#head trauma tw

[theendsofar]

It hurts every time he chooses to betray me.

(reblogs > likes, closeups & version w/o filters under the cut)

in case you were wondering, yes, this is very much inspired by THE 'Ivan the terrible and his son Ivan' painting! i am a bit of an art nerd & there is something about the embrace depicted in the piece that just Gets me, y'know? it is a very nice work of art & also it was pratically virtually impossible for me not to draw it as belos & hunter. :P

#the owl house #TOH spoilers #emperor belos #philip wittebane #caleb wittebane #grimwalker TOH #hunter TOH #blood tw #head trauma tw #personal tags: #my art #TOHposting #wittebaneisms #blood of my blood ─ flesh of my flesh #cain vs. abel #i keep thinking of the first grimwalker & how terrifying it must've been for philip to relive what had happened with caleb #do you think he felt any regret? any fear? did he pray for their souls like he must've prayed for caleb's? #etc. etc. don't leave me alone with my thoughts because i will do something bad w/ them

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @highoctanegem, @realmackross TIMING: After midnight on April 25th SUMMARY: Jade confronts Mack after her shift at Dance Macabre. WARNINGS: head trauma tw, infidelity tw, unsanitary tw

Even at a distance, Jade could hear the slutty bass pumping inside Dance Macabre. She couldn’t recognize the track, (and Shazam didn’t have the keen ears she did) but still, Jade bopped her head from her position anyway, wishing for a second she was out having that kinda fun. It was like a fleeting thought though, cause she knew how priorities worked. How commitment worked. She knew it was more relevant than ever, after the last few Ls she took. Slaying undead always came before grinding against strangers in the club. 

Just like B.E.P said, tonight was gonna be a good night. Jade had been keeping an eye on her favorite archnemesis for about two weeks now. Learning her schedule, scouting the neighborhood. Their next (and final) meeting had to be iconic. Too much time had passed since their goo adventure (which had been wrapped up very loosely in a “To be continued” ribbon), so what better time to circle back than now? (Probably, when she wasn’t like nursing both a stab wound, and a bullet wound, but alas).

Despite the nature of this particular undead, Jade still carried her stakes (there were plenty of vampires tingling her senses in the vicinity after all). But as always, she carried the star of the night on her back. Nope, not the crossbow: A sword. It’d been Ruby’s at one point which was the only reason it had remained in such perfect conditions before it was given to her. And like, decapitation was so not her favorite way of dispatching undead, but she was excited to play with new toys. And the gun was a bust since her encounter with Monty so... Plus, she was gonna look so hot wielding it too.

And then Jade spotted her, the one and only, coming out of the personnel door. She let Mack walk, cause she wasn’t dumb (just a little impatient), she wouldn’t risk getting attacked by a horde of undead if they saw her harming one of their own. When she was isolated enough, Jade came out from where she was hiding, coming face to face with the woman who once stole her boyfriend. (She didn’t approve of going behind a woman’s back) (She was a girl’s girl after all). Her eyes twinkled in the moonlight as her gaze fixed on Mack’s. She was in such a good mood despite recent losses. “Oh wow, look what the cat dragged in…or well, out, technically. Looking good, babe,” she grinned, strutting closer. “You’re missing that goo shine though”.

—

For weeks Mackenzie had felt the odd sensation that eyes were on her. It had honestly been quite a while since she had felt like she was being watched. In Hollywood all eyes were on her 24/7. Camera lenses, fans, paparazzi, but this had felt different. This had reminded her of the one fan she had experienced that had gone too far. The one who she had come home to find lingering in her bedroom waiting for. But ever since coming to Wicked’s Rest, the eyes that followed her had slowly died out as she became just another resident of the small and extremely strange town.

But tonight, she felt it again. Felt it on her way to work and as she was leaving to go home for the night. It was someone lingering in the shadows, and while Mackenzie didn’t like the idea of being followed, at least, in the short amount of time she had been a zombie, she knew she could defend herself in more ways than one.

It wasn’t until she saw the person come out and open her mouth that the young zombie’s guard was finally let down. And with a huff of frustration, the blonde rolled her eyes, “Seriously? Are you the one that’s been following me the whole fucking time? I knew you were obsessed with me, but this is just getting ridiculous, Jade. Am I gonna have to get a restraining order for your dumbass?” Mackenzie shook her head in annoyance, “What do you want? An autograph? A picture? A lock of hair to put with your shrine? Come on, man. It’s been a long night, and I just want to go home…without you following me.”

—

Jade snorted, immediately revitalized by Mack’s reaction. It had been a while since she’d gotten the thrill of arguing with someone. What was up with that? Was that what maturing looked like? Why did it have to be so boring? “I don’t know about this whole time, that might be someone else. I’d say two weeks, maybe?“ She moved her hand back and forth, estimating. Mack’s further annoyance earned her a cackle. One Jade cut short, cause like… she didn’t want to draw too much attention after all. “Oh, babe…I’d go for someone more famous if I wanted to be a creepy stan, you’re totally safe.” Sorta. The sword she was carrying would beg to differ.

But just cause this was her favorite nemesis, and cause this deserved more flare than just getting down to it, Jade decided to answer some questions. “We have unfinished business,” she sighed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Mack’s expression didn’t agree. “And, nope…it’s not Brody. But like, that’s still a thing that happened and makes me a little mad,” she conceded, taking two steps forward. “I’m talking about that whole…chomping on people thing.” There. Now they both knew this was justified. “I knew that first time, when I delivered your food, why even bother pretending? Then little Ariadne confirmed it, but we were pretty busy with the goo at the time, weren’t we?” She tilted her head, wondering if she should be done. If that was enough. But that hadn’t worked with Monty, so maybe she should go back to her regular style. Yapping till they had enough. “I usually like taking the ones with the…” she pointed two fingers down, signaling fangs. “But why not expand my horizons, yeah? Sorry for the exposition, it’s been like a season, I needed to recap for the audience at home,” she pointed behind her, to absolutely no one.  

And, oh… there was more in Jade’s script. “Don’t take this personally though, having a rival is like… so good for the ego. And I’m gonna miss the back and forth. Even if right now it’s a lot of forth. It’s not often I get under someone’s skin so easily,” a beat, then perfectly timed, “eh.” She flashed a smile. There was no need for this to be unpleasant. And Mack should know. “I’ll be good to you, I’m not really one for brutality. I’m here to help end this… curse you’re stuck with,” she narrowed her eyes,  “you want that, don’t you? Not having to crave human flesh. Not having to lose control and become a monster who hurts others,” her voice dropped to something more honest, her brows pinched together in concern. “I will help with that”.  

—

Mackenzie thought about the amount of time for a moment. It had been about two weeks since she had been feeling…off, “Yeah, I’d say two weeks is about right. Of course it would be you. It’s always fucking you.” She looked up to the night sky and let out a growl of frustration, “Please! For once! Can I have a break from Buffy the Fucking Vampire Slayer!?” Mack’s fists were clenched and her jaw had tightened as she looked back down with narrowed slits for eyes. If she was ever judging one to the point that she had hoped they would just disappear into a cloud of glittery smoke, it was Jade right now.

As Jade droned on and on and on, Mack found herself slowly unclenching her fists. In fact, by now she was yawning. Glancing down at her phone to see what time it was. Twiddling her thumbs. Hell, she was almost tempted to run off and grab a drink from inside Dance Macabre and come back, by the time Jade had finished talking, “Are you finished with your Holier Than Thou monologue? This isn’t a fucking movie, Jade. If you’re here to fight, which judging by that big ass sword hanging on your back, you are, then lets fucking fight. I’m probably going to kick your scrawny ass anyways.”

By now, Mack had woken up. She was popping her knuckles and cracking her neck loosening up. It had been a minute since she had actually gotten to fight somebody, and if it hadn’t been Jade she was about to face, she might have been more excited. No, the excitement would come when the bitch was laying on the ground eating her words. “And yes. To answer your question.” She already knew what Mack was anyways, “I would like to be rid of this curse of having to live off of human brains to survive, but you’re not going to be the one to rid me of it. I will help knock that ego of yours down a few pegs though.”

—

“Wow, not even one bit of regret for the people you’ve hurt? Come on… That’s pretty low, even for you. Then again, I should've expected it, after Brody,” she clicked her tongue, genuine annoyance simmering in her chest. It was always disappointing when monsters were content with their atrocities. It made it less exciting, for Jade. She felt way less accomplished taking out someone who didn’t care about what they’d done. Which, it should be the opposite, right? She should find so much joy in disposing of that type of beast. (She knew Ruby did, Jasper too). But how could she find a lost cause delightful? She always preferred helping over executing, the way she’d seen Onyx and Amber do. 

But she wasn’t gonna let Mack’s unapologetic attitude get to her head. She had this. She did. Wicked’s Rest would have one less zombie roaming the streets by the end of the night. That’s what she should be focusing on, not on whether Mack had any guilt over the whole brain eating. “Hey! That’s a step too far, like… we don’t have to lie, you know?” she rolled her eyes as Mack came for her ass. She did make one point (half a point, maybe), calling out the fact that Jade was not the most adept fighter. While Mack had done all those stunts back in Hollywood. “Besides, I’m aware it’s not a movie. Do you think they’d have two female protagonists with agency? You know Twitter and Reddit would be rioting, they’d call it woke trash,” she scoffed, looking to gain a few seconds to consider her first blow.

Mack cracked her knuckles in defiance and like, Jade had to respect that. It wasn’t a movie, no duh! but was there anything more fun than someone willing to rise the stakes and serve the plot? The script might be a little skewed in Mack’s favor, but Jade was nothing if not confident she could make this work. Even after Metzli. Even after the banshees. Even after Monty. And oh! There it was, some remorse (she should’ve skipped a few pages before bad mouthing her rival). “You should be honored, actually. Most slayers would just rip your pretty head off without giving you a chance. I’m at least giving you the time to talk. We’re totally passing the Bechdel test”. She pulled out the sword, at Mack’s request, emulating one of her greatest inspirations, CRJ. The blade shone in the moonlight. It didn’t get much use, considering zombies were relatively new in her repertoire. “Only the best for ya,” her lips curved in a challenge, beckoning Mack to draw closer.

—

She had let Brody’s name slide when she had said something before. But, now, to unknowingly claim that Mackenzie had no remorse for the people she had killed, especially Brody, had turned her annoyance into anger. She wasn’t going to play this cute little IRL simulation of a video game, Jade thought she was living in anymore. No, this was Mack’s undead life. She had to live with all the lives she had taken. Even the people she hadn’t killed, because she still survived off of their brains. The thing that made a person who they were, and everytime Mackenzie took a bite of the graymatter that kept her whole; the most important part of a human being that helped them to survive when everything else in their form was shutting down, she regretted it. Copious amounts of pepper and hot sauce could never make the remorse and guilt taste good. But this was what she was. She was far from perfect, but fuck if she was going to let another cocky hunter come into her life and try to tell her how she fucking felt.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me or my life, Jade. I’m tired of all you motherfucking hunters coming at me and telling me that how I feel is wrong. That how I choose to live my life and how I’m trying to atone and live with myself is wrong. So you can either take your pretty sword and scurry back to your ragtag team of assholes right now. Or I’ll take your pretty sword and shove it so far up your ass that it makes a shish kabob out of your Pretty. Little. Brain.”

Mackenzie snarled as she began to inch closer ready for a fight. She had needed this ever since Jade had first shown up on her doorstep. And while she could never bring back the people she had hurt. And never apologize to Brody and tell him how much she missed him and loved him and how much guilt she felt with each step she took, she could hopefully get Jade off of her back for good; whether that meant life or death for the latter.

—

Jade took in Mack’s anger, raising her sword just a bit higher in case a raging beast lunged at her. But for now, all the bite was in the other woman’s words. And… Even when it was Mack in front of her, a woman who had stolen her boyfriend, a woman she enjoyed tormenting for the sake of it, Jade felt a soft pang in her heart. Sympathy. That’s where Mack was wrong. Jade didn’t care how every other slayer approached hunting, that was their business, she didn’t dispute other people’s codes. But she was different. Not like other hunters. She was… a good hunter (...wait!). The thought slipped out of her mind before she could cling to it, chew on it for a bit, and get something nutritious out of it, cause Mack needed to be interrupted. “You don’t have to live with yourself, is what I’m saying. Forget for a second that you can’t stand my face. If you want out of the Z-life I can give you that out. You don’t… deserve what happened to you. Or living like this. Whoever did it should’ve been taken care of, way before they got to you”.

And that was it, wasn’t it? What Regan didn’t understand, what Van couldn’t get. It was all a freaking cycle. Why did no slayer get to Mack’s maker? Who failed her? Struck young and in her prime and with so much to live for. Who neglected their oath? Was it a hunter who went soft too? Who added grey into the black-and-white world of protecting humankind? Forgiving a monster that should have never been allowed to go free? Had said monster claimed to be a good monster too, possibly? Jade couldn’t allow herself to become part of the cycle. Jade couldn’t fail Mack, or the people Mack might turn if she lost control (when. Sadly it was always when). Jade could break the cycle –this cycle– tonight. She would. The grip on her sword tightened and… wait, a shish kabob!? “Hey! That is offensive,” She narrowed her eyes, but her mouth betrayed the seriousness in her tone. Cause she totally appreciated her brain being called pretty. (Someone across the ocean would agree with that).

Alright, there was snarling now. Mack was pissed (at the wrong person, mind you), and it didn’t look like they had more pages on the script to go over. Action sequence time. She wished she had warmed up her muscles. She felt a little tight, even if her wounds were close to healing. But if she chopped Mack’s head off quickly, that wouldn’t matter. She mirrored Mack’s stance as she approached, brandishing her sword as she stared into her rival’s eyes. All she could think of before either moved, was the tragedy that was Mack’s life, all too clear in her pained eyes. Not for much longer, Jade promised, before striking.

She wasn’t sure who made the first move, things always happened fast when it came to tussling, but a beat later Jade collided with a hard body, and crap… Her original plan to go for the head went out the window. She dodged a few punches (taking on several of them as well), before finding the right angle to impale Mack with her sword. Right in the abdomen. She twisted the blade before pulling away, shoving the woman back with a kick. She would not repeat the mistakes she made with Monty.

—

Mack refused to listen to Jade’s side of the story. Even if she believed she was doing the right thing, Mack wasn’t going to be some mercy killing that the slayer could write off as a job well done. No. Despite being dead, she was still a living and thriving being with feelings and a life, and she was going to make sure the other woman knew that.

Without giving it any more thought, Mackenzie found herself charging forward towards the hunter. Fists balled, she decided to go easy at first. Punches here and there were sometimes dodged and other times not, but being in a fight with someone who had the advantage of a weapon; especially one with extra length, had always proved costly at one point or another, and unfortunately, Mackenzie met that fate early on.

Feeling the blade being impaled into her thin frame caused Mack to cry out. Though the pain wasn’t as bad as if she had been living, she could feel the pressure of the blade being lodged in her belly and then twisted for added impact. As Jade’s foot came up to meet her, the zombie felt herself stumbling backwards, but had managed to catch herself before hitting the ground.

Her eyes bore holes into the other woman as she put a hand to her stomach and pulled it away barely covered in a slow moving sludge. Now, Mack was pissed. She knew this wouldn’t be the thing to take her out, but it would enrage her, and before she would let the zombie part of her take hold, it was time for her to put her black belt in karate to use, “You’re gonna wish you had never done that.”

Poised in a fighting stance, Mackenzie lowered her head focusing her eyes on Jade, before lunging forward and knocking the sword out of the woman’s hand with a roundhouse kick, returning once more to fighting stance, before sending a blow of well placed kicks and punches in Jade’s direction as hard and fast as she could in order to keep the other woman from having an advantage on her. She knew the more energy she burned, the faster her feral zombie side was going to come out and coordination would soon be lost, but if she could just keep her mind intact long enough to take out Jade, she could deal with the zombing out stuff later.

—

She watched zombie “blood” ooze out of Mack’s abdomen, icky fluid sticking to her shirt, some of it coating Jade’s blade. It was kinda interesting, she couldn’t deny it. She rarely got up close and personal with zombies so to see their full physiology on display had Jade’s eyes going wide. For like, half a second, okay? She was supposed to be a pro. (Onyx would’ve tossed that word around ‘rookie’ if he’d seen her, right?). Speaking of being or not being qualified, her cheek throbbed where Mack had landed a few nasty punches, and she was pretty sure the warmth on her face came from her own busted lip. (That and well, the metallic taste in her mouth). But she was fine, she was cool, those were minor setbacks at most, and she could take down Mack if she wanted to. She was better off seizing the offensive than waiting for the right time to counter-attack. 

So, of course, she inched forward when Mack tumbled, lifting her weapon. Jade readied for an overhead attack, to slice with intent and speed. Hack as much as she could on the first try. She didn’t want to extend this longer than it should. (And risk getting bested in combat, again). Too bad there was no such thing as a one-person fight. Cause Mack surged forward and canceled her attack with a genius move, hitting her wrist and kicking the sword off her hand. It clattered onto the ground and Jade wasn’t quick enough to reach for it, cause again, Mack charged forward with fury. And for a moment (or two) (or three), all Jade could do was block and absorb as many hits as she could. 

But it wasn’t enough. Mack’s kicks and punches were too precise for Jade’s deficient training. If she ducked a fist, a foot hit her belly half a second later. If managed to push Mack an inch away, she returned with a vengeance. This was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid. 

A particularly strong kick knocked the air out of her lungs, followed by an arm swinging at her that made Jade lose balance. She tumbled backward to the ground, gasping for air. There was not much oxygen getting in, there was blood. Everything was blood. Her lungs burned. But two feet away: her sword. She crawled the small distance, seizing the handle before a shoe could crush her fingers. She rose from the ground and sliced forward. It didn’t matter how much of Mack she cut, as long as Jade slashed something. As long as Mack backed off enough to gather herself.

— 

Mackenzie was charging forward again hoping to get the jump on the sword that lay on the ground, but it was too late. Jade had pulled another slice through the air, this time cutting into the zombie’s neck leaving her once again pulling back on the defensive so as to not get impaled, but the tip of the sword had done enough damage leaving Mack’s neck wide open and more blood oozing out. And unfortunately for them both, it was the damage needed to send Mackenzie’s body into a panic.

Everything that had been keeping the living dead woman alive was now reverting into emergency mode, and instead of leaving her with enough sense to leave the situation, Mackenzie began stumbling forward towards Jade. Any sense of humanity that had been in the woman’s eyes before was gone, but with the lack in brain cells came an increased strength that left her with one goal in mind, food.

As she stumbled closer, Mackenzie managed to aimlessly send Jade to the ground with an increased blow to the stomach, and instinctively dropping to her knees, she crawled on top of the slayer and began pounding into her chest and face with heavy, limp fists on the brink of taking Jade’s head in her hands with one goal, and one goal only…consuming the woman’s brain.

—

Something shifted. A couple things shifted, actually. Mack’s gaze was hazy now, somehow both lost and focused on Jade. What remained of her… humanity, for lack of a better term, slipped away as she let the monster inside her take the wheel. She knew zombies got rowdy like that when they were hurt, she didn’t need the reminder. Mack’s movements were also different from the black belt martial arts fighter she’d been in the beginning. She stumbled forward, gait all wrong, all feral, looking at Jade the way Regan would look at her sometimes. (Except with none of the gayness). She was a snack, plain and simple.

But Jade wouldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t. Becoming Mack’s meal would be so humiliating after dishing it out. The sword pointed forward as a threat didn’t dissuade Mack this time, cause there was no Mack to dissuade. It was the creature now. She aimed for the neck again, desperate to slash and tear any flesh there, until the neck couldn’t sustain her head anymore. (Her belly was sick just picturing it, she was not a butcher), but when she pounced, she was met with Mack’s response. A tackle that was a hundred percent effective, throwing her to the ground, her head bouncing as it hit the asphalt. Ouch. She saw stars, and she didn’t have to be a genius to know when something was gonna bleed. She couldn’t worry about that. Her hand was still grasping the sword, by sheer stubbornness at this point. She could stab Mack, she could if…

The zombie crawled on top of her, supernatural strength overpowering her own special hunter sauce. Fists pounded on her chest and her abdomen. Like Jade was nothing but a steak to tenderize. Or well, a peach to beat to a pulp (but peaches were a sensitive topic). And oof, she heard a crack, maybe. Jade wasn’t sure anymore. Her sword had slipped off her hand while she tried in vain to protect herself from the beating. She couldn’t breathe. She was coughing out her own blood, trying to clear her airway. She gasped, frantic, almost in vain, blocking one blow to the stomach only to get another savage fist right below her collarbone. 

Was this it? Was she letting Mack take her out? Oh, something was definitely broken, radiating pain all across her ribcage. And nope, it wasn't her heart. (That one still hurt the most, somehow). And that… Regan. Her mind inevitably shifted to the one responsible for the more agonizing pain, as she held onto Mack's wrist long enough to stop the battering. Maybe her brain was supplying comfort images before she kicked it. Kinda nice! It could only be improved if they were accompanied by a sweet saxophone in the background. She would take a highlight reel with the best of Regan if the next punch was the one to end her, thank you very much. 

She wasn’t sure how, (plot armor, maybe), but there was a split second of clarity, where Jade realized she was giving up. Which was actually? So offensive and out of character coming from her, the most determined person on the planet. Come on! She couldn’t bite the dust yet. Regan would know. She said so. Would she scream? Jade wasn’t sure how that worked. Surely there was like, a distance limit, a radio, something for that kinda stuff. A geo-block, like on Youtube. (Ireland would geo-block her death) But nope! She’d never wanna be the one to help Regan test that out. And on a real note, there was a ring on her finger that dictated she had to live for a couple more decades, actually.

Jade hooked her leg behind Mack’s upper thigh, hips bucking forward, letting muscle memory be the MVP as she flipped them over. (It would be her core strength, saving her when nothing else could). She braced all her weight onto her right palm, and for the split moment she had the zombie shook, Jade allowed herself to... well, she couldn’t breathe, but recharge, maybe. She had no punches left in her though, she was positive. Her arm was trembling, not just from holding her weight, but from the wounds she’d picked up last week. But Jade had a knife… she had a knife. She reached the back of her belt, almost dying right on the spot from the sharp pain shooting up her ribs, but her fingers worked diligently to unsheath the weapon. There was no thought behind anything. It was just life or death. It was her hand, a knife, and the promise of salvation. And at last, some survival instinct kicked in. 

She plunged the blade into Mack’s thigh, hilt deep, pouring every drop of energy left, the tendons in her arm bulging from exertion. She retrieved the weapon, going back in again, and again. The monster wailed beneath her, and Jade had to resist the violent shoving against her shoulders attempting to knock her out. And then nails trying to dig into her scalp. (Not her hair, anything but her hair). A knife and the audacity would not be enough against this Mack. She stretched (ouch) to her sword, noticing the Claddagh ring stained with her own blood. Another incentive: She had to go home to clean it. 

So Jade slashed. And she felt sick, bile (or maybe blood, it could be blood) rising up her throat with every desperate wail beneath her. How could Parker ever do this? She was not a butcher. But as long as the sharp end of her weapon met flesh, tore muscle and tendons, and severed the limb to the point where amputation might be the only answer, Jade had a chance to escape and not be chased. Regan would not scream for her tonight. 

Of course, the adrenaline of getting close to victory made her cocky. Jade thought for a second about going for the neck, finishing her job while at it. But not only was Mack clawing and scratching her shoulders, looking to hold her tight enough to chomp on her head, she was also transforming into a more unrecognizable monster. (Weren’t they both?) Nope, how about some self-preservation? She had tested Monty this week already. Jade had to pick her battles. She stabbed with the sword one final time, pinning Mack there while she crawled away from the body. Somehow, she scrambled to her feet. Barely. She felt like fainting. Blood was sticking to the back of her head, her ears ringing, vision blurry. Oh, she was not gonna be able to get too far. (And not to alarm the audience at home, but… would she even make it?). She didn’t need far. She needed away from Mack so she couldn’t hop to her. Away enough for some poor soul to become Mack’s chance at survival instead of her. That was a failure in itself, wasn’t it? Jade was putting her life above those she swore to protect. Great. She might bleed to death alone (the way she always thought she would go, anyway) and be reminded she was nothing but the sum of her mistakes? It was a little rude.

Once she reached safety she’d call Emilio. The rest of her friends would be horrified if they found her beaten to a pulp (and half of them had gone to Ireland on chill vacay, anyway). Her knees buckled and she hit the ground again. Crawling it was. Jade would do what needed to be done, getting farther and farther away from Mack, no mental power to quip a promise of revenge. And when she couldn’t see Mack anymore, when she tucked herself into an alley, back against the wall, everything went black.

#para: last one standing #para: jade #wickedswriting #head trauma tw #infidelity tw #unsanitary tw #thank you for letting mack be a part of this madness!!!! ♥♥♥

[raddagher]

Second show comes out this September

#worry not everyone #characters will suffer :) #head trauma tw

[clownehonk]

The consequences of your actions !

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf missing kids #fnaf charlie emily #fnaf crying child #fnaf cassidy #fnaf gabriel #fnaf fritz #fnaf susie #fnaf jeremy #my art #blood tw #head trauma tw #fredbear #uhhh i think thats everything lol i hate tags

[dirtwatchman]

PARTIES: @dirtwatchman and @mortemoppetere TIMING: Late October SUMMARY: Emilio is investigating the disappearance of someone who's blood was found at Caleb's place of work. He wants to talk to the groundskeeper, especially after he realizes the man is dead. CONTENT WARNINGS: Head trauma tw

It wasn’t uncommon for a police presence to be around the cemetery these days with the presence of blood being found on one of the tombstones. Caleb was getting used to it now, still on edge while they were walking around but calmer than he had been before. It also wasn’t unusual to see random people trekking through the graveyard on any given day, it was a place for people to visit their deceased loved ones after all. What was unusual though was a random man looking around the area of the crime scene with no indication that he was there to visit a gravesite. It made Caleb nervous, the zombie looking up from clearing away dead flowers every now and then to make sure he wasn’t being overly paranoid.

No, this wasn’t right. It was decided when Caleb looked up the fifth…or sixth time and the man still hadn’t found what he was looking for. He took off the work gloves he was wearing and set them in the back of his truck along with the half full trash bag before making his way over to where the unknown man was, the sun in his eyes making him squint so he couldn’t get a good look. 

He really did hate confrontation. He’d do it if he had to but the nerves were already coursing through him as he thought the worst but each step he took towards the stranger only made them worse. Caleb finally made it within earshot of the other, making his voice louder so that he could get his attention more effectively before the groundskeeper could change his mind. “Can I help you find something? You look a little lost.”

Unsolved deaths were common in Wicked’s Rest. Emilio got a lot of people coming to his office, telling similar stories. The police said it was an animal attack, but it doesn’t feel right. They closed the case. They said there wasn’t enough evidence. They ruled it an accident. They’re not interested in pursuing an investigation. Over and over, like a broken record that kept playing the same song. The police were incompetent, or overworked, or lazy, or stretched too thin. Whatever you wanted to call it, the end result was always the same — Emilio picked up the slack and helped get people closure. And they hated him for it, half the time, but it paid the bills anyway. It gave him something to do. It didn’t make him feel like shit. He was good at it. So he kept doing it.

This case was more of the same. Guy winds up dead in a graveyard, police don’t do shit. The attack was a supernatural one; Emilio was confident of that. It was a detail that would make the case easier to investigate, but harder to explain. He knew supernatural entities a lot better than he knew people, but telling someone that their loved one had been killed by something they’d assumed was a fairytale? Wasn’t on the table. With cases like this, he had to both solve the case and come up with a ‘reasonable’ explanation if he wanted to get his payday.

It left him thoughtful as he studied the crime scene, lost in his head enough to ignore the groundskeeper a ways away. At least, until said groundskeeper got a little closer. Immediately, that familiar shiver ran down his spine. Undead, his mind supplied. The groundskeeper is undead. Of course he was. In this fucking town, who wasn’t? “Not lost,” he said gruffly, tensing as the man drew near. “What can you tell me about this?”

He slowed his steps as the other man spoke, Caleb getting the feeling that his presence wasn’t exactly wanted. With the question, his eyes went to the very headstone that the zombie was hoping this conversation wouldn’t lead to before landing on the other man. Of course, he was some sort of plainclothes detective or something that the department had sent over. Maybe they were hoping that he would say something that he hadn’t yet told the police, catch him in some sort of lie. He’d always gotten the feeling that the police didn’t really believe that he’d just stumbled upon the blood the same time they had. 

Instead of answering with the same tired story, he raised his eyebrows at the man, doing his best to stall. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking about that with someone who isn’t with the police. The case is still open.” Not that the assigned detective was doing much. He’d have patrols there sometimes, took samples of the blood to figure out who it had belonged to, and questioned Caleb mercilessly but they were no closer to figuring out what happened than they were to most of the cases around town. “Are you with the police?” 

So the police had been here. The woman who’d hired Emilio — the dead man’s wife — hadn’t been sure they were doing much of anything at all with how stagnant the case had been. Updates on it had been so few and far between that she’d felt she had no choice but to seek outside help. Which, of course, worked better for Emilio, anyway. Got him his paycheck, helped him keep the lights on in his shitty apartment. Made him feel a little less useless, too. 

He scowled at the groundskeeper’s question. “Do I look like I’m with the police? Sound like it? La policía son idiotas. They’re just going to keep the case open until they can say it’s gone cold and close it. I’d rather get a real answer. So forget the police. They won’t know you talked to me. I ask again, what can you tell me about this?” 

And yet Caleb didn’t want him to have a real answer. A real answer meant implicating himself, letting everyone know his greatest shame in life. A real answer meant he went to jail and endangered everyone in that police station. No, he couldn’t give real answers and the most frustrating part is that nobody understood that. How could they? They didn’t know him, they didn’t know what he could do if he got hungry enough. 

The only saving grace in this situation was that the guy despised the police as much as Caleb did. He wanted to laugh but the situation was far too somber for him to do so. “I know they’re idiots, doesn’t mean you can’t be one. I don’t know you.” This whole thing could have been an act. The department had questioned Caleb over and over trying to see if his story had changed at all and it never did. For all he knew, this guy was sent in to confirm the groundskeeper wasn’t holding anything back. Because it was always the groundskeeper, right? At least they were looking in the right place this time. Of course, he had thought the same about another man not long before this and that had turned out fine. Who knew?

Running a hand through his hair, he squinted down at the headstone again and shrugged a shoulder. “Look, I want to help as much as the next guy but all I know is that the stone was clean one day and then had blood on it the next. The police saw it before I did.” Technically not a lie. Caleb had seen the person’s head hit but it never registered that blood would be there in his panicked state. Someone had called the police about it, supposedly a passerby who’d spotted the red glinting in the sunlight. “I don’t even know who told them, just that I couldn’t clean it until they were done with it.”

“You think I’m an idiot?” There was a hint of something that was almost amusement in his tone. Almost, but not quite. It might have been, had it not been for that churning in his gut that allowed him to know on sight that the groundskeeper’s heart wasn’t beating, or if not for the case he was investigating and the grieving woman waiting for news on her husband. But as it was? Emilio was as suspicious of the groundskeeper as he was of everyone, which was to say… very. He eyed the man, wondering if he knew more than he was saying. Probably, right? People usually did. Lying was an instinctual thing, it seemed; people did it without thinking about it, without even considering other options. It was like breathing. People lied. Sometimes it was to protect themselves. Other times, it was to save them embarrassment. And sometimes, people lied for no reason at all. It made his job a hell of a lot harder.

