#emilio and metzli

[muertarte]

PARTIES: @muertarte @mortemoppetere

SUMMARY: Metzli and Emilio meet up at the dog park for their babies to have a playdate and for new clothes for Perro.

TIMING: Current

WARNINGS: Emotional Abuse (mentions), Physical Abuse (mentions)

He wasn’t sure he should be out and about just yet. The damn qutrub had taken a lot out of him — namely, an impressive chunk of his arm and what felt like about half his fucking blood volume — and slayer healing really only went so far. But Metzli had offered that dog training lesson, and Emilio was a little too proud to cancel on them on account of an injury that, in his opinion, was fairly minor, anyway. Besides, Perro could use more friends. Emilio was pretty sure the dog was talking to the bugs in the walls. Metzli’s dog was bound to be better company than that. 

So, he put the leash on the dog and he walked to where he and Metzli had agreed to meet. The dog park. Because apparently, that was a thing. A park for dogs. It sounded like something someone had definitely made up, but it seemed… real. There were benches and picnic tables inside a wire fence, people sitting down with dogs running around. One section contained a large crowd and, in the other, Metzli seemed to be sitting alone. Privately, Emilio was a little pleased that they’d managed to scare everyone off already. He wasn’t looking to talk to anyone he hadn’t intentionally come here to talk to. 

Entering the gate, he walked Perro over to where Metzli sat and settled onto the bench beside them, hiding a wince. Perro sat at his feet, waiting for the leash to come off. When it did, he trotted over to Metzli’s dog. Emilio nodded. “Guess yours isn’t as ugly in person,” he commented. “Don’t know if Perro’s met another dog before. Guess we’ll see if he likes it.”

Fluffy barked, zipping around the picnic table selected specifically because it was out of the way from everyone else. He had what Honey liked to call The Zoomies. Metzli supposed that was appropriate. He zoomed around everything, especially the ball he so obviously enjoyed. His favorite game? Fetch. 

No matter how long the two played, Fluffy never seemed to grow tired of it. Even when he lost the ball on his left side, where he couldn’t see, he ran and ran until it was found again. It was silly to think of that as such a strong example of persistence, but Metzli knew better than anyone that it was all about perspective and relativity to each matter. No two were ever the same. A dog’s problems could never be at the same level as a person’s and vise versa. 

Metzli had just picked up Fluffy’s ball by the time Emilio showed up. Their bloodshot eye and purple skin from the spawn’s attack were obvious, but they hardly cared. The two dogs were sniffing each other happily when Metzli finally responded back. “Is good to expose. Take him to vet yet?” They threw the ball, quickly diverting both dog’s attentions and they gave chase, leaving the vampire and slayer to talk.

It looked like Metzli had been through the ringer, too. Selfishly, Emilio was almost glad for that. It was stupid, considering he didn’t mind them, but if they were sporting injuries of their own, they’d probably be less likely to prod him about his. Not that Metzli seemed the type to ask, anyway, but mutually assured destruction seemed to seal the deal in a way that was much more certain.

Perro seemed happy enough to have a friend, at least. He chased the ball the moment the vampire threw it, tail wagging excitedly even as he struggled to keep up with Metzli’s dog. Three legs didn’t move quite as quickly as four, it seemed. Emilio could relate to the disadvantage. He stretched his bad leg out even as his top half seemed to curl into itself to take pressure off the injuries sustained there. Getting your ass kicked could force you to walk the strangest kind of tightrope while you were healing, sometimes.

“No,” he admitted, watching the dogs run. “Don’t think it’s a good idea yet. He’s scared all the time. Don’t want to make it worse.” And, fuck, maybe he could relate to that, too. To living through something that wouldn’t leave you, to living with your heart beating a little too fast and your hands shaking a little too much. “Yours doesn’t wear clothes to the park?” He was still getting used to the… rules of it all. When he’d entered into fatherhood, he’d had a family to help him out. A partner. His thumb twirled his wedding ring absently. He was alone in this particular journey now. And a dog, as it turned out, had very different rules than a kid. Who fucking knew?

“Hmph…” Metzli quietly chuckled to themself as they fully digested Emilio’s damage. It appeared they both had had their own battles. And yet, they both managed to keep to the plans they had made. Both stubborn and determined, Metzli guessed. It made sense. He was a slayer, after all. As much as he likely didn’t want to see it, even the vampire could see that both sides of the never-ending war shared many similarities. It wasn’t meant to be offensive. Just a fact they had observed over their long life.

“Is good idea to take him. Get things he need and checkup.” Fluffy returned with the ball, dropping it and sitting to wait. “He look healthy at least.” Metzli picked up the ball and pretended to throw it, sending Fluffy careening down the direction the ball would’ve gone. When he was far enough away, the vampire tossed it lightly for Perro, giving him a chance to get it himself. He happily ran for it, returning with his prize a moment later and dropping it in front of Emilio. 

Metzli watched with a hint of a smile, enjoying the way Perro panted happily and wagged his tail. Already, they could tell he was a smart one. “Is too warm for clothes today. If cold, then I put sweater on–oh.” Metzli remembered the box of clothes they had offered Emilio. They opened it up, “Have clothes for him. And shoes. Not get too hot here but if it does, then there are shoes to protect paws. Make sense?”

He could feel their eyes on him, looking him over. Instinctively, he stiffened under their gaze, straightening his back and pulling his leg back in to himself as if he could erase their perception of his shitty state just by changing his posture. He knew it was pointless. Metzli seemed the observant type and even if they weren’t, it didn’t take much observation to see that Emilio looked like shit. He had to remind himself that they wouldn’t use it against him, that Metzli probably didn’t want him dead in spite of the way his senses were screaming about their undead status. He’d never been acquaintances with someone undead before. He’d never really spent time in any undead’s presence for longer than it took to either kill them or decide not to kill them. It was a strange kind of feeling.

“Yeah, probably.” It felt foreign. Flora had never had a checkup. Emilio had never had a checkup. Doctors weren’t the sort of thing his mother believed in, and she’d passed that belief on to him the same way she’d passed all her beliefs on to him. Which was to say… largely by force. He watched Metzli toss the ball, watched Perro run to get it. When the dog dropped it by his foot, he bent over to take it in spite of the way it irritated his aching ribs, tossed it even though it made the duct tape holding the wound on his arm shut come loose. Perro seemed so pleased to chase it that it made it all feel worth it, somehow. 

Watching as Fluffy chased after Perro in hopes of stealing the ball, Emilio nodded. No clothes on hot days. It made sense. He glanced over as Metzli shifted, looking into the box full of clothes. “Sure,” he agreed. Paws against hot concrete was sure to be an uncomfortable sensation. He reached into the box absently, pulling out a sweater and turning the fabric in his hands. It was soft. He couldn’t imagine Perro would like wearing it. But… when you were responsible for something like that, you had to make it do things it didn’t want to do to keep it safe, sometimes. The ever-present ache in his chest grew a little at the thought. “How’d you end up here, anyway? Long way from Mexico.” 

Watching Emilio put aside his pain for the sake of Perro’s fun looked natural. As if he’d been in the position of a guardian despite him saying he was a new pet owner. Then, Metzli caught it–the way Emilio idly fidgeted with what they could only guess was a wedding band. With marriages, sometimes come children. Metzli wondered if Emilio was a father now, or worse, not anymore. They wouldn’t dare ask, knowing there was pain behind the answer. He was alone. That was answer enough. Any more prodding was just torture, and despite Emilio being a slayer, an enemy to Metzli’s kind, they didn’t feel the need to hurt him. He’d done nothing wrong, not to them. The least they could do is grant him some sort of kindness.

“Clothes have legs for all but the one you mention. If no back legs, then clothes do not stay on. Oh–” Metzli searched the box quickly for a particular piece. One that was weighted and specifically designed for anxious pets. “This one is good for when Perro has ansiedad. Help with that. When away, you put it on, y ya.” Putting everything back, Metzli nodded along to Emilio’s question, their brows twitching as they recollected all the events from Teocaltiche. The only home they ever had. If you could call it that.

“After I kill master, everyone went divided. Some happy, some mad. Even some people who help were angry.” Metzli pushed the box aside, focusing their attention to the ball that was just dropped at their feet. They tossed it softly, continuing their explanation with a tinge of sorrow that broke past their usual neutral voice. “They want me to be new master or die for destroying clan. But I made a friend when she was looking for people in Jalisco and she drove us here. Was resident before. Now we stay.” 

It was clear that some work had gone into it. The way the clothes had been altered to fit Perro’s stumpy, three-legged form, the front left leg on each shirt removed and sewn shut. There was something strange about the thought of Metzli doing that, something that didn’t quite compute the way it ought to. Emilio had been taught, as most slayers were, that vampires were little more than killing machines. Good for little outside of violence, craving death everywhere they went. He knew it wasn’t true, even if it had taken a lot of effort to shake the thought from his mind, but knowing something in theory and seeing it in action were two incredibly different things. A vampire had spent what must have been a pretty good chunk of time altering clothing for his dog. It sounded like something out of fiction.

He took the weighted shirt, balancing it experimentally in his hand. It wasn’t so heavy that the weight would be too much for Perro, but he didn’t understand how it might help with the dog’s anxiety. “Strange,” he decided, setting the shirt back into the box. Perro chose that moment to return to the table, leaning his body against Emilio’s legs until the detective leaned down to scratch him idly behind the ear. He looked back to Metzli, to the way their brows twitched. Part of him wanted to tell them that they didn’t have to recount their story if they didn’t want to, but he wasn’t sure why. Empathy wasn’t something he’d been taught to understand, after all. 

It didn’t matter much, anyway. They went on, telling their story in a monotone as he nodded along. It made sense, in a way. People, even undead people, liked structure. When that structure disappeared, even if it was for the better… Sometimes, it was hard to handle. Emilio thought of his own family, of how terrified he’d been at the concept of leaving with his daughter despite knowing it was something he’d have to do to protect her. If he’d made that decision faster, would she still be alive now? Would he have been able to forgive himself for it after? It was hard to say. “She like you? Your friend.” They might not tell him if their friend was undead, for… obvious reasons. But the curiosity was there all the same. 

Metzli appreciated the way Emilio didn’t prod much. Hell, he didn’t prod at all. He asked surface level questions to receive simple answers. That was all he seemed to need in order to build on a picture he had already premade before he even truly took the time to get to know Metzli. It was fair, they knew that. Both were monsters in each respective story, and all it took was a little expansion on one’s mind to see more than one perspective. Now that Metzli had freedom, they did just that. Honey would badger them for making friends with the sworn enemy, but the vampire couldn’t help it. 

There was so much to explore and if they could provide someone with a new view and teach them something new—something they had learned along the way, then Metzli was more than happy to risk death. “She is like me, but you will not know her name. As pleasant as you have been, I have no place giving away exactly what she is or her name.” Metzli sat down on the table bench and Fluffy returned at full speed, jumping into their lap. 

“¿Y tu? Why come here? No have to answer. Just have curiosity like you.”

It was fair enough. If Emilio knew any other slayers in town, he wouldn’t go giving their names to vampires, either. Even people like Andy, who were hunters focused in a different area than what Metzli might be interested in, wouldn’t see their identities exposed by Emilio. Despite whatever apprehension he might have towards them thanks to his experience and his assumptions on what they might think of him now, Emilio felt a level of camaraderie with hunters that he doubted would ever fully go away. It was how he was raised. Things might be a little different for Metzli — they hadn’t been raised undead, after all — but he figured the bones of it were the same. 

It also wasn’t particularly surprising when they asked him the same question right back. Emilio hesitated, heart beating a little faster in his chest. It wasn’t a story he knew how to tell, even if it seemed unfair not to tell it. Metzli had been open with him, after all. But… That last day in Mexico flashed in front of his eyes briefly. The stench of blood in the air, the bodies in the street, the sinking feeling in his chest when he burst through the door to his home but hadn’t yet caught sight of Flora or Juliana…

Emilio shrugged, shaking his head to clear his vision. It didn’t do much, but at least it was something. “I had nowhere else to go,” he replied. “Heard about this town, heard there was a lot of… activity here. Wrongs to be righted, things that needed taking care of. Seemed as good a place as any.” 

The way sorrow made eyes go distant and cloudy was all too familiar. Something happened in Mexico, and knowing that Emilio was a slayer made the possibilities endless. But overall, at least in Metzli’s mind, they likely landed in the same category. Death. It was a common occurrence for both sides, neither immune to loss. In that, the two were equal. In that, Metzli had respect. In that, they wanted to offer some sort of friendship, or something as simple as a silent alliance.

“I understand. Had nothing after clan fall.” A dry chuckle tumbled out of Metzli’s throat and they shook their head, realizing how stupid they sounded. “Well unless there is something less than nothing. Master took everything.” Sighing, they rubbed at Fluffy’s ears as he sank into their lap with a tired grumble. Ah, it appeared Perro tuckered him out, which was just as well. Metzli wasn’t sure how much longer they could socialize, as short as the interaction was. “Yes, good place. Easy to blend and many option for my kind if they do not wish to hunt.” Which seemed silly, avoiding a good hunt, and they couldn’t help but be reminded of Sofie. “Maybe we both get new chance.”

Something less than nothing. It felt like that was what Emilio had, even now. To go from having what he had, from being a son and a brother and a husband and a father to this… It was difficult to describe what it felt like. It would have been difficult to describe what it felt like even if he weren’t as bad with words as he was, even if he was better at twisting his feelings into syllables and letting them leap off his tongue. But something less than nothing felt like the closest thing he’d found to the right words in a long time. 

“Not sure I deserve a new chance,” he admitted, looking down at Perro as he jumped up to put his paws on Emilio’s knees. What would a new chance look like for him? He wasn’t sure he knew. What was the difference between moving on and forgetting? He couldn’t replace the things he’d lost, couldn’t repair the broken pieces. He was just… this now. This uncertain, shattered thing. Something less than nothing. He sighed, stroking Perro absently. “What’s it look like for you? Your new chance. What do you want?” 

It seemed like the more the two talked, the more common ground they landed on. Moralizing love and chances, and debating worth. It was like they were both being forced to look in the most fucked up mirror in the world, and Metzli wasn’t sure that was necessarily a bad thing. “Is not about deserve. Look ‘round you.” They gestured to the rest of the park, and then to Perro. “You have it already. Chance is here. Start is here and you did not have to ask.” 

Brows creased together, Metzli nodding to themself as they continued to scratch Fluffy’s head. He rolled over onto his back, requesting his belly to be next. It made Metzli chuckle lightly before looking back at Emilio. “Is about if you keep going. I want to do that. Never got to. Even when human…” The vampire shook their head, sucking their teeth. “Era pura mierda. Parents were not…good.” They shrugged, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “Want to see where chance take me. If I die, then okay. If I live, then okay. Get to try now.” 

Slowly, fluffy began to doze off a little deeper, and Metzli realized they should probably get him home soon. Shifting in their seat, they locked eyes with Emilio, “No teach Perro today, but next time. He needed to meet me first to get comfort. Vale?”

Maybe they were right. People so rarely got what they deserved in life. Emilio had seen proof of it reflected a thousand times before. People who deserved to live died instead. And people who deserved to die got to keep walking around, got to go to dog parks, got to sit on benches. Maybe this was his second chance, the one he didn’t deserve and hadn’t asked for. It should have gone to someone else. He knew that. He’d trade it if he could, give it to Flora or to Rosa or to Juliana. To someone who’d make something of it. He wished it were an option. 

He thought of his own parents, of his mother’s harsh training and his father’s echoing absence. Of his uncle’s attempts and ultimate betrayal, or of the way he’d been taught that he was more of a weapon than a child. Could he relate to Metzli, to their clear anger towards their own parents? He’d never thought of his upbringing as something bad, but he’d felt sick at the thought of raising his daughter in the same way. Even still, it felt like a betrayal to call it wrong. He didn’t know if his mother had loved him, but she’d kept him alive. (And wasn’t that more than he’d done?) “Sorry,” he offered, a little belated as he pulled himself from his thoughts. “That they were no good.” It was something that bothered him, as a father. If he could still claim the word. “Hope it works out for you. The new chance.” Maybe one of them could make it worth something. Emilio wasn’t sure there was much of a shot of that being him.

It made sense, especially given the way their dog was dozing, that Metzli wouldn’t be able to teach Perro anything today. And they were right — it was better for the dog to get to know them first. Perro was a little iffy about new people sometimes, and though he’d always seemed to prefer people who weren’t quite human, Emilio hadn’t been sure how he’d react to a vampire given his experience with his previous owner. Luckily, he seemed to like Metzli all right. “Appreciate the clothes,” he said, tapping the side of the box. “Think I’ll give them a try.” 

[stainedglasstruth]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Dandridge Barn PARTIES: Zane (@rn-zane), Wynne (@ohwynne), Zack (@zackbanes, Arden (@stainedglasstruth), Emilio (@mortemoppetere), and Metzli (@muertarte) SUMMARY: Wynne, Zack, and Arden find out what the vampires have in store for them. CONTENT WARNINGS: Kidnapping

Zane was only one of many that had pondered the purpose of the giant barn on Alma Dandridge’s lot, seemingly pointless as there were no animals nor farming happening on the big spread of land. Despite every bit of doubt and apprehension, the true purpose could not have been conjured up in even the vampire’s wildest nightmares. Alma had run this sort of mission many a time before, practice runs she liked to call them instead of mistakes, so of course a nice and big basement underneath an inconspicuous barn had been the first matter of business when moving to Wicked’s Rest. 

It had been empty for many years now, patiently waiting. Finally, it was serving its purpose. 

Descending the dark, musty stairs, whose entrance had been well hidden until now, was akin to being swallowed whole. Zane could still not decide whether staying behind had been the right call. Whether contacting Emilio was just adding another soul lost to whatever was about to transpire. There was no turning back now, stairs creaking with every step, his body flanked by more vampires as the group traveled down. Somehow, Zane hadn’t expected the shouting.

The noise grew louder once a door was opened, light flooding the dark stairwell and bringing with it the sound of pleas and banging on metal. Zane hesitated, not the only one in the group to do so, but all of those who paused were given a pointed shove to the back. And then there they all were. 

The vampire spawn grabbed everyone’s attention first. Alone in its cage, for now, it slammed against the bars and snarled at anyone who would listen. Zane’s eyes didn’t linger for long, dragging over the sight which filled the rest of the big basement with his stomach sinking further every second. The floor-to-ceiling bars looked old, like they had been waiting for years to house the desperate humans that now huddled inside. A quick count provided for fifteen people, hands tied and some of them definitely looking like they’d put up a fight while transported here. His instinctual step towards the wounded was cut off by someone’s hand on his chest. “Easy, tiger. There will be plenty to snack on later.”

Except they weren’t here to be snacks. They were here to be soldiers. Here to be turned into the creature that still trashed in its cage, right up until the moment Alma suddenly appeared amidst the throng of vampires, only a few of whom looked as confused and petrified as Zane. Alma placed a single hand on the spawn’s cage and it cowered away, head bowed. Dark spots danced in Zane’s line of vision and before he could know whether he would pass out or throw up first, Alma was turning to the prisoners with a soft smile and speaking. 

“A warm welcome to our guests. They have been brought here to serve their purpose in making this town a paradise for all of us.” 

—

It might be the middle of summer but Wynne felt like they had been shivering for days. Here, in this basement, it felt like their teeth had been clattering ever since their forced arrival, and there was no way of stopping it. Sleep had been hard to come by, coming in increments by resting against the soft flesh of the people that had been dragged down here with them. Arden and Zack hadn’t left their side and they hadn’t left theirs. Tied hands searching for each other in the dark. Inklings of hope shared when it was lacking in the others. Wynne was familiar with this kind of dread, but they had never shared it before. It somehow felt worse.

Back at the commune, there had been rooms like this, but they had been smaller and looked less like cages. They were rooms for solitary reflection, where the door remained shut. Wynne had been placed in them twice, not often blamed of insubordination, and they’d sat in silence and quiet and dark until the time was done. But nothing could have prepared them for this, this depravity and hopelessness. When they had awaited death at home, they’d done so under flannel sheets and in a soft bed. 

By now, it had been days, the numbers in the cage having grown, a vicious humanoid creature having joined them one cage over. Wynne’s cheeks were dry and red from the shed tears, their senses dulled and numb, their fight seeped out. The arrival of new figures had them perking up, though, heart hammering — there had been no explanation, no full one, as to why they were here.

And these new additions to the crowd weren’t dragged in or unconscious, weren’t dripping blood from their noses the way Wynne had five days ago. They walked in willingly, staring at them as if they were cattle. Wynne felt like they were cattle, like they were sheep being herded. But rather than being prepared for grazing, they were being prepared for something much worse. 

Their throat was too dry to fashion a response, but their eyes did fall on a familiar face in the crowd. Zane was a vague acquaintance, nothing more, and yet Wynne’s gaze got stuck on him as they shuffled closer to Zack and Arden. There was no use in pleading, that was a lesson hard-learned half a decade ago. The only solution was to run, but in this basement there was nowhere to go.

—

When they first got jumped, laughing and on their way to the Wormhole, Zack had assumed it was just another night in Worm Row. He had almost been annoyed about it, expecting to hand over his wallet and move on with the night. But of course it couldn’t be something so innocuous, so simple, as that. Of course there was some kind of kidnapping plot involving the spooky farm and cages and a veritable monster.

And he was useless. He had tried –carefully, just once or twice– to summon up his fire but the spark wouldn’t seem to come. And then, as the days went on, more and more people were added to the cell, and he didn’t want to risk trying. With no control, he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t end up hurting someone. And he couldn’t say why his abilities weren’t working in the first place. Maybe he was too scared or maybe it was from the meager food they were given. Zack still barely understood how any of it worked, and never had he regretted it more than right then. If he could control his fire with any accuracy and dependency, it could have actually helped. 

Instead, all he could do was try to keep as close as possible to Arden and Wynne. Cast a watchful eye over any injuries the two had accumulated in their initial attack to try and make sure they weren’t too hurt, make sure they both got enough food and water, when it came. And wait for any kind of opening.

When there was the stirrings of a commotion, Zack sat up straighter, struggling with his bindings. A group trudged in, including the ones who had been there the night they were all taken. Anger rose in his chest at the sight. Next to him, Wynne flinched and he turned to find them staring into the crowd as well. But not at their attackers, like Zack, at some other face he didn’t recognize. Casting a look to Arden and assessing her first, he nudged Wynne as best he could. “All right?” he asked, voice an undertone.

When the woman at the front began to speak, dread settled heavy in Zack’s stomach. He wasn’t sure what exactly all she said meant, but he was certain it wouldn’t be good for them. Apparently there was a plan. A purpose. He was reminded suddenly of Wynne's commune. He wouldn’t bet against another instance of human sacrifice. 

—

Metzli would be proud of her; Arden had put up a fight. She had gotten a few hits in and everything, but unfortunately the knife they had gifted her was iron and that didn’t exactly help her when she was being attacked by Fucking Vampires. Again! At least she had managed to get some of that training in during the past few weeks. 

She had tried so hard, for Wynne and for Zack, but ultimately she was still just a useless human in the face of the supernatural. The point of the training had been to be able to protect herself and her loved ones, but she hadn’t been prepared enough, and they had been hurt and taken. Logically, she knew she couldn’t even blame herself– she had been working diligently, pushing herself probably a little harder than she should with the workouts and sparring sessions. They were just outnumbered, and they were outnumbered by vampires. Still, Arden couldn’t help that feeling in her gut, the little voice in her head that told her she could’ve done more. 

They had been down there for days. It was hard to keep track of time, but the vampires had come in with food for their ever-growing little collection of humans four times. However long they had been down there, they had at least been able to speak freely. And while Arden couldn’t exactly say she was grateful for Wynne and Zack’s company– she much would’ve preferred it if they weren’t involved in this mess– it was comforting, having them there. If not for them, she wasn’t sure how she would be staying sane. They had each other's backs, sleeping in shifts and offering comfort however they could. 

She tried her best to keep a level head, watching over her roommates, of course, but also trying to keep a close eye on their captors. While they were stuck there, she had also informed them about vampires as much as she could, telling them everything she could remember about them, save for their weaknesses; Arden didn’t think the person keeping watch over them would react well to that. 

The spawn had freaked her out. She didn’t want to panic Zack or Wynne, or piss off the vampires, but the spawn had made their plans clear to her. Her stomach sank when the vampires entered the room. They were really outnumbered here, not that they would be able to do much even if they weren’t. They were just human. 

Arden eyed the vampires, before once again turning her gaze to the room around them, hoping something that could help them might have magically appeared when she wasn’t looking, knowing she would find nothing. They weren’t even going to die down here, they were going to be turned into mindless, undead bloodsuckers in this stupid fucking basement. She had hoped someone would find them before it was too late. Their absence had surely been noticed, at the very least by their bosses, Sully, and… Teagan. Probably Ariadne and some others, too. However, it seemed like they were well and truly screwed. 

At the mere thought of the nix, her eyes began to water. The necklace she had gifted her hung heavy around her neck, a constant comfort, a constant reminder. She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to let out the tears that threatened to spill. Instead, she turned her attention to Wynne, leaning closer in an attempt to provide them some comfort. Her gaze then turned to Zack, who was focused on Wynne, of course. She once again had to blink back her tears. No matter what happened, Arden would fight for them. Until the end. 

—

Alma’s voice had been enough to finally quiet the sound of heart wrenching pleas but it did little to lighten the situation. As much as his stomach sank with every new face he registered, Zane couldn’t stop himself from taking them all in. They looked tired, angry, scared, hurt. Confused, the feeling properly mirrored in the nurse’s eyes when they met a familiar gaze. Wynne looked even younger now than they had during the two’s first and only meeting. He had helped her out then but now, he was just as useless as the people inside the cages. 

“This spawn is only the first of many that will help us claim what is rightfully ours. A place where the strongest don’t have to cower in fear and scrounge for food. This is only the beginning as our new recruits will help us build up an army of spawns.” Alma was gesturing towards a few of the vampires, a small and separate group Zane hadn’t noticed forming until now. There were six of them, including him, flanked by the half circle of vampires that had all been here for a long time and none of whom looked disturbed by the basement’s set up. 

This was all happening too fast, Alma was still speaking but it didn’t register as English to Zane’s frazzled brain. He couldn’t get all of these people out of here, there were so many vampires here and no way past them. Even though the people closest to him, lovingly dubbed ‘freshmen’ like himself, looked wary and confused, Zane couldn’t count on them to help. In his line of work, he had witnessed every possible response to overwhelming danger. Never before had he experienced first hand the seldom mentioned ‘freeze’ response, blankly watching the situation in front of him unfold, feet glued to the ground. 

The nervous vampire standing next to him stepped forward, the sound of jangling keys was deafening and there was more movement. There was no way to tell whether the blurry vision was due to panic or tears but everything became clearer the moment Zane finally realized who had been pulled from their cage and destined for a new and worse sort of prison. Wait. It took a moment to register why no one responded to his voice - Zane’s mouth hadn’t actually moved. One more glance at Wynne’s resigned face was enough to finally spur him into action. 

“They didn’t choose this.” Numerous pairs of red eyes converged on him and Zane swallowed thickly, taking a step forward on legs that felt like they wouldn’t carry him. A protest from behind that Zane could only assume was Razul was quickly quieted by Alma raising a hand. “I… this is wrong. We,” shaky hands gestured vaguely at the surrounding vampires, “all chose but they… we can’t do this. This isn’t right.”

Alma approached slowly, a comforting smile on her face as she cupped Zane’s cheek with one soft hand. “I always figured you’d be opposed,” she sighed. In a blink, the soothing touch was a vice grip on the back of his neck, pushing him towards Wynne. They were being held by an annoyed looking vampire, making sure Wynne’s neck was properly exposed. “So why don’t you start us off and just get it over with, dear?”

—

The keys rattled and for a dumb, naive moment Wynne thought they’d open the cage and let them go. They had asked, hadn’t they? Pleaded, tried to reason with the people that kept watch of them and then grown so silent that they were afraid they’d never talk again. Even Zack’s question they couldn’t answer, their gaze just landing on his for a moment as both their roommates put themself in closer proximity to them. But it was little use, was it?

The keys rattled and the vampire that entered the cage left no room for stragglers, no room for escape attempt. He pushed past others and eventually Zack and Arden too, fingers enclosing around the back of Wynne’s neck. “What are you —�� they began, trying to struggle against the tight grip but unable to do so, strength larger than their own (and that of any other human) dragging them forward. There were no words now, just an animalistic noise. They could feel the vampire’s fingernails break the skin and they let out a yelp of pain. “Please.” 

Once out, away from the other dozen-or-so trembling humans, Wynne felt eyes on them. They thought about home and that engraved altar, of Jac laying down with his hands tied behind his back, Siors bringing down the knife to his throat. They hadn’t wanted to die and they didn’t want to die now either, even if it meant coming back. They had grown tight and tense but not hard enough not to be moved around, their body like a stiff doll in the arms of the vampire. He had turned them around, bend their head to expose their neck and all Wynne could do was whimper and close their eyes and look at Zane and tremble like a meek little lamb.

When he spoke up they watched the woman speak to him, so soft and then so cruel and they thought of Siors again, of all their elders and their parents. How many times had Padrig cupped their cheek like this? Squeezed their chin until their skin turned red? 

Zane was like them — not just a vampire’s friend, but one of them. Wynne did not trust him, but he called this wrong. He did what no one at the commune had done when they’d prepared Wynne for the slaughter and when the two came eye to eye, with their neck exposed and their breathing falling from their mouth in rapid succession, they thought there was something to appeal to.

“You don’t have to do this,” they said, their voice constrained from the way their neck was bent and the tears flowing down their cheeks. At least if they’d had died at home it would have been beautiful. Their hair laced with flowers and their body warm with scented oils, a splendid meal beforehand and a speech in the last moment. It would have been honorable. But even then, Wynne hadn’t wanted to die. “Please, Zane.” 

—

Zack didn’t fully understand all that was happening, but he knew enough. He knew that the people who had taken them were not human. And he knew that whatever that thing in the cage was (spawn, they called it), they planned on turning all of their captives into that, somehow. 

Apparently, they were going to do that now, with one of the group stepping forward with a set of keys. Of course, of course, he came right over to their little group. Zack tried to put himself in front of Arden and Wynne, but they grabbed for the youngest of them all. “No, don’t!” Zack struggled to get himself up, to put himself between their captors and Wynne. But it was no use – with his hands behind his back he wasn’t even able to stand up, let alone fight back in any way. “Not them.”

Some of the group seemed amused by his weak protesting, with one comment, “Don’t worry. You’ll all get a turn.”

Sick dread slipped into Zack’s stomach at that. That was likely true, but if there was a chance of somehow stopping this, it meant that Wynne couldn’t go first. Wynne who had already had their head on the chopping block once, in that awful place they had called home before coming to Wicked’s Rest. Before making a home with Zack and Arden and Sully. “Please, just don’t take them first.” 

Zack wasn’t the only one trying to stop this, though. One of the group tried to reason with the leader, someone who Wynne knew, apparently. And there were a few others, not many but a few, who looked similarly conflicted. In the end, it didn’t matter. Their leader was uninterested in any protests and forced the man who had spoken out, who seemed to know Wynne, over to do whatever it was that would start this horror show.

Desperately, Zack tried to call up the fire that lived somewhere inside him. “Please,” he muttered to himself. “Please, please…” Since they had first made their appearance, his abilities were nothing less than a plague. A shadow that lived over his every move as he tried to contain and control it all so it would never hurt anyone, never cause any harm. And here, now, there was the chance that it could help. If he could only bring it forth. If he had only learned, in any of his years, how to use it in any way that mattered. 

The fire never came. Distraught and ashamed, Zack turned to tip his face against Arden’s shoulder. He couldn’t help and, in the end, he couldn’t watch.

—

This was it, then. The beginning of the end. 

Arden couldn’t help but think of her last vampire encounter. She had been convinced she would die, certainly would have if not for the cross around her neck, if not for Emilio. She had barely taken it off since that night, but, of course, it had failed her, and she, in turn, had failed her friends. 

