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yallwildinrn · 6 months

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Snake in the Grass: Chapter 1

For @ckhalloween23's catch-all prompt: An Empty Grave

This is a horror fic I've been working on since May or June. Given my current pace, it probably won't be out until the latter half of next year, butttt since I have this first chapter done (and I wanted it to be done in time for Halloween of this year), I figured I'd go ahead and post this as a preview and a treat! Well, treat for you guys and me haha.

Content warning for alcohol, bars, and general spookiness.

Pool balls whizz & clack against one another, but the sound is mostly drowned out. The bar, while not packed, is bustling with life, as is typical for a Friday evening; the sounds of yelling, laughter, and glasses clinking fill the already cramped space. It’s the victory cry of men who have been itching for the work week to finally, finally, end.

Dim, warm lights mask dirty floors and mysterious stains of unknown origin that seem to infect any and every upholstered seat. The single TV crammed into the back corner behind the bar top has caught the attention of several men, all shouting and celebrating – or complaining – at every pitch of the game with gnashing teeth. The bartender scrambles to sling out drink after drink of who-knows-what for the night’s customers.

Johnny himself is seated at a round, wooden table shoved near the back of the room. It’s almost uncomfortably close to the billiards tables, and each shrill hit against the pool balls becomes harder to ignore as the night wears on. He’s got some good distraction, though.

He lounges in his chair with a Coors in hand, surrounded by his friends. Bobby sits at his right, sipping his bourbon, while counterclockwise from there are Jimmy, Dutch, and Tommy. It’s tight, mostly because they had to steal a seat for Jimmy, but Johnny doesn’t mind. Not a damn bit.

He takes a long, slow sip from his drink. He still can’t believe they graduated from West Valley six whole years ago, and yet here they are, still thick as thieves. It’s not the same as it was back in high school (images of late-night, high-speed rides on their Hondas and getting plastered on the beach come to mind), but given how damn busy they all are, it’s an impressive amount of effort to keep traditions & meet-ups alive – like these monthly get-togethers at the bar, for example.

Johnny half-listens to a light-hearted argument between Tommy & Jimmy about baseball players he doesn’t give a shit about. Dutch, caught in the middle, has decided to antagonize the two of them by playing devil’s advocate for both sides. Things are getting heated, but it’s nothing Johnny finds worth worrying about. A nudge to Johnny’s arm snatches his attention away, and he turns to see Bobby with an expectant gaze and a soft, tipsy smile on his lips. Johnny reciprocates the smile without even thinking; he can thank the fact that he’s at least a few drinks in for that.

Bobby’s eyes sparkle as he leans towards Johnny. His cheeks are flushed, and his breath is rich and yeasty, laced with just a hint of sweetness. He smirks at Johnny and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s your back doing, old man?”

Anddd there it is. Johnny rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he answers, “Well, I’m no longer bed-ridden, so there’s that. I think I’ll be good to go back in a week or two once Dr. Gates gives me the green-light. I’m not supposed to see her for another two weeks, but if I feel better before then, I’m gonna see if she can squeeze me in, see if I can get back to work sooner.”

Bobby raises his brows in a look of mock shock, but it’s accompanied by a wry smile. “Did I just hear Johnny Lawrence say he’s trying to get back to work sooner? Thought you had worker’s comp to fall back on?”

“I do,” Johnny explains, snatching the neck of his Coors. The glass is smothered with wet drops of condensation that leave watery rings on the tabletop. “Just turns out that worker’s comp isn’t nearly as good as a roofing job. Pays the bills, but man.”

Johnny shakes his head and takes a swig of his beer. The icy cold liquid feels like a blessing, and he sighs as the bottle leaves his lips.

Bobby shrugs a little awkwardly. He tries to reassure Johnny as best he can by reminding him, “Hey, at least you’re getting comp this time.”

Johnny frowns harshly and shuts his eyes for a moment like he’s trying to will away a headache. He sets his beer down with a soft thunk, and the moisture clinging to the glass is already dripping back onto the table. He glares at a nearby wall and mutters, “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m just saying,” Bobby starts with a warm smile, swishing the alcohol in his glass with one hand. “Not working under the table has its perks.”

