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thethistlegirlwrites · 2 months

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Bargaining Chip

If he ever decided to write an autobiography, Nico is pretty sure he’s going to have to title it “it seemed like a good idea at the time”.

That exact logic is why he’s currently in the middle of a warehouse full of very hostile vampires.

All he’d wanted was to get out of the Phelans’ friends’ place for a bit and work on some leads on a job or a place to stay that wasn’t going to put undue hardship on people who are already skirting the rules by helping unregistered fae keep their identities secret.

A logical place to start had been a vamp bar he knows the Sunrisers used to shake down on the regular, but that had been outside his own regular patrol route, which meant a pretty low chance of actually being recognized.

Unfortunately, that chance hadn’t been a zero. And that was how he’d ended up nearly choking on his second glass when something sharp was dug into his ribs and someone hissed into his ear to come with them or get dusted right here.

He is resisting the urge to tell them that he’s such a new vampire the bar owner would have had to deal with a rotting corpse, not a pile of ashy dust.

It doesn’t seem particularly wise to antagonize the vamps who are pissed off at him for asking too many questions.

They were all legitimate. But apparently he hasn’t lost the aura of ‘hunter’ even after turning, and the bartender he was trying to get some leads on vamp-friendly jobs or apartments from got suspicious. A surreptitiously texted photo to his coven later, and Nico was greeted with a stake in the ribs.

Okay, so he might have been a little direct. But it shouldn’t be that weird for people to show up wanting to know if there’s a job opening or a place they can stay.

Then again, it’s not like he did a whole lot of undercovers for the Sunrisers.

Maybe they knew he’d get himself outed and his throat torn out in minutes.

Still might happen if he can’t convince them he was asking around for legitimate reasons and not to set up raids on workplaces or apartment buildings. Which might be sort of difficult given the leader of this particular coven is someone he’s been trying to put a stake in since his rookie days.

There’s no love lost between him and Guido, and Guido is making sure everyone here knows it. “I knew the Sunrisers were cold sons of bitches, but getting one of their own turned just to spy on us better, that’s a new low.”

“That’s not what this is.” Nico is well aware he’s already in over his head, but he knows this could end very, very badly if he can’t at least convince them to let him walk away. “I’m running from them same as you.”

“Then maybe we ought to give their little fugitive back to them as a peace offering, huh?” Iron grips close on his arms. He could fight them, maybe, but these people have been vampires a lot longer than him, with better judgment of their own strength and better control of how to use it. He might break free for a few moments, but he wouldn’t get far. “Maybe a trade would get Vega off our backs.”

He really didn’t think it was possible for this situation to get worse, but it just did. Frankie Vega was his first partner on the job. After a vamp nearly gutted him, he shifted into a role doing mainly informant cultivation while Nico stayed in the field as an active hunter.

If anyone is going to want Nico staked and laid to rest, it would be Frankie.

Guido pulls out his phone and stalks into a corner. There’s a low hum of conversation that is lost in the seething hisses and snarls of the vampires ringed around Nico, waiting for their leader’s orders.

“Sounds like a former hunter is someone the Sunrisers want dead even more than a coven leader,” Guido says, snapping the phone closed and turning back to the assembled vampires. “Vega will be here within the hour. We’ll leave this one for him, but we don’t plan on sticking around.” He glances at Nico. “But that’s more than enough time to show you what happens to hunters, turned or not, when they come on our turf. Pity you won’t live long enough to learn anything from it.”

He waves his hand, and the circle of vampires closes in.

Nico sort of expected this.

They’re taking out their hatred of the Sunrisers, justified or not, on him as the easiest target.

It’s not personal.

Knowing that doesn’t make this any easier.

The snarls and taunts and jeers and slurs echo in his ears even after he’s dragged into a small storage room and the door is slammed shut, the sound of something heavy being dragged across it ends, and he’s left to his fate at the hands of his old teammate in the dark chill of the abandoned building.

He huddles into himself in the corner of the room. He’s bleeding from over two dozen gashes, one arm, one ankle, and a few ribs are definitely broken, and if he could bruise anymore, he’d be nothing but one massive one. His clothes were shredded off him by his attackers’ claws, and the damp chill of the concrete under him is leaching into his skin without the barrier.

Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll go into a coma from the cold and blood loss and he won’t feel whatever the Sunrisers do to him when they get their hands on him.

Whatever heavy object was left in front of the door starts sliding again with a screech of protesting metal, and Nico flinches and covers his ears.

Frankie’s here.

The door opens, and Nico can’t bring himself to look up. If he’s about to be shot, he really doesn’t want to see it coming.

Something hits the ground beside him with a wet-sounding smack. He turns his head a bit to see what it is.

A blood bag.

Great. They want him healthy before they kill him.

He looks from the packet to Frankie, who is standing in the doorway, holding his gun near his thigh, keeping one eye on Nico and the other on the room outside, just like they were trained to all those years ago.

“You look like you’re going to need more than that, but it’s all I got on me.” Frankie says. “Figured they’d rough you up pretty good, had the pedal to the metal all the way, but I couldn’t get more than this from storage without raising some eyebrows.”

Nico reaches slowly for the package and raises it to his mouth, turning away and curling in on himself to hide as he swallows down the chilled blood. It’s even more humiliating to be seen devouring his own former friend’s blood than it is to have Frankie see him battered, broken, and naked.

It isn’t nearly enough blood to heal what’s been done to him. But it’s knitting his bones together enough he thinks he can walk on the ankle if he supports himself with something, and at least the gashes aren’t actively bleeding out anymore, just red and raw.

“Can you walk?” Frankie asks, and if Nico didn’t know better, he’d say that was real concern he hears in the man’s voice.

“Think so.”

“Then let’s get out of here. I don’t trust Guido not to be planning an ambush.”

Honestly, neither does Nico, but Guido is also smart enough to know outright killing a hunter in his own turf after there’s been documented contact is a move guaranteed to bring the Sunrisers down on his operation in force. Right now, they’re a thorn in his side when he skirts the law, but if he pisses them off, they’ll go scorched earth.

Frankie doesn’t move out of the doorway, which means Nico has to get to his feet on his own. He uses the wall for support, limping around the edge of it until he reaches the door.

Frankie puts his free arm under Nico’s shoulders, other hand keeping the gun trained on as wide an arc of the warehouse as he can manage, and helps Nico to the loading door, which is cranked open far enough Nico can see the dark red GTO parked outside.

A chill harbor breeze whips through the opening. Frankie grimaces. “Sorry about the cold, but I’ve got to get you in the car first.” Nico understands. They’re a lot safer in the vehicle than they are in this place.

As soon as Nico is settled into the back seat, Frankie is up front in the driver’s place, and the doors are locked, Frankie turns around over the seat back.

“My go bag is under the seat there. Grab whatever you need.”

Nico rummages around under the seat until he finds the battered duffel with Frankie’s old college baseball team logo on it. There’s a set of civilian clothes on top, the worn flannel shirts and black jeans Frankie always favored.

Frankie is taller and thinner than him, but he takes the clothes anyway. Better than nothing. They don’t fit well, and it’s hard to wrangle himself into too-tight jeans and shirtsleeves when he’s got a half-healed ankle and arm, and he’s sliding around the back seat while Frankie is driving them through the city like a bat out of hell, but he manages.

It feels like the old days.

Almost.

But they’re headed the wrong direction for Frankie to be bringing Nico in to the locale he was operating out of last Nico knew. The Sunrisers don’t have one base location, but they do have several smaller sites scattered throughout the city that they use for holding areas or clinics. Frankie isn’t heading for any of them.

Instead, he parks under a highway overpass and kills the engine.

“This is as far as I can take you,” he says.

Nico finishes lacing up the boots that are already rubbing sore spots on his heels and ankles, but at least come up his leg far enough that they make an extra brace for his bad ankle.

“I thought you wanted me dead.”

“Not like this.” Frankie shakes his head. “If I ever cross you on the streets, believe me, there’ll be a stake in your heart. But I don’t hold with what some of us do to the defenseless ones.”

