes his hand with a nod. “Allison.”

“I’m not the end-all-be-all for hiring, but I can give you an interview.”

She perks up, excitement flowing through her. “Really?”

“Really. Leave your number and I’ll call you tomorrow once I have a look at the schedule.”

Allison nods, reaching for a napkin to scribble down her number, and about halfway through she looks back up at him with a squint. “This is an actual opportunity. You’re not just pretending to be in charge in order to get my number?”

Because, sadly, that has happened to her before she learned how the world actually works outside of her father’s rigid life plan for his children. She trusted a little too easily and wound up in scenarios that weren’t good for her. Fortunately, one thing Reginald Hargreeves prepared her for is protecting herself.

John laughs, shaking his head. “No, I really own the bar. I promise. I run it with my brother.”

Allison nods slowly before finishing writing her number and handing it back to him. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

John takes the number, tucking it into his pocket. He gets summoned to the other end of the bar and nods. “Enjoy your drink.”

Allison nods as she watches him go, before smiling to herself. She has a good feeling about this one.

* * * * *

Allison gets the job, and she works hard to prove her worth. Good reflexes make it easy to learn how to pour drinks with a flourish, and she’s good with the customers. John and Sonny are flexible with auditions, and she feels like she’s finally on her way.

And she can afford her apartment. Which is great because Diego has moved in and he hasn’t found a job yet, so right now she is paying for two people to eat. Today is a quiet shift, however, so John has her doing side work—cutting lemons, rolling silverware, preparing garnishes—while they wait for customers to come in.

“You know, it took me a minute to place it,” he begins, glancing over at her from where he’s cleaning glasses. “But you wouldn’t be related to Reginald Hargreeves, would you?”

Allison winces, because this is always the conversation she least enjoys having, but she should have known it would come up, eventually. “Not biologically. But he is my dad, yeah.”

John nods briefly before glancing back at her. “What was that like?”

“Well, you know what I told you when we met.” Allison pauses slowly, keeping her eyes on the lemon in front of her, both to cover her discomfort and avoid slicing off her finger. “Lots of education, but nothing really to show for it. We had numbers instead of names. We were all science experiments to him, I think. First there was the experiment of whether he could buy us in the first place, and then once our Callings came in, the experiment of how far he could push us.”

“Like how?”

“Like one of my brothers was a Behemoth. Turns into something with all these tentacles. He tried to test the speed and consistency of his transformations to the point where it almost killed him.” Allison’s fingers shift on the lemon as she grits her teeth. “One other is a Guardian. He tried to see if he could force his way into becoming his ward.”

She sees some tension forming in his shoulders, knows it’s because he’s also a Guardian, and wards are a very complicated, delicate thing. “And what about you?”

“Oh, he learned quickly to be careful about how he fucked with me.” Because a Glaysa can make you regret every decision you’ve ever made if you’re not careful. “But he still found ways. A lot of things I’m still trying to unlearn. I don’t know how to really make friends or build relationships because I was taught to manipulate everyone’s feelings in my favor, not … actually earn them, you know?”

It makes it hard to just exist the way she’s been trying to. It makes it really lonely, too. In some ways, that’s why she’s grateful Diego has moved in, because there’s an ease and understanding there. Wounds that understand each other, probably because they came from the same person.

John studies her before moving closer and nudging her shoulder. “I think we’re friends.”

That makes her smile because John is very easy to talk to. Easier than most people are, probably because he gives her a lot of grace when she makes a social misstep of some kind. But: “You’re also my boss. I’ve been told that might not be the healthiest model for friendship.”

“Mmm. You have a good point.”

“So is this the part where you fire me because you’d rather be my friend?” She tries to make it sound like a joke, but it’s not. There’s an undercurrent of fear as she tries to navigate all these new, fragile relationships. But John laughs as though it is a joke, and she feels her shoulders relax ever so slightly.

“No, promise. Your job is perfectly safe.”

A customer arrives, and the conversation is broken. Allison puts on what is becoming her customer smile and heads over to fix them a drink, and tries very hard not to think about how the Crowbar is feeling like home.

Because inevitably it means she will screw it up.

* * * * *

As a child, Reginald teaches Number Three Hargreeves that Callings are something to be tolerated, not suffered. That allowing your abilities to fester to the point of a reset is irresponsible, and because he wished to turn them into soldiers, he found plenty of people “worthy” of Three’s particular set of skills. And because her father is her only point of reference, she learns quickly to do just that.

Some people deserve what they get on the other end of her Calling. A responsible demon just has to find them.

The Crowbar has nurtured a fairly safe customer base over the years. Most of the people that come in know the rules and treat the staff with respect, but every so often some new people will come in. Liquor makes things complicated, loosens lips and causes hands to wander. They’re usually promptly removed from the vicinity once they cause problems. Unfortunately, that also means they need to cause a problem.

Tonight is a busy night, and there’s a new server, Macy. She’s working hard to keep everything going, but there’s a gaggle of douchebags from the financial district that have wandered the Crowbar’s way, already a few drinks to the wind. They’re rowdy, and Macy’s doing a good job trying to keep track of all the drinks when one of their hands wanders and Allison sees Macy freeze.

She is already moving, cutting through the crowd, protective. The glasses sway on her tray and spill forward onto the man in front of her, and the entire tenor of the table changes. She can feel it.

“You dumb bitch, this is a thousand-dollar suit!”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Allison pulls Macy back behind her. “Maybe if your asshole friend had kept his hands to himself, you wouldn’t have gotten a tray full of drinks poured on you.”

“You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Watch me.” She can already feel the tenor of the anger flowing between them, and it would be all so easy to tug. It would be delicious to feel the slow slide as anger moves to fear, and it would be just what they deserve. These shitty assholes in their shitty suits who think they can get away with—

“Allison. Allison.” John’s voice cuts through the fog, and she breaks eye contact, glancing back towards the other man. It’s not that he looks concerned. He looks as though he knows what she was considering doing, and he stares her down. “Back up. I’ll handle it.”

She sets her jaw because John’s way of handling it won’t be enough to satisfy, not really. But she huffs and steps back, and turns to help Macy back into the kitchen to clean up. But once there, she leaves her with Lara and slips out through the kitchen, wanting to see if she can see when the assholes leave.

It’s been a minute since she’s … indulged. These seem like perfectly acceptable options. The pack of suits leaves out the front door, the mix of drunken revelry and annoyed discontent drawing her like a moth to the flame, and she moves to follow them quietly before someone catches her arm and pulls her back.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Her eyes snap back to John, narrowing as she tries to shake him off her arm. “Making sure they leave.” It’s a lie, and he sees it, because she didn’t lie particularly well. It’s hard to know when he’s been a witness to what came before.

“Bullshit.”

“Do you actually care about what happens to them? They’re a pile of assholes who think they can do whatever they want. Someone needs to show them they can’t.”

“That’s not the point, Allison.”

“How is that not the point?”

“The point is that I care what happens to you.”

John holds her gaze firmly, and that cuts through some of the anger. Probably because that’s not a phrase that she hears all that often, not even from her brothers. How to articulate your feelings wasn’t an important part of the curriculum. John steps back from her, running a hand over his face as he tries to find his words.

“Look, we’re friends, right?” He waits for her answer, and she nods, because yes. He keeps saying that they’re friends. She views him as a friend, though sometimes that can get a little hazy, for feelings she doesn’t quite have words for. “I’ve seen the damage a Glaysa can do if they’re too cavalier with their powers. I don’t want you to have to see what happens when you break someone permanently.”

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she already has. But what has more of an impact isn’t the fear of what could be, but that he actually cares about how it will affect her, in a way her father never did.

“Look, if you need help, or you’re heading for a reset—”

“I’m not.” She’s quick to interrupt and shakes her head. “I’m not. I was just pissed.”

He nods. “Are you good now?”

“Yeah. I just need some air. I’ll be back in a minute.” There’s a moment when he hesitates, as though for the first time since they met, he worries about whether she’s telling him the truth. “Really, I’m okay. You can even crack the door.”

John seems reassured before nodding. “See you soon.”

He turns to head back into the bar, and just before he gets to the door, she stops him. “Hey, John?”

He looks back at her. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for stopping me.” Not words she ever thought she’d say, but maybe she needs it more than she’d care to admit.

His face softens, some of the tension leaving his shoulders before nodding. “That’s what friends are for.”

The cool chill of the Chicago fall slips through, and she wraps her arms around herself, feeling her anger cooling with it. For the first time, she feels as fucked up as she’s always known she is. But she doesn’t feel alone in it either.

That has to be worth something.

Edited 2025-10-14 01:15 (UTC)

“Did you stick to the plan?”

“Of course I did.”

“Okay, what was the plan?”

Anna stares back at Shawn, expectantly waiting for an answer. Shawn stares back, almost as though he knows he should have an answer for that, but right now it’s lost in time's haze and distractions after performing his part of the plan. He may have an eidetic memory, but he still has to determine what is pertinent information at any time.

Something that is of endless frustration to Jules’ new subordinate, especially since Juliet insists on using Shawn for audibles more often than not. Which is fair—she’s still finding her footing in San Francisco. Eventually she’s going to grow out of it.

“Shawn.”

“I have to find it; hold on.” Shawn takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Take the package into the park, make the drop, ensuring that the button camera is facing outwards so that we can get good footage of the pickup guy, and then get gone so that they feel safe to come get it.”

“Good. And you did all of those things.”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright.” Anna shifts in the car before opening the camera feed on her phone and finding a perfectly lovely view of … the back of the trashcan for the drop. Her head tips back to the seat with a groan, before looking back at him. “Damnit, Shawn.”

“Anna, would you trust me?”

“How are we going to get a picture of the guy if we can’t see him?”

“You said to put the package in a place to get an optimal look at the suspect.”

Anna pinches the bridge of her nose. “How is this going to get us an optimal look at the suspect?”

“Just wait for it.”

They sit there in silence, Anna seething, Shawn with his eyes fixed on the screen, hoping his gamble pays off. Soon, the package shifts, and as it’s drawn out of the garbage can, the screen whirls around until they find themselves looking close up at a face—well, probably more like up the guy’s nose, but there’s still enough facial features for them to run a facial recognition check.

“Ha!” Shawn leans forward and grabs a screen cap so that they can do just that, while Anna stares at the screen stunned. “See? There is a method to my madness.”

“Emphasis on madness,” Anna sighs as she sends the screen cap to the forensics team to run. “You couldn’t have known he was going to pick up the package that way.”

“True,” he admits. “Unless you place it put the address face down and they have to turn it over to make sure they’re grabbing the right package.”

Anna shakes her head before setting the laptop to the side and placing the car into gear. “You got very lucky.”

Shawn is always lucky. That’s probably what makes him so good at his job. But he’s not about to tell Anna that. After all, is it luck if you are always right?

* * * * *

“Did you follow the plan?”

“Absolutely not.”

Shawn turns to face Anna, then looks back at Juliet. “See what I’m working with here?”

Juliet looks at her husband, exasperated. “Shawn, I know how you feel about your plans, but this one was a little … intensive.”

“The character was very important to the story, Jules!”

“You gave me six pages of lines to learn for a two-minute conversation!” Anna flops her hands out to the side. “Who has time for that?”

“Gus would have—”

“Shawn,” Juliet cuts him off, and Shawn sighs.

“I know, I know. Gus is not a sworn officer of the law, and I need at least one cop in on a plan at any time.” It’s a conversation they’ve had often. “But maybe next time, Gus and I can do the sting and Anna can just be there to watch and do the arresting when we’re done.”

“No.”

“But Jules, I’ve got a whole vision—”

“No. And we will talk about this at home.”

Shawn sighs, deflating. “Fine.”

Juliet gives him a small look before turning her attention back to Anna. “Did your plan work?”

“It did,” Anna nods, confident. “We made contact, and we have a meet set up for two days from now.”

“Good work. Go home, get some rest.” Anna nods before making her exit, and once the door closes, Juliet looks back at him with a sigh. “Don’t sulk.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You are absolutely sulking.”

“You thought it was a perfectly good plan.”

“I did, but it’s also Anna’s case, and she had a perfectly good plan of her own.” Juliet gets up from behind her desk and moves across the room to face him. “You and I worked really well together in Santa Barbara, and I still want to use you as a resource here, but you have to let my detectives run their cases their way. Or work with them that incorporates both their ways.”

Shawn makes a face before relenting. Because Juliet is right, even if he doesn’t like it. “So long as we still get to do our cases our way.”

She smiles before pushing up on her toes and leaning in to kiss him. “Always.”

* * * * *

“Shawn, now might be a good time for one of your wacky, out-there, couldn’t-possibly-work-but-somehow-does plans.”

The problem is, Anna’s plan worked a little too well. She seemed like a viable enough rival that the current vendor planned to take her out of the equation. Shawn isn’t sure if his plan would have been any better or worse—probably worse as they would have been even more convincing (according to him)—but determining that doesn’t really do much for the situation they’re in now.