Another round of loud cheers fills the room. Sounds like someone finally hit the damn ball. “Yeah, but the government also takes half my damn paycheck. Jimmy still hasn’t helped me figure out how to deduct all my taxes yet,” Johnny says, loudly pulling Jimmy into the conversation.

Jimmy turns away from his own conversation with Tommy & Dutch. He leans onto an elbow and smiles at Johnny, but it’s certainly not genuine; if anything, there’s a bite to it. He answers, “Just because I’m an accountant doesn’t mean I can magically fix your taxes, Johnny. Become a business, then we can talk.”

Johnny flips him off, earning a round of chuckles around the table as Jimmy rolls his eyes and relaxes back into his seat. Dutch points at Jimmy with his beer bottle and asks the accountant, “Speaking of, have you finally been let out of your cage? First time we’ve seen you in, what? Months?”

Jimmy sighs, and Johnny realizes that the polo Jimmy’s wearing is probably the most casual thing he’s worn out and about in a while. “Tax season is finally over. Thank god for that,” Jimmy trails off, and he takes a long swig from his glass.

Tommy eyes his friends and pipes up, “Too late for another round of shots?”

Another round sounds fucking amazing. Johnny instead answers, “I’d love to, but my wallet says no.”

Bobby chimes in, “My liver also says no. That first round was enough for me.”

Dutch’s face crinkles into disappointment as he boos Bobby from across the table. His chair tips back an almost dangerous amount while he does. He shakes his head and laments, “Ya think you know a guy, but then he goes to priest school and becomes a damn prude.”

Bobby glares at him as his grip tightens on his glass. “It’s called seminary, and I’m becoming a pastor, not a priest.”

Tommy snickers & nudges Dutch, giving him a mischievous look. He points out, “Didn’t say he wasn’t a prude.”

Johnny snorts, earning himself a Bobby-patented glare, which then sends him into a laughing fit. Sometimes it can genuinely be scary to be on the receiving end of that gaze, but most of the time (especially after all these years,) it’s become damn hilarious. There’s another vicious clack of the pool balls; the start of a new game.

“I hate all of you,” Bobby huffs. He crosses his arms and leans back into his chair, dragging his gaze across the figures of his (almost) drunk friends, who are still much more sober than half of the room. “Why do I even hang out with you assholes? What did I do to deserve this?”

Jimmy sips on his glass and looks at Bobby. His lips curl into a wry smile. “Be a prude?”

Johnny thinks he can see a vein bulge in Bobby’s forehead, and he has to stifle another snort. Bobby’s lips pull into a tight, frustrated line across his face. He finishes the last of his bourbon with a small gulp and slaps his palm onto the table so he can push himself out of his chair. “I fucking hate you. All of you. I’m getting another drink.”

He pushes his chair back in with his foot and starts to weave through the maze of people & tables, and Tommy smiles like a Cheshire cat and calls out, “Can you-?”

“No,” Bobby yells back as he crosses the bustling room. Tommy cackles in his seat, and Dutch follows suit, clapping a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and howling beside him. Johnny simply shakes his head and leans onto the table, resting on his forearms.

The wood sticks to his skin. He can only imagine how much dust is trapped under layers of sticky god-knows-what. Probably more than he realizes. It’s kind of gross to think about, but it doesn’t really faze him, especially when everything about this bar fits that bill. Not much about this place is great: the bartender’s a dick, the bowls of pretzels are stale as shit and few & far between, it’s impossible to find a seat without a weird stain on it, and there’s never more than two beers on tap.

That doesn’t mean it’s all bad, though. Johnny never has to worry about them running out of Coors. It’s a pretty good distance between all their places. The prices aren’t half bad, and hell, it doesn’t even come close to gracing their top ten list of “Shittiest Bars This Side of California!” So yeah, really not all bad, at least if you ask him.

Tommy’s hyena-like cackle grabs Johnny’s attention and pulls him back into whatever conversations he’s missed. “No, no,” Tommy starts, smiling wide. “I’m just- can you believe any of us actually graduated?”

Jimmy levies Tommy with a self-satisfied smile. “No, I actually can’t believe any of you guys graduated,” he teases. Tommy rolls his eyes.

Dutch scowls. “Yes, yes, we know. You made an A once and got into a big boy college, keep it in your pants,” He replies gruffly, finishing his statement with a swig.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tommy elaborates dryly while gesturing with his drink. “You’re not wrong, but think about it. Our senior year was such a shitshow.”