The story was… mostly believable. Still, suspicion tugged at the detective’s gut, and he eyed the groundskeeper with a critical eye. “Were you working that night? The night between it being clean and bloody.” If the groundskeeper had an alibi, Emilio could, at the very least, scratch him off the suspect list. If he didn’t… It was hard to shake the feeling that there were things he wasn’t saying, secrets he had hidden away. Emilio wasn’t a police officer. He wasn’t here to arrest anyone, wouldn’t even if he had the power to. After all, putting someone undead in a jail cell wouldn’t end well for anyone involved. He knew that. He just wanted answers for his client… and, maybe, to know whether or not there was something that needed cleaning up. Jail cells might not work for the undead, but a stake or a blade could solve the problem well enough on its own. He might only do that kind of thing when it was necessary nowadays, but it was sometimes necessary. There was no denying that.

“....I don’t know, are you a cop? I know you said you weren’t but people have lied to me before.” As much as he wanted to stand his ground on this he was starting to feel bad for insinuating the other was, in fact, an idiot. He hadn’t even meant to do it. But he also hadn’t meant to turn this conversation into a circle of sorts, the same things coming around over and over again. Though, that was probably for the best. The longer they talked about the police, the less they talked about the actual reason the guy was here. Maybe he would get frustrated with Caleb and leave.

The next question made him nervous and the zombie had to be careful with it. The truth was, he had been working but if he said that he was digging Mrs. Darcy’s grave then everyone would know he’d been right here the whole time. He just hoped nobody was checking with Erin to confirm what part of the cemetery he’d been in through paperwork. “I was, but it was on the other side of the cemetery. I was digging a grave for a Mr. Hensley and the excavator was really loud.” That was plausible, right? It’s what he’d been telling the place and they hadn’t bothered to check the records. 

Something did occur to Caleb, though. He was sitting here answering this guy’s questions without even knowing who he was. If he wasn’t the police, then who was he? “Wait, wait, who are you again? If you’re not the police then why are you investigating? For the paper or something?”

“They don’t let people like me be cops.” Which reason would disqualify him first, he wondered — the instability? The lack of documentation confirming that he was allowed to be in the country in the first place? The fact that he was fairly certain he didn’t even have a Mexican birth certificate to attempt to obtain legal citizenship? His simple inability to follow orders he didn’t believe in? There were a thousand things that would prevent him from obtaining most jobs, and that was before you got down to the moral objections he carried towards police, or the fact that he probably wouldn’t have been particularly good at the profession to begin with. They didn’t let people like Emilio be cops, and that served people like Emilio just fine.

But none of that was particularly important at the moment. As mildly amusing as the verbal back and forth might be, Emilio was much more interested in what had the undead groundskeeper schooling his expression to this extent. He glanced over in the direction the groundskeeper indicated, making a note to find the grave he claimed to have been digging when he was finished with the conversation here. “And you didn’t see anything? No people around, nothing at all? Were you the one who found the body?” Some undead had muted senses, so it would make sense that he hadn’t heard anything, but… If he was a fury, he would have felt the rage that came with a murder. A vampire or zombie would have smelled the aftermath. A mare might have the excuse of not noticing, he supposed, though even that felt a little unlikely. 

The question wasn’t unexpected, and Emilio didn’t have much of a reason not to answer it anymore, so he shrugged. “Private investigator. I’d give you a business card, but I don’t like people calling me. I was hired because the police are idiots. Just want to get a family some answers so they can move on with their lives, pick up the pieces. Sure you understand. That’s what you do, too, isn’t it? Help people move on.” He indicated to the graves around them. “So help me out here, man. I’m not looking to get anyone in trouble. That’s not what I do.”

“That makes two of us. Not that I want to be one.” He sighed, Caleb trying his best to give the appearance of breathing but also he wanted this man to know he was tired of this already. Between the police and this he wondered how they had such a high unsolved murder rate in this town because they sure weren’t leaving him alone. “I didn’t find the body because it’s still missing from what I can tell. All they found was blood…this person could still be alive for all we know. And I didn’t see anyone around that night. You kind of have to concentrate with big machinery or someone could get hurt…that someone being me, usually.” No, he didn’t find the body, he hid it after killing them in the first place. But he had seen someone around afterwards, someone who had kept his secret up to this point. He wasn’t about to throw her under the bus.

A private investigator almost sounded worse than the police. That meant that he would actually do his job and get to the bottom of this and that…was not okay. At least not for Caleb. The man was definitely pulling at his heartstrings though when bringing up the family and for a split second he considered confessing it all. How freeing would it be to let it out? To know that the person’s family could get some closure with it? 

Then again, confessing meant a whole slew of new problems and his goal was to keep people safe from him, not make things more dangerous. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he just let someone end it all. 

It wasn’t the first time the thought had hit him and he’d really considered it for a little bit but his friends, the ones who made Caleb feel like family, were more than enough to wipe those thoughts from his mind. It wasn’t enough to fully keep them away unfortunately. “I wish I could help you help them….but I don’t know anything other than the fact that there’s a lot of weird stuff that happens here at night. People should stay away.”

“That makes two of us,” Emilio repeated the man’s own words back to him with the faintest hint of a smile. If the groundskeeper was hiding something, he was decent at it. None of Emilio’s questions, designed to trip him up, seemed to faze the guy. Still, that distrust lingered. An undead groundskeeper and a missing corpse told a certain story, didn’t it? It was hard not to think there was more to this story. “Must have been pretty distracted for them to have time to make off with a body under your nose,” he commented, keeping his tone casual as best he could. Something here didn’t add up. He could see why the police kept hassling the groundskeeper, even if there was no way for the authorities to know what Emilio knew about the man’s missing heartbeat. 

Something flashed across the groundskeeper’s face. Brief, but there all the same. Emilio took note of it. At best, this man knew more than he was letting on. Maybe he’d come across the body after the fact and used it for an easy meal, or let the killers slide in exchange for something. But at worst? At worst, there was blood on his hands. And that was all well and good — plenty of people in this town had blood on their hands — but it was Emilio’s job to let the dead man’s wife know whatever version of the truth she’d be able to handle. He owed her that much.

In either case, it didn’t seem that the groundskeeper was willing to be forthcoming. No one in this town ever wanted to make the detective’s job easy. He’d figured that out pretty quickly. He had to take what he could get, in situations like this one.

Luckily, he was a decent taker.

“What kind of weird stuff?” He knew, of course, what graveyards in this town were prone to. This was more of a test, an attempt to see what the groundskeeper would tell him. Less about information, more about… testing honesty.

“I must have been. I tend to listen to music too.” Which wasn’t a lie, he’d just forgotten to add that part in because he hadn’t been that night. Most of the time when Caleb was digging his headphones were on with loud music blasting through them. If only he’d thought to tell the police that earlier on. He knew what this looked like though, knew that grasping at straws was not good in situations like this, and he was pretty certain the investigator suspected him as well at this point. It sucked but what proof did they have? What proof could they find? He wasn’t saying anymore and instead started to fiddle with the gloves he previously took off to try and distract himself from this.

What kind of weird stuff? Oh, he could say so many things to that. Even when he was alive he’d seen some strange things but he never confronted them until there was nothing left to lose. His heartbeat was gone, why not get tossed around by a rogue vampire or two? This really wasn’t something to lie about either. His own guilt was one thing but trying to lie about the supernatural to someone who deserved to know what they were in for was another thing entirely.

Still, he hesitated. What the hell would he believe? Had this guy already encountered weird stuff before and was feigning innocence or was he completely clueless? “Just…stuff you don’t want to know about.” Caleb looked up from the gloves, hoping the sincerity was clear as he continued. “Stuff that you probably don’t think is real….but you should.” Man he was really playing into the creepy groundskeeper trope right now. Was it time to accept his fate as the one no one trusts but should? “Just be careful if you’re investigating this place, or any cemetery really.”

It felt like an attempt to cover his ass. If he were listening to music, why wouldn’t he have said so sooner? It should have been his first line of defense, not a desperate attempt to cover himself. Emilio tried to hide the suspicion from his expression, tried not to let the doubt shine through. It was better, he thought, if the groundskeeper didn’t know he suspected him. He could use it to his advantage, let the guy think he was getting away with something. Emilio still wasn’t sure if the man had had any involvement in the ‘disappearance’ in the cemetery or if he was just trying to cover up the fact that he was undead, but either way… the hunter preferred to be the one holding the cards.

“If I didn’t want to know about it, I wouldn’t ask,” Emilio replied, tilting his head to the side. He tried to play the part of clueless yet curious detective, tried to goad the stranger into giving him more information than he likely would have had he known that the person he was speaking to was a slayer. He wasn’t sure how good he was at it. Undercover work had never been something Emilio excelled at. He was much better at forcing answers out of a person than he was at tricking them.

The fact that the groundskeeper seemed to be offering a warning told him a little something, though. Was he trying to make sure Emilio was safe, or was he trying to ensure that wandering eyes steered clear of cemeteries he was haunting? It was difficult to know for sure. “I’m pretty good at watching my own back,” the detective replied with a shrug. “You see weird shit out here a lot?”

It seemed like the investigator was moving on to the topic of strange things and Caleb wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. He really just wanted to be done with this conversation altogether but walking away would be more suspicious than not, right? Still, the shift in topic was doing nothing for his nerves. One secret or the other? Which would he prefer to talk about? Neither, and yet here he was. He couldn’t stop the unamused huff at the investigator's question, his mind traveling to the many nights he’d spent having to fight one thing or another. “Yea, almost every night.”

Where did he start? The night that he’d been attacked by a starving zombie and had cemented his own fate to become the undead? Or the night where Caleb had been murdered by a graverobber that then soon turned into his first meal? Maybe he should tell the guy about all the ghosts traipsing through the cemetery on a nightly basis or the vampires he’s found in various crypts with various victims. Not to mention the hellhounds and the kers and the many things that liked to feed on the rotting flesh that could be found all over this cemetery.

But he would never believe Caleb. If anything, he would suspect the zombie even more thinking that his ‘delusions’ might have led to this poor person's demise when really they had come to visit a loved one at the wrong time. “Grave robberies are a big thing around here. Plus, there’s some weird people in this town who like caskets for some reason.” He paused, another sigh escaping as he avoided eye contact and mumbled the last part. “And the dead don’t stay dead for very long.”

How long had he been at this? Looking at him now, Emilio found himself wondering. Had he known about the supernatural before his death, or had that been his introduction into the world? In a lot of ways, Emilio thought of himself as lucky in that regard. He never had to learn of the existence of another world beneath his own — it had always been there. He’d known about the undead before he’d known his name, had known how to kill them before he learned to walk. His introduction into this world hadn’t been one of trauma and death, and that was a good thing no matter how many people seemed to think otherwise. 

He listened as the man began to recount some of the ‘strange things’ he’d seen, raising his eyebrows when he started with mundane occurrences like graverobbers and people who ‘enjoyed’ caskets. “Every town has graverobbers,” he pointed out with a shrug. He wondered if the groundskeeper robbed graves himself, if digging up corpses was a good way to ensure a meal for himself. If he was, Emilio saw no issue with it. Better for him to feed off people who were no longer using what he needed than to kill someone for it. If there was an ‘ethical’ way to be undead, it was something like that. 

And then, the real answer. Emilio didn’t look particularly surprised by the admission, only offering a small shrug of his shoulder. ��You know a lot about that, too?” He knew the groundskeeper had experienced it himself — he could feel his stomach crawling, that old built-in warning reminding him with every breath that the man in front of him had no heartbeat in his chest. But how often did he deal with it from a more detached space? How often were other undead things lurking around this cemetery? Maybe it was one of them who had killed the missing man Emilio was here to find. “You see anything like that the night you found that blood?”

It was a reaction he hadn’t expected, the man not even flinching at the idea that the undead could rise up. No, he’d thought for sure that this investigator would laugh or give him the strangest look but instead he didn’t miss a beat with the next question he wanted to ask. Maybe Caleb should have expected that. Maybe this town was starting to corrupt more people with its supernatural guests than he’d realized. That thought alone was sobering and he had to wonder how this man knew about the things that went bump in the night. Did he get a rude awakening like Caleb? Was he undead too? No, he was too pink in the face for that, his skin a tone that sent that idea far away. So…what was he?

“I know too much about it.” His tone was flat, trying not to give away the disbelief he held at the investigator shrugging off Caleb’s words like that. His nerves were on fire, a current running through them as the anxiety in his gut started to build more and more but he took a breath in and continued. “Ghosts, vampires…zombies.” 

Was he stupid? Why was he telling this man all of this? Obviously, he already knew but that didn’t mean that Caleb needed to add more fuel to this fire. It was already blazing, the flames of it licking at his boots and reminding the groundskeeper of how close people were to figuring this whole scenario out. The only thing that was spurring him forward was the idea that honesty was best when he could get away with it. It was the only way to keep things consistent, right? Even if he would never tell the police any of this, maybe it would benefit him if the investigator knew most of the truth if he was careful to omit the rest. “I think the guy came across something that he shouldn’t have, okay? I didn’t witness anything, like I said, I was digging, but it all points to the unnatural things people can come across in this town.”

The groundskeeper seemed to study him a little closer with his reaction. Emilio understood that. Had he not been able to sense the guy, he might have been a little more curious about what he might be, too. He often wondered how much harder shit in this town must be for people who didn’t have some sixth sense helping them out, for the ones who had to take every conversation and unpack it to figure out whether or not their lives were in danger from it. Emilio had to do it himself sometimes, when someone was something other than undead, but to have no tools in the arsenal for that at all? It wasn’t something he envied. 

Still, he didn’t particularly want this guy to piece together that he was a slayer. A hunter was a dangerous thing to be, after all. So Emilio offered no explanation as to why he knew the things he knew, provided no clues towards what helped him know it. He studied the man instead, took note of the change in tone when zombies were mentioned. It felt like confirmation; that was what he was, then. Not a vampire, not a mare, not a fury. A zombie. Emilio filed the information away.

“See a lot of them here?” He thought about slipping in something that might clue the guy in that he knew, just to see how he’d react, but… That kind of thing was reckless, and Emilio couldn’t afford that. There were a lot more things working against him than there used to be. The old ache in his leg reminded him as much. The guy came across something that he shouldn’t have. That was an interesting way to put things, wasn’t it? “What is it you think he came across?” 

The unflinching response to all of this was a lot. Even as he specified what he meant, the investigator didn’t bat so much as an eyelash and Caleb felt a little more unnerved with each passing moment. The way the man was looking at him now was even more of an indication that the zombie needed to shut his mouth, both studying each other like they were trying to figure out just what classification the other was under. He shouldn’t have said anything, he should have left it at the implication that he saw and knew nothing because now he knew he was being scrutinized. But it was okay, he was definitely not making this mistake again.

“It’s a cemetery, what do you think?” Vague answers, almost hostile in the way he answered them, that was all that the other was going to get now. It was all he was giving after all. “I already told you, I don’t know. It was an assumption. Might even be the wrong one…because I didn’t see anything.” His tone had a finality to it that indicated he was done with this conversation. Or he hoped it did anyway. Caleb wasn’t giving anything else away. If the investigator was good at his job he could find out the rest on his own even if that meant it led right to the groundskeeper. 

“I have to get back to work. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” In some ways, it was true. He kind of hoped that this guy would figure him out. Caleb was sick of the lies and the guilt that gnawed away at the very fiber of his being. The mention of the family wanting answers, so many people looking for this person, he was certain that the one he had killed hadn’t been so bad in this life. It only made it all so much worse. Nodding at the guy, he turned to head back to his truck, wanting to put all of this behind him.

The man — the zombie — was uncomfortable. Emilio could sense that just as easily as he could sense the fact that the groundskeeper was undead, could feel it rolling off him in waves. Was he worried Emilio would find out what he was, or was there something else driving this anxiety? Something he’d done? If Emilio were the kind of man who was okay giving away some of the cards he held, he might have copped to knowing what the groundskeeper was just to narrow things down a little, but that wasn’t who he was. It would be dangerous, admitting what he knew. People had killed for less.

“Right,” he agreed, letting his flat tone betray just how little he believed the guy. “You didn’t see anything. Just the groundskeeper, right?” As if anyone in this town was just anything. Everyone in Wicked’s Rest had a secret; Emilio was the sort of person who wanted to know them all. Offering a tight, clearly false smile, Emilio nodded his head. “Of course. Sorry to hold you up.” He took a half step back, as if ‘freeing’ the groundskeeper from the conversation. Tilting his chin up, he smiled in a way that was a little more genuine, but a lot less friendly. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I always find what I’m looking for sooner or later. I’m good at what I do.” He watched the man go back to his truck. Yeah, he thought. This wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other. He was sure of it.

#Threads #Thread: Emilio #Sleuth Your Way Out #head trauma tw

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Mercy Williams Species: Vampire Occupation: Unemployed Age: 368 Years Old (Looks about 33) Played By: Sunny Face Claim: Emilia Clarke

"Prithee! Please forgive me for my ways!"

TW: Sibling death, head injury

Love thy neighbor. It was just one of the many verses drilled so passionately into little Mercy Anne Williams' head as a child by a stern, but loving mother and father who wanted nothing but the best for their two children. And so she did love thy neighbor. Reading her Bible daily, doing her chores fervently to help out her mother, and always offering to help her father, who was the town blacksmith. Though showing that same respect to her older brother was sometimes harder and would result with a switch to the palm of the hand and no supper. But Mercy’s favorite thing was to visit the neighboring homes that sat just on the brink of Salem Village closer to their home on Ipswich Road, where she often played silly games with her best friend, Abigail until it was time to return home.

But as Mercy grew older, time spent with Abigail had lessened as she grew smitten for a boy in Salem Town. His name was Thomas, and he wasn’t much older than Mercy. And as the years passed and the two grew closer, it was determined that Thomas and Mercy would marry on her twentieth birthday. And so as proclaimed, the pair were wed in Salem Town at the only church.

Three years later Mercy was with child, and Thomas had established his role in Salem Town as a tax collector. Life had changed greatly for the young woman, and though she married into a family of wealth, her humility remained. And once little Sarah was born, Mercy made it a point to teach her the same lessons taught by her mother and father – Love thy neighbor.

Fast forward ten years to 1689, and Salem had been subjected to King William’s War. Refugees from other parts of the developing East coast fled to the small town and village for safety, but with the villagers already struggling, rations for food and supplies caused even more tension on the already over-taxed citizens. And unfortunately for Mercy’s brother Jude, he had been caught in the middle of a fight that ended his life and left Mercy and her family devastated. But for a family who had always given their best to those around them, tragedy once again struck, when Mercy fell victim to a nearly deadly attack herself.

Unintentionally staying out past nightfall at a friend’s house, the thirty-three year old woman was on her way home when an unfamiliar man had stopped her begging for money, but when Mercy had nothing she could offer, his demeanor soured and with the strength of something unholy, he sent her careening toward a wall where she was nearly knocked unconscious and on the brink of death. With merely blurred flashes of a thin figured woman leaning over her, Mercy could barely know what was happening aside from what felt like a sharp pain in her neck followed by a warm metallic taste that filled her senses.

For two days, Mercy struggled to regain consciousness, but on the eve of the third day, the ill woman woke with a ferocious hunger. A craving that was unnatural and left her to attack anything in a blind rage. And when she had finally regained herself, the maid that had been caring for her during her illness lay paler than the white sheet that had once covered the sickly woman, and Mercy stood covered in blood.

Spiraling at the realization that she had been the woman’s cause of death, Mercy fled the house only to take up shelter in a hayloft just on the brink of Salem Village out of fear that her husband and child may be next. But with the lack of knowledge of what kind of creature she had become, she found herself in another bout of desperation which eventually caused her to flee the barn on the hunt for anything that provided her with a source of blood.

For the next three years, Mercy did what she could to survive, which meant going against everything she was taught and learning the hard way that she was now an abomination to God. Rumors swirled of sightings, but she managed to stay hidden, only surfacing at night for the briefest glimpse of her family and the constant hunt for animal's blood, especially now that the persecution and false claims of witches ran rampant throughout. For someone once so lively and kind, she had just disappeared without a trace. But it was an old friend, someone who had grown spiteful of her status over the years and the same someone that had turned Mercy into the monster that she had become, that had outed her as a witch – Abigail, who had caught Mercy by accident feeding off of a hog that belonged to her and her husband. 

Knowing that it would only be a matter of time before she was caught, Mercy reluctantly left her home and her family for a place up north. A small town known as Wicked’s Rest. Things had seemed a lot quieter there. And for once, she felt that a life after becoming the demon that she believed she was had been possible. But as if God was punishing her once more for the crimes she had committed in her home of Salem, Massachusetts, Mercy found herself on the other end of a pointed finger and one that she couldn’t bring herself to escape.

Condemned to an eternity in a pine box buried deep in the ground, the woman found herself slowly withering away as the nail positioned her in place for a life in a dark and lonely hell, but then something happened. Something unexpected. As her skin began to sting, Mercy had awoken from a sleep that had lasted for centuries leaving her to feed on her savior and a strong realization that the world she once knew was long gone.

Character Facts:

Personality: Confused, lost, apprehensive, humble, cunning, resilient, compassionate, remorseful, scrappy, sorrowful

Mercy’s parents were God fearing people making sure to attend Church every week, which meant a three hour walk into Salem Town every Sunday and teaching their daughter the ways of the Lord via the Geneva Bible.

Mercy’s father was a blacksmith, and whenever she got the chance, she would help him with making tools as well as shoes for the neighboring horses.

Mercy loved to sing hymns, but after turning, she realized that singing the word of God physically made her ill – which broke her already shattered heart.

She doesn’t actually know that she’s a vampire. It took trial and error to figure out what she knows, like how blood is what she needs to survive and staying in the sunlight too long can harm her.

Her biggest regret is not being able to grow old with her husband or watch her daughter live out her life.

No matter how hard she tries, the evolution of the English language still befuddles her.

Electricity, running water, cars, cell phones, and the internet also seem to confuse her, but she’s certainly trying to learn!

#bio #taken #taken vampire #vampire #taken undead #undead #emilia clarke #sibling death tw #head trauma tw

[tomebreakr]

rorschach physician scribble

#rorschach physician #aesop carl #blood tw #head trauma tw #doodoo.jpg #archive

[problemsleuth]

bbq sauced

#blood tw #head trauma tw #pickle inspector #art

[metalhibiscus]

me about to go back to sleep cause waking up to a headache is not the vibe

#head trauma tw #idk

[chasseurdeloup]

Fox Paw Faux Pas

TIMING: Before We Begin Again LOCATION: The woods PARTIES: @thunderstroked and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Kaden finds a certain kitsune stuck in a trap. Mona does her best to communicate with him as they try to help her find her way home CONTENT WARNINGS: head trauma tw (very end/last reply)

The fox clawed at the cage she’d gotten stuck inside. Heart beating fast, she repelled from the edges, as if the metal that touched her skin might somehow singe her fear. A low whine left her as she arched her back against the metal, claws piercing through the small holes of the man-made crate. It was on the smaller side, meant for something the size of a raccoon, maybe. She was going to die here, and it was that spellcaster in the wood’s fault. She’d never see Felix or Inge again, she’d never have her favorite wine– she’d never return the photography studio to Esther. She was done for. 

In her panic, she missed the exchange of words– the padding of footsteps. She was shaking violently within the small cage, doing her best to try and claw her way out. Another high pitched whine left her, this time reminiscent of a small child’s scream. Agony washed over her, and panic ensued. Her heart rate picked up and she shoved her shoulder into the opposite side of the cage, gaze leveling with that of a man after a few moments where she lowered herself to the ground, panting heavily. Was he here to kill her? She would burn him, if so. He would release her, and she would burn him, and she would run. She had to. She couldn’t die here. She refused to die here. 

—

Weird fox in one of the traps. That was the call Kaden got to animal control. He could only speculate what the fuck that meant in Wicked’s Rest. His questions were met with no real answers like information had been passed third hand to the hunter. Time to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. For all he knew, the fox was just a normal damn fox but was gray or maybe had mange. Hell, it could be a raccoon. Wouldn't surprise him if that was the case. Maybe it was even that fucker that had tormented and evaded him and Cortez a while back. Yeah, no way he’d get that lucky. Time to plan for a raiju. Kaden grabbed his rubber gloves along with the crate and snare from the back of the truck before trekking out into the woods to see what he would find. 

The closer he got to the spot in question, the more chills ran down his spine. Kaden furrowed his brows, checking that he was headed in the right direction. Sure was. Great. So he was walking directly towards a monster. Hopefully it was still in that cage. 

He spotted the glint of metal before he could see what was waiting for him across the way. Goosebumps covered his arms as he walked closer. Definitely something supernatural. Beast or shifter, surely. Whichever it was, it was panicked and whining. The sound pierced his ears and it was all he could do not to wince. Deep breath. Kaden crouched down to get a better look at the little fox. The little orange fox with a splash of blue fur and two tails. 

Yeah, not a fox, then. A kitsune. Kaden sighed, not sure if it was relief or something else that he was releasing. “Hey, hey, calm down,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender as he dropped down to one knee to try and meet the shifter eye to eye. “I know what you are, okay. You’re safe. I promise.” Slowly, he reached his hand out to the cage door, ready to open it. His fingers hesitated to grasp the handle while the kitsune was still so frightened. He knew that he wasn’t dealing with a wild animal, sure, but the same rules still applied. Frightened animals were dangerous to deal with. “You’re going to have to calm down, alright? I don’t want to deal with that fox fire shit today, got it?” 

—

I know what you are. 

The fox thought briefly to the moment she’d watched Twilight with Inge and the two of them had cackled at the scene splitting between Bella and Edmund– no, Edward. She pressed herself against the metal, ears pinned back as she glowered at the man who appeared. If he knew what she was, either it was by sight or by something else. 

His fingers hung around the lock of the cage and the fox watched intently, fur sticking through the holes in the cage as she backed up further. He was speaking to her, acknowledging that he knew what she could do to him– how did he know? Most would see two tails and equate it to something out of mythology, but this person knew past that. 

In response to his request, the fox let out another high pitched whine before relaxing slightly. If he tried anything, she would light him up and have no issue doing so– she was not a fighter in the slightest, but there were exceptions to that rule. The fox waited patiently for the door to drop open, and once it did, she rushed out, half-tempted to escape the man, but she turned at the last moment, studying his features. Could he help her if he knew what she was? 

—

The fox calmed down just enough that he risked opening the cage door. Kaden expected them to transform back right then and there. He waited and gave the fox a look. “Go on.You don’t have to hide it here. No one around, no cameras. You’re safe.” The kitsune just looked up at him with a blank stare and for a second, he questioned if he was wrong. No, those were two distinct tails. There was no way this was a normal fox. They were a kitsune. 

So why weren’t they turning back into a human form? Kaden furrowed his brows and double checked that they were alone. Yeah, very alone, no one else there. Were they shy? Could they not shift while someone was looking at them? Embarrassed? Maybe afraid to reveal their identity. 

“I mean it. You can shift back now. I promise, I’m not going to tell anyone or hurt you or anything. And it’s going to be easier to speak to each other, as cute as the fox form is.” 

Still, nothing. Was there something he was missing? 

Wait, did kitsune keep their clothes when shifting? Werewolves didn’t. Maybe they were worried about being naked in front of a stranger. Kaden shrugged off his jacket and placed it on the ground in front of the kitsune. “Here. I don’t know how much it’ll cover you up but it might help. If that’s the issue.” And if that wasn’t the issue, the ranger was officially at a loss. 

—

As much as the fox wanted to shift back and give her thanks and then be on her way, that wasn’t possible. Then again, that might have been stupid of her. What if this person was waiting for her to reveal what she truly looked like, and in turn use that against her? She wouldn’t have risked it, even if she were capable of returning to her human form. 

The fox huffed in response to the way he urged her to shift back. She attempted, but there was no puff of smoke, no reveal of who she was beneath the blue and orange fur. The scar that replicated itself in the patterns across her fur burned with frustration– something that typically happened when under duress. 

At his insinuation that she might be embarrassed due to the act of being naked, the fox cackled– or, rather, chirped. The idea that she would be embarrassed over her body was laughable, even in her current state. Had he only read about her kind in books? Did he have no idea that she’d keep her clothes? That her shifts weren’t as animalistic as others? 

The jacket was now on the ground, though, and the fox committed the scent to memory. She’d follow it after this was said and done and show her appreciation so that she wouldn’t have the guilt looming over her in the form of his help. Though, the only help he’d given her was getting her out of the cage. That was good enough, she decided. The fox watched the man intently before stepping atop his jacket, tails flicking in response to his words. She pawed at the jacket pocket where she felt the weight of a cell phone. Maybe she could use her nose to type something out? Sticks and scrawling words into the dirt hadn’t really helped her case before, but maybe this would work. 

—

Did the kitsune just laugh at him? Kaden’s mouth pulled into a thin line and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Couldn’t believe he just got laughed at by a fox. Sure, alright, they were a shifter but all the same. His brow raised as he watched them approach his jacket and… stand on top of it? That wasn’t going to help. What the hell were they doing? “Hey, careful,” he said as soon as she started pawing at it. “Don’t scratch the leather, alright?” As if the jacket wasn’t already well worn and scuffed and scratched in various places. It was the principle of the thing, though. 

When he looked down, he saw that the kitsune had wedged his phone out of the pocket. Right. Might have been a smart idea to take that out before handing it to them. Kaden reached down to grab it and looked at the device, unsure of the best way to go about this. It’s not like there was a fox to English translation app he could use. Even if there was, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to figure out how to get it without help from Alex or Mack or even Andy. 

It was clear from all the huffing and visible frustration from before that the kitsune wasn’t shifting there and then for whatever reason. But they hadn’t run away. Kaden eyed his phone again. Did they want to communicate? Well, probably, since their current back and forth left a lot to be desired. How were they going to do that with a phone? They still couldn’t talk. Maybe they wanted to call someone? And say what, exactly? He tried to wrap his head around it and remembered that incident at Masque of the Red Death when he was monochromatic and silent. What was her name, the mare, Inge? She’d mentioned using a phone to communicate when silent instead of the whiteboard. Honestly, shame he didn’t have that with him now, it would have helped. Still, maybe she was onto something. 

Kaden tapped through the lock screen and found an app that looked like it took notes or something. Either way, seemed like you could type on it. Though he wasn’t sure if the kitsune would have the dexterity with their paws or nose or hell, maybe their tails, to navigate it. He went to set it down but hesitated. He knew there was a way to make things bigger and the buttons larger, mostly because of the number of times he did it by accident. “One second, let me see if I can make this easier,” he said as he desperately flipped through various settings and options. He did what he could to make the text larger and the buttons bigger and hoped it would be enough before placing the phone back on his jacket facing the fox. “Hope this is what you wanted,” he told them as he waited for them to type away. 

—

The man took the phone away and the fox let out another annoyed huff. Then again, she wouldn’t be able to do much to unlock it. It wasn’t like she could press his thumb into the home button for him. She watched him expectantly as he seemingly threaded her silent request together. 

Just as he was about to return the phone to her, he was saying something else and the fox let out a whine, finally moving off of the man’s jacket. The last thing she wanted to do was scratch up the leather, it did smell authentic, and she knew how pricey they could be. She wouldn’t make much of a case for herself if she did tarnish something he clearly cared about. Finally, the phone was back within her reach and the fox was leaning down, amused by the way the buttons took up pretty much half of the screen. It would make things easier though, she had to admit that. 