That night, the sheer panic of staring down that vampire, knowing she would die, had been so overwhelming it had almost been peaceful. Now, though, there was no peace. Not when Zack and Wynne and all these other people were here. Not when she knew they wouldn’t even have the dignity of dying as themselves. They were simply pawns in some fucked up game of chess. Dying here meant an eternity of mindlessly harming others, and for what? Some insane vampire’s power play? No, there was no peace now, just dread and terror and rage and regret. 

The awful pit of dread in her stomach only widened as one of the vampires came to grab one of them to be the first sacrifice, and it just grew and grew the closer they came toward their little trio. Of course, Zack tried to put himself in front of them, and Arden had to swallow back the wave of tears that threatened to spill. And, of course, they didn’t even grab her. 

The horror that shot through her as they grabbed Wynne was unlike any other she had felt. “No! Wynne!” She struggled against her binds, trying to do something, aware Zack was doing the same. They had only recently told her about their home, about why she had run, the fate she had run from. Wynne was one of the sweetest people she had come to know in her twenty-eight years on this Earth. Of all the people who could’ve been subjected to such a fate, they damn well hadn’t deserved to live their life in fear, knowing that in the end, they were simply a sacrificial lamb to appease some demonic entity. And they certainly didn’t deserve this. No one did, but not them, not Wynne. 

Their plea, Zack’s pleas, they broke her. Arden had tried to keep it together for so long, tried to be strong, especially for Wynne, but she couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face. “Take me first,” she choked out. But the only response she received was laughter. Since her father, since Jo, since coming back to this goddamn town that she considered home, she had felt so small, so useless, so human. Never had she hated it as much as she did then, moments before they would all be turned to monsters. 

When one of the vampires spoke up, she had a moment of hope– maybe they weren’t all convinced on this plan, maybe this didn’t have to happen. It was quickly crushed as the leader forced his head down. He would be the one to turn Wynne for his insolence. 

Beside her, she heard Zack’s quiet pleas and it broke her heart. Arden closed the space between them, the only way she had of comforting him. She remembered back when she had first moved in, she had been a little jealous of how close Zack and Wynne were, how much they seemed to care for each other, how much she had wanted that after years of not letting herself be close to anyone. But that was months ago, and now she had her own relationships with them. She loved how much they loved each other, and she loved the both of them so much. She would do anything, give anything, if it meant they could be free of this situation. Arden would turn into a monster, become a spawn, become whatever these vampires wanted if that meant they could survive this. 

As Zack burrowed his face into her shoulder, Arden only had her eyes on Wynne. This was it. The beginning of the end, and it was starting with Wynne. 

—

You’re walking into a trap. It was something his mind kept repeating, over and over again. A vampire gives a slayer intel about the clan they’ve sworn loyalty to time and time again. Tells the slayer to come to a remote location, ready to fight. They don’t trust each other — they never have. What else could it be? 

On some level, Emilio knew Zane wasn’t the type to kill him outright. He’d proven that time and time again, helped him instead of hurting him, saved his ass against another vampire even when he knew it meant signing that vampire’s death warrant. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was safe here, did it? He was walking into a trap. It was the most obvious answer, the easiest one to default to. He was walking into a trap. He knew he was.

But he was walking anyway.

If it was a trap, after all, it was a well-laid one. If you told Emilio that there were people in trouble and that he could save them if he only had the courage to show up, you’d get him where you wanted him every goddamn time. It was a slayer’s job, wasn’t it, to die for a cause? To fall on a blade, to bleed himself dry? If there was a chance, even a small one, that Zane’s information was good, Emilio had to take it. He knew that. 

Asking for help was a rare thing, but he’d thought about Nora. About Ren, about Leticia, about Rhett. About all the people who, for some unfathomable reason, gave a shit whether he was alive or dead. He was bound to die for his cause sooner or later, and he was probably walking into a trap, but maybe if he put up half a fight they wouldn’t hate him for it. Metzli was the only one he could really ask; Rhett or Owen would have wanted to kill all the vampires involved, including Zane, and he couldn’t stomach the thought of taking any of the kids along. Leading Kaden into something that was probably a trap, too, would have felt cruel, and Andy was retired. So it was Metzli or it was no one. And it was a miracle that he picked the former.

“This is it,” he said gruffly, nodding to the barn. “Got a guy on the inside. Zane. Don’t kill him, or the humans they’ve got locked up. Everyone else is fair game.” When he was done here, either the clan or the Cortez family name would be wiped out. There was no room for anything else. “Got it?”

—

When the barn came into view, Metzli couldn’t help but stare at their hand, feeling the weight of what was to come, keeping it from being consumed by tremors. Emilio had requested their help to fight, to take out a small army of vampires. They’d done it before, dead blood coating their skin not an unfamiliar sensation. By the end of the night, Metzli was sure they’d be painted like a warrior, and Leila would likely be all over them for it. But it didn’t matter. Not then. Emilio needed their help and so too did innocent people inside.

“I will do what you ask.” The vampire replied with no personality in their tone, falling into the role of soldier once more. Metzli’s thoughts began to drift far away, body functioning as whatever Emilio needed it to be. Whether shield or sword, it didn’t matter. Metzli wanted to help their friend and atone for every atrocity they had a hand in. It was one mission, but it was enough to be a start.

“Let us begin before it is too late.” Metzli trained their attention to the entrance, retrieving their blade as they slipped inside. They could feel the truth in sharp velocity, of knowing the odds of survival to be shaky at best. 

There was much to fight for, the fear of death not overwhelming but still biting the back of Metzli’s neck to remind them of what was waiting for them at home. They carefully descended down the steps, the sound of chaos consuming them with each step. Looking back at Emilio one last time, Metzli gave him a nod, tensing their body in preparation. 

Whatever was to come, despite the way they were created to oppose one another, it felt bittersweet to find a brother in the midst of so much blood. To have a man like Emilio trust Metzli—a vampire—enough to help him and run into danger without hesitation. It was an honor to extend their hearts to one another, whether the slayer saw it that way or not. The role of soldier fell and Metzli quickly became an ally instead. It fit just a bit better, they thought.

—

Sharp nails were digging into the back of his neck, the fact that it was Alma causing him harm somehow much more painful than the physical sensation. Zane had wanted information on her way back when but never could he have imagined this to be the answer to his nagging doubts. Someone who would go this far for power, who would take another’s free will, whether human or vampire. Tears were relentlessly brimming in his eyes now, lips parted in a desperate attempt to say something, anything, as a response to Wynne’s pleas. To reassure the people that seemed to be their friends that he wouldn’t hurt them. He wasn’t someone who hurt people. Or so he had always thought. 

When Alma grew impatient, nails dug further, feeling monstrously elongated inside his skin. The pain was enough to push out fangs, eyes turning red behind the tears. He couldn’t do this, not to Wynne, not to anyone. The whole point of joining what he had thought was a new family was having choice. For the first part of his life, choice hadn’t been an option. You adapted and fit in or, in Zane’s case, got cast out. What was there if not choice? “I won’t,” he whispered, voice trembling. Alma could hear him, he knew, because she was snarling in his ear now. 

There was no actual response from her and for a moment, Zane let himself live in the delusion that maybe his words had an impact. That he had a choice. 

Strong hands, his sire’s, moved quickly. There was no time to register what was happening - he had expected to be tossed aside, maybe even a swift death. Blood filling his mouth had not been one of the expected variables, his teeth sinking into Wynne’s neck, held in place by the strong grip of the woman Zane had once thought would rescue him. Innate enjoyment overpowered panic, mixed in with pure revulsion at the new emotion. Greed fought with regret, hunger struggled with disgust and the last bit of hope that Emilio had received his message flickered out. 

—

Metzli was right — they were on a strict schedule here. Vampires intent on doing as much damage as possible didn’t tend to take their time. They’d tear through those people in that basement in a matter of hours at the most, and then they’d start ripping into people in the streets, in their houses, leaving bodies in living room floors and —

— No. No, he couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t be a man when what Zane had asked for was the weapon. There were people in that barn that needed saving, or there were vampires in that barn that needed killing, or there were both. Either way, it was Emilio’s job to step inside.

“Let’s go, then.” He pushed the door open without waiting, without pausing to see if Metzli would follow. He knew they would. And that was a strange feeling, too; the hair on the back of his neck was standing up straight, refusing to allow him to forget that they were a vampire, that he was built to put a stake in their chest just as much as he was built to take out the monsters in the basement. But he trusted them, somehow, knew that his back was safe so long as they were the one watching it. It was strange, wasn’t it? Learning to rely on someone you’d been raised to hate, to kill. It was nothing you could ever recover from.

There were stairs, just like Zane said there would be. Emilio took them two at a time despite the pain in his knee. Any element of surprise they had would hinge on timing. If the vampires were paying close enough attention, they would have heard the barn door open, would have heard the feet on the stairs. If this was a trap, there would be no surprise, anyway. But when Emilio shoved his way into the basement, everyone seemed surprised to see him.

And they weren’t the only ones surprised.

His eyes immediately went to the center of the large basement, to the main event. There was Zane, his teeth buried in an achingly familiar throat. 

Wynne. 

There was a flash of something else. Of bloody hands, of still-cooling bodies, of a living room floor. Emilio quickly pushed it all down, pushed it all away. That story was over. There was no one in that living room that he could still save, no ending that he could pretend was happy.: It was finished, it was gone. But this wasn’t.

Time seemed to slow, for a moment. He took in the cage full of people, met Arden’s eye and noted Zack with his face buried in her shoulder. There was another cage with a spawn already there, and for a moment, he felt an awful relief. The spawn was unfamiliar, wasn’t someone he cared about, and he wondered when he became the sort of person who was okay with death so long as it was the death of a stranger. What did it make him, he wondered, that he said a silent prayer of gratitude that the spawn in that cage wasn’t Arden or Wynne or Zack? If God was listening, would He forgive this sin, too? Or was Emilio more sin than man now, too far gone to save?

Turning to Metzli, he tried to control his breathing enough to speak. It was a difficult thing. “I’m saving the kid,” he said, no room for argument. He was saving Wynne, because he had to. Because he didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t, because there was no other option here. Wynne wasn’t dying in a goddamn basement with a vampire’s teeth in their throat. “Keep me alive long enough for that. Then do whatever.” It was all the warning he gave before he was shoving his way through the crowd of vampires, desperate to get to the center. 

Whatever Zane was doing, he was going to stop it. If he had to put a stake in the nurse’s chest to do it, he liked to think Zane would prefer it that way.

—

The tremors that Metzli had been able to fend off continued to bite at them, persisting until they had managed to consume their hand. Flashes of their childhood stung their eyes, the intensity growing as Eloy’s voice boomed in Metzli’s thoughts. They were back in their clan again, the urge to attack growing.

Especially when they saw Wynne. 

Metzli took a single step, stopped by Emilio’s plan, command laying just beneath his words. Right—Eloy’s voice dissipated and they looked at their friend. It appeared they’d be Emilio’s shield, using their newfound ability to feel as fuel for the ferocity of the punishment they’d lay thickly onto their enemies. 

With a feral and guttural growl, Metzli surged forward, following closely behind Emilio. They plunged their blade into one neck, drawing a squelching smile across while they ripped out another throat with their teeth. Flashes of red orbs, the last thing the vampires saw before theirs went blank.

There was no time to stop or hesitate, the horde catching wind of the anomalies. They were going to swarm them before Emilio had the proper chance to stop the monster from hurting Wynne fatally. Metzli knew that because they were a monster too. 

“Oye,” They head-butted another vampire, wrapping their arm around Emilio, “Jump.” Metzli lifted the slayer over the crowd, sitting him on their shoulders briefly before throwing him toward Wynne. When he made it to his destination, Metzli turned back to their victims, eyes filled with violence, striking the others into a moment of submission. It was enough to give them the upperhand, leaving a few vampires headless and spewing black blood in their wake.

To Be Continued...

[ohwynne]

TIMING: directly after Sacrificial Spawn LOCATION: Dandridge Barn PARTIES: Zane (@rn-zane), Wynne (@ohwynne), Zack , Arden (@stainedglasstruth), Emilio (@mortemoppetere), and Metzli (@muertarte) SUMMARY: Emilio and Metzli come in for a daring rescue, causing chaos in the basement where Zane's clan are beginning their ritual for Zack, Wynne, Arden, and the other humans. CONTENT WARNINGS: kidnapping, blood, violence, passing out, religious trauma, suicidal ideation, reference to child death

This was all borrowed time. Nine months had passed since the day Wynne was supposed to die and it had been nine months in which life had felt more vibrant than ever before. As if their nervous system had been reset. Every color brighter and more overwhelming, sound and noise disastrously loud, the entire world having grown a thousandfold. In those nine months, there had been room for things not allowed before — curiosity and exploration, questions and answers, love with no expiration date or condition. 

Maybe it was enough, wasn’t it? Nine months more than expected, a gift Wynne had given themself and would now return. Maybe it was time to do what they had been destined to.

They watched Zane’s tear rimmed eyes and his unnaturally sharp teeth and whispered their pleases, their voice soundless. They pleaded, because even if there was a part of them willing to lay down on the altar and bleed out, there was another that echoed in their mind with that mantra that had haunted them for years. I want to live, I want to live, I want to live. 

He refused. He thought he had a choice. And Wynne wanted to believe that people like them and Zane had a choice, that they had made their choice when they had ran and that he could make his choice now. But at the end of the day, here they still were, a sacrifice at twenty one. And there he was, his head forced down and his teeth breaking their skin.

They wondered if the knife would have cut them in the same place, if they’d laid on the altar.

Their mouth opened, a sound of pain screeching their vocal chords as their eyes flew open, the shock of what was happening making their body grow slack. They found none of the words with which they could plead, none of the strength and none of the fight. Zane’s arms were clutching them, keeping them from falling as they let out another sound of pain, gaze flicking around the room. Zack, Arden, all the other humans in that cage. Zack, Arden. Zack and Arden, up next. Wynne cried. They could make peace with their own end, but not theirs. 

The commotion was outside their periphery, which was small and panicked. They knew nothing but the small fight continuing to burn inside them and their scrambling hands and how they wanted more than those damned nine months. 

And then they were let go, the hungry and greedy support of a vampire holding their victim rushed away and Wynne felt themself falling, hands wanting to instinctively fly to their neck but stuck behind their back. Before they could stagger and fall to the floor, though, there was another pair of hands taking ahold of them and they let out a sound of fear. “No,” they bleated, before their gaze fell on the owner of the hands and their fear dissipated immediately. “Emilio.” 

—

Wynne’s water-logged pleading tipped Zack’s face up, making him look head on at whatever was coming. Because if Wynne was begging for something, then he could at least be sure that they had his eyes to find in it all. If the worst did happen, if Zack had that to never forgive himself for, he could be sure that he was with them for it. That they knew that. 

What he saw made him wish he could bury his face away again. It was an awful tableau of teeth and power and blood and pain, but mostly what he saw were Wynne’s eyes. Their cries cut into him, under the ribs like a lung-severing puncture. He let out a strangled noise of pain and fear and then just their name, too low to be heard over their own yelps. 

And then all hell broke loose. 

It happened fast enough and amidst enough chaos that Zack almost didn’t recognize their would-be saviors. Emilio and Metzli. He knew them only as his neighbor and occasional drinking buddy, and his art instructor-cum-employer. But this… This was something else entirely. Metzli was tearing through the crowd, blades and hands ripping through throats. And Emilio was at Wynne’s side before long, breaking the leader and the other person –Zane, Wynne had called him– away from them. 

Zack could barely process that before there was a surge of the other captives in the cage. The door had opened and they were all moving for it in a panicked wave. Someone had a blade and was slicing through bindings and it wasn’t long before Zack found himself with two free hands. Immediately, he reached for Arden, helping her to her feet and positioning her into place to get her ropes cut as well. 

He clamped his hands on Arden’s shoulders, locked eyes on hers. “You need to get out of here.” He could only hope she would listen, but doubted it. If nothing else, though, their kidnapping had shown him that Arden could more than handle herself. “I’m going to Wynne.” 

And then he did. Shoving through the hysterical mass of other people, dodging the hand of their group of captors, Zack made his way to Wynne and then dropped to his knees. “Hey,” he choked out, sure there were tears in his eyes. “Can you stand?” He tucked his hands under their elbows, bracing himself to carry them all the way if he had to. At Wynne’s side finally, he spared a glance over the chaos, hoping he would see Arden disappearing up the stairs.

—

Arden couldn’t look away. The writer had seen a lot in her years living in Wicked’s Rest, and in her time as both a Scribe and a journalist. Crime scene photography, autopsy reports, even first-hand scenes of a crime or an accident. Every time, her morbid curiosity had won out, hadn’t allowed her to look away. It was no different this time, but it was entirely different because this wasn’t the aftermath of some tragedy, it was just the beginning. It was all happening in front of her, and it was Wynne.  

Every terrified sound they made was just another gash in her chest, though the pained wail they let out as the vampire– Zane– was forced to bite them? Combined with Zack’s whimpers, it felt like someone had carved out her chest, an aching, searing pain radiating from her very center, excess dripping in rivulets down her cheeks. 

And then the door slammed open, and Arden looked over to see Emilio and Metzli. 

This whole situation had felt like one terrible fucking nightmare since it had begun, but that dream-like feeling only multiplied at their arrival. Her friend and her mentor, the slayer and the vampire, the most unlikely duo barging into this terrible scene at the last moment. She hadn’t been aware of the fact that they knew one another, but it appeared that they did. Arden watched them take in the scene, trying to push down on the feeling of hope rising in her chest, saw the moment Emilio noticed Wynne, the haunted look in his eyes. Their eyes locked for a moment before he said something to Metzli, and everything went to shit. 

Through their training sessions, Arden had become familiar with Metzli, they way they moved and fought, but this… This was something else entirely. They weren’t holding back at all, their eyes glowing that familiar shade of red that had been haunting her dreams the past few weeks. Tearing, ripping, slashing, biting. It was brutal and horrifying and sickening, but despite her disgust and her efforts to the contrary, it had hope flooding through her anyway. 

And it didn’t stop because someone had opened the door, was cutting them all free. Zack was pulling her up, and then she was free, and he was telling her to get out while he went for Wynne, rushing toward them before she even had a chance to respond– because, of course. Everything was happening so fast and so loud her head was swimming, but there was no fucking way she was leaving without them. 

Arden moved to follow him, to watch his back, but had to dodge out of the way as someone came at her. She wasn’t sure she was really in her body, the chaos of the scene overloading her senses, but she moved instinctually, turning herself out of the way like Metzli had shown her. The vampire went past her, and she tried her best to move through the mess of bodies, to find the familiar faces of her roommates in the chaos. 

—

It never seized to amaze and disturb him, how completely instinct could take over and narrow the whole world to a single thing - in this case, Wynne’s blood. The chaos around them didn’t sink in for a few moments, nor the fact that his neck was no longer held in a vice grip. This was all him. A particularly blood curdling scream snapped Zane back into his surroundings and by some miracle, he found the strength to stop, hands pressing down where teeth had previously punctured. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, words lost in the noise around them. “I’m so, so-” The rest caught in his throat as Emilio was suddenly there. He’d shown up. 

Meeting the slayer’s gaze made everything very real, cementing the awfulness around him and inside of him. Red eyes averted quickly and Zane relinquished his hold on Wynne, now that they had someone capable to take care of them. Then he darted off, unsure whether it was to prevent Emilio from staking him there and then or to prevent himself from begging the slayer to do so. Zane had played a part in this pain that now surrounded him on every side. Maybe he could try and do something right now. 

A body crashed into him, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. It was just the body, though - a head was nowhere to be found. Zane could feel himself trembling, the urge to cower and hide growing strong until he dared to give the decapitated body a closer look. Keys hung from its waist, quickly snatched up by Zane who now had a new, single minded focus. Get as many people out of here as possible. 

The surrounding vampires were too busy with the new stranger - a vampire too, it seemed - to pay much attention to him as shaking hands finally opened the cage. Once inside, a few people recoiled away from him in fear and Zane remembered what it was like to not be able to breathe. Pushing through it, ropes were untied and torn away, his voice somehow managing to instruct people to head for the stairs. Most of them did, except for the two that had been huddled with Wynne before. Pointlessly wiping his forearm over his face, succeeding only in smearing the blood there, Zane followed. 

Someone attempted to charge at the woman rushing through the crowd ahead of him but she deftly avoided contact. It didn’t give up, though, screeching to a halt and making a jump for the woman closing in on Wynne and their other friend. Without much thought, Zane lunged as well, colliding with the vampire mid air and both hearing and feeling bones crack as both of them hit the ground. A much more disturbing sound was another cage opening - the one housing the angry spawn. Whipping his aching head around, Zane was not surprised to see Alma holding the door open, barking orders before her eyes found Emilio in the crowd. 

—

There was blood on his hands. Tacky on his skin, sticky under his nails. Wynne was looking at him with wide eyes and, for a moment, their face flashed into something else. Rounder, younger, eyes vacant and staring up into nothing. There was blood on his hands, and he could no longer be sure who it belonged to.

Someone approached, and Emilio turned with a stake in hand, ready to end it. But instead of cold hands and an unbeating heart, he met Zack’s eyes. Wild, terrified, but focused. He practically threw Wynne into his arms, trying to pretend as if his bloody hands weren’t shaking. Wynne needed something that he couldn’t give them, and he knew it. They needed support, needed someone to staunch the bleeding, needed someone to tell them it would be all right.

Instead of any of that, Emilio cut through the ropes holding their wrists together and pressed a wooden stake into their hand, carefully wrapping their fingers around it and holding it up so that they could focus on it with those wide eyes. “Anything that isn’t me comes close to you, and you stab it. Okay? Stick them with the pointy end.” He looked up at Zack, digging another stake from his pocket and passing it to him. 

Then, as an afterthought, he reached around his own neck. A cross necklace hung there, one he never removed; hanging on the chain along with the holy symbol was a woman’s wedding ring, worn and thin. Emilio unclasped the necklace and put it around Wynne’s neck, tucking it under their shirt. “That will give a little extra help. Okay? I’ll be back.” He looked to Zack. “Take care of them. You see an opening, take it. Getting them out, that’s what’s important here. Nothing else.” Leave the rest of us to die, if you have to. It was unspoken, but he knew Zack would pick up on it. Zack was smart. He’d understand what needed to be done.

Ducking away from the pair, Emilio dove back into the fight. The entire interaction had taken seconds but, in a fight like this one, it might as well have been a lifetime. There were monsters all around him, waiting for a chance to strike. He saw Zane out of the corner of his eye, a blur of motion with a bloody mouth. Arden, too, was still in the fray. And Metzli, ripping heads off bodies and tossing them into the crowd. Seemed like fun.

A body slammed into him, and Emilio used the vampire’s own momentum against it. He twisted the both of them around in the air, positioned himself to fall on top of the undead beast in a way that knocked the air from his lungs, but seemed to daze his opponent. It hadn’t been expecting him to be ready for it, he wagered. It wouldn’t have time to think on the mistake. There was no fanfare when the stake went in; just a shove, and the body beneath him turned to dust. 

But there was no reprieve to be found. Another vampire witnessed the exchange, quickly moving to pick up where the other had left off. It came at him teeth first, and Emilio grimaced and threw an arm up, letting those teeth sink into his skin. The vampire sputtered as the toxic blood hit its tongue, stumbling back. “You’re —”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and the stake found home in another chest. Two down, he thought. About a hundred to go. He hoped Zack would get Wynne out, hoped Arden would find her exit. Metzli and Zane knew the stakes, just as Emilio did. But the other three, and the humans they’d been captured with? None of them deserved what was coming.

None of them deserved the spawn that Emilio had somehow forgotten to account for in all the chaos. He’d seen it when he’d walked in, hadn’t he? He’d seen it. He’d made a note of it, he’d factored it in and then forgotten it. It headed for Zack and Wynne now, for the humans around them trying to shove past one another towards the exit. Emilio ran towards them, but another vampire blocked his path. A foot found his knee, his back hit the ground. And the spawn was edging closer and closer to the humans, to Zack and Wynne. He couldn’t stop it now.

—

It was just like before. A battleground where blood ran and chaos spilled between the seams of screams and agony. Friends became blurred foes, the majority of the army too juvenile to tell the difference. When they did, ill attempts of ferocity and devastation were made, leaving Metzli’s clothes tattered and ruined, painted with the blood and dust of their enemies. 

It wasn’t until one fledgling in particular latched onto Metzli’s back that they gave pause, empty eyes staring into terror as it held tightly onto their shirt. For a moment, the bruised meat became a young man, whimpering and blubbering for mercy. There would be none, and he knew this as the body marred by hundreds of wars tensed and pounced. 

Others followed suit in their mission to run, watching as a member of a dead clan rose from the dust they dispersed. Metzli thought they had killed that thing, and they’d hate themself for only locking it away instead. But that was an issue for the future. Un Sombra had been reawakened, and they’d consume the entire room if that’s what it took to get everyone out. Metzli would be the monster they hated; be what their friends needed, and what their enemies deserved. 

A few more bodies were added to the pile by the time Metzli witnessed Emilio fall to the ground. Immediately sent to action, they skidded to a halt, surprise overtaking them as a spawn was set free from its cage. They needed to move quickly. With a deep breath, Metzli grounded themself and charged toward the creature, knowing Emilio could take care of himself. Zack and Wynne simply couldn’t handle a spawn on their own, and there was no time to pitch Emilio back over to them. And there were far too many humans petitioning the heavens for their safe harbor. No higher power able to answer so many calls. Metzli would pick up instead. 

“Run!” They commanded, using bodies in the horde to propel themself toward Wynne and Zack. Metzli had only made it mere feet when they felt a vice grip wrap around their ankle. They were tossed the opposite direction, body clanging into a cage. There was nothing but ringing in their ears for a moment, the void still consuming their body. In a blink, it all subsided, a wet and cold sensation running down their leg from a jagged rod they’d apparently landed on. Metzli groaned, reaching out desperately to their friends before they disappeared behind a swarm. 

—

They felt woozy and faint, as if their limbs weren’t fully there any more. As they were passed from Emilio to Zack, Wynne looked at them both with wide eyes, the stream of blood from their throat a steady thing, attempting to push past their tight fingers. Their free ones were wrapped around a stake by Emilio who they were staring at wordlessly. Thank you, they wanted to say, thank you for coming. Their knuckles turned white as they clutched the stake and they nodded their head.

Then, Zack: he was out, and so Arden had to be too. “Where’s Arden?” As their concern for their fellow housemate was expressed, Emilio moved to put a necklace around them. Questions of why circled around their head and disappeared, like water down a drain. “Thank you.” They said it after all, voice horse and mouth incredibly dry. Here were two people willing to save them, two offering protection and means of offense and even in their faint state, Wynne was taken aback by it. 

At home, none of them had lifted a finger, considered as much as the idea of trying to figure out a way to keep them from dying. There had been no saviors at home besides Wynne themself, and even that had been a last-resort, a panicked move made in the dark of the night with their heart in their throat. And here had been Arden and Zack, begging to be taken in stead of them. Here was Emilio, making sure that they got out. Even Zane hadn’t wanted to do it, despite the way he’d gripped them at the end of it. He’d apologized, right? Their memory was hazy, instinct and panic taken over.

Their mind shifted, a new goal uniting them and Zack as Emilio disappeared back into the frey. Wynne’s vision was spotty, growing hazy in moments, but there was one moment that stood out to them: the sight of Metzli Bernal, the owner of the art gallery, tearing through vampires. There was no time to process, just the image being imprinted on their mind’s eye to be returned to at a later moment.

At least Wynne’s instinct to run was practiced and sharp by now. With Zack supporting them and keeping them close, they moved with a steady and panicked pace, their breaths loud as they pushed past fighting figures. There was a flash of Arden and Wynne wanted to scream for her, but their throat was too dry. There was Metzli, undoing a vampire off their head. It all felt like a nightmare, but the warm and sticky pulsation of their blood reminded them that it wasn’t.

And then that thing was hurtling towards them, that even more mindlessly cruel thing than the vampires themself. Stick them with the pointy end, Emilio had said and though Wynne screamed, they roared as well, trying to bring the thing down into the vampire. The wood lodged into its skin, but far from where it should to do the trick. With both their hands around the stake, Wynne was bleeding freely, making the spawn seemingly more feral. They let go of the weapon and staggered back, turning around, screaming Zack’s name. When their dry voice died out, there was a searing heat.

—

It was all just sound and fury around him. A rout of chaos that he didn’t bother sifting through. He had to focus on holding Wynne up, keeping his hand pressed to their neck. When Emilio passed him a wooden stake, his mind stalled out on that.  It had been abundantly clear that these weren’t just humans. And Zack wasn’t the best at math but he could add two and two at least and come up with vampires. There were about three thousand other question he had rushing through him, most to do with Metzli and Emilio’s involvement in all this, but there was no time for that. Like Emilio had said, getting Wynne out was the important thing. 

He spent all his energy on shifting them closer to the stairs as safely as possible, keeping half an eye out for Arden as he went. They were nearly there when the awful, twisted thing that had been in the separate cage crossed their path.

All of Zack’s reaching and desperate pleading for the fire that had infected his veins had done nothing. It hadn’t come back when they were taken the other night and it hadn’t come any of the days in between and it hadn’t come just minutes ago when Wynne was yanked from the cage. He had wondered if all his wild wishing for this ability to just be gone had finally come true, at the exact worst moment. 

Wynne tried, did what Emilio told them too, but it was no use. And when they stumbled away and screaming for him, that’s when it had surged from him. Without him having to call for it, or even think. Zack merely brought a hand up to steady himself before trying with his own weapon, but instead, the fire came rushing forward. It poured out of him, blasting through the creature like a flamethrower's stream. 

The thing sifted down to dust, less than dust. The blast had taken hold of two others in its path and they screamed before the fire spread and they went up in ash as well. He barely took a minute to consider that, though.

Instead, his eyes went over the crowd of people –now full of cowering vampires as well– and tried to find Arden in the mix. He was fairly sure that his fire had only struck those three, vampires all, but he had check. Had to be sure that Arden hadn’t gotten caught in the cross. 

—

There was too much happening at once, Arden lost sight of them. Some of the other captives… weren’t lucky, a few bodies littered the ground which was streaked with blood– bright red and nearly black. Unbidden, it brought to mind a song from that musical they had seen with Sully. There was dust hanging in the air as well– was she inhaling what was once a person??? 

She was entirely useless without any kind of weapon. Sure, she was more equipped to defend herself after training, but she couldn’t do any actual damage either. It made her feel so incredibly vulnerable, like she was back at the factory, back in the streets where they had been grabbed. The sudden urge to have Teagan there nearly overwhelmed her. Not that she would want her girlfriend involved in this mess, but she always made her feel so safe, and she could certainly use some of that comforting energy that she always felt in her presence. Still, defensive moves were better than the alternative.

When Wynne screamed, Arden immediately turned in that direction. She was just in time to feel the sudden rush of heat, to see Zack, arm outstretched, bright flames emanating out of his palm and disintegrating the spawn. She blinked, dumbfounded. …Had he just used magic? Zack– her roommate, one of her closest friends, the goof himself– he was a caster??? If he was why was he just now using his fucking firebending powers? What the fuck was even happening? 

She had to bite her lip, hysterical laughter threatening to bubble out of her. This felt real, physically, but it was all so incredibly absurd she wouldn't be surprised if she were to suddenly bolt upright in bed. Honestly, if she were to wake up in her apartment back in Boston she wouldn't even be surprised. Living in Wicked’s Rest felt like one incredibly long fever dream. There were so many ridiculous little details and, with that acute feeling loneliness that seemed to radiate from within, she would dream up relationships to fill that endless fucking void inside her, would dream up someone like Teagan. 

But, no, this was her life. And the fact that Zack had just conjured fire out of thin air threw her for such a loop that she froze in the middle of the chaos. An incredibly stupid mistake as someone– something– grabbed her by the shoulder. 

She just reacted. Weeks of sparring with Metzli, plus a session with Nicole, had ingrained into her the importance of never turning your back to someone. Arden twisted in their grasp, getting closer to wrap an arm around theirs before striking them in the shoulder with as much force as she could muster. She followed it up with a quick kick to the back of their leg, making them stumble backwards. Free, she tried her best to make her way to Zack and Wynne, to the exit. 