Dutch smirks and looks Johnny’s way. “I blame Romeo over here. Had no idea a breakup would lead to all that bullshit with LaRusso.”

Johnny stifles at the comment, and his cheeks flush – now red from more than just the alcohol – as he glares at Dutch. He’s about to bark out a comeback, but Bobby cuts him off when he comes sauntering back, freshly filled glass in hand, and retorts, “Oh please, we’re all to blame. We escalated it when we should’ve just left things alone.”

Bobby slides into his chair a little ungracefully, wood scraping against the floor, while Dutch shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He nods his head down a little sheepishly because… yeah. Bobby’s right, as much Johnny hates to admit it. Back at West Valley, they were all chomping at the bit to put the twerp in his place, but none of that needed to happen or even should have happened. They saw red, and LaRusso got caught in the crossfire. It was like they didn’t even see him. Just a conveniently placed punching bag.

The table’s air stills; the rest of the bar continues to thrum with activity while the atmosphere of their little corner slowly ices over. Johnny purses his lips and sips at his beer. Guilt gnaws his ribcage. Even after all these years, after the apologies and many, many steps to make things right, he’s still stuck with bitter memories that choke him up. He opts to study the many dings & scratches on the table rather than meet any of his friends’ eyes.

Jimmy’s the first to break the tense silence. “You know, if we have anyone to blame, it’s Kreese,” he spits out. It hits Johnny like a jab to the chest. He’s taken aback as Jimmy says this, but the man continues, “He put so much bullshit in our heads! All that punch first, think second nonsense. Like, come on-”

“Wait, wait,” Johnny interrupts while waving his hand to stop Jimmy in his tracks. How can he just say that? “Look, he was a total douchebag – I should fucking know – but we’re the ones who took what he said too far. We were still the ones who fucked with LaRusso. He didn’t tell us to do any of that shit.”

Tommy shifts beside him and stumbles over his words. “Yeah, like- but- Look, okay, you’re right, it’s totally on us for taking shit way too far, but Johnny,” Tommy says, and he turns to Johnny with pleading eyes. “He literally taught us to have no mercy. Literally. That’s not an exaggeration.”

Johnny frowns. “Yeah, but we took it out of context. He obviously meant to not take no for an answer, to- to keep pushing on despite the circumstances,” he explains. Are they seriously saying this shit? Even after all these years? After everything Kreese did for them? For fuck’s sake…

Dutch is next to speak. He throws Johnny an odd look as he adds, “Did we go to the same Cobra Kai? Because the one I went to taught us to do fucking everything to the extreme. Including the no mercy shit. Hell, he even had us do karate to the extreme. All those extra goddamn practices…”

“Yeah, and they were good for us. We needed some discipline!” Johnny snaps back defensively. His blood is starting to boil with every bullshit argument that his friends make.

He starts to bounce his leg. The sounds of laughter pouring out from a nearby table makes him want to snarl. He doesn’t get it, how can his friends just- just pass the blame onto Kreese? The guy at least tried to help them and make them into better people (before his sensei lost his mind, that is.)

Johnny turns to Bobby, who’s worrying his lip and squirming like he’s sitting on an anthill. “Come on,” Johnny says. “Back me up here.”

Bobby looks away from Johnny, jaw tense, but he turns back. He lets out a breath, look Johnny square on with a worrying level of sincerity, and says, “Johnny. Kreese worked us so hard once that you forget it was Ali’s birthday. She broke up with you over that.”

Johnny’s skin buzzes. He’s all too aware of the overpowering noise of the room. Hell, he feels like he can feel the next table over breathing on him. His stomach rolls. “That is not what happened,” Johnny insists with a hard stare. “Practice that day was not that bad. I remember it. It was fine.”

Tommy scoffs, “Then why were you so quick to go out drinking with us?”

Johnny’s more tense than a stretched-out rubber band, and he feels like he’s going to snap like one, too. He scowls and answers, “I forgot because…”

Johnny blinks and turns his gaze down. Sweat collects at the back of his neck while his chest tightens.