Some part of Nico bristles at Frankie calling him defenseless, even though right now, it’s absolutely true.

“I had to call this in. When I come back empty-handed they’re going to want to know why. I’ll cover for you, but this is your warning. Get the hell out of this city because there’s not going to be anywhere in it left for you to hide.”

The GTO pulls away and Nico starts walking. He’s about a mile from where he wants to be.

The old Buick Riviera is still in the storage unit that used to be his dad’s. It’s a matter of seconds for him to snap off the lock with his vampire strength.

He hasn’t been back in this car since he was turned, but his go bag is still in the back seat, there’s still stakes and first aid supplies in the door pockets, and the radio is still tuned to the indie station that played classical-sounding covers of the latest pop hits.

He pulls out of the storage company’s lot and onto the highway, heading west.

He has to get as far from New York as he can.

Ricky just got accepted to an oceanography program in San Diego.

Maybe he can kill two birds with one stone.

If not, California is as good a place to die as any.

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies @writeouswriter @whump-place @the-lovely-wren

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday28 #no...not like this #tw: nonsexual nudity #domenico pontevecchio

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thethistlegirlwrites · 2 months

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Unconventional Medicine

“I hate cows.” Sierra looks down at her hands with a grimace.

“That’s what the gloves were for,” Shay says, holding them up.

“It was a two month old calf!” Sierra says. “She was cute!” She sighs. “Until she dragged me ten feet through the pasture and tore my hands up.”

“You really don’t know when to let go.” Shay puts a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go back to the house and get those cleaned up and treated.”

“It’s not that bad. There’s not even blood,” Sierra objects.

“You were complaining it hurt two minutes ago.”

“Well it’s going to hurt even more if you use that antiseptic from Abuela’s medicine cabinet on them.” She shrugs. “I’ll just wash them well and it’ll heal.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to mess around with these things. If they heal wrong it’ll curl your fingers right in on themselves.” Shay shakes his head. “Happened to guys on the docks sometimes. They’d hold onto a line too long or let a crate come down on the tackle too fast and the rope would cut through even a glove. Messed a couple guys up for life.”

“Okay, okay. Thanks for the scare tactics,” Sierra mutters, grimacing. “Can I at least take a shower first?” She gestures vaguely to the mud and other grime she doesn’t want to think about on her clothes.

“Probably a good idea. Gonna be hard to do with your hands wrapped,” Shay says. “Just try not to get that mess in the cuts.”

“Ugh. Yeah.” Sierra frowns. This is going to be harder than she thought. She has no idea how Wren does anything. That woman is in a cast, brace, or has multiple bandages at pretty much any given time.

Maybe fae have some sort of special injury management skill set, because Tio’s partner Robin is usually in the same situation.

Whatever it is, Sierra certainly doesn’t have it. It’s hard enough getting the buttons on her shirt (that’s going straight into the trash, the elbows and back of the shoulders are shredded and besides, she’s pretty sure the dirt is ground in and would never come out) undone, let alone the thought of handling soap and trying to work her hands through her hair to get out the dirt and straw and debris that got tangled up in it.

This is just not happening.

She knocks on the door, knowing Shay is waiting outside for her to be done and ready for her hands to be cleaned and bandaged.

He opens the door and frowns, probably at the mud still streaked on her face and caked in her braid.

“I could use a little help,” She mutters.

Between asking for help stinging her pride and Abuela’s homemade soap stinging her hands, she’ll take the former.

“You sure?” Shay asks, head tilted like a confused puppy.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.” She raises an eyebrow. “Do you really think I’d be asking you to open the door when I’m standing here in my underwear if I didn’t think this was the best option?”

“Point taken.” He steps in and closes the door behind them, then turns on the water. “Is it the hair you need help with?” he asks, shrugging out of his own t-shirt and folding it up on the top of the laundry hamper.

“Mostly.” She shrugs. “If you can get some of the soap lathered on a washcloth I can do my face without too much trouble, but whatever Abuela puts in that stuff burns any cuts.”