As much as she wanted to help, a slayer she was not, and Metzli and Emilio seemed to have a good handle on it if the dust and blood everywhere were anything to go by. She hated it, running again, just like she had before. However, this situation was so much worse than that night had ever been. There was even more risk and more danger here, so much potential for things to go wrong. She was just one of many liabilities for the duo; it would be better, easier, for them without her stumbling around in the fray. 

If they all managed to survive this– and they had to because she couldn’t begin to stomach even the idea of them not making it–  she was absolutely doing something for the both of them. She owed them. 

—

Like a hungry beast, the chaos continued to unfold viciously, amping up every second that Zane stood there uselessly. The spawn was out, heading for Wynne and their friend and a second later, it wasn’t. Emilio was on the ground, a stark reminder of the two’s last encounter but on the other side of the room that suddenly felt enormous. Too far away to help. The vampire that had followed Emilio was close, tearing through others until they weren’t, leg impaled and a threatening form approaching. With Wynne safely stashed next to the man who could apparently conjure fire, Zane bolted for the closest person he could help. 

His shoulder collided with the would-be attacker of Emilio’s friend, sending them stumbling to the side. The plan had been to help the one armed vampire more but tonight, nothing was working out as it should. In line with almost every fight Zane had found himself in, this one intended to leave him with a concussion. Provided he survived. It took a moment to blink the stars from his eyes, body crumpled against the wall it had collided with, but a clear vision only gave him a view of more horror. 

Alma had gotten covered in blood since the last time Zane had spotted her in the swarm, now looking every bit like the fanatic clan leader that she was. For the first time since meeting her all those months ago, he was terrified. Underneath the paralyzing fear blossomed anger, all consuming and amped up by the sound of screams and smell of blood. “We took you in,” she seethed, a swift kick to the face ruining his pathetic attempt to get to his feet. “Gave you a home. A family. And you repay us by leading a murderer to our doorstep?” Another blow, the only distraction being that hopefully this was giving everyone else a chance to escape. 

“He’s not the murderer here,” Zane wheezed out defiantly, rewarded with fingers and nails digging into his clothes and skin, unceremoniously shoving him onto his back. 

“You and your friends can’t stop this,” she hissed, looming over him with a piece of a sharp looking pipe. Zane wasn’t an expert on vampire killing but he felt pretty certain that one of these to the face might do the trick. Instead of meeting her threatening gaze, his head turned to the stairs, hoping to catch a glimpse of the last humans making their escape. 

—

The spawn was running towards the humans, towards Wynne and Zack, and Emilio couldn’t stop it. Not even as he thrashed, not even as he drove another stake into another chest and turned another vampire into dust. There were just too many of them, all intent on blocking him from his goal — or, more likely, all intent on blocking him from the exit. He wanted to scream, wanted to bring the whole goddamn place down on top of them. You can kill me, he wanted to shout. You can rip me into pieces. Just let me save them first. Please, God, for once, let me be someone worth being. 

But, of course, the world had never given much of a shit what Emilio wanted. God, if He was listening, had run out of mercy years ago. He watched Wynne try with everything they had to drive that stake home, watched them fumble and miss the mark because they were a kid and they were hurt, watched them stumble and heard them scream. Was this what it had looked like in that house, in that living room? With another kid who didn’t know how to defend herself, in another sea of undead monsters? 

No. Because Wynne had something Flora hadn’t — Zack. And Zack had something that Emilio hadn’t known about. The flames flowed freely from his fingertips, taking out the spawn and a few other vampires along with it. Arden managed to knock one on its ass. Emilio wasn’t sure if he’d say things were going well, but none of them were dead and that was far better than he’d expected. 

It was the vampires he should have worried about more, perhaps. He turned back to find Metzli on the ground, leg impaled. He couldn’t get to them, but Zane could. Shoulder colliding with the vampire who’d been closing in, the one Emilio recognized. He’d done his research, when Zane asked him to. You could do a lot with a name, could uncover things a person might rather stay hidden. He knew what sort of person Alma Dandridge was. Not a good one. And Zane, it seemed, was learning that the hard way. 

It was difficult, shouldering his way through the crowd. Just getting to his damn feet with all the bodies around him had been hard. Hands grabbed at him, feet made contact with every part they could find. He was in a room full of people who wanted him dead, and crossing the room was difficult. Someone clawed at his arm, someone else sunk teeth into his ankle. He was bloody and he was bruised and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t make it out of this one. But someone ought to. Wynne and Arden and Zack and Metzli. Maybe Zane, too. Maybe he could help with that.

Finally, he shoved his way close enough to do something. He put himself between Alma and Zane, taking the blow she’d been aiming towards his head on the shoulder instead — the same one he’d dislocated the last time he and Zane had met up in the midst of a deathmatch. His entire arm tingled and went numb, fingers on pins and needles. His eyes were fiery, angry. This was the person to blame for that haunted look in Arden’s eyes, for the shadow that crossed Zack’s face when that fire spread from his fingers, for the blood on Wynne’s throat. He’d probably never kill everyone responsible for what happened to his family in Mexico. He knew that. He couldn’t save his daughter, couldn’t avenge her, couldn’t pull himself from the endless sea of grief that had been drowning him ever since.

But he could do something here. Emilio would never be redeemed, and he knew it. But maybe Zane still could be. Maybe there was hope for someone, even if it wasn’t him. 

“I think,” he said hoarsely, “this is the part where you lose.” Or someone did.

—

People were dying all around them. Blood and dust swirling together into the worst cocktail ever made. The smell of iron and death filled the entirety of Metzli’s nose, throat constricting with hunger. All while being held in place by whatever fledgling replaced the last one who’d been stabbed right through the chest. It felt neverending. 

Those who were too stupid to run in the beginning had taken to exploiting the fact that the monster tearing through them was hurt. It was smart, Metzli would give them that, but their one-track mind gave them no sense of preservation. One by one, they died despite the rod that held Metzli down. And that wouldn’t last long. They were getting tired, and the horde continued to swarm.

Where was the monster now?

There was too much to live for, too much to do. So why on earth were they letting their strength wane? They knew the risk, knew that there was a chance of death. There always was. Because the truth of the matter was that everyone was dying. No matter what path one took, the end would always be death. Metzli took the risk of entering a place they feared as an endorsement of hope, knowing what was at stake. Because everyone they were saving deserved that chance. There was still time. They still had strength left to give. 

Truth was, everyone was dying, but they weren’t dead yet. 

Metzli let out a battlecry, forcing their body to comply as they utilized the energy in their panic. Fledglings stumbled back, no longer bearing the confidence they once had. The monster pulled themself away from the rod, the fire just a warm haze in their wound. With the swarm parted, Metzli could see the sire just as Emilio took a blow to his shoulder. 

They threw their stake to the side and gripped their blade, cutting through enough vampires to get a clear view of the woman who’d orchestrated the horror around them. Maybe Metzli would always be a monster, a piece of Eloy always stuck to them. But at least now they could vindicate themself. They could be everything Eloy said they couldn’t and do so with the skills he’d forced upon them. 

“You lose.” Metzli joined in with Emilio, wrapping what limbs they could around Alma, putting her in a firm hold. They brought their blade to her neck and hovered there. It wasn’t their kill to take. 

“Be quick.” 

There was no pain, only an addition to the already overwhelming smell of blood. Daring to turn his head away from the stairs, Zane had expected to see a lot of things. Emilio, the slayer who had threatened his life on multiple occasions, taking a blow for him? It only added to the sense of disassociation, the angry voice distant. Sliding back, head still spinning, he watched in a daze as the only other vampire on their side appeared to help. Be quick. 

The last time Zane had been in the presence of Emilio killing a vampire, he had turned away. He had that choice now but… not really, body too disconnected from his mind to obey anything. Until the slayer’s eyes met his, bearing quiet instructions. This wasn’t Emilio’s kill. 

Working at the ER meant seeing a lot of death. Often, there was a chance to prevent it. Never had he been on the other side, meant to cause it. We don’t decide who lives or dies, he had told Emilio once. Believed it then, even. Now… Zane was standing - when had he gotten to his feet? - fingers finding the pole lodged in Emilio’s shoulder, the one meant to kill him, and yanking it out. The phrase ‘an eye for an eye’ rattled inside his head. This didn’t match up to what Alma had taken from him with her lies, to the poison she had added to him. This greed for revenge, the guilt over hurting people, the fact that immortality would be spent without a clan. Alone. Again. 

She didn’t turn into dust when the pole pierced her skull. It was strangely easy, shoving metal through the thing that protected the most vital organ. Just one move to end a life; someone was screaming, probably him. For a moment, everything was quiet. The room wasn’t silent but the ringing in his ears blocked out everything. Alma’s body dropped to the ground and the noise returned tenfold, vampires grieving their sire and humans in pain, panicking. Zane felt everything and nothing all at once. She was gone but this still wasn’t over. Maybe it would never be over. 

—

The flames burst forth from Zack with a decisive destructiveness and Wynne ran towards the source of the heat, not stopping until they were behind their roommate. They were pressing down on their neck again, their front covered in blood, sticky and warm. Wide eyes took in the carnage, the damage done to not just the spawn but two other vampires as well.

Reduced to nothing but ash, their stake clattering onto the basement ground as there was nothing left to be lodged in any more. There was no hesitation, their vague state of mind circling around one singular goal: get out get out get out. And to get out they couldn’t be empty-handed. “Cover me!” 

They dove forward, falling on one knee and grabbing the stake again, which was warm and smoldering underneath their fingers but not hot enough to burn the skin on their palm. Blood leaked from their wound again and they pressed down, with their non-dominant hand, clutching the stake in the other. 

Back to Zack, their instincts demanded, getting up clumsily and attempting to get to him when a vampire closed their way to him. There was a scream from their throat, as well as a startling clearness in their mind. Perhaps it was because of all the things they had done thus far to remain alive, that Wynne simply refused to die now that there was a light at the end of the tunnel — or rather at the top of the stairs. Terrified yet determined, they held out the stake.

It was luck, really: the vampire was already in bad shape and the scent of their blood had him focused on the wrong thing and their sire had just died and a cross was blinking at him. It was luck, which was ironic, considering Wynne had never felt lucky before. As the vampire jumped for them, it landed with its heart right on the point of the extended stake. Dust swirled and through it, they stared at Zack. This time they did find their way to him, turning around to see what they were facing. 

Their mouth opened to ask about Arden, but there was no need: there she was, pushing through the frey, looking so furiously and beautifully alive that Wynne might have cried if they could. The relief made them stagger, body pressing against Zack for support. “Let’s go,” they thought they shouted, but it was a mumble — and they felt certain that they would make it, though that quickly changed when a vampire grabbed Arden from behind. 

—

Zack nearly lunged after Wynne when they shouted for him to cover them. Cover them? What did that mean, what was he supposed to do? The answer came to him in a rush of blistering heat, up his chest and spiraling out to his hand, when a vampire lurched between him and Wynne. Before he could release the flame, the thing shattered to dust and there was Wynne on the other side, stake in hand. 

For a moment, after that, all he registered was Wynne back in his arms, safe. Until he caught the flash of Arden’s hair. He shouted her name with as much force as he could. If he could just get her and get all of them out of there. For a single second, he thought that might be possible. But then one of the vampires latched their hand around her and pulled backward. 

Zack’s chest seized. What if he couldn’t save them? What if this still, despite the surprise rescue, ended in a swirl of soot and ash and despair. Wynne was in his arms and Wynne was hurt, bleeding, in a pit of vampires. But he couldn’t leave Arden to fend for herself, not when he was looking right at her and saw the hands grip into her.

The only way, the only way, to win would be to get everyone out alive. And they could try to stake each and every vampire or… They had caught on fire so easily. Like kindling. With the beginnings of an idea, Zack tightened his hold on Wynne and made a dash for the stairs, dodging bodies as he did. Once at the mouth of the stairway, he settled Wynne on the steps. “You have to go. Please. At least get upstairs. We’ll all be right behind you, okay? I… I have an idea.”

He turned, hoping they would just listen to him. There was no time to lose – he had to get to Arden.

—

She had almost reached Wynne and Zack and the stairs, the way out of this fucking nightmare, but, of course– of fucking course– she couldn’t get away that easily. Yet again she was grabbed, the bruising grasp of a vampire grabbing her by the arm mid-stride, damn near causing her to fall on her ass. This one was injured– from the looks of it, Metzli had ripped off one of their arms– and there was a hunger in those glowing crimson eyes. It made Arden’s skin crawl, the way he looked at her like a cut of meat, like dinner. Fuck.

She tried to get away, tried to pull off one of the moves she had learned, but she wasn’t fast enough. He yanked her toward him, a feral grin on his face, and she realized with a sudden dread that it was the same vampire from a few days ago– the one that had lunged at her, that she had stabbed and told to fuck off, the one that was responsible for scabs on the back of her head. This was not good. 

She tried kicking, but he didn’t flinch, instead he jerked her arm in the wrong direction, a loud crack. Arden could only gasp as the pain shot through her like a bolt of lightning, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. She cried out when he pulled her even closer, her injured arm getting jostled in the process. A hiss escaped her at the sudden feeling of sharp pinpricks on her neck as he sunk his teeth into her and drank. 

It was an… odd sensation, feeling someone literally suck the blood out of your body. There was a burning sensation that, ironically enough, had her shivering in the vampire’s grasp. Her stomach churned, nausea creeping up her chest as the creep fed on her. She was still struggling, but all it seemed to succeed at doing was making her grit her teeth against the pain shooting up and down her arm. 

“Get the fuck off of her.” The familiar voice came from right behind her, and Arden could almost cry from the staggering amount of relief that rushed through her. It only grew as the vampire stopped to look up at her fellow trash raccoon, his grip on her shoulder loosening ever so slightly. Taking the opportunity, she elbowed him in the side hard and broke away. Zack lunged forward, stake in hand. 

“Aim for the heart,” she called out, pressing her non-dominant hand to bite marks on her neck. It seemed he didn’t need her to tell him, though. His aim was true as he forced the weapon through the man’s chest, and she watched as he turned to dust in front of them. For a second, they stood there, looking at one another, before Zack rushed toward her and helped her over to the stairs. For the first time in days, Arden began to feel like she could breathe as they got to the stairs. 

—

There was a sudden burst of white-hot pain from his shoulder as Zane yanked the pole free, his vision darkening around the edges for a heartbeat before he found equilibrium within the fire. Pain, his mother told him once, was nothing more than the body sending signals to the brain. Signals could be ignored. It just took practice. She’d given him plenty of that. He grit his teeth against the pain now, shoving those signals into a deep, dark section of his mind that he could close off, could ignore. It was something that always took him back to childhood, made him feel like a kid again; shutting the monster away into the closet, pulling the blanket over his head. There were more important things to focus on than the way his fingers tingled into numbness, or the way his shoulder felt wetter than it ought to be. 

Namely, there was a vampire sire with a pole that used to be in his shoulder sticking out of her head and falling to the ground. Emilio felt a strange burst of something like pride at the way Zane dropped her, but he quickly locked that in the same dark room as the pain in his shoulder. Pride wasn’t something he could afford to feel for Zane, who still had Wynne’s blood dripping down his chin. He’d only done what he was supposed to do, only done what he should have let Emilio do months ago, when he first told him (albeit unintentionally) about his clan. This could have been avoided. All of it. If Zane had let Emilio do his job earlier, this could have been avoided.

But Zane had a look on his face, and Emilio didn’t have time for I-told-you-sos. He glanced towards the stairs, relieved to see the three humans making their way out. Arden’s arm was hanging at the wrong angle now, her other hand pressed against her neck in a motion he understood even at the distance, and Wynne looked unsteady on their feet, and Zack looked angry and terrified, but all three were alive. It wasn’t like before, wasn’t like Mexico, wasn’t like — 

No time for that. That walled off section of his brain was getting pretty crowded now, too many thoughts shoved into it at once. His shoulder twinged with pain as if the overflow was allowing it to stream through, and Emilio tightened the grip of his other hand around the stake he held there. There were more humans in the basement than the ones who lived in his building. There were some on the ground, eyes already unfocused as they stared off into nothing, and he tried not to look at them. You could only save who you could save. Those empty eyes would stay with him, would haunt his dreams for a while, would remind him that he’d been too slow, too soft, too bad at his job to get someone’s father or mother or daughter or son home to them. But that was for later. For now, there were still a few people alive. 

Turning to Metzli and Zane, he set his mouth in a stubborn line. “We’re going to get everyone out,” he told them both, a statement instead of a question. “And I’m not leaving until these fuckers are dead.” He turned on his heel before either of them could argue, injured arm and bad leg protesting the movement in unison. Emilio stumbled as he stepped forward, but his legs stayed beneath him. As long as that remained true, he’d do what he said he was going to do.

Step, dodge, stake, repeat. He didn’t have to think to do that. It was like clockwork, like the only good habit he’d ever developed, like all he’d ever been good for. Step, dodge, stake, repeat. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled, and he put a stake in their chest. Someone else yanked at his hair, and he put a stake in their chest. Someone kicked him, someone held him in a vice grip, someone hit him in the face. Stake, stake, stake. He lost himself in it, covered in dust and blood and trembling in a way he didn’t quite understand. The room around him flickered between that barn basement and a living room a million years away. His eyes were blank, his expression stormy. Step, dodge, stake, repeat. It was all he’d ever known how to do.

—

The body dropped into a heap of limbs, Metzli finding their footing. They tossed the thing to the side, the threat gone and their focus turning back to the people around them. Vampires surrounded the trio like they were atop a stage, flowers on the precipice not daring to step off its edge in fear of the fall forcing them into reality where everything wilted. They were all mourning their master, and Metzli began to tremble with familiarity. 

Wails of the grieving and screams of the damned weaved into a single pitch, a shrill and painful thing. Metzli’s legs disobeyed them, and they fell to their knees. Flashes of dead blood and dust rushed into their mind. Their hands trembled, Eloy’s head rolling from their hands. 

Metzli felt the same wave of grief others did when Eloy had met his demise, like it was a disgustingly innate thing that came with a bite, but the mounting relief greatly overpowered it. These vampires didn’t realize just how free they were now, still set on executing the horrific violence their sire had ordered them to. Maybe these monsters deserved to die, just as they did. Metzli just had the forethought to be a monster with a set of morals. Ones that slowly began to flee their mind as they rose to their feet. 

Blood spattered thickly onto the ground and the floor, painting Metzli with the one thing that would give them the energy to fight alongside Emilio to ensure the fledglings could no longer hurt people. Their throat constricted with hunger, stomach twisting into itself tightly. The blood was impossible to ignore, teeth chattering, in need of something to bite. To consume. What use were they now? They’d hurt anyone they tried to help.

Resistance was futile in their state, injuries sustained and energy all but depleted. “Emilio…!” Metzli called out hoarsely, hugging themself fearfully while they fell back to the ground, forehead planted against the ground. “Hungry…!” They spoke through their teeth, trying not to act on their monstrous instincts. Metzli knew they were on the brink of becoming just as Eloy made them again. They were no better than the feral beasts they had deemed unworthy of existence. Maybe they never were, the illusion of worth dissipating with Metzli’s resolve, and subsequently their mind. Everything turned black, the last coherent thought a plea to be put down, to be stopped.

Bite. Bite. Bite. Bite. Bite…

—

They were at the stairs. Somehow, the three humans Emilio had seemed intent on saving had made it to the stairs. A few others had already vanished, a couple lay motionless on the ground and some were struggling to move, caught in the crossfire of the bloodbath that seemed never ending. It seemed that Emilio wasn’t letting a single undead creature leave this place. Feeling incapable of doing much else to help, Zane moved for the humans that looked like they’d have a chance of survival. The smell of blood was overwhelming but, disgustingly, feeding from Wynne seemed to have given him some focus. The vampire that had helped him kill Alma, however…

They were calling out to Emilio which seemed fruitless - the slayer was trapped in his own little bubble of murder, eyes blank. Discarding his previous endeavor, Zane went for the risk of approaching the vampire that had previously killed so, so many. Better to get his head ripped off than the hungry vampire going after the recently escaped humans. 

This was a situation that should have called for some planning, calm calculations and a clear head. Zane didn’t have the capacity for any of those things at the moment, relying instead on brute strength. One arm looped around the vampire’s remaining one, the other curling around a blood soaked waist, monstrous fangs turned away from his face. Just in case. And then he pulled. They weren’t going easily, tugging and struggling against him with everything they had, hands grabbing and clawing at whatever they could reach. But they weren’t hurting anyone who didn’t deserve to be hurt. 

“Emilio!” he tried desperately as he reached the stairs, unable to also pull the slayer out. One of the humans, the one that had been incinerating vampires, seemed to be staying behind. Desperate to get the raging creature of hunger out of here, Zane didn’t stop for a chat, simply meeting the man’s gaze with an unspoken urgency. “Try to get him out of there,” he begged before the two vampires were struggling up the stairs, with Zane wondering how easy it would be to hold them once outside, next to everyone who was there and still bleeding. 

—

A frantic sort of hope had taken hold of Zack’s chest. Wynne was safe and Arden was safe and the vampire from earlier was helping Metzli to the stairs. There was only Emilio left in the fray. Zack watched as his neighbor put a stake through the heart of a vampire, watched as the thing exploded into dust. Before Emilio could turn to take on another, Zack leapt at him – he only hoped he wouldn’t get staked on instinct for his trouble.

“You need to go,” he said, once he had caught Emilio’s eyes. “I’m…” There was no time for ashamed hesitation. “I’m going to burn the place down but I can’t do it until you’re all out of here.” With as much force as he could muster (not much, considering he had been a captive for however many days, Zack shoved at Emilio’s shoulder and pointed him toward the stairs. 

Once he saw the man’s back disappear up the stairwell, Zack turned back to the center of the commotion. It was chaos, with screams and blood and howls. Vampires were raging and in pain and clutching at mangled parts of themselves – parts where Metzli had torn holes, parts where Arden had gotten a slash in. There weren’t that many left, in all, and it wasn’t long before they took notice of him. The lone human in their midst.

“He’s the one with the fire!” One of them shrieked, pointing. 

“Yeah,” Zack said with a ragged sigh. “That’s me.”

When he reached for his fire, this time, it was right there. Waiting. Like it had never left. It was easier than ever – there was no rise of stress or heat. No slow-building burn from the inside out. He just closed his eyes, unclenched some fist inside of him and the flames exploded. He felt heat rush around him, fanned at his cheeks, but it didn’t bother him. It never had. There wasn’t even the time for those around him to scream.

Opening his eyes, Zack found the room empty around him. Charred bars from the cage they had been kept in and the dust was all that was left of their captors. While the structure of the basement around him was unharmed, made of stone and packed earth, he could hear the house above him creaking and popping as it caught fire. The rafters over his head were crackling. It wouldn’t be long before the ceiling caved in. 

It was more survival instinct than conscious thought that pushed Zack to the stairs. He was exhausted and woozy – from days as prisoner, from being fed on that first time, from the gargantuan expulsion of energy that using his ability like that always took. Dizzily, he made his way out of the house, dodging flames and fallen walls as he went. Once he made it outside, the fresh air was like a miracle. Not just from the smoke, but from the dank of the underground that they had all been kept in. 

Not too far away was the ragtag group of humans – and, apparently, two not humans. With the last bit of strength in his body, Zack staggered to meet them.

—

She hadn’t wanted to leave without him, would’ve refused if not for Wynne. But Zack had that stubborn fucking look in his eyes and he said he would be right behind them, and Wynne looked about ready to pass out. So, Arden wrapped her good arm around them, and together two of the three roommates made their way outside. Not before she could level a stare at Zack, though. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many emotions bubbling in her chest, but all she could manage was a pitiful approximation of her usual playful smile. “You fucking better.” 

There were others outside, people that had been captured after them. Some were injured, one appeared to be calling 911, but as much as she wanted to help them, she had her own injured friend to worry about first. 

Arden sat Wynne down on the ground, a good distance away from the building they had just exited. “Hey, Wynne, you with me?” She was hit with such a strange feeling of déjà vu as she thought back to Kaden in the woods. It was reassuring, at least. If she had managed to keep it together then, managed to keep the man from bleeding out, she could do the same now. She had to. “You’re gonna be okay, alright? We just have to staunch the bleeding until we can get you to the hospital. ” 

It took a bit of struggling, but after a moment she managed to pull off her button up with only minimal shifting of her injured arm. She ignored the jolts of pain that ran up her arm, gritting her teeth through it as she helped press and hold the bunched up fabric to Wynne’s neck. 

And then they waited, leaving Arden with an awful pit in her stomach that grew bigger with every passing second.

First was Metzli and the other vampire, Zane– the one who had bitten Wynne, who they had seemed to know. She wasn’t sure what his deal was but as long as he stayed away from Wynne right now, she didn’t exactly give a shit. Metzli, though… Her trainer did not appear to be in good shape, leg an absolute mess, that thick, dark blood of theirs seeping from the wound. They didn’t seem to be in control, were struggling against the man, fangs still bared, eyes still that shade of crimson that sent a shiver down her spine. 

Then, to her relief, Emilio came stumbling out. He looked like shit, a gaping wound in his shoulder, but he was alive and mostly in one piece. But he was alone. 

“Where’s Zack?” She asked as he came within earshot. But he seemed to be in a daze, only looked back toward the building before making his way over to the two vampires and helping restrain Metzli.

And then the smell of smoke hit her, and Arden finally realized why her friend had stayed behind. He was burning this place to the fucking ground. 

It didn’t take long for the building to go up, the fire quickly catching and spreading until the whole thing was covered in flames. Black smoke billowed into the sky, the acrid smell of it hanging heavy in her lungs. She could feel the heat of it, even several feet away where she was kneeling next to Wynne, so she gathered them up and pulled the two of them farther away, trying to ignore the dread in her heart. 

However, it grew harder to ignore with each passing second that Zack still hadn’t left the burning building. He had to make it out. Arden would never forgive his stupid, heroic ass if he had stayed behind only to never make it out.

It was starting to come down, loud cracks echoing into the night as wooden beams began to fall. She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she saw Zack dodging flaming debris, and he finally came staggering out. Air came flooding back into her lungs, and she felt a little lightheaded as a tidal wave of relief rushed through her, made her eyes water. He was okay. They were okay. 

They had all managed to make it through this fucking nightmare in one piece. Wynne and Zack and Emilio and Metzli and even Zane. They were okay. 

—

The walk – or crawl, really – up the stairs seemed endless. Zack was gone, replaced with Arden and Wynne couldn’t keep up, just knew what had to be done — get out, get out, get out. Survival instinct had once again taken over everything as they pressed against their wound with one hand and crawled up the stairs with another, letting their roommate guide them, letting her set them on the ground.

There were spots dancing around their vision, not helped by the darkness that was around them. There was Arden, right in front of them. Arden who had helped save them. Arden who was safe. Arden who asked them a question — had that been long ago? They tried to focus on her face. “Yeah,” they croaked. There was a strange taste in their mouth. They wanted to lay down and close their eyes, to sleep. Arden was doing something, but they didn’t know what. Their fingers stuck together with their blood. They wanted to sleep.

With Arden’s clothes pressed against their neck wound, Wynne let their body slump, leaning against her but forcing themself to remain present. There was an assignment, a task: remain okay until they could go to the hospital. 

Arden didn’t want them to die. Neither did Zack or Emilio or Metzli and maybe even Zane. Their mind was swimming, laying on its back in the lake back home and they were staring at the stars and thinking about that simple fact — they wanted them alive. They had helped them stay alive. They had saved them. And though it felt like they were sinking, vision growing dark, they kept coming back there: they want you to live, so live.

Wynne’s hands crawled up, grasping Arden. Their voice was cracked, dried out, a hush that might be too soft to hear. “Thank you for saving me.” And for saving herself and for all the others, too, for her bravery and her power, her prowess and toughness. But for saving them specifically, too. No one at home had ever tried.

In their limited vision they watched them return, the familiar faces. And then their vision grew bright, orange and hot as a fire was lit. They wondered if they had to get up and dance around the fire, the way they did at home. Where were the masks? Where was the scent of incense? The blood smeared on cheeks, the bones around their necks? Why were their limbs so heavy? Why couldn’t they sleep?

Oh, right. They weren’t all back.

Arden pulled them up and away and they mumbled Zack’s name a couple of times. Or maybe his name just echoed through their mind, they weren’t sure. And then he appeared and Wynne smiled, or at least they thought they did. Zack, they thought, hey Zack, we’re outside again.

With that thought their body grew slack, the image of righteous yet furious flame branded on their mind’s eye but their consciousness finally giving in. 

[stolensiren]

famous last words // teddy, emilio, teagan, patricia, macleod, metzli, & cass

TIMING: just before midnight PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli @eldritchaccident @yourlocalbrawler @teaganmyrick @monstersfear @braindeacl @stolensiren SUMMARY: metzli, macleod, cass, patricia, teagan, teddy, and emilio all prepare to leave town together, but are stalled by the realization that something isn't right. metzli finds a solution, and everyone wishes there were a different one. CONTENT: sibling death, parental death

“It–it didn’t work.” The earth continued to rumble and crack, the lightning of concrete and dirt growing with each thundering pulse of energy from White Crest. Metzli stood there, watching helplessly, unable to coordinate another plan as everyone stood behind them. Cass, Teddy, Emilio, Teagan, Patricia, and Eilidh agreed to ensure the plan worked, to stay just outside the town’s boundaries in case they needed to step in or keep running. 

And it was so funny, wasn’t it? Decades of being a strategist, with backup plan after backup plan, and now, when the world was ending—arguably the most important moment in Metzli’s life—they were coming up with nothing. “It was supposed to work! I don’t understand! Twelve sacrifices for each hour. All the books—Leah said—fuck! Fuck!” Abigail and Lil, and all those people had given their lives, believing they were doing the right thing. The very thought made Metzli sink to their knees, their heart aching and wishing for some other way. “All those volunteers…it was supposed to—”

Then, it hit them.

“The thirteenth hour.” Metzli practically whispered to themself, rising to their feet and stumbling as dry earth burst open. The sinkhole was going to reach the city limit if they didn’t act fast. If Metzli didn’t do something. “We forgot about the thirteenth hour. Teagan–you were in it.” She nodded with her brows furrowing together, as if she knew where they were going with their thought. She did. She looked down at Eilidh with a somber expression, not saying a word as Metzli continued. “You and that Sol guy, right? If it exists, it has to be the missing part. We need…” Their eyes fell at the realization they knew no one would want to say aloud. Avoiding everyone’s faces, Metzli continued, preparing for the inevitable rebuttals. Especially on Eilidh’s part. Maybe even more especially on Cass’s. “There has to be one more…sacrifice.” The final word hung heavy in the air, and Metzli didn’t lift their head. Doing so would make them think twice, and there just wasn’t enough time for that.

Eilidh was the first to surge forward, putting together what her partner was really saying. Her nails dug impossibly deep into their skin, drawing blood, and Metzli could’ve sworn they felt them in their heart. The two of them were supposed to have a new start, and they were effectively telling her they never would. Her screams filled their ears, her pleas making it nearly impossible to submit themself to what they needed to do. Whispering sweet nothings in her ears, she clung to them, and they finally rose their head to acknowledge everyone they loved, tears streaming down their fearful expression.

Rhett was dead. The ground was shaking, the world was ending, Rhett was dead, and it felt so much like Etla that Emilio could see Jaime’s body in the street just a few feet away staring at him with unseeing eyes. Nausea tugged at his gut, and it took everything he had just to keep his goddamn lunch down, just to keep himself standing on his own two feet. 

And the worst part, he thought, was that it was all for nothing. Rhett stayed behind to play the fucking hero, did the exact goddamn thing he’d forbidden Emilio from doing, and it was all for nothing. Emilio lost the only brother he had left for nothing. The world was still ending. They were still going to die. It might have felt like a relief if he weren’t so goddamn angry about it.

Metzli was speaking then, and it took a moment for Emilio to tune back in to the conversation, took a moment for him to pull himself back into the present and away from the bodies in the street that had rotted away to dust in another country years ago, but when his mind caught up, he understood what they were saying. 

