Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's light, at first. Like the featherlight touch of a dandelion that's already turned fuzzy brushing along their skin in the wind. It's constant, too. Like the buzzing of a bee that lazily hums around a patch of Black-Eyed-Susans before settling itself between the cozy petals.

Their tight muscles unfurl a bit, like a slow wave of relaxation rippling from the center of their body outward. Ribs gently slack. Shoulders ease away from their ears. Heavy hips tilt down. Thighs and calves melt into the thin blanket they laid upon. Biceps and forearms soften away from bone, just barely keeping the dullest grip around his body. They even let their head tip backwards, pushing their chest out further to press it against Huxley’s pursed lips. Their skin tingles at the rhythmic vibrations he sends along their collarbone.

“Hmm,” Freelancer groans, squinting against the glare of the bright sun.

They are out in the middle of nowhere, after a long hike with Huxley. He promised them beautiful scenery and a chill picnic. The earth-elemental delivered those promises, to be sure. But he hadn’t said a thing about laying with them in a serene spot he no doubt found on one of his many solo hikes. He hadn’t said anything about holding them close in his strong arms. He hadn’t even mentioned that he’d spend the last five minutes (or maybe five hours? Who could tell by now? They’d lost all track of time of time ages ago, nor did they have the wherewithal to care) blowing little raspberry kisses up and down their stomach and spine.

Then again, maybe Huxley hadn’t said anything because he hadn’t planned on spending the afternoon with them cuddling into his large frame, not that he was complaining. Sometimes, having no game plan was the best game plan. That was how he navigated all facets of life. That was how he had thought of suggesting the hike in the first place. He’d spontaneously walk for hours sometimes, to clear his head after a rough game or a difficult class. No matter where he ended up, it was a special sojourn to him, seeking a peaceful kind of solitude, just the sounds of wind rustling through leaves and birds that you never seem to spot chirping away as they hop from branch to branch above your head.

Being here with him now like this makes it all the more special to them because they know he chooses to share the space with them. And they are so grateful.

A low rumble, halfway between a chuckle and a moan, ekes out of Huxley. He pulls his lips off of their body, the noise practically ricocheting off of their collarbone and bouncing between their bodies, like a private echo that was audible only to the two of them. “How’s that?” Huxley asks. “Are you good?”

Unlike others, he waits for their answer.

Freelancer finally finds a way to shape their mouth into the words that give voice to the feelings rising within them. “‘S good. Really good.” They splay their fingers out like roots growing into different directions, all steadily staking their claim as they seal their palm onto the small of his back.

“Good, good,” Huxley answers, a slight pant in his tone. “Then hang on, Freelancer. ‘Cause raspberries are in season and there’s a damn bumper crop.” It’s cheesy, he knows, but with them, he feels safe enough to say all the cheesy thoughts they put in his head.

His lips return to their throat column.

Their lips curl into a smile as they arch up into the gentle sensations he creates along their body.

Chapter Text

They felt cold. Chilled to the bone, to be specific. All they wanted to do was crawl into their bed, pull three blankets and a comforter over their body, and stay there until they felt warm again. But they couldn’t do that. They still had to make dinner, wash the dishes, take out the garbage, go through their credit card bills to ensure they hadn’t been charged for anything erroneously, and something else they couldn’t quite remember, but they were sure it would come to them as soon as they got up and moving.

When had they sat down?

That question poked at the back of their mind, but they ignored it because they realized that standing demanded a conscious effort. They swayed a bit, shifting their weight from foot to foot to keep their balance. Using their hand against a wall to steady themselves, they straightened their spine and began to take a small step forward. They wondered why walking in their bedroom felt as if they were wading through a rushing brook, but their thoughts were sticky and slow. They needed to concentrate or else they might forget how to stay upright.

Why was walking so difficult? And where had they been going again?

“Babe,” Asher greeted them from the doorway. His broad back faced them as he pushed the door open with his hip. “Dinner’s ready!” he announced brightly. “And I’ve got your next dose of Tylenol all ready, too.” He was carrying something, but a hazy mist suddenly blurred their vision, so they couldn’t make out what he had in his arms. Maybe it was a tray? Asher’s warm voice was like a guiding light to them, even with how out of sorts they were feeling. They took another step, their legs shaking under their weight.

The room began to spin. Babe heard Asher say something, but they couldn’t make out the words. Whatever he said, he sounded so worried. They wanted to ask him what was wrong, but before they could open their mouth, the floor unexpectedly jumped up and hit them in the face. Darkness overtook them and distantly, they heard an awful clattering sound and Asher calling their name before they gave in to the exhaustion that lulled them to sleep.

**********

They opened their eyes slowly, blinking until Asher’s worried expression came into their line of vision.

“Babe, are you with me?” he asked, a serious tightness imbued in his voice that they had never heard before. “Can you answer me?”

“I'm here,” Babe sighed. Even just speaking those two syllables required a massive effort on their part, but when they realized Asher was laying down next to them in bed, his hand swiping through their hair, they couldn’t help but pull a small smile across their lips. “Asher.”

Asher tightened his grip around them when they stirred. “Oh, thank God,” he said in a quick exhale. He planted a quick kiss on their forehead. They were confused by how cool he felt against their skin. Usually, Asher was so warm. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Awake…” they repeated dumbly. Had they been asleep? They didn’t have much time to ponder that question because once Asher asked them his question, they realized they felt absolutely horrible. Their muscles ached. Their head throbbed. Somehow, they were both freezing and burning. And to top it all off, their thoughts were a jumbled mess of confusion and exhaustion they struggled to organize. “I feel… I don’t know,” they answered thickly. They hated how plaintive their speech sounded. It barely resembled their normally confident tone, but they couldn’t scrape up enough strength to fix it. “I’m tired,” Babe whined. “My head hurts. My body is so sore.” They scrunched their brow until divots formed across their forehead. “What… w-what happened?”

Asher palmed their forehead to smooth away their worries. “You got up and fainted,” he recalled, a slight tremble lingering in his voice. “You’ve been sick for the last day and half, Babe, with a high fever that just won’t quit.”

As they nodded to acknowledge what Asher told them, half-formed memories returned in their mind that confirmed exactly what Asher was telling them. “Sick… Fever?” Babe said through a yawn. “Oh, right.”

“You can’t be getting up alone like that. You could’ve hurt yourself.” Asher gently guided their head so that their cheek rested on his chest. “When I saw you fall, I was so scared.”

“I guess, I forgot I was sick?” they tried to rationalize. “When I woke up, I thought I had to make dinner. And do other stuff. I was a little confused,” they admitted, a bit embarrassed at their error.

“No wonder, with that crazy fever you’re running,” Asher assuaged. “You’ve been pretty mixed up all day today. But you can’t get up without me here to help right now, especially when your fever spikes like that. I’ve been here with you all day. I just stepped out to grab you some dinner, and that’s when you choose to wake up and walk around?” He scoffed a bit. “You’re always keeping me on my toes, aren’t you? Even when you're delirious."

“I’m sorry I made you worry. I didn’t realize…” At the thought of scaring Asher, a wave of regret crashed through Babe’s chest, making them acutely aware of just how sick they were. They always got like this when they were ill, like every emotion they usually kept simmering at the surface suddenly threatened to boil over in a flash. They fought and failed to hang onto their fluttering thoughts. “I don’t know.” They curled closer into Asher. “I… I… I really don’t feel good. My head hurts and my legs feel like jelly. I’m hot and confused and…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Asher hummed in a low, steady breath, rocking them slowly. “Don’t worry about a thing. Everything’s alright now. I’m right here. You’re okay, Babe. You’re right here with me. As soon as this fever breaks, I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better, okay?” He trailed his thumb along their jaw, tracing along their ear. “I’m staying right here with you until you do. I promise.”

“You’re here with me.” Babe almost wept at Asher’s comforting words. “Thank you, Asher. I love you so much.” They couldn’t recall a time they felt so feeble, but with Asher holding them, they also couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. He was there with them, so they relaxed into Asher's rocking motion and fell back asleep against their mate.

“There you go,” Asher whispered, intent on ensuring that he’d be by their side until they felt well again. “I love you, too, Babe.. And I hope you feel better soon.”

Chapter Text

David Shaw tossed his now-empty duffel bag into the corner of the closet that he hoped would store the bag for quite some time. “I think I’m getting too old for these types of jobs,” he remarked. “I know I was only gone three days, but I feel like I haven’t slept for a week.” He shut the closet door and let his hand linger on the doorknob so he could lean his weight on it. “I can’t wait to get in the bed.”

“I’m surprised you couldn’t sleep when you were away,” Angel frowned as they adjusted the blinds to prevent the early morning sunlight from disturbing their sleep in the morning. Satisfied with that, they crossed the room to pull down the comforter, blanket, and sheets. “It sounded like the security job was pretty involved. I would’ve thought you’d be tired.” They took David’s wrists in both their hands, tugging him gently towards the bed. It didn’t take much effort on their part. David stumbled forward, letting Angel guide him onto the California King sized bed.

Angel had insisted they purchase the mattress when they moved into the house. David hated the idea of spending so much on a mattress, and because he felt that he didn’t really need that extra length. He didn’t really think he would need it, that he could get by with a more standard mattress size. David was never one to want to cause any fuss, but Angel had worn him down with fiscal arguments and pleading until finally, he had caved and sprang for the California King.

He loved every inch of that bed. It was the only place he could fully stretch out his long limbs and not have to worry about his legs cramping from being bent, held at awkward angles, or worst of all, dangling off of the edge of the bed like he was some giant freak of nature.

No, in this bed with Angel, he was comfortable. He was home.

“Oh, the job was definitely involved,” David agreed. “All six of us put in a full three days working this stupid retreat. Escorting some of the guests to and from the event, checking people at the door, ensuring the building was secure.” Angel settled David onto his side of the bed, fixing his pillow so that it supported his neck. They knew he often carried the majority of his stress in his neck, and David had no small amount of stress right now. “And it’s not even like I didn’t sleep when I was gone these past few nights. I just… didn’t sleep well.” He let out a sigh and let his eyelids droop, a bit of tension already draining out of his body.

Before David opened his eyes, Angel had already turned out the lights and made their way onto the bed. They laid at his side, their fingers combing through David’s thick hair. “The bed in the hotel room wasn’t comfortable?” Angel asked. “I thought it was supposed to be a pretty swanky place.”

David let his head loll towards Angel. Their fingers lazily dragged across his scalp the slight massaging sensations making his tongue sit heavily in his mouth. “The hotel was upscale,” he confirmed. “And it was included in our travel stipend, so that was even better. And the mattress in the room was fine,” he reported, already feeling his muscles sink into the mattress. His mattress. In his house. With his mate by his side, their hands in his hair, their legs tangled up in his, his scent and theirs mingling into one. Hints of the shea butter of their shampoo and his minty mouthwash blending together into a scent all its own, like a tangible representation of their bond David could experience every time he inhaled. “But you weren’t in it.”

David twisted his body so he could directly face Angel. “There’s something so…” He searched for the right word, realizing his thoughts were already starting to slow as the beginnings of slumber began to claim him. “So relaxing about getting into your bed for the first time after travelling. Like your body can finally just let go of all the crap you’ve been carrying up until that moment.” He slung his arm over their shoulder, clutching them closer so that their bodies were flush against each other. “Especially when it’s you I get to come home to.” He let his palm rest on the back of Angel’s neck, gently squeezing in time with the gentle strokes they gave his hair.

“Aww.” Angel giggled, giving David a quick kiss on the cheek. “That’s some smooth talking for a tired, grumpy alpha,” they grinned widely, their eyes simply sparkling even in the darkness of the bedroom. “I missed you so much, Davey,” they murmured into his ear. Their breath curled around his face, tickling the slightly longer stubble he’d grown after not shaving an extra day when he had been away. “It’s so quiet without you here,” they noted. “And empty. Like the whole house just echoes with your absence.”

David loved when Angel talked like that to him. Usually, Angel spoke so quickly as if they needed to fit as many words as possible into each breath. While he loved to see them demonstrate their quick wit and uncontrollable enthusiasm, David especially liked to hear them speak like this simply because they only spoke to him like this. Hushed and careful, like each word that passed their lips came straight from their heart. He considered it a privilege that Angel would let him be an audience to their soft, bedside confessions. “I missed you too, Angel.” David whispered. “Missed having you rest on top of my body during the night, the weight of you sprawled out over me as I hold you tightly as we fall asleep.” His eyes flickered to theirs, silently checking with them, needing to see their agreement before he made his move.

Angel gave him the teeniest of nods, their eagerness evident in their eyes.

At their consent, David hoisted up so he could place them on top of his body. Angel’s head came to rest in the crease of his chest. They snaked their arms around David and let their legs tangle up with him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he praised breathlessly, adjusting his torso under Angel’s. Their breaths slowed, eventually synchronizing as they drifted off together.

Chapter Text

David Shaw took a long look at his mate and frowned.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and Angel was busily typing on their work laptop. He glanced at the clock, noting that it was well past lunchtime. According to the calendar, Angel had been planning to meet a few of their coworkers for coffee, but in order to keep the date, they would’ve needed to leave the house about ten minutes ago. It was unlike Angel to be forgetful when it came to social obligations. David knew firsthand just how thoughtful and compassionate Angel was when it came to their loved ones, but, he figured, no one was perfect. Angel did have a tendency to get wrapped up in their work.

“Angel,” he said softly to drag their attention away from the glowing screen. “You should probably get going soon if you want to be on time for your coffee date. I know it’s not far, but you don’t want to keep your friends waiting too long.”

For the first time in over an hour, Angel looked away from their screen to face David. They blinked owlishly through their blue-light blocking glasses. “I’m not going,” they admitted in a steady voice. “I thought I’d use the extra time to get ahead on a few work forms.” They returned to their laptop solemnly and resumed their typing.

That small reply had David stop in his tracks. Angel had been looking forward to seeing their friends outside of work for the last two weeks. He took a seat across from them at the kitchen table. “Why not?” David asked.

“I just don’t feel like going,” Angel shrugged, purposefully keeping their eyes trained on the work in front of them so they wouldn’t be tempted to meet David’s concerned gaze. He could always pick up on exactly what they were feeling just by looking into their eyes. “I don’t really want to see any of them today and I have work to do anyway, so I'm just going to stay home.” A thin smile spread across their lips. “Guess you’re stuck with me all day today.”

“I’m never stuck with you,” David corrected gently, though he refused to drop the subject because he could see how upset Angel was, even if they were trying their best not to show it. “But you love any excuse to be social,” David observed. “And you also love the chocolate-chip muffins at Cuppa Joe’s.” David leaned over the table, a variety of reasons to explain Angel’s strange behavior popping into his head, all of which concerned him. “Are you feeling sick?”

Angel rolled their eyes. “I’m not sick, Davey.” They sighed deeply, turning their face away from their mate. That sigh was one full of sadness, and it put David on edge.

“Talk to me, Angel. What’s wrong?” He scooted his chair close to Angel so they could no longer turn away from him.

Ripping the glasses off of their face and tossing them on the table, Angel turned back to David. He was distressed to find tears lining their lower eyelids. “It’s nothing,” they shrugged. “It’s just…” Their voice cracked.

David brought a hand to Angel’s shoulder, squeezing softly. “Just what?”

“Well, this morning, we were texting in the group chat, solidifying our plans for today. And one of my coworkers, Alex, you remember them?” Angel began to explain, leaning into David’s touch. “Well, they texted a message that I think was meant for another group chat.” Angel pursed their lips, realizing David needed more information to understand why they were so upset. “A group chat that evidently doesn’t include me,” they clarified. “They were saying some pretty nasty things about me, saying I get assigned the best client accounts because I…” Swallowing nervously, they trailed off a bit. “Because I do things for our team’s supervisors that definitely don’t fall under my job description. And everyone else was responding with stupid little gifs and laughing emojis and I just…” Angel swiped at their eyes just as the first tears began to fall. “I didn’t realize they all thought about me like that. I mean, I know I haven’t been working on this team for very long, and I know that I do usually get assigned accounts that are on the more prestigious side, but I have more experience then they do,” they choked out. “But I also thought they were my friends.”

David used his grip on Angel’s shoulder to pull them into his chest. “Angel, I’m sorry,” he said, letting his chin rest atop their head. The thought of Angel stumbling across those insults made his blood boil with rage, but he tamped down that instinct because he knew that right now, Angel needed his full attention and support.

Angel let David guide them into his strong body. They grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “I don’t think they even realize I saw those messages. I never responded,” Angel continued. “I know this all probably sounds so childish of me. I mean, it’s not like what they think is true. It’s not. At all!” they emphasized. “And I shouldn’t be so upset over a few people’s opinions of me who don’t even matter. They don’t matter at all. I know they don’t!” Angel exclaimed. “It’s not like they can actually affect my job title in any way, shape, or form. It’s just a bunch of stupid, office gossip. I don’t mean to let it get to me like this.” They pushed their head into David a little more.

David didn’t hesitate to place his free hand on Angel’s back and run small, comforting circles.

“But, it’s just hard, you know?” they admitted. “It hurts. I feel so dumb, thinking these people were my friends. I never had any idea that’s how they felt about me. Not when we waved to each other when we crossed paths at the office. Not when we texted outside of work. We’ve even hung out a few times, and I just keep thinking to myself, why? Why did I delude myself into thinking these were people who were my friends when really, I don’t know, I guess it was all one big joke to them.”

“No, don’t turn this around on yourself,” David soothed. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Angel. You always see the good in people because you want to see the good in people.” He angled his chin downwards to encourage them to look him in the eyes. “And I love that about you. It’s not stupid or childish. Neither is being upset when you realize that your trust in someone was betrayed like that. It’s normal. It’s healthy. And it’s damn valid.” He kissed their forehead. “I’m glad you didn’t go and force yourself to spend any more time with those assholes than you’ll have to at work. Fuck their group chat. Fuck their petty gossip. They’re jealous of the fact that your skills merit those better accounts, and rather than try to improve themselves, they decided to lash out with shitty, false gossip to make themselves feel better.” He let one hand cup their cheek. “You are a damn hard worker and a whiz at this stuff.” He jutted his chin toward the open laptop that had flipped to Angel’s screensaver: a picture of Balto. “You deserve every bit of accolades you get at work, and then some. Don’t let those jerks make you think anything other than that."

“Thanks, Davey,” Angel whispered against his body. They twisted their head to kiss the inside of his palm that had rested on their face. “I… I guess I needed to hear that.” Angel shifted onto David’s lap so they could properly press a kiss to his mouth, which he eagerly accepted. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, Angel,” he returned in kind. “Now…” He shut the laptop, knowing the work Angel had done up until that point was automatically saved. “Maybe put this work stuff away for today? Just because your plans fell through, doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. It’s beautiful outside. Let’s take a walk and maybe grab a few of those chocolate chip muffins while we’re out.”

“I don’t know if I really want to take the chance of running into all of them,” Angel grimaced humorously. "Although, I do love those muffins..."

“You can stay outside the café if you want,” David offered. “Because if I just so happened to run into Alex and their friends, purely by coincidence, of course,” he said with his eyebrows raised. “I might have a few choice words they can add to their little group chat.”

Chapter Text

Starlight stared at Avior, their left eyebrow dipping a bit in that perfect way that always enhanced their bright, alert eyes. “So, you watched me all that time. Err, all your time,” they quickly corrected. Starlight used their hands to mime little boxes to keep their racing thoughts organized. “Which was seconds for me, but months for you? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Avior confirmed. He let his knees bend, slowly sliding to sit on the floor of the all-too-familiar hellscape. The inchoate crossed his legs and brought an elbow to his knee. When he sighed, he let his chin rest in his palm. Preparing himself for having this conversation with Starlight had been exhausting, even with his magic constantly replenishing.

“But why?” Starlight wondered aloud.

“Why?” Avior repeated, utterly exasperated. “Why? You’re asking me ‘why?’” He burst out laughing, but an edge of panic echoed in his mirthless chuckling. "Starlight, give me a break, okay? For once, can't you just give me fucking break?" He jumped up from his seat, seizing them by the shoulders and pulling them closer so they were inches from his face. “I don’t know!” he cried. “I don’t know anything anymore! I haven’t known anything since I first got stuck in this hellscape reality!”

Starlight’s arms stiffened in Avior’s grasp and they flinched at his words. Avior noticed their small, fearful movements, but even worse, he felt their fear. He felt their fear as it snaked its way around their heart, wrapped itself around their lungs, and chilled their blood.

He never thought Starlight could ever be afraid of him. He suddenly felt sick.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out brokenly, releasing his grip on them and taking a few deliberate steps backwards to show them that they were safe. Or, at least, as safe as they could be here. Avior longed to be in a position where he could keep Starlight truly safe from anything and everything in either of their worlds. He squelched that protective urge to embrace them and shield them from the world. The last thing he would ever want was for Starlight to misinterpret his frustration as anger directed at them.

Again.

“Please, Starlight,” he begged, not even really sure what he was pleading for. Understanding? Acceptance? Belief? Dare he even hope, love?

Starlight shook themselves off and squared their shoulders. “No, that’s not what I meant,” they sighed. “I meant, ‘Why, if you can pick anywhere in the world, err, my world,” they corrected automatically. “If you can pick anywhere in the world to watch, why did you pick only me for what felt like such a long time for you?”

Avior gaped, his jaw tensing at their question. “Oh,” he said simply, letting his hand rub at the back of his neck in a sheepish gesture. “Well, it seems that I was wrong. I do know one thing in this hellscape. I know that I love you.” He ached to close the distance between them, so he dug his heels into the ground to keep himself still. “That’s why I had to see you, even in that skewed way. I had to see you because, you and me? We’re inseparable. ‘Till the end. I don’t know anything else about how or why or when or anything related to this messed up scenario. But I sure as hell know that much.”

“‘Till the end,” Starlight said thoughtfully, like they were trying on the phrase to test whether or not it rang true for them. It did. They strode forward, bringing their palm along Avior’s jaw, slowly trailing it up his cheek, to his temple, and even along the edge of his horn before backtracking. He leaned into their touch, and ever so gently let a hand come to their waist.

“Starlight,” he murmured. “I missed you so much.”

“I think I did, too, even though I didn’t know exactly what I was missing. Just that I was missing something,” they recalled. “It was you.”

Avior laughed again, but this time out of relief and even giddiness. It had been way too long he’d felt any other emotion but despair. Even if he and Starlight were stuck, he felt that with them, there was nothing they couldn’t do, including finding some way to escape their hellish trap.

“Can… can I see?” Starlight asked tentatively. “Just a glimpse of my world? Anywhere. I don’t care. Just, the chance to see people living their lives, to see that the world will still be there for us when we get out of here.”

Avior’s ears perked up at their vocabulary choice.

Us.

When.

He could’ve wept on the spot, but Starlight still had more to say, so he listened carefully. “But only if it doesn’t strain you too much.”

“For you? Nothing’s a strain,” he replied confidently, waving his hand into the space slightly above him and Starlight.

Suddenly, in the air, a still image formed. Starlight could make out a man, considerably large, laying in the back of a truck bed with someone else, probably his partner, with their head on his chest as they both stared at the sky. The man had his hands resting on the smaller person’s stomach while the person excitedly pointed into the sky. Starlight’s eyes followed the outstretched finger and found the sky contained a dazzling meteor shower, frozen in time. If they looked closely, Starlight and Avior could see that the couple was moving, but it looked like a recording playing painfully slowly. Still, with how wide the man’s smile was and how excited the other person was as they watched the meteor shower together, Avior and Starlight didn’t mind the sluggish movement of time.

“It’s so pretty! Thank you, Avior.” Starlight let their own head fall towards Avior’s chest. They stared intently, like the moment was the most gorgeous painting they’d ever had the privilege of seeing. “They’re in love,” Starlight observed.

Avior kissed Starlight’s cheek. “I know the feeling.”

Chapter Text

David Shaw brought a tentative hand to Angel’s back. They were hunched forward over their kitchen table, their forehead resting on their stacked palms. At David’s touch, they flinched and went rigid, throwing themselves upward so they could see who had just touched them. It only took a moment for them to see that it was David. They instantly and visibly relaxed.

Even so, David was observant enough to notice Angel’s fleeting discomfort and quickly retracted his hand. He brought both of his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s just me.” His hands hovered in the air, unsure what to do next. As much as he wanted to hold Angel close and to hear about whatever was causing them to be sobbing hysterically alone in their one-bedroom apartment, he did not want to risk making them feel uncomfortable at all. “I knocked on the door, but when you didn’t answer I got worried,” David explained patiently, realizing how scary it probably was for someone who lived alone to suddenly feel another person’s hand on their back. He wanted to put them at ease. “And, I said I’d find you, right?”

Angel’s brows knit together in confusion. “You what?”

“That night we did that corn maze together,” David recalled. “Remember? You bet me you could keep hidden from me in the maze. If I found you, then you were going to pay for our milkshakes. Which you did, by the way, because I found you after about five minutes of looking.” David’s blood pumped at the memory. It had been a fun night for both of them, especially when Angel unexpectedly gave his wolf side the chance to hunt them. “That night, I said I’d always find you, no matter where you were. And I told you I'd keep you safe. Always. So, today, when you didn’t come to the door, I let myself in with the key you gave me to find you, and then I heard you crying…”

It wasn’t a total lie. All of those things did happen, though not exactly in that order. David had heard Angel crying before he’d set foot in the apartment, which led him to make use of Angel’s key. He ached to share that part of his life with Angel soon, but he wanted to wait until the paperwork had been all cleared through D.U.M.P., and they were taking a painfully long time to approve his request to breach covert.

“Well, you didn’t have to look very far to find me,” Angel grimaced. “Finding me in my own kitchen. Not exactly a search-and-rescue operation, is it?”

David bit back a smile. Even at what seemed like their lowest, they managed to keep up their sarcastic wit. It was one of the many things he loved about them.

Angel furiously rubbed at their red, puffy eyes. “I… I…” they began to stutter, searching their brain from some sort of passable excuse as to why they were wrapped up in such despair. “Ummm…” Angel trailed off, unable to come up with anything that sounded remotely plausible, other than the truth. Their eyes darted wildly between the floor, the ceiling, and David’s concerned gaze.

“Look at me. Hey… It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he assured them. “Can I sit next to you?”

Angel swallowed nervously, nodding.

“Thank you,” David responded reflexively. It sounded a little stilted that he’d be thanking them for allowing him to sit down, but the habit of following up a request with a “thank-you” was too ingrained in David for him not to say it. David gingerly took a seat in the wooden chair, keeping his movements deliberately slow so as not to startle Angel again. “Are you okay?” He let his hands rest on the table as he angled his body to face Angel. “Or maybe a better question is, what’s wrong?”

Angel bit the inside of their cheek. “It’s stupid,” they shrugged, patting their cheeks to make the burning sensation they felt dissipate.

“I highly doubt that,” David scoffed. His fingers lightly drummed against the table. He wished he could take Angel’s hand in his. “But we’ll never know until you tell me.”

“It’s just…” Angel sighed, straightening their spine and finally holding David’s gaze. “I missed you.”

“You missed me?” David echoed. “Well, that’s not stupid at all,” he joked. “I’m pretty great.”

Despite themselves, Angel giggled at David’s remark. “No,” they sighed, feeling a little lighter already. “I wasn’t crying because I missed you. I was crying because I was upset that I missed you.”

David’s eyes narrowed. “Run that by me again?”

“I mean…” Angel grabbed for one of David’s hands. Elated at their initiation of physical contact, he held them, squeezing gently. “We’ve been going out for a while, right? And, we’ve been having a lot of fun, right?” David could tell from Angel’s tone, and their lack of pausing, that he wasn’t supposed to interrupt their speech. “We spend a lot of time together. We met each other’s friends. We said we loved each other,” they listed. “This is serious between us. And, sometimes, I get worried that I’m losing myself in us.” Angel began to breathe a little faster as the weight of their confession seemed to hit them. “And that upsets me, okay? I don’t know what to do. I never planned on that happening. Ever! I’m an independent person, and I take a lot of pride in that. So for you to just waltz into my life with your gorgeous eyes and your sexy smirk and your incredible heart...” They exhaled sharply. “I’m getting off topic,” Angel acknowledged, ignoring David’s valiant attempt not to smile at Angel’s compliments.

He didn’t succeed in that endeavor, but he did rub his thumb along the back of Angel’s knuckles to give them silent encouragement to keep going.

“So, when our schedules didn’t line up for a few days, and we weren’t able to see each other, I missed you. A lot. Like, a lot a lot,” Angel emphasized. “And that made me mad, because I shouldn’t be missing you that much, should I?” They shook their head at themselves in disgust. "See? Stupid, nonsensical feelings making me feel more feelings.” Angel groaned, huddling into themselves. “I’m self-sufficient. I’m damn proud of my life. Of the life I made for myself, by myself. Since when do I get all clingy and co-dependent and…?” they shuddered fiercely. “You know when I get mad, I have a tendency to cry.” They swiped at their eyes again. “I just don’t understand this. I feel like I’m turning into someone I don’t know, and I don’t know what to do about it. Like if I keep this up, I’ll be giving up something that’s so important to me.” Their tongue curled between their teeth. “But,” they added in a hushed voice. “I also know I don’t want to stop being with you.” Their body tensed. “Sometimes, I’m scared, Davey.”

“Angel…” David said softly. Ever so slowly, he let an arm wrap about Angel. When they gave a tiny nod, he pulled them into his chest. He breathed slowly for a few beats, noticing that Angel’s breathing seemed to slow to match his pace. “You’re not stupid for having these feelings,” he declared. “And I know how different and new all of this is for you. It’s different and new for me, too,” he admitted. “I know there are days I’m sure as hell scared by how much I love you.” He added a bit of steady pressure from the large hand on their back. “I never anticipated anyone wiggling their way into my life the way you have. Ever. But…” David was surprised to hear the catch in his own voice. “But, I’m also confident we can figure out this new, scary thing together. Doing that doesn’t negate our independence,” he continued. “It doesn’t undo who we’ve worked so hard to become before we met. I’d never ask you to give up that part of yourself. I love that about you, Angel. Really. And frankly, I’m not prepared or probably even capable of giving up mine completely, either.”

“Wouldn’t want you to,” Angel instantaneously agreed. “I love you for who you are, Davey.”

“Exactly,” David confirmed. “Same goes for you, you little snot. I love you, Angel. And, yeah, I think there was a time I might’ve considered you a threat to my independence,” he noted earnestly. “But, I don’t see it like that anymore. We’re not fire and water. We don’t erase the other. I see us like two different elements. Like Carbon and Oxygen. Not parts of a whole. But two substances on our own that, when they combine, form something different. Something greater. Something special.”

Angel let David’s words reverberate in their head for a moment. They hadn’t realized it until that moment, but they needed to hear David say that their independence wasn’t in jeopardy, even if their mind had somehow convinced them he was. They also were surprised at how relieved they were to hear David treat their complicated, if a little convoluted, feelings as valid.

“So we’re Carbon Dioxide?” they wondered.

David rolled his eyes to prevent himself from laughing. “Well, you don’t have to be so literal,” he criticized. “But sure, if that helps get my point across. We’re Carbon Dioxide.”

Angel gave him a wide grin, making his heart flutter. He couldn’t believe how something as simple as putting a smile on Angel’s face could make him feel so fulfilled, in a way that organizing every pack meeting for the next six months could not reproduce.

“Thanks,” Angel finally said, pulling away from David only to ensure he could hear them. “That actually does make me feel better.”

“Good,” David answered. “Guess I followed through on my promise then.”

A bit confused, Angel tipped their head up to search David’s expression for clarification as to what he meant. They were surprised to catch David wink at them.

"That night at the maze, I told you I’d keep you safe, didn't I?” he murmured into their ear. “Even if some days, I’ve gotta keep you safe from yourself.”

Chapter Text

When Camelopardalis opened his front door, he didn’t expect to find a coworker standing tall and holding a crossbody bag that was clearly full of something as it hung down near their knees.

“Oh, hello,” he greeted warmly. “You’re…”

“The rookie on Watkins’s squad,” the human finished. “That’s right. I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,” the human said apologetically, shifting their weight from one foot to the other. “I won’t take up too much of your time.” They began to rifle through their bag, the strap digging into their shoulder quite painfully. “I was filing your caseload for the week and…” they cut themselves off with a frustrated sigh. “I’m so sorry.” They took off their bag and let it hit Cam’s porch with a soft thump before crouching down and taking thick manilla folders out of the bag to give themselves more room to search faster. “I swear, I just had it in my hand.”

Cam frowned a bit as he watched the human struggle with their search. He wondered how in the world all that paper could fit into a bag that size.

The human was practically armpit-deep in the bag. The folders on Cam’s porch seemed to multiply in the blink of an eye. “I was filing your caseload from this past week and I noticed you forgot to sign one of your reports,” they explained, strained and, if Cam was as good with sensing emotions as he believed he was, embarrassed. “I can’t file it without your signature, so I was hoping…”

“It’s 11:00AM on a Saturday,” Cam observed blankly. He had thought that maybe this human had come to see him just for fun, though he chastised himself for having that thought. After all, he had barely exchanged pleasantries with this coworker at the recent ‘New Employee Orientation Meet-and-Greet’ last month. They didn’t work in his department, but Cam always liked to welcome the new batch of employees at the biannual event. “I think any sort of D.U.M.P.-affiliated paperwork can wait until Monday, don’t you?”

The human shook their head, their aura flexing strongly enough for Cam to realize that it was a stealth who stood before him. He remembered from that event hearing that this stealth was one of the first to work in the Criminal and Covert Justice department. They had seemed so excited that day when they were introduced to everyone. Now, that excitement had been replaced by exasperation as they repositioned themselves on their knees for balance.

“No, no it can’t wait,” they insisted. “Because my sergeant gave me these reports and told me I needed to file all of them by Friday. And I tried to get it done by Friday.” They titled their chin up, staring at Cam. “I tried really hard. I stayed hours past my shift. I was almost done, and then I noticed this error.” They perked up a bit as they snatched what was probably the last manilla folder in their bag. “A-ha!” they smiled, having finally found whichever report they were looking for. “By the time I came across this file, everyone had already gone home. Normally, I would’ve had another mem-mod agent sign it on our behalf. I know that’s the real protocol. But I had stayed so late, everyone was gone. I couldn’t even submit the files I had done because the doors automatically lock to the records department at the end of the day, and my ID card doesn’t give me access because I’m still on probation as a recent hire.” They shakily got to their feet, stretching their shoulder to counter what Cam guessed was an ache left behind from their packed bag. “So I waited until today and looked up your contact information. I really am sorry to bother you with this on your day off.” They plucked a pen from their shirt pocket. “But I didn’t know where else to go. If this stuff isn’t filed before my sergeant clocks in on Monday, I don’t know what she’ll do. And I don’t want to find out.” They clicked the pen and handed it to Cam. “Please?”

“Of course,” Cam agreed, taking the pen and signing his name, ID number, and making sure to backdate it so no one would question why he was signing paperwork that he supposedly submitted earlier in the week days after the fact. It was not unheard of that memory-modifying agents missed a signature or two on their reports. After all, memory-modifiers had to be quite thorough and Cam took pride in his work. He hated that his oversight meant the stealth had to come all the way over to his house on a weekend, though.

Cam’s wide eyes tracked to the heaps of folders strewn across his porch. “Your sergeant told you to file all of these in one day?” Now he knew the origin of the stealth’s embarrassment. They felt as if they had not worked hard enough on their task because they had not realized that no one could have finished all those reports in one day. They didn’t know that they had been assigned an impossible job. He was impressed that the stealth had come so close, though he did not want to say that in fear that they might try to keep up that pace.

“Yeah,” the stealth confirmed. They smiled as they took the paper from Cam’s hand. “Thank so much, Agent Camelopardalis,” they said respectfully. It was rare that other employees referred to him by his name. Usually, they only used his rank because it was easier to say and, Cam admitted, they really only saw him as his job, not a person doing his job. He looked at the stealth before him and could feel that they somehow had resisted that impulse. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your week.” They dropped to their knees so they could collect all of the folders again, shoving them into the bag but trying to keep everything organized.

Cam realized that the stealth probably expected him to go back into his house and leave them to their work. The serenity daemon silently joined the stealth, handing them the heavy folder as he selected which needed to be placed in the bag next if there was going to be a chance of all of them fitting together.

“Oh, thank you, but you don’t have to-” the stealth began to say.

“Here,” Cam said softly as he sighed, clearly not going to leave the stealth to clean up everything alone. “Y’know, this is way too much work for anyone to finish in a day. I think you might be on the receiving end of some hazing.” Cam loathed the practice, though some squads and departments still clung to their outdated, harmful mindsets, perpetuating a cycle of frustration onto rookies simply because they experienced the same cruelty when they were rookies. “I doubt your sergeant will care whether these reports are filed or not.”

“I had a hunch about the hazing.” The stealth continued to add folder after folder into their bag, shaking it a bit to make some room. “Someday, I want to make Investigator, and I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that. Not even Sergeant Watkins’s belief that stealths aren’t equipped for that kind of work. I am. I know I am!” They took a deep breath, which Cam instantly recognized as a mechanism to foster a little bit of calm into their voice. They weren’t doing a great job with that, but he admired their effort. “And if dealing with a little bit of hazing is what changes their minds, then so be it,” they declared, as much for themselves as for Cam. After he handed them the last of the folders, the stealth stood and brought their bag with them, suppressing a groan from the lift. “Thanks again,” they said shortly, extending their hand to shake Cam’s.

Their small, friendly gesture took Cam by surprise. He clasped their hand tightly. “I’m sorry that my oversight dragged you all the way over to my house,” the daemon answered. “Though I am quite glad that if you had to go around Dahlia choosing a signature of apparently a careless memory-modifier, it was me whom you came to see,” he said genuinely. “I’m glad to have gotten the chance to talk with you a little bit more. It’s always nice to get to know our coworkers outside of the office walls, wouldn’t you say?”

The stealth found themselves nodding even before they realized what Cam was implying. “Yeah,” they agreed. “Yeah, it actually was good to get the chance to see you and all that. I don’t think I’ve met many other coworkers yet. I mean, I’ve met everyone on my squad, obviously, but they see me as just ‘the rookie.’” They put that label in air quotes, raising their eyebrows as they mocked the phrase. In a quieter, more serious tone, they added, “Not to mention, ‘the stealth who won’t last two weeks.’” They cocked their hide to the side and clicked their teeth. “I’m afraid I haven’t had much time for socializing. I’m still just trying to keep my head above water at work.”

“Our colleagues can be quite partial to problematic beliefs,” Cam said encouragingly, reflecting on his own difficulties with navigating the remnants of a past that still seemed to be preserved within the workplace environment that D.U.M.P.. “I’m sure you’ll find more opportunity for socialization soon. And, if I might add,” he paused. “Perhaps, you’ll find more opportunity for a little bit of downtime, as well? I don’t say that in a critical or judgmental way, but…” He sucked in a ragged breath. “Serenity is my specialty,” he shrugged. “And so is sensing a distinct lack of it. And, you, my friend? Pardon me for saying so, but you could use some serenity in your life. Do something you enjoy. Take time for yourself. I’ve taken to practicing yoga daily.”

The stealth laughed, hoisting their bag up a little bit to take pressure off of their shoulder. “Thank you, but I’m not exactly the serene type,” they grinned. “And I wouldn’t know the first thing about doing yoga. Though you’re right. I could stand to chill out a little bit more than I do. And I will,” they asserted. “I just gotta get a handle on this job first, you know? I can’t afford to do anything else until I learn to manage it better.” They bent their elbow and rotated it in a circle, rubbing at their shoulder.

Their answer disappointed Cam, though it was exactly as he expected, given the swirl of emotions radiating off of the stealth. Determination. Embarrassment. Confidence. Doubt. Optimism. Hope. He decided to try a different approach. “Sore muscles?” Cam asked, jutting his chin towards their shoulder. “Yoga can help with that, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” the rookie said with curiosity, still hanging onto their shoulder. “My shoulder’s been giving me a hard time lately. My healing magic isn’t cutting it. Maybe I will try yoga then.”

“I was just about to start a practice now,” Cam offered. “You’d be welcome to join me. I can materialize some work-out clothes for you and I could talk you through some of the poses.”

The stealth’s face brightened at the invitation, but they quickly schooled their face into a more neutral expression. “That’s… That’s nice of you to offer, but I should get this filed.” They patted their bag. “Like I said, I just gotta get settled into this new role before I can start focusing on something else.”

They were clearly stubborn, but Cam was stubborn, too, although he preferred the term, ‘patient.’

“Are you sure? I’d love the company. And besides…” He opened his front door with a bit of magic. “Wouldn’t want to let your shoulder get any worse and have it hinder you in the field.”

The stealth perked up at Cam’s claim. The weight of their bag pulled down on their body, but the lightness of Cam’s warm and welcoming smile won out. Once he provided them with the excuse to think of yoga as something that helped them with their career, they felt capable of accepting his invitation.

“You know what? You’re right, Agent Camelopardalis,” they asserted excitedly. “Seems like I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t do something for my shoulder, wouldn’t I?” They followed Cam into his house. “I could always file those this afternoon. It shouldn’t take me too long. And it’s not like there’s a difference between Saturday morning and Saturday afternoon.”

“Wonderful!” Cam exclaimed. “Come on in!”

“Thanks, Agent Camelopardalis.” The rookie looked around Cam’s house. “Nice place you got here,” they whistled. “Oh!” They pointed to two sleeping cats on the couch. “Aww, and you have cats!” they beamed.

“Also a large dog who acts very much like a cat,” Cam reported. “I’m sure she’ll come see us as soon as we begin our yoga practice. She always does. Oh, and please call me ‘Cam.’ All my friends do.”

“Cam, then,” the stealth rectified, a slight excitement bubbling in their chest at the prospect of having a friend after they had spent so many weeks alone, adjusting to Dahlia and their new, demanding job. It had been lonely for them lately, but after maybe they were finally allowing themselves to settle into this new chapter of their life. “I wish I had pets,” the stealth sighed. “I love dogs and cats. I'd like to have both, once I had the room for them.”

“Here,” Cam offered, taking the burdensome bag from the stealth. “Let me help you with that.”

The rookie almost hesitated, but they did allow Cam to take the bag from them. As they passed off the heavy collection of paperwork to him, Cam could feel the tiniest bit of serenity start to form within the stealth.

It was a good start, he thought to himself proudly. And this was only just the beginning.

Chapter Text

Damien Naoum sat at his desk, a gentle glow from his open laptop and two dim lamps at opposite ends of the room illuminating his rigid silhouette. He clicked refresh for probably the fortieth time that night and sighed when the page that loaded looked identical to the one that had been there previously. The fire-elemental was so wrapped up with his computer that he didn’t notice Freelancer staring at him from across the room.

“How long are you going to sit there?” they asked cheekily.

“All night, if that’s what it takes,” Damien answered stoically. He turned to face them with a hard, determined glare that instantly softened as soon as he laid his tired eyes on them. “You should go, Freelancer. I know you were wanting to check out that mixer happening on the quad tonight. Go have fun.”

Damien was right. Freelancer did want to go to the mixer. They’d been looking forward to it all week, but as soon as Damien said that he didn’t plan to go, all desire to attend the event dissipated. If they weren’t so worried about Damien, they would’ve wondered why that was.

Freelancer shrugged, letting their legs fold under themselves. “It won’t be any fun without you there,” they countered. “So if you’re staying here all night, I guess I will, too.”

Damien blinked, a rush of breath leaving his lungs when he noticed that his knee was gently brushing theirs. “I…” He almost lost his train of thought at their inadvertent touch. “You don’t need to do that, Freelancer. Really. I’m fine alone.” He gestured at the computer. “I’m sure the exam grade will be posted any moment. Go ahead.”

Freelancer relaxed against the back of the couch, snatching a throw pillow and hugging it to their chest. “I don’t mind,” they insisted simply.

“You don’t mind?” A half-smile cracked its way onto Damien’s face. The muscles in his face always seemed to get sore when he was around Freelancer because he found himself smiling more than he had in the longest time. “You don’t mind sitting and waiting with me as I stay up late to find out a grade on a test because a prof said he’d post it by the end of the day instead of going out like an actual person and having fun? Well, you should mind,” he joked. “It’s ridiculous that I do this. Not like I can change the grade or anything. I should just wait until morning like any normal person.”

“Normal… Where’s the fun in that?” Freelancer giggled, watching carefully as Damien’s smile faded away just as quickly as it formed.

“There’s not much fun to be had with me, either,” he smirked without mirth.

Freelancer’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“What what?” Damien rolled his eyes. “It’s no secret I’m not exactly a fun guy. Fun people don’t obsess over their grades like this. Fun people can actually forget about their work for a little bit and socialize on a weekend.” He exhaled sharply. “I’m not fun, Freelancer.”

For the first time in three hours, Damien's laptop flickered into its screen saver, but neither student noticed. The pattern of abstract, rainbow-colored ribbons appeared and disappeared on his screen.

“You don’t mean that… Right?” Freelancer rested their palm on Damien’s knee. They were disappointed that he stiffened at their contact.

Damien swallowed reflexively. “How could I not?” he whispered, turning away from them. “I mean, c’mon. Look around, Freelancer. I’m abrasive and intimidating. I’m strung tighter than a darbuka. I’m so hyper-focused on my schoolwork and my grand plan of Full Certification that I barely allow myself time to breathe, let alone have fun. I don’t even know why you hang around with me as much as you do. Especially someone like you, so bright and energetic and optimistic.” He bit his lip to restrain himself from listing the many wonderful qualities he saw in Freelancer. “I’m a lot of things, Freelancer. But fun’s not one of them.”

Freelancer frowned, which confused Damien more than he cared to admit. “Damien, you can’t be so hard on yourself.”

“It’s just the truth.” He let his arms wrap around his torso. “I’ve worked so hard to excel at the academic part of my life that it’s like I eroded all the other parts until there was nothing else left. I didn’t plan on letting it get this bad,” he said apologetically. Damien brought his hands to his eyes, rubbing away the sticky tiredness that came with staring at etextbooks for too long. “I wish I could just let myself enjoy a night off or even just a break to listen to an album or go for a walk or something. But I can’t,” he explained painstakingly. “Because if I do, instead of actually enjoying myself, I just feel guilty for indulging in something other than my schoolwork. I’ve convinced myself that if I’m not spending every possible minute studying or working, then I’m not doing enough. That if I don’t prioritize my academics over every other aspect of my life, I don’t even deserve to reach the goals I have.” His fingertips dug into his sides, a bit of warmth seeping into his body through his shirt. “It sounds so messed up when I say it out loud. I know it is.” he choked out. “But I can’t help believing it anyway.”

To Freelancer’s surprise, Damien did not divert the conversation or get ahold of his composure. He clearly was trying to stop himself, but if the exhaustion that seemed to weigh so heavily on his body and the despondency imbued in his voice were any indications, Damien, for once, was not going to win that battle.