Before moving to tap her nose against the screen, she rubbed it against her side at the risk of not wanting to get any dirt on his phone. She’d been traveling like this for awhile now, there was no telling what state she was actually in. Finally, she dipped down to tap her nose against the words S-T-U-C-K. Instead of spelling it outright, it said S-T-I-UU-C-JJ-K. Though, with the help of context clues, she was hopeful that he’d be able to understand what she was trying to say. She watched him carefully as she nudged the phone with her nose back towards him, a low whine building in her chest. 

—

Kaden had to admit, he was fascinated watching the fox trying to type on a touchscreen. Definitely not anything he would see in any nature documentary, that was for certain. He was glad he made the buttons bigger because even then, it was clear they were struggling to get the right letters. They’d managed to type something, though, which was honestly impressive all on its own.

He leaned down to get a look at the phone and read what they’d written. “Stiuucjjk,” was what was there on the phone screen. The creases in his forehead deepend as he tried to figure out what the hell they were trying to say. “Is this English?” he asked, looking back at them.

Right. A stupid question considering they’d demonstrated understanding of everything else he’d said prior to now. “Sorry, looked like it was Swedish or something.” He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over the letters one more time. What the hell was it? Sticky? No, that didn’t make sense. Their fur looked clean and so did their paws for the most part. At the very least, they didn’t look like they’d gotten doused in honey or something. Sick? Maybe, but they seemed mostly okay. But he figured it was a good idea to check. “Sick? Are you sick? Is that why you won’t change?” He tilted his head and tried one more time to sus out what the word translated to. He looked at the letters on the keyboard, trying to get an idea of what letters were next to each other, hoping it would clue him in on the mystery word.

“Stick?” he said out loud. Before he could get confirmation or denial, he reached down on the forest floor and grabbed a stick. “Would this help you type? This it?” 

—

The fox let out an annoyed huff as the man asked her if it was English. Couldn’t he read between the lines? She knew that she needed to be patient with him, but it was hard when she was the one stuck like this with no foreseeable way out of it. She was frustrated, to say the least. She hoped that because he seemed to know what she was, he would be able to help– that somewhere in some book there was an explanation of what was happening to her, but then she remembered the stupid spell and how this wasn’t natural to her kind at all. She was fucked. 

She watched in disbelief as the man ran through the words, not nearing what she’d actually been trying to say. She sat down, tails flicking in annoyance as he continued on. Sticky, sick, stick. She had half a mind to bite his hand, but he was the one trying to help her, wasn’t he? Or was this some kind of ploy? To keep her distracted for enough time for someone else to swoop in and steal her away? Her ears rotated slightly as she tried to welcome in any sounds around the perimeter, but aside from the sound of birds, they were alone. The fox exhaled, staring at the stick in the man’s hand. She grabbed it from him with her mouth and threw it at his feet before nodding towards the phone again, nose pressed against the deletion key. 

She attempted it again, this time carefully prodding her nose against the screen. S-T-Y-U-C-K. That was much better, she decided. She pawed at the side of the phone, urging him to take a look. This had to be easily decipherable– there was no way he wouldn’t understand what she was trying to get across now. 

—

When the fox took the stick from his hand, Kaden felt a small swell of pride for having cracked the code. It faded as soon as the stick hit his shoes. “Aright, fine, not a stick.” He grumbled and put the phone back down for the kitsune to type away again. He waited until she looked back up at him, pawing the phone to let him know the message was ready. 

“St-yuck,” he said, pronouncing the word aloud exactly as written. Right, that sounded stupid, especially since he realized what it actually said before the second syllable left his lips. “Stuck. Okay, got it.” Well, at least that was solved. The fox was stuck.

Wait, what did that mean? Kaden’s brows furrowed as looked at the fox, back at the cage he had freed them from, and then over to the fox again. Stuck, how? They weren’t stuck anymore. “But you’re out of the cage, what do you mean stuck?”

He didn’t need to be an expert in animal behavior to sense the frustration coming from the tiny furry creature. Obviously the cage was not what they were talking about. “Right, not the cage. Clearly. Not stuck in the cage anymore but still stuck.” And not in place, either. “Stuck… as a fox?” It was said more like a question than a statement even though, in hindsight, that was clearly what they meant the whole time. 

“Okay, stuck as a fox. Can’t shift back, I take it. Right.” Kaden scratched at his beard before rubbing his palm down the rest of his face. “Not sure I know how to fix that.” The ranger searched his mind for anyone else who might be helpful. He knew a lot of undead, he knew werewolves, but that wasn’t going to do a kitsune a whole lot of good. “I can take you home or wherever you want to go and we can find someone who can, I guess.” It was the only solution he had at the moment. “Which, um, not sure how you want to direct me to wherever that is.” 

—

Finally, the fox thought– he got it. She watched his expression carefully, noting the way in which he seemed to work through the text she’d typed on the phone. Would he think it was something else? Look at her paws for a rock, maybe? She might have to bite him then, she thought. She stared at the man, ears drooping slightly as he came to the wrong conclusion. She had to keep in mind that he was doing most of the communicating, and he was only able to take cues away from her if she’d give them to him. 

Once he’d gotten it, the fox nodded. She wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do to help her, if anything, but at least somebody had gotten it right. Only, as soon as he’d come to the grand reveal, he was falling back on his heels. The fox let out a huff and laid down, paws outstretched in front of her. Out of everyone she’d run into today, he was the only one to really figure her out for what she was, and what was wrong with her. The idea of possibly directing him to Felix came to mind, but if he recognized her for what she was, who was to say that he wouldn’t recognize Felix? She couldn’t put them in any kind of harm’s way. 

Getting to her own home, and then finding Inge or Felix would be her only way, she thought. She looked at the phone in his hands and sighed, knowing that typing out her address would be one hell of a feat. But if that was her only way… 

She nodded towards the phone, snout pushing through the air as if to mimic the way she’d pushed her nose against the screen to spell out what was needed. 

—

“You want to try and type again?” Kaden wasn’t sure how well that was going to work out, given how long it took them to spell “stuck.” With typos. “I think it might be easier if you try to direct me once we’re in the car. I’m pretty sure we can find a way.” The ranger was about to turn and indicate for the fox to follow when he realized there was a lot of town out there and a lot of people, too. Wandering blindly with a fox to navigate probably wasn’t the best idea. “On second thought, give me a rough location or someone to head towards. Or a part of town at least. Then you can point the way from there.” 

He bent down to place the phone on the ground so they could press their snoot up against the glass to type out each character slowly and carefully. The device brushed the forest floor before Kaden yanked it back up. “Hold on, I have a better idea.” He may not have had those often, but he was pretty sure this was going to be easier than waiting for the fox to type. Not that he had anywhere better to be, sure, but he really didn’t want to get bitten by a frustrated kitsune today if he could avoid it.

Kaden opened up the map app on his phone and zoomed out to an overview map of the town before finally placing it on the ground. This time, however, the ranger stayed crouched next to it. “Okay, I’m going to hover my finger over the map. Yip or howl or whatever it is when I’m over the right place. I’ll zoom in. Same shit.” He went to start and realized he hadn’t figured out how they could tell him he was going the wrong direction. Or anything else but yes, really. “Uh, if I’m wrong, paw me or the phone or something. I guess. And, hmm…” He paused and scratched his beard as he pondered a little more. “Use your head to tell me which direction to go? Or point your paw? Something like that. Make it obvious.” He really hoped this would work. “Alright, ready?”

—

The fox stared up at him unblinking, waiting for the moment that the phone would hit the ground again. She wasn’t sure how directing him would do any good, mostly considering she had no idea where she was. She looked around them in an attempt to get a better idea of where she might’ve gotten herself trapped, but all she saw was underbrush and trees. She turned her attention back towards him as he went to put down the phone, ears flattening back as he scooped it back up within the time it took him to lean down to set it back down. She looked up at him as he explained, realizing that he’d finally come up with a good idea. 

At least this would be easier in the grand scheme of things. 

This was a better idea than simply getting into his truck and finding the way back home. She wasn’t even really sure if home was where she needed to go at this point– she needed to find Felix or Inge. Still, she was a little apprehensive about bringing somebody who seemed to know what she was right away to her friends who were… not quite human. 

At his instruction, the fox nodded, looking down at the phone. As he tapped around, she barked out the orders, scraping her paw through the dirt to the right– then the left. Finally, she saw the neighborhood that Felix lived in. She could figure it out from there, she thought. She stood up and pawed at the dirt in the direction of his truck, trotting over. Maybe he’d get the memo that’s where she wanted to go. 

Or, at least she hoped his braincells hadn’t deteriorated in that time. 

—

Scrolling through the map for the fox seemed to be working. Kaden was shocked he came up with it at all, to be honest. It was easier to understand than their typos, that was for sure. At one point during the whole thing, it hit him how ridiculous this had to look. There he was, kneeling in the dirt, swiping on a phone while a goddamn fox was giving him directions. It sounded like a bad punchline. 

But hey, it worked well enough. The area was easy enough to get to and he was pretty damn familiar with getting around the town by this point given his job. He nodded and followed the fox as they trotted to his truck. 

“Hop in the front,” he said as he swung the passenger side door open for the fox. Once they were in, door closed, he went round the front of the truck and slid into his own seat. “Okay, uh, let’s see. You can tap your paw on me to turn right, that’s easy enough. Uhhh… yip once to turn left? That work?” Kaden looked over at the kitsune and had to stifle a laugh. The whole thing had to look ridiculous. An animal control officer with a fox in the front seat playing navigator. This was going to be a wild ride, that was for sure.

Kaden was about to head off when he saw someone down the road, arms waving above their head, clearly trying to get his attention. His mouth pulled into a thin line as the woman approached the car. He couldn’t say what it was, but something felt off. “Get down,” he muttered to the fox, his eyes never leaving the woman as he spoke. “Hide yourself best you can.” There was a towel bunched up in between the seats that he grabbed and tossed in the fox’s direction. 

By now the woman was close enough that Kaden could see the weapons strapped to her: a crossbow, knives, what looked like a shotgun, among other things. She was well prepared for these woods by the looks of it. That didn’t mean she was a hunter, sure.

But it didn’t mean that she wasn’t one, either.

Kaden pulled up closer to her, car still running. He wasn’t going to risk putting it in park. Even so, he didn’t want his damn tires blown so he rolled the window down and gave her a small wave, half smile on his face. “Hey there. You need something? I’ve got to head out if–”

She didn’t let him finish his sentence. “Hey, sorry I just–” She was still catching her breath as she leaned on the side of the car, practically hanging in the window. Kaden noticed her eyes were darting back and forth, searching the interior of the truck. She was likely trying to be subtle but it didn’t work. “Sorry, I have a trap out here and I heard there was something found in it and–” It was clear she was frantic and having trouble choosing her words. “Well that’s my trap and if you picked anything up, it could be dangerous. Also it’s mine and, and…” 

Kaden’s gaze hardened the more she spoke. She was young, couldn’t be more than twenty-something, if that. “Calm down, breathe.” He tried to angle himself to block her view of the interior as he turned to her. “There wasn’t anything in that trap, sorry. Not sure where you heard that but I have to go, there’s an emergency at–”

“Bullshit,” she spat back at him, her friendly demeanor gone. “I know there was a ki– fox in there. I heard the call in to the station.” The confused look on Kaden’s face didn’t phase her. “Look, I tapped into the radio, whatever, sue me, I don’t care but I need to get that fox. Now. It’s dangerous. And sorry bud, but you definitely don’t know how to handle one like this. Just trust me. Please.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t sympathize with the kid. He knew that tone, he knew this song and dance well. It was normally him on the other side. Or it had been, when he thought the same as she did. Putain de merde. He didn’t have time for lessons in ethical beast hunting right now. Especially since he was pretty damn sure she wasn’t going to just listen to him. “Thanks for looking out for me but I promise you, I have it handled. I know a kitsune when I see one.” He didn’t wait for the shock to leave her face before he continued. “This was just a normal fox. Nothing more. And even if it wasn’t, I have it handled. Ranger.”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he waited for whatever came next. Kaden didn’t have a clue how this ranger would react or, worse, how the kitsune in the passenger seat would react. He hadn’t exactly told them he was a ranger. All he could do now was hope that they trusted him enough by now to know he wasn’t out to hurt them.

For one second, it looked like the kid was going to back away and Kaden was ready to take off, foot slowly lifting from the break. 

Not his luck, apparently. “Show me,” the ranger said, determination burning in her irises. One of her hands had slipped down out of sight and that could only mean one goddamn thing with a hunter. She had a weapon in hand. And he had a truck, sure, but he didn’t doubt that she knew damn well how to make sure the truck didn’t go too far if she wanted. “Show me the fox. And I’ll go.”

Putain de merde. Kaden’s eyes hovered towards the passenger seat for just a second, even though he didn’t mean to look their way even a little. He didn’t want to reveal them. He wasn’t going to give them up. But right now, they really needed a way out of this.

—

The fox considered turning her back on him in that moment, but he was the only way she’d get to either her apartment, or to Felix or somewhere in between, so that she wasn’t dragging somebody else into harm’s way. She looked at the door for a moment longer before finally deciding to oblige, hopping onto the front seat of the pick up. 

The sound of a second set of footsteps set her on edge. Ears rotating slightly, she looked towards the open window, eyes narrowing. The man at her side seemed to be on edge, and the words spoken sent her hackles upwards. The fox followed the orders given to her, slipping below the passenger seat, trying to ignore the way it felt like it was closing in on her. The woman could sense her, and the man could… tell? 

Ranger. 

The fox’s ears burned with the word. She’d anticipated this moment; realizing that the man who she’d hoped would help her had been on the wrong side. But he hadn’t tried to hurt her. She knew deep down that she couldn’t trust him, and her father’s words came to mind as she blinked up at the dashboard of the truck, head pulled back just enough so that the woman wouldn’t be able to see her if she peered in through the window. 

There was desperation in her voice, and it didn’t seem like the man she was with was willing to give her up that easily. She had two choices; believe in the one who had helped her to this moment, or allow her fight for survival to win. 

The former eclipsed, and the fox darted from beneath the seat, scrambling out of the passenger side window. In an attempt to trip up the woman before she could be followed in the direction she thought she was headed in, the fox slipped beneath the vehicle, teeth sinking into her ankle. It tasted bad; like dirt and bug spray. Then again, she never found human fun to bite, anyway. It felt primitive, in a way.

The woman shouted, swatting down at her, and the fox sent a orb of fox fire towards the opposite ankle, hopeful it’d deter her from being followed. 

She didn’t spare a glance backwards as she dashed back into the brush, avoiding the traps that had been clearly set for those like her. 

—

Kaden was just about to slam the gas pedal and get them the fuck out of there when he saw a flash of fur fling itself from the window. “Putain!” he shouted as he scrambled, trying to figure out what to do. Park. Put truck in park. That was step one. He threw the gear and tried to throw himself out of the car just as fast but he wasn’t quick enough. He heard the scream of pain from the ranger and turned just in time to see the fox dart into the distance. 

Fuck. Fuck. They were going to get themselves killed. He’d tried so damn hard to help and he couldn’t even–

His thoughts were cut short when he noticed the other hunter limping away, ready to take off after the fox. “Oh no you don’t,” he mumbled to himself. Kaden charged towards her and slammed his body into hers, pinning her to the ground. 

“What the hell?!” she shouted back at him, clearly confused as to why another ranger was going after her and not the shifter sprinting into the forest. She fought back, of course she did, but even with her own hunter strength, she couldn’t break free. She was no Keira, that was for sure. His sister would have managed to flip him over and knock the wind out of him with a kick to the gut for good measure by now. 

Right. Focus. He wouldn’t be able to keep her there forever and she would go after the kitsune. He had to give them a fighting chance – it was the least he could do. The ranger was young, eager, upholding what she believed to be her sworn duty. It was hard to hate her or even fault her. But he couldn’t just stand up and let her go, not at this point. “Sorry about this,” he said before he swung a fist at the side of her head. Her body went limp as her consciousness drifted away. Her heartbeat was still loud and clear, though. 

Kaden shoved down the guilt creeping up his throat as he dragged her body off to the side of the path. He’d call 911 for her. Anonymously. After he was a little ways away. 

All he could do now was hope that was enough for the kitsune to find a way to get unstuck. 

The fox clawed at the cage she’d gotten stuck inside. Heart beating fast, she repelled from the edges, as if the metal that touched her skin might somehow singe her fear. A low whine left her as she arched her back against the metal, claws piercing through the small holes of the man-made crate. It was on the smaller side, meant for something the size of a raccoon, maybe. She was going to die here, and it was that spellcaster in the wood’s fault. She’d never see Felix or Inge again, she’d never have her favorite wine– she’d never return the photography studio to Esther. She was done for. 

In her panic, she missed the exchange of words– the padding of footsteps. She was shaking violently within the small cage, doing her best to try and claw her way out. Another high pitched whine left her, this time reminiscent of a small child’s scream. Agony washed over her, and panic ensued. Her heart rate picked up and she shoved her shoulder into the opposite side of the cage, gaze leveling with that of a man after a few moments where she lowered herself to the ground, panting heavily. Was he here to kill her? She would burn him, if so. He would release her, and she would burn him, and she would run. She had to. She couldn’t die here. She refused to die here. 

—

Weird fox in one of the traps. That was the call Kaden got to animal control. He could only speculate what the fuck that meant in Wicked’s Rest. His questions were met with no real answers like information had been passed third hand to the hunter. Time to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. For all he knew, the fox was just a normal damn fox but was gray or maybe had mange. Hell, it could be a raccoon. Wouldn't surprise him if that was the case. Maybe it was even that fucker that had tormented and evaded him and Cortez a while back. Yeah, no way he’d get that lucky. Time to plan for a raiju. Kaden grabbed his rubber gloves along with the crate and snare from the back of the truck before trekking out into the woods to see what he would find. 

The closer he got to the spot in question, the more chills ran down his spine. Kaden furrowed his brows, checking that he was headed in the right direction. Sure was. Great. So he was walking directly towards a monster. Hopefully it was still in that cage. 

He spotted the glint of metal before he could see what was waiting for him across the way. Goosebumps covered his arms as he walked closer. Definitely something supernatural. Beast or shifter, surely. Whichever it was, it was panicked and whining. The sound pierced his ears and it was all he could do not to wince. Deep breath. Kaden crouched down to get a better look at the little fox. The little orange fox with a splash of blue fur and two tails. 

Yeah, not a fox, then. A kitsune. Kaden sighed, not sure if it was relief or something else that he was releasing. “Hey, hey, calm down,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender as he dropped down to one knee to try and meet the shifter eye to eye. “I know what you are, okay. You’re safe. I promise.” Slowly, he reached his hand out to the cage door, ready to open it. His fingers hesitated to grasp the handle while the kitsune was still so frightened. He knew that he wasn’t dealing with a wild animal, sure, but the same rules still applied. Frightened animals were dangerous to deal with. “You’re going to have to calm down, alright? I don’t want to deal with that fox fire shit today, got it?” 

—

I know what you are. 

The fox thought briefly to the moment she’d watched Twilight with Inge and the two of them had cackled at the scene splitting between Bella and Edmund– no, Edward. She pressed herself against the metal, ears pinned back as she glowered at the man who appeared. If he knew what she was, either it was by sight or by something else. 

His fingers hung around the lock of the cage and the fox watched intently, fur sticking through the holes in the cage as she backed up further. He was speaking to her, acknowledging that he knew what she could do to him– how did he know? Most would see two tails and equate it to something out of mythology, but this person knew past that. 

In response to his request, the fox let out another high pitched whine before relaxing slightly. If he tried anything, she would light him up and have no issue doing so– she was not a fighter in the slightest, but there were exceptions to that rule. The fox waited patiently for the door to drop open, and once it did, she rushed out, half-tempted to escape the man, but she turned at the last moment, studying his features. Could he help her if he knew what she was? 

—

The fox calmed down just enough that he risked opening the cage door. Kaden expected them to transform back right then and there. He waited and gave the fox a look. “Go on.You don’t have to hide it here. No one around, no cameras. You’re safe.” The kitsune just looked up at him with a blank stare and for a second, he questioned if he was wrong. No, those were two distinct tails. There was no way this was a normal fox. They were a kitsune. 

So why weren’t they turning back into a human form? Kaden furrowed his brows and double checked that they were alone. Yeah, very alone, no one else there. Were they shy? Could they not shift while someone was looking at them? Embarrassed? Maybe afraid to reveal their identity. 

“I mean it. You can shift back now. I promise, I’m not going to tell anyone or hurt you or anything. And it’s going to be easier to speak to each other, as cute as the fox form is.” 

Still, nothing. Was there something he was missing? 

Wait, did kitsune keep their clothes when shifting? Werewolves didn’t. Maybe they were worried about being naked in front of a stranger. Kaden shrugged off his jacket and placed it on the ground in front of the kitsune. “Here. I don’t know how much it’ll cover you up but it might help. If that’s the issue.” And if that wasn’t the issue, the ranger was officially at a loss. 

—

As much as the fox wanted to shift back and give her thanks and then be on her way, that wasn’t possible. Then again, that might have been stupid of her. What if this person was waiting for her to reveal what she truly looked like, and in turn use that against her? She wouldn’t have risked it, even if she were capable of returning to her human form. 

The fox huffed in response to the way he urged her to shift back. She attempted, but there was no puff of smoke, no reveal of who she was beneath the blue and orange fur. The scar that replicated itself in the patterns across her fur burned with frustration– something that typically happened when under duress. 

At his insinuation that she might be embarrassed due to the act of being naked, the fox cackled– or, rather, chirped. The idea that she would be embarrassed over her body was laughable, even in her current state. Had he only read about her kind in books? Did he have no idea that she’d keep her clothes? That her shifts weren’t as animalistic as others? 

The jacket was now on the ground, though, and the fox committed the scent to memory. She’d follow it after this was said and done and show her appreciation so that she wouldn’t have the guilt looming over her in the form of his help. Though, the only help he’d given her was getting her out of the cage. That was good enough, she decided. The fox watched the man intently before stepping atop his jacket, tails flicking in response to his words. She pawed at the jacket pocket where she felt the weight of a cell phone. Maybe she could use her nose to type something out? Sticks and scrawling words into the dirt hadn’t really helped her case before, but maybe this would work. 

—

Did the kitsune just laugh at him? Kaden’s mouth pulled into a thin line and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Couldn’t believe he just got laughed at by a fox. Sure, alright, they were a shifter but all the same. His brow raised as he watched them approach his jacket and… stand on top of it? That wasn’t going to help. What the hell were they doing? “Hey, careful,” he said as soon as she started pawing at it. “Don’t scratch the leather, alright?” As if the jacket wasn’t already well worn and scuffed and scratched in various places. It was the principle of the thing, though. 

When he looked down, he saw that the kitsune had wedged his phone out of the pocket. Right. Might have been a smart idea to take that out before handing it to them. Kaden reached down to grab it and looked at the device, unsure of the best way to go about this. It’s not like there was a fox to English translation app he could use. Even if there was, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to figure out how to get it without help from Alex or Mack or even Andy. 

It was clear from all the huffing and visible frustration from before that the kitsune wasn’t shifting there and then for whatever reason. But they hadn’t run away. Kaden eyed his phone again. Did they want to communicate? Well, probably, since their current back and forth left a lot to be desired. How were they going to do that with a phone? They still couldn’t talk. Maybe they wanted to call someone? And say what, exactly? He tried to wrap his head around it and remembered that incident at Masque of the Red Death when he was monochromatic and silent. What was her name, the mare, Inge? She’d mentioned using a phone to communicate when silent instead of the whiteboard. Honestly, shame he didn’t have that with him now, it would have helped. Still, maybe she was onto something. 

Kaden tapped through the lock screen and found an app that looked like it took notes or something. Either way, seemed like you could type on it. Though he wasn’t sure if the kitsune would have the dexterity with their paws or nose or hell, maybe their tails, to navigate it. He went to set it down but hesitated. He knew there was a way to make things bigger and the buttons larger, mostly because of the number of times he did it by accident. “One second, let me see if I can make this easier,” he said as he desperately flipped through various settings and options. He did what he could to make the text larger and the buttons bigger and hoped it would be enough before placing the phone back on his jacket facing the fox. “Hope this is what you wanted,” he told them as he waited for them to type away. 

—

The man took the phone away and the fox let out another annoyed huff. Then again, she wouldn’t be able to do much to unlock it. It wasn’t like she could press his thumb into the home button for him. She watched him expectantly as he seemingly threaded her silent request together. 

Just as he was about to return the phone to her, he was saying something else and the fox let out a whine, finally moving off of the man’s jacket. The last thing she wanted to do was scratch up the leather, it did smell authentic, and she knew how pricey they could be. She wouldn’t make much of a case for herself if she did tarnish something he clearly cared about. Finally, the phone was back within her reach and the fox was leaning down, amused by the way the buttons took up pretty much half of the screen. It would make things easier though, she had to admit that. 

Before moving to tap her nose against the screen, she rubbed it against her side at the risk of not wanting to get any dirt on his phone. She’d been traveling like this for awhile now, there was no telling what state she was actually in. Finally, she dipped down to tap her nose against the words S-T-U-C-K. Instead of spelling it outright, it said S-T-I-UU-C-JJ-K. Though, with the help of context clues, she was hopeful that he’d be able to understand what she was trying to say. She watched him carefully as she nudged the phone with her nose back towards him, a low whine building in her chest. 

—

Kaden had to admit, he was fascinated watching the fox trying to type on a touchscreen. Definitely not anything he would see in any nature documentary, that was for certain. He was glad he made the buttons bigger because even then, it was clear they were struggling to get the right letters. They’d managed to type something, though, which was honestly impressive all on its own.

He leaned down to get a look at the phone and read what they’d written. “Stiuucjjk,” was what was there on the phone screen. The creases in his forehead deepend as he tried to figure out what the hell they were trying to say. “Is this English?” he asked, looking back at them.

Right. A stupid question considering they’d demonstrated understanding of everything else he’d said prior to now. “Sorry, looked like it was Swedish or something.” He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over the letters one more time. What the hell was it? Sticky? No, that didn’t make sense. Their fur looked clean and so did their paws for the most part. At the very least, they didn’t look like they’d gotten doused in honey or something. Sick? Maybe, but they seemed mostly okay. But he figured it was a good idea to check. “Sick? Are you sick? Is that why you won’t change?” He tilted his head and tried one more time to sus out what the word translated to. He looked at the letters on the keyboard, trying to get an idea of what letters were next to each other, hoping it would clue him in on the mystery word.

“Stick?” he said out loud. Before he could get confirmation or denial, he reached down on the forest floor and grabbed a stick. “Would this help you type? This it?” 

—

The fox let out an annoyed huff as the man asked her if it was English. Couldn’t he read between the lines? She knew that she needed to be patient with him, but it was hard when she was the one stuck like this with no foreseeable way out of it. She was frustrated, to say the least. She hoped that because he seemed to know what she was, he would be able to help– that somewhere in some book there was an explanation of what was happening to her, but then she remembered the stupid spell and how this wasn’t natural to her kind at all. She was fucked. 

She watched in disbelief as the man ran through the words, not nearing what she’d actually been trying to say. She sat down, tails flicking in annoyance as he continued on. Sticky, sick, stick. She had half a mind to bite his hand, but he was the one trying to help her, wasn’t he? Or was this some kind of ploy? To keep her distracted for enough time for someone else to swoop in and steal her away? Her ears rotated slightly as she tried to welcome in any sounds around the perimeter, but aside from the sound of birds, they were alone. The fox exhaled, staring at the stick in the man’s hand. She grabbed it from him with her mouth and threw it at his feet before nodding towards the phone again, nose pressed against the deletion key. 

She attempted it again, this time carefully prodding her nose against the screen. S-T-Y-U-C-K. That was much better, she decided. She pawed at the side of the phone, urging him to take a look. This had to be easily decipherable– there was no way he wouldn’t understand what she was trying to get across now. 

—

When the fox took the stick from his hand, Kaden felt a small swell of pride for having cracked the code. It faded as soon as the stick hit his shoes. “Aright, fine, not a stick.” He grumbled and put the phone back down for the kitsune to type away again. He waited until she looked back up at him, pawing the phone to let him know the message was ready. 

“St-yuck,” he said, pronouncing the word aloud exactly as written. Right, that sounded stupid, especially since he realized what it actually said before the second syllable left his lips. “Stuck. Okay, got it.” Well, at least that was solved. The fox was stuck.

Wait, what did that mean? Kaden’s brows furrowed as looked at the fox, back at the cage he had freed them from, and then over to the fox again. Stuck, how? They weren’t stuck anymore. “But you’re out of the cage, what do you mean stuck?”

He didn’t need to be an expert in animal behavior to sense the frustration coming from the tiny furry creature. Obviously the cage was not what they were talking about. “Right, not the cage. Clearly. Not stuck in the cage anymore but still stuck.” And not in place, either. “Stuck… as a fox?” It was said more like a question than a statement even though, in hindsight, that was clearly what they meant the whole time. 

“Okay, stuck as a fox. Can’t shift back, I take it. Right.” Kaden scratched at his beard before rubbing his palm down the rest of his face. “Not sure I know how to fix that.” The ranger searched his mind for anyone else who might be helpful. He knew a lot of undead, he knew werewolves, but that wasn’t going to do a kitsune a whole lot of good. “I can take you home or wherever you want to go and we can find someone who can, I guess.” It was the only solution he had at the moment. “Which, um, not sure how you want to direct me to wherever that is.” 

—

Finally, the fox thought– he got it. She watched his expression carefully, noting the way in which he seemed to work through the text she’d typed on the phone. Would he think it was something else? Look at her paws for a rock, maybe? She might have to bite him then, she thought. She stared at the man, ears drooping slightly as he came to the wrong conclusion. She had to keep in mind that he was doing most of the communicating, and he was only able to take cues away from her if she’d give them to him. 

Once he’d gotten it, the fox nodded. She wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do to help her, if anything, but at least somebody had gotten it right. Only, as soon as he’d come to the grand reveal, he was falling back on his heels. The fox let out a huff and laid down, paws outstretched in front of her. Out of everyone she’d run into today, he was the only one to really figure her out for what she was, and what was wrong with her. The idea of possibly directing him to Felix came to mind, but if he recognized her for what she was, who was to say that he wouldn’t recognize Felix? She couldn’t put them in any kind of harm’s way. 

Getting to her own home, and then finding Inge or Felix would be her only way, she thought. She looked at the phone in his hands and sighed, knowing that typing out her address would be one hell of a feat. But if that was her only way… 

She nodded towards the phone, snout pushing through the air as if to mimic the way she’d pushed her nose against the screen to spell out what was needed. 

—

“You want to try and type again?” Kaden wasn’t sure how well that was going to work out, given how long it took them to spell “stuck.” With typos. “I think it might be easier if you try to direct me once we’re in the car. I’m pretty sure we can find a way.” The ranger was about to turn and indicate for the fox to follow when he realized there was a lot of town out there and a lot of people, too. Wandering blindly with a fox to navigate probably wasn’t the best idea. “On second thought, give me a rough location or someone to head towards. Or a part of town at least. Then you can point the way from there.” 

He bent down to place the phone on the ground so they could press their snoot up against the glass to type out each character slowly and carefully. The device brushed the forest floor before Kaden yanked it back up. “Hold on, I have a better idea.” He may not have had those often, but he was pretty sure this was going to be easier than waiting for the fox to type. Not that he had anywhere better to be, sure, but he really didn’t want to get bitten by a frustrated kitsune today if he could avoid it.

