#t;kadavernagh

[eliaskahtri]

Unravelling Pt 2 || Elias & Regan

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Autopsy Suite PARTIES: Regan (@kadavernagh) and Elias SUMMARY: Elias discovers the truth about where he's been working and the world overall. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

So far, so good. Though Elias had been shaken by the death he’d witnessed, he didn’t seem to be suspicious that it was anything other than a regular old human-homicide. Regan intended to keep it that way. But the autopsy would make that… a challenge. She had scheduled it without telling him, but he caught on. Then she’d tried to change the schedule, but he’d asked about it. And now, she tried to get it started while he was at lunch, but he knew. It was an unprofessional way to handle it, but she was out of ideas. She couldn’t punt this one on Dr. Rickers. Couldn’t decline to do an autopsy at all. And she certainly didn’t know how she was going to explain her omissions in the report. If there was a report at all. She might just be on the table next if Elias decided to strangle her.

Looking at the decedent laid out in front of her, still under a thin cloth, she wasn’t sure what else she could try. Short of trying to convince him he didn’t want to be here. Regan hesitated, guilt holding her tongue, but turned to Elias and eventually spoke. “I think you should sit this one out. I mean, you were there. You saw the death.” Yet she hadn’t protested at the crime scene. In fact, she had urged him to work, to persevere. She knew Elias would be struck by this fact, too, and she needed to do better. “It’s just… are you certain you wish for this to be your first real autopsy?”

Beneath her sternum, her heart pounded away faster than it had in years. The sheet over the decedent was the only thing, razer-thin as it was, separating Elias from knowing everything he ought to never know.

Dr. Kavanagh had been acting weird ever since he learned that they were doing the autopsy. Subtle hints that “maybe a different case would be easier” or “are you sure you’re up for this? You did see her die.” It was enough to drive Elias crazy. Did she hire him for this job or did she hire him to act like a dancing monkey while she worked for her own amusement? That’s what it was starting to feel like, and it was already feeling like that’s what he did at his other job. People laughed at him when he was just being himself over there. It was enough to drive him up the wall. And there was something about the way that wound had bubbled, it didn’t make sense unless it were some sort of acid. Why would someone coat a blade in acid? 

So there he was, standing there in a lab coat and gloves being told to sit it out. Again. “Regan, for the last time I can handle this.” Elias spoke in a stern tone. “Yes, I saw it happen. That makes me all the more determined to get justice for her.” His brows furrowed downward as he spoke, an intense burning gaze directed right at her. “I’m positive I want this to be my first autopsy.” He then said, crossing his arms over his chest. It was enough to annoy him, like all of a sudden she didn’t trust in his intellectual capabilities. “I know what I can handle.” He insisted, pointing a finger at her. “And I know that you’ve done everything you can to keep me away from this case.” He dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Are we getting to work or are we going to let the poor girl keep waiting?”

There was no deterring Elias. The same characteristic she usually found admirable was now a looming threat, and Regan didn’t know how to go about damage control. That was what she was looking at now, wasn’t it? Controlling the inevitable explosion? She had spent 6 years learning how to do just that, but this felt more wild and untamed than even her worst screams. She set her hands on the table, her knuckles tightening and fingers twitching. Elias would not budge. And if she acted any more suspicious, her own ability to practice would be put at risk. Her expression hardened and she turned to Elias, rigid and humorless. “If you’re so set on finding justice for this decedent… I want you to remember that feeling. Our findings and what we learn about the dead should never impact our care for them.” It was an ominous warning, one probably devoid of meaning for Elias right now, but also one she hoped he would carry with him.

She pulled the clipboard toward her. “Her name is Margot Creely. Her ID says she’s 30.” Of course, that was different from being 30. Regan thought of Conor, the septuagenarian. “I have already inspected her skin with the magnifying glass, checked for dyes, and washed her. You’re going to aid in the external examination to check for scars, tattoos, needle marks, and gross trauma. I want you to skip her legs. I will do those alone.” Wait. There was an important matter she needed to check on first. “Elias, do you still have that ring I gave you? Are you wearing it right now? If so, please remove it.” Even from underneath his gloves, she knew it could cause serious harm to the decedent’s skin, possibly obscuring other trauma and telling Elias too much in the process.

Elias frowned as she spoke, as if they were going to find something out that he wouldn’t like. He wanted to tell her to get on with it already, but that wouldn’t be good decorum. “Why are you doing the legs alone?” He then asked, finding the idea of only doing so much of the body with him present. He knew he wasn’t to question her methods and let her work as she wanted, but something about it simply rubbed him the wrong way. Something was off about the whole case, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what. 

Upon inquiring about the ring Regan had gifted him, Elias untucked the ring he kept as a necklace, then tucked it back under his shirt. “I don’t wear it on my hand.” He explained with a shrug of his shoulders. He then looked to Regan, giving her a strange look before picking up the clipboard beside him, pressing his lips together. There was no time like the present, he supposed. 

The whole situation had an air of tension to it. Between Regan being all cagey about the situation to how strange the workers at the bar had been acting toward him since the incident. They went from laughing at him to worrying over him, wanting to make sure that he had everything he needed and was alright after witnessing such a violent occurence in front of him. It was almost like they were afraid of him, suddenly. “We’re worried about you.” His boss had said to him, her usual form had been swapped out for long, sage green curls and a pair of horns. He wasn’t sure why suddenly she had begun dressing the same as the others in front of him, and it made him upset that he wasn’t able to do the same. Why couldn’t he have a cool fantasy creature costume too?

“Because… we must be methodical.” Regan had groped for an answer and landed on that, empty though it was. Her stomach decided it was true enough that it didn’t count as a lie. “Try to avoid the, uh, ears. And the horns.” Why did they need to have horns? “I mean, there’s no point in examining them, right? We will concern ourselves with the body. I’ve already looked at her clothes.” As if they were part of some costume. She’d let Elias believe that for as long as she possibly could. Satisfied that his ring was around his neck and of no cause for concern to the decedent (or herself), she knew the only thing she could do was proceed. Would Elias leave the room if she asked him to? Probably not. But if things got dicey, she was prepared to do so.

The woman’s legs were certainly not human. Or at least not by most definitions. Regan’s was often more flexible, considering herself and others inflicted with these conditions to be more akin to diseased Homo sapiens than anything else. Most wouldn’t agree. Elias wouldn’t agree. She swallowed thickly and began combing through the thick fur of the legs. Rigor had set in and not yet broken, so she couldn’t get them to flex. “I’ll take my own notes for this one rather than dictating or having you record them.” She said, knowing it would prompt questions but not seeing a way around it. Either he’d ask them now or he’d ask them when he noticed she wasn’t asking him to write things down. Regan moved on to the hooves – a decedent with hooves – and her frown nearly sank off her face as she observed them. They looked like the hooves of any ungulate, but well-manicured and with bright pink “horse shoes” pinned to the bottoms. 

Her eyes drifted over to Elias. “Speak out loud as you look. I want to know precisely what you are doing.” The hypocrisy was already welling up in her chest, and it felt bad. Like guilt.

He stared at the horns, how real they looked as if they were taken from an animal instead of handcrafted. Elias then turned his attention to the ears, as if they could flick on their own. Then to the legs, the way Regan’s hand went through the thick fur. He froze, how could such a thing be possible? He thought in the back of his mind, to the interaction he had online with the woman that there were things that defied explanation. That magic worked in tandem with science. He shook his head. No, no. That couldn’t be what was happening. 

He took a step forward, but then stopped again. The man who had assaulted him in the alley. He had talked of spriggans, of fauns and nymphs. Fauns. He remembered the way the wings of the bar patrons had moved so effortlessly as if… 

As if they were real. 

Elias’s blood ran cold.

“Regan.” He said, his voice raised up in pitch, color draining from his face. “Why are you wearing a coat.” He then asked, turning to look at her with a faraway look on his face. “When you first stopped me that time we met.” He stopped, brows furrowing into an accusatory stare. “Who are they?” He asked, referring to when she had called him one of them. There were so many things that hadn’t made sense that he tried so hard to ignore, to pretend that science would prevail and that he had found a group of people that loved cosplay as much as he did. That he had found a group of people that understood and accepted him. 

“And tell me the fucking truth.” 

Regan.

The way he said her name, the punch of emotion and clarion delivery, made Regan freeze. There was motion behind his eyes, idea sparking, and it was too late for her to defuse them. She didn’t like where this was going. What was it that tipped him off? The horns, the ears? Everything? This was a huge mistake, and she should have tried harder to peel Elias away from being here, even if Rickers was sicced on her for many months as a result. It was too late, though. Like every other living thing Regan set her hands on, skin was ripped from muscle and muscle was ripped from bone, and Elias was coming undone right before her eyes. Now all she could do was stare at what remained. Stare and wait for the accusations. There were so many things he could say, so many actions taken by her and probably countless others that were spinning through his brain. “...Yes?”

When it was clear that the autopsy had screeched to a halt, Regan stepped away from the decedent and stared hard at Elias. Of all the questions… did he know? No. He couldn’t. There was no possible way. He might have his suspicions about the bar, but not her, never her. 

“Because it’s cold in here.” Not untrue. But her words came too briskly and too punctuated to be believed, and she knew it. “That’s typically why people wear coats, is it not?” Though she had to admit that she looked pretty ridiculous with her PPE over a puffy winter jacket. That was probably against certain guidelines. 

And there it was. The look that came over Elias’s face, determination borne of being played the fool for months, was difficult to look at. Her stomach twisted; it knew what Regan didn’t want to accept: that she was implicated in some of the pain Elias was feeling now. That bitter edge. 

Her expression hardened to meet his. There was no more denying, only laying the plain and ugly truth bare in a way he never should have known about. Regan had tried her best to bury it deeper than the dead, but Elias disinterred it. “You want the truth?” The air in the autopsy suite grew thick with more than just the scent of formaldehyde, so thick Regan was sure it could be cut with a scalpel. 

“They are monsters.” The word monsters was sharp against her throat, more lethal than the blades her skin had grown accustomed to. Like gargling glass. The truth could hurt more than a lie. She turned her head, gaze growing more focused with each word, her eyes and face tighter. “They’re dangerous monsters who leech off humanity while pretending to be among them. They inculcate their young and prey off the unsuspecting. They’re repulsive, difficult to look at. And they can do things that defy current, rational knowledge.” Something lodged itself in her throat again, and she wasn’t sure if it was her disgusting emotions or a scream responding to the onslaught of feelings being tapped to the surface. She grit her teeth and bit down on her tongue either way. She had backed far away from the cadaver, and Elias, when she spoke again. “They used you as their court jester, Elias. They have little to no regard for you. They’d put you on this table without a second thought.” 

Her jaw trembled slightly, and she clenched it hard against the nerves. 

“Is that the precious truth that you wanted?”

Something in Elias was compelled to reach out and touch the body, to tug on the antlers, poke at the ears. No matter how confused he felt, he knew he couldn’t bring himself to do so. It wouldn’t be respectful, no matter if she was a revelation to him or not. A ringing in his ears begun, he felt like he was going crazy, as if the very fabric of reality was being torn away from under him. The worst part was there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was happening to him whether he wanted it to or not. Ever since he moved to the town, his life has felt like a runaway train he couldn't stop, and it felt like that train was dangerously close to derailing. 

But he didn’t feel crazy. For once, he felt clarity. And the more Regan talked, the angrier he became. “So instead of telling me the truth, you’ve kept this from me.” He spoke, tone unreadable, but firm. “You act as if you’re different from them.” He then said, finally looking up from the body to stare at Regan. “You’re wearing a coat all of a sudden, curious to know what you're hiding under there.” Elias accused, thinking to all the fae in the bar that had long, beautiful wings. Could she be hiding them? How else would she know so much? She was hiding something from him even still. 

“You’re one of them, you have to be.” He then accused, tone turning from firm to angry, eyes narrowing. “You knew this whole time and instead of equipping me with the knowledge I needed, you let me keep working at that bar that was using me for their own entertainment!” He was shouting now, but he couldn’t help it. That train was tumbling down the tracks at a break neck speed and there was nothing Elias could do to stop it. 

There were things in this world he couldn’t explain no matter how hard he tried, and he hated it. He hated that he knew this, he didn’t want to know. But the more Elias thought that, the angrier he became. He didn’t want to know any of this, but he felt more angry in the fact that there were people hellbent on keeping the secret from him entirely. Letting him keep working there. Letting him live in ignorance and make a complete fool out of himself. 

Sure, Regan had warned him, she had given him something that apparently worked against fae, but she still didn’t tell him the whole truth. “Why wouldn’t you tell me this from the beginning?” He then asked, less angry, but still betrayed. “Why did you let them treat me like I was nothing more than an oddity to them?” He took a step back, throwing the clipboard down on the table beside him. He thought back to his experience with that man who was hellbent on treating fae like they were evil. Were they evil? The people he had met at the bar, even if they found him hilarious, were still people. And as angry as he was, he couldn't see them as Regan saw them. Monsters.

“They’re not monsters,” he finally said, his entire body vibrating, ears ringing louder than ever before. “They’re not monsters, but there are people out there that think that they are, and I’ve met them too. And I was stupid and didn’t believe him.” His eyes flickered around, as if searching for something. “I don’t know why I believe all this.” He began to say, rubbing his hands over his face while letting out a deep sigh. “But it all makes sense. I’ve been told many times that fae are real and I refused to see the truth.” He shook his head, finally looking back to the dead woman laying on the metal slab. 

This woman who had been killed, she was different than him. She had abilities that Elias would never truly grasp, but he knew one thing that rang truer than everything else. “I may not understand all this, but they’re not monsters. I’ve seen firsthand that they’re kind and just like anyone else. Sure they have… weird abilities I may not know about yet, but they’re just… people.” He blinked. “Just people.”

Emotion swam through Elias’s eyes, flashing from one realization to the next. Regan didn’t want to know what dots he was connecting, but she suspected she was about to hear all about it anyway. She clenched her fists, bracing herself to not react. She had to be as impassive as the decedent on the table, as firm as her grandmother, and as professional as a medical examiner ought to be under any circumstances. Still, her chest welled up with tension and her muscles tightened. “Yes, I did. I could justify it, but you don’t care to hear it.” That much was clear. And besides, Regan wasn’t sure her justifications were good. She wanted to keep everyone safe – Elias and the secrets slithering below this town – but in the process she might have exposed everyone to danger. And she had known Elias, in his determination, would get close to the truth eventually. This moment had been a comet stretching across the sky for weeks.

Despite steeling herself, Regan’s eyes flicked down to the cold tile when Elias mentioned the coat again. And accused her of being one of them. How – “You’ve seen me without this coat plenty of times.” She was quick to reply, but it felt like a hail Mary when it came out. “There are dozens of ways I could have learned what I know, and I can assure you that I am not one of them.” Was it a lie? The truth? Regan wasn’t sure, and her stomach flipped in confusion. “How was I to know you wouldn’t pose a threat, Elias? I may not care for them, and I think they pose a far greater threat to you, but some things are not meant to be known by most people.”  

Without realizing it, she had started pacing at some point. She was boiling under her coat. Elias’s voice echoed through the autopsy room and her body felt stiffer and stiffer. Regan looked to her decedent, silently apologizing. It was a futile thought, but this was not the kind of autopsy she ever wished to be providing, scarred by shouting and secrets.

Elias grew quiet, but Regan didn’t think he was any less angry. How was this going to end? Would he quit? Refuse to speak to her? She dug her nails into her palms, little half-moon slits forming through her gloves, frustrated that she cared. Not monsters? He knew nothing. Practically nothing. How could he declare they weren’t monsters? He had practically been pleading for the smallest amount of information and when she’d presented it to him he rejected the most important part. Regan stayed quiet herself and finally narrowed her eyes at him in response. “If you think that, you’re still just as ignorant as you were before.”

With that, Regan turned away from him as much as she could muster and stood in the shadows of the shelves. Shame burned her, and guilt pitched down to her feet and threatened to pull her under. Her lungs would surely protest soon. She had made a mistake, but she wasn’t certain it was the one Elias thought it was. Those daoine, Cliodhna would say, never lower yourself to caring for them. They’re good at dying, and not much else. They lack the capacity to understand what you know innately to be right and true. Care for one, and you neglect your duty. Care for one, and Fate will set things right. Regan turned slightly, eyeing her decedent – the woman’s horns and ears holding her gaze for a moment – then Elias, who was red in the face and bleeding righteousness. She was caught between the two of them. Regan’s voice had a forced flatness to it, but there was so much undulating underneath, too much. “Well, what will it be? Am I to take this as your resignation? If you care for them so much, why don’t you go work for them?”

Elias felt his hands shaking. All of this was too much to take in at once, and with Regan talking in his ear, it made things all the worse. He wasn’t hearing her. He was staring down at the decedent with a blank expression. The way that Regan’s hand went through the fur on those legs, it had to be… he reached out his hand and touched the antler, tugging. It didn’t come off. Any yelling Regan was doing, he ignored it. The ringing in his ears persisted, and he felt his hands begin to shake more. This was real, and there was no coming back from it. The truth was… easier to accept than he figured it would be. 

Turning to look at Regan again, he finally heard her words. Resignation. “I’m not resigning.” He spoke, blinking once. “And as terrified as I am that this is happening, I trust you.” He spoke, his shaking tone betraying the subject matter. “I just don’t understand why you call them monsters.” He clasped his gloved hands together, staring back to the decedent. “I want to understand to the best of my ability, but I can’t do that if you don’t start being honest with me in turn.” His gaze was one of trust, one of sincerity. “No one just starts wearing a winter coat in the height of the summer unless they’re hiding something.” 

He felt it in his bones. She acted different than most people did, she held herself differently. And the thing with the bones? She had a weird connection to them that defied just an unhealthy obsession. She knew all about these so-called “monsters,” and despite all of it, she was afraid of them. Either she had an encounter with them, or she was one of them. There was nothing else to it. “You can say you feel nothing all you want, but I know you’re scared.” He finally said, he had stopped shaking, the ringing stopped. Fae were real, and he had a lot of research to do. “I want to understand, but I can’t do that if you don’t be fully honest with me.”

Regan had tried so hard to be resolute and expressionless, to snuff out the first inkling of emotion before it reached her face, but when Elias said he wasn’t resigning, even she couldn’t keep the whites of her eyes from growing huge. How… was that going to work? And wasn’t he furious with her? No. He didn’t seem furious, not anymore. There was a strange sense of relief around him, like he’d been building up pressure for months and the valve was opened. Regan couldn’t comprehend anyone finding the existence of fae to be a relief. Surely that wasn’t it. Shock turned to confusion and she rounded on him, brow furrowed and arms crossed. “You have no reason to trust me and several reasons why you should not.” Disgust rolled through her, down her neck and to her wings. An emotion she wished she had an easier time severing from her mind. Regan hesitated, the comparison to come growing bitter in her mouth. It emerged a quiet hiss. “But better me than them.”

She met his eyes, which lacked the fire they previously had, his jaw no longer trembling. What was this? Elias then did something else she didn’t expect: he looked down at the decedent with compassion. Something inside of Regan urged her closer to the dead; she almost wanted to step between them, breaking his line of sight. He thought he knew everything now but he knew even less than before. How could he have compassion for something so inherently vile? Regan placed her duty to the dead above all else. Everyone in the morgue was treated with respect. But a fae… compassion?

Regan tried to ignore the crawling on her skin and spoke swiftly to hide anything unseemly that might creep into her voice. “I’m ending this autopsy. You are in no state to proceed with this today.” You, meaning we, she supposed. And though she didn’t realize it until it was already spoken, the implications of the word today were revealing. Regan draped the sheet over the body for now. Even monsters deserved their privacy. Speaking of which. “Honest with you? What about?” Her mouth flattened as she practically dared Elias to bring the coat up again, dared him to wait for her to ignore it a third time. Her lungs rose to life she would not give them. “I’ve already told you more than you should ever know.” More than she had ever told anyone, really.

I know you’re scared.

Regan’s chest welled up and she tore her gaze away from him, looking at the freezers, the wall, anywhere but his eyes. Eyes that said I know I am right. She wanted to bite back; fear is foreign to me, do not presume, I’m as unfeeling and uncaring as death itself. But the words refused to come, and the thoughts made her stomach twist in discomfort. She only looked back when Elias spoke again.

His stubborn nature was once again more of a problem than the boon Regan had hoped for. She knew he wasn’t dropping this. He was a cur who was allowed dinner scraps and had a taste for them now. And, damn her, she still didn’t want to see him harmed. If he wasn’t going to resign then he was still her responsibility. That was why she cared. She told herself that. “Iron.” Regan said, her eyes drifting over to the concealed decedent. Everyone looked the same under a cloth at the morgue. “It burns them. That’s why I gave you that ring. Knowing you, you’re going to dive headfirst into trouble you couldn’t even begin to understand. And given who you’re surrounded by at your other job, I knew you would need it. Don’t provoke them. It’s a ring, not a knife, and you are in over your head.” 

There was a part of Elias that felt defeated, that he had screwed up everything before it had even begun. She was ending the autopsy because he couldn’t keep his shit together. Part of him wanted to scream, part of him wanted to just sit down on the floor of the autopsy suite and stare into space. But he knew he could do neither of these things. Instead, he simply nodded his head in response, expressionless as he once again tried to take in the information that fae were real. And that there were apparently rules he needed to follow to keep himself safe. He began to go through the mental checklist of things Regan had told him.

Don’t say thank you, don’t promise anything, they’re persuasive. 

Then what he learned from that wild man who nearly killed his coworkers. There were more than one type of fae, which opened a pandora’s box of all different questions that he had brewing in his mind. 

The one thing he kept coming back to was that Regan was obviously hiding something from him. He didn’t want to push her away anymore than he already had, though. So instead, he decided not to push the subject of her coat again. If she wanted to live in the blissful ignorance that it wasn’t obvious she wasn’t human, then that was her prerogative. It also wasn’t any of his business. He couldn’t help but think of Rhett again, shuddering at the idea of her being hurt in such a brutal manner like he was capable of. He knew he was. 

He put a hand around the ring he wore on a chain around his neck. “Does that mean the blade was iron?” He asked, referring to the decedent’s wound on her abdomen. It would explain the burning around the wound. Not any type of acidic substance coated on the blade, but iron. He had more questions than he had answers, but he knew he wasn’t going to get them. Not right now. He looked to Regan, an unreadable expression on his features that hid everything that was going through his mind. 

Adrenaline was pumping through his system, and he had no idea what he was going to do with this information. He felt a need to not say anything to anyone he didn’t trust completely, which left a very limited pool of people he felt that way about such information. He also didn’t know how he was going to go about his everyday life with the knowledge. He then thought to all the weird experiences he had been going through with various animals throughout town. Were they fae? Were there other things that defied reason and logic that could do him harm?

He thought back to Kaden, telling him that the giant rat in fact wasn’t a rat, but a coyote. Was there a possibility that he knew more than he was letting on? Was it truly what it seemed?

He thought to the ham girl. She was there one moment, gone the next in that hotel room. Was she fae? Was she something else? Suddenly, there was a box opened that he couldn’t close, and he was overwhelmed with the knowledge that he had been seeking out, but was quickly realizing he didn’t want it. He shook his head, swallowing thickly before turning toward the exit to the room. “We’ll talk more later.” He insisted, shooting Regan a look. Right now, he needed to get air. He needed to walk as far as his legs would carry him and not think about all the things he wasn’t supposed to know. He’d ask questions later. But for now, he needed to wrap his mind around it.

[franklyfrankiesfolklore]

is lacrimate even a word???

Whatever I'm going to go watch Dumbo for that lullaby the mom elephant sings. you'll have tears soon. probably.

Either will do, I assume. Please lacrimate into a receptacle. I will be waiting.

[highoctanegem]

@kadavernagh replied to your post “[pm] Mo chuisle, can we get an additional storage...”:

[pm] I think I might try being a gardener next. We can learn together. What kind of plants do you like? Something with baby blue flowers, possibly? I am talking to a corpse flower man. He might have other wares.

[pm] Oooooh. Hot. Will you finally get overalls? I love this potential era. ​Full disclosure I can't keep a plant alive to save my l [user doesn't want to ruin it yet.] Something baby blue for sure, that would make me cry from happiness actually. I'm full cliche baby, I like tulips and roses. Maybe some succulents. Oooh do you think we should have palm t A corpse flower man. That's a good title.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: After this PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup @kadavernagh @magmahearts & @letsbenditlikebennett LOCATION: Office of the Medical Examiner SUMMARY: After Rhett attacks Cass and leaves her in a bad state, Alex gets her out of the woods and calls Kaden for a ride to the morgue as soon as she has cell reception. Or Regan, again, receives unexpected live patients at the morgue and Marcy needs a raise.

The time between when she hung up the phone with Kaden and when he actually arrived had felt like an eternity. Alex was certain that the warden wouldn't be moving again, at least for a little while, but the blood that clung to her wasn't just Rhett's. As if instinctively, it she gripped onto Cass tighter, desperately trying to keep them both upright until her cousin got there which was a far too grim reminder that too much of the blood that caked her skin was Cass's. She had to actively fight the sick feeling growing in her stomach. Even on a good day, she wasn't good with blood and now she was covered in it. Not even the spare giant t-shirt that went down to her knees was safe from it as her girlfriend continued to bleed and Alex tried to try pressure to the myriad of different wounds that covered the oread. 

“I just need you to stay with me a little longer, ok,” Alex practically pleaded though she tried to give her a voice a reassuring tone. She wasn't sure how much it covered up her own fear. She doubted it did at all. “Kaden'll be here any minute, it's going to be okay.”

She wasn't sure who she was reassuring, but when she saw headlights coming up the road and the familiar sound of Kaden's engine. Alex had never been so relieved to hear him approaching. She was pretty sure she could actually cry, but she wouldn't. Cass was hurt and she needed to be brave for Cass. Or at least try. 

When the car rolled to a stop, she waited for Kaden to rush to her side. “Thank you,” she huffed, “She's heavier than she looks... rock and all. I think I've been applying pressure to the worst of it. I can sit in the back with her on the way to the morgue.”

She had her suspicions about Regan being a nymph herself, but they were just that. Suspicions. Alex had no actual clue if the medical examiner would be able to work with... well, a girl made of rocks. “Dr. Kavanagh should be able to help her, right?“ Regan had to be able to help her because the alternative was too difficult to stomach. 

—

The keys were in Kaden’s hand and he was hopping into his truck before he’d even hung up with Alex. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, just that it was an emergency, in the woods, hurt. Cass. He considered using the work truck and flipping on the lights to get there even faster but he figured, whatever it was that had actually happened, he would want the space of his normal truck. He dared someone to pull him over on the way there. He’d run them over.

He saw their small figures across the way long before he was close enough to stop the car. It was hard to resist the temptation to throw it in park and sprint to them the second his eyes were on Alex and her girlfriend but he managed and pulled up as close as he possibly could, tires skidding into place.

“Putain,” he said, throwing himself out of the car. His eyes swept over Alex, trying to assess her wounds. She was roughed up but alright. His eyes fell over Cass and it was clear that she was far from okay. “Alex what the hell happened to her?” He knew she mentioned a hunter but he hadn’t assumed Cass was this injured. Crouching down beside her, it was hard to believe this was the same kid who had no trouble facing off with a pinball whirling towards her. She was beaten down, broken. The sparks of life she was filled to the brim with before were fading away. 