“Okay. That I can do.” He grabs a washcloth from the teetering stack on the small wall shelf, and the bar of soap hanging in a little string bag. Sierra steps into the shower, tilts her head back, and lets the water run down her face, until she feels the cloth touch her fingertips as Shay hands over the soapy material. Holding the washcloth with her fingers pressed together so it doesn’t touch her palms is awkward, but she can at least manage to scrub the dirt off her face and neck more or less effectively. She’ll worry about her arms when they worry about her hands.

“Okay. Now the hair.”

She turns around so the water is hitting the back of her head, and feels Shay work the elastic out of the end of her braid and then start combing his fingers through the braid to loosen it. His hand hits a knotty spot, and she takes half a step back at the tug, shoulders bumping into his chest. His skin is cool, and she can’t quite help the little shudder at the odd sensation. It’s easy to forget vampires have no body heat of their own, until touching them reminds you of that fact.

“You okay?” He asks.

She nods and blinks a few times, opening her eyes and hoping she did a good enough job rinsing the soap off her face. If she can see, she’ll have better balance. “Yeah. Just a snarl.”

She hears a brush clatter off the edge of the sink, and then feels it moving through her hair. He’s gentler than she is, and another shiver runs down her back, but this time at the sensation of a hand other than her own on her scalp. She can’t help it. Ever since she was a kid, every time her mom combed her wet hair, she’d have a weird little shudder in response.

“Sorry my hands are cold,” Shay apologizes, clearly misinterpreting the source of the shiver. “I can hold them under the water for a bit if that helps.”

“No, we’re good.” Sierra says. She closes her eyes again as she hears the cap of the shampoo bottle click, and leans her head back so as much of the lather as possible avoids her face. Shay rubs the soap in deep, then runs fingers through her hair as he rinses it out again.

“You do anything else to it?”

“We share a shower in the apartment. Have you ever seen anything in it other than the bar soap and generic shampoo?”

“Just figured I’d ask.” He squeezes gently down the length of her hair and puts a hand on her shoulder to turn her around. “Okay, let’s do your arms.”

She grimaces. She wasn’t kidding about how much that soap stings.

Shay lathers another handful of soap from the string bag and rubs it along her forearms, cleaning away what’s left of the dirt and manure stains. When he turns her hands over, and the warm water hits the raw spots, Sierra hisses and jerks back slightly on instinct.

“Sorry.”

“I’ll manage. Just give me a second to adjust to it.”

“I could lick it, that might help.”

“You know how weird it sounds when you say that, right?” Sierra asks.

“That’s why I do it.” He shrugs.

“You know, it’s kind of weird that ‘kiss it better’ is actually a real thing if it’s a vampire kissing you.”

“It won’t make it better, the saliva doesn’t heal you faster. It just numbs you.”

“You’ve been hanging around Pete too long if you’re that hung up on the details,” Sierra chuckles. “Ah what the hell, why not.”

It feels really, really weird for the approximately ten seconds before the numbing agent kicks in. But it does make the ensuing cleaning, disinfecting, and then drying and bandaging of her palms a whole lot more bearable.

She’s shivering a little when he’s done, between the wet hair hanging down her back and her now soggy and clammy underwear. Shay wraps a towel around her shoulders and another around her hair, rubbing gently but briskly and very clearly trying to avoid touching her as much as possible. She appreciates it, but he’s got to be even more chilled than she is. His body just doesn’t show it the way a living one does.

When he moves around to dry the front of her hair, she lets go of the towel she’s been clutching around her shoulders with her fingertips and wraps her arms around him instead.

He is cold, and the weird lifelessness of his skin makes her shiver all over again, but she leans into him anyway.

“Okay, good enough. Now, both of us need to go get some dry clothes on.” She looks up at him. “And I’m pretty sure Abeula will make us her hot chocolate even if it is seventy degrees in the shade today. She just might never let us live it down.”

Shay smiles, water still dripping off the ends of his short faux-hawk and landing on her face. “That sounds like a good plan to me.”

(You can read this story and others from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies @writeouswriter

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday5 #rope burns #lady whump - mild #tw: nonsexual nudity #or almost at least #sierra aguirre-stoker #shane barrett

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