Kaden opened up the map app on his phone and zoomed out to an overview map of the town before finally placing it on the ground. This time, however, the ranger stayed crouched next to it. “Okay, I’m going to hover my finger over the map. Yip or howl or whatever it is when I’m over the right place. I’ll zoom in. Same shit.” He went to start and realized he hadn’t figured out how they could tell him he was going the wrong direction. Or anything else but yes, really. “Uh, if I’m wrong, paw me or the phone or something. I guess. And, hmm…” He paused and scratched his beard as he pondered a little more. “Use your head to tell me which direction to go? Or point your paw? Something like that. Make it obvious.” He really hoped this would work. “Alright, ready?”

—

The fox stared up at him unblinking, waiting for the moment that the phone would hit the ground again. She wasn’t sure how directing him would do any good, mostly considering she had no idea where she was. She looked around them in an attempt to get a better idea of where she might’ve gotten herself trapped, but all she saw was underbrush and trees. She turned her attention back towards him as he went to put down the phone, ears flattening back as he scooped it back up within the time it took him to lean down to set it back down. She looked up at him as he explained, realizing that he’d finally come up with a good idea. 

At least this would be easier in the grand scheme of things. 

This was a better idea than simply getting into his truck and finding the way back home. She wasn’t even really sure if home was where she needed to go at this point– she needed to find Felix or Inge. Still, she was a little apprehensive about bringing somebody who seemed to know what she was right away to her friends who were… not quite human. 

At his instruction, the fox nodded, looking down at the phone. As he tapped around, she barked out the orders, scraping her paw through the dirt to the right– then the left. Finally, she saw the neighborhood that Felix lived in. She could figure it out from there, she thought. She stood up and pawed at the dirt in the direction of his truck, trotting over. Maybe he’d get the memo that’s where she wanted to go. 

Or, at least she hoped his braincells hadn’t deteriorated in that time. 

—

Scrolling through the map for the fox seemed to be working. Kaden was shocked he came up with it at all, to be honest. It was easier to understand than their typos, that was for sure. At one point during the whole thing, it hit him how ridiculous this had to look. There he was, kneeling in the dirt, swiping on a phone while a goddamn fox was giving him directions. It sounded like a bad punchline. 

But hey, it worked well enough. The area was easy enough to get to and he was pretty damn familiar with getting around the town by this point given his job. He nodded and followed the fox as they trotted to his truck. 

“Hop in the front,” he said as he swung the passenger side door open for the fox. Once they were in, door closed, he went round the front of the truck and slid into his own seat. “Okay, uh, let’s see. You can tap your paw on me to turn right, that’s easy enough. Uhhh… yip once to turn left? That work?” Kaden looked over at the kitsune and had to stifle a laugh. The whole thing had to look ridiculous. An animal control officer with a fox in the front seat playing navigator. This was going to be a wild ride, that was for sure.

Kaden was about to head off when he saw someone down the road, arms waving above their head, clearly trying to get his attention. His mouth pulled into a thin line as the woman approached the car. He couldn’t say what it was, but something felt off. “Get down,” he muttered to the fox, his eyes never leaving the woman as he spoke. “Hide yourself best you can.” There was a towel bunched up in between the seats that he grabbed and tossed in the fox’s direction. 

By now the woman was close enough that Kaden could see the weapons strapped to her: a crossbow, knives, what looked like a shotgun, among other things. She was well prepared for these woods by the looks of it. That didn’t mean she was a hunter, sure.

But it didn’t mean that she wasn’t one, either.

Kaden pulled up closer to her, car still running. He wasn’t going to risk putting it in park. Even so, he didn’t want his damn tires blown so he rolled the window down and gave her a small wave, half smile on his face. “Hey there. You need something? I’ve got to head out if–”

She didn’t let him finish his sentence. “Hey, sorry I just–” She was still catching her breath as she leaned on the side of the car, practically hanging in the window. Kaden noticed her eyes were darting back and forth, searching the interior of the truck. She was likely trying to be subtle but it didn’t work. “Sorry, I have a trap out here and I heard there was something found in it and–” It was clear she was frantic and having trouble choosing her words. “Well that’s my trap and if you picked anything up, it could be dangerous. Also it’s mine and, and…” 

Kaden’s gaze hardened the more she spoke. She was young, couldn’t be more than twenty-something, if that. “Calm down, breathe.” He tried to angle himself to block her view of the interior as he turned to her. “There wasn’t anything in that trap, sorry. Not sure where you heard that but I have to go, there’s an emergency at–”

“Bullshit,” she spat back at him, her friendly demeanor gone. “I know there was a ki– fox in there. I heard the call in to the station.” The confused look on Kaden’s face didn’t phase her. “Look, I tapped into the radio, whatever, sue me, I don’t care but I need to get that fox. Now. It’s dangerous. And sorry bud, but you definitely don’t know how to handle one like this. Just trust me. Please.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t sympathize with the kid. He knew that tone, he knew this song and dance well. It was normally him on the other side. Or it had been, when he thought the same as she did. Putain de merde. He didn’t have time for lessons in ethical beast hunting right now. Especially since he was pretty damn sure she wasn’t going to just listen to him. “Thanks for looking out for me but I promise you, I have it handled. I know a kitsune when I see one.” He didn’t wait for the shock to leave her face before he continued. “This was just a normal fox. Nothing more. And even if it wasn’t, I have it handled. Ranger.”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he waited for whatever came next. Kaden didn’t have a clue how this ranger would react or, worse, how the kitsune in the passenger seat would react. He hadn’t exactly told them he was a ranger. All he could do now was hope that they trusted him enough by now to know he wasn’t out to hurt them.

For one second, it looked like the kid was going to back away and Kaden was ready to take off, foot slowly lifting from the break. 

Not his luck, apparently. “Show me,” the ranger said, determination burning in her irises. One of her hands had slipped down out of sight and that could only mean one goddamn thing with a hunter. She had a weapon in hand. And he had a truck, sure, but he didn’t doubt that she knew damn well how to make sure the truck didn’t go too far if she wanted. “Show me the fox. And I’ll go.”

Putain de merde. Kaden’s eyes hovered towards the passenger seat for just a second, even though he didn’t mean to look their way even a little. He didn’t want to reveal them. He wasn’t going to give them up. But right now, they really needed a way out of this.

—

The fox considered turning her back on him in that moment, but he was the only way she’d get to either her apartment, or to Felix or somewhere in between, so that she wasn’t dragging somebody else into harm’s way. She looked at the door for a moment longer before finally deciding to oblige, hopping onto the front seat of the pick up. 

The sound of a second set of footsteps set her on edge. Ears rotating slightly, she looked towards the open window, eyes narrowing. The man at her side seemed to be on edge, and the words spoken sent her hackles upwards. The fox followed the orders given to her, slipping below the passenger seat, trying to ignore the way it felt like it was closing in on her. The woman could sense her, and the man could… tell? 

Ranger. 

The fox’s ears burned with the word. She’d anticipated this moment; realizing that the man who she’d hoped would help her had been on the wrong side. But he hadn’t tried to hurt her. She knew deep down that she couldn’t trust him, and her father’s words came to mind as she blinked up at the dashboard of the truck, head pulled back just enough so that the woman wouldn’t be able to see her if she peered in through the window. 

There was desperation in her voice, and it didn’t seem like the man she was with was willing to give her up that easily. She had two choices; believe in the one who had helped her to this moment, or allow her fight for survival to win. 

The former eclipsed, and the fox darted from beneath the seat, scrambling out of the passenger side window. In an attempt to trip up the woman before she could be followed in the direction she thought she was headed in, the fox slipped beneath the vehicle, teeth sinking into her ankle. It tasted bad; like dirt and bug spray. Then again, she never found human fun to bite, anyway. It felt primitive, in a way.

The woman shouted, swatting down at her, and the fox sent a orb of fox fire towards the opposite ankle, hopeful it’d deter her from being followed. 

She didn’t spare a glance backwards as she dashed back into the brush, avoiding the traps that had been clearly set for those like her. 

—

Kaden was just about to slam the gas pedal and get them the fuck out of there when he saw a flash of fur fling itself from the window. “Putain!” he shouted as he scrambled, trying to figure out what to do. Park. Put truck in park. That was step one. He threw the gear and tried to throw himself out of the car just as fast but he wasn’t quick enough. He heard the scream of pain from the ranger and turned just in time to see the fox dart into the distance. 

Fuck. Fuck. They were going to get themselves killed. He’d tried so damn hard to help and he couldn’t even–

His thoughts were cut short when he noticed the other hunter limping away, ready to take off after the fox. “Oh no you don’t,” he mumbled to himself. Kaden charged towards her and slammed his body into hers, pinning her to the ground. 

“What the hell?!” she shouted back at him, clearly confused as to why another ranger was going after her and not the shifter sprinting into the forest. She fought back, of course she did, but even with her own hunter strength, she couldn’t break free. She was no Keira, that was for sure. His sister would have managed to flip him over and knock the wind out of him with a kick to the gut for good measure by now. 

Right. Focus. He wouldn’t be able to keep her there forever and she would go after the kitsune. He had to give them a fighting chance – it was the least he could do. The ranger was young, eager, upholding what she believed to be her sworn duty. It was hard to hate her or even fault her. But he couldn’t just stand up and let her go, not at this point. “Sorry about this,” he said before he swung a fist at the side of her head. Her body went limp as her consciousness drifted away. Her heartbeat was still loud and clear, though. 

Kaden shoved down the guilt creeping up his throat as he dragged her body off to the side of the path. He’d call 911 for her. Anonymously. After he was a little ways away. 

All he could do now was hope that was enough for the kitsune to find a way to get unstuck. 

#writing #wickedswriting #para #c: mona #thunderstroked #fox paw faux pas #head trauma tw

[kiriscreama]

can’t really think right now

Whumptober 2023 - Day 1

Prompt: “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Warnings: Concussions/Head Trauma, Back Injury, Memory Issues, Emetophobia/Vomiting, Strong language (Bakugou), possible medical inaccuracies

Summary: A surprise villain attack leaves Izuku in critical condition. Katsuki and Kyoka need him to hold on until help arrives.

A/N: super didn’t need to do whumptober when i’ve got so many WIPs but i got overly excited lol. i fully do not expect to get all of these posted this month, but i’ve got a handful done, and i’ve brainstormed/outlined a fic for each prompt, so i’ll do what i can this month and we’ll see what happens from there. title from Home by Cavetown

also on AO3 | whumptober 2023 masterlist

Izuku hurts.

It’s the only thing he’s able to process right now. The rest of the world is a haze of color that bleeds together at the edges and noise that hits his ears in one big block of sound. He can’t identify anything specific but he knows that he is in pain.

He tries to remember the seconds before he was knocked out. Tries to remember blinking awake a moment before. Tries to remember how to make his mouth work, how to respond to the muffled voices that are slowly starting to distinguish themselves from the fog in his brain.

Something separates from the rest of the blur of colors, a smear of orange and black and ash blonde. Izuku’s ears are ringing now, but words slowly break through the noise flooding his ears.

“-me, shitty Deku. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Izuku blinks, strains at a smaller blob of black in front of him, and makes out four fingers coming off of a gloved fist. He tries to say as much, but his tongue is dry and far too large for his mouth. He coughs and swallows, much to the dismay of the figure above him.

“F-four?” he manages thickly.

“Shit,” the figure says. It turns, shouts some sort of instruction, and then bends closer.

Izuku recognizes the gruff voice, the spikes of dandelion fluff around the head but the name won’t come to him.

He frowns. Why won’t it come to him? It feels like someone has stuffed his brain full of cotton. There’s massive gaps where his mind should be.

A thick, sweet scent fills his nose followed by a crackling sound. The sound makes Izuku flinch, pulling his shoulders to his ears and letting out a low whine.

“Sorry, nerd,” the figure says, voice low. “Shit. Your eyes. You sure we can’t move ‘im, Jack?”

Another figure distinguishes itself from the blur, someone swathed in black and bright salmon. “No way, dude. His back’s fucked. We could make it worse.”

The voice is monotone, but more feminine. The names are there, just out of reach. Izuku tries to turn his head for a better view, but a sharp pain shoots up his spine, alarming in the way it’s so distinct. He feels himself cry out but the sound barely registers.

“Gotta support his neck at least,” the first voice says. The second utters some sort of agreement.

The second figure comes closer, kneeling at his side. A small hand wraps around one of Izuku’s, the one resting on his chest. “How’re we doing down here, Deku?” she asks.

Izuku manages a grunt before large gloved hands find his sides, moving him as gently as possible, and he cries out again. It hurts for another moment, before his head is gently placed in a lap. The change in angle relieves something in his back. It’s a small mercy.

“H’rts,” he finally says. He thinks it’s been too long to answer.

“No shit,” says the first person from above his head. “Fucking hell, Deku. Gonna get yourself killed.”

The person holding his hand huffs out a laugh. “We’re gonna have to wrap you in bubble wrap,” she says. A pause and then, “Five minutes ‘til extraction.”

“Tell Cheeks to hurry the fuck up.”

A switch flips in Izuku’s brain. He can practically picture the name, like a spotlight is shining on it. A spotlight that lights up every corner of the part of his brain that he takes up. “Kacchan?”

Someone groans, and Izuku’s vision is obscured by a face. Red eyes peer down at him, haloed by fluffy blonde hair. “What, nerd?” he asks, and now that Izuku knows, he can hear the worry. “You know where we are?”

Izuku tries to crane his neck, but Katsuki’s hands keep him from moving. He fights the fog in his brain to remember. He can see himself putting on his hero costume, remembers creeping through quiet streets, remembers a villain laughing and getting separated from his partner.

He remembers hearing someone scream and turning towards the sound and then—

Nothing.

“We’re in the city,” he says. He doesn’t specify which. He can’t remember. “The class—“ is all here, but why, he can’t remember why, “got split up. Was supposed to be training.” But it isn’t anymore. The panic he remembers, the panic he sees in Katsuki’s face, that’s real.

“Someone got the guy.” The second voice says. Katsuki had called her Jack. Izuku searches his memories. “He’s in custody. Few more minutes.”

“Ky’ka,” Izuku breathes. He remembers her yelling out, remembers shoving her backwards and her body hitting the ground feet away. “‘Re you h’rt?”

The hand around his squeezes. She lets out a shaky breath. “I’m okay. Little sore, but I’m good.” There’s a pause, a curse. “We forgot to ask him— Deku, what year is it?”

“We already know he’s got a concussion, Ears, what are you—“

“There’s a checklist and we totally ignored it,” she says. Is her voice shaking? Izuku’s not sure. He kind of wants to close his eyes but fights it. What year is it, anyway?

“Thir’ year?” he tries.

Kyoka sounds a little amused. “I mean, that’s good enough,” she says. “And how’s the head?”

Izuku frowns. He’s told them this. “Hurts,” he says, apparently able to enunciate properly by sheer force of will. It makes his head shift a bit, his neck twinging, but he grits his teeth through the pain.

“We got that part,” Katsuki says, but his voice is still a little too tight. “Dumbass. You dizzy?”

Izuku manages an affirmative noise. Somewhere to the left, Kyoka is muttering about checklists in an increasingly frantic tone. Momo must be rubbing off on her, he thinks, because the coping mechanism is familiar. Izuku wants to do something to assure her, but he hurts. He contents himself with squeezing her hand a little harder. She squeezes back and he hopes that means it’s helping.

Izuku takes a shaky breath and Katsuki grunts. “The fuck is that extraction? My stupid comms are dead.”

The second part is for Izuku’s benefit, he thinks, because Kyoka would have already known that.

“Soon,” she says, squeezing Izuku’s hand again. “Uravity will be here soon.”

Ochako is supposed to be with someone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s certain of this.

Izuku had been with — he remembers a low chuckle and purple ribbing down a black jumpsuit; remembers, “If you’re not back in thirty seconds I’m coming in after you,” and thinking about how strategically, you wouldn’t usually want him coming in after, that he’s supposed to be the first strike from the shadows; and then he remembers nothing —

Shinsou.

God only knows where he is now. Izuku’s chest seizes with panic at the thought.

Katsuki is with, strangely, Kyoka. They work well together, but they’re an unlikely pairing. Her advanced hearing balances out the deafness in Katsuki’s right ear, giving him an advantage when he rushes in for a first strike.

But they’re opposites — Kyoka does stealth and Katsuki barely knows the word. Plus, his explosions make her quirk near useless, her headphones doing little to muffle the noise when they’re back-to-back in a fight. It’s a weakness they’ll overcome in time, Izuku’s sure.

But still. It doesn’t feel right. They didn’t start out that way, Izuku doesn’t think.

Who was Ochako with? Where are they now? Why is she alone?

Everything feels wrong, woozy and hazy. The solid shapes that he’s identified as Katsuki and Kyoka drift out of focus again, twisting into each other in the amorphous blob that takes up the entire world around Izuku. He wants to reel them back in, and tries to say something to that effect, but nothing more than a whine escapes his parted lips that he barely recognizes as his own.

His stomach flips and twists, and he begs himself not to vomit. He can’t find his voice to warn Katsuki. He’d probably drown in it.

Something must change in his face, because he recognizes the cadence of Katsuki swearing — his hearing seems to have switched off again, like he’s focusing too hard on keeping his stomach inside of his body and can’t spare the energy to concentrate on individual noises.

There’s hands at his back and hands on his head and he’s shifted onto his side. Someone, presumably Kyoka, settles behind him, and something large and hard — a rock? — is maneuvered to prop up his top leg, keeping his spine as straight as possible. The change in position made the pressure build in the back of his throat, and he can’t stop himself from being sick.

He distantly hears what must be the sound of his vomit splattering onto the ground beside Katsuki’s laugh, but the predictable volley of swears and threats doesn’t seem to follow.

Izuku groans. Tears well in his eyes, perhaps overdue. Someone strokes his hair back from his face. Something stiff and leathery is used to wipe his face clean. Kyoka’s jacket?

Izuku feels like he’s barely clinging to consciousness. A small hand finds his again and he squeezes as hard as he can. Even he can tell that it’s barely any pressure at all. Still, she squeezes back.

There’s a rumble of voices above his head that Izuku strains to understand.

“—know it’s a hard concept …but you have to sit there and wait. There’s nothing…be here soon.”

“Shut the fuck… get here fucking faster. What kind of rescue hero can’t even do her damn job?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“The hell…tell me what I mean?”

The sound of their bickering is familiar and comforting, even if Izuku can’t make out all the words. He lets himself float on their voices, his eyes slowly drifting closed.

Ochako would be here soon.

A short nap couldn’t hurt, could it?

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #‘how many fingers am i holding up?’ #mha #my hero academia #fic #concussion #emetophobia #vomit tw #back injury tw #head trauma tw #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #jirou kyoka #ham writes fics

[realmackross]

PARTIES: @recoveringdreamer @faoighiche @realmackross TIMING: Second week of January SUMMARY: A balam, fae, and zombie come together to save the town from getting trampled. WARNINGS: unsanitary tw, head trauma tw, eye trauma tw, animal abuse tw (it's a spn creature, but I'd rather be on the safe side)

They weren’t sure why they still did things like this. After the first few times that venturing away from town had proven disastrous, one might think that Felix had learned their lesson. But… they were never much of a learner. Always slower than their siblings, always struggling with simple things like reading the words on a page. Leo had often commented on their lack of intelligence; it was difficult for Felix to insist that he was wrong about that.

At least they had a purpose today. They’d had the Pit’s contract hanging over their head for years now, but they’d always been too nervous to really test the limits of it. In the beginning, sure, they’d gone against it at every turn and suffered the consequences in turn. But they’d grown… complacent after a while. They wanted to stop that. So, they were testing the limits. They were seeing how far they could stray from town before the ill-effects of their contract set in, testing it out to see if leaving town was the trigger or if things only went sideways when they actually skipped out on a fight. It would be good information to have, they thought. It would be nice.

They were a little ways outside the town’s borders with no consequences to speak of now, and feeling more and more confident the farther they strayed. Maybe they could do something with this, something substantial. Maybe…

There was a cloud up ahead. Felix squinted at it uncertainly. It was dark and moving, and for a moment, they wondered if it was because of them, somehow. Was this a consequence for leaving town? No, that didn’t make any sense. They felt fine. Curiously, they moved closer, shifting just enough to allow the jaguar’s senses to enhance their sight, smell, and hearing. The sound was distant, but growing much louder as they moved towards it. Pounding… hooves? Felix continued on.

They spotted a figure up ahead; not the source of the sound, and probably not the source of the cloud, either. Human… or human-like. It was hard to say for sure. “Hey!” They called out as they approached. “Do you know what’s going on? I saw a — cloud.”

---

Mackenzie had been out for a jog. In fact, jogging had become her new regular thing, but it wasn’t for the exercise. It wasn’t for the fresh air or nature. It was for one purpose only, and even though it had been months, her intent was to see if there was any sign on the outskirts of town of the damage she had done back in September. Bones. A husk of a body. Anything that clued her in on the problems she had caused after touching the Serpent Flats.

However, something else lay just up ahead. Something that let out a horrendous sound as it charged forward and towards her and the town. She had seen these before. At Monty’s farm. They were sprinkled around the edge of the farm as protection for the animals, but she had never seen one in action or really knew what they could do. But Mack did know how big they were, regardless of the way the ground shook as their hooves hit the paved road. Nothing she wanted to hang around for, and without hesitation, found herself running back as quickly as she could towards town and someone coming their way, “Go back!!! Don’t come this way!!! There’s danger!!!” She had hoped her voice carried, but between running and just not having the strength when she was alive, Mack didn’t know if they could hear her.

---

Burrow had heard her precious parasites call to her. A wail that led her down a path with a cloud at the end. An innocent thing, if not for the wails growing louder the closer she approached. As the wind carried down a single taste of that cloud, it went down her throat like barbs. A full course of it would certainly leave her hurling. Perhaps even death. Many of her parasites were safe from it, either lacking a need for breath or possessing the capacity to move. But many of the breathless were nestled in those that did breathe. Those that grew sicker as panic had them welcoming more of the poison. A cycle that would tumble further down into the grave. Her parasites would be dragged down with them. No. She would not allow it. 

The ground rumbled, matching the great beating in Burrow’s chest. She called to her precious ones. Move. Writhe. Bite. Make a great mess only for this moment. Make your presence known, make your pain known, so that it may urge your hosts to move. MOVE! Her parasites made it so, but the hosts were not as understanding. Though the hosts did move, they lacked a sense of direction. So they remained, choking still on the cloud. Her parasites still wailed, joined by the screams of those creatures unknown. “Mo chreach 'sa thàinig,” she hissed. 

Laced within the wailing and the stomping and the screaming, Burrow heard the presence of humans. Their screams were frantic and confused, unlike the quaking and the cloud that all continued through the trees unabated. Their lack of cohesion hinted at a lack of alliance. But humans were known to lie. Further evidence would be needed to trust that judgment — to trust them at all. She continued, swift and silent, not adding to the clamor in the air. There was no use in exposing her position to all the ones that screamed. 

---

They came closer to that maybe-human shape, spotted the source of the cloud in the distance. Familiarity tugged at their gut, a quiet but persistent thing. They’d seen these before. Hadn’t they? On Monty’s farm, the day they’d fought against the bat vampire. What had Monty called them? Felix couldn’t remember. They did remember the way the animals screeched when the vampiric being tore through them, the memory making their mouth go dry. 

The voice of the other startled them from their thoughts, and their eyes landed on a woman. “What — What’s happening? Do you know? Where did they come from?” They weren’t Monty’s. Felix knew that, on some level, knew that their friend and his farm were safe as anything ever could be in Wicked’s Rest, but the worry still ate at them. They came closer, some of that cloud moving towards them. Felix inhaled, choking a little as they stumbled back. What the hell? “Hey, the — The cloud! I think it’s, uh… bad. You should — You have to get away from it!” They lifted their arm to cover their mouth and nose with their sleeve, a makeshift, ineffective gas mask, and surged forward, desperate to pull the stranger away from the gas… and utterly unaware that there was someone else watching.

---

Mackenzie had made it as fast as she possibly could ignoring her surroundings including the person hidden in the trees watching and waiting. However, the gas that had filled the air hadn’t seemed to phase her. Instead, she had thought it was just a cloud of dust being kicked up with the haze. Zombie vision wasn’t the best and neither were zombie lungs, but whatever this was that was making her new found ally cough like crazy, Mack quickly caught onto; especially when they made an effort to cover their face and proclaim it was bad. An easy out to her not being normal, if she didn’t play along. Being a zombie and keeping it a secret was hard. “Uh, right.” She feigned a cough or two and quickly pulled her shirt up over her nose and mouth. That was some shitty acting, Mackenzie.

“I don’t know what’s happening…” Make them think you’re out of breath Mackenzie. Throw in a few more coughs. “But…But I was out for a jog, and I saw them coming this way. I’ve seen these before…not these particular ones, but someone I know has some, and I’ve never seen them anything but docile. They're headed this way though, and I think their next stop is Downtown.” She coughed again for the hell of it.

---

Burrow had taken one last breath before the cloud consumed her. While it would last her much longer than the humans could hope, she did not want to waste it talking to them. At least those weak lungs of theirs did hack out a cover for her steps, so there was some use in them. Between the hacks and wheezes, they kept mentioning a ‘them’. Likely those creatures: the ones who stomped with a distinctly hooved nature. Everything else was silent, drifting into death’s embrace. Yet, some of the stompers charged passed her without a care. The fog grew so thick about their mouths it would have surely choked them out. And yet, they continued, that fog trailing behind them like an old friend. They were to blame for her parasites’ pain. And those humans knew them. Of course. It was always the humans and their poison that worked together to see their end, even if in this case the death was more generalized.

Burrow called onto her precious ones — the ones not trapped in a slowly dying body. The mistletoe in the branches and the worms in the roots heard her. They writhed in preparation, waiting for her call. She did not approach the humans; she only made her voice known to them. Precious oxygen wasted, but in the hopes it could help save her precious ones. “How. Do. I. Stop. Them?” If the humans would not comply, she would show them how nature was not to be trifled with. 

---

At first, the blonde wasn’t coughing or showing any sort of difficulty with the gas, and Felix felt concern ebbing through their chest. They didn’t know much about poison or how it operated — what if it paralyzed her lungs somehow? Made her think she was fine when she was really dying? But then she started to cough, and the sound filled him with such an intense relief that that threatened to choke him just as surely as the gas did. “Yeah,” they agreed with a cough of their own. “I’ve seen them before but never like this.” They wished Monty was here; he’d know more about them, know how to stop them, what to do. Felix, as they usually were, was all but useless. 

At the idea of the creatures heading for downtown — and taking that gas with them — the balam paled. “We can’t let that happen,” they said urgently. “People will get hurt. People might — We have to —” Stop them, they were going to finish. But before they could, another voice spoke up, asking the same question that was on Felix’s panicked mind. They turned towards the sound, trying desperately to find the person who’d spoken. They were in trouble, too, they needed to get away from the gas too. And all of them needed to keep the stampede from getting to town. “I don’t know,” they called out uncertainly. “But we need to find a way. Maybe…” Hadn’t Monty rounded on them with a lasso, like they were normal cows? “We should herd them. Away from town, away from whatever’s upsetting them.”

---

Phew. Mack felt the same relief come over her that seemed to have come over the person standing in front of her. She was in the clear. At least momentarily. She was sure at this point that if they lingered around these things, her secret would come out. But something had to be done. The animals had to be stopped, because Mackenzie didn’t want more blood on her hands even if it was second hand and due to not stopping ginormous bovine. And just as she was about to reply, another voice was heard. But like her ally, Mack found herself frantically looking around for the other person.

No luck. Fuck this town was weird. But Mackenzie didn’t have time to dwell. Otherwise, her and a mess of other people and things would be flattened, “Herding them is a good idea, but how? I don’t think those things are going to listen to two people and a mysterious rogue voice.” She glanced towards the woods wondering if that was where it was coming from.

---

I don’t know. Burrow rolled her eyes. “Lies. You know the creatures.” She didn’t have the breath to worm it out of them. At least they had offered an idea. Herd them. She had done the same to the others of the forests. Did the creatures who had caused her parasites pain be hosts themselves? If so, she would claim their insides the same as any. She scurried through the vegetation — deeper into the fog until her eyes stung with tears. But she was a being who worked best in the dark and the unseen parts of the world. A diminished sight would never be a deterrent. She ran further, deeper still, until the stomping grew so loud it shook her soul.

There they were, the source of all this mess. Burrow could see the silhouettes blending and meshing together. An amalgamation of deadly smoke and sound. But despite all the misery, in that great and shifting form she could sense a pleasant buzzing. Her parasites. She called to them. Move. Writhe. Bite. Make a great mess only for this moment. Make your presence known, make your pain known, so that it may urge your hosts to move. MOVE! It was slow at first. It was always slow at first. She cowered behind a tree to avoid a pair of horns from beheading her. But slowly and surely, there was a shift in the creatures’ behavior. Aggression relented to unease. What once was a rampage became a mess of quivering. The creatures no longer knew where to run.

---

“I don’t even know what they’re called! I just have a friend who has some on a farm but they don’t — I thought they were just weird looking cows!” Frustration was clear in Felix’s voice, louder than they usually let themself get. There was a tinge of panic to it, and they pressed their sleeve harder against their nose and mouth in a desperate attempt to keep themself from hyperventilating and breathing in way too much of that poison gas. They considered their options here. Did they bring the jaguar out? They doubted it would do much good. If faced with a situation like this, the jaguar was more likely to flee to safety and leave the town to be overrun than he was to herd the creatures in the right direction.

But then… something happened. The third person, the one who was in the smoke and breathing in way too much of it, seemed to vanish. For a moment, Felix was terrified that she’d succumbed to it, been overtaken and left choking and sputtering unheard on the ground. But then, the herd seemed to change direction. Felix let their eyes shift more, risking the change in color in shape to give them a better look. There was a figure in the fog, ducking behind a tree. She was controlling them, somehow. Taking a deep breath of clean air and holding it, Felix ran towards them.

“The Fields!” Their voice was quick, the words forced out with as little precious breath as they could manage. “Drive them towards Gatlin Fields!” There was a lot of open space out there, and it was near Monty’s farm. If nothing else, Felix thought, they could text the zombie for an assist.

---

It seemed the conversation carried on between the mysterious voice and the person near Mack, but the mention of Monty peaked her interest. They knew Monty too? “You know, Monty?” She moved in closer toward them. But she could tell that it was getting harder for them to breathe. If they stayed here much longer, she’d be carrying a body back to town, and how was that going to look? Of course, hearing the steady sound of hooves switching direction caught her attention, and the concern for the mystery person that lingered in the back of her mind had disappeared.

Something good was happening. Not good for the ones that were bound to die from the toxic fumes of massive cow-like creatures, but good for the town of Wicked’s Rest. However, with the creatures headed towards Gatlin Fields, Mackenzie’s mind went to the farm and the hundreds of undead who reside and worked there. If those creatures trampled and gravely injured the zombies, they’d have a horde of mindless hungry undead and soon a town massacre on their hands anyways. And Sellama!!! Mackenzie couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to Sellama.

Taking off running in that direction following Team Bovine, Mackenzie knew something had to be done. If this mystery person could herd them, could they stop them too? “You have to be able to stop them!!! If you don’t you’re gonna have an even bigger problem on your hands!!!” She was trailing the only person she could actually see.