Kaden nodded at Alex’s words and reached under the nymph to carefully scoop her up. He didn’t have any plan on how to help her but he knew they had to do something. Fast. First step was to get her into the truck and away from here. 

Kavanagh? His brow furrowed at the mention of the medical examiner. Made sense. Was as good a plan as any. “Maybe. I think so.” He couldn’t think about anything beyond the immediate. “Fae. She knows about fae. And she’s a doctor.” He wasn’t sure if he was telling Alex or reminding himself. “We’ll get her there. Keep pressure and support her while I lift her. On three.” 

—

There was no room to do anything but push forward. It brought a certain sense of clarity with it. There wasn't room for panic or acknowledging the multitude of sensations that would make Alex sick to her stomach under less dire circumstances. If her head had been more clear maybe she would have thought of the miracle that was adrenaline, but all she could think of was making sure Cass was okay. So when she answered Kaden, the weight of her answer didn't fully register. 

“A warden... We met him before but didn't know he was— I heard her scream when I was hiking toward the cave and he had already grabbed her. He was going to kill her so I stopped him,” Alex said flatly, ”If he didn't bleed out already, he knows what I am.“ Whether or not Rhett was dead wasn't something she could think about when Cass was barely hanging on. Hell, she was barely hanging on in the strength department which became harder to ignore when Kaden lifted Cass into the truck and she realized her own legs were shaking.  

The weight Kaden lifted was more than a physical one as Alex felt some hint of relief once Cass was being lifted into the truck. Her left arm carefully kept the oread's neck upright as the other hand kept pressure against the wound on her shoulder. She was quick to follow into the truck once they got Cass inside; she knew she'd have to keep applying pressure to the wound in Cass's shoulder which looked so much worse than it ought to, even for an iron blade. Her already blood-caked hand found the wound and pressed down on it. ”I think she is fae,“ she added, ”But that's... She can help. She'll be able to make sure Cass is okay.“ 

There was an unspoken desperation in her words. Alex wasn't sure if that was part of what pushed Kaden to drive at such a rapid pace, but she found she didn't care even if the way the trees whipped by them was dizzying. ”It's going to be okay,“ she reassured quietly as she looked down at Cass. She wasn't sure entirely who she was trying to convince, but Cass being okay felt like the only option. ”I've got you,“ she whispered. She'd promise as much if Cass would let her. 

Trees kept zipping by through the window as Alex remained still as could be. She was afraid to move, to shift Cass in a way that might make things worse, but the stillness of it all let the events catch up to her a bit. ”We'll need to go back and check that he's,“ she trailed off, unable to fully let herself acknowledge that she very well may have killed Rhett— or worse, that some small part of her hoped he was dead.

—

A warden. Knew what Alex was. Nearly killed Cass. Was probably bleeding out. Kaden tried to process the information but there was too much happening all at once. He had to focus on the task at hand: save the nymph in the back of the truck. The rest he would file away for later, figure it out then. Like if there was a dead body they had to worry about. And if they should inform the medical examiner during this visit. 

None of that mattered as much as driving as fast and as carefully as he could directly to the morgue. As soon as he closed the door on Alex, he rushed to the driver’s seat and tore out of there and back onto the road. Hopefully he wasn’t bringing Regan another dead body. A pit dropped in his stomach at the thought. No. His grip tightened on the wheel. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Worry about that later,” he said to her, eyes pinned forward, not even allowing himself to look back at her through the rearview mirror. If he looked back, he’d lose focus, start worrying about what else they could do. He had to stay single minded, focus on the mission. It wasn’t a hunt but for once his training might save someone instead of hurting them. 

Kaden wove his truck through traffic, barely stopped at any signs or lights, and raced through town to get them to the morgue. He didn’t bother finding a spot, instead throwing the truck into park right along the curb outside the glass doors. It briefly occurred to him that it would be hard enough to explain why they were carrying someone alive into the morgue to see the medical examiner and even harder to explain what Cass was to the front desk. Putain de merde. 

He hadn’t come up with any sort of plan or anything at all by the time he was helping pull the fae out of the truck. “I’ve got her,” he told Alex. “Get the door, call for Regan. Maybe, I don’t know, tell the front desk to leave.” He winced once the full weight of Cass’s rock covered body was in his arms. It was strange that someone so small and who looked so fragile just then could be so heavy. It wouldn’t slow him down, he wouldn’t falter, he wouldn’t let himself. 

—

It was a small kindness that Kaden was willing to talk about the warden aspect of things later. Alex wasn’t sure she could rely on herself to really recount the details when Cass felt so cold in her arms. The blood was pooling in the hands that were desperately pressing down on the wound in her shoulder. It took a concentrated effort to keep her hands from shaking, surprisingly not because of the slick feeling of blood against her skin, but because she was terrified. Even when that ranger had a gun pointed in her direction, she couldn’t remember feeling this frightened. Cass was too quiet in her arms, her features too pained and contorted. All she could think of was how much the oread meant to her and the fact it felt like she was slipping away right there in her arms. 

The fact Kaden hadn’t bothered with parking etiquette was more than a relief to Alex. Every second between them and getting Cass proper help felt like an eternity. The truck was practically pulled up to the glass doors and Kaden was carefully extracting Cass from the truck. She hopped out following and nodded diligently as Kaden spoke. “Ok,” she answered, “I’ll get Marcy… to not be there. And get Dr. Kavanagh. Just… I’ll be quick.” Her eyes fell to Cass, “Hang in there, okay?” 

She wasn’t sure the oread could hear her so Alex simply ran off and into the fluorescent lighting of the morgue. She remembered Marcy from before and she seemed to be typing away on her computer. What was the best way to ensure Marcy didn’t follow Regan back to her desk? “Hi, Marcy,” she greeted more frantically than she would have liked, “I need to see Dr. Kavanagh… it’s important medical examiner business. Tell her it’s Alex Bennett. I… uh I have Animal Control Officer Langley outside, too. You should probably… I think you look like you totally deserve to take your lunch break like right after grabbing Dr. Kavanagh.” 

—

“Fiddlesticks, fudge, no, figh can’t be right…” Marcy glanced up from her phone as the doors opened and… oh, this had Dr. Kavanagh all over it. She remembered Alex Bennett, one of the doc’s oddball visitors, and apparently she brought company. Another person. No, wait, two other – oh. Oh, fiddlesticks. This seemed urgent enough to call the doctor instead of shooting her a text. She did so immediately. “Regan, we have a code ‘what the fuck’ up here.” Marcy looked nervously at the three mostly-strangers who had interrupted her game of Connections (today’s theme of f-expletives seemed appropriate, suddenly), her eyes wide with confusion and perhaps some degree of understanding. Her fingers danced across the tabletop and finally Regan picked up. 

“Can this wait?” the doctor asked, sounding exasperated, “I’m in the middle of a–” 

Marcy cut her off. “Please don’t tell me what body part your hand is in. This is, like, really ‘what the fuck’. Come now, okay?” 

Regan simply hung up, and Marcy stared blankly at Alex, trying not to look at the company she’d walked in with. Marcy usually lived for gossip (and both Regan and Morty were the perfect fodder) but this was something else. Regan couldn’t come fast enough.

The last time they’d had a code ‘what the fuck,’ it had been because a horde of crabs came scuttling in and nearly carried Marcy away with them. The crabs seemed to be gone, but Regan reasonably expected something else quite serious. She rushed out and up, barreling through the doors. Oh, how she wished it were crabs.

Kaden. Alex. Some lump in his arms. This cinniúint-amú family. Treating her morgue like a – She halted, midstep, feeling the presence of something, someone else. The lump was more than a lump. More than human, even. Regan raced to get closer, immediately setting her hands on the fae’s strange skin (was it part of what was wrong?). A girl, barely more than a child. Unconscious, or near it. 

Regan’s first instinct was to shout, break some lights, remind Kaden that this was not the emergency department and serious injuries needed to be attended to elsewhere. But the injured being fae changed the equation significantly. She could not go to a hospital, and especially not looking like this. And where better was there, really? Before Regan had arrived in Saol Eile, they had relied upon inexperienced hands and anecdotes reeking of homeopathy. Regan understood the lack of options. She just didn’t like it. “Langley. Why are you always involved in these things?” She narrowed her eyes at Kaden, who was too easy to blame, but really, Alex had been equally involved in her own injury and possibly what was happening right now. Kaden was older, though, and his shoulders were adequately-muscled for carrying blame.

Right now she needed him to carry their injured. “Hurry it up,” she said, carding the doors open and pointing; Kaden probably remembered where her office was, but they might need the space and tools the autopsy suite would afford them today. What a screaming mess this was. She wasn’t even sure the two of them knew the girl was fae. Regan waved a curt but grateful goodbye to Marcy, who needed no instruction on what to do next (stall Rickers). “Continue past my office and into the autopsy room. Give me as much medical history as you have and tell me what happened. And tell me what’s wrong with her skin.” Regan paused, feeling confident in her words, which seemed worth delivering. “She will not die here.”

In the autopsy suite, she did not waste a second. There were rarely emergencies here; the dead did not mind waiting for their procedures. But now she was filled with an energy and urgency she hadn’t felt in a long time. “On the table. Now.” There was a decedent lying on the adjacent autopsy table. Regan had just managed to stuff his organs back into him and stitch him up, but he needed to be put back in the fridge. She did not like the idea of anyone else touching her patients. She was even stingy when it came to Rickers and the techs. But… her eyes flicked between the dead and the living, and with a defeated sigh, she then looked over at Kaden. “He goes in 8F. If you drop him I will place you in there instead.” She turned to the girl, pulled open her eyelids. The pupils responded automatically to the harsh overhead light. Good. “Round, equal, and reactive.”

Her skin was hard, craggy like stone, and it defied anything Regan had ever seen before. Had the circumstances been different, she could have spent hours looking at it under a microscope and her scalpel. But the circumstances were what they were, and what could have been exciting and full of wonder was currently a hindrance, obscuring what she needed to see. She decided to take a gamble with their knowledge. “You need to get her to glamour.” Regan said, meeting Alex’s eyes with a deadly serious intensity. “She may not be able to hold it in place, but she must, even if it’s only around her injuries. I cannot see what’s going on under this… material. And would not know how to treat it like this.” There was one thing she could see plainly, though: a deep, smoking wound across her left shoulder, like a flaming blade had been plunged through muscle. It was open, exposing something underneath that glowed with orange, pulsing energy, but no blood. “I believe this is from cold iron. Quickly. If you cannot wake her, I can, but it will hurt.”

—

Kaden didn’t know Cass as well as he’d like but he knew enough. He knew was going to do every goddamn thing he could to keep her alive. He knew he was going to find that warden and— He didn’t know what came after that. Because first thing was carrying Cass into the morgue and forgetting that this building housed dead bodies. She wasn’t going to be one of them. “I’ve got you,” he said as his arms cradled her rock covered body. The edges and rough surface dug and pinched into his skin, likely leaving marks and bruises. If there was pain, he didn’t notice, just held on tighter. “Stay with me. Alex is inside.” His words came out like gasps and he couldn’t be sure if that was due to the adrenaline coursing through his veins or the fact that she was heavy in his arms. He was shuffling to the door as fast as he could, very aware of the fact that with Alex going ahead, no one was able to put pressure on the wounds. “Magma’s not going to go down like this, alright?” 

If there was anyone working the front desk, Kaden didn’t notice her. His eyes were searching for one person and one person only. He was already headed directly to her office when his eyes locked on hers, a tiny flick of hope lighting up in him. Apparently she wasn’t as thankful to see him. Right now, he didn’t give a shit if she wanted him there or not, she was going to help with the kid. “You can scream at me later, Kavanagh. Help her.” He barely had to pause as the doors slid open. Relief was a second away when she said to go to the autopsy suite instead. His head shot around to face her, his brows knit together and worry written across his face. She will not die here. He didn’t know if that was a wish or a fact, but Regan’s tone seemed to write it in stone. He was going to cling to them as tightly as he held Cass. 

Once they were inside the suite, Kaden did his best to set her down gently on the table, but it was difficult to rest rock on metal without any clashing. He winced at the sounds, hoping he hadn’t made anything worse, silently apologizing to her as he laid her down. Kaden backed away and thought that, for the time being, the extent of his ability to help was spent. He was shocked to hear that wasn’t the case. His eyes fell on the dead body next to Cass, sutures laced all the way down from his chest. He wasn’t a stranger to dead bodies, but he never saw them like this. His stomach churned and he could feel bile churning up to his throat. “He goes in… 8F?” he repeated, hoping that it might buy him the time to steady himself as he went pale. 

Putain de merde. This was stupid, he had dealt with much worse, scenes that were far more gruesome and had caused worse than that. In here, in this setting, surrounded by the cold and sterile medical supplies, it felt completely different. He took a deep breath before he nodded, grit his teeth, and decided to rip off the metaphorical band aid. Just pretend they’re alive, he thought as he rolled the body towards the right drawer. Fucking hell, he was putting a body in a drawer. Right. Easier said than done. Just had to make sure he didn’t vomit or pass out in the process. 

—

She will not die here.

There was no way those words could be spoken with absolute certainty, but Alex clung onto them like they were a liferaft. Her mind sunk its claws into them as if they were some tangible string she could tangle and keep in her grip. The alternative wasn’t something she could consider. The alternative terrified her. 

Though a small part of her felt guilty that Regan seemed to think Kaden was somehow involved in what happened to Cass or could have been the cause. Alex shook her head. “It’s not Kaden’s fault,” she explained, “I couldn’t carry her all the way– I needed a ride.” Given the bone nymph was straight on to business, which wasn’t at all surprising, she stopped herself from overexplaining because the truth of it was simple, wasn’t it? No matter how good Cass was, no matter how many people she helped during her patrols as Magma, there would always be a warden out there like Rhett who didn’t care and wanted her dead anyway. 

“This is my girlfriend, Cass,” Alex explained, looking at the oread in Kaden’s arms somewhat helplessly, “I was meeting her for a picnic and I found her being attacked by a warden. She probably… we met him before but didn’t know he was a warden. She probably…” The words caught in her throat. “He didn’t follow us, I promise,” she quickly added, hoping it answered enough that Regan and let her know there wasn’t an immediate threat following. 

Whatever Dr. Kavanagh asked of her, Alex would do it happily. Already, the medical examiner was taking control of the situation in a way that seemed practiced. It probably was practiced. Even if most of Regan’s patients were already dead, she was still a medical doctor. Emergency training was part of the education and well, Regan also seemed inclined to let the stray non-dead patient into her morgue too. If she wasn’t so damn scared that her girlfriend was about to be knocking death’s door, she may have watched Regan work with more admiration. As it was, she was quick to follow instructions. Any directive the doctor gave her was meant to help Cass, so aptly paid attention and followed into the autopsy room. 

The dead body on the table next to Cass hadn’t even fully registered until Regan was directing Kaden to put it in… a drawer. Alex knew how morgues worked in theory, but the normally unsettling idea was completely overlooked as she carefully looked over Cass. Regan mentioned a glamour and it made Alex positive that coming to the bone nymph was the right call… even if the doctor wouldn’t call herself a bone nymph. There was a weight in Regan’s gaze that made Alex immediately nod dutifully. 

“I’ll do what I can,” Alex agreed, “I don’t… she’s already in enough pain.” 

Her attention shifted to Cass and Alex leaned closer to the table as she looked the oread over. Neither arm looked too good, so she wasn’t sure hand was the right way to get Cass’s attention. Instead, her hand found Cass’s cheek and softly cupped it in her hand. “Cass,” she breathed out. No, she had to speak up. Her voice couldn’t be as small and scared as she felt. “Cass,” she spoke louder, “Babe, I need you to concentrate for a little while. I know it hurts… but we have help, ok? Dr. Kavanagh just needs you to put up your glamour, at least around your injuries so she can start taking care of them.” 

Cass stirred under her touch and Alex let out a breath she hadn’t realized she held in. “You can hold my hand as tight as you need, if it helps,” she added, “But you got this, ok? You’re like the bravest and strongest person I know… if anyone can throw on the ‘ol razzle dazzle in a time like this, it’s you. I think… focus on getting it on for your shoulder first?” She gave Regan an inquisitive look, hoping that she gave the right directive there. 

—

There were flashes, after the woods. She remembered walking with Alex, her feet so much heavier than they usually felt. Alex’s voice, talking first to her and then to someone else, their responses tinny and far away as they came through the speaker of a phone. Then Kaden was there, too, in the blink-of-an-eye kind of way that meant she was definitely losing time. Another blink, and she was laying across Alex’s lap in the backseat of an unfamiliar car. Another, and they were somewhere else. She heard Alex and Kaden talking, but she couldn’t track the conversation. Alex vanished for a moment, and Cass let out a low whine, feeling more like a child than she had in such a long time.

Another flash. Someone was holding her. They were moving, and she felt the vibrations but they were stilted, dull. Everything was, the world narrowed to the pain in her shoulder where Rhett’s knife had gone in. That hurt more than the broken arm, and there was something almost funny about that, wasn’t there? You’d think the broken thing would hurt more. You’d think. 

Kaden said something to her, and it took longer than it should have for it to register. Called her Magma, and she let out a quiet sound that was almost a laugh. Had she told him? She didn’t remember. Maybe he’d known all the while, the whole time. Or maybe she was Magma not Cass to him at the moment. Did Spider-Man have this problem? She swore she knew, but she couldn’t remember.

Another flash, and there was something solid under her back. It was cold; everything was cold. There was a flutter in her gut that was familiar, but felt as far away as the rest of it. Another fae? For a moment, some childish, outlandish part of her wondered if it was her father or someone from that long-forgotten aos si in Hawai’i. If one of them cared enough, somehow, to know she was in trouble and just… appear. But when her eyes were forced open and a flash of light shone into them, she caught a glimpse of white hair and pale skin that couldn’t belong to anyone with family ties with her. Her eyes fluttered shut again. Alone. She was alone.

But… that wasn’t true, was it? There was a presence at her side, worried and hovering. Alex’s voice cut through the haze, and it sounded like music. Concentrate. Glamour. “Anything for you, babe,” she murmured, and it came out more slurred than she’d wanted it to be. It was supposed to be smooth. Impressive. But she wasn’t either of those right now, was she?

Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, glamour flickering. It was hard to concentrate through the pain, but Alex asked her to do it so she would. The glamour was visibly unsteady, flickering on and off like a faulty lightbulb. Skin one moment, stone the next. She concentrated hard on her injured shoulder, letting out a low groan. “It hurts,” she whispered. “Is it — Am I doing it?”

—

As Kaden struggled with the decedent (but, fine, ultimately did an acceptable job stowing him away), Regan dedicated herself fully to her new patient as information poured out. Girlfriend. Alex had mentioned dating a fae. The pieces snapped together like dislocated bones popping into place. And a warden did this. Her teeth clenched as her jaw tightened around them. “I am not concerned about you being followed.” Normally she would have chastised the promise, but it was not the time. Nor was it the time to mention involving the authorities. Sure, they could not know what Cass was, but this was an unprovoked attack on a near-child. How could someone get away with such a thing, without an effort even being made to stop them? She thought of Teagan, whose assailant was still out there, as far as anyone knew. It could have been the same individual behind both attacks, but they had distinctly different flavors. Discussion for later.

Alex did an admirable job keeping herself together for Cass’s sake. When this was through, she would tell the child that. For now, though, Regan did not want to distract her – especially when her words of encouragement to her girlfriend seemed to be working to stir the patient. “Shoulder first. That is the most pressing concern.” If Regan was correct. It would be the most painful, too. The other incised wounds surely hurt, but they weren’t as deep or putrid. Alex was succeeding – and for that matter, so was Cass. Mostly. The tough material flickered away, replaced by skin, only to transform itself back again. “Keep it steady,” Regan said, “I can only be as steady as you are.” She left providing any comfort to Alex and dove right in, her hands carefully navigating the margins of the wound now that she could see clearly; they were semi-cauterized but still smoldered, and seemed to be almost expanding. If Regan was capable of paling, she might have.

Seeing the injury seared through Cass’s flesh only confirmed Regan’s suspicions. “This is a cold iron injury. Do you know what that is?” She truly did not know the knowledge base of her audience anymore. “It won’t heal by itself. And I cannot improve it. But I can stop it from getting worse, and permit it to heal on its own, given time.” Her palms stung with their own reminder. She had one cold iron blade, and even Cliodhna did not permit its use under typical circumstances. “Kaden,” she turned to him and was pleased to find her own seriousness reflected back at her. “Here is my ID. Card into my office and go into the bottom right drawer of my desk. There is a jar – small, plastic, red top. Bring it here.”

–

Instructions. Those were good. Kaden could follow those. It was better, even. Otherwise the best he could do was pace and wonder if he was in anyone’s way or distracting Regan. He took the ID card and ran off. Once he was out of the door, he hesitated, trying to remember the direction they came in. It was all a blur since they got there and he’d been carrying Cass, he hadn’t paid attention. 

Deep breath. He was pretty sure it was that way and soon enough he was sure once he saw the familiar door to Regan’s office. He fumbled with the card and slammed it against the reader a few different ways, but he didn’t need to put in all the effort, one tap was enough. He nearly pulled the door off its hinges and dove into the office.

Putain, what was it she said? Drawer, something about a drawer. He glanced around and saw a lot of those. Which fucking one? Desk, right, she’d mentioned that, too. Desk drawer. Narrowed it down but not completely. Kaden shut his eyes and tried to repeat the words over in his mind. Bottom drawer. Desk. Red top. That’s what he got. Yanking open the left drawer, all he saw were skulls. That was actually a pretty nice raccoon one but– Right. Task at hand. Better try the drawer on the right before digging around the bones. Sure enough, in the second drawer there was a flash of red. He leaned over and pulled a book out of the way. “How to Flirt Without Sounding like a Serial Killer.” Right. Good luck to her on that one. He set it aside and saw a jar, but reaching for it, it was clear it was just mayonnaise. Which brought some more questions. Either way, next to it was a second jar and there it was, just like she said: red lid, plastic jar. Kaden didn’t know what was in it, all he knew was they needed it and so he grabbed it, sprinting out of the office as fast as he’d gotten there.

“Here,” he said, practically shoving the jar into Regan’s hands. He was out of breath from running but hadn’t noticed until he’d had to speak. Lungs heaving, he backed away and watched. That was all that was left for him to do, wasn’t it? Just watch, hope, and try not to get in the way, wait for any more instructions, but otherwise watch and wonder.

–

Kaden made haste and Regan was left with the two children. Something squirmed inside of her, seeing their pain. Fortunately for all of them, he wasn’t gone long. There it was: the red jar. She accepted it with a nod of approval, and hovered over Cass’s injury as she uncapped it. “This is for… these kinds of injuries. It is likely to work, but I can’t say for certain. It might not be to her specifications, though.” Regan opened the small jar and breathed in the scent of old bone marrow mixed with something floral. It was the last of what she’d brought from Saol Eile. If this happened again, she would need to figure something else out. Somewhere in her cabin was a book with instructions on making more of the salve, and though the ingredient list made a strange kind of sense, it filled her with unease. Still, she did know it worked… on banshees. She had seen it. “I’m going to put this in her wounds. It might sting a little at first, but it will function as an analgesic when it sets in. Most importantly, it will prevent the necrosis of her… flesh.” If it could be called flesh. “Know that there may be other effects. If you have objections, voice them now.”

—

Somewhere in the background, Kaden had returned to her side after getting the descendent where Regan had directed. A distant part of Alex knew that it couldn’t have been an easy task for him, but everything else seemed like a blur as she focused on Cass. It needed to be a blur. If she let her mind drift to the feeling of blood caked to her skin or linger on the fact she was absolutely terrified, there’s no way she’d be able to keep helping. Cass needed her to be strong right now, so she had to be strong. She gently held the oread’s hand and smiled down at her. “You’re doing so good, babe,” she reassured, her voice coming out much more gravelly than she would have liked, “Just keep it up and steady around your shoulder, ok? You got this.” 

She stayed close to Cass as Dr. Kavanagh looked over her shoulder. Every so often, Alex offered whispered reassurances to the oread. Her shoulder looked so much worse with the glamour up. It was so easy to see where the iron had seared her skin and how it seemed to be worse than when they’d first left the forest. Given, the lighting now was much clearer and the werewolf knew she should look away. Her stomach practically begged her to, but she couldn’t scare Cass more. It was her turn to be the brave one and she gripped onto Cass’s hand enough to mask the tremor in her own fingers. 

Her attention turned to Dr. Kavanagh as she spoke of cold iron. None of it made any sense to Alex. How was cold iron any different from regular iron? She didn’t think werewolves were more sensitive to cold silver. That would have been somewhere in the ranger family playbook. She shook her head. “I know iron hurts her. Most of what I know about fae… she didn’t grow up with other fae. I told her that iron hurts her. Is cold iron worse,” she asked though she was fairly certain she already knew the answer. 

It wasn’t something that could heal on its own. Alex wasn’t sure if that made her more angry or afraid. There was some strange haze of both that hung over her as she practically squeaked out, “Please.” Cass was already in terrible shape. She wasn’t sure how much worse the oread could handle before she— She quickly shook her head. She couldn’t think like that. Regan said Cass wouldn’t die here and she wouldn’t. She offered Kaden a quick grateful look as he made off to fetch what Regan needed. 

By the sound of his footsteps, Alex could tell he was moving quickly, but time still seemed to move too slowly. Somewhere she could hear a wall clock and the detail seemed deafening, more so than her own heart hammering away so erratically she swore she could feel it in her throat. Kaden was back and she tuned into Dr. Kavanagh’s instructions. It was likely to work and the emphasis on specifications wasn’t lost on Alex. “So it was made with a different type of fae in mind,” she said lowly, not really speaking to anyone so much as thinking aloud. It was a sure deal, but it was their only chance. While medicine was hardly something she knew about, she sure as hell knew enough that necrosis of the flesh was not good. And since it wasn’t made for Cass, she was fairly certain that meant it was hard to know what the other effects would be. 

“Use it,” Alex decided quickly as she glanced down the wound that already looked worse, “Whatever the effects are can’t be worse than the pacman of stab wounds over here.” If Cass was listening, she’d appreciate the arcade game reference. Alex smiled weakly as she remembered Cass showing her how to play the game and she knelt back down by Cass. “Hey, rockstar,” she grinned weakly, “You’re doing great. I just need you to hold out a little longer. Dr. Kavanagh is going to put something that’ll help on your wounds, but it might sting first… There may be some side effects, but I got you, ok? I’ll be right here.” 

—

She was out of it. It was difficult to follow the conversation, so she stopped trying. Alex would pick up on the important parts and tell her later… if there was a later. The thought rose up without her permission, inky black and heavy. Cass wasn’t a pessimist. Quite the opposite, in fact. She’d been called naive in her optimism, but she clung to it all the same because what was the alternative? The world fucking sucked. If you didn’t hold on to the bright side, you’d lose yourself to the darkness. 

