#couldn't resist tightening up evn the parts that did overlap with the main story

[moonshine-nightlight]

NWWD Bonus: Divergent Revelations 1

Side story for NWWD, AU starting mid Chapter 23. Fanfic of my own story that asks: what if an honest conversation was had earlier? (spoiler: slow burn is much less slow)

During the fight with assassins, you and Dale are forced to confront the truth of what you each know about Dale's nature. How does the fight change to have this come about? How will the conversation about these revelations go when there's still more than a week before the wedding?

Main Story 'Nothing's Wrong with Dale': [Part One]

Status: Complete

AO3: NWWD Bonus: Divergent Revelations

Part One [Part Two]

Just as you secure a makeshift bandage in place and resolve to leave to find help, Vi comes running out of the side room. You know the moment she spots you because she changes direction. Reflexively, you bolt for the door. The mercenary runs around wide, blocking it as a viable exit. 

Without thought, you pivot, heading back the way you came for the courtyard. She’s fast though, faster than you with her sturdy boots and training while your skirts and soft shoes only slow you down. She catches you by the time you only get as far as the desk and closet you’d started this situation from.

A blow from her spear blindsides you and you cry out as you stumble into the wall and some furniture that result in another jolt of pain. Vi lunges to cross the last few feet between you before you can do more than get around the side table. Slamming you into the wall, there’s desperation in her eyes as her spear shaft is pushed across your throat. Your wrists are held up in the skilled maneuver, pinning you far more securely than Lasky’s dagger managed. Her wide, terrified eyes bore into yours. “What the fuck is he!? You’re going to—”

The clash of metal on metal followed by a wet cough and a triumphant growl from the other room cuts her off. You try to wrestle her for control while she’s looking behind her and find to neither of your surprise that you’re no match for her strength. Shifting your strategy, you desperately wiggle your hands, trying for even a little more room to breathe. Your head is tilted back, your throat throbbing as she fixes her gaze back on yours. You try to say something, you don’t even know what, but she doesn’t give you a chance.

“They lied,” she spits. “He’s not human, he’s a skinwere.” Your stomach sinks at the realization Dale must have revealed enough of himself that she knows he’s not just enhanced. Skinwere is a common enough term for a demon possessing a human, but it's one you’ve heard more in your short time in Northridge than the rest of your life, so you wonder if she’s a local. No wonder she’s scared out of her mind. That makes her even more dangerous, more able to expose Dale for what he is and your mind screams at you to do something, anything, to be more than a liability here.

When you don’t respond quickly or dramatically enough, despite her spear shaft still preventing you from doing more than breathing shallowly, her eyes narrow. “You knew.” It’s not a question, but you still can’t speak or even move your head to answer anyway. She doesn’t seem to need you to. She pushes against you with her spear, completely cutting off your air before she pulls back enough to let you speak. You cough, gulping in air as she orders, “Tell me how to kill it. Tell me—”

Before she can make any more demands, you drop your whole body down like a dead weight. There was enough space between the spear and the wall to let you, although it still wrenches your wrists painfully. Your head hits the wall as your chin hits the spear shaft to allow the movement.

Wrists, head, and backside throbbing, you’re moving before you can think about it. Crawling around her legs on your hands and knees. You scurry towards anything that can be perceived as safe. The sound of something heavy being flung into a wall in the distance makes you flinch as you try to get under a couch.

A heavy blow to your back causes you to yelp and you collapse onto your stomach. “You’re not going anywhere,” Vi snarls, the butt of her spear pressing down with insistent force into your spine. You try to push yourself forward, tears rolling down your cheeks from the way you can feel the wooden dig into what feels like your bones. “Not until—”

The pressure abates abruptly and you turn on your side to see something long and black around her wrist, pulling her weapon off of you. Your vantage point, combined with your throbbing head and blurred, teary vision, makes it hard to follow all the action. How could a black snake be trying to fight Vi? 

She draws a knife with her free hand to strike the black thing, but the crack of bone breaking causes her to scream as her spear drops from her now limp hand. You manage to pick the spear and shoot it along the ground, as far away as you can. You know she’d be more capable of taking it from you than you would be at wielding it against her.