Twelve people stayed behind. And there should have been one more.

Immediately, Emilio stepped forward. He locked eyes with Metzli, tilting his head in a silent question. He’d do it, if he had to. He’d be breaking a million promises — to Rhett, to Teddy, to people no longer around to care, but fuck, it’d be worth it. He chose to live. He chose that. Maybe it didn’t matter if he didn’t stick to it. Maybe choosing it once was enough.

The ground trembled beneath her feet, and Cass stumbled in a wild attempt to stay upright. It should have stopped by now, shouldn’t it? All those people who’d stayed behind, all those people who’d given everything to stop it… It should be over by now. The fact that it wasn’t was bound to be a bad sign, and maybe — maybe they all should have known better. Maybe they should have realized that things couldn’t be this simple. 

Maybe some things weren’t meant to work out.

Cass’s heart was in her throat, because she didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to fall into a hole in the world where no one would ever find her, didn’t want her life to end when it felt like it had really only just begun. Superheroes died for their causes, sometimes, but in the comics, they always came back after. Death wasn’t so temporary in reality. 

But then, Metzli came to a realization that was almost worse, somehow. They spoke, and Cass felt her stomach clench because she knew exactly what they were saying. She stepped towards them a moment after the hunter holding Teddy’s hand did, eyes sliding nervously to the man as she shuffled a little farther away from him and locked her gaze onto Metzli’s. 

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Metzli, no. You — You said we were going to leave together. You promised that. Let someone else do it.” She didn’t mean to glance back to the hunter as she said it, but maybe she did anyway. “You get to live now. You get that. Please, Metzli.”

The crumbling canyon before them was a ripping, yawning, hollow thing. Bleakly mirroring the expressions on those who stood around the edge. Teddy heard, yes. Teddy processed the meaning moments after the words came from Metzli’s mouth. His grip on Emilio’s hand and stubborn feet maybe the only thing keeping the hunter from rushing in without even knowing what he was going to even do about it. Teddy was doing it again. Flushed cheeks on a paling face. Slowly becoming about as ghost white as the crackles of energy that seeped up and out of the ground before them. Stuck in his spot. Unable to move. But if it wasn’t fear that was keeping him rooted, what was it? Despair? Rage? 

The florist (Well, was it even fair to call him a florist anymore? Twice now his shops had been swallowed completely by something all consuming and unstoppable. At least this time they weren’t alone. Though that thought was far more bitter than it should have been.) echoed the younger girl’s words. “No.” Firm, hurt, but lined with a breathy desperation that threatened to tumble outward should he say anything else. He finally forced himself to look over. Too much distance and too many people he loved stood between him and his appa. Fuck. Teddy was just getting used to that. To family. Each face painted a different portrait of grief. Emilio’s loss of another brother, Cass and the home she’d finally built for herself, Eilidh and the life they were about to create. And Metzli. Something determined and sad behind those eyes. A hungry thing Teddy recognized immediately as resolution. 

“There’s gotta– anyone else. Please. There’s so many people out there who could– anyone else.” It was pretty clear. The people there were among the few Teddy Jones would do literally anything for. Except allow them to die. Except allow them to be the final sacrifice in a pyrrhic victory against the town that raised Ted. The town that was set to raze the rest of the planet if someone didn’t intervene. There had to be another way. Anything. Anything would be better than losing a single one of them. 

— 

Despite the ravenous trembling of the ground beneath her, Patricia’s feet remained planted, looking on at the city that had attempted to make a massacre of its own population. It took her a bit longer than it should’ve to realize what Metzli was implying, what grim resolution to the problem they’d come up with, but it still hurt all the same. They were a close friend, one of the closest besides Teagan, and somebody she thought would become a parent-in-law someday in the future, but like all things, that innocent thought was cut short. Life was unfair, and cruel, but those words were understatements for the irony of Metzli sacrificing themself after already having given so much to the town and its people. 

A stunned silence washed over Patricia, the torrent of thoughts in her mind serving to silence the group’s pleading and denial. When she thought of putting herself in their shoes, she knew she couldn’t do it. There was no way she would leave Teagan and Daisy to give her life for the rest of the world. She knew just how selfish that was, but she didn’t allow self-pity to derail her thoughts. If anyone could do this, it was Metzli, that’s just the kind of person they were. They’d give their all until the last drop of blood was spilled.

Rather than a sob or a cry escaping Patricia’s lips as a tear streamed down her cheek, a grim chuckle instead left in its place. The feeling of disbelief fused with the sudden realization that it had to be Metzli, into a feeling of amusement at the irony of the situation. What else was there to do when all others wept for their closest friend? “Always gotta be the damn hero, don’t you Metz? If you’re going to go out, might as well go out swinging.” The world in front of them was emptying out, crumbling into nothing before their very eyes, but with a single realization Metzli proved that they were willing to charge forth into the void with a final defiant gesture. “Make it count, because there won’t be a single person who survives this that won’t miss you every damn day.”

There wasn’t much else to say. The group of people surrounding Teagan had every reason to refute what Metzli was saying, but even with how horrible the answer was, it was the answer. However, she did find herself wanting to fight back with the rest. If not to preserve a kind heart’s beat, then for her mother figure, Macleod. The love of her life was giving everything away, tossing out any possibility of the happy ever after she felt her mother deserved. But then, the love of her life spoke up, speaking in a way that would most certainly get her chastised. 

“C-cariad.” Teagan pulled Patricia closer to retreat to the back of the group, her voice still cracking from her time in The Ring’s basement. Her neck still bore the evidence of the horrible conditions she was under, and she was still weak from her time away from Dark Score, but there was an undeniable strength in the way she managed to get Patricia where she wanted. “They might h-hit you. Wanted to protect you.” She whispered hoarsely, confident that Patricia would still hear. “May be best to k-keep quiet for now. People in mourning. Denial.” Teagan looked at Cass then, the biggest and most frequent offender of denial. She did it best, and Teagan has experienced first-hand more than once. 

Everyone spoke together, refusing to accept the solution in front of them, just as expected. Metzli’s face contorted into a mixture of grief, frustration, and fear, the knowledge that they were wasting time heavy on their entire body. “Guys—please, can we just—” Then, Patricia, of all people, was tearfully chuckling, and they couldn’t help but scoff in kind. She not only understood what they were saying, but accepted it. There was no way they’d let Emilio give his life, and there was no changing Metzli’s mind, and she knew it. 

“No, guys. No.” Metzli propped Eilidh an arm-length away by her shoulder, hoping to help her see that their solution was the correct one. She continued to argue, to kiss them and beg them to let someone else do it, but Metzli simply shook their head. It wasn’t easy on their part, by any means, though it may have looked like it was. They had coordinated so many plans, were looking forward to a life full of love and adventure, and now…there was no chance. All of that was being given up so that everyone they loved could have that instead. It would hurt, it would ache indefinitely. But to Metzli, that fate was far better than having nothing at all.

Looking to the rest of the group, Metzli could see a tsunami of emotions crashing together, further increasing the difficulty of their decision. Eventually though, they found their resolve. “Emilio, you’re not giving your life. You haven’t lived long enough to make that decision so easily. Teddy and Cass, I know this is hard. I know. But who else will it be? Who else has had their chance at life? I’ve lived over a hundred and fifty years. I promised, I know. And you know what?” They chuckled in disbelief, shaking their head. “I did. I worked so hard to get out of here with you all. I kept my promise, and now I’ve gotta make good on my promise to love and protect you.”

“Metzli…” Emilio’s voice was low, quiet. He wanted to argue that they had more to live for than he did, but Teddy’s grip on his hand reminded him that that wasn’t quite true. And there was something unspeakably cruel about that, wasn’t there? The last time Emilio had run from a town as it came to an end, he’d had nothing left to live for and nothing to chase him down and put him out of his misery. This time, he had so much left to do and the world demanding someone stay to pay the toll anyway. Two years ago, this decision would have been a simple one. But now? Now, it was harder than it should have been. Now, it wasn’t him who was making it. 

He glanced over at Teddy, the stricken look on his face. He was going to lose something here today, no matter who made this sacrifice. And Emilio hated that. He hated that these were the kinds of choices they were given, hated that this was their lot in life, hated that Metzli was volunteering for this now, just when they were starting to make peace with each other, hated that he knew he was going to let them. 

“It doesn’t have to be you,” he said, still low. It was a pointless gesture, both the quiet tones when just about everyone in their group had some kind of enhanced hearing and the offer that Metzli had already turned down once. “Already made it longer than anybody thought I would, you know. Wouldn’t hate it if it ended like this.” They were going to say no — he knew they were going to say no — but Emilio still felt the need to offer. They deserved that much. He got that now.

Frustration built up in Cass throughout it all, through Teddy’s voice echoing her pleas and Patricia’s teary chuckle and Teagan’s sidelong glance in her direction. They were supposed to all get out. They were supposed to all be safe. She was supposed to meet up with Sloane after, they were supposed to all get away together, and it wasn’t —

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. They weren’t supposed to be faced with more impossible choices when the decisions had all already been made. Cass had already lost friends to this crumbling mess of a town, had already lost people before the chaos started thanks in part to the strange ‘warning signs’ the town threw out as it started the too-slow, too-fast process of dying. She wasn’t supposed to lose anyone else. She wasn’t supposed to have to leave her family behind. 

Teddy’s boyfriend made an offer, and it took everything Cass had not to beg Metzli to take it, not to say outright that it would be better if they left someone she didn’t care about behind than it would be to leave someone she loved. It was a selfish thing to feel, but she felt it so entirely that it threatened to swallow her whole before the crumbling town could. Growing up the way she had, first in the system and then on the streets, made it so easy to accept that terrible things were bound to happen and to prefer it when they were happening to people you didn’t know. It also made it harder, somehow, when they were happening to the people you loved. There were so few of them. Cass couldn’t afford to lose any more.

“I don’t want that,” she insisted, her voice breaking. “We don’t want that.” She gestured between herself and Teddy, speaking for him without permission because she knew she was right. For all that she’d resented him, she knew that Teddy grew up much in the same way she had. She knew that, like her, he would prefer it if strangers took the fall in place of friends. Teddy didn’t want anyone to die for him any more than Cass did. She was confident in that, at least. “Let it be someone else, Metzli, please. I — I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. You’re my family, the first family I ever had. Please don’t leave me here alone.” 

— 

There wasn't anything Teddy could say that Cass hadn't already. Though her glances towards Emilio hadn't gone completely unnoticed. It wasn't her fault she never had a chance to really meet him and get to know the side Ted had come to love. But that didn't really stop the sting and feeling of betrayal at the silent suggestion. His heart was pounding. If he had not spent the majority of the last few months learning how to control his shifting, he might have sported a much more toothsome look by now. Instead he looked much like a dog someone left out in the rain. Tearing his eyes between the one who had volunteered themselves, and the man who tried to take their place. Neither would be acceptable. How could they be? Teddy's life had been empty, so fucking empty until these beautiful lights filled it with meaning and worth. He gripped even tighter on Emilio's hand. Maybe even painfully, but not on an intentional scale. He'd probably have done the same to Metzli if he already had a hold on them. 

"You– you can't leave us." He repeated numbly, barely audible. "I said I'd go wherever you go, appa. You promised we'd be together." In lieu of a well thought out argument, Teddy began to mumble like a lost toddler. Felt the burn in his legs as he willed them to move but they stayed firmly in place. His stomach churned, and his chest rose and shuddered with his ragged breath. "Why-why-why would it even have to be you? Huh?" He stammered, a rising defensive rage bubbling up out of the demon. "Haven't you given enough? You deserve to make it out with all of us just as much as anyone else, more even. You fought for this appa, you have to come with us s-someone else out there has to-" The tears his wide stare had been holding back finally burst through the dam. Catching his voice behind a curtain of hyperventilation and choked sobs as the realization that there was no way that he was leaving here with his heart intact. 

—

Patricia couldn’t think of anything witty or insightful to add to this devastating moment of collective revelation. All she could do was wrap an arm around Teagan, and watch as each member of this group reacted in their own ways. Even if all of them were normal people, intertwined only by common interests and memories, this would still hurt like shit, but they weren’t just that. Everybody here had been affected by Metzli for the better, time and time again. How could anybody ever accept that a world of people they’d never met, of people that would mostly never know them or care about them, should be more important than the one person who was good without expectation? It was a herculean task, and it couldn’t be resolved in the mere minutes that remained before the world ended.

Only an immensely small percentage of the world would know just what had been sacrificed for them, and even less would get to know who was lost for them. It was a devastatingly lonely fate that Patricia wouldn’t wish on nobody, not even those that had taken Teagan from her. There was no point consoling others right now, because not even Patricia could keep it together to do so. There was no staying strong, not anymore. Thoughts were quickly becoming harder to grasp as the knot in her throat felt larger and larger. Patricia leaned over and buried her face in Teagan’s shoulder, quickly dampening the fabric of her shirt with a stream of the tears just as inevitable as the shudder of the earth beneath them.

Teagan’s whole demeanor softened at the emotional outpour around her. She found herself wanting to fight back too, but there was a look in the vampire’s eye that told her everything she needed to know. They were a parent, a lover, a friend, a sibling, and everything in between. Soon, they would be none of those things except in the fleeting memories of everyone surrounding them. Macleod would mourn for the rest of her days, and as Teagan looked back over to her whilst she held Patricia, she held back a sob. The people she loved were always so strong and never let their tears see the light of day. Each a cache of emotions they held tightly shut. Holding tempers that could be akin to a blazing fire. But there they were, extinguishing the flames themselves so as to not leave anything unsaid.

“Shh…” She cooed, bringing Patricia closer. What else could she say? Teagan led the pair to the ground to get a better hold, a better look at the damage Metzli’s decision was making. It was then that she realized just how good of a friend they were to Patricia. She should’ve known. They had played a willing part in her rescue mission, after all. Teagan then cried, too. She held them at arm’s length so she didn’t have to feel the love they so obviously wanted to give, and did anyway, even without her permission. “I’m sorry,” Teagan whispered, looking at Metzli. “I should’ve gotten to know you better.” They shook their head at her, proclaiming her words nonsense and that they wouldn’t change a thing. Sometimes a quiet love is the one that echoes the farthest. Nodding in understanding, Teagan placed a kiss on Patricia’s head and intertwined her fingers with Macleod’s, extending her strength and love to her.

“Come on man,” Metzli shook their head and faced the wreckage that White Crest was becoming. “You’re not getting out of living that easy. You’ve got shit to do. Besides…” Shrugging, they turned to Cass and Teddy for a moment, going back to Emilio to finish their thought. “You need to make sure everyone stays together and gets out. No one else knows how important that is more than you.” 

Metzli again turned around, this time facing Eilidh. If it wasn’t ghosts or ghouls, it was the intimate celebrations that brought back the dead, or better yet, kept them alive. Metzli had done just that only weeks ago when they put together a Día de Muertos party. Eilidh did that daily when she saw a butterfly and said hello to her first love. They wondered, for a moment, if she’d do the same when she found a blooming datura. At the thought, Metzli stared into her eyes with a softness that could compete with silk. Their hand grazed the necklace they’d given her and they swallowed a sob so they could replace it with a longing kiss. “I’m so glad you’re the first and only woman I’ve ever loved.” They muttered against her lips, stepping away slowly while holding her hand with a pressure she could feel. Raising it just as slow and biting hard enough to draw her black, clotted blood. She scoffed out a teary chuckle and roughly pulled them to her for another firm kiss. A proper one that ended with their blood in her mouth. “I love you,” They said in unison, in each other’s languages they learned for one another.

Finally, they faced Teddy and Cass, only cupping her cheek. They would’ve cupped Teddy’s too, but sadly, one needs two hands for that, and he was on their left. “Listen guys, I’m not leaving you because I want to. I made a promise to protect you. To love you so unconditionally that I would quite literally put my life on the line for you. Of course you don’t want this, hell, I don’t want this, but it’s the solution we’ve got.” Metzli tightened their eyes shut in a vain attempt to halt the tears that fell anyway, and slowly, they brought Cass and Teddy into the tightest hug. Tight enough to imprint their bodies onto their skin so they’d stay there forever and they never had to forget how beautiful it felt to have love wrap around them. “It’s not about deserve. That went out the window a long time ago. It’s just about love. That’s all this is, and if you remember that, I’ll never leave you. You’ll never be alone. Look around you.” They parted from the hug and gestured to the people that had banded together to leave. “We made a family, Cass. We started it. And then it got bigger.” Teary eyes met with Teddy’s. “So no, you two will never be alone, and you know, you know, I will find a way back. This isn’t the end. It never is in our world. I chose you from the get-go. I chose you when I said we should leave. I’m choosing you now.” With a pause, they let go and stood tall, looking at their car. “We don’t have a lot of time and I need to get something done. Can I do that?”

Teddy’s grip on his hand was almost painful, tight and certain in a way that told the slayer just what the florist thought of his offer. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Metzli had that bound and determined look in their eye, the one that told Emilio that their mind was made up. For all the ups and downs that their strange almost-friendship had been through throughout his year in White Crest, he could certainly recognize that that look meant there was no arguing with the vampire. 

Glancing to the rest of the group — to Teddy’s stricken expression, to the heartbroken kid, to Teagan and Patricia on the ground and Macleod murmuring in the language she and Metzli shared — Emilio nodded. “I’ll make sure they get out,” he promised. Metzli was right; out of all of them, Emilio knew best just how important that was. He could save people, this time. It didn’t make up for the ones he couldn’t save before, didn’t undo the shit he’d done, but it was something. It had to be something.

Cass, of course, was far less understanding. She wanted an easier answer, wanted a better ending to this story. She wanted the kind of thing that only ever existed in fairytales, where the people she loved were fine and everyone lived happily ever after. Never mind that that was already out the window now, never mind that people had already died for this town, never mind that it would all be for nothing if one more didn’t join them. All Cass wanted was to get out of here with what was left of her family intact. That was all. 

And this world couldn’t even give her that. 

Her tears soaked Metzli’s hand as it rested against her face, and she shook her head adamantly. “It isn’t fair.” After everything they’d been through, after all the work they’d put into regaining their soul, how was this how it ended? How was it okay that they were going to die when they’d only just started to live? The two of them had just celebrated Metzli’s birthday, the first time they’d been allowed to do so. It was supposed to be the first of many, was supposed to be the beginning of a new tradition. They were supposed to have decades of movie nights and stupid dinner parties, were supposed to be there for each other until Cass was old and gray. Cass was supposed to have her sibling with her until the day she died. 

They should have had sixty more years of laughter and joy and peace. It wasn’t supposed to end in a crumbling town, with tears and dust. It wasn’t supposed to end abruptly and without warning, the way every other attempt at a family Cass had ever made had. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But there was no other way it could be, either. 

Metzli wouldn’t let anyone else make this decision in their place, not even if they were volunteering for it. No matter what they thought of themself, they were good. Too good to let anyone else do this in their stead, no matter how much Cass might long for it. Maybe it was always going to end like this after all. Maybe, since the beginning, Metzli doing something this selfless and this wonderful and this heartbreaking was inevitable. Maybe good people didn’t get happy endings. 

She whimpered as Metzli spoke, a thousand arguments building up in the back of her mind. But you won’t, she wanted to scream. You won’t be here. You won’t be here, and the town is gone and Levi is going to go back into the sea and Teddy probably doesn’t like me much, anyway, and I can’t go back to being alone when I’ve only just started to be with other people. This can’t be all the time we get. This can’t be all the family I get to have. It was stupid and selfish and childish, but she wanted to stomp her feet and throw her hands up and scream at the sky, wanted to yell at a god she wasn’t even sure she’d ever believed in for making this the hand they were dealt. It isn’t fair. I need you here. I still need you here. 

But what good would it do? What good would throwing a fit at the end of the world do for any of them? It would only make Metzli feel worse than they already did and, god, Cass didn’t want their last impression of her to be that. She didn’t want Metzli to feel anything negative towards her at the end, didn’t want to be the inconvenience every one of her short-lived foster families had accused her of being. There was so much here that she didn’t want, and so little time to correct any of it. 

There was still too much to say, still too much to do. And the world was still ending. And not one bit of it was fair.

She reached out, clutching Metzli’s hand desperately. “I’m not — I’m not ready,” she said, voice caught somewhere between a whisper and a sob. “I’m not ready to be without you. We just started. This is supposed to be the beginning.” 

The messy mix of memories that had firmly rooted Teddy in place began to settle into the corners of his mind, letting him slip into an unkind and uncomfortable sense of morbid pain. He had stopped flicking his gaze between Metzli and Emilio at some point, maybe when the older of the two guided the younger to keep everyone else safe. A firm decision that didn't seem up for debate. No, instead his eyes fell on Cass. Watched every bit of the churning ocean of emotions washed over her features in a way his inability to process the very same ones wouldn't allow. He watched until they were both pulled into a hug so tight his view was obscured, and he could only feel the flushed heat radiating off her skin. Hear her heartbeat banging against its cage in rhythm with his own. 

Her words compelled him to do something he never really would have thought of, if not for how Metzli brought them closer together. Funnily enough, their connection to Levi and Marina made them something of siblings, but it might just have been the old vampire who made them family. Teddy gently, far more gently than he had been (and still was) gripping tight to his boyfriend, slipped his hand into Cass's. A wordless promise that if she wanted it, if she allowed it…he would be there for her. They both knew so intimately what it was like to be alone. Maybe it was time they tried to get rid of that feeling together. 

Teddy wasn't ready to lose Metzli either. The annoying gnawing voice that always grated at the back of his head reminded him that they hadn't even really known each other that long. That the strange sensation of knowing the vampire all his life had come from a stint of magic that temporarily altered his memories and gave him and Metzli a few days where he got to be a real kid. Their kid. And now… now he was going to be an orphan again. It didn't really matter how old you were, losing that part of yourself… especially after having fought so long to feel it. To really belong to something or someone who chose you because of who you are, not something you did or something you could give. He wasn't ready to lose it all again. It didn't matter what he had with Levi. A thousand years and that would never be this. 

A loving embrace, before a calculated release. 

A selfless sacrifice that would leave a living scar on everyone here. Teddy wept. Silent and steady. Hot blistery tears streaking down his cheeks with no sign of stopping. His breath stifled any words, as if he could think of any. What the hell was he supposed to say? How do you tell someone that they've become such an ingrained part of you that to pull them away means the very fabric of you begins to unravel? How do you keep standing when the ground below gets ripped away? The closest he could think of was a sobbed, repeated phrase. Over and over. 

"Apa, please. I love you."

—

All Teagan could do was watch with eyes so full of mist that everyone was a blur. Looking down at Patricia, it was all she could do to keep herself from falling apart when there were parties clearly more affected than she was. For the time being, she kept quiet, wiping her eyes to see Metzli hurry around the vehicles as the world crumbled around them. Time was ticking, and Teagan could’ve sworn she could hear the clock bell roar, confirming Metzli’s suspicions. 

Why did it have to end this way? Life always had a cost, and it looked like there was nothing left to do but pay, and Metzli was holding the lump sum. One so large that it was lodged in their throat while they said their goodbyes, even taking the time to speak to those they barely knew. Teagan appreciated that, looking at Macleod with eyes so full of sorrow, they were dripping down her cheeks. Everything was breaking, and the nix didn’t wield the power to make everything come to a full stop when the collection of all their fears was titanic. But that strange, one-armed vampire did. And they knew it. 

“I’m not ready either,” Metzli whispered with a tired smile, pulling Cass into one more tight hug after spending a few minutes rushing to transfer items to the other vehicles and writing letters as fast as they could. They figured their belongings would be better off kept by those they loved than lost beneath the rubble of a lost town, and their family would pass on their goodbyes to everyone they knew. Of that they were sure of. 

“And Teddy,” Metzli locked eyes with the one and only son they ever had, wrapping their arms around him and giving into their heart that they opened up so anxiously to the world. “ I love you. I love all of you.” That time, they looked around them, taking the time to share a glance at everyone, disregarding the way their backwards world could they offer their dying breaths and it be called beautiful. 

Emilio, the man that hated them without a second thought became one of their greatest allies, and even better friend. 

Patricia, a woman who so lost in her failure that she nearly lost sight of what she could have. Now she had everything, and the best was yet to come. 

Teagan, a girl who kept everyone at arm’s length, was now using those very limbs to encase people with love. 

Cass, once a stranger that prevented them from being their own worst enemy. She shared Metzli’s  fear of loneliness and abandonment so intimately that she became tightly entangled in their heart and made a family. Their first. 

Teddy, a boy who was never chosen despite holding the biggest heart made of gold that persevered through loneliness, and now, finally, he knew what unconditional love from a parent was. 

Eilidh, the first and only woman Metzli ever loved. With her heart as full and lively as every garden she tended, she gave the vampire everything, even if it was to her detriment. She found their heart, but she’d always be their soul. Their death so early on in their relationship was not the ending they wanted, but they handed her the seeds for the future and were giving her a watering can to nurture something into bloom. Each petal would be marked with their love and she would be reminded every day that they would never leave her. With their sacrifice, with their love, they were painting the future in the background with only 30 minutes left. 

And yes, they would all grieve. But Metzli found comfort that their deep grief meant that they loved fully. They all opened their hearts despite the inevitable. Metzli had many regrets, but never would they regret the love they gave, or anything they did in the name of it. 

With one final round of hugs and a lingering kiss for Eilidh, the ending was cemented. Each rumble and shake grew in strength, leading a flurry of tremors to course through Metzli as their legs settled in the driver side. “Please, take care of each other. Please.” They faced everyone, rolling the window down and shutting the door with their face tear-stained and red. “And Cass?” They chuckled dryly, a glimmer of humor pushing through with a twitchy, quick nod. “Tell amá I love her, okay? And check Macleod’s glove compartment in her trailer. There’s a little present there for you.”

It wouldn’t have mattered if the quakes hadn’t been trembling through the ground, wouldn’t have mattered if the sun was high in the sky or the clouds were all far away. In that moment, no matter what the world actually looked like, all Cass would have seen was darkness. The scene blurred around her as her eyes filled up with tears, and she shook her head again, adamant. It couldn’t end like this. After everything, it couldn’t end like this. They’d made it out. They’d gotten all the way to the edge of town, had plans to go farther, had a future all mapped out and ready to go. They were all supposed to survive this. They were all supposed to be okay.

But the world, Cass had learned long ago, never gave much of a shit about the way things were supposed to be. It didn’t matter that Metzli was going off to stop the apocalypse, didn’t matter that a dozen other people were giving their lives for the same reason. The world was ending anyway. It already had.

Cass clung to Metzli stubbornly as they hugged her, and she wanted to drag the vampire with them, wanted to say fuck the world, let it end, I don’t care even if it wasn’t true. She was too kindhearted to doom the world, even if hers would be so much emptier without Metzli in it. Even if it felt like the apocalypse might as well have been successful in this moment.

She sniffled as Metzli spoke again, nodding her head even as her throat burned, even as her chest ached. Whatever present Metzli had left for her would be far too small to fill the void carved out in her life, but at least she’d have something to hold onto. At least she’d have something tangible to remind her that once, for a moment, someone had loved her like this. 

Too soon, the goodbyes were over. There wasn’t enough time in the world to say everything they wanted to say, and there certainly wasn’t enough time now. Metzli had to go, and so did the rest of them. Someone tugged her back towards the cars, Teddy’s boyfriend practically dragging him along, and everything hurt long after Cass was settled into the seat with a seatbelt holding her in place, long after Metzli disappeared in the rear view mirror. 

There was a future ahead of them, still. There was a windshield with a whole world contained behind it, a world that would continue to exist because of an infuriatingly selfless vampire who left to save the planet because it needed them to. And Cass had needed them, too. She understood it — of course she did — but she didn’t think the ache would ever really go away. Maybe, if she could ever look to the future in the windshield instead of the crumbling past in the mirror, it would hurt less. Or maybe it never would. Either way, she figured, they had to keep driving. For Metzli. For all of them.

[vanishingreyes]

@muertarte replied to your post “[pm, in Spanish] Can I ask for a favor?”:

[pm, in Spanish] There is a grave I want to visit and I want you to come with me. Like when I went with you. It is [...] for my daughter. She passed away a few months ago.

​[pm, in Spanish] Metzli, is this Cass? You mentioned her a while back. I'm so sorry I I am so sorry she passed away. I'd be honored to come with you. Should we put her on a communal ofrenda this year? By communal I mean one you, myself, and Anita share. Maybe Emilio too

But yes. Just tell me when.

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Zane's beautiful house PARTIES: Regan, Zane, and Jade SUMMARY: Zane is a vampire. Regan is moving in with him. Jade has some thoughts about that. CONTENT: Medical blood

“I can start by just showing you your room?” And then maybe close the door behind her to take a moment to wonder how in the world he’d gotten himself into this situation. 

It was an impressive estate for Oldtown, the two-story home that included an expansive front yard, even if it didn’t look particularly well tended to. Zane really lived here alone? And on a nurse’s salary? None of it mattered very much to Regan. Her criteria for a new place to live in were simple: she had not previously lived there, and she would not be alone when Farraige na Buanachta tried to vacuum her into its depths. The pit came for her in the dark; it came when she could not predict it like a death; it came with the undeniable force of a scream.

With a bag in each hand, Regan spurred herself down the front walkway before she started to feel the tar between her toes. This would fix it all.

She cautiously set the bags down on the front doorstep (they had her necessities: bones), and rang the bell. It was something Regan should have anticipated, the knife sliding under her epidermis and probing around beneath her skin the second Zane approached. It happened around Metzli, and Leila, so of course it happened around Zane, too. It wasn’t until she learned more from Jade that she had language to pair with it (however inexact and inarticulate that language was). Undead. Vampire. 

And… oh, this was going to be a problem, wasn’t it? Not only the constant shaving of her flesh from this sensation, but the fact Jade was on the way with more of her things. Regan gulped, any eagerness in her eyes dimming at the realization as she looked at Zane. What could she say to back out now? No, this could be salvaged. “Hello. I’m here to move in, as discussed. Oh, uh, I own more than this, by the way,” she gestured to the bones, “my bone partner is bringing a car with the rest soon.” And Zane could not be there when Jade arrived. “Hey, why don’t you show me around? I can have her deposit my things here.” Regan nudged Zane inside his own house, hopping in after him. She paused. Then she stuck her arms back out and grabbed the bags, not willing to leave them behind. “Take your time. Show me every groove and furrow. Do you have any perfume? Cologne? We should put that on, both of us, as a bonding activity.” Though Regan doubted that would throw Jade off the scent.

—

There was a definite need for Zane to learn how to set boundaries. Not setting them had first led to an array of newly turned vampires showing up at his doorstep thanks to Emilio and now, a doctor that had seemed much too interested in him being a vampire was moving in. It should have been easy to tell her that he wasn’t looking for a permanent roommate, that the house was already occupied and most importantly, that Regan was… eccentric in a way that unnerved him a bit. But no, for Zane the easy way had been to crumple like a soggy piece of paper and let Regan move in. 

It was probably a bad sign that she looked just as skeptical about this idea as he did when the door swung open. “Of course,” Zane replied on autopilot, even as his stomach twisted at the mention of ‘the rest’. How much was the rest? Was Doctor Kavanagh bringing the entire contents of an apartment? Before he could spiral into the thought, Regan was ushering him inside and asking about… perfume? To know the workings of her mind probably necessitated a very specific PhD but Zane was completely at a loss. “Strong smells kinda… give me a headache?” he tried, still stuck on the ‘bonding activity’ part of her reasoning. Zane knew very well that doctors tended to be odd but… 

“I can start by just showing you your room?” And then maybe close the door behind her to take a moment to wonder how in the world he’d gotten himself into this situation. 