“No, I-I forgot because…”

His mouth is a cotton ball. He’s reaching into his mind, searching for the memory, but he just… it’s not right. It’s there, but somehow, it also isn’t. He remembers being brought in for an extra practice with his cobras, Twig being brought in to watch & help, the end of practice, getting ready to leave, and then…

His temples throb as tries harder to remember, but he can’t. There’s a gap, a void where something should be. It’s not like he’s just forgotten the details, god no. He’s actively reaching into his mind, searching and grasping for what should be there, sandwiched between the sparring and the night at the bar, but he just… He can’t. He can’t get there. Every time he thinks he’s brushing against what might be the memory in question, a pulsing throb shakes his skull, and it rattles his train of thought loose.

His eyes dart between his friends. His heart pounds furiously against his vice of a ribcage, and he wipes his sweaty palms against the thighs of his pants. Their faces are a varied array of distress and confusion. Why do they look like that? Are they trying – and failing – to remember, just like him? Shit, why can’t he remember?

A chill threatens to run down his spine. Could he ever remember?

When he was fresh off the breakup with Ali, he would spend hours torturing himself with all the ways he screwed things up; it was his way of trying to nail down exactly what he did wrong. Except… he always left that practice turned night-on-the-town alone. He never touched it, to his knowledge. Is- Is this why? Every time he tried to play the events over in his mind, would he get to this downright anomaly of a gap in his memory, and did it make him feel- well, make him feel like he does now? Sick and shaken?

Is that why he never, never thinks about the inciting incident that led Ali to yell at him and tell him things were done? Did the avoidance become muscle memory at some point so he would never try to recall that night & the memories associated with it?

He knows the answer. He doesn’t like it.

It doesn’t even feel natural. It’s not like he just forgot; no, it’s more like something was ripped out unceremoniously or maybe strangled and hidden in an unreachable corner of his mind. Does it matter what type of wrong it is? He wipes the sweat from his brow; the heat from the crowd of the bar tonight has finally caught up to him, it seems.

His mind circles back. Why can’t he remember? Why is there a gap? How long has it been there? Has- has it always been there? And not just any gap. No, a gap that, when he tries to recall upon what should be there, snaps up & bites him like a cornered animal. His head is throbbing. He fumbles for his beer and takes a long drink.

He looks again to his friends. He can only imagine the expression on his own face given theirs. He takes a chance and says, “Please tell me I-I’m not the only one who…”

Bobby slowly shakes his head, eyebrows knit, but he doesn’t meet Johnny’s gaze. Jimmy and Dutch don’t move; they simply squirm and keep their eyes down. Tommy’s chest is heaving as he sits up straight and looks ahead with a mix of fear and uncertainty. Johnny knows they must be in the same boat as him. They have to be.

Tommy answers with a shaky voice, “Who what?” Johnny almost drops his mouth wide open. Tommy’s asking that even though the man isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes and looks like he wants to run out of the room?

“Who what? What do you mean who what?” Johnny asks incredulously. “Who- who can’t fucking remember what happened that night!”

Tommy’s smiling, but it’s strained. He answers, voice as tight as his lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Johnny grips his Coors so hard he thinks it’s going to shatter in his hands. “What do you mean what I’m-? You know exactly what I mean. Look at us! Look at yourself! Something’s not right.”

“Johnny,” Bobby pleads. At some point he rested his forehead in his hands, elbows on the table. “You’re- you’re not wrong, but Christ-”

Johnny turns to face Bobby with an eager gaze. He cuts him off, saying, “You can’t remember, either. It’s not just me. Something’s wrong.”

Bobby sighs through his nose. He’s getting frustrated; it’s a tell Johnny knows well. “No, Johnny,” Bobby says shortly. “I can’t remember. But I don’t want to. God, I just… I think I can speak for all of us when I say let’s just drop it. Please. I don’t want to think about-”

Bobby’s practically pleading, but Johnny doesn’t care. What’s more fucking important: a little bit of discomfort or the fact none of them remember the same exact damn thing?

Johnny cuts him off again and snarls, “About the fact there’s a fucking gap in our memories? The same gap for all of us, I’m willing to bet? One we’ve probably had since that night?”

Bobby shuts his eyes, and Johnny’s not sure if the man is going to cry or punch him, but given their shared history at Cobra Kai, it’s probably the latter. Dutch speaks up next, snapping, “Johnny! Just drop it! Yes, our memories are fucked, big whoop. I don’t care! I don’t want to think about it either! I don’t know about you, but I don’t like trying to remember and feeling my skin try to crawl off my body.”