But Cass couldn’t find the bright side here. She couldn’t work out the positives of the situation, couldn’t unpack the good. Everything hurt, and she’d never died before but she was pretty sure this was what it felt like. The way her shoulder seemed to be spreading pain to the rest of her, the shivers she couldn’t stop from wracking her frame, the way Alex and Dr. Kavanagh spoke about her like she wasn’t there and the way she might as well have not been there for how well she could listen to them. Alex was saying things to her occasionally, and Cass clung to her voice like a lifeline even if she couldn’t make out the words.

Alex was beside her, then, and Cass tried with everything she had to listen. Her glamour flickered as he concentration shifted, but she understood what Alex was saying. The doctor was going to do something. It was going to hurt. But it would help her, too. She closed her eyes, nodding her head. “Do it,” she agreed. “Do whatever. I don’t — I don’t want to die.” She looked to Dr. Kavanagh as she said it, eyes feeling wet. “I don’t want to die, okay? Do what you need to do, but don’t let me die.”

—

Cass’s informed consent was, Regan thought, as good as it would get. “No questions or concerns, then. We proceed.” There was something almost familiar about Cass’s voice when she spoke, and as the glamour flickered off her face for a moment, Regan recognized her. Oh, that was too strange to even think of right now. She focused instead on the weak, unevenness of Cass’s plea, the mortal fear, and was determined to be the unmoving force she was required to be. Regan’s voice had an edge of authority and certainty. “You’re not going to die here, today.” 

She was in the rhythm of urgency now, and Alex and Kaden cleared the way for what needed to be done. Cass was still having trouble with her glamour, but she seemed to be able to muster enough resolve to hold it steady now. Whatever that strange, tough material Cass’s skin truly consisted of, it would have been impossible for Regan to access for application. “Good work.” She offered the rare praise, a reminder to hang on as long as she could. With careful hands, Regan dabbed the cream around the wound. What remained went into the other injuries, just in case those were from the same blade, though they didn’t look so malignant. It would help either way. And then that was it. The last of what she had brought from Saol Eile, exhausted. Traded for Cass. Please let it work. 

The wound pulsed with a strange darkness for a moment like the salve had stained it, then sizzled, the searing heat of the iron abating. It still gaped with toothy, jagged edges but now, given the time and proper care, Regan was confident that it would heal. At least until it happened again. These people… this town…  it was at times more rotten than anything in her morgue, and she ought to be grateful she would soon be leaving it. Her eyes ticked from Alex to Kaden, who were probably full of complicated emotions right now. Hope. Fear. Confusion. Her own concern gnawed at her but she set it on ice like her cadavers. Regan watched as the wound seemed to soak up the remaining darkness and waited. For what, she did not know.

—

Good work. It was stupid, she knew. The way those two words somehow meant more than the promise that she wouldn’t die here today, the way they sent a thrill of newfound energy surging through her veins that allowed her the concentration she needed to hold that glamour in place. The doctor, the fae doctor said good work, and Cass was eleven years old again, trying with everything she had to win the approval of nymphs who saw her as more of a bother than a person. Back then, she’d never earned anything resembling praise. But now? She was doing good work. Her smile was small and pained and tight, but it was still there. It was still real.

The doctor’s hands were at the injury on her shoulder, the one that burned and ached and felt hot and cold at the same time. She touched it with something cool, and it was like someone had injected darkness into her veins. The effect felt so instantaneous. The room dimmed. The temperature dropped. Cass blinked, and when she dragged her eyes back open, the morgue was full of strangers. A man with his chest hanging open, staples ripped out. A woman with goat’s legs and a darkening bruise around her throat. A teenager with a crown of blood encircling their head, eyes curious and sad. In the middle of them all, partially blocked off by their bodies, stood Rhett. Staring down at her with an expression of mild curiosity, like she was an animal in the zoo. The scratches Alex’s claws had left in his face were there, blood dry now. 

Were these ghosts, she wondered? A sea of the dead, beckoning for Cass to join them? Her eyes darted to Alex and Kaden and the doctor. There was a wound in Kaden’s side, freely bleeding. His shirt was so covered in blood that the fabric was hard to make out beneath it — had he been wearing red flannel, or did it just look that way now? Alex’s hair was the wrong shade of red, shining dully in the overhead lights of the morgue. It was wet. Not water. It wasn’t water soaking her head. The doctor was in black and white (was that why she looked familiar?), but there were spots of red slowly staining through, swirls of color that didn’t belong. Cass’s breath hitched, eyes darting between them all until something behind them caught her attention.

Kuma stood a few feet from Rhett, arms crossed over her chest. Debbie was beside her, the injuries that led to her death prevalent and obvious in the morgue. They both looked rotted. Everything ached.

And then, Cass blinked again, and it was all gone. It was just as it had been before. There was no blood in Alex’s hair. Kaden’s shirt was clean. The doctor wasn’t exactly colorful, still, white coat and all, but there was no red to be seen. And her shoulder didn’t burn, and she didn’t feel quite as cold, but the exhaustion that clung to her was hard to fight.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the doctor, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, they darted around for a moment before meeting Alex’s. Clear and blue and alive, like they were supposed to be. She offered the werewolf a small smile and let her consciousness flee. Safe. She was safe now.

—

Desperation had a way of making time seem slower. Alex knew the clock ticked at the same rhythm somewhere off in the distance, but it felt distorted as she gave the doctor room to take care of Cass’s wounds. It wasn’t the first time that Regan assured the oread wouldn’t die here. Fae couldn’t lie. Cass had told her that. Sure, the truth was subjective, but Dr. Kavanagh was a bone nymph. If she said Cass wasn’t going to die here that had to be the truth. At least, it alleviated some of her own fear so she could be the steady presence her girlfriend needed. Not that she would consider herself steady. The only thing that felt steady was the gaze she kept trained on Cass. Even blinking felt like a gamble that she only took when her eyes felt like they were burning. 

The salve seemed to create a cloud of darkness around it and Alex found herself having to cover her mouth and nose as the wound seared. It was strange. The autopsy suite didn’t smell like burning. The bite of medical grade cleaners was the predominant scent in the air, but underneath she could smell him. His blood still coated her body and she didn’t dare look down to find it drying on her skin. Just focus on Cass. 

It seemed like the remedy Dr. Kavanagh had given her was working though Alex couldn’t explain how. There had to be some supernatural fae aspect to it. She could hear the rapid pounding of Cass’s heart, but it was hard to discern anything wrong besides the obvious. Her eyes were darting around the morgue and the werewolf wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She could only hope it wasn’t anything too bad, but if it meant Cass would live, she guessed whatever it was had to be worth it. 

After what felt like an eternity, Cass thanked the doctor and locked eyes with Alex. It was the briefest glance before she watched the oread fully slump onto the table. The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding came out as a small gasp and she felt everything she’d been compartmentalizing threatening to spill over with it. She took in a slow breath before looking up to Regan. “Dr. Kavanagh,” she started hesitantly. She wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say. All she could think was to express her gratitude, even if Regan would tell her it was foolish. “Thank you,” she said finally, “Really. You saved her. I–”

The words ‘almost lost her’ found themselves trapped in her throat and came out as a strangled sound. It was a floodgate that Alex couldn’t allow herself to open just yet so she shook her head. “I just appreciate it and I’m glad you’re still here.” Aside from the fact Cass would have likely literally died in her arms, she did like Regan. “Anything I need to do for her as far as healing and taking care of her goes, I’m all ears.” 

—

There wasn’t anything left for Kaden to do to help Cass. He was just as helpless as she was to fix her at that moment. He stood back and tried not to be in the way. Alex was there to comfort her girlfriend, Regan was there to heal her, and as much as he wanted to peer over her shoulder and see what was going on, check if it was working, he knew better. Hovering could only make it worse if anything at all. 

Now that his part was done, his mind drifted to the cause of her wounds, the blood covering Alex’s clothes. A warden. Another hunter. Kaden had to wonder if it was someone he knew. His stomach dropped as the face of the hunter dying at Andy’s hand flashed into his memory. Would he see that same look all over again? Would it be at his hands this time? Or Alex’s? Had she already killed him? He didn’t know. He didn’t want this to keep happening. Death. Over and over again. A snake eating its tail. And Kaden didn’t know how to stop it when all he knew how to do was how to slice it in half. 

The gasp from the fae on the table pulled his focus back to the present. His own breath stopped as he waited to see what would happen next – would she pull through or would she pass out again? He reached out and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder, hoping to give some comfort to her while she was giving all hers away to Cass. 

The words ‘thank you’ felt like a sigh of relief, a sign that the course had corrected itself. For now. “Good work,” he said to Regan. “See, way better than a hospital.” He had no idea what it was she did, but he knew it worked. That was enough for him. But now that they were in the clear, thoughts of the hunter and the potentially dead body in the woods lingered. Putain. His eyes darted to Alex, then back to the medical examiner. He opened his mouth to speak. “I, uh, when you have a second I need to talk to–” He knew what he should do, he should report the potential dead body. Alex wouldn’t be implicated. She couldn’t. Right? It’s not like she was human when she did it. Actually, he didn’t know. He just assumed. 

He owed it to the hunter to say something, owed it to his family, but he owed Alex more. He couldn’t risk it. “Nevermind,” he said, waving it off. “Thanks again. Hopefully you won’t see me here again anytime soon.” He glanced back to Alex and gave her a nod. “Come on, let’s get her back home so she can rest.” 

—

Something was happening to Cass – her eyes went wide and scanned the room as if she was looking for something or seeing something, and Regan watched in silence for a moment. Whatever it was seemed to pass, but that didn’t mean it was the last of it. She glanced down to the empty jar, the remnants of the cream clinging to the neck of it. Do not let it be a mistake. The child was increasingly lucid, though, which had to be a good sign. Her other injuries were minor in comparison, and Regan bandaged them up, confident they needed no further attention from her. Cass was certainly benefiting from the diligent attention of her girlfriend, though. Probably an ill-advised relationship, if Cass’s lifespan was anything like that of a banshee’s. But happiness was a rare and often hard-won thing, and she would not spoil theirs, however useless she felt the emotion to be. Yes. Useless. Of course it was. She suppressed the trickle of doubt.

As Cass roused herself up and the two of them thanked her, Regan shook her head. Their gratitude was less than ideal – or at least the language used to express it, was. She let the thank yous linger, not accepting them nor chastising right now. “It’s not over yet. You have a lot of healing to do, and there may be lingering effects from the wound and what I applied to it. Monitor it closely and come to me if anything unexpected occurs.” Her voice lowered, something soft squirming through her that she barely recognized and did not particularly like. “I didn’t save her. I think you did that. Or perhaps she saved herself.”

And then there was Kaden. “I do not need your ‘good job’.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Demeaning. And what followed pulled at her temper, however much she tried to deny it. “Or your jokes. You come here instead of the hospital and you tell me good job.” Regan wrinkled her nose at him, but Cass was too much a priority for her aggravation at the remark to persist. Did Kaden have something to tell her? Or was he trying to tell something to Alex or Cass? She wasn’t going to figure it out now, apparently, as he seemed to cut himself off. Later, then. Maybe he was trying to tell her there was something to discuss later. She turned to address all three of them. “Not that you chose poorly, in this very specific instance. But we are not done here. Today, right now, we are, because… well, she is asleep.” Regan motioned toward Cass, whose eyes were shut and who looked entirely like a rock again. “But we will need to discuss this attempted murder. I don’t need another victim in here.”

—

Adrenaline was a funny thing. In the absence of an immediate threat and the knowledge Cass would be okay, the rush that had been pushing her forward had melted into lead. Or maybe peridotite would be more accurate. The metaphorical density of her bones was hardly the point, but Alex knew they felt heavy. So did the blood and flakes of rock on her skin. And her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was the firm kick from Rhett or the weight of what had just happened catching up to her somehow, but now it was sinking. 

Then the hand on her shoulder reminded Alex she didn’t have to carry this alone. Even as Kaden spoke again, there was something decisive in his tone. He knew as well as she did that Regan would have questions. She didn’t mind that so much. Even if Regan seemed to follow the letter of the law, she knew about this stuff. She was part of this stuff. She’d seen firsthand what Rhett had done to Cass. Even if the medical examiner did insist on going the official route, she doubted claw marks could truly be traced back to her. Plus, she was pretty sure some logic or law of self defense was on her side. There was a chance she killed him, but he’d been the one to lift the knife. She’s given him every chance. Her gaze drifted to her sleeping girlfriend and she couldn’t help but think maybe she’d given him too many chances. 

That thought hurt to linger on so Alex instead aptly listened to the doctor’s instructions. She’d need to monitor Cass closely. She could do that. Hell, she wasn’t sure it’d be so much a choice on her part. As tired as she was, she didn’t think she’d find sleep in the coming hours. She’d nodded diligently and had been prepared to accept the instructions as they were, but then there was something there again. It was the tiniest glimpse of something less cold in her eyes. It was brief and if the doctor’s words hadn’t matched that slight etch of something warmer in her features, she would have doubted she saw it all. “Oh,” she uttered with wide eyes. She hadn’t expected that. Dr. Kavanagh had called her a good child once, but this held something more. She saved someone. She saved Cass. She wasn’t too soft. She was soft and she’d protected those parts of herself by protecting the person who brought them out the most. And Cass saved herself too. She was proud of her for pushing through that pain so Dr. Kavanagh could treat her wounds even if the oread never should have experienced that pain in the first place.

If the creeping exhaustion hadn’t fully made itself at home in her body, Alex would have nudged her cousin. It wasn’t lost on her that jokes in the face of traumatic incidents was a shared family trait. Pointing it now wouldn’t hold the same satisfaction, especially not when there was something so comfortable in it for her. Dr. Kavanagh didn’t seem to appreciate it though. That wasn’t entirely surprising and if she wasn’t so tired, she’d feel bad that Kaden seemed to be taking the brunt of her frustration when all he did was drive the car. “We’ll get her home,” she assured, “Once she’s settled, I’ll answer anything you want to know. He won’t do this again.”

Alex didn’t know if he was dead, but some part of her knew he probably should be. That spark of hatred in his eyes was too familiar. She knew the only thing that put it out was blood. Or at least, if there had been some other answer, she wasn’t privy to it. If love had been enough, she had to think it would have made a difference with her parents. It didn’t matter anyway. She gave Cass’s hand one final squeeze before she moved aside to let Kaden pick her back up so they could go home. “You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered to the oread she knew couldn’t hear her, “I got you. We got you.” 

Because even if she couldn’t hear it, Alex still felt it was important to remind Cass she wasn’t alone in the world. Not anymore. 

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: currrent PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: the same alley where regan lost her necklace. SUMMARY: emilio helps regan find her necklace... he probably wishes he hadn't! CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

The sun was cruel. Of course Maine was seeing an unusually hot summer now that Regan was stuck in her winter coat. Which was black, of course. She refused to purchase a lighter one because doing so would be giving in, admitting that it was something she’d need to grow accustomed to. No. She would find her necklace. Even if she had to bear the shame of asking for help.

Perhaps a detective could expedite the process.

Regan rounded the corner with Emilio – who, true to their prior encounter, still smelled of cigarette smoke and looked exhausted – and stopped right at the opening of the alley way. The dumpster she’d found the child in was there, but vacant this time, and she couldn’t see any of the black and white rats scurrying about. “This is the place.” She said, arms extending in show. “It was evening, and a couple of rats popped out of the trash, followed by more, and soon the alley was practically flooded with them.” Her eyes drifted up to the fire escape she’d used as egress. “We had to escape up there,” she pointed, “otherwise they would have suffocated us alive. Items were lost in the process.” Though she wouldn’t admit exactly how she’d lost her necklace, which had actually been voluntarily removed.

“You’re the detective. So start… detecting.”

The medical examiner was wearing a winter coat.

It was the first thing Emilio had noticed when he’d walked up, largely because it was very out of place. Even the detective, who got cold fairly easily and tended to lean towards warmer clothing even in summer, was sweating under the afternoon sun in his jeans and t-shirt combo. He could only imagine how uncomfortable a winter coat would be, couldn’t begin to comprehend why someone might choose to wear it. It was clear that Kavanagh was uncomfortable, but he got the feeling that if he suggested she remove it, she was going to take issue with it.

So he kept his mouth shut. The medical examiner was wearing a winter coat. It wasn’t the weirdest thing the medical examiner had done in his presence. He followed her to the alley in silence, eyeing the dumpster she indicated to carefully. “Rats,” he repeated, trying to determine what supernatural thing this really was. Because there was no way it was just rats. Regan didn’t seem to comprehend (or, rather, believe) the world outside what was considered the norm, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t responsible for this. He wondered absently if a rat king might be to blame, tried to decide if he should call in Kaden if it was. Probably not. “All right,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Do you remember exactly where you were standing when it came off?” It probably wouldn’t still be in the alley, but it was worth a shot. Emilio approached the dumpster, getting down on his hands and knees to look underneath it.

Though Regan had attempted to remain pleasant and professional during their previous meeting, she was going to try extra hard today not to let her frustration get the better of her. Emilio was being helpful, and it had nothing to do with one of her cases. It was genuinely appreciated. Also genuinely appreciated was that he wasn’t mentioning the coat. Regan could feel his eyes burning into it, but he didn’t make a remark, and she was just as content ignoring it… however much she could.

He seemed to be thinking about something, possibly about the rats, but Regan couldn’t discern what specifically he had in mind. He believed her, right? 

Regan tread carefully into the alley, like a misstep might cause the rats to come rushing out again, ready to scurry of with other belongings. “Here, under the fire escape. But they ran off with it. I didn’t simply misplace it.” Her eyes followed Emilio's movements, hoping that he would uncover some trace of the necklace. “There was… I was with someone else, too. They had a backpack with them that was taken. If we find the necklace, perhaps that will be with it.” She wasn’t sure how she would locate the child again, but maybe Emilio would be able to track them down.

Regan's impatience got the better of her, and she took a step closer to Emilio, crouching down to join him in his search. She brushed aside some debris, scanning the ground intently. The alley was filled with discarded trash, making it difficult to spot anything out of the ordinary. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath. "It has to be here somewhere. I can't lose it. It's... important." Her voice wavered slightly, betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I know I told you that already, but I can’t emphasize it enough.” Especially as the sun still managed to beat down relentlessly, even while they were in the shadows. She shook her head. If only someone had died here, maybe she’d have better luck trying to find it. But… Regan felt something in her knees as they supported her on the ground. A tremor. Not coming from her, but the ground, like it had moved slightly. Her wings tried to twitch in discomfort from underneath the coat, but they were smothered in place. “Sorry, I… thought I felt something.” She paused. “I mean, something on the ground. Not emotionally.”

As far as clients went, Kavanagh wasn’t the worst he’d had. She was a bit eccentric, sure, and he was becoming increasingly certain that she wasn’t human, but she didn’t talk his ear off or complain about how fast he worked and he couldn’t see her leaving a poor review on his page because of his personality. She didn’t seem to give a shit about any of that. Kavanagh cared about the work, and Emilio was good at the work. Even if he wasn’t particularly good at very much outside of it.

He watched her moving, noting the caution. Emilio was neither particularly interested nor particularly capable of doing the same, so he moved how he moved. Not heavy on his feet, but not particularly light, either. If these ‘rats’ that Regan had run into showed up again, he was more capable of handling them with violence than he figured she was. She didn’t strike him as the type to use that as a first resort the way he tended to. There was nothing wrong with that, of course; it just meant Emilio’s experience was going to be… a bit different than hers was. 

“Okay, okay,” he nodded, straightening back up into a standing position. There hadn’t been any necklace under the dumpster, anyway. “Just covering our bases. Probably hard to keep a good eye on shit with that many rats running around, if you were focused on getting out.” 

Someone else in the alley? “You got a name for them? Or a description? If we find the backpack, we should try getting it back to them.” Depending on what was in it, of course. He wouldn’t be handing over a backpack full of perfectly good weapons to a stranger. He’d tell Kavanagh it was for public safety, if that happened. She might believe him. 

He glanced up as something in her voice shifted. She was really interested in this necklace. Sentimental value, maybe? His thumb rubbed absently at his wedding band. He could understand that. “Hey, I get it. You don’t have to explain. I said I’d do what I could to find it, and I meant that. Not looking to leave you without any answers if I can help it, all right?” She twitched and, for a moment, he thought she might say something else about the necklace. Instead, she said she felt something. “Something like rats? Could be a good sign. If we can follow them, we can find your necklace.” He kneeled down again, putting a hand to the cement to gauge whether or not he could feel anything himself. “It feel anything like it did before?”

“No name, but I can provide a description,” Regan said, knowing she would intentionally be leaving out the most important details. “The child was in the dumpster. She had short, red hair, and was equal parts timid and competent. She indicated she might have eaten rats before. I do not know what was in the backpack.” She shrugged, though she had a feeling it was probably either scrap metal or something that had actually been important. Either way, the girl would surely appreciate having the bag back in her possession. It was a small kindness that felt, in a way, like repaying that Emilio was extending to her right now.

“I… appreciate that.” She nodded at Emilio. He seemed to respect her privacy. That was something others in her life could do to learn. “If I can ever be of help to you… but nothing illegal.” She said that last part crossly, suspecting a couple of situations of dubious legality might tempt him to reach out, try to call in a favor. Not that it was a favor. Not officially, anyway.

Regan gave him an odd look. “How am I supposed to know if it’s –” There it was again, some movement in the ground, like a huge truck was driving past the alley. But when she turned, there was nothing there. Only some leaves blowing across the curb and the scent of a bakery pervading the – wait, why was the scent of a bakery smacking her in the face? In the past, it would have been pleasant. Now it was foreboding. Regan rose to her feet, squinting her eyes around the alley warily. 

A giant, white, almost masked face peered around into the corner. Huge fingertips curled around the bricks. It was simultaneously expressionless but radiating menace, and Regan froze in place. It was like the rats she’d seen here earlier, but impossibly large. The size of an elephant. She couldn’t even see its body but it cast a long shadow, and its hand was fit to grab and crush her like a baguette. “This isn’t real.” She said it aloud. As she did, sometimes, when the visions grew too strange or too visceral. But in those cases they weren’t real. This had to be one of them. Emilio could not be seeing this, too. That would make it real. “Tell me you don’t see this.”

The moment she said the child is in the dumpster, Emilio had a pretty good guess as to where this was going. As she continued, his suspicions were only confirmed, and he sighed. Was Gael not feeding the kid enough? Why the hell was she still digging through dumpsters and eating rats? “I know the kid,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Know where she lives, who she lives with. Might have to talk him into making sure she eats a little better.” Gael didn’t seem particularly afraid of his threats at this point, but that was fine. Emilio knew he cared enough about Ren to want her to not eat out of the dumpster, anyway, so he’d probably be pretty agreeable on this point, at least. “When we find this shit, I’ll get her her backpack back to her. Do you want me to tell her how to contact you at all?” He figured the two probably hadn’t had time to exchange numbers, though he could have been wrong about that. Kavanagh didn’t know Ren’s name, but that might just be because Kavanagh was Kavanagh and Ren was Ren and neither of them would think to ask for something like that.

He nodded, taking note of the way she thanked him. Like someone who knew a thing or two about how dangerous the word thanks could be in a town like this. Another note in his mental file on Dr. Regan Kavanagh, the local ME who he still couldn’t get a good read on. Doesn’t believe in the supernatural. Takes steps to avoid being bound by fae. The pieces didn’t quite fit together, but maybe he was just missing a few. “No problem,” he replied with a nod. “I wouldn’t ask you for any illegal favors.” Not after seeing how she’d reacted to his suggestion that they steal a body to give it a timely, proper burial. Kavanagh was clearly someone who upheld the law. Emilio might not understand that, but he could respect it… especially if it meant avoiding having someone snitch on him.

Oh. Okay, he felt it this time. A quiet sort of shift, the kind of thing he might not have felt if he weren’t looking for it. Emilio straightened, unwilling to remain close to the ground when there might just be a fight headed his way. He’d never really fought a hoard of rats before, but he had a feeling whatever they were dealing with was different. If it could make the ground move like that, it had to be.

And then, the thing showed its face. And it definitely, without a doubt, was not a rat. How had she ever thought it was? How had Ren? It was huge, and unnaturally terrifying. Or, rather, supernaturally terrifying. Not undead, and he didn’t think it was a shifter or a fae, either. It certainly wasn’t something he’d had experience with in the past. It was just… there. Big and strange and imposing. And Kavanagh was already insisting it was fake, somehow. “No, doc, I see it. Don’t know what I’m seeing, but I definitely see it.” He shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a knife. “Gonna go stab it.” What else was he supposed to do?

“You know of her?” Regan lifted a brow. Emilio was somehow familiar with the strange fae child, and that was more than a little surprising. Although… maybe she was at the center of one of his cases. It was a good question, though: did Regan want to be put in contact with her? She stopped to think, perhaps for too long. The fewer people who could put her name to the fact she was fae, the better. And even worse, the child surely knew she was a banshee. Regan didn’t know what kinds of connections she had, and whether there was a risk of word getting back to Saol Eile about her presence here. It was best to play it safe, let Emilio deliver the backpack… if they even found it. “No. Please do not speak of me to her.” She said, decisively. 

Emilio saw it too. And if he saw it too, that meant… Regan backed away from the entrance, and found herself up against a brick wall. Last time, tiny rats had come pouring out of the spaces between the bricks, but that seemed preferable to the giant rat peering down at them now like it intended to swallow them whole. She could smell the creature’s breath wafting toward them, a thick sheet of fresh bread and artisanal cheeses. Her stomach churned. Someday she’d be able to find bakeries pleasant again, but not anytime soon. Stab? He was going to – “W-wait. That won’t work. There are more. There are always more.” Or were they all present now, like they had conglomerated into one big rat-shaped rat hive?

It had a mile long stare. Its eyes were so tiny. But they managed to see right into her. And as it peered down at them, something like a smile crossed its eerie white face. Just a hint. Enough that a chill rolled down her vertebrae.

And its thin cut of a mouth opened.

The rat’s massive, long black and white tongue unfurled. And right there at the tip was… “That’s it! That’s my necklace!” And the backpack, too. Her voice rang through the alley – not quite a screech but more than she’d intended – and the rat squinted its tiny eyes and its fingers lifted from the brick, as if in distaste. But before either of them could do anything, it rolled its tongue back into its mouth, her necessary possession with it. Regan’s eyes snapped to Emilio, expression a mix of shock and disgust, though she tried to hide it. “They were smaller than this, really. I think we should run and not stab.”

“I don’t know of her,” Emilio corrected. “I know her.” Pretty well at this point, he felt. Ren was a mirror he didn’t always like looking into, a reflection of the parts of his childhood that felt so okay when it was him going through them but seemed less acceptable when it was someone else. He watched for a moment as Kavanagh seemed to debate with herself how she wanted to answer his question, but he wasn’t particularly surprised at the response he got. She didn’t strike him as the kind of person who was looking for more friends, and he wouldn’t try to force it for either her or Ren. He doubted they’d be particularly good for one another, anyway. More than likely, any time they spent together would be little more than long bouts of shared silence. He wasn’t sure that was what Ren needed. “Okay,” he agreed. “No problem. Won’t go talking about you to her, or her to you.” They could both keep their privacy; Emilio wasn’t someone who’d violate it.