“All I do other than academic stuff is work out. And the only reason I do that is because working out clears my head and makes me better at the academic stuff. Everything comes back to that. Do you see how fucking messed up that mindset is? ‘Cause I do!” he exclaimed. Now his entire body started to heat up. He attempted to pull his fire inward, but he knew that Freelancer must’ve felt the temperature increase no matter how hard he tried. “I’ve turned myself into someone even I wouldn’t want to hang out with. And I just…” He lost his tight grasp on his heat, a small wave of warmth rippling into the air. “I’m sorry that I’m like this,” he apologized, curling into himself more, like if he couldn’t control his fire through magical manipulation, maybe he could physically by making himself smaller. “Please just go, Freelancer.”

Instead of doing as Damien asked, Freelancer handed the throw pillow to Damien. He hesitantly took it, though as soon as it was in his hands, his body instinctively clutched it to his rest. His forehead came to rest on the edge of the pillow, squishing it into a new shape as he hid his face. Freelancer could have sworn that the shaking in Damien’s shoulders meant he was crying, but they opted not to say anything. They knew Damien was already in a more vulnerable position than he wanted to be. The only reason he was crying, they surmised, was because he was too burnt out to hold it back. Rather than add to the (misplaced) embarrassment that they presumed he was feeling, they encircled their arms around his back, encouraging him to tip his body into theirs, pillow and all.

“I’m not going to go,” they murmured softly. “I’m not going to go because I want to be here with you,” Freelancer said. And it was so true that it almost scared Freelancer to say that. They had never felt so close to someone before as they did to Damien. They were honored that he would even allow himself the grace to break down in front of them. Freelancer was sure as hell not going to reject that trust now. Or ever, they fiercely told themselves. Rather than dwell on where their sudden determination came from, they hugged Damien closer. “Damien, it’s okay now, alright? You put so much pressure on yourself. You’re bound to pop soon or later.”

“I’m just so tired of it all,” he spoke into their chest. “I’m so tired of being like this. Of being me. And I’m so sorry that I make you put up with my bullshit.” He let the pillow go, only to replace his tight grip on it with Freelancer’s sweater.

Freelancer scoffed lightly. “You don’t make me put up with anything, Damien. I hang around you because I like to be with you. Don’t you realize that?” they wondered. “Yes, you’re a great study partner and I’ve learned a lot about our coursework and the magical world at large from you. But I don’t see you just as a source of information or a way to guarantee a good grade. You’re so much more than that.”

Damien inhaled shakily, but couldn’t find the strength to dispute Freelancer’s evaluation of him. Freelancer took that opportunity to emphasize their claims because they knew that Damien needed to hear them.

“You’re kind. And funny. And so compassionate towards others,” they admired, enjoying the warmth of Damien’s body pressed into theirs. They always enjoyed his warmth, even when he insisted that it was going to be too uncomfortable for them if he didn’t hold it back. “You inspire me every day to think of myself as a part of the empowered community, not just some outsider trying to fit in. You encourage me to speak up and advocate for what I need, not only in class, but it my whole life. Hell, you even tolerate my constant puns,” they laughed. “I’m so grateful that I found you. That you’re someone I can call my friend.” Freelancer ignored the sinking feeling that overcame them as they said the word, ‘friend.’ They wanted to call Damien more than a friend, but they also knew now was not the time for some big confession. They couldn’t bear to put their own needs above Damien’s, and they would never even consider taking advantage of his vulnerability for their own sake. No, tonight was not the night to have that conversation with Damien, even if it was something that remained on the tip of Freelancer’s tongue for the last few months. “I see you as so much more than an embodiment of Full Certification,” they asserted. If only they could’ve told Damien exactly how they saw him. “Even if it’s hard right now for you to see yourself in that light.”

“You do? Really?” Damien squeaked. He immediately cleared his throat to force his normal voice to return. “Thank you, Freelancer,” the fire-elemental nodded, finally pulling up from Freelancer’s chest. “For everything. For saying that. For letting me unload all my shit on you tonight.” He picked the pillow up from the floor and tossed it to the end of the couch. “For being my friend.” Damien hid his displeasure when the word ‘friend’ ignited a dissonance in his gut that he couldn’t quite recognize.

“Always,” Freelancer promised dutifully, their hand patting Damien’s, lingering a second longer than they needed before pulling it away.

The screensaver on Damien’s laptop timed out and turned black. Damien reached over to glide his fingers along the mousepad, but at the last second, he decided to reach a little further to close the laptop entirely.

Freelancer looked at him quizzically.

“I’m not sure I see myself in the way you do. Or if I ever will,” Damien acknowledged. “But I owe it to you to try, don’t I?” he explained through a shaky breath. “What you say and what you think are two things that are really important to me. Just being with you is the most fun thing I can think of doing. So, as long as you’re not going to that mixer, which you still can, if you want to, by the way,” he hastily added, “You and I might as well have a fun night in. We can watch a movie or something? Your call.”

Freelancer launched themselves forward to give Damien another hug. “I’m so proud of you,” they grinned. “And I can’t think of anything more fun than watching a movie with you tonight, either.”

Both Freelancer and Damien squashed the bit of guilt that crept into their hearts at their small lies.

Both of them could think of something more fun than watching a movie with each other, but neither wanted to broach that subject tonight. Instead, they settled their bodies close together and searched for something fun to watch. The temperature in the room increased by a degree.

Whether that was due to Damien or Freelancer remained a mystery.

Chapter Text

David Shaw exited the room, pulling at the necktie that suddenly seemed to shrink against his neck. He slammed the door shut behind him, purposefully avoiding Angel’s burning gaze.

“Davey?” they asked tentatively, waiting patiently for his answer. “How did it go?”

When he turned to face Angel, they saw his lower lip was trembling and his eyes were squeezed into slits, as if David could keep his tears at bay if he could dam them up with his eyelids. “It was fine,” he reported. The suspicious crack in his voice was more telling than his words. David’s hand found Angel’s as he leaned back against the wall.

Angel was too worried by David’s response to make a quip about how sweaty his palm was.

“But ‘fine,’ I mean, ‘awful,” David revised, his free hand covering his glistening eyes. “D.U.M.P. said this was just a formality. That I’d sit down, give a statement as to what happened, and go.” He tapped on the touchscreen, pointing at the time. “They grilled me for over an hour, Angel. Every statement I made, they had questions. Trying to make me contradict myself or catch me in a lie or…" A strangled cry flew past his lips. "I don't know. Figure out some technicality that lets them blame me for this whole ordeal." His grip on Angel's hand tightened. "I tried my best," he said. It has become something of a mantra over the last few weeks. "I tried to help. I strategized on the spot. Fought those sh-shades." Angel knew that David struggled even to verbalize the word 'shade' after the nightmares began to plague him. "I don't know how or why or who or anything that's actually important! All I know is that 1500 people died because of me. Okay? Is that what those bastards wanted to hear? They died because of me." David's face crumpled as he began to sob. “And then…” David felt his knees buckle as he began to slide down the wall, coming to sit on the floor.

Angel quickly followed his descent. “Davey, it’s all right now,” they murmured, hugging him close.

David didn’t even pretend to resist Angel’s embrace. He pushed himself closer into their body, as if he could somehow hide his hulking frame within their arms. “They had a telepath there to confirm what I was saying was true,” he recalled brokenly. Tears flowed freely now and as David pulled into himself more, trying to hide his face as he broke down in the middle of the hallway. Thankfully, no one was around, or else Angel was sure David might have died from embarrassment. “One of the panelists said due to the unprecedented nature of this event, that they’d have to do a thorough background check. They looked through my memories. Read my thoughts.” He tugged at his hair, as if the mental assault were still going on. “D.U.M.P. said they had to do a character evaluation on me, too, because I was in charge of security and made the call to raise the ward. The telepath looked through so many of my memoires. More than just the shades, Angel. It… I…” His breath degenerated into shuddering gasps. “Flashes of my childhood, growing up with my dad, my powers manifesting,” David listed rapidly. “Getting the phone call about the accident, his funeral, being sworn-in as my pack’s alpha…”

“Oh, Sweetie,” Angel said, their heart dropping into their stomach as they realized the onslaught of emotion David had just endured at this especially vulnerable time. They rubbed up and down his back.

“Grieving alone for my dad, trying to navigate being alpha… all of it!” David cried. “They were checking through my memories and my thoughts as all the images and voices and smells and everything showed up. Oh my God!” He brought his knees into his chest as he pulled back from Angel to press his hands into his eyes. “It all felt so real. All over again! Why the fuck would they need all that information? Isn’t it a violation of privacy or something? What purpose did all that serve?” David struggled to steady his breathing. “It was horrible, Angel. It was all so real and all at once and it wouldn’t stop. That telepath flipped through my memories like a picture book and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them.” He all but collapsed into Angel, pressing his cheek into the nape of their neck. “I was too weak.” David said it in a small voice, like it was a heinous confession. “I’m always too weak!” he lamented. “I was a blubbering mess when my dad died. I could barely figure out how to help Sam heal Asher when those shades attacked him. I couldn’t save all those innocent people. I… I…” David trailed off with what could only be described as a whimper.

It was a sound Angel had never heard David utter and they prayed they’d never have to hear it again.

“It’s okay, Davey,” they hummed into his ear. “It’s okay now. Everything’s alright. None of that was real, okay? I’m real.” They framed David’s face with their hands. “You feel that? That’s me,” they assured him. “We’re right here, together. And we’re going to figure out how to get through this.”

David nodded silently, his throat too constricted to speak just yet.

“I’m sorry they put you through that… that…'' Angel searched for the right word. “That torture!” they finally settled on. “That was pointless bullshit. They hurt you. And it’s okay to react to it, David, but…” They gently guided his face so that he looked into their bright, sorrowful eyes. “David Gabriel Shaw, you are the strongest man I have ever known. Never, ever, have you ever been too weak. Don’t let their stupid little mental games ever make you think different.” They kissed David on the forehead, trying to channel all of their love and support to him through it. “I love you so much, Davey. And I’m so sorry you have to go through all this.”

After a few more moments, David finally got a hold on his composure. He cleared his throat and swallowed before pushing up from Angel, resting against the wall once again. A slight tremble in his arms lingered. “I love you too, Angel,” he said huskily. “Thank you for being here with me.” David pressed a kiss to their cheek. “I don’t know how I’d be able to do this without you. You’re my strength. You always have been.”

“I always will be,” they answered like they were completing a line of poetry. To David’s ears, that’s what it was.

“Alright, alright,” David said to himself. “I think I’m okay now.” He sighed deeply, gripping Angel’s wrists so he could help them up as he stood. “I didn’t mean to unravel like that. I guess the telepathic magic affected me more than I thought it would,” David shrugged. “Let’s go home, Angel.”

“Actually, I have one quick thing to do before we go,” Angel said sweetly. “Will you be alright out here alone for a minute? I’ll be quick.”

David cocked his head to the side, puzzled. “Sure, but what do you-”

Angel threw their whole body weight into the closed door, stumbling into the room. “Which one of you is the telepath?!” they growled with enough edge to make David’s hair stand on end.

He watched from the doorway, staring as Angel had interrupted the D.U.M.P. panel’s discussion.

Someone in the room must’ve pointed out the telepath who entered David’s mind because in the time that he took to blink, Angel had the telepath by their shirt collar. “What did you say? Hey!” they yelled when the telepath apparently took too long to give an answer. “What the hell did you say to him?!"

“I didn’t say anything…” the telepath stuttered. “I…”

Angel pulled the telepath closer so that they were inches away from each other. “Fine, ‘do,’ then,” Angel amended. “What did you do to him that left him like that?”

“Just… My job,” the telepath squeaked out. “Let me go!”

Angel turned to face the rest of the panel, the telepath still squirming against Angel. “So you people just screw with his mind and then turn him away after that?” They sharply turned back to face the telepath. “Well let me tell you something, Bucko.” Angel shoved the telepath back into their seat. “And you won’t have to read my mind to hear me say it. All of you!” Angel pointed a finger at the panel. “David Shaw saved Dahlia from a devastating, deadly shade attack. Do you hear me?” Angel declared powerfully. “He saved Dahlia. Made the hardest decision in a split second. Fought those horrible things for hours. Kept people safe and organized. Sheltered the injured.” They slammed a fist down on the desk the panel sat behind. “And you people dare to question his integrity? He went through hell only a few days ago, and your grand plan is to make him go through hell again in his own mind? Shame on you. Each and every one of you!” they fumed. “Just because David had the wherewithal to do what needed to be done while your bureaucratic dunces all sat there with their thumbs up their asses, letting people die, don’t you fucking dare put a shred of blame on David Shaw. Or any of his pack!”

Still frozen in the doorway, David watched in awe as his mate stood up to some of the Department's highest ranking officials on behalf of him and his pack.

“Or else I’ll come back here and wreak havoc on this whole facility,” Angel threatened. “I’ll do it, too. Don’t think I won’t. You think D.U.M.P.’s got a publicity problem after this fiasco? Wait until one unempowered human manages to take this whole place down, along with everyone in it. Then, you’ll have a real image problem.”

Without waiting for a response from the stunned panel, including the shaking telepath, Angel turned on their heel and stalked out of the room, linking arms with David and taking him with them. He could practically feel their passionate fever through their grip all while they exited the building and made their way to the car.

“Angel, that was… I…” David stammered, not sure if he was more flustered by or proud of Angel. Instead, he gathered them in his arms, lifting them up a bit as he hugged them. “Thank you, Angel.”

Chapter Text

“Left hand yellow,” Angel called from their seat as the spinner landed in the corner. David was in the kitchen gathering more snacks for their friends. Asher, Babe, and Sweetheart were in the midst of an intense game of Twister while Milo watched from the sidelines, apparently nominating himself as referee as soon as he had fallen out of the game.

“Ah ah ah!” Milo pointed to Sweetheart’s left hand. “Cheater!” he deemed smugly. “ I saw that. You phased through Asher’s leg to get that space. You’re out, Sweetheart!”

“They what?” Asher gaped, ignoring the strain in his hamstrings. He was too tangled up with Babe to face Sweetheart, so he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the stealth, swiveling it from right to left. “I didn’t even feel you!”

“Aw, c’mon!” Sweetheart pouted with a sigh. They went intangible for a minute to crawl off the Twister board without disturbing Asher and Babe. “Fine. You’re such a goody-two-shoes,” they added under their breath.

“Hey, fair’s fair,” Milo shrugged, thoroughly unaffected by Sweetheart’s discontent. “I don’t make the rules.”

“That just leaves you and me,” Babe said, shifting forward a bit to ease the growing pressure off of their shoulder. “Hey, spinner!” they called to Angel. “Spin! We can’t stay like this forever.”

“Well, we could try,” Asher whispered into Babe’s stomach.

“Okie dokie!” Angel dramatically flicked the arrow. After what felt like hours to Babe and Asher, the arrow stopped. “Left foot red.”

Given Asher’s and Babe’s position, there was only one red spot that either of them could reach and stay upright. Like synchronized swimmers, they both extended their left legs, each trying to push the other out of the way as they fought for the space.

“Give it up, Babe!” Asher jeered, his foot hovering above the space.

“You wish,” Babe bit back.

Before he could place his foot onto the large red dot, Asher felt a hand grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him off balance. Both Asher and Babe collapsed to the ground in a heap. Asher shook himself off as he got to his hands and knees. “You did that on purpose!”

“I was merely trying to reach the space and I fell. It’s not my fault you went down at the same time.” Babe threw their hands up in the air as they sat on their heels. “I guess it’s a tie.”

“Bullshit,” Asher glared. “Ref? What’s your call?”

“I… Uh…” Milo stuttered. “I think I must’ve blinked.”

“I was looking at my phone,” Sweetheart said innocently.

Angel covered their face with the cardboard spinner. “Don’t even ask me. I’ve got my eye on this thing so I know what to call next.”

“This is a conspiracy!” Asher huffed. He raised an eyebrow at Babe, a glint sparkling in his eye. “And I won’t stand for it.” He launched himself at Babe, tackling them to the ground. He made sure to reach a large palm behind their head to act as a pillow between their skull and the floor. “Admit it!” he cried, pinning Babe to the floor. He pressed his body to intimidate them, his sternum flush against theirs. “You pulled me down.”

Babe flashed Asher a hard smile. The two mates were loving every bit of each other’s touch laced with the hint of competitive edge. “Never!” they exclaimed, rolling out from under Asher as they kicked at his legs. They quickly recovered, straddling Asher as they held him face down on the ground. “It was a tie. I’m not getting up until you say it!”

“Ha! Then you better change your address to the floor,” Asher laughed, spinning around so he could wrap his arms around Babe, taking them by surprise.

That was exactly how David found them when he walked into the room holding a plate of vegetables and hummus.

“Ummm… who’s winning?” he asked, trying to hide how taken back he was by the sight of Asher and Babe play-fighting with each other and engaging in trash talk that veered close to explicit language.

“Both of them,” Angel, Milo, and Sweetheart answered.

Chapter Text

Sweetheart had planned to get a lot done on the ever-rare Sunday they had off of work. They wanted to pay a bunch of bills, schedule the eye exam that was a month overdue, finally organize the bathroom cabinet, make a batch of minestrone soup that they could eat for dinner and freeze for later, practice yoga, and make some headway on a painting they’d been working on for what felt like forever.

It was already 1PM and they didn’t do any of that.

Instead, they found themselves back in bed next to Milo. He had a late-night security gig that had lasted well into the early morning, so he had planned to sleep late. Sweetheart snaked their arms around Milo’s torso, nuzzling into his side and throwing a leg up and over his. Milo didn’t stir, even when Sweetheart let their cheek settle into the crook of his neck.

Sweetheart had placed a spare blanket over the sleeping cat at the end of the bed, making sure to leave little air holes even as Aggro insisted on burrowing under the fleece blanket.

Sweetheart added “nap” to their to-do list. It was the only thing they were able to check off that day, and they loved every second of it.

Chapter Text

With a gasp, Lovely sprang up into a sitting position, their hands grabbing at the air in front of them in a desperate attempt to defend themselves from Adam’s mouth that seemed to jump along their body. Their wrist, their hips, their collarbone, their cheek, their thigh.

Their neck.

“No no no!” they seethed, even as their mouth refused to listen to their brain and instead, formed the words ‘yes yes yes.”

“Lovely? Lovely, hey, don’t move around too much now. You’re gonna open your wounds back up,” a voice called to them through their haze of panic and terror.

Was that Vincent? When did he get there? How did he find them? Why wasn’t he helping them escape?

Lovely ripped open their eyes to search for Vincent against the dark. They were surprised when they saw the room wasn’t dark at all. It was light. A bedroom that was furnished tastefully, though it didn’t have enough in it to look properly used.

“No…” they half-whispered, half-begged, their mouth not yet having caught up with their eyes.

“Okay, it’s alright now, Lovely.” There was Vincent’s voice again. They swiveled their head from side to side until they settled their gaze on Vincent. He was sitting beside them on the bed, his hands clawing the mattress as he hovered over them. “You’re safe now. I’m right here with you. I think you were having a nightmare.”

“A nightmare,” Lovely echoed, nodding along even though Vincent hadn’t asked them anything. “He’s not here.” They brought a hand up to their face as they felt a flush of electricity zip through their spine.

Vincent relaxed a bit as Lovely chased away the remnants of whatever terrible images had flashed across their mind. “He’s not here,” the vampire reiterated in support. “He’s dead, Lovely. I made sure of that. You never have to worry about him again.”

“It felt so real.” Lovely inhaled sharply as they moved a bit, their hand instinctively flying to their abdomen. “Oh,” they groaned. “My side. It hurts.”

Sensing their pain, Vincent reached out but stopped short before he made contact. He blinked, almost not comprehending his own body’s actions. As much as he wanted to comfort Lovely and to heal away whatever was causing them pain, he wanted to be sure that his touch was something that would be of comfort to them. “Are you okay with me touching you?” He held his breath, like Lovely’s answer was the only thing that would allow him to breathe again.

“Yes,” Lovely asserted, quietly and stoically. They somehow kept their tears at bay and did not let on that they were not only okay with Vincent’s touch. They wanted it. Craved it. Needed it to feel safe and secure after seeing Adam again had shaken them to their core. Their new, magical core, they reminded themselves. Even though Vincent and Sam had given them the briefest explanation of their latent powers and the strength with which they could now wield electricity, they had never felt so scared and vulnerable as they did waking up in that bed after having endured Adam’s assault. “Yes, Vincent. Go ahead.”

"Thank you." Vincent caressed their cheek, careful to avoid the shiny, new skin that had formed after Sam healed them. They leaned into his touch. “Oh, Little One,” Vincent murmured, forcing himself to keep focused on Lovely’s wounds so that he wouldn’t get lost in their bright, wide eyes. “Can I check your stomach?”

Lovely gave a nod of consent, flipping up the blankets to reveal the injured area to Vincent.

Vincent squelched a surge of rage that shot through his heart when he saw the faint outline of Adam’s teeth indented into their skin. A faint trail of blood leaked from the tip of the wound. “This one tore open a bit,” Vincent said. He noticed that Lovely was looking everywhere in the room except at the wound. They probably weren’t accustomed to seeing the evidence of the attack inscribed on their body, and Vincent couldn’t blame them. “That happens sometimes,” he explained with more calmness than he felt. “But it’s no big deal. It’s easy enough for me to heal right up.” He gently but firmly pressed his palm to their abdomen, starfishing his fingers out wide. As he exhaled, Vincent sent a bit of magic through his fingertips into Lovely’s body.

“Whoa,” Lovely said as their pain ceased, some tension easing out of their face.

Once he was sure the bleeding was stopped, Vincent wiped away the little excess that had oozed out with a swipe of his thumb. He brought his hand to his mouth to lick it clean, sending Lovely a small wink to put them at ease. “I know once you fall asleep, you don’t have much of a say in it, but we’ve got to find a way to get you to keep still.” He pushed himself against the headboard, his shoulders brushing up to theirs.

“Well, maybe, to help keep me in the present…” Lovely wasted no time. They grabbed Vincent’s hand and intertwined their fingers in his. Both of them had a feeling that the spark at their connection had nothing to do with Lovely being an electro-energetic. “Just until I fall asleep?” they requested. “If you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” Vincent said incredulously. “I’ll hold your hand until the end of time,” he vowed, settling into the bed to encourage Lovely to do the same. “Sleep, Lovely. I’ll be right here with you.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Sam noticed when he took a seat on the sofa next to Darling was their trembling hands as they focused on pushing the needle through the cloth material they held.

They were methodically patching one of their shirts, covering up the jagged rips with a spare black cloth that almost matched the navy color of the sleeves. Sam had wondered why they had insisted on keeping that shirt even after it had been bloodied and torn in their showdown with Quinn.

“Because I can still wear it,” they argued. “It needs a little bit of care, that’s all, and it’ll be as good as new. I’m not going to get rid of it just because it has a few tears.”

There wasn’t anything special about the shirt, like a designer label or an elaborate pattern. Navy was a basic enough color, and the cut was but a simple, collared, long-sleeved button-down. It would be just as easy to replace it.

Sam sipped at the mug of green tea in his hands and kept watching Darling make the last stitch and tie off the string with a double knot, noticing Darling’s hands stopped trembling as they surveyed their work.

“Looks better than new, Darling,” he said with a smile.

Chapter Text

Vincent Solaire held fast to Lovely’s flailing body. They growled and groaned, bucking against his grip with the force of a wild animal trapped in a cage. “Lovely, Lovely, please!” he called desperately. “You’ve got to calm down!” Vincent struggled to figure out how much strength to use as he tried to keep his partner from hurting themselves while in the throes of the bloodlust. When Lovely had been an energetic, Vincent had known exactly how to regulate his vampire-strength so as not to injure them. Now that Lovely was a vampire, Vincent knew they could withstand his strength much more easily and that they themselves were stronger, but he still hated to use the force necessary to restrain them.

More specifically, he hated that he had to restrain them.

Lovely clawed at Vincent, muttering something unintelligible that sounded so unlike the lilting voice he had grown so accustomed to hearing.

Normally, a maker’s invocation would be enough to keep a newly turned vampire calm when the surge of hunger spiked. Vincent, however, had been unwilling to assume that responsibility over his partner, so he asked, or rather begged, his own maker to invoke him to remove that power. It was a decision Vincent stood by and he knew Lovely would appreciate their ability to maintain equal footing with Vincent. Vincent hadn’t anticipated just how difficult it would be to talk through a blood-lusting progeny without having that ability.

“Lovely, please!” Vincent repeated, squeezing tighter as he dodged Lovely’s swinging arms and kicking legs. “Stop this!”

Lovely did no such thing. They only doubled their efforts straining and screaming against Vincent. Their half-formed cries and clumsy movements broke his heart. Vincent ached as he felt the pain of his progeny, both through their bond and because he had worked through the bloodlust all those years ago. It was a torturous existence: body hot and chilled at the same time, a screaming ring echoing in more-sensitive ears, head pounding along with the chest pains that resound with each banging, phantom heartbeat.

And the hunger.

The hunger roared in your belly endlessly, demanding your full attention as it begged to be sated. Nothing mattered but that hunger and doing whatever it took to make it go away.

When Vincent felt his grip starting to slip, he pinned Lovely to the bed, using the leverage to keep them still. It sickened him to think that he was forcing them to do anything in the bed they had shared together for so long, but he couldn’t let his sentimentality risk Lovely’s health. He owed them that much. He owed them so much more. Lovely had given Vincent a reason to live out his eternal life in happiness, rather than the indifferent hedonism he chased for years. Now, he owed them a chance at their new life. And if he was going to pay that debt, he had to make sure Lovely came out of their bloodlust on the other side.

“Lovely, please!” he repeated, staring straight into their eyes. “You need to stop this. You need to come back to yourself!” He wiggled on top of them, bracing his knee against their pelvis and his hands along their collarbone. “It’s me, Vincent!” he burst.

Maybe he and Lovely’s maker/progeny bond was weaker for his refusal to invoke them, but Vincent believed with all his heart that his partnership with them had been and would always be stronger than any maker and progeny could hope to be. Vincent loved them, and he knew they loved him. He knew that together, they could face anything, even bloodlust. “Lovely, stop!” he repeated, feeling like he was going to scream himself hoarse. “You’re okay. It’s all going to be alright. I’m here with you.”

In contrast to their crazed rantings and his yelling, he decided to try a different tactic. Vincent leaned down to put his lips close to Lovely’s ear. “Lovely,” he whispered. “Lovely, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.” He turned his face to kiss their sweaty forehead.

Vincent was shocked to discover that the pressure Lovely had been exerting to push him off of them lessened. It was still there, but not as animalistic or frenzied. He listened closely, noticing that Lovely’s breaths were just a tad bit longer.

“That’s it,” he praised, a bit of relief creeping into his muscles. “You’re doing so well, Lovely. I know you’re in there still. You’re so strong to go through this.” He slowly slide one hand from Lovely’s shoulder to the top of their head, combing through their hair in slow, easy strokes. “I’m right there with you.”

Lovely swallowed, their eyes darting around the room. “Vincent?” they asked in a small, quaking voice. "Vincent, it hurts.”

“Yes, yes, Lovely,” Vincent quickly confirmed. “It’s me. You’re alright. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to calm down.”

Lovely looped their arms around Vincent, this time pulling him closer, rather than pushing him away. “Don’t leave,” they croaked out through cracked lips. “Please.”

“Never,” Vincent vowed, planting another kiss on their cheek. “I’ll always be here with you.” He settled them onto the bed, presuming that they would be exhausted from their struggles. “Rest, Lovely.”

They sunk into the mattress. He couldn’t believe the amount of trust they must’ve held for him if they could somehow find and comprehend his voice amidst their bloodlust. He would never take that for granted. He’d spend eternity proving to Lovely that they made the right choice when they chose him.

Vincent knew this wouldn’t last forever. Lovely would no doubt have many more fits in the future, but at least for now, Vincent had earned them a small reprieve.

He’d do whatever it took to see them through this nightmare.

Chapter Text

“I know that you think you can survive anything, so you think if you take the hits, it means no one else will get hurt. Well, guess what?” David Shaw asked rhetorically. “That’s not how it works when you’re dealing with someone like Quinn. You know that. He knows you’re a member of my pack. He’s not gonna care that you’re acting on your own volition, not on some order from me.” He took another step closer to Darling. “He’s going to do whatever it takes to hurt enough people to make you back off. By not telling us, you are putting us all at the risk that you’re trying to protect us from. You know better than any of us what he’s capable of. And what he’ll do. Mine and Asher’s mates are unempowered,” David told them, the tight control he had on his voice slipping away from him a bit. “We’ve got wolves that are too old or too young to stand a chance against him. He’s not gonna go after you. He’s going to go after the people he can hurt. And we wouldn’t have even known the threat was there because you didn’t want to tell me.”

“So the problem is that I’m a member of the pack. Is that it?” Darling interrupted, their gaze settling just past David’s shoulder. “Then kick me out of the pack. Problem solved.”

David started at their cold suggestion. “What?”

“Exile,” they clarified, trying to add an air of casualness as they shrugged and pushed on hand into the pocket of their jeans. “Do it officially. My connection to the pack will be permanently and publicly severed.” They steadied their voice at the thought of being a truly packless shifter. It was an extreme disgrace, not to mention a lonely life even for someone like Darling who valued their independence. Independence was one thing. Exile was another. Once a shifter was exiled, no pack would ever permit them to join. It meant that they would never be able to share that innate wolf part of themselves with those who felt that primal connection. It meant never hunting in a group ever again. It meant that anytime they howled, no one would respond.

But, if it meant the Shaw Pack would be safe from Quinn, Darling was willing to make that sacrifice.

“Is that what you want?” David asked incredulously. The anger that had been pumping through his veins began to give way to something else, though Darling couldn’t read what exactly that new emotion was. “To leave our pack for good?”

Darling shifted their weight from foot to foot. They were conflicted, having just told David they wouldn’t lie to him again, and yet they felt like they needed to lie for David to capitulate to their idea. “I want to protect the pack,” Darling finally settled on, evading David’s exact question. “And you’ve made it clear that I’m a liability. It would be easier for everyone if you just cut ties with me, wouldn’t it?” They nodded resolutely. “This is the best solution. It’s the only solution,” they added. “And then I’ll be free to go after Quinn on my own terms without endangering anyone else. You, your mate, everyone.” The pace of their speech quickened. “It seems like that’s what’s best for everyone.”

“Exile is… extreme,” the alpha sputtered. “It’s barely ever done nowadays. The Shaw Pack has never engaged in that ritual. I don’t even know of it happening in any of the area’s packs, at least in my lifetime.” David cocked his head to the side. “If we exiled you, we wouldn’t be able to help you.”

Darling sighed. “You can’t help me.”

“Help you do what?” David prodded.

Darling raised an eyebrow. They expected a lot from David, but they didn’t expect him to ask that. “Help me take down Quinn?” they supplied skeptically. “Help me kill him and make him pay for what he did. I want revenge,” they declared. “But I don’t want anyone else to get mixed up in my mess.” They slumped a bit, like the bravado holding up their body was waning under David’s glare.

“While our pack is ready and willing to help keep you safe just as we’re always ready and willing to keep any one of us safe, that wasn’t the kind of help I was talking about.” He took a seat on the dingy, lumpy couch. He knew Darling would never sit on their own, but judging by their growing discomfort, they were exhausted and needed, at the very least, to sit before they fell.

Just as David anticipated, Darling sat down on the other end of the couch almost immediately after he did.

“I was talking about the pack being your support through all this. About reestablishing yourself as one of us. We don’t want you to be exiled.” David hated that he even had to articulate that idea to Darling so explicitly, but he’d be damned if he’d let Darling believe that their pack wanted them to live out such a desolate existence.

“I just… I need to finish this,” Darling said softly, rubbing the back of their hand along their tired eyes. “I need peace.”

“Revenge won’t bring you peace,” David advised sadly. “It’s not the same thing as justice. I know from personal experience that vengeance is never as sweet as it promises to be,” David disclosed. “Because you lose yourself in it. It consumes you in a way you don’t realize until it’s too late.” He lowered his voice a bit, prompting Darling to lean in to hear him. “We don’t want to lose you again. Please,” David beseeched. “Let’s take care of Quinn the right way. Safely. Legally. Together.” He gave a short exhale out of his nose to underline his promise. “Because we want to be with you, and we want you to be a part of the family we’ve made. Not just to get rid of Quinn. But even after he’s gone. Never in a million years would we want you exiled. You belong with us.”

Darling was taken back by the visceral reaction they had to hearing David say they belonged in the Shaw Pack. They hadn’t ever realized how much they craved to hear someone say they belonged.

But still, old habits die hard.

They pursued their lips. “Why?”

“Because we love you,” David responded without missing a beat. “You’re part of our family. Revenge is not going to be there for you when Quinn’s finally taken care of. We will be,” he vowed.

“You talk a lot about what revenge can and can’t do,” Darling observed. “How would someone like you know?”

David swallowed a little nervously, clearly unprepared for such an astute question. “You know how my dad died.”

It wasn’t a question, but Darling nodded anyway.

“Maybe the human police couldn’t track down the driver after he crashed into my dad. But I could. And I did,” David admitted. “Tracking magic and desperation. It’s a deadly combination,” he said wryly. “I tracked him down and I beat him to within an inch of his life. I was going to kill him.” David straightened his spine, almost surprised at his own detachment as he remembered the rage coursing through his body at that moment. How good it felt to have Gabe’s killer beg and plead for mercy as David broke his bones and bruised his body without a trace of mercy. “One more punch to the head would’ve done that guy in. I knew if. If he had been awake, he would’ve known it. It was the perfect crime. He killed my dad. He deserved to die,” David asserted. “But, at the last second, I couldn’t do it.” David clicked his teeth. “How could that be the way I honored my dad’s memory? Becoming a killer myself?” David shuddered. “Five minutes of good feelings wasn’t worth a life of misery. My dad wouldn’t want that for me,” David reminded himself, indulging in a brief memory of Gabe’s image before he returned to the present. “And I don’t want it for you.”

“Wow,” Darling whistled. “I never knew that before.”

“Few do,” David admitted. “But all of that is to say, I know how you feel.”

When Darling realized their mouth was gaping open, they hurried to shut it, a soft tap of their teeth coming together echoing in their ears. “Guess you do,” Darling relented. “So then you must know that I’m still hesitant to jump back into the pack with both paws,” they nonchalantly mentioned, as if it wasn’t the most they’d allow themselves to open up to anyone other than Sam in a very long time. “But I’ll try.”

“The fact that you’re willing to try is enough, for now,” David approved, making sure to steer clear of any sweeping promises or idealistic predictions. He knew that there was a long road ahead before this journey was over, but David was relieved to know that he and Darling would be taking their first steps along that road to peace together.

Chapter Text

Come on, come on. I feel so useless sitting here waiting for the computer. It’s not like I can do anything to make it go any faster. I don’t even really know what it’s doing or how it does it. I just wait for it to tell me it’s done and hope nothing goes wrong. What if something does go wrong? How am I supposed to know how to fix it? Is that noise the fan? Is it supposed to be so loud? I, ohh, looks like it’s done.

Geordi blinked as the laptop returned to the lock screen he had set. It was a picture of him and his partner on vacation together. On a whim, they had decided to sign up for a beginning falconry course. Geordi had tried to snap a selfie of himself standing next to his telepath partner with a falcon standing on their shoulder, but that wasn’t exactly what happened. Just as he had snapped the picture, the falcon decided to peck at Cutie’s ear, causing them to scream, causing the falcon to freak out, causing the picture to be Geordi, smiling calmly for the camera and Cutie absolutely terrified and cowering from a falcon mid-flight. It was rare for Geordi to have the opportunity to see Cutie so genuinely surprised. As a telepath, they often were able to anticipate everyone else’s next step as they flitted in and out of people’s minds, just observing, never judging. They amazed Geordi with the sheer control they held over their powers, but sometimes, he did really like to see them as shocked as everyone else when something unexpected happened.

Love that picture. It was so much fun. They’re so funny. I love them.

Geordi made a move to type in his pin code.

Where did that bruise come from on my palm? Looks gross. When’s the last time I cleaned this screen? Can you put Lysol on a touchscreen? I bet it’d ruin the sensitivity.

“Hey, are you done yet?” Cutie asked from the kitchen. Geordi heard them turn off the water, signalling that they had finished washing the dishes from dinner. “You closed two hours ago. Make like your cupcake dough and rest overnight.”

“That’s for bread,” Geordi corrected lightly. “Cupcake batter doesn’t need to rest. And besides, the café is closed, but as the owner, I’m never done,” Geordi laughed. “I just have one email to send to a potential catering client. I’m giving a quote for what I hope is going to be the biggest event I’ve ever booked. Let’s see…” He furrowed his brow as he looked over the types of desserts the client requested and did the math in his head to figure out an estimated price. “Six dozen donuts, five trays of mini-cupcakes, a full sheet cake and little bags of macaroons to give each guest as a favor…” He whistled. “This corporation is going all out for its employee appreciation day. I really want to land this gig. It’d be great publicity for us.”

“If they are smart, they’ll accept your offer. What better way to show appreciation than provide the most delicious desserts I have ever tasted?” Cutie said, drying their hands on their flannel shirt. “But I thought you were going to send that email twenty minutes ago?”

“I’ve been waiting for this dinosaur of a computer to update.” Geordi nodded and patted the empty space on the loveseat next to himself. “Plenty of space for two here, Cutie,” he winked.

“Oh, is that so?” Cutie asked coyly, sliding next to Geordi and letting their chin rest in the crook of Geordi’s shoulder as they kissed his cheek. “And how about it there?” They tapped lightly on his temple, leaving a spark with every touch. “Any room in there for me?”

Geordi gave them a quick kiss on the cheek. “Always,” he hummed, returning back to the email. “Thanks for checking first.”

Thanks for saying ‘yes,’ Cutie spoke into Geordi’s head. They wrapped their arms around his torso. You always work so hard. I want home to be a place you can relax and unwind.

Even without powers, Geordi felt like he was developing the abilities to keep more focused in his own mind when Cutie You make me so relaxed and happy. Geordi turned the laptop so that Cutie had a better angle to see the screen. Will you just reread that and make sure there are no typos? Please?

Of course. Cutie adjusted the screen a little bit more so they could see the draft Geordi typed up. As they read, they whispered the email aloud to themselves. Cutie never seemed to be able to catch their own typos unless they spoke out loud. “Hello, Thank you for contacting…”

As Cutie read through the email, Geordi felt his mind begin to wander again. If I land that job, maybe I should hire another employee. We might need the help. Although, it’d have to be a part-time position. No. I should wait until I can afford a full-time position. I want to make sure anyone who works for me has good benefits, stability. All that jazz. Well then, what should I get? A new oven? No, my oven works well. Hmm. I could give everyone a bonus, since the prep for this event will be torture. But then what would I use my bonus on? I could invest it. Or… we could take another vacation? That’d be fun. I loved our trip earlier this year. I love them so much. I hope they love me, too. Sometimes, I’m not sure. I wonder if—

“What are you talking about—” Cutie gasped as they exited his mind. “Of course I love you!”

Their voice startled Geordi out of his half-daydream, half-stream-of-consciousness-monologue. Geordi was always a little surprised how much louder speech sounded in comparison to thoughts. “I… Um… What?” he sputtered, coming back to reality and realizing what his partner had just heard.

“You just thought, ‘I hope they love me, too. Sometimes, I’m not sure.’ Why?” they asked, hurt practically dripping from their words. “Why don’t you know it? What do I do that makes you doubt it?” Cutie shook their head. “What do I do that makes you doubt me?”

Geordi’s eyes widened when he noticed how Cutie pulled away from him. “What?” he said. “No, no. I didn’t…” He stopped himself from saying that. After all, how could he lie after they had heard him think exactly that? Geordi abandoned that train of thought. “It’s just…” He hesitated, but forced himself to look Cutie in their eyes. “It’s just that, you never say it.”

Cutie tensed. “I say it!” they retorted indignantly. “I say it all the time!”

“No,” Geordi gently corrected. “You don’t. You say, ‘Me, too,’ after I say it or ‘Same here’ or whatever.” He shrugged. “It’s not the same, you know? I know you mean it,” he assured them. “And I know with how you were brought up, ‘I love you’ is a phrase that’s not exactly on the tip of your tongue. And that’s okay.” He let a comforting hand rest on their thigh. “Really. But sometimes, I do wonder, okay? I mean, I don’t think it’s ridiculous of me to want that, you know? I want to hear it. I… I need to hear it.” Geordi swallowed, wholly uncomfortable with articulating what he needed. It was something he struggled with throughout his life, though Cutie was helping him to be more assertive in his life. He figured he owed it to them to be as honest as he wanted them to be with him. Not every second. But…” He shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if the reason you can’t say it is because you don’t feel it.”

Cutie stayed silent for a moment, thinking back on their time with Geordi. They’d never been so happy before. They had no doubt in their mind that they loved him with every fiber of their being.

So why is it so hard to say?
“Geordi, I’m so sorry,” they whispered, bringing their palm over Geordi’s hand. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I…”

They felt a frown coming on, so they instinctively covered their face with their other hand. It was so hard for them to show any bit of themselves that wasn’t filtered through some mask or persona that they wanted to show the world. As a telepath, they had been instructed on the importance of keeping in control of their thoughts and emotions since their powers developed. Between that cultural expectation and the fact that their parents were less than forthcoming with their own emotions, Cutie had learned from an early age to associate any display of emotions with weakness. Over time, that association had manifested as a complete avoidance of anything even remotely related to romantic expression. It wasn’t as if they didn’t want to tell him. They wanted to be brave and strong. If they weren’t, they rationalized, Geordi might get sick of them and leave.

When they met Geordi, the unempowered human who lived his whole life like he was the main character in a big, bright musical that would somehow find a way to a happy ending, they realized that it was he who was truly brave and strong. They admired Geordi so much. His tenacity, his fierce, relentless optimism. His ability to presume good existed in everyone. Cutie might have claimed that hearing others’ thoughts was the quickest way to become jaded, but they had a feeling if even Geordi possessed such power, he’d somehow manage to stay his cheery self.

They loved him.

He had a right to know that. And, they surmised, maybe they could take some inspiration from Geordi and hope that expressing themselves openly and completely wouldn’t have the disastrous result they’d convinced themselves was inevitable.

“Cutie?” Geordi asked, bringing them back to the present. His voice made them realize they had retreated into their own overly analytical mind yet again. A habit they used to cope in a world sometimes too full of dizzying thoughts and feelings.

“Geordi,” they responded. “I love you.”

At first, Cutie had thought maybe their indulgence in optimism was foolish because Geordi looked distressed. “I didn’t want to force it out of you or anything,” he stammered. “I don’t know exactly what my aim was when I brought it up, but I…”

“You didn’t force me,” Cutie interrupted briskly. “At all. I wanted to tell you, because it’s what I feel. I’ve felt it for a long time.” They slowly slipped their fingers in between his, feeling quite a bit lighter than when they had sat down. “I was just afraid. You gave me the strength to say it. I love you. And…” They pointed to Geordi’s head, offering a half-smile as a question. At his nod, they entered his mind. I love you, Geordi.

Cutie was glad to see Geordi visibly relax. “Oh, wow,” he marvelled, not expecting how meaningful the statement would be when it resounded in his head. It was like his own private space that he shared with Cutie, and for the first time, it was filled with their love for each other. I love you, too, he couldn’t help thinking, not that he wanted to think about anything else.

Thank you for being as patient with me as you were,they thought. Thanks for being someone I can love. Who loves me. Cutie felt a rush of relief flow into their body, like they were levitating despite never having learned much graviton magic.

Same here, Geordi thought, purposefully teasing them by echoing their standard responses.

They loved that even when they fought, he never held anything back. It made for even their rare fights to be productive. They loved that they could trust him to always say what he meant and to mean whatever he said. It was more comforting than they ever thought possible. Geordi was the rare type of person who you didn’t need access into his head to know what was in his heart.

Can I kiss you? He winked.

Instead of answering, Cutie kissed him.

I love you, they both thought simultaneously.

Geordi sent the email, typo-free and two hours later.

Chapter Text

“So, what now?” Angel demanded hotly. “This is how you wanna end it?”

“If it’ll get you to shut up and leave me alone” David Shaw grumbled. “I just want you to leave me alone for a few hours. Is that so much to ask?”

Without another word, Angel got up from the couch and scurried off into the bedroom, slamming the door behind them.

“Could you be any more dramatic?” David grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Silence was his only answer.

David turned back to his computer, squinting at the small print of the contract he was looking over for an upcoming security job. He clicked violently to zoom into the document, mouthing the words as he read.

Earlier, Angel had been on his case to put the work away and come to bed. Somehow, that fight had blown up into one where David accused Angel of not trusting him and Angel accused David of trying to change them into someone they aren’t. Neither of them were really sure of what they were fighting about anymore. It was the latest in a series of little fights that had popped up throughout the week. The pair of mates had just moved in together a few weeks ago and they were feeling unexpectedly claustrophobic with the whole ordeal. The apartment itself certainly had enough room for two people, but David and Angel constantly felt like they were tripping over each other or finding their little personal rituals annoyingly interrupted by the other. Somehow, that frustration had piled up to the point that made them lose their tempers, opening up a floodgate of buried resentment and petty irritation onto each other.

When he realized that he just read a paragraph without comprehending anything of it, David sighed. “I asked for them to leave me alone,” he told himself harshly. “And they did.”

David’s eyes wandered from the screen to the hallway that led to the bedroom.

“I’m not going over there,” he declared to the empty room. “Why should I? I have work I need to do.”

As if to mock David’s claim, the screensaver appeared.

“Fuck,” he swore, pushing himself up from the table with a grunt. He trudged over to the bedroom, expecting to see Angel on the bed reading a magazine, ready to greet him with a snide comment about the fact that he demanded space and come following after them like a lost puppy.

He was shocked to find Angel haphazardly shoving their clothes into their suitcase and struggling to mute their sobbing.

“Angel?” he said worriedly, doubling his pace so that he stood next to them. “What… what are you doing?” he asked, moving to block their hands from grabbing any more clothes.

Angel doubled their efforts, wiggling past David’s hands as they tossed more socks into the overflowing suitcase. “You… you said for me to leave you alone,” they said shortly. “Can’t do that if we live together, now can I?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” David stammered. “That is not what I meant and you know it!” He yanked the suitcase away so that it was out of Angel’s reach.

“Oh, do I?” Angel sneered, fighting back their tears by yelling. “Do I really? Because I asked if that’s how you wanted to end it and you didn’t even bat an eye!” They poked David in the chest. “You don’t even care. I should’ve known,” they berated, letting their head hang in shame. “I should’ve known this wasn’t love. I just let myself believe it because I wanted it, I needed it, because I—”

David was horrified to hear their little monologue, too horrified even to allow them to finish it. “What are you talking about? Of course I love you!” He abandoned the suitcase so that he could frame Angel’s face between his hands, slightly damp from the tears cascading down their face.

Angel reluctantly looked into David’s eyes.

“I love you,” David repeated softly, unable to resist the urge to let his thumb stroke along their chin. “Never, ever doubt that. No matter what bullshit comes out of my mouth, no matter what kind of bitchy mood I’m in, no matter how much I growl and stalk around this place like a ‘hulking bigfoot,’ as you once so sweetly called it,” he stated openly and honestly. He was never one for big, expressive gestures, but when it came to Angel, David felt compelled to tell them just how much they meant to him. “You are everything to me, Angel. My partner. My mate. My better half. I love you.”