—

Despite the ‘cadaveristic torpor’ of it all, Regan did truly like Zane. In her opinion, a bond had been forged between them when they defaced Halloween decorations together in the name of accuracy. If she could keep him away from Jade, this had the potential to work out. If only he moved a little faster. Regan was practically shuttling ahead of him as he took her through a sensibly decorated front hall that emptied into what was likely one of Oldtown’s biggest dying– living rooms. “I don’t care for it either. It covers up smells I appreciate much more. But we don’t have to wear it for long, only during… um, initiation. Orientation! This is like orientation? Did you have one of those when you went to–” Regan clipped the question. Why was she thinking about college? How many years had that been? It felt like she’d reached beyond Ireland’s fog and plucked someone else’s memory from the clear skies on the other side. “Forget that. Oh, my room? I don’t need that now. I will choose it later.”

Zane led her upstairs anyway, which seemed like an unusual way to begin a tour, but Regan wouldn’t judge. Jade might have done the same; she had no respect for linearity. As they passed by what looked like a bathroom, Regan stopped following Zane and veered into the room to poke around. That mirror was not going to last long. Neither was the shower pane. “Where is the cologne?” She asked Zane, once he realized he’d lost her, and turned back. 

—

Yeah, his new roommate (how? why?) was definitely acting stranger than usual. Regan seemed nervous, really nervous, which didn’t fit with what Zane had seen of her so far. The way she’d handled the worker at the Halloween store, heck, even the way she’d handled moving herself in here had been decisive. Her being awkward just wasn’t sitting right. Was she regretting the decision to move in with a vampire, maybe? She’d known about all that beforehand so it didn’t make sense that she would have asked in the first place. Well, none of this made sense, especially not this hyperfixation on cologne. “We just played some name games and went over the syllabus?” he answered before she was rescinding that question entirely and moving onto choosing her own room. Oh, no. 

Zane was vaguely aware that Regan was not paying attention as he pointed out rooms, trying to explain which were taken and where his own room was and great, she was gone. “Regan?” Worry colored his words - he hadn’t managed to prep all of the current inhabitants on this new development and it didn’t seem too out of character for Regan to pop into someone’s bedroom. Thankfully, she’d only diverged into the bathroom and Zane sighed, joining her in the doorway. “Next to the sink,” he answered, regretting it instantly. “But maybe we skip it for now?” It wasn’t surprising that his hesitant suggestion went ignored - if only he could bring some of his authority from work into his personal life. Maybe if he could, this whole nightmare could have been avoided and his eyes wouldn’t currently be burning from what was frankly an obscene amount of cologne. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use that much…”

—

The cloud covering the bathroom smelled of fresh citrus – the vague kind that various bottled scents employed, not quite orange, not quite lime. It tickled Regan’s nose, and it would have obscured any important scents during an autopsy (which made it a no-go in Regan’s book, even though she was no longer an ME). But it could work. It had to. Because– “Come here. You’re the one who needs it more than I.” Zane could wonder if Regan was calling him fragrant. She didn’t care. She sprayed the bottle near Zane’s face a few times, satisfied that the scent would cling to his pores, probably for the next several days. 

“What else is it prudent for me to know? Is there a designated area in the yard where I should be leaving dead animals?” Regan set the bottle back on the bathroom counter with a gentle clack. “How about the garden? It will be well-fertilized.” 

Her Jade senses were tingling. They were not as exact as her ability to detect death or other fae (or as literal), but she had developed a knack for predicting Jade’s proximity over time. She’d be here with the rest of Regan’s things, soon, and– Regan cast a glance at Zane, pressing her lips together. How long could she really expect to keep Jade from figuring this out? She’d be over all the time. 

Regan inhaled a deep breath of cologne. Even through the remaining mist of the fragrance, she could feel Zane pulling at each tiny hair on her skin. Jade would be no different. This… this would not work. And she couldn’t put Zane at risk (risk?) just so she could have a decent, like-minded roommate. She was selfish, but not that selfish. Backing out now would be an insult to Zane’s hospitality, though, and she couldn’t tell him that he was the issue. So Regan would be the issue. She could be kind like that. 

“New plan.” Regan clapped her hands together, louder than intended. “I think they should be inside, instead, the dead animals. Which one is your bedroom? I assume it is the biggest. There should be space in there, yes?” Her nose itched again. Her whole face tickled. Her sinuses. And– Regan sneezed, a high-pitched slice through the air that made the bathroom mirror crack right down the center. Maybe she hadn’t needed to say the bit about the dead animals after all.

—

At least he didn’t need to breathe. His eyes still hurt and the whole house would probably smell for days but Zane was trying really hard to focus on the positives right now. Like how he was positive that this had been a mistake and maybe Regan needed a psych eval? Was she having an early midlife crisis? With the job change and moving and whatever smell issue she was currently having, Zane really did wonder if she needed a different kind of healthcare professional than a nurse. “Thanks…”

Wiping some of the excess cologne off with the back of his hand, Zane struggled to keep up with the change of subject. “We don’t really get a lot of… dead animals but… sure, backyard sounds as good of a place as any. So, should we check out the rest of the house or-” He winced at the sudden clap and then again at the words that followed and somehow, this was getting worse. “Inside? My bedroom isn’t actually the biggest but I don’t think that’s a good idea, Regan, with the smell and the-”

That… wasn’t a normal sneeze. His brain felt rattled, a high pitch buzz lingering in his ears as Zane stared at the newly formed crack in the mirror. “What…” Even through the buzzing, Zane heard the tell-tale sign of gravel crunching under tires in the driveway. Sure, okay. One crisis at a time. See how much stuff Regan has brought over, then question Regan about how her sneezes seem supersonic. Then have a discussion about dead animals inside the house… Zane felt tired in a way he hadn’t felt since becoming undead. “I’ll go open the door for them,” he said hoarsely, moving to escape from the smog of cologne and the sight of the cracked bathroom mirror. 

—

As the two of them stared at the cracked mirror– oops– it was quiet enough that Regan heard wheels crunching over gravel. That had to be Jade. And for the first time ever, she wished Jade wasn’t here right now. What was she going to assume about Zane? Zane, who dedicated his life to helping humans, just like Jade herself.

It was probably better to confess she had caused the cracked mirror now, rather than pretend it was a coincidence that it paired with her sneeze. She had (barely exercised) manners. She could apologize. And, right, having Zane agree this is a bad idea was the goal. So it all worked out. “Sorry! Always unfortunate when that happens. I have seasonal allergies. I recall you indicating you lack any emotional attachment with your lightbulbs, so that won’t be a problem, will it?” Jade was still a problem, though. Only right now. Not in any other context. 

“You know what, maybe I should get the door. I like…doors.” Regan said to an empty bathroom. Oh. Bás síoraí. Regan rocketed down the staircase after Zane and a heavy trail of cologne, but he was already practically at the door (fast– he must have worked out a lot, or his nursely duties involved a lot of literal heavy lifting). 

“Wait, don’t get the–” Door. That was already opening.

—

Being supportive was one of the things Jade was the GOAT of. Like, she was a self-proclaimed hype woman, so it was no shocker she was trying her best to help Regan navigate her new life as… banshee lite. (Regan might coin a better term). Jade wanted nothing more than for Regan to realize there were things other than banshee duty. That, just like Meztli, she could carve her own path too. Which, at the moment, included finding new roommates. Yup. Cause Regan wanted to get out of their… her cabin. And that was so cool and chill, and she was definitely not taking it personal. Like, duh, why would she wanna live with Jade (warm, great hair, amazing kisser) when she could choose a total stranger (cold, probably bald, better keep their mouth far, far away) instead? The latter obviously sounded way more adventurous anyway.

Jade would be supportive, she wanted her lady to thrive, so she offered to drive some of Regan’s stuff to her new apartment. It was kinda exciting, once she got over the whole…rejection of it all. (And did she ask Regan to live with her elsewhere instead? Not at all, why was that relevant?). Plus, she was hoping Regan’s roomie was at least interesting and cool. Jade was also looking forward to chatting them up, to make sure they treated Regan right. They better not give her funny looks just cause of her hobbies or interests. She needed Regan to be in the second best hands possible. 

The taxidermied head she’d bought that guy on the internet stuck out from the first box Jade grabbed once she climbed out of the car. She didn’t even have to ring the doorbell to hear shuffling inside. Someone was already approaching to answer the door (interesting!). She peeked from over the box when the door swung open, the megawatt smile she had on her face slowly dying out. Hazel eyes flickered to the man standing in front of her, the roommate, and realized something wasn’t right. Actually, forget that, something was straight up wrong. And just… Jade’s spirits deflated when her skin thrummed in that telltale way. Now hold on a minute…

Why was Regan chilling with a vampire? Actually, scratch that, did she even know? She had to feel it too, right? “Um. Hello, um,” she stammered, and when had she ever used hello before? Mouth dry, she looked out for Regan, who was coming up behind the man. Jade’s eyebrows pinched in a way Regan would be able to identify. What’s going on? Maybe she didn’t actually feel it. She wouldn’t blame her, the smells coming out of the house were hitting Jade like a truck. Or anyway, maybe the whole Ireland vacay ruined Regan’s death radar. (A couple instances that contradicted her idea popped into her head). Her eyes darted back to the vampire. Nope, wait, she knew what happened. They like, probably arranged this over the internet, duh. And of course, he was helpless against Regan’s disarming charm. And Regan had been clueless to his nature. Yup. She liked that scenario. It was messy for sure, but like… there was a way out of it. Except… except what if, that was how this guy lured all his victims? Maybe he acted as a sweet himbo on the internet and then bam, secured his next blood bag.  

Jade wanted to barge in, snatch Regan away and pretend this meeting never happened. Keep his filthy fangs away from her sweet blood. (Cause fae had sweet blood, alright? Not cause… she wasn’t into that) (Unless Regan…). Right, they’d get out of there and have a serious discussion about adding an undead filter next time she searched for roomies. And then, obviously, she’d return to end him. Some other time cause like, she’d left all her stakes in her other jacket and all. (She conveniently tried not to think of the emergency stake she carried in her belt). Great plan.  

Jade didn’t move. And the box she was carrying didn’t weigh enough to make her uncomfortable (she was even planning on holding it with one hand, give Regan a little show. Not anymore!). So she stood there, blinking like an idiot. Regan wanted roomies, and she wanted to find herself, and she’d lost so much that Jade only wanted Regan to thrive and… there was a knot in her throat. Cause this felt like a lose-lose situation. She counted to five, a shaky exhale escaped her lips. 

Was she gonna play dumb for the chance Regan secured a room in this admittedly very nice house? This was a vampire who could lose control at any moment. And Regan would be there with her naturally enticing neck, in immediate danger. But also… Well, Regan didn’t want to be in the cabin (with her) anymore so she didn’t wanna extend that torture… Jade’s eyes danced between the two people in front of her, unsure. Unsure was pretty much all she felt these days. Not that anybody had to know her business. “Wow… I think the fumes of that scent got into my brain cause like” she shook her head, pretending that had been the reason for her daze. “And I thought I liked citrus scents. Anyway, hi! I’m Jade,” and any smile of hers was a good smile, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that was definitely missing in this one. 

—

Alright, so they were both odd. The nameless… what was the phrase Regan had used, bone partner? - was watching Zane like she’d been expecting someone completely different, the smile on her face visibly fading. Geez, alright. Was it maybe the cologne? Was that part of some inside joke, Regan messing with this woman by way of copious amounts of cologne? If so, Zane didn’t quite understand why he had to be dragged into it. “Hi,” he returned hesitantly, eyes shifting down to the dead eyed gaze looking up at him from the box in the newcomer’s hands. 

Zane huffed out a laugh, spurred mostly by desperation over this situation, and that was a mistake because the aforementioned fumes attacked his senses again. “Yes, the cologne… That was… well, Regan can tell you what that’s about later. I’m honestly not really sure. Uh, come in.” Sidestepping to let Jade and her box of taxidermy enter, Zane craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of what had been brought along. Only things that seemed to fit in a normal car. Zane wouldn’t have been surprised to see an actual moving truck out in the driveway. One thing to be thankful for. 

“So… yeah. I’m Zane. Regan’s new roommate. Apparently.” 

—

Regan stumbled up behind Zane, her heart tripping over itself. She pushed her bags back outside on the doorstep. What was that about wishing Jade wasn’t here at the moment? Scratch that. Her body told her it had been a lie. Maybe it was Zane she didn’t want right here, except it was his house, which was problematic. Why was wanting so complicated? Couldn’t everything just be what it was? Fate-mandated? Once upon a time, she did not need to consider wanting, because it was questioning fate. Now she didn’t even know what to eat for breakfast because she questioned everything including her Greek yogurt.

“Hello!” Regan exhaled all of the breath remaining in her lungs and waited for Jade to say something (actually, had she overhead a hello from Jade before? weird). But Jade had confusion written all over her precious face like she got the wrong food order (as a recipient – Jade was an ace at delivery, obviously). Something was wrong. And Regan leaped toward the safe assumption that was not particularly safe: the cologne hadn’t worked. Jade knew what Zane was. And she knew Regan knew. That was what her eyes were asking, right? Why? How? What? “Um, this is Zane… he lives here. That is probably apparent.” 

Jade was in… some kind of trace. A staring spell. Regan cocked her head. Did Jade get seizures? No, that would have come up between the ‘allergies’ and gastrointestinal issues, both induced by her parents. She sidled up to Jade, nudging her shoulder (gently) and setting a hand on the box to help, though she’d never known Jade to need help carrying anything. “Thanks for bringing things over,” she said, mostly fishing for a response of some kind more than the need to say anything. When Jade introduced herself Regan almost wished she hadn’t. She could hear it, that calculatedness behind her tone. Jade was mapping this out. She was planning. She was probably thinking about her crossbow, or maybe a short-ranged option, in case Zane… what? Attacked for no reason? “He works at the hospital,” Regan said pointedly, “he is a nurse.” And no threat. “Helping patients, saving lives? All in a day’s work for Zane. He is a hernia among men. Uh, hero. Upon discharge, his patients surely think ‘wow, that nurse seemed remarkably well-adjusted, even though he was a pushover.’ They probably tell their families about Zane. Who is a nurse. At the hospital.”

Any prejudices Jade held were melting away, Regan was certain! But she was still uneasy about this. She leaned in on Jade’s shoulder, happy to be near the taxidermy, too, and looked toward Zane like this was a completely normal exchange. “Aren’t you, Zane? A nurse? Do I have that right?”

Time to go.

“Jade, a stór, I was just telling Zane about how I break mirrors. Glass everywhere. I am terrible to live with.” Her eyes flashed toward Jade again, desperate for her to play along (was it playing, really?) and probably not for the reason Jade assumed. Regan thought she could have lived with Zane, but she didn’t think Jade could live with her living with Zane. And what would that mean for Za– no. She batted that line of thinking away; she was skilled at doing that. It didn’t matter. She was going to egress from this roommate situation. “And not only mirrors, you know. Do you have fine china? Get rid of it. Glass cups? That will not work. Once, my snoring broke a window.” There was more, but Zane already indicated not caring about his lightbulbs, and he could probably see in the dark, anyway.

“And what if I am allergic to your cologne? You use so much of it.”

—

Zane. The vampire’s name was Zane and Jade already wanted to forget about it. And actually, Regan almost made it possible, as she moved (or was pulled) into Jade’s gravity. There was a nudge, a hand reaching under the box, fingers brushing, and for a beat all Jade could feel and see was right in front of her. Citrus scent forgotten. Her eyes got lost in Regan’s, only dipping to her mouth when she heard the ‘thank you’. Then they sparkled, in anticipation. So… did she get a kiss, or? Nope! Cause Zane was still here, it turned out, as Regan so kindly decided to remind her. In his house or whatever. The small reverie between them popped abruptly, like a balloon, and the citrus wafted to her nose again. Zane. 

Who… wait, he worked where? “The hospital… the…” she repeated like her ears were failing her. (Like that ever happened). Zane the vampire was a nurse. He worked at the hospital. You know, where people bled? Where there was a blood bank and… geez. Did this guy hide in plain sight, at a place with his own all-you-can-eat buffet? Oh, she hated this. Her belly agreed. It knotted in ways she’d forgotten. This was so sick and twisted. Alarms were definitely going off in Jade’s head now. “Oh wow, that’s like, so brave. Being a nurse, I’m guessing you love those night shifts, huh?” she blurted out to cover her racing thoughts. They were so loud, it wouldn’t surprise her if the guy could hear them with his enhanced hearing. Regan called Zane a hernia, which, everybody knew (of course), was one of the highest compliments Regan could offer. Wow. Despite what Jade had recently learned, Regan believed in him. So, like…how well did Regan know hunky Zane then? (That’s right, she could see the pecs) (She was a slayer, not blind). The ramble had felt so specific though, like Regan was trying to cover her bases. Trying to appease Jade without being upfront about it. Did she know? And still, went and agreed to meet up with him? And still wanted the room? (Over living with her bone partner?)

There was no time for the hurt Jade felt to travel from her heart to her eyes cause more words were coming. Regan was speaking, and despite everything, she would never ever wanna miss a word coming out of her favorite lips. (Mmm… nope. Second favorite). “You don’t sn…” Jade cut herself off, noticing the glint behind Regan’s eyes. Alrighty, she felt like a pancake, being flipped from side to side in the pan that was life. Wait so, Regan didn’t want this place? Was this… reverse psychology? Where she convinced herself she didn’t want something but she totally did? (It sure brought back some fond memories). But good grief, thinking was like, so overrated. Her head was starting to hurt. Okay, cool, cool, she was totally following now. The right corner of Regan’s mouth was twitching, which meant she didn’t approve of this place anymore, for whatever reason, and whew, she didn’t have to ask Jade twice for her to try to give her a hand. (Or a leg, or…) 

“Right!” she nodded enthusiastically at Zane for the first time. “I’ve never met a worse roomie than her. Yup, that’s why I… I’ve been trying to kick her out of my place, you know?” she chortled, and, had she not been in front of a vampire, Jade would’ve slapped his muscular shoulder. Instead, she used her free hand for better things, like reaching for Regan’s waist. Her gaze immediately flickered to her side, finding Regan’s despite the taxidermied head trying to get in the way. “She’s so loud, trust me, I mean, who’d wanna live with… her?” and yup, they had a ton to discuss once they escaped Zane’s overbearing hospitality and his passion for citrus scents, but the uncertainty didn’t erase the smitten look on Jade’s face. Or didn’t stop the warmth spreading in her chest. Where was her kiss, actually. They were due for a kiss. They had been in the same room for more than two minutes, the math wasn’t mathing. “You’d get nothing done, lemme tell ya…” she licked her lips, tearing her gaze away from the prize and back to Zane. “Like, even if you don’t care about all the glass she’s gonna break, which, oh buddy, you should. If you’re a nurse, you need lots of time for work and stuff, don’t you? She’s not gonna make it happen for you. She’s super clingy. And, oh…yup! Her nose… so beautiful, but so sensitive. We don’t want allergies.” 

— 

What? No, seriously, what was happening? Zane tried to pick it apart one detail at a time - the weirdly charged tension between the two that made him want to leave his own home to give them privacy, the strange amount of attention Regan was drawing to his job, the way Jade seemed to not like him in the slightest and finally, the literal worst sales pitch for any roommate ever. Which Jade was now doubling down on and Zane’s headache felt equal parts due to the cologne and the whiplash of this situation. Even if he was the type of person to cut into conversations (he wasn’t) that wasn’t an option here - Zane was literally speechless. 

The part about Regan, with an apparently beautiful nose, being clingy was the last bit of nonsense he could handle. “Okay! Alright, sorry, can we just-” Zane waved his hands, as if that might possibly make the whole situation magically end. “What is going on here? Like, actually, what is going on? Why is stuff breaking? What’s with the awful roommate stuff? Why did you get so intense about the cologne?” he demanded, mildly hysterical at this point, gaze moving from Jade to Regan, not caring which of them provided an explanation. “I want to help, Regan, I really do but this is just…” With a sigh of defeat, Zane retreated into the house with a shake of his head, the end point of his hospitality reached. 

—

If Regan needed any further confirmation Jade knew what Zane was (she didn’t need it) then the comment about night shifts would have done it. Because ‘vampires’ liked the night, didn’t they? Like bats. Not that Zane appeared to have much in common with those little, flying mammals (though maybe his eyes were a little small). 

Jade was practically grinding her distaste between her teeth. This was the type of anger that was hard for her to bite back, probably bridled only by confusion and Regan being right there. When Regan had asked how it felt for Jade, being around the not-quite-dead, she hadn’t described it as unpleasant. So… was Jade’s discomfort based only in distrust? She certainly hated learning that Zane worked at the hospital; Regan had thought it would make him out to be a positive example. Great rot, had she missed the mark, which was embarrassing considering she had a high-acuity mental map of all things Jade that she’d charted over the last year. She had failed to predict how negatively Jade was going to respond to this. How was that possible?

But Jade’s eyes twinkled like beautiful gleaming spleens when they met Regan’s. Were they on the same wavelength again? Regan felt like she’d fallen off a balance beam; it was difficult not to question all of her other assumptions. But… yes. The small huff meant Jade was preparing to say something important. Regan was going to be correct again. She had this. She could continue to tout her status as an expert on her bone partner, which was a point of pride rivaling her MD. She nudged herself closer to Jade, careful not to bump her and risk everything being dropped. That was another challenge, but they could overcome it (not the possibility of the box toppling over… the lack of bumping).

All was well again. Jade picked up on the act. And she was a stellar actress, right up there with Bill Nye (if he were to act). She could tell Zane that yes, things break frequently around Regan, and then Zane could decide he was emotionally attached to his lightbulbs after all, and she and Jade would go… back to the cabin? Regan hid her sinking frown. 

It was good Jade was holding everything because Regan would have dropped it when Jade started talking.

Worse… roomie? Regan deflated entirely. Kick her out? Jade was following her lead, her act. Regan knew that. She was also aware that Jade had never come close to ‘kicking her out’; Regan was the one who was clawing to be somewhere else. But… those were words she had never anticipated hearing come from Jade’s mouth (which had never failed Regan before). Her arm flopped off the box, and she was only faintly aware of the hand around her waist. Even the taxidermied beaver head did little jostle her out of whatever this was. Something she hadn’t been panged by for a long time.

Who’d wanna live with… her?

Regan melted more, enough that maybe she should be put into one of those boxes, too. Did Jade really think she was clingy? Did she care about the glass? Had she been harboring this since her roommate’s figurines shattered? Maybe they had been Jade’s figurines the whole time and she lied out of politeness. “Yeah, um… clingy,” Regan agreed flatly to Zane, “like putrescine on a rug. And I do. Break everything. As I explained.” The beautiful nose comment slid right by her. Jade might have been unhappy about all the time Regan was spending on her laptop in the human simulation program. And– had she been too needy? Too obvious in her pining when Jade had late nights or busy days? What were the other problems? Because there had to be other ones. The raccoon she’d left by the stairs the other day? The wings? It always came back to the wings. 

The cologne made nausea swirl in her belly now, appropriately acidic for a citrus scent. Jade’s scent – which normally brought blood to the surface of her cheeks –  might have been enough to elicit nausea in its own right now, too. What is going on, Zane wanted to know. A reasonable question because Zane was reasonable. Regan wasn’t certain she knew either. She had missed so much. Did she know Jade at all? 

Regan cleared her throat, putting some distance between her and Jade. “I am bad to live with, zero out of five scars on Yell,” she said slowly, “I am better to die with. So you should find a different roommate. A high quality one, such as yourself.” It was rare that Regan spoke this way – most self-depreciation never made it out of her skull. Now it screamed. “I am aimless, disfigured, and overconfident in my knowledge of those I reside with. I am nauseated and do not know why, because I am constantly confused. I am a leanbh.” Regan turned away, arms crossed, gaze grazing Jade’s for an unbearable second then shooting off into the distance.

Zane was gone. Even if she hadn’t heard the confident slam of the door, she would have felt those pinpricks receding into the house. Regan only tilted her head back when it sank in that it was over – she and Zane would not be roommates, because Jade would not have liked him. But there was something more there, wasn’t there? She had worried about Zane’s safety. The silence that followed grated on her almost as badly, because she and Jade should have been filling it. Jade never knew silence; Regan thought it an insult.

With a sigh, Regan turned back to Jade, her eyes dancing around to avoid direct contact. She busied herself with one of the bags of bones she’d intended to fill the house with.

“It, uh, smelled in there. Inhospitable.” You sure said that quickly. 

“Thanks for playing along.” Was it playing? 

“Anyway, we should move all of this back into the car.” You should, because I will break it. 

“We return to the cabin, yes?” 

No, the word rang through Regan’s skull, and she was not sure if she heard it in her own voice, or Jade’s.

[gossipsnake]

TIMING: April 19, 2024, immediately before this LOCATION: Airport / Airplane PARTIES: Anita (@gossipsnake), Metzli (@muertarte), & Xóchitl (@vanishingreyes) SUMMARY: Anita, Metzli and Xóchitl make their way to Ireland!

Despite having very little context for why this impromptu trip was occurring, Anita was quite excited to head off to Ireland - not just because of the vague promise of seeing Siobhan naked.  Life had been so hectic over the past few months and she had begun to question the choices she made that had led her to this town, and all of the complications that came with living in Wicked’s Rest. A trip, a chance of scenery and pace, felt like exactly what she needed to refresh. So while it seemed odd when Siobhan had invited her to go visit her hometown but the inherent curiosity to learn more about her strange and beautiful co-worker was really all she needed to say yes. The fact that Xóchitl and Metzli had also been invited was really just icing on the cake. 

The semester was nearing its end and Anita had been able to cash in a few favors from the other professors in her program to cover her classes while she’d be away. She had packed nearly twice as many bags as Metzli, not wanting to be in a situation where she didn’t have the perfect outfit for whatever activities they might be partaking in. It took a bit of rearranging, but there had still been plenty of room in the car to accommodate Xó’s bags. After all, it made more sense to carpool to the airport. 

Knowing that Metzli was feeling a bit uneasy about the idea of going on an airplane, Anita had set the radio to their favorite station for the drive to the airport - turned off. “Have either of you looked up the area where we’re going to much? Seems like more country than city living. Pretty sure the whole state of Maine is bigger than the whole country, though, so I’m sure we’ll have time to see a bit of everything if we want.” 

_ 

“There are going to be too many people.” Metzli rocked idly in the back, grumbling half to themself and half to their companions in the front. Normally they’d have taken the passenger seat, but given they were leaving during the day, the best protection from the sun that they had would be in the back, where the windows had been tinted perfectly for them. They were grateful for that, finding so much relief in the way Anita had been so accommodating. She even went as far as to keep the noise to a minimum, further adding to the comfort they were experiencing. 

It felt important and necessary. Not just because Metzli needed it, but because Xóchitl still didn’t know their true nature. There were enough variables to keep the vampire from relaxing, but because Anita knew them so well, they were rolling their wrists contentedly and sipping on a bag of blood as if it were a capri-sun. Another of Anita’s accommodations. She insisted on the sunglasses too, and Metzli agreed so they could hide their eyes. Though, something told them it gave her some sort of amusement. Probably the snort and a laugh she released. That had to be a clue. 

“How much longer?” They grumbled again, taking a sippy break. “I have been too anxious about flying in this metal bird to do Googling on Ireland. It is not natural to be in the sky in metal.” A shiver raked up their spine and they groaned into a sulk, continuing to sip to alleviate their irritation. 

_ 

She knew that she could use some spontaneity in her life. Not that Xóchitl had been non-spontaneous recently, but still. Going on a trip to Ireland was something she hadn’t done before. Anita and Metzli were coming too, which only added to the fun. She’d immediately agreed when Anita had suggested carpooling, because that just meant less unnecessary complexity. Emilio had agreed to watch over Esperanza, so there was that taken care of, even though Xóchitl would’ve liked to take her, and even though that would’ve helped quell any sort of anxiety she had, Esperanza was better off with Emilio and Teddy and Perro.

“We’re here for you, Metzli. Just concentrate on that.” She offered them a small smile from the front seat. “You can wear headphones on the plane, and you’ll be safe.” Xóchitl knew that she couldn’t technically guarantee that, but even just mentioning it had to be some sort of helpful. Hopefully.

“Yeah,” she nodded at Anita. “I looked it up a tiny bit because I like research, what can I say? But it’s more country-like, but we should go to a city sometime if we get the chance. I just want to see an authentic Irish sheep. Which sounds silly, perhaps, but you’ve got to appreciate the little things. Plus I want to try Bailey’s Irish Creme and also whatever other classic alcohols are there.” Another turn back to Metzli, “it’s wild and not natural, yeah, but it’s also a miracle, according to some. I know it’s how Mama and Manman went to México and also Haiti, and it was more efficient than driving or taking a boat. Besides, I brought snacks.” She tapped her bag. 

_ 

“We’re close. Not much further to the parking area,” Anita reassured Metzli. There were a lot of things that she wanted to say to Metzli, both to poke a bit of fun at them and to try and calm them further. After all, people always said normalcy helped calm people when they were anxious about a new experience, and normalcy for them was Anita poking fun. But she’d have to be careful, not just in the car but for the duration of the trip, with what she said around Xóchitl. Especially since Xó would still be able to understand her if she switched to speaking in Spanish. By this point, having known her for some time, Anita was fairly certain she was as human as humans came. A shame, really, but the reality of the situation. Not only was she exceptionally human but she was unaware of the fact that she was sitting in a car with two fanged beings. 

“It’s not natural to be in a metal carriage driving around but you do that. You’ll see, the plane isn’t anything to be scared about.” Anita did not want to be dismissive about their concerns but she also wanted to show them that this was a normal thing to be doing. “I definitely want to check out some of the city life,” she agreed, turning her attention to Xó, “not sure they’re well known for tequila but I suppose the trip would warrant a departure from my drink of choice to test out these whiskeys they are supposed to be famous for.” 

As they passed a sign noting that the airport was only a few more miles away, Anita relayed the information to Metzli in the back seat. “I’m also excited about exploring the countryside too, though. I don’t think they have a particularly diverse ecosystem but I’m interested to see what kind of insects might be around where we’ll be staying. Wouldn’t that be fun, Met? Going on some nature hikes. We could go at night, too, to get a sense of what kind of nocturnal creepy crawlies they’ve got.” 

_ 

“Yes, but the metal carriage is closer to the ground and is not in the sky!” Metzli softly exclaimed, not really going into a true yell. They knew better than to raise their voice at their friends, especially when they’d done nothing wrong. It was just the anxiety and overall change in routine that put their mood on edge. They sulked, their head sinking in embarrassment. “I am sorry. I will not yell again. New things is hard.” With that clarity and awareness, Metzli clung to it and began to rock themself in their seat, counting up to eight before repeating themself. It was their safe number, and each one leading up to it would get them through the new experience. 

Two of which were sitting up in front, while a few remained at home and a few others resided in Ireland. For now. 

“I appreciate both of you. Almost forget about my phonies.” With another deep breath and a pat to their bag, the bristling at the back of Metzli’s neck began to settle, and taking a final gulp from their pouch relaxed them completely. “Crawlies are good. Will you help me take pictures on my phone? I want to have memories to show Leila.” They paused, thinking of all the things their partner had recommended they do on their first trip outside of home. “She say I should also take photos of myself. Maybe we can do this with the whiskey.” Their head tilted curiously as they searched through their memories with their roommate. “Have I had this, Anita?” If they had, Metzli couldn’t recall it. Then again, they rarely asked questions when Anita put a drink in their hand. 

“Are we there yet?”

_ 

“You don’t have to say sorry, and that wasn’t yelling, promise.” She still felt a need to reassure Metzli at every turn, to make sure, perhaps, that they didn’t retreat into themself again, like they had when they’d first met. But right now wasn't the time to focus on things like that – on things that could be seen as a bad omen, or anything else. Not that Xóchitl was going to voice that particular train of thought right now (or ever, but right now seemed especially necessary).

“New things are very hard, and sometimes a lot of shit. But we’re here, and so it’ll be good.” Xóchitl would’ve winced at how falsely optimistic she sounded, because it wasn’t who she was (not really, though she supposed she was more of a cheerful person than she ever would’ve admitted, which, ick. Maybe.)

Still, she wanted to be there for Anita and Metzli even if she didn’t understand exactly why she was going to Ireland, but a trip wouldn’t be bad, right? It was even something that she’d wanted to do, and since Emilio hadn’t taken her up on her offer to go traveling.