---

The humans barked commands at Burrow as if she had any control of the situation. As if these creatures she had never seen before were of her domain. As if she would care about their opinions! She slipped further into the fog, letting it take her until her sight grew spots from irritation. Even if the humans’ assumptions about her nature were incorrect, she did not enjoy that they could discern anything about her. Parasites were not meant to be known. If only she could disappear up into a tree or down into the ground. But she had a purpose, a magnificent duty, to fulfill. She was nothing, deserved to be nothing, if she could not fulfill it. So, she would continue.

Burrow called to the parasites of the stompers. They borrowed into muscles that were never meant to know their name. They writhed out of orifices, slithered under skin, tore apart tissue. She hoped it would not lead to their sacrifice. Hopefully the humans would have the decency to be grateful and not enact the means to her parasites’ death. The stompers wished the opposite. They shrieked, causing the fog to spew from their mouths with such thickness it looked solid. Their hooves joined the acceleration. They rampaged away, forgetting the town entirely in their desperation to be rid of whatever was happening to them. “They go where they go.” She did not care to elaborate. The humans had already claimed more of her oxygen than she had been willing to give. Whatever they wanted was to be dealt by the whims of nature, not her. 

---

Felix was surprised to hear their friend’s name from the mouth of a stranger, and they turned towards the blonde with a furrowed brow. “You know Monty?” But there was little time to worry about their mutual connections now; they needed a solution, and Felix’s newfound companion seemed to think that the Fields was a bad one while the mysterious person in the thick of the fog seemed unable to control the beasts with any kind of precision. There was no perfect answer. There would be people anywhere the beasts ended up, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe by the second. Spots danced at the edge of Felix’s vision. They were keeping their breath as shallow as they could, but this presented problems all its own. Not enough oxygen was getting to their lungs, and that which was being delivered was tainted. The jaguar stirred, pushing for control. Felix pushed him down. Not a good time. 

“Okay!” They agreed, coughing again as the fog around them thickened. “Okay, they go where they go. But we need to make sure it isn’t towards town. We need to… steer them any way we can.”

---

“Yes, I know Monty! A conversation for another time!” She continued to chase after the person, the beasts, and the mysterious voice, but hearing the agreement to let the beasts go where they wanted to go – which was now towards Monty’s farm, left Mackenzie screaming out in their direction, “NO!” If I don’t tell them why…Fuck! She pushed harder catching up to Felix, so her voice could stay low, “You said you’re friends with Monty right? Well I’m like Monty. And if you were to severely injure me, I would be looking for food anywhere I could find it, including Wicked’s Rest. Do you catch my drift…” She looked over at them hard, not showing any signs of struggling with the poison now. No coughing. No breathing at all.

Mackenzie had hoped that this plan would work. Just enough information for them to catch on without her having to say the word zombie, just in case they didn’t know what Monty was. And if they didn’t she would find another way. Even if it meant somehow jumping onto the beasts’ backs and ripping their flesh off with her teeth or beating them with a rock to get to their brains. If they didn’t have brains they couldn’t function or harm anyone, despite her hoping and praying she wouldn’t have to go that route for the sake of innocent animals.

---

The humans were discussing amongst themselves. At least that gave Burrow reprieve from their attempts at command… For the most part. She did not spare them anymore of her ears or mind. Her focus focused solely on her parasites. She pushed to them — through them, inside them — entwining the same as they did the stompers’ guts. Her call grew larger, deeper, digging into the soil. Others answered. Her vines were a whisper on her neck, safely tucked away from the humans. Too far away. She would never have them so close to town, and she would not ask them then. It put them all at risk. But maybe… maybe she could reach them. They could claim those stomping feet and render them silent. She could save the parasites within and find them new hosts. Ones that did not bring death to all the others. A wonderful plan! But a lot of could’s that hinged on the cooperation of the very thing that caused all the death. If only she could call to them like her parasites.

Burrow followed after the stomping and the death, her legs growing tired but not her heart. When the stomping turned towards town, she called to her parasites for more pain. A pain that was only eased when they changed their direction back to the woods. Back to where her vines waited, writing in anticipation. At least the creatures could comprehend cause and effect. Hopefully it was enough.

---

“Good call,” Felix agreed with a sheepish smile and a quiet cough. Now wasn’t the time to be focusing on mutual friends. Now was the time to… save the day or something. It was difficult to concentrate; Felix was trying to breathe as little as possible to avoid inhaling the mist, and the lack of oxygen was beginning to get to them just a little. As the blonde went on to talk about Monty — and how she was like him — Felix thought of the way the cowboy had reacted during their fight with the vampire. They grimaced. “I’ve seen that,” they admitted. “But… Monty also knows how to deal with these things. He has them on his farm. And he doesn’t need to —” They coughed again, the fit breaking up their words. “Breathe,” they finished breathlessly. Anywhere else they sent these things, there would be an undeniable risk of… suffocation. Like the suffocation Felix was suffering from now. Their vision blurred a little, and they pressed their sleeve harder against their nose and mouth. Whatever they were going to do, they needed to do it fast. Otherwise, Felix wouldn’t make it out.

Their unseen companion might be in trouble, too. Felix wasn’t sure if she, too, was undead, or if she was struggling just as much as Felix themself. They hoped adamantly for the former, not wanting anyone else to suffer like this. In any case, she seemed effective in whatever she was doing to steer the beasts. They moved towards the woods. A safer destination than Monty’s farm, perhaps, though nothing felt entirely safe. Felix was a little too distracted to think of it too much, to consider the pros and cons. They were barely on their feet now. “We should… follow,” they gasped out, swaying a little. “Make sure they go where they won’t hurt anyone. Come on!”

---

Not only had her worry been on a farm full of zombies that could potentially wreak havoc, but now, Mack found herself keeping her eyes on Felix. They didn’t seem to be doing so great, and she could tell they were getting much weaker. But some relief had seemed to come, when she noticed the huge beasts break stride and turn towards the woods. They were no longer headed towards Monty’s or town; the mysterious voice in the woods had done it. But how much longer could they or Felix survive? It didn’t seem necessary to keep discussing the risks of rabid zombies when they were no longer in the path of destruction.

At this point, Mackenzie was only following in case she needed to drag anyone back to safety. The toxic fumes that trailed the beasts had no effect on her whatsoever, and as long as the town and the farm seemed to be safe, which they were for the moment, the young zombie knew what she had to do, “Maybe you should turn back! You’re getting weaker! And it looks like our mysterious friend in the woods has it under control!” She wasn’t sure if the person that had found a way to control raging bull like creatures was even human themself, or if they were in the same danger of suffocating, but right now Mack could only focus on what she could see.

---

Burrow’s legs screamed for a rest she could not take — her lungs screamed for a breath she did not trust. The air was still clogged with the poison. It had not yet made the humans fall, but she could not rely on that knowledge. The poison affected all the others differently, shown by how some of the hosts lay dead by its might. Feeling her parasites choke inside those dead bodies threatened to release a scream: a scream for those without a voice. But she could not waste any air. She had to continue so the others would be spared the same death. If only the stompers weren’t so unruly. But there were those who listened to her will. Her precious vines writhed over to where the stompers’ paths would end. All she had to do was make sure they met the finish line. She commanded the worms to do one terrible tearing. Erupt as many muscles as they could, render those hosts useless, for soon they would be dead anyway. The vines would make use of them. 

Her worms listened, but her body did not. Burrow finally took a gasp. A gasp of searing pain. Her body quivered against the intrusion. Her glamour did as well, revealing bits of her truth. Tendrils pooled out from her mouth as if they could push the toxins away. It did not ease the pain. Her parasites continued in her stead. She could feel, in a distance unseen, that the vines had begun to claim their prize. The stompers were powerful. So many of her vines snapped from their alarm. But she could feel how the stompers stumbled, weakened by the worms inside. Those worms still needed to be rescued. They would die along with the stompers if she did not reach them. She just… had to reach them. She gripped the body of a fallen rabbit. The worms that had been suffering under its dead skin gladly entered her own. Their invasion brought a pleasant tingle. Enough to bring herself back to her feet. Stumbling, with convulsions for breaths, but she continued forward. 

---

“N-No!” Felix stammered, taking another stumbling step forward. “I’m okay. I want to help.” They closed their eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate. Within their chest, their lungs ached. They let the shift take them, let those lungs give way to more powerful ones, ones that could hold a breath for longer. With their current state, half suffocated by the poison, the partial shift was a messy one. The external shape of their chest shifted in a way that was unnatural on the rest of their torso, tufts of fur beneath their shirt. They hoped it wasn’t too noticeable… or, rather, that there were so many other things going on that no one would be able to spare the attention their way. 

With the jaguar’s lungs in use, Felix could hold their breath longer. Up to twenty minutes, if you stretch it, their brother told them once before shoving them into the lake with a laugh. They’d done some research, after that, curious as to how long it could really last. There was no definitive answer. Fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, an hour… It was hard to say for certain, and Felix had always been pretty adamant that they’d rather not accept the strain of finding it out. But it would come in handy here, in any case, and he followed the blonde zombie into the woods in spite of her protests.

Their unseen friend had driven the creatures into a vulnerable position. Tangled in vines, unable to move freely. For a moment, Felix thought it might be over. They could find someone who knew about the beasts and take care of them, and it would be fine. But one of the cow-like creatures was thrashing in the vines, wild and desperate, and it broke free. It stumbled forward, it was — strange. Its movements were stilted, somehow, unnatural. Felix took an uncertain step back, grabbing the zombie by the arm to pull her back with them. Something’s wrong, he thought, but he didn’t dare open his mouth to say it, didn’t want to release the breath still held in those powerful lungs just to state the obvious.

---

Mackenzie hadn’t noticed the partial shift in Felix, but she did keep her eyes trained forward on the beasts as she noticed them faltering with each step. Whoever their mysterious companion was, they had a deeper control on the animals than Mack initially thought. But somehow the three had been paired up by the universe to stop whatever had caused the creatures to rage in the first place. Creatures that normally seemed so docile when she had witnessed them before. It hurt her knowing that the ending to this story might not have been what she had hoped.

As she inched closer to where the animals had finally been sent downwards with a tangle of vines and Earth, Mackenzie was just about to approach one of them, when she noticed Felix grab her by the arm. If it hadn’t been for them, Mackenzie was sure to have been squished by a hoof. “Thanks! I think something’s wrong with it...” She looked over to Felix with concern on her face, but not before the animal started to stumble toward them both again. With the other ones subdued, Mackenzie knew something had to be done about the stray, and without giving it a second thought, she let her stunt training and fearlessness take it’s true grasp on her.

Running as fast as her deadened feet would carry her, Mackenzie found the nearest tree and started to climb upwards. It had been a while since she had climbed or had really done anything that physical that she was aware of at least, and it was somewhat of a struggle at first, but then instinct kicked in and she found herself shimming out onto a sturdy enough branch. And just as the animal stumbled back in her direction, Mackenzie launched herself onto it digging her fingers and hands into its long fur to get a good grip knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“FUUUUUUCCCKKKK!!!” The word echoed out through the trees as the animal started bucking around emitting more toxic gas, while Mackenzie was flung from one side to the other, before it started taking off in a completely different direction from Felix, mystery person, and the other tangled up animals. And reluctantly, she knew what she would probably have to do if it got too close to town - dinner for days… 

---

You all may rest. Burrow’s worms had done so well, ensuring the demise of the death fumes. Her worms deserved to be nestled sweetly in their homes. If only those homes were not slowly succumbing to a choking death. She would find better homes, but first, she must save them. Her mouth ducked under her layers of clothes, which filtered the air as she took a shaking breath. It stung and quivered with rejection in her chest, but she forced it to stay. Forced it into a numbness, despite the throbbing in her head. While her lungs wished to be free of the air, the stompers refused to be done with theirs. They thrashed and stumbled, but did not escape their leashes… save for one. Her approaching presence had strengthened the might of her vines, who writhed faster than the stomper’s depleted bodies. In time, the only proof of their life would be the clouds still circling through the air. Clouds that would slowly dwindle into nothing. But her parasites could not rely on that patience. 

Burrow hands gripped the stompers’ necks: one to save and one to cut. Her parasites slithered into her waiting hand, while the other slit the throats. Again and again, one by one. With each joyous reunion of her worms and each joyous claim of her vines, she felt her trembled body grow straighter. Except, one disrupted the pattern. Another won its fight against the vines, ripping free of its hold. But it was not free from death. The vines that still coiled about its body tripped its feet. It made the creature stumble into Burrow’s path, and then into her blade, and then into death. In death, they will all serve her parasites well. She smiled, thinking of the mighty hounds to be made from their bodies. They were so lucky, to be molded into ones so beautiful.

But Burrow was not yet done. She looked to where the humans had clamored after the final stomper. While she could not see, she could feel her vines tight hold in the faint distance. With its voracious grasp, it tugged at her heart, and she followed after it. 

---

It was chaos. Somehow, even more so than it had been when there was a herd of animals to worry about. Felix continued to hold their breath, refusing to let themself speak now despite how the words wanted so badly to escape their lips. Save your breath, they reminded themself. You don’t know how many you have left if you keep breathing this stuff in. Their vision was swimming, their chest aching, but they held fast. Even as the zombie they’d aligned themself with climbed up a tree and launched herself onto the back of the last animal left loose.

Felix couldn’t help but let out a surprised sound, losing a fraction of the precious air they’d trapped in their lungs. The creature bucked wildly, emitting more and more gas until it was hard to see around it. They hardly noticed the mystery person’s movements from the woods, certainly couldn’t make out what was being done to the creatures trapped in the vines. All they could see was the shadow of the creature the zombie had jumped on, trying wildly to buck her off. If she fell…

Undead wasn’t the same as invincible. Felix knew that. He’d seen it proven in the Pit, time and time again when zombies or vampires fought and walked away with just as many bruises and bumps as the shifters did, even if those injuries promised a quicker healing time. Healing wasn’t the same as not hurting. And Felix didn’t think the zombie deserved to hurt.

Determined, the balam shifted their hand so that their fingers ended in sharp claws. They didn’t like the idea of hurting the creature, but what choice did they have? They needed to keep anyone else from being injured by it, be that the zombie, their unseen companion, or the people in town. Rushing forward and dodging the wild hooves with practiced skill, Felix ducked underneath the creature and dug their claws into its underside, hoping to at least slow its rampage.

---

At this point, Mackenzie didn’t know what any of her partners were up to. All she could focus on was clinging on for dear death. The way it bucked and twirled had reminded her of the mechanical bull episode on Dropped. She rode that fucking thing so many times, that by the end of the filming day, she couldn’t even walk back to her dressing room. This was a very similar situation, but somehow she had still managed to lean into its fur and speak softly to it, “Hey Girl…easy. I don’t want to hurt you. None of us want to hurt you. We just want you to calm down okay?” She still had a tight grip on the creature's fur, but she took the risk and started to stroke it softly on the neck with her other hand.

It had seemed to be working, until she heard the beast yelp out in pain. And start bucking even more than it had been before. Letting her other hand latch back onto its fur, she somehow continued to hang on while it started to slow down some, but just like the sweet aroma of anything dead or knocking on death’s door, Mackenzie could smell the blood that was seeping into its fur underneath and that meant only one thing.

A zombie that could barely control herself on the back of a wounded animal was like Edward Cullen sparkling in the sunlight. It just went together, and as she could feel herself losing her mind and her eyes starting to glaze over, the zombie’s reflexes started to slow, except for her insatiable need to feed. And with a wide maw, bit down hard into the creature's back and yanked out a piece of flesh just before being thrown off the animal and hard to the ground below, where she lay motionless.

---

As above, so below. A statement the humans took literally — mirrored on both sides of the stomper. A reflection that was shattered, as the above was flung higher to the sky. Flying with the same grace as a beetle: destined to fall. Fall into madness as well, for Burrow had seen how the human tore into the beast’s hide. Was that the effects of this strange toxin in the air? It would explain why they had both launched themselves onto the rampaging beast. At least it was a madness she avoided with her closed lips. She avoided the fallen human as well, as she diverted her course slightly. 

A course Burrow was not sure had a finish line. Though her vines still coiled about the stomper’s legs, it was not assisted by its brethren. They tripped and staggered the mighty beast, but lacked the security of the ones before. She did not trust to approach it. Nor did she feel much of a need. With the stomper’s kin dead, the smog of death had become a haze. Certainly irritable to most hosts and devastating to the ones too stupid to avoid, but her parasites were much the same. As long as the hosts still stood to provide for her parasites, she did not care. 

To whom the stomper would provide became a question. All of Burrow’s parasites had sufficient arguments. It was already her worms’ home, but a home that had become pitiful and failing. The beast had impressive gusto despite its wounds, but for how long? Her vines would make use of it no matter its state, even in death. Oh, but she could not choose. Their wants were her wants were their wants: she could not choose because they could not choose. Both sides wanted themselves as sole owner. So, she would wait and see which want would be victorious. Make your claim and make it quick.

Burrow returned to her role from before. A silent observer to the whims of nature. 

---

The beast bucked the zombie off its back, and Felix released a little of the precious air from their lungs in the form of a stilted gasp. She’d be okay; logically, he knew that. After all, they’d seen Monty get his arm torn off, and he was texting just a few days after the fact. Zombies were much more resilient than balam. (Felix tried not to think about his mother in the woods, bullets tearing through her flesh. They tried not to think about it but, sometimes, it was difficult to think about anything else.)

With the jaguar’s sharp ears, they heard the hidden companion from the woods approaching. They turned to look, sharp eyes finding her as she came to a stop and observed the scene. She wasn’t helping anymore. Why wasn’t she helping anymore? Felix glanced down at their hand, at the claws they were trying to conceal by folding it into a fist. Had she seen them? Was she afraid? The thought made Felix feel a little uneasy. They’d never wanted anyone to be afraid of them, but so many people were. A monster was a monster, especially when its claws were soaked in blood.

But there wasn’t much else to do, was there? The beast was stomping. It was still heading towards town, its hooves were still landing too close to the zombie’s head where she lay. With a quiet resolve, Felix launched themself forward again, using a little more of that air stored up in the jaguar’s lungs to murmur apologies as their claws tore into the creature’s back.

---

Mackenzie was stunned, and it had taken her a minute to get back to her feet; narrowly being squashed by giant hooves. She knew it had been rather risky, but she had hoped the piece she had taken out of the animal’s back had slowed — nope. Never mind. The sound of the wailing creature, as Felix dug their claws into its back (wait…claws?) alerted the zombie that her efforts had been hopeless. And though she had wished it hadn’t come to this, at least the town and the farm full of the undead were all safe.

She watched as the beast stumbled around. Its pace slowed, but her concern grew for the person latched on top. They looked like Wolverine hanging in the back of the creature. And then her eyes shifted to someone else. The mystery voice from the woods. So they did have a solid form! Mackenzie couldn’t quite tell who was a ghost and who was real anymore. But her attention turned back to Felix, who was probably going to need a little more back up, “Hey! You! Person from the woods! I’m assuming your vines are what tripped up the other beasts? Can you use them to get me back on top of that thing? I think it’s going to take all of us together simultaneously to stop this creature!” She looked at the person, who stood silently.

---

Eyes ticked, ticked, ticked back and forth in pursuit of her target. But no longer was Burrow filled with a need to do more. In that air of calamity, she had found her peace. Either way this ended, the beast would be claimed by her parasites. She did not care which way nature decided, as long as that host continued to squirm in her grasp. And squirm it did, as it ricocheted off every rock and crack. Lost without the aid of its brethren, the stomper ripped through the land like a train with no track. Yet, that human who remained, continued to remain. The human should have been sent crashing right into the other, and yet, he didn’t. Her attention on the display was no longer casually placed. She focused onto the human — onto the hands that gripped. No, not gripped. They slashed; they tore; they bore nature’s blades. The curve of the claws were familiar: feline. Feline… Was that one of na lèintean craiceann? It would make sense why the cat had been so keen on assisting the human, for they all loved the humans so. 

A generosity the human thought would be shared in Burrow. She asked for help where no help would be found. Burrow continued to stare in silence, with no interest in giving the human what she wanted. But, she could be persuaded. Her head tilted curiously. “I will use my vines to put you on the beast, if you promise me a favor of my choosing.” A vague proposition to match the ambiguity of the human’s potential. What could this human do for her?

---

It was like one of those mechanical bulls, Felix thought; they clung to the creature’s back as it swung and bucked, but they had a bit of an upper hand not often granted to cowboys in dive bars. Thanks to their claws, they could maintain their grip while also damaging the beast. It wasn’t something they really wanted to do, but… It was necessary, wasn’t it? The needs of the many versus the needs of the one. They couldn’t let this beast go into town with its poison breath and its damaging hooves, couldn’t let anyone else be hurt. 

They also couldn’t take it out on their own.

They glanced to their companions, to the zombie and the girl from the woods. They seemed to be having a discussion, though Felix couldn’t make out the words over the sound of the creature’s rampaging hooves. Whatever they were talking about, the balam could only hope that it ended with them helping finish this job. Otherwise, they doubted they’d be able to hang on much longer, claws or no claws.

---

Mackenzie was starting to tire out, and the hard hit to the ground didn���t make things easier. If this beast wasn’t stopped soon, not only would they have a large beast to still take down, but a hunger stricken zombie with no functioning brain cells, “Uh, yeah! Whatever. Fine! Just get me up there!” Mack didn’t know the mysterious woods person had been fae. She didn’t know she was making a deal she was going to have to keep and that that very deal was binding and at the discretion of someone she’d only just met. But her heart was in the right place, and she knew it was going to take a team effort for this to work out for the betterment of everyone.

Once the promise had been made, Mack quickly scooped up a large rock as she could feel the vines sweeping her off of her feet, and before she knew it, she was back on the beast hanging onto its neck fur as she slowly inched her way up to its head with the decent sized rock still in her grip, “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to do this to you, but there’s no other choice and a lot of people could get hurt…” Mackenzie glanced back at the person latched onto the monster’s back with sad eyes, before turning her attention back on the animal, where she took the rock in both hands and started to repeatedly hit the animal over the head, but this time there was one goal in mind — get to its brain. With no brain, it couldn’t function, and she wouldn’t lose herself in the process.

---

The bind coiled around the human with the same eagerness as her vines gripped the stomper. Human and stomper alike were trapped in Burrow’s grasp. But their shared fate did not sprout any connection. As soon as the human was rejoined with the stomper, she ensured its end with each beat of that rock. Producing wet cracks far louder than any stomp of those hooved feet. Such a violent approach for one who seemed so compassionate. Emotional, yet brutally competent. Burrow could find usefulness with such a person. The specifics were yet to be determined — the depths of their exchange would wait until the reveal of the most efficient path. In that moment, Burrow was a simple bystander to all the wonderful ways the human could be used. Every vicious strike, every mournful cry, painted a grand picture of the human’s assets.

Those displays of the human’s usefulness chipped away at the stomper’s own. Beat after beat, the stomper’s feet lost its hold upon the ground. Only stubbornness kept the beast continuing forward, but even that threatened to seep through the cracks forming on its skull. A theft that was assisted by those greedy vines, who stole away the feet’s stability with a tight tug. Beast and cat and human alike tumbled to the ground for the last time. The stomper splayed upon the ground: its butcher block and early grave. With a final beat, any remnants of consciousness were smashed into bits that littered the forest floor. 

Burrow waited at a distance, until that spray of gore ceased. As soon as the last piece oozed into the ground, she approached the fallen stomper. With eyes steady upon both the strangers, she called her parasites to the furthest limb from both. She grasped the stomper’s hindleg, watching both of the strangers carefully, as her worms wiggled into her waiting arms. To safety they burrowed, in hurried lines. Once the last worm was secured, she quickly moved back to her own safety. Back to the trees; back to a watchful stare. “I will tell you the favor when I decide what the favor will be.” 

---

Each thud of the rock hitting the beast’s skull elicited a flinch from Felix in spite of their bloodied claws. They’d never liked violence, never enjoyed it. The fact that they seemed destined to exist in an endless cycle of it was a cruel twist of fate they weren’t sure how to get away from. At least here, it was a necessary thing. They were destroying this animal to save the people in the town below, were making a small sacrifice to save a large number. It wasn’t like in the Grit Pit, where Felix fought for the entertainment of people who wanted to see them hurt. It was better than that. 

Finally, the beast fell. The thud of its body hitting the ground seemed to echo, and Felix winced at that, too. But it was over now, and over was better. Over was good. The girl from the woods came over, and Felix watched with wide eyes as she approached the fallen beast. Worms crawled from the dead animal and seemed to disappear into the strange woman. Felix had suspected by her behavior and her ability to hold her breath against the poison in the air that she wasn’t entirely human, but they had no idea what she was. It was probably rude to ask, so they didn’t.

With the creature dead and the poison dissipating, Felix let out the breath he’d been holding and took in a desperate gasp of oxygen. “That was — wow.” They breathed, stumbling back a little. “I, um… You guys did great.”

---

Mackenzie continued to beat upon the skull of the beast and with every blow to its cranium, a tear fell from her eyes. Despite their efforts to humanely stop the creature, this had become the outcome. Not only had Mackenzie become a monster when she was in a state she couldn’t control, but she had now felt like a monster in her waking hours. What was this town doing to her?

With one final blow and the tangle of the vines from the mysterious person from the woods, Mackenzie felt herself go down with the clawed person and the huge dying animal. And with a hard thud to the ground, found herself toppling off and the bloodied rock sent flying into the distance. The temptation to consume the nearly deceased animal was beginning to overtake her though as she crawled forwards to meet it again barely hearing the woman of the woods promise that she would be calling on a favor that Mackenzie would eventually have to keep. But it was the complement of how great they had all done that drove her gaze over to Felix, “This…isn’t something to celebrate…and I’d advise you to leave, unless you want to see what really happens when a zombie feeds…”

Her eyes were beginning to glaze from bloodlust and the oozing of the animal's mind onto the ground. And unable to contain herself any longer, the ravaged and dead human began to feast on her kill to satiate the needs of any injuries and temptations that could have plagued the entire town, if the team of three strangers hadn’t stopped the innocent animal from trampling Monty’s farm.

#para: apex predator #para: felix #para: burrow #recoveringdreamer #faoighiche #wickedswriting #unsanitary tw #head trauma tw #eye trauma tw #animal abuse tw

[zombiebabysitter]

Faces Through Broken Glass || Charlie Solo

LOCATION: Eluria Cemetery TIMING: Mid-March PARTIES: Charlie and the Band (RIP) SUMMARY: Charlie goes with the rest of his band to check out Eluria Cemetery. Only Charlie makes it out alive. CONTENT WARNINGS: Head Trauma tw, witnessing murder

__

“Come on, Charlie! I’ve heard crazy things about this town, and you know where shit always goes down in a crazy town like this? The fucking creepy-ass cemetery in the spooky sector of town.” Lindsey, the lead singer of Charlie’s band Zombie Babysitter, told him. This was her third attempt to persuade him to join the rest of the band on a tour of Eluria Cemetery. Charlie was no coward, of course, but there was something about the whole idea that gave him bad vibes. But everyone else was on board now. He pulled a face, then threw his head back and groaned. “Uuuugh! Fine!” He finally relented, earning a fist pump and a “Yessss!” from Lindz. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Leave me to be the mom of the band every fucking time.” He bemoaned before forcing himself off the lumpy motel couch and out the door with the rest of the band, who were excited to get out and explore.

After a tense drive over in the band van they’d all named Morty, The four of them hopped out of the car and headed for the entrance to the cemetery. Charlie staggered behind, but his hand was grabbed by Gareth, the band’s drummer and Charlie’s long-term boyfriend. He flashed Gareth a timid smile and continued forward. They walked silently, taking in the tombstones and strange fog that seemed to envelop the place. 

“Yep, creepy cemetery for sure, dudes.” Vikky, the band’s bassist, announced as she snapped a picture of a crypt on her phone. “Bitchin’ place for a new album cover, though.” She added with a smirk. Leave it to Vikky to get the perfect album photo, the amateur photographer that she was. They were telling jokes and freaking each other out every so often, and Charlie found his worries melting away as they kept going. These were his best friends. These were supposed to be the best days of his life.

Everything happened so fast after that. One minute they were popping out behind headstones and freaking each other out, then next, Vikky was grabbed. She was screaming, and then she was quiet. No one saw what happened. “Vik?” Lindz called out, voice trembling. Gareth was holding on to Charlie tightly as if he’d seen something. “Gareth, what happened?” Charlie murmured to him, hitting him in the chest to try and get his attention. “I… fuck, it was a person,” Gareth responded quietly. Brows knitted together with fear. 

“FUCK, CHARLIE! GARETH!” Lindz screamed out, and then she, too, disappeared into the fog. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck!” Charlie babbled, grabbing at his hair and pulling. “Fuck, Gareth, we gotta, gotta get out of here!” Charlie decided, taking a big step backward as Gareth was grabbed. “NO!” Charlie shouted, jumping after the man who was getting dragged backward, kicking and screaming. Whoever this guy was that grabbed him was strong as fuck, he couldn’t get him off. “Charlie, RUN!” Gareth screamed before letting out a scream that quickly became a gurgle, then silence.

Charlie stood stock still with wide eyes, then began to backpedal. Fuck, he couldn’t die like this. A hand grabbed him, teeth sunk into flesh. “NO!” He yelled, yanking his arm away and turning around to run as fast as his feet could carry him. “Fuck no FUCK!” His whole life flashed before his eyes at that moment. He tripped over a body, Lindz’s body: her skull, her brain… the guy on the floor eating it. Charlie screamed louder and began running again. Zombies. ZOMBIES. He wasn’t going to fucking die like this. Somehow, he got away. Somehow, he lived. His arm burned like fucking hell, but he was alive. He clambered into Morty and started the engine, eyes wide with fear as he drove off toward the police station. 

Charlie learned two things that day. 

One, he had been bitten by a zombie.

Two, he was going to live the rest of his living life to the absolute fucking max because that’s what his friends would want. 

#Faces Through Broken Glass #threads #head trauma tw #solo;

[chrisgates]

Have Yourself A Merry Little Krampus...

Timing: Just after Christmas Location: Unknown, Krampus' Cabin Parties: @chrisgates and @zofiawithaz Triggers: head trauma and drooling Summary: Zofia and Chris are abducted by Krampus because they've been 'naughty'. The pair manage to escape but not without a visit from the werewolf, a scuffle and some good ol' fashion cast iron wielding. Hopefully next year, they make it onto the 'nice' list.

There were a great many things Zofia didn’t like about the holiday season this year. 

All of the sweet Christmas love songs that were constantly playing on the radio made her want to reach through the airwaves and strangle the dj responsible. If she heard one more caroler singing at her to ‘have herself a merry little Christmas’ she was liable to give them a merry little bite to the neck. Add on top of those normal offenses, Wicked’s Rest came with its own special variety of holiday insanity. 

Teleporting reindeer and sentient snowmen were the least of her troubles. Especially now that she’d been chucked in a bag and was now…

Well she wasn’t sure where she was exactly. Only that there had been jingling bells in the background of her kidnapping. And there was someone else there.

“Psst-“ she hissed in a whisper, trying to get the strangers attention. “Hey you-“ she picked up a little pebble and chucked it on the ground next to him. “Do you know where we are?

The last thing that Chris remembered before the lights were knocked right out of him was his walk to the motel to get the rest of his stuff — he didn’t think he could stay there anymore, even if he didn’t exactly have anywhere solid to go to. He just needed out. But he couldn’t do that, not when he was waking up to the sound of someone’s voice and a small, yet sharp tack of a sound that hit the ground beside him.