Vi finally looks behind her, following where the solid shadow stretches to and screams at whatever she sees. You only see another long dark ribbon of tangible blackness wrap around her neck before she’s pulled backwards with a strangled sound, past where you can see. A gasping whimper and a thud make you wince, paralyzed on the floor, mind unable to decide what to do next. 

You hear footsteps heading for you accompanied by a tap of wood on wood. Then you hear a worried, “Sana?” 

Relief floods your body and you desperately need to see Dale, to reassure yourself that despite the horrible clashes and yells, the violence and the destruction, he’s whole. No matter what he must look like given what you’ve seen and how his voice still has an echoing, deep quality to it. Flattening your palms to the floor, you brace yourself to get up. You’re interrupted by a loud crack before you can clear your abused throat enough to answer him.

“I knew it,” an unfamiliar voice meets your ears. It has a strange, otherworldly grit to it and you freeze instantly. “How all these other humans are so blind, I’ve no notion.”

Dale hisses, “Hide,” before you hear him move away from you and towards the voice. You follow his suggestion, too cowed by the return of the threat to want to do anything else. Half crawling and half dragging your tired body, you skip the couch to tuck yourself under the heavy wooden desk.

“As though you are a paragon of subtlety,” Dale snaps back. He’s clearly nearly in that other side room once more, but his voice carries more than perhaps he’s even aware. 

“Ah,” the voice concedes, the sound carrying just as easily. Is that a demon power? you wonder with only slight delirium, projecting your voice? “But I am not trying to be. Neither of us are.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” a far more human voice replies this time. “Us.” The two voices overlay on that word before the more inhuman voice continues, “We are not all so rude as to kick out the original owner. Some of us know what it is to share.”

You realize it’s Two, who has apparently decided to finally enter the fight and who’s strange nickname suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“I care not how many of you are fitted in that body,” Dale replies. “You’ll do no more harm here. You’ll not fulfill your mission.”

“Perhaps,” the casual menace of this voice is not intimidated by Dale’s confidence or orders. “Or perhaps there is simply more to be gained and less to be parsed.”

You strain your ears but there is only the sound of movement and metal after that. Grunts from all three voices, perhaps more distinct given your inability to see and only to hear, come from that further side room. It’s not enough to tell you who’s winning and you’ve no notion of how Dale stands in contest with another actual demon. 

Does the Two being both human and demon help or hinder them? They had implied that Dale was not sharing his own form, which confirmed the human who had been Dale was gone, didn’t it? Neither of them are mentioning Clen either, so is he dead? What sort of creature was the demon in Two? You know demons vary wildly, even the intelligent ones, in a manner far greater than humans did. What if this one was more powerful than Dale? 

Although, it feels like ages of simply listening as you try to regain your breath, though in reality, it’s likely only a minute or two. You can’t take knowing so little about what is happening. Hesitantly, you move forward and cautiously kneel up to see just over the surface of the desk. 

They’re indeed still in that other room, circling so fast you can hardly tell who’s who. From the glimpses you catch, neither of them are in forms that are entirely human anymore. Part of the fight seems human enough, the swords meeting and breaking apart as they move, engaging each other’s blades while dodging stabs and slashes. 

The room around them is what currently seems like it's not of this world. The shadows in the room move unnaturally and at least two seem to be even more independent than that. They whip around Dale to meet and deflect spikes of animate stonework, colored grayish-green with a rusty red shot through it. The rock seems both to originate from the columns and walls of the room, despite looking nothing like the rock used to construct it, and from nothing at all. Ripples of unnatural movement in the floor and ceiling add to the feeling that the room itself is attempting to attack Dale.

Your heart is in your throat as Dale’s shadows seem far more ephemeral, far weaker, than something as sturdy as stone. A big chunk breaks to fall from the ceiling. Dale’s dodge to the side is more desperate than any previously and he catches Two’s sword stroke awkwardly as a result. His sword flies from his hand to land behind Two with a clatter. 

Retaliating with a riot of shadows which erupt between them, Dale forces Two back. They’ve migrated such throughout the fight that you have to strain to keep them in sight and follow what’s happening. Dale’s inky back is to you and half his body is blocked by the doorframe while Two’s nearly on the other side of that room now.

“I believe you’re unarmed now,” Two says with a smirk that’s beginning to look unsettling on his face which has begun to resemble a statue’s more than a person’s. The movement of stone when he talks and his expression changes just looks wrong.