“We’ll take lots of pictures, happy to help you, and to take some of you and for you too. My… boyfriend probably wants photos too.” Xóchitl rolled her shoulders back. “We’re not there yet, but we’ll make it work. Okay? That’s a promise.”

_ 

It wasn’t long after that Anita pulled her car into the long-term parking lot at the airport. They were a bit earlier than she would have been arriving for a flight by herself, but she didn’t want there to be any unexpected stresses that came up. “Okay, Aer Lingus is flying out of Terminal C. I already pre-paid for checked bags, so we just need to drop our stuff off at the main counter before going through security.” She took the keys out of the car after she parked, then looked back at Metzli, “People are going to be very dumb and annoying, okay? Just stand in between me and Xó so dumb people don’t bother you.” 

The airport was expectedly crowded, full of dumb people all pushing forward to get to their gate only to sit around for an hour before their flight even boarded. Anita had been through many airports before, but she knew that the experience was going to be a lot for Metzli, no matter how much she tried to prepare them. As they were loading their items up on the security belt, the woman behind Anita kept trying to push forward and shove her in the middle of their group. “What time is your flight?” She asked, somewhat innocuously to the woman after her second attempt to squeeze in. “It’s at 3,” the woman huffed back in response. 

Anita smirked, intentionally taking a long time to take off her shoes so Metzli and Xó could go through security ahead of her. “That’s fantastic. Sounds like you have plenty of time to calm your ass down, stop being a maldito pendejo, and still get to your flight with time to spare.” The group managed to get to their gate without incident, however, their journey was just getting started. 

_ 

Anita was perfect to have around when there were crowds involved. She had an intimidating energy that parted people to the side without her needing to speak. Although, she always did take the opportunity to impart a little vicious wisdom on some people. It made Metzli feel seen and taken care of, like they finally knew what family meant. What it felt like. 

They hardly minded the way the cool lights overhead buzzed and thrummed when they were required to take off the phonies for security. It felt pretty easy, for the most part. Their fake passport worked and Metzli had mentally prepared to manipulate the crew to let them through, but they were fortunate enough to not need that ability. Sometimes using it was inevitable, they knew that. It just felt better to not have the need to control people. They knew what it felt like to have everything taken. All too well, in fact.

“Thank you.” Quickly, Metzli took their bag and placed the phonies back on their head. Everything muffled instantly and a sense of calm surrounded them with warmth. “One…two…three…four…” Metzli counted quietly to themself, absentmindedly reaching for Anita’s hand once she stood next to them. Their thumb massaged the back of her hand, a pattern that kept in time with their counting. It kept them peaceful, from biting anything. Well, besides the inside of their cheek.

_ 

Anita had a good point about people being very dumb and annoying – there certainly seemed to be a higher concentration of that in airports. If she could help Metzli not have to deal with that as much, then that alone would be a win itself. Finding the gate wasn’t too bad either – and not that Xóchitl believed in good luck signs, not really (so much of her life would be different if those were real), but the three of them moving smoothly through the airport and finding their gate was seemingly seamless, and she’d take that win.

“Do either of you want drinks or snacks? I brought some, but figured we could always get more if we want. It’s overpriced but sometimes chips from airports taste even better than ones from the store.” Xóchitl shrugged. Thankfully, they’d be called in one of the first groups, if not the first group, which would undoubtedly make all of this easier. The sooner she could get a glass of wine, the better.

Without missing a beat after Metzli grabbed her hand, Anita reached over and linked her free arm in with Xóchitl’s as the group made their way to the gate. After finding the most secluded seating area possible near their gate, which was still not all that secluded, she pulled out her phone to see when their boarding time was. “Have you ever known me to say no to a drink?” She teased with a grin, “That’s one of the best parts about airports, if you ask me, there is almost always an open bar somewhere.” 

_ 

“They should be calling our group to board in less than thirty minutes.” Anita almost noted that was the expected time provided there were no unforeseen delays, given how often those seemed to happen during air travel. But it seemed like an unnecessary possibility to speak out into the universe. “If you two want to hold down the fort here, I’ll go get us all a round of mezcal?” It was a question mainly to Metzli, as Anita wasn’t sure if they would want a drink or not. She had packed a few travel sized bottles of blood for them since it wasn’t exactly a short flight, and was thrilled that they didn’t raise any suspicions going through security. Then she turned to Xó, with a warm smile, “And whatever flavor of deliciously overpriced chips your heart desires.” 

After getting everyone’s orders in, Anita went off to the nearest bar. Which was within spitting distance, practically. It didn’t take long for her to return with several overpriced libations, a few salty treats, and a few sweet ones. That was what humans did, wasn’t it? Bought way too many snacks for a trip that was undoubtedly going to provide them with some more snacks? 

_ 

There was no rejection Metzli’s part. In fact, when Anita let go and went on her search, they went on their own. A single round of mezcal wasn’t going to be enough for them and their dead body. They needed far more than most to feel any of alcohol’s influence, and so they found themself at the same bar Anita found. Only, they were across the way where she couldn’t see them. 

“Five tequilas in those little glasses.” They tapped the bar, “Please.” In a matter of seconds, they were placed in front of them, and they drank them in rapid succession. “And four more, please.” The bartender gave Metzli a look, and they stiffened. “They are for my friends.” A nod. “Here.” With four bills on the table, the bartender shrugged and gave Metzli what they requested on a platter. “Keep change. Goodbye.” They looked more than happy at the money, and without saying another word, the vampire rejoined their friends. 

“These are for me.” The platter was placed on the table with a light clack, and they realized three shots between two people was uneven. With a grumble, they sacrificed one of theirs so Anita and Xóchitl could each have two. “Better.” Metzli smiled awkwardly and downed their drinks. “And more better.” There was hardly a burn on the last swallow, but it was enough to make them shift in their seat. 

“Metzli Bernal, to the front desk.” 

Metzli stiffened and lit up, realizing they were about to board first after the arrangements Anita made for their peculiar needs. “I get to sit at the window.” They chuckled, disappearing with their things. 

_ 

Anita and Metzli both seemed immediately agreeable to the suggestion of alcohol, which, win. Not that Xóchitl had had any sort of real doubt about whether or not they’d agree, but it was still good. Maybe a drink (or a few) would get her brain back to actually working, rather than whatever nonsense was going on now. Lack of general eloquence, lack of understanding about just what on earth was going on. But she liked doing things without thinking about consequences, and doing things with friends was even more fun. It brought her back to college, and grad school, even. Not always in the best of ways (but that wasn’t the point right now, was it?), but now it could be in the best of ways. 

Or in the goodest of ways. Which wasn’t a word, but again, not the point.

While Anita and Metzli went off on their ways, Xóchitl took a swig of a cap of alcohol she’d somehow managed to get through TSA. Not that things like that were hard, not for her, though she figured some of that had to do with projecting an air of confidence. That much she was quite expert at. It wasn’t self-centered if it was true, right?

Soon enough, both of her friends returned, and both with a few drinks. “I’m buying us a round or three of something when we get there.” She grabbed one of the drinks and the bag of chips from Anita, offering the both of them a small shrug. Metzli was called to the front desk, and Xóchitl felt her stomach clench for a moment, wondering if they were going to get in some sort of trouble (though she was ready to tell off anybody who tried to fuck with Metzli), but it turned out that they’d gotten a window seat. “You’ll love that. You can see how the world looks from way up high.” She offered them a kind smile. “Also you can cozy against the side of the plane, which makes relaxing easier. At least that’s my personal feeling on it.”

_ 

Anita was always quite amused when Metzli managed to surprise her. And surprised she was to see them coming back with a small tray full of tequila shots at the same time that she was returning from her own supply run. It was like they had read her mind. “Here’s to Siobhan, for bringing us all together for this strange adventure.” Anita saluted in Spanish before taking her first shot of tequila. It wasn’t Casa Dragones, but it wasn’t half bad. “And here is to all of the great Irish liquor I’m sure we will discover.” She said as she raised up the second shot, finishing it off just as the attendants called for Metzli. 

If they were being called off to board that meant that the first class call wasn’t far behind. Sure enough, shortly after finishing up the rest of the drinks and reorganizing her bag a bit, the announcement rang out “We now welcome our passengers traveling in first class to board.” Anita grinned over at Xóchitl, “Vamos, mamacita.” 

First class on a transcontinental flight was truly a luxurious experience. Separated from the main cabin by a hallway not just a flimsy little shower curtain. Not that it was the status that Anita really cared about, though. Sure, that was nice, but it was the comforts and small luxuries that made the expense worthwhile. “Miss me?” She teased once they ruined with Metzli in the cabin. After stowing her bags, she slid into the aisle seat and let out a soft sigh of contentment before reaching over and pointing at the screen in front of Metzli’s seat. “This can show you an overview of our flight path, can play music or movies, or you can just turn it off.” Then she turned across the aisle where Xó’s seat was. “This whole thing was so last minute I forgot to even ask, how do you and Siobhan know each other?” 

It didn’t take long for the rest of the first class passengers to fill in and the attendant came around to offer everyone a complimentary glass of champagne, which Anita finished rather quickly. After all, she was on vacation. 

_ 

Being the first person on a flight was interesting, especially when you had only seen pictures of what the inside of a plane looked like. It was only slightly overwhelming, and Metzli was surprised to find that even at their height, their area was spacious. “Oh…” They sat down and looked through the tiny window, anxious to see how the wings would fly in the sky. There was so much to touch and see. Maybe a bit too much for their liking. But Metzli thought it better to wait until Anita arrived, which felt like forever. Though, that was likely the anxiety altering their perception.

“Not really.” They replied, legs bouncing anxiously. “Will they make me sit all the way back? I…I do not like how it feels.” Metzli’s posture was stiffer than usual as they strained to avoid the seat. They could feel themself blinking more than necessary as they battled with how the lights seemed to grow brighter and the amount of people shuffling in produced more noise. With a swallow, the ringing in their ears reached a head, and they took a breath to just barely catch what Anita was saying about the small screen in front of them. 

“Okay.” They nodded, swallowing once more as the flight attendant’s appearance startled them into focus. “Thank you.” Tentatively, Metzli took the plastic flute and held it firmly for a moment to gather their bearings before downing the champagne. Oh. It was the pointy liquid they didn’t like very much. They tried not to frown, to hide their discomfort and their cough, but with their leg advertising how they truly felt, it was almost impossible to get a word to not shake from their mouth. “I told you h-how we meet already. We-we had sex.”

_ 

She couldn’t help but throw a wink at Anita. It was all in good fun, and it was how the two of them worked after all, wasn’t it? She wanted to check on Metzli, anyhow, to make sure they’d done alright boarding and that nobody else who’d gotten on the plane already was giving them trouble. Which, thankfully, nobody seemed to be. Not that she’d expected anybody to be giving them a hard time, but it was another box ticked in the ‘things are going smoothly’ column. A column that Xóchitl realized she was likely relying on way too much. That didn’t mean she was going to stop. She relied on tequila too much sometimes, but she certainly hadn’t given that up (nor did she intend to).

“You can sit however you wish. The only rules planes have is about wearing your seatbelt, but everything else? You can take at your own pace.” She hoped that was comforting. She didn’t know if it was. Xóchitl didn’t consider herself a comforting person, but she also knew that there were quite a few people (maybe a handful, maybe less, maybe more) who might’ve disagreed with her on that.

Anita was now asking her how she and Siobhan knew each other, and Metzli had jumped in with an answer and so Xóchitl figured why not? “I also slept with her. Well, technically my neighbor tried to get us to hang out so she’d annoy me, but that didn’t happen. You and her work together, right?”

_ 

“I wasn’t asking you,” Anita clarified with only a slight twinge of annoyance, refusing to let her face show how that was amplified by Xóchitl’s response. Apparently Anita was the only one whom Sibohan thought she was too good to sleep with. Maybe this trip would change that. “Yes, we’re both professors. We also committed arson together once.” The comment slipped out, more of a jab to try and make herself feel a bit better since she doubted either of them had burned down a nightclub with Siobhan before. But then she remembered that Xóchitl was a human and that humans frowned on arson. “Kidding,” she added in with a bright grin and a laugh. 

Once all of the passengers were boarded, the attendants began their safety demonstrations. The bright lights, the loud crackling overhead announcements, and the annoying dinging bells that preceded them, it was all very apparent that it was overwhelming for Metzli. Sometimes Anita didn’t know where the line was between being helpful and being overbearing and never wanted to inadvertently make things worse. 

Anita reached down into the bag that was tucked underneath the seat in front of her and pulled out a small pouch that had a black-out eye mask, ear plugs, and some suspicious looking clearly homemade red “candies.” Whatever Metzli wanted to do with the materials was up to them. Not long after the safety demonstration ended, the plane started to taxi away from the gate and down the runway. The stiff air was mixed with sweat and people trying to mask that sweat with too much perfume. Anita adjusted herself more comfortably into the seat as the captain announced that they were about to begin their take-off. 

Within an instant the noise in the cabin nearly doubled as the jet engines prepared themselves to carry the aircraft up into the sky. Anita thought about offering her hand for Metzli to hold onto but immediately thought better of it, intentionally or not they could break every tiny bone with just one squeeze. The wheels began to turn and the plane took off down the runway, the rumble shaking and jostling everyone on board slightly. After a few moments of that, the plane lifted off the ground and there was that strange pressurized sensation that was only felt when one was in an active fight against the laws of gravity. She looked over at Metzli, knowing there wasn’t anything more than what she had already done to help them through these moments of discomfort. 

_ 

The plane rumbled and whirred, sending Metzli’s reflexes into attack mode. Even Anita’s attempts at being a good friend went missed as the sounds made their body tense. Muscle to muscle, from the shoulders and to their feet, everything flexed. With a swallow, a pitiful sound escaped Metzli’s throat and an even louder sound scraped on their right. 

Trembling, they rose their fist to find that the armrest had been twisted and bent away from its place. “Oh…oh no.” The plane jumped forward, jostling the armrest from Metzli’s grasp and sending it to the floor. They looked to Anita and then to the floor, and back to her again. Well, that was a problem for later, they thought, feeling the metal carriage ascending into the sky.

_ 

“Well, so long as you were both safe,” Xóchitl shrugged. Not that she especially approved of arson, but she also wasn’t about to fight Anita about it. It had already been done, and the cops sucked and so who exactly was she even going to report it to?

Besides, Metzli seemed to be more in trouble and the armrest of their chair disconnected from the rest of the chair, all of a sudden, and that was both confusing and not something Xóchitl could bring herself to focus on too much right then and there. “We’re here for you, okay?” She whispered across the aisle to Metzli, giving a nod to Anita. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

[honeysmokedham]

Alternate Reality || Solo

In an alternate reality Declan’s hand was in hers. Nora had told him to close her eyes, his light laughter echoed in the abandoned chapel above the crypt. She would walk backwards, making sure he didn’t trip down the stairs. She’d settle him at the bottom, and memorize his face as he took his first look at their new home. The sign would say Welcome Home Declan and Nora. The birthday gifts would be opened together, because what was her was his and his was hers and this was theirs. They’d curl together on their cot, she’d put names to faces as they looked at the photos taped to the wall next to her pillow. Blood wouldn’t pool beneath them.

In an alternate reality Nora hadn’t gone to Ireland. The gifts at the steps had been opened on her birthday. She wouldn’t have gotten in a fight with Emilio about Regan’s choice, then ultimately pick at him so he wouldn’t think twice when she wasn’t around the next day. She’d have spent her birthday playing Fortnite Festival with Van, and forced her to play the same Olivia Rodrigo song over and over again until Nora managed to get a good score. She’d shown up at Teddy’s for dinner. Wynne and Emilio were at the table, Teddy would come through the door with the biggest display of ham. The night passed by in merriment, a game of trick Emilio into eating was played. Teddy hugged her goodnight. Wynne clasped her hands. Emilio patted her arm. She was happy with her family. She would never know that in Ireland Regan was crossing paths with Declan. The world would never explode into colors she’d never known existed. She’d remain who she was. Now ham reminded her of hamstring, and hamstring was disgusting.

In an alternate reality Declan was born to a family that loved him. He was raised with humans, among humans, as a human. He never knew a life where he was born to die for someone else. Instead he was valued for who he was. A shadow didn’t follow him around in life, waiting for the day a scream replaced his life. In that reality fate chose to cross their paths. He saw the monster before him and he felt fear. Without living in fear his whole life, he never learned about the emotion. It was always what waited in the darkness, the risk of heights and the stress of poor performance. Without fear cradling his whole life, he was unable to look at Nora with the same fearless love he’d held by the waterfall.

In an alternate reality Nora wasn’t sitting alone in the dark crypt. The sign welcoming her home hadn’t sent an arrow into her heart, and the presents neatly piled at the stairs hadn’t brought tears to her eyes. She hadn’t cut her finger on the paper while opening them. The cut hadn’t distracted her for hours as she watched drops of blood slip from the slash, a weak imitation of the cut across Declan’s throat. A shadow didn’t remind her how worthless and undeserving she was.

In the alternate reality there were no cups from Ariadne. An invitation to a picnic. A want to know her more. A carved bear from Metzli. Osito, the name she’d loved. A hope for a good birthday, and many more. A picture from Van. A message of good things to come. A hope that she was having fun. Fuck. She had been having fun in Ireland until reality snuck in and slit fun’s throat. In that alternate reality there wasn’t a bear from Emilio. A note that he was sorry. A note that he wanted her to come by. A note that told her he’d leave if he had to, as long as she had a good birthday.

In that alternate reality she read Regan’s note the day of her birthday, and after some brief annoyance, she let it go. She accepted the words. “If you’re reading this, then I am already in Ireland. I’m sorry I did not tell you when I was leaving. It was for the best. Your tenacity might have gotten you killed. Besides, this town needs you. It is full of people to extort, and help, if you are so inclined, which I know you to be. You’re a strange one, you know. I do not think that’s bad. I used to. Now I’m less certain. I will even suggest that you are correct not to listen to anyone, including Emilio.”

In that alternate reality Nora was still the girl that needed to hear those words. And she would have listened to them despite the last line. And Declan would be alive. People in the town would be extorted. Maybe she’d have found one person she was capable of saving. Every now and then she’d think of Regan, the screams they shared, and fun they’d had. She’d think ‘I hope Regan is doing okay.’ But the thought would pass and life would go on, and their fates weren’t so intricately woven together that she considered Regan to be family and hated her for it. In that alternate reality she wasn’t crying in the dark over a pile of presents and loathing herself for every choice she’d ever made.

But this wasn’t an alternate reality. This was the path she’d chosen. The consequences of her actions. The mistakes she’d made. The reality of it all. And that was too much. So Eleanor “Nora” Pine did what she always did. She walked away.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: late last night / early this morning. LOCATION: a cemetery in town. PARTIES: @muertarte & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: emilio and metzli participate in theraputic spawn killing. CONTENT WARNINGS: suicidal ideation, child death, references to self harm

There were things Emilio was not equipped to handle, and he recognized as much. When Metzli had texted him, mentioning a kid who’d been like a daughter to them who’d died in a way they couldn’t prevent, he knew his response hadn’t been a good one. He hardly remembered what he’d typed at all, but he knew there had been too much time between Metzli’s confession and his reply. He’d spent a little too long staring at the words, a little too long traveling back in time to Mexico where he sat on the floor with corpses until he ached. A better man might have opened up to Metzli, might have told his own story to let them know there was someone who understood that kind of thing, but his jaw felt wired shut and his fingers couldn’t quite move the right way to type out any confession worth making. 

They wanted to go hunting, they said; it was something Emilio understood, something he leaned on like a crutch. He couldn’t talk to them. He couldn’t force his story past the lump in his throat. But he could find something for them to kill, and he could make sure they didn’t get hurt doing it. Maybe that wasn’t a good response, but it was the only one he knew how to make.

He waited for them at the entrance to a graveyard that had seen an influx of spawn lately, cigarette dangling from his lips. He dropped it to the ground as they approached, putting it out with the heel of his boot and offering them a nod. “Hey,” he greeted. “Got spawn here. Easy enough to kill.”

—

There was no conversation, no filler between the slayer and the vampire to cut through the tension they both felt. It was poetic, really. Metzli's heart ached with the void inside, memories laying dormant inside, blurred by the onslaught of tears their grief produced with no reprieve. The pain was never-ending, and Metzli had thought at least by then the ache would have become a murmur beneath their flesh, but it seemed there would be no harbor. Cass was Metzli's phantom limb, no real source or tangible wound to stem or cauterize, echoing like the beat her heart should have had. 

“Mm…” The vampire replied with a curt nod, a memory flashing behind their lids as they blinked. Spawn were easy to kill if one had both strength and skill, which both Emilio and Metzli had, but more than two at a time for each would make their odds a little problematic. That didn't really matter to Metzli though. They had had enough of displaced pain and needed to provide themself with a source they could tend to. Mask the wounds of their grief as best as they could without thinking about the fact that the spawn had been people once too. 

“Do you…” Metzli retrieved their knife from their assortment of weapons in their jacket, happy to have an object to keep their hand busy. “Do you know how many?”

They looked like hell, but Emilio couldn’t really comment on that, either. He’d never quite come back from his own daughter’s death. It still clung to him like a burial shroud, still made him feel like a corpse looking for a grave to fall into. He wondered if it would be different for Metzli, if living forever made the pain easier to carry or harder to exist beneath. They had Leila — had she loved this kid, too? Would his own grief have been different if Juliana had lived to help shoulder it, or would it only have given him her guilt alongside his own? It was impossible to say. You could invent worlds where things were different — Emilio had done a lot of that — but you couldn’t really live within them. Not entirely, not forever. The world you had was the one you got. In this one, his daughter and Metzli’s were both dead. 

The graveyard full of spawn wouldn’t change that, either. He’d killed so many of them over the years that it was impossible to really count. The first one he’d taken out was a half-remembered thing, scarier to a kid whose hand was barely big enough to hold the stake it was gripping than anything else could ever be to a man who’d already lost everything. He’d kill countless more of them before something took him out, he was sure, and it wouldn’t change anything but it would distract him for a little while. It would make him forget that a part of him was just as dead as they were, just as monstrous. 

Metzli’s question pulled his shoulders into a shrug, and he eyed the knife they held carefully. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a stake and spun it around so the sharp side faced him before holding it out to them. “Easier with this,” he said. “Don’t have to bother cutting the head off if you can stake them.” His free hand gripped his own stake, twirling it absently. His knee bounced with a nervous energy. He’d never been much good at standing still.

—

It was still odd that a slayer would so readily spend time with a vampire, though it wasn't terribly uncommon. But Emilio was different. At least with how he interacted with Metzli, and even with the young vampire that had helped them once. Zane, they recalled. 

They thought perhaps, or rather, they hoped, it was because they were different. That maybe, just maybe, they were good, and Emilio could look past the monstrosities in front of him because of it. Because they had morals they held themselves to. That was the hope, but Metzli knew better than anyone that hoping was a strength few had the ability to actually hone. 

Shaking their head, the vampire gripped their knife tighter and took a step into the graveyard to avoid the stake. “I want the struggle.” Their voice was a gravely whisper, but Metzli knew Emilio could hear them. “The knife will be better.” Because they wanted all the pain that came with a fight, blood and all. No easy ways out. And they knew Emilio wouldn't try to change their mind considering how he struggled to keep still.

“Ready?”

The feeling a slayer got when something undead was near was meant to be an alarm bell. His mother had explained it to him when he was almost too young to understand it, had exposed him to gnashing teeth and struggling claws and taught him to push aside the natural terror that came with being so close to something that wanted to kill you and focus instead on the feeling beneath it, the way the hair on the back of his neck stood up and bugs seemed to crawl over his skin. That feeling had saved his life more than once, had given him the warning sign needed to dodge what otherwise might have been a surprise attack. He’d come to rely on it over the years, come to use it as a shield.

But he was ignoring it now. It was thrumming in his veins, warning him of Metzli’s presence like a siren screaming. It felt unnatural, felt wrong, but he pushed it down and away. His mother would have been disappointed, but there was so much of his life that would have infuriated her that this probably wouldn’t have been the greatest source of disappointment she could find, anyway.

Metzli said they wanted the struggle, and Emilio pulled the stake back. He thought of himself in the woods after the massacre, half dead and begging Rhett to let him make it more than ‘half.’ He had intimate knowledge of what they were going through, even if he had no words with which to say it. Slipping the stake back into his pocket, he nodded. “Don’t expect me to sit back and let you get your ass kicked,” he warned. “You want that shit, you go to someone else.” He wasn’t good at watching people get hurt.

Clicking his tongue, he nodded. “Yeah. Ready.”

—

“Do not mistake my loss as self-inflicted.” The vampire hissed in their native tongue. “The fight was stupid.” Metzli rolled their eyes and shook their head at Emilio's accusation. They had gotten their ass handed to them in a match, but that didn't mean they had intended to get grievously injured. All they had wanted was to punch something until their knuckles went numb and their body was too worn out to move the next day. Find a pain they could recognize instead of a ghostly whisper echoing against their shell. 

In a way though, the vampire had gotten what they wanted. Metzli couldn't move for days after the fight, but that had more to do with torn flesh than sore muscles. They struggled against every swab of alcohol, every stitch. It was only thanks to Leila that they were standing again, and Metzli would be damned before they let her see them like that again any time soon. Spawn were easier to hunt anyway, and with Emilio by Metzli’s side, they figured they were in good hands. Both of them. 

Stepping inside and scanning the area, there weren't any creatures just yet, likely keeping to the shadows. In their experience, Metzli had known spawn to attack and ask questions never, so it was best to lurk along just as they did. But the tension had risen with their snap at Emilio. Or was it just their hackles at attention with the looming danger? Deciding to risk breaking the silence, Metzli looked back at Emilio and huffed quietly. 

“I snapped at you.” Their gaze traveled down, avoiding the slayer's eyes. “I am sorry for that. Just…maybe I do want to die, but that does not mean I will allow it to happen. My daughter asked me to live and she said she would wait. They drew in a shaky breath, “Who am I to deny her request? You are supposed to give your children what they need, and it sounded like she needed me to do this last thing for her.” There was a snap somewhere in the bushes but Metzli didn't register it fully as they spoke. “I just need something to punch until it is dead so I can find relief in doing what I should have done to the man that took her from everyone she loves. If that…if that makes any sense.”

There was anger radiating off of them, and it was a familiar thing. Hadn’t Emilio lived within it for years now? Wasn’t angry the only thing he was, most days? He raised a brow as they snapped, but didn’t flinch back from their raised voice. “It was stupid,” he agreed, “and it was self-inflicted. If you’re going to pretend not to want it, you’re better off pretending for someone else.” If anyone could recognize the self-destructive nature of their grief, it was him. He’d been chasing something for years now, looking for it around every corner, and it was the same thing Metzli had been after when they’d signed up for a fight they must have known would be difficult to win.

It was one of those wounds time was supposed to heal, he knew; he’d heard it said before, heard all the cliches. You carried a weight long enough and, sooner or later, it stopped feeling quite so unbearably heavy. It all sounded like bullshit to him. His daughter’s name was still the heaviest thing he’d ever shouldered, the memory of her corpse laying on the floor still etched into the backs of his eyelids. Maybe for Metzli, who had an eternity ahead of them if they didn’t get themself killed in the meantime, the pain would fade. Maybe a hundred years from now, maybe more. But Emilio was realistic enough to acknowledge that he probably had less than ten years left in him. He understood that, even if he stopped hunting today, his name and his history would bring death to his door long before old age took him. 

The fact that he’d made it to thirty was a miracle; he knew he wouldn’t see forty. And he found some selfish relief in that. There were people who loved him, and they’d lost a lot already. There were people who loved him, and they’d lose him someday, too. And he preferred that. He wanted them to lose him, because that meant he wouldn’t have to lose them. He didn’t envy Metzli, with a hundred years behind them and hundreds more ahead. Emilio wouldn’t wish immortality on his worst enemy. He wasn’t sure anyone deserved that shit.

He shrugged off their apology, finding it unnecessary. “It’s good,” he offered. “Giving her what she asked for. Sounds like what happened happened because she wanted you to be okay. Letting yourself get killed after that… I didn’t know her, but I know it’s not what she would have wanted.” Maybe it was easier, he thought, that Metzli’s kid was older when she died. People could make statements about what she might have wanted and have them make sense. It didn’t feel the same with Flora. He couldn’t hear someone claim his daughter would have wanted him to live without being reminded that she’d had no concept of what death was. All Flora had wanted, Emilio suspected, was to not be afraid. He’d failed to give her that. He knew that. 

Metzli spoke, unsure if their words made sense, and Emilio reflected on just how much they did. He was uncomfortable; he always was, in situations that required this much… talking. Putting a voice to the things he felt was beyond difficult. He was far better at stuffing it down and ignoring it. “It does,” he offered. “Make sense.” He spotted something over their shoulder, nodded towards it to alert them. “And here’s your chance to punch something.” And his chance to avoid saying too much.

—

There was a familiar look in Emilio’s eyes, a hidden pain swimming through thunderous and ravaging waves. They wanted to argue, bite back at the accusation once again, but every time Metzli’s mouth opened, the words refused to surface. Their throat closed uncomfortably and the only thing that slipped was a pathetic croak. They took a step back and tightened their grip around the hilt of their knife. It was no use arguing with Emilio. The image was clear and it startled them. 

Mostly because Metzli hadn’t seen their reflection in decades.

Nodding, the vampire accepted Emilio’s nonchalant, barely-acception of their apology. He didn’t seem to want it, but as always, the slayer breezed past things he didn’t deem linger-worthy. Metzli sighed, and shrugged back at him, brows rising with a little surprise as they noticed the rustling behind them. They bristled and prepared to pounce, watching the spawn shamble away from its latest victim. It snarled and snapped its teeth, sending Metzli’s legs into a sprint. The spawn reacted in kind, charging toward them with as much aggression as the vampire. They clashed dully, inhuman strength matching enough to create a standstill, but Metzli sunk their blade into the spawn’s side over and over again. It screeched and thrashed, becoming a bloody mess and coating Metzli in its gummy blood. 

Claws latched onto the vampire’s back, though they hardly winced. They were too preoccupied attempting to regain control, knowing that Leila and Eleanor would be upset if Metzli got home with gashes. Thankfully, their instincts kicked in and they wrapped their arm tightly around the spawn’s waist, subsequently lifting it from the ground and suplexing it straight onto its head.

He knew they wanted to argue, because he wanted to argue. The pair of them were more alike than they’d likely admit — even more so now, with a shared experience buried between them. He’d never spoken of Flora to Metzli; he’d never spoken of Flora to most people in this town, said her name so few times that it still burned his throat any time he tried to force it out. He wondered, sometimes, if it would make it better to say it aloud. If you repeated a word enough times, it stopped carrying its meaning. Saying something often enough turned it into little more than syllables shaped by your tongue and unabsorbed by your mind. If he spoke Flora’s name to himself over and over and over again, would it be the same? Would it stop aching and turn into something nonsensical, after a while? 

The thought filled him with more terror than relief. Emilio didn’t want his daughter’s name to come without the memory of her smile, even if the pain of losing her was never far behind. He’d wager Metzli felt the same, figured they wouldn’t want to lose what their daughter had meant to them. They spoke of her more than Emilio spoke of Flora. Maybe, to them, that was the way to keep her close. Maybe that was the better strategy, though he doubted he’d ever be able to adopt it for himself. His daughter was a ghost he didn’t want to exorcize, no matter how violent the haunting might turn. He just preferred to sit alone in the haunted house, to rot in it. No one he knew now had known her, after all; there was no one left but him for Flora to haunt.

He couldn’t offer to share in Metzli’s haunting, either. He hadn’t known the kid they’d loved and lost any more than they’d known Flora, but he suspected they had others in their life who had. Ariadne had spoken of losing someone, and Kaden; presumably, Metzli’s fiance had known her, too. If Metzli had wanted someone to sit with them in their haunted house, they wouldn’t have called Emilio. If they’d wanted a conversation, he’d have been the last on the list. He wasn’t good with words, and he thought they both probably knew that. He was at his best when there was something to hit. And now, in this graveyard with the moon hanging high in the sky, there was. 