The situation being trapped in a freezer, probably about to freeze to death if they don’t find a way out.

He glances over at Anna and, underneath the grim determination, he can see her nerves already beginning to build, so he does his best to think. There’s a way out of this. They just have to figure out how.

First things first, the practical approach: “Okay, walk-in freezers should have an internal release handle.”

Anna nods, shivering as she moves closer to the door, running her fingers carefully through the frost until she finds the metal handle. “Got it!” She flips the handle, and the door inches open but not enough to get a person through. Only just enough to let a bit of warmth into the freezing metal box.

“Well, that at least solves the air problem.”

Anna’s head whips back at him. “There was going to be an air problem?”

“Yeah, eventually.”

Anna sags slightly before nodding. “Okay, so what’s step two?”

“Call for help.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “No signal.”

“Same here.” Anna then pauses before making her way over and shoving her hand out through the crack in the freezer door. “There’s a little signal.” Her hand inches its way upward, and she seems heartened. “And that’s a lot of signal. Probably more if we can get higher.”

“I’ll give you a boost.” Shawn immediately moves closer, bracing himself against the side of the door before cupping his hands for her.

“Wait. We may only get one shot at this, and we don’t know who’s monitoring my communications.”

Shawn doesn’t think that’s an unwarranted suspicion, so he holds his phone out to her. “Trade phones.” She does as she’s told and sticks his phone out into the space before frowning.

“No, you’ve still got nothing.”

Shawn shakes his head. “You can never trust Sprint.” But that poses a problem. He considers carefully before gesturing for her to give him her phone. “I have an idea.”

She studies him carefully before unlocking her phone and passing it over to him. Shawn immediately heads into her text thread with Jules and types in an innocuous message that’s patently, ridiculously Shawn. He then passes it back to her. “Alright. Ready?”

Anna studies the message with a frown. “What does this even mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. Jules will know what it means.”

“Even if it’s coming from my phone.”

“She knows who she married,” Shawn replies before cupping his hands for her to step into. “Ready?”

Anna swallows, then nods, stepping into Shawn’s palms and letting him push her up as high as she can go. She shoves her hand out of the crack in the door, hits send and pumps her fist in the air as it sends. “Got it!”

Shawn exhales as he lets her down and nods. “Great. Now we just have to wait for Jules to get here.”

“Okay. How do we do that?”

“Conserve heat, conserve air and don’t go to sleep.”

Anna nods slowly before moving to plant herself on the other side of him, both of them wedged near the open door. “You’re not bad at this—a plan on the fly.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” Shawn pauses. “And hey, no one shot me this time either.”

Anna considers him carefully. “If we get out of this alive, I think I’d like to hear that story.”

Shawn glances over at her, realizes she’s serious, and nods in return. “If we get out of this alive and you buy the drinks.”

“Deal.”

* * * * *

Shawn may not know a lot of things—well, that’s a lie. Shawn knows many things. Shawn may not know a lot of useful things, but he knows one thing: when the chips are down, you can always count on Juliet O’Hara.

Jules brings down the hammer like you wouldn’t believe, storming into the hideout, ordering the arrest of anyone they can find, and making her way down to the freezer. She hurriedly pushes the boxes to the side and pulls out both her detective and her husband, and Shawn absolutely doesn’t pass out from the sudden temperature change.

He just may get a little woozy, that’s all.

When the world rights itself again, he’s sitting on the edge of an ambulance stretcher, watching his wife oversee the collection of evidence. He really did marry the best girl in the world. A blur moves out of the corner of his eye, and he turns to find Anna standing next to him, blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“You alright, Spencer?”

“Peachy. Will be even better after a plate of Quatro Queso Dos Fritos.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen.”

“Maybe. But at least you die with a smile.”

She shakes her head. “We lived. Sounds like you owe me a story.”

“So long as you’re buying the drinks.”

“I am a woman of my word,” she smirks, before glancing over to see Jules stalking over, a determined look on her face. “Maybe tomorrow. Give your wife a chance to cool down.”

Shawn smiles. “Hey Jules. Get everything you need to nail these guys.”

“And then some. They didn’t get the chance to burn everything before we got there.” She seems pleased. “Excellent work, both of you. But please never do this again.”

“I certainly don’t plan on it.” Anna steps away, heading back towards one of the other cops. “I’m going to catch a ride back to the station with one of the boys. See you both tomorrow?”

They both nod, and as Anna disappears into the crowd, Juliet looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like you two are getting along better.”

“I think we finally figured each other out.” He pauses and then tips his head to the side. “And all it took was getting us locked in a freezer together.”

Juliet sighs. “You really need to find more nonlethal ways to make friends.”

Shawn smirks before pulling her closer for a warm kiss. “But where would be the fun in that?”

Jed Tien graduates from the Salvatore School with passing grades enough to land him a spot at Tulane with Josie and Hope. Initially, college hadn’t really been on his radar, but after taking down Ben’s father and having his curse reset, he realizes he needs to think more strategically about his future—more specifically, the kind of pack he wants to be a part of.

Finch as alpha makes sense, and he knows Finch will always have room for him, but he also has realized that he’s done punishing himself for things he can’t control, and he has to look at the kind of werewolf he wants to be—and the Crescent wolves holds appeal. Their ability to control their shift, to choose the way they get to move through the world, and the added benefit of getting to stay in a pack with friends has him swinging closer to New Orleans. He makes sure Hope is okay with it first, but that’s a much smaller hurdle than he expected it to be.

Turns out Hope’s changed too, grown out of the sullen girl he met when he first came to the Salvatore School and into someone he’s happy to call a friend. He’s glad that she will do the same.

But before college, he and Ben have the entire summer ahead of them. He turns down the Prague trip in favor of three months in an RV, trying to see as much of the lower forty-eight as they can. Starting in New Orleans; the plan is to loop their way up the east coast, and then head west. They have three months. They can take their time.

At first, it’s easy. Spending time with Ben is fun, especially in this early-relationship honeymoon phase. Jed is just used to being around so many more people—a pack is never alone—and he can feel the itch of concern when there’s a little too much quiet. Still, he pushes through, he and his indestructible boyfriend.

He’s learning a lot about that boyfriend as they go.

In terms of food, Ben’s not a fan of the grease of fast food or the dryness of modern cooking techniques. He loves barbecue and other slow-cooking techniques that remind him of the ways his people used to cook. Doesn’t love the stimulants of caffeinated, highly sugared drinks, but enjoys the taste of coffee and has a sweet tooth. They try to sample the local cuisine in each space they stop, while Jed tells him about the different historical sites or modern pop culture slang he has yet to pick up.

It’s fun. Maybe too much fun. But Jed opts not to let the real world and the future distract him and just tries to focus on now. And there are plenty of things to distract himself with.

* * * * *

The thing about Jed is that he always knew what he was. His father was a werewolf, so he always knew he would be a werewolf. There was no anxiety, no questioning if he would turn, because it was always more a question of when. His father would choose a target, he would kill, he would turn, and that would be that. He activated his curse before he even hit puberty. It’s all he’s ever known.

Having his curse reset changes all of that.

He heard the stories of kids who came from other packs. Who talked about how anxious they had been, how hyper-aware, so careful not to give someone the wrong thing or push them the wrong way, or let their anger get the better of them, and he never got it. He gets it now.

By the time they hit July, they’re in Chicago and there are so many people. He can also feel his temper getting worse, finding he has a shorter fuse with Ben. Picking fights over directions, where to eat, how to sleep. The anxiety about the warning signs only compounds the frustration, but it’s fine. He’s fine.

He’ll be fine. He’ll keep his shit together.

They spend the day in the city, looking through the Art Institute before heading nearby for dinner. By the time they finish, it’s late, and people and the rowdier visitors to a pub nearby are spilling into the street. Jed tries to dodge out of the way of one of them, but they clip his shoulder hard, and the anger bubbles in his chest. He reacts before he even thinks it through.

“Watch where you’re going.”

The words snap out, and the drunk responds in kind, turning back towards Jed and getting up in his face. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, asshole.”

Jed can already feel his hands curling into fists. Thinking about how easy it would be to pound this guy’s face into the pavement, and be done with it. “You’re the one who bumped into me, dickwad. So why don’t you get out of my face about it.”

“Make me.” The challenge comes with a shove to his chest, and Jed’s arm raises, but someone catches it before he can go too far.

“Jed.” Ben’s voice is a cold bucket of water on his temper, and he glances back to see that Ben is the one holding him back. He meets Ben’s gaze, and Ben shakes his head. “He isn’t worth it. Let’s go.”

There are more taunting jeers that come from the drunk, but Jed allows Ben to lead the way, realizing how close he came to putting himself right back in the situation he was in before. They’re around the corner before Ben stops them, studying Jed’s face carefully.

“Are you alright?”

Jed exhales a slow breath before shaking his head. “I don’t know. Can we just get back to the RV?”

Ben nods, leading the way back out of the city to where they parked the RV and then heading back out to their campsite. When they’re in the woods, away from the crowded streets, he breathes a little easier. He knows Ben is waiting for him to explain, but he doesn’t know where to start. Fortunately, Ben does.

“Is it the curse?”

“Kind of, but not really.” He pauses, trying to figure out how best to phrase what he’s feeling. “I thought having my curse reset would make things easier, because we wouldn’t have to worry about finding somewhere for me to transform or worry about there being people around. But—I guess I forgot how hard this curse wants to be triggered. The anger and the awareness of everything you do. I haven’t been fully human in almost a decade.”

“Do you want to trigger your curse? Would that be better?”

Jed shakes his head. “To trigger it would mean I would have to kill someone. And I’m trying not to be that guy either.”

Ben nods as he takes that in. “It wouldn’t be a curse if it were easy.” Jed nods, because he knows it’s a problem they both know well. Ben contemplates some more. “Let’s try this. Maybe we try traveling somewhere with fewer people. You like the national parks more, anyway.”

“That’s pretty much all we’re heading towards after this.”

“And I will do my best to put myself between you and anyone that may provoke your temper in the meantime. Just because it’s a curse you bear, doesn’t mean you have to bear it alone.” He lifts one hand, letting it cup Jed’s cheek as he smiles. “You showed me that.”

Jed smiles back before leaning forward to rest his forehead against Ben’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’m an unbearable asshole sometimes. Having a werewolf temper isn’t fun.”

“I’ll manage.” Ben murmurs as he turns to press a kiss to his temple. “What can I do for you now?”

“I was thinking about going for a run.” Jed then tips his head up, giving him a quirk of a smirk. “But I think I might have a better idea of how to burn off some energy.”

Ben grins before leaning in to kiss him, and soon there’s only the quiet of the woods to worry about.

* * * * *

By the time summer turns to August, they’ve started looking to planning their route back to New Orleans so that they’ll be back in time for the start of classes. They have time for one more stop, and then it’s a two- or three-day drive straight through a lot of the Midwest to get back from the West Coast. But there’s a place that Jed has always wanted to see.

“One more stop.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “We have a week until you start classes. And a long drive back to New Orleans.”

“I know, I know, but I think you’ll really love this place for one, and we have time for one more stop before we leave.” Jed flashes him a pleading smile. “Please.”

Ben takes a deep breath before passing him his dinner as they settle into their camp chairs. “Alright, show me.”

Jed grins before turning his computer around to show him the website for Muir Woods. The impossibly tall trees stretched upwards. One of the coolest national parks in the United States, in his humble opinion. He can see interest lighting in Ben’s eyes, and he pushes a little harder.

“One hike, just to see the redwoods, and then we drive out. Promise.”

Ben smirks before nodding. “Alright. I’m not the one who’s risking missing classes. I’m not the one you need to convince.”

Jed grins before settling in for his meal. Little does he know that one day adventure is a promise he won’t be able to keep, but for now, all he can think of is the quiet park of trees and reconnecting with a part of himself he’s trying very hard to keep, the person he loves by his side.

As far as he’s concerned, this is about to be the best day ever.

Malia prides herself on being fine most of the time.

It probably helps that she doesn’t feel things the way other people do. Sure, she has feelings, but having a short list of people she actually cares about enough to get upset over and an even shorter list of things that actually upset her makes it easy. She knows she’s odd, or “different,” that people kind of look at her strangely when she puts things a certain way, but she’s usually fine. She can withstand a lot. Killing Damon, for example, didn’t really bother her because in that moment, his dying was the only option she had.

She’s not proud of it, or un-bothered, necessarily, but that other people were so upset about it when he was going to kill their friend certainly chafed more against her sense of loyalty.

Because she doesn’t see things the same way, though, she checks on people who have more feelings than her more often. She’s pretty sure Tyler is sick of her asking of he’s okay when he gets a faraway look or goes quiet in a bad way. But better to ask and have an answer than let things fester. She’s learned that the hard way too many times, and she doesn’t want to lose Tyler while she’s not paying attention.

She could see herself staying with Tyler for a long time. Provided none of his other so-called friends decide to kill him first.