Angel couldn’t deny the fact that when David said things like that, they couldn’t help but believe him. What was even more surprising is that they felt exactly the same way towards him.

“But…” they squeaked out, still trying to gain control over their swelling throat after having cried. “But you said you wanted to end it,” they insisted. You—”

“‘It’ being ‘our’ fight,” David clarified, finally realizing why Angel had spiralled out of control so quickly. David chastised himself for not connecting the dots soon. Now that he reflected on his exact phrasing, he realized why Angel had misinterpreted his meaning. “Not ‘it’ as in ‘our relationship,’” he added, figuring that they would have to hear him say that explicitly if he had any hope in convincing them.

For as brash and easy-going as Angel was in their daily life, David knew there was more to them than that. Inside, they were cautious, wary, and so slow to trust after having had that trust broken. He admired their ability to bounce back from their previous experiences, though he knew that it was a constant uphill battle. He wanted to be their anchor, not another broken promise that let them drown in a sea of suspect behavior and manipulation.

“But I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” David assured them. He led them to the bed and sat them in his lap as he took his seat. “I know we’ve been getting on each others’ nerves lately, but that’s normal after taking such a big step and moving in together. But all of that is nothing compared to how much you mean to me. How much I love you.” He kissed their forehead, hoping that his lips could convey his thoughts. “I’m sorry that I let you think anything differently.”

Angel wrapped one arm around David’s shoulder and one around his torso. “I just got so sad when that thought crossed my mind,” they said, pressing their cheek against his chest. “And then it was all I could think about.”

“It’s okay,” David soothed, sliding his hand to Angel’s back and patting lightly. “It’s alright now.”

“I love you, too, Davey.” Angel tipped their chin to give David a kiss on the cheek. “And I’m really glad we’re living together. Even if you do sound like a garbage disposal when you brush your teeth.”

“I do not, you menace!” David answered petulantly. He loved how he and Angel had developed almost a secret language of insults that sounded so rough, but solidified their connection. It was proof they were on the same wavelength with each other, and it was something neither of them would take for granted. “Besides, have you ever heard yourself whistle as you do the dishes? It’s the most grating noise I have ever heard in my life!”

Angel swatted at him playfully before leaning in for another kiss.

Chapter Text

“Babe?” Asher called from the couch. “Babe, can you get me a can of Sprite while you’re up?” He was too involved in a game of ‘Guess Who’ with Angel to leave his seat. “Please?” he added before turning back to Angel. “Is your person musical?”

Angel glanced down at their board. “Umm, I don’t know,” Angel said suspiciously. “It’s just a picture. How am I supposed to know what they do for fun in their free time?”

Asher shrugged smugly. “You gotta create a backstory for your person! Otherwise, we’re just judging a bunch of people based on their looks. Rude!”

“Are you two finished yet?” David asked as he strode into the room. He fiddled with the clasp of his wristwatch. “If you insist on going to this haunted house, the least you could do is make sure that you’re ready to leave on time.” He rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath as he struggled with the watch. “Stupid piece of…”

After a quick eyebrow as Asher, Angel knocked over all his remaining cards. “How’s that for a backstory?” they winked. “Yup, we just finished!” Angel reported, bouncing over to David. They took his arm in their hands. “Here. I got it.” Without another word, Angel secured the watch onto David’s wrist. They twisted the gold band so that the face sat on the inside of his wrist, just the way David liked it.

Without warning, David wrapped his arm around Angel’s shoulder and gave them a quick kiss on the top of their head. “Thank you, Angel,” he whispered into their hair. “Because now I know we are five minutes late.”

“We are not,” Asher refuted. “Besides, Milo and his mate aren’t even here yet. We can’t just ditch them.”

“They texted about ten minutes ago.” David grabbed both his jacket and Angel’s from the coat rack. Even if they insisted they didn’t need it now, he knew they might change their mind once the autumn chill reached their skin later that night. “Change of plans. They’re meeting us at the haunted house.”

Asher was about to say something David just knew was going to be annoying, but thankfully, the beta’s mate swooped in and their presence shut his mouth.

“Here’s your drink, Honey,” Babe handed to Asher as they took a seat beside him.

“Thanks, Babe. I‒ Hey, this is sparkling water,” he observed, inspecting the can like it was an undiscovered alien species. “I asked for Sprite.”

“This is better for you,” Babe insisted. “And look, it’s lime-flavored.” They tapped on the side of the can. “So it’ll taste just like Sprite.”

Asher opened the can with a click. “I doubt that.” He tipped his head back, chugging the entire can. “Hmm, actually, not bad,” he evaluated. “We should get some of these for our place.”

“We’ve already got a whole pack with assorted flavors,” Babe informed him. “They’re in the pantry next to the canned vegetables, under the pasta.”

“No wonder I never noticed them,” Asher chucked. He noticed an eyelash clinging to Babe’s cheek and gently brushed his thumb along their face to remove it. He stretched his finger out to show them. “Make a wish?”

Babe closed their eyes and after a brief pause, blew the eyelash off of Asher’s finger.

“I hope you wished for a kiss,” he rumbled, moving closer. “Because that’s what you’re getting!” True to his word, Asher kissed them deeply.

“My wish came true!” Babe laughed as they broke the kiss. “Magic!”

“Yeah,” David deadpanned. “Thinking of something you want and then exhaling forcefully to send away an old, dead hair that grew on your eyelid has the mystical, ineffable power of making your thoughts suddenly happen in reality,” he groaned. “Give me a break. That’s such a lousy superstition.”

“Just try it,” Angel encouraged brightly. They reached up and slid their fingertips over David’s bushy brows to retrieve a few hairs. “Close your eyes and make a wish.” They jerked their hand back, protecting the finger with a few, stray black lashes on them. “For real, Davey. If you want to make fun of the superstition so badly, you have to give it an honest effort.”

“Fine,” David sighed deeply. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on his wish. “There. Wish submitted.”

“Good,” Angel smiled, bringing their hand back to David’s mouth.

David blew on their finger, all while glaring at Angel.

“Okie dokie.” Angel dropped their hand to their side. “Now all‒”

Without warning, Sweetheart and Milo materialized in front of the door. “Surprise!” the stealth and Milo announced proudly.

“Ahhh!” Angel shrieked, genuinely terrified at the unexpected arrival. They were so terrified that they jumped right into David’s arms.

“Angel,” he stammered, although his reflexes and strength were more than adequate to catch Angel safely and hold them tightly.

Milo let go of his death grip on Sweetheart. No matter how often his mate cloaked him through their physical contact, he always got a little nervous at the rush of energy that would fill his senses as the magic erased his body and tangibility. “I have to admit,” he said. “It’s nice to be the scare-er, not the scare-ee.”

“I think that’d be ‘the scared,’ Babe corrected.

Unfazed, Sweetheart began to brush themselves off. “We thought we’d give you a little bonus pre-scare before we do the haunted house.” They smirked. “Whoa,” they said, realizing Angel was still in David’s arms. “We really got you good, huh?”

“You did!” Angel confirmed. “I guess it’s safe for you to put me down now, huh, Davey?”

“It’s safe.” David shifted them in his arms, still keeping a tight grip on their body. “But…” he paused dramatically, lowering his voice so only Angel could hear him as Milo, Sweetheart, Asher and Babe were making some commotion together about the secret, stealthy arrival. “My wish came true. You’re here, in my arms.” He gave them another kiss, slower this time. “I love you, Angel.”

“I love you, Davey,” Angel hummed. “See? Empowered people aren’t the only ones with a little magic.”

Both David and Angel were reluctant to move, but somehow, Angel did find their way back to their feet.

That bit of romantic indulgence over with, at least until later that night, David cleared his throat and returned to his normal speaking voice. “Come one, everyone, let’s go,” he beckoned, tapping on his wristwatch. “We don’t want to be any later than we are.”

Chapter Text

Vincent Solaire reached over the seat to open the passenger door of his ‘69 Mustang so that Lovely could slide into the car.

Lovely did exactly that. They belted themselves into the seat without a word and crossed their arms over their chest. “I’m sorry you had to come pick me up early,” they spit out through clenched teeth. “Is the sun too much for you? I could drive.”

“No, no, no,” Vincent answered quickly. “It’s pretty cloudy and you know I’ve got the tinted windows.” He tapped on the windshield for good measure. “You didn’t say much about what exactly, umm… transpired in class. Do you want to talk about it?”

“It was nothing,” Lovely shrugged. “I just lost control of my electricity for a minute during an argument and it happened to find its way to the person I was arguing with. They were water-elemental and when my magic reached them there was some… light electrocution. The healer was right there. They were fine! But even so, it looked like I was using magic with malicious intent and the campus has a zero tolerance policy for that. So I’m suspended for the rest of the day. Which isn’t even a big deal. That class was my last one anyway, so I really only lost about the last twenty minutes of one Intro to Empowered Cultures class anyway, so it doesn’t even matter.”

Vincent nodded even though he still didn’t understand.

“Well, that’s a silver lining,” he said, putting the car in drive and starting for home. “But I’m surprised you were punished for something like that. I mean, you’re a humanborn latent who just started classes this semester. You can’t be expected to wield the same sort of control as the other students in your classes. I mean, it was an accident, right? You shouldn’t be punished for an accident.”

Lovely turned to look out their window. “Hey, look!” they said plainly. “That new coffee shop on the corner is finally open. We should go sometime!”

The vampire pursued his lips. “Lovely?” he asked. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

Lovely interlocked their fingers together on each hand. “Well…” They began to fidget.

“Lovely?” Vincent pressed.

“I might’ve meant it a little,” Lovely admitted reluctantly. “Whatever.”

“Lovely!” Vincent scolded. “But why?”

“He just was saying stuff I didn’t want to hear,” Lovely replied, an edge of attitude imbued in their voice.

Vincent knew immediately that there was more to that story than Lovely was telling him. What he couldn’t figure out was why. It wasn’t like Lovely to keep things from him. It also wasn’t like them to lash out at others without provocation. He knew how passionate his partner could get, but he never thought they’d be capable of outright violence during an academic class. “Stuff… What stuff?”

“Just… stuff,” Lovely repeated, the hard façade of their face no match for Vincent’s soft, welcoming gaze. “It was a bunch of bigoted nonsense, okay? Just sheer, utter nonsense. I shouldn’t have had to sit there and listen to their drivel. I told them to stop saying what they were saying first, okay? I gave them the benefit of the doubt. I thought maybe they weren’t aware of how offensive they were being.”

Vincent’s head tipped to the side, his left ear dipping towards his left shoulder. “Offensive?”

“Yes!” Lovely burst, their composure disintegrating with every word they spoke. “They said… they said…” Lovely stammered, opening and shutting their mouth like they couldn’t decide whether to say what they wanted to say.

Vincent, however, was too attuned to Lovely’s thought process not to pick up on their internal conflict. “It was offensive to me, wasn’t it?” he posited. “Offensive to vampires.”

Lovely nodded furiously. “They can’t just say awful, untrue things like that and pretend that it’s factual!” the electro-energetic seethed, a bit of lightning zipping out of their pointer fingers. “They can’t sit there all smug and condescending, insulting vampires like it’s no big deal! Not without me saying a thing or two about it!” Lovely made fists with their hands to keep the electricity directed towards themselves, which didn’t go unnoticed by Vincent. “So, yeah, when the loudmouth kept on saying crap like that, I got mad and I responded with my magic. I mean, I’ve got all this power now. Isn’t that when I should use it? When bigoted, idiotic jerks shoot their mouth off at the expense of marginalized groups that happen to include the man I love!?”

Lovely clapped a hand over their mouth.

Vincent’s eyes widened when he, too, felt the magnitude of what Lovely had just articulated.

“I, I, I,” they stuttered. “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Lovely said quickly. “I mean, I’m not sorry-sorry,” they hastily corrected. “I meant what I said, I just didn’t plan on telling you like that. Or right now. And it’s probably too soon and you don’t have to say anything…”

“Lovely,” Vincent said patiently.

Lovely continued speaking without even acknowledging Vincent. “Maybe you didn’t hear me? We could just say that. You didn’t hear me. Oh, shoot.” They snapped their fingers. “Forgot about your vampire hearing…”

“Lovely,” Vincent tried again.

“Well, we could just say you weren’t paying attention,” Lovely suggested hurriedly, becoming more and more nervous. “Oh, who am I kidding?” They threw their hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Of course you were paying attention! You always pay attention. It’s one of the reasons I love you! Arrghhh!” They covered their face with their hands. “It’s like I can’t stop saying it! What is wrong with me?”

“Lovely!” Vincent finally burst, raising his voice over theirs. “Will you just slow down a minute? I’m trying to tell you I love you, too!”

“I… You… What?” Lovely said slowly. “You love me, too?”

Vincent pulled over to the side of the road. He was glad that they were having this conversation on the barely used road that led straight up to Solaire Territory. The last thing he wanted to do was have to navigate a busy road as he was trying to tell his partner that he was truly, madly, absolutely, head-over-heels in love with them.

“I love you,” Vincent repeated in earnest, taking their hand in his. The steady thrum of electricity might’ve burned a living human’s hand, but in Vincent’s, it was pleasantly warm. “So much. With all my heart. I love you.”

A few tears glistened in Lovely’s eyes. “Really? You’re not just saying that because I said it?”

“I’m saying it because I feel it.” Vincent let his other hand snake around their shoulder. “I’ve known it for a while now. I just didn’t know if I should tell you. I… It…” He sighed. “Falling in love is always complicated. But falling in love with a vampire can be…” Vincent’s lips twitched. “It’s not always feasible. It opens up a whole bunch of questions because of the whole, y’know, immortality thing. I mean, have you really considered what sort of choices were going to have to face eventually? Is that something you can handle? That you want to handle? Because, Lovely.” He squeezed his hand a bit, already feeling his voice tighten with anxiety. “The last thing I’d ever want to do was hurt you. I…”

This time it was Lovely who quieted Vincent. They leaned forward to kiss him.

“We’ll figure it out,” they said, moving their lips all across Vincent’s face with each word. “Whatever it takes. I love you, Vincent Solaire. I want to be with you.”

Vincent could’ve cried at their open, honest admission. “I love you, too,” he repeated. He felt like he wanted to repeat it one hundred times, and it still wouldn’t be enough. “Let me show you how much,” he offered flirtatiously before putting the car in drive again. “Just wait until we get home.”

Vincent resisted the urge to press the gas pedal to the floor, though he did speed all the way home.

Chapter Text

When Angel stepped into their apartment after a long day at work, all they wanted to do was take a long, hot shower, devour the leftover chicken pot pie they knew David had saved for them last night, and finally watch the new documentary on Mary, Queen of Scots that had been in their queue all week. They had their heart set on those three activities, in that order, to start off their weekend. Once they heard muffled sobs coming from the living room, however, nothing else mattered but making their way to the couch.

They kicked off their shoes and made their way towards the distressing sound.

Even though they knew no one but David Shaw could be the source of those sobs, they were still so surprised to see their mate hunched over on himself, forehead pressed to his knees and softly shuddering.

“Davey?” they asked tentatively, approaching him like they would a scared animal. “Davey, are you okay?”

David flinched at Angel’s gentle question. He twisted his neck to face them, furiously scrubbing at his eyes. "Oh, h-h-hi," he coughed out to conceal the catch in his voice. "You're home early. How was your day?"

Angel glanced at the wall clock hanging above their heart. "It's 5:30PM," they gently corrected. They usually got home around this time, unless they were booked for some last-minute overtime.

"It is!?" David gasped, grabbing his phone to confirm that fact. “Fuck. I didn’t realize I was sitting here this long.” He threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “I’ve been wasting time. I- I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t even start to get dinner ready or anything.” He was about to push himself up from the couch until Angel sat down next to him, silently asking him to stay right there. David always took great pride in cooking their dinner on the rare days that saw him arrive home well before Angel. It had become a little ritual for him that kept him from missing them too much.

“That’s okay, that’s totally okay,” they assured him. “I was hoping we could order delivery anyway today,” Angel lied to keep David from feeling too badly about something that didn’t seem remotely important after they saw David’s tears. “I won’t push you to tell me about what I know you know I saw,” they said, careful to be sensitive to David’s vulnerability but open enough to show him it was not something for which he should feel shame. “But no matter what you do or don’t want to say, I know I can be here for you the whole time.” Angel rested their palm on David’s thigh.

To their surprise and relief, David captured their hand in his, bringing it to his face to kiss it gently before scooting over closer so that he could lean his forehead into Angel’s neck. He inhaled deeply, Angel’s very scent bringing him a sense of safety he would’ve never thought possible. “Angel,” he said involuntarily, hugging them tightly. “Angel, it… I…”

Angel kept a firm grasp on David, stroking his broad back.

He swallowed, starving off the tears so he could at least tell his mate what had him so rattled. “Today, when I was at work, two people came up to me who had been involved in the… The E&E Games.”

It had been six months since that awful tragedy, and while Angel was so proud of David for all the progress he had made in processing his traumatic experience, they still knew that the event was far from behind David.

“They thanked me for what I did, what the whole pack did,” he quickly revised. “And when I asked them how they were, y’know, coping with the whole thing, one of them said th-that their father didn’t make it out of there alive.” David’s weight sank into Angel’s, like even speaking that one, horrible thought drained him of his energy. “Their father died and they thanked me, Angel. They thanked me! D-do you know how hard that had to be for them? How incredibly painful and grievous and just plain awful going through something like that is? The unexpected death of a parent. I mean, that guy woke up in the morning, showed up to the games excited to support his child, and probably never even got to say goodbye. Just, poof, gone!” David snapped his fingers. “And instead of blaming me or letting bitterness consume them or even just choosing not to say anything, they walked right up to me, asked to shake my hand, and thanked me for all the people we did save.”

“Including them,” Angel gently reminded him.

David began to cry again, large tears soaking through Angel’s shirt collar. They held him tightly, marvelling at his ability to feel so deeply despite his best efforts to claim the contrary.

“So many fathers, mothers, family, friends, siblings…” he listed, gasping through sobs and pants. “All dead. It makes me think of when I lost my dad,” he recalled. “And I was so angry, so bitter, so full of rage and grief and confusion that I barely knew which way was up. I isolated myself and I was a complete and total mess. I would’ve never been that strong. And there are so many other people out there just like them. Sitting down to dinner without their partner. Never getting another call from their mother again. Birthdays and holidays and so much pain.” David balled a fist into Angel’s shirt, not even cognizant of how he sought their physical support. “And these people thanked me! How could they do that? Why would they? I’m the reason their father is dead and they thanked me!”

“No, no, Davey,” Angel soothed, whispered into his ear as he continued to break down into a puddle. “You are not the reason why their father is dead. Those awful shades are. It wasn’t your fault. None of it, Davey.” They tipped their chin so that their cheek rested on the top of David’s hair. One more place to offer him some grounding, tactile contact. “It’s amazing how resilient people can be in the face of such horrible events.”

David silently nodded. He was still breathing unevenly, though Angel was pretty sure his tears stopped.

“And sometimes it’s those tragic circumstances that push people to find it within themselves to keep going,” Angel continued. “To persevere. To keep their loved ones’ memories alive by celebrating their life and not letting themselves drown in the grief. ”

“I don’t know how they do it,” David admitted. “Losing someone so close to them like that and still choosing to go on. It all was so sudden, and so futile. How do they make sense of that?”

Angel shrugged. David could see it with his face pressed into their collarbone, but he felt the muscles in their body contact at their movement. “They lean on each other?” they suggested. “Find comfort in being there for others? Resolve not to let themselves slip away because they have other people in their life who need them, too? I don’t know if I have a real answer, Davey.” Angel sighed. “But I know that you and I are going to get through this together. We will,” they declared. “I’m not going to let you drown in grief alone like last time. I’m here for you, always.”

David shifted his weight, sitting up a bit but still leaning heavily into Angel. “You’re the only one who can save me from that.” He kissed their neck, so grateful for Angel’s existence and so woefully unprepared to inform them just how much they meant to him. “It’s going to get easier, right? It has to. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us if it doesn’t. I can’t… I can’t keep feeling like this forever. If I do, there’s no turning back from the future. What kind of a future would that even be? My dad’s death almost killed me. It really did,” he observed sadly. “But I never felt this crushing guilt before. And I don’t know how to make it stop. But I need to! I mean, they lost their father, and fought off those shades while they were trapped in there, too. If they can do it, I have to, too.”

“Well, consider yourself saved,” Angel responded lightly. “Because I’ll always be here for you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be.” David’s face crumpled at thought, but he doggedly kept on with his claim. “I know how hard this has all been on you, too, Angel. I know how hard it can be to be the shoulder to cry on.” A laugh stumbled out of David’s lips. “Literally.”

“I don’t care,” Angel protested without wavering. “I want you. I need you. I don’t care how long it takes or what we have to go through to get there, Davey. We’ll come out on the other side of this. It’s not a race. And everyone’s finish line is at a different distance.” They curled their hand along David’s ear, knowing it was a sensitive spot for him in both human and wolf form. “You’re carrying so much from this ordeal, David. You’ve gotta find a way to let yourself set some of it down. It won’t be all at once. We both know that.” Their lips tugged into a tight line as they thought of how David’s leadership position as alpha had imparted so much sadness that weighed so heavily on his mind. “But a little bit. You can do that,” they predicted with the confidence David had grown so used to depending on in times of turmoil. “I know you can, Davey.”

David swallowed, kissing Angel one more time before he found the strength to push himself up into a sitting position. “For you, Angel,” he sighed. “For you, I can do anything. Even that. Thank you,” he said, sounding a little bit like himself again. “Thank you for helping me. For being someone I can love. For loving me. You’re amazing. An angel brought down to Earth to save me from, well, everything, including myself.”

Angel could’ve sworn they saw a glint in David’s eyes return and an invisible weight lift off of his shoulders for the first time since the Inversion “I love you, Davey,” they said before kissing him again.

Chapter Text

“No, no!” Vincent shouted, twisting himself up in the sheets of the bed. “Lovely?” he mumbled into the pillow. “Do it, just do it!” He made a move to launch himself upwards, but the sheets prevented him from getting very far. Vincent kicked out, panicked and desperate, which only served to tangle him up more. “No, Lovely, no! Get off of them!”

Something grabbed at his shoulders and he instinctively fought. “No, no, no!” he called out. “Lovely!”

His silver eyes flew open to reveal Lovely’s face inches away from his own. He panted, still half-entrenched in that awful stadium, fighting a gang of shades who had attacked him only to turn onto his partner once they intervened. Everything had happened so fast, too fast even for Vincent’s vampire-reflexes. One minute he was trapped by a shade, calling to Lovely for help and the next, the shade had nearly finished draining Lovely of their life force.

They saved him, and in return, he turned them.

“Vincent?” Lovely asked again, though it was only the first time Vincent heard them. “It’s alright now. That was just a nightmare,” they soothed, strong and steady. “You with me Vincent?” They worked methodically to free Vincent’s arms and legs from the white sheets.

As soon as he was able, Vincent reached out to touch their face, the warmth he had gotten used to feeling after their years together suddenly absent. “Always,” he breathed. And it was true. They were his light in the darkness. His treasure that made immortal life worth living. His anchor, his rock, his partner.

And now, his progeny.

The thought slammed into him like a gust of wind that knocked him down and stole his breath.

Lovely gently hummed, kissing him where his eyebrows pushed together into a divot along his forehead. “There you are,” Lovely praised. “It wasn’t real, Vincent. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Vincent was taken back when he felt a few tears drop along his pointed cheek. “I… I…” Instead of starving off the crying like he thought speaking would do, it fueled them. Vincent began sobbing unabashedly. “Lovely,” he mumbled sadly. “It was… I…” His chin dipped low, like he was embarrassed to admit what he was about to say. “You died. I couldn’t stop them. You died. And I watched.” He gasped for more air. “You saved me and you died.”

“Oh, Vincent, Vincent,” Lovely shushed, curling around Vincent to keep him in the present. “That was a nightmare. Your mind’s playing tricks on you,” they assured him. “I’m right here, see?” For good measure, they lightly tapped two knuckles onto Vincent’s skull. “You saved me that day.”

“No,” he protested through tears. “You saved me. And I turned you.”

Lovely shrugged. “Same diff,” they smirked, though they knew what Vincent was getting at. He had regretted that their turning had to happen under pressure, without the dialogue and discussion that he always imagined would have taken place sometime in the future. There was supposed to be time. Space. Growth. Maybe he wouldn’t have even been their maker, if they had the chance to plan.

But he and Lovely had all that possibility stolen away from them in an instant. And now, they were left to deal with the consequences as best they could, together. Lovely was dealing well with the bloodlust, though they still had their share of understandable fits. And while they grieved the loss of their latent, energetic powers they had only just begun to perfect, they know they would’ve missed Vincent more if they hadn’t intervened with that shade they way they did. They understand that a generous, sensitive man such as Vincent would feel guilty over why they had been turned, but they made a vow to themselves never to allow him to stew in that guilt for long.

“You turned me, which saved me,” they corrected, wiping away the tears that ran like rivers along Vincent’s face.

“I know, I know,” Vincent sighed. “At least, I know that in my head. But my heart…” A smile cracked through Vincent’s deep frown. “There are so many ways I’ve imagined it happening, Lovely, but that was never one of them. I feel like I stole your powers from you. I feel like I stole your life from you. Was it selfish of me to ask you to do that in those circumstances? Was it selfish of me to put off that conversation?” He swiped at his eyes as his vision blurred. “I spend hours thinking about those questions, and a million other questions.” He spoke the confession softly. “And then, after I exhaust myself with those thoughts, I close my eyes and see you die!” A sob tore at his throat as a residual image of Lovely’s attack flashed in his mind. “And in my nightmares, I can’t help you! I just watch as they drain you away.

Lovely hushed Vincent, hopeful that the rhythm of their hand running along his spine would help quiet him. “Hear that?” they encouraged. “You said it yourself, Vincent. You helped me by turning me. I said I wanted to be with you forever, and I meant it. Yeah, maybe the turning didn’t happen under perfect circumstances, but…” They shrugged. “Few do, according to you. But never, ever think you took advantage of the situation or pushed me into a life I didn’t want.” They framed his face with their fingers splayed out around his face and neck. “I love you, Vincent. I want to be with you. I, I need to be with you,” they said honestly. “You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted, because you gave me an eternal life with you.”

“I love you, too,” Vincent squeaked out through tears. The smile that spread across his face signalled to Lovely that those tears were now from happiness and relief, rather than fear and guilt.

“Vincent,” they crooned into his ear. “Vincent, ummm…” They giggled, their own lashes becoming a little bit wet. “Will you stop crying so I can kiss you already?”

Vincent sucked in a shaky breath, trying to do as Lovely asked. “I might be your maker, but I can’t say no to you,” he grinned flirtatiously. “And it’s just not fair. Use that power wisely, Lovely.”

Once Vincent did as Lovely asked, they kissed him deeply. Both of them fell back to a dreamless, restful sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms and secure in the knowledge that the eternity that lay before them was something they both wanted and needed just as they both wanted and needed the blood their bodies shared.

Chapter Text

Babe stared blankly at the half-painted walls before them. They darted their eyes all around to the room to take in the full scene. A drop cloth that covered half of the floor sat with little puddles of white paint. Color swatches were lazily taped to shelving in a variety of colors. And Asher was in the middle of it all, dried paint marring his face and hands like stripes. He wore a pair of faded overalls with no shirt, standing up on a ladder to reach the corner of the kitchen without any spillage over into the ceiling.

“Hey, Babe,” he greeted with a warm, welcoming smile. “You’re home early! I wanted to have this part done as a surprise."

Babe had come home early from work with a headache under the agreement that they could get all of the necessary paperwork for the upcoming pitch deck their team had spent the last week compiling proofed, edited, and ready to go by Monday. The faint scent of paint fumes was not helping their headache they suspected was actually a migraine, nor was the realization that Asher had apparently decided to spend his day off ruining any chance of the security deposit that Asher and Babe had just paid for only six weeks ago would be returned to them someday.

“A surprise?” they echoed, stepping around the drop cloths to avoid getting their work clothes stained. They opened their palms and moved their hands from side to side. “We can’t paint this apartment! We live in a complex with rules about this shit. We need to go through the building company, submit a request, get permission in writing.” They rubbed the back of their wrist along their eyes in an attempt to displace the pressure that was growing inside their head.

It would take a solid few hours of cleaning just to get the room back into its normal order. Even if they had the energy to clean the kitchen and to remove the paint, which they didn’t, Babe still had a mountain of work to check over before the workday ended. All they wanted at that moment was to curl up into a ball on their bed, shut out any semblance of light and sound, and sleep until their headache dissipated.

Asher was too engrossed in his job to notice how dejected Babe looked behind the sunglasses they sported on their way home despite a lack of sun that day.

“Oh, don’t worry about all that,” Asher shrugged off. He let his paint roller fall to the floor before he made his way down the ladder to approach Babe. He hastily rubbed his hands on his overalls to clear his hands of any wet paint. “We’re planning to stay here for a while anyway,” he reminded them brightly. “And you said how dingy and faded the yellow looked. So, tah dah!” he announced, gesturing to the wall with overly dramatic spirit fingers. “I’m not about to let my mate live in a home with a kitchen they think is dingy and dull. And I got a bunch of sample options so we can decide how to do the trim. I'm thinking purple!”

Asher and Babe had moved in together shortly after Asher had asked them to be his mate. They planned for weeks, scoping out the perfect apartment that was both large enough and wouldn’t drain their now-joint bank account. It also had to be close to the bus line Babe used to get to work as well as close enough to the Shaw Security office for Asher. It was the perfect apartment in so many ways, but when Asher heard Babe make a comment a week ago about how they’d love to redecorate the kitchen, starting with the paint color, he sprang into action and planned a surprise for them.

“I… I…” Babe sputtered. They weren’t even really sure as to what they wanted to tell Asher. Yell at him for breaking the rules? Thank him for having the balls to make their home their own despite what any building company told them? Vomit from the sickening paint smell that threatened to overwhelm their overstimulated senses? Or perhaps, they didn’t want to say anything. Did they want to fall into Asher’s chest and have him massage their forehead until their pain lessened?

Rather than opt for any one of those responses, Babe just turned on their heel and marched to their bedroom without a word.

Asher’s spirit fingers drooped, along with the rest of his body. He hurriedly followed them into the bedroom, careful not to let his body bump into any furniture as he did so in case there was still wet paint on his clothes. He didn’t know what had Babe so upset, but he did know that marking up the furniture they had just purchased would not make them feel any better.

Asher found them sitting on the floor at the corner of the bed, running a shaking hand through their hair, their sunglasses tossed to the side. “Babe?” he asked quietly, shuffling up beside them and dropping to his knees. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Just…” Babe bit out, the dull throbbing across their skull turning into a forceful pounding. They knew how upset they would often get when they felt a migraine coming on, but they didn’t want to subject Asher to that. They hadn’t had to worry about something like that for years now, because they had lived alone. It scared them to let Asher see this part of them because they knew it was a side of them that wasn’t particularly loveable. The absolute last thing they wanted to do was upset Asher or say something that they would regret. It might cause him to rethink this whole living situation, and Babe wanted nothing more than to take this next step with Asher. “Leave me alone,” they finally managed to say.

“What?” Asher sat back on his heels, his expression twisting into a cross between confusion and discomfort. “Babe, come on. Talk to me.” His lips pressed into a thin, straight line. “I’ll change the kitchen back,” he appealed. “I promise. You won’t even know I painted. Just a little paint thinner and a little scraping and we’ll be good to go. No harm, no foul.” He searched Babe’s face for a glimpse of a smile, but instead, they only shut their eyes and turned away from him, distressing Asher even more. “Babe?”

“Those awful fumes,” they sighed. Babe could barely focus on anything but the pain exploding in their brain and the wave of nausea churning in their gut. They clung to the last bit of control they could muster, pointing to their head with one hand as they hid their face with the other. “Migraine,” they finally explained shortly. “Go away. Please.”

Asher knew that Babe occasionally suffered from migraines. Based on what he could piece together from their brief discussion of the condition and what he could find online, he knew that having one meant Babe was in a considerable amount of pain, that sometimes their stomach would get upset or they would see stars in their line of vision, and that other than waiting it out, silence, stillness and sleep were the one things that got Babe through the attack.

What he didn’t understand was why, if Babe was in so much pain, would they ask him to leave? As much as he always respected their boundaries, Asher sensed that there was something else going on, and he was determined to stay by his mate’s side until he found that out.

“But, you’re hurting,” he said, immediately lowering the register and volume of his voice to accommodate them. “Why would you want me to leave? You can’t possibly think I’d let you sit here, alone and in pain.” He scooted a little bit closer, not wanting to spook them, but remind them he would help them anyway he could, even if that waiting with them was all he could do.

They instinctively scowled at Asher, but then when they realized they were directing their frustration onto him unfairly, their scowl crumpled into a frown. That was exactly what they were afraid of and why they wanted Asher to leave them. “Because,” they replied despondently. “I’m so mean when I get one of these. I can’t help it. I try not to be. I really try!” They clutched their head when their own voice rang annoyingly in their own head. “But I don’t want to say anything to you that I don’t mean. I don’t want you to have to deal with me like this. I don’t…” They hunched forward. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Asher’s brow furrowed. “‘This’ as in ‘us?’”

Babe gave a teeny tiny nod.

“Aw, Babe,” Asher laughed, a relief soaking into his body. Once he knew that was what was keeping Babe from seeking him out in their time of need, he felt resolved to provide that for them. He reached out his arms to bring Babe into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about that. Not at all,” he assured them as they couldn’t help but get him in a vice grip as they tried to squeeze away their own pain. “I dunno who taught you that love comes with conditions and limitations, but mine doesn’t. Not when it’s you.” Asher cradled them close as he whispered that vow. “I want you. All of you. I want to help you when you’re feeling like this, if I can. At the very least, I want to be there with you when you’re going through it.” He rubbed soothing circles into Babe’s tight back. “You can say whatever you want and guess what? No way that’ll scare me off. You’re stuck with me. I’ve got the mate-bonded certificate to prove it.”

“Really?” Babe asked dumbly. On one hand, they could barely believe what Asher was telling them. They had spent such a big portion of their lives trying to be the perfect family member, friend, boss, employee, and so much more because they had latched onto the idea that if they wavered from that image of perfection, they were giving the people in their lives cause to walk away. On the other, Asher was so different from anyone they’d ever met before. He was kind, compassionate, so fiercely loyal, strong as hell. Of course he meant it when he said he loved them unconditionally.

They knew it meant it because they felt the exact same way towards him.

“Really truly,” Asher winked, sealing that promise with a kiss on the top of their head. “I love you so much, Babe. You feeling a little irritable when you’re sick sure as hell won’t change that.”

Babe let themselves fall into Asher, their muscles going slack as they stopped trying to fight through the pain. “I love you,” they whispered softly. To their shock, the aggression and frustration that they typically felt during a migraine was nowhere to be found. Instead, they only felt safe and relieved to be in Asher’s arms, even if the ache in their head did continue to plague them.

“Let me get you up on the bed now, hmm?” Asher posited, hooking an arm under their knees and one around their mid-back. “It’s gotta be more comfortable than this hard floor.”

“Mhmm. Thank you,” Babe said as they felt Asher place them onto their new mattress. They let their tired body sink into bed. The faintest memory of their work flashed in their mind, but they decided that they could have the pitch done a day late and no one would even know the difference. Asher’s presence had a way of prompting them to rethink their priorities, especially when it came to work and health.

Asher removed his overalls and tossed them outside the door in case there was any trace of paint odor on his clothes. Once that was done, he climbed next to Babe and held them close. Babe struggled to find a comfortable position, but they were also clearly unable to force their body to move. Their attempt at shifting into the bed was clumsy, looking as if they were only aggravating their migraine more. “Can I help?” Asher asked in that same, soothing low register. When Babe gave him a moan of confirmation, he pulled them into his body, guiding their head to rest on his chest. He brought one gentle hand up to their head and began stroking rhythmically. Asher knew that his gesture probably did nothing to chase away the migraine, but he could have sworn he saw the lines around Babe’s eyes soften at his ministrations.

“And, Honey?” they said sleepily, relaxing into Asher. “The kitchen walls looked great. Tomorrow, I’ll help you finish them.”

“Sounds like an awesome plan,” he murmured, continuing to hold them close and run his fingers through their hair. “Feel better soon, Babe. I’ll be right here with you until you do. And forever after that.”

Chapter Text

“This stupid piece of plastic!” Smartass grumbled, pressing the “source” button on the remote and pointing it aggressively at the TV. “Unfreeze, unfreeze!” They considered just tossing the remote through the TV, but before they could follow through with that intention, Aaron reached over and snatched the remote away from them.

“Okay, I think I’ll just take that,” he remarked. “Before we’ve got to buy a new TV. Let the master technician handle this.” Aaron dramatically twitched his fingers to catch Smartass’s attention before he lightly pressed the exact same button they had been pounding. Instantaneously, the TV screen flipped from black to the homepage of their streaming service’s queue, all ready to go. “Voila,” Aaron said, taking a bit of a bow.

“How do you always do that?” Smartass said petulantly. They rolled their eyes before reaching over to Aaron’s shirt and pulling him in a little closer “Thank you, Aaron.” They gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Aaron smiled as soon as he felt their lips touch his skin. He proudly placed the remote on the end table next to him and took the bowl of popcorn in his lap. Smartass quickly thrust their hand into the bowl to collect a handful of kernels mixed with M&Ms.

“Well, what can I say?” Aaron gloated, flexing his fingers. “I’ve got a magic touch.” He scooped out some popcorn for himself, careful to leave as many M&Ms as he could because he knew Smartass had quite the sweet tooth. “I’m telling you, if you don’t press so hard and actually wait for the signal to go through without waving the remote around like it’s a conductor’s baton, you’ll actually be able to watch TV in your own apartment.”

Smartass shrugged. “Why bother with all that?” they questioned. “You can just be my own personal remote butler.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron waved off through a mouthful of popcorn. “Just remember, one day you’re gonna need me and I’m not gonna be there to fix it.” He picked up the remote and began clicking through the queue to find the movie they had decided to watch tonight.

Smartass nearly choked on their popcorn. They coughed and sputtered, patting their chest to help them breathe again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Aaron gasped when he saw his partner struggling to breathe. “Here. This’ll help.”

“Popcorn down the wrong pipe,” Smartass explained raggedly before their breathing began to even out.

Aaron quickly handed them their glass of water, which they drank greedily to clear their throat.

“Thanks.” After Smartass finished their water, they looked up at Aaron with wide, wounded eyes. “Why would you say something like that?”

Aaron raised a puzzled eyebrow. “Because water does help?” he observed wryly.

“No,” Smartass insisted. “Why would you say ‘One day you’re gonna need me and I’m not gonna be there to fix it’?” They pulled at a button on their cuff, something they always did when they were nervous. “Where are you going? You’re planning on leaving sometime soon, or what?”

Aaron shook his head, quite taken back that his comment affected them so greatly. “No, no, no,” he refuted quickly. “I’m not going anywhere. And I definitely don’t plan on leaving here or leaving you,” he assured them, taking the hand that was still fingering their cuff and taking it in his hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. At all.”

Smartass wasn’t convinced. “How did you mean it?”

Their question made Aaron realize he hadn’t considered the implications of the line. It was just a phrase that had become ingrained into his vocabulary after hearing it so much that it became detached from its meaning. At least, to him.

Clearly not for Smartass.

“Well, I guess I meant it in the sense that someday I’d be dead and thus, unable to fix your electronic devices.” He grimaced. “Although that’s not much better I guess…”

“That’s worse!” Smartass burst, squeezing Aaron’s hand a bit harder. “Don’t you think that’s pretty morbid talk for date night? Or… any night?”

“I didn’t really think about it. It’s just something my dad would tell me all the time,” Aaron rationalized. “Somewhere along the way, I guess I picked up the habit.”

“Your family is so weird,” Smartass criticized in a huff. “That is not a normal saying, at all.”

“I guess when you scrutinize it like that, no, it’s not,” Aaron relented. “But, when you divorce it from its darker denotations, it’s kind of a declaration of love, isn’t it?” He shifted his weight so that his head came to rest at the crook of Smartass’s shoulder. “I mean, you don’t get that distraught over the idea of someone you think is kinda okay, do you?” He tipped his chin back a bit to lock eyes with Smartass. “I’d miss you if you were gone.”

Smartass cracked a smile at Aaron’s goofy attempt to make them feel better. “Yeah, I’ll bet you would,” they groaned before getting serious again.

Aaron had always loved to see the passion that constantly burned in their eyes when they had a new, innovative idea at a meeting or a breakthrough on the project they were working on when they had previously worked at Vesper. He didn’t think there could possibly be a more attractive sight than that, but, he found out after they had begun a romantic relationship, there was one way to improve upon that look.

When Smartass looked like that because they were passionate about him.

“I don’t even want to think about the possibility of something like that,” they admitted in earnest. “Forget the fact that I’d never be able to watch TV again,” they said shakily. “I’d miss you so much. Too much.” They cupped Aaron’s jaw with their palm, rubbing lightly. “I can’t go back to life without you. Not after having you in it.”

“You’ll never have to,” Aaron vowed. “You and me? We’re in it for the long haul.” He whistled to emphasize the point. “But I’m sorry I upset you.” He draped an arm over their chest. “I promise, next time something obscenely pessimistic or morbid pops into my head, I won’t say it.”

“Oh, I somehow doubt that,” Smartass quipped. “Besides, who am I to censor your brilliance? As long as you say nice things after it like that, then it’s okay.” They were about to make a move to drag the popcorn bowl closer to them, but Aaron noticed their intention first and grabbed it for them. “‘In it for the long haul,’” they echoed proudly. “Now that, I like the sound of.” They settled back against the couch as Aaron’s weight settled into them. “So, go ahead. Work your magic touch, master technician,” they jeered. “And let’s watch a movie.”

Chapter Text

“I… I just wanted to see the sun again,” Lovely wept. Their mind told them to curl into a ball to escape the waves of burning pain stretching across their skin, but the idea of even moving a muscle filled them with dread at the increase in pain that would cause. “It’s been two months, and I… I…” They broke off to stop themselves from subjecting Vincent to any more of their misery.

“I know, I know,” Vincent Solaire sighed. It was a common, but severely underestimated, impulse of newly turned vampires. All humans, to some extent, craved sunlight. It was a natural instinct. But sunlight was but a deadly siren’s song for vampires. Any slight exposure caused heinous burns and too much sunlight was fatal, despite the powerful magic that protected them from aging and sickness. It was a cruel trade off, but if Lovely wanted to survive and to thrive as a vampire, they were going to have to get used to that new fact. “But you cannot try anything like this ever again.” Vincent shuddered as a memory of Lovely lying in the backyard of his home, shaking and sputtering as they fought against something as seemingly benign as a clear, spring day. “Sunlight is incapacitating even in small doses. And you’re much much more sensitive right now because you’re a newborn. With time and proper protection, you’ll be able to tolerate it,” he repeated to them yet again, like he had been for the last several days. “Not yet.” He sat next to Lovely on their bed, aching to wrap them in a hug but resisting only because he knew more touch would probably bring them more pain until the sores that littered their skin calmed down a bit. “The burns should disappear quickly with your accelerated healing. Hang in there a little longer.”

“I miss it so much.” Lovely gingerly pressed their palms into the mattress to sit up a bit, trying to relieve the pressure on their back. “Even as a child, I loved to be out in the sun. And then, when I got my powers, I felt such a connection to the sun. Like I could feel its rays find their way into me and recharge my threads. I… I know that’s not how it works.” They scratched at a blister on their wrist that had just begun to heal over. “But that’s how it felt, to me. I was an electro. A powerful electro. It saved my life. It brought me to you. And now, and now…” They resumed their sobbing. “I miss the sun. I’ll never feel it like that again, will I?”

Vincent nodded impotently, still wary of touching Lovely but nearly shaking with the need to take them in his arms. “Oh, Lovely, I’m sorry.” He tried to push away the gnawing feeling of guilt that gripped his chest. “I... I swore to protect you... and now look at you." Instead of letting his hands find Lovely, he buried his own forehead into his sweaty palms. “I took it all away when I turned you. If only I had been second faster that day, or stronger, or something. Anything! How could I let those shades anywhere near you? How could I let them almost… almost…?”

Lovely quieted at Vincent’s raw anguish.

He exhaled to steady his nerves. “I failed that day, but I am not going to fail you again, Lovely. I promise. I’m not going to let any harm come to you. Even if that means I’ve got to lock us both in here until your body gets more adjusted to the new magic. Even if I’ve got to put light-blocking curtains over every window in Dahlia. I love you so much, Little One.” He bit his lip hard enough to cause himself pain, wishing he could use it to take away Lovely’s. “I’m so sorry that I took so much away from you so suddenly like that.”

Lovely squinted a bit as they looked at Vincent. They noticed the sallowness of his skin, the droop of his head, the wrinkles in his clothes… He had run himself ragged, doing everything within his power and even a little more than that to help see them through this transitional period. Lovely felt a bit of a burning sensation form in their cheeks, but that feeling had nothing to do with the sunburns.

“You didn’t take anything away from me, Vincent,” they said sheepishly. “You gave me… so much. You saved me that day. You gave me a new life.” They reached out their hand to take hold of Vincent’s wrist. “You gave me a new life with you. I’ve been taking that for granted, only focusing on what I don’t have anymore. I hope you know that even when I do that, I never, ever regretted having you turn me.” They let their lips curl into a smile. “I know we never talked about it, but you have to know I’d thought about being turned at some point in my life, didn’t you?”

Vincent blinked owlishly, speechless at their admission.

“Because I love you, and I want to spend my life with you, as long as you’d have me,” they admitted. “I never said anything because I didn’t want you to feel forced into taking me for, y’know, forever.

“Lovely, no, never,” Vincent denied vehemently. He scooted closer, relieved to see some of their burns fading. “I love you so much. Even forever’s not enough.”

Lovely relaxed their shoulders a bit as the pain in their body faded a little bit. “I love you, too,” they declared. “I know that this won’t be the last time I cry over not being an electro or not seeing the sun or a million other things that come with the territory of being a vampire. But I want this to be the last time that you ever entertain the notion that I regret having you turn me, or that you failed to protect me that day. Just the opposite, Vincent. You saved me.” They decided to fight through their pain and move closer so that they could rest their head on Vincent’s chest. “I wouldn’t trade you for a thousand suns.”

When they seemed to tolerate and even seek out his touch, Vincent gently laid a hand on Lovely’s hip, just a sweet and subtle reminder that he was there for them as he always would be. He did not know if he would ever erase all his guilt regarding Lovely’s turning, but he owed it to them to make the effort as long as they were making the effort to adjust to their new vampire life.

Neither Vincent nor Lovely was perfect, but they could keep trying together for all eternity.