“I do not need a weapon to be armed,” Dale snarls, the shadows of the room flickering dizzyingly. You can’t tell if it's the lighting or actuality, but his entire body seems more amorphous than ever before. Taller than he typically is, but thinner too—he’s becoming more unrecognizable as the fight drags on. He brandishes his hand to better display the black claws he now has. The arm you can see is oddly shaped, more like a medical mannequin from class—bone and muscle with no fat to be seen—than a living person’s. In fact, you’re certain he’d been wearing a green suit earlier, but that’s black now too. Even his dark hair seems to absorb light, untied and wild, longer than it should be. 

You keenly appreciate Dale’s rebuttal, but you still hate that his sword is gone from his hand while one remains in Two’s. They shift their stances. 

You bump into a lamp that’s been knocked to the floor when you automatically try to compensate to keep your minuscule view. As you push the lamp to the side, something on the ground catches your attention. Very deliberately not looking too closely at Vi’s body, you focus on the long, thin piece of polished wood which drew your notice. Dale’s cane. 

Instantly, you know you need to get this to Dale having heard him boast about it’s hiding a weapon at a gala. More than that, you want to do something, anything to help him. Fear fights that impulse. The big, heavy desk provides the reassurance of safety, however wishful it might be. With one last look at the circling fighters, you lean down, steadying yourself on the cold stone floor. Straining, you only just manage to wrap a few fingers around the foot of the cane to pull it towards you. 

Hastily retreating back behind the desk, you pop back up fast enough to give your still sore head a rush. You run your hands over the familiar wood as you try to spot Dale as he and Two dance around each other. 

Once they’ve split once more with Dale nearest the doorway, you call out, “Dale!” Leaning up as high as you can on your knees, you hurl the cane like you’ve seen others throw a javelin. It soars through the air while both are distracted by your shout. 

Dale leaps backwards as if propelled by some of the shadows under him towards you. A clawed hand, black like he’s wearing gloves or dunked his arm in ink, snatches the cane out of the air with careful precision. You think you see the glint of a blue eye on the back of his hand, the only color standing out against his form now.

“Will that do you any good?” Two asks, seemingly curious more than anything as he watches Dale hold the cane. You can’t tell if his lack of anger over this fight, the way he keeps treating it like a tournament fight for entertainment, is a good thing or not.

Dale says nothing, merely twists the handle. He carefully pulls off the wood to reveal a long green rapier. Before you can wonder at the applicability of such a weapon, Two takes a full step back.

“Jade,” Two hisses. “A dangerous weapon for one such as ourselves to wield.”

“All weapons are dangerous,” Dales replies brusquely, squaring up instead of dodging as he’d been doing since Two disarmed him. “Humans regularly use weapons as deadly to themselves as they are to their enemies.”

“How adaptable. All the shade in your nature, I presume,” Two says, a mocking edge to his tone.

“You are not the only one who can use stone to their advantage,” Dale bats back as easily. 

Two lets out a cascade of laughter and the sound seems to come from far more than two mouths, let alone one. It’s grating: like steel on iron, like a throaty cough, like the squeal of a live animal on fire all at once. You would give nearly anything for him to never do that again. “It has been so long since I spoke with one of us with intelligence still left to them up here,” Two seems to relish the idea. “The sunlight seems to drive too many insane. Almost a shame to kill you.”

“A good thing then,” Dale says as he charges, “that you will not.”

The visibility of the fight becomes impossible after that. There’s too much movement from shadows as Dale chases Two further into the room. You’re back to primarily trying to gauge the fight based on sound alone: thuds and crashes and ripping you can’t identify.

“So close. But perhaps you are correct,” it’s the human voice this time, panting but not demoralized. Some of the sight line clears and you see Two hunched over, a hand on their chest. “I shall not be able to kill you nor collect the bounty so generously placed on your head.” They cough a cloud of rust from their mouth as they lift their head. “However, the knight had the correct idea.” 

“Yes,” the gravelly demonic voice picks up and they slowly straighten. “I’m certain you must have supplies or teachings worth perusing. I can tell your form is impeccable underneath, despite your essence spilling out.” They gesture with their arms, sneering. “This body, with him intact, still gets a bit stiff if I’m not careful. I shall be intrigued to ascertain how you accomplished such a thing.”