It’s rare that the question gets turned on her, but today is one of the rare days. She and Tyler are near the Gulf, enjoying a beach day even though it’s the middle of February, meaning Tyler is swimming and she is observing the ocean from a safe distance. She must have dozed off, because when she comes around again, the sun has shifted and she can hear a familiar voice speaking from nearby.

“Sorry, how do you know Malia?”

“Let’s just say we go way back.”

She pushes up from the beach, eyes scanning for Tyler. Some part of her half-asleep brain remembers him saying something about a smoothie, so she heads away from the beach towards the stands, heart hammering in her chest. She makes it up to the sidewalk and catches sight of Tyler talking to an older woman. Long dark hair, a bit of menace in her smile, and standing far too close to her boyfriend.

Corinne.

She doesn’t know what to do. She shouldn’t charge in there because that’s exactly what Corinne is expecting, but if she doesn’t do that, Corinne might do bad things to Tyler. Maybe not now, in public, but she has his scent now, knows he’s important to Malia, and that is all terrible. She stands frozen until Corinne’s head lifts and she catches her standing there. And then she smirks.

“It was very nice meeting you, Tyler. Maybe we’ll see each other around.”

She saunters off into the crowd, and Tyler glances back at her, confusion turning to concern when he sees the look on her face. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She tries to tell herself as much as she’s telling him. “I’m fine.”

* * * * *

“You’re not okay.”

Tyler moves to sit next to her on the porch once they return to their beach rental, passing her the pizza box. She’s not sure she’s hungry, but she also knows she needs to keep her strength up, so she eats and shakes her head.

“No, I’m not okay.”

“About that woman at the beach.” She nods, and he presses. “Going to tell me who she is?”

“My bio-mom.” Tyler’s eyebrows go up, and she sighs. “I thought she was dead. Or … had left me alone after the last time she tried to kill me didn’t go so well for her.”

“How do you mean?”

She sighs, because this is always so weird to explain. “Werecoyotes pass their power down from mother to child, which is honestly super sexist and rude because the dads don’t have to give up anything but whatever. When Peter knocked Corinne up, she got put through shit by the Hales. She didn’t want to have me; they kinda made her.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Extremely.” Malia shakes her head. “I don’t know what actually happened. All I really have is Corinne’s side of the story because Talia’s dead, and she took Peter’s memories of it before she died. But I exist, and Talia had me adopted out, and everything was fine until Corinne figured out what Talia did with me and caused a car accident to kill me so she could get her power back. She killed my mom and my sister.”

“I’m sorry.”

Malia nods. “Anyway, a couple of years ago, we double-crossed her, and I stole the rest of her power, so she’s basically human now, but even human she’s still a trained assassin and murderer so that doesn’t make her less dangerous.”

“And now she knows where we are.”

Malia nods again, tipping her head back to rest against the seat. “Must be a nice distraction, having to deal with my problems for a change.”

Tyler laughs before moving to settle next to her with a nod. “It is nice for it to be straightforward and simple, yeah. But I don’t like that you’re not okay, and I want to make that better. So, what do we do?”

That seems to be the ten-million-dollar question. Malia isn’t sure she has an answer. “I could tell Peter.”

“That sounds like that would end with someone dead.”

“With her, I don’t think it would be that much of a loss.” Corinne is a bad person who does bad things. And it’s not like Malia would have to kill her. All she would have to do is put her in Peter’s path, and Peter would do the rest. “But I know we’re supposed to be better.”

He laughs again. “You make being better sound like the worst thing in the world.”

Malia shakes her head. “I guess it’s not. But sometimes there are really straightforward solutions to problems that you probably shouldn’t use because they make you a terrible person.”

Tyler nods as he tucks an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Why don’t you sleep on it?”

“And if she murders us in our sleep?”

“When we reach the other side, you can say I told you so.” Tyler tips his head to the side. “But you’ve done a pretty good job of keeping us alive so far. I think we’ll be okay.”

Malia nods slowly before shifting to settle against him more. “Yeah, okay.” Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe it will be worse. But she’ll at least feel better if she gets some sleep.

* * * * *

Malia wakes in the wee hours to the sound of someone moving around the porch of the rental. Tyler doesn’t stir, and she quietly slips out of bed and heads down to the first floor, wanting to get a good look at who it is. She sees the long hair again, the familiar jacket, and she grits her teeth before moving to pull open the door and stare her down.

“What are you doing?”

Corinne looks up and flashes her a smile. “Just being nosy. I got curious about what you were up to, and then what do you know? I saw you and your little boy toy down by the beach and just had to say hello.”

Malia knows she should probably play it cooler, but she can’t. Not with Corinne. Not with the woman who’s already cost her so much. “You go anywhere near him, and I will rip your throat out.”

Corinne grits her teeth before stepping closer. “Don’t forget who gave you those teeth, girl.”

“Yeah, maybe you did. But you don’t have any claws anymore, do you? Do your eyes even glow?” Malia raises an eyebrow, a small challenge in her gaze. “I didn’t think so.”

Corinne tips her head to the side as she studies her. “You can’t be everywhere all the time. And I may be human, but I can still fire a gun. And I’m a very good shot, Malia.”

“I’ll heal.”

“Will he?”

“Well enough.” They turn towards the voice, and Tyler leans casually in the doorframe, eyes glowing gold. “The other thing she probably didn’t mention is I’m not what you think I am. And I’m really not that easy to kill.”

Malia feels her nerves building as Corinne glances between them, trying to see what the move is. But she keeps herself steady. “I’m going to tell Peter I saw you. And what he does with that information, I can’t control.” Because Peter, as always, will do Peter. “I probably won’t text him until morning, so you have some time to get clear of this. But if I see you again? Or you come near any of my people again? I’ll be much more expedient and specific in my information.”

Corinne’s face goes cold. “He’ll kill me, Malia.”

“Yeah, well, you should have left me alone.” Malia shrugs. “If you had continued to do so, we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?”

Corinne scowls before moving off the porch and heading down to the curb. “This isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is.” But Malia leaves it there, stepping back into the house and nudging Tyler so she could close the door behind her. “That was risky.”

Tyler shrugs. “It worked. She needed to think she was outnumbered.”

Malia scowls. “She still could have shot you.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He catches her hand, pulling her in closer and sliding his arms around her waist. “You okay?”

“Still not really.” Malia takes a deep breath before leaning in to kiss him. “But I’m better.”

And should their bluff work, hopefully she’ll continue to do so. She’ll still want to leave in the morning and still do everything she can to protect the person who’s hers. But they can protect each other. And maybe that’s better than doing it all on her own.

Date night when you’re dating a doctor is rough to plan because their shifts aren’t always reliable and sometimes there are late nights—especially when you’re working in a hospital. It’s even rougher to plan when your boyfriend and his brother may wander off at a moment’s notice to go hunt a monster. Important work, but can throw a bit of a wrench into things.

Which is why when she comes home to some familiar Dean-related belongings strewn about the bunker on her night off, she can’t help but perk up, just a little.

“Dean?”

“Hey.” He pokes his head out from around the corner and flashes her a grin. “You’re home early.”

“My cases wrapped up in a timely manner today.” She glances curiously around. “Where’s Sam?”

“Sam took off to see Allison. Mom?”

“Mary and Bobby took a case in Arkansas, said they’d probably be back the day after tomorrow.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up, a curious glint in his eye. Dean is an opportunist. She knows and loves this about him, so she shouldn’t be surprised when he seizes on this one. “So are you saying we both have the night off at the same time and have this entire place to ourselves?”

“Yeah,” she nods, moving forward and draping her arms around his neck. “I think I am.”

“What will we do with it?”

“I may have a few ideas.” She tips her head to the side curiously. “We could go out.”

“We could. But that would mean no one’s home, and the bunker might get lonely.”

“Can’t have that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Or, we could order from that Thai place we found last week, watch something here, and get up to our own fun.”

Dean grins. “You picked the food, I pick the show?”

Elena knows from that statement alone that she’s in for another Dr. Sexy marathon where she delicately tries not to shatter Dean’s fragile perception of what being a doctor is actually like in favor of the fantasy. In terms of soap levels, though, it’s not all that terrible a show, so she can sit through a few episodes as he tries to catch her up to the current season.

There are so many seasons.

“Deal.”

He grins before leaning in to kiss her quickly. “You order. Get me those drunken noodles and the volcano shrimp? I’ll head out to pick it up.”

“You got it,” she nods, grabbing her phone to order, before going to shower off her day and get ready for date night.

* * * * *

“Strangest thing you’ve ever heard—” Elena opens her mouth to answer, but Dean holds up a finger to cut her off before clarifying: “—in a medical context.”

“Oooh. Strangest thing I ever heard, medically.” She settles back against the couch, legs sprawled over Dean’s lap as Dr. Sexy works through the case of the week on the screen. She’s been a doctor long enough that some of the more normal cases have blurred together, but one does spring to mind that was benign enough to not be tragic but still strange enough for her boyfriend’s sensibilities. “When I was an intern, I treated a guy with hairy tongue.”

His eyebrows go up as his head snaps around to face her. “That’s a thing?” A pause. “Is it like a hairy palm when you—”

She laughs before shaking her head. “No. Your tongue has tiny, hair-like sensors across it that help regulate taste and sensation. Usually they’re worn down through diet or brushing your teeth, but sometimes they can overgrow and it gives the patient the appearance of a hairy tongue.”

“Huh.”

“It’s very treatable. It’s just … really weird to look at.”

“And anyone can get it?”

She nods. “Usually see it in older men though, especially if they are a lifetime smoker, or drink a lot of coffee or alco—” Dean’s eyes roll towards her, concern coloring his features, before shaking her head. “It’s fine. Good reason to keep brushing your teeth, right?”

“Yep, right.” She can see him working his jaw, almost as though he’s testing the texture of his tongue, before he shakes it off and lets himself sink back into the show. Dr. Sexy has moved on from the case of the day and is having a heated romantic moment in an on-call room with his love interest of the season—can’t seem to keep a relationship any longer than Elena could, so at least that’s true to life—and Dean shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you guys aren’t getting freaky in the on-call rooms.”

She laughs. “Of all the things I’ve corrected about this show, that’s still your biggest disappointment?”

“Yeah.” He grins back at her. “That’s the best part.”

“Okay, well, one, we’re professionals, and people need to sleep in those on-call rooms, and two, if I was having sexy fun in an on-call room, it’d probably be weird if I wasn’t doing it with you.”

Dean considers that before nodding. “Point. But that means if I come visit you at work, then the on-call rooms aren’t an option.”

“No, they are not.” Elena smirks, before shifting so that she’s moving to straddle his lap. “But they’re also really uncomfortable beds. Like not good for your back at all.”

“Mmm.” His hands move to her hips as he pulls her closer. “Doesn’t sound very sexy.”

“It’s really not.” She kisses him briefly before pulling back. “But if you wanted to get the full Dr. Sexy experience in a way that wouldn’t cost me my job if we got caught…there’s probably a room down here in the never-ending bunker that we could pretend was an on-call room or a storage room, or a janitor’s closet.” Not an elevator, but she never promised it would be perfect.

Amusement lights in Dean’s eyes as he glances back over his shoulder, running through the map of the bunker in his mind. “I think I know the spot. You grab your doctor stuff, I’ll get my cowboy boots, we regroup in five?”

“Done.”

* * * * *

“Elena?”

A week later, Elena glances over to see Sam standing behind her, one of her lab coats hanging off his fingers. Her eyes widen as she stands from her breakfast and reaches for it. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that, thank you.”

Sam nods, letting her take the coat from his fingers and hesitates before finally saying: “Do I want to know why I found that in one of the storage closets with a broken stethoscope and cowboy boots?”

Elena feels a blush creeping up her cheeks, and she glances down before shaking her head. “No, probably not.”

Sam sighs dramatically before nodding. “Right. Got it. Just … make sure you clean up? In the future?”

“You got it.” Elena watches his back as he retreats into the bunker. “Sorry, Sam!”

Sam waves a hand as he continues his retreat, and she huffs a laugh before turning back to her breakfast. As she settled in, Dean makes his way and raises an eyebrow.

“What’s up his ass?”

Elena grimaces before nodding her head towards the doctor’s coat on the chair, and recognition covers his features. Then he grins.

“Eh, he’ll get over it. Think we might do that again sometime?” He waggles his eyebrows at her, and she shrugs.

“Maybe. If you can convince your brother to go see Allison again.” The brothers are about to head out on another case, and Dean winks at her as Sam brings out his bags and they get ready to go.

“I’m on it.” He leans in to kiss her briefly. “See you soon.”

“Stay safe, both of you!” She calls out over her shoulder and settles back into the quiet of the bunker, ready to enjoy some time to herself.

Caroline Forbes is an expert schmoozer. She’s really good at it. But schmoozing in Newport is a whole other level. This function is like the Olympic-level of schmoozing, and while she knows she’s up to the challenge—Caroline plans and strategizes with the best of them—it’s still overwhelming, and she wanders to one of the drink tables, wondering if she should rethink her approach.