Chapter Text

Elliott barely had the strength to drag himself through the front door, but some way, somehow, he managed to get there, kick off his shoes, and stumbled onto the couch. Every muscle in his body was sore from being heavily overworked and the strain in his eyes was almost too much to bear. Defense Dreamscaping was an important job that was best described as long stretches of solitude where the dreamwalker built up the protection for the client that was for extra security. Insurance, if you will. Occasionally, though, the reason for a client’s need to have that protection showed up to attack the dreamscape. It was during these times that Elliott’s work would suddenly be better described as an “Offensive Dreamscaper,” because it became his job to deter and to subdue that threat until a D.U.M.P. Investigator could be called to arrest the perpetrator. In those cases, Elliott was the only thing standing between the person who hired his services and a threat to that client’s mental security. He took that job incredibly seriously and would do everything in his power to reinforce the dreamscape he crafted and to take out anyone who even attempted to slip past him.

And tonight had been one of those nights.

Elliott briefly considered rising so that he could change and share a few minutes in bed with his partner, who actually worked a job that took place during the day, like most non-dreamwalkers. After a moment, though, he decided he was even too beat to do that. Besides, he told himself, he didn’t want to wake them up if he got into the bed too clumsily or noisily. Elliott knew he could put them back to sleep if that happened, but with how drained he was feeling, Elliott presumed even that bit of simple, easy magic would be too difficult for him. Not only that, but natural sleep was technically more restful than induced sleep, and his Sunshine needed all the sleep they could get.

So, Elliott stretched and yawned, sprawling out on the couch in a position he knew would make him sore whenever he woke up and closed his eyes. Leave it to a dreamwalker to know all the best sleep hygiene practices only to follow none of them at the slightest bit of inconvenience.

He closed his eyes, fully ready to lose himself to sleep, except the dull aches and pains kept preventing him from falling into a deep sleep. He was not sure if a minute or an hour passed when he found himself pulled back to wakefulness when the overhead lights turned on, flooding the room with brightness.

“Elliott?” Sunshine whispered.

He squinted instinctually against the harsh light. “Hey, Sunshine,” he mumbled, the strain in his eyes bearing down on each eyeball.

“Why are you out here?” They kneeled next to the couch when they noticed Elliott was too tired to sit up and make room for them like he often did. Sunshine schooled their face into a neutral expression, though when they took in the sight of Elliott’s disheveled appearance, they became quite worried. “Long night at work?”

“That’s quite the understatement,” he grimaced. “Had to deal with an attempted break in today. It ended up zapping a lot of my power. Just the way it goes sometimes. You’ll be happy to know that not one iota of the client’s dreamscape was compromised.” Elliott began to yawn, scrambling to cover his mouth.

“I’m so proud of you. You’re so good at your job. Your clients don’t know how lucky they are to have you in their head.” Sunshine meant every syllable, though sometimes, they could not help but wish Elliott would have chosen an easier profession that was not so taxing on his complex powers or his overall psyche.

“Hmm, well, this one was,” Elliott bashfully acknowledged. “Sunshine, w-what time is it?”

Sunshine craned their neck to check the digital clock underneath the TV. “4:41AM.”

Elliot clicked his tongue. “Your alarm isn’t going to ring for another two hours. Just go back to bed. I'm fine.”

“You look like shit,” Sunshine quipped, rolling their eyes.

“Says you,” Elliott joked. “Go on, Sunshine. I don’t want to cut into your sleep tonight. Aren’t you tired?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Sunshine blew a raspberry with their lips to support their point. “I love being with you any time of the day or night.” When they lightly kissed Elliott’s forehead, they were surprised to see that he winced at their gentle touch. Sunshine gasped quietly. “Are you in pain?” they asked in distress. “I thought the stuff happening in the dreamscape didn’t carry over into reality?” They tried so hard to keep everything Elliott had told them about the empowered world straight, but sometimes, it all was so confusing to them.

“No, no, you’re right,” Elliott said quickly. “What happens in dreamscape stays in dreamscape. I’m not injured like I got in a physical fight or something. In sustaining the dream and the protective borders I form around it, I pull at my magical threads, sort of like you use muscles to move a body part. When you overwork a muscle, it gets sore. Maybe swollen. Maybe stiff. Same thing with our threads. When a dreamwalker overworks his dream magic.” He pointed to himself with both of his thumbs. “This is what you deal with. Being tired as hell, but unable to fall asleep.”

Sunshine’s eyes swept over Elliott, noting the tension in his face, the slight trembling of his torso, and the crooked positioning of his limbs. “Oh, my poor dream defender,” they sympathized. It was a nickname that they had bestowed upon Elliott after he told them about his job. He might always scoff at it, but Sunshine knew that he enjoyed the term. “Then let me help you get to sleep.”

“Oh,” Elliott sighed. “But I’m okay, really, Sunshine. I just…”

“Nonsense,” Sunshine purred. “How many times have you helped me back to sleep after a nightmare? Or, literally jumped in the nightmare to stop it from happening?” They swiveled around so that they could lean against the couch cushion as they let one hand slowly stroke up and down Elliott's arm. They let their fingers trace the tattoo of a dreamcatcher that morphed into a moon that spread across his bicep. “For once, you need me. You are what’s important right now. And I’m not going to let you down.”

They made a move to adjust his pillow, but Elliott reached out to cup their cheek. “I need you every day,” Elliott asserted confidently. “I might be the one with powers, but you’re the one who’s got me under their spell.”

Sunshine smiled at Elliott’s forthright declaration of love. “Yeah, well, if that’s the case, then do what I say and let me help you relax, okay? Please?”

“‘Please?’” Elliott repeated, mocking their intonation. “How could I say no to that?” To be honest, Sunshine’s offer sounded heavenly to him. He felt like he barely had the strength to blink, let alone to withstand his partner’s charm.

“Good. Then let me just fix your pillow here so it supports your neck.” They quickly did as they narrated. “And I’ll grab you this.” They snatched the throw blanket off of the back of the couch and spread it across Elliott. “How’s that feel?”

Elliott was about to answer, but he suddenly felt a lump in his throat form, blocking his ability to talk momentarily. He took in the scene before him and awestruck. He was, after a long, hard day with the one person he loved the most giving up the last few hours of precious sleep to care for him in his weakened, pained state. The idea could’ve brought him to tears. The dreamwalker had never imagined his own life would mirror the dreams he kept in his heart, much too afraid to ever craft in a dreamscape, lest he’d stay there forever. The more Elliott thought about how lucky he was to have Sunshine, the closer he got to openly weeping in front of them.

“It f-feels good,” he choked out, too overwhelmed with both pain in his body and wonder in his head. “Th-thanks, Sunshine.”

“Now, just take a few deep breaths for me. In and out,” they instructed, letting their fingers sweep through his hair from his scalp to ends. “There we go,” Sunshine crooned as Elliott breathed along with them. “You protect people when they are at their most vulnerable all the time,” Sunshine marvelled proudly. “But now it’s time to let yourself feel vulnerable. To let yourself let go. To let yourself rest.”

“Mhmm,” Elliott murmured lazily, letting his suddenly heavy eyelids close. He felt his body melt into the cushions a little more.

“Goodnight, Elliott,” Sunshine whispered. “I love you.” They were so close to Elliott that he could feel the warm breath from their speech waft over his face. To know they were right there with him only deepened his relaxation. He almost wanted to open his eyes back up, if only it meant he could look at their gorgeous face for a little longer. As if Sunshine could read his thoughts, they began to hum lightly, offering him a gentle reminder that they were right next to him and would be through the night.

Chapter Text

Sweetheart felt their vision begin to go dark around the corners, shuddering with every breath. The bruises that marred their body were painful, like a constant ache that slinked its way up and down their body. Sweetheart’s head pounded. Their chest was too tight. Their gut was practically on fire. Their legs felt like they’d shatter if they even tried to stand. The stealth fought through the dizziness and confusion to remember where they had been and what they were doing that led them to this state.

Someone’s arms tightened around them and they instinctively bucked. “Get off, get off!” they said through split, swollen lips. “No!” Just as Sweetheart began to pull at the meridian to wield a magical defense, a soft voice stilled their frenzied movements.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Milo Greer whispered. “It’s okay, Sweetheart. It’s me, Milo. I’m right here. Don’t move. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Sweetheart let themselves lean back into Milo’s embrace. They were still dazed and confused, but at least they knew they were safe because Milo was there.

“Wh’t happened?” they asked, keeping their tired eyes open to search for Milo’s.

He quickly caught their gaze and gave them a slight squeeze, a tangible reminder he was there with them. “Some nutjob must’ve waited for you on your walk home and attacked you,” Milo explained. “A dreamwalker, from the looks of it. He got the jump on you, but you fought him off. Seems like the son of a bitch didn’t bet on me coming by to surprise you with a ride since I got off a little early tonight.”

Sweetheart swallowed, focusing on Milo’s soothing voice to ignore the growing roar echoing in their ears. “Y’okay?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Milo winked. “Don’t you worry about me,” he assured. “I shifted and pulled him off of you. He was so stunned and, let’s face it, I am one formidable wolf when provoked. And even when I’m not. Let’s just say the only way that bastard is going to be able to make a move without pain is in his dreams.” Milo pointed to his car. “When he was unconscious, I took the liberty of grabbing your magical-dampening cuffs and locking him in the trunk. I reported the attack to D.U.M.P. and they said they’d dispatch a few people to us tout suite, including a healer.” Milo sighed. “Though they seem to be taking their sweet time with it.”

“Hmm,” Sweetheart responded, bits and pieces coming back to them as Milo spoke. “I remember now. He’s with CloseKnit.” They bent their knees to bring their legs a little bit closer into their chest. “Wanted me to back off from poking around in their stupid cult. He was trying to… To…” They began to cough.

“Okay, okay now,” Milo soothed, rubbing their chest until their coughing fit passed. “Take it easy.” He was relieved that no blood was coming from their mouth as they did so, but he was still anxious for D.U.M.P. to show up to get Sweetheart some help.

Sweetheart blinked owlishly, barely able to grasp the thoughts that seemed to float up and out of their head. Another wave of exhaustion hit them. “I’m tired,” they said simply, letting their eyes slip shut.

“No, no, no!” Milo yelped. “Sweetheart, no! You’ve got to stay awake.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, reluctant to cause Sweetheart any more pain, but he knew how dangerous falling asleep could be after they had fought with a dreamwalker who no doubt hit them with sleeping magic during the attack. If Sweetheart fell asleep before his magic could be removed from them, they were risking falling into a dreamscape controlled by that maniac. Milo didn’t know what exactly that would entail, but he knew it would be nothing good. Dreamwalkers were notoriously creative and once in a dreamscape, the sheer potential of their powers was practically limitless. As distraught as it made Milo to see Sweetheart broken and wounded, he knew that letting them fall asleep would be the most dangerous thing for them. “Stay with me, don’t you dare close your eyes!”

Somewhere in the deep recesses of their mind, Sweetheart knew that. “Mmkay,” they agreed, trying valiantly to hang onto consciousness if only for Milo. They held fast to that goal, although the pull of sleep kept a tight grip on them. “But it hur’s. An’ I’m so tired.” They wished they could’ve kept the slur out of their voice.

“I know it does, and I’m so sorry, but you gotta hang in there a little longer.” Milo’s heart nearly broke in two as he heard his mate’s pitiful pleas for a respite. “I wish I could heal you myself, but I’m worried the healing magic will put you to sleep. The last thing you want is to be at that cult-freak’s mercy. I won’t let that happen.” He clutched them a little tighter, letting their head rest on his chest as he cradled them in his arms. “C’mon, Sweetheart. You gotta stay strong. You can do this. I know you can. Stay awake now. Talk to me.”

Sweetheart's head lolled to the side as they clumsily grasped for Milo’s shirt, as if the haptic sensation could help keep them awake and aware. “Talk?” they said, drawing out the single syllable. “Talk ‘bout what?”

“Anything!” Milo burst when he saw how Sweetheart was struggling. Between the energy they had spent in the fight, the injuries they had sustained, and the dreamwalker’s magic still buzzing around in their body, Milo knew that the fact that Sweetheart had not yet fallen asleep was a testament to their fierce determination. He also knew that at some point, Sweetheart was going to collapse. They had hung on for so long. Milo knew he had to help them keep up their strength until a dreamwalker from the Department could protect Sweetheart from getting ensnared in a dreamscape controlled by one of CloseKnit’s devotees. “Tell me about that time you phased into the kitchen of that fancy sushi joint.”

“Ummm…” Sweetheart mumbled, growing more dazed and confused by the minute. “Lotta fish…” they recalled. Their muscles quivered at the effort it took them not to collapse in a heap against Milo’s broad frame. “Please, I just wanna sleep…”

Milo quickly realized that having Sweetheart keep themselves awake with a story was not going to work. “Sweetheart!” he lightly tapped at their face, careful to avoid the bruise forming under their left eye. “Don’t go to sleep now!” he encouraged, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

“I’m trying…” Sweetheart answered. They were more tired than they could ever remember themselves being. No all-nighter at D.A.M.N., training-heavy day at the D.U.M.P. Academy, or a late-night lead on a case had ever pushed them this far towards sleep without going over the edge. “B-but…” Sweetheart’s eyes filled with unshed tears as the frustration and misery built up inside them. “I’m so tired. I don’t know how much longer I can…”

“Okay, okay,” Milo hushed, searching his brain for an idea to keep Sweetheart awake. “Don’t worry, Sweetheart. I won’t let you go,” he vowed before closing his eyes and shifting back into his wolf form. “I can keep you awake all day long if that’s what you need.”

Milo carefully supported Sweetheart with his body, curling his face around theirs. He began to enthusiastically lick Sweetheart’s face, hoping his cool, moist tongue would keep them awake. His tail wrapped up flicked up and down their legs, another tactile sensation that could keep them awake and safe. He nuzzled his head close to Sweetheart. They couldn’t resist the urge to bring their hand up to Milo’s snout so they could give him the chin rubs that they knew he loved so much. The feeling of their fingers brushing along Milo’s soft fur and sturdy body distracted them from their overwhelming desire to sleep. Milo whined happily, continuing to lick their face and wag his tail when he saw Sweetheart’s eyes open wider.

After a few moments, wailing sirens approached. Milo howled and kneaded his paws in excitement and relief at the knowledge that help for Sweetheart was arriving.

“That’s them!” Sweetheart whispered through a sleepy grin.

“Hey, Investigator! You awake?” a familiar voice rang out. Sweetheart slowly recognized the voice as Syd, a rookie dreamwalker on their squad who they knew was more than capable of defending them in any dreamscape. “Damn,” he said to himself. “You are awake! That’s amazing.”

Milo growled a bit, still in his wolf form and pressed into Sweetheart.

“Got it. Not the time for accolades. Yup, yup, yup,” Syd quickly assuaged, kneeling beside Sweetheart and putting his hand on their sweaty forehead. “Your mate filled us in on what happened when he called in the report. I’m going to help you now, okay? Just relax.”

The last thing Sweetheart remembered before finally slipping away into blessed unconsciousness was feeling Milo’s steady heartbeat as he protected them with his soft wolf-cuddles.

When Sweetheart finally woke up again, they were tucked in their own bed under two blankets and one sprawled-out Aggro at the foot of their bed. Their injuries had been healed, their psyche protected, and their cultist suspect thrown behind bars for attempted unlawful dream manipulation. Hopefully, his arrest would lead to a crack in CloseKnit’s seemingly impervious defense.

But Milo didn’t want to worry about any of that right now. All he wanted to do was take care of his mate as they recovered from their attack and reassure himself that they were safe, secure, and right by his side.

He offered them a steaming mug after helping them sit up against a stack of pillows. “Brought you some tea,” he said, his voice laced with a bit of gravel.

Sweetheart gratefully accepted the mug, the hot liquid warming them from the inside out. “You kept me awake,” they said, in awe of Milo’s ability to help them defy a process as natural and innate as sleep. “I was so tired and you kept me awake.” They nearly sobbed as the gravity of the situation hit them. “Thank you.”

Milo tipped his forehead to meet theirs as he curled a hand around their neck. “I said I’d keep you safe no matter what. I meant it.” He brushed their cheek with a kiss. “I love you so much, Sweetheart.”

“I love you, too,” Sweetheart replied honestly.

“Now, the healer said sleep was going to be the best thing to get you back to 100%,” Milo advised wisely, already beginning to work himself out of his sweatpants and T-Shirt. “I promise I won’t drool all over your face this time.”

Sweetheart giggled as Milo shifted into his wolf form. “You can drool all over me if you want,” they declared, opening their arms to let Milo fit himself beside them. Sweetheart let themselves relax as they lazily gave Milo ear scritches. “Goodnight, Love. Sleep well,” they hummed before settling back into the pillow to join their mate into a safe, content slumber.

Chapter Text

Asher raised an eyebrow and gave what he presumed to be a suave, smoldering smirk from the passenger seat of the car to the driver. In actuality, it was more of a dazed, loopy smile. “Are you a volcano? Because you are smokin’!”

Babe let out a chuckle as they turned into the parking lot, searching for a space that was close to the door. They didn’t want to make Asher walk any further than he had to in his current state. “Well, thank you,” they placated, a slight zap of electricity raising the hairs on the back of their neck as Asher continued to flirt with them the whole ride home. He had apparently forgotten that he and Babe had been together for nearly two years. “That’s very nice of you to say,” they responded, trying to hide how flustered they were at hearing Asher’s unfiltered thoughts that were just as complimentary as when he was in control of his mental faculties. “You’re quite the volcano yourself.”

“I say it because it’s true, Babe. You are incredible,” he continued shamelessly, sending a finger gun their way. “Hey, we stopped moving,” Asher noticed, his head twisting back and forth as he craned his neck to look out of the passenger window. “Whoa, nice place!” He swirled his tongue around his mouth, momentarily spellbound by the fact that two thick sets of gauze were somehow present. “Uhh…” A puzzled look of consternation crossed his face. “What… what’s in my mouth?” he wondered, his speech garbled as he tried to talk around the gauze. He was about to stick his fingers in his sore, swollen mouth to fish out the offending objects.

“No, no, no!” Babe shrieked, catching his hand before he could do that. “You just had surgery,” they reminded him for probably the fifteenth time during the ten minute car ride. “You need those gauze to stay in there for a little bit more. They’re there to help your mouth feel better.”

Asher had just been released from the oral healer after having his wisdom teeth removed. All four were impacted, meaning that he had to be knocked out for the healing to take place. Clearly, the healing magic from his procedure hadn’t yet released its grip on his sensibility.

Babe unclicked their own seatbelt. “Now sit tight. I’ll come around to help you.” They sped out of the car, too nervous to leave Asher alone all hopped up on healing magic for even the two seconds it took for them to step around and open up his door for him. Healing magic often left patients sleepy and dazed, but, as the oral-healer had explained to Babe, due to shifters’ teeth being so densely infused with magic due to the way their teeth grew and changed during their shift, any sort of dental work for shifters required an amount of magic that left them just as dazed as a the anesthetic from an unempowered surgery would.

“You’re back!” Asher cheered when Babe opened his door, the gauze clearly forgotten about even as he struggled to talk around them. He caught sight of their apartment complex again. “Whoa, nice place!”

“It sure is,” Babe agreed, reaching over Asher to remove his seatbelt. “Think you’re okay to stand? Then we can go in and get you settled at home.”

Asher squinted. The gentle movement made his cheeks even more closely resemble a balloon nearly filled to capacity. As cute as his chipmunk cheeks were, Babe did not want to keep Asher out of their home for any longer. They knew soon the pain would be back, so they wanted to get Asher home and have him fall back asleep before their mate felt even a shred of discomfort from his procedure. “Home?” Asher lazily pointed to the building, his arm drooping even at that slight effort from his fatigue. “Are you telling me I live here?”

“That is indeed what I’m telling you.” Babe gripped Asher at his underarms, hoisting him up from the car. “There we go now.” They kicked the door closed with their foot and quickly locked the vehicle. “We live here together.”

Asher stumbled a bit, as if he almost forgot that to walk, he’d have to move his legs. “I live with you!?” he gaped, almost falling over in shock. Babe quickly shifted his weight so that he tipped into their shoulder, rather than away from it. Asher clumsily wrapped his arms around their waist. “We live together?” Asher’s face lit up into a wide smile. “Like, together-together?” he pressed.

“Together-together,” Babe confirmed, entering the complex and making their way to the elevator. “Of course we live together. You’re my mate.”

“Your mate!?” Asher began to claw at Babe’s shirt-collar for enough leverage to stand up. All it really did was wrinkle their favorite striped shirt. Instead, Asher lolled his head around his neck until he finally had a decent enough angle to meet Babe’s gaze. “We’re mates?”

“That’s right,” Babe nodded, kneeing the elevator button to take them to your floor. “We’re mates who live together and love each other. You know all this. You’re just a little confused from all the healing magic in your body. The healer said that should go away by the end of the night. Just relax and we’ll get you comfy in bed in no time,” they promised.

They intended for that to appease Asher, but instead, his face crumpled and tears began to seep out of his slightly dilated green-grey eyes. “You’re… my mate…” he repeated again, trying to breathe through the tears of joy. He hugged them close, almost causing them both to topple over onto the elevator floor. “I love you so much.” Asher tried to cup their cheek, but his depth-perception was still impaired, so he settled for clasping their bicep. “My mate. I’m… I’m so lucky. You’re… you’re amazing!”

Once the elevator arrived on their floor, Babe half-carried Asher out of the elevator as he continued to wax poetic. “You’re so hot. Look at your body! And your face!” Asher gushed, his feet barely leaving the ground at all as he let Babe lead him down their hallway. “Just fucking perfect,” he purred. Asher almost let himself relax right then and there, but suddenly, he straightened his spine and waved his hands in a wild gesture. “But you’re more than that. So much more,” he quickly added. “You seem so smart and you’ve got it all together and I’m so lucky to have found you. And you like me enough to enter into a mate-bond with me?” He sniffled, letting the back of his palm swipe across his forehead as he still dangled off of Babe’s grip. “I never thought I could be so lucky. Thank you,” he cried. “Thank you for loving me. And living with me. And being my mate.” He let his head dip into the crook of their neck. “I’m so lucky. So fucking lucky to have you, Babe.”

Babe kept a firm grip on Asher as they dug around in their pocket to find their set of keys. “I’m lucky to have you, too,” they replied honestly. Asher’s unabashed reaction to learning about their relationship had them grinning ear to ear. His words set a warmth ablaze in their chest. “C’mon, let’s get you inside so you can lie down. I bet you’re exhausted.” They finally unlocked the door so they could make their way in the house. Kicking one foot up, they shut the door behind them and hip-checked the lock. “Home sweet home.” They quickly deposited Asher on the couch.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Asher yelped. “How about you come sit with me here, hmm?” he invited, stretching out along the cushions.

“I sure will,” Babe answered, “But first, let’s get you a little more comfortable.” Babe helped Asher slide closer to the end of the couch so they could place a pillow underneath his head. They grunted in effort when it became clear that Asher wasn’t helping them move his body into a more relaxing position. Instead, he was struggling with getting his shirt over his head, clearly interpreting the phrase ‘more comfortable’ differently than Babe intended.

“I’m stuck!” he exclaimed, hands flapping around and pulling at the arm-hole of the shirt.

“Okay, okay,” Babe soothed, pulling the soft, orange tee over his head. “Better?” they asked, tossing the shirt onto the floor in a heap.

“Better now that I can see you,” Asher winked. “But wait!” he gasped, a sudden hush in his voice. “I’ve got a secret for you.” He wiggled his finger to get Babe to lean closer into him. “And you can’t tell anyone,” he warned them, completely unaware of how goofy he sounded. “I mean it! You can’t tell anyone!”

Babe let their hand come to their heart. “I promise,” they vowed.

“Good, good,” he whispered seriously, a finger to his lips. “Magic is real!” His eyes widened in anticipation of Babe’s disbelief. “It’s real, and I have it. I’m a shifter. I can turn into a wolf. Wanna see?” He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate but finding his thoughts to be thick and control over his threads to be much weaker than normal. “Oh, no! Why can’t I shift?” he whined. “You’re never going to believe me if I can’t shift!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Babe calmed, gently rubbing circles into his knee. “I know about magic. I know you’re a shifter, Asher. You’ve shifted for me probably hundreds of times. Your wolf form is somehow the cutest and most deadly animal I’ve ever seen. You’ve got speckles of brown, black, and grey. And a white belly,” they recalled to prove to him that they knew what he was talking about. “I know how much you like belly rubs,” they teased.

“You do know!” Asher beamed. “You know everything! Wow!”

Babe nodded encouragingly. “You can’t shift right now because the healer put a temporary block on your powers. It’ll wear off by tomorrow. You’ve gotta let your mouth heal before you shift. Otherwise, you could hurt your teeth. We don’t want that, do we?”

“My teeth?” Asher wondered aloud, poking at his chubby gums. “My teeth feel weird. My whole mouth feels weird.” He looked up at them. “Why does my mouth feel weird?”

“Because you had your wisdom teeth removed today,” Babe informed him patiently. “Do you remember that? You needed to get them out because they were making it hard for you to chew your food. Now that’s all done, and you’ve got to take a little time to recover. But don’t worry, I’m here with you to help you recover.”

“You are here. With me…” Asher noted thoughtfully. “Because… because… because you’re my mate!” he burst, launching himself up to sit and throwing his arms around Babe, pulling them close. “I love you so fucking much, Babe.” He nuzzled his face into their neck. “I’d kiss you if my mouth wasn’t all buzzy.”

“That’s okay. There will be plenty of time for kisses when you’re all healed up,” Babe promised. “And since there’s nothing wrong with my mouth…” They swept Asher’s auburn hair off of his forehead to plant a gentle kiss on his skin.

“Your lips feel so good on me” Asher said through a small yawn. His facial muscles weren’t up to opening his mouth wide just yet, but he was so tired, he couldn’t stop himself. “Oww..”

“Aww,” Babe mewled, hating to see Asher in any pain. “My poor mate,” they sighed. “You’re so sleepy, Honey. Why don’t you close your eyes and take a nap? I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.”

Asher looked up at Babe sleepily. “Will you be here when I wake up? ‘Cause I almost feel like I’m dreaming. I don’t want to risk you going anywhere.”

Babe continued to let their hand slowly drag through Asher’s hair to help ease him to sleep. “I’ll be right here,” they told him fervently.

“Hmm,” Asher murmured, leaning into Babe’s touch and letting his eyes slip close. “Okay then,” he agreed, his breathing already beginning to even out. “G’night, Babe. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Asher.” Babe gave Asher one more quick kiss as he slipped into sleep. They settled back onto the couch so that they could keep carding their hand through Asher’s hair even as he slept. They knew how much he liked them to stroke his hair, whether he was in human form or wolf form. If they could give him that one, small comfort as he recovered from the procedure, they were determined to do exactly that.

Chapter Text

Sweetheart steadied their weight, ensuring that they lifted with their leg muscles as they dragged Milo down the hallway. “Well, I hope you had a good time at that party,” they grumbled as they fumbled for their keys.

“I did!” Milo Greer burst, before tugging at his hair. “Ow, my head,” he groaned. “So loud. Too loud. It hurts. Shhh, shhh, shhh,” Milo Greer half-slurred, half-groaned. He swayed on his feet, leaning heavily on Sweetheart’s shoulder. They trudged through their front door, intent on getting Milo to the couch as soon as possible. He put up a hand over his mouth, as if to share a secret. Unfortunately, he didn’t bother to whisper at all. “D-d-don’t say anything, okay?” Milo instructed, booping them on the nose. “It’s a secret.”

Sweetheart coughed at the noxious, heavy scent of alcohol on Milo’s breath.

“Secret? What secret?” Sweetheart unceremoniously dumped Milo onto the couch. They were a strong and formidable stealth, but corralling a plastered Milo after he obviously enjoyed a wolf-only stag party (which, Sweetheart was quick to point out, seemed especially ironic) was a tough job.

Milo gave them a wide, stupid grin. “You’re pretty,” he said through a fit of giggles. “So pretty!” He pinched both of their cheeks, happily squeezing and preening their face.

“You’re drunk.” Sweetheart gently rolled their eyes. They carefully extracted their face from Milo’s grasp and used a bit of quality-of-life magic to retrieve a trash can, line it with a plastic bag, and place it near Milo. “If you feel sick, aim for this.” They tapped on the bin. “Not the area rug. I spent weeks picking out the right shade of green. It’s perfect. Ties the whole room together. I’d hate to throw it out.”

Milo puffed out his chest. “I can hold my liquor.”

“From what Asher told me when he dropped you off, you and David barely made it outside of the place before you were imitating fountains,” Sweetheart pointed out, pushing Milo back against the pillows they stacked behind him. “You’re lucky Asher doesn’t drink and was there to help you to my place, rather than leave you to your own devices at yours.”

“Hmm,” Milo pondered, deep in thought at Sweetheart’s claim. “You’re right!” He bonelessly sunk into the pillows. “Asher’s such a good friend.”

Sweetheart hummed and began to remove Milo’s shoes with as little disruption as possible.

Milo stuck a finger in the air, taken with a sudden burst of energy, kicking his legs out of Sweetheart’s grasp as they worked his heel out the shoe. “But but but!” he declared, unaware that Sweetheart scrambled to take off the show before it slipped off and smacked Milo in the shin. “That’s not the rest of the secret. This is.” He wiggled his finger to draw Sweetheart closer. “C’me here. I’ll tell you.”

Sweetheart sidled next to Milo. “What’s the secret?” they asked, trying to hide their amusement.

“The secret is, that you’re pretty and you’re too damn sweet.” He gave Sweetheart a sloppily, ill-coordinated hug, pushing his face into their chest. “Pretty and sweet. How’d I get so lucky?”

“Milo…” Sweetheart began to respond.

“I mean it!” Milo interrupted, moving wildly with each syllable and taking Sweetheart’s torso along for the ride. “I do! I… I think I love you, Sweetheart. I’ve never felt this way before and I’m terrified, to be honest. I never thought I’d be in love. I never thought I’d be the guy to keep a pair of sweats and a toothbrush at someone else’s place. Or plan date-nights. Or stay up texting even when I gotta get up in the morning. Or thinking about when I’m alone, wishing you were there with me.” He swallowed nervously and his lower lip began to tremble. “I was supposed to be the guy who never stayed the night. Who didn’t bother to save a number in my phone, because I’d only use it once. Who never, ever checked ‘plus one’ on a wedding invitation. And now… Now, look at me!” He broke contact with Sweetheart to give them the chance to do as he asked.

“Milo,” Sweetheart grimaced, quite uncomfortable with the turn in conversation. They, too, shared Milo’s feelings and the surprise they would fall for anyone as hard as they realized they had for Milo. As happy as Sweetheart would’ve been to hear Milo’s thoughts, they wanted that sentiment to come from a sober source. “Look, you’re drunk. And I don’t want you saying something you don’t mean to say, or wouldn’t say if you weren’t in your right mind. I think you sh-”

“See?!” Milo argued. “See, even now, you were just going to tell me to stop to respect my privacy, weren’t you? Weren’t you? Because you don’t want to take advantage of a drunk, emotional idiot.”

Sweetheart silently nodded.

“That’s… so… sweet of you!” Milo nearly sobbed. “How do you do it? Why do you do it? I’m an obnoxious, stubborn, arrogant son of a bitch with more self-consciousness than I know what to do with. In other words, a mess, if you get to know me. And you did. But you still choose to be sweet. Why?”

“Because I love you, too,” Sweetheart replied honestly. “You are all those things, Milo, but you’re also caring. And strong. And energetic. And so funny.” They winked. “You’re pretty, too, y’know.” Their smile flickered a bit. “But this conversation can’t happen with you like this, Milo. Now, really, I think I should-”

When Sweetheart made a motion to get up from the couch, he snatched their wrist to keep them in place. “No!” he yelped. “No, Sweetheart. I mean it. I do. Every word. And I want you to know. Hell, I’ve wanted you to know for weeks now, but I was too scared to say anything. I’ll say it now, I’ll say it in the morning tomorrow, I’ll say it two days from now. Two weeks. Two months. Two years. Twenty years! For as long as you can stand to be around me. I promise you that. Drunk or not.” He held his hand over his heart, then brought his hand to Sweetheart’s chest. “Cross my heart.”

Sweetheart followed suit, bringing a hand to their own palm to their heart before moving it to Milo’s. “Same goes for me,” they told him. “Cross my heart.” It was a gesture that felt right. It felt like it expressed what they sometimes struggled to put in words.

“You do?” Milo looked like he could’ve burst into tears of joy. “Oh, Sweetheart!” Milo embraced them again, nearly squeezing the air out of their lungs.

For a moment, Sweetheart let themselves hang onto that moment. They absently wondered if they had been dreaming or hallucinating. That they had somehow conjured Milo up in their mind and deluded themselves into thinking that the happiness they’d found in Milo was a possibility for someone like them. Someone who chose to put their responsibilities before themselves. Someone who valued their independence, and considered relationships to be a threat to that independence. Someone who knew that the hard edge they developed to cope with their lifestyle also served to put off most people.

Despite all that, here they were, holding and being held by someone as amazing as Milo Anthony Greer as he emphatically declared his undying love for them.

It was almost more than Sweetheart could bear.

Sweetheart kissed Milo’s forehead, not even cognizant of the sweat that beaded up along his skin. “Now that we’ve got that squared away, I do think that the rest of this conversation is best left for the morning. And sobriety.” They patted Milo on the back. “You must be exhausted after that party. You want to stay here or go in the bedroom?”

Milo relaxed with a deep sigh as he felt Sweetheart’s hand trail along his sore back. “M’kay, Swee’hea’,” he sleepily agreed. “I’ll go in the bedroom.” He tried to make his heavy limbs cooperate, but a rush of dizziness kept him firmly planted on the sofa.

“Here is fine,” Sweetheart quickly informed him. They conveniently left out their plan to drag some blankets and their pillow onto the floor so they could be near Milo through the night.

“Wha’ever y’say,” he lazily agreed. Just as Sweetheart had thought Milo had fallen asleep, he inhaled sharply, eyes darting wildly around the room and bolting into a seat. “Wait! Aggro! I forgot to feed Aggro!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sweetheart soothed, running their fingers through his wavy hair. “I stopped by your place earlier and fed him. I figured you were going to have a late night after your texts started coming in with so many misspellings and random thoughts.”

“You’re even too sweet to Aggro!” he wailed. “I love you so much.” Milo let his head come to the nape of Sweetheart’s neck. “Mmmm, so much.”

Sweetheart inwardly melted as Milo sought solace in them. “Sleep now. We’ll talk in the morning, once the horrible hangover that’s headed your way clears.”

Milo’s breath evened out and his grip around Sweetheart went slack.

But he didn’t let go. And neither did they.

Chapter Text

Lasko Moore tried to blink away the dryness in his eyes as he stared at the glowering computer screen. He repeatedly clicked the “Save” icon of the document up on his computer, ever paranoid that he would lose the mountains of feedback he had added as marginal comments to the student’s draft of a paper about the ethical use of elemental magic in emergency situations that included unempowered humans. Lasko hoped the student would read his comments, though he wasn’t naive.

A soft knock at the door brought him out of his blue-light stupor.

“Oh, come in,” Lasko beckoned, using a bit of air-magic to pull out the chair that faced his large, oak desk. He had presumed it was one of his students, so he couldn’t hide the surprise on his face when he saw Damien take a seat. “Damien? H-h-hi.” He awkwardly waved before shoving his hand onto his lap. “What’s up? Is something wrong? What are you doing here?"

“Lasko,” Damien greeted cooly, taking care to shut the door behind him quietly. The fire-elemental crossed his ankle over his knee, letting his backpack slip to the floor. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s wrong. I saw your office light on, and I thought I’d stop by to say hi.” He tilted his head to the side. “Hi.”

“How n-n-nice of you,” Lasko smiled. “Gives us a chance to catch up. How is everything going?”

Damien pursued his lips. “Pretty good,” Damien answered honestly. “Classes are alright. Busy, but you know exactly how that goes.” He gestured to Lasko’s computer, the open book titled ‘Student-Focused Feedback,” and the multiple rubrics splayed out on the desk in front of Lasko. “My advanced-fire usage independent study has been super interesting. The prof and I meet in a temperature-controlled practice room. Lets us really unleash our fire.”

“Wonderful,” Lasko smiled. “That’s really great, Damien. I’m so happy to hear things are going well for you academically. And how’s Hux?”

“His new job with the center seems to be going well,” Damien proudly reported. “Seems to be getting into the swing of things. And the kids seem to be quite taken with him, so it’s a win/win.” Damien couldn’t help the slight widening of his grin as he thought of his boyfriend leading a group of toddlers through the Dahlian forests, teaching them about ecology and botany as they connected with the nature around them. “But you’d know that, if you didn’t ditch game night for the last three weeks in a row.”

Lasko’s face fell at Damien’s words. “R-r-right,” he relented, tapping his fingers on the desk. “I’ve just been swamped with grading,” he shrugged. “Hopefully next week. Or if not next week, th-th-then definitely the one after that!”

Damien wasn’t convinced and he made no effort to appear otherwise. “Lasko…” He sighed. “You’re avoiding us.”

“Avoi-oi-oi-ding you?” Lasko repeatedly. Wh-wh-what do you-”

“Admit it,” Damien supplied without hesitation. “It’s not up for debate, because I know it’s true. What I came to ask you is ‘why?’” Damien scooted his chair a little closer. “Why, Lasko? We’re your friends. We miss you.”

“I haven’t been meaning to avoid you,” Lasko relented, dropping his wonderment at Damien’s accusation. “It’s just been, collateral damage. I-I-I’ve been meaning to avoid them,” he explained. “Not permanently or anything. Just until I stop…” He patted his chest. “Until I stop feeling this way.”

Damien’s brow furrowed curiously.

“Heartbroken,” Lasko explained bitterly. “ It’s hard sometimes, to see them together.” It hurts, w'know? Being in love with someone who doesn't love you back.

“Them,” Damien repeated. “Gavin and Freelancer.”

Lasko nodded. “I love them,” he said simply. “Or, I loved them? I’ve been trying not to. Maybe I never did?” Lasko shuddered. “I just don’t know. And I need to figure it out before I see Gavin and Freelancer.”

“Oh, Lasko,” Damien hummed.

“Pathetic, right?” Lasko spit. He rubbed at his eyes, conveniently hiding his face from Damien until he got a little bit more composed. “Go ahead. You can say it. I know it’s true! I mean, what kind of guy falls in love with his best friends and then, I don’t know, takes way too fucking long to realize that they don’t feel the same about him. That they only have eyes for each other. And why shouldn’t they?” he burst. “They’re so in love. So perfect for each other. How could I ever think I could belong with them in that way?”

“Lasko,” Damien sighed. “First of all, it’s not pathetic of you to have feelings for people who don’t reciprocate. If it is, then the whole damn human race just got a lot more pathetic.”

Lasko couldn’t hold back a small laugh. “Thanks. And, it’s not even that I want to be with Gavin and Freelancer. Not really. Not anymore,” Lasko continued. “Because I know how good they are together. I guess I’m just worried, since it’s not them, a-a-a-and I accept that, then, what if it’s no one? Ever?”

“I mean it,” Damien asserted, clearing his throat. “I… Thank you for telling me.” He forced himself to slow down a bit, even as the tips of her fingers warmed. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve been struggling with this, Lasko. And even more sorry to hear you’ve been struggling with it alone.” He stretched a hand out across the desk, steadying Lasko’s fidgeting palm.

“Thank you.” Lasko nodded. “But honestly, you don’t need to do that. You don’t need to say that. I should just get over this already. They’re my friends, for fuck’s sake! And I do want to keep being both Gavin’s and Freelancer’s friend. I’ve never, ever stopped caring about either of them like that.”

“I do need to say it,” Damien confirmed. “I do. Because I mean it. It’s true. You’re hurting. And, I…” Damien began to stutter. It was like he had so many things to say, points to bring up, arguments to make, he couldn’t choose one to speak. “Look. Lasko. I’m no expert in the whole love department. You know that. I… kinda suck.”

“Mm, yeah,” Lasko absently agreed.

“Oh, wow,” Damien mockingly huffed. “Not even going to comfort me with a lie? Okay then.” Yet again, he scooted his chair around the desk and closer to Lasko. “What I mean by that is, you and I know how clueless I am about this stuff. So, listen to me when I tell you, the few things I do know, I’m pretty sure about.”

Lasko searched Damien’s face, silently asking him to go on.

“If it’s not mutual, it’s not love,” Damien said simply. “And it took me a while to realize that. I know it’s hard, when you’re the one in the position you’re in.”

“It’s hard,” Lasko confirmed softly. Damien realized that it was probably the first time Lasko let himself say that aloud.

“I know this is going to sound all pie-in-the-sky, hippy-dippy, let’s-all-hold-hands-and-sing, sickeningly sweet and mushy of me,” the fire-elemental prefaced. “But when Hux and I fell in love, we did it together. It was never not mutual. Never something we didn’t share equally. And that’s what makes it so good.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “I think the phrase ‘unrequited love’ is a misnomer. Because, if it’s unrequited, it’s not real love.”

“But I feel so awful when I think about what’ll never be,” Lasko refuted, letting his head hang. “Doesn’t that mean it’s love?”

“Love doesn’t hurt like that,” Damien replied. “And as strong as those emotions you felt for Freelancer and Gavin were, I can guarantee you that someday, some time, you’ll feel something even stronger for some very lucky people who will feel the exact same way about you.”

Lasko slowly raised his chin to gaze at Damien’s steely expression. “Really?”

“Really,” Damien smiled. “And you know that I don’t make a habit of being wrong.”

“I should hope not,” Lasko scoffed. “And not only that, but you’re modest as hell.”

Damien laughed. Lasko’s cheeky one-liners never failed to get a reaction out of Damien.

“If you need a little more time before you want to hang out with Gavin and Freelancer, I’d understand,” Damien told him in earnest. “I’ll cover for you. Back up any story you want to use as an excuse. But, just promise me you won’t let this fester, okay? That you won’t let this undo the deep friendship you and they have.”

“Okay,” Lasko nodded. “Okay. I’ll try,” he vowed. “And just so you know, w-w-w-what you told me there, about things being mutual? It helps. It helps me cope with how things shook out, y’know. And it gives me something to maybe think about down the road.” He used his hand to gesture a wave. “Way down the road. A long road.”

“Good.” Damien stood up and let his hands splay out. “How about a hug, as long as you don’t tell anyone I initiated it?”

Lasko quickly stood up and fell into Damien’s embrace. The two friends stayed together for a moment before breaking contact.

“Now that that’s settled…” Damien straightened the collar of his shirt. “How about you me and Hux have a boys’ night tomorrow? Just the three of us.”

Lasko forced himself not to look excited at the offer. “Oh, you don’t want me third-wheeling with you guys…”

“You wouldn’t be,” Damien interrupted. “Because you’re our friend and we want to spend time with you. Seriously.” He slung an arm around Lasko. “Save your work and let’s get out of here tonight, okay? We’ll grab a late dinner. I’ll give you a lift home. And then tomorrow, Hux can practice one of his tours on us for his job. He’d be thrilled at the chance.”

“Okay,” Lasko happily agreed. He shut down his computer and grabbed his blazer. “Dinner tonight and a hike tomorrow sounds great. Thank you, Damien.”

“Anytime,” Damien waved off. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Mutuality,” Lasko echoed thoughtfully. “I like the sound of that, y’know?”

“Trust me,” Damien informed him. “When you find it, you’ll love the sound of it.”

Chapter Text

“Can you please, for once, not hog all of the blankets?” Darling grabbed at the corner of the blue blanket and yanked it towards their body. “You are sitting there with more layers than a lasagna, while half my body is exposed to the frigid elements of the night. I am done taking this injustice lying down.” They twisted their body, wrapping up into the fleece blanket tighter around themselves.

“‘Injustice,’” Sam Collins scoffed, purposefully imitating Darling’s accent. “‘Frigid elements.’” He dropped the accent. “We’re inside your heated home!” Despite his grumbling, Sam helped Darling cover themselves more evenly. “I can’t be held responsible for what I do when I sleep. There’s no conscious intention behind the blanket theft! Just part of the ‘Sam Collins’ package.”

Darling huffed. “That’s a convenient excuse. And it’s one I’m going to remember next time I sleep-shift! Maybe a few bites are part of my package.”

“Go ahead,” Sam chortled. “I’ve seen that little occurrence before. Other than the fact that you stick your tongue out the side of your mouth, ain’t nothing different about sleeping next to you in your human form or your wolf form.”

“I do not stick my tongue out of my mouth when I’m a wolf!” Darling defended.

“I know, Darlin’. I didn’t say you do that as a wolf,” Sam smartly quipped before a pillow hit him in the face.

Darling gasped, taking another whack at Sam.

“Okay, okay, I surrender!” Sam put his arms up and splayed out his fingers to show he meant it. “I’m just kiddin’ you.” He scooted closer to Darling. “You know I love falling asleep with you next to me. And waking up with you next to me, too. Wolf or human. Tongue or no tongue.”

“Fine! I forgive you,” Darling dramatically declared. “But only because you’re so cute.” They stretched their neck so that they could kiss Sam, leaning into the taste of his lips. “And so sweet,” they added before deepening the kiss. As they felt Sam return the kiss, their heart fluttered. It was uncanny how something as simple as a gentle touch from Sam could settle Darling’s nerves and let them live in the moment. “So kind and gentle.” They threw their leg up over Sam’s thighs, the faintest trace of pleasure-pain hitting them as one of Sam’s fangs grazed across the inside of their gum. Darling arched their back as one of Sam’s arms hooked around their shoulder and the other hugged their waist. “Just marry me already.”

Sam’s jaw dropped and his body went stiff. “What?”

“What?” Darling leapt up, untangling themselves from Sam in pure shock that the phrase escaped their mouth. “I… I… I…” They idly played with a wrinkle in the sheets, dropped their gaze to avoid what they presumed would be Sam’s horrified stare. “It just slipped out. It was stupid of me to blurt out like that. Look, just forget about it, okay?”

Pulling his lips into a tight line, Sam tried to hide his disappointment. “Is that what you want me to do? Forget you said that? Because, if that’s what you want, I will. Of course I will, Darlin’. But I…” He sighed. “But I think you should know that I would marry you in a heartbeat.”

Darling’s wide eyes snapped to Sam’s. “You would? Really?” They fought to keep the hope out of their voice and their heart, but they couldn’t help either one.

“Really, absolutely, truly, one-hundred percent, ‘yes,’” Sam answered honestly. He brushed the back of his hand along Darling’s cheek. The rough skin of his knuckles contrasted the smooth skin of their face. “I love you, Darlin’.”

“I love you, too, Sam,” Darling breathed out, stifling a tremor in their lower lip. “I haven’t thought too far ahead. Y’know, details and shit. I was always too hung up on how to ask you. When? Where? Should I get a ring? We’ve both said how engagement rings are pointless, so I thought I’d skip that part.”

“You found the perfect way to ask,” Sam assured them. “Because it was real. And just between us. For us.” He lightly squeezed their cheek. “It was the perfect proposal.”

“It wasn’t even a question,” Darling critiqued, ignoring the burn of embarrassment that warmed the tips of their ears. “I basically just told you to marry me.”

Shrugging, Sam laughed, “‘Cause you know what you want. You ain’t the only one with a hard-headed streak, y’know.” Without warning, he pulled them closer to his face. “That’s a trait we share. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He kissed them again, muscles relaxing as he felt them push more of their weight into him. “Details, shmee-tails. We’ll figure all that out another time. For now, knowing that we’re going to get married. That’s enough for me.”