“You think I will allow you to leave?” Dale hisses. “After all you’ve done?” He throws a hand out to emphasize the general state of destruction around them.

Two laughs again. How could you not be better braced for it? Even anticipating how horrible it is, it remains one of the most unsettling things you’ve ever heard. It has a screech to it now that makes your skin crawl. You’re resisting the urge to cover your ears or yell yourself in order to drown them out when they look over and meet your eyes. Their dirty red eyes, the color of dried blood, bore into yours across the distance and they rush for you.

They cross the distance faster than they should be able, outpacing Dale, and there’s a ripple in the walls that seems to respond to them. Panic seizes your heart and mind as you instinctively dive back down and under the desk. Your hands desperately latch onto and drag a broken ottoman to cover the opening at the back of the desk.

Curling up against the front board of the desk, you feel something slam into your makeshift shield. Pushing you and the desk back, the wood squealed against the floor as it moves. A wordless roar comes from somewhere to your right and another crash echoes through the room followed by a heavy grunt and the sound of books falling to the floor. Then, silence.

After holding perfectly, tightly, still, you can’t keep in a cough. The stone moving has kicked up a lot of dust and you’re unable to help it. You think you hear a smothered groan as you attempt to stop, but you stay rooted in your hiding spot, waiting.

After another dull thump, Dale calls your name. His voice is still strange and yet you can hear the confusion and worry in it. You can hear a lot more than that actually. Your eyelids flutter despite being unable to see anything other than dust and dingy wood. Your name sounds different than when he’s said it in the past. There is a depth to it, meaning below the surface that you can hear when he’s like this. Like emotion and inflection and neither of those. 

There’s a layer of softness, of imagery that it conjures up, that you can almost feel through his voice. Of gentle sunlight through the window on a clear day. Your favorite chair and the taste of fresh, sweet honey melting on your tongue, soothing and comforting. Its respect and harmony and the potential to be more than you are alone, of joining and of belonging. Tension leeches from you in waves, like taking off so many heavy coats to stand unburdened. You want to drown in the sensation. You want to hear him say nothing, but your name for the rest of your life.

You want to come out, to go to him, regardless of what you might see. Hesitantly, you push the ottoman away and start to crawl out from beneath the desk. Shakily, you stand up and turn to face Dale.

Black shadows still cling to his form, one hand pressed against the oddly bulging stone, the other behind his back where a bookshelf is braced. His eyes glow an unnatural blue and his hair is too long and wild. He’s roughly the correct height with only one extra eye on the back of his hand. He’s still too thin, as if his arms are muscle and bone only. His face is mostly human, his skin the same light brown it always is, except for a streak of shadow and some darkness around the edges where his hair halos his head.

He looks like nothing so much as what he is: a human consumed by something inhuman, something demonic. Adrenaline surges through your veins and yet, he’s still so clearly… “Dale,” you breathe out, relieved. He’s the one you’ve grown to know and like. You’re not afraid of him. How could you been when he’s still protecting you? 

Instead, you find yourself searching for evidence of the toll the fight may have taken on him. To your relief, he doesn’t seem to be bleeding either, no obvious large wounds or injuries. 

Nerves still prepared for danger, you look beyond him to assess the rest of the situation, although you can tell by an absence in the air that Two is– 

“Gone,” he croaks, his voice shuddering and rusty. With a groan, he pushes himself straight and the bookcase falls away from him to land with an echoing crash that fills the room, empty of all but the two of you. He removes his hand from the rock of the wall to your right. The large bricks of rock are loose, but not enough to threaten the integrity of the wall itself.

You meet his eyes once again and finally take a deep breath, while his shoulders droop as you both stand in the aftermath. The shadows are receding slowly, subtle enough you wonder if it's just a trick of the light, but of course, they are shadows, so it must be. Then Dale’s striding forward and the cool fingers of his hand cup your cheek. His eyes trace down your body, taking in every scrape and bruise and streak of dust as he looks.

“I am fine,” you say, more because you’re alive and so it feels like the appropriate response. Not to mention, you’re not the one who’s just been battling assassins. 

It’d probably be a more convincing statement if you couldn’t feel tears dripping down your cheeks. His eyes rake up and down your form, obviously trying to assess that for himself and his other hand grasps the elbow of the arm Lasky cut. Everything about him, his shadows, his gaze, his focus tightens. “You’re hurt.”