Besides, he had other things to focus on now. Namely, the massive shape at the end of the alley that was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Kavanagh told him to wait, to not stab it, and Emilio paused with a frustrated grunt. “If there are more, I can just stab them, too,” he pointed out, sounding a little irritated. There was a giant, supernatural something at the end of the alley, and she didn’t want him to stab it? What the hell else was there to do?

Its mouth opened, and there was a glint of something inside. Bright metal, silver. The damn necklace. Ren’s backpack was there, too, trapped in the mouth of the thing, and Emilio thought about just how little that kid actually had. He thought about how desperate Kavanagh had been to get that necklace back, about the way it clearly meant something to her even if she wasn’t willing to say what. Again, the weight of his wedding band felt heavy on his finger.

Kavanagh said they should run, and Emilio hated that idea. Even though the necklace was disappearing back into its mouth with the tongue, even though it was looking at them both like it might want to suck them into its mouth right along with it, even though he had no idea what this thing was or how to kill it. “No,” Emilio said stubbornly. “No, fuck that. I said I’d get your necklace back, I’m getting your damn necklace back.” He raised his knife, taking a few purposeful strides towards the… were they really going with rat here? That was not a rat. Turning back to Kavanagh, he raised his brows. “I am going to stab it,” he repeated carefully. “And I’m gonna get it to give me the pinche necklace. And then I’m going to look up a photo of a rat, and I’m going to show it to you, because I think you may not know what one is.” That bit was more of a joke than anything. As always, Emilio’s sense of humor came into play at the worst of times, and was funny to no one but him. So it went.

“Is your solution to everything to stab it?” Regan called out after Emilio, but it was too late to stop him. She could tell when someone’s mind was made up. How did this man make it so far in life without reaching his end? He wouldn’t die here; she at least knew that much. “I’ve seen rats before, you know.” Regan hissed, and the giant creature paused for a moment, beady eyes blinking in… pain? It didn’t look so bothered, but it clearly didn’t like when she spoke. She thought back to all the little ones pouring into the alley, how she’d popped them with a scream. Did this big one know she could do that? Well, at least to the little ones – Regan had never attempted such a thing with a creature so massive.

Had Emilio noticed? Regan wasn’t sure it was something she wanted to draw attention to, but a detective was a detective. “Didn’t you see that it ate it? I don’t think there’s any getting that back, unless you intend to –” Of course he was going to bisect this thing and open its stomach. “--Look you know what, how about I just tell animal control and have them – I mean, this is a little above your pay grade, don’t you think?” The big rat had that eerie shadow of a smile on its thin mouth again, and dread gnawed at Regan’s bones. Something was about to happen. And even though it wouldn’t kill Emilio, it was not going to be good.

The answer to Kavanagh’s question was, unfortunately, yes. Emilio’s solution, nine times out of ten, was going to be to come at something with a knife and hope for the best. Most of the time, stabbing something would either solve your problem or give you a far bigger one. Either way, it seemed preferable to sitting still. “If you think this is a rat, you have not seen rats.” Something shifted in the creature’s expression, something that seemed to imply some kind of intelligence behind those eyes. It was unnerving, particularly because Emilio couldn’t begin to fathom what had caused it. Was the creature offended to be compared to a rat?  Was it capable of that? A whole new slew of questions arose with a single change in expression.

“I have a knife,” Emilio reminded her, letting the implication hang. If he had to cut the necklace out of the thing’s stomach, he would. It was important to her. And maybe it was a matter of pride at this point, too; the idea of calling Kaden made him scowl, just imagining how insufferable the Frenchman was bound to become. He’d probably be more equipped to handle this sort of thing; it was far more likely to qualify as a beast than it was anything undead or fae, he suspected. But he’d never live it down if he had to bring in Kaden, and he knew it. He’d rather handle this himself. “You wanted your necklace, I’m getting your necklace,” he insisted, turning to look back at the doctor. “It’s fine. I’m a professional.” He turned back to the creature, closing the remaining space between them and burying his blade up to the hilt in what he assumed was its chest. That’d show her.

As he yanked the blade free, he took a step back in order to avoid the spray of blood that was sure to follow the knife out of the creature’s chest. But there was no blood. There was no liquid of any kind. Instead, what poured from the creature’s wound was… more creatures. Tiny versions of the beast in front of him, crawling free from the opening and down the creature’s body to the floor of the alley. Emilio watched, brow furrowed and jaw dropping open. “That’s… new.”

Had Regan not noticed the absence of her need to scream, she would have been sure Emlilio was going to get himself killed. He plunged the blade into the creature, and instead of a stream of blood, what sprayed out were tiny little…

Oh no.

Small rats shot out of the wound in all directions, several of them smacking Regan in the face – silently – while others congregated on the ground, moving in mute unison. She sprung on her toes, as if that distance would keep them away, but there was something strange. They weren’t swarming her. Why weren’t they swarming her?

Their beady eyes blinked up at her, and they jolted, like a shiver ran through them. Did they… recognize her? Regan’s rational mind saw that as an opportunity to get away, or at least give them a taste of last time, a reminder. But her lungs swelled with pride at the recognition. Good. She inhaled a deep breath and the horde of little rats backed up, as if expecting her to unmake them just as she had some of their brethren. Their faces, however, were unchanged; that same emotionless mask that Regan couldn’t help but admire. Before, they had been so numerous they could overwhelm her before she could let out another scream. This time, though, they were fewer in number. The advantage was hers.

As long as Emilio didn’t – “No more stabbing!” Regan called out, and a couple of the small rats ran around in frantic circles, reacting to her voice. “Don’t you see the problem? You’re only going to make more of the smaller ones. And trust me, they are not easier to deal with.” The big rat turned its massive head toward Regan, and once more, she swore she saw a hint of a smile. Its giant tongue lolled out of its mouth again, just enough for her to see the gleam of silver atop all the black and white. And just like before, it was consumed, the great black neck of the creature stretching and contracting as her possession passed down its esophagus. She clenched her fists and locked a scream behind a snarl. She wanted to do it, to just destroy the damn thing and rip the necklace from its belly like Emilio intended, but she couldn’t. Not with someone else here, and then, on principle… it was shameful enough that she needed the necklace. The only way to make that worse would be to lose her temper trying to get it back.

“That’s enough.” Defeat stained her voice. That was no better than anger pouring out of her. But it was smarter. “I should have known the… rats would still have it. We can’t get it back. They’ll be all over us just like before.”

What the fuck was this thing? Emilio stumbled backwards as dozens of smaller versions of the beast sprung from its wound like blood, swarming together on the ground of the alley. He’d had a pretty well-rounded education, as far as hunters went. The Cortez family had prided themselves on being well-informed slayers, aware of pretty much every kind of undead thing there were. At twelve, Rhett had come into his life and begun educating him on fae, a whirlwind of information that he tried to hold on to even when the fae he only heard about felt so much slippier than the undead he’d seen and fought for himself. And then, in adulthood, there’d been Juliana, with her vast library of knowledge in regards to shifters and beasts. Those lessons had been a thing all their own, a system in which he was ‘rewarded’ for learning instead of punished for failing. 

All in all, he liked to think he knew more than even most hunters when it came to the different kinds of creatures out there. He knew he didn’t know everything, because no one did. But he always figured he knew enough to puzzle out the things he didn’t know all on his own.

Except he had no fucking idea what this thing could be.

He didn’t even know how to categorize it. He only knew it wasn’t undead because its senses weren’t telling him as much, but beyond that? It could have been anything. Fae, beast, demonic. It certainly felt like the last one, if only because of how goddamn unsettling it was. But the tiny creatures pouring out of the wound didn’t move to attack right away. Instead, they seemed… afraid. Not of the man with the knife who had freed them by plunging it through the skin of the thing they’d burst out of, but by the woman with him.

Emilio looked over at Kavanagh, confusion furrowing his brow. “Yeah,” he said, sounding irritated, “I see that now. But how was I supposed to know that before? You’re not going to believe this, but this is not what usually happens when you stab something.” Which was frustrating. Stabbing was Emilio’s go-to move as a slayer, and it was beyond useless here. Something told him holy water and rosaries wouldn’t do the trick, either. 

The necklace was still in the creature’s mouth, and it seemed to be taunting the doctor with it. Emilio’s frustration only grew as she seemed ready to give up on it right then and there. “It’s right here,” he argued. “There has to be some way to get it back. You said it was important, and I said I’d help. It’s right here. We can do something.” But Emilio didn’t know what. He’d exhausted all his ideas already, and Kavanagh wasn’t offering any new ones. 

Even though Emilio had backed off from the creature, seemingly not intending to stab it again, small rats continued to spill out of its wound. Until finally they… just stopped. Like it had been plugged, or the faucet turned off. As wrong as the entire situation was, and as relieved as Regan was to not need to deal with any more of the tiny ones, that didn’t seem right, either. She turned to Emilio, her mouth open and ready to shout a word of warning, but she couldn’t find any and couldn’t predict what was about to happen. All she knew was that it wasn’t a death. Anything else? Well, just about anything seemed possible right now.

The ground trembled. Regan looked down, and the tiny creatures were… frozen? Scared? Were they scared stiff? Good. But then, simultaneously, the rats started melting. “Um, Emilio?” Another tremor shook the alley. Now, she looked up. The large creature tilted its head down at them, its small eyes somehow piercing through her and Emilio at the same time. 

And then it exploded. Silently. Blood spattered everywhere, like an endless arterial spurt, drenching Emilio in the process. Or… Regan had assumed it to be blood, but she immediately recognized something was wrong with it. Not blood. It was the same dark, oily material that the small rats had been dissolving into before they had been subsumed into this larger quantity. The alley was thick with the black, goopy liquid. It pooled under Regan’s shoes and threatened to suck her in, but rather than obeying the laws of gravity, the dark ooze moved of its own accord. Out of the alley. Away from them. And with it, in the center of the dark mass, she could see the glint of her necklace and a good-covered lump that looked vaguely backpack-shaped. They drifted in the black current, pulled into the street, only to be slurped down into the nearest storm drain with the rest of the ooze. Regan raced over to the drain, nearly slipping on the last trails of the liquid as it, too, cascaded down. 

There went her necklace. Again.  

“Do you still think stabbing is a good solution?” She turned to Emilio, a cross expression falling on her face. She knew it wasn’t his fault. She had been the one to bring him here, and he was doing this partially as a favor. Even if he believed it was an “I scratch your back…” situation. Regan watched the last of the liquid swirl around the grate and trickle down into the drain. Gone for good, most likely. She hissed a sigh that came out more like a shrill whistle. That only frustrated her more, and she ground her shoe against the pavement, scraping any remaining ooze off and trying to shed her bitterness with it. “Forget it. I’m not angry at you.” She shouldn’t have been angry at all, though, and she had best remember that. “You tried. Perhaps I should focus my efforts on trying to find a replacement instead… if such a thing is out there.” She stared down into the drain. “There is a lot out there.”

The small creatures stopped pouring out of the big one, and while normally Emilio would find some relief in this, everything about the situation leading up to it meant that he was filled only with dread instead. They’d done nothing to stop the flow, which meant the creature must have stopped it itself, somehow. And if it had done this itself, it meant it was part of some bigger plan. And that was bad. Plans were bad. He turned to look at Regan. Maybe she had a point about this being a lost cause. They could always regroup, come back later. “I think maybe we should get out of —”

Before he could finish the thought, there was a rumbling. It wasn’t enough to take his feet out from underneath him, but it was definitely enough to find his attention snapping back to the giant shape in the alley. He didn’t like the way it was looking at him, at either of them. This was bad. This was going to be bad.

Turning back to Regan, he started an attempt to usher her out of the alley that was interrupted by a silent explosion. Some kind of goo rained down on him; it reminded him of the liquid he’d slapped out of Van’s hand the first time he’d met her, the black goop that came out of the ground. It absolutely soaked him, whatever it was. His hair, his skin, his clothes. He managed not to get any in his mouth, but nothing else was spared. And then it just… melted off. As if it was moving of its own accord, sliding off him and onto the floor of the alley where it joined the rest of the mess to make its way down the storm drain. He spotted the glint of the necklace and the lump of the backpack and made a dive for them both, but he was too slow to catch them. For mindless goo, the shit was moving pretty quickly.

And then it was gone, leaving only the two of them in the alley. Emilio stared at the storm drain, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. Regan was asking him if he still thought stabbing it had been the best idea, And Emilio kind of wanted to scream. He opened his mouth, throwing his hands up in the air. What the fuck else was I supposed to do, he asked, except… Nothing came out. His mouth moved around the words, his throat pushing his voice from his vocal chords, but there was no sound. Emilio’s hands went to his throat, as if the answer might lie there. What the fuck, he said, but again it was silent. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck. ¿Qué chingados? 

He looked at Regan, eyes wide. Something is wrong. Something is wrong with me. What the fuck is going on? The words rushed out in silence. She was talking about replacing the necklace, but it was hard to track the conversation when he couldn’t participate in it.

When Emilio grabbed his throat, Regan’s first thought was that he was choking. Her body was just starting to adjust to the lack of a threat, and now there was a new one, and she rushed over to him, alert and prepared. He rasped silently, and that was when Regan realized he wasn’t trying to breathe; he was trying to speak. And failing. Regan’s thoughts spun back to those mushrooms in the woods, how she and Kaden’s senses were stolen and they were rendered unable to speak. Was this like that? Were these creatures somehow connected to the mushrooms? More importantly, would the same thing work to fix it? Her lungs were springy and keen, ready to jump into action, but she tugged them back. Not here. 

Regan gave him some space now that she was fairly sure he wasn’t choking, and at least positive he wasn’t about to die. “Oh, um… are you not able to – right, you probably can’t respond. Actually, just nod. You can’t speak, right? Hold on, that was confusing. Nodding could mean either outcome. Are you able to speak?” Emilio seemed increasingly frustrated and confused. She paced around him, looking toward the grate and the ground once in a while to check for any remaining black sludge.

She considered, searching for something that at least sounded plausible. “You probably have laryngitis. We were speaking loudly. You lost your voice.” Her eyes landed on a splotch of goop on Emilio’s shirt, and she lost all confidence in that being true. Though that didn’t provide an answer. Still, best to brace Emilio for what was to come. Probably. At least until she could figure out a way to surreptitiously test her hypothesis. “But, um… you know… it might not hurt to brush up on some sign language. Or practice charades. Just in case your voice doesn’t come back.” She added, quickly, “Soon, I mean. In case it doesn’t come back soon.” She looked over at the grate once more, wistfully. “We’re not going to find your voice here. I don’t think we’ll find anything here.”

Emilio glared at Kavanagh as she spoke, which he knew wasn’t entirely fair. None of this was her fault, but he was angry anyway. He usually was, regardless of how little that anger might have been earned. She asked if he could speak and slowly, deliberately, the detective shook his head. No, I can’t fucking speak. If I could speak, I’d be speaking. His mouth moved around the words, no sound coming out.

What the fuck is laryngitis? Again, there was no sound. Whatever it was she was saying, he didn’t think it made sense. Speaking loudly wouldn’t cause him to lose his voice like this — not when the event was directly preceded by him being covered in goop by whatever the fuck that thing had been. Sign language? There was no way in hell this was permanent. This couldn’t be permanent. The idea of it sent Emilio into a brief panic, eyes wide as his heart ticked up a beat. (He was already damaged. His bad leg twinged with the thought, making itself known. He was already damaged. What was the point of him, if things got worse? Who needed a knife so rusted that it could no longer cut?) 

He swallowed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to go home and melt into his couch for days. Already, his limbs felt heavy. He’d blame it on the goop, but… this was a familiar feeling. The kind that usually came hand-in-hand with the days where all he could manage was to sit on his couch and stare at the floor. He opened his mouth to agree with the doctor, realizing belatedly that it was pointless. With a soundless sigh, he waved a hand and trudged out of the alley. Fuck this place.

[inspirationdivine]

Dead Disappointed || Lydia & Deirdre

Deirdre grieves Janus’s death being uneventful, and the murder moms plan their next steps

@deathduty @kadavernagh @chasseurdeloup

Lydia didn’t know exactly what had happened. She didn’t understand the complex nuances of Bean-sí and their activation rituals - so she couldn’t fully understand what could have gone wrong. What she did understand was the crushing disappointment - both the opportunity to reach Regan and help her learn, as well as the more personal desire to not be alone. Lydia didn’t, and couldn’t fully understand what it was like to be a banshee anymore than Deirdre could understand being a muse. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t try, Lydia thought as she stepped into Faetal Attraction, her glamour dropping as she walked over to the bar. Sure enough, there was Deirdre at the bar. “Julia?” Lydia called, tapping Deirdre’s glass as she sat down. “Two more of these, please.”

How could she be so shortsighted? So foolish and so much of a failure? Deirdre thumped her forehead against the bar counter for what felt like the thousandth time that night, groaning into the polished wood. She'd been drunkenly mumbling about her failures for hours now, shooing away anyone that tried to comfort her. The sight of Lydia shot the banshee up, and she straightened her dress in an obvious desire to want to impress despite her tipsy state. "I wouldn't do that," Deirdre stared down into the watery remains of whatever was in her glass. "I can't remember what I ordered. Uh, probably just straight whiskey." She turned to Lydia, wondering if she'd scoff at that. What was the fancy fae's drink? Wine? Deirdre didn't care as long as it burned. "T-thank you for coming," she started, "it—Regan is—apparently, the janitor isn't even that close to her." She laughed darkly. 

“Oh, I can handle whiskey alright,” Lydia replied, raising her eyebrows. If a person could be the embodiment of a wilted plant, it was Deirdre right now, no matter how much she tried to straighten her dress. “You’re a friend, Deirdre, of course I’d come.” A small promise that she had no compunctions about keeping. Her chest sank at the news, but Lydia had few hesitations when it came to humans. “I’m so sorry darling. Is there anything we can do to try again?”

Despite herself, despite the situation, Deirdre laughed. Maybe it was hearing someone as poised as Lydia boast about her drinking abilities, or hearing her call them friends, but something was funny. The banshee hummed, turning back to her drink. The bartender swung back and presented the drinks asked for with a flourish. There was a human, the fae were fond of this one. It helped that she knew her place, on the other side of the bar, serving them. Everything was so conditional with her people...she imagined even this friendship that Lydia claimed worked that way too. Would it stop the moment Deirdre overstepped? Or did it last as long as she played her fae-part? “What do you think?” she sighed, turning to look at Lydia, “all she has to do is see someone close to her die. So, tell me what you think needs to be done, Lydia.”

Lydia took her whiskey gratefully, but her eyes didn’t even flicker from Deirdre to the bartender. It was hardly a second thought in her mind. Her only hesitation came from a small ache inside her. Deirdre had seen her feed, had understood the necessity of her species and her lifestyle. She understood that Lydia had no qualms about such things, but this was different. The banshee first scream was a time honoured tradition. There were rules and expectations as old as the seelie courts themselves. More than this, a human death in Lydia’s household served a purpose. This was death for death sake. Deirdre was already more understanding than most. Lydia didn’t want to lose this freshling friendship. “Well, darling, there are others she is close to. I know it isn’t traditional, but humans are… dispensable. Why couldn’t we arrange an unfortunate set of circumstances for Bo, or that onerous Kaden?”

Deirdre didn’t turn back to look at Lydia until she was sure the words were done, until there was nothing more the other woman could say. She was right. Her own mother had breathed the words down her neck. The purpose for their death could simply be the activation of a banshee, that alone was a great privilege. This was the most a human could ever be worth. She’d seen Lydia feed, and that too was more purpose to a human’s life than anything could be given. Lydia was the way a fae should be, each word and action seemed to solidify that more. “Kaden,” she rasped out, “it should be Kaden. Because she likes him and he’s---he’s not worthy of that, even if he wasn’t human. And he--he thinks of himself as better than us, and us as something to be exterminated.” But her drunken determination softened and her eyes searched Lydia’s for whatever courage it took her to not get sunk into the world of humans---to be the kind of fae that could do this without qualm. She had no sympathy for Kaden, only fear for Regan. “I’m a little---I’ve been trying to think of how. And--what if--what if she hates me for it? I don’t---I can’t push away the only other banshee in this town.” Regan would need her...or maybe it was the other way around? Deirdre didn’t know how to find the difference. 

Kaden was perfect, then. Lydia nodded as she listened to Deirdre. Two birds with one stone, it sounded like. She swallowed more whiskey, resting her head on her hand. “I think Regan might not be ready to know the entirety of this situation. Right now, all she needs to know is good death. In time, we can fill her in. Death can be arranged indirectly. The right promise in the right place…" Lydia trailed off. "If you like, I could organise the entire thing, so that even far down in the future, if she were to hate one of us, it wouldn't be her Banshee mentor."

“You’re right but---” Deirdre blinked, in a moment her lips parted and she didn’t have the sobriety to hide her astonishment. Guilt for thinking Lydia’s claim to friendship was disingenuous struck her and she reached out her hand, gently curling her fingers around Lydia’s wrist. “I...would never make you do that, Lydia. I mean, help me, please--” she laughed wryly, breaking into her first smile of the night. “But I take responsibility for my actions...for my plans. I won’t have her hate you. I’m not asking for that.” And Lydia was the proper fae, wasn’t she? Her more delicate touch might be the thing Regan needed more...in the end. Deirdre had a duty, and she accepted it. “But your help would...mean a lot. I’ll never be able to repay that, Lydia. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Lydia’s gaze drifted down to Deirdre hand on her wrist, that bone white skin stark in these lights against her own. After a moment, she clasped her other hand over Deirdre’s.  “In which case it’s a  good thing I’m not offering it as a loaned debt, but as a favour free of strings,” she replied, looking back up at Deirdre with a soft smile. “So come on then. Tonight we drink and feel sorry for ourselves. Tomorrow, we find someone to kill Kaden, and wake our lovely girl.”

“That’s worse,” Deirdre laughed softly, her eyes betrayed the softness that sat in her center. “I won’t make you take the blame, Lydia. Knowing Regan, she’d get the police sniffing around and...you don’t need that. I can do this. I’ll do it for you.” She left her hand in its spot, not daring to move it. How much time had she spent trying to impress fae like Lydia? Even if it was a fickle arrangement, she really did think of them as friends now. “Tonight we drink!” She finally pulled her hand back to down the rest of her drink, slamming it down with vigor. “Tomorrow we---uh, the other stuff you said!” She paused, “thank you, Lydia.”

[eliaskahtri]

A Reunion Over Peascake || Elias & Regan

TIMING: October 7th, during the day (Current)

LOCATION: Downtown Wicked’s Rest

PARTIES: Elias (@eliaskahtri ) & Regan (@kadavernagh)

SUMMARY: Regan sees a familiar face, but that can't be... Elias, could it?

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of prescription medication use

The Office of Medical Examiner vans had moved out, body in transit, and Regan departed the scene, thankful for the chill of fall air against her hot winter coat when she stepped outside. It had been an accident… probably. A bad fall on the slippery floor of a kitchen met with a cracked skull. Quick. Easy. She’d give this one to Rickers; it held little interest to her. But as she stepped away from The Peascake Factory (with a purchase of a peascake to-go in hand, the last thing her decedent would ever cook), deja vu hit her like a wall. This street… night time. Regan looked down the road and realized what it was – that place, the fae pub, was nearby. Where she’d initially met Elias.

She had set up a Google alert for his name, hoping she could track his whereabouts and at least determine whether or not he was alright. Or alive. Would she know if he had died, even if he were halfway around the world? She wasn’t sure. Cliodhna had told her that if a bond were forged deep enough, she would still scream, no matter the distance. But, of course, humans were not worthy of such a connection. It didn’t matter. He seemed fine, from what she’d read. She hadn’t been expecting to find anything, but a few weeks after Elias left, the headlines started rolling in. “Cybernetic breakthrough spearheaded by genius upstart” and “The revolution in prosthetics is here”. On paper, it matched what she’d known about Elias’s background, the research he was involved in back in California, but the whole thing felt spun out of some alternate reality, and Regan eventually needed to silence the alert.

Rather than go near the place, she turned in the other direction to walk toward the busy intersection. Fewer fae. It suited her better. The plastic Peascake Factory bag crinkled in her tightening grip. She still nearly dropped it when she saw a tall, slender figure crossing the street, dressed for business. His back was to her, but his hair – and when he turned, she saw the beard. There was a woman with him. She had an elegant and easy sort of beauty, her dark hair appearing professionally styled, though she probably woke up that way. Her attire matched his – curt and professional. Doubt flooded her. There was no way that could have been Elias. She had just been thinking about him. She snuffed out the phrase wishful thinking from her thoughts, obliterating any trace of it.

This was curiosity. That was all. “Elias?” Regan called out, confusion creasing her forehead. She tried one more time. “Elias!” 

It had been a very busy past few months for Elias. Between telling his father he was getting his old job back (which he had been quite thrilled about) and finishing the project that was destined to fail, and fail it had, without him, he found himself in the limelight. A light he didn’t want. The things that had happened in Wicked’s Rest had blessingly turned into a distant memory he didn’t dwell on save for late at night right as he was about to fall asleep. The friends he had abandoned so readily just as he had abandoned his previous life like it was nothing. He felt like everything he had acquired wasn’t deserved. 

He finished the prosthetic arm, and it worked. Well, of course it worked. He was a genius, after all (not that he acted like it). When he had received an offer to work on further research at the hospital in Wicked’s Rest, he had almost immediately declined. But a chance to continue doing what he was good at as well as go back to the life he had started to carve out for himself? It was almost too good to pass up. So before he knew it, he was driving across the country with a moving truck full of his stuff and into a rental apartment in the heart of downtown. Thanks to Naya, his assistant. An assistant. He had an assistant. In all his life he never would have expected this to happen to him.

After grabbing lunch with Naya, they walked through downtown Wicked’s Rest, mostly to show her around than reacquaint himself with the area. He had purposely avoided getting close to that damn bar, the bar that had blown a hole in reality for him. It left him stumbling out of that house in the middle of the night and driving off. No note, nothing. He was just gone. He changed his number and pretended that faeries didn’t exist. Nope, they definitely don’t exist and it was just a lapse in sanity. Good thing those new meds the doctor got him on were working. Nothing but a case of delusions and hallucinations. Good ol’ medication, that one.

“I start interviews for the open positions on Monday,” he was telling her as he heard a very familiar voice call out to him. He froze where he stood, eyes going wide as he whispered for Naya to wait for him at the car. He didn’t want to turn around. He wanted to keep moving and go about his day, he had to continue setting up his office in his apartment. Naya had been lucky enough to secure the unit across the hall, so she was available at all hours to him whether he wanted her to be or not. Very dedicated, that one. He hoped she wouldn’t burn out as hard as he had. Burn out enough to believe that faeries were real and get himself on some heavy duty psychiatric medication. 