Johnny drums his fingers against his bottle. He can’t fight the scowl on his lips. “Seriously? You’re just going to ignore this? Just like that?”

Dutch laughs bitterly. “Seems like we’ve been doing that for years, man,” he says with a shake of the head, but he pauses and looks Johnny straight on. “You know what? Hold on, let me ask you something. Let’s say we do talk about this shit. Have a little pow-wow and Agatha Christie our way through this bullshit. What the hell would we even do? Seriously, how in the fuck would you even recommend we- we try to fix this? Please, share with the class!”

Johnny opens his mouth to answer but shuts it tight in that same instant. His cheeks flush again. He genuinely has no idea where to start, actually. He does know that if they work together, they might have a shot, but Dutch writing him off with that cruel smile makes Johnny want to scream.

“Exactly,” Dutch says like the self-assured bastard he is, gesturing at Johnny with his drink in hand. “We can’t do shit, and since we’ve gone this long without thinking about it, why stop now? Sounds like none of us want to think about it, for christ’s sake.”

Johnny’s throat is tight. He can hardly believe what Dutch is saying. What Tommy and Bobby have been fucking saying. His blood pulses under his skin, and he turns to Jimmy, almost begging, “Jimmy. Come on, back me up. We can’t just pretend this never happened.”

Jimmy doesn’t look him in the eye, and it’s enough to make Johnny’s heart sink. The brunette swallows, lips turned downward ever so slightly, and he hesitantly answers, “Look, I-I’m sorry Johnny. I can’t. Why don’t we just… let sleeping dogs lie? All remembering does is hurt, and we can’t do anything about it, so why can’t we just…”

Johnny screws his eyes shut tight and flexes a hand in and out of a fist a few times. He brings his Coors to his lips, takes a healthy gulp, and slams the bottle back onto the table with enough force to make his friends jump a little. He glares at them all. He can hardly believe all the bullshit he’s heard tonight.

“Why can’t I just what? Drop it? Why aren’t you pussies willing to do anything about this?! It’s not right! Something is fucking wrong, and you just want to act like nothing happened!” Johnny says. His voice is starting to raise, and he’s getting the attention of a few nearby patrons, but quite frankly, he doesn’t give a shit. Fuck ‘em. “What is wrong with you guys? Who gives a fuck if it hurts to think about it! Something is wrong, and it sure as hell wasn’t just forgotten. It’s gone. Or- or it’s there and we just can’t reach it but- Who cares! It’s still weird as shit, and you’re all just pretending like nothing fucking happened like a bunch of pussies!”

Bobby attempts to soothe him by saying, “Johnny, please, I don’t think this is as bad as you’re saying.”

Johnny feels his muscles tense, and he swears to god, he might break a tooth from how hard his jaw is clenched. He gets tunnel vision for a moment, only able to focus on the traitorous words that just came out of Bobby’s mouth, and when his vision clears, everything is suddenly too much again – screeching pool balls, wails & shouts from the crowd around them, the way his body is vibrating under his skin. He has to fight against the urge to throw & shatter his beer bottle on the ground (likely only because he’s not done quite with it yet).

He can’t believe that Bobby of all people would say that to him. Talk down to him like that. That simple sentence rubs him raw like coarse sandpaper dragged his skin. It conjures up painful memories of his mom brushing aside his pleas for help and, on occasion, Kreese asking him through a sneer if he’s a loser. And worst of all, Bobby knows this, better than anyone else. He’s been the one to listen to Johnny rant and rage about being brushed off and ignored. He knows how that phrase sets Johnny’s blood alight.

Johnny chugs the rest of his beer in one fell swoop and steps out of his chair so fast & hard it tumbles. He doesn’t even bother picking it up. He bites out, “Fuck this. I’m going home. I don’t give a fuck what you do. Pretend for all I care! Don’t come crying to me when this shit blows up in all of our faces.”

Johnny ignores Bobby’s protests as he begins to chase after the taller man, trying to get Johnny to talk to him or whatever. Johnny can’t talk to him, won’t. He can’t even look at him right now. He grits his teeth as he weaves between people, and the longer Bobby follows, the more certain Johnny becomes that he really might start swinging.