“Oh, Sam,” Darling whispered in delight and relief. “Me, too. You are enough. More than I could’ve ever hoped for.”

Sam expected them to settle their head onto his chest for the night, so he was surprised to see Darling pop up from the bed and rummage through their drawers.

“Aha!” they burst, gathering three folded blankets under their arms. They diligently shook each blanket before draping them across Sam in quick succession.

“Darlin’, I… I’m gonna melt overnight with all this on!” he confusedly observed, kicking his legs to remove the extra blankets. “What are you doing?”

“You deserve to steal every blanket I have if it means we get to be married,” Darling replied, returning to the bed and burying themselves in Sam’s hold. “I love you,” they repeated before closing their eyes and returning Sam’s cuddles.

Chapter Text

“Mmmm,” Aaron moaned, craning his neck to search for a cool part of his pillow. He absently wondered how much time he had left before his alarm would start to buzz. The last thing he wanted to do was go to work today. A general soreness spread throughout his muscles and his head was oddly foggy. Aaron squinted, unprepared for just how bright it would be when he opened his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to see that he wasn’t in his bedroom, but already at the office. Or at least, in the grass area that was just across the street from his office building. “Wh-what?” He struggled to push himself off the ground, but a pair of arms tightened around him and held him in place.

“You’re alright,” the owner of the arms soothed. Aaron would’ve recognized that voice instantly. He’d recognize it in a crowd of thousands. “Just relax.” Aaron felt himself get pulled into a lap. “I’m right here. And you’re okay.”

Aaron sighed, leaning a bit harder into his partner’s thighs. “Smartass…?” He tried to make sense of his surroundings. Lying on the floor, but at work, yet somehow with Smartass, even though they worked the same hours at an office on the other side of town. “I don’t understand…”

“There was a gas leak,” Smartass patiently explained. “At your work today. Don’t worry, everyone is safe now.” They paused to let that fact sink into their brain. “The news app pinged my phone and I saw that the building was being evacuated. I rushed right over from work.”

“A gas leak…” Aaron echoed. “Fuck, now it’s coming back to me. It was just after lunch. I remember feeling dizzy. Kinda sluggish all day. I thought it was just that I had one too many cupcakes from the catering the office brought in today. Damn, guess I was wrong.” He began to cough lightly.

“Not your fault,” Smartass told him, tipping Aaron’s head into the crook of their elbow and rubbing his chest to help him catch his breath. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s your shitty supervisors who didn’t bother to get your building inspected this year to ensure it was up to code.” Smartass forced themselves to contain their rage as they thought about how a few careless decisions could’ve prevented what was almost a tragedy.

“Big surprise,” Aaron grimaced. A snippet of a memory flashed through his mind. “Dana was on their way out and fell,” he recalled. “I was trying to help them. The caterer guy noticed and came over to help me with Dana. He and I were carrying them out and then… I…” Aaron struggled against the denseness that seemed to settle into his forehead. “Things get fuzzy after that.”

“You two got Dana out,” Smartass informed. “You did. You did so good.” As they let their fingers come to the crease in Aaron’s brow, the tension building up underneath his skin began to dissipate. “And they were one of the first people the paramedics took care of. Seemed like Dana breathed in enough of that stuff to lose consciousness even before they had the chance to leave. And then…” A catch in their voice surprised them.

“And then…” Aaron prompted gently.

“I spotted you, started sprinting over and waving like a maniac and when I reached you, you fainted… straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes,” they winked.

“I fainted, too?” Aaron scoffed. “Oh, no. What a wimp! I was shaping up to be such a hero in that story.”

“Hey, you were the hero. Fainting after doing the heroic deed doesn’t change that,” Smartass assured him. “You know I’ll always be there to catch you.”

“I know, I know, Smartass,” Aaron grinned. “Thank you. There’s no one else I’d rather have to catch me.” He stretched his hand, twisting it into their collared shirt. “No one else I’d rather fall into.”

“Hello, sir!” a paramedic brusquely greeted, kneeling next to the couple. “How are you feeling? My name is Rachel. I’m going to check you out.”

“I’m good now that I’m awake,” Aaron answered as the paramedic removed the stethoscope from her neck to check his vitals.

“Can you tell me what day it is?” the paramedic asked to evaluate Aaron’s alertness.

“Yes, it’s Tuesday,” Aaron replied. “My partner told me that everyone got out safely. Is that true?” he said. “Because I know the schedule for the day, all the names of everyone who was in the office today, if you need them.”

“Everyone was safe and stable,” the paramedic confirmed. “Some have been transported to Dahlia General for precautionary measures. I would recommend that include you, too, given the fact that you lost consciousness.” She gave Aaron a perfunctory, expectant look.

“Of course he will,” Smartass answered before Aaron had the chance to refuse.

“Uh, yes,” Aaron agreed. “I’ll go. Maybe help me up?”

Rachel and Smartass steadied Aaron as he stood, escorting him towards the nearby idling ambulance. As he climbed into the back, keeping a firm grip on Smartass’s hand, he could’ve sworn he caught a glimpse of the caterer guy. “Hey, thanks for your help today!” he called, receiving a warm wave from the man.

“No sweat,” the man responded. “It was a team effort.”

“Geordi! Geordi!” the telepath called out at the top of their lungs. Their throat burned from overuse as they scanned the parking lot of the large company that Geordi’s bakery was scheduled to cater for the day. They had tried to listen in to people’s thoughts to get a clue as to where Geordi might be, but everyone’s frazzled thoughts were endless chatter with no real discernible information. Ironically, despite being empowered, they felt completely helpless. “Where are you? Geordi!”

Between the overwhelming worry they felt for their boyfriend and the frustration at their powers not helping them, Cutie was about to cry when finally, they heard his voice.

“Cutie?” Geordi called back. “Hey, Cutie!”

Cutie sprinted over to him as fast as their legs would take them. They didn’t even bother to slow their pace as they approached Geordi. Instead, they slammed into him and pulled him into a strong embrace. “Geordi!” they exclaimed. “Oh, Geordi, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

The baker let himself be held, gratefully returning the hug. “I’m okay, Cutie. Everything’s okay.”

“I almost lost you,” Cutie whispered thickly into his shirt. “I heard about the gas leak on the news, and I knew you would be here all day and of course, it was a delivery order, and I thought… I thought…”

“Shh.” Geordi gripped their shoulders. “Shh, I know what you must’ve thought. But I’m fine. Really. I was in and out of the building retrieving all the cupcakes for the client, so I barely even breathed anything in. And when we got the call to evacuate, that was that.”

“Oh,” Cutie shakily sighed. “That’s good.”

“You never have to worry about losing me,” Geordi vowed. He poked at their head and then their heart. “I’m right here with you. Always.”

“Hey, thanks for today!” a man who was being taken into the back of an ambulance called with a paramedic and another person.

Geordi gave him a warm wave.

“Wow. Seems like your cupcakes were a hit, even amidst a tragedy,” Cutie complimented, finally letting Geordi go but only after they kissed his cheek. “Not that I would expect anything less. Everything you make is incredible.”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” Geordi shrugged. “Otherwise, opening my own bakery would not have been a good move.” He twisted a bit as he raised his voice so the guy getting inside the ambulance could hear him. “No sweat! It was a team effort.”

Cutie raised their brow at Geordi. “Team effort?” they repeated quizzically.

“Oh, some person collapsed when we were all on our way out,” Geordi explained. “That guy and I carried them out so they could get some fresh air and come to.”

“You’re a hero!” Cutie pulled Geordi into an even tighter grasp. “Oh, Geordi. I shouldn’t even be surprised that you’d put yourself in danger like that to help. I’m not surprised. Not surprised at all. It’s completely on-brand for you. I just…” They inhaled sharply. “I just worry about you.”

“Aww, you big worry-wart,” Geordi teased. “Look, Cutie, it was no big deal. Really. Anyone would’ve done it. I just happened to be the one there this time.”

“No,” Cutie refuted. “No, that’s not true, Geordi. Lots of people would’ve walked on by without a second thought. But you? You stop. You notice. You help.” They brought their hand to the back of Geordi’s neck, giving him a slight squeeze. As a telepath, Cutie had a unique insight into the minds of people. That look into their psyches often left them bitter, disgruntled, and jaded when it came to their opinions on society. But then, they met Geordi and slowly learned that the pure, bright warmth that he constantly exuded was genuine. He was honestly as optimistic and thoughtful as he seemed.

Although Cutie would never admit it, it was love at first sight when they met Geordi.

“You are so amazing,” Cutie continued reverently. “I love you so much.”

As Geordi smiled widely, Cutie could feel the movement of his mouth against their skin. “I love you, too, Cutie,” he said before kissing their jaw.

Chapter Text

“Because the last thing I would want to do after a full day of security work is get dressed up and go to some office party where I don’t know anyone,” David Shaw grumbled. He handed Angel a can of orange-flavored seltzer water. “Why would you think I’d ever want to go to something you’ve been bitching about for weeks? Just skip it. We’ll hang out here on Saturday night. We could even order in if you want.”

“Thanks.” Angel cracked the top of the can, letting the rush of fizzy bubbles rise and then dissipate before they took a sip. “I told you before, I can’t skip it. If I don’t go, it makes me look bad.” They crossed their ankle over their knee and leaned their chin onto their hand. “Skipping this bullshit work party could be a reason I don’t get offered an important client or have a team leader reject my version of pitch for a client I already have.”

David rolled his eyes. “That seems a little dramatic,” he said.

“I’m not being dramatic!” Angel hotly countered. “That’s how office politics work, okay? You’ve only ever worked for your father in a family business and now, you work for yourself.” They set the seltzer on the floor. “You don’t know how these things work, so stop pretending you do.”

David paused a bit, realizing that Angel was misunderstanding him. He knew how uptight they got when they mentioned over and over again about attending this party. The last thing he wanted to do was add to their stress. Honestly, all David wanted was for them to blow off the party entirely. It seemed like it would be the best thing for Angel. In the months since he had met them, David saw firsthand just how hard they worked for the good of their company, often at the expense of themselves. He wished they didn’t feel the need to have to prove themselves constantly. “I didn’t mean you were being dramatic. I meant, your work is dramatic,” he said, a sharp edge imbued in his voice that only upset David more. He didn’t mean for any of his vitriol to be directed towards them. He was upset at their work culture and the pressure their supervisors carelessly put on them because they knew that Angel would respond to that type of treatment and produce incredible work. He hated to see them being taken advantage of, and he certainly had no desire to attend some boring party with Angel and slap a fake smile on his face as he pretended to be excited to meet the people who often used Angel’s work ethic to benefit a faceless company.

It was like he couldn’t find a way to express any nuance after having constructed his overall hard demeanor and keeping it in place for so long. At least Asher and a few others in the pack had known David before he had inherited his alpha standing and could at least remember that David once did have room for joy in his life. But Angel had only ever known him like this. For the most part, David had been beyond pleased to see that Angel almost presumed there was more to him, deep inside, even if they had very little proof of that fact. And as much as David wanted to show them that they were right about that, he couldn’t, no matter how hard he was trying.

“Whatever,” Angel shrugged, turning their face away from David. “Clearly, you don’t want to go to the party at my dramatic work. So fine then. Don’t go. But don’t expect me to stay here so I can sit in your apartment and insult me.”

“I didn’t insult you!” David yelped. “I was-”

“Don’t tell me whether or not I feel insulted!” Angel launched themselves off of the couch so they could stand in front of David. “You don’t get to decide that. I do!”

“Then don’t twist my words around and make them mean something they don’t.” David inwardly cringed at how dismissive he sounded as his voice dropped low, like he was trying to intimidate Angel into backing down. He knew that wasn’t at all how he should be reacting to them, but it was like his emotional expressiveness was stuck on autopilot. Intimidation was his typical go-to, and after only reaching for that for so long, he suddenly found himself unable to do anything else. It was an irony that made David want to scream. He had spent so long gluing that mask of indifference to his face. Never once did he imagine he’d have to take on the insurmountable task of trying to pry that mask off.

But for Angel? For Angel, he’d rip off that mask piece by piece until it was gone.

Angel’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t mean the sentiment that the words carry, don’t say them at all. It’s not that hard of a concept, you know. Even children know that!” They swallowed nervously. “Is it that you don’t want to be seen with me, David? Is that why you won’t go to this thing?” Their whole body drooped.

Angel paused to let David answer the question, but he was so dumbfounded that Angel would even consider something so far from the truth that he didn’t respond in what they apparently determined was enough time.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” It was like all of the anger drained out of Angel and only hurt was left behind. “That’s why we stay in so often or only go out when I drag you to something I planned. You don’t want to be seen with me.”

“What?” David’s face fell when he realized how Angel harbored such a destructive thought. Then, he realized as he considered the development of their relationship, he was the one who made it look like that. Some of David’s brusqueness over going out or having Angel meet his friends was due to his commitment to keeping covert, not to mention he wanted to avoid any pack gossip until he figured out why in the world he couldn’t stop thinking about this unempowered human, despite his decision to resign himself to a life of singleness for the good of the pack. Second, as much as David hated to admit it, he sometimes struggled in social situations and he didn’t want someone as extraverted, open and, frankly, amazing as Angel to see him struggle with anything, especially something like that. So, rather than give them the opportunity to see his faults, he had hidden away the problem entirely, only to create a bigger problem that he didn’t realize was developing until Angel finally confronted him about it.

They confronted him about even the toughest things. Angel’s fortitude never failed to amaze David.

“Because if you don’t want to be seen out with me, then I see no reason you should be seen in with me, either,” Angel declared. “Umm, I mean…” They scrambled to find a better way to tell David off. “Maybe you’d rather I just go now, so as not to ruin your night with my drama.”

“Angel,” David said after the sensation of the knife in his gut dulled to a mere ache. “Stay. Please stay.”

“Oh?” Angel gasped, not at all assuaged. “Hmm, now that’s a tough riddle. Do you want me to stay?” they sarcastically wondered, scratching their chin. “Because when it comes to translating English into David-ish, meaning gets lost pretty easily.”

“Yes, please,” David declared. “I really want you to stay.”

Angel heaved a sigh as they relaxed back into the sofa and gave David a scorching glare.

“What you were thinking, about my being annoyed or sick of you or your work drama or anything similar. It’s not that. Not any of that, okay? I’m sorry my…” David haphazardly gestured to the room. “I don’t know, my preference for solitude, I guess, made you think that.” He scooted over to the couch to close the distance between them. As David moved, his ankle accidentally brushed against the can on the floor, spilling the contents.

“Oh no, the seltzer!” Angel pointed out.

David didn’t even give the spill a backward glance. “Forget it. This is more important. You’re more important.” He let his hand find the side of their cheek, thumb brushing along their temple. “I would line up the whole world and tell each and every person that we’re together. I’d tell them how indescribably happy you make me. And I’d promise in front of each and every person that I would do anything to make you happy, too,” he said.

Angel’s face softened. “That’s a nice thought,” they acknowledged with a little laugh. “But honestly, David, I don’t care what you’d tell a bunch of strangers. I care what you tell me. And some days, I just… I’d like to hear that sort of stuff, too.” They let their hand come to David’s wrist, rubbing the inside of it.

“I’ll be better at that. I swear, I’m trying to be better.” David pulled Angel a little bit closer to him. He felt their warmth breath tickle his neck. “I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but you, you make me want to be better. You deserve the best.” He couldn’t help but kiss them. “I didn’t even think twice about how you would perceive me complaining about your work party. Please believe me when I say it wasn’t because I didn’t want to be seen with you, Angel. Never.”

Hesitantly, Angel asked, “Then why?”

“Because you try so hard every minute you’re actually on the clock, not to mention all the overtime you take on, so I didn’t think you should be expected to spend your own free time hanging out with those same awful people talking about reports and deadlines and memos and excel sheets and clients and…” David trailed off as he realized how inept he was when it came to office jobs. “Your company takes advantage of you. I just didn’t want them to get their grimy little hands on your Saturday night, too, and this time, without even paying you!”

Angel tipped forward slightly, their head coming to rest onto David’s shoulder. “You were worried about me,” they summarized. “You were trying to protect my weekend.”

David nodded. “Yes. That’s all I was trying to do. Except the words came out wrong. I’m sorry, Angel. And, you’re right. I… I don’t know about the expectations of your job and it’s none of my business to tell you what to do or not do, so look, if you want to go, let’s go.” He playfully held out his arm. “It’d be my honor to escort you to the party.”

Angel snatched his arm. “Yay!” they exclaimed. “You’re the only one who could make the night bearable.”

David’s first impulse was to school his face into a neutral expression so that Angel’s comment didn’t cause him to break out in a big, dopey grin. When he looked at Angel, however, he fought that impulse and instead, gave in to an instinct to let that big, dopey grin shine proudly on his face. “Not to mention, you can show me off as your boyfriend.”

“B-b-boyfriend?” Angel sputtered. “I… We haven’t really discussed labels or anything like that.” They reached up to thread their fingers through an unruly wave in David’s hair that curled behind his ear. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, as long as you are,” David confirmed, pulling them into a hug and then a slow kiss. “It’s about damn time I start using the words that capture what I mean.”

Chapter Text

Angel gingerly placed the glass of flat 7up beside the bed. They frowned, letting their eyes linger on the large, wolf-shaped lump underneath the soft sheet.

“Davey?” Angel whispered. “Can I do anything for you?”

Poking his head out from the sheet, David Shaw squinted, torn by his desire to shut out any scrap of light from his vision and to take in the comforting sight of his mate. “Hmm.” For a moment, he had almost forgotten he was in his wolf form and wanted to shape the sound into a word. Instead, when the strong muscles of his mouth wouldn’t oblige him, David settled for a huff. He pulled his ears back as his lips curled upwards. His heightened senses, normally such a point of pride for David, betrayed him as he processed even the muted stimuli around him. Despite that drawback, he typically opted to ride out a migraine in his wolf form. Somehow, some way, retreating into his wolf offered David a little bit of comfort. In his wolf form, despite the pounding headache, horrific nausea, exhaustion, and oversensitivity to everything, David felt like he could handle all of the inescapable awfulness that his occasional migraine attacks caused him.

“Err,” David tried again in a deep and low rumble of a voice so as not to irritate the throbbing in his skull. When his eyes opened a little bit wider, David was relieved to find that Angel had cloaked the room in darkness.

The misery in David’s sharp eyes was evident to Angel. His pupils, usually prominent and full of life, were dull and tiny. “Aww, Davey.” They sat down on the edge of the bed and reached their hand out, letting it linger in the air for a moment, like they knew even the slightest unwanted touch would be tortuous for David. “May I?”

A soft, grateful whine of consent escaped his lips. He blinked slowly.

When Angel’s hand finally met his forehead and gently rubbed, David’s tail thwacked once to tell Angel how good it felt and once more in an unnecessary plea for them to continue the small gesture.

Angel did.

As David felt himself get lost in Angel’s touch, he thought about all the times in his life a similar scene had played out without Angel.

He thought of the times when he was a teenager when a migraine would hit. The first time David got a migraine, he was fourteen and in the middle of his school day. He didn’t understand what was happening or how to cope when his body went completely haywire. But when he finally forced himself to ask a teacher to let him go call his dad from the school's main office, Gabe picked David up from school and quickly escorted him to his room as soon as they arrived home. Gabe expertly soothed away David's pain with soft, hushed words. He even held David upright as the poor kid emptied the contents of his stomach into the plastic trash bin near the edge of David's bed. Through it all, Gabe stayed with David. He remembered falling asleep to his father's steady droning speech about something and, even though David wasn't cognizant enough to know for sure, he could've sworn that the pillow underneath his head somehow transformed into Gabe's chest.

It was the first, but not the only, time Gabe took care of David when a migraine came over him. Even as a young adult when he had the opportunity to shift into his wolf form, David found it impossible not to cling close to his father during a migraine.

“You’re holding in too much stress, David,” his father would say with a genuine sympathy that made David feel like a cub again. “It’s going to show up, one way or another, sooner or later. You gotta learn to relax before things get to this point.”

David's throat tightened when he felt a familiar wave of grief hit him. His front paws twitched a few times as he extended and retracted his claws to stretch his sore limbs.

“Just try to relax now,” Angel cooed. When their other hand began to stroke the tufts of longer hair at his chest, David willed himself to do as his mate asked, even though it was nearly impossible for him to sink into the bed so he could give into the overwhelming exhaustion. Everything hurt too much for that.

David let his thoughts wander to a time when a particularly bad migraine struck him a few years ago. It had been shortly after he secured an office space for the growing company. The legal and financial requirements alone were stressful enough, but David had undertaken that project of expanding the company so quickly after his father had died, throwing himself into a tangible activity that proved David was capable of carrying on his father’s legacy as a good alpha. It should’ve been impossible for him to do, but somehow, he did it. It was only after he got everything successfully settled that the migraine hit him one night. David’s body had always worked like that. It never failed that no matter how he was able to push through any type of work that needed to be done, as soon as that work was finished, his body would succumb to the buildup of stress and collapse. David was thankful that at the time, Asher had been spending more time with, as he called them, “the Elevator Babe,” so David did not have to worry about Asher seeing him like that. Truly, the only thing that made David more uncomfortable than a migraine was having other people see him as he endured the migraine.

People other than his father, that is.

The absence of his father was something that hit David at the most inopportune times, that one included. When David came to the realization that his father wasn’t there to help him through the migraine, would never be there to help David again, it was like a competition of hurt was taking place inside David’s body and it was anyone’s guess who would win: his head or his heart.

The only score David really remembered was that he was thoroughly miserable. He fumbled through the pain as best he could, trying to wait in a grief-stricken agony until the migraine passed, unable to stop his tears from leaking out of his eyes and his thoughts from spiraling into despair.

What if my head never stops hurting? What if the pack needs me and I can’t help because I’m too busy puking? How can I make it stop? What would Dad say if he saw me like this? Why did he have to die?

“Hang in there, Davey,” Angel told him, the rhythm of their scratches and strokes offering David a chance to focus on something else other than the churning in his stomach and head. Whenever they spoke, it was like everything quieted for David. “Soon, it’ll go away. Until then, you take all the time you need to feel better.”

David let himself be surrounded by the comforting warmth of Angel’s touch as they deftly fixed a wrinkle in the blanket that sat unnaturally heavy on his back before they weaved their fingers back into his dark fur. Out of instinct, David let his head bow and nosed his face into Angel’s hand at this chest. He carefully took their hand in his mouth, just letting his teeth graze their skin without any pressure. A gesture that he hoped encapsulated the complete devotion he felt for Angel.

Angel didn’t flinch. “I love you, too.”

David let go of their hand, though not without giving them a few licks, and settled back onto the bed. He settled back onto the pillow and drowsily let his eyes close, content to let his mate chase away his migraine by sending him to sleep with their unempowered, magical touch.

Chapter Text

When Angel’s eyes finally opened, inescapable heat filled their every sense. They tried to blink themselves awake, figuring the discomfort might’ve lingered from an already-forgotten dream. The more cognizant of their surroundings they became, the more miserable Angel grew. Aches had taken up residence in every muscle of their body. A pounding sensation clunked against their skull with every breath. The sweat they felt break out upon their skin did nothing to cool the rising temperature they felt radiate from their core. Sandpaper lined their throat. Without thinking twice, Angel threw off their covers to regulate their temperature. They flipped over onto their stomach and pushed their forehead into their pillow, as if the pressure from that movement could somehow offset the pressure erupting across their head.

“‘ngel?” David Shaw mumbled, still half-asleep. His mate’s jerky movements had roused him out of slumber somewhat, but it was the sudden weight of the duvet strewn across his back that prompted him to check in with them. “Y’okay?”

Angel swallowed, cringing at the trail of fire that involuntarily set off down their throat. It was like no matter what they did, they couldn’t find even the smallest reprieve from the pain that was lighting up their body in a million different ways. “Mmm,” they moaned, trying to coax their thick tongue into moving in a way that would make sensible words.

“Angel?” David asked again, clumsily reaching over to the nightstand to retrieve his glasses. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

Angel distantly wondered how long it had been since David asked that question. Finally, they found a way to make their mouth obey them and answer their worried mate. “Hot,” they said simply, barely able to track the different sensations coursing through them. “I‘m really hot.”

They let their head fall closer to David as they felt his large palm come to their forehead. “No kidding,” he remarked wryly, keeping his hand in place. “I’ll get the thermometer to make sure, but you’ve almost certainly got a fever.” A frown crossed his face and pulled his eyebrows together.

“I think… I’m sick,” Angel sighed. “Ugh.”

“I’d say so,” David agreed wryly. “Anything hurt you?”

Angel felt like David’s calm and gentle voice was an anchor that kept them from drowning in the myriad of unpleasant sensations and thick fog that clouded their thoughts. “Throat,” they added. “Head. And just… all over, I guess. I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, yeah. I understand perfectly,” David hastily assured them, figuring correctly that Angel’s fever and fatigue interfered with their rationale. It pained him to see his normally quick-witted mate struggle with expressing their thoughts. He slid his hand from their forehead to their cheek. “My poor Angel.”

Angel hummed a bit, tipping their cheek into David’s sturdy hand. “You feel good.”

Their drowsy gesture momentarily confused him, to be honest. Typically, David had found his value through his actions. He served as his pack’s alpha. He provided security and peace of mind to his clients. He prepared meals for his friends. But for Angel to feel comforted just from his presence alone? For him to be enough to make their feverish aches and pain momentarily recede? Even after years of being together, it was an unfamiliar, though not unwelcome, feeling for David.

He loved his Angel more than he could ever hope to say.

He was honored and humbled to see that he could bring Angel a little ease during their illness, but he had no intention of stopping at a mere touch. “I’ll let you lay on me all you want in just a minute,” David warmly chuckled as he watched Angel’s eyes droop just from his simple touch. “But first, I want to get some things to help you feel better tonight.” After giving them a quick kiss, David carefully pushed his pillow into Angel’s arms to make sure that they didn’t want for anything, even for a minute. “I’ll be back in just a minute, Angel. Take it easy.”

Angel nodded sleepily, torn by sprawling out to give their body the chance to feel cool air against their inner, raging heat and dreading the idea of even moving an inch.

The bed squeaked as David pushed himself to his feet. He dashed out of the bedroom and Angel closed their eyes and fought to distract themselves from how disappointed they were at the loss. Fortunately, even their high fever couldn’t make them wallow for long because in a flash, David was back beside them.

“Alright now. Easy,” he softly cooed. As soon as he sat down on the bed, Angel scrambled to push themselves close to David. “Let’s see where you stand with this thing so we can track how it progresses. I’m sure you’re tired, but it’d be best to start medication if you need it as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Doc.” Angel smiled through their pained wince. “But only if I get a lollipop afterwards.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” David noted, fiddling with turning on the oral thermometer in his hand. “Here, Angel.”

At his request, Angel opened their mouth and grabbed ahold of the thermometer he handed them, dutifully placing it under their tongue and waiting until the triple beeps confirmed David’s suspicions that they were running a fever. David diligently wrote down their temperature on a notepad he retrieved from his pocket and handed them two pills and a glass of water. “So, cherry, grape, or orange?” he offered, helping them to settle backwards so that their head came to rest on his chest.

“Hmmm,” Angel pondered, utterly exhausted at just the small effort to swallow the pills. “Maybe I’ll postpone all lollipop compensation until the morning.” They cuddled closer into David, turning onto their side. “I’m really tired. And still so hot.”

“Shh,” David encouraged as he lightly combed his fingers through their sweaty hair. “Rest, Angel. Don’t worry. I’ll be here to take care of you.” He wrapped his free arm around their back and kissed their forehead. “Feel better soon, Angel.”

The next morning, Angel opted for a cherry lollipop. David was only too happy to oblige.

Chapter Text

Milo Greer wiped at the sweat that beaded upon their brow and scowled. Great. Now his fingers were damp. It was already hard enough for him to grasp the teeny tiny little allen wrench, let alone finagle it into the socket and twist to tighten the screw enough so that his new bookshelf would be remotely usable. “Piece of fake wood foreign shit,” he panted, balancing the half-built shelf upon his knee and holding the panels together tightly with his other hand.

Even without his enhanced strength as a wolf shifter, Milo felt was more than capable of ripping apart every one of those poorly cut panels with his bare hands. This wasn’t a question of strength, though. It was a question of balance. With the way the screw was placed, it was impossible to get a full rotation with the allen wrench when the shelf was on the ground. That wouldn’t be a problem, if Milo didn’t already have his other hand occupied pushing together the two panels that he was connecting. Damn it. There was no way to get any leverage on this thing. No matter how he twisted himself into a pretzel to get a better angle or manipulated the puny wrench, Milo just could not, for the life of him, get this screw in. And what was worse, according to the wordless little cartoon strip of an instruction pamphlet that he found in the box, after this screw, he had five more to go.

With renewed determination, Milo took the screw between his fingers and tried one more time, lining up each little indentation of the hexagon, only to have the wrench jerk out of his grasp and hit the floor, butting up against the shelf with a dull ding.

“Son of a bitch!” he grunted, carefully trying to set the shelf down onto the floor without the whole cheap thing collapsing into dust. For good measure, he tossed the allen wrench back into the pile of screws and caps that he had in a small pile on the floor beside his foot. Milo grabbed the crinkled pamphlet, hoping that if he stared at it long enough, he could figure out a way to put together this stupid bookshelf that didn’t involve an allen wrench.

Milo was seriously considering waking Aggro up from his nap and asking the cat to help him with his task when the sound of a crash startled him out of his thoughts.

“Hey!” a disgruntled voice complained outside of his door. Then came three sharp knocks.

Milo jumped into a standing position, ignoring the way his legs had gotten so stiff after being folded up and under him. He knew even before he opened the door that he would find the sweet, sassy, stubborn stealth who had been tailing a shade for the last nine weeks.

Had it only been nine weeks since he’d met them? It felt like he had known them for longer than that.

Milo threw open the door to find the stealth doubled over, cupping their nose between their palms. He fought to stifle a laugh, ushering them in quickly so Aggro wouldn’t make an escape. “Hey, fancy meetin’ you here,” he winked. “C’mon in.” Milo shut the door with his foot. “I bought a ward last weekend for the place. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Sweetheart. It never dawned on me. I thought we were past you breaking in by now. You've been using the door lately.”

Sweetheart straightened up, though they kept their hands over their nose. “I had an update for you and I got a little excited about it,” they explained. “Sorry.” They hunched into themselves a bit. “I just stopped by to say that I’ve set up a perimeter for the shade just outside of D.A.M.N.'s campus, based on its last known whereabouts.”

Milo raised his eyebrows. “So if all goes well, sounds like you’ll be the proud owner of a shade carcass soon.” He nodded in approval. “That’s really great. You’ve been working so hard for so long, and it’s finally coming to an end.”

Usually, Milo’s praise sent a warm curl of pride through Sweetheart’s chest, but they were too distracted to notice. He was right. If all went well, soon, Sweetheart would close this case and move on with their lives. They wouldn’t be able to look forward to giving Milo periodic updates as to how the case was progressing. More often than not, those updates were leading to long conversations and even a few late-night dinners together. Sweetheart didn’t realize how much they looked forward to those impromptu meetings with Milo until he commented that soon, they wouldn’t have an excuse to keep seeing him. “Oh, umm, yeah, hopefully,” they said, realizing they had just been lost in their own thoughts. “And I can stop popping in cloaked like that, y’know. I don’t mean to impose,” they apologized, disappointment engendered in their tone.

Milo squinted. Were they disappointed in him or themselves?

“You didn’t have to go out and buy a ward,” Sweetheart continued. “If you told me the cloaked entering bothered you that much, I would’ve stopped. Or, I guess I should’ve presumed. After all, no one really enjoys surprise break-ins, do they?”

“No, no!” Milo quickly replied. “You’re misunderstanding me. I didn’t get the ward to keep you out! I got it to keep shades out.” He gestured to the door. “The idea of one of those maniacs running around the city kinda spooked me a bit, y’know? A deadbolt won’t keep out a life-force stealing mess of magic. And then I got to thinking, this is a cornerstone city. A lot of magical folks are here, and not all of them are the straight-laced type like me.” He puffed out his chest and gave Sweetheart a wide smile. “I hold my own as a wolf, but if I’m not here, I can’t exactly protect my territory. So, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I might want to invest in a basic security ward.” He gently reached out to take Sweetheart’s wrists in his hands. “Can I see?”

Sweetheart allowed Milo to take their hands away from their face. His hands were warm. Healing, even without the externalized magical process.

Milo was relieved to see that they looked just as gorgeous as always, though their nose was a bit swollen.

“Might have a bit of a bruise tomorrow morning,” they shrugged. “I walked into your door like it was my mission in life.”

“Mission accomplished,” Milo complimented smoothly. “You want an ice pack? I got a few in my freezer.” He began to get up from the couch, dodging the shelf.

Sweetheart waved away Milo’s concern, though they were touched by his thoughtfulness. “Nah, I’m good. Really, I’m good,” they assured him, observing that Milo was hesitant to believe them. “Hey, I see you’re quite the handyman, huh?” They pointed at the shelf. “This’ll look nice when it’s up. Where’s it gonna go?”

Milo gave the half-built shelf a dirty look. “It's for my books. I'm sick of crowding them on the one shelf in my bedroom, stuffed in so tight I can't even get anything out without working up a sweat. I think this new one will go over there in the corner near the lamp.” He rolled his brown eyes. “If I ever get the damn thing put together.”

Sweetheart frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Milo scowled. “I’m at a bit of a standstill, getting these two parts screwed together.” He sank to his knees in front of the shelf, glaring at it like it mocked him. "I'm three seconds away from throwing the damn thing into the dumpster behind my building."

Sweetheart inspected the edges with their fingertips. “Well, yeah. Look.” They snatched the instructional pamphlet and tapped on the picture of four hands at the top of the paper. “This is a two-person job. I’m surprised you got this far without help.” They knelt beside Milo, searching through the pile of accessories beside the shelf until they found the allen wrench. “Hold it steady and I’ll get this tightened in no time.”

Milo blinked. “Oh, no,” he began to politely refuse. “I can’t make you do that. Just sit. Relax.” He pushed himself up to standing, presuming Sweetheart would follow suit. “You didn’t come here to be put to work.”

“I don’t mind,” Sweetheart insisted, staying in place and fidgeting with the little silver wrench. They patted the floor, a glint in their eye. “There’s room for two.”

Under their expectant gaze, Milo felt himself take a seat. They always had that effect on him. It was like he couldn’t muster up the ability to deny them anything. Still, the last thing he wanted them to think was that he was incapable of something so simple as putting together a shelf by himself. “Really, I can do this myself.” He tried to be firm, letting a bit of snarl cut into his tone. Despite himself, Milo took the shelf in his hands, holding the panels perpendicular to each other so that the screw and pre-drilled hole lined up for Sweetheart.

Sweetheart rolled their eyes at Milo’s reluctance. They knew they should have probably just let it go, but they couldn’t. There was a job to do, right in front of them, and they wanted to help Milo do it. They were slowly realizing that they would’ve been up for helping Milo with anything he asked of them, as long as it meant they could spend time with this funny, feisty, clever, handsome, incredibly kind shifter. “Look,” they declared, eyes sparkling bright. “I dunno if I'm the kind of person you need or even want right now, but I’m looking around and I’m the only one who’s here.” They gestured to the rest of the room, the allen wrench still clutched between their thumb and index finger. “So let’s do this.” Without leaving room for rebuttal, Sweetheart crouched over the shelf and carefully began screwing.

Milo’s jaw clenched at the stealth’s self-decrepitation. “What do you…” He felt his wolf growl and shake, practically pawing at his chest to be let out to take the lead and fix whatever mess his human brain must have caused, but Milo fought to shove down that part of himself as he analyzed Sweetheart’s upsetting words. “You… you think I don’t want you?” The mere thought of Sweetheart believing that made Milo’s heart lurch. Before he knew what happened, a loud crack rang out. Milo looked down to discover that he had pushed the two panels together with so much force that it folded in on itself and broke.

“Watch it!” Sweetheart yelped, pulling their hands away from the shelf. They met Milo’s intense gaze, confused as to why he seemed so distressed all of a sudden.

“Of course I want you here!” Milo tipped his head to the side. “Why would you think I don’t?”

Sweetheart swallowed, trying to process Milo’s question. “It’s… I…” They let their shoulders drop. “I don’t know. I guess it’s easier for me to err on the side of ‘not wanted’ and be right than wrongly presume I am.” At that moment, the stealth could’ve phased into the ground and been content to stay there forever. “Y’know. Wanted.” They were unspeakably embarrassed; talking about being ‘wanted’ or not made them feel like they were some kid who couldn’t find a partner for a school assignment, not a Fully Certified, newly minted Department Investigator. How was Milo Greer able to dodge and weave past all the emotional defenses that typically served them so well?

Milo shoved the shelf away and crawled forward to close the distance between himself and Sweetheart. “I want you here with me,” he said clearly, realizing that for all his flirting and banter over the last nine weeks, he had never told Sweetheart those words in earnest. No wonder they didn’t know where they stood with him. Shame burned through Milo’s cheeks. This was all so new to him. He had never gotten past the surface level of attraction with anyone before. But when it came to Sweetheart?

Oh, he was in and in deep.

Sweetheart raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean, you want me to give you updates on the case.” They idly traced a pattern on the carpet area rug, flicking the grain back and forth.

Milo huffed, letting his palm cover the stealth’s knee to give them a gentle squeeze. “I want you, Sweetheart.” Milo only had gotten only glimpses of who Sweetheart was behind their badge, but he could sense that even those glimpses were more than most of the world usually got. There was still so much about them he didn’t know, but he was an eager student. The idea that Sweetheart presumed he was using them for information on the case, as if the notion that he craved their company was implausible, made his wolf snort and bear his teeth. As far as learning who Sweetheart was and what made them tick went, Milo knew he had a lot to learn. But apparently, he needed to teach them a thing or two.

He needed Sweetheart to know how amazing they were, in every sense of the word.

“The case is the circumstance that brought us together,” Milo clarified. “And I’m thankful for that. The updates are nice to get, because it means that soon, you’ll send this shade back into death, where it belongs.” He had no doubt of the veracity of his words. He had seen just how powerful and determined Sweetheart was in all things, but especially in their work. “But none of that even comes close to how happy it makes me just to talk with you. To hang out together. That is what I want.” Ignoring the ripple of self-consciousness that threatened to paralyze him, Milo let his hand catch Sweetheart’s cheek. “That’s what I need and want.” He gave them a half-smirk. “You got me hook, line, and sinker, Investigator.”

Sweetheart’s breath caught on Milo’s tender words. “You got me, too,” they confessed softly. They leaned forward, pulling Milo into a tight hug and burying their face in the crook of his shoulder. Milo could feel the curve of their smile against his skin. Their teeth peaked out from their lips when they smiled widely.

He liked it. A lot.

“I never meant to make you feel like you were just a messenger,” Milo apologized after they pulled away, though they kept tucked in close together. Neither stealth nor wolf was ready to let go just yet.

Or maybe, ever.

“You didn’t,” Sweetheart waved away. “It wasn’t you. Just me being… I don’t know.” They tapped on their temple. “My brain sees a pattern and just latches onto it." It was true. Over their life, the stealth had learned to spot the difference between being wanted for what you provided from being wanted as a person. "Trying to make sense out of raw data. But it wasn’t fair of me. You’re your own person.” They looked Milo up and down, pausing for a double take on Milo’s chest before letting their eyes rest on his face. “Your own really special, really surprising, really hot person.” Their jaw clenched. “And I need to stop trying to calculate everything, including you, based on other people’s actions. It’s not fair to you. And it’s sloppy analysis.” They wiggled their shoulders, playfully letting their tongue twist between their teeth. “And I’m nothing without my analytical skills.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” Milo whispered. “Why don’t you analyze this?” He kissed Sweetheart, savoring their taste without pushing too hard. Their mere touch made him shiver with delight.

Sweetheart exhaled sharply, a cross between a purr and a growl. “Hmm, that’s quite a bit of information,” they observed lightly. “But I’ll have the full report on your desk by morning.”

“Looking forward to that,” Milo winked, mentally gushing at their ability to pluck a metaphor from his speech and run with it. Even something as simple as their penchant for wordplay had “As his heart skipping beats. “As long as it’s signed by the author.”

As if their talk of paperwork and analysis could be picked up by Sweetheart’s work-issued phone, Sweetheart’s phone began to beep repeatedly.

“Shit,” Sweetheart grumbled. They plucked the phone from their pocket and quickly scanned the contents of the text. “Covert needs keeping,” they grimly sighed. When they pushed themselves up from the floor, Milo hovered close. "Sorry to leave you shelf-less," Sweetheart frowned. “Never fails that when I’m on call, my sergeant always ends up needing an extra pair of hands for the night.”

Milo escorted them to the door, wishing he could slow down time. As much as he wanted them to stay, though, he knew he had to let them go. He also knew that they’d be coming back.

The thought of seeing them again almost made the disappointment of watching them leave disappear.

“My loss is their gain,” Milo bid, opening the door for them, keeping a watchful eye for any Aggro appearances. “Be careful, Sweetheart. And I hope you know, I want to see you soon.”

“Far be it from me to deny you what you want,” Sweetheart coyly responded, exiting the apartment. They knocked on the doorframe, and then their nose. “Not even a ward can keep me away from you.”

The next day, Sweetheart returned. They brought a new shelf with them and helped Milo assemble it that night.

Aggro ascended the shelf within the hour.

Chapter Text

For the third time in five minutes, Darling knocked on the door. “Sam?” they called. “Sam, what gives? You stand me up and then lock me out?” They waited in silence. Their instinct was to just cut their losses and leave. Why should they bother with trying to extend themselves to this surly vampire? Shouldn’t they just take the hint and let him be? Under normal circumstances, that is exactly what Darling would have done. And what’s more, they would not have even bothered to look back. There was no reason to force yourself into anyone’s life. Doing so only led to hurt. Darling had made a promise to themselves that they would never put themselves in a position to be taken advantage of ever again.

Despite those thoughts, Darling lingered. They watched the doorknob expectantly, presuming it would turn any second now. That Sam would throw open the rickety door, grumble some sort of apology about some realty emergency (apparently, they were more common than Darling ever knew), and welcome them inside.

But Sam didn’t.

Perhaps against their better judgment, Darling knocked again. “Sam!” Before they had a chance to debate with themselves about whether or not they were coming off as positively desperate, they shut out that critical part of their brain with a new action. Darling took a few steps backwards for a running start. They threw their weight into the door, pushing hard enough to stumble into Sam’s living room.

Darling brushed off a few remnants of splinters off their arms and chest. “Sam?” Darling called again.

The lights were off and the living room was empty. Dark and lifeless. The wolf was suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Jeez, what had they come to? They had just broken into Sam’s house, and why? Because it was so unfathomable that he might not want to keep their weekly impromptu hang out of unofficial whatever this was? It’s not like they and Sam had set down a date to meet. It had just become routine that every Thursday night, Darling somehow found their way to Sam’s place for the night since they had met. For the first few weeks, Darling had arrived with information regarding Quinn’s whereabouts, but eventually, Darling had taken to providing those updates to Sam immediately, whether that meant seeing him in person or texting him. Even so, the Thursday night pattern remained in place, with Darling often bringing over some sort of breakfast food from a nearby 24hr diner so that they could pass the time together.

It wasn’t as if it were a scheduled event. Maybe Sam had something better to do, had more important people to see.

Darling let their tense muscles droop in defeat. This was absurd. This was obnoxious. This was too much. All they had to do was back away slowly, maybe try to shove the door back in place as best as they could, and get out of Sam’s home.

They were going to do exactly that, until they heard shuffling come from Sam’s bedroom.

“Sam?” Darling took long strides to the bedroom. They peered through the open door frame to discover Sam lying across the bed in a disheveled heap.

“D-D-Darlin’?” Sam blinked a few times, staring at the wolf incredulously. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands, looking surprised to find they were still there. “What are you doing here?” He clumsily reached for the round alarm clock on the nightstand beside him. Darling absently wondered if the clock, which looked straight out of an old-movie, was battery powered to look as if it were old, or if it really were just that old. “9:30?” he mumbled to himself, letting the clock land on the bed with a soft thump. Darling didn’t miss the way his wrist trembled from the light strain of holding the object. “Morning or night?”

“Night,” Darling supplied warily. “It’s Thursday night.” In a flash, they were by Sam’s bedside, hovering awkwardly. They didn’t want to intrude, but they couldn’t just leave Sam. After all, they didn’t know what exactly was wrong, but something, clearly, was wrong. “What’s going on with you? Are you sick or something?”

“Somethin’,” Sam sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position, gritting his teeth.

Before they knew what they were doing, Darling tucked their hands under Sam’s shoulders, forcing themselves not to stare at his bare chest, to help pull him into a comfortable seat. “Care to elaborate?”

That was actually the last thing Sam wanted to do, but when he looked into Darling’s eyes, so clear and concerned, he couldn’t bring himself to shrug off their compassion. “It’s just a touch of Magical Depletion Syndrome. Nothing to worry about.”

“M.D.S.?” Darling gaped. “As a vampire?” As an empowered person, Darling was intimately familiar with the condition. They were no stranger to using up so much of their magic that their body grew weary and developed the usual symptoms: headache, fatigue, dizziness, nausea, and more. But vampires were an anomaly when it came to cores and power. They were so much stronger, faster, and altogether more resilient than other types of empowered races.

Sam grimaced. “Yes, as a vampire,” he spit, then softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I slept through our Thursday night. Maybe a rain check this week?” He fumbled to bring up the sheet closer to cover his chest.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine,” Darling waved away. They busied their hands with untwisting the sheet and settled it across Sam’s body. “But, how’d you use up all your magic? What happened?”

“I was healing,” Sam admitted, shifting his weight and drilling a hole in the floor with his gaze. “A newborn in the clan got wrapped up in a little bit of a misunderstanding, and even with their accelerated healing, well, let’s just say they needed a hand.” He shrugged a bit. “Or three.” He chuckled lightly at his joke. “When I was human, I was a healer, y’know.” The pride was evident in his voice as he finally turned up his head and caught Darling’s eyes.

“You were a healer,” Darling responded evenly. “Cool.” Of course Sam was a healer. That made so much sense. They found their thoughts wandering to who Sam was before he had been turned, but Darling quickly dropped that line of thinking. There would be time to ponder that later. Right now, Sam needed help.

“And I was pretty good at it.” He squinted. “Sorry.”

“Your head hurts?” Darling asked. “How long has it been like that?”

“A couple hours, I guess,” Sam confessed. “I lost track of time.”

Without another word, Darling sat on the bed and rested their hand on Sam’s temple, slowly stroking along the wrinkle lines of pain with their first two fingers. “This better?”

Sam leaned into their touch. “Yeah.” He relaxed a little bit, letting a pillow take his weight. “My healing ability isn't what it used to be, not by a longshot, but I’ve tried to retain what I can of it. So, when people in the clan need a healer, I’m the one they call. Or, if someone does something stupid this far out of the city and I’m the only healer around.”

Darling hid a smirk. Did Sam always have to make it sound like his amazingly generous actions were just run-of-the-mill pastimes?

“And you pushed it too far today?” pressed Darling.