Closing his eyes tightly and letting out a sigh, Elias finally turned around to see Regan. He expected himself to be awkward and uncomfortable, but instead, his face went from deer in the headlights to softened and relieved. “Regan.” He said back, quickly hurrying over to her with a bright smile on his face. Whether he wanted to or not, he cared deeply about the woman that refused to call him her friend. They had shared bad yogurt together, dead rats in yogurt together, she had hired him when he needed it, they had seen an eldritch otherworldly being at the other yogurt shop together… Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she was kind. She was… Regan. “I, uh…” he sighed, shaking his head. “I owe you an explanation.” His shoulders drooped, the weight of what he had done finally hitting him like a load of bricks.

“I thought that faeries were real, and ran back home to California.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair as he stared over her shoulder, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. “And that landed me in hot water with a therapist, and now I’m medicated. And then I finished my prosthesis and that got me way more success than I wanted and now I’m here. Working out of the hospital.” He shrugged his shoulders, in a what-can-you-do manner. “And I didn’t say a damn word to you.” His face fell, realizing how badly he had screwed everything up. “And I’m so sorry.”

Regan was not sure she had seen Elias’s eyes swell to this size before. They were big, brown, and growing softer by the second… and part of Regan wished she could scoop her own eyes – probably just as large – from her skull so she didn’t need to look at him. Her eyes would betray her. She realized almost immediately after calling his name that it was probably a mistake. She was leaving. Why intrude on whatever peace Elias had found only to be the one to leave this time? Hard-won peace, probably. “I don’t – sorry, I shouldn’t have – I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Again. Ever again.” Her mouth went dry but as Elias said he owed the explanation, she didn’t feel quite so intrusive. “You look – I mean, you could be dressed for court right now. Not that – I know you left the job. Obviously. At the Medical Examiner’s Office. But you’re wearing – nevermind. Also, who is the woman? What are you doing h– are you visiting? Coming back? I – right.” She shut up and let him explain.

Almost immediately, he mentioned the faeries. And Regan’s keyed up energy deflated like a punctured bladder. The Peascake Factory bag drooped almost down to the sidewalk. The way the two of them had left things was not right. Although, Elias leaving town – and leaving his employment – without warning cemented that she had been correct to want to keep him away from that case. He could not handle it. Humans could not. No human could, however capable they thought themselves. What she didn’t know was whether or not he had internalized anything; had he truly realized what he was looking at, that his suspicions were correct… or had he shed it just as easily as everything else? Regan dared to hope it was the latter. If he told anyone else about the case, about the bar, things could get even worse. And Elias would be inextricably involved, pulled back into what he tried to run from. 

Guilt tinged the inside of her mouth like acid when he mentioned therapy, medication. Neuroleptics were not the answer to his problem; iron was. But Elias had clearly put it behind himself enough to find success exactly where he wanted to. And for that, Regan could absolve herself of a lot. “Don’t… don’t worry about it. I know you ran. You left your planner behind. The one with all of those colonial women on it.” She hesitated for a second but then admitted it. “I checked. There was nothing in there about you planning to leave. I’ll, um, give that back to you, by the way.” She rubbed the back of her neck through the coat. “I know about your success, too. I found it. You can set up alerts on the internet. For example, if you want to know about any nearby endangered bog lemming carcasses that have been found, you can set up an alert for ‘endangered bog lemming carcass Maine’. Nothing there yet, though.” She waved a hand. Didn’t matter. “Congratulations. I am… pleased for you.” There was a question she desperately wanted to ask. The mention of the hospital gave her hope the answer would be no. She shuffled a little off to the side so they were closer to one of the buildings, not so near the street and pedestrian crosswalk. “The bar. You’re not going back there, are you? You’re only working at the hospital now?”

Regan’s questions were valid, Elias knew that. After all, who came back to the place they ran away in terror from? His gaze cast downward at the sidewalk, tapping his foot at a rapid pace, anxiety building before he took a deep breath and willed the panic away. He couldn’t let himself get worked up, not again. “I’m heading a research team at the hospital for the cybernetic I created. That woman you saw, Naya, she’s my assistant.” He frowned, hating the fact that he even needed one of those. “Unfortunately, medical breakthroughs come with a high amount of fame. She handles my day to day and fields interviews.” He let a deep sigh out, suddenly looking tired. 

“Between you and me, I didn’t want this. At all.” He admitted, a hand pressed against his chest as he spoke. “But my father said I could take my position back, and at that point I needed to just go back on autopilot.” He sucked air through his teeth, eyes going a bit glossy as he got lost in thought. Sure, his head was on straighter thanks to Dr. Rogers and her brilliant psychotherapetuic intervention skills, but he was still bouncing from one extreme to another. And he hated it. He wanted to have a job and a life outside of it, but he just didn’t know how. 

His brows furrowed at the mention of colonial women. What? What did that- oh. “You mean the fellowship of the ring? A group of all men?” He gave her an incredulous look. “Lord of the Rings. A trilogy of so many characters and only, like, two of them are women?” He shook his head at her, as if deeply disappointed. “Now that I’m back in town, I’m going to make you watch them. In exchange I’ll give you plain yogurt and bones.” He gave her a sly smile, knowing it would be a tempting offer. “I’ll even go easy on you and not make you watch the extended editions.” At least, not right away. Though, he didn’t say that part out loud. 

He smiled at her, though it was a sad one. “I’m sorry I left without saying anything, or not reaching out to you afterwards. But my mind was in such a spiral I couldn’t even talk to my family without having a breakdown. So I did what I had to do to regulate myself again. I’m not like you, I have emotions that I feel far too deeply. And I was one soft breeze away from checking myself into a psychiatric hospital and not looking back.” He bit on his lower lip, eyes getting a faraway look again. He had left everyone behind without saying anything. It wasn’t just Regan. Shit, being back in town was more trouble than it was worth. The money was almost not worth it. 

Heading up a research team at a hospital was no small thing, especially for a non-physician. Regan could barely understand cybernetics (she could if she tried, she thought), but whatever Elias’s breakthrough was, it had clearly made enough waves to part the sea for him. And out of all the hospitals that were vying for him, he chose Wicked’s Rest… the very origin of his mental breakdown. Regan tensed her lip nervously between her teeth. Something was off. Not just Elias’s intended stay here, but Elias himself. In a certain light, when she studied him, it was as though something inside him had been strangled. He had achieved some hopes and dreams and traded others for them. Didn’t even want this. Fame was rarely so extravagant as people thought. He could spend his day doing photoshoots for medical journal covers but by the time night fell his thoughts would spiral as his head hit the pillow just like any other damn person. And then he would die.

But Regan said, “That’s wonderful.” And she tried to mean it. Mostly, she did. Elias deserved success. He needed to get out of that bar, the morgue was not where he belonged, and he had the wits to make something of his life. “You must be busy.” Too busy to be stalled by a crosswalk talking to his old boss who was leaving town anyway. “I had always wondered what compelled you to come here, to trade everything you had over there for…” She pointed vaguely in the direction of the bar. “But it sounds like you have achieved some mental clarity and reaped the benefits. Does that mean… you’re staying here, then.” I’m not. The confession burned her mouth as she refrained from speaking it. Part of her wished he had just been flitting in and out, a brief pivot back to Wicked’s Rest as he conquered conferences along the eastern seaboard. Given the finely-tailored clothes and the assistant, she had to wonder if his ego outswelled his brain, but he seemed like himself.

Especially where nerd paraphernalia was concerned. So maybe they weren’t colonial women. She didn’t care about this franchise of jewelry gods. But… Elias did. “Bás síoraí,” Regan mumbled; she already had a feeling she knew what that would mean for her. “You know I don’t do entertainment. I get nothing from it. There would be no purpose.” Except, of course, to engage in something Elias enjoyed because it would mean something to him, but was that really enou– oh, bones. And yogurt. She ran a hand through her hair, the Peascake Factory bag rustling at the movement. “Perhaps someday.” If she ever returned. But by then, she suspected, she would not even recognize Elias. He would be nothing but a formless, shapeless human, identical as the next. And she should be glad for it.

She swallowed at his apology. It was probably owed. Certainly the Medical Examiner’s Office deserved one as an entity. But if they were to have that conversation, the one Elias so badly wanted to have when the autopsy had gone banjanxed, his head would have popped off right then and there, she was sure of it now. So it was good he left. Good he found some peace. Good he was leaving all of his suspicions behind. Unless he’d said anything reckless to the fae at the bar when he was let go. Did he have a target on him? Did he – no, don’t think about that right now. Regan realized that, at some point, she’d paced semicircle around him. “So why come back here? It can’t just be the hospital. You could find work at a dozen others.”

In truth, Elias didn’t know if he was going to stay at all. Of course, he had to dedicate himself to this project. Whether or not he actually saw the full thing out instead of replacing himself with someone far more capable was a different question all together. “I… for a while, at least.” He answered, posture deflating a little at the idea. He liked Maine, well and truly he did. He had dealer’s choice of where he could have gone, of course, but he chose here. He had moved there months ago to prove a point that his life could change, and by God did it change. But now, he had something to prove to himself. What he was proving exactly, he didn’t know. That he wasn’t crazy, maybe? That there is something afoot that medication isn’t the answer to? It gnawed at the back of his mind, he knew the truth. He just refused to believe it. He knew that there was a great secret that Regan was hiding from him, and if his suspicions were correct, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself. But he’d have to test that theory in time. If he could at all, he didn’t know if he had the guts. 

“Something death,” he then translated automatically. Although it was embarrassing to admit, the Irish she spoke here and there was enough to make him try to learn the language. Duolingo, his beloved. Well, at least he translated the death part. He quirked a smile. He felt his phone buzz, probably Naya. Or his mother, who was always worrying about him. He ignored it. “I’ll hold you to it then.” He spoke with a smile, wiggling his brows as if playfully issuing her a challenge. “You may say you don’t do entertainment, but I know there’s a part of you deep down that wants to understand my references if nothing else.”

Then she asked the question he was hoping she wouldn’t. Of course, it was a perfectly valid question that Elias would have asked if he were in her shoes, so he wasn’t surprised by it. “Because…” his voice trailed off, expression turning to one of discomfort. He was embarrassed. “If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t like it.” He then said in a soft, almost weak voice. He let his gaze fall to his feet, realizing he didn’t have the guts to say it. No, he had to say it. Hell, he could get hit by a bus tomorrow and he’d never have admitted it. “Because I missed you.” He then said, daring himself to meet her gaze. “Because you’re a good person, whether you want to see it or not. Because, as much as you hate the word, you’re my friend.” He nodded his head once, as if telling off the anxious voice in his head that called him a coward. 

When Elias mentioned death – quickly, seemingly without thought – Regan looked as if she had been struck. Her reply was just as swift. “How did you…? An bhfuil Gaeilge ar eolas agat an t-am seo ar fad?” No, he couldn’t have known the language before. He probably picked some up at the bar. There were, Regan had learned, numerous Irish fae out there, and many of them stayed close to their roots. Still, she looked up, studying him as though he were new and unfamiliar; in a way, he kind of was. She held the tilt-headed look like he’d just spoken the language right back to her. The only person she’d encountered in town who spoke Irish was Siobhan. And Regan wasn’t exactly looking forward to conversing with that woman, regardless of what tongue was used. She knew what this meant. She had to learn about the screadaíl rings. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said quietly, too noncommittal, because, well… she did not want to tell him. There’s something you should know. Once more, her mouth burned with what remained unsaid.

Elias would have no such problem. He said whatever was on his mind when it was on his mind. There was something admirable about it, but right now, Regan wished she could pile the truth back into his mouth and stitch his lips shut. He was right. She didn’t like it.

I missed you. 

The words were heavy and thick and fell on top of her like a foul layer of plaque on a tooth or sheet of pollen on a clean window. Regan wanted to scrape them off her skin. Smooth out every sulcus in her brain if it eradicated the sentiment from her mind. She shrunk inside of her coat and this time, the Peascake Factory bag actually fell. Fortunately, it didn’t spill over. Elias couldn’t have meant that. Perhaps she was some small fraction of a reason he wanted to come back. Seeing her would be a consolation prize or a bonus, depending on how he otherwise felt about this place. Her eyes snapped away from his and she closed them; they stung a little, and when she opened them she could not meet his eyes again. The truth came banging up her throat once again. She couldn’t tell him. Gael had tried to intervene and ended up hurt. Elias would do the same, and be even more in over his head. He had only just barely managed to tear himself away from the fae. She could not involve him. Never. She would not. “I’m sorry to hear that.” The words were uncharacteristically small when she said them, her voice weak to her own ears. She hated it.

She could argue with him, that she was not a person, that she could not be missed, that they were certainly not friends, but there was no point to any of it now. All she could do was be sorry he thought and felt any of that. 

Regan sighed and scooped up the bag. It seemed okay. She looked down at it, then across the street where Elias’s assistant had brisked off to (he had an assistant). Back at the bag. “Look, I – one of the chefs over at The Peascake Factory died, and I was just there at the scene, and they still had the peascake he was making right before he died, so I bought it. It’s too big of a peascake for me to eat.” She shuffled between her feet. This was stupid. Elias clearly had other places to be, and Regan knew she should be ashamed of herself. This behavior – trying to eke a few more minutes out of someone before departing to Ireland – was disgustingly human. Tá an baile seo ag piocadh mo chnámha glan. Cliodhna would smell it on her. Regan wanted to pull her own hair out by the bulbs but, slowly, a rationalization settled in. If she gave herself and Elias closure, the guy might end up satisfied enough to not dare go looking for answers. It would allow her to better assess whether Elias had truly left that body on the autopsy table. She could ensure he would not chase after her when she left. Yes. That was the reason. “I have… a few minutes, if you want to engage in the necessary human behavior of food consumption.”

To say Elias was surprised by Regan’s offer to eat peascake (whatever in God’s name that was) with her was an understatement. Still, it was a welcomed one. Even if idea of eating a dead guy’s baked goods made him feel a little weird. He knew that for Regan, it was perfect. He fired off a text to Naya that simply read “Go ahead home, I’ll walk.” He tucked his phone away, nodding his head toward her. “A human behavior driven by a desire for closeness and companionship. Or when making a business deal.” Elias responded, eyeing over his totally not friend with an accusatory stare. 

He knew there was something she was hiding, it didn’t take much to figure that out. Still, he was the one that had left. He was the one that decided he couldn’t handle whatever was going on his life and fled like the feelings of those he had formed connections with hadn’t mattered. He was a coward. First he ran away from his old life, then he went running back. Now, he found that they were converging together. A twisted sort of fate that whatever power was out there had decided that they weren’t done with him yet. 

In truth, he has come to Wicked’s Rest because deep down, he needed to know the truth. As terrified as he was of it, he knew he would find the answer within the town. Sure, he now had more responsibility, but he knew he wasn’t crazy. He couldn’t be crazy. He felt a sudden urge to apologize, rising up in his throat, which he squelched down. “My apartment isn’t too far from here, if you want to eat there.” He offered, gesturing in the vague direction of the building. 

He fidgeted with his hands, a certain discomfort in being near Regan, as much as he had missed her. The knowledge that she held something back, something that clearly bothered her. Made her uncomfortable. Maybe it wasn’t that, and he made her uncomfortable. He felt uncomfortable being in the city himself, afraid to run into Regan, which he now had. He was afraid to run into Gael, too. 

He thought back to when he had told his brother all that had happened in the throes of his very real breakdown. “A right bastard you are,” his brother had said while laughing, then had clapped him on the back and walked away from him. That was right before he sought help. But his brother was right. “You can’t keep running away from everything, Eli. Whether you want it to or not, your past will come back to you.” He had said to him. As he thought of what his brother had said to him, his gaze unfocused. He was just an asshole and a coward, wasn’t he?

Regan bit back the rebuttal she wanted to make, the one stretching up her throat: I am not human, I do not have desires, and I have no use for closeness and companionship. At least one piece of that statement was not as true as she wished, and another would possibly have Elias end up in a psychiatric ward given his previous mental breakdown. So instead, Regan crossed her arms, her eyes ticking to the side. “I can come up with a business deal. We have some things to settle, actually. Some paperwork. Not that I have it with me. We could draw up a contract for the splitting of the peascake. I think this one is New York-style, by the way. Still warm. The decedent was too. It had just happened.” 

She shook her head at his well-meaning suggestion. “I won’t go to your apartment. That’s your space.” Though, if Regan were being honest, curiosity nagged at her. She imagined Elias would fill his space with more colonial women (no, the ring gods), Star Wars, and video games. Perhaps with a Silicon Valley flair now that he had undergone a transformation of some kind. “We’re, uh, not far from the Common. Let’s go there. It will afford us more space to unroll the peascake.” Regan shrugged her shoulder to the left, in the direction she was fairly sure they needed to walk. She could navigate the town well by now, but Elias being back made everything feel tilted on its axis. Like a dream, except, inexplicably, her ex-colleague was here instead of Bill Nye and instead of sexual intercourse she was going to have some of her questions answered, which was even better, really.  

She circled in front of him, studying him for a moment before continuing toward the park. “What is it? You look contemplative. No, that’s not quite it…” And it wasn’t the first time within the last few minutes she’d seen a similar expression on his face. Her emotional vocabulary may have been small, but she knew this one: lost. “Being back must be complicated for you. Change is a terrible thing. And sometimes one place infects you so deeply you no longer fit anywhere at all.” Her free hand flexed into a fist and she tightened it, fingernails pitting against her scars. “I do hope this was your choice.” 

Elias blinked at Regan. He wasn’t sure what kind of contract was needed for a piece of cake he wasn’t sure he wanted in the first place. “New York style… peascake.” The man stared at the ground, feeling Deja Vu washing over him. This wasn’t the first time that Regan had stricken him with the feeling of dread and deep confusion at the same time. “The fuck is peascake?” He finally asked, an incredulous expression taking form across his face. “I know cheesecake. And if it’s made out of peas, I’ll cry.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. He was a hair’s breadth away from crying on a good day. Peascake, though? Forget it.

He blinked at Regan’s words, that same dread and horrified feeling bubbling to the surface. “Still warm.” He echoed, staring blankly at the sidewalk. “Do you know what the cause of death was?” Elias asked, wondering if the horrific baked good was the man’s last act among the land of the living. What a horrific thought. Or absolutely wonderful one if you were Regan, he thought. He sighed, knowing it was an excuse to reconnect with someone in this city instead of isolating himself. Working was all he knew, sometimes. He had to break that habit. 

He nodded his head as she suggested the commons. He was glad she had rejected the offer. His apartment completely lacked personality. Naya had arranged for a company to move furniture before getting there, and he hadn’t bothered to put up any of the things he owned. Instead of it being a reflection of who he was, it felt wrong, just like everything felt to him lately.

Frowning, 

Elias stared at the ground again at Regan’s questions. “I…” he trailed off, unsure how to word it. “It’s complicated. I didn’t want to come back.” He confessed, knowing she deserved to know why he returned. “Naya’s from Wicked’s Rest.” He explained, unable to look up at Regan. “She saw the offer first and got excited about having an excuse to move back to her hometown.” In truth, Elias had been getting offers from all over the country. Some places were even out of the country. “I almost went to Germany,” he then said, rubbing at his arm. “But the whole not speaking German part really held me back.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She just got so excited to move here, and I just… couldn’t say no to her.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “So no, it wasn’t my choice.”

“You don’t know what a peascake is?” She tilted her head, giving him a narrow look. Sometimes Elias asked the strangest questions. Perhaps they didn’t have peascakes on the west coast. “There are no peas in peascakes. Do not be absurd.” Regan corrected him, but did not elaborate. She still suspected he was being deliberately obtuse. “And do not cry. I don’t want to see that. You’re so full of tears and feelings, one could pop you with a needle and you would burst like a salt-filled water balloon.” She was better. And he knew it. She didn’t need to remind him. “Nothing to do with the peascake, if that’s what you’re wondering. Judging by the accounts of the other chefs, it sounded like he slipped on the floor and fell backwards. Obviously, he has not received an autopsy yet, but his injuries are consistent with that. I cannot rule out that someone didn’t trip him, though.” Yet. when she had him on her table, had privacy, then she would see.

As the Common came into view, Regan found herself clutching the bag more tightly. Part of this felt like a mistake. Elias had managed to disentangle himself from the town but now it was reeling him back, and she had been part of what he needed to escape. Was it right for her to receive him like this? He was familiar, disturbingly so, almost inoffensive to be near, which she could not say for most people. A reminder of what she would be leaving behind and that it wasn’t as easy as she wanted to think. He could not do it. Cliodhna’s harsh voice filled her ears. Is leanbh trua, sentimental thú. 

“It’s hard to be in a country and not speak the language.” Regan’s eyes sank down to the cracked sidewalk for a moment. She tried not to remember those days, where the others refused to even speak a word of English to her, forcing her to adapt. As Irish became a natural tongue for her, Cliodhna became more willing to mix in some English. By then, it sounded practically foreign to Regan. “Immersion can solve that problem, however. It is how I learned. If you’re willful enough, you will learn it and learn it well; if not, you will perish.” She paused, realizing she was being a bit extreme, even for her, and shrugged. “Or move, I suppose. Is cuma leis na cuileoga cá dtiteann an corp.” She gave him a frown laced with understanding she didn’t want to begin to dissect for herself. “I’m sorry it was not your choice. That wasn’t what I was hoping to hear. It was kind of you to do that for your assistant, but we cannot live for others.” She wondered, for a moment, whether she was referring to her grandmother who she was prepared to dedicate centuries of her life to satisfying, or the wishes of her brother that brought her here to begin with. Where did she want to be?

Want. The word raked harshly across her skin. Right now, she was content here. But Siobhan would claw for her. Or if not for her, for anything that obstructed her. And, eventually, Regan knew, her own failures would pile up enough that even if she evaded Siobhan, she would need her. Regan tried hard to push it all back once more. She still did not want to tell him. “So… when did you get back?” She looked between him and one of the benches. Then shook her head at it. Not that one. The one further to the right felt better. And as she approached, she gave an approving nod toward a decomposing mole by one of the bench’s legs. A good omen, some would say. “And what is your plan? I mean, are you… you’re really just back? That’s it?”

Elias stared at the bag that Regan held in her hand, deciding it was a better place to look than at someone he once considered a friend before his world went to shit. “Right.” That was all he said in response to him being too emotional. Something about the remarks left him feeling angry, annoyed even. “Well, if that’s all you have to say?” He spoke, raising his brows as if to tell her to shut up with his eyes.

These emotions flitted through Elias's mind, from dreading seeing her to being happy to see her to wishing he had never seen her. It was bad enough, Gael, but now her? He really wasn’t getting lucky this week. “Couldn’t have been a death by chocolate cake? Now, that would have been a coincidence.” Elias waggled his brows, deciding to bury down the foul mood to worry about later. Or never, never sounded even better, honestly. Regan was talking to him, but the words turned into static, and all he could think about was the woman's body with horns and deer legs and… 

Elias reached into his pocket, pulled out his prescription, and took a dose. He said nothing about it and hoped that Regan wouldn’t either. He took a deep breath and willed those thoughts away, too. “It wasn’t my choice, but I’m a slave to my work.” Elias shrugged his shoulders as if that was all there was to say on the matter. And honestly, it was. Work kept his mind occupied. He couldn’t think about faeries if he didn’t have the time. It was too much if he had to manage a team and work on his project, field questions from curious scientists, and manage a now-growing social media following. His ears were ringing again, incessant and loud. He shook his head as he neared a bench in the commons, and Elias plopped down on it, clutching his head to regulate himself. 

After taking deep breaths, the ringing slowly subsided, leaving him with the noise of a busy downtown area. “If it were up to me, I’d move to another country and write a comic or something.” Elias shook his head, leaning back in his seat with a deep, defeated sigh. “I’m not… I’m not better. Not yet.” He admitted, biting at his lower lip. He couldn’t look up at Regan. It was embarrassing to admit that he wasn’t okay. 

“I’m here to do my job, nothing else.” He then said, his tone clipped. It surprised even him. “I did it for Naya. And now I can-” he stopped, brows furrowing. And now he could what? Undo all the progress he had made in turning his life around? As terrified as he was, he needed answers. “Why iron?” He then asked, finally looking up at her with a steely gaze. “Why were you so keen on protecting me from something?” He shook his head, running his tongue along his teeth as he thought about the possibilities. “I’m not strong enough to know the truth,” he muttered. “I saw it and ran from it, quite literally.” He stuffed the prescription bottle back into his pocket. “Work, maybe research other things, keep to myself.” He shrugged. “Might as well do something now that I’m stuck here for a while.”

Something changed in Elias. His eyes grew frantic, his body stiffening. He looked like a man being chased by bears (or fae). Regan gave him a sideways look, but the moment passed quickly as he clung to an orange prescription bottle, opening it with a shaky but practiced hand. She raised a brow. It would be something fast-acting, probably for anxiety. A benzodiazepine, most likely. She didn’t approve, but would refrain from commenting. She wondered if it had been her words that stirred him into this frenzy or his own terror nipping at his heels. How often did he think of that day in the autopsy suite? What he saw at the bar? The conversation they never got to have?

Regan took a delicate seat on the bench, leaving ample room for Elias to sit near her but not too close. The coat made her look bigger than she was and she appreciated it as a barrier, in moments like this. “I was also here only to do my job.” And yet. Something kept her here, kept her from fully resigning herself back to Saol Eile, and it was not her job. Not just her job, anyway. “You could still write your comic. You told me about the “fan fiction”. Could that be a prosperous career? Not that you’re looking for an alternative… you just landed in this one.” But he wasn’t happy. And that bothered her. It was stupid. She would not even recognize happiness in herself, anymore; was not capable of it. But others deserved what she had forfeited, did they not? Their lives were so short and simple. Best to fill them with joy.

Regan set the peascake bag down and gave Elias her full attention. He was on the verge of saying something, and it had the sound of something important. But there was only a stark pause as words seemed to pile up in his throat.

Iron.

He was asking about iron? Regan concealed her surprise as best she could and shook her head. “You know you don’t want to know, so do not ask me.” She raked through her hair with a sigh. She was normally better at hiding signs of being tense, but she hadn’t expected to ever be speaking about this with Elias again. He was in no state for it, either. The sound of rattling pills still held her thoughts. Perhaps someday. But by then, Regan was sure she’d be gone. “If you change your mind, bring me that ring I gave you. But until then… you are only here to do your job, are you not?” 

Snorting out a laugh at the idea of fanfiction, Elias shook his head. “No, definitely not.” Anxiety forgotten for a moment, he couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of him holed away in his apartment writing God knows what. “No, I’m definitely not one to read or write fanfiction.” He explained, waving his hands in front of him. “I’m good at what I do,” he explained as she sat beside her, leaving plenty of room between them. “Combining robotics and medical prostheses. It’s practical.” He shrugged a shoulder. It was clear he was only half-heartedly into his career. 

Elias wiped a hand over his face, letting out a sigh. She was right. He didn’t want to know. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready. Still, the nagging to prove himself right was strong. Of course, he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t crazy, that these meds weren’t doing anything but giving him a false sense of security that it would keep the things that went bump in the night at bay. He knew what he had seen; it was so real, and people around him, like Regan, seemed to know more than they let on. 

“You’re right.” He spoke, deflated and tired. Elias thought of the ring she had given him; he had kept it in his pocket after he left until his psychiatrist had convinced him that he was holding onto something that gave him delusions. He had since discarded it in a drawer somewhere in California. When he packed up to move, it had been a last-minute decision to take it in a box and bring it with him. 