Normally when he woke up somewhere strange and unusual, he was naked, covered in blood and alone. This time, there was someone else there. It took him a second to register that this was not his usual bender when he started awake, his heart thrumming and eyes wide — though his breath was quick, his body was tense.

“No…” he drew out with uncertainty and rubbed at his forehead with a groan. His head hurt. “What happened?”

Zofia let out a string of muttered Polish swears under her breath before sitting up to take in there surroundings, even as fear gripped at her chest. This entire situation was all too familiar. But it wasn’t the same as before. Before she’d been alone. Before there’s been water dripping on pipes, and footsteps in the hall. This place was different. 

It was dark and dank, yes, but embers smoldered in a large fireplace. The crackles of the dying logs and their hushed voices and ragged breathing were the only noises this… cabin?- offered. Cold winter wind howled outside, the chill seeping into the space despite the fading fire. 

“I don’t know. I was -“ Zofia stopped herself from finishing the statement. Her previous activities had included drinking from a very pretty but incredibly rude young woman she’d come across in the bathroom of the Masque. She was also incredibly foolish, as she didn’t seem to realize she was on the menu in a place like that.

 Makayla or whatever her name was, had the audacity and unmitigated gall to insult the vampires appearance, asking her ‘where she’d gotten that fugly old dress and if she liked looking like someone’s grandmother’, complain about everything in the club, and then tell the vampire that she’d wasted her time so Zofia should pay for her offenses with free drinks for the young blonde and her friends. 

Needless to say, Makayla had been incredibly woozy from blood loss when Zofia had left her to head home. She had made it about half a block when she heard jingling and then- she was here. “I don’t know what happened to you… I was snatched on the street. What do you remember?”

Between not knowing where he was and the loop wound tight around his ankle, Chris would have been in a worse state had it not been for his company who seemed to be in the same boat. That didn’t stop the panic that started in his chest, however, only staved it off. 

What was he doing? “I was… Heading to my room..” Did he get hit in the head? Is that why it was hurting so much? “At the motel,” he clarified as he took in the room around them. The sound of the wind outside was slightly comforting. “I was just walking - I… I didn’t even see anything. I just heard… Bells.” He also smelled a lot, too, but he wasn’t about to get into that. Not when the only thing on his mind was getting out.

Chris looked down at his bound ankle — it’s not the same thing, don’t worry, it never even happened anywa- “We need to get out of here,” he spoke in a hushed undertone, though there was a hint of urgency to his voice, a trembling that followed his fingers when he reached down to try to wiggle one or two beneath the thick rope that cut into his cold, wet skin.

Somewhere at the back of the cabin, one could assume, came a creak. It was probably just the snow.

Zofia went to stand up and heard the soft rattle of chain. She looked down to see a cuff linked round her ankle. The panic that had seized in her chest turned to fury. Not again. Absolutely not. Letting out a torrent of swears that would have made her mother turn over in her grave,  she fished a pin from her hair and set to work on the lock. 

“Did you get a lump of coal too?” She asked, swearing still under her breath as she missed the pin in the lock and started again. Red eyes were locked on the cuff, determined to get herself free. 

“Already working on it,” Zofia grumbled, twisting the pin inside the lock. It popped open, and she shook her leg free. The vampire looked back at the young man, still very much trapped. He looked like a scared puppy, the poor thing. She sighed. She couldn’t just leave him. “Kurwa piekło,” she muttered before scooting over to set to work on his bindings. 

Cold fingers began to try picking at the tight knot, when she heard a creak. The vampire froze, waiting to see if another sound followed. Silence. She set back to work. “What’s your name?” She asked. 

The last time Chris remembered waking up bound like that was years ago, before the Great Blip, as he affectionately liked to call it. He remembered the ropes, the dimly lit room and all the metal on the walls. He remembered the cage and its too small of a size. It was claustrophobic. This room was not like that. It was small, sure, but the fireplace and various Christmas decorations, as old and decrepit as they were, made this kidnapping feel weirdly homey. 

“Yeah..” he urged himself to say amidst his desperate attempts at removing the knot. He had almost forgotten about that stupid little piece of coal. “What, do you think it has something to do with this?” The panic was still in full effect, but it did make room for a bout of curiosity. Chris had assumed that he was just being blackmailed, that someone knew about the horrible shit he kept telling himself wasn’t actually happening, but if she got coal, too, then maybe it wasn’t as targeted as he thought.

He glanced over, catching as she worked to remove her own chain with what looked like a hairpin. Of course she could pick locks. She looked cool enough for that. Meanwhile, he still fumbled with the rope — like an idiot. Maybe whoever grabbed him knew he’d fail. He was half tempted to start gnawing at it when her hands flew in and started on the knot instead. The sound they had both heard seemed to settle down, giving them a false sense of time that they may or may not have. They weren’t dead, yet, which seemed to be a good thing. Confusing and worrying, though, as it painted that their abductor had plans for them other than an immediate death.

He tried to hold two sides of the knot to give her a little wiggle room. “It’s Chris… you?” There was another creak. Why did it sound like a footstep? Chris thought his heart was going to pop out of his chest. 

“I don’t know,” she said through gritted teeth as she glanced around the space. “But I wouldn’t call anything in this damned town a coincidence. Everything is suspect.” There were holiday decorations scattered about the place- garlands and wreaths- but they all seemed… off. As though the holiday cheer they should represent had been replaced with ill omens. 

“I’m Zofia,” she said quietly as she worked, not willing to raise her voice much above a whisper in case someone else was listening. “Are you any good in a fight, Chris?” It was worth the ask- she needed to know if she’d be pulling all the weight in their little escape attempt. “Don’t lie if you’re not. I don’t want to be down an extra pair of hands because you thought it would be cute to show off.” Humor would have colored her voice had she not been so focused on getting him free. 

The knot finally started to loosen, when another creak sounded from within the cabin, along with the sound of faint sleigh bells. She quietly muttered a curse and worked faster, finally tugging the rope free from his ankle. She swatted at him, and pointed at a shadow that was cast on the floor far on the other side of the room. “Fight or hide?” She mouthed, freezing in hopes that whatever it was that had dragged them there hadn’t noticed they were free of their bindings yet.

That didn’t exactly make Chris feel any better. There was a lot of weirdness in Wicked’s Rest, but most of it he could brush off. But if she was saying that everything was suspicious, that there weren’t really any true coincidences to be found - well, that tickled his paranoia in the worst way possible. Coupling that feeling with the unmistakable sounds of a heavy weight shifting against old wood, causing it to groan and bend beneath the massive footsteps, sent his anxiety through the roof. Her words helped to ground him, even if the softness in her tone only came from tension.

Her question gave him pause and only served to worry him more. “Uh, no? I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t… If I had to, I guess, sure?” But not out the gate; Chris wasn’t an inherently dangerous person. He didn’t go out looking for trouble or tried to pick fights. He didn’t even know how to fight, not unless it was adrenaline that guided his hand, but any altercation that had ever crossed his path seemed to end in the same way - with him unable to remember it completely and someone either pissed off at him or terrified of him.

He did his best to help Zofia get the rest of the thick rope from around his ankle with hurried and shaky hands; he took note of the hidden spot she pointed out. “Hide,” for sure, not unless he had no other option. Right now though, they didn’t even know who or what was on the other side of that door. It was best to assess the situation first.

With as quiet a scramble as he could muster, one that might even make a mouse feel envious, Chris did his best to make it to the spot Zofia chose for them. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as fast as she was and managed to press himself against the old, stained and musty armchair that thankfully hid him from whatever it was that just creaked open the door. His entire body went stiff, head and back pressed against the aging leather, his breath held to keep it from shaking. A warmth flooded him, that uneasy feeling that liked to creep in during difficult situations, situations that reminded him of things he didn’t want to be reminded of.

His eyes turned to where Zofia managed to hide, wondering if he could spot her face, her eyes, anything to get a gauge as to who was in the room with them.

The vampire barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Just her luck, to be fortunate enough to be trapped with someone, but unlucky enough for that person to be no use in a situation where they needed to fight. Not that she was much use in a fight, typically. But desperate times…

Zofia nodded. Hide it was. She quickly, quietly slipped into a shadow in the corner and sat unnaturally still, ready to spring into action if she needed to. Chris, however, hadn’t moved as quickly. He was hidden behind an old armchair when the door swung open. 

The vampire wasn’t sure what it was exactly. But it sure as hell wasn’t human. Her eyes widened as she watched the horned figure stoop down to clear the doorway, before standing upright. It loomed over the space, horns scraping lines the ceiling. Zofia swallowed. A human she could take in a fight. Whatever that was… probably not. And unfortunately, it was heading toward Chris’s hiding spot. 

She had no time to think. She snatched up a loose piece of kindling on the floor and chucked it across the room, causing it to clatter in the corner of the cabin opposite of where Chris was hiding. The beast’s head swung around, refocusing on the noise. Zofia stared at her fellow escape artist. Hurry! She mouthed, waving him on frantically.

Of course it was coming right for him — whatever it was. He didn’t see it when it came in, wouldn’t dare sneak a peek, but he could tell how large it was. Chris would have that kind of shit luck, though. It was sort of a constant in his life and he even tried to act like it wasn’t. He couldn’t act like it wasn’t now, not with some huge, monstrous creature searching for them. The snuffling and scraping sent chills down his spine. It was angry they were gone. He would have mentally kicked himself for not making it to Zofia’s hiding spot if he wasn’t so scared. 

His heart was about ready to burst through his throat — at least, that’s what it felt like. It pounded and beat frantically behind his ribcage, terror gripping it, and him, completely. There was only so much space behind the chair where he could hide himself before a foot or hand or even the top of his head was visible. If the scraping on the ceiling was any indication, he didn’t really have much time. He didn’t know if luck felt bad for him or not, but it was then that he saw a flurry of movement and a rather convincingly distracting sound, he thought maybe the tides were turning.

Zofia’s frantic urging helped to spurn a bullet of courage that shot him from his poor excuse of a hiding spot and towards the only door that led in or out. He had one hand out, as if to tell her to follow him in turn through the doorway while the creature was distracted. There was no way he was going to spend another second in that room, but he couldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t.

It seemed the young man had found his courage. Zofia watched as he made a frantic beeline toward the door, waving for her to follow. The vampire didn’t see many options. It was either scramble after Chris and risk death at the hands of whatever was in the cottage with them, or stay put and guarantee death for herself. 

Not liking the certainty of death that came with staying out, Zofia hurried along behind Chris. Keeping her footsteps quick and light, she risked a glance in the direction of it, trying to get a better look at it. It was some sort of beast with hooves and a long tail. A long tongue licked over its snout, as though it were trying to taste the air to find them. It had some sort of pouch slung over it’s back, and it’s eyes -a bright yellow- scanned the space for what had gone missing. 

It was objectively the ugliest thing Zofia had ever seen. Well, maybe the second, if she included the chimera. The vampire forced her legs to move faster. Then, one of the old floorboards betrayed both of the prisoners and let out a long, loud, creak. Those yellow eyes swiveled and locked on the pair. Shit. 

Chris knew better than to look back. He didn’t want to know what the thing looked like, not if it smelled the way it did or moved the way it did or made the sounds it did. It sounded like a nightmare, like if it found him, it could easily scoop him up in its clutches and bite into his body, breaking him completely. He didn’t want to be its meal, he wanted to get the hell out of there!

But Zofia needed to go first; even though he didn’t know her and she seemed capable of taking care of herself, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he let her get in harm’s way because of self-preservation. That wouldn’t be right. His sister taught him better than that. 

No good deed went unpunished, though. It was almost expected, like this whole situation was written to play out like a stereotypical horror movie — Chris could never get through any of them before he was left a shivering mess under a blanket or hiding in another room. This time, he didn’t get that reprieve. 

He made the mistake of looking at it when Zofia made it to the creaky hallway. The monster was too close even though it was on the other side of the living area. Its mass made its short walk even shorter and it dragged a long arm across the floor while the other reached out with intent. It smell only grew the closer it got. Chris’ eyes darted from the thing chasing them to the doorknob in front of him and, without a thought, reached out to grab it.

The wooden door was pulled back with his falling, fearful weight. He felt the floor of the hallway meet his back when he heard the telltale shut of his success. It wouldn’t hold, but he hoped it would give them at least a second to get some space between them, even just a breath’s worth. But the hallway wasn’t very long and that door wasn’t very strong. They made the few steps it took to get to the mouth of the even colder kitchen before the door gave way with a sickening snap of its wood boards and groans of its metal hinges.

The kitchen seemed bluer, cooler, and lonelier than the golden warmth from the livelier, if intimidating, living space — but it was their only way out.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Zofia darted through the door Chris held open for her. It may have been foolish of him to do the gentlemanly thing and let her go first, but at least chivalry wasn’t completely dead. Unlike what they would be, if the beast behind them got what it wanted. 

She heard the thud as her new friend hit the ground. She needed to think. Zofia doubted something of that size would feel much pain from her teeth, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to taste its blood anyway. She’d need a different weapon. Snatching Chris’s wrist, she towed him along behind her to- a kitchen. Well that was fortunate. 

She let go of the young man as she rifled through drawers and cabinets, looking for something, anything to carry as they made a run for it. There were surprisingly few knives. She didn’t want to think about how sharp that must have meant the monsters teeth were. She did, however, lay her eyes on a rusty old cast iron skillet. She snatched it up before turning back to Chris. “We need to go. Now.”

He was grateful for Zofia’s immediate hold on the situation—and his arm. Without it, Chris didn’t think his legs would work well enough to get him away from the danger fast enough. It was literally right behind them; his heart felt like it was in his throat just at the thought. If he was alone he probably wouldn’t have made it this far. He likely would still be tied up or cornered in the living room and made into a meal, for sure.

Speaking of meal, Zofia managed to find herself a decently weighted cast iron skillet. It would do some damage to any normal person, but to that thing? He hoped they didn’t have to find out. Still, he was happy to see something in their favor even if he wished it was a way out. He would have been happier if he didn’t feel a leg being pulled out from under him. The monster had him—it had him and it dragged him back towards the living area. 

Chris kicked and struggled against its grip, but he was dragged away from the kitchen and away from potential freedom. That thought set him off; it made the view of the fireplace and the smell of meat and musk fade into darkness, a familiar and, currently welcome, unconsciousness. The large, looming creature returned back through the now broken doorway to get to Zofia. But that was the last thing he heard before his body started to contort and break.

Just when Zofia thought she had everything under control, the demented holiday demon had closed its long clawed fingers around Chris’s ankle and yanked the young man back into the dim glow of the living room. “Sukinsynu, chyba sobie kurwa żartujesz!” She hissed. She couldn’t just leave him. Not when he’d been so nice as to hold the door for an old woman like her. 

The vampire moved quickly trying to keep pace with the beast and the terrified young man it had in its clutches. She’d just cleared the doorway when a loud snap sounded. She paused, frightened for a moment that she was to late, that she hadn’t been fast enough. Then it sounded again, and again, and she watched as the young man’s form struggled and twisted into something… lupine. 

Zofia could only hope he’d remember in this new form she was friend, not foe. Taking advantage of the distraction in the demons arms, she crept closer, twirling the pan in her fingers, prepared to strike. 

The horned monster didn’t get the chance to go after the vampire before she was already in the room to witness the changing. Perhaps it should have killed the wolf before it woke, but hindsight was, of course, 20/20.

Chris was glad it didn’t, but he didn’t like what ended up happening to him, either. Which one was worse? He’d end up thinking about it later. For now, he took a mental nosedive to make room for the wolf and its rage. With a wet snarl, it made a move for the cloaked demon, its teeth bare and clawed hands grasping. 

The hurried movement was enough to rock the monster off its hooved feet, but not enough to get it on the ground and in a more vulnerable position for biting. The beast pushed back, its strength surprising and teeth just as long. It seemed bigger somehow, but maybe that was the tall mane of hair or the spiraled horns that threatened to whack the wolf in the head. 

Its musk was overpowering; that was all the wolf could smell every time it snapped its teeth close to the wet, stringy, fur that covered its body. The wolf was not much better with its deformed hands and feet, but at least it had a cute nose. This thing just looked like a demented yeti. A demented yeti the wolf wanted nothing more than to rip the head off of.

It was like something out of an old movie, watching her young friend transform. He’d gone from fresh faced and terrified to bared fangs and snarling. Zofia swallowed. She wasn’t the only threatening thing in the room aside from the demon any longer. She gave a slow nod of understanding. 

It was terrifying the way they fought. Two forces of nature struggling against each other. She ought to have left. She ought to have taken advantage of the moment and ran far away as fast as she could. But this poor sweet man- wolf?- was fighting for his damned life. Zofia adjusted her grip on the pan. 

She waited until she saw an opening. The beast was swiping and snapping at her new friend, and its back was to her. Zofia’s eyes lit up. Winding up like a star player at the World Series, the vampire swung the cast iron pan like a baseball bat to the demon’s head, striking it like she’d hit a game winning home run. Good. The wolf could get away now. 

In truth, the wolf would have continued on until one of them was dead, but a good thunk to the head with a kitchen utensil caused its opponent to flee. It didn’t flee in the usual sense. The immense creature simply vanished with a disgruntled groan after it regained its composure from the whack. A sprinkling of snow was left in its place, but the creature had gone.

The wolf swiped at nothing but air, confused as to where the monster had just gone. It swung its massive head around the room and laid eyes on the vampire woman still in the room with them. No, she wasn’t the problem. The way she held the pan was questionable, but she was not the one who brought them there. 

It snarled at her, obviously frustrated with how that all turned out, but it was grateful nonetheless at getting to live another day. It then chose that unusually quiet moment to scrape and pull itself through a nearby window, its mass too large for the window frame; wood creaked and cracked and glass shattered and cut until the wolf was through, its nose keen to find the scent of the horned demon that abducted them.

Moments after the pan had found connection with the horned skull, it vanished into thin air. Zofia gaped, having been prepared to swing at it again. Instead, she was left locking eyes with the tawny werewolf that stood in the center of the room. 

The vampire stood unnaturally still. She prayed tow whatever forces might listen that he wouldn’t attack her. He’d been sweet- the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. After a long, tense moment, the wolf snarled before turning to pull himself out the window. 

Zofia blinked, watching as the wolf left the space in an almost cartoonish fashion. The wolf- Chris- disappeared into the night, leaving a vaguely wolf shaped hole where the window had been. The demon was gone, and the vampire had nothing else to do. Her hand still wrapped around the pan (just in case), she made her way out into the night. Next year she’d be sure to be kinder, or at least less murderous. Or more selective in those she chose to feed upon. She would not be receiving coal again, and she hoped the wolf wouldn’t either. 

#thread #tr: zofia k #tr: [ have yourself a merry little krampus ] #head trauma tw #drooling tw

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: immediately after joy to the world pt. 1 LOCATION: a cabin in the mountains of seven peaks PARTIES: @eldritchaccident & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: emilio and teddy stumble upon a cabin, and teddy devises a game to keep emilio awake. CONTENT: head trauma, child death, sibling death, suicidal ideation

“Are you still with me?” 

By the time Teddy had found somewhere safe, they were both half frozen. But luck was on their side, it seemed. A small hunting cabin. Barely a cabin. Just one room. Basically four walls and a small simple bed to sleep on. Unoccupied. Wouldn’t have mattered if someone was there. Teddy would’ve made it unoccupied. A woodfire stove burned in the corner, lit in the briefest moment Ted could spare away from the slayer. It wasn’t much, but the warmth it bled into the room wasn’t the blizzard that raged outside. It wasn’t the dark, it wasn’t the cold. They could catch their breath and see to him. Make sure Emilio was okay. Because he had to be. 

Melted snow made for good enough clean water, leftover whiskey good enough for antiseptic. Teddy tore at the sheets left by whatever hunter had built this cabin. Carefully, methodically, they tended to each wound as if it were the most important thing in the world. They didn’t have needles or thread, but Emilio’s favorite was in the shack-owner's little supply kit. Teddy almost smiled when they saw it. Almost laughed. But they couldn’t. Not while he was still straddling the line between life and death. The duct tape was quick, dirty, and altogether unpleasant. But it would keep the gashes closed long enough for the slayer’s healing to kick into overdrive. 

“Hey, eyes on me. Say something, agapitós, please.” He’d been silent too long. Muffled grunts here and there, but not– not Emilio. Teddy’s voice was soft, pleading. All their energy came and went with the aimless walk that had led deep into the woods. Only noticing the shack through a thicket of trees that had already shed their leaves. A divine blessing, or some kind of cosmic trap. They weren’t sure. 

Ted gently nursed the dried blood from the already healed wounds on the man’s face. They cupped it between warm hands and prayed to anything that would listen. Above, below, hoping in some way their father would hear. That it would rip through one of the walls of this stranger’s cabin like it had the very first time Leviathan came into their life. Certainly enough blood had been shed. But the symbols weren’t there. And Teddy couldn’t leave Emilio’s side for long enough to attempt them by memory. 

“Please. You have to be okay.” 

—

Time moved in flashes. They were in the concrete room, and the guard who’d attacked Emilio was dead twelve times over, dealt so many fatal blows by Teddy’s hands that Emilio could no longer remember which had killed him. They were in a hallway, Teddy supporting too much of Emilio’s weight and Emilio offering protest by trying to take it on himself and succeeding only in slowing them down. They were at a door, and someone was trying to stop them one moment and dead the next. Emilio liked to imagine it was him who’d killed them, but he felt so little control of his body that he knew it wasn’t the case.They were outside in the snow, and he couldn’t remember if that was normal or not. Had it been snowing before? Had they been in that concrete room for so long that the seasons had shifted? Was the snow real at all? It bothered him that he wasn’t sure. 

All he knew was that each blink of his eyes found the scene around him changing. All he knew was that time was moving in flashes, and that that wasn’t a good thing.

Concussion, Lucio’s voice reminded him. And it’s the least of your worries. He knew the words were true, even if he disliked the source. He’d survived worse blows to the head than this one, he was sure of it. Blows dealt out by undead, inhuman things. It would be silly for an ordinary man to be the one to toss him against a wall hard enough to kill him. The concussion would be fine, even if his stomach was in knots and his whole body ached. He assured himself, over and over again, that the head injury wouldn’t kill him.

But the cold damn well might.

His body was far less accustomed to freezing than blood. It had never gotten this cold in Mexico, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen snow until coming here. He’d certainly never seen snow like what they trudged through in those brief flashes. More than once, he thought he might have asked Teddy to leave him. He knew he was slowing them down, that they’d be far faster without him. He also knew they were too damn stupid to listen to his advice. Even if he froze, he thought, they’d drag his icy corpse back to town. Teddy was stubborn. It scared him a little. 

Another flash, and he was on a bed. There were blankets on him, though not enough to warm him. There was a fire crackling, though he still felt cold. His eyes darted around the space, conscious but not present. He was in the concrete room, in the snow, in a bloody floor years behind him. He tried to respond when he could — to Teddy, sometimes, to his own thoughts more often — but it got less and less frequent as time stretched on. His head ached, and his eyes felt heavy. Each blink found them harder and harder to pry open. After a while, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was trying anymore.

Hands on his face, Teddy’s voice again. There was a word there, an unfamiliar one, but Emilio couldn’t concentrate on it. Everything felt unfamiliar now, but Teddy sounded afraid and that roused him enough to force his eyes to focus. They were one hell of a sight; covered in blood, shivering. Emilio raised a hand clumsily, put a finger through the ripped fabric of their shirt at the shoulder. He remembered a knife there, didn’t he? His brow furrowed. “You okay? Hurt?” 

He blinked again, eyes remaining closed a moment too long before Teddy’s pleading pried them open again. “Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m fine. Tired. Might finally get me to take a nap, Jones.”

—

“Thought you weren't gonna lie to me anymore, Cortez.” Teddy couldn't hide the relief that spilled up and over, flowing out of their too tight chest. Emilio wasn't fine. Wasn't anywhere close. But he was speaking. His eyes were more or less open. Gaze almost able to focus. There was a hand on Ted's bare shoulder and a heartbeat attached to it. They had to swallow down the bitter spit that'd been itching at the back of their throat. Slow down and allow themself to breathe. Emilio was alive. They had a long road to travel before he was fine.

“You aren't. Not tonight. Gotta stay up. Few more hours, bud. You gotta–” The ex-demon shifted, sliding their hand from Emilio's cheek to the back of his neck. Wherever their hands weren't he was too cold. Teddy wasn't much fonder of the lower temperatures, but they liked to think that there was something in their heritage that made them a little more built for this than Emilio. Blizzards like this were common in Canada. Even this early in the year. 

“You gotta get warm and you gotta stay awake. Can you answer some questions for me? What year is it, what's your name, who's the best dog you know, all that jazz.” EMTs asked those questions, right? When someone had been clocked just a little too hard. Simple things that anyone should know. Ted skipped the one about the current president, wasn't half as important as Emilio remembering best boy Perro. Hopefully another anchor to bring him back to shore. 

Teddy's fingers trembled, and they didn't know why. Couldn't have been from the cold. They stopped feeling that the first time Emilio begged them to drop his body off so they could get home faster. Must have been something else. Something deeper. Not just a physical reaction to outside stimuli. Their dark eyes searched every inch of the man, tried to find more wounds to close. Tried to find something else to do besides holding his head up. They moved closer. Up on the bed next to him, telling themself all the while it was for warmth. Hypothermia was more dangerous than a hundred blades at this point. The blankets were thrown around both of them now. What little body heat was generated was shared. Multiplied. Good. They rubbed circles on Emilio's back, only to realize just how much of the snow outside must have melted on him. He was practically soaked. They must have been as well. 

“We should get those wet clothes off you too.”

—

The refusal was an expected thing. Emilio knew head wounds, after all. The Cortez family might not have been keen on first aid, but Juliana had brought some basics with her the first time she’d gripped his face in her hands after a hunt gone bad. No sleeping when concussed, love, she’d said then, the teasing lilt doing so little to cover the concern. It had felt a foreign thing, something Emilio hadn’t known how to hold. It was just as unfamiliar coming from Teddy now, and somehow just as expected at the same time. He knew the drill. Still, he couldn’t bite back a groan of disappointment. 

“Always telling me I should sleep more,” he grumbled, the words coming out slurred in a way that should have been concerning, a way that might have been had he possessed enough awareness to be concerned in that moment. “Now I want to sleep, you say I’m not allowed. You give mixed signals.” He leaned into their touch anyway, nothing even remotely resembling a bite behind the words. Their hands were warm; he didn’t understand how. They’d been out in the same cold he had, hadn’t they? Was there something else Levi had given them, some way of warming themself? That didn’t seem fair. Emilio was the one who was freezing. He’d like some internal heater, too. Although… Teddy’s hands made for a decent external heater.

He blinked again, humming quietly. “Those are stupid questions,” he said. “You already know all the answers. Emilio. Dog is Perro. It’s 2021.” No. No, wait, that wasn’t right, was it? 2021 was years ago. The blood on the floor, the pain in his leg, the bodies, the — He closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing them tightly. No, no. It was wrong. “2023,” he corrected. “It’s 2023. Stupid questions, I told you. Should ask ones you don’t know instead.” 

It was warmer with Teddy under the blankets with him, though their close proximity proved that the warmth in their hands wasn’t as natural a thing as he’d assumed. The rest of them was still cold, and Emilio wondered what they’d done to warm their hands, hoped they hadn’t hurt themself for his sake again. He found himself practically wrapping his body around theirs, desperate for even the faint warmth it provided. “Knew it,” he muttered. “All this just a plan to get my clothes off. Really went above and — above and beyond. Could’ve just asked nicely. Maybe I’d have done it.” He would have. Probably would have ruined everything in the process, too. That was something Emilio was uniquely skilled in doing.

—

Sleep was a siren song that sounded sweeter every second. Teddy paled. Swallowed hard and knit their brows firmly together, only a slight tilt upward at the center. The fatigue was eating at the edges of their consciousness. Different, perhaps, than what the slayer was feeling. Only the very dregs of adrenaline left in their system, the over protective nature, and the selfish enjoyment of being so close kept them awake. A fleeting thought wandered in and out of the ex-demons mind, that somehow they were being kept conscious because their fatigue was siphoning off to the slayer. If it were true, it was just another reason they shouldn’t allow themself to be so close. Shouldn’t have been clinging to the man like a lifeline. Nor should they have let themself feel like this was somehow earned. Somehow correct. 

Emilio curved into them, wrapped his arms around like Teddy was something worth being next to. Worth holding onto. Their mouth went dry and their heart ticked up again like they were back in the heat of battle. Warmth began to radiate between them. Proximity doing its job. If they were quiet, if they were still, maybe the man wouldn’t realize who he was wrapping himself around. The concussion was toying with his mind. Making him switch between some long lost then, when things were better. When he was with someone better. Whoever had him always looking into the distance, fidgeting with the ring on his necklace, or the one on his hand. But if they were silent, they could stay. Couldn’t mess this up. 

Teddy was a hurricane. They knew that. Couldn’t help but see the gale force winds and how they pushed everyone away in the end. If Emilio was sticking around now, it was because he was in the eye of it. Seeing the stars above, giving false hope. Or was it a false sense of security? Hard to say. 

“Yeah, you got me Cortez. That’s all I’m after.” Silence broke with Emilio’s joke. Teddy’s voice was raw, but gentle. No heat behind it, only concern. “Need help takin’ that shirt off? Do you want me to–” Their hand slid down, tugging at the lower hem. “I can warm it up by the fire.” It was probably time for an exchange on the towels Ted had found. They’d been switching every so often trying to keep the diy heat-pack fresh and well… heated. Probably the only reason their hands were any warmer than the rest of them. Of course, they didn’t want to move. Of course they didn’t want a single second from this…whatever it was. But safety was first and foremost their concern. 

“I can think of a few more questions. If that’ll keep you up.” 

— 

He was practically wrapped around Teddy now, though he wasn’t sure if the heat the close contact was offering him was a real or imagined thing. It could have been a placebo, his mind mistaking the comfort of not being alone with a physical warmth. He couldn’t bring himself to care much, in the moment. He felt better pressed against Teddy than he did with the space between them, and he was a little too out of it to do anything but chase that comfort, so he did. He’d probably regret it later, when his mind wasn’t as scrambled and he had the ability to think more clearly. He’d look back on this moment and hate himself a little for the weakness, the vulnerability of it all. He’d feel guilty for putting them in a position they might not want to be in without so much as asking permission first. But right now, he wasn’t thinking of any of that. Right now, he was only thinking about the way he felt nice pressed against Teddy like this.

“Knew it,” he mumbled, half conscious as the warmth settled in. Their hands went for the hem of his shirt, and Emilio swatted at them lazily. “Don’t want it off. ‘m cold. Layers make me warmer.” Not when the layers were soaked through and half-frozen, but it was difficult for him to grasp that. Logic tainted by concussion dictated that it was warmer to be layered than to be bare. He clung to it almost absently.

He blinked sluggishly at Teddy’s question. Staying awake felt a monumental task. It would be easier with something to entice him towards consciousness. He started to nod, then hissed at the pain the motion brought on. It took him a moment to recover, eyes clamped shut and breathing ragged. Finally, with a sharp exhale through his nose, he opened his eyes again. “Owe you twenty of them, I think,” he acknowledged, trying to offer Teddy a smile that likely looked a lot more like a grimace. “Told you I’d answer any you had. Still want to.”