“Nothing serious. Are you?” Your eyes strain to see his body more clearly now that he’s not completely wreathed in darkness. Mostly you can tell his clothes are in rough shape, but there are no obvious large holes, no blood.

“I’ve got a thick skin,” he says, voice still pitched a little lower than usual. “And I’d speed on my side. Not to mention Two’s folly in letting the others face me without them.”

Cautiously, you place your free hand on his chest, over his heart—needing to feel him solid and whole under your touch. “But they fled.”

“Yes,” Dale admits, but his gaze doesn’t dart towards the doors. His eyes stay fixed on your face. He carefully brings a thumb to wipe away your tears with a tenderness that doesn’t match the danger that lingers in the way he still holds himself. You can’t help but lean into his touch, the safety he offers, if only to you. Some of the tension starts to ebb from him when he freezes. 

You don’t understand why until you are able to tell he’s fixated on his own, still inhuman hand on your cheek. Abruptly he’s as still as a statue. It’s obvious he’d been unaware of how demonic he still looked. “It’s alright,” you murmur, gently. His wide blue eyes finally meet your own. “I don’t mind.”

Dale pulls back his head at your words, looking more baffled than you’ve ever seen him. he drops your elbow, but he doesn’t let go of your face. From the corners of your eyes, you can see all the shadows melt away as he pulls his inhuman influence in to leave a mostly human man looking back at you with faintly glowing blue eyes and ink stained hands. He doesn’t push your hand away from his chest, where a human heart beats, reassuring you that he’s still alive and with you.

“I don’t—” Dale stops speaking abruptly, tilting his head and finally breaking eye contact with you to look towards the door he came through. His hand drops from your cheek to hide behind his back and when he next blinks, there’s no more light in his eyes. You resist the urge to sway towards him, wanting his touch to keep you grounded, but understanding the implication. Reinforcements must be due to arrive any minute. Reluctantly, you drop your hand from his chest.

When he looks back at you, you can see he’s trying to pull himself together to face company. He blinks again, before frowning, his eyes darting around the room with renewed concern. “Where is Grandmother?”

If Dale can hear what’s going on in the hall… You spin around, your hand closing around the door handle for the closet. You wrench it open to reveal Grandmother, still hidden away safely. You rush in to check her breathing, to feel her pulse and reassure you both that… “She’s still unconscious, but she’s breathing.”

Dale breathes out in relief and without any more words, you grab one arm of the chair and Dale the other as you pull her from the closet. You don’t even care that he’s clearly doing the majority of the work. “Grandmother will be fine too,” you say, not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Good,” Dale says, eyes drifting over your more obvious injuries once more. “It would only be worse for them if either of you were not.” His eyes slide down Grandmother’s unconscious form and menace seems to drip from his voice. “It shall be bad enough as it is.” 

Despite the warning from Dale a minute or so ago, you still jump at the sound of a door opening, looking past Dale to see two of the governor’s guards walk in. They stop in the doorway, gaping.

Dale straightens from where he’d been leaning over Grandmother. His head swivels to the direction of the courtyard, where Two went. He doesn’t respond to Grandfather’s concerned voice calling his name and Grandmother’s and even your own.

Fear grips your heart and your hand lands on his forearm, “No.” He doesn’t look back at you either. He gently, but inexorably pulls out of your grasp. You can’t stop him, you know that you can’t, but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving, of him pursuing this threat. “No. Dale.” He ignores you and picks up his rapier. “Don’t go after him!”

Dale runs out into the night, in pursuit.

“Damn you,” you say, voice tight as you try to stop more tears from welling up. What if he’s found out? What if Two can do more to hurt him? What if there are others in wait and he’s ambushed? What if—? You wipe your eyes more harshly than perhaps you need to as you force yourself to focus on what you can do, who you can help.

While the other guards race to follow Dale, Grandfather hurries across the room to be on the other side of the chair, calling Grandmother’s name. You can feel her breathing, but you need to know if her heart is in trouble. “We need a doctor. Now.”

-/-

This is the re-write of Chapter 23's ending to set up the next part, which should go up within a week. There as originally gonna be a steamy dream after the fight, but i couldn't make it work and then it morphed into this lol. See this ask for further details.