“Only a job.” He echoed, though his voice sounded hollow and worn down. “Yes, you’re right.” He said as he let out an exhale. “Prosthetics and exoskeletons for people with nerve damage.” He crossed a leg over the other, shaking his head.

“I’m nearly always right, remember?” But Elias’s agreement seemed… dazed, resigned, and Regan could tell it was not truthful; the real question was whether he could identify it as such. She eyed the distance between them, the open expanse on the bench, and though initially she thought it was there for her benefit, now she wondered if it wasn’t for his, too. “You don’t seem…” He was here only reluctantly, guarding his sanity against the town’s constant onslaught of the unknown, and no matter how distant he tried to keep himself, she could tell he was destined for failure. It did not take precognition for her to feel that in her bones. She chose to stay silent on the matter, cutting herself off.

And, once more, Regan wanted both to protect him and protect the knowledge she unfortunately possessed. Elias would not go digging for answers this time. But they would find him anyway, they always did, and they might just break him for good. On the day that happened, Regan would be gone, overseas. All she could offer him now was some small, current kindness. Something squirmed in her chest at the thought, but when she decided it was a mercy, not compassion, the sensation stopped. “Come on, help me unroll the peascake. I have a lighter and some straws for it.”

[eliaskahtri]

Unraveling Part 1 || Elias & Regan

TIMING: July 9th, right after the events of A Death on the Dancefloor LOCATION: Mushroom Circle PARTIES: Regan (@kadavernagh) and Elias SUMMARY: After the murder at Murshroom Circle, Elias begins to get too close to the truth of the fae while investigating the scene with Regan. CONTENT WARNINGS: Dead body

Regan’s gut plunged to her feet when she read Elias’s message. A homicide was standard faire. But one at The Mushroom Circle was a disaster. There was no cutting Elias out of things, not when it was his place of employment, and she had a gnawing feeling that the decedent in question either wasn’t human, or fell victim to someone who wasn’t. Either way, there was going to be a lot of explaining things away. It was an approach that ran counter to Regan’s preference for honesty and staunch desire to not omit anything from her reports, and every day Elias seemed closer and closer to boiling over with frustration.

She swallowed back the buzz against her skin as she pushed through the door. “Elias?” She called out, looking around at the flurry of activity. A couple of her death investigators were already at work, along with a gaggle of cops; as she walked by, she heard them talking about costumes and “nerds”. The door to a back area of the bar was wide open with investigators rushing in and out, and Regan knew that was where the secrets would lie. That was warning enough: this was going to be a difficult death to obfuscate. As forensics collected evidence and examined the scene, her investigators cordoned off the cadaver by the bar, leaving it to her and Elias. The victim – and Regan felt secure in calling them that – looked to be an ordinary woman from the waist up. But below that, goat-like legs were sprawled across the ground. The woman’s long dress had gone askew in her death and revealed all, but she was none the wiser, her face peaceful and still. Upon closer examination, her ears were long and floppy, like those of a goat. So jarring were the legs that it was almost easy to miss the deep red pool of blood she was lying on, and the clear wound in her chest it sprung from. Regan’s stomach felt full of lead. This was going to get dangerous very quickly unless – 

Elias. Oh no. She bent down and swiftly adjusted the decedent’s dress so it concealed her legs, but she knew the damage had already been done. At least the police seemed to think she was some nerd in a costume. But autopsies always revealed the truth. Regan turned to her technician and tried to stuff away the fear that was capturing her mind. The worst case scenarios. Elias knowing everything. Everyone knowing everything. Bad. This was bad, and she needed to salvage it somehow. Regan took a deep breath but failed to fully bridle the panic. Her voice was strained and stilted. “Did – did you already speak to the police about what you saw? Did you see it? The death? Are you fit to work right now?” Her eyes drifted to the decedent’s dress, and what she knew was under it. And there were still her ungainly ears peeking out from her mop of curly hair. “I want to get her out of here immediately.”

It had all happened so fast. One second there was yelling and people clearing the area from the fighting, then there was a woman laying on the ground with a blade sticking out of her chest. Elias had been but inches away, and he had heard the awful sound it made as the knife entered the woman’s flesh. He had been stunned into stillness as the assailant quickly ran from the building, pushing past him so hard that he nearly fell over. He didn’t know what to do. While people flooded over to the victim to try and stop the bleeding, to resuscitate her, but to no avail. He did the only thing he could, he reached out to the one medical examiner he knew. It felt like a lifetime and no time at all since he had reached out to Regan. 

He was still stock still as he looked down at the body. He had tried to intervene, but he hadn’t gotten there in time. He could have stopped it, he could have done something. The security guard was busy talking to the police that had arrived on scene, and he found himself in the middle of the dancefloor that now played no music, hugging his arms around himself. He blinked, and Regan was there. He watched as she pulled down the victim’s skirt, and took a deep breath. He had work to do. He couldn’t let himself act like this, not now. Shaking his head a few times, he then walked over to the doctor and pressed his lips together. “I’m in shock, but I’ll… I’ll be fine.” He insisted, nodding his head as he bit down on his lower lip. 

“No time to learn than the present.” He spoke aloud, realizing that this was the first time he would be working with her. He wasn’t on solid ground mentally at the moment, but he knew the last thing he should do would be to do nothing at all. They would just question him and then send him home after, and then what would he do? Stare at a wall in his room and try to will it away? No, he wanted to work. He had seen what had happened, he could help. He wanted to help, to at least try to assist in getting justice for the poor woman. “Let’s get to work.”

Elias was blanching, clearly in shock like he’d said, and Regan had no patience for it. Fortunately, she didn’t need to communicate that. Despite the fright Elias had just been through, witnessing what had transpired here and potentially feeling guilt over the ordeal, his work ethic was showing through and Regan felt assured in her new hire. “Yes, you will be fine. You couldn’t have done anything. What you can do now is seek justice and provide closure.” 

She moved over to give Elias adequate room and gave him a clear, calm look, hoping her composure would rub off on him. Inside, though, worry seeped through her. He was too close to too many secrets, quite literally, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle having him at the autopsy. Or how she was going to handle the autopsy at all, for that matter. “This isn’t ideal for your first case, given that you actually witnessed the death, but the silver lining is that most everything will be easier from here.” More words of encouragement than she’d probably ever given before.

She reached for her kit and opened the latches, then handed Elias a clipboard and pen. “I’m going to do a brief external examination of the body, and I’d like for you to record findings. Eventually, you will learn how to do this yourself.” Please don’t be weird, she thought, as she slowly rolled the woman’s shirt up. Its folds were thick with congealing blood, and a stab wound was plainly visible and surrounded by bubbling, blistering tissue. Iron, she knew immediately. 

Regan stared at the burn for a moment, wondering again how she was going to explain this, then collected her scalpel from the kit. The answer was not right now. “I’m making a small incision in the upper right abdomen.” She announced, assuming Elias was listening but not turning back to confirm. “Normally I would take temperature rectally, but –” The woman’s legs. She wasn’t about to let anyone get a better look at them. “We will use another, more precise method today. The most accurate way to determine body temperature is by probing the liver.” With the incision made, she inserted the thermometer and waited. “96.6 degrees.” Regan said. She hated that she was surprised it was an expected finding. “Livor mortis cools the body at the rate of about 1.5 degrees per hour after death. But we need ambient temperature, too. Can you take that?” She looked over to Elias now, wondering if he was in any state to be processing information, but this was as good a test as any for him. “There’s another thermometer in the kit. While you’re at it, I want you to grab tweezers and baggies and comb through her clothes for any fibers. ” He would like that, she thought. He needed something to do, some way to apply his silly human emotions.

His brain was buzzing as Regan spoke to him. He heard her, but he was having a hard time focusing. Focus, Elias. She was right. He was going to get this woman justice, and it couldn’t get much worse than this. At least, he certainly hoped not. Taking the clipboard and pen, clicking the pen and putting the pen to the paper. He watched as Regan began to work, and began to write. Stab wound in the abdomen, and… what almost looked like burning. He wrote that down, too. “That’s… odd.” He murmured aloud, brows knitting together as he thought of what was on that blade that could have possibly caused such a reaction. Was there some kind of poison on it? Could an allergic reaction react in such a way? There were so many unknowns that didn’t make sense in his mind.

Then, Regan was going through what she would do next. Elias was still trying to understand what the burning around the wound could mean. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t want to ask the wrong thing and make a wrong impression, so he kept all running thoughts to himself. He recorded the temperature as she announced it and the method she had used to get the temperature. He hoped he was doing this right. His racing thoughts were interrupted the moment Regan had asked him to grab something. He perked up from his furious note taking and nodded his head, putting the clipboard to the side and picking up what she had instructed from him. 

Thermometer in hand, he took the temperature of the room. “75.4 degrees.” Elias spoke, then wrote it down on his notepad. Then after putting on a pair of gloves, he took his tweezers and bag and began to meticulously look over her clothes. A lot of short hairs began to become apparent to him as he worked. The cosplay legs? He thought for a moment, remembering that the woman had a pair of very well-crafted animal legs. He frowned, thinking of how horrible it would to be to die so suddenly in the prime of his life. Dancing with friends only to be stabbed. Boom. Life cut short just like that. He blinked a few times, trying to not think in such a way. Not right now. He’d deal with it later. He had to deal with it later. He was working. 

“Animal hairs,” he muttered aloud, looking over to Regan with a raised brow. “Her legs…” Elias began to say, thinking about it. They were costume legs, surely they’d have to remove it when they got to the morgue, right? And her horns, they hadn’t been knocked off in the fight. That was curious too. “This is coming from her legs,” he finished.

Her instincts were right – the more Elias had to do, the more he seemed capable of moving past what he’d just experienced. That was good, and Regan could keep him busy. Maybe the same would apply during the autopsy, and he’d be too preoccupied with his tasks to question the bigger picture. Let him be so lost in the trees he does not see the forest. 

“Yes, her legs. I’m not surprised they shed. Just… try and collect the stray hairs you can.” Her stomach already lurched the lies she was about to tell, and she had a feeling it was only the beginning. “I’ve heard that some people use real animal hair when making these types of… props. That may be why they’re so convincing. Some farm could have supplied them.” She swallowed down the burning sensation in her gut and thought of Conor, who was worth protecting. 

When she was satisfied they’d documented and procured all they could from the decedent, she flagged down a couple of investigators and told them the cadaver was ready for transport. “Don’t jostle her around much. A quick in and out.” She watched as the body was lifted into the bag, a flash of the decedent’s legs and hooves showing as she was carefully placed within. The investigators did not comment on it, and Regan allowed herself to untense a little. She gave Elias a careful look. What was he thinking? He worked side by side with people like that faun, and hadn’t figured it out yet. One body wouldn’t tip the scales, right? But she suspected there was a lot going on in his skull right now, and it filled her with foreboding.

Regan clipped the kit shut and picked it up, but something occurred to her. They couldn’t leave just yet. They weren’t done. Elias had said this part of the bar was where all of the “cosplayers” were, and that meant it could be brimming with secrets, things that should never fall into human hands. “This place… what else is here?” What was hidden from the police? What should be hidden? “We might be missing something.” She hesitated. Normally she would insist on doing this herself, but Elias worked there anyway. He wasn’t going to suddenly understand how deep the water around him was… right? Regan looked over her shoulder at her death investigators leaving, and the remaining police conversing. “Is there anything here that you’ve always found strange? Books, jewelry, things like that. ”

Something wasn’t sitting right with Elias as he plucked off the hairs. Real animal fur? No, that couldn’t be. And if it was, that was some serious dedication to the craft. Even he didn’t want to go that far, and he’d been at the hobby for years. The closer he looked the more he began to realize it didn’t seem like they were fake. How could they look that real? And she wasn’t even going to a convention or anything, she was just existing during a night out. Something wasn’t adding up. 

He tried to squash the thoughts as he kept picking up hairs, but he was rapidly running out. Stray clothing threads, more of the hairs… why did it seem so real? Elias’s thoughts were interrupted by Regan asking him questions. “What do you mean strange?” He asked, frowning. “You mean besides the dude that lights himself up?” He asked, raising a brow. “When everything in here is designed to be strange, nothing really sticks out.” He confessed, shrugging his shoulders. 

He tried to think if anything had stuck out to him. After such a shock to the system with everyone dressing so intricately, nothing stuck out to him. He frowned, turning to Regan. “I’m sorry, but nothing comes to mind.” He admitted with a shrug. He wasn’t sure what she was getting at, why would it matter if there were strange objects in the bar? “What does that have to do with anything?” He suddenly asked, brows furrowed in confusion at her line of questioning.

“Someone who lights themselves up?” Regan’s brow wrinkled, but she decided that was probably the least strange thing that occurred behind those doors. It was remarkable that Elias was able to pass all of it off as cosplay and parlor tricks, and Regan harbored a seed of jealousy that she occasionally found was nurtured by his naivety. “That’s fine. I simply wanted to ask so we didn’t miss anything. You’re familiar with this place, which is something no one else here can say.” That thought lingered on her lips after she’d spoken it. As the decedent and MDIs disappeared through the doors, the air of death growing thinner, solitude wafted in to take its place. The buzz of activity had died down and only a couple of police lingered along with the two of them.

“I’m going to take a quick look around, if you don’t mind.”

Regan circled around the bar and wandered to one of the tables. What was it like being in here when it was full of people – of monsters? They liked the feel of each other against their skin and in their chest. To Regan, being surrounded by fae was like being followed by a cloud of biting gnats; nothing like the comforting embrace the others described. Did fae find this enjoyable? Did they find peace and kinship here? She traced one of the wooden whorls on the table top and let her eyes settle on the adjacent wall. It was full of celtic symbols, scenic paintings of forests and quaint towns, and entirely devoid of photos of people.

She scanned the floor. The other walls. There was nothing. Of course the patrons here knew how to hide their secrets. The only thing they couldn’t manage to do was keep their dead away from human hands – or maybe they were banking on later intervention. She blinked slowly at the thought. Would they find her? Would they find Elias? Regan looked over at him and sighed. This mess was only just beginning, wasn’t it? It was at least time to abandon this place… and in Regan’s case, she didn’t intend to return.

“You’re right. There is nothing there that matters.”

Regan turned away to hide the discomfort swimming across her face, a response to her stomach tying itself in a knot. That wasn’t a lie, damn it. She clenched her fist, letting her nails bite into her skin. “Are you ready?” She asked Elias, completely uncertain that she herself was prepared for what was awaiting them at the morgue.

[kadavernagh]

Jan-uary Came Early this Year || Regan & Nadia

TIMING: Current. LOCATION: Regan’s Apartment. PARTIES: @humanmoodring and @kadavernagh SUMMARY: Nadia comes over to help Regan unpack her things, and the two find themselves in a bit of a jan jam. CONTENT: Allusion to animal death.

Unpacking seemed so final. Like she knew for a fact that her control was impressive enough to keep her from moving back to the cabin full time. Regan didn’t, but she was growing tired of looking at taped up boxes, and she occasionally needed their contents. She had just slid the boxcutter across one of them when there was a knock at the door – Nadia, she knew. She had kindly offered to help with unpacking. Simultaneously, Regan’s phone also beeped from her pocket. It could be important, something at the morgue or about a death scene. She deliberated for a moment and decided to get the door first, ushering Nadia inside. “I appreciate your assistance. It’s mostly bones, clothes. You can pick a skull to keep. I – one moment. My phone.” She fished it from her pocket, and her lip curled at what she read. “It’s another one of these Jan messages.” She turned the old Nokia to Nadia so she could read the screen. “Have you been receiving those? Someone is trying to tell me about Jan.”  

Nadia was always down to help out her friend, especially given all of the help that Regan had given her for as long as she’d known her; helping her find a place to live, helping her get her body back, helping her not die when Cordelia had gotten a little stab-happy. So, yeah, Nadia was down to help. She was also… hoping to pester Regan into giving her back a word. Two letters, starts with i, ends with t, rhymes with shit. Nadia wanted it back. She’d just look for an opportune moment to ask for it. She walked in as Regan opened the door, familiar enough with the space despite the amount of time it had been since she’d been over. The apartment below Nadia had been quiet for too long. She was happy to have her friend back. “I figured,” she said, grinning. “Wow, a skull? Damn, Regan, I’m touched.” And, in a weird way, she really was. Sharing bones was how Regan showed she cared. It was weird as fuck, but Nadia had grown to appreciate it. She squinted at the phone, the old model a pain in the ass on the eyes. “What? No, I haven’t received any Jan messages. Who the fuck is Jan?”

“It’s the least I can do,” Regan said, motioning toward a stack of boxes that she knew contained only bones, “Bell is off-limits, but you’ll find plenty to choose from.” The coyote skeleton had already been unpacked, of course, and stood diligently in the corner as ever, a good boy. “Jan,” Regan started, not quite certain herself, “might be one of Dr. Ricker’s grandchildren. She also might be… someone like me. Or possibly not named Jan at all. She may be Jan-lene, or Blue Jan. She seems to go by many names. Jan is an enigma that I have not yet begun to understand.” It aggravated her, if she were being honest. Regan knew she shouldn’t care, but the persistent messages, the mentions of Jan by others… it needled at her in the way any good mystery should, and she wanted to figure out its meaning. “That clarifies nothing, I am aware.” Regan opened up a box of turtlenecks as her phone chimed again. Another Jan message. She sighed, showing Nadia this one, as well. “They never stop. I can’t tell if they think I’m Jan.”

“Oh, I’d never touch Bell. Besides, I think Rhiannon would get kind of jealous, bringing home a completed skeleton,” Nadia said. She looked at the boxes, so many boxes, full of what she knew was nothing but bones, and that was, like, a banshee thing, right? She thought that was it. Maybe it was just a Regan thing, though. “Got any other coyote bones? Always been fond of them, back at home.” Though, northeastern coyotes were probably of a different breed than Nadia’s lanky southwestern desert dwellers. “I mean, Ricker’s has probably got some kid named Jan, I’m sure. Guys got kids named after every single letter in the alphabet.” She whistled lowly. “That’s… a lot of Jans. Maybe it’s, like a bunch of different Jans? It can’t all be the same Jan.” 

“You can touch Bell. You just can’t take Bell. But… but if you do touch him, please do it on his frontal bone, nowhere else. And ask me, first, so that I may supervise. His old bones are delicate.” She couldn’t risk Bell. That coyote was the closest thing to family that Regan had left in her life. But she could offer Nadia a coyote of her own. “Yes, I do have several coyote bones to choose from. Take your pick. They should all be in the box at the top of that stack.” Her attention drifted away from her belonging, though, turtlenecks forgotten in their box as she fixated on her phone. “Yes, perhaps. It’s strange, though. I have never autopsied anyone named Jan in this town. If there were so many of them, you would think I’d see a few at the morgue. But it has been Jan-less.” At some point, she had stood up and started pacing, though she couldn’t recall when. “What if Jan is someone important? Someone that the majority of people in town know, but she has happened to elude us? That would explain why everyone is talking about Jan as if they expect familiarity.”  

Nadia laughed. “Relax, I’m not gonna touch Bell.” The little skeleton seemed far too fragile, and she wasn’t in the mood to break anything. She drifted over to the box that Regan motioned to, but she’d find a bone later. Maybe. She already had a few in her own apartment. She came to help Regan unpack. And get back a word. She needed to do that. Nadia would just have to find the best place to insert that into the conversation, but Regan seemed fixated on this Jan thing. “I mean, maybe. Maybe the Jans around here are super resilient. I dunno. But, like, a lot of people die around here.” She looked over to her friend, watched her trace a pattern through the apartment. “I work in a pretty public space. Two, actually, when I help out at the bar. I’ve never heard of a Jan. Plus, Jan’s, like, totally not that important of a name. No one important would be named Jan.”

Regan looped around the perimeter of the living room again, tapping her chin in thought. “Neither of us have encountered a Jan, despite both of us in professions where I would expect an encounter rate proportional to the number of Jans in town. What if… Jan isn’t a person at all?” Regan’s eyes flashed to Nadia’s, bright with excitement at the unraveling mystery. Had she solved it? “What if Jan is a place? Or… a different proper noun, such as the title of a book or poem, or even an event? It would explain why most people seem to know of Jan, but why the two of us – relative newcomers to this blasted town – do not know of Jan.” The unfortunate truth was that Nadia would not have the answer, and the two of them would part just as confused as they were before, but at least Regan felt as though she were making headway. “We will figure this out. Jan cannot elude us for–” 

A thick fog formed into the room, rapidly rising from the floorboards and spreading from wall to wall, as if a smoke bomb had gone off. Regan cried out in alarm, but before a scream pitched out of her throat, Deirdre’s words dislodged themselves in her memory. Your birthright means that you see things that no one else can or will. It wasn’t real. Simply another hallucination, not worth reacting to. “Nadia?” Regan called out, unable to see her friend standing mere feet away. But just as quickly as it had come, the fog cleared, Nadia’s figure becoming easier to spot. But there was something else, standing in the center of the room, small and on its haunches, like an animal. 

Nadia just raised an eyebrow. “A place?” She could tell that Regan was really getting into this, which was great, good for her, it was nice to actually feel emotions coming from her friend, positive ones, when she was growing used to not feeling much from Regan at all, but she thought that Regan was getting punked, honestly. “So, like, Jan’s instead of Jan?” She figured they’d have heard of Jan by now, if that was the case. Honestly, and it was sad, but Nadia probably got out more than Regan just by walking around town at night, which was unfortunate because Nadia had been kicked out of her body for months. Then again, Regan had been a recluse in the woods for months. “Sure, I mean, maybe. There’s a possibility.”

The fog, though, was fucky, and Nadia immediately felt on edge. “Regan?” she called out, and this wasn’t cool. She’d left her salt, some of the wards she kept up, anything that she thought might work, up in her apartment. She was going to have to bring some stuff to Regan’s place, tomorrow. She blinked, though, as the fog started to clear, and she could make out Regan, and she could make out something else, too. She squinted at it. “Is that a cat?” she muttered, more for herself than anything, but, really. Even if it brought in the fog, cats were fucking cute.

“Still here,” Regan said as the rest of the fog dissipated. She could see the animal more clearly now – a cat, solid black with a writhing tail and piercing amber eyes. Was it Nadia’s? No, hers looked different. Whose was it, and how did it get in here? And what about the fog? “It looks like a cat to me,” she said, not moving to approach it. “It’s not yours, so maybe Ms. Carmody acquired one. We should bring it back to her, right? But – I don’t have windows open. I don’t know how fog got in.” She blinked, checking out the thick windows. The sun was shining and the sky was dotted with only the occasional cloud. “More abnormal White Crest weather.” Regan tensed a hand through her hair and huffed, reminding herself not to allow frustration to seep in. Confusion, however, was permitted. 

“I think you should catch it. You’re the expert on cats.” Regan looked at the animal and frowned. The door was shut. How did it– I am Janq'ahlOOo. A deep echo of a voice poured into Regan’s mind with all of the insistence of a hallucination. Accustomed to shrugging such a thing off, she looked furtively at Nadia out of the corner of her eye, and pretended nothing was happening. Strange voice? Definitely not. You two unintelligent souls have called me here. That suits me. Oh yes, it does. The cat strutted across the room, pausing to stop in front of her, then Nadia, before turning around and offering a view of its rear, which it then licked. Regan frowned at it again. “It might be easier if we have Ms. Carmody come up here to retrieve her cat, rather than the other way around.” I have better things to do, the voice said, with almost a gurgling quality to it. 

Sighing in relief, Nadia said, “Cool. Great.” Regan was fine, safe, and still in the apartment despite the weird ass fog that could have just taken her or done who knew what because this was fucking White Crest. The fog hadn’t taken anything, but it had sure as hell brought something in. “Yeah, that’s not my fucking cat.” She didn’t recognize that creature. “Can’t be Ms. Carmody’s, either, I don’t think.” Because that didn’t look like any of the cats of Ms. Carmody’s that Nadia had already seen. Something about it was… strange. But, then again, Rhiannon was weird as fuck. That was just how cats were, sometimes. 

“Regan, I’m not a goddamn cat whisperer,” Nadia said, sighing, and she started to say more before she completely froze up at the sound of a voice in her head. That wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t being possessed. Ghosts couldn’t speak, only take over. It wasn’t a ghost. It wasn’t. She was fine. She was fine. Nadia looked at the cat, the creature, and she might have felt put out as the little shit essentially called them idiots and then licked its ass, but she wasn’t about to argue with a fucking cat. “What the fuck better things does a fucking cat have to do?” she muttered before looking back at Regan. “I’m pretty sure the cat’s not Ms. Carmody’s, but i– the cat should go.” Fuck. The word. She really wanted that word back. “Maybe, just, like, open the door and let the damn thing out.”

Nadia could deny her cat expertise all she wanted; unless it was about the intricacies of their skeletal anatomy, Nadia still knew more about the animals than Regan did. By now, Regan had blown apart more than she’d pet. She shuffled around the room, keeping her distance from the cat as it stared her right in the eyes. Such gracious hosts. But I must be going. It’s been a century and a half since White Crest has offered me the milk, and my compatriots need to be reminded of my relevance. Ahh… and Ooooglot has a few eyes I promised him I would claw out, the next time I saw them. The voice squiggled into her mind and suctioned itself there like a tentacle, no matter how much she tried to focus elsewhere. Regan swallowed, still not wanting Nadia to know. She spoke hastily and loudly. “Yes! Wise idea. Let’s open the door and the cat can simply leave. Maybe it’ll walk into the r– I mean, out the door.” She pulled the door open and stood back, watching the cat as it sauntered out seemingly without a second thought. Regan turned to Nadia to see if they shared mutual relief, but for a second, she swore the cat looked as if it was melting as it descended out of sight. Visual as well as auditory now. Tremendous. Regan tapped her eyelid as if she’d be able to tell if her eyes had filled with darkness, but of course, she couldn’t. “There. Gone. I’ll tell Kaden about it later.” She shuddered. Normally, she would have done it sooner, but something about that cat made her uneasy.  

Gracious host? Nah, Nadia didn’t like that shit. She didn’t like it at all. She didn’t like the way the thing made noises in her head, the way its words seemed to fill her head and stay there like something tainting her mind. She felt the need to run, to get out, to flee. She tamped it down, though, fought through it. There was something wrong with all of this, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. She watched as Regan opened the door for the creature, and her eyes widened as it seemed to melt away from them as it descended the stairs in the corner of her eye. “The fuck is an ooglot?” she whispered, more to herself than anything. She cleared her throat as Regan turned back to her. “Right. Good. That’s– that’s good. Hey, know what else would be good? You took a word from me. Two letters, starts with i, ends with t, rhymes with shit? I can’t say… that word. I’d like it back, please.” And then they could finish unpacking and forget about that weird fucking cat.