“Well, I guess, technically, yesterday?” Sam quibbled matter-of-factly.

Darling frowned, a bit of a growl peeping through their expression. They didn’t, however, cease massaging Sam’s aching head.

“Not the point, I know.” Sam held up a hand in surrender. “Look, it’s not that bad, okay? Someone else's life is well worth the price of my headache. I'm fine.”

“Be that as it may, you could’ve called when you started feeling sick,” Darling protested. “Asked me to come over to help or something. I need to be able to trust you to tell me when you’re hurt. We’re a team, Sam.”

“A team,” Sam echoed distantly. “Yeah, I guess we have becomes kind of a rag-tag pair, haven't we?”

“The raggiest and taggiest,” Darling laughed softly.

Sam watched how their mouth curved up into a gorgeous, rare smile. Just the sight made him feel like a bit of his magic returned.

“Look, you’ve clearly done your service to humanity today,” Darling observed. They let their legs stretch out on top of the blanket. “So, let me take it from here and do what little I can to help you get over this bout of M.D.S.. Please?”

Sam was ready to tell them he didn’t need any such thing. That he’d let M.D.S. run its course many times in his life alone and he could do so again. But when he saw how determined they looked and thought about how a simple touch from Darling seemed to chase away his pain, Sam couldn’t bring himself to say anything but, “Okay. Th-thanks.”

It should’ve been strange or uncomfortable for Sam to invite this person into his bed to see him at his worst as he slept off his illness. But, oddly enough, it felt… right… to have Darling with him.

“Good then,” Darling declared, fixing Sam’s pillow so that he could rest against it easier. “Just go back to sleep, okay? I’ll hang out until your core’s back in business.” They snatched the clock off of Sam’s lap and replaced it on the nightstand. “Get ready for some non-magical healing, healer.”

They called him ‘healer.’

Sam shut his eyes tightly and sucked in a shuddering breath. He hadn’t realized how good it would feel to be called that again after so long. Sam was tempted to chalk up his sentimentality to his M.D.S., but a little voice inside his head told him that there was something bigger than that happening here tonight as Darling carded their hand through his hair with more gentleness than he could’ve imagined.

Chapter Text

Darling hip-checked the door that led to their school’s large gymnasium and strode into the space. They carefully maneuvered their case through the doorway, not wanting to scrape the edge on the steel frame. It was so much less of a walk for them to cut through the gym when they were walking home from jazz band practice. They were pleasantly surprised to see that the game scheduled for this evening must have ended early, leaving the gym empty for them to use as a shortcut.

Darling’s footsteps echoed against the vinyl, the beat of their brick walk causing them to hum the same syncopated lick they had been working on during rehearsal. They were so close to nailing the phrasing, but it still wasn’t what they wanted it to be. They still had a few weeks to go before the concert, but Darling was determined to have their part down pat.

“Doo-wah, bee-dum,” they sung under their breath, letting their footfalls act as a metronome.

“Ah!”

Darling was halfway across the gym floor when the shrill interruption came forth, throwing off their beat. They froze, turning on their heel to find the source of the sound.

The gym was quiet again, but Darling knew they heard someone. Their shifter powers had manifested only last year, but they had learned how to interpret their newly enhanced hearing quite well. They didn’t imagine it, and they did not like the prospect of being taken by surprise.

“Who’s there?” Darling barked, puffing out their chest and tightening the grip on the plastic handle of their case.

Silence was their only answer, but Darling wasn’t convinced.

“Answer me!” they growled, spinning in a circle. Their alpha had painstakingly drilled into their head never to turn their back on a potential threat. Darling knew that much. What they didn’t know was what to do when they didn’t know where that potential threat was.

“Arrghh!”

This time, Darling was able to figure out that the noise was coming from behind the bleachers that were still extended to accommodate the crowds of whatever kind of sport-game-match-meet took place in the gym earlier that night. Darling stalked over to where the noise was coming from, expecting to find a few jerks looking for trouble because they didn’t have anything better to do.

“I… oh,” Darling stuttered, taking in the sight before them.

Darling was not expecting to find a person a few feet off the ground, their jersey looking stuck to the metal plating of the bleachers and towel tied tightly around their face. They person, who looked a few years younger than Darling, wiggled their hands and ankles in an attempt to catch Darling’s attention. “Mmwwellffff!” the person greeted through their makeshift gag.

“Hang on, I’ll get you down!” Darling vowed. They gingerly set their case down before reaching for the person, standing up on their tippy-toes to grab a fistful of their jersey. Darling frowned when the familiar wave of magento-energy met their hand. The magic was strong, but not reinforced. Darling gritted their teeth and pushed their hand against the magnetic field. Finally, once they were able to get one, and then the other, hand on the person, Darling yanked with all their might.

The two teens fell to the ground in a heap, unbalanced from Darling’s pull.

“Sorry, sorry!” Darling quickly apologized, scrambling back to their feet.

The other teen was already working to undo the towel that had been tied across their mouth. They coughed and sputtered, sticking their tongue out to wet their impossibly dry lips. “Th-thanks,” they said meekly. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.” They stuck out a shaking hand and introduced themselves by name.

Darling took their hand and did the same. “What the hell?!” Darling burst, causing their new companion to shrink into themselves a bit. “How long have you been up there?”

“Umm, since the match ended,” Sweetheart answered. “Which was around six o'clock. What time is it now?”

Darling check their watch. “Quarter past nine.” They helped the frazzled teen straighten out their jersey.

Of course. Their jersey was definitely that of an athlete and, judging by the colors of it, this person was a student at a different school. Darling scowled. Had a few Dahlian students been upset from a loss and did this in retaliation? Darling had only just transferred to Dahlia High School, but they wouldn’t put it past some of their classmates to act so cruelly. Darling had seen more than their fair share of bullying in the hallways and cafeteria.

But this? This was more than a harmless prank. What those morons did to Sweetheart could’ve really hurt them! And what if Darling hadn’t had jazz band practice tonight? Or they didn’t choose to cut through the gym? Would Sweetheart have been hanging there all night?

Enough was enough. Darling had been content to keeping to themselves in school, only choosing to socialize with a few kids in their pack or a few kind souls who had reached out to group up with Darling in their A.P. Biology class. But no more.

“Who did this to you? Where are they?” The wolf’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll teach them a lesson.”

Sweetheart took a shuddering breath before schooling their face into one of calmness. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I’m sure by now, they’re on a bus halfway home. It was a few of my teammates. Three magneto-energetics, to be exact: Dana N., Joey, and Dana K..” They smirked. “They were just pissed that I got more playing time than them even though this is my first year on the team. I’m two grades behind them,” they explained, a touch of pride in their voice. “And both the Danas’ powers manifested last week. They were just showing off.”

Darling blinked. “Your own teammates did this to you?” Their face softened. Sweetheart’s situation was completely awful, but that somehow made it worse. “Oh. I… I’m sorry.” They swallowed. “But how could your team just leave you here? That seems illegal. I mean, you’re a student. Your coach should’ve never let the bus leave without you!”

Sweetheart’s eyes rolled. “Yeah, well, he’s kind of a lax coach. Very laissez-faire about things, you know?”

Darling didn’t look convinced. Instead, they just kept staring at Sweetheart, waiting for more information.

“He often counts us by aura, and my powers haven’t come in yet.” Sweetheart tapped on their chest. “I tend to get ignored a lot. Which is fine, honestly, because the team is not too crazy about a young hotshot without magic being a starter. If they're not ignoring me, they’re pulling hazing shit like this.” They shrugged.

“Your own team,” Darling repeated, stunned at that revelation. “That sounds really hard. I’m sorry about that.”

Darling wasn’t one for sportsmanship or school spirit, but they did recently join the Shaw Pack. Sure, they hadn’t yet clicked with anyone in the way they had in their old pack, but no one was outright mean to them because they were ‘the new member.’ David Shaw was awkward, but honestly, he was awkward with everyone. Amanda was nice, sharing her phone number with Darling in case they had questions about their school. Asher O’Connell once ran into them at Max’s Pizza and helped himself to a seat, chatting long past he was finished with his meal. Milo Greer often carpooled with Darling since they both arrived to school early twice a week to hang out in the band room.

“I’m sorry I let them get the better of me.” Sweetheart was doing their best to wave away their hurt, but Darling saw through their façade. It did hurt to be left out and antagonized, no matter how tough you claimed to be. “It’s hard right now to fight back without powers, but that won’t always be the case.”

“As soon as your powers kick in, those idiots better watch out,” Darling observed, earning a smile from Sweetheart. Darling winked, flashing their teeth, unable to stop the lengthening of their canines, though they did tamp down on their instinct to shift fully.

“Ah, shifter?” Sweetheart pointed at Darling’s mouth. “That’s so cool.” They shook their head. “Magic is so cool. I can’t wait to have it. I don’t know what specialty I’ll be, but I don’t care. I’m going to work really hard to train every power accessible to me.” Their eyes took on a steely look. “And then no one, not even a clique of magnetos, will be able to pull that kinda shit to me or anywhere near me. I’ll stop it before it happens.”

Darling nodded. “Yeah, magic sure comes in handy.” They tracked their eyes up and down Sweetheart. “Are you sure you’re okay? Can I do anything to help you?”

“I’m totally fine,” Sweetheart grinned. “And I hate to ask, but do you have a phone I could borrow? I need to call my parents and let them know I’m still in Dahlia. They’ll come pick me up.”

Darling quickly retrieved their TracFone out of their pocket. They only had a handful of minutes left this month, but certainly, this call was worth it.

Sweetheart sheepishly accepted the phone and made the call, explaining the situation. When they finally hung up, they handed the phone back to Darling. “ Thanks. Again. It was really nice of you to stop and help me, y’know. You’re like… my hero.” Sweetheart bent their elbow to let their hand rub the back of their neck, a bit embarrassed. “Thank you.”

“I…” Darling was speechless. They couldn’t remember the last time they didn’t know what to say. Even though they didn’t agree with Sweetheart, they had to admit, it felt good to be acknowledged. To be seen as someone other than a scowling, growling bitch. “Um, you’re welcome. But I’m no hero.” They used their foot to point at their case. “Just a tenor sax player.”

“Tenor saxophone? Wow!” Sweetheart admired. “Awesome. Well…” They offered their hand to Darling once again. “Maybe someday I’ll get to hear you play.”

Darling raised an eyebrow. “How about today?” They unclasped their case and put their reed in their mouth, expertly assembling the instrument.

“What? Now?” Sweetheart gaped. “But… don’t you want to go home? It’s gonna take my dad a few hours to get here, even if he speeds. Which… he will.” Sweetheart let out a little laugh. “My mom is going to be a raving maniac in the main office tomorrow when she tells the principal about the team leaving me behind.”

Tightening their reed to their saxophone, Darling shook their head. “I don’t mind hanging out with you until you get picked up.” They blew a few warm up notes and began playing a few upbeat tunes. Sweetheart hummed and clapped along in time, feeling more connected to this utter stranger than they felt with anyone on their team.

Two months later, Darling and the rest of the concert band traveled to Sweetheart’s school as part of a county-wide music festival. Darling was touched to see their new friend giving them a standing ovation at the end of their set.

That next morning, Dana N., Joey, and Dana K. were distraught to find puncture wounds and claw marks strewn across everything inside their lockers.

It wasn’t until years later, when David dragged Darling into Sweetheart’s office to make a formal complaint against Quinn, that the two friends reunited.

Chapter Text

Was it just them, or was this semester’s crop of first-year students simply trying to complete their assignments without reading the directions that Starlight had spent countless hours of their summer revising? How many papers did they have left? Starlight had promised themselves that they would finish this class before they started their weekend, but if they stayed much later, the weekend was going to start whether they liked it or not.

The knock on the door startled the freelancer out of their grading stupor. They blinked lazily, rubbing at their tired eyes in an attempt to chase away the exhaustion that suddenly overcame them.

“Come in,” Starlight invited, clearing their throat.

Starlight would’ve been surprised if a student wanted to see them this late in the day, but when they saw a strange man enter their office, waving awkwardly, they were downright shocked. “Umm, hi.”

Starlight rose from their desk, pushing their chair away from the force of their knees straightening. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Starlight kept their voice even, but they were already memorizing this stranger’s round face, noting the dreamwalker signature he gave off, and planning that if he attacked them, they’d kick him in the crotch and aim to pull that dangling earring out of his ear.

“My name is Elliott,” he said slowly, sensing Starlight’s anxiety. Elliott put his hands up in the air in surrender, though it didn’t ease the freelancer’s worry one bit. Dreamwalkers enacted magic with their minds, not their appendages. “We don’t know each other, but I know of you. We’ve a mutual… contact.” Elliott’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before he continued. “Avior.”

The name sounded like a melody to Starlight, but they couldn’t conjure up any memory of anyone in their life named ‘Avior.' They thought back on the classmates they’d met during their studies, the classes of students they’d encountered as a professor, the friends they’d met at their bowling league. And yet… nothing. No Avior in any memory they had. Even still, they couldn’t deny that the word ‘Avior’ did tickle some sort of recollection.

Was that a constellation?

“You must have me confused with someone else,” Starlight deflected. “I don’t know any Avior.”

“I know you don’t know him,” Elliott sadly agreed. “But you did. And you will again, I promise. Look, I…” He took a step forward, but stopped when he saw that Starlight took a step backwards. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’m here to help you. I’m here to help you remember.”

“Help me… remember?” Starlight bristled. “Alright, I’m done with this nonsense.” They brought their hands together and pulled at the meridian to shape the magic into a field of graviton-energy to send this Elliott character away, but Starlight was alarmed to realize that they couldn’t summon one iota of magic. They tried again, only to fail again.

Elliott shook his head. “About that…” he began apologetically. “This is a dreamscape. You and me, talking right now. It’s a dream that I created.” He took a few small steps towards Starlight, who was desperately clenching and unclenching their fists as if they could squeeze out a little magic if they only tried harder.

“I don’t dream about work,” Starlight spat. "I'm not that boring." They began to pinch their own cheeks. “Wake up, wake up, c'mon, wake up!" they ordered themselves. When that didn't work, they resorted to calling out, "Help! Someone help me!”

Elliott gave a sympathetic nod. “Well, I wanted to set the dream somewhere familiar, where you’re in control. To make you feel more comfortable.” He glanced at Starlight as they continued to pinch themselves and scream. “Hmm, I didn’t think this through, did I?” he mused to himself.

“Let me go!” Starlight boomed. “Wake me up! Now!”

The generalized magic professor wasn’t used to not having access to their powers. That alone was scary enough, but Starlight couldn’t deny the panic that set into their chest at the thought of not being about to leave their office, no matter how homey they had decorated it to be. Were the walls closing in? Would the door ever open up again? Starlight sifted through the cloud of claustrophobia that threatened to overpower their brain. They never recalled being claustrophobic, but perhaps this Elliott guy was responsible.

“Please,” Elliott told them, wincing as he felt Starlight’s emotions creep into his own awareness through the dream-bond. “Please, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’m here to help you. I’m here to make this right. Please, if you come with me, I can explain everything.” He held out his hand. “Just… please?”

Starlight studied Elliott’s hand. The dreamwalker’s pleas seemed genuine, even if his methods were wildly unorthodox. Starlight tried one more time to conjure any type of magic between their fingers to no avail. They also (lightly) slapped themselves in a last-ditch effort to startle themselves awake, but no such luck. With no more options available to them, Starlight sighed and relented. They cautiously took Elliott’s hand in theirs.

“Thank you,” Elliott said through an exhale. “Thank you for giving me the chance to make this right.”

Puzzled by Elliott’s relief, Starlight pursed their lips but said nothing.

“Now,” Elliott instructed seriously. “Whatever you do, do not let go of my hand.”

Starlight clutched Elliott’s warm hand tightly. It felt oddly cozy, even though they were mildly terrified of what this stranger was about to do.

That was the last thing Starlight remembered before they fell asleep.

“Starlight? It’s… it’s really you? It’s really you! Oh, Starlight!”

Hands lightly cupped their cheek. Starlight groggily leaned into the touch, sighing softly. Their eyes darted back and forth, still covered by their lids.

“Are they okay? Why won’t they wake up? Did you hurt them? I swear, Elliott, if you hurt them, I’ll r-”

That voice. It was… a voice they had longed to hear. A voice that sounded like the gentlest lullaby and the smoothest retort, all at the same time. It was a voice they’d fallen asleep to and woken up to before many times. Fuzzy memories passed through their mind’s eye, all centering around that wonderful voice.

“He’d never hurt them,” a different voice, one wholly unfamiliar to Starlight, chastised. “Just be patient and let them come to.”

“Starlight, please,” the voice begged. Starlight felt someone stroking their hair back. “Please, come back to me. Please, I’m right here.”

Starlight started, vaulting upright even as the hands that held them kept a loose grip on them. “I… Where…? What…” Their head swiveled back and forth as they searched for the owner of that glorious voice. Once they gaze settled on the inchoate demon sitting right next to them, they launched themselves into his chest. “Avior!” they cried, their time in that hellscape rushing back to them. “Avior, my love. It’s you! But how…?”

“It’s me, my Starlight.” Avior’s voice dipped into a low whisper as he held Starlight close. “I’m so happy to see you. To know you. To be with you again.” He left his angular chin rest on the top of Starlight’s head. “We’re free. We’ve been free for some time.”

“I… I forgot we were trapped.” Starlight grew distressed when they tried to reconcile their traumatic ordeal with Avior and their recent, mundane memories. “I forgot you!” they cried. “How could I forget you? What happened?”

“It was an effect of the dreamscape,” Elliott cut in. “Of Blake’s dreamscape. I didn’t realize the way the meridian would interact with your memories or your sense of time until we’d already . When you escaped, y-”

Through sheer willpower and curiosity, Starlight managed to peel themselves off of Avior, though he did loop an arm around their shoulder to keep them tucked into his side.

“The dreamscape!” Starlight tried to lunge at the dreamwalker, though Avior easily restrained them. “Why? Why would you do that to Avior? To both of us?”

Elliott’s face took on a pained, forlorn expression. “I didn’t put you there, but I’m so sore a dreamwalker did that to you. Used dreamwalking to torture you like that,” he nearly sobbed. The other person in the room, an unempowered human given their lack of an aura, came up behind Elliott and looped their arm around his waist. At their touch, Elliott managed to regain his composure, as if he was borrowing strength from his partner. “Thanks, Sunshine,” he said under his breath before facing Starlight and Avior again. “I didn’t realize dreamscapes could intersect with the meridian like that. I didn’t realize you had been trapped for so long in such an awful place.” Elliott swallowed nervously. “If I had known, had somehow sensed it, I would’ve tried to help. I swear! I didn’t realize that dreamscape was active, until you both clawed your way out there and got sucked right into CloseKnit’s headquarters.” Elliott grimaced, feeling a lump form in his throat. “I put you through literal hell, and when you escaped, you didn’t even hesitate to help free my partner from CloseKnit. I… I owe you everything.” He knelt next to Starlight’s bedside. “When I heard that you didn’t have any recollection of what happened, I had to help. I… I couldn’t live with myself if I was the reason you lost each other. I’m so sorry for what happened to you. To both of you,” he quickly corrected. “I couldn’t let you continue to suffer in the real world after you’d saved my Sunshine.”

“It was a pretty close call,” Sunshine added, trying to lighten the mood. “But it was worth it to see Blake’s downfall.”

Avior huffed at the mention of Blake. “Starlight, when your memories were gone, the healers said it would be best if I let things be. It killed me to let you go, Starlight, but I didn’t want you to suffer anymore. And…” His voice thinned. “I don’t think I was strong enough to endure you treating me like a stranger again. Not after all we’d been through.”

“You restored my memories?” Starlight asked, trying to keep up with Elliott’s dizzying, emotional explanation.

“Your memories were still inside your head, just locked away in your subconscious. I…” The dreamwalker dangled his hand up and down to help get his point across. “I coaxed them out, back to where they belonged.”

“Thank you,” Starlight said, simply overwhelmed to be safe inside Avior’s arms again. “For giving me Avior back.”

“Yes, thank you, Elliot,” Avior echoed. “I can’t articulate how grateful I am to you.”

“I should be thanking you,” Elliott insisted. “You saved them.” He tipped his head up to Sunshine, who gave a small, shy wave. “From people who were truly evil. You saved my Sunshine. My partner. My dream come true.” He tugged Starlight down into a seat on the edge of the bed and lovingly kissed their cheek. “I’ll never be able to repay you for what you did. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I couldn’t risk saying something that might have made your memory recede further into your head. It was hard enough getting a hold of them as it was.”

Starlight squinted as they considered everything, mind swirling. “I… have a few questions…” they declared slowly. “But…” They nuzzled into Avior. “Maybe they can wait until tomorrow?”

Avior nodded fiercely, squeezing them, so thankful that he and his Starlight were inseparably reunited. “I’ll answer every question you have, from now until the end of time,” Avior vowed. “Because I’ll be right here with you, Starlight. I promise.” He gave them a soft, slow kiss, too enthralled with Starlight to care if Elliott and Sunshine saw him. “I love you, Starlight.”

“I love you, too,” Starlight answered honestly, settling into Avior's strong arms. They did have many questions, but, they did know one thing for sure:

They would always be with Avior.

Chapter Text

Clad in sweatpants and a black hoodie bearing the Shaw Security logo, Angel relaxed against the couch, letting their legs stretch along the cushions. They gently flexed their toes, testing out what sorts of movements would aggravate their already-sore surgical site. They were pleased to find that stretching like that was bearable. “I’m so glad to be back home,” they grinned.

“I’m glad to have you back home,” David Shaw responded as he put away their coats and placed their boats on the rack. “Where you belong.” Once Marie had concluded that surgery was Angel’s only option for their condition, David had been anxiously awaiting Angel’s surgery, subconsciously counting down the days any time he passed the calendar that hung up in the kitchen. Truth be told, he had been a nervous wreck when Angel had recovered in the hospital, even though it was only one overnight. As much as he wanted them to have the surgery, he had been dreading having to leave them there once visiting hours concluded.

But that was in the past. They had bravely endured the procedure, answering every question the health care providers asked honestly. Now, Angel was healthy enough to return home so they could rest and recover comfortably, and that was exactly what David planned to give them.

Angel took in the scene before them, feeling oddly awkward when they saw all the trouble David must’ve gone through to prepare the living room for them. He had covered the couch with a fresh set of sheets and placed their favorite blue-and-orange fuzzy blanket over the back of the couch, ready to be pulled onto their body with minimal effort. A glass of water with a straw, a packet of crackers, and a modest stack of books sat beside them on a little nightstand David must’ve retrieved from the guestroom. Their phone, set to vibrate, and earbuds were next to the books.

Angel smothered the smile that threatened to creep onto their face. David never failed to make them feel loved and supported in a million different ways. “You didn’t have to do all this. It must've been a lot of trouble to set up this recovery nest,” they noted absently. “I feel pretty good.”

“It’s not a nest. I’m not a bird,” David scoffed. “That’s good, but I want you to keep feeling good until you feel completely and one-hundred percent healed.” He settled the sheet up around Angel’s shoulders, careful to keep their arms free, and checked his watch. “And it’s not that much. I had the time last night and figured it’d be easier than waiting until today.”

Rather than let himself fidget and overthink what might have been happening to Angel last night, and whether or not they were in pain as they waited for their surgery to occur, David decided that planning everything for their arrival back home was a better use of his time. Judging by the relaxed, if not a little bit loopy, look in Angel’s gaze, David had been correct.

He approached the couch, pushing the water a little bit closer to them. He resisted the urge to tell them to drink. After all, they had only just sat down. David did not want to nag them yet. But still, the nurse who went over Angel’s discharge instructions had said that it was important they keep hydrated…

Noticing the subtle crease across David’s forehead that only appeared when he was in the midst of an internal conflict, Angel took the glass in their hand and directed the steel straw into their mouth, sipping slowly until the water was more than half gone. They knew David was going to be driving himself insane taking care of them for the next few weeks. They didn’t want to add to his burden.

David’s face softened when he saw Angel drink. “What else do you need?”

“A kiss?” Angel answered automatically, tipping their chin up to show their face. “Please?”

David knelt next to them and automatically pressed a soft kiss to their cheek. “For you? Always,” he promised. “What else?”

“Nothing,” Angel confirmed, snuggling closer to David. “I just missed you when I was there. Kept thinking of you. Wondering what you were doing, whether or not you made dinner yet, if you were going to reorganize my bathroom shelf for me because you always complain…”

“I missed you, too,” David hummed, voice dipping into a lower register he reserved only for his mate. He had pretty much been doing the exact same thing last night, pacing around the house, wondering if Angel would be able to get some sleep despite the chaos of the hospital, if they would be alright with having to refrain from eating to prepare for their surgery, if they were speaking up to ask for a second blanket if they were cold. “Your mess of a bathroom shelf is going to take me more than a week, but mark my words, one of these days, I’m going to clean it up whether or not you like it.” He chortled, scratching at his chin stubble that told Angel that David had not found the time to shave earlier that morning, before he grew serious again. “How’s the pain?”

“Barely there,” Angel reported, blinking owlishly. “It’s kinda itchy on the outside of my bandages, but I know I’m not supposed to scratch.”

David nodded. “When I change the dressing, I’ll make sure to stagger how I cover it. That way, your skin can get some air. I’ll put some Vaseline on it, too. That should help.”

“Thank you, Dr. Davey,” Angel said through a yawn. They let their eyes stay closed for a beat, feeling the dull daze of their pain medication bathe their brain in fatigue. “I love you so much.” They felt David’s soft lips graze against their forehead. Their breathing slowed as they their awareness began to fade.

“I love you, too, Angel.” David’s voice was as thick as honey, lulling Angel into a healing sleep. At some point, his large hand found its way onto the back of their head, carding through their hair with long, soothing strokes. “Rest now, okay? Close your eyes and relax. I’ll be here to take care of you.”

Chapter Text

“But I don’t understand why you can just… y’know…” Lovely grumbled. They gently put their hands on the ill man’s bicep and forearm, feeling the fevered warmth of his skin seep into their palms. “Swchoop swchoop away his sickness like you normally do.” Even when they were finished crudely gesturing the process of magical healing, they let their grip linger loosely, offering a comforting touch. “I thought healing magic works for injuries and sickness.”

“It does,” Sam Collins confirmed, giving his suffering friend a sympathetic look. Despite all his practice as a skilled healer, Sam never was able to get through a conversation like this without sorrow, even if, in time, the vampire in question was going to be fine without Sam’s healing touch.

“Well, Vincent’s sick,” Lovely affirmed petulantly. “So…?”

Sam shook his head. “Vincent’s body ain’t sick.” He pointed to his friend’s chest. “It’s the blood he consumed.” Sam’s finger dragged along until it stopped on Vincent’s wrist. “The person he fed from was sick. With malaria, according to my diagnostic magic. Malaria is an infection that you get from a parasite. Usually a mosquito.”

Vincent groaned pitifully and seized, legs twisting in the sheets and hand grasping out for something neither Sam nor Lovely could see. “Ah!” he yelped.

“Vincent, it’s okay,” Lovely quickly soothed. They took a seat near right beside Vincent, placing their hands on both of his shoulders to press him back onto the pillows. “I’m right here. Shh, just relax.”

Sam’s lips twitched, uncomfortable with seeing Vincent so miserable without any means to help. “Some kinds of malaria are recurrent, meaning an infected person goes through periods of being symptom-free, only for the malaria to relapse again. I think that’s why Vincent didn’t realize the person he fed on was sick.”

Lovely’s focus didn’t waver from Vincent, though they were listening carefully to Sam. They wove their fingers through Vincent’s sweat-soaked hair to calm him. “But what does that have to do with healing magic?”

“If I tried to apply any healing magic to Vincent, it’d rid him of the blood that contained the malaria disease. For a human, that’s no big deal, because part of the healing process would regenerate more blood cells. But for a vamp…” Sam grimaced. So many complexities of vampiric biology were undiscussed, especially for healers. Sam himself hadn’t anticipated such complications because, like most healers, his training only gave him a general overview as to how to serve the vampiric community. No wonder Lovely, a latent, humanborn electro-energetic, did not understand the nuances. “For a vamp, blood is the one thing our bodies can’t make. That’s why we need it so regularly. And why it’s the difference between weakness and strength,” he patiently explained. “If I tried to heal Vincent…”

‘You’d leave him without blood and no way to get any more,” Lovely finished.

Vincent gasped, flopping bonelessly against the bed, his outburst spending what little energy he had as his body fought off the malaria.

“There’s no way of telling how much blood the healing magic would destroy,” he continued. “But, as a vampire, Vincent will be able to fight off the infection. It’s a matter of letting it run its course. Once it does, his vampiric core should clear the disease out of his body, so he won’t have to worry about another relapse. But until then…” He patted Vincent’s shoulder, letting his hand linger to give his pal a slight squeeze. “Vincent’s just gotta hang tight. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

Tight-lipped, Lovely gave a single, stoic nod before their cheeks softened. “Don’t apologize, Sam,” Lovely said. “I should’ve known you would do anything you could to help. All of that makes sense.” They blinked, making a mental note to remember the information Sam had taught them when they took Intro to Healing next semester. “Thank you for helping me get Vincent into bed. And coming over so quickly.” When Vincent had complained of pain earlier that day, deciding to take a nap over watching a movie, Lovely was concerned. When Vincent collapsed on his way to the bedroom, Lovely panicked, immediately calling Sam and demanding he come over right away. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today.” They pointed to the window, which was filtered through a shade to keep Vincent protected from the sun’s rays. “And I see today is rapidly becoming tonight.”

Sam held up a hand to make Lovely stop their speech. “None of that,” he admonished. “I’m glad you called me, even if the help I provided is marginal. I wish I could stay the day with you, but I’ve got guard duty. As long as you’re all set, I better get going so Beatriz doesn’t think I left her to handle the whole west side of the territory alone.” He retrieved his jacket, taking care to button each one as he studied Vincent’s prone, feverish form. “Catch you later, Vincent. Feel better soon,” he said gruffly. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, and I mean anything,” Sam instructed Lovely, giving them a quick side hug.

“Will do,” Lovely agreed. “Thanks again. I’ll keep you posted.”

“With a call, please,” Sam pointedly suggested as he exited the bedroom and let himself out of the house. “Not a text. It takes me too damn long to scroll through all your messages that come in at once. I always miss one or another.”

“I’ll call,” Lovely promised, waving goodbye to Sam. When they heard the door slam shut, they turned their full attention back to Vincent, who was staring up at them with bleary eyes.

Vincent nuzzled himself closer to Lovely, even if the small movement made his muscles ache. “Lovely?” he whispered, tongue laying thick in his mouth and sharp teeth irritating at his sensitive gums. “Lovely, what’s… what’s happening? I feel…” He trailed off, bringing a trembling hand to his temple. “Hot. Too hot.”

“You’re sick,” Lovely informed their partner. Their heart crumbled to see Vincent so uncomfortable. “And it’s not something healing magic can help with.” They pulled Vincent closer, letting their forehead tip into his. “I’m sorry, my love. I wish I could make you feel better. Try to rest. This’ll pass.” They caringly rearranged the sheet for Vincent, even as he twisted and writhed.

“Was… Was Adam here?” he asked, voice wavering. “I thought… I thought I saw him.”

Lovely’s stomach curled at the mere mention of that madman. “No, he’s dead, Vincent,” they proclaimed. “He’s dead. Has been for a long time.” They fought hard to hide their worry. Hearing Vincent so scared, without the normal mask of cocky bravado he showed the rest of the world, unnerved the energetic. Fevers had a way of undoing even the strongest. “Lay back against me.”

“But… but…” Vincent tossed his head back and forth, a sheen of sweat breaking out all across his neck and face. “No, I thought… I… Argh, my head...” He screwed his eyes shut and shivered, though whether it was out of chill or fear, Lovely couldn’t tell. “It’s too much,” he cried.

Lovely held Vincent through his bout of delirium, conjuring a bit of graviton-magic to give his thin sheet the grounding weight of a heavy blanket. “It’s okay, Vincent. You’re alright. Everything’s okay now.”

“No, no, no,” Vincent refuted, sounding like he was about four seconds from bursting into tears. “Every time I start to feel like things are getting quieter and I can feel safe, something bad always happens.” A sob tore at his sore throat. “Dying and getting turned… that was supposed to be the worst. But it wasn’t,” he wept. “Sam’s turning… So awful. He was so scared. I thought he’d die of sadness. My father got so ill. I couldn’t help him, couldn’t see my family, couldn’t do anything but watch alone,” Vincent recalled, words slurring into one another as his past traumas, stoked by his high fever, all seemed to assault his memory at once. Then Adam taking you, keeping you in that horrible, horrible place.” He pulled at Lovely’s shirt, taking a fistful of their shirt. “ I thought you were dead. Thought I was too late. What else? What else?!” he lamented, body contracting harshly. "Make it stop."

“Vincent, Vincent!” Lovely repeated urgently, hoping they could cut through his fog. “Hey, shh, don’t worry about any of that,” they told him, hating that Vincent was feeble enough for them to subdue him, pinning him against their chest. Lovely swiped away a lock of hair that was plastered across Vincent’s forehead. Even ill and caught in the throes of a hallucination, Lovely wasn’t going to let him suffer through having a hair out of place just because he wasn’t completely aware of himself.

Vincent’s eyes circled up and around, staring at something only he could see. Judging by the look of horror in his sunken eyes, Lovely figured it wasn’t anything good.

“Hey, hey,” they said softly. Perhaps if they couldn’t convince Vincent that those memories weren’t real, they could convince him of something else that might ease his anxiety. “No matter what else, it’ll be you and me together,” they declared, whispering into his ear. “You and me, Vincent. Through the quiet, safe times and the loud, dangerous ones.” They gave him a slow, chaste kiss on the cheek, wishing they could absorb some of that excess heat in his body. It felt odd for them, to have only recently discovered the powerful, magical core that resided within them, only for it to be totally useless when it came to making the love of their life feel well again. “I love you. I just want you to feel better, so please, please rest.”

Vincent inhaled raggedly, coming to rest his head in the crook of Lovely’s neck. “Lovely.” The two syllables simply dripped with relief, like Lovely was the answer to all his problems. “You’re here.”

Lovely held their breath, almost afraid that one wrong move would send Vincent back into his fevered daze. “I’m here.”

“Stay?” Vincent plaintively asked. There was no cute wordplay. No trace of flirtation or innuendo. No humble brags or genuine encouragement. Just a scared, sick man laying his heart bare as he asked, practically begged, his partner to stay with him as he suffered through an illness.

“Always,” Lovely answered, holding fast to Vincent. “Right here with you. Go ahead and sleep, Vincent. I’ll be here.”

Given Vincent’s glass-eyed gaze and furrowed brow, Lovely could tell that he was still in the midst of his fever’s grasp, at least partly. But, if their presence could calm him even just a little bit, they would remain vigilant until Vincent regained his wits and health.

As they felt Vincent slacken in their arms and slip into a fitful doze, Lovely mused on what they told Vincent. ‘No matter what else, it’ll be you and me together.’

The thought brought them comfort, too.

Chapter Text

Sam Collins twisted his neck so that his other cheek rested on the pillow so as to soak up its coolness. Sam felt himself slowly wade towards awareness and away from slumber, but he wasn’t quite ready to make that leap yet. It was a rare time when Sam was able to share a bed with his mate. He certainly wasn’t going to cut this blissful experience short just because he happened to stir awake. Yesterday, Darling had worked a security job during the day that ran late, meaning they didn’t have the chance to take their normal quick nap before they dashed off to D.A.M.N. to their night class. Of course, Darling refused to skip out on the course, claiming instead that they would spend their day off catching up on their sleep, if only they could possibly find a certain surly vampire to share the bed with them. As much as Sam disapproved of Darling exhausting themselves beforehand, he had to admit, the notion of having Darling in bed with him to sleep, not just as two ships passing in the night, making use of late bedtimes or early alarms, but to have a full night’s rest together, was quite desirable.

Those thoughts had nearly soothed Sam back into a heavy sleep when the sudden tap of weighty pressure, surrounded by a sharp, though blunted, sensation at the edges of the weight, smacked him in the center of his forehead. Sam blinked open his silver eyes to find himself staring down a wolf paw.

“What the…” Sam pushed himself up onto his elbow, thankful that his vampiric sight allowed him to see so well in the dark. “Oh.”

He chuckled to himself as he saw Darling, sound asleep in their wolf form, splayed out on the other side of the bed. Their pink tongue hung out from the side of their mouth as they fidgeted. Their paw gnashed into Sam’s nose and their tail thumped twice. The bed frame let out a creak underneath the weight of their tail.

Sam ran a hand down his face, cupping his chin. “Well, ain’t you a regular sleepin’ beauty?” He shifted towards Darling, stretching his arm across their crumpled up pillow they pushed into the center of the mattress. “You sleep-shift, do you? Guess we learn something new every day.” He took in the sight of his mate in their wolf form. Their lips raised and fell in time with their breathing. Even the short glimpses of their massive, sharp teeth was enough to make Sam take a deep, steadying breath.

Suddenly, Darling’s pointy ears moved from side to side. Their paws began to twitch and to clench. A soft growl rumbled out of their mouth.

Sam wasn’t fazed in the slightest. He hoped that they were dreaming about being on a difficult hunt or play-sparring with a packmate. Sam had made it no secret that he adored Darling’s wolf form. Ever since he had seen Darling rush at him in their wolf form once the ward dropped around the stadium, Sam had thought they were simply the most majestic, gorgeous shifter he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Maybe they hadn’t gotten the chance to present their wolf form to him in the way they wanted or under happier circumstances they had always imagined with a partner, but at that moment, Sam realized that Darling, in any form, was his other half.

Sam nuzzled closer to Darling, pressing his face into their furry neck and settling back in for the night. Lots of empowered people engaged with their powers while asleep, just as much as unempowered humans would talk or walk in their sleep. It wasn’t anything to wake them up over, though perhaps he would tease them when they woke up in a few hours.

The vampire felt himself drifting back to sleep to the soundtrack of Darling’s periodic growling, until those growls trailed off into a noise he never wanted to hear come from his Darling’s toothy mouth. Darling began to whine, strained and sorrowful. Their ears pulled flat against their head. Their tail curled around their legs and they maneuvered their limbs to make themselves small. The idea that a wolf as large as Darling was trying to take up less space would have been comical, if Sam didn’t recognize the signs that his mate was in severe distress.

“Darlin’?” Sam tentatively reached out to bury his fingers in their fur, carding long strokes across their chest. “Darlin’, hey… It’s okay…” he whispered, leaning close. “You’re alright. Shhh.” He aimed to chase away the nightmare, calm Darling down, and do it all without waking them. He let his other hand come to their forehead, thumb gently moving up and down in a post where they always liked for him to pet.

But Darling didn’t calm down at Sam’s ministrations. They rolled around on their back, twisting out of Sam’s hold and rolling up on their belly. Even ensnared in sleep, Darling knew that they were vulnerable in that position. They frantically kicked out into the air, claws extended, ducking their head down to protect their neck. Sam didn’t have to think long about what Darling might’ve been dreaming about, though he did wonder about just what Darling had endured during their time running with Quinn. Darling had shared some memories with Sam, and frankly, he’d never dream of forcing them to disclose anything they didn’t feel ready to discuss. Even so, Sam did sometimes find his mind wandering and his stomach seizing as he let his own informed imagination conjure up the possibilities.

Darling snarled as they rocked back and forth, jaws snapping and putting a deep tear into their pillow.

“Darlin’!” Sam gasped. He just about had his arms around the distraught wolf when they slipped out from under him. Disoriented and disheveled, Darling rolled off of the bed and hit the floor and wrapped themselves up into a small, shaking ball.

Sam leapt off of the bed and fell to his knees. “Hey, easy now, easy, Darlin’, everything’s alright.” Both of his hands framed Darling’s snout, rubbing with a gentleness that only occurred between mates. “I’m right here with you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. Never. I promise you that.” He felt his core surge with protection. “I won’t let anything hurt you. You’re safe. You’re safe with me, Darlin’.”

Sam was about to wake Darling, until he realized that they were beginning to still as he laid beside them on the floor and held them close. He watched in relief as Darling’s claws retracted. Their muscles slacked. Their ears reverted back into a neutral position on their head. And their tongue slipped out of their mouth to give his wrist a few cool licks before it returned into their mouth. Their yellow eyes never opened. Whatever they dreamt off, Sam’s promise to protect them and keep them safe had Darling relaxing into his touch.

“That’s it,” Sam cooed. He brushed one hand across Darling’s back and kept the other on their muzzle. “That’s right. Relax, Darlin’. Keep sleepin’. Your mate’s here. And he’s keepin’ you close.”

Sam wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the floor with Darling, but he didn’t want to risk waking them up. He waited patiently, letting them push closer into his body. He also didn’t want to risk Darling waking up with a backache later that night. Once Darling’s breath was slow and they gave a little soft whistle of a snore that made a smile appear on Sam’s face, he carefully gathered Darling up into his arms and lifted them back onto the bed.

Darling remained blissfully unaware.

Sam quickly fixed the blanket and pillows so they were both comfortable, supported, and together. He pulled them into his chest, guiding their head to rest on top of his side. “I love you, Darlin’,” he repeated, feeling himself drift back to sleep, too.

Chapter Text

Petra heaved her heavy messenger bag onto Lasko’s desk. After two back-to-back lectures, three student meetings during her office hours, and one extra-long department meeting that most certainly could’ve been an email that did not have to include her, the healing professor was exhausted. She wanted to be at home, preferably stretched out over her sofa with her dog, running through her Netflix queue and waiting for her dinner to be delivered from the new Cuban-Laotian fusion restaurant that opened up in downtown Dahlia.

But, Petra wasn’t doing any of that. Her sofa was nowhere to be seen. Lilac, her beloved dog, was probably napping on her bed, waiting for Petra’s return. No delivery had been ordered. With midterms underway, Petra certainly hadn’t even had any time to get anything prepared to make dinner. To her utter dismay, she wasn’t even close to leaving the D.A.M.N. campus for the night. No. Instead, she was stuck in the new dean’s office, helping him dig through a mountain of bureaucratic paperwork so that her department could apply for a highly sought-after grant. As an earth-elemental, Petra loved digging of any kind, but even someone as optimistic as she could not put a positive spin on this dreadful activity. Still, she preserved, because Petra would do anything to help the academy’s Department of Magical Healing and Regeneration win the funding.

Anything including spending the night organizing and analyzing the past three years’ program descriptions, research contributions, and alumni profiles with Lasko Moore.

Lasko wasn’t the dean in charge of Petra’s department, but she had interacted with him before for a few administrative tasks that always got kicked to the new person with the least seniority. Since the beginning of this school year, that was Lasko. Because she was an utmost professional, Petra tried to hide her disdain for the air-elemental. Lasko looked to be close to her in age, but he had been promoted to assistant dean with very little teaching experience. It irked Petra. Not that she blamed Lasko for accepting the promotion. She didn’t. But every time she looked at Lasko, it was like he had become a walking, talking representation of how D.A.M.N. arranged important things such as promotions behind closed doors. Moreover, she wondered if Lasko was even qualified to serve the academy in this role. Whenever she talked to him, he always seemed so nervous and unsure of himself. And that evaluation had nothing to do with Lasko’s stutter. Petra knew quite well that speech impediments of any kind didn’t correlate with intelligence, confidence, or skill. As far as Petra could tell, there were other, more convincing signs of Lasko’s ineptitude. He grew sweaty. He often forgot what he was doing mid-sentence. He unceasingly fidgeted. He always cowered and hunched, like he hated being in Petra’s very presence.

Perhaps Lasko was nervous because he had denied Petra’s request to replace her classes’ healing textbooks twice in two months’ time.

No matter. She’d keep trying, despite what Lasko thought.

“I need course descriptions for Fall 2019 and Spring 2020,” Petra whispered to herself. “I want to match the wording of the courses’ objectives so that they reflect our academy’s mission statement.” She briskly walked past Lasko, reaching across his stacked sets of papers towering high on his desk, the nearby cabinet, and any other flat surface he could find.

“C-C-Can I help you find something?” Lasko asked, pulling at his necktie. Beads of sweat lined his forehead and cheeks. Even as the air-elemental began to circulate the air around himself to try to cool down, Lasko couldn’t shake the feeling of uncomfortable warmth. He was nervous. That was par for the course, especially since Lasko had begun his tenure as Assistant Dean to D.A.M.N.’s School of Elemental Sciences, but this was a whole three levels higher of the ‘Nerves of Lasko’ scale.

Petra always made him feel like this. It was a dangerous mix of awe and anger, respect and resentment, interest and infatuation…

No. No, that was the wrong word. Lasko was not infatuated with Petra. He was irritated by her.

She was clearly a capable professor. Lasko had perused Petra’s course evaluations and learned that she was one of the highest rated professors at the academy. Her students praised her passion for healing as well as her knowledgeable, but understandable lecture-style, her fair, but firm, grading policies, and her genuine kindness. Not only that, but Lasko had the pleasure of sitting in on one of Petra’s healing practicum classes last year. He saw with his own eyes just how skilled this earth-elemental was when it came to the complicated process of healing. Still, there was an edge to her that just got under Lasko’s skin. It was as if she couldn’t be bothered to give him the time of day, yet seemed put out whenever she reached out to Lasko to perform an administrative task. It was confusing. It was frustrating. It was… kind of hot, if Lasko were being completely honest with himself.

“I’m getting some past course descriptions,” Petra answered him briskly. She stretched her arm towards the papers, teetering on his tiptoes. “I’m all set. I see them right h-”

As soon as Lasko heard her say ‘past course descriptions,’ he locked onto that task, blocking out what followed. He hurried to retrieve the documents, barely taking the time to register that Petra was right next to him. “Oh! I just saw them. They are right h-”

Both Petra and Lasko were so engrossed with their work (and their silly attempts to ignore the other), they collided into each other. Lasko put out his foot and created some uplifting gusts to steady himself. Unbeknownst to him, he stepped on Petra’s linen maxi skirt.

Petra felt the pull on her skirt yank her a few stumbling steps. Caught off guard, she stumbled forward, right into Lasko. They both toppled to the ground in a heap, bodies pressing close. Their cores flared amidst the commotion. A burst of wind whipped through the room, spinning out of Lasko’s usually tight control over his powers. At the same time, Petra’s alarm caused her own powers to spike. The modest variety of greenery that lined the windows suddenly doubled in size. Vines twisted and snaked across the floor. Flowers bloomed, wilted, and then bloomed again, bigger and brighter. The discarded petals and stems got trapped into Lasko’s wind tunnel, mixing with the stacks of papers.

Still on top of Lasko, Petra raised her head to survey the mini-hurricane. When Lasko saw a limb from his spiky cactus plant hurtling toward her, he put his hand across the back of her head and pushed it out of the way. “Watch out!” he clearly yelped, adrenaline flooding his body.

Petra felt the stick whiz past her ear. “Th-thanks,” she swallowed, blinking as she realized what had just transpired.

It only took a moment more for both Lasko and Petra to gain control of their powers again. The wind-tunnel disintegrated into stillness and the plants, while still clearly larger, stopped growing at an accelerated speed.