After sampling some canapes, she balances her drink in her hand and turns her focus back to the rest of the room. One of the potential donors seems to get more and more toasted, so that could work in her favor. Vampire endurance with alcohol is always an advantage in things like this. But she’s also found that talking people out of their money when they’re too drunk to make an effective decision has led to revoked donations later. Never let it be said she doesn’t learn.

“You look like you’re about to go to war.”

She turns, and notices the cute—really cute actually—guy who seems to have wandered up next to her when she wasn’t looking. She smiles before giving a small shrug. “Donor events like this are all about strategy. You always have a plan, so you don’t waste your time on someone who isn’t worth your time.” She turns to extend a hand to him. “I’m Caroline.”

“Ryan.” He shakes her hand before nodding. “Fortunately for me, that’s not my job.”

“Oh, no? What do you do?”

“Architect. I designed the community center that we’re trying to get built.” He points to the model sitting on one of the nearby tables. “The fundraiser wants me here just in case anyone has questions about the building. He says they sometimes throw questions in that direction to make it seem like they care, even though they’ve already decided.” He takes another sip of his champagne. “What about you?”

“A school. Special needs. We’re a year-round boarding school with a robust scholarship program, so we need donors like this to make sure we’re not going under with all the mouths we have to feed.” And with the werewolves especially, they have a lot of mouths to feed.

“Scholarship program?”

“Yeah, a lot of the kids that fit our criteria may not come from means or don’t have the parental support. We see a lot of foster care or orphaned kids, and we don’t want to turn anyone away.” Her tone turns wry. “It’s the part of the business model that most donors aren’t fond of, but it’s also the part we can’t really budge on.”

Ryan’s demeanor seems to warm at that. “Good. Don’t.” Caroline blinks in surprise, and he continues. “I was one of those low-income kids who probably could have benefitted from a program like that. I had my own … angel investors, I guess, but more kids should have that opportunity.”

“I agree.” He looks back to his cause’s table, and Caroline catches the flash of a white bandage hidden beneath the collar of his suit. She winces. “That looks nasty.”

Ryan’s hand absently goes to his neck, and he nods. “Oh, yeah. I cut myself shaving.”

Caroline isn’t really sure what sets off her compulsion-dar. It’s such an innocuous statement that she shouldn’t think much of it, but maybe it’s the way his voice goes distant as he says it, almost as though he’s reciting a line given to him. Or maybe it’s the way the life goes out of his expression for just that moment, before he snaps back in again. But it sends an itch up her spine that she doesn’t know how to put a name to.

Ryan gets called back to his table to talk about the community center, but before he goes, Caroline catches his hand. “Wait. Can I get your number?” He blinks back at her, surprised, and she releases his wrist and covers with: “Professionally. We’re thinking of doing an expansion at the school, and we could use an architect who believes in our vision.”

His expression softens, and he nods, pulling out a business card from his pocket and passing it to her. “Call me. We can discuss what you’re looking to do.”

She smiles as she takes it with a nod, before looking down at the embossed letters in her hand. Ryan Atwood, and an address for his office. “Okay, Caroline,” she murmurs as she tucks it away. “Time to be a total stalker.”

* * * * *

She takes some time to work her way up to it, because she could be wrong. She hopes she’s wrong. Maybe it’s just flashbacks to all the ways Damon hurt her, all those years ago, because forgiven him she may have, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten and that doesn’t mean she wants it to happen to other people. So she does a lot of digital stalking first. Ryan Atwood, prominent local architect, taken in when he was young by a wealthy Newport family and had several opportunities open to him.

Recently adopted a young teenage girl in a similar situation he had, looking to give her the same opportunities.

Caroline doesn’t want to read the wrong thing into this, but when she zooms in on the photo and sees the lapis lazuli ring on the girl’s finger, she can’t help but feel her gut sink. She doesn’t know how old this girl really is. She doesn’t know if this is just her game, to get unsuspecting adults to take her in until she grows bored with them and drains them dry, or if she really is as young as she seems and she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

She needs to get to Ryan’s house. And not seem like a total stalker while she does it.

A few days after the benefit, she gives Ryan a call and sets a meeting. She shows up to the meeting and keeps it all business, with a light side of flirting, and Ryan does flirt back. He takes her to lunch after the meeting, and he’s … actually really great. The kind that makes her feel guilty that this is all a ruse to find out whether he’s being abused by vampires because if it wasn’t … well. Caroline certainly hasn’t felt charmed in a long time, but Ryan Atwood certainly has her leaning that way.

He invites her to dinner, and she meets him at his place, and calls Stefan from the hotel room as she gets ready.

“What if I’m wrong?”

“This is one of those instances where it’s better to be wrong than right,” Stefan points out. “If you’re wrong and this is a girl who just likes lapis lazuli jewelry, then that’s a good thing, right?”

“If I’m wrong, I feel like I’m leading him on.”

“Are you? I mean, if you like him, you like him. What’s wrong with that? You can drop the pretense and … actually date for a change?”

Caroline huffs. “With what time? He lives in California, I’m always traveling, and besides, he’s human. That’s always going to come with limitations.”

Stefan’s quiet on the other end of the line before gently reminding her. “You’re allowed to be happy too, Caroline.”

“I have plenty of time to be happy,” Caroline sighs. “I’m a vampire. I’m gonna live forever, remember?”

“Yeah, make sure you do. If this is a bigger, badder vampire, call for help.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good. Now go. You don’t want to be late.”

Caroline nods, hangs up the phone and smooths down the front of her red dress and checks her hair before heading out to her rental car and driving to the address Ryan gave her. She checks her appearance on her phone one last time before knocking on the door.

“I got it!” A teenage voice calls from inside, and when the door opens, Caroline meets the eyes of Isabella, Ryan’s teenage ward. It’s in that moment she knows two things: one, Isabella is definitely a vampire, though a fledgling, barely turned a year. That is a relief at first, because if this is just a misguided kid, then that’s someone she can help.

But that relief fades, because the second is that Isabella is not alone.

There’s a look on her face that Caroline recognizes from her time with the Originals, with Katherine. The primal fear of realizing that you’re on the verge of upsetting something so much bigger and badder than you, but Caroline realizes all too quickly that the fear she sees isn’t for her.

“Hi, you must be Isabella.” Caroline smiles as she holds out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Caroline.”

“You—” Isabella absently reaches forward and shakes her hand, just beyond the threshold of the apartment. “You’re—”

“I can help you,” Caroline says, dropping her voice low. “Just tell me what’s—”

“You’re here.” Ryan’s voice breaks into the room, flashing Caroline a smile as he pulls on his suit jacket. “I’ll be a couple more minutes if you want to—”

“No!” Isabella interrupts quickly, meeting his eyes, the compulsion coming hard and fast. “Don’t invite her in. Never invite her in.”

Ryan’s eyes glaze over as Caroline feels her stomach sink. Even if she slips him some vervain, old commands will linger. Damn.

“Just give me a couple of minutes,” Ryan adjusts, and disappears back into another part of the apartment. Isabella looks so fraught, Caroline can’t help but feel her heart go out to her. She remembers the feeling of being manipulated by vampires that are stronger than you are when you’re just a kid.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “But if he let you in, they’d—”

“Who? Who’s doing this?”

“My … parents. Vampire parents, I guess.”

“The ones who turned you?” Isabella nods, and she taps a finger to her ear.

At least she’s smart. Smart enough to keep herself safe. But ears mean they’re still in the apartment, and Caroline is going to have to be so careful, or she’ll get Ryan killed. So she just nods at Isabella, showing she understands, and then pulls out a phone and taps out a quick message: Give me your number.

Caroline passes the phone to her, and Isabella types it into the Notes app right under the message and passes it back. Then Ryan emerges, and Caroline tucks it away, flashing him a smile as he steps past the threshold.

“Ready to go?”

“Very,” he nods, before closing the door behind him and leaving Isabella inside.

* * * * *

Do you really think you can help?

Isabella’s latest text sits at the top of her screen, and Caroline isn’t sure how to answer it. She and Ryan have been on two more business meetings-slash-dates and she’s been texting Isabella. She’s been giving her information on the adults involved—one her actual mother, turned by her “boyfriend” who subsequently turned Isabella for the easy meals she could bring. Get a wealthy philanthropist to take her in, get said philanthropist to invite in the older vampires, go to town with their wealth until they get bored and kill them off.

Not a bad gig. Another Caroline in another time with other vampire influences might have done something similar. Eat the rich takes on a certain textual truth when you’re a vampire. But the problem is, Ryan is actually a good person, not someone who is wealthy and wasteful, and Isabella is seeing that this ruse isn’t about hurting people who have hurt them. It’s just about hurting people.

I’m going to try.

She doesn’t know if that’s the right answer, but it’s going to have to be good enough for now. She also knows that while the two vampires are older, they’re not older than Caroline. That, at least, is a comfort for going into this situation alone.

The only problem is that the play she has is the one that puts Ryan the most at risk. Because she can’t be in the apartment to protect him. All she can do is watch from the outside and hope that Isabella can back him up.

Still, she flips over the phone and looks across the table at him, and pulls the trigger. “Hey, Ryan. Can we talk about something?”

She watches the hope in his eyes, that maybe this can stop being about business meetings and maybe more about them, but she disappoints him greatly in that department. He doesn’t want to believe her at first. No one does when it comes to vampires. But eventually it sinks in when she points out the bite marks. Talks about missing time. Talking about the way compulsion tangles your thoughts and makes it seem like you’re falling apart.

“How—I can’t go back there.”

Caroline hates what she says next. “You need to. Because you have to get Isabella out.”

“Isabella got me into this!”

“Yeah. But she’s also just a scared kid who is doing what the adults in her life are telling her. They’re bad adults, but they’re the only ones she had. Until you anyway.”

That seems to release some of the tension in his shoulders before he looks back up at her again. “And you.”

Caroline shrugs. “I’m trying.”

“So this special needs school. It’s for vampires?”

“And other things.” Caroline swallows hard. “Look, I’ll be waiting right outside. You can go in, get your things, get Isabella, and we’ll just leave. There are ways of keeping you safe from them.”

“What if they compel me on the way?”

“I have something for that.” She pulls the vial out of her purse and places it down on the table in front of him. “It’s called vervain. Once you drink it, they won’t be able to compel you. But you’ll have to play along. We can’t make them suspicious.”

Ryan nods slowly before reaching for the vial and knocking it back like a shot. Caroline tries to stop him, but it goes so fast that she can’t help but wince. Ryan makes a face. “That’s heinous.”

“Yeah, usually people mix it with coffee or something stronger.” Caroline makes a face. “Sorry.”

Ryan nods. “So go in, get my stuff, get Isabella, get out.”

Caroline nods in agreement. “Isabella says they usually go out at night, because she has the only daylight ring, so hopefully we can get you both in and out before they even notice.”

But the vervain is just in case. And hopefully they’ll all be okay.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

* * * * *

It goes really well at first. Isabella texts them that her parents were on their way out, and they drive back to Ryan’s apartment to pack up. Ryan says he can head back to his adopted parents in Newport for a while, at least until the adults are dealt with—which Caroline fully intends to do—and Isabella, well. Caroline intends to pitch the Salvatore School to her, though hasn’t gotten around to it just yet.

Except halfway through, her phone buzzes with a text from Isabella: They’re back early.

She zips up to the apartment as fast as she can, and as she arrives she hears a crash followed by a harsh, male voice. “Who the fuck gave you vervain?”

The front door is open just a crack, just enough for her to nudge, and she opens it the rest of the way to see Isabella’s sire holding Ryan by the neck, his blood spilling onto his fingers from a fresh neck wound. Her eyes drift down to Isabella’s mother, who is lying on the ground with what looks like a severe case of vervain poisoning. Isabella cowers in the corner, trying to figure out what to do, but her shoulders relax some when she sees Caroline.

Until she remembers Caroline can’t be invited in.

“That would be me,” Caroline quips, drawing the vampire’s attention to the door where she leans casually against the frame, trying to make it appear this is the most casual thing in the world. Tries to take everything she’s learned from the Salvatore-Mikaelson School of How to Throw Your Weight Around as a Vampire and look as though she very much is the biggest fish in this room.

His eyes glance at her, and they narrow. “Why would you do that? It would hurt you too.”

“Well, one, I don’t feed on my friends. Especially not without their consent. That’s rude and gross. And two, I certainly don’t turn their brains to soup by compelling him eight ways to Sunday.”

The father scoffs. “How did you think this would play out? I heard Isabella. She compelled him never to invite you in. Ever.” He turns back to Ryan. “Let’s try it out. Go ahead. Invite her in.”

The words sputter on Ryan’s tongue, and Isabella perks up like maybe she could reverse it, and Caroline gives her a small shake of her head. They can’t walk it back now. Not with him on vervain. When she looks back on this moment, she’ll realize that may have been her fatal mistake. But for now, all she can do is try to keep Isabella from giving herself away, and it doesn’t work.