The spawn jumped on them, and they reacted quickly. Emilio hung back, prepared to step in if things looked rough. He understood what they were feeling, perhaps better than they knew. (He’d never spoken of Flora to them, but maybe the leap wasn’t a hard one to make; Teddy had known without being told, after all.) He understood self destruction, carried it with him every day. He’d gone into plenty of fights hoping — praying he wouldn’t walk out of them. He did it even now, even with people waiting for him to come home. He understood the desire, knew it was there. 

And he understood that, on some level, Metzli had invited him here to fight it. 

When he was hoping to die, he set out alone. He went on hunts with no backup, told no one where he was going. The fact that Metzli had called him meant they weren’t actively trying to get themself killed, wanted him to step in and keep it from getting bad. So, when they flipped the spawn onto its head, Emilio took a lazy step forward and drove the stake into its chest before it could do any real damage, before it could recover its senses and leave anything deeper than the superficial clawmarks it had marred into the vampire’s back already. “Probably more this way,” he commented as the dust settled, still in Spanish. It would be easier on them both, after all. “Keep going?” 

—

There was a crunch that came with the impact of the soft ground. Blades of grass and clumps of dirt mixed together in the air and rained onto the two creatures as Metzli rolled away for their next attack. When their eyes landed on the thing again, they could see Cass’s father’s face in place of its own.

Anger swelled and they tensed, nails digging into the dirt. Emilio had other plans though, and in an instant, the spawn’s remains danced lazily down and coated both the earth and Metzli. They gave Emilio a disapproving grunt before standing and giving him a scowl while he walked away. It was most likely for the best that he stepped in, but Metzli wanted more. More than just a short fight that ended with an underwhelming fog of death, leaving them with nothing more than a small burst of adrenaline that would fade as quickly as it arrived. 

“More?” They whispered a little hopefully, languidly brushing off the spawn from their clothes. Following in step with Emilio, Metzli gave him nothing more than an approving nod. More. It droned in their mind, drumming a beat in their bones that sank to the depths of their grief. Another spawn appeared, but all they could see was Cass’s father—No, Maikao—again, and that was all it took for the anger to pulse once again. Metzli leapt like an animal to its prey, hackles rising violently as Maikao tripled in numbers. 

Because they would no longer call him her father. He was just a man they would send to slaughter over and over again. And then again, if they needed to. Leaving him as a mangled corpse on the ground, fist mixing his skull and flesh into the wet dirt. Mixing his blood with theirs as the earth shattered beneath the impact. It was only when they felt a weight on their shoulder that Metzli realized that had become reality, and they halted their assault to confront the next victim. But they only bared their teeth at Emilio.

When Rhett found him in the woods after the massacre, after Emilio had finished begging to be left to bleed out in the dirt and Rhett had finished pretending he thought a hospital was a realistic next step, anger had been the strongest thing he felt. It had been an intentional thing, one he clung to. If he was angry, he didn’t have to be anything else. If he was angry, he didn’t have to feel the intensity of his grief, didn’t have to drown in it. He could be angry and turn it outwards, could pretend there was anyone he hated more than he hated himself. He imagined he’d spent months looking a lot like Metzli looked now; years, maybe. 

But… he wasn’t sure Metzli had to go through this the same way Emilio had. They were less alone than he’d been, after all. Once he’d managed to push Rhett away, he’d spent years with no one but himself for company. He didn’t know the extent of Metzli’s relationships — he didn’t know their fiance, had spoken only briefly to their other partner, knew some of their friends but hadn’t spent time with them all together — but he didn’t think they were in any danger of being left alone. He didn’t think they could succeed in pushing everyone away the way he had, if only because there were so many more people who cared about them. Pushing Rhett away had really only been possible because Rhett was the only one there, because he could focus every ounce of his energy on pissing off Rhett specifically and making sure he’d stay gone just long enough for Emilio to disappear. 

So Metzli was angry, and they were allowed to be. But Emilio didn’t think it was all they could be, either. He didn’t think they were doomed to repeat his methods of grieving. He thought that was probably a good thing. He’d be a hypocrite not to let them take out some of that rage on the spawns, though he stood close to make sure they wouldn’t let any of the beasts get a lucky shot in. (When it was him, he tended to want the pain a little. He’d never admitted it to anyone; he thought people knew, anyway.) 

He watched them take out a few, watched the number dwindle from four down to one. And then, he watched Metzli slam their fist against the last one standing over and over and over again. When it was clear that nothing more was being accomplished, he stepped forward and put a hand on their shoulder to stop them. Teeth bared at him, and Emilio didn’t flinch. He stood his ground, raised a brow. “If you want to fight me,” he said flatly, “you’ll have to put in a lot more effort than you did for that.” Not that he’d put up much of a fight if they did decide to take a swing. Emilio was an opportunistic fighter, but he didn’t tend to kick friends when they were down. 

Looking down at the spawn Metzli had just finished with — dissolving into dust now, with too much damage to come back from — he nodded. “Don’t know how many more are out here,” he admitted, switching back to Spanish. “Might be better to call it a night, though. The sun will come up soon, anyway.” 

—

More. 

Their mind was ravaged by the grief, commanding their fist to continue its warpath, but their attention was pulled to Emilio instead. A small, shallow breath hitched in their throat, slowly turning into a broken growl. Tears streamed down Metzli’s face, eyes wide with a bittersweet mixture of fury and sorrow. They didn’t care if the sun would rise in a few hours or in a few minutes. They weren’t done. Makaio was right in front of them and they did nothing, and the spawn were still out there. All they had to do was look. Metzli wouldn’t stand by and do nothing again. He wouldn’t let anyone make him.

“What do you know?” They hissed, anger simmering, quickling rolling into a wild boil. “What do you know?!” The exclamation came from somewhere dark and cold, the embers long since put out. There was no color. There was no warmth. Only a dark nothing in place of the love they once held. Metzli tried hard to put it away, to keep themself focused on the desaturated hues surrounding them. With no light to strengthen them, they stumbled forward into Emilio with a powerful shove. 

“You don’t know anything!” Their voice cracked and they shoved Emilio again, tears falling with more strength. Metzli was crumbling, turning themself into ruins as their sorrow forced them to cave in on themself. Would Emilio force the thunder to ravage them more? Would they lay to rest beneath a weight as heavy as the one Cass was currently buried in? Metzli sobbed, falling to their hands and knees as they shook violently with each heaving sob. 

A hand shoved against his chest, and Emilio let himself be pushed backwards in spite of his claim that he’d be far harder to take down than a spawn. The shove was powerful, but clearly not intended to take him down. His feet, in spite of his bad leg protesting the move, stayed beneath him, and his body stayed upright. He’d accept the next shove, too, made no move to fight back. If Metzli did something that might promise real damage, he’d stop it. He’d block a punch, he’d catch a kick, he’d keep teeth from finding his throat, but it would all be more for their sake than his own. They’d accomplish nothing by hurting a friend, would find nothing but more guilt in the aftermath. This, too, was a thing Emilio knew from experience. 

Their words echoed through a cemetery that was empty now, occupied only by the two of them and the ghosts that were both real and imagined. Emilio swallowed, jaw clenched tight. There were so many things Metzli didn’t know about him, so many things buried so deep within his chest that it would take hours of digging with his hands to bring them all to the surface. He wasn’t much of a talker. He wasn’t good at it. Words had never come half as easily as actions, even if the actions he took rarely did him any good. Could saying a thing out loud make any kind of a difference? Would hearing the words make Metzli ache less? 

Maybe he ought to give it a try, just this once.

“My daughter was four,” he said quietly, low enough that no one but Metzli could hear even if they hadn’t been alone. “When she died, she was four. I liked to think she was smart for her age, but I was probably biased. Everybody wants to think their kid’s a genius, yeah. But I liked to think she was smart. She liked bugs. Dirt. Shit like that. And she was four when she died, on the floor of my living room right beside her mother. I didn’t save her.” His voice broke a little on that, and his hands trembled. He shoved them into his pockets, grounded himself by rubbing his thumb across his wedding ring when they were hidden. “I didn’t save her,” he said again, “And I should have.” 

There was more he could have said, but he didn’t need to. Metzli knew it all already, had felt it all already. It was a needless thing, expressing the idea that you wish you’d died in place of your child. Saying it here in this graveyard would accomplish as much as saying the sky was blue or the ocean was large. Anyone with eyes could already see it. 

He sighed, glad that his trembling fingers were safely hidden away where they couldn’t reveal more than he wanted to say. “So I know,” he finished. “I know more than I’d like to. I know.”

—

The truth crashed into the vampire with a speed that left a wreck in its impact. Tears continued to fall, with more fervor then. Maybe Metzli didn’t know Emilio’s truth, but they felt they should’ve known better than to assume. But that was the problem with grief. It consumed all thoughts so completely that it leaves a hollow shell of selfishness. Where no one understood, and no one’s pain hurt more than your own. It demanded to be felt, leaving no choice in the matter. How could someone not become selfish from that? The tears from Metzli’s wide eyes quickly washed all of that away, and they swallowed harshly, waiting until their sobs finally died enough for them to speak.

“I…am sorry.” How small was that grave? Did she have one? And if Emilio prayed, did he pray as much as they did for places to be switched? Did a higher being constantly refuse him? Metzli trembled as they reeled for answers, finding none. There was no comfort regardless, even less so in knowing they weren’t alone in their experience. That the days passed by and the ache did not. A parent wasn’t supposed to bury their child, and it felt much worse to Metzli knowing that Emilio’s daughter’s life had hardly begun. She had discovered so few bugs and never got the chance to truly see the soil tilled into remarkable shades of a harvest’s blooms. 

Was it better or worse to be buried, surrounded by the thing you loved?

“I understand.” Metzli whispered hoarsely, wiping their tears away harshly. “I am sorry you understand that too.” Their shoulders fell with the weight of that fact, and they stepped forward hesitantly, testing to see how Emilio would react. When it felt safe, Metzli took another step. And then another. Taking a few more, until they were hairsbreadth away from Emilio. They wrapped their arm carefully around the slayer and lightly embraced him, offering him the choice to step out if he needed to.

There had been a time, just after the massacre, where the word sorry had had a sharpened point at the end of it. He’d hated hearing the word, come to despise the syllables. It was a stupid thing, a pointless one. What good were apologies, with his daughter in the ground? What point did they serve? He’d often reacted with anger, often lashed out at people who were only trying to offer condolences. He still did, sometimes. There were days where his rage burned just as hot as it had that first day, days when the fury inside of him was so strong that it felt as if the worst thing had just happened, was still happening. He would never leave that living room in Mexico; Metzli would never leave that cave in Wicked’s Rest. Grief had a way of rooting you in time and place, of chaining you to the very moment the terrible thing had happened. There were no sorries that could pull him from that spot. He’d known that for a while now.

Still, Metzli’s apology filled him with less rage than it might have months ago. There was something to be said about an apology that came from a place of understanding instead of simple pity. Metzli was sorry, and so was Emilio. His daughter was dead, and so was theirs. It was a godawful thing to have in common, a terrible similarity to share, but there was no getting rid of it. Sorry built a bridge between them; it didn’t matter that neither of them particularly wanted to cross it. 

“It’s a shitty thing to understand,” he offered, letting his hands become fists where they hid within his pockets. He wished Metzli didn’t understand it. He wished he didn’t, either. He wished they lived in a world where little girls lived long and happy lives, where their parents never saw them still and ashen. He wished for a lot of impossible things that meant nothing, at the end of the day. No amount of wishing would raise his daughter or Metzli’s from their graves. If such a thing were possible, Flora would be alive a thousand times over. 

Metzli stepped closer to him, slowly moving nearer until they were right in front of him. An arm wrapped around him, and he stilled in the embrace momentarily. He was still growing accustomed to this sort of thing, still learning that he wasn’t a thing with sharp edges that would cut anyone who touched him. For a moment, he stood stiff in their grip, unsure how to proceed. Then, slowly, a hand came up and patted them uncertainly on the back. He relaxed in their grip with a sigh, told himself that this was something he was only doing for them. He pretended not to understand that he might have been getting a little something out of it, too. 

After a moment, he pulled back. “My house isn’t far from here,” he said. “Let’s go back there before the sun rises. You can tell me about her, if you want. Or we can kick each other around in the basement. Whatever, right?” 

—

Metzli rested their chin atop Emilio's head, and they could feel the weight of their sorrow lighten ever so slightly. A few months ago, Metzli was sure Emilio would have either shoved them away or stabbed them, but in that moment, they felt like he needed the embrace just as much as they did. Their hearts were bending, together. 

Mourning each other's losses in a pool of understanding that they wouldn't let the other drown or lose themselves in. There was a bittersweet comfort in that. More so at the thought of explaining all the ways Cass made life better. But Metzli didn't want to waste an opportunity to keep her alive, in some way. They pulled back and retrieved their knife in the mess of all the dust they had created, sighing heavily with their shoulders slumped but their small smile hopeful. 

“Yeah.” They whispered wistfully, “Whatever.”

[magmahearts]

Have there been any in-character events that have shaped your character since you started playing them?

Cass has definitely been shaped by a few events in the last year! The biggest being:

Debbie's death and the formation of the Allgoods in the supermarket, which introduced her to the concept of hunters and gained her a girl gang.

Dancing in the mushroom circle with Alex, which landed her her first real relationship... and a heartbreak that definitely wasn't her first, but still hurts.

Various events of her friends suffering at the hands of hunters, which reinforced the 'lesson' she learned with Debbie's death regarding the danger in the world around her.

The attack by Rhett outside her cave, which is arguably one of the biggest events she's been shaped by. It's something that still haunts her, and something that will feed a lot into her upcoming arc.

Meeting her father, which is a newer event that hasn't quite finished shaping her yet. More to come on that front!

Like with Emilio, there are also connections that came to be not by single events, but by repeated interactions in the form of people like Ariadne, Wynne, Metzli, Burrow, Leila, Luci, Mack, and others. These relationships all have a definite impact on her character and how she interacts with the world around her.

Again, I probably missed a few, because every thread shapes her character a little more!

[wickedsrest-rp]

Welcome to our WRW! We do these weekly to provide plot drops, challenges, and highlight starters. Anyone is welcome to use these bullet points. Let us know if you want us to include one of your setting-related plots in here for next week by sending us a bullet point!

The giant leg that erupted from the ground is like nothing anyone has ever seen before. Is it a coincidence that Wicked’s Rest is full of bad omens around the same time it showed up? Check out our current plot of the week of Season 2 for ways to interact!

Our summer seasonal event is here, and so are the cicadas! Enjoy the faire, have some fun at the beach, and look forward to the town bonfire.

It's spring migration time for migratory birds, and they're stopping in Wicked's Rest and using the leg as a resting spot. A new warbler species call the 'leg warbler' has been identified. Birders flock to add the warbler to their life list but they might just die for it.

Bigfeet's Adventureland has opened a waterpark section to their theme park! Rather than building genuine waterslides, they just have an employee spraying down the rollercoasters with a hose as they go by. This has caused many of the tracks to become slippery, leading to some coasters flying off and landing who knows where! That's just part of the fun.

Complete challenges and claim prizes!. You can read more about how they work and what prizes are available here. Bonus challenges are an opportunity to earn an extra point per week but are harder or weirder.

This week’s challenge:

Send 2 IC asks to characters you haven’t interacted at all or very much with before

Bonus challenge:

Make a moodboard (or similar type of content)

Teddy is back and wants to know what's been going on!

Emilio wants to know more about the shrimp.

Lara has a warning about the fog. Best mind it.

Alistair is not enjoying the cicadas...

Marcus wants you to know about the lighthouse tours! Check 'em out!

Jonas is back and ready to get baking again!

Charlie is seeing some hungry, hungry sandcastles...

Metzli is home and the art licker is back!!!!

Winter saw a guy try to attack a woman in broad daylight! The nerve!

[mortemoppetere]

[pm] Yeah, yeah. I'm fine.

Not as much now. Think he's smart. Learns quick.

[pm] Okay. Better then?

How are mess in house? Still happen?

[stainedglasstruth]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Worm Row SUMMARY: Arden reflects on the past several months while getting some work done. CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of parental death & alcohol.

Arden wasn't quite sure how to feel these days.

Leah's news had been both relieving and devastating. Leaving meant her friend would be safe. Or at least safer than she'd ever be in Wicked's Rest. Leah was strong and feisty and capable, of course, and being a phoenix gave her advantages, gave her powers. But it also made her a bit more fragile, more so than even Arden herself. Leaving meant the likelihood of her having to watch her best friend be killed and reborn had lessened significantly.

It also meant she was gone, though. Funny how that worked.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

Well, no. It wasn't at all fair to compare Leah's departure from Wicked's Rest to her own all those years ago. For one, they had sworn up and down that they would stay in contact this time. Leah wasn't her, the situations were entirely different. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

Her living anchor to Wicked’s Rest, the person who had been there for her since her return, had sailed off to calmer shores. And it felt like a loss. One more name to add to this list. Leah, Zack, Jo, her father. She’d been sick with worry when Emilio disappeared for a few days, she'd grieved Teagan for weeks, been close to losing Metzli, had barely avoided watching Wynne's demise. She'd been hurt, been homeless, and just generally been through far too much in the past year. And what did she have to show for it?

Arden wasn't closer to finding any answers, not about Erebus and the mine or anything else going on in town, for that matter. And she certainly wasn't any closer to finding answers about Jo.

It felt futile, honestly. Too much time had passed, any clues there had been to find were long gone. She was a decade too late, and she didn't know what to do with that. How was she supposed to just drop it, just live the rest of her life never knowing???

...a decade. God.

What the fuck was she doing? What was the plan? She was turning thirty years old this year, and as much as it didn't feel like a big deal, it still felt big. Because she still felt like a clueless teenager far more often than she'd ever be willing to admit to another living soul— lost, fumbling, and in way over her head. 

At least she knew how to swim now, she supposed. She had support, she wasn't entirely alone the way she'd been in Boston. But, her list was steadily growing, as were the near misses, and the chaos in town only seemed to be getting worse as time went on. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t help but feel like there was only more loss on the horizon. There always was in Wicked’s Rest. 

Would more of the people she cared about die, like her dad and Jo? Would they leave like she had all those years ago, or like Zack or Leah? Or maybe they’d finally see her for the fraud she was, see her the way her mother saw her: a pathetic child. A disappointment.

...whatever. 

For now, she was here to stay. And that meant there was work to do.

Taking a swig of whiskey, Arden plucked the freshly printed page from her printer and rolled her chair back over to the other side of her desk. She set down the bottle, trading it for a thumbtack before turning to the corkboard beside her. Standing a little unsteadily, she eyed the map of Wicked's Rest, eyes flickering over the messy evidence board before pinning another missing poster to the line-up.

Lips pursed, she gave it another once over, gaze landing on the photos of that symbol.

She was going to find some damn answers, of that she was determined.

[ohwynne]

WYNNE: Hi, hey, what's going on? ARIADNE: It's -- Cass. We -- she -- [user is not able to get full sentences out] WYNNE: What happened? ARIADNE: Dead. She -- she's -- she's gone. [ user is audibly sobbing] WYNNE:[User is quiet on the other side of the line for a while] What? No, that's not [...] possible. Where are you? What happened? ARIADNE: She -- her cave. We went to go and -- she -- her dad -- [user is not being helpful sorry wynne :/] WYNNE: Did her dad kill her? ARIADNE: She -- he was gonna kill us -- me and Van and Metzli and she -- she made her cave come down on them both. She MADE me leave. WYNNE: What — Van? Where are you? Can you — are you sure? You should come here. Or I can — where are you? She can't be — ARIADNE: I'm -- I think -- I don't know. I'm by a road. I can't move. Okay. Okay. I can come to you. Okay? Where are you? Can you send me a pin? ARIADNE: Please. You -- yes. I want to see you. Now. [ user sends a pin of her location. it's by the side of the road, a bit away from the magmacave ] WYNNE: Okay. I'm on my way. [User is going to steal Emilio's car] Do you want to stay on call? ARIADNE: Thank you. I -- yeah. I just. [ user is sobbing again ] Need to know you're there. I'm here. [User's voice is vaguely muffled. Also strained.] I'll be right there. ARIADNE: Okay. I love you. I'll -- I won't move. I promise. WYNNE: Okay. [Car keys rattle.] I'm coming.

[zofiawithaz]

Nowhere Left To Aim || Emilio & Sofie

PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere& Sofie @sofiedupont

LOCATION: Nightfall Grove

TIMING: Very Early Morning

SUMMARY: Emilio got some intel that Sofie was in Oaxaca a few years back, and decides they need to have a conversation. It doesn’t go very well. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of blood

She was on her way home for the night, the clicking of her heels against the sidewalk the only sound in the wee hours of the morning. She still had an hour or so until the sun crept it’s way over the horizon to force her back indoors, so she was enjoying a leisurely stroll in the cool pre-dawn air after an evening of revels at Dance Macabre. Sofie hummed to herself, a smile tugging at her lips. 

Then that cool spring breeze carried with it the scent of someone. It wasn’t entirely surprising- some people did go out this early. She didn’t think much of it until she caught the same scent on the air a few minutes later. She tensed slightly, taking her pace a little quicker. Sofie probably should have let Metzli continue on to the stabbing portion of the lesson. Then she wouldn’t be trying not to look like she was running up the block in an eight hundred dollar pair of heels.  

And that was when her shoe decided to fall off. 

A veritable Cinderella on the run from some unknown thing that probably wasn’t a prince. A string of curses that began in French and twisted to Polish left her mouth as she hastily turned around to snatch up her shoe. No Louboutin left behind. 

______________________________________________________________

Chasing ghosts was no unfamiliar thing for Emilio. He’d been looking for everyone and anyone who might have information on the massacre in Mexico since the day the massacre happened, as if turning everyone responsible to dust might make it easier to breathe. As if anything could. The methods got a little nasty sometimes, sure — pouring holy water down a vampire’s throat was hardly the kind of thing that could be considered polite — but it wasn’t as if the things he was killing hadn’t earned it. Maybe he took a little longer with them than he needed to, sometimes, but the way he saw it? They got off easy. Some people might consider it overkill, but those people had probably never seen their child murdered in the house they were supposed to be safe in. That was the kind of thing that changed a person’s perception a little. 

And it got them talking, sometimes. A lot of what they said was bullshit, of course — he’d had plenty of them swear that they’d never even been the Mexico when he’d seen them participating in the massacre himself, smiles on their faces — but he liked to check it out just to make sure. Part of being a detective meant leaving no stone unturned, and while Emilio might sometimes half-ass it when it came to the petty jobs his clients brought in, he was pretty thorough when it came to taking out the people responsible for his daughter’s death. Call him selfish.

The last one he’d taken out had given him a name. A vampire who’d been in Mexico at the time, someone they said might have been involved with the ‘planning’ phase of the massacre. Sofie Du Pont. Emilio wasn’t sure how accurate the information might be, but he was bound and determined to find out. No one who shouldered any of the blame for what happened that day ought to be allowed to walk around, to live a life. 

But… So far, Sofie Du Pont wasn’t setting off any alarm bells. She went dancing. She walked home. She didn’t even seem particularly physically imposing. Of course, if she was involved in the planning part of the massacre rather than the actual action of it, that didn’t mean much. The only way to figure out if that was true, he thought, was to talk to her.

And here was his opening. She lost her shoe, stopped to pick it up, and Emilio chose that moment to slink out from the shadows. He held a stake in hand, brandishing it as both a warning and a threat. “Sofie Du Pont,” he greeted hollowly. “I just want to talk. Don’t try to run. Not gonna get far in those shoes, I think.”

______________________________________________________________

Sofie’s heart plummeted somewhere six feet below her when she saw a man emerge from the shadows. A man with a stake. She was no fool- she couldn’t deal with a hunter on her own. Not when her only method of self defense was the stiletto heel in her hand. She was, to put it quite eloquently, fucked. 

Her hand closed around the shoe as she took a slow step backward, slipping her foot out of the other shoe. If she was going to go down, it wouldn’t be stumbling along like a doe on ice. Sofie’s eyes didn’t lift from the pointed piece of wood in the hunters hand. “You’d be surprised what I’m capable of in heels.” It would usually be an attempt at humor, but the teasing tone she usually used dried up in her throat. Instead, her voice held a grim acceptance. She’d had a good three hundred years… if this was how it ended, at least she’d finish on a relatively good note. 

“And you’ll find I talk much better when I’m not being stalked down by someone brandishing something like that.” The last word was spat out of her mouth like poison. She pointed to the stake. “Put it away, and you’ll find I’m much friendlier.” If he really did just want to chat, Sofie had to hope he’d be willing to make her at least a little more comfortable. 

______________________________________________________________

“I’m sure,” he replied, still flat. She looked nervous. Did she recognize him, he wondered? If she had been involved in the planning of the massacre, it was safe to assume she’d figured the same thing everyone else had — that the attempt had been a one hundred percent effective one, that the Cortez family were efficiently wiped off the map. No one knew Emilio had survived but, if Sofie Du Pont really had played a part in it, she’d have to know who he was. Even if she didn’t know his face specifically, he carried enough Cortez in his features to make it simple enough to pick out. Couple that with the accent, and it had to be obvious.

Was that why she looked afraid now? Because something she’d done two years ago was coming back to bite her now? Or was it the natural fear of being met in a dark alley with something that could kill you? Emilio wondered, sometimes, why the undead were so afraid to die. Wasn’t it easier after you’d done it once? Didn’t it get to be something you wanted, after a while? He’d only been around for thirty-four years, and already he craved it more than he ought to. How could someone live for hundreds and still flinch at the thought?

He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “I put this away, there’s not much stopping you from taking me out, is there? This puts us on even footing. Probably not what you’d prefer, but I can’t pretend I give a shit. But I won’t use it unless I have to. If that was what I was here for, I wouldn’t have started with a conversation. It’s like I said — I just want to talk.”

______________________________________________________________

It felt as though he were analyzing her. Any move she made could be misconstrued and that fact terrified her. She didn’t know what she did to warrant being stalked down on the street, and it wasn’t as though she had enough time to wait him out. Sunrise was only an hour off. Sofie slowly picked up the second shoe, prepared to bolt if she thought she’d have even half a chance. 

Sofie gritted her teeth. In another lifetime, where she wasn’t so spectacularly cushy, he may have had a point. She probably would have been able to take him on in a fight, or not felt so damned squeamish about taking a bite. But in this world, the most she could hope for was that what Metzli had taught her would mean the difference between turning into a pile of ash and seeing dusk that evening if things went sideways. 

“Well I wouldn’t want to get blood on my dress,” she sighed, hoping it came off as nonchalant. It didn’t. “It’s so difficult to get stains out of silk.” Sofie took another step back, providing herself some much needed distance. What would the few people she had befriended since arriving in town think, if she just vanished? What would Cassius think? Would they think she’d just left? Would anyone mourn her at all? “Who are you and what do you want? It’s not polite to stalk young women late at night.”

Was this the same way her family had felt before they’d been slayed? Sofie wondered. She shook the thought from her head and tried to focus on surviving this conversation. 

______________________________________________________________

There was a certain art to being a lone slayer. Unless you were good at it, you wouldn’t survive the experience for very long. There was a lot of balance to it, a lot of intimidation, and a healthy dose of bending the truth. It started with small things. Emilio made sure she hadn’t seen him approach so that she couldn’t clock his limp. He held himself carefully so as not to make it obvious that he carried most of his weight on his right leg while the left was essentially decorative. He maintained a defensive stance, as if he was ready to leap into action at any moment. 

Most slayers could keep up with a vampire who ran from them but, for Emilio, that wasn’t always true. That was okay. He didn’t need to be able to outpace her. He only needed her to think he could. If she didn’t think she stood a chance at getting away, she’d be much less likely to try. It was an art, a balance. And it was one of the only things left that Emilio was actually good at. 

“So I’ve heard,” he replied, still in that same flat, absent tone. He clicked his tongue as she took a step back, twirling the stake deliberately as if in warning. “Wouldn’t call it stalking. And wouldn’t call you young. It’s like I said, I’m here to talk. Specifically, about San Agustín Etla, Oaxaca. You were there in 2021, no? Spent some time there.”

______________________________________________________________

Her shoulders tensed, watching as he twirled the stake in his hands. Was it all just a game to him? She supposed it probably was. Slayers probably kept tallies of how many beasts they took down, swapping grizzly stories with all their slayer buddies. Telling glorious tales of how they saved humanity from the things that go bump in the night. But Sofie wasn’t a monster… or at least that’s what she told herself. She was cultured. She enjoyed things of beauty, works of literature, artistic masterpieces- she would rather sink her teeth into a good story than another person’s throat. Not when there were easier, more dignified ways to obtain what she needed to survive. 

“And how would you know how old I am, Monsieur?” She sneered. To all the world she looked young. Barely out of her mid twenties. Just how much did this man know of her life? “You seem to know my name, and haven’t been kind enough to tell me your own. You will find I’m much more cooperative when I’m shown a bit of respect.”

The ‘No’ had began to form on her tongue in response when she realized she had been in Oaxaca at that time. She had been low on money, and needed to sell something big. And the only thing that she had found that gained the interest of buyers with impossibly deep pockets were things that no one else in the world had. Missing works of art were one of those things, and Sofie was in possession of quite a few. Time forgot what happened to some pieces, especially when they were gifted to people who never died. 

She’d been selling off a Bracquemond piece for a rather large sum of money, and had been more than happy to travel if it meant a few extra zeros at the end of the paycheck. “I was,” she said slowly. “I had business. What of it?”

______________________________________________________________

“Call it a hunch.” The same vampire who’d given him her name had made it abundantly clear that she was, at the very least, older than Emilio. He wasn’t sure by how much, but he knew her age didn’t quite match up with her appearance. That was another thing that had always bothered him, just a little, about the undead. There was an undeniable manipulative aspect in their inability to age, a quiet way of tricking people into seeing them as something they weren’t. A girl in her twenties instead of a woman with fangs and claws, someone in danger instead of someone dangerous. Despite the stake in his hand, Emilio knew he didn’t have as much of an upper hand here as he might like to think. He never did. There was a reason so few slayers made it to old age, a reason Emilio making it to his thirties had felt like a miracle by itself. Maybe some supernatural creatures feared hunters, but at the end of the day? They were born to be cannon fodder. They were all dead from the beginning. 

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. Did she really not know his name, or was this part of the act? Normally, he’d be more capable of deciphering it. He was good at reading people, most of the time. But… When it came to the massacre, most of Emilio’s skills went out the window. The grief that existed around it was like an ocean, so vast and endless that nothing within it could survive treading water forever. “I don’t owe you my name,” he decided. If she didn’t know it already, she didn’t need to. 

And there it was. Confirmation. She was in Mexico at the time of the massacre. Now, the question remained as to why. What was the ‘business’ she’d had there? Plotting the systematic murder of civilians, of children? His jaw clenched, and he clenched his free hand into a fist, digging fingernails into his palm to keep himself grounded in the present. Too much thinking, and he’d be back there. Transported to that house, to those bodies, to his daughter’s blood on the soles of his shoes. 

“What business?” His voice was raw now, sounding less angry than he would have liked for it to. Instead, there was a hint of something a little too real to it, something a little too close to the grief that clawed its way into his chest years ago and never left. It took up residence behind his ribs and claimed squatters rights, and he’d found nothing that could evict it yet. Would killing her do it, if she were really one of the ones responsible for what had happened? Emilio knew the answer. He pretended not to, anyway. “Don’t — Don’t try to lie to me. I’ll know if you lie to me, so what business?”

______________________________________________________________

In the moments between words spoken, Sofie’s mind whirred with potential ways out. She could scream for help, and hope that someone was nearby to see a young woman in danger. Of course, it was possible he had a friend nearby for backup that would come help him instead. Or worse, some normal person would try to come to her aid, and by the time they got to her she’d be a pile of dust with a stake on top. She refocused when he started speaking again. “You’re right, you don’t owe me a name. But it’s how conversations work. And that’s what you said we were having.” Conversations were civil. Conversation implied she wouldn’t be dead before dawn. Or so she hoped

There was a palpable shift. One that had fear sinking deep into Sofie’s bones. The set of his jaw, the raw, lost sound in his voice. This was a man with nothing left to lose. The recognition sent her skittering back another inch. Realizing her mistake, she stepped forward the inch, her eyes still locked on the stake. 