“Hope it can get outdoors from there,” Regan mumbled, not wanting to go check if the cat was sitting at the bottom of the stairwell. Ms. Carmody would no doubt stumble into it eventually if that were the case. She breathed a long sigh, her arms flopping to her sides. She hadn’t realized how tense she had been with that animal in the room. Something about it… no, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because it didn’t make sense. Regan adjusted the neck of her turtleneck and returned her attention to Nadia. What was she saying? “A word? What do you mean?” She considered what word Nadia was hinting at. “Are you saying you need to see an immunopathologist? I don’t know any in town, but I can certainly find and refer you to one with excellent credentials.” Her voice spiked with concern for a moment, but it was too much to forgive herself, and she ensured her next words were flat and indifferent. Maybe Nadia wasn’t talking about her immune system at all. Maybe this was… one of those things. She mentally shuddered at the images of her and Lydia flashing through her memory, doing those painful lessons at Lydia’s opulent kitchen table. “If I took something from you, you can have it back.” 

Behind her, something crashed, and the sound of a dozen delicate bones shattering filled the room. Regan spun around and yelped when she saw the source of the noise – one of the boxes of skulls fell. She dove to the floor to see what she could salvage, but judging by the number of fragments, it wouldn’t be much. “How did it fall?” She turned to Nadia, trying to twist away her unrelenting emotions, “Did you see anything? Did that cat come back?”

“I’m sure the… cat will figure something out,” Nadia said, though the creature’s species was up for debate the more she thought of it and the strange, inky presence in the back of her head. She felt Regan’s concern, muted though it was, real and solid, even as her voice changed and grew dull. Whatever Regan was trying to push down and stop herself from expressing, she couldn’t stop feeling it, and Nadia would always be able to tell. She sighed. “No, no, I don’t need to see an immunopathologist. Really, it’s nothing medical.” And Nadia didn’t even comprehend that she had gotten her word back when she heard something crash, the sound of it nearly causing her to jump out of her skin. “Fuck,” she muttered, her hand going to her heart as she watched Regan dive to the ground. “No, no, I didn’t– I didn't see anything.” She looked around. She didn’t see anything. “Maybe it was–” something weird and supernatural, “-- The wind.” Regan tended to like that excuse, even though the window was closed. 

Regan’s hands frantically leafed through hundreds of tiny bone fragments now littering the floor. How could this have happened? She had been careful in how she stacked the boxes, so careful, and each was heavy enough to not easily fall over. “This wasn’t the wind,” she hissed, while noting her favorite fox femur didn’t escape damage. Rein it in. The pain, the sorrow, rein it in. But, surely this was one of the few instances Deirdre would have permitted a display of emotion. “Sorry,” she offered, looking up at Nadia. “These bones are – were – I don’t know what happened.” She scrunched her face up, but only for a moment before forcing her muscles to release the tension. “It doesn’t matter. I would like to clean these up by myself. Perhaps I can salvage some of them. We can unpack another day. I will not forget that I owe you a coyote skull.” Regan stood up, giving Nadia a hollow smile as she went to open the door. “Watch out for that cat in the stairwell. It seemed a little odd, didn’t it? But not – I mean, not enormously odd. Just slightly.” She waved her neighbor goodbye, and as she shut the door, it fell off its hinges.  

[kadavernagh]

Over the Quills and Far Away || Regan & Margot

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Near the banshee training clearing. PARTIES: @kadavernagh @g0t-ri5h and ft @mor-beck-more-problems SUMMARY: Is there a doctor in the woods?

Margot didn’t usually find herself at peace in the great outdoors, preferring the comfort of her bed and the soft breeze of the AC. But her bedroom had become a place where she no longer found solace. Since her night terrors had returned, Margot had been trying any remedy to get a good night’s sleep. Today, she found herself on a forest hiking trail in the Outskirts, one recommended by many online sources. Unfortunately, with little cell service, Margot had found herself quite lost on the spaghetti like paths, walking for what seemed like hours in all directions. She had worn sneakers in lieu of hiking boots, not realising how overgrown the forest would be. Margot deeply regretted this now as her feet were poked and prodded by sticks and stones. 

“God. Where the fuck am I?” She screamed, believing herself lost and alone in these woods. This trip had certainly been a mistake. If she didn’t find her way soon, Margot was convinced that she’d be eaten by a bear. Frantically, Margot began to run in the direction she believed to be East, back to the road where she had left her bike. She ran with haste, not even looking where she was stepping. A mistake. “Ow!” Margot yelped loudly as she fell to the ground, clattering to all fours, her left wrist aching beneath the layer of plaster. She looked to her left foot, finding a large thin spoke sticking out of it. A few feet behind her, Margot could see what appeared to be a porcupine limping out of sight. It was more rat-like and grisly than the porcupines Margot was accustomed to, but she was in no mood to dwell on its appearance. She tried to stand, but the pain was searing, near unbearable. There was no way she’d be able to crawl back by sundown, not with all of these injuries. “Help!” She yelled. 

Regan felt heavier with every plodding step she took toward the clearing. The path there, and the surrounding forest, were engraved in her memory by now. It seemed almost unfair that it was a beautiful evening, autumn air getting crisper by the hour; it would be spoiled by what she had to do. Deirdre had left explicit instructions, and if she wanted to gain the control she needed, they would have to be followed to the T. The clearing was almost in sight, when she thought she heard something. 

Help!

She hadn’t imagined that, right? It was difficult to tell. Now that she was out of the morgue, hallucinations weren’t an everyday occurrence, but Regan still didn’t fully trust her own ears and eyes. Even if it were real… she wasn’t in any state to help someone, was she? She looked down to the velvet box in one hand, and the first aid kit in the other. No, she couldn’t even help herself. But another yelp of pain echoed through the woods, and-- it seemed so real. Someone was hurt. Someone needed help. And even though she couldn’t forgive herself for causing harm, specifically choosing not to provide medical care to someone who needed it was just as unforgivable, wasn’t it? Regan’s resolve hardened and she turned toward the source of the sound, plowing through the trees and brush until she saw a figure piled on the ground, a young woman clutching her foot, blood pouring through her fingers. 

What caused more harm? Standing there and watching, or running up to her and-- 

Regan froze. Stared. Assessed the situation. Something long and sharp had gone through the woman’s foot, even through her shoe, and blood was flowing freely. She had a first-aid kit. Sure, it had a different intended use today, but it was just what this situation called for. And, she was a-- “Hello?” She called out, hesitantly. She wouldn’t risk getting any closer; it was safer to keep a distance of about twenty feet between the two of them. “What happened? What’s in your foot? Are you-- I’m a med-- I was a--” Regan swallowed. She didn’t want to explain that. “Maybe I can help.” 

Margot hated crying, the act alone she had always considered a sign of weakness, but the pain was so great and she was so very tired that tears came without resistance. She was alone and scared, and it seemed that this situation was only getting worse. This was the end, she knew it in her heart. She’d lived through a mobster heist and a tornado, but this was it. Left in the forest for dead. Margot lay back and let the sadness of the past few weeks envelope her. Perhaps this wasn’t the worst way to go; at least it was quiet out here.

Hello? A voice. Someone calling from a distance. Margot’s tears stopped. She wiped them from her cheeks. 

“Hello?” She repeated in response. Margot could not see through the thicket of forest, her eyes so fogged over from crying. “Who’s there?” There was no way of identifying the voice from so far away. “I-I don’t know what happened. I’m lost out here and I ran over something. It was a-a rat, or some kind of porcupine or something. It left this thing in my foot, can you see it?” She raised her foot as high as she could manage for the stranger to see. “I can’t walk!” Margot took a deep breath of air in holding onto what dignity she had left. Her eyes searched pleadingly. “Please, help me!” She begged. This stranger was her only hope. She was at their mercy.

It must have hurt tremendously. Now that Regan could see it more clearly, she thought the spike sticking out of the girl’s foot was a porcupine quill. That made sense, given what she was saying, too. If it was a quill, it would have serrated edges that would make removing it extremely painful, and a little bit difficult. And she was lost. Couldn’t even walk. Regan looked around, studying the woods. She knew the way back to the clearing from here, and the way to her car from there. She could get this girl out of here. But there was hard calculus needed to determine whether it was safer to just leave her here, instead. Only, the girl’s tears were contagious and Regan felt her own eyes watering for a moment, before Deirdre’s words rang through her head. That was unacceptable. She swallowed them back and met the girl’s eyes again. Chanced moving a little bit closer. “You don’t-- please stop crying. I’ll try to help you. You don’t need to cry. I mean, unless it hurts that badly and crying helps.” Regan shuddered. She had seen immeasurably worse in her career, but it felt like a sucker punch to the gut this time because she wasn’t sure she could actually help instead of harm. 

“Can you remove your shoe?” No, Regan realized, she couldn’t. The quill had gone through it. “Never mind. Um…” She looked down to her first aid kit. There would be a pair of pliers in there. Carefully, she set the velvet box holding the knife down on the ground, and turned her attention to the box she knew far better. “You’re lucky I have this with me. Can I have your-- I mean, what’s your name?” Regan opened the packet of nitrile gloves, stretching them over her hands with a wince. She could still faintly see the blood burns from her last training session with Deirdre, and the friction hurt. 

But why even put gloves on if she couldn’t touch her, couldn’t even get much closer? She wasn’t actually going to, right? Now that Regan was ready, gloves on and pliers in hand, all she could do was stare straight ahead at her, unmoving. “I-- I’m not sure that I can--” What if she handed the girl the pliers instead, and instructed her? Could that work? “Have you… ever removed a porcupine quill before?” 

“I wasn’t crying!” Margot insisted defiantly, still drying her cheeks with her palms. “Some dirt got in my eye when I fell!” What a terrible lie, she thought. Though, she didn’t have the energy to think of something more creative or plausible. The stranger inched forward, slowly, and with much caution. “Yes, please. Thank you.” Margot encouraged the motion, hoping to spur them further forward and to her rescue. 

She didn’t dare try and wriggle out of her shoe, it was so very painful just to think about. “It’s Margot. Margot Parish.” She managed to choke out through fits of spluttering. She could hear the sound of rubber gloves being pulled over fingers. What kind of a person casually carried around rubber gloves? A doctor perhaps? Did this mean they were going to help her? “Who are you?” She asked back. Margot fought the urge to ask more questions, fearing that the person was already hesitant and would abandon her if she prodded much more. 

“What do you mean you can’t? Please! You have to! I’ll die from exposure, or starvation, or the bears will come and eat me out here!” She pleaded once more. “I have a fractured wrist, see?” Margot held up her cast for them to see, the plaster covered in the blood from her foot, “I can’t pull it out on my own! I can barely use my fingers.” They were pooling again, the tears in her eyes. God, what was with her emotions today? She knew she must look so very pathetic, like a child taking a fall from their tricycle, waiting for Mommy to bring them a band-aid. Margot focused on controlling her breathing, hoping that the meditation would distract from the pain. “I need you.” She said finally. 

Margot. Regan had talked to a Margot recently, though she didn’t know her last name. A computer science student at UMWC, one who had helped her with the screen of her laptop. What were the chances that the hurt girl in front of her was the same individual? For that matter, what were the chances that dirt had actually got in her eye? No, she was definitely crying. She was just one of those people -- someone who thought emotions were something to be avoided. Someone who Regan wished she could be right now. Someone who she had to become. “I’m…” The words Doctor Kavanagh died on her tongue. It didn’t feel right calling herself that, given the harm she had caused. “I’m Regan,” she said simply. 

Panic exploded out of Margot at the thought of her being left to her own devices. And, Regan noted, she really did have a cast on her wrist. Why were some people in this town so accident prone? Briefly, she wondered if Margot knew Blanche and Penelope. “What about your other hand, then?” She asked, though she knew it was a non-starter. The thought of Margot being able to remove the quill from her own foot, in the current state she was in, was ludicrous. 

Regan took a few shaky steps closer, until the top of her shadow fell on Margot’s feet. It was the closest she’d been to anyone since-- and it made her hands tremble. How could she help in that state? Just another reason why she didn’t feel she could claim to be a doctor right now; what good was a doctor with hands that wouldn’t sit still? Regan crossed her arms, looking to the side, almost pleading with the woods to send someone else toward them, someone who could actually help. But no one came. Of course, no one came. “I’m not safe,” she explained, unable to meet Margot’s eyes, “to be around, I mean. I’m-- I don’t want to hurt you worse than you already are.” With a long sigh, she crouched down to the ground, then sat in the dirt. She didn’t want to scare Margot any worse, either, and standing over her probably wasn’t helping. “I want you to know the risks, before-- well, before I come any closer. Or set a hand on you.” Had Cece and Grace known, they still would have been hurt, but at least… knowing and choosing it was better, right? “If something frightens me, or surprises me, or makes me feel anything at all, you could die. Do you understand?”

Margot knew that name. Yes, it was so very familiar to her. “Regan? The medical examiner?” The one she had hounded for information a couple of weeks ago, lied to about her classes, even promised to upgrade her PC in exchange. Margot still hadn’t gotten around to doing that. Would Regan reject her for forgetting that? Margot hoped to god that she wouldn’t. How lucky she had been to come across someone with medical experience in this forest, and how sad she would be if they wouldn’t help her. Maybe Regan had forgotten about the exchange entirely, forgotten that they’d even been acquainted. Though, she seemed so deep in thought that Margot couldn’t tell what she was thinking. 

Margot let her injured wrist fall limply to her side. “I-I’m left-handed. I could try to pull it out, but I don’t think I have the strength to.” Or the guts. She’d surely pass out from the pain. Even now she was beginning to feel woozy, probably the loss of blood combined with exhaustion. Margot pulled her jacket from her shoulders and attempted to fashion a tourniquet around the injury. Wrapping it around the spike, she tightened the knot using her one good hand and her teeth. Margot yelped, the fabric dropping from her mouth. She blew out a puff of air in frustration. “I can’t do it.” She felt like a broken record, but begging was her only hope. 

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you some kind of homicidal maniac?” That would explain the gloves. Regan was standing near enough to assess her wounds now, see the severity. Margot looked at Regan with confusion, though the woman wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I just mean, how could you—“ kill me? She wanted to ask, but she heeded Regan’s warning. A question like that might startle her. Still, Margot couldn’t help but wonder what she had meant by those words. Regan seemed like such a cautious and organised person. How could she be so frightened of herself? Margot knew there would be time to ask all of these questions at a later time, when she was no longer bleeding profusely or bawling her eyes out. And she would. For now, she needed Regan’s help. “Okay, okay— yes, I understand.” Margot repeated back in confirmation. “I’ll try to stay calm as I can.”

Regan watched as Margot attempted to fashion a makeshift tourniquet. It was unnecessary given her injury, but she still admired the girl's tenacity. It was apparent even under the thick blanket of Margot's fear. "You don't need that," Regan said gently, "don't ruin your jacket." 

But Margot's question made her bristle with nerves and offense. The word homicidal made that dark twist in her lungs threaten to form into a scream. "Of course I'm not!" Regan shouted, the screech ringing through the woods. It punctuated how much of a mistake this probably was, and she backed away for a moment. If that had happened when she had her hand on Margot, would she have-- "I'm not homicidal and I'm not a maniac. I would never-- I don't want to hurt you." Mistake. This was a mistake. Regan hissed air through her teeth and shook her head. Of course Margot was curious. She recognized that she probably sounded like a complete lunatic right now. "Yes, fine, I was the medical examiner. I resigned. Now I'm nothing." A storm, a force of nature, Deirdre had insisted. Regan just felt hollow and numb, without drive or purpose or duty. 

But despite that, and despite her fear. Margot seemed to understand as best she could. It was probably prudent to give her even more information, but how much of it was actually believable? Regan nodded, inching closer. She inhaled a deep breath, steadying her hands and her heart. It didn’t work very well. Carefully, she set a quivering hand on Margot's knee, her other one on the girl's foot. "Talk to me. It will distract you. Tell me about, uh… something. Something you enjoy."

Margot clamped her hands over her ears at Regan’s shouting, like nails on a chalkboard it sent a shiver down her back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” That was the last thing she wanted to do, but Margot had struck a nerve nonetheless. That was one of her many skills; saying the exact wrong thing at the wrong time. “You resigned?” Margot asked in disbelief. Regan looked so defeated as she said it, and Margot felt that this was a decision that she deeply regretted. Margot sympathised. When she had left MIT she had experienced this same feeling; of being lost and alone, with no one to share her emptiness and disappointment with. She still felt that way, most of the time actually. “Can’t you get your job back if you wanted to?” 

Yes, Regan was helping her. Margot tried to contain her excitement, knowing that a sudden movement could mean her death, according to the doctor’s warning. At Regan’s hand on her foot, Margot winced. “Ow.” She whimpered. “Okay, I-I like to edit Wikipedia pages sometimes.” She sucked in a deep breath, “I like to put in incorrect information and see how long it takes for someone to fix it.” Margot knew how lame this hobby was, how much of a troll she could be, but she always felt satisfaction in knowing she had annoyed someone. 

Her foot constricted slightly as she relaxed into the exchange. Margot couldn’t help but cry out, “Fuck!” She stuffed her hand in her mouth to muffle her screams. “I-I’m sorry, I know, stay still and c-calm. I’m sorry. It just hurts so goddamn much.” Her eyes clamped shut as she tried to focus on something, anything, other than the hurt she was feeling. “T-tell me something you enjoy.” Small talk, that would get them both through this.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Regan said frantically, like if she said it quickly enough she could get Margot to retract her own apology. “That wasn’t your fault. That was-- that happens. Unfortunately.” For now, at least. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to center herself. Focusing on the breeze whistling through the trees and the light tug of a nearby chipmunk carcass. Perfect is the only thing worth being. Try again. She steeled herself and opened her eyes, but she couldn’t quite keep the pain out of her voice. She wished Margot hadn’t asked about her job. “I would have to be appointed again by the Chief Medical Examiner. But that isn’t the issue.” Regan offered no more than that.

She nodded at Margot’s wincing. Contact with her foot was painful. That wasn’t the type of harm Regan was concerned about causing, though, so she carried on. “This is going to hurt a little bit,” she said, before giving the quill in Margot’s foot a quick but gentle pull with her fingers. While she wasn’t trying to get it out just yet, she wanted to see how firmly it was it was in there. It moved, slightly, but the pliers would be necessary. And faster. “Sorry,” she repeated, sparing Margot a sympathetic glance. “Wikipedia pages, huh? I hope you aren’t doing that to any important ones. But if you went in and changed the information on pages about homeopathy, I wouldn’t complain.”

Margot recoiled in a flash of movement, crying out as she seemed to fight the instinct to retract her foot, hide it from the doctor who was hurting her. Regan jumped back, worried she had harmed her in some other way, but no, it was the quill. It was, right? Please be the-- Regan sat there, blinking at her hands. The mottled burns underneath her gloves stung with renewed fury, and she pictured Margot’s chest exploding open, lungs bursting, a firework of blood and viscera covering her. Her wings rattled and quivered as much as her hands. This still felt risky, too risky. She wasn’t even willing to go near Kaden after Abel was injured, and that had made her want to tear herself open. What made this any more necessary? But as she looked at Margot and approached the situation logically, she didn’t see an alternative. There was no cell reception out here, and the chances of someone coming to find Margot before dehydration set in were slim. Not to mention… there were coyotes and bears and other animals that would readily eat or slaughter someone like Margot. The morgue held proof enough of that. “Sorry,” Regan said quietly, again, her eyes flicking from her hands and back to Margot. “I’m not certain it’s a good idea, but I’m still going to-- I’ll help you.” 

Right, hadn’t Margot asked something? A distraction. Perhaps she needed one just as much. Regan picked up the pliers and took a few deep breaths, trying to keep her hand steady. She could talk for hours about being a medical examiner. Heck, she had before. Days, even. And she could spend the same amount of time talking about Kaden. But right now, both of those topics brought bile surging up her throat. She opted instead for something less painful, though likely more boring. “I used to go for a run in the morning,” she said flatly, “I enjoyed that.” Pliers around the quill. “I need both hands for this, Margot. Don’t grab at me. If you need-- you can squeeze this.” She handed Margot an ACE bandage from the first aid kit with her free hand. And then, fighting her desire to flee, Regan pulled.

Margot groaned as the quill was wiggled. She quickly forgot her earlier line of questioning, the sensation so overwhelming. The spike was firmly in place, serrated at the edges and pulling at every nerve ending in her foot. When she had fractured her wrist, the pain had been immense, but it had been quick and shocking. This was so much more drawn out. She was thankful that Regan had some kind of emergency kit with her, the pliers would surely help with the removal process. “Homeopathy. Yeah, sure. I’ll get to that one next.” She joked, a weak laugh escaping from her throat. 

Regan jumped back and Margot felt a pang of guilt. The doctor hadn’t been kidding, she really was on edge. What was she capable of if Margot frightened her? Regan’s hands began to shake, at the same time an intense flapping began. Could it be some kind of animal? Footsteps? Somebody else coming to help? Margot was worried the sound would spook Regan and unleash whatever she was so afraid of, so she didn’t dare draw attention to it.

Once more, Regan got to work. Margot took a deep centreing breath in at the same time as Regan. She wished she had some kind of liquor at this moment, both for distraction, sanitation and pain relief. “Running, huh? Is that why you’re out here?” Margot could feel the pliers clamp around the quill, bringing her thoughts to a halt. “Mmhm.” She murmured, sucking in her lips. Margot took the bandages from Regan and held onto the roll with a death grip. As Regan pulled on the quill, Margot’s vision went dark. She began to see stars dancing across her eyelids. The blackness of being knocked out was the most rest she had had in weeks, empty and limitless. It was peaceful for a few moments, until she felt a wetness on her lashes. When Margot came to, they had drifted down her cheeks. “Is it-- is it done?” Margot asked Regan in a quivering whisper. She could not feel anything below her knee, it was numb with pins and needles. Her eyes fluttered open and fell upon the injury. There was so much blood, it made Margot’s stomach turn. “Oh, God!” She squeezed her eyes shut once more. 

“No, I’m not running,” Regan stated. Kaden probably thought she was, in a metaphorical sense, but for the first time since all of this nonsense took over her life, she felt like she was taking actionable steps to get everything back in order. A different order, a much colder one, maybe, but an order nonetheless. 

Margot’s shriek at having the quill pulled from her foot rivaled one of her own wails. Regan had expected it, though, and kept a hand on Margot’s knee. Maybe it could keep her tethered. But Margot seemed to flip in and out of consciousness for a moment, so Regan gave her leg a light shake. She never was great at this type of patient care -- even when she worked on live patients, she preferred them under general anesthesia and lying supine on a surgical table. “Margot? Look, it’s-- it’s out.” She held up the pliers, still clamped around the long quill. But that didn’t mean they were done. “How do you feel? Are you-- don’t try to move just yet.” Regan didn’t need to adhere to that, though. She pulled her hands away from Margot and shuffled backwards, away from her. Relief trickled through her as she wondered just how close they’d come to having Margot explode in a spray of blood and bones and organs. She watched Margot warily. Nudged the first aid kit in her direction. Surely she could handle this part, right? “You… you should remove your shoe and sock, then clean the wound and bandage it. Have you ever given yourself stitches before? You may need to do that, too.”

As she looked at the quill, Margot admired its menacing sharpness. She couldn’t believe that had been embedded in her skin just moments ago, but she was glad it was out. Margot still felt light-headed, short of breath, but the world was slowly coming back into focus. “I feel- I can’t really feel my foot.” That was probably a good thing, the shock of it all blocking the pain. As Regan began to back away once more, Margot’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “W-Where are you going? You want me to do it?” She glanced down at the first aid kit and back to Regan dumbfoundedly. “No, I have never given myself stitches.” She was getting frustrated with this whole exchange, being a damsel in distress was not her favourite role to play and Regan didn’t look like she wanted to play doctor anymore. “Fine! I’ll do it myself.” 

Margot pulled the first aid kit towards her, fumbling for a few moments with the lid and her one good hand before the contents spilled open and to the ground. “Damnit!” She yelled out. Despite her annoyance, she wasn’t ready to give up and admit defeat, instead Margot got to work on her shoelaces, managing to untie them on her own. Pulling the shoe off was a whole other issue. As Margot wrapped her hand around the heel and rugged on the rubber sole, a sharp stab of pain erupted from her wound. Margot gritted her teeth and groaned. She was breathless once more. She looked up to the other woman, feeling more helpless and useless than she had ever felt. “Please Regan, help me here, or go. Don't just stand there and watch me struggle.” It was an ultimatum, a bluff if Margot was honest with herself. If Regan turned the other way, she would just beg and scream until she returned. 

Margot couldn’t feel her foot. That wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it wasn’t good. Regan was confident the injury would heal up just fine, but if she couldn’t feel it, walking was going to be difficult, and if she couldn’t walk, then-- what were they supposed to do? A few weeks ago Regan would have let Margot lean on her and then driven her home without hesitation, but so much had changed. She took another step back, watching Margot’s panic start to swirl back around her. Of course she had never given herself stitches. That would have made things too easy. Regan was starting to wonder if Margot had Blanche’s weak stomach, which would be the cherry on top of this garbage pie. Whenever she thought about her training, thought about the turkey, her heels locked further in place, digging into the dirt. She couldn’t move. All she could do was watch as Margot’s face lit up with stubborn determination, and she grabbed for the first aid kit… spilling absolutely everything.

Great.

And the tears had returned.

Regan stifled her own, but her eyes pricked with the threat of more. At some point, she was doing harm through inaction, right? “Okay, just-- just give me a minute.” Regan tugged at her hair with a shaky hand. That darkness lapped at her lungs -- a scream waiting to slip out. Anxiety. Fear. Panic. Of course she felt ready to burst. It was what Deirdre had warned her-- lack of control of emotions would be her downfall unless she bridled them, and eventually choked them out of herself. Regan pulled in a long breath, then exhaled it through her nose. Once, twice, three times. She felt like the most ineffectual doctor ever board certified. But her feet felt like they could move again, so she paced, wings flicking in agitation. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, finally looking at Margot. “I won’t leave you here. But I also don’t think it’s wise to be near me right now.” The fact Margot had asked her if she was a homicidal maniac stung all over again, and this time it grew more barbs. “Okay. Stitches. I can do this quickly.” 

Another long breath. Regan took a few steps forward, trying to project confidence she didn’t have, before reaching down to collect the spilled contents of the kits that she needed. Once gathered, she very slowly, very cautiously, pulled Margot’s shoe off. Protestations were expected; it probably hurt a lot. The bloodstained sock was next. “What I said before still applies. No surprises, okay? I’ll work quickly. I can-- I’ll work quickly.” There was no time to waste. Regan did a cursory examination of Margot’s foot -- it was still bleeding, and the injury site was badly swollen. The hole was deep, though it didn’t look like it went down to the bone. If they weren’t in the woods, Regan would have insisted on irrigating it. She sopped up what she could with the gauze. “How badly does it hurt? And do you have any water on you? Mine is in the car, which isn’t particularly helpful. We, uh, might need to clean this out later. I mean you. You might need to clean this out later. Not we. I mean, not us.”  

If Margot wasn’t in so much pain, she may have taken a moment to acknowledge the pang of guilt that radiated from her heart. This was clearly a difficult situation for Regan, one she didn’t wish to be a part of, but Margot was in trouble, and the girl liked to think she would do the same if someone was in the same position. “I know you’re, uh, struggling with this, with whatever is going on with you.” Margot gave her a wide eyed look, “But you’re the only hope I have. I need you to help me and then you can get back to whatever you were doing out here.” Margot tried to hide her exasperation, her annoyance. She wanted her words to be inspiring, but Margot knew she often had the opposite effect when she opened her mouth. It wasn’t really her fault, just the way her brain was wired. 