Johnny has to shoulder his way into an open spot and wait for the bartender to slide by, but flashing some cash is all it takes to grab his attention. He feels like his skin is going to vibrate right off his body, and he snaps at some asshole sitting beside him who tells him to watch it.

Bobby catches up to Johnny as he’s trying to pay the bartender, worthless platitudes tumbling out of his mouth, and Johnny hisses through clenched teeth, “If you don’t lay off, I’m gonna knock your teeth out, I swear to god.”

It works as intended. Bobby steps back, startled and wide-eyed. Johnny knows he looks a little wild right now, but he just does not care. He feels like he’s one wrong word or move away from snapping, from saying & doing shit he’s going to regret. He just wants to get out of this fucking bar and away from his shithead friends.

Johnny breathes a small sigh of relief when Bobby accepts defeat and slinks back to the table stuffed in the back of the room. He always was the smartest of the five of them. He knew when it was time to leave things be before it blew up in their faces. Johnny thinks of Daniel, and he feels a little sick, but it’s replaced with another wave of hot, tepid anger again, the same kind that haunted him all through high school.

With his tab paid, Johnny shoves his way out of the bar, other patrons throwing protests, swears, & a few obscene gestures at him, but Johnny makes himself ignore it and pushes on. If he starts to pay attention and care right now, even a little, he’s probably gonna get the cops called on his ass, and he just- he can’t deal with that on top of everything else tonight.

He opens the bar door with a hard shove, and the chill night air washes over him. While the streets are neither silent nor empty, it’s still much better than the bar, and he feels his chest loosen enough that he can breathe again. He stomps over to his Avanti, and halfway through sticking his key into the door’s lock, he decides that he doesn’t have enough beer at home to deal with this night.

#the karate kid #cobra kai #johnny lawrence #og cobras #horror #writing #my writing #snake in the grass #forgot to mention #this is set in a few years after TKK #May 1990 to be exact #I’ve so much work into this it’s not even funny #put so much*#I’m really proud of this ngl #wish I could let y’all know when it’ll be finished and out but #I’m hoping everything will be completely done and ready to publish by next Halloween #I’d say sooner but I’m going so slow rn #maybe I’ll be able to get some real writing done on winter break

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psychosistr · 8 months

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Snake in the Grass- Chapter 5

Summary: Dominic and his team have found a way to the roof but, before they have a chance to climb up, the enemy agents appear for one last confrontation; who will come out on top?

Notes: Time for the thrilling conclusion- enjoy!

-First Chapter-

It took some time, cautious exploration, and more than a few dead ends, but eventually Dominic and his team found an old hatch to the roof on the fourth floor in one of the maintenance rooms. Unlike the other doors in the building, the maintenance hatch was considerably older and was only fitted with a basic padlock instead of the electronic ones on the ground floor & throughout the building. With one quick shot from the loon’s pistol, the lock fell apart and Adders was able to use his full height to reach the hatch & open it. The ladder inside dropped down instantly and the trio could see traces of sunlight through the cover at the top.

“I’ll go up firsssst and get the top off.” Adders offered before winding himself up the ladder towards the roof.

Dominic and Shoots waited below, keeping an eye out for their enemies. Their task seemed to be going well and, if the loon’s experiences so far today were anything to go by, that meant that something had to come along to ruin it.

Just as the thought crossed the sharp shooter’s mind, the door to the maintenance room suddenly swung open. The feathered pair heard their serpentine companion’s call about the enemies returning and already had their guns drawn. Before they could take the first shot, however, there was a sudden explosion of black powder around the two that partially blinded the gunmen while forcing them into coughing fits.

Staggering back, the loon’s foot made contact with something plastic and he looked down to find an industrial-sized toner cartridge had been left open and tossed into the room. How had he not seen or heard that coming-?

“Get offa me!!” Through the haze of blackness and muted colors, Dominic caught a glimpse of Shoots wrestling with the lizard they’d seen earlier. The reptile was using its extremely long tail to wrap the smaller bird up with surprising strength for something so thin.

Dominic aimed his pistol- the one loaded with standard lead bullets- right at the grass lizard’s head. It was hard to get a clear shot with the way the two were fighting, but he followed their movements closely and was just about to pull the trigger when the lizard’s partner intervened and rushed at him. The wolf grabbed Dominic’s arm, the sleeve of his coat to be more exact, and yanked it at the last second to throw off his aim- causing him to miss his shot.