“I sell antiques.” She cursed herself silently for the tremor in her voice. Sofie cleared her throat, and rolled her shoulders back. She would make it out of this. “I had traveled there to sell an expensive piece that I’d had in my collection for a long time.  I didn’t have anywhere to stay, and I knew of a clan nearby. They let me stay with them while I conducted my deal, and when it was finished, I returned to the States.” She forced her eyes to move up to his face so he could see the truth in them. “I was only there for three days.”

______________________________________________________________

“Plenty of conversations happen without it. This one can, too.” If there was one thing Emilio could be called, it was stubborn. He was a difficult man to convince to do something he didn’t want to do, particularly in a situation like this one where he felt that bending to another person’s will would lose him what little upper hand he had. 

Antiques. His eyes burned as they studied her face, looking for any sign that she might be lying. There was a tremor in her voice, small but present. She steeled herself against it like it was a physical thing, rolling her shoulders and holding her head up high, and Emilio wanted to scream. He wanted to rip the fucking world in two. She sold antiques. She was in Mexico, staying with a clan she happened to know and selling her fucking antiques, and his daughter was dying in the living room floor with her blood coating someone else’s fingernails. 

“That was nice of them,” he bit out, like every word was made of gravel, like it hurt to have them forced between his teeth. “Letting you stay. How kind. How —” He broke off with a trembling breath, and he didn’t know if it was rage or grief that ended the thought prematurely. He wasn’t entirely sure there was a difference. “June 27th. Were you there? Were you staying with that nice clan then? Enjoying your vacation, selling your antiques? Shooting the shit, making friends? Did they — Did they tell you their big plans for that week? How they were going to go out on the town, have a few laughs, and kill every goddamn person they came across? People going to the market, people visiting their families, people putting their kids to bed?” It was his voice that was trembling now, breaking on the last word in a way he tried to cover up by snapping his mouth shut as quickly as he could. His hands were shaking a little more than they usually did, heart beating faster than it was meant to. She was only there for three days. He still felt as though he’d never left. There was something almost funny about it.

He gripped the stake a little tighter, though it felt more like a security blanket than a weapon at this point. He wasn’t going to kill her with it; he didn’t think he ever really was. It was there because it was something to hold on to. “You said you knew them,” he said, the words tumbling out with a desperation that hadn’t been there before. “How? How well? Where are they now? Tell me — Tell me anything I can fucking use, for fuck’s sake.” 

______________________________________________________________

No matter how much she tried to steel herself, nothing could prepare her for the torrent of anger that spewed forth from the hunter. Sofie shrunk back against the wave of words, wincing as they crashed over her. Every syllable struck home to remind her that he thought she was a monster. That she was a monster. That any crumb of humanity within her had, in his opinion, faded into oblivion the moment blood passed through her lips. And if he was right, if she was a beast, did that mean she had to die? After all, lions roamed the savanna, stalking their prey. Bears and wildcats lived in forests- wolves too. All of them ate their prey to survive. Those beasts nature had seen fit to create all killed to survive. And nature, in its twisted fashion, had seen it fit to create vampires too. If that was the case, she was only doing what she had to to survive. She could not be blamed for her nature. Even if she loathed the feeling of being an apex predator and drank from crystal glasses and cardboard cups, she still did what she had to to survive. 

“I didn’t know.” Her voice held a quiet horror. “I didn’t know, I swear I did not.” Sofie shook her head, trying to shake the thought of a family slain from her head. The more she tried, the more it reminded her of her own, her sire, her little found family that she had held so dear, all nothing but dust. All returned to the earth because of men like him. Men who ended what they did not understand, even if it did no real harm. Anger all her own began to boil inside her. She held on tight to that anger. It would serve her far better than cowering on the street in the face of death like a frightened rabbit. He wanted a monster to looks at? She would give him one. She felt her teeth sharpen into the long fangs of a vampire, knew her eyes turned blood red instead of chocolate brown.

“I knew of them.” She hissed. “A friend of my brother’s from a century before had traveled with them. I needed somewhere to stay so I wouldn’t be burned.” Her eyes flicker to the sky as it had slowly started to turn into the deep purple-pink of dawn. “I concluded my business on the twenty-fifth. I was halfway to San Diego by dawn on the twenty seventh.” Sofie, allowing herself to be brave, took back the first step she’d given up. She would stay there and hold the line she’d drawn in the sand for herself. “I’m sorry but you have the wrong monster, Monsieur. I do not know anything of their plans, any names, or where they might be. I enjoy comfort, not needless slaughter. Perhaps do some more research before accusing an innocent.” She spat the words out. She knew the moment the last of her anger fizzled up, she’d regret the words and be a mess, but for that moment, she was bolder than she had a right to be. 

______________________________________________________________

The idea that she hadn’t known was somehow worse than the belief that she had. It was horrifying, the implication of it. That the murder of his family, the death of his daughter, the end of his world as a whole had been such a tiny blip on the clan’s radar that, mere days before it happened, they hadn’t even bothered discussing the plan. How could an event that tore his life to shreds be so insignificant to the world? How was it fair that his entire goddamn universe had bled out on the floor while the rest of the world spun on none the wiser? 

“You were with them for three days. How could you not know?” Did it matter so little to her who she stayed with? Was a roof over her head a good enough thing that she didn’t care who was offering it? At a certain point, the ignorance had to be willful, didn’t it? It had to be intentional. You closed your eyes to something because you wanted to, because it didn’t affect you. It was someone else’s daughter dying in her father’s arms, someone else’s nephew choking on his own blood in the streets, so why bother thinking about it? Why bother processing it at all? 

He saw the anger replace the fear in her eyes, and it was better that way. It was what he wanted. Anger was always so much easier to swallow, so much easier to understand. You could turn anger into a tangible thing, could use it to hit something and tell yourself it made things better. “Comfort,” he repeated flatly, the word like ash on his tongue. “Of course. Mala mía. I hope you enjoyed your comfort, then, in the company of men planning their slaughter. I hope they put you up in a nice room, gave you soft sheets while they discussed the best way to rip a child’s breath from her lungs. You can enjoy your comfort. But the least you could do, I think, is acknowledge who gave it to you. You’re angry with me for accusing you? You want to talk about innocents? Your comfort those three days you spent selling your antiques, it was given to you by hands soaked in the blood of children. Maybe you don’t enjoy needless slaughter, but it’s safe to say you’ve benefited from it. In those days. In others, too, if this sort of self-righteous ignorancia is one you carry with you all the time. How many clans have you stayed with for your comfort that you knew little about? Probably more than one, no? You think they were all kind and innocent? I promise you they weren’t. La ignorancia no es inocencia. Closing your eyes to things does not make you innocent. It only makes you complacent.” 

Jaw clenched so tightly it hurt now, he tossed the stake on the ground between them. The thump of the wood hitting the concrete seemed to echo through the empty street, though Emilio could hardly hear it over the pounding of his own heart. He took a step back, clearing an easy path for her to slip by him. “You’d better go, then. I would hate for your comfort to be sacrificed. Maybe you can find someone to stay with. I’m sure there’s a nice vampire nearby just finishing off whatever toddler they’ve decided to snack on tonight. If you squint, I’m sure you can just miss the blood on their teeth.”

______________________________________________________________

Sofie was going to be sick. The more he went on, the more fear and anger waged war inside her. Anger had won out for a moment, but fear and a wave of guilt still swirled in her chest like a hurricane. Her Spanish was elementary at best. She’d barely spoken with her hosts those three days, and when they had it had been in French, and only about what had happened to her clan. No one there had told her what their plans were. She wasn’t one of theirs, so why would she need to know? It didn’t excuse the fact that the man’s family was dead. She hoped it was some grand mistake. That it wasn’t the same clan, that someone had got it wrong. Because if she’d been there when they’d been planning that… 

“In case you couldn’t tell,” She said, her anger starting to fizzle out “I speak French. And Polish. We didn’t talk much.” The last of her anger surging to win the battle inside her, she continued. “I was not one of theirs. They didn’t discuss their deeds with the likes of me, so I didn’t have a fucking clue. I wasn’t one of their clan. Mine were killed by jebane dranie like you. Potwór.” It was somewhere between a hiss and a sob, but she forced herself to steel her emotions once more. Just a little longer Zofia, Sofie told herself. Just a little longer. “Not that you give a damn. We’re all the same to you. Just another head to mount on your wall like a fucking trophy. Is it so easy to forget we were once human too? If it brings you comfort, Monsieur, I would not have stayed with them if I’d known they were planning that. My clan didn’t operate like that. But they’re all gone because of potwór- monsters- like you. So you’re not the only one who’s lost someone to the things that go bump in the night.” 

She watched the stake roll in a circle on the ground, mere inches away from her. She looked up at him, her eyes still simmering. She didn’t trust him to pull out another stake and strike her down as she passed. She took one step backward, then another, keeping her face to him. Then, Sofie turned to run. 

______________________________________________________________

“And you were blind, too, is that it? There were clues. You don’t need to speak a language to see.” She was there. That was all that mattered to him. Not that she hadn’t understood any of it, not that she didn’t know what they were planning, but that she was there. When she spoke of his own clan, he let out a sharp, brittle laugh. “And how old were they when they died, your clan? What did they have for breakfast that morning? They’d already gotten more years than they should have, already kept it going by drinking blood. Maybe they didn’t deserve to die, I don’t know. But you won’t see me call it a tragedy. My daughter was four. She got four years of a life. She ate oatmeal for breakfast. She never hurt anyone. You want me to feel bad for something someone I never met did years before I was born? People you stayed with three days before ripped my child’s throat out in her living room. I won’t grieve for what you’ve lost. I won’t pity you for your ignorance.”

It was the first time he’d said as much in two years, the first time he’d even mentioned Flora aloud since her death. Funny, what rage could do when mixed with grief. Funny in the worst kind of way. “If you were all the same to me, I would have killed you before you knew I was there. I asked you. I asked. You don’t get to accuse me of being a monster for making you realize you broke bread with them. And you don’t get to pretend to understand what I’ve lost. You want to tell yourself you faced a big, bad monster in the night, you do that. You go, you tell everyone how brave you are. And you do it knowing that you found your comfort under their roof, and you benefited from it. I never said I wasn’t a monster. I never said I was innocent. You’re the one going around and saying that.”

He was breathing heavy by the time she finally turned to run, heart pounding like he’d just run a marathon. It felt like he had, like he was still trying to claw his way to the finish line. He watched her disappear down the street, and he felt empty. He wasn’t sure why he’d let himself believe, even for a second, that he was capable of feeling anything else.

[nicsalazar]

Doggone it || Emilio & Nicole

TIMING: Mid July LOCATION: Worm Row PARTIES: @mortemoppetere & @nicsalazar SUMMARY: Perro and Nacho's playdate gets interrupted by a hedgehound. CONTENT WARNING: None

Nicole leaned against the fence —despite the rust that would likely stick to her jacket— arms crossed over her chest as she watched Nacho jump on one of the other dogs. Perhaps, with a little too much energy. The pair had enjoyed a short walk before coming to the park, taking advantage of the unusually favorable weather conditions, but apparently that hadn't lessened his excitement about making new friends.

On the other hand, Nicole’s anxiety was… mostly at bay, but it still lingered at the prospect of meeting a stranger. Someone she knew, but didn’t really know. She subtly glanced at Emilio, who similarly kept an eye on Perro. She didn’t mind the lack of conversation. It didn’t feel like either of them were trying to fill the silence with unnecessary chatter. Which was miles better than wanting to talk but not knowing what to say. The most common scenario for her. Though Nicole’s curiosity kept growing, the more times they did this whole playdate thing. She had been content exchanging a few pleasantries and sticking with dog talk on previous occasions. It helped break the ice, soothe her own awkwardness. But it couldn’t hurt to push a little, right? See where that got her. 

“So, Emilio—” Nicole was just stating his name, not trying to get his attention. His name, coupled with the one he gave his dog had her wondering. “Where’s that… where are you from?” 

There was tension clinging to his shoulders as he watched Perro run through the park, though he knew it wasn’t a necessary anxiety. It was something that hadn’t left him entirely in years now, something that had made a home in his chest and refused to leave. It subsided, sometimes, with people he knew well enough. He could hang out with Andy or Leticia without feeling it, could spend time with Metzli and Nora and feel it push itself to the backburner. But Nicole… Emilio liked her. She was decent enough. But she was also still close to a stranger, even after several of these outings. They stuck to small talk, and that was fine. That was easy. 

But it did nothing for the tension.

Maybe Nicole felt it too. That was just about the only reason Emilio could imagine for the sudden shift in policy here. Where she’d normally ask about Perro, she surprised him and asked about him instead. Without meaning to, Emilio bristled. “Mexico,” he replied, realizing belatedly that that was obvious. His accent tended to give him away, and his slippery grasp of English usually confirmed it. Shifting, he decided to get a little more specific, at least. “Oaxaca. Left a couple years ago. What about you?”

It wasn’t often Nicole experienced a conversational win. If she could call it that. Was that a term present in the English language? She supposed only people drowning in anxious thoughts would even think to have a name for that. But, yes, it was a good choice to have broadened the conversation, because Emilio didn’t shut her down. So, win. If anything he appeared less… himself. Well, the version of him that she’d met so far, which was a lot like if someone shoved a mirror in front of a twenty two-year old Nicole, but that was neither here nor there. Maybe even the more real version of himself. Or— 

She shook her head, putting a stop to the snowballing effect one simple concept had in her head. Stay present, cut that shit out. 

“Ah, that tracks” she hummed, only confirming her suspicions. “Never been there, must be beautiful,” why would she? She had no connections to Mexico. But Nicole tried not to overthink whatever came out of her mouth. Good luck with that. “I figured, you know…” she gestured at his entire existence, omitting all the other facts she had already gone over, because well, obvious. “Not a lot of people around here name their dog Perro. But I guess— it does sound like something white people would do just to…” she added the last bit absently, preoccupied with her dog, who had decided to start pushing one of the smaller dogs. “Nacho, knock it off”. As well trained as he was, he had always been oblivious to his own strength.  

Nicole uncrossed her arms, fidgeting with her sleeve instead when the same question returned her way. “I’m from here. Not here, here. Connecticut” she pursed her lips, casually avoiding stepping on the emotional landmine associated with that kind of information. “But…” she gestured at herself this time. “One side came from Guatemala. Another’s from Puerto Rico” though, there wasn’t much tethering to her culture these days. “Never actually touched either place. Would be cool though. Warmer”.  

Beautiful. Emilio wasn’t sure it was a word he would assign to his home. Not anymore, at least. Could a place be beautiful with blood in the dirt? Could a place be nice when your last memory of it was in fleeing for your life? He struggled, sometimes, to remember the good parts. He struggled to picture his daughter’s face without seeing it still and lifeless, struggled to remember his wife without remembering how her corpse had looked in the living room floor. He wondered if other people were better at it or if it was normal to only know people as ghosts once they were gone, even when you’d loved them with everything you had while they were alive. Maybe, he thought, he was just bad at loving. Maybe he was the problem.

“It was,” he said, instead of saying any of the things he was thinking. Nicole didn’t need to hear the rest of it, and he doubted she’d want to. They were acquaintances who sometimes met at the dog park and let their dogs chase each other around. There was no need to make things any deeper than they had to be. The conversation felt a little less stifling as it went on, and he found himself letting out a small sigh and accompanying it with half a smile. “Ah, white people do shit like that all the time,” he agreed. White Americans more often than most.

Watching her out of the corner of his eyes while he kept most of his attention on the dogs, he nodded. “I haven’t been to that one,” he said. “Connecticut.” He struggled a little with the pronunciation, making a face. “It get cold there? Not sure I’m ready for my first full winter in Maine. I’m not a fan of the cold.” He nodded again as she spoke of her heritage. “Parents speak Spanish at home? Or always English?”

Nicole might have skillfully avoided stepping into her own tricky territory, but for one mortifying second she feared she set Emilio up for it. Navigating Wicked rest was difficult like that sometimes, everyone carried so much baggage that having a simple conversation felt impossible. She kept her eyes ahead, not really looking anymore, too aware of her own body as she waited for an answer to come. And when it did, it was good enough for Nicole to move on. He didn’t provide further comment, which seemed like a sign to drop it. Maybe she’d ask about Mexico some other time. She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head at his quip. “Giving them middle names and shit” she mumbled to herself, the corners of her mouth curving into the faintest smile. 

She raised a shoulder, “eh, kind of a boring place, at least where I lived. You’re not missing much” Nicole imagined things would’ve been different in a big city as opposed to Eastford, but if she really stopped to think about it, no one ever mentioned Connecticut, did they? “It gets cold, yeah” she grinned, now turning her full attention toward him, a glimmer of amusement reached her eyes. “Oh, you’re not gonna like it. Layers… lots of layers” she squinted at him, “I think you’re in the wrong coast, if you want warm weather” the question was on the tip of her tongue. It was a classic, anytime she met someone new. Why Wicked’s rest, then? No one came here for pleasure. But she chose to take a roundabout. “Maybe once you’re done…doing whatever it is you’re doing here you should look into it”.  

She kept her smile in place, his question poking the dormant beast that were her memories. “Yeah… lots of Spanish at home. My grandparents, actually. They didn’t speak any English. Had to communicate somehow”. She had taken it for granted as a kid, but realizing not everyone grew up learning their native tongue made her grateful her family had tried to keep it alive. “I think…” she tilted her head, waiting for the thought to fully form in her head before blurting out nonsense. “Sometimes, English feels safer. Um. Like… it has no heart” it was a lot easier to communicate feelings that way, Nicole thought. “But also, it makes no fucking sense as a language, does it? Did you have a hard time?”

There were obvious differences in culture between the two of them, of course; even beyond her being born in America while he was born in Mexico, Emilio knew that their upbringings likely looked nothing alike. No one raised children the way hunters raised children, and few hunters raised children the way Elena Cortez had. Still, there were things to bond over. Still, there were people to mock. Emilio grinned, shaking his head. “Ay, why do they love to put different letters in their names? Things that don’t fit at all. They put a ‘y’ instead of an ‘e’ sometimes. Do you know that?” She probably did.

He hummed, wondering just how ‘boring’ a place could be. As a slayer, he tended to make his own excitement. Most places had an undead underbelly, even if the biggest portion of the population knew nothing of it. But few places were as active as Wicked’s Rest had proven itself to be. In a town full of the undead, Emilio got to stay busy. He liked it that way. The less time he had to think, the less he could drive himself mad with it. Connecticut probably wouldn’t have suited him. “Probably need to buy more jackets,” he acknowledged. “One of those big poofy ones. You think I could pull it off?” It was easier talking to her than he thought it’d be. Normally, Emilio required a lot more time before he’d allow himself to fall into this kind of quiet humor. But there was something familiar about Nicole, something that left him feeling a little more at home. A bit of shared culture, even if it was small, went a very long way. 

But then she spoke of where he might go when he was finished, and the humor faded. There was only one kind of ‘finished’ for him, and it wouldn’t see him packing up to move to the east coast. But that wasn’t the sort of thing you said to a near stranger, so Emilio only shrugged. “Yeah,” he agreed, maybe.” Luckily, things didn’t stay heavy for long. He listened to her speak of her grandparents, nodding his head. Maybe she had a point, about English feeling safer. In Spanish, Emilio felt he was more himself. He understood better, he communicated better. And that was a double-edged sword, sometimes. It felt so intimate, speaking the language he’d grown up with. Like he was showing the world a part of himself that he wasn’t sure he wanted them to see, like he was exposing a raw nerve to the air and begging someone to touch it. He didn’t always like it. “Oh, it does make no sense. I still have a hard time. People say things, sometimes, and it sounds like galimatías. Like words with no meaning. Don’t you think so?”

Nicole’s gaze darted skyward, contemplating Emilio’s point. No, really, why did they do that? Was that their way of pretending they had more culture than they did? Were they just…trying to be— whimsical? “They're a strange group of people…I’ve no clue” she frowned, offering a one shoulder shrug. The question stayed with her for a little longer than it should have. Until the conversation moved to fashion, and it elicited a chuckle out of her. She wasn’t the right person to weigh in on the matter.  

She half-turned toward him, seizing him up. Men's faces tended to blur for her anytime she stared at them too long. But she supposed Emilio was okay looking. A good jaw, symmetrical. Decent height. On the handsome side, if Nicole ignored the scent of alcohol imbued in him. But this was just playful banter. He wasn’t actually in need of fashion advice. “Hm, maybe. It’d look cozy on you. Might lose the tough guy cred, though…you okay with that?” granted, him having a dog who looked like that already took several points from him, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. 

She looked away, unconcerned that he didn’t take the poorly set bait. It had been vague enough to give him wiggle room. Nicole hummed, a smile spreading across her face as she heard him speak with his Spanish accent. She hadn’t heard anyone say galimatías since her grandpa. She didn’t know people used that term nowadays. “I guess… it’s different when you grew up with both mixed up. You know what never made sense to me, though? Sayings. That shit— it always makes less sense in English” she let out a huff, getting stupidly riled up as she recalled that damn counting chickens before the hatch thing. “Pisses me off”. Though maybe, that was her just being slow.

Nicole mused on all the ways the English language was flawed (don’t get her started on the phonetics), that she didn’t pick up the barking at first. The animals must’ve sensed something, but even as she scanned their surroundings,she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. She smacked Emilio in the arm, though the action wasn’t needed. He had also noticed the way the animals were acting up. 

“Me either.” Of course, Emilio didn’t tend to understand anyone. When you were raised the way he’d been raised, everyone else seemed strange in comparison. They got worked up over silly things that didn’t matter, they overlooked big things that did. None of it made any sense, and it was so difficult to wrap his head around it all. Sometimes, he didn’t realize that something that had been normal growing up for him was horrifying to strangers until he mentioned it in casual conversation. Always made things awkward.

But things weren’t awkward with Nicole. Not yet, not until he inevitably ruined it sometime in the future. He raised a brow at her comment, huffing a quiet laugh. “I think I’ll survive without it,” he confirmed. It was better, he thought, if people didn’t think you were tough when they first saw you. It meant they were more likely to hold back, to make a mistake. You could go a long way on someone else’s mistake; Emilio had managed to snatch survival out of impossible situations because of them.

He nodded, thinking of his own upbringing. English hadn’t really come into play until Rhett came around, until he started following a stranger around like a lost dog. The warden used plenty of sayings… but none of them were really Americanized. “Most of them sound stupid,” he agreed. “Pisses me off, too.” Though, really, what didn’t? 

He felt it first. The telltale sense of something undead, close enough to set him off, but far enough that he didn’t think much of it. But then, the barking started. Brow furrowed, he looked over to where Nacho, Perro, and a few other dogs in the park were all gathered around the fence, barking and growling at the vines and the trees on the other side of it. For a moment, Emilio wondered if there was simply an animal or something they’d all spotted… but then the vines themselves moved, and he shot to his feet quickly enough for it to be painful. “We should go grab them,” he said quickly, not sure how to explain his suspicions. 

She had seen this sort of… vine skeleton before. Years ago, hiking. It had been a deer, partly consumed by it, eating away at other living creatures in the vicinity. By then, Nicole had learned not to play the hero if she was alone. She just walked faster, disappeared from its sight. If it had any. Never saw anything like it again. But the memory never left her. The half eaten animals, with vines spreading through their fur, thorns sinking into flesh. Infected. The one slowly appearing through the fence wasn’t a deer. It was smaller. Had maybe been a fox, a dog, or a squirrel. It was hard to tell when all it remained were the vines taking on some sort of skeletal shape. 

It wasn’t pouncing on anyone yet, but Nicole wasn’t sure how long that would last, considering how distressed the dogs around the park were. She didn’t reply, only followed behind Emilio as they rushed to the animals. The few other owners around the park seemed to get a clue slowly, moving to pull their pets to safety. 

“Fire” Nicole urged Emilio as she crouched next to Nacho, hooking his leash and trying to convince him play time was over. “Got a lighter? Matches? That thing should go up in flames, no? It’s all plant”. She stood, stepping back from the creature, pulling Nacho along. The idea of just escaping with their dogs was tempting, leaving the vine creature to go back to the wilderness. But having this type of monster wandering around the area wasn’t safe for other pets, right? It could always creep back to where it came from, wait for a different time and pounce on other people’s pets. Maybe it didn’t know its way back, so it’d always be lurking around. Threatening other animals. They had to get rid of it. Make sure no one got hurt. 

Hedgehound. The word came to him immediately, sticking in his head with a few facts about it. It was like that, sometimes; like his head was a dictionary of undead things and how to kill them, like he was a well of knowledge that only knew how to destroy. In this case, he figured it was a positive. Hedgehounds weren’t the most dangerous undead things out there, but they certainly weren’t safe for animals to be around. They definitely weren’t good to have at a damn dog park.

Nicole seemed quick to agree with his sentiment that they needed to get to the dogs, and Emilio noted the fact that there was no shock there. No disbelief, no panic. Nothing that would exist in someone who didn’t already know that the world was a little bit bigger than what most people thought.

Apparently, she was pretty knowledgeable. Hedgehounds needed fire to be destroyed, and Nicole was asking if he had a match. Emilio took a moment to consider this as he scooped up Perro, gently steering a few of the other dogs away from the beast with his foot. “Lighter,” he confirmed. “Jacket pocket. You want to grab it for me while I get these guys out of trouble?” Perro and Nacho were safe, but Emilio didn’t want any of the other dogs here to fall victim to this thing while their owners were across the park socializing with one another and ignoring the chaos. 

Nicole nodded, though part of her grew wildly uncomfortable. Sure, she could grab the lighter. She could put her hands on another person’s body to retrieve the item that would solve all of their problems. Why would that be an issue? She made sure to touch as little of Emilio as possible before the lighter slipped through her fingers, bouncing on the ground. She picked it up, taking a second to watch Emilio help people with their pets, and then waited for the creature to react. To retreat. But the hedgehound was a slow creature, it didn’t understand that everyone was evacuating the park. It wouldn’t go by itself. So that really meant—

She looked at the lighter in her hands. Right. Emilio agreed, it was better to get rid of the monster than to let it go. Nicole lifted her gaze, scanning the area to assess her surroundings. The fence looked tall and sturdy enough to maybe prevent flames from jumping. To keep the burning contained. But she could never be completely sure. What if the wind changed? The treeline was at a safe distance, the fuel around them not too generous. The perks of coming to a beat up dog park. But— if the hedgehound ran as it caught on fire? 

She wouldn’t normally go into this without more consideration but…fuck— How was this normal anyway? Whatever came at them, they’d have to handle it after. Nicole hated the idea of starting a fire, but she hated the thought of animals being infected by the vines a little more. And maybe her priorities were fucked up, maybe not, but she’d reflect on it when Nacho and the rest of the dogs were no longer under its threat. She patted her clothes searching for a piece of paper. Something small, something easily extinguishable — at least in theory— to create some sort of small torch to throw at it. A receipt from the grocery store would have to do. She stepped closer to the creature, rolling the paper between her fingertips. Once she lit it on fire, she moved quickly, maneuvering close enough to extend her arm and twisting the paper against the side of its head. For a second it looked like it was ineffective, but then steadily, the fire began creeping up the creature.  

She was strangely careful in grabbing the lighter, but Emilio didn’t have time to question it. There were dogs to be saved. He trusted Nicole to do her part as he did his, ushering dogs across the park and towards their unattentive owners. Nicole knew enough to know how to kill a hedgehound, and that meant Emilio trusted her a little bit more than he had before, meant he figured she could handle herself long enough for him to get the dogs to safety.

Except… she was hesitating. She was looking uncertain, she was pausing. Emilio turned, ready to race back towards her and yank the lighter from her hand, ready to do it himself. He shouldn’t have worried. Nicole was on it. A second after that uncertain concern gripped him, she was searching for something to spark the flame, and then she was doing it. Lighting the paper on fire, then the hedgehound. The dogs, seeing the fire and feeling that instinctive fear that told them such things were dangerous, turned tail and ran, leaving only Nacho and Perro to stand behind their owners.

The hedgehound went up, flames dancing over every inch of it by the time Emilio made his way back to Nicole. He watched the fire with a faint fascination, the light reflected in his eyes. “Good,” he breathed. “Good move. Uh, should… burn itself out in a few minutes.” 

Fire was captivating. Nicole didn’t reject the warmth spreading beneath her sternum, watching the familiar sight before her. Despite being a firefighter —or maybe because of it— she understood why someone might be drawn to the beauty of it. From the casual bonfire, to the blazing inferno she dealt with every summer, to this, weak flames licking at the vines, leaving no trace of the life it took. As beautiful as it was unsettling. She threw what remained of the receipt on the ground, putting it out with the heel of her boot. Slowly she circled around the monster, attempting to kick away anything that could ignite. She would’ve tried drawing a fireline, but to their relief, it looked to be completely under control. Contained, provided the wind didn’t decide to make their evening any shittier. 

Nicole wasn’t sure if the creature was in any pain, which was the worst part of this. It didn’t look like it. It just stood there, didn’t protest, didn’t have a mouth to cry, didn’t fight or roll on the ground to try putting out the flames. It just let it happen. She turned around, checking how Emilio was faring with his own task. The park was nearly empty now, except for him, Perro and Nacho behind him. She nodded at him, gratitude in her eyes as she watched him approach. “So you know— knew… whatever this thing is?” She supposed there was a deeper implication in her words. Did he know the town wasn’t normal, then? It wasn’t hard to gather he might be in the known. Small comments in passing here and there. But no concrete evidence. 

Just like he said, it didn’t take long until the creature burned completely, remnants failing to propagate onto the rest of the field. Nicole stomped on the ashes, snuffing out anything that could potentially jump. “So much for a safe park” she scoffed, but the corner of her lips curled up. “Forgot to mention the thing” she waved at the ground. She blew a tense breath, handing back the lighter. “Thank you,” she nodded again, walking away from the ashes and reaching for Nacho, who was already bouncing for her. She kneeled by his side, pulling him into a hug. “Should probably get out of here, in case it— that thing had pals around” she ruffled the top of her dog’s head, an apologetic smile on her lips, “I’m sorry” he was getting extra play time next time. She glanced up at Emilio, slowly rising to her feet. “Wouldn’t hurt to look for a new place either”.

It burned out quickly, and that was a good thing. Emilio had no desire to set the dog park on fire, even if he wanted to make sure the hedgehound didn’t hurt anyone here. It might have been worth setting the park on fire to preserve life, might have been a fair enough trade so long as no one got hurt, but it didn’t matter. The fire burned out quickly, and everyone was all right except for the hedgehound. That was the way things were supposed to be.

He shrugged as Nicole questioned him, looking at the dogs so he didn’t have to look at her. You were supposed to keep the supernatural secret. It was part of the hunter code, part of their job. But Nicole already knew, didn’t she? She knew enough to set the thing on fire, knew enough not to panic at the mere sight of it. Why bother keeping a secret from someone who obviously knew it already? “Hedgehound,” he replied. “Undead thing.” He figured that was enough of an explanation. If he knew the name of it, she’d know he knew more than that. And that was fine. It was okay for her to know. 

The thing collapsed into dust, the way undead things had a tendency to do. Emilio watched her stomp out any sparks, snorted at her words. “Eh. Probably safe as far as this town goes.” Nowhere in Wicked’s Rest was really safe. The number of missing persons cases that made their way onto his desk was proof enough of that. “No problem,” he replied, shrugging. “Wasn’t gonna let anybody get hurt.” And that included the dogs. He saw how much she clearly cared about Nacho, knew how much he cared about Perro and figured it was the same. Kneeling with some difficulty, he clipped Perro’s leash to his harness. “Yeah,” he agreed, “don’t want to be around if the police show up, either. Sure one of those gringos called.” They couldn’t keep an eye on their own dogs, but they’d surely alert the authorities at the first sign of trouble. Emilio rolled his eyes at the thought of it. “Right. We can do an internet search. ‘Dog park - no undead things.’ We’ll find one.”