“So that little shit is in on this too, huh?” Her sire sputters, looking over at the young girl. “Your plan is to what? Take both the lure and the lunch and make out like a bandit? Well, fuck that. How about you walk away with nothing?”

That threat is followed by the sickening snap of Ryan’s neck.

Caroline’s breath catches in her chest as she looks down at the collapsed body on the floor. Of course, this is how it ends. Of course, this is how another piece of potential slips through her fingers. But she can’t think about that now. Isabella’s next on his hit list, and she has to get there before that happens.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why?” he smirks as he strolls ever-so-casually toward Isabella. “What are you going to do? Cry about it.”

“No,” Caroline replies casually as she steps one foot across the threshold to Ryan’s apartment—or what used to be Ryan’s apartment. “I’m going to come in.”

Caroline isn’t really a vindictive person. But she can’t help but relish the look that crosses his face as the man realizes his own fatal mistake.

* * * *

After they’re both dead—both because apparently this is just the last in a long line of abuses that Isabella’s mother had visited upon her daughter. By the time Caroline has the sire’s heart in her hands, Isabella has already driven a stake through her weakened mother’s heart. And then, in true teenage girl fashion, she drops onto the floor next to Ryan’s body and sobs.

Caroline sighs as she moves to sit next to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders protectively. “I’m sorry, Isabella.”

“He was so nice to me.” She swipes at her cheeks with the heels of her hands. “Like, actually nice. Where the hell am I going to go now?”

“I have a school. It’s for kids like you.” Isabella looks up at her curiously, and she continues. “It’s called the Salvatore School. We take kids who are turned young and don’t really have anyone to look out for them and teach them to be responsible members of supernatural society, with the bonus of a quality education at the same time.”

Isabella frowns. “And I could go there?”

“There are rules. No feeding from people without their consent—and that includes the townies. But you’ll be provided with blood every day.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“We have a robust—” Her voice breaks as he remembers how this all started. “—robust scholarship program.”

Isabella nods, tears dripping from her eyes onto Ryan’s body. “I don’t know why it didn’t work.”

Caroline’s eyes narrow curiously. “What didn’t work?”

“I thought … it fixes things sometimes, so I thought maybe it might help if they wanted to feed or—”

Caroline can feel her hackles rising as she turns Isabella to face her. “Isabella, what did you do?”

Immediately after she asks it, Ryan gasps awake next to her.

Neal Caffrey is a man who values many things in a partner. He doesn’t have a type, but there are certain things he’s drawn to: creativity, tenacity, sometimes accountability. He looks for a balance of parts that are like him and parts that aren’t, and somewhere in the middle are things that work.

Too much like him, and it crashes and burns. Too little, and it’s hard to get going.

He thinks Anna is a good balance, sometimes. And sometimes he worries that maybe he’s barking up the wrong tree.

“Hey.” Diana drops a file on his desk, drawing his attention out of his thoughts. “What’s the deal with you and Morasca?”

Neal blinks before shrugging his shoulders, reaching for the file to have a look. “We’re friends. There’s no deal.”

“Jones said you made her soup.”

“She was sick, I had some free time, and her apartment is in my radius. That’s what friends do for each other.”

“Uh-huh.”

Neal can feel the weight of Diana’s gaze continuing to bore into him, and he looks up and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“You like her.”

“Yes. We’re friends.” If he says friends one more time, he worries the word is going to lose all meaning, so he really hopes Diana drops this bone she can’t seem to let go of.

“No, you actually like her. So why haven’t you made your move already?” Diana’s head tips as she scrutinizes him more carefully. “Does she not like you? You not her type?”

No, he’s pretty sure he’s her type. He’s aware of how people who are attracted to him look at him, and she definitely does that when she thinks he isn’t looking. But he also listens to her deflect all the reasons someone would be interested in her and—

Ah, there it is. The thing that chafes.

It’s not that confidence is a deal-breaker, but maybe low self-worth is. Or that she wouldn’t take him at his word if he ever expressed that he did. Is it trust? Yeah. Trust is the deal-breaker. Neal lies for a living, lies to people he’ll never see again and needs to get something from, but he doesn’t lie to his romantic partners. Not real ones. He doesn’t want to deliver compliments and have them deflected or be assumed that he’s buttering her up for something that he wants. If she can’t trust his motives, then how will they be able to work in that kind of context?

Neal knows better than anyone that you can’t control how someone receives the truth, whether they believe it. But it makes him hold back, just a little.

“It was just soup, Diana.”

Diana sighs. “Well, we’re pulling your soup buddy for a joint task force. Read up and be ready for the briefing.”

Neal watches her walk away and sighs as he draws his attention back to the file again, feeling the way his stomach twists. Figuring out your own feelings is a good thing. It’s keeping them from everyone else that’s going to be the problem.

* * * * *

It’s especially a problem when their cover identities are married.

“We should talk about what you’re comfortable with,” he says as he slides into the backseat next to her, and Jones drives them to the benefit. She looks beautiful in a deep purple gown befitting her heiress cover, but he keeps that to himself, keeps it professional, at least for now.

“Comfortable?”

“If we’re going to be married, there’s probably going to be a certain amount of touching expected. An heiress of Alina’s caliber probably wouldn’t have overt displays of affection involved, but there’ll probably be little touches. So if there’s anywhere you don’t want me too, or anything that’s uncomfortable for you—”

“Oh.” Anna tips her head to the side as she considers. “For the cover, it’s Richard’s shady, but Alina’s oblivious, right? Unaware that you married me for the money?”

He nods. “So we wouldn’t want to deviate from expectations.”

Anna nods again. “Small of the back is fine, kiss on the cheek, but you’re right. She wouldn’t want to be too affectionate in public.”

Neal nods; that settled. Boundaries are good. “Okay. This should be easy. We’re just setting the hook, and hopefully they’ll reach out to me in the next few days, and we can catch them in the act.” He watches her nod, eyes wandering to the window, quieter than usual, but this differs from their usual banter. Nerves before going into something like this are normal. He pauses before adding. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

She glances back at him, surprised, before smiling. “Oh, this old thing?”

He smiles back at her in return, watching her shoulders relax some as they pulled up in front of the event.

* * * * *

The introductions go smoothly, as does the smaller side conversation where Neal sets the hook. He reports back to Jones that it’s done, and rejoins Anna near the dance floor, holding out a hand to her.

“One last dance before we make our exit?”

Anna nods and takes his hand, moving towards the dance floor and letting him pull her close. They’ve done this often enough when working together that it’s familiar, and he can feel her relax as he leads them in time to the music.

“How’d it go?”

“Jonas took the bait,” he says with a nod. “We should hear from him in a couple of days.”

“Good.” Anna looks down at herself. “As soon as Jones gets here, I can go home and get out of this getup.”

Neal sends her out for a spin, and as he does, carefully removes the earbud from his ear. He knows Anna is also wired for sound, but maybe it’ll muffle some of it. Or Peter will at least have the decency to look away from the conversation.

“I know women’s fashion isn’t the most ideal,” he murmurs. “But I meant it when I said you looked beautiful.”

She raises an eyebrow as she looks up at him. “So it wasn’t just a tactic to get me to relax?”

“No.” Well, not completely, but he meant it. “Why would it be?”

“Everything is a tactic with you, Neal.” She tips her head up to look at him, meeting his eyes defiantly. “It’s just how you are. Your whole deal is how to flatter and convince people to do what you want them to do. To convince them you’re on their side.”

He can’t deny that it stings. Probably because he can’t say that she’s wrong either, because that’s what a con man is. But he had hoped that she’s one of the people out there who actually see him, through the time they spent together, rather than the one feeling she needs to defend herself from him.

“I thought you knew me better than that.”

“How can I?” Anna’s brow furrows. The song ends, and she steps away from him, moving towards the door. “Jones is here. We should go.”

Neal nods, watching her give the command quietly before moving out of the room. As they pass the threshold of the ballroom, he watches her pull the earbud from her own ear, and feels the impulse itch that maybe they might have a moment of privacy before getting back in the car with Jones.

“Anna,” he begins, his voice echoing off the hallway, and she waves a hand.

“I said what I said, Neal.”

“Would you look at me, please?”

“This is getting ridiculous.” But she turns to face him, stopping so he can bridge the distance. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” is what he starts with, because this is going to be crossing boundaries, but he’s always been better at asking for forgiveness rather than permission, He slips an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, before dipping his head to kiss her. Gentle enough that she could push him away if she really didn’t want it, but also long enough that she can see that it’s not just him kissing her for a cover, or as a tactic, that the compliments may be tactics but they’re for something more.

He pulls back and fully expects that she’s about to slap him, but she stares, almost as though something in all the evidence she’s collected regarding who Neal Caffrey is has fallen out of place. But before she can say anything—

“Anna. You good?”

They both turn to see Jones standing in the doorway, unsure what to make of the scene, but Anna nods, brushing it off as she pulls away from him. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

* * * * *

The ride back to Anna’s place is quiet, mostly because neither of them wants to say anything in front of Jones for obvious reasons. When they arrive at Anna’s place, she gives them a curt, “see you tomorrow,” and Neal knows he’s still in trouble.

He can’t believe he read that so wrong, but he’s probably going to have a complaint filed against him. Peter will have a field day with that one.

He gets out in front of June’s, waving off Jones and going to head inside, but before he can get to the door, he hears the click! of a safety being pulled back. He turns slowly, and stares down the barrel of the gun held by the man he spent the whole evening playing for a fool.

“Jonas. What are you—”

“I was so surprised when I found you and your wife were leaving the benefit early. So I followed you out to ask why, and I heard you call her by the wrong name. You called her ‘Anna.’”

Neal keeps his annoyance off his face, but internally is kicking himself. Stupid mistake. “It’s a pet name.”

“I considered that. Alina, Anna, maybe. But her face had been nagging me all evening, and then she called you Neal, so I took a picture and sent it to one of my friends at the NYPD. He didn’t know you, but he knew your ‘wife.’ Detective Anna Morasca—and what do you know? She’s been loaned out to an FBI task force. So here’s what we’re going to do, Agent Neal. You’re going to come with me to my car, and we’re going to see what Detective Morasca will do to get her partner back.”

Neal exhales slowly, showing no resistance before nodding and letting Jonas lead him towards his car. He feels the weight of his earbud in his pocket, and the anklet on his leg and hopes that one of those two things will work in his favor.

He’ll just have to trust the FBI. Have to trust Anna.

And hopefully she’s not too angry with him to get him back.

“If I keep staring at these books, my eyes are going to melt out of my head.”

Sam leans back from the tomes in front of them on the library table and rubs at his eyes, trying to relieve the ache. They are making progress on the situation with Alice’s brother, but they haven’t found the perfect solution yet, and he doesn’t have to look out the library windows to know that it’s getting late. The halfling librarian has passed their table several times, shooting them dirty looks, so they should probably go home, and Sam wants to oblige him.

Alice sighs as she leans back in her seat. “Me too. But going back to my dorm seems incredibly unappealing.”

Sam nods, because agreed. He’s sure there are some options somewhere. He gathers his notes together, weighing their options until he tips his head to the side at finding a flyer he slipped into his bag earlier.

“Eliot Waugh is throwing a party.”

“Who?”

“One of the sorcery students. He throws all the best parties—at least that’s what people say. I’ve only been to a couple.”

“Only been to a couple.” Alice raises an eyebrow as she looks back at him. “Sam Winchester, are you actually popular?”

Sam laughs before shrugging. “We’re not friends or anything. But we lived on the same floor a couple of years back. We get along.”

“Uh-huh.”

His head ducks before he looks back at her. “Do you want to go or not?”

“Sure. Why not?” Alice slings her bag over her shoulder. “I could use a night getting out of my head.”

“Cool,” Sam nods. “Drop our stuff off and then we’ll head out?”

“Sounds good,” Alice nods, falling in step next to him and heading off toward stress relief.

* * * * *

Sam and Alice are currently very drunk.

It’s not their fault. In fact, if they’re going to blame anyone, they’re going to blame Eliot who made very delicious drinks and then also invited them to the party where they drank the very delicious drinks and if they hadn’t been invited, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

So there. Eliot’s fault.

Sam—or Alice’s—foot scuffs against one of the potted plants as they make their way through the hallway, late at night, causing a crash as it clatters into the wall and both of them immediately turn to hush the potted plant before freezing and listening for the sound of someone coming to investigate. They are not supposed to be in this building after hours, but Sam wants to show her something, and now is clearly the best time to do that.

When they hear nothing but silence, some giggles slip through as they continue winding through to the hallway of the observatory building of the Solstryce Academy, and then into the viewing room, a large round room with tiered seating on each side, and a round open space in the middle.

Alice frowns, brow furrowing as she looks around. “What room is this?”

“This is the observatory.” Sam wanders down to where the lecturer would stand, looking over the various runes and spell work to find the one he’s looking for.

“Why are we here?”

“Because I wanted to show you something. One of the very cool, underrated things about this school that people don’t talk about a lot.”