—

“That ain’t one of the options, Cortez. Either you take them off or I’m gonna be a lot less nice about it. You’re soaking wet. You won’t get warm until you’re dry.” Emilio curled in tighter, a far too welcome act of rebellion. Teddy tensed while the man eased into position. A war raged between the ex-demon’s heart and their logical mind. The part of them that knew better kept a short leash on the rest. The rest wanted nothing more than to trace the definition along those muscles. To ease the tension between them while letting them both soak in the heat of contact. They wanted to reciprocate the surprisingly tender cuddling. Wanted to find a spot between the man’s chin and his chest where they could lay and listen to his heartbeat. Making sure it kept going through the night. It was a fight. A brawl. A tug-of-war where everything they wanted squared off against what was right. 

The taser would have been kinder than this. 

“Okay, yeah. Questions.” Teddy nodded, shifted slightly and tried to reach the warm towels from their spot on the bed to no avail. The room was small but not that small, apparently. They grimaced, maybe even worse than when they had dislocated their thumb to escape the bindings. That was at least something they had done before. Many times over, but this was new. An overly affectionate side of Emilio that almost seemed alien. It’s not for me, they reminded themselves. Painstakingly, over and over again, they told themself this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been knocked halfway to death’s door because of what they did. Why were they being rewarded for it? Sorta wished Emilio would just yell at them and be done with it. Might not have felt so hollow. So much like… intruding. 

“Let’s start at the beginning I guess. Where in Mexico are you from? What’s it like there?” Against all emotional impulses, Teddy did what they had to. They slid out from under the sheets into the still-too-cold air of the cabin. Pulled off their own shirt and hung it by the fire as if to show it was a good idea. A terry cloth avalanche followed, raining down on Emilio’s shoulders. The towels felt as if they’d just come out of an oven. Heavy, fluffy, and toasty. Analog heated blanket. Perfect camping trick. After a moment of making sure all the damp clothes were off and drying, Ted slid back under the covers. Under the new layer of warmth. “That’s one and two. For three… What were you like as a kid?”

—

“Like to see you try,” Emilio shot back, though he had enough self awareness to know that he wasn’t nearly as formidable as he normally might have been. Between the obvious concussion and the frozen limbs, he was fairly certain Teddy could handle him like a ragdoll if they needed to. The thought sent a strange thrill through him, and he pushed that away as quickly as it arose. He’d blame it on the concussion, too. Fucking head injuries. This was why he hated them. Everything felt so fuzzy, so out of control. Like he was trying to grasp at things he couldn’t even see the outlines of. “Getting warmer already. You’re like a furnace, you know.” That would serve as his excuse for the way he kept trying to get even closer to Teddy, despite the fact that he was already practically wrapped around them like a blanket. He was full of good excuses today. With any luck, they’d be good enough to keep Teddy from kicking him out onto the streets the second they made it back to town.

He let out a quiet sound of protest as Teddy shifted away from him, shifting with them as best he could. He’d already half-forgotten the warm towels and blankets the ex-demon had left by the fire. Most everything that didn’t land within the slayer’s immediate line of sight felt too far away to worry about what with the way his vision was swimming with any attempt to focus his eyes. Easier to let everything fade to the background. More tempting to let his eyes slide shut, to get some sleep for what would have certainly been the first time in a while.

Emilio didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until they were opening again in response to Teddy’s promised questions. His brow furrowed, the words taking a moment to properly register in his mind. It took another moment for the first answer to reach his tongue, though the question was an undeniably simple one. “San Agustín Etla,” he said. “Oaxaca. Warm there.” It was all he could really think about now; the warmth he yearned for. It was kinder than what he usually thought of when he thought of home. The blood on the streets, the carnage marring every corner that had once felt safe. Better to focus on the warmth. He missed it more in this moment than he had in a long time.

He hummed at the third question, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “Never really… was one. Was a hunter. Always been a hunter. Not much room for anything else.” Hunters weren’t children in any kind of way that mattered. Cortez hunters certainly weren’t, not under Elena’s tutelage. Emilio had been born a weapon and raised as one, sharpened at every turn to build lethality. A knife, not a kid. “Started training… I don’t know. Before I can remember.”

—

By the time they got back to the bed, he still hadn’t removed the heavy layer of wet clothes. Stubborn ass. A wry little smile wormed its way onto Teddy’s features. While Emilio was distracted by the nice warm towels, they made their move. From the bottom up, like you would a fussy toddler. The shirt protested more than the man himself, practically stuck to his skin as they lifted it and tossed it off near the rest of the drying clothing. If moisture still clung to the fibers by morning, Cortez had no one to blame but his own attitude. 

Tomorrow was one of the furthest things from their mind, however. Teddy no longer had the advantage of eyes befitting a creature of the deep dark sea. The dim room was hard to get a read on. The details of everything were just a little fuzzy. Must have been how normal humans felt just before needing glasses. Maybe. Who knew? Ted’s experience was always going to be something no one else could really relate to. Still, in the dim flickering light they saw the scars. The tattoos. Each probably had some story, some meaning. Even if the meaning was that Em was a dumb kid and thought it made him look bad-ass. Teddy was inclined to agree. 

Dark eyes paused as a flash of light glinted off the necklace. It wasn’t just the ring hanging there just below Emilio’s collarbone. The little silver stake pendant. The one that matched the tattoo filling the space of their forearm. The one Teddy had given and Emilio had apparently liked enough to put it right there. Dangling just above his heart. Just next to her ring. How long had it been there? Did he put it up right away? If they kept oggling, even concussed Emilio was bound to notice. So they shifted closer. 

Nothing between them at all anymore. 

He was right though.  

Teddy was a furnace by then. They’d always run pretty hot. Enough that the very few times they had seen a nurse or doctor, there was always a look of concern and hushed whispers to one another before Chuck came up with some excuse, or bribed them enough not to care. Guess they kept that little trait well after losing their demonhood. 

“So they just… train kids to kill? Just… cause you’re born a little stronger than humans?” The words tumbled out before Teddy could stop them. Couldn’t even hide the distaste the sentiment left in their mind. A couple things clicked. How down on himself he always was. How much he only ever seemed happy when he was useful. A decent picture of how things must have been began to spin inside Ted’s imagination. “I’m… sorry that happened to you.”  

— 

Teddy went for his shirt, and Emilio protested like a child, grumbling and making small attempts to pull the wet fabric back down even as Teddy peeled it away. There was something almost funny about it, but in the familiar sort of way that made him ache. Flora had never fussed like this. Even as a baby, she’d been quiet, cooperative. Clay to be molded, metal to be forged. Maybe the root of all his problems was the way he’d loved that tiny blade too much, let himself pretend that he was a person so that she could be one, too. He choked on a quiet sound; even he himself wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a laugh or a sob.

Teddy succeeded in getting the shirt from his back at last, tossed it over near the fire to dry. Emilio had never felt particularly self conscious with his skin showing before, and he wasn’t now, either. His body was marred with more scars than he knew how to count, told stories that his mind had forgotten years ago. He knew the white line above his chest had been from a knife, but he didn’t remember who’d been holding it. He knew the dent above his hip came from teeth tearing through flesh, but he couldn’t picture the mouth they’d sat inside. Some of the more recent ones were easier to pinpoint; the mostly-healed stab wound from the altercation with Parker, the pale pink scar on his shoulder from Zane’s sire, the mangled, ugly scar on his arm from the qutrub. The number of scars crisscrossing the now-exposed skin was monumental, like stars in the night sky. But it had always been that way. The oldest of the scars had been there from a time before his first memory had formed. Emilio himself hardly thought of them at all.

He was much more concerned with the cold biting at his skin, grumbling as he pulled the blankets closer and curled into Teddy’s side, burying his face in the mattress to block out the dim light offered by the flickering fire and the bare lightbulb in the lamp. His head was pounding, protesting the movement he’d put it through in his stubborn attempts to let his soaked shirt freeze him through. He could feel Teddy looking at him, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to think about what the looks meant. Nothing at all, probably. Less than he thought he might want them to mean. His necklace settled against his throat, and he brought a hand up to touch the chain absently as Teddy spoke.

With his head still buried in the mattress, the confusion furrowing his brow was lost. He tilted his face up just a little, just enough so that eyes designed to see perfectly in the dark could trace over Teddy’s features like he was working a case. “No. It’s not like that. It’s not — It isn’t just — It’s not like that.” He’d had this conversation before. Protesting everyone’s insistence that there was something wrong with the way he’d been brought up as if he hadn’t tried with everything he had to stop his daughter from being brought up the same. There was… a separation in his mind between Flora and himself. Emilio was a weapon. Sharp and dangerous and worth nothing if he couldn’t be put to use. But Flora had been more than that. The way he was raised was fine for him, but she’d deserved better. It was a strange oxymoron that twisted itself into his mind, made his thoughts feel fuzzy even without accounting for the concussion. 

He turned his face away again, back into the mattress. His voice was muffled when he spoke. “You have seventeen questions left. You can keep going.”

—

Teddy watched as a play of defensive justification played on the slayer’s features. Struck a nerve with that one, huh? Couldn’t imagine any of the other seventeen would get any easier. At least if Emilio was upset, he was awake. Even if he’d hate them for it. 

“Don’t have to answer all of them if it’s uncomfortable, Em.” Ahh, but… his head was against their shoulder. Their chest swelled with that undefinable limerence. Ached, but not unpleasantly. The downsides rested solely in the aftermath. Of what he’d think of them when the light peeked through the windows. When morning came and they had to go back to some semblance of normal. 

“But– okay. What was your best hunting story then?” Move on to better things. Still in the same vein, but hopefully something more positive. Something that’d instill the nostalgic bravery Emilio needed to stay awake through the worst of his injuries. Until his head was set right, until Teddy could be sure that if he did get some sleep he’d wake up. Another hour should do him well. 

— 

“Said I would.” It was as simple as that, wasn’t it? Emilio had offered Teddy all the answers in the world if they’d only ask for them. And here they were now — holed up in some unfamiliar cabin, half frozen, the back of his hair matted with dried blood that would be a bitch to wash out when he got back home, and asking. Emilio wouldn’t go back on his word, wouldn’t deny Teddy answers that they’d earned. The fact that they’d offered him an out at all was more proof that he shouldn’t take it. They deserved to know who they’d invited into their home. They deserved to know who was latched onto them like a leech now, seeping away their warmth. They deserved to know who he was, what he was. Whatever judgment call they’d make after, it would probably be justified.

The next question was clearly designed to be a softball. Something easy, something to break through the tension. Emilio furrowed his brow, trying to remember all those old hunting stories that made his chest swell with pride. Many of them felt painful in a way they didn’t used to because of the supporting cast, the people who’d helped him emerge victorious from those hunts only to fall later, to have their bodies tossed onto street corners in a town that would never be the same again. Maybe there were no softballs with this kind of thing. Maybe everything was designed to hurt, after a while.

He was quiet for a beat, long enough that he realized he’d need to say something just to assure Teddy that he was awake, since they couldn’t see his face fully enough to tell in this position. He shifted a little.”Took on an elder vampire once,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t just me. Not stupid enough to go after one of those on my own. Had my…” He trailed off, throat tight. “There were other slayers with me. Nearly died, anyway. Think I left most of my blood on the floor of its crypt. But I — I held it down, and we got its head off. Saved a lot of people, you know, a whole town it was terrorizing. That’s what it’s about. What it’s supposed to be about. Supposed to — Supposed to help people. Save them. Wouldn’t have mattered if I’d bled out in the crypt as long as it died, too. You know? Hunters are…” Disposable. Easily replaced. Kill Emilio, and ten more like him would crop up a day later. 

But Teddy would argue if he said it, because Teddy was a much better friend than Emilio deserved. They thought he was worth more than he was, would pick fights that Emilio was too tired to partake in. So he clicked his tongue, let the end of that sentence hang. Started a new one instead. “Full story’s longer. Could tell you the details, but I don’t… I think I can’t right now. Don’t remember enough. Another time, though, if you want.”

—

With no more reasons to be upright, Teddy slid down to match Emilio. Fully covered by the protective layer of blankets and warm towels. So. Very. Close. Facing him, of course, noses just inches from each other. Breath bouncing between. Their arm absently found the man’s shoulder, and their thumb rubbed gentle circles over one of the more prominent scars there. In the grand scheme of things, they weren’t doing super well at the whole resist temptation thing. Such a monumental ask was so outside their framework, their nature that even now this barely seemed like giving in. 

Touch was just the surface. The tumultuous waves below were filled with many other kinds of yearning. To know how he felt. To know if it was as one sided as they believed. He kept the pendant, kept it right next to the ring. Was it worth it to allow themself to think that it might have meant something? 

“Never really heard too much about Elder Vampires. Are we talkin’ just like, lived a long time, or are they super crusty and decrepit and Nosferatu-ey?” Sure, it was easier to talk about things like this. Teddy’s humor even started to slip back in. Always needing to add some sort of commentary to anything and everything as if their observations were paramount to everyone having a good time. 

The ex-demon loved learning about rare creatures. They liked being in the know about many things. But the supernatural beasties that roamed the very edges of humanity’s collective consciousness were a bit of a special interest. Part of what got them both in the mess they were in. Oops doesn’t really cut it. 

“I’ll take you up on that someday, sounds like a good tale.” The corner of Teddy’s lip curled into a smile. Warm as the cocoon they’d built around the pair. “Five and six, favorite weapon, favorite scar. And don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite, everyone has at least one scar they’re proud of.”  

—

Teddy settled into a horizontal position, and Emilio responded with a desperate repositioning, as if he was trying to crawl inside their skin. He’d be mortified later if the concussion weren’t kind enough to allow the memory to fade into a fuzzy, half-remembered thing. But in this moment, all he wanted was the warmth their body provided. Well… maybe that wasn’t all he wanted. There was a quiet desire for something more, but it was so difficult to recognize what that meant even without his head pounding. Things were simpler when he was more weapon than man, when everything was about duty. He wasn’t sure how to function as this strange hybrid he’d become, a knife playing at being a person. 

Maybe he’d been better off before, when he was a tool to be used and nothing more. Nothing mattered as much then, not the way it mattered now. Everything felt so much more important in this stupid cabin, with this pounding in his head and Teddy’s skin brushing against his own. It was a terrifying thing. He wasn’t sure how to cope with it.

“I don’t know what Nose — Nosfa —” He wrinkled his brow, frustrated. “I don’t know what that is,” he said, deciding to forgo the unfamiliar word entirely. “But elder vampires are old, yes. And powerful. Lots of abilities that develop as they age. Best to take them out before they…” He trailed off. That wasn’t right, was it? He didn’t do that anymore, didn’t kill just to kill. He had a system now, had rules. It was hard to remember them in the moment. “They’re dangerous. Very dangerous.”

He resisted the urge to nod, knowing it would only make that pounding in his head worse. They’d get the full story later. Emilio would share it with some amendments, make it prettier on paper. He wouldn’t talk about how terrified he’d been when Rosa went down, about how he’d thought she was going to die. He wouldn’t mention how Edgar nearly left him in that crypt, how he’d later admitted that if it had come down to saving only one of his siblings, it would have been Rosa who made it out. He wouldn’t admit the way he’d been almost relieved to hear it, because Rosa was the better option of the two. He’d tell Teddy the condensed version, the one that was all glory and no gore. It was better that way, would avoid awkward moments like the one they’d just navigated with that apology and his rejection of it.

“Favorite weapon…” He trailed off with a faint smile. “That guadaña you let me use was good. There’s… There was a knife, too. Not very impressive, but it’s — It was my brother’s. I gave it to Wynne for their birthday. Think it fits, you know? Be good for them.” For the scar, he had to think. He was quiet for a moment, cataloging the ones he could remember. Twisting, he indicated to his lower back. The scar there was slightly rounded, but with uneven edges. There was one on the back, just off center to the left, and another similar shape on the front. “Old style vampire,” he said. “Spear. In one end, out the other. Had to finish the fight with it still in. Bitch to get out, but it looks cool, yeah?”

—

How the hell was he not noticing? Each time the slayer moved closer their heart leapt a mile. Teddy felt every muscle tense like the contact was going to hurt rather than add a pleasant pressure wherever skin met skin. They’d almost stopped breathing all together. Just staring into his eyes. Memorizing how he looked in this moment, like it might be the last time they got to be this close. 

“It’s from an old movie. Maybe we’ll watch it next friday?” The weekly ritual had become something Teddy looked forward to. Did he, as well? Ted knew he didn’t really enjoy sitting still for long periods of time, but they didn’t mind the fidgeting, hell. They weren’t so good at being stoic either. This quiet moment might have been the most relaxed either of them had been… maybe ever. 

“Use it any time you like champ. Looks good in your hands.” The smile split wider, unable to contain it any longer. The scar too, that was something to look at. Hard, between the darkness and the shifting blankets all around. So Teddy opted to follow Emilio’s hand with their own, they traced over the raised tissue. Took the time to feel the way it jagged and stretched over the smooth skin around it. “Sounds like a hell of a fight. I’d be proud of that too.” 

The slayer's strength was nothing in comparison to his indomitability. The world kept crashing down around the man and here he still was. Still going. Trekking along like a freight train. Weathered, perhaps, at the edges. Rusted down to his core. And yet, the engine burned. He continued to care for everyone (except himself) when most people would have just checked out entirely. That was his most admirable trait. Not the ways he could kill, not the usefulness he craved. It was the heart beneath it all. 

“What happened to him? To… all of them? I know– I know you lost a lot of people.” The question followed the compliments. Spoken as softly as the question itself was sharp. It was the one that this whole game was built around, wasn’t it? Apparently seven questions was enough to get to the heart of it. Teddy offered their most sympathetic face, knowing full well whatever came next wasn’t going to be pretty. 

— 

The only response to the suggestion was a low hum, noncommittal but not disapproving. Movies weren’t something Emilio had ever really enjoyed in the past, but Teddy’s movie night routine wasn’t one he disliked. Maybe it was because Teddy, unlike most people, was more than willing to pause a film for any indeterminate amount of time while Emilio had a cigarette or paced around the room or got up to go do something else entirely. They didn’t complain about the fidgeting he was prone to, either, never snapped at him for his bouncing knee or his twitching fingers. Half the time, he only caught a small fraction of the film they were watching, but Teddy always seemed to enjoy it, anyway. Maybe that was what kept Emilio coming back to it, week after week. Their excitement was a contagious sort of thing.

“Not the most… practical,” he allowed, because it was what his mother would have said. Slayers were meant to be efficient above all else. He knew that. “But it’s nice. Has a good swing. Might take it out sometime.” Teddy’s hand tracing the old scar felt like an electric thing, making him feel more awake than any of the questions so far had managed. He was still sluggish, of course — even with his advanced healing, it’d take days for the haziness of the concussion to leave him entirely — but something that had been missing thrummed under the ex-demon’s touch. “Was a good one,” he said, a little breathless. Blame that on the concussion, too. Blame it all on that.

But of course, the questions shifted the way he’d known they would, and Emilio fell quiet again. This was what he’d been afraid to answer, one of the things that would make Teddy look at him differently when it was said. Stories of battles won could earn him looks of admiration, could impress the person sharing the bed and warming him with their body heat, but this? This would leave him with something else entirely. Disappointment, he thought, because how could it not? Judgment, maybe, because he deserved that. But Teddy was here, was asking, and Emilio wanted to answer. They could see him for what he was, could hate him for it, but he thought they still deserved the truth.

“I was twelve when he died,” he said quietly, letting the mattress muffle his words as if that might take the sting from them. “Don’t know the details. He went on a hunt with my uncle, and my uncle came back alone. Nobody ever said what happened. Think I was afraid to ask. The rest of them…” He trailed off, pressing his face against the sheets beneath him so that he didn’t have to look Teddy in the eye. His head hurt, and so did his chest. Every inch of him ached with exhaustion.

For a moment, he stayed quiet. But Teddy asked, Teddy asked, so Emilio would answer. “There was an attack,” he said. “On the town where we lived. Vampires. A lot of them. They killed everyone. One by one. Some fast, some slow. That’s how…” He trailed off again, leg flaring up with phantom pains. “That’s how my leg got fucked up. One of them cornered me, you know, was gonna take it slow. Started there. Killed it before it could finish the job. But I wasn’t —” I wasn’t good enough to save anyone but myself. I wasn’t good enough to save anyone who mattered. “That’s what happened to the rest of them. They all… Like that. In the fight. Was just me, after.”

—

Whatever they thought it might be, it was worse. A river that should have flowed strong and free, pulled and polluted by gouts of blood, of pain and heartache. Emilio had a brother. And then he didn't. He had a family, and then he didn't. Teddy didn't have to ask if that's where he lost his wife. If that's where he lost… everything. 

They had never known the joys of having a child. Not for lack of wanting, but they were far too afraid of commitment to attempt bringing a whole new life into the world with anyone. Teddy’s heart broke a thousand times for people they would never meet. For a smile that probably looked so much like Emilio’s. For the indescribable pain seeing that reflection would bring up every damn time he caught a glimpse of the features the kid must have inherited. How old were they? Teddy wondered. How old was Emilio when they were born? Did slayer kids have boundless energy? Were they as funny and kind as Emilio was underneath that layer of protective gruff? Did they have to be trained from birth too? There was a part of them that knew those kinds of questions were crossing some invisible line. Knew it was a notch too far. But– 

“What was their name?” They needed to know at least that. Needed Emilio to know that they were aware. That they understood even if they couldn't possibly comprehend what it must have felt like. Teddy moved in a little closer. There was no disappointment on their features. No anger, no blame, no pity. Only the shared pain of one who had lost a lot on their own, but who could only try and imagine what the pain of what he'd lost was like. “I know–” Their voice faltered a moment. Rough and raw as they asked the hardest question yet. “I know you lost a child too. Seen the way you react around– I know, but… What was their name?” 

A hand had come up to greet Emilio's cheek. Smoothing a thumb over what little was exposed of the man's cheek. Gently stroking along the lines of his cheekbones before they pushed forward, let their fingers run through his hair until they found where the injury had made a mat of his curly locks. Ever so softly they began to untangle the strands. Careful not to disturb the still healing wound. It would need a bit of warm water to really get everything out, but they could at least make it more comfortable to lay on for now. And maybe there was something to that. All Teddy could do for Emilio was be a comfort in the current. Be a buoy on which to keep his head above water, his body afloat. 

—

It was hard to talk about. It was hard to think about, even if there were days when he didn’t think about much else. There were days where he was there, still, days where he was sure he’d never left that living room at all. Even now, with the head injury making everything fuzzy, he knew he’d see flashes of it if he pulled himself away from the mattress, away from Teddy. It was part of the reason why he shoved himself so close to them. It wasn’t just the physical warmth he was after. It helped, he had learned, to have something… grounding him. Something holding him to the present, something reminding him of what was real. Teddy did a good job of it. The smell of their soap — more expensive than the shit Emilio used, pleasant even if he wouldn’t admit it — the feeling of their hair tickling his skin, the warmth coming off them. He was here. He was here. He was here. He repeated it like a mantra.

The silent mantra faltered at the next question. Even before they elaborated, he knew what they were asking. There was a shock to it, a quiet surprise. He’d never told Teddy about his daughter, but they’d known anyway. It was a jarring thing, the fact that he’d been seen so clearly. It wasn’t a hard thing to deduce, of course. He knew he had a list of issues a mile long, knew they came out in earnest any time there were kids involved in a case or a hunt. Teddy had seen him rant and rave about children and parents more than once, seen his anger when he thought Levi was acting selfishly towards Teddy, felt his rage when children were in danger. And Teddy was so much smarter than they pretended to be, so of course they’d noticed. Of course they’d understood what it meant.

Absently, he twisted the ring on his finger. Doubtlessly, Teddy had noticed that, too. Did they wonder? Did they think about who had put it there? With the matching one hanging around his neck next to the stake they’d given him, it wasn’t hard to guess what had become of the marriage, the other half of the equation. It told a story, didn’t it? A quiet truth, an undeniable thing — that Emilio was a bomb that exploded over and over again and left no survivors each time it finished its blast, that caring about him at all was just as lethal as a knife to the throat. Guilt churned his stomach. Teddy knew pieces, but not the full story. Would the whole truth finally make them treat Emilio with the disdain he deserved? There was a limit to kindness, even in someone like Teddy. There had to be. 

For a moment, he was quiet. Teddy’s hand found his face, his hair, dutifully untangling the unruly curls from one another, probably bloodying their hands in the process. The ache was a dull thing. They were gentle enough to keep it from becoming overpowering. The movements worked in tandem with the concussion, attempting to lure him into sleep. He needed to say something if he wanted to keep himself conscious. He needed to answer the question. He opened his mouth, jaw clicking as he tried to push the name from his throat. When it came out, it was a strangled thing. Grief wrapped itself around the syllables like hungry vines, eating away at each broken letter. “Flora,” he said quietly. “Her name is… Her name was Flora.”

—

Flora. 

Teddy repeated the name in their head. Let it sit there amongst the ashes of all the things that never came to be. Their heart ached for him. For the way this must have been eating away his soul at all times, not just now. Not just while he had to steel himself to just say her name. Flora. Beautiful, light, airy. Not something one would name a blade meant to be sharpened like he had been. There mustn't have been a single goddamn thing in this world that Emilio wouldn't have done for her. They could see it plain as day. Only wishing they had been able to see it in person. 

The silence that followed was heavy, as was the air between them. Emilio had been holding onto all of this alone, and now it spilled out. Now, at least, it could be shared. Another shoulder to lean on. A hand to hold on to. Another who could understand and try to steer away from the more jagged shoals that would rip and rend the man from the present. Send him to that faraway look, and the memories that must have accompanied it. To the perceived failures and survivor’s guilt. Teddy understood well enough to know there was nothing in this world that could convince him that it wasn't in some way his responsibility. His fault. No matter who did the killing. Teddy couldn't say they'd feel any differently in his position either. 

“I think…” When their voice finally found its footing again it was quiet. Not meant for anyone outside of the blankets to hear. “I think Flora would be proud of you. That you've kept on going. That you champion those who can't protect themselves. Just getting up at all after your whole world was taken from you that's— I think she'd be proud, Em.” 

Teddy gently brushed a lock of hair away from Emilio's eyes, tucked it behind his ear and offered the saddest smile they had ever mustered. Sympathy often felt like a dagger in times like this, but it was all Teddy had in their arsenal. This wasn't a problem they could divine a solution to. This wasn't a fight they could help him win. Emilio had lost everything. It was so obvious where all his actions, where all his self destructive habits, and where all of that anger came from now. Teddy never really minded it much before, but understanding was a beast all its own. Certainly didn't make them admire the slayer any less though. Maybe even more. Not for the reasons Emilio might expect, or maybe even want from them, but Teddy saw a strength in there that could rival the sun. A heart that could shine twice as warmly. 

“I'm proud of you too, you know.” Ted pushed their forehead closer, until it gently grazed against his. “For still being here. Even when it feels like you shouldn't be. Even if it feels like you'd rather be anything else. I'm proud of you, Em.” I love you, is what they wanted to say. But it straddled the line of what Emilio needed to hear and what was far beyond the station they should have been staying at. Train missed by a mile. 

—

Talking about Flora was always a double-edged sword. It made him feel hollowed out, as if someone had taken a shovel and scooped everything from inside of him and left it on the ground like food for a dog. It made him feel raw, made him feel empty. But there was some relief to it, too. There was some quiet reprieve that came with allowing someone to know that part of him, with sharing the burden. He felt guilty for it, sometimes, because it was his burden to carry. But… He felt guilty for not talking about her, too, because she deserved to be known. It was one of those impossible choices, one of those ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ type things. Either way, Emilio would hate himself. He always did, at the end of the day.

But Teddy didn’t. They were looking at him now, some unreadable expression on their face, but it wasn’t a bad one. And Emilio didn’t understand it, couldn’t comprehend how anyone could know this part of him and not hate him for it the way he did. It was a parent’s job to protect their child. It was their most important duty, their most sacred one. And Emilio had failed at it. Outliving your child was an unnatural thing. It wasn’t right.

He swallowed as Teddy spoke. He felt so much, in that moment. Like the world was closing in, like it had already collapsed years ago and no one had thought to tell him. Flora would be proud of him, Teddy said, and Emilio wanted to argue. How could anyone be proud of this husk that he was? How could anyone look at these broken pieces and call it a man? He didn’t feel like he’d gotten up; he felt like he was still sitting on that living room floor, cradling that tiny body. But Teddy said Flora would be proud with such conviction. 

They said they were proud, too.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. Teddy had a way of doing that, didn’t they? Whatever Emilio expected of them, they did the opposite. It was why he’d hated them so much in the beginning. Unpredictability scared him, made his heart pound and his hands shake. He liked to be able to guess what was going to happen next, liked to be able to take comfort in knowing the ending before he’d begun. Teddy made it impossible. Every twist and turn was impossible to see coming, and it scared him. It scared him so much that his mouth went dry and his heart beat like it was trying to escape his ribcage. Teddy’s hands were in his hair, and he was terrified. Teddy’s forehead was against his, and he was afraid.

(Or… maybe he wasn’t. There were other things that felt like fear. Emilio pushed the thought away. It wasn’t one he felt he deserved to have.)

“You shouldn’t be,” he murmured. “You really shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be here, Teds. I think we both know it’d be better if I…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. “I want to sleep. When can I sleep? My head hurts, I’m tired.”

—

“It wouldn't. It wouldn't be better.” Teddy assured, twisting their jaw just slightly, enough to softly grind their forehead against his. “It feels like it, I get that. But it wouldn't be better.” A pause, a deep breath. A leap of faith. “You aren't alone anymore. You have people who look up to you, who care about you,who depend on you. E-even some who like you, despite everything about your dumb face.” The first syllable on that like was just a tick too long. Something Emilio would have picked up on easily if he wasn't concussed but– hopefully now it wouldn't be so obvious.

“I know it can't– replace anything you've lost. Nothing ever will. But there's a life you could live here, and I think… Flora would want you to try. I think they all would.”

If Teddy had died during the ritual, they would've wanted Levi to go on. Grief was a heavy, crushing thing. It was the weight of the world pressed between your ribs and your heart. But it wasn't something that helped the dead. “I think she'd want you to let yourself be happy, just like you'd want for her.” 

A low sigh rolled through the ex-demon. God, they were fucking tired too. Sleep sat around the corner and whispered sweet nothings through the wall. It was cozy here, swaddled together, a fire crackling lazily while the storm raged on outside. They were there together, they were closer than they ever had been, and sleep sounded like the best fucking idea they had ever heard. 

“Still got some questions, you still got some time.” Reluctantly, Teddy rebuffed his offer. Still, their hand rested on his cheek. Palm pressing into the curve of his jaw. “The rest of the questions can be a bit more fun. Like… what do you think of my new powers? How'd I do in that fight back there?” 

—

You aren’t alone anymore. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? He thought of Rhett, of what he’d said just after the shit with the mare in his van — that Emilio getting close to people while still chasing his own death was a cruel thing, that all he was doing was promising other people the same pain he’d gone through, the same shit that had ruined him. He wasn’t alone anymore, but he should have been. He wasn’t alone anymore, but he deserved to be. “I don’t think anyone should like me,” he admitted. The way Teddy dragged out the word went unnoticed. Maybe it was the concussion, maybe it was his uneasy relationship with the English language. Either way, he was none the wiser. “I don’t like me.” It wasn’t a confession, because it wasn’t something that everyone didn’t already know. It was one of those simple, indisputable truths. The sky was blue. The grass was green. Emilio hated himself more than he’d ever hated anyone else.