With teeth gritted and a few deep breaths, the shoe was off. Margot was trying not to groan or cry, clearly these types of emotions were causing Regan distress. “No surprises.” Margot repeated in assurance of their earlier deal. As Regan began to deal with the mess, Margot looked up to the sky, watching the clouds mingle in the sky, the way the birds flew with the wind. It didn’t help. Her foot still hurt like hell. “It feels like shit.” Margot said through her teeth, “No, I-I didn’t bring any water. I didn’t bring anything because I’m an idiot. I should never have come out here today.” She couldn’t do anything right lately, a string of bad luck and unfortunate events. As if she had been cursed… “Once we’re back to civilization I’ll go to the hospital and get it checked out.” Margot shuddered to think of the bill she would get from such a visit, considering the fracture had already set her back a pretty penny. 

The real question was how they were going to get back to civilisation. Margot had ridden her bike out here, and she doubted how well she would be able to push her pedals with a mangled foot. “W-Will you help me get there? To the hospital?” She knew Regan’s first answer would be no, so she continued her guilt trip. “It’s just I won’t be able to get there on my own. I rode my bike out here you see, a-and I don’t think I can get cell service to call an ambulance.” She tried to reach Regan’s eyes, a persuasion tactic. “Please Regan. I’ll owe you big time.”

“I’m not surprised,” Regan said with a deep frown as she assessed the injury further, “it’s deep, and you’ll need water irrigated through it as soon as it’s available. Likely back at the-- I mean, somewhere. Somewhere else.” No, she was not going to say the car. Margot couldn’t come with her. But the wound probably hurt like hell, and there was nothing Regan could do to help with the pain. The contents of the first aid kit were limited, and beyond preventing an infection and hiding injuries, Deirdre never intended for anything in there to assist with alleviating hurt. “You’re not an idiot”, she said flatly as she threaded the needle and got to work, “but I would like to know what you were doing out here. It’s not safe. Evidently.” Just a few more stitches. Even though the wound was ugly and deep, it wasn’t wide. “Almost done. I would advise you to go to the hospital, y--” But then Margot asked the question she’d been dreading. “I can’t take you there.” Regan’s eyes flicked away from Margot’s and busied themselves back on her foot. She secured the gauze and then the bandage. Not her neatest work, but they would need to open it back up shortly anyways, and it was enough to afford Margot some locomotion. 

“I’ll give you my keys. You can take my--” No, that wasn’t going to work. Margot wouldn’t be able to drive with her foot in this state. Not to mention, it would leave Regan as stranded out here as Margot nearly was. But she could always call Deirdre to come pick her up. There was some reception over by the parking lot, on a good day. And Margot, of course, kept cajoling her. She could feel Margot’s eyes scanning her, but she didn’t meet them; she only groaned a little and stood up. “You’re as persistent as Blanche. It doesn’t matter how many times you ask, I can’t bring you to the hospital. At best, I could leave you a couple of blocks away, but that’s-- I mean, no! I’m not doing that either! That’s still a terrible idea.” Another groan. Yes, she and Blanche had a lot in common. Putain. Regan gathered the excess first aid supplies and stuffed them back into the kit. She’d organize them properly later, when she didn’t have a subadult whimpering in front of her. 

I’ll owe you big time.

“No!” Regan snapped, her voice sharp enough to echo through the woods. A frightened animal scurried up a tree. “Never say that. Do not say anything like-- you don’t owe me. You don’t owe me anything and you never will.” She stood up and turned her back to Margot, contemplating. No cell reception, no transportation, and no water. Margot was in even more jeopardy than Regan had initially thought. And she had the opportunity to help… at great risk of hurting her. Her emotions had been volatile since what happened at the morgue; things broke without intention. People would, too, if they got close enough. How could they do this safely? “I’ll… I’ll help you to the parking lot. And then we’re going to call someone to take you to the hospital. And away from me.” She turned back to Margot, her hands and skin and wings trembling with nerves. “I can’t carry you. So you’re going to have to walk. I’ll-- if you must, you can hold onto me.” Her heart caught in her throat. This was a terrible idea. And yet, she peeled her gloves off and, slowly, carefully, like she was about to defuse a bomb, extended a hand down to Margot.   

As the needle drifted in and out of her skin, Margot could feel the bite of every stitch. She took to covering her face again as if she could shield herself from the pain. Margot craved an aspirin or even just a warm cup of calming tea. Regan’s questions would have to be her relief. “I was just out here walking, the trails are recommended online as being ‘tranquil’.” She made air quotes around the word with her fingers. “It was supposed to help me relax.” It had done just the opposite, she doubted that all of these injuries were going to help her sleep tonight. Regan kept stitching, she was like a tailor sewing a hem, Margot’s skin her fabric. If Margot could stomach a look at what she was doing, she would be in awe of her quick work. Soon enough there was a bandage around her foot and she was somewhat pieced back together. The blood on her legs was beginning to dry and it seemed the worst was over.

Regan had refused Margot’s request, just as she had expected. Was asking for a ride too much after all she had already asked of the doctor? It seemed she had a battle going in her head, one that Margot was so curious to find out what. Why was this exchange so very difficult for Regan to be a part of? At the mention of Blanche, Margot’s ears perked up. “You know Blanche?” She’d only spoken to the girl a few times since the classroom incident, but having some kind of mutual connection in this town made Margot feel like she was starting to find her place in it. Regan began to toss things back in the kit, haphazardly and without care. Margot felt the urge to apologise for spilling them in the first place, but she didn’t.

At the mention of returning her kindness, Regan seemed to physically recoil, her protest ringing in her ears it was so loud. “Woah! Okay, sorry, no favours! It was just an offer!” What was the big deal? Margot did not understand the weight of her words, the danger that could come with such a promise. There was an eerie silence as Regan pondered her options, the quiet showing the contrast between her shouting moments before. “You’ll help me?!” Regan’s wouldn’t take her to the hospital, but the parking lot was a great enough victory. Margot couldn’t believe her begging had worked. A smile flitted across her face, only for a moment, before it settled back into a frown. They still had to get out of this forest, which posed a whole new set of problems. Margot took hold of Regan’s extended hand with a light grip, so as to not startle her. She took one more deep breath before she placed all of her weight on her good foot and hoisted herself up. As she stood, the blood began flowing back into her lower limbs, the sensation so intense it caused her to groan. Margot hopped on her foot a few times in an effort to regain some balance, then wrapping an arm around Regan’s shoulder, using her much like a crutch. “Which way is the parking lot?”

“There’s nothing relaxing about these woods,” Regan mumbled, “though I suppose you learned that, now, the hard way.” She used to love nothing more than to go on walks or runs through the woods, surrounded by nature. How many times had she begged Reilly to go on a walk with her, bucket in tow, so she could collect whatever remains she found? Even a month ago, she and Kaden would have spent a date walking Abel, enjoying the tranquility Margot mentioned. Now, the woods just seethed with menace. It, like everything else, had been soiled by what she had done. “Someone dies in White Crest’s woods practically every day. You should never walk alone out here.” Despite the fact she was doing just that. But she was the one who was the danger.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you know Blanche. Really, I should have asked you the second it became obvious you were injured. Blanche is… she was like a sister to me, in a way. A younger, recalcitrant sister who always manages to find trouble even where it previously didn’t exist.” Regan shook her head, trying not dwell on her use of the past tense. Everything had changed. She wasn’t going to invite her own pain into Blanche’s life, not when there was a disproportionate burden already placed on Blanche’s shrimpy shoulders. “So far, you’ve given me a similar impression. Your wrist, your foot… Do you know her through college?” There. That was a question, one that could lead into a conversation that would hold minimal emotion. They could do this. She could do this. But as Margot grabbed her cold hand and rose unsteadily to her feet and couldn’t even support herself for more than a few seconds, Regan’s hope evaporated like spilled acetone. She shouldn’t have carried hope in the first place. It was something Deirdre was trying to iron out of her. 

Margot was asking about the parking lot, but Regan couldn’t answer. She couldn’t move. The warmth of Margot’s touch only made Regan feel colder. Less human. More risky. “I said--” Her voice was scratchy and quiet. She tried again. “I said you can hold onto me if you must. Are you unable to walk half a mile without doing so?” Another question she felt she knew the answer to already, but perhaps there was a small chance. Part of her realized she sounded all too much like Deirdre just then, and she shrunk inside of herself for a moment, searching for the compassion she knew to be there. It took longer than she liked for it to surface. “And do you want to tell me how you hurt your wrist? Did your doctor know what they were doing, or do I have to examine that, too?” Regan took a few uneasy steps, feeling just as uncertain and afraid as the young woman holding onto her. “Does that feel okay?” She asked. “The parking lot is down that path--” she nodded toward it “--but it’s going to be a while. And it’ll feel like even longer, given your injury, so you need to be resilient. Can you be that, Margot?”

Margot let out a snigger. From what she knew of Blanche, and of herself, they seemed to be very similar, managing to wriggle themselves into the business of others. Regan’s choice of words was strange. Blanche was. “You’re not as close anymore? Can I ask what happened?” She knew it was none of her concern, but her nose was so good at sticking itself where it didn’t belong. “We’re in a class together.” For now she left out the part about the tornado, the telekinesis, the broken bones and scratches. Margot had a hard enough time explaining these things to herself, let alone to others. 

Regan’s body felt so rigid beneath hers, it made her a very sturdy companion to hold on to. “I heard you. I’m sorry. It’s just--” She took a few shaky steps forward, “Just very hard to stay upright.” Margot eased her grip on Regan’s shoulders as she gained some momentum and composure back. “My wrist? Yeah, uh, you heard about that tornado that swept through the university? I was caught in the middle of it.” Her life was really starting to sound like a tragedy, or perhaps even a comedy if edited in the right fashion. “It’s been checked out. I have this cast for the next couple of months.” She took a glance down at the cast now, splattered with blood and dirt. “I suppose they’ll replace it when we-- I mean, I get to the hospital.” They took a few steps together. It wasn’t as painful as Margot had expected, the polite conversation having calmed her somewhat. “It feels fine.” Margot resented the condescension in Regan’s voice, knowing it was warranted considering her childish whining only moments ago. Margot wanted this to be over as quickly as Regan did. “Let’s go.” 

She began to hop with greater haste in the direction that Regan had specified, still clutching onto Regan for dear life. As they passed over a few loose stones on the trail back, Margot’s hand slipped from the top of her shoulders, brushing against something on Regan’s back. The fabric of Regan’s shirt had seemingly been ripped to shreds, something protruding from the gaps in the cloth on her back. Whatever it was, felt glossy, and smooth, like the veins of a leaf, though unlike a leaf it fluttered with every step the two took. It reminded Margot of the wings of a dragonfly, the times when she would capture them as a child, keep them for a few hours before setting them free. Why did Regan’s back feel like a dragonfly? “Wh-What happened to your shirt?” Margot tried to twist her body to look, but couldn’t manage with the pace they were now moving. 

“No, you can’t ask what happened.” Regan left it at that, cutting off any further inquiry from Margot. She really did have a number of characteristics in common with Blanche. Curiosity verging on nosiness was one. At least it made sense that they were in a class together. It came as a surprising relief that Margot and Blanche hadn’t met under more dangerous circumstances; that usually seemed to be the case in this town, and especially where Blanche was involved. The tornado-- of course. The one that killed a student, and injured Morgan. Regan looked over at Margot, trying to keep the concern from her face and her voice. Deirdre would have pointed out that she had failed. “You… I’m sorry to hear that you were hurt. What do you think happened? Do you believe that it was a tornado?” She wanted to trust the paper, but Morgan had indicated that there was something more going on. Regan realized she was the one prying now, and reeled herself in. “You don’t have to discuss it with me if you don’t wish to.”

One dozen steps. Two dozen. So far, so good. Margot was being resilient -- a surprise considering her earlier condition -- and nothing was causing a scream to stir. Regan cautiously navigated the trail, pointing out the upturned roots so that Margot didn’t accidentally send both of them toppling over. They were making faster progress than Regan had expected. Maybe this would be-- but then she felt it. A warm hand over her back, her wings. Her wings. They were-- that’s right. She had left the necklace in the car to recharge. Not wearing the necklace meant getting used to them. And it was working. She was getting used to them. Which meant it wasn’t immediately obvious when-- oh, Jenner. There was the scream. It swirled inside of her lungs for a split second, and she managed to push it back and refocus before it could come out. But the shock stayed. Maybe Margot wouldn’t notice. Maybe she-- no, she did. Regan felt Margot’s hand freeze for a moment, her fingers brushing against the membranes. Her wings twitched in response, and she just barely stopped them from shooting out to her sides, away from Margot’s touch. And she was asking about the shirt and-- breathe. Breathe, Kavanagh. Deirdre wouldn’t have allowed panic to set in like this. Panic was just a feeling, and she was above those now. Every small bit she allowed herself would make it harder to earn control. 

Regan stopped walking and peeled Margot’s drifting hand away from her back, leaving her to wobble on her own. Reminding herself that she was above panic didn’t actually do much to dispel it. She looked down, trying to transform her alarm into a cool numbness. “I-- those are--” She couldn’t lie. But that didn’t mean she needed to supply the truth. Was it foolish not to, when Margot could just as easily look behind her and supply it herself? Yes. But saying oh, yes, by the way, I have wings, sounded like true lunacy. She wouldn’t do it, not precisely. After a long minute, Regan answered. “I did that to my shirt. In hindsight, I wish I had chosen one that wasn’t from my alma mater.” She paused, the thick air between them making her want to choke. Maybe Margot didn’t notice that, either. “Just don’t-- try not to touch them, okay? Better yet, just ignore them. Tell me about this class you have with Blanche, instead. Or that tornado.” Slowly, bit by bit, Regan’s panic subsided, and she extended a hand to Margot again. “We’re almost there.” She wasn’t sure which of the two of them she was reassuring.

Margot pursed her lips, as if she had bitten down on a wedge of lemon, so sour from being told off. She had worn this look many times before, those times when she had asked one too many questions or delved a little too deep. Perhaps she could ask Blanche about what happened between them instead, she might be more forthcoming. “What else could it have been?” Regan’s question was not a new one. Everyone Margot had shared her injury with had acted in the same manner, skeptical of its origins. If it wasn’t a tornado that had swept through the college, what else could it be? If Margot had not experienced it first hand, she imagined she would have her hang ups, having never heard of such a concentrated natural disaster before. But she had been there and there was no other explanation that her mind could accept. The truth was too unfathomable and unrealistic. 

Regan stuttered for a moment, the contact between Margot and whatever she had grazed her hand against clearly causing her to falter. Regan pulled away, and Margot was left to stand on her own. Her hands sprang out to her sides, holding them straight out as if she were an acrobat balancing on a tightrope. Regan did well to cover her back, Margot unable to see whatever was behind her. She gave the doctor a pressing look, not letting her get out of this line of questioning as easily as the last. “You cut up your college t-shirt?” She asked rhetorically. As Margot looked at the shirt once more she could see the print of Hopkins on the front. Impressive, why would you tear that to shreds? Margot would never destroy her MIT shirt, it was too important to her. Regan’s voice was straining, as if she was trying hard not to cry. Margot knew she couldn’t ask anymore than she already had, not if she wanted to get to the hospital before infection set in. Margot took Regan’s outstretched hand and they started back on the path. “I— okay, I won’t touch… Them?” What exactly were they? Save these questions. She told herself. “There’s not much to tell. We're studying Victorian literature or something. I’m not really sure. Professor Beck sort of rambles a lot.” Professor Beck didn’t ramble, at least not excessively, but the subject of her lectures was usually of no interest to Margot, which meant she often lost track of what Beck was talking about. 

The two were coming up to the parking lot now. Margot recognised the path where she had first entered the wooded labyrinth. Her face lit up, the familiar place embracing her like a warm hug. “Will you call me an ambulance?” Margot wondered how much that would cost, but she knew Regan would never drive her, no matter how hard she begged, and it beat crawling there on all fours. 

“I don’t know what else it could have been. Maybe it really was a tornado. They’re just-- we don’t get those very often here.” Morgan practically said it wasn’t one. Not to mention, nothing in this town was what it first appeared. Regan had come to learn that, regrettably, over the past few months. She wished she could go back to how things were nine months ago. Even being new in town was better than this. She sighed, keeping her eyes tightly focused on the path ahead rather than chancing a look at Margot, “Medical school. Not college. I went to college here in Maine. Bowdoin. It’s, um, only about 40 minutes away from ho-- Augusta.” Not that it mattered now. Wait, professor Beck? Right. Of course. Margot had been there for the “tornado”, which had happened during one of Morgan’s lectures. Ergo, Margot was one of Morgan’s students. 

As Regan’s car came into sight, she allowed herself a long breath of relief. But they still had to figure out what came next. She couldn’t reliably get a cell signal here, and she certainly couldn’t drive Margot anywhere. The windows and mirrors in her car were all broken anyways, and while she was willing to put herself at risk, she wouldn’t do that to Margot. “I, uh, don’t think you want an ambulance. Those are expensive, and your injury isn’t life threatening. At least right now. How about I try to call Morgan instead? Um, professor Beck.” It didn’t seem wise to tell Margot she was currently living in her teacher’s depression shed. She led Margot over to a large, flat rock and carefully helped her sit. “Can you stay there for a minute? I have some things in the car to give you, then I’ll-- well, we’ll see if I have reception today.”  

Regan didn’t even need to get her keys out. She just stuck her arm through the glass-less window frame and grabbed the bottle of water and granola bar from the cupholder, trading the velvet box and first aid kit for them. Remembering Margot’s wrist injury, she twisted the cap off before handing it to her. “They’ll irrigate the wound at the hospital. That’s for you to drink. You’re likely dehydrated.” She swallowed, realizing her own mouth was bone dry. It was difficult to care. She handed over the granola bar, too, then stepped back against her car. The sunlight had warmed it, and it felt a little bit nice against her back and wings. Relief trickled through her at the renewed distance between the two of them, too. Margot didn’t need to be near her any longer. 

Regan fished her phone from her pocket and sent Morgan a quick text -- I have a child here who needs a ride to the hospital. Parking lot closest to clearing. -- and kept her eyes trained near, but not on, Margot. It was probably in her best interest to drive off, and just leave Margot here now that Morgan had hopefully received the text, and was hopefully on her way, but she didn’t have it in her to do that. She could already hear Margot pleading in her head. Another long breath. “I’d like for you to inform me after you’re discharged from the hospital. Or tell Morgan to tell me. Either way.” 

“Shattering glass, wind, flying furniture. Seems like a textbook tornado to me.” Margot had never experienced a tornado before, so she had no frame of reference to how odd the occurrence had been, or if it was normal. “Medical school. My mistake.” Regan still didn’t answer her original question. If the school was so important to her it warranted a correction, why would Regan rip the merchandise to shreds? 

“Professor Beck? You two are friends?” Margot regretted insulting her lectures now. She hoped Regan wouldn’t pass on those earlier comments. Still, Margot was relieved that she wouldn’t have to levy the fee for an ambulance, even if she was going riding along with her college professor. Margot shuddered to think of the polite small talk they would have to make on the way to the hospital. Margot used her hands to help lower herself to the ground, her back falling down the large rock. She moved around until she was comfortable. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” As Regan turned back towards where her car was, Margot could regard the things that stuck out from her shirt. Whatever they were, they lay flat against her spine. If Margot didn’t doubt her mental stability in this condition, she may have said they looked like... wings? Surely a hallucination, Margot shook the thought from her head, Regan already heading back in her direction with water and a snack.

She took the water bottle from Regan, taking a deep, hearty swig. Margot was ravenous, a few sloppy drops of liquid dripping down from her mouth to her chin. When Margot finally came up for air, the bottle was half empty and she was far less parched. “T-Thanks.” She held the bottle out to Regan guiltily, offering her the rest of the water, or what little was left of it. Then she started on the granola bar, not speaking again until she had eaten the entire thing. Margot hadn’t realised how hungry she was. How long had they been out here? Hours? It felt like hours, but Margot had drifted in and out of consciousness for a bit there, it probably hadn’t been that long. 

Margot had to admit she was a little disappointed that Regan wouldn’t be accompanying her to the hospital. She provoked an aura of safety and security, despite her warnings that she was “dangerous”. She nodded at Regan’s request to keep her in the loop. “I know you didn’t want to help me today. I want you to know how thankful I am for doing it anyway.” Margot couldn’t meet Regan’s eyes as she spoke, sincerity not her strong suit. “I know you said I don’t owe you anything, but the offer still stands. If I can ever repay you in some way...” Margot let her words trail out, not knowing what to say next. She hoped Regan would accept this debt. She found it hard to accept kindness without strings attached. Margot could blame her parents for that. 

“Friends? No, that isn’t--” Were they friends? Regan wasn’t sure. It would have been an easy question to answer about anyone a couple of months ago, before Nadia had turned her assumptions about her friendships on their heads. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She and Morgan had very different perspectives. And beliefs, though Regan wouldn’t classify her evidence-based logic as beliefs. Still, she couldn’t overlook the kindnesses -- big and small -- that Morgan had extended to her. Someday, she intended to repay them. Speaking of-- “I told you not to say that, Margot. Don’t say you’re going to repay someone, don’t make any promises, don’t make any deals, and don’t say you owe anyone. Understood?” She crossed her arms, leveling a sharp glance at Margot, who just looked like a frightened and grateful college student. Regan knew her scolding tone was unfair, but after what Lydia had told her -- their words could even be lethal -- the thought of inflicting that on someone scared her stiff. Her voice softened, only slightly. “I say again, you don’t owe me anything. There’s nothing to repay me for. And I did want to help you, I just-- I didn’t want to make things worse.” 

The sound of tires against gravel made Regan’s head swivel back, her wings flitting in alarm. Morgan’s car. She exhaled a tight breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and waited for Morgan to hop out. “Thank you for coming. This is Margot. You know her already. She has a serious wound on her foot and needs to get to the hospital.” Regan just looked at Margot, sitting there with the half-full bottle of water. “Drink the rest of that.” She told Margot, before turning back to Morgan. “Porcupine quill,” was all she offered.

A text from Regan including the words “child” and “hospital” in the same sentence was not something Morgan expected from her off-day, even with the awkward close-but-not-really quarters Regan was keeping in the backyard. But if she was getting a message with a location, it had to be bad. Was there screaming involved? Pulverized squirrels? More ‘freak natural disasters’? Regan wouldn’t call her if some kid was half-dead already, right? She sped into the parking lot and wrestled with her seatbelt to get out, nearly falling over her feet when she saw “--Margot?” She looked at Regan, a big ‘what the hell is going on?’ look on her face. Nothing she was looking at suggested a normal porcupine was involved, but there were more important things to work through. “Okay! Q & A time can come later. I’m not here for the whack-a-doo rationalizations anyway, but thank you. Come on, Margot. Looks like you’re winning an extension on your paper after all! And no bitching about being carried, if you don’t mind. That thing probably doesn’t need you putting your weight on it.” She picked her up with unceremonious ease, water bottle and all, and started back for the car. At her height, Margot’s legs dangled only a few precious feet off the ground, but it was better than hobbling to the emergency room. When she’d more or less tucked her student into the passenger seat, she cast another look at Regan. “Are you coming with?”

Margot was feeling scolded by Regan’s words, still confused. She opened her mouth to insist on some kind of repayment once more, when the sound of screeching tires filled her ears. The brakes of the professor’s car screamed and Morgan was out and to Margot’s aid with ferocious haste. She was brought to her feet quickly. “Ow!” She shouted at the sudden movement. Margot slung an arm around Morgan’s shoulders and surrendered to being carried like a baby. Margot was much taller than Morgan, and though she was slim, she wondered how the woman was managing to support her lanky, long frame with such ease. “I don’t even know how to explain what happened. But I’ll take that extension.” As far as she knew she’d just had a nasty run in with a porcupine, or a sharp stick. Morgan slid her into the passenger seat and Margot reached across to secure her seatbelt. Through the car window, she gave Regan a thankful glance and waited for her answer to Morgan’s question. She held a faint hope that she would come with them. 

Regan bristled at the word rationalization, though she knew it wasn’t entirely unfair to lob at her. “I didn’t see the animal,” she mumbled, “but I think Margot can correctly identify a porcupine. And I removed the quill. This isn’t one of your tor--” Bad idea. Not with Margot there. She just shook her head and sighed again, watching Morgan pluck Margot off the ground with alarming ease and carry her to the car like she weighed no more than an empty body bag. At some point, when they weren’t tormented by more important matters, Regan needed to ask Morgan about her work out routine. 

She had expected Morgan to simply make haste to the hospital, but she stopped. And turned. Regan lifted a brow. What was she waiting f-- oh. Regan couldn’t keep the surprise and sting off her face. If she planned on going with them, she wouldn’t have needed to call for Morgan’s assistance to begin with. She stood in silence for a moment, though she knew her response was immutable. She couldn’t go with Morgan and Margot however much she wanted to. For some reason, it was still hard to speak it. Her mouth still felt dry and it pricked with the thorns of the promise she had made. “No,” Regan said, finally spurring herself into movement toward her own car, only to retrieve the velvet box, “You go. I’m not finished here yet.”

[franklyfrankiesfolklore]

... I might be able to provide tears. Do they need to be sad tears or happy tears?

I don't know either. It's the only fantasy I know of. My point is, that sounds straight out of someone's imagination, don't you think?

A... private one. HIPAA, you know. You are a very confused individual and so, in turn, am I. Anyway, I have the tears. What else can you offer me?

[franklyfrankiesfolklore]

I don't know? And I'm not sure if there are any grimoires in LOTR- there might be?

What medicine calls for human tears as an active ingredient?????? and no i don't but google says they're half-demons?

Why on earth would anyone have a spellbook? That's like... something out of, uh, Lord of the Rings, maybe? One of those. This is definitely more like a grocery list. Or maybe like a list of supplies. For the morgue. Medicine. Science. That's what this is about.

As soon as possible (some people might say ASAP). There's a lot on the line.

Do you know anything about the hanyo?

[franklyfrankiesfolklore]

What? A grocery list or a grimoire? I'm assuming the latter- it's a spellbook.

And I don't know, I don't exactly schedule in a good crying session I don't have time for that anyway. How soon do you need tears by?

I don't know what that is.

When are you going to cry? I don't have a lot of time. Be sad over a receptacle.

[franklyfrankiesfolklore]

Your grocery list sounds like something out of a grimoire.

What do you need tears for????

There is no hocus pocus present. What are you talking about?

Yes, will you cry?

[franklyfrankiesfolklore]

what in the weird ass medieval alchemy text book hocus pocus bullshit is this shopping list for??

My tears???

Hello. Provide me with the following:

A blue zinnia picked at sunset.

The last thing you found in your pocket.

Diet Dr. Pepper.

Hanyo. I don't know what this means.

Your tears.

Your assistance is anticipated appreciated.