Alice raises an eyebrow, impressed, before nodding as she moves closer. “Okay. I await being impressed.”

He looks back at her with a smirk before murmuring the code word over the sigil he needs, and the stone crease in the center of the roof parts, revealing the swirling purple-pink of the astral sea beyond.

Alice’s eyes widen as she stares up at it, peering into the colorful darkness. “Is that—”

“The astral sea,” Sam nods with a smile. “Perfectly safe. The viewing screen is spelled to keep the wild magic and all other ill-effects at bay so long as you don’t keep it open for too long.”

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, before moving to sit next to him as he settles on the floor, staring up at the view above them. “How did you find it?”

“When I first got here, I was taking any class I could get my hands on. Trying to figure out where I might find a specialty that fit.” He stretches out, staring up at the ceiling and sighs. “I wasn’t strong enough for this class, but when I saw those walls part … I don’t know. I just couldn’t look away.”

Alice settles close, letting her head rest against his shoulder, and he doesn’t mind. He enjoys having her close, even if he shouldn’t. Even if he knows his mentor is just going to see it as another lever to press to get Sam to do what he wants. But right now he’s drunk enough not to care and just settles with a happy sigh until she asks: “Is this your move?”

He blinks back at her, confused. “What?”

She smirks, teasing. “You know, when you’re trying to impress someone? Do you take them here and show them the astral sea?”

“Oh.” A blush colors his cheeks as he looks away, staring back up at the astral sea again. “No. You’re the only person I’ve brought here.”

“Oh.” Her voice is softer, and more quiet sits between them, and she turns her head back towards the sky above them. “Have you ever wanted to go there?”

Sam hesitates. “My brother swore an oath to the Changebringer to protect Exandria from threats that come from other planes. Which isn’t really surprising, because he spent our childhood telling me stories of every inter-planar monster he could get his hands on. So he would say that I absolutely should not.”

“Well, I didn’t ask what your brother wanted. I asked what you wanted.”

“I don’t know. I know it’s dangerous, but part of me still wants to see it for myself one day.”

“Not satisfied with just watching it on a screen?”

Sam smirks and glances back at her before shaking his head. “I’ve never really been satisfied with half-measures.”

The silence stretches between them, just for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

That feels like a dangerous promise, but this time he’s not asking her for anything terrible. “Why did you help me with that spell? You didn’t know me. You could have just left me hanging.”

Alice smirks before shrugging. “I couldn’t just leave you there to suffer.”

“Yeah, but you could have never talked to me again either.”

“I could of.” Then she shrugs before turning to face him. “But I saw your eyes light up. I thought you might love magic as much as I do. And you did.”

Alice meets his eyes, and he knows this could be a moment, and he could make this a move if he wanted to. He’s also drunk enough that it seems like a fantastic idea. That he can put aside all the things weighing on his shoulders regarding Alice and just do what he wants. But he’s not drunk enough that the consequences are gone, or that he’s not aware of how drunk Alice is, and he doesn’t want to be something she regrets.

She watches him back until the moment fizzles, and she looks away. “How long can we leave it open?”

“About an hour?”

“Okay,” Alice nods. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

Sam nods as he turns his attention back to the astral sea again, wishing not for the first time that he was another man, in another place, with other priorities. That he could be the guy who kisses Alice with abandon. But he’s not.

But for now he can have this.

[A lot of this is vibes, but hopefully they're good vibes.]

“I know you’re here.”

Freya lets the statement hang in the silence, her back to the door, house full of shadows. Finn, her constant companion, sits on his perch near the fireplace, staring up at her exasperatedly. One benefit of living in a house in the middle of the woods is that the quiet is constant, so disturbances go a long way to getting your attention. Doesn’t mean you’re always right, but given how many of her friends pride themselves on disappearing conveniently into shadows, she tries to keep her senses sharp. Still, Freya’s rewarded for her effort, as footsteps shift on the floor behind her and a familiar voice steps out of the shadows.

“It’s terribly annoying how you do that.”

Freya smiles before turning to face Alondra in the doorway. As a woman who prides herself on never being seen, it always frustrates her that Freya can always sense her the moment she steps into the room. Freya shrugs. “Perhaps if you put more effort into honing your druidic senses, this game would go more in your favor.”

“Rude.” Alondra fires back, but there’s no heat to it. This is an old debate. “One day I will get the drop on you again.”

“I’m sure you will,” Freya replies, already mentally doing the math of what she has to offer. As she moves into the kitchen, she hears the familiar purr of Finn’s voice in her mind.

Shall I tell her all the times you say that into an empty house when no one is there at all? Finn tips his head towards her, and Freya sends him a brief look.

Enough, you. Freya retrieves two glasses and a carafe of wine, placing them down on the kitchen table. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

“I was in the neighborhood.” Alondra settles onto one seat. “Thought you might like some company.” Lazlo flutters in to land on the back of one chair, perfectly positioned for some quality attention, and Freya is more than happy to give it to him.

“Hello to you too, Lazlo.” Freya settles into her own seat, reaching for the goblet of wine. “And I never say no to company.”

But she has a feeling that Alondra is after something more. Not to say that she doesn’t drop by occasionally, simply to talk with an old friend—or attempt to scare said old friend out of her wits—but she knows Alondra well enough to know when there’s something on her mind.

They keep to the normal small talk for a little while, and as the wine winds down, Freya can’t help but raise an eyebrow curiously.

“Something you want to ask me, Alondra?”

Alondra sighs before pulling out an envelope, red wax seal broken. “Did you receive one of these?”

Freya raises an eyebrow before getting up and moving to the desk where she handles most of her correspondence. She shuffles through the recent messages she received until she retrieves a matching envelope. Placing it down on the table in front of them, hers is still sealed.

“I haven’t read it yet. Why?”

Alondra nods, offering the opened version of the letter to her. “It’s an invitation to some kind of magical game. I specifically was not invited, but this was addressed to my mother, and since she is no longer with us…”

“You could take her place.” Freya takes the letter, leaning back and scanning over the words briefly. Her brow furrows some when she sees the location. “This is to take place in my woods.”

“Hence why I wanted to be sure it was brought to your attention.”

She probably shouldn’t claim the entire woods as her own. They stretch far beyond her ability to tend them. But she’s spent quite a considerable amount of time both enriching the unique and specific plants that live here. And also, there are wards she’s entrusted herself with keeping. Wards that certainly would be disrupted with the magic this game is looking to employ.

“Yen?”

“I reached out, and she said she hadn’t received anything.”

Freya nods as she passes the letter back to Alondra, then reaches for her own. “She’s been playing it a bit straight these days. She may not fit into their demographic.” Freya pops the seal on the letter, and what she sees is something else entirely.

It is still an invitation. But it’s also a request for permission. To trespass in her territory for a game that is simply harmless. No damage to the local flora and fauna at all. How bold of them to assume what she might care about. She passes it back to Alondra, and the drow reads it over and frowns.

“Openly courting your attention, then. What do you think they may be after?”

“I think that depends entirely on who is present. But the coordinates they gave are rather close to our demonic friends that we trapped under the Ever Tree. The one we used to seal the portal to the Hells?”

“I was worried about that.” Alondra sighs. “Obviously, we can’t allow this game to proceed.”

“No. But there’s also no information on these invitations about who these people are. We won’t be able to know the host or the players without joining ourselves.” And then we’ll have to kill them all.

Alondra seems to hear what goes unsaid. “We’ve done worse.”

Freya can’t disagree with that. “I’d feel better if we had one more. I don’t know if I like this much surprise.”

“We’ll have to ask around. See if anyone else has been invited to play.” Alondra finishes the last of her wine before pushing up. “I could reach out to some of my Barovian contacts. There are a few spellcasters there that fit this bill.”

Freya nods. “And I’ll reach out to Dahlia’s. The trustworthy ones, anyway.”

Alondra glances back at her with a smile. “Whether or not we have them, I think this will be fun. It’s been a while since we've had the opportunity to ruin someone’s day.”

Freya smirks in return. “It has. I’m almost looking forward to it.”

* * * * *

Alondra finds one, a Barovian witch with a reputation for farming some rather gory spell ingredients. She was already planning to attend, but the option to curry favor with the baroness of Vallaki is too good to pass up. Raina is an older woman, stooped in the shoulders with a wry humor to her that blends well with the other two women. She even has her own little familiar, a stoat that sits curled around her shoulders as they speak. They meet briefly, once at Freya’s, before they part ways to arrive at the game site separately.

“Kill all of them, then?” Raina confirms. “Everyone but the three of us?”

“If you think they might be persuaded to join our cause, you can try.” Alondra shakes her head. “I don’t.”

Raina shrugs. “No skin off my back.” Then she smirks. “But maybe some skin off theirs.”

Freya laughs before pressing the most important point. “The real priority, though, is ensuring they don’t break the seal on the Ever Tree. If that gets damaged, then we’ll have much bigger problems.”

“I don’t fuck with demons, so I’ll do what I can to ensure they don’t fuck with me,” Raina nods. “This will be fun. Baroness, Lady Sage. See you on the battlefield.”

As the other woman slips out, Freya turns back to her friend, grateful for one last moment before they have to pretend to be unaware of each other. It seems safer. “She’s quite a find. Hopefully she isn’t causing you too much trouble in Barovia.”

Alondra shakes her head. “She spends most of her time removing useless men from the population. And now that the lands are no longer cursed, it doesn’t do nearly as much damage as it might have, once upon a time. And she doesn’t come into Vallaki to do it.”

“That’s rather neat, isn’t it?”

“Be careful, Freya.” Alondra studies her carefully. “They’re going to be most suspicious of you.”

“I know. That’s why I have the two of you.” She smiles. “Happy hunting.”

Alondra nods as she slips into bird form and flies out through the open window. Freya squares her shoulders and gathers her things to head into the woods.

Let the games begin.

* * * * *

The opening ceremonies are nothing to write home about, leading the various spellcasters—wizards, sorcerers, necromancers, mostly men—to scatter into the woods to begin their portion of the game. It isn’t long after that the contestants turn up dead.

One, with arrows through his throat, pinning him to a nearby tree. Another strangled with the chain bearing his spell-casting focus.

A pair of necromancers found themselves relieved of all their spell ingredients as well as their lives, several internal organs and their eyeballs.

One corpse was found consumed by flame, and another run through with the roots of the nearby trees.

When the three women return to the Ever Tree, the flustered master of ceremonies is all that remains. He looks between the three of them, confused but relieved. “Ladies, thank goodness you're safe. Something is hunting us in these woods. Something I couldn’t have prepared for. Lady Mikaelson, these are your woods. Perhaps you know—”

“Oh, I do.” Freya tips her head to the side curiously. “It was us.”

Color drains from his face as he glances between the three of them. “You? But I don’t—”

“What you misunderstood, friend, is that Freya and I worked very hard to ensure that what was sealed in that tree stayed there.” Alondra raises an eyebrow. “Did you honestly think we were just going to let you undo all that effort? For what? A paltry game?”

“But … but I was promised—”

“Demons tell pretty lies, don’t they?” Raina comments. “In order to get what you’re promised, you actually have to succeed. But even if you don’t, they’ll eat your soul all the same.”

His throat bobs with another swallow as he tries once again to throw himself at the feet of Freya’s good graces. “Lady Sage, please—”

“Don’t look to me for mercy,” Freya replies. “You won’t find any.”

“I can leave. I can leave and never return!”

“We discussed that,” Alondra sighs, sounding bored. “But unfortunately, examples need to be made.”

The ringleader swallows before squaring his shoulders and summoning his magic. “I will not die like a coward. Perhaps I can best all three of you.”

“You’re certainly welcome to try,” Alondra says, drawing her bow, the swirling lights of the Underdark gathering under her feet. “You’ll be disappointed, but you can try.”

He squares his shoulders, determined. Alondra’s first arrow glances off a magical shield, but the two subsequent arrows pin him to the ground by his clothing. “Would you like to do the honors, Freya?”

Freya smiles, a mouth full of dire wolf fangs. “I would love to.”

Edited 2025-10-24 12:37 (UTC)

“Good morning.”

Carroll knows from the smug amusement in Robin’s voice that he’s choosing to be his most aristocratically British at the moment, each vowel and consonant their own distinct diction, and he hates him a little for it, even if he knows he’s being an imposition by being in Robin’s office, having spent the last few hours sleeping on his couch.

“You’re sounding very British when you should be very nice to me right now.” Carroll doesn’t bother looking in the other man’s direction one arm draped over his eyes, but he does point to Robin’s desk where the work he spent the better part of last night pulling the precedent and fine tuning the brief that Louis in one of his (rarer, these days) moments of insanity demands be completed all too quickly.

“Oh, I am. That’s why I brought you this.”

A cup of something that smells like heaven is placed on the low table next to where he’s sprawled out on the couch. Coffee. Good coffee. “Bless you,” Carroll murmurs as he pushes himself slowly into a sitting position. Robin had given him permission to pass out on the couch in his office after finishing the report, because Robin had to go—he has to be at his most professional, always, but paralegals get a little more wiggle room. Carroll guesses he’s had three hours (maybe four) of sleep and it’ll have to be enough.