Too restrained now to help his teammate, Dominic turned his focus to the wolf currently restraining his arm (without touching him, thankfully) and trying to pry his pistol out of his hand. The canine was strong, he’d give him credit for that, but Dominic was no pushover and kept a tight grip on his weapon.

In the midst of their struggle, the gun was turned around until its muzzle pointed straight upwards. Taking the opportunity, Dominic put all of his strength into shoving the pistol beneath the wolf’s snout and pulled the trigger- sending a bullet straight up through his lower jaw.

To his surprise, though, there was no blood. How could there be no blood at all? How could the enemy agent not wince or howl in pain with a hole shot through his mouth? Nothing about this was making any sense.

The wolf used the surprise to finally yank the pistol out of his hand. Instead of turning it on its owner, however, he turned the safety on and dropped it to the ground. With the loon’s hand empty, the larger man used the firm grip he had on the waterfowl’s sleeve to force his hand closer to the wolf’s snout.

Dark fingers flinched away, Dominic’s first thought being that the canine would try to bite him, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he just pressed the loon’s hand against the side of his mouth and……and it felt cool?

The initial shock from both the feeling and the fact that the contact hadn’t set off his usual touch-based aggression wore off and Dominic confirmed that, yes, it felt cool and hard instead of warm and soft. Considering his last partner and boyfriend was also a canine (albeit a different species), he was very familiar with how a dog’s mouth was supposed to feel and it didn’t feel like-

Like metal.

Allowing his fingers to uncurl from their previous tight-fisted state, Dominic let his fingertips touch the cool surface carefully- feeling the smooth planes of hard metal between small ridges and seams. The more he touched, the more the sensation felt so familiar; every subtle ridge, every sharp seam, the way it fit so perfectly into the palm of his hand were all something he seemed to know by heart. He also found that the shape of it didn’t match what he was seeing. It felt more like a beak than a-

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

A beak. A beak made of METAL.

“Steelbeak..?” The name left his mouth in a shocked whisper. The world around Dominic flickered in and out of focus, colors becoming more vivid instead of the dull and desaturated tones he’d attributed to the building’s faulty lighting.

As everything around him settled, the first thing he saw was the face of the emotionless, unknown SHUSH agent morphing into the familiar visage of his boyfriend. Steelbeak had a strained smile on his face, but there was clear relief in his dark gray eyes when they met the loon’s red ones. “Welcome back, Deedee.”

Dominic’s eyes were wide as they darted from his partner, to the rest of the room, to where he’d seen Shoots wrestling with the green lizard earlier but now saw the cardinal in a similar state of shock wrapped in Adders’ coils with the snake’s metal arm wrapped around him in a light headlock, then back to his partner. Then, he saw it- the bullet-sized hole and warped, still hot metal on both halves of his beak. His blood ran cold with the dawning realization that HE did that.

He’d actually SHOT his boyfriend.

“Oh god…” Dominic felt his hands shaking but ignored it in favor of carefully touching the rooster’s face. He didn’t touch his beak, far too worried about causing the other man any more pain than he was probably in already, but he still needed the assurance that he was actually there. “Pauly, I’m..I didn’t mean..I’m-”

“It’s alright, Dom. N-Not your fault.” Steelbeak’s smile didn’t falter, but it was still strained and the wince he gave when he spoke hadn’t gone unnoticed.

He would’ve argued that it didn’t matter- that he was still at fault for pulling the trigger and injuring his partner- but the blade slap of a helicopter’s rotor above them stopped the admission of guilt before it started. Dominic looked at the maintenance hatch and realized that he could now see the light of day coming down unfiltered. The cover at the top must have been removed.

A burning, fierce fury bubbled within the loon’s chest and he ran for the ladder. The guilt he felt over hurting his partner had been eclipsed by the need to make someone pay for the physical & mental anguish every one of them had endured that day. “He’s NOT getting away with this!!” Dominic climbed up the rungs fast enough that the frame rattled.

When he reached the top, he spotted a dark helicopter with SHUSH’s logo printed on the side in gray (leave it to Hooter and Gryzlikoff to pick the blandest color pallet). The side of it was open and, instead of a traditional rope ladder, a cable with a trail of metal platforms cut & tilted to form a spiral path up towards the helicopter’s opening was dangling down towards the roof. Near the top of the cable was a large black snake in its version of a suit- the one who’d manipulated Dominic & Shoots, the loon’s mind knew instantly- winding himself up the metal spiral to get into the copter.