“I’m sorry,” both Lasko and Petra apologized sheepishly. They forced themselves to separate from each other, wondering why it was hard to make themselves do so. “No, I’m sorry,” they corrected, still speaking together.

“I got st-st-st-startled and started the st-st-st-stupid hurricane in the m-m-m-middle of my own off-off-office,” Lasko grumbled. He focused on expelling each syllable, not wanting Petra to grow impatient or more annoyed than she already was. To Lasko’s surprise, she didn’t interrupt him or try to guess what he was saying. She waited silently until it was clear that he was done talking. “I m-m-messed up all our w-w-w-work.” He gestured to the piles of papers scattered across the floor.

“Oh, shit,” Petra mumbled as her gaze followed where Lasko pointed. “But it’s not all your fault. Look.” She noted the greenery and soil debris. “I was no help. Besides, if I had just asked you to get me the documents I needed, rather than just plowing through and taking them myself, you wouldn’t have lost control like that.” She scrambled to her feet, adjusting her necklaces and straightening out the off-the-shoulder neckline of her cream-colored blouse. “I’m sorry, too.”

Lasko watched, and then grew aware of the fact that he was watching intently, so he tipped his head up to look at the ceiling, though his eyes glided down and rested on Petra anyway.

“I’ll help clean this up and then get out of your hair.” She gathered a bunch of papers into her arms, shaking out the dirt and bits of plants from each one with a gentleness that only drew attention to the strength Lasko knew she possessed. “Maybe we oughta just call it night?”

“But if-f-f-f we don’t g-g-get this report done, we’ll never sub-sub-submit the grant on time,” he countered, standing up.

“I know, I know,” Petra sighed. “But, I probably wasn’t going to get it anyway. I can’t even get a request approved for new textbooks.” She shot Lasko a burning glare. “As you already know.”

Lasko tipped his head to the side. He noticed a smudge on his glasses and took them off to clean them with his necktie. “New textbooks? Wh-Wh-What do you mean? Do y-y-y-you need new t-t-textbooks? I have a form for that!” He crossed the room and began to dig into his filing cabinet. “Aha!” he triumphantly cried, handing the document to Petra.

She warily eyed the document. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “I’ve filled out this form already, twice, and my requests never get approved. I want to change out our current healing textbooks for a revised edition. The books we have barely include half a chapter on healing vampiric bodies. That’s not enough. For one thing, my students need to know the complex biological make up of vampires so they can heal them properly. For another, I need my vampiric students to see themselves represented in the text. To know that D.A.M.N. sees them, acknowledges them, and serves to educate them just as readily as we do any other student. It’s important. Vital.” She handed the paper back to Lasko. “You already know all that. I wrote it down on my request, along with more, and every time, you deny the request.”

Lasko replaced his glasses, but his clear vision didn’t help clarify what Petra was claiming. “I denied your request?” He shook his head. “No, no, no,” he repeated. “I did nothing of the sort! A request from you never crossed my desk.” His hands began to shake when the weight of Petra’s words hit him. “That sounds like a reasonable request. More than re-re-reasonable, in fact,” he added with a little bit of gusto. “I agree that our curriculum lacks when it comes to vampiric culture broadly. I would’ve been happy to h-h-h-help.”

Floored, Petra sat down on top of Lasko’s desk. “Oh.”

Lasko took a seat near her. The warmth was back again, but different this time. Lighter.

“If you didn’t deny the request, then wh-” She clicked her tongue stopping short. “My department head. He was the one I submitted the request to so that it would come into your mail. Son of a bitch!” She banged a fist into the desk, sending little reverberations through the wood that even Lasko felt. “I know he’s not crazy about change, but forging a dean’s signature!? That’s low, even for him.”

“And a v-v-violation of academy policy,” Lasko added. “Do you still have the documents? We can submit a formal charge to the Vice-President,” he deftly suggested. “This stops now. I won’t have department heads flagrantly rejecting my authority by impersonating me.” He covered her clenched fist with his palm, feeling a little bit of her tension drain away as he did so. “I promise. And I promise to acquire those textbooks for you. You’re always so compassionate to your students. I want to make sure you have the resources to continue that work.”

Petra brightly beamed. She felt herself flush at Lasko’s touch. “Really? You mean it?”

“Absolutely,” Lasko confirmed.

“Thank you!” she burst. “Oh, thank you so much!” When she smiled, Lasko felt himself mirroring her expression. “That’s wonderful news! Just wonderful!”

“I’m sorry you had to go through the grief of receiving multiple rejections first,” Lasko apologized. “But I’m glad we got things all straightened out now.”

“Me, too, Lasko.” Petra brushed a long strand of thick hair away from her face. “Speaking of straightening out…” She opened her arms to Lasko’s mess of an office. “We should probably get to work to clean this up, hmm?”

“You can go home, if you’d like,” Lasko offered. “I don’t mind cleaning things up myself and handling the application. You’ve probably got better things to do with your night than to b-b-be here with me.”

Petra thought of her earlier lament about wanting to go home, slightly confused to realize that she didn’t want to anymore. She preferred to be with Lasko, even if it was to reorganize a bunch of papers that, honestly, should have all been digitized anyway. She mentally considered his offer. Liliac would have been fed with an automatic feeder and free to fun around in her fenced-in yard with his doggy door. She couldn’t think of any reason to leave. Not anymore.

“Uhh, no,” she answered. “No, I’d rather stay here with you.” A curl of uncertainty coiled in her chest. “If you don’t mind?”

“M-m-mind!?” Lasko echoed incredulously. “No! I don’t m-m-m-mind at all! It’s been f-f-f-fun spending time with you,” he confessed. “Except f-f-f-for my whole…” He threw his hands in the air to recall the hurricane.

“Actually, that was kinda fun, too,” Petra winked. “I don’t get a chance to see air-elementalism like that up close. It was beautiful.” She scoffed. “Granted, maybe if our papers hadn’t been caught up in the mix, it would’ve been more beautiful, but…” Her mouth suddenly went dry. “Maybe, another time?”

Lasko sucked in a ragged breath, almost too afraid to move. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to do anything to make it end. “Yes,” he said simply, relieved to find that reality remained intact. “I would like that very much. And s-s-s-same.” He huffed at himself, realizing Petra needed more context to understand him. “I mean, about your earth-elementism. It was… g-g-g-gorgeous,” he complimented.

Petra swallowed a lump in throat. “Thanks,” she replied, restraining herself from squealing in delight by turning back to the papers.

“But if we’re g-g-g-nna stay,” Lasko decided. “We’re gonna n-n-n-need to eat.” He took out his phone. “P-P-Pick a place. And g-g-get anything you want,” Lasko invited. “M-M-My treat.”

“We’ll split it,” Petra made clear. “But thank you.”

Lasko waved away her offer. “I’ve got a b-b-better idea,” he grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll ch-ch-charge it to your department head’s expense ac-ac-account.”

Petra giggled and nodded, taking the phone from Lasko’s hand. “Oh, then we are going to feast tonight,” she declared.

True to her word, they did. Petra and Lasko worked together, talked together, ate together, and laughed together. Despite staying way later than they had anticipated, both found themselves wanting to spend more time with each other. Both had decided to make that wish a reality soon.

Chapter Text

“No!” Gavin cried, twisting tighter into the sheets. He groped at the corner of the pillow, clenching a fist so tightly the material nearly tore. “No! Don’t…” His face pulled into something between a scowl and a frown. “He’s not…” Gavin shook, pulling his knees closer to his chest even as his ankle caught against the blanket. “They can’t…”

Freelancer blinked against the darkness of their bedroom, letting their eyes adjust. All they saw was the wall, just barely able to make out the shape of their D.A.M.N. poster that sported the familiar freelancer insignia. Nothing out of the ordinary there. “G-Gavin?” they asked, rolling onto their other side to face their partner.

Gavin jolted at Freelancer’s voice. “Please… Don’t do this. Please!” he cried, tossing his body back and forth so hard that the bed shook. “No!” He bolted upright, eyes wide open in terror. “I’m sorry,” he added in a small, strained voice. “I… Oh.” Quick, shallow breaths slowly transformed into slow, even sighs. Without another word, Gavin settled back into the bed, hastily fixing the blanket over himself without stealing any covers from Freelancer. It was only a matter of moments before he fell back to sleep.

Freelancer, on the other hand, did not. They remained awake until their alarm went off six hours later. Every minute of those six hours was spent contemplating what they had just seen. What was Gavin dreaming about? Did he have nightmares often? Why didn’t he wake them up? Despite those questions, Freelancer decided it was best if they let Gavin come to them when he was ready. The last thing they wanted to do was push him, even if they desperately wanted to help ease the burden that plagued the incubus. They resolved to stay quiet about the whole matter.

They held out until breakfast. It was impossible for them to hold back for one more second.

“What do you dream about?” Freelancer asked between bits of wheat toast.

“Well, certainly not counting sheep.” Gavin idly fingered the handle of the ceramic mug in front of him, meeting Freelancer’s eyes. “Why?” he deflected, letting his mouth stay open for an extra beat. The incubus brought the mug to his lips, savoring the warmth of the tea more than the flavor. “You looking for some new inspiration, Deviant?”

Freelancer was unmoved by Gavin’s subtle, but admittedly seductive, stare. “You were crying in your sleep,” they explained, focusing on their toast like it was the only thing in the world. “Last night.”

Gavin’s usual bravado faded away, leaving only genuine embarrassment and surprise. “I woke you up,” he surmised. Sadness lined his handsome face, weighing it down. “I'm sorry, my love.”

“What?” Freelancer stood up to drag their chair next to Gavin so they could touch him. It was rare, they realized distantly, that the incubus was in need of comfort, but they knew that Gavin responded to their touch. Freelancer laid a palm on his kneecap, squeezing a bit. “Gav, you don’t need to apologize for having nightmares. Never,” they gently admonished. “You don’t ever need to be sorry for that.”

Gavin opened his arms, silently inviting Freelancer to take a seat on his lap. They quickly obliged him, looping their arms around his neck. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he rationalized. “Nightmares aren’t real. They shouldn’t have the slightest bit of effect on me. I… I…” He swallowed against the lump in his throat, chest tight.

“I want to help you.” Freelancer kissed his nose. “I’m here for you, Gavin. Not just for the good times, but the bad, too,” they assured him. “You don't have to be so strong all the time. I can be strong for the both of us, if you'd let me…” They fit their hand in between the space of Gavin’s horns, rubbing his head tenderly.

“But it’s stupid,” he said through a sob. “It’s not real. I know it’s not real. I know what I dream isn’t what happened, but… But…” He trailed off through a whine. “But it feels real in the moment,” he confessed. “It’s… it’s Vega. When we confronted him. Except we don’t win. Caelum’s there, too.” Gavin leaned into Freelancer’s touch, bowing his head. “Vega’s hurting Caelum,” he recalled. “He’s hurting you. It’s all mixed up in my head. I’m just standing there, watching it happen. Trying to help, but I can’t. Nothing I do works. Nothing I do matters. You’re screaming. Caelum’s screaming. I can’t stand it!” he burst, tears wetting his eyes. “It’s just awful. Awful to see. Awful to hear. Awful to think about.”

Freelancer guided Gavin’s face onto their shoulder as they surrounded him in a hug. “Alright, alright now,” they murmured in his ear. “Alright, Gav, okay,” they hummed, holding the demon through his breakdown. “Caelum is fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine,” they repeated. Freelancer breathed deeply, encouraging Gavin to do the same.

With no other choice and no desire to move, Gavin wept into his partner’s shoulder. He clung to them fiercely, drawing strength from their steadiness. It was as if he could no longer deny the stress that had been building up for far too long. It had been too close that day. Much too close. He had almost lost Freelancer, and why? Because of some rouge sadism-demon obsessed with control? It was all so senseless. It was all so jarring for an incubus realizing that falling in love came with more complexities than there were stars in the sky. “I just want you safe,” he cried. “I just want to be able to keep you safe. I need you. I need you with me.”

“I’m right here with you,” Freelancer replied. “Right here. And I always will be,” they soothed, voice low and thick. It was like they accessed some special soundwave that reverberated into Gavin’s brain, saturating it in a comfort he never knew he craved until he met them. “You are amazing, Gavin. Amazing. You know that? You’re so strong. So loving. So funny and kind and my favorite person in the world.” They cupped Gavin’s cheek so that their thumb could brush away a few tears that clung to his eyelash. “But you can’t take on everything all at once and keep it all to yourself.” They scoffed. “Because you and me? We’re a team. A damn good one at that,” they winked.

Gavin cleared his throat. “The best.”

“Yeah, the very best,” Freelancer agreed. “That’s why it’s so important that we let each other in when we’re struggling. So we can team up and kick ass.”

“Or break into tears?” Gavin snorted.

“Yeah, that, too,” Freelancer agreed. “Whatever you need, I’ve got you. Just like you do for me, like you have done for me, over and over and over again.” They pulled him into a kiss slow enough to savor his taste. “Even if I can’t stop a nightmare from coming, I can be there to wake you up.” They sighed. “Please. Let me be there for you.”

“Mmkay,” Gavin agreed, staring into their eyes. He would have agreed to anything Freelancer asked, but for him to know that what they wanted was to help him? That they’d choose him not just when he was thriving, but even when he was a mess. He didn’t know if he could truly comprehend how deep his connection with his love ran, but he was determined to hold onto it with every scrap of strength and magic he had.

“I love you so much,” he told Freelancer, nuzzling closer into them. “I promise I’ll make sure to… share… this part of myself as readily I do the other parts of myself.” He felt his lips tremble, the weight of his vow hitting him.

“Aw, Gavin, I love you, too,” Freelancer hummed. “Thank you for letting me be a part of our team.”

Chapter Text

“No, no, no, no, no,” Angel groaned, watching the chocolate sponge cake rip and tear right before their eyes as they attempted to roll it up. White cream oozed out of the sides of the dessert, somehow both oddly lumpy and yet too thin to be even remotely appetizing. “Why are you doing this to me!?” they grunted at the sweet mess of powdered sugar and cake crumbles on the counter.

As if on cue, their doorbell rang.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” They quickly washed their hands and wiped them dry on their apron before tossing it into the corner of the kitchen, wondering if they could just pretend they weren’t home. It didn’t take long for Angel to think better of that plan. All that would accomplish would be worrying their boyfriend on his birthday. That was the absolute last thing Angel would ever want to do. He worried enough already. He deserved a fun night to have a quiet celebration.

Angel threw open the door to find David Shaw waiting for them.

“Happy Birthday,” they mumbled, trying to slap a smile across their face.

He entered their apartment, immediately taking off his vest and boots. “Hey, thanks” he greeted. “Took you long enough to open the door. You hiding something?” The tall man swiveled his head back and forth, quickly surveying the space. “Because I distinctly remember that we agreed: No surprise party. No gifts.”

Angel took David’s vest and tossed it into their nearly packed closet. “There’s no party,” they reported, barely holding back their disappointment. “And I didn’t get you a gift.” All they wanted to do was give David the calm, relaxed birthday he wanted. That he deserved. That’s why they thought baking a buche de noel would be the perfect way to mark the occasion. They had planned it for weeks, imagining how they would proudly present the dessert to David. He had mentioned how much he enjoyed the dessert, even though he rarely, if ever made it.

“Look at that. It’s been years since I’ve had one,” he told Angel when a scene featuring the characters enjoying a buche de noel appeared in a film they had been watching together. “Since I was a kid, I guess…” David’s handsome face took on a fond look, but Angel could tell it was bittersweet for him to reflect on what seemed to be a happy memory.

It was then Angel decided to attempt the notoriously finicky dessert as a surprise for David’s upcoming birthday.

David had stubbornly insisted that they not make a big deal for his birthday. After all, he reasoned, they had been dating for less than a year. David hadn’t wanted the sheer coincidence of his birthday happening to force either one of them into turning their relationship into something more serious than it was just yet. Everything was good between them. They were letting things happen organically, happy to take the time they needed to get to know each other and to let themselves be known. It was then Angel decided to attempt the notoriously finicky dessert as a surprise for David’s upcoming birthday. In the spirit of that, Angel readily agreed to David’s terms, keeping their secret plan to themselves.

And now they had absolutely nothing to give David. No gift. No party. Not even a stupid rolled-up cake. They felt their chest tighten, trying to force themselves to pretend everything was fine for David’s sake. They didn’t want to ruin his birthday. At least, not ruin any more than they already have.

The wrinkles that crossed Angel’s countenance puzzled David. Usually, they were like a beacon of light and energy. “Are you okay?” He let his large palm settle on their shoulders. “Angel?” He swallowed, sensing their distress as it rolled off of them in waves.

Angel dragged their gaze up to meet David’s. Their resolve to keep quiet disintegrated into dust when David gently touched their cheek. “I’ll show you,” they said. Angel took hold of David’s wrist and led him into the kitchen, gesturing like the whole room was a monument to their failure.

David scanned the kitchen, eyes widening. Bowls dripping with batter and a variety of measuring cups, forks, and spatulas filled the sink. The wadded-up apron on the floor was coming unfurled. Potholders were scattered around every surface. The table looked as if it had been coated with butter, then dusted with sugar, flour and eggshells. To top everything off, the cake-like monstrosity, still half-covered in bits of parchment paper, sat on the counter in a cream-filled lump.

“Whoa,” David said under his breath.

“It was supposed to be a buche de noel!” Angel hastily explained. “For you! For your birthday!” They spotted a spoon on the floor. “But it was like nothing was working out. I tried so hard, and none of it worked.” In one fell swoop, they bent down to nab the spoon and tossed it into the sink. “The first cake was too thin and burned. The second cake was too thick, wasn’t cooked through all the way. The filling was all lumpy, no matter how much I mixed it, so I tried to add a little more cream, but then it got too drippy, so I added more powdered sugar, and it lumped up again.” Angel grew more frustrated with each and every word they spoke. “This cake is the third one, and when I tried to roll it up, it ripped apart in my hands like nothing.” They bit the inside of their cheek in an effort to prevent any tears from spilling out of their eyes. “I’m sorry, Davey. I’m really sorry. I-”

“A buche de noel? For me?” David blinked himself out of his shocked stupor when he saw how upset Angel grew. “Angel, Angel,” he told them softly, every syllable low and thick. It never failed to amaze Angel how David’s voice worked to calm them. “I… I can’t believe you went through all this trouble just for me.” He slipped his hand under their chin. “Thank you.”

“It’s not trouble when it’s for you.” Angel pushed closer into David’s body, feeling the weight of his other arm come to their back. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I didn’t do anything. I spent all day whipping cream and mixing batter, but we don’t have anything to eat.”

“I don’t care about that,” David told them brusquely. To anyone else’s ear, he would’ve sounded dismissive and cold. To Angel, he sounded comforting and warm. “It was so kind of you to think of me and to try to do this. So what if it didn’t work out?” He huffed in the general direction of the cake-lump. “To know you put in all this effort, just because I mentioned offhandedly that I like a special kind of dessert? That’s…” He wracked his brain for a word that could somehow manage to describe the compassionate, caring, amazing, incredible, sexy essence Angel exuded. When it seemed like no word could capture what he meant, David decided to go with a word he knew described his Angel. “That’s so kind of you.” He planted a kiss on their forehead, gratitude threatening to overwhelm him.

How had he gotten so lucky to have them in his life?

“You’re not disappointed?” Angel asked, their voice cracking.

“Disappointed?” he repeated incredulously. “With you? Never.” He kissed them again, this time dipping down so that his lips could find theirs. “I love you so much, Angel.”

“I love you, too,” Angel replied, feeling their heartbeat slow and their worry drain away as David held them close. “I think I’m going to admit defeat for the buche de noel,” Angel admitted. “At least, for tonight.”

“Good plan,” David approved. “If you’re still in the mood for something sweet, I wouldn’t mind walking over to that frozen yogurt place at the end of the block. We can bring it back here, maybe watch a movie or something?”

Angel clapped. “Yes! Let’s go!” they chirped. “What a good idea!”

“But only on two conditions,” David added sternly, not ready to relinquish his stony exterior for his mushy center so early. “One: We do these dishes first.” He shuddered, eyes quickly darting to the full sink. “You don’t want to leave this stuff overnight, Angel. It’s only going to be harder to wash.”

Angel pouted, but didn’t interrupt.

“And two,” he added, “You do not, under any circumstances, tell anyone at the yogurt shop that it’s my birthday. I don’t want them singing to me or anything.” To Angel’s great surprise, he sent Angel a pleading facial expression they could only describe as ‘puppy-dog eyes.’ “It’s my birthday, after all,” he cheekily reminded, just in case Angel had any inclination to argue.

“Fine,” Angel relented, obtaining the dish soap from underneath the sink. “But only because you asked so politely, Davey,” they winked. “Consider that your birthday present.”

Chapter Text

Darling slung their shirt over the top of the changing room door. “I don’t understand why I can’t just wear something I already have,” they grumbled, pulling on the clothes that hung on the hanger. “This is too much. It’s just too much!” They began to button the clothing, working their way down, only to discover there horizontal line of buttons running across the apparel, as well. To their utter embarrassment, Darling realized somewhere along the way, they had missed a button. How would they ever figure out which button needed to be corrected without undoing everything and starting all over again. “For crying out loud…”

A knock against the slatted door jolted Darling from their musing. “Everything okay in there?” Vincent Solaire asked sharply. He had given Darling more than enough time to dress.

The tailor standing next to Vincent, tape measure dangling from her neck, scowled at the vampire. “They don’t like?” she asked, tapping her foot. This was simply unheard of. Every one of her customers always liked the outfits she created for them, skillfully weaving together the finest material with a bit of magic to ensure the clothing would serve its owners perfectly, no matter what their magical specialty was. She had crafted plenty of formal wear for shifters, ensuring that the piece was stylish, comfortable and able to withstand any kind of shift. No one walked out of her shop unhappily. Nobody. “How can they not like?”

“Rhoda, no, no, no,” Vincent answered. “I’m sure they’ll like! I’m sure they’ll love.” The last thing Vincent wanted to do was upset Rhoda. She was the only magical tailor he would ever trust with his wardrobe. For years, Vincent had been a regular at her shop. “They’re just having some trouble putting it on.”

“Oh!” Rhoda gave one, slow nod. “I will help.” She rapped on the door four times. “I will help!” she repeated louder.

“You will not do anything of the sort!” Darling called out from the changing room, still fidgeting with the clothing. They finally had the buttons taken care of, but they weren’t sure if they had put it on backwards. As mortified as Darling was to be bested by a complicated piece of clothing, they certainly didn’t want to have some stranger help them dress like they were an inept buffoon.

Rhoda pressed closer to the door, mouth almost touching the slats. “I. Will. Help.”

If it had been anyone else, Vincent might’ve intervened. He hadn’t spent all that much time with Darling, but he knew just how formidable they were. Not to mention they somehow had managed to crack through Sam Collins’s otherwise-impervious defenses.

However, this was Rhoda.

If anyone could make Darling bend, it was this four foot, eleven inch spitfire of a water-elemental who sewed her fingers to the bone to clothe Dahlia’s magical population for the last fifty years.

“Ugh. Fine. I’m clearly not going to figure this out myself.” Slowly, the door creaked open, just enough to let Rhoda slip inside the modest changing room.

“Room for three in there?” Vincent teased, making out as if he planned to join the pair in the changing room.

“Not a chance!” The door slammed shut. “I can almost hear you pouting through the door. If you’re wondering, no, I don’t care if that hurts your little feelings. As a shifter, I choose when, how, and who sees me naked.”

Vincent didn’t bother trying to stifle a laugh. Fabric ruffled and a zipper zipped quickly.

“I heard that!” Darling yelped. “Shut up, Vincent. It’s your fault I’m even doing this.”

“Stop moving!” Rhoda chided sharply. “Head down and arm through here!”

“Don’t fight it,” Vincent advised Darling. “Just let Rhoda work her magic.”

As if in response to Vincent’s words, the door swung open, crying out under the sudden strain. Out walked Darling, shuffling forward towards the full-length mirror, eyes trained to the floor.

“Wow!” Vincent beamed.

Rhoda briskly strode out behind them, proudly surveying her work. “I’ll give you time to think,” she offered, noticing a customer browsing a few jackets. “I will be back. Excuse me.”

Vincent gave her a suave wave. “Thank you, Rhoda. You’ve outdone yourself.” He came up behind Darling, habitually making eye contact with himself in the mirror as he bent down to place his chin on Darling’s shoulder. “You look… amazing! It’s perfect! It’s so you.”

Darling swallowed, finally summoning the strength to take a gaze in the mirror. When they saw their reflection, they audibly gasped.

“Ooh, hang on!” He fumbled for his phone, feeling each pocket of his jeans before relaxing his phone was tucked away in his shirt pocket. “Can we wait a second? I wanna take a picture of you right now.”

Darling smiled shyly, still sweeping their eyes over their reflection even as Vincent took what seemed like fifty selfies. When Vincent had suggested they go shopping for something to wear to the upcoming Monarchical Summit, Darling was less than enthused. The last thing they would want to do was shop for clothes. The last person with whom they wanted to shop was Vincent. As much as they loved the guy, he could be a little much when it came to fashion and luxury. When Vincent’s typical incessant pleading and promises to pay didn’t work, he gently reminded them that at the Summit, they were not just a guest, but Sam’s guest.

That made Darling’s ears perk up. Sam needed them at their very best during this event. Darling wasn’t sure how far a simple outfit, even if it was fancy, could go when it came to making them seem good enough for Sam, but they had to suck it up and try.

“That’s the stuff.” Vincent’s whistle pulled Darling back to reality. “These pictures came out great.” He pocketed the phone. “I’ll send them to you later. You’re gonna want to update all your profile pics.” He bumped his head into Darling’s. “What do you think?”

“I…” Darling lets their lips curl and twitch, trying to buy some time. “It’s amazing,” they finally said, feeling like the word wasn’t enough to describe the swirl of emotions bubbling and stewing within. “It feels so comfortable. And it looks exactly how I would imagine I could look on my best day.” They ran their fingers along their arm, admiring the silky smooth feeling of the material. “It’s perfect.”

Vincent observed them carefully, noticing how they fidgeted nervously. “If it’s perfect, then why aren’t you more excited?”

Darling saw no reason to lie to Vincent. “Because even in this amazing outfit, with every metallic button, and the softest material, and cut in all the right places, and even on my best day, I’m worried it doesn’t make me look good… enough.” They clicked their jaw. “You said it yourself, Vincent. Every vampire from every surrounding clan is going to be at this thing. And when I walk in with Sam, they are all going to judge me in relation to him.” They walked in front of the mirror and turned their back on it. “Sam has a hard enough time with official clan business.”

Vincent nodded to signal that he understood Darling was alluding to Sam’s nonconsensual turning. It wasn’t just the act of being turned that was difficult for Sam. It was everything that came after it. He had to acclimate to his new life in a way that most vampires would never even think of facing. Alone. Sure, people such as Vincent and William did everything they could do help, but even their good intentions couldn’t make up for what Sam didn’t have. After all, a newborn without a maker? And a maker who had to be invoked by her own maker to keep that newborn safe? Word travelled fast among clans when it came to that freakish circumstance. Sam hated the way it made everyone look at him at these types of events.

“I don’t need to be giving Sam any more problems. He doesn’t deserve that,” Darling explained, trying to keep their tone even so that Vincent wouldn’t realize how upset they were at the thought of not being good enough for Sam. “Whatever. It’s fine. Look, we tried, okay? We tried.” They started to grasp at their clothing, trying to get their fingers on any button they could find.

“What?” Vincent Vincent exclaimed. “No, no. Wait. Just wait a minute.” He put his hands on Darling’s, stilling them. “Wait a minute.” Vincent searched Darling’s inscrutable face. “Yes, I said that you needed to be looking your best at the Summit,” he admitted. “Yes, I said that as Sam’s partner, you’d be a reflection of him. But I didn’t say that as some sort of cautionary warning or a threat. I certainly didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t good enough for Sam.” He whipped Darling around to face the mirror, putting his vampiric strength to good use. “I’m sorry I implied any such thing, because it’s not true. You…” He gestured to the mirror. “You are damn perfect for Sam. You hear me?” he winked. “I’ve known Sam for a long time now. I’ve seen him at his best and worst. But I’ve never seen him as happy as he is when he’s with you.” Vincent pointed to the mirror. “And no outfit or accessory can change that.”

Darling smirked. “Really? You think so?”

“I know so,” Vincent confirmed. “Today was not about getting you all dressed up to impress a bunch of self-important nobodies at a party. Today was about making your outside match the amazing person you are on the inside.” He poked them in the chest. "That's honestly all I ever intended to do today."

“Vincent, I…” Darling began to say, only to realize they didn’t know how to put their overwhelming gratitude into words. “Thanks. I just… thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

Vincent winked. “That’s why I love fashion so much, you know. People think it’s shallow. It’s not.” He grew more serious than Darling had ever seen. “Good fashion isn’t about the latest trends or the biggest designers. Good fashion is about using clothes as a medium to express who you are and how you want to define yourself for the world. It’s about the one wearing the clothes, not the people looking at them.” He spread his arms wide and stepped to the side, leaving Darling to be the only person the mirror captured. “And you, my wonderful wolf, are one fantastic person. It’s only fitting that your clothes be just as wonderful.”

Darling squared their shoulders and took another long look in the mirror, letting themselves bask in the feeling of liking what, or rather, who, they saw. Darling even began to strike a few poses, a wide, toothy grin spreading across their face.

“Now that’s the spirit!” Vincent bounded back next to them, striking a few poses of his own and slicking back a stubborn cowlick at the side of his head. “So, what do you say?”

“I say, ‘yes,’” Darling nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Let’s get it. I can’t imagine walking into the Summit wearing anything but this. Again, thank you.”

“You are so welcome.” Vincent was already starting to obtain his wallet. “Thank you, for all the joy you’ve brought to Sam’s life.” He began to wave his arm in the air. “Rhoda!?” he called excitedly. “We’ll take it!”

Chapter Text

Sunshine watched as Elliott pushed his french toast around the plate with his fork. Very little of the french toast, as well as the strips of bacon, made their way into Elliott’s mouth. Sunshine frowned. One of Elliott’s favorite traditions was their monthly breakfast-for-dinner hangouts. Usually, Elliott chatted away about the ups and downs of his life, all while cajoling the same information out of Sunshine, holding onto their every word.

Tonight, however, Elliott had barely spoken more than six syllables. He was listless, indifferent, and clearly not hungry. This was… new. They had known Elliott for years, but Sunshine wasn’t sure if they had ever seen him quite so subdued. Sunshine had expected Elliott to go on full-out monologues about his new job, especially after he had worked so hard and went on so many interviews before he landed his dream job. After six months of rigorous training, Elliott had finally been allowed to go out into the field himself this week. Whatever that meant. Elliott had to be fairly secretive about the actual details of his job. Something about government clearance and nondisclosure agreements. Although Sunshine wasn’t exactly sure what Elliott did, they knew how excited he was to have the chance to do it.

Who was this listless man, and what had he done with their energetic, bubbly Elliott?

Sunshine eyed their friend warily, shoving another forkful of scrambled eggs into their mouth. “What is with you, Eli!?” they finally burst. “Why are you all mopey? What’s wrong?”

Elliott shrugged, putting his fork down and pushing the plate away. “Nothing. I don’t know.” He uncomfortably shifted his weight on the hard, wooden stool that Sunshine insisted matched the aesthetic of their kitchen, no matter how often Elliott asked them to purchase a few cushions for the sake of his back.

Sunshine softened, reaching over to let their fingers brush against Elliott’s outstretched elbow as he slumped further into himself. “I ask because I want to help. Please?” They sighed. “Whatever is going on with you, let me help.”

“I…” Elliott shivered. “I’m just… frustrated, I guess. With work.” He kept his eyes trained on his french toast. "Rough first week."

Sunshine’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Something happened at work?” they gathered. “Did someone do something to you?” They dragged their chair closer to Elliott, letting their knees bump his.

On seeing Sunshine’s defensive side come out, Elliott gave the smallest of smiles. It never failed that they would get protective over him. That’s how it had always been between them. He relished being someone they felt worth protecting. Elliott could only hope they knew he felt the same way about them. “No, no, no. Nothing like that,” he smirked. “It wasn’t anything anyone did. It…” Elliott clenched his jaw, unable to resist the urge to keep silent any longer. Sunshine always had this effect on him. All it took was one word from them and he was ready to unburden himself of every secret he held in his heart. It was getting harder and harder for him to keep his magic a secret from them, but the last thing he needed as a new hire was a Department Citation for an unlawful covert breach. Soon enough, he’d get around to filling out that paperwork. But for now, Elliott had to be prudent, despite his desire to tell Sunshine everything and everything.

He couldn’t tell them that led to his first client, a stealth who worked for D.U.M.P. and recently returned from a harrowing undercover experience, ended up being plagued with horrific nightmares due to Elliott’s own stupid mistake of not recognizing his own client’s psyche, thus causing his defense mechanisms flood the poor, already-frazzled stealth with truly awful nightmares. That stealth had trusted Elliott to craft them a safe dreamscape so they could rest without having to worry that someone would mine their mind for information before the upcoming criminal trial. And what did he do with that trust? Instead of providing the security Elliott had promised them, the dreamwalker had unwittingly trapped the stealth inside a terrifying dreamscape. But, even if he couldn’t tell them all that, Elliott decided, he could share how awful, embarrassed, and ashamed that ordeal was making him feel. How he was questioning whether or not he was cut out for the career in dream guarding he always imagined for himself.

“It… was me,” Elliott haltingly explained. “I screwed up. And someone who trusted me to help them ended up getting hurt. My error hurt them deeply.” His face crumpled into a frown. “I feel sick just thinking about it.” His throat grew narrower. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean it! But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t take away their hurt.”

As soon as Elliott had realized what happened, he seized control of the dreamscape and brought the stealth back to consciousness, but by then, it was already too late to save them the trauma. The stealth had come to awareness screaming and crying, confused as to what was real and what was dream. Elliott had been so upset that he had to call in his supervisor to help ease them back to sleep and erect an actual dream-defense inside their head.

The memory made Elliott shudder. He thought he was so ready to take on this vital role. He had been so proud and excited that his magic let him help people in this way. To have all of it go so wrong on his first attempt had Elliott questioning whether or not he was even capable of helping anyone. He felt small, insignificant, and frankly, powerless.

“Aww, Elliott.” Sunshine’s brow pinched at the center of their forehead. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.” They opened their arms. “You want a hug?”

Elliott nodded wordlessly, too choked up to speak. He did. He did want a hug from this incredible person. He pushed himself into their embrace, clinging to their torso with both arms wrapped tightly around their waste.

Sunshine patted his back a few times, breathing slow even as Elliott’s breath hitched. “You’re so hard on yourself sometimes, Eli. You’ll get the hang of things. I’m sure that person understood you were new and that you made a mistake. They didn’t hold it against you, did they?”

Elliott slowly shook his head. He let himself be lost in Sunshine’s touch, closing his eyes. Actually, now that he thought about it, the stealth didn’t criticize Elliott, even to his supervisor once she had arrived to help. For that matter, Elliott’s supervisor hadn’t criticized him, either. In her dreamscape, she modeled to Elliott how to fix the implosion of his dream-architecture so that it could function as he intended. Once the stealth was calmed down enough to be put to sleep and dreaming pleasantly again, Elliott’s supervisor also helped Elliott figure out what led to his mistake, and how to prevent a mistake like that from happening again.

The only one who was upset with Elliott was Elliott.

“But,” he croaked. “What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not cut out for it? I have really important responsibilities, Sunshine.” He could practically feel the heavy burden of keeping clients’ minds safe sitting on his wiry shoulders. “I screwed up this week. What if I keep screwing up?”

“You won’t,” Sunshine whispered. “You won’t, Eli. I’ve never met someone more meticulous or hard-working than you.” They stayed solid, feeling Elliott nuzzle closer as he relaxed into their hug. “For real!” they insisted. “And not only that, but you’ve got the heart for a job like that.”

Elliott softly scoffed. “You don’t-”

“Mhmm, yeah, I know I don’t know what the job is,” Sunshine interrupted, adopting an exaggerated tone meant to mimic Elliott’s voice. “That doesn't matter. Because what I do know about this job is that it helps people. You just said it yourself. And you, Elliott…” They pulled away, just far enough to pat Elliott’s chest. “You’re a helper. It’s in your blood.”

Elliott felt his core sizzle at their touch.

“You’re human. You made a mistake. And frankly, it’s not going to be the last mistake you’ll ever make.” Sunshine gave Elliott a stern glare, confident that he’d recognize the expression as one of irony. “But the good you’ll do will far outweigh those mistakes, because you are so ready for this role. So ready,” they emphasized. “I’ve seen how you worked to get this far. I know how excited you were to land this position after applying for months. I know you’re gonna be great at it, even if you did stumble a little bit on your first day. That’s not evidence that you’re not qualified to do what you do! It’s evidence that you care deeply about your work.”

It never failed to amaze Elliott how Sunshine could silence the doubting, anxious voice that resided in his head. They could make him believe anything, and for reasons Elliott couldn’t truly understand, Sunshine chose to build him up, again and again, any time they had the opportunity. He considered himself so lucky to count them as a friend.

Sunshine snatched a syrup-covered knife off the table and pointed it at Elliott. “Next time it gets this bad, you call me, okay? I know you work nights, but you can call me anytime. You can come over, or I can go to your place, and you’ll just sit there while I make you some tea and soup and we talk it out.” They used the knife to punctuate their proclamation. “No lonely, self-loathing ruminations allowed!”

“Thanks, Sunshine,” Elliott mumbled, suddenly feeling flush at their touch. “So much. Really. Thank you.” He sniffed. “I’ve been so worried about this. I've been practically making myself sick, thinking about it non-stop, going over and over in my mind. All week, and you just…” The dreamwalker fought to untie his tongue. “You just say kind stuff that makes me feel capable of doing anything, even when I’m at my lowest. Thank you.”

“I’m just telling you the truth,” Sunshine shrugged. “No big deal. But…”

“Hmm, well, it’s a very big deal,” Elliott huffed. “But given the fact that you just helped me out of the deep hole that is imposter syndrome, I hate to embarrass you by proving you wrong, so I’ll shut up.” He reached over the table, took Sunshine’s fork in his fingers, and stabbed a piece of french toast. “How’s this instead?” When he made out as if he’d feed them the french toast, Sunshine opened their mouth. At the last second, Elliott took the food for himself. “Mmm!” he grinned, pointing to the plate. “Delicious!”

Sunshine rolled their eyes, pretending to be annoyed even though they knew exactly what Elliott had planned. “You’re such a sneak.” Their gaze lingered on Elliott’s face, feeling the warmth radiate from his smile.

Chapter Text

“Nuts!” Asher grimaced. He looked up to the electronic board hanging over his head, squinting. When that board didn’t suddenly change to provide him the information he wanted, Asher turned his attention to his phone, scrolling through the app. “Double nuts!” The app confirmed the same information Asher didn’t want to receive.

He pocketed the phone, adjusted the duffel bag slung across his broad shoulders, and returned to the seats his mate had claimed (and disinfected with their travel pack of antibacterial wipes.) They were charging their phone in one of the outlets, zipping up their own carry-on piece of luggage sitting on their lap. When they saw Asher approach, they grinned and jumped into a standing position, careful to unplug their phone. “Do we board now?”

Asher grimly shook his head. “No, Babe. And it won’t be for a while. Our flight’s delayed for another six hours. Well, at least another six hours. Who knows what might change between now and then?” Asher took the seat next to Babe. “Looks like we’ve got a chance to explore the airport.”

Babe plopped back into their seat, face pulling into a deep frown. “Oh no.” Asher wasn’t surprised at their reaction. After all, no one enjoyed hearing their flight was delayed, especially someone as loyal to itineraries and schedules as Babe was.

“I should call Cacey and let her know we’re gonna be super late,” Asher absently realized, gripping the armrest. “Five bucks says she finds a way to blame me personally for the delay,” he snickered.

When Babe didn’t chime in, Asher twisted his head to look at them, surprised why they wouldn’t respond to Asher’s light-hearted presumption that his sister would think Asher had disrupted the plane’s departure. Babe remained uncharacteristically silent. They were staring at the floor, bouncing their thigh and tapping their heel onto the airport floor.

“Babe?” Asher covered their knee with his palm. “It’s no big deal. Flight delays happen all the time. We’ll get there.”

“It’s just… I was all psyched up to go now,” Babe quaked, laying their hands on Asher’s knuckles. They were painfully aware that he must’ve taken notice of the sheen of sweat that broke out around their forehead and clavicle.

“We’ll just have to get re-psyched later,” Asher cheerfully observed, though he was beginning to sense something was truly wrong. “Don’t worry about that. I am a professional re-psycher.” He reached down into the netting pouch of his duffel, searching for his wadded-up map of the airport Babe insisted on printing out as a backup plan in case their app suddenly stopped working. “We can scope out the best restaurants and shops. And maybe the airline will comp us or something since the flight is delayed so long. Ooh, I saw a massage place somewhere. Maybe if we ask nicely…” Asher stopped short when Babe gripped his hand tighter. Whatever this was, it was serious. Asher shoved the map back into his bag, dropping all thought of his airport adventure. “Babe?” He waited patiently, throwing them a pleading, if not expectant, look that he knew his mate would never be able to resist.

It didn’t take too long for Babe to fold. “I’m actually… not the best flier,” Babe confessed in a hushed voice. “I get kinda, sorta… anxious.” They crossed their arms in front of their chest. “I mean, what sort of person wouldn’t be anxious? We’re going to be sitting on a big metal box that’s going to be soaring through the air over the country, okay? That’s not normal!” they yelped. “And if something happens, the contingency plan is to grab an oxygen mask and a seat cushion as you free-fall into death!” They vehemently scoffed. “And I’m just supposed to trust the pilot to be able to fly the plane… I mean, what? I don’t know who they are or what sort of training they undergo. If something goes wrong, we’re just sitting there like idiots, breathing in recirculating air that, I’m sorry, is probably full of every germ in the entire planet, fucking around with opening our little packet of pretzels, crammed into a space that’s no bigger than locker, plunging to our death.”

“Oh.” Asher’s eyes went wide at Babe’s monologue, wondering if he should’ve opted to travel to his sister’s by train instead. He chased away that thought, not even wanting to indulge it, given how fragile Babe was. “I didn’t know you were a nervous flier. You could’ve told me. I would’ve understood.”

Babe shrugged. “I thought I was over it,” they hastily explained. “I really am excited to meet Cacey and her family.” Babe slumped a little bit in the hard, plastic seat. “And, given how long our flight is, and the fact that it’s direct, I… may have taken a little bit of precaution.” They shuffled through their luggage, nearly elbow deep and so preoccupied that they didn’t even care about keeping everything in its designated place. (It was a shame, Asher thought to himself. They spent hours packing everything just so last night. Now, their bag was reduced to as much of a disorganized mess as if they had packed an hour before they left the house. Asher would know. After all, that’s exactly what he did.)

“A precaution?” the wolf echoed skeptically, watching them continue their search. “Like travel insurance?”

Babe shoved a small, cardboard box into Asher’s hand. “Not exactly.”

The pink, cartoonish line of Zs that covered the box told Asher everything he needed to know. “A sleeping pill, Babe? You were going to take one of these?” He grew distressed, realizing that rather than share their fear with him, Babe had planned to drug themselves for the majority of the flight. On the one hand, that made total sense to Asher. Admitting a fear went against Babe’s every take-charge, no-nonsense instinct. Besides that, Asher knew that he had been jumping for joy ever since he had booked this flight. He didn’t get to visit his big sister often. Babe was always so understanding when he told them stories about Cacey and lamented that he missed her after getting off the phone with her after one of their daily calls.

No wonder they didn’t say anything. The last thing Babe would ever want to do was burden Asher with something that might interfere with how excited he was for the trip.

Would they ever cease to amaze him? Probably not.

Asher felt his core tingle at the realization that Babe had hid their fear of flying out of love for him. Sure, they were a control-freak with a misguided sense of responsibility. But, damn, they were his control-freak with a misguided sense of responsibility.

“But I suppose, it's a type of travel insurance. Of sorts…” Babe turned over the carton to reveal that the perforated seal had been broken. “We were supposed to board in a few minutes, and I wanted to give it time to kick in.”

Asher opened the box and discovered that one of the little foil inserts that contained a pill was empty. “Let me see if I understand what you’re telling me.” He sighed. “You secretly took a sleeping pill to induce yourself into a coma for a flight that is now delayed for hours.”

Babe considered Asher’s summary, tapping on their chin as if they were deep in thought. “Yes. That is what I’m telling you.”

A few hours later, Babe’s head lolled across Asher’s chest. The pair of mates sat together on a bench-seat, with Asher stretched out the length of the bench and Babe limply cradled against him. It was a small comfort that flights from the surrounding gates had all departed, leaving the area fairly empty. That way, Asher could commandeer the bench and not feel bad about it.

The sleeping pill had certainly kicked in quickly, but between the din of the airport and Babe’s strong constitution, they hadn’t actually gone to sleep yet. They were on the cusp of sleep, but still just barely awake. It was odd for Asher to see Babe in such a dazed and confused state, but to be honest, the beta didn’t exactly mind. Asher took pride in finding little ways to take care of Babe as considerate as they took care of everyone in their life. Now, though, Babe was, for all intents and purposes, in need of Asher’s care. He was ready to give them everything they needed and more. Besides, at least they weren’t panicking about their flight any longer.

Asher carded his fingers through their hair, hoping they’d finally succumb to the drug’s effects. “Just relax, Babe,” he whispered, voice husky. “It won’t be long now.” Asher flicked his wrist to check the time with his watch.

“I’m a li’l… tired.” Babe grabbed a fistful of Asher’s shirt, yanking at the material. “M’head feels kinds fuzzy.”

“Yeah, well, a sleeping pill will do that to you,” Asher teased lightly.

Babe’s head dangled from side to side, like they kept overshooting where they wanted to move their head and had to adjust themselves. “Wait!” they gasped, pulling their chest up and waving their hands around. “Oh no! I’m…” Too exhausted to hold themselves up for long, they tipped backwards into Asher. “I’m all… messed up! In my head!” They squeezed their eyes shut, twisting their countenance into a frown.

“Aw, Babe… Shhh…” Asher soothed, growing quite used to Babe’s oscillation between dozing and babbling. “You’re alright. I’m right here. Everything’s fine.” He tightened his hold a bit, just to get them the tactile reminder that they were safe in his arms. “Your head feels like that because your whole body’s basically asleep. Maybe close your eyes?” the beta suggested, having lost count how many times he had encouraged them to submit to the medication. Clearly, consciousness was not possible for Babe. They might as well have gotten some rest out of their error. “You’re safe here with me. Go ahead and sleep.”

Babe’s frown only deepened. “But… But what if… What if she doesn’t like me?!” they slurred in a small, thin voice.

Asher’s eyes darted up, surveying the waiting area. “There’s no one here. And, besides, anyone with half a brain likes you.” He patted Babe’s cheek, trying his best not to sound too placating to his loopy mate. “You’re amazing.”

“Not here!” Babe griped as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Your sister! When we get there.” They cowered further into Asher’s chest. “What if Cacey doesn’t like me?” Their breath came in heaved gasps, alerting Asher they were on the verge of tears.