Maybe if nothing is set on fire, he can get out of here early today and sleep for an undignified amount of time in his own bed. His hopes are not high that will be the case, but he can hope just a little.

The coffee also comes with a truly delicious-looking pastry, which he will sink into next, but first, coffee. He cups his hands around the warm to-go cup, taking a deep breath, rich notes of chocolate and cinnamon rising from the swirl of dark liquid.

“You went to the good place.”

“I pay my debts,” Robin replies casually, settling in behind his desk, reviewing Carroll’s work and shaking his head. “Even if I can’t understand how you drink the stuff.”

Carroll smirks. “Neither does Ma, but she loves me anyway so long as I only drink tea when I’m home.” Robin laughs, and Carroll continues. “Only coffee when it’s good though. Bad coffee is not worth drinking, not even for the caffeine.”

“Fair enough.” Robin shakes his head, reading over the work. It’s good. Carroll’s work is always good. “I may still be indebted, however. Do you want me to cover for you while you go home to get a fresh shirt?”

Carroll raises an eyebrow as he considers. Cormac is at this new girl he’s seeing’s place. Apparently it was the date, so there’s a chance he could get there, shower, dress and be back before—

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” a new voice interrupts as a face Carroll doesn’t immediately recognize pokes his head in the door to Robin’s office. “Harvey wants this specific paralegal, Carroll Ford, to work on this case, and I can’t find her.”

And there goes his window. Well, there’s always lunch. And he might have a fresh shirt in his office, so maybe he can sneak down to the gym for a quick shower. Work never waits.

Robin points to the man sitting on his couch, and Carroll holds his hand out for the file in the associate’s hand. It’s at that moment that the associate realizes the woman he’s looking for is actually a man. He passes over the file with a frown. “Oh. Sorry. I thought—”

“Happens all the time.” He glances at the file and then looks up with a small smirk. “Not your fault we haven’t met yet.” Though there’s something about him that’s familiar and he can’t afford to dip back into the file cabinet to figure out why right now.

“Good point.” He then sticks out a hand for a shake. “Connor Walsh.”

Now that name is—oh, right there it is. Keating Five. And as he reaches over and shakes his hand, he’s thankful for his good poker face. “Nice to meet you.” He can tell that Connor is waiting for some kind of reaction, but Carroll isn’t going to give it.

He’s sure that everyone else in the law office has an opinion on that mess. His don’t have to become Connor’s problem. He did his time, and if Harvey and Donna trust him, then Carroll can too—at least to do his job.

“You too.”

“When does Harvey need this?” He holds up the file again, turning his attention back to the paperwork in front of him.

“When does Harvey need anything?”

Right. Immediately. Fair enough. “Give me two hours.”

Connor blinks. “You can take the day, dude. Don’t over-promise and under-deliver.”

“Oh, he doesn’t under-deliver.” Robin draws the attention back to himself. “But you should at least take three so that you can clean up.”

Okay, that’s a valid point. “Fine. Three hours then.” Carroll gathers his coffee and his breakfast and heads towards the door. “I’ll email the brief to you once I’m done.”

As he turns and heads down the hall, he picks up on the last pieces of Connor and Robin’s conversation. “Is he for real?”

“He is,” Robin smirks. “Very much so.”

* * * * *

“Carroll. Carroll.”

Angie’s shrill voice cuts through his concentration, and part of him wants to ignore her, but he knows if he doesn’t at least acknowledge her, she’ll never go away. “Yes, Angie.”

“You stole my associate.”

Carroll blinks at her, confused. “I’m too sleep-deprived for that to make any sense, so I’m going to need you to explain it to me.”

“Connor. We were developing a rapport. And then I get to work this morning and hear that he was asking all over the place looking for you.” Her pout is overly dramatic, and he knows she isn’t seriously annoyed at him—she’s just looking for information. Angie Shipman is also a paralegal who’s very good at her job, but she also has an ear for gossip, and she smells something cooking.

Carroll’s happy to relieve her of that. “He wasn’t; Harvey was. He was just using Connor to do it.”

“Ah.” Angie perches herself on the edge of his desk, and he sighs, leaning back as clearly this conversation is going to continue. He took the time to shower and change his clothes, but he was just getting into a good rhythm with this brief and he’d like to get back to it. “So, what’d you think of him?”

Carroll frowns. “What did I think of him?”

“Yeah. He’s hot, right?”

“I … guess?” Carroll has tried to explain to her that he doesn’t feel attraction the way other people do, but it doesn’t always sink in. “I don’t know if he’s my type.”

“You said you were bi. Everyone should be your type.” She pauses. “It’s probably good that Connor isn’t bi. If he were, he’d be a literal menace.”

Something tells Carroll that he is already, but he keeps that thought to himself. Mostly because with men, that turns out to be Carroll’s type. “I’m in the middle of the Harvey ask, Ange. Can we do this later?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She slips off the desk and brightens. “Drinks! After work!” Carroll opens his mouth to protest that he was planning to sleep after work, but she’s already gone, flitted away probably to find a place to make a reservation, and Carroll sighs. Maybe Robin will let him take another nap in his office.

But right now, he has work to do.

* * * * *

He finishes the brief in less than three hours, emails it back to Connor and Harvey and promptly tells him to take the afternoon off. Possibly because Donna told him that he was working late, or possibly because he also values Carroll’s work, but Carroll doesn’t care. He goes home, passes out, and doesn’t wake until around close of business, when his phone buzzes with a text from Angie.

We’re still on! Meet you at the Strat.
Also btw I’m bringing Connor.

Carroll groans, burying his face in his pillow, before remembering something Robin had said to him this morning. He slide over to the other text thread: Did you say something this morning about still having debt to pay?

He sees the dots go back and forth before the response appears: Why do I feel like I’m going to regret that?

Probably because he might.

The four of them arrive at the Strat, an upscale bar near the office, and Angie blinks in surprise when she sees who arrives with Carroll. “Robin! I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“I thought we were inviting people,” Carroll replies, his face carefully neutral, and Angie’s eyes narrow before nodding.

“Right. Yeah, no problem.” She then turns and points to the door. “To the drinks.”

After that, things mostly follow a normal night out. They try to avoid talking about work, but inevitably wind up talking about work, because what else do they do with their time? Eventually, Angie goes to get another round and not-so-subtly asks Robin to help her. Carroll watches as Connor’s eyes narrow in suspicion and he shakes his head.

“She’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Why are we doing this again?”

“Do you know how to say no to Angie Shipman? Because that’s a skill I would be interested in learning.”

Connor snorts before lifting the dregs of his drink. “So are you some kind of superhero or something?”

Carroll’s eyebrows go up, looking back at him in confusion. “What?”

“I read your brief. That would have taken me all day, never mind the deep-cut cases you pulled out. Relevant deep-cut cases too. Like not just there to take up space but actually making your case. So what, are you like the Flash?”

Carroll snorts. “I wish. I’d get so much more sleep.” He shakes his head. “I’ve just got a really good memory. When everything’s up here—” He taps his temple. “—You don’t have to waste time with Google or searching through the law library.”

“Huh. So I guess that’s why you’re so high in demand.”

“I guess,” Carroll shrugs. “But there are a lot of good paralegals at the firm. I’m honestly lucky I got the job.”

“Sure, luck.” Connor pauses, running his finger over the rim of his glass. “I am sorry about earlier. Usually I’m better at not making those kinds of stupid mistakes.”

“But Harvey gives you an ask and qualifies it with ‘this should already be in my hand’ and you don’t have time to really go digging.” Carroll smirks. “Don’t worry about it. I also know how Harvey can be.”

“I still feel like I’m trying to prove that I have the right to be here sometimes.”

Carroll doesn’t know if he means to admit that, or if he’s just had too much to drink and will pretend that it was never said later, but if he is being sincere, Carroll can at least return it in kind. “Harvey wants you here. And he’s hardest on the people he expects the most from. Keep doing good work, and everything else will work itself out.” Carroll takes another sip of his drink before shrugging. “This firm is kind of an island of misfit toys, anyway.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “Are you calling Harvey Specter a misfit toy?”

Carroll smirks. “Not to his face.” Connor laughs, and the smirk turns into a smile. “He is close friends with Louis Litt. I don’t think you can do that without having a bit of misfit in you.”

“You know what, I’ll give you that.” Connor sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Do you really think they’re close friends?”

“He was the best man at Louis’ wedding.”

“I stand corrected.” Another beat. “Is it weird that makes me feel better?”

Carroll shakes his head as Robin and Angie return to the table, drinks in hand.

“I also got snacks,” she comments. “So. What’d we miss?”

“Nothing,” Carroll says quicky. “We were just talking about the brief I was working on today.” There’s a brief look of gratitude in the exchange before Carroll picks up his fresh drink, but Angie keeps the focus on her.

“No, no more work talk.” She carries the conversation into a movie that Carroll has never seen. Robin has and keeps her engaged enough that he can have his attention wander elsewhere. An annoying part of him worries Connor may just be his type after all.

Worries, because as he watches Connor flirt with another guy across the room, he’s also realizing that this may not end well for him at all.

Carol lands delicately on the front stoop of the Khan house and rings the doorbell. She has been told in the past that while they know and understand that Carol could just pick Kamala up from her window on the days they spend time together, her parents would like to know when Kamala is leaving their house.

Which, valid.

As always, when the doorbell rings at the Khan house, there’s a kerfuffle of noise from the inside, as everyone present is informed that there’s someone at the door, and asking who it is, and waiting for someone to answer and eventually the door creaks open and she’s greeted by a smiling Muneeba.

“Oh, hello Carol.”

“Hi, Muneeba. Is Kamala here?”

“Yes, yes, she’s coming. Please come in. Have you eaten?”

“Oh yes, I got a breakfast sandwich on the way here.” You don’t pass up New Jersey breakfast sandwiches, and Kamala has a great spot not too far from her house. “Thank you, though.”

“Fine, fine. When you come back, I’ll have dinner ready.”

They are weeks past the point when Carol would have protested that, oh, no; she doesn’t need to plan for her for dinner. She’s just learned to accept her fate. Which is easy to do when the food is so good. “Sounds good.”

“Kamala! You’re keeping Captain Danvers waiting!”

“I’m coming!”

Carol lets her eyes sweep over the newly renovated living room before turning back to her host. “How have the repairs been going? The SWORD agents haven’t been giving you any trouble, have they?”

“No, no, they have been wonderful. They’ve just finished up the last bit in the bathroom, so the house is finally hours again, alhamdulillah.”

“Glad to hear it. Certainly took them long enough.”

“That’s what I said,” Yusuf shouts from somewhere else in the house.

“Nice to see you too, Yusuf!” Carol replies as the thunder of footsteps sounds on the stairs, and Kamala appears, bangles on and book bag slung over her shoulder.

“Carol! Hi!” Kamala glances over to her mother. “We won’t be back too late, promise.”

“I know. Have fun. Don’t get into too much trouble!”

Carol gives Muneeba a salute before turning and heading out the door. Kamala rubs her hands together once the door is closed and turns back to Carol with a grin.

“Okay, so what are we working on today?”

“I think that’s for me to know, and you to find out.” Carol smirks before kicking off the ground and heading into the sky, knowing Kamala’s right behind her. “Let’s see if you can keep up first.”

* * * * *

Sometimes, these days are more practical than fun. Sometimes it’s all training Kamala’s powers, ensuring that she’s getting used to the balance of two bangles instead of one. They’ve taken up fight training too. Anything to give Kamala an edge if she’s going to continue to be a superhero—and, more to the point, try to run her own team.

Some days, like this one, they find a spot to hang out, watching the city below them. Today, it is at the top of the New York City Sanctum, more by a matter of convenience than strategy. They are refueling on halal street food, staring out over the city, just chatting about life.

Well, Kamala’s mostly telling her about life, and Carol is listening. She does not remember high school being this involved when she was a child, but if she’s honest herself, she probably … skipped a lot of high school.

Also, her memories were messed with by the Kree, so there’s that too.

She’s filling her in on some new inventions her friend Bruno has been working on, and also asking Carol if she’s allowed to share some of the space junk with him when a loud crash sounds from somewhere in the Sanctum.

“Did you hear that?” Carol frowns.

“Kind of hard to miss,” Kamala replies. “Want to check it out?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

They climb down safely from the top of the Sanctum and toss their food containers before making their way towards the door. Carol just barely picks up a “Carol look out!” from somewhere inside, before she grabs Kamala and pulls her off to the side as what looks like the chair from the front desk goes flying through the door.

Literally.

Kamala peers up over her shoulder and winces. “Oh, that’s really not good.”

Through the hole in the Sanctum door, they see that some kind of tentacled beast is making quick work of the sorcerers currently present, including the Sorcerer Supreme. Strange is standing just past them, working hard to close some kind of portal that seems to power the creature, though he’s also clearly struggling.