Once he had his feet firmly planted on the flat rooftop, Dominic drew his remaining pistol and followed the shadowy serpent’s movements. It was a tricky shot with the intense downfall from the helicopter’s blades and swaying motion of the cable, but he was a very good shot. After only a second, Dominic pulled the trigger and managed to nail the snake right in the chest twice just as he was about to enter the cabin.

His pistol was still loaded with the ice rounds, so the hit wouldn’t have been fatal to anyone who was warm blooded. To a cold blooded serpent, however, the rapidly spreading ice would be a death sentence if it weren’t treated right away. That fact coupled with the shout of pure agony when the manipulative snake nearly fell off of the cable brought the loon some satisfaction. The small moment of victory was tainted by other SHUSH agents reaching out of the open cabin to save their coworker from falling to his death. Working together, they managed to pull the quickly freezing snake into the helicopter before it flew away.

Dominic took a few more shots at the retreating chopper (just because he technically couldn’t bring down a nearly military-grade vehicle with a handgun didn’t mean he wasn’t angry enough to at least try), but ultimately had to stew in his own anger and frustration once it faded into the horizon. If he’d known that the ice he shot at the shadowy serpent’s chest had completely ruined a harddrive full of classified FOWL documents and data, making the enemy agent’s mission a complete failure, then Dominic would have felt some vindication; as it stood, however, he had no way to know that and was left with nothing but anger and the clawing guilt working its way back into his mind now that he had nothing to take his frustrations out on.

With nothing left for him to do on the roof, the loon climbed back down into the maintenance room to join the rest of his team. He found his partner waiting for him at the base of the ladder. One look at the darker fowl’s face told him all he needed to know and he had the decency not to ask unnecessary questions that would irritate him further. “We’ll get ‘em next time, Dom.”

“Yeah..” Those words were little comfort now that he was face to face with the taller man and had to look at the hole shot straight through his beak- the hole that he’d shot through it. “Pauly, I-”

“Don’t.” Steelbeak interrupted him, though he kept his voice calm. “It wasn’t your fault, ya didn’t know.” The chief officer’s words still did little to comfort his partner. He seemed to read the loon’s mood so, instead, he turned his focus on the other pair in the room. “Ya good over there, stretch?”

Dominic saw his former teammates in the corner. Adders tried to smile at them while (ironically, given he was the more injured one) comforting his partner- the cardinal clinging to him and sobbing apologies again & again. “I’m okay, nothing broken.” He patted Shoots’ back with his damaged mechanical arm, looking at the burnt and broken metal with a slight frown. “Well…exccccept thesssse. Guessss I’ll have to tossss them..”

Shoots lifted his head from the snake’s red shirt and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes before looking at the reptile. “Bro, what’re we gonna do? You already went through all your replacements for the year- the guys up top won’t give you any more ‘til January.”

“I wouldn’t sweat it too much.” The chief officer waved off their concerns. “I know a gu-” Steelbeak cut himself off, apparently looking for the right words before continuing. “I know a person that can get us patched up. Nothin’ on the books, no one gets in trouble, no harm no foul. I’ll give hi- them a call an’ see if we can book a flight tomorrow.” He looked at his partner. “Oh, an’ Dee?”

Dominic met his boyfriend’s gaze hesitantly. “Yes?”

The corner of the metal-mouthed fowl’s beak lifted in a small smile. “Looks like we’re gettin’ takeout tonight.”

The comment actually got a surprised laugh out of the loon and he returned the look with a small smile of his own. “I guess we are.” Dominic still felt a heavy weight in his chest whenever his eyes lingered too long on the taller man’s injured beak, but his partner seemed intent on keeping things positive so he’d try to do the same.

Things would be okay now, he told himself. They would be okay.

End Notes: Well, this was a fun gift to write and it feels good to push myself like this again. Happy belated birthday again, @eleanorose123 ! ^.^

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#darkwing duck #dwd #steelbeak #Dominic Domino #steeldomino #Shoots #Adders #Shoots & Adders #shush agent kadin #ocs #dwd oc #not my oc #and #my oc #Snake in the Grass #thefriendlyfour

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