He thought of his daughter, tried to align who she’d been with the still image he had of her in his mind. It was funny, wasn’t it? It was funny in the cruelest sort of way, how the dead shifted after they were gone. From people to concepts, from individuals to ideas. Flora went from being a child to being a monument at which her father lay his bloody weapons, an excuse to dirty his hands over and over again. She went from being a little girl to a suicide note, and she’d never even gotten old enough to understand such concepts. What would she have wanted? Did he even know anymore? 

He had some idea, at least, of what the rest of them would have wanted for him, but it wasn’t what Teddy might have hoped for. Emilio wasn’t the Cortez that any of the rest of them would have chosen to survive. They’d be disgusted with who he was now, with the unforgivable way his heart continued to beat.

“She should be here.” His voice was hoarse, and he pretended it was the concussion or the cold or the taser burns catching up with him or the hits he’d taken to the gut or a thousand other things that let him deny the way his throat ached and his eyes burned. “It would be better if she were here instead. For everyone.” Flora wouldn’t have lost herself to revenge the way he had. With all of them gone, with him gone, she could have had a normal life. No fighting, no hunting. She could have changed her name, gotten far away from the legacy that doomed her, doomed them all. Instead, she was buried in a hole in Mexico, and the world was worse for it.

He’d known Teddy would say no to sleeping — the pounding in his head was just as bad as it had been when they’d started this game, and Teddy was smart enough to know that the dangers of sleeping hadn’t yet passed — but he let out a frustrated grunt anyway. He leaned into the hand against his face, as if trying to convince Teddy to just let it happen, to just let him risk it all for a fucking nap, but he knew it was useless. 

Still… there was some relief in the idea that the questions would get easier now. He hummed quietly at the next one, brow furrowing as he remembered the fight. It was a little blurry now; that last crack of his head against the concrete had put a haze over most of it. But he remembered bits and pieces, remembered the way Teddy fought. “Hot,” he sighed, more honest than he would have been with no concussion loosening his tongue. “Good. Like knowing you’ve got that. Makes it easier.” He wasn’t quite as worried about losing them now.

—

“You don't get to pick what other people feel. Void fuckin knows you don't get to pick how you feel.” Teddy inched closer again. Emboldened, perhaps, by the way he was more open to complimenting them, by the way his hands felt wrapped around their torso, by the way he leaned into their touch. 

“But you don't get to decide if anyone does or doesn't like you. Nor if they could or should either.” Did that make sense? Eh. The sentiment was enough to carry it home. “All you can do is decide the person you want to be then work towards it every day. Even if it's just one inch forward at a time. Just hoping that it's enough. One step better than yesterday.”

Their chests were practically pressed against one another, Teddy arched their neck to place their chin so softly on the top of his head. Trapping him almost, within the embrace. Another anchor saying that they weren't going anywhere. That they understood the way memories could cut as sharply as any dagger, any tooth. 

Flora wasn't here, not in the way that Emilio would have done anything for. Teddy knew there wasn't anything that could quell that kind of hurt. So they held him. Cradled the slayer and offered the compassion that clearly hadn't been given to him nearly enough. “I'm so sorry, agapitós, I'm sorry.” 

The questions got easier, their grip on him loosened. Only slightly. Just enough to hear him speak. A blush graced Teddy's cheeks as Emilio answered, and they were more than grateful that their face was out of sight. “So you do think I'm hot, care to explain? That can count as question… twelve I think.” 

Teddy smirked into the slayer's hair while the slight chuckle sent a ripple through their chest. “Throw in thirteen too, what else do you think of me?” Now they were just getting cocky. Bold. Maybe stepping over the line. Yanking at the leash. But at least it was easier than dredging up old terrible memories. 

—

Teddy was right. It was something even Emilio had told other people in the past — that other people got to pick who they hung around with, that everyone was owed that choice to make for themselves. But, as with most things, it felt so different when it was in reference to himself. He often felt as though he ought to be the exception to every rule, especially those preaching kindness. Other people deserved such things, but not him. What Emilio deserved was his own corpse rotting alongside those of his family, was a death two years overdue. He knew that. He’d known it for a long time now.

Teddy was so close to him now that he could feel every heartbeat, feel the pulse under their skin. He swallowed, his own heart pounding in a way he hoped wasn’t too telling. “What if I don’t know?” He asked quietly. “What if I don’t know who I want to be?” It wasn’t something he had ever really admitted before, wasn’t something he’d spoken of with anyone still living. The closest he’d come to such a confession had been to Rosa, just a week before everything went to shit, when he’d unintentionally told her of his plans to take his daughter and run. Her reaction hadn’t been the sort of thing that inspired him with the confidence to ever make such a confession to anyone else.

Uncertainty, in the life he led, was a terminal thing. It would kill you faster than a knife to the throat, would torture you more brutally than anything undead could ever hope to achieve. Emilio didn’t know who or what he wanted to be. He was half a weapon and half a man and not very good at being either anymore, not sure which would be better to strive for. Which was more useful? Which would protect the people he cared about? Which would make him worthy? Could anything? 

Teddy was speaking, was saying sorry, was using that same unfamiliar word they’d said in the haze of the fight before. Emilio still didn’t know what it meant, but maybe he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe there were things that weren’t for knowing, and maybe that was okay. 

He shifted in the ex-demon’s grip, a little embarrassed at the show of emotion. Later, when the worst of the concussion had eased and he could think clearly again, he’d be humiliated by it. He’d probably lock himself in the new Axis office and pretend to be busy until his chest felt less tight, until he could think of this moment without seeing himself as a failure for the tears stinging his eyes. For now, with the world still hazy, it was easier. He found relief in the simpler questions, the banter. He might have rolled his eyes at Teddy’s antics if he weren’t so sure that doing so would hurt. 

“You know you’re hot,” he pointed out. “I know you know that. It’s una declaración de hechos. Don’t pretend you don’t.” He’d seen the way Teddy carried themself, and he doubted it was their looks that they were self conscious about. Everything else, of course, was another matter entirely. Emilio flushed a little for reasons that had nothing to do with the concussion or the cold. I think you’re too kind for your own good. I think you’re reckless in a way that scares the shit out of me. I think it was easier when you hated me. I think I feel all kinds of complicated shit that I shouldn’t be feeling, and I think it’s going to end badly for us both because it always does. It was too hard to say any of it, to say anything real, so he buried his face in the mattress again and let the sheets muffle his words. “I think you’re an ass,” he said flatly.

—

“That’s okay too.” Teddy tilted until their cheek was against Emilio’s head, rather than their chin. Such a  subtle shift, but it afforded the ex-demon a vantage point from which to glance down at what little bits of his face showed. They stayed like that, staring like he was an ancient oil painting. Like they were going to be quizzed on the way the slayer looked from every angle. After a few contemplative breaths, they finally spoke. “I think you start with what you like. What you admire in other people. Go from there.” 

Wisdom came rather easy when it was for someone else. Teddy knew better than most that trying to apply all that in earnest was an uphill battle covered in snow and grime. You could toil away for years and lose progress in an instant. But it was about the Sisyphean effort. About telling the world to fuck itself, that you could define yourself on your own terms. It never erased the past. Didn’t get rid of the boulder. Didn’t make the road any less steep. Still, there was a power to it. One that wouldn’t go unnoticed. 

“I don’t know who I am any better.” They admitted. Quietly, carefully. “I just pretend like I do.” This was something they had alluded to in the past as well. Their sense of self was shaky. After so many years of shifting themself to be whatever everyone else needed, it was hard to take a shape all their own. Would it be harder, they wondered, with the pressure of expectation? If those that had raised them had so clearly had a vision of what they should be, that it pushed from every angle. Or would they have broken that mold as well? Guess they kinda did. Surviving the sacrifice and all that. Hypotheticals and hyperbole would only get someone so far. Teddy wouldn’t ever really know what it was like to grow up in the way Emilio had. Didn’t mean they didn’t know the ache of seeing themself as other in relation to the ones who were supposed to love them unconditionally. And in that, maybe they could share a comfort or two. 

Not alone, not anymore. 

“Heh, yeah, I know that I am. But knowing that you think I am is much more interesting.” The smile came back. Wider, this time. With a few more fits of laughter to bolster its resolve. Teddy curled their lower arm underneath Emilio, brought it up to his back where they started to work on some of the knots their fingers found almost instantly. Their other hand came up to his chin. Slowly, slowly tilting it upwards (as not to bother the injuries) so the slayer was forced to look them in the eye. To see the shit-eating grin plastered across their features as they repeated the phrase from earlier.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna lie to me, Cortez.” 

—

He could feel them looking at him, even as he kept his own gaze averted. Teddy always seemed to be looking at him, even in the beginning when they’d hated one another. Emilio could feel their eyes on him at all times. At first, it had felt like the scope of a rifle; a threat, the promise of violence. As time went on, it had shifted into something that became harder and harder to describe. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything quite like it, wasn’t sure anyone else had ever looked at him like he was something to… protect, something to care for. All his life, Emilio had been the protector. Both sword and shield, designed to take every blow and return them in kind no matter what it meant for him. If he died, it was expected. It was the ending he was meant to have. But Teddy seemed to disagree. Teddy always seemed to disagree. 

“I know who you are,” he replied quietly. “You’re smart. Pretend not to be, but you are. And you care about people. Too much, sometimes. Whether they deserve it or not. Even when they’re dicks to you.” He smiled wryly, making it pretty clear what specific person he was referring to there. “You protect the people you care about, even if it means you get hurt instead. Wish you wouldn’t do that, you know, but that’s part of who you are. And you’re good at thinking on your feet. Know how to turn things around, even when it feels like you’ve already lost. You think you’re funny. Guess you are sometimes. And you’re a good person, even when you’re trying not to be. Even when you don’t see it.” He swallowed, feeling a little self conscious. It was a ramble, more than anything. The words were slurred by the concussion, his accent thicker than it usually was. But they were true, anyway, and Teddy probably deserved to hear them, so he let them hang for a moment. “That’s who you are,” he said, like the punctuation at the end of the sentence. 

One of their hands began working out some of the knots in his back — ones Emilio knew weren’t due to their recent shared ordeal, but because of his general life and habits — distracting him so that he didn’t realize his head was being tilted upwards until he was looking into Teddy’s eyes and seeing that stupid grin splitting their face. This time, he decided it was worth the pain to roll his eyes. He regretted it almost immediately — head injuries fucking sucked, goddamn it — but he figured it got the message across. 

“That isn’t a lie. You are an ass. Everyone knows that.” It just… wasn’t the whole truth. What Emilio thought about Teddy, what he really thought, scared the shit out of him. Saying it aloud felt like something akin to standing on the edge of a cliff and taking a step forward. Worse, almost; a cliff felt more survivable. 

—

For such a tender moment, for such a quiet, sweet, tender moment, Teddy still felt like a tempest.Grief stricken and torn even as Emilio Cortez read the vision of them. So succinctly putting ink to paper of what Teddy was. The person the ex-demon could never see, no matter how many mirrors they primped and prodded at. Staring eternally into the eyes of a near stranger that someone else was seeing so clearly. So distinctly that he was able to describe to them exactly who they were. A hollow ringing in Teddy’s ear reminded them how little the slayer knew. Would it change his mind, they wondered, if he had seen the river the demon had filled with blood. The shores of washed up corpses?      

They may have been raised a monstrous thing, but that didn’t excuse the ways they’d acted in their youth. When impulse and praise from an ancient eldritch being saw violence as a manner of play. As Teddy grew in power, so did their capacity for terror. Leviathan and Theodore Jones went up and down coasts. The former gleefully spurring on the latter to rend vessels into scrap, and the people within to nothing more than fibers of sinew and viscera between the teeth of a great sea beast. All for that approval, uncaring of the lives they had been shredding to attain it.   

Years went by and Teddy uncovered something inside themself. The first and maybe only thing they ever realized on their own. They tried terribly to temper that ever burning fire into something constructive. Pain that could cause something to bloom into a nebulous better. Sate the drive for blood by ridding the world of those who hurt others without remorse. Protect people who couldn’t do it on their own. It was never enough to wipe out the deeds they had done but– Emilio was looking at them. Describing them as the thing they strove for. His mouth moved subtly. As it almost always did. Like any words at all were a monumental effort. Like the excess movement would get him in trouble. And maybe it did, when he was growing up. Teddy was always talking and it hardly ever meant anything, but Emilio? When he spoke it was like listening to a gospel. 

Every sentence, a revelation, each word felt like redemption.

They weren’t sure they’d earned it. A stronger person may have argued. A smarter person may have found a way to share the ways in which he was wrong. But Teddy was neither. Instead the emotion welled up inside them, pushing something else out with the effort. A glimmer of that bright teal light. A field of force pushing outward around the pair. Knocking a bunch of shit over in the process. Most notably, the lamp. It didn’t break on impact, but it did turn off. Leaving both the figures on the bed only gently lit by the flickering fire that still burned in the tiny hearth. 

Breathless and flustered. A little in awe, and shock. Teddy blinked back to the present as Emilio doubled down on his assertion that they were an ass. Something altogether a lot easier to digest than the sudden display of power they still didn't quite connect to themself. Their smile split wider and laughter filled the space between them. At the lamp. At the blizzard. At the fondly spoken insult. At the whole damn situation. Their arms cradled the man protectively, then playfully squeezed just a bit too much, til almost no space at all remained between them.  

“Say the whole truth, and I’ll let you sleep, okay? You can even do it in Spanish.” 

—

When they were this close together, with only the smallest molecules of oxygen separating them, it was impossible not to feel every shift of Teddy’s body. The way they squirmed just a little as he described them the way he saw them, the way his words seemed to be a tangible thing that didn’t fit quite right on their shoulders. Part of Emilio wanted to shake them, wanted to insist that they open their eyes and see what he saw when he looked at them. Their steely determination, their unmatched passion, their ability to find the good in the bad even when the bad was overwhelming. It wasn’t a skill he possessed himself. When things got heavy, Emilio was more likely to collapse under the weight of it. All that slayer strength did nothing to save him. But Teddy? Teddy lifted it all with ease. Even now, without the demonic abilities backing them up, Teddy was stronger than Emilio could ever hope to be.

And they didn’t realize it. They couldn’t accept it, couldn’t acknowledge it. They thought so poorly of themself, and none of it was deserved. Emilio was a wretched thing. The blood on his hands didn’t stop at his wrists, covered every inch of him in a way that damned him from the start. Years of acting as a weapon, carving up whoever he was pointed towards, left him with more sins than any man could ever hope to atone for. He could spend years in a confessional box and not scratch the gory surface; he couldn’t even remember enough of it to try. He’d taken place in so many hunts that killing was a natural thing. He could no more remember the number of people he’d ended than he could remember the amount of times he’d stepped foot in a grocery store or filled a tank with gas. It was commonplace. It was like breathing. 

Sometimes, he thought he might not want it to be. Sometimes, he thought he might want to try his hand at being something more. Teddy pulled those moments out of him, made him think he might want to try to be a whole person instead of a rusty knife even if he knew he’d be bad at it. It wasn’t a thing he wanted to want. It wasn’t something he deserved. More than that… It scared him. It was terrifying.

He’d zoned out, not realizing the extent of it until he was pulled back to himself by that teal flash. A few things fell, the lights turned off. To Emilio, the dark didn’t look much different than the light — slayer nightvision and all — but his brow furrowed all the same. “Didn’t know you could do that.” They’d done it in Wynne’s compound, with the demons, but there had been so much going on, Emilio had figured it was a fluke. Some last reserve of demonic energy making its way out and back to the Leviathan. Apparently, it was more than that. Part of his mind itched to know more, ever the detective. 

A bigger part of him just wanted to sleep. 

His throat felt dry as he mulled over Teddy’s instruction. There were things he felt that he was so afraid to say; things he knew were there that he didn’t know how to put to words, even in Spanish. It frustrated him just a little. “I think you’re very annoying,” he said in Spanish, making a face. “I think you’re one of the best people I know. I think you scare the shit out of me, because you’re probably the best fucking friend I’ve got and you can find trouble better than almost anyone else I know. I think you’re too kind to too many people who don’t deserve it. I think I’m one of those people. I think I like living in your stupid house with your stupid couch and the stupid shit you cook. I think I like being around you. I think that’s not a good thing, for either of us. I think —” 

Oh. It hit him in a way that made his stomach bottom out, like a freefall. His jaw snapped shut, and he tried to play it off as a wave of pain from the concussion, closing his eyes for a moment like he was riding it out. A cowardly move. A shitty one. But better than the alternative, wasn’t it? Better than admitting what had just slammed into him like a goddamn avalanche knocking him off his feet. He had feelings. The big kind. For Teddy fucking Jones. He stopped himself short of thumbing at his wedding band, though he couldn’t keep his thoughts from drifting to the woman who’d put it there. His track record wasn’t great, was it? All he’d ever done was eat through people like rot, filling them up with decay until they fell to pieces beneath it. 

He had feelings for Teddy Jones, and he couldn’t tell them. He had feelings for Teddy Jones, and he needed to bury them deep enough to keep them from hurting anyone. 

Fucking head injuries. He wished Joy’s guards had just fucking stabbed him or something.

“I think I’m done,” he said, in English now. “Yeah. Good enough? You don’t let me sleep, I’m going to go walk in the snow ‘til I find the next cabin to crash in. Nobody stopping me from sleeping there.” A ridiculously empty threat. He was good at those where Teddy was concerned, he was learning.

—

They didn't know they could either. Part of Teddy’s mind wanted to put that topic to rest, to ignore the strange flash of light and force just a little longer because it was another mystery waiting to unfold. Waiting to put a new flavor of wrenches into their life. Sure, the emotional surge had been useful, borderline instrumental in helping Leviathan take down that other demon, but this time it was just a flash of… something. A bit distributive and far too distracting. It felt like magic, but not at all like any they'd wielded before. Altogether new and exciting. Just like the confession playing out in front of them. 

For maybe the first time in Teddy's life, they were speechless. Totally and utterly speechless. The quiet seconds between the end of Emilio's explanation and their mind processing the words he'd said seemed to loll on forever. Stretching out languidly as if time wasn't a finite resource for the pair, dangerous as their lives often were. Teddy listened. Repeated the phrasing. Tumbled it over and over again on the tip of their tongue. Never quite making it past the teeth. 

All they could think was that they felt the same about him. That there was something between them beyond… beyond words. Maybe just maybe Emilio wanted Teddy in the same–Well, maybe not exact same. It wasn't like Teddy thought Emilio was too nice to some people. Nice wasn't a weapon Emilio had in his arsenal. But Teddy liked that about him. He was honest. He was blunt and to the point. No unnecessary platitudes or sweetly held lies. Sarcastic, sure. But easy for them to read. It was nice to be around someone like that. It was what Teddy needed. It was what Emilio deserved too, after a nasty little trick like–

Well, the man was still under the impression that his language was a barrier. Teddy didn't much like the idea of any more barriers between them at all. 

“Guess it's time I come out with the whole truth then too, huh?” Fluent, perfect, and crystal clear Spanish flowed effortlessly off Teddy's tongue. As they'd always been able to do, as they had hidden on a whim. “I'd say sorry buuuut it's kinda funny that you actually believed I knew just about every language and not yours, Cortez. I mean really, Em. No Spanish? Almost five hundred million native speakers and nearly a hundred million more who learned it later. Of course I know how to speak–I fucking knew you liked my cooking, you asshole.” 

Teddy shifted, slipping lower in the bed so that they were eye to eye and practically nose to nose with Emilio. The low light bounced around. Dappling the man with a halo that flickered as the fire crackled and popped. Their hand found Emilio's cheek again. Careful fingers traced along the fractures that the slayer's healing had already mostly taken care of. The slash across his forehead was nothing but a faint pink scar, the bruises had blossomed and faded back to oblivion. By this point, he was probably safe to snooze. Ted couldn't help but feel a sense of… relief to that. Their gaze softened from that mischievous glee, glancing between his eyes to his lips and back with a hunger, and a hesitation. This wasn't a line they were going to cross. The last step had to be his. 

“No tomar de nuevo, querido.”

—

For a moment, everything was still. Or… as still as either of them ever got. Emilio was still fidgeting, Teddy still squirming. But it felt like something had been lifted, almost. Like some of that weight that lived on the hunter’s shoulders had been eased by saying a few things aloud, even if he was the only one who understood them. There was a reason, he thought, why people went to confession. A reason why they sat in a box and spoke to a wall. It wasn’t always about forgiveness, wasn’t always for redemption. Sometimes, it just felt nice to speak something into existence, whether God was listening or not. It didn’t matter if he was understood; for once, he was glad he wasn’t.

Or… so he’d thought.

Teddy responded to him in fluid Spanish, with the kind of confidence that one could only establish by speaking a language for years. Emilio felt like he’d been hit in the stomach again, flashing back to all the times he’d said a little too much when he’d been so sure Teddy couldn’t understand him. In the floor of the kitchen, and again in that concrete room, with the stupid pet name that said far too much. His face flushed red for reasons that had less to do with the concussion than he’d pretend they did, and he groaned. “You are such an asshole,” he complained, in English now. “The whole time? Pendejo.” 

Then, they were shifting closer. So close that Emilio could almost taste them. Their hand on his cheek, their gentle weight on his chest. His eyes darted down for a moment, his mouth went dry. He could feel Teddy’s breath tickling the hair on his face — and that breath was just about the only thing sitting between them now. Teddy spoke in practiced Spanish again, and Emilio leaned in a little at that last word, closer and closer until —

There was a flash of bodies on the floor, of Flora’s crumpled corpse and Juliana’s unseeing, accusatory eyes. There was a memory of Rosa’s voice, sharp and angry as she said I wish you had died instead of Victor. There was Edgar, his eyes tired and uncertain as he sat on the couch, a lecture living and dying on his tongue. There was his mother, with her sharp looks and her sharper retribution. There was Lucio, with a blade in his gut. 

For a long time, Emilio had thought of himself as a person to whom bad things had happened. He didn’t think it was true anymore. He wasn’t someone who had bad things happen to him — he was the bad thing that happened. He was the curse, the cancer. And hadn’t Teddy been through enough already? Hadn’t they spent the last few months suffering one tragedy after another? The fall from the roof, the mines, Parker, the loss of their entire self through Levi’s ritual, the loss of their father when Levi left, even this latest ordeal with Joy… Teddy had had so many bad things happen to them already. Emilio didn’t want to be the latest in a long line of undeserved aches. He couldn’t make his feelings Teddy’s problem. They had enough of those already.

He pulled away, turning his head to the side. Knowing he no longer had to bother with English, he offered Teddy a soft smile and slipped back into Spanish. “What’s the diagnosis, doc? Do I get to keep my head?”

—

Outside the snow was falling. A fresh blanket of stars to coat the land in a coat of brilliant white. By sunrise it would glisten and capture the light, blinding in its resplendent glory. But for now, the frozen flecks buried a moment in time, a picture of perfection as Emilio drew closer. Teddy’s mind went hazy. What little light filtered through the room burst into a canticle of color and shadow. Their breath, hitched and shuddering as the apogee approached. They rejoiced in the delirium. Felt the heat rise within them as they watched, hoping, burning for that blessed contact. This was it, they were finally, finally on the same page. Teddy was right, there was something to it more than just– Ah. 

Hesitation. 

The briefest flash of some indiscernible expression, and then he turned. The brilliant color melted away leaving only the stark contrast of shadow against shadow. Each light snuffed out in a moment of bliss that bled out like the lights inside their chest. Teddy’s mouth went dry, they pressed their lips into a long thin line and began to silently berate themself for being such a goddamn fool. 

They should have known better, in fact, they did. Act one of this childish song and dance was fueled by that logic. Knowing that Emilio was injured, that he was out of it. Emotionally charged because he was already baring his soul to them. Teddy knew that they were taking advantage of it all because they selfishly wanted to believe that something could ever be there. That Emilio returned their silly crush. Of course he didn’t. It wasn’t fair of them to ask. 

He had turned away, and in the dark behind him Teddy cursed themself for ever having a heart in the first place. They’d get over it. They’d have to get over it. It was the only way they could keep their friend in their life without… making shit worse. They were always making shit worse. Weren’t they? This was already going to be so awkward in the daylight. They tried to steel themself. But they turned too. Back to back, maybe the way it always should have been. 

“I think you should be good to take a nap, but we might still have to remove it in the morning.” 

—

To a slayer, there was little difference between light and dark. Their eyes saw just as much in the dead of night as they did in the middle of the day, one of those design elements that made them perfect for fighting creatures that did most of their damage long after the sun went down. Like most of the genetic enhancements that came with the title of hunter, this had its pros and cons. Emilio would have been long dead without it, he knew. Fighting something you couldn’t see half as well as it could see you was a recipe for disaster no matter what other advantages you had over it. Being able to see all escape routes when a fight was going wrong was similarly vital. But when he’d been a little kid, locked in a shed for days after the thing he’d been put there to kill was already dead, it made it easy to lose track of time. In the pitch blackness of the windowless shed, the light streaming in from the crack under the door would have told anyone else whether it was day or night, at the very least. But to eyes that saw light and dark as the same, it was sometimes difficult to tell the difference. He’d never been afraid of the dark, but he’d never found relief in the light, either. 

For most of his life, it had just been one of those things that existed with little thought behind it. It was something he took for granted, like the healing factor that was only an advantage until broken bones healed in the wrong position or strength that was a good thing until he tried to hold something delicate. There were pros and cons, but Emilio thought little of either. He could see in the dark just as clearly as he saw in the light, and that was it. That was all. He didn’t think much more of it than that.

Except for right now. Because right now, in the dimly lit cabin with the blizzard roaring outside, he could see every fleck of disappointment scatter across Teddy’s face. He could see their apprehension, their quiet embarrassment, their regret. He’d almost kissed them. Were they upset about that, or upset that he hadn’t? He tried to shake the thought away, tried to pretend it wasn’t clawing at his chest. He was no good for anyone, and he knew that. A widower, a childless father, an orphan, a brother with no living biological siblings left to speak of. You could fill an entire graveyard with the people Emilio had let down already, and he couldn’t stand the idea of seeing Teddy’s name carved in granite. Everyone he loved suffered, and everyone he loved died. It was an undeniable pattern that he was tired of repeating. Teddy was disappointed, but that was okay. Disappointed, at least, still came with a heartbeat.

Still, it was hard to deny that ache in his chest, or the way his mouth tasted like ashes. He turned his face into the pillow, hiding his own expression from the ex-demon. It wasn’t hard — not everyone could see in the dark. “Probably better off without it, anyways,” he joked. He paused for a moment, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He wanted to say I’m sorry, wanted to explain himself in a way that would make Teddy understand, but how could he? Even Emilio had never quite understood what was going on in his own mind, why it worked the way it did. So he kept his face turned into the pillow, and he told himself it was better this way. Repeat it enough times, and it might start to sound believable. “Night, Teds. I’ll see you in the morning.”

#eldritchaccident #teddy: joy to the world pt 2 #wickedswriting #head trauma tw #sibling death tw #parental death tw #child death tw #suicidal ideation tw

[chounaifu]

@cittadeinumeri asked:

the world shakes. it breaks. sitting in your room, in your house, maybe outside, it doesn't matter. 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗. s̷o̸m̶e̴t̵h̷i̵n̴g̸ ̸i̶s̶ ̸w̵a̷t̶c̶h̸i̴n̸g̸. something is OPENING ITS MOUTH.

can you hear the screams? can you? can you hear the S̷O̷N̵G̸?

IT'S LOUD IT'S LOUD IT'S LOUD. WHY ISN'T ANYONE NOTICING IT? YOU CAN'T BE THE ONLY ONE HEARING IT, RIGHT?

RͬIͥG̾HͪTͭ?

The disease had been with him for eight years now, embedded in his bones and running through his veins, latched onto his organs and ensnared in his arteries. Neuropathy burned through his body whenever it decided to crawl beneath the skin and hum that droning, electric sound.

Proton spent nearly three months in total quarantine after the incident. Nobody knew what had happened to the man’s body after he returned from— whatever realm had swallowed him, chewed him like prey, and spat him out, left a mess of static. Physical contact with humans and Pokémon was deemed risky after several medical personnel, and twelve of Executive Proton’s grunts suffered from very strange injuries after being exposed to him for longer than five minutes.

But he had been put back together again; the talented brains behind Rocket’s medical and genetics operations were able to knit pieces of Proton’s broken mind into one, albeit, he’d never been quite the same ever since.

There were certain things he could not be exposed to: high pitched noises, intense amounts of static electricity, and blunt force trauma to the head.

— As long as he avoided these things, the corruption left him alone.

The face in the mirror, in the television, in the reflective surface of his knives, in the computer screen, it stayed away.

— So then, why, w h y was that a w f u l noise there? What had he done? WHY was it singing? Humming? Droning? TAUNTING him?

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening when the dull frequency began to build in between his ears. Proton was in the middle of a debriefing with two of his elite officers, going over the details of their latest mission to the port cities in Kanto. Everything was fine and normal, he was positioned at his desk, when he found his mouth going dry, and a terrible, artificial odor of burning electricity in his nostrils.

Iᴛ’s ᴜɴᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ.

“. . .”

Proton’s hand locked up around the pen he had been writing with, the tip of the utensil ripped through the document, and his arm trembled. The executive’s eyes widened, lips pursed; when he first began treatment for his affliction, the medical personnel discovered that when he was triggered, so to speak, his pupils whited out, and the scleras turned an unhealthy grey.

The two officers pause, looking to their superior, and saying nothing at first— out of fear that Rocket’s cruelest was having an outburst. It wasn’t until Proton’s neck twitched and his head turned to the side, that they realized something was ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟʏ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ.

“Executive Proton.” One speaks up.

“Executive— Sir—“ The other joins in when the man’s entire body locks up, and his free hand reaches up, smacking himself in the head as a pain SHRIEK escapes Proton.

When he hits himself— his face distorts into something awful, and his computer shorts out, POPPING, the circuitry exploding.

“Stop it stop it stop it 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝 Shut UP.”

Proton forces himself to his feet, movements rigid— lagging— uncanny— he’s unsteady— and he begins to scream, letting out a shout that comes from his ENTIRE core, something so primal, as if he were on the edge of reality, trying to drag himself back to his own body.

“ ▋▌AAAAAAAAAA—-▔▔❘❚❚ “

His officers have to pin him down to the ground, but he thrashes, snarls, the distorted tone of his voice glitching and skipping. His scream had been so loud that three subordinates who had heard from the hallway rushed in, JUST as shocked as the officers; they were ordered to assist in pinning him down as well, due to the immense amount of strength that the repo man possessed at the moment. It takes all SEVEN to prevent him from rearing back up and lashing into himself.

“ ▋LE▌T▔▔❘ME EE3E❚❚ G O O0! “

Razor teeth connect with an arm. An elbow cracks into leg. He’s thrashing about, a hand against the back of his skull to prevent him from hitting his head again. Proton was doing everything he could to fight against the people pinning him, against the neuropathy that BURNT him from the inside out, against the NOISE, that fucking AWFUL NOISE— as long as he could feel pain, as long as he felt agony, as long as he felt SOMETHING—

He wouldn’t vanish again.

He wouldn’t be left with that thing that ripped him apart.

Proton passes out, making it easier for his body to be collected and taken to the infirmary.

#cittadeinumeri #➤ 《 𝟗𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭; 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 》 In Character #head trauma tw