“You’re not kidding.” Carol scans the surfaces, trying to keep track of all the different tentacles. “Wong, what are we dealing with here?”

“One apprentice broke one of the transport seals by mistake.” Wong pauses as the tentacle flings him around for a moment, before using magic to slice through it and allow him to drop to the ground next to the two women. “It’s allowing anything on the other side of it to enter unbidden.”

“Seems like that’s a problem. Any idea how to fix it?”

“Strange is working on it.” Wong looks back over his shoulder at his number two. “How’s it going?”

“The magic that holds the gates is breaking down. I need something similar to build from.”

Carol and Kamala look at each other, then down at the bangles on Kamala’s wrists. They then look to Wong, who catches on to their meaning and nods at Kamala. “Yes. Go.”

Carol nods in agreement. “We’ll cover you. Remember what we’ve been working on.”

Kamala grins. “We can fix this; I know we can.” And then, she takes off into the fray.

As tentacles surge around them, they can put to use some tactics they’ve been working on. When Carol goes high, using her Infinity Stone abilities to draw the attention of the beast, Kamala goes low, slipping and sliding out of its awareness. When Carol goes low, trying to wind some tentacles together and keep them out of the way, Kamala goes high, creating platforms that get her up, over and onto the dais next to Strange.

“How can I help?”

Both of them are forced back by the appearance of another tentacle, which Carol fires a photon blast at to get it to slither back to where it came from. It recovers and comes out again, and Kamala reflexively throws up a disc to block the length of the doorway. The edges of the broken doorway glimmer, and Strange snaps his fingers.

“That. Keep doing that.”

Kamala frowns, watching him as he studies where the disc meets the doorway. “Just this?”

“The magic is the same, so if I can use it to fill in the gaps of the spell, it has the bonus of keeping more of the monster out.”

Kamala sighs before nodding. “Okay, I’ve got it.”

Carol glances over her shoulder, where other tentacles are still harrying the other sorcerers. “I’ll go help the others. You got this.”

Kamala nods, and they part ways to do their jobs. Hopefully, Carol will still be able to get Kamala home to Muneeba on time, but as a large tentacle swings her way, she can’t think about that now.

* * * * *

They are in fact late for dinner. But Kamala’s able to call her mother and tell her how late, so by the time they arrive back at the Khan house, dinner is still warm and smelling delicious. Exhausted from their afternoon, they both plop down at the table amid her parents, Kamala’s brother and his wife and put away the delicious home-cooked meal like nobody’s business.

Honestly, days like this seem to be Muneeba’s favorite, and Carol can’t say she blames her for that. They don’t tell them all the details of their afternoon—they’ve learned that Kamala’s parents look a little green around the gills if they get too specific—but they tell them they helped the Sorcerer Supreme with an unexpected project and a little redecorating.

It’s not a lie. Wong was looking to replace the chairs that got smashed, anyway.

After the meal is done and Carol prepares to retreat to her life in Maria’s house, Muneeba walks her to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the night? You have such a long way to fly.”

Carol shakes her head. “Not as long as it seems. Besides, flying is my favorite place to be.”

She nods before reaching forward and giving the other woman’s arm a small squeeze. “I wanted to thank you, Captain Danvers.”

That makes Carol stiffen—she’s never really Captain Danvers anymore, not unless Muneeba’s talking to her daughter or being especially formal.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“No, you don’t have to. You don’t have to come up here all the time and spend all this time training Kamala. I’m sure you have much more important things to do.”

Carol’s been telling herself that for the past twenty years. That she has more important things to do, and she couldn’t go home. That worked really well as an excuse, until she missed all that time and then lost Monica on top of it, just as things were getting better. She doesn’t want to make those mistakes again.

“I don’t, actually.” She offers Muneeba a small smile before stepping out the door. “Have a good night. I’ll see you guys next week.”

And with that, she takes off into the night sky, ready for a peaceful flight back to her own bed.

Derek isn’t a cleric, but he feels the way the world shifts.

Maybe it’s the wolf in him, but it’s like ripples that run across the surface of everything. Alek says something about ley lines shifting and resetting, but it’s surrounded in a lot of druid-speak that neither he nor Cora are equipped for. They settle for just accepting that it’s bad, actually, and that there will likely be a lot of changes.

They’ll adjust; they always do. So long as the moon moves through its phases, and the farm continues to grow, there’s not much that they can’t handle.

Eli had just gone to bed when there’s a pounding on his door. It’s late and pouring rain, and part of him tenses, thinking it might be some kind of marauder. There’s been a rumor of those going up lately, also, and he’s not expecting any visitors. His hand grips the hilt of the sword on the other side of the door as he pulls it open, but he immediately drops it when he realizes who it is.

“Esme?”

She looks awful, but he doesn’t say it out loud. If he’s honest, she looks like she’s been hollowed out, and he can’t remember ever seeing her so despondent. He hasn’t seen her in close to two years, when she left on her last mission for the Moon Maiden. She glances from him to the road and back again.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Derek steps back, letting her inside and closing the door behind her. “Let me get you something dry.” Fussing is easier than asking the questions he really wants to ask—where she’s been, what happened, what’s wrong?—but there will be time for that. Soon he has her sitting in front of a newly stoked fire in dry clothes and with a hot drink in hand, but she doesn’t seem to want to touch it. She stares into the flames as Derek sits next to her, and he just waits.

“There was a wizard who was trying to release a creature to kill the gods. All of them. We did everything we could, but … ” She glances down, one hand clutched around her holy symbol. “They’re not dead. They went into some kind of rebirth cycle. But until they are, I …” Her hand releases, held out in front of her, and he watches as what was once a familiar moonlight glow around her hand sputters and dies before it can even start.

His hand comes gently under hers, taking it in his, and tears slip down her cheeks.

“I can’t feel her, Derek.”

Derek doesn’t know how to comfort her. His sister follows the Storm Lord, but he’s never been religious. He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a god the way a cleric would. Is it like losing a parent? Losing family? Losing a part of yourself? All the above?

All he can do in this moment is reach for her, pull her in close and do what he can to help her grieve.

* * * * *

Eventually, she sleeps. Possibly more collapsing from exhaustion than actual sleep, but it’s something. He puts her to bed and waits up just in case she was followed, just in case whatever she was fighting is still looking for her, or someone’s looking to catch her by surprise.

Including his own son.

Eli steps out of his bedroom, and Derek can see the moment his nose twitches as he catches her scent. “Esme’s back!” He turns and moves towards the guest room and Derek catches him by the back of his shirt, pulling him back with a sigh.

“She’s sleeping. Let her rest.”

Eli huffs but relents, turning to head into the kitchen to make his breakfast. “How long is she going to stay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you guys getting back together?”

Derek hesitates because what kind of question is that? He probably should shut it down, but he can’t bring himself to close that door completely, so instead he just falls back on his earlier answer. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, she’s back, though. And if she stays—”

“Eli.” He tries not to break out the dad tone often, but this is one of those moments. “Eat your breakfast and then go help Cora with the corn.”

Eli huffs again, but does as he’s told. After he leaves out the back door to head toward the fields, footsteps sound in Esme’s room, and she pokes her head around the corner into the kitchen.

“I see Eli hasn’t changed at all.”

“Oh, he has.” Derek smirks. “He’s gotten much taller since the last time you saw him.”

“Has he?” She raises an eyebrow as she looks out over the fields. “Not taller than me, I hope?”

Derek pauses, tipping his head to the side as he looks at her. It’d be hard to tell until they were standing next to each other, but: “He’s catching up.”

“That’s horrifying.” She turns her attention back to him as she moves to the table. “I don’t want to put you out…”

“You can stay as long as you need.”

“Derek.”

“Esme.”

“I know I just came out of nowhere, but that doesn’t mean you have to—”

“I’m not offering because I have to.” He moves to place a plate in front of her. “I’m offering because I want to.”

Also, because Esme would travel alone, and no battle ends just because a decision is made. There are always stragglers, repercussions, and opportunists. Maybe he’s being overprotective, because normally Esme is a very capable cleric, but clerics are at a deficit right now. He would at least insist she call a friend to travel with and wait for them to get here.

Esme catches his wrist and keeps his attention there. “I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.”

“You’re still my friend. I still care about what happens to you and want you to be somewhere safe. So stay as long as you need, and I will handle Eli.” He pauses. “If you want me to tell him flat out we’re not getting back together, I can do that too.”

Esme pauses, staring up at him for a moment, before shaking her head. “No, it’s fine.” She releases his wrist. “And I’m going to help with the farm. I can’t just sit in here trapped and do nothing, so put me to work.”

Derek smirks before nodding. “Alright. Eat your breakfast, and we’ll get started.”

* * * * *

“I see why you have a farm now.”

A few months later, Eli is asleep and they’re sitting out by the fire pit in the backyard, looking up at the full moon. Even Derek can admit that it feels different without the Moon Maiden’s presence behind it. He can’t imagine what Esme is feeling. But she is the one who wanted to sit outside, so he focuses on the conversation instead.

“Do you?” he smirks. “And why’s that?”

“When you’re done, you’re too tired to think too hard about anything.”

He laughs before nodding. “You got me. I hate being alone with my own thoughts so much that I’ve taken up physical labor.”

She grins before leaning back in her seat, looking up at the moon again. Then she sighs. “I keep replaying those days. Trying to figure out what I could have done differently. What I could have done right instead of wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” That draws her attention back to him, confused. “You were trying to save a god. There’s only so much you could have done as one person.”

“Maybe.” Esme sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I just miss her so much.”

“I know,” he murmurs, tucking an arm around her shoulders to give her someone to lean on. “But she’s out there somewhere. You’ll find her.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I have faith,” he smirks.

“Faith in who?”

“Faith in you.” Esme blinks at him in surprise, and he continues. “People think about clerics as being just a magic battery for a god to work through, but I don’t see them that way. Clerics keep promises. Their promises are their power, and they use that power to change things. They’re a little piece of their god out in the world, whether or not that god is there. I don’t know Selûne, but I know you. I know you won’t let them forget her.”

And he’d also follow her into battle any day, if she said it was a war worth fighting.

Esme stares back at him, her face softening, and rolls her eyes up towards the sky. “Well, now you make me wonder what I’m still doing here.”

He laughs before shaking his head. “Esme the Cleric, maybe. But Esme the Person still deserves time to grieve. And I said you could stay as long as you needed to.”

Esme nods in agreement before turning and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Derek. For all of it.”

It’ll be a few more weeks before Esme leaves, slipping out in the night. She leaves a note behind saying that one of her sisters had found something and she needs to investigate. As the days pass, he keeps an eye on the road for any travelers, feeling in his gut that she’ll return. Something tells him his path isn’t done with Esmeray Şahin, yet. No concrete proof or certainty, perhaps.

But he has faith.

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Request plurkCompleted: 31/31Word Count: 57,038

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10/1 ~ that was good work. ~ dctv/the umbrella academy ~ 1,992

10/2 ~ it's been a long time. ~ dctv/marvel cinematic universe ~ 1,745

10/3 ~ i know you better. ~ supernatural/wynonna earp (soulmate au) ~ 1,739

10/4 ~ no, we're not doing that. ~ everyone lives ~ 2,855

10/5 ~ it's a new day, let's go. ~ everyone lives ~ 1,480

10/6 ~ i'm not giving up. ~ teleios ~ 1,550

10/7 ~ follow me if you want to live. ~ everyone lives ~ 2,411

10/8 ~ are we happy? ~ wild lands ~ 1,764

10/9 ~ don't listen to me, listen to them. ~ everyone lives ~ 1,843

10/10 ~ is this normal? | dc extended universe/the umbrella academy | 1,599

10/11 ~ well, that worked out great. ~ everyone lives ~ 1,787

10/12 ~ did you hear that? ~ wild lands ~ 1,190

10/13 ~ that's not the point. ~ wild lands (au) ~ 2,398

10/14 ~ did you follow the plan? ~ psych/csi:ny ~ 1,992

10/15 ~ let's try this. ~ everyone lives ~ 1,665

10/16 ~ no, i'm not okay. ~ tvdverse/teen wolf ~ 1,685

10/17 ~ strangest thing i ever heard ~ everyone lives ~ 1,310

10/18 ~ you always have a plan. ~ everyone lives ~ 3,387 ~ part 1

10/18 ~ you always have a plan. ~ everyone lives ~ 3,387 ~ part 2

10/19 ~ this is getting ridiculous. ~ white collar/csi:ny ~ 1,802

10/20 ~ i saw your eyes light up. ~ felderwin ~ 1,295

10/21 ~ we've done worse. ~ faerun au/curse of strahd ~ 1,837

10/22 ~ why are we doing this again? ~ everyone lives ~ 2,153

10/23 ~ we can fix this, i know we can. ~ marvel cinematic universe ~ 1,625

10/24 ~ you didn't do anything wrong ~ felderwin-ish ~ 1,591

Request plurk
Completed: 31/31
Word Count: 57,038