Alarmed at Babe’s turn in disposition, Asher sat a little straighter and pulled Babe up with him, still supporting their limp body. He craned his neck to ensure he could meet Babe’s watery eyes. “Babe,” he told them, tone taking on a rare seriousness. “Cacey is gonna love you, Babe. There’s no doubt in my mind, and there shouldn’t be any doubt in yours, either.” He planted a kiss on their forehead. “There! I kissed away all your worries.”

“But how do you know?” Babe wondered dramatically, elongating each and every syllable. “What if…”

“If nothing.” Asher was quick to cut off their catastrophizing. “I know that Cacey will love you because,” he answered confidently, “I love you.” He gently held their cheek in his palm. “You’re absolutely amazing, Babe. Only an idiot wouldn’t love you.”

Babe pouted. Apparently a sleeping pill didn’t dull their stubbornness. “Lots of people don’t like me.”

“They’re all idiots,” Asher maintained. A growl caught in his throat as his inner wolf’s hackles rose at the thought of someone disliking his mate. “Cacey is not an idiot. Not at all. In fact, I know there’s a decent age gap between us, but we’re pretty similar.”

Babe blinked owlishly, trying to make their drowsy mind process the information Asher had told them. “She is?”

“I didn’t walk around the house copying her every move until I was seven years old for nothing,” the wolf confirmed. “And really, the only reason I stopped doing that was because she left for college. We’re basically twins! That's what Milo's parents used to call us: The O'Connell Twins.”

“Big sister, little brother twins?” Babe murmured a little nonsensically, a wide, joyful smile breaking out across their face. “Aww, that’s so cute.”

“Ah, there it is.” Asher winked. “There’s that smile.”

They clumsily groped at Asher’s face, pinching his cheek. “You were a little copy-cat wolf! Following around your big sister!” they grinned, raising their voice excitedly. “I bet you were so cute together. Oh, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Asher was glad that he had managed to distract Babe from their self-doubt, though having them shout out his childhood antics while drugged out of their head wasn’t his particular idea of fun.

“Babe, Babe, Babe,” Asher said hastily. “I’m right here. There’s no need to scream.” He kissed them again, this time on the lips, in an effort to quiet them. “Cacey is gonna absolutely love you,” he predicted. “She's going to love you because you are one kind, funny, smart, amazing, badass babe. And if that weren’t enough, she’s gonna love you because it’s so clear that you make me so happy.” He squeezed Babe tightly, still supporting them.

“And I’m gonna love her,” Babe responded. “Because I love you, and I know how close you are.” They yawned, opening their mouth before they could cover it and stretching their arms and legs as long as they could make them. Asher kept his hands at their waist, making sure they didn’t lose their balance and topple over the side of the bench. “Hmm.” They curled back into Asher’s body, performing a very familiar routine that Asher observed every night. They bent their left knee up towards their chest, shifted their hips in a small, clockwise circle, and twitched their right ankle, flexing their foot four times. “I can’t wait to meet Cacey, even if you do hafta fly in a big metal box of death,” they said through an exhale, eyes finally slamming shut. “We're gonna get along just fine.”

“Damn straight,” Asher answered in a hush, feeling Babe’s breaths growing deeper and more even. “There you go now. That’s it,” he praised, patting Babe’s back with a feather-light touch. “Sleep tight, Babe. I love you. Even when you are drugged into oblivion.”

Babe’s slumber was short-lived. Seven minutes later, Asher heard the announcement that stated their delayed flight would begin boarding in the next fifteen minutes. Once he successfully dragged both bags and Babe onto the plane, the flight went pretty smoothly. He spent the time with Babe cradled against his chest, clinging to him like the plane would fall out of the sky if they loosened their grip. Asher didn’t mind one bit. He kept a protective arm around Babe and looked out the window, thinking about all the fun times he and Cacey had together when they were younger and all the fun times they’d have together during his visit.

Chapter Text

Darling’s lips pressed into a thin line, eyes darting around the empty clearing. It was dark enough where they’d need to enact their magically enhanced sight to see more than just outlines of trees against the thick pitch of night. Not even the moonlight was their ally tonight. Figures I’d pick a new moon night to stumble across two dumb grizzlies, Darling thought to themselves. Can’t catch a break lately, can I?

One of the dumb grizzlies in question, still in his human form, turned his head and spit. “Hunting our clan’s territory isn’t something we appreciate.”

“Did you forget what I said already?” Darling huffed. “I wasn’t hunting. I was just running. There’s a difference.” They waved their hand at the man dismissively. “Take your time. Let those complicated thoughts sink into your little bear brain.”

“I…” He started towards Darling, a glint of violence igniting in his eye. “I think you need a lesson in manners,” he sneered at Darling.

Darling dug their heels into the ground. “I probably do,” they retorted, forcing their voice into an even tone that didn’t give away how their pulse sped up as this confrontation unfolded. “But I don’t think you’re in any position to teach me a damn thing, including manners, Teddy.”

Lately, it felt like Darling needed lessons in… everything. Nothing they did was right. It didn’t help that they had just come from yet another pack meeting where lots of people spoke but no one said anything meaningful. Again. Lately, Darling had only been missing more pack meetings that they were attending, but it wasn’t like anyone had noticed. No one asked them why or what they were doing instead. No one seemed to miss them. At all.

The other grizzly, this one even more hulking than his friend, who was certainly no slouch, snickered, drawing Darling out of their spiraling thoughts. “They called you ‘Teddy!’” he guffawed, slapping his friend on the back. “Like a teddy bear! You’re a teddy bear!”

As amused as he apparently was by Darling’s wit, the wolf didn’t let their guard down for a moment. These bears hadn’t followed them and began harassing them for no reason. The way they kept yelling things at them, pushed into their personal space, and relentlessly followed them, even as Darling remained silent, stepped away, and tried to leave the bears behind, spoke volumes about what the two bears wanted out of this little meet-cute.

Darling wanted no part of it.

The problem was, they were outnumbered.

“Shut up,” Teddy growled at his friend, apparently unable to think of a better comeback. “Just shut up!”

“That’s good advice,” Darling snarled, letting their canines lengthen. “You should listen to your friend, Paddington.”

“What’s a paddington?” the man blinked, slightly taken back by Darling’s insult. “You’re just making up words now!”

Darling forced themselves not to react to this buffoon’s obvious cultural ignorance. Was this guy illiterate or something? A flash of a memory from their aunt reading them the storybook before bed. Darling ached for that kind of simplicity again. Everything was easier when they were younger, before they had come to Dahlia and joined up with the Shaw Pack. Why was everything so difficult now?

“I sure am,” they scoffed, not bothering to inform these jackasses about Paddington Bear and his fun escapades. “Both of you. Shut up. Just shut up and leave me alone.” When neither Paddington nor Teddy moved, Darling added, “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again, I wasn’t hunting on your clan’s land. I wasn't doing anything wrong.”

Teddy shrugged. “Yes, you were.” He removed his shirt, rolling his broad, meaty shoulders. “At least, that’s what we’ll tell our leader when we show him your body in the morning.”

“Yeah! You make up words, but we’ll make up… that,” Paddington added, ripping off his own shirt.

Darling breath caught in their throat. It wasn’t so much the delivery of the bears’ threat as it was the content that frightened Darling. “If you take one step towards me, I promise you I’ll be doing more than just making up words.”

Darling’s wolf was itching to be set free, tugging and yanking from within their core. They sensed the urgency of the situation and strove to protect themselves from the harm these bears were aiming to inflict upon them. Threat. Danger. Fight. Howl. Darling was a formidable wolf. Large, strong, and too tenacious for their own good. Those qualities served them well in fights.

Still, there were two of these bears. It was Darling who would be on the defensive from the get-go. The odds weren’t in the wolf’s favor.

Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try. After all, Darling had no death wish. Sure, things weren’t going well lately. Sure, they’d never felt lonelier, even as their pack spouted proclamations of ‘bonds’ and ‘ties’ during their worthless meetings, even as Darling was beginning to distance themselves further and further from the tight-knit group. Maybe that’s what people wanted. Maybe joining the pack when they were older had been an error all along. Maybe it just wasn’t possible for someone like them to find acceptance in a pack like the Shaw Pack.

Would this be how it ended? They’d be branded a petty criminal, trespassing to hunt on a bear clan’s territory. What would happen when the Shaw Pack got the news? Would they care? Would they even consider the possibility that Darling was innocent? Or would they sigh in relief and resign their memory to oblivion.

“Go on, then,” Paddington jeered, taking a large step forward, egging Darling on. “Go on, wolf. You think you can take on two grizzlies?” He pointed to Paddington, who, for some reason, pointed back at Teddy. “Good luck.” The two bears shifted first, a clear signal as any that they were about to attack. They rapidly grew into two grizzlies. Teddy stood on his hind legs and gave a great roar. Paddington stayed on all fours, shaking his fur off as he oriented himself post-shift.

Darling shifted on the spot, too, barely getting their clothes off in time to toss them in a heap. Where they once stood as a human, a white wolf appeared, teeth bared and claws out. They considered howling for help. Maybe someone in their pack would hear them. And if they did, would they come to their aid? Darling wasn’t sure what was worse: if no one heard their desperate pleas for help or if their pack heard, but ignored them.

The bears charged at Darling. They saw nothing but large paws swiping at their throat. Darling got their mouth on one of the paw, biting down and feeling the warm blood seep into their mouth. The bear who owned that paw, Teddy, shrieked with pain, summoning all his strength to rip his limb from Darling’s mouth, to no avail.

Darling kept their jaw locked, doggedly keeping their prey in their mouth. Maybe they would die tonight, but at least they would take a chunk out of their murderers. Out of the corner of their yellow eye, Darling saw Paddington’s paw coming for their throat. They braced themselves for the impact, never letting go of Teddy.

But, they never felt that killing blow. Instead, a man suddenly put himself between Darling and Paddington. He punched Paddington in the face, sending the bear sprawling on the ground.

“Two against one?” the man said smoothly, as if knocking out a bear was all in a day’s work for him. “That hardly seems fair. I think I’d like to cut in.” He seized the opportunity, zooming forward to grab hold of Paddington’s limbs, twisting and breaking them with sickending, satisfying pops. The bear fell to the ground in agony, whimpering pitifully before he lost consciousness. He shifted back into his human form, bloody, bruised, and unmoving.

In shock and awe, Darling watched their savior continue to show the bear no mercy. He was a vampire. That much was clear, between the fangs, speed, and shear strength. Darling finally let up on the pressure of their jowls, allowing Teddy to limp over to his friend, growling and groaning all the while.

“Ooh, a snack!” the vampire exclaimed, taking Teddy’s injured paw in his hands and dragging it up to his lips. He sucked and gulped, unperturbed as Teddy protested in misery. Before too long, Teddy’s eyes slipped closed and he succumbed to the blood loss, falling unconscious and shifting back into a human, mere inches away from Paddington.

Darling also shifted back into their human form. “Th-th-thank you!” they sputtered, approaching the vampire, who gleefully stared at his handiwork. “You saved my life. I…” Their eyes fell on the bloodstains marring his checkered shirt.

“Don’t panic. It’s not my blood.” The vampire turned to Darling, giving them a sweet smile. “Oh, hush now. It was my pleasure to help.” He stuck out his hand to shake. “My name is Quinn. Are you alright there, little wolf?”

Darling took the hand and shook vigorously, introducing themselves by name. As much as they would’ve normally detested the idea of being called ‘little wolf,’ they figured they could allow this kind, brave man the privilege of doing so after he rescued them. “I’m fine, just fine.” They brushed their hands on their pants. “Thanks to you.”

“Wonderful,” Quinn purred. “I would hate for someone like you to get hurt.” His eyes locked onto their gaze, assessing the situation. Here was a wolf, stumbling around on bear clan territory and about two seconds away from having their throat ripped out in an unfair fight. It was a delightful opportunity, Quinn thought to himself. There was something simply electrifying about luring any person under his wing, but a wolf? And one so formidable as he had seen, taking on two bears and holding their own? That would be a nice addition to his band of misfit renegades who had all, for one reason or another, had no quite fit in with their communities. “But…” He looked around the space. “Where’s your pack?” he asked innocently, already able to guess the answer. “I was under the impression wolves stick together, especially when there’s trouble.”

“Yeah, well, most wolves do. But not me,” Darling decreed, the adrenaline from the fight and their adoration for Quinn lending them a certainty they didn’t necessarily feel. “I’m on my own. Not exactly a fan of the whole pack thing.”

“Hmm, fancy that,” Quinn mumbled to himself. “Well, I can understand such feelings. I can understand your feelings very well.” He tilted his head. “I’m not exactly a fan of the whole vampire clan thing.” He put his arm around their shoulder. “I like to earn my connections, rather than rely on social conventions. It just feels more authentic, wouldn’t you say?”

Darling found themselves nodding, excited at the prospect that someone seemed to understand what it meant to be isolated from a group everyone presumed accepted you automatically. “You know what?” they sighed, leaning into Quinn's touch. “I do. I really do.” They began to relax, suddenly feeling like Quinn was the sole cure to their haunting loneliness.

Maybe things were getting a little easier, finally. Maybe they weren't going to be alone anymore. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that they never got the chance to howl for help that night.

Chapter Text

David Shaw sat on Angel’s couch and huddled into himself, even going so far as to bring his knees up towards his chest, even if it did make him look pathetic. His feet were exposed, peeking out from the knit blanket Angel had draped over him as soon as they had accepted David into their apartment, dropped off by none other than Asher.

That contra really did a number on him,” the beta reported worriedly, keeping hold of David, who staggered and stumbled next to him, unable to stand on his own. “The big guy really shouldn’t be alone tonight after that fight, but I’ve got to get back to the job, especially now that we’re down one wolf.” Asher bit his lip. “And I’ll get started on the report that details what led to the altercation, just to cover our ass with the Department.” He scoffed. “Not that there’s any question as to who was in the wrong. Hell, the contra was ticketed and taken away in handcuffs. Everyone corroborated the story, how he attacked David first over some issue with his I.D.”

If circumstances were different, Asher would’ve made a comment about how readily Angel agreed to have David recover at their place or how pliant David was as Asher deposited him onto the couch, but instead, he simply gave his alpha a pat on the chest and said, “Hang in there. They’ll take good care of you,” before he zoomed out the door.

David blinked away the memory of the exhausting day and tried with all his might to stop his teeth from chattering to no avail. If he kept that up, David presumed it wouldn’t be long before a headache developed from the grating pressure. That was the last thing he needed. Poor David was miserable enough after having a contra-fire-elemental use their magic to strip his body of any heat.

The contra had acted fast, so fast that the wolf hadn’t had any chance of fighting back. Before he even knew what hit him, David had sunk to the ground, colder than he could ever remember ever being. His core clenched, feeling as if it froze instantaneously. A wicked chill gripped his body, making its way from his trunk into every muscle and tendon. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t shift. He couldn’t think. All David could do was curl into a ball and pray that he’d somehow be able to experience warmth again.

A pile of blankets landed across David’s chest and legs with a soft thud. He felt the cozy sensation of another few more blankets wrap around his feet and be tucked under his heels. “Th-th-thanks,” David stuttered, not wasting a moment before burrowing into the nest of blankets. Pride be damned. All David wanted was to be warm again.

Angel smoothed a blanket over David’s neck. As happy as they were to see the blankets they had knitted were being used, it broke their heart to see David suffering. “How is that?” they asked him. “Any warmer yet?”

“‘S good,” David answered through numb lips, shivering too fiercely for Angel to notice that he was doggedly trying to nod.

“I don’t want you getting too hot,” Angel fretted, laying a hand on David’s forehead. They squeezed themselves onto the couch right beside David. “Is this like a fever, or what? You should be boiling underneath all these blankets. I’m scared I’m gonna make you sicker.”

David hummed contentedly, soaking up every iota of heat Angel’s hand could give him. “No, no fever,” he replied, still struggling to make his mouth obey him. He had only breached covert to Angel a mere three months ago. Once they had come around to believing David was not a lunatic, they impressed David with how they approached the existence of empowered society with the same boundless alacrity they showed every facet of their life. David was simply in awe of them. This should’ve been the end of them. That’s what he always imagined. Angel should have run away screaming, or perhaps put out a restraining order on the big, surly jerk who claimed he could turn into a bigger, surlier wolf yet refused to prove himself by doing so. But, here they were, sitting next to him and tending to his magical wound like there was nowhere they’d rather be.

David couldn’t speak for Angel, but he knew deep in his heart that there was nowhere he’d rather be than with his Angel.

“No d-d-danger of f-f-fever.” Despite how well Angel was adapting and learning to magic with David’s help, they certainly didn’t have a grasp of elemental aggression, much less contra-elementals. “Contra-fire-elementals h-h-have… control of fire, but opposite. R-r-rather than making st-st-stuff hot, they e-e-excel at taking a-a-away heat.” David squinted. “He t-t-t-took away mine. My internal heat. Just g-g-gotta wait it out. When the c-c-contra’s magic disappears, my body will r-r-return to normal again.”

All while David spoke, Angel was busily adjusting his blankets, tucking him in tightly and taking every opportunity to run their hands over his body to generate a little bit of friction. At one point they had reached behind the couch, deftly balancing on one knee, to plug in an electric blanket that rested across David’s thighs. “I wish I could have a few moments alone with that fucker,” they grumbled. “I’d teach him a thing or two about thermodynamics.”

“Wouldn’t… doubt it,” David coughed. He dropped his gaze to the couch cushion, suddenly uncomfortable at the idea of Angel talking about seeking revenge on his behalf as they fixed his pillow. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

He was David Gabriel Shaw. He was a strong wolf, leader of the famed Shaw Pack. He was the protector. The defender. The alpha. David took pride in being able to take care of himself and everyone around him. If he couldn’t be that, what good was he? He shouldn’t need anyone to take care of him after he sustained an injury, let alone a small, unempowered human.

Angel tenderly rubbed David’s chest, slipping their hand underneath the blanket. “What else can I do, Davey? What do you need?”

“I…” David felt a surge of ice ripple through him. He instinctively hugged himself, trying to conserve any bit of heat he could. “Nnghhh. I’m s-s-s-so cold,” he bit out, the edge of a whine underlining his cry.

What David wanted to say was he wanted Angel to hold him. To hold him close and tight. To press their sizzling body close to his and never, ever let go, even if his body burst into flames from the heat.

That realization scared David.

He felt paralyzed with uncertainty, torn between wanting to hide away from Angel until he was well again and wanting to hide himself in Angel’s embrace until he felt well again.

“Just… umm… nothing,” David finally spit forth, eyes misting over as he listened to himself reject Angel. “You’ve d-d-done enough already. Don’t want to b-b-bother you anymore.” He let his chin droop forward and twist away from Angel, feeling more pathetic by the minute.

“Bother me?” Angel scoffed, seemingly unperturbed. “Davey, you’re not a bother to me. You’re hurt. And I’m here to help, because I want to help you.” They let their palm ghost along his hip, offering him an assurance that they were here, but respectful of his boundaries. “We’re a team. You know that.”

David shuddered, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with the chill wracking his body. “A team,” he repeated dumbly, letting the words wash over him like a soothing balm. He clumsily weaved his hand through the layers of blankets, grasping at Angel’s sweatpants by hooking his frozen fingers in the folds. “You and me. T-T-Team.”

“Yeah, we are,” Angel confirmed, capturing David’s fumbling hand and sandwiching it between their palms. They rubbed vigorously and blew on it gently. The air of their exhale slithered along David’s skin, leaving a trail of momentary fire even as the contra-magic swept it away. For a fraction of a second, it was like Angel’s warmth overcame the magic. “So I don’t want you thinking for a minute that you’re bothering me, David. Because you’re not.” They wiggled their torso a bit closer so they could rest of his back. “I want to be here for you, you big jerk. I know I can barely do anything to help with magic stuff, and I’m sorry about that, so, at least, please, let me do what little I can?”

David twisted his neck, slinking further underneath the blanket, which, he noticed from the slightly irregular pattern and few loose threads, was one that Angel had knitted themselves.

How could Angel think they weren’t doing much?

They were everything to him. They helped in ways they couldn’t possibly fathom.

David would’ve told them exactly that, too, if he could’ve found a way to straighten out the mess of thoughts that tangled up inside his mind. Did hypothermia affect your thinking? Maybe he could ask Marie next time he saw her…

Abandoning his attempt to confess this great truth to Angel, at least for now, David put the last of his energy into moving his gargantuan body closer to Angel. “Mmkay, Angel,” he whispered, pushing his trembling face into Angel’s chest. “Just… stay? You’re… warm.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it, even as the phrase sat heavily on his tongue. Hold me. And don’t let go. Please.

Old habits died hard, apparently. It was hard work, tearing down walls. Sometimes, David needed a break, even if he wanted nothing more than to see the whole thing come crashing down. The time would come, maybe, some day, when he could ask them for what he needed without shame or embarrassment. But today was not that day.

“Of course I’ll stay, Davey.” Angel soothed,. As if they could read David’s mind, they stretched their arms around David’s chest, grasping tightly, and wiggled their body closer to his. As they held him close, letting a cheek cover his exposed neck, their body heat seeped into him slowly. “Whatever you want, Teammate.”

David was already ensnared in a hazy sleep by the time Angel uttered that vow, but he did happen to catch that last part.

“Mate.”

He snuggled closer to Angel, wrapped in their embrace and warmth, feeling like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Chapter Text

When the credits began to roll on the screen, Babe wiggled against the end of the sofa, leveraging their back across the arm like a foam roller to work out the knots they knew resided just under their right shoulder blade. Out of habit, they smothered the moan that formed in the back of their throat.

“Oh! I heard that pop!” Asher O’Connell commented after whistling. He balanced a large bowl of kettle corn in one arm and a pair of glasses filled with water in the other.

Babe blinked in surprise, a little embarrassed. “You did not! I barely heard it.”

“Did so!” Asher insisted. “Enhanced shifter hearing, remember?” He tapped on his ears. “Here, Babe,” he offered, sliding next to them with grace. “Fresh out of the microwave.”

“Thanks, Honey.” Babe seized their glass and a fistful of kettle corn. They ate it kernel by kernel, savoring the subtle sweetness mixed with salt. “You really heard my back crack from the kitchen?” They raised their eyebrows when Asher nodded, mouth full of kettle corn. “That’s impressive. Super impressive.”

Asher tossed a kernel up into the air and opened his mouth, rocking his neck to the side so that he’d catch the kernel. “That’s nothing compared to what I can hear in my wolf form,” he bragged. “And as good as my hearing is, my sense of smell completely dominates.”

Babe applauded for Asher, delighted by how he managed to bring a joyous energy to everything, even something as simple as eating a snack in between episodes. They pursued their lips thoughtfully, reflecting on what Asher said. “You know, I’ve never seen you like that. As… a wolf.” They chugged their water, suddenly feeling flushed at the thought of Asher, their sweet boyfriend, morphing into a savage beast.

When Asher had told them about the magical world, they were… skeptical. To say the very least. More than that, they were angry, believing that Asher had feigned romantic interest in them only to pull some sort of elaborate scam. Babe prided themselves on being a grounded, logical type of person. Frankly, it was difficult for them to believe someone like Asher would be interested in spending time with them at all, so when he began to talk faster and faster about ‘having magic’ and ‘shifting,’ Babe was just about ready to walk out of his life for good, vowing never to let themselves be fooled by someone who was simply too good to be true. It took some begging, some pleading, and a whole lot of patience for Asher to convince Babe to open themselves up to the magic around them hidden in plain sight.

Babe considered their belief in magic to be one of the bravest actions they’d ever taken. And one of the most rewarding, because doing so meant they could open their eyes to the miraculous wonders around them, to know of a whole new, secret sector of society, and most importantly, to remain in Asher’s life.

Today, they decided to push that bravery to its boundary.

“Would you show me?” Babe asked, lifting their head towards Asher.

Asher took a ragged inhale, desire and heat coiling around his core. He had wanted to show Babe his wolf form for a long time. Since they had gotten trapped in that elevator, if he were being completely honest.

From puberty, wolves were taught to be prudent about who, when, where, and why they showed their shifted selves to. Part of that was to keep covert, obviously, but the other part came from a more sensitive, sentimental mindset. It was a big deal for shifters to show their animal forms to their partners. A remnant of a ritual from long ago that shifters kept alive due to the personal, meaningful nature of it.

To show your wolf form was to show all of yourself. Asher knew that. It was an expression of love. Of respect. Of acceptance. Not only that, but it was one of vulnerability. Of trust. An unspoken vow. It was to say, ‘I give myself, all of myself, to you in hopes that you’ll choose to keep me with you.’

Asher felt his heart leap into his throat. His wolf, never too far away, felt closer than ever. He pawed at Asher’s chest and nipped at Asher’s jowls, begging and whining to be let free once he had been invoked by the human who sat just an arm’s length away. “You want to see?” he asked shyly, unaccustomed to the rush of blood that came into his cheeks. “Really?”

Babe nodded, ever so tentatively, even as they tried to hang onto their familiar bravado. “Only if you want,” they hastily modified. “I wouldn’t want to, um, impose… o-o-or anything.”

“I want to,” Asher declared. He cleared his throat. “I really, really want to. I just didn’t want to scare you or something. It’s… I’m…” Asher shrugged. “I can be intimidating, you know. Shifters are bigger than just normal wolves. And normal wolves are none too shabby.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, and put a hand on his chest. “But I’ll still be me. All me. I promise.”

"You're the one I want." It was like Asher had given Babe the reassurance they didn’t even realize they needed. “Please, Ash. Let me see your wolf.”

Asher vaulted off the couch and began to strip. He couldn’t shed his clothes fast enough, wiggling out of his pants even as he tried to pull his shirt off at the same time.

“I… Uhh…” Babe felt their gaze land on Asher, suddenly aware that they’d never seen him naked before. It was certainly a sight to behold. They were guarded, to say the very least, when it came to relationships. They had asked to take things slow and to their utter surprise, Asher had agreed. No matter how ready their body was, perhaps no more than in this very moment, Babe wanted to give their over-thinking mind to catch up before they took things to the next level. “Umm… I didn’t mean ‘wolf’ as a euphemism,” they began to explain, pointing to his crotch.

Asher giggled, noting how they stared intently. “Babe, c’mon! What kinda guy do you think I am? This nakedness is purely functional.” He shucked his underwear, stepping out of the navy boxers. “Prevents undo wear and tear on my clothes.” He winked, waiting until Babe relaxed before he grew a little bit more serious. “Alright. Here we go.”

The shift was fast, but Babe was ready to soak in as much of the process as they could. Asher grew tall, limbs lengthening, before he pitched forward onto all fours. His muscles, lean but firm, bulked up and changed shape. His hands and feet transformed into massive paws. Claws and teeth sprouted, sharp and shiny. Fur instantly grew all over Asher’s body. His coat was a collage of colors, bits of gray, white, and brown mottling his body, with the exact auburn color of his hair splashed across his back, chest, and muzzle.

Asher shook himself off, arching his back to stretch. He sat on his hind legs, ears twitching. He gave a little happy growl and puffed out his chest, inviting Babe to admire him.

And admire, they did.

“Wow!” Babe beamed, eyes taking in every inch of Asher. “You’re… amazing, Asher! Amazing!” The unempowered human didn’t know what they expected, but Asher had surpassed any preconceived notions they might’ve had.

Asher bounded over to Babe, putting a paw up on the couch and tilting his head to the side. Even without the ability to speak, he was always one to ask Babe for permission.

“As long as you won’t break your sofa, come on,” they enthusiastically invited.

Asher wasted no time, joining them on the sofa and splaying out on top of them. They reached a hand towards his massive head. “Just tell me if this is silly, but do you want me to-”

Before they could even finish, Asher pushed his head to their open palm, ready and waiting to feel Babe’s hand rubbing and scratching his head. His tail thumped against the couch.

Babe eagerly obliged, giving Asher a thorough petting session. They scratched his ears. They rubbed his belly. They massaged his jowls, noting how many large teeth sat in Asher’s mouth. All the while, they let Asher nuzzle and lick them to his heart’s content.

“I can’t get over this,” Babe commented, pure joy lighting up their face. “It’s so… you, Ash. And I don’t just mean the coloring of your coat, which is so neat by the way!” they squealed. “But everything. You’re exactly… you. Like the way you’ve got these killer claws!” They took one of Asher’s paws in their hand, fingertips brushing across each pad. “Hidden inside these adorable little toe-beans. Just like I know as a human, you’re strong enough to rip a phonebook in half, but you’d only ever do that if someone needed help. Like when I was trying to carry my stuff up to my new office at work. Or, or, or,” Babe continued excitedly. “Look at these teeth.” They seized Asher’s lips between their fingers. “All those teeth, ready to bite and rip and claw and kill. I know you’re capable of such ferocity. Lots of people, and I guess, wolves, are. But that fact that you’ve got these, ready to go, and you always lead with compassion in your life first, that you only resort to violence when you need to…” They kissed Asher’s muzzle. “You’re so special.”

Asher couldn’t believe his luck. How had he managed to find this incredible unempowered human who didn’t just tolerate his wolf, but they celebrated it. They celebrated all he had to offer, every part of him. It was more than he could’ve ever hoped for, and he relished every minute of this first shift, secure in the knowledge that there would be many more.

He took Babe’s wrist in his strong mouth, offering the gentlest love bite to acknowledge their kind words, earning a laugh and more belly rubs from Babe.

Asher and Babe were so busy getting lost in each other that they didn’t notice Asher’s roommate had entered the apartment. He strode up to the couch, mouth frowning, brows knitted together, and arms crossed against his broad chest. “Asher,” David Shaw greeted, simply unreadable. “I see your date is going well.”

Chapter Text

Angel drummed their fingers along the desk in front of them, staring intently at their notes sprawled out across the surface.

David frowned, his palms growing damp as he noticed each and every sign of Angel’s growing anxiety. The way their knees bounced rapidly. The way they chewed at the left side of their lower lip. The way their shoulders rounded forward, despite their constant attempts to crack their back. The shallowness of their breath. The absence of their smile. “It’s just a formality, Angel. Really.” He caught their wrist in his hand and squeezed gently. “You’re gonna be fine. You know this stuff backwards and forwards.” He trailed his thumb along the inside of their wrist.

“But if I fail, then they’ll rescind my informed status,” Angel argued. “If I fail, they’ll erase my memories. That’s what the letter said. Everything will be gone.” They shivered, despite the sweltering humidity and harsh lighting of the Department meeting room. “I have to prove I’m not a covert liability, but what if I can't? What if I am a covert liability?”

David sighed, recognizing the alarming phrasing that D.U.M.P.’s letter to Angel included. “You’re not,” he assured them. “You never have been and you never will be.” The alpha wondered how long the Unempowered Affairs Liaison would keep them waiting. It was already twenty minutes past their appointment time. This was hard enough for Angel, but forcing them to wait endlessly to have their interview seemed extra cruel. They were beginning to spiral, which David wanted to avoid. Angel was already under an immense amount of stress. “These audits are just perfunctory. It lets the Department tick their bureaucratic little boxes and we can all get on with our lives.”

Despite the indifferent attitude he displayed, David was livid at the thought of his mate being selected for an Unempowered Informed Status audit. The Department had approved his request to break covert months ago! Why were they choosing now to review Angel’s file? He stifled a growl, wondering if Angel had been targeted due to his alpha status. He knew that if he ever inquired, he’d be told no. Audits are random. They are an important element in keeping covert. It was for the protection and benefit for empowered society at large.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

But David had his suspicions, anyway. The thought of his alpha position causing Angel the pain of a grueling interview nearly had him shifting into his wolf right there, but he restrained himself. The last thing he needed was to be arrested for unlawful magical usage.

“I hope so,” Angel replied. “But, you’ll be with me, right? They’ll let you stay during the interview?”

David took hold of Angel’s cheek, calloused fingertips brushing across their face. “Of course I will,” he vowed, voice dropping an octave. “A clan of bear shifters couldn’t pull me away from your side. Not now. Not ever.”

They linked their pinkie with David’s, taking a slow exhale to calm their nerves. It didn’t exactly help, but at least it showed they were trying their best. “Same.”

The thick, metal door swung open, revealing a fairly tall demon holding a manilla folder and a cup of coffee. They looked, well, frankly, tired. Tired and simply dreading this appointment. This was not at all a part of their job description. But, unfortunately for them, part of every D.U.M.P. employee’s job description was, ‘to serve the Department in any manner it deems fit and right, in the interests of keeping covert and protecting empowered society,’ so here they were.

The demon nearly needed to duck through the door to prevent their horns, inchoate by the looks of them, from catching on the frame. “My apologies for keeping you waiting,” they prefaced before introducing themselves by name. “I’m afraid we’re a bit short-staffed today. I’m actually a counselor here, no matter what some people might call me.” They took a seat across from Angel and David, smacking their folder onto the desk. “Now, let’s have a look at your audit file.” They thumbed through the file, unperturbed as David and Angel stared silently. Without warning, their head snapped up to look at Angel, bright and warm. “Okie dokie! Shall we start the interview?”

“That’s why we’re here,” David grumbled.

The demon’s eyebrows raised, face growing stony. “Oh, Mr. Shaw, I’m very sorry, but your input is not allowed. This is not your interview.” They flicked their third and fourth fingers so quickly that Angel nearly missed the quick motion.

David opened his mouth to apologize for his comment, only to discover that no sound came from his mouth.

“David!” Angel yelped, seeing his distress. “What’d you do to him?”

“It’s merely a bit of a sonal energetic gag to prevent him from speaking for the duration of your interview,” the demon reported briskly. “Nothing that will hurt him now or harm him in the long term. But it is standard protocol.” They gave a hard, unforgiving look to Angel, even as they sensed David’s emotional state bounce from rage to embarrassment to anxiety and back again. “This interview is to determine whether or not you have upheld your duty as I.U.P., Infomed Unempowered Person. Obviously, allowing your empowered partner to interrupt would be a grave error on my part and possibly taint the results of this meeting, thus disallowing me to draw an accurate conclusion for your audit process. So, I’ll ask you, and you alone, again. Shall we start the interview?”

Although the demon was the expert in sensing emotion, Angel was no slouch in that department, especially when it came to David. They silently seethed at this pretentious, power-hungry counselor. No, they were more like a warden, Angel decided inside their head. A warden who enjoyed lauding their position over those under their charge.

All thoughts of nerves and predictions fled Angel’s brain. They didn’t have time to indulge in imagining what might happen or how to frame their responses to make themselves look like the most informed I.U.P. who ever walked the earth. The only intention they had was to hold this interview as quickly and efficiently as possible so David could regain his ability to speak and they could walk out of this awful place together.

“Yes,” they ground out through clenched teeth, the edge of a growl tinging their words in a way that even made an alpha’s hair stand on end. “Let’s do this.”

And so, Warden began. They lobbed question after question at Angel, unable to break the unempowered human’s concentration. Not only did Angel craft a perfect response to each and every question, but they even managed to find illogical presumptions and hypothetical situations that went above and beyond a mere answer. They worked in every single element of the Oath of I.U.P.s they memorized when that had initially been granted informed status. They chronicled enough shifter history and culture facts to write a textbook on the subject. They launched into a detailed account as to pack dynamics and their role as the alpha’s mate. They presented a variety of times in their life they had deftly explained away evidence of magic’s existence to their family and friends. They even engaged with Warden in a variety of role playing exercises to showcase their skills as an I.U.P. and to demonstrate they could keep covert while thinking on their feet.

Every time Warden tried to throw Angel for a loop, Angel pulled off a double pirouette. And they didn’t even break a sweat.

David watched, heart nearly bursting with pride for Angel. Sure, he knew they could handle this interview. And sure, he knew they weren’t a covert liability. But to hear Angel recite these laws, articulate their pack role, and derive the perfect response to every breaching scenario was something else. It was amazing. It was sexy. It was a chance to see Angel take the stage and reveal themselves to be the incredible person David knew they were. And it was all going on the Department’s official record. David watched in sheer awe. If Warden’s magic hadn’t already stolen his voice, Angel’s performance certainly would’ve rendered him completely speechless.

Warden scrambled to record Angel’s responses, snapping more and more papers into existence as they took notes.

Angel paused, only to take a breath, but Warden seized the chance to interrupt.

“That will suffice!” they said, trying and failing to keep the desperation in their voice. “Th-thank you for your… enthusiastic… responses.” They shuffled the papers, signing the one on top, and slid the paper to Angel. “Congratulations. I am pleased to deem you as having passed your audit. More than passed, really,” they complimented.

Relief, both Angel’s and David’s, flooded the room.

“Like I said before,” Warden continued. “I don’t do a lot of these interviews, but that was seriously impressive. You’re certainly the most prepared I.U.P. I’ve ever seen.” A pen materialized in front of Angel. “Sign and date this document here and you’ll be all set.” They smiled, more glad than ever that they chose to pursue a career in counseling rather than in public outreach and liaison services.
Angel did as Warden said, though they kept their hand on the paper, holding it hostage. “My mate needs to speak again, please.”

“Oh!” Warden exclaimed, embarrassed they had almost forgotten to return a human’s voice to them. They really, really needed a day off. “Of course, of course.” They flickered their fingers again, focused on David.

“Thanks,” David said shortly, still a little shaken that the demon had so easily silenced him.

Only after hearing David’s voice did Angel give Warden the document. “I’d like a copy for my records, please.” Their words were polite, yet their tone was unmistakably sharp.

“Very well,” Warden agreed. They waved their hand over the form, producing a copy. “And, as stated in your summons letter, audits are valid for life. The Department thanks you both for your patience and your commitment to keeping covert.” They pushed themselves up to stand and began to exit the room. “Have a good rest of the day.” Warden needed neither to look back nor their emotional detection skills to know that Angel and David were sharing a loving embrace now that the audit was officially completed.

Angel squeezed David tightly, barely cognizant that Warden let the door slam behind them. “I did it!” they beamed. “I really did it!”

“You were amazing. I knew you could do it, Angel,” David whispered in their ear as Angel smiled against his neck. As horrible as it had been to watch Angel stress over the interview, to see them display their empowered prowess and to know that they’d never have to do something like this again was worth the stress. “I love you. So much.”

Chapter Text

David gracefully guided the knife through the center of the red apple before nimbly pushing out the core with his thumb and forefinger, ignoring Angel as they rolled their eyes.

“You are the only human ever to walk this planet who thinks that apples constitute comfort food,” they teased.

“Not just an apple. An apple with crunchy peanut butter.” David sliced the apple into halves, casting a glance towards the cabinet to his left.

Without a word, Angel retrieved the jar of peanut butter and presented it to David. “My point stands,” they maintained, gesturing to the apple halves.

“Are you the comfort police?” He began to slice the apple into long chunks, perfect for holding a generous amount of peanut butter. “You told me we’d make whatever food I was craving, and I want apples with crunchy peanut butter.”

“I meant, like, something hot, filling, and cozy!” Even as they argued their point, Angel grabbed a knife from the utensil drawer and twisted open the peanut butter jar. Although Angel had more to say, the words died on their lips when they saw David’s trembling hands set the knife down.

“My father used to make me this after school when he was home,” David recollected quietly. “When I came through the front door and saw the apples and jar of peanut butter out on the counter, I… I got excited, because I knew he was able to make the time to sit down and have a snack with me. It wasn’t an everyday thing, but it was often enough where it felt like a routine, which I mean, I-I-I don’t know how he did it, given all his alpha responsibilities.” He tossed the knife in the sink, looking almost embarrassed that something as simple as a piece of fruit and a spoonful of peanut butter brought him more joy than a warm, gourmet meal.

When Angel’s lips, soft and warm, kissed his bicep, David breathed again.

They dug their knife into the peanut butter, dutifully waiting to slather it onto the plate. “Let’s eat.”

Chapter Text

Gavin shivered, striding down the long hallway and ignoring the screams and catcalls that erupted from the cells he passed.

The deep, glowering voice entered Gavin’s head as soon as he sensed Vega’s ever-looming presence. “To what do I owe this esteemed privilege of a visit from Gav, the Elegy Enthusiast?”

Gavin swallowed, uncertain of the answer, but before too many seconds passed, he enacted his own demonic voice and responded, “I needed to see you were here, I suppose.” The incubus looked the prisoner up and down, noting the wards that encased the empty cell. That knowledge helped him steady his trembling hands that traced the visitor badge pinned to his shirt.

”Here I am indeed, so go on,” Vega snarled and pounded his massive fists onto the clear door that separated him from freedom. ”Gloat to your little whore-heart’s content.”

“I got better things to do, Vega, and better places to be‒ unlike you.” Gavin walked out of the containment center, head held high and worries put to rest.

Chapter Text

“Stop moving like that and tangling the yarn,” Darling grimaced, pointing a very sharp knitting needle at their alpha.

David settled himself into stillness, fighting the restlessness that came from sitting still for so long. “You said you’d only be a minute more.”

“Well, I didn’t realize how finicky this sweater would be.” Their trembling hands pulled and yanked at the almost-finished teal garment that sat on their lap. “But don’t worry, because I guarantee that it’ll be worth all the fuss. Don’t you feel how soft it is? The best kind of yarn always needs a little bit of extra finesse to keep it secure and snug.”

David reflected on Darling’s statement, suddenly empathizing with their knitting plight. “Take your time,” he said, easing his back against the couch while keeping the ball of yarn still so Darling could keep working uninterrupted.

Chapter Text

Sam Collins eyed his mate with admiration, his silver eyes tracking their every move as they arranged the pillows and blankets in the middle of the room. “Did you develop a sudden allergy to furniture, Darlin’?”

Darling stepped to the side and dramatically gestured to the floor, proudly reporting, “For us!”

“You made us… a nest?” Sam stifled a giggle, walking forward to close the distance between them. “Those wolf instincts sure do run deep in your core, don’t they?”

“It’s a fort, not a nest!” Darling sputtered. “It’s a big, protective, fuzzy fort, just for us to hide away from the rest of the world today.” They took Sam’s wrists in their hands and dropped to their knees, yanking Sam along with them to pull him into the structure.

“This is a nest if I ever saw one,” Sam grinned, earning a playful punch from Darling. “But hiding away with you is something I’d do anywhere, anytime.”

Chapter Text

Milo had recognized that hard, stony look of silent fury as soon as Sweetheart walked through the door that evening. For Sweetheart, a normal day was tough, meaning that a tough day was horrible.

They had trouble unwinding from their work, Milo had realized quite early on after meeting the stealth. Sweetheart was growing more comfortable, even if only bit by bit, sharing their feelings with him as trust developed, but today, it seemed like although Sweetheart had agreed to stop by Milo’s apartment, they opted (or perhaps, felt their only option was) to retreat into themselves, angry at whatever had transpired during their shift, shaken to their core, and left without an effective way to express any of that so they could heal from the trauma of their day.

But, Milo discovered when he returned from a trip to the kitchen to fetch some green tea for himself and Sweetheart, there was hope.

Sweetheart sat on the sage armchair towards the window in the living room and clutched Aggro in a hug, burying their face, now pulled into a tight frown, into Aggro’s gray fur. “I couldn’t… help her, Aggro,” Sweetheart confessed to the cat, earning a few soothing purrs as Aggro kneaded his paws into their lap, the tips of his claws pricking into their jeans without reaching their skin. “But, I tried. I tried really, really hard.”

Milo set the mugs onto the table and retreated back into the kitchen for a few more minutes, deciding to let Aggro work his own type of magic that neither an academy could teach or a certification degree could test.

Chapter Text

Freelancer sat quietly at the picnic table tucked away behind the D.A.M.N. Welcome Center, feeling anything but welcome. Their workload had begun to pile up. They barely spoke to any of their classmates, not quite excluded from the groups that had inevitably formed, but certainly not invited into a group. They barely knew how to get from class to class, let alone any other place on campus without using a map. Normally, Freelancer was able to stay optimistic anyway, often focusing on how far they’d come and how excited they were to learn more, both about their magic and empowered society.

But today, it was hard to focus on that when all they could think about was how lost and alone they felt, so they took up residence at this isolated little spot on campus.

That’s why they were so surprised, and deeply grateful, to see Lasko approach them and take a seat next to them, his eyes taking in their form, not missing their trembling hands or their shaking shoulders.

“Hey, a-a-are you okay?” he asked. When Freelancer shook their head in ashamed defeat, Lasko exhaled, opening his arms and gingerly taking Freelancer into an embrace as he asked, steadier now, “How can I help?”

Freelancer swallowed, finally feeling welcomed for the first time in far too long. “Just don’t leave?”

Chapter Text

“Hey, look at that!” Asher O’Connell pointed to the large stuffed cat hanging up in the booth up ahead, gently swaying when a chilly autumn gust blew through the open air of the carnival. “That’s the biggest prize we’ve seen all day.” He approached the booth, keeping an eye on the plush cat, admiring its long, tortoiseshell-colored fur.

Babe kept a firm grip on Asher’s hand as they made their way towards the booth dodging the occasional child running towards the merry-go-round or couple sharing a large bag of caramel corn. “Aww, cute,” they admired. “Imagine winning it though. How would you even get it home? I doubt it’d fit in the backseat. Strap it onto the roof of the car, maybe?” They guffawed at the thought, driving down the highway with the cat tied to Asher’s orange hatchback, the wind rushing through her (the cat was a ‘her’- Babe could tell- they had a knack when it came to stuffed animals) soft, floofy tail all the way back to Dahlia. “I don’t eve-” Babe started to say, but they stopped short when they became cognizant of the fact that their hand was suddenly empty.

Babe shifted their focus to see their date digging into his jean pockets, searching for what they surmised were the last of his tickets. Asher hurriedly accepted the dart and began to scan the wall in front of him, covered in balloons of every color and size.

Asher inspected each point of the darts, making sure they were sharp enough to piece the balloons. He was not going to let himself be scammed out of making Babe happy. “How do I get the cat?”

The attendant yawned without looking up from their magazine. “Hit a green balloon for a jumbo-sized prize.” She blew a bubble with her gum, smacking it against her teeth.

His mission decided, Asher took a deep breath and tuned out the din of the carnival. “One dart for one balloon…” He scanned the board, finding a green balloon perched in each corner, and only in the corners. “Piece of cake.” When he turned to find Babe right by his side, he bumped his hip against them, always wanting to keep in contact with them. “This one’s for you, Babe,” he winked, beginning to practice a few throwing motions. “Get ready to name a giant, stuffed cat.”

“Wait! Asher, wait!” Babe took Asher by the shirt collar with both fists and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Asher let the dart fall onto the counter as he embraced them, snaking his arm around their waist. Their tongue left a trail of explosive fireworks upon Asher’s lips. He could’ve sworn a ringing went off in his ear that had nothing to do with rides or games going on around them. Time stopped when Babe pulled him closer and held him, and Asher wanted to linger in their warmth forever.

“For good luck,” Babe whispered, their lips brushing against Asher’s cheek.

Enamored with and energized by Babe's kiss, Asher snatched the dart and with one precise flick of the wrist, tossed it into the collage of balloons.

“Yes!” Babe squealed as a green balloon popped, the bits of plastic remains falling to the ground. “You did it!”

Asher threw his arms into the air. “Hell yeah!” he cheered, basking in his dramatic triumph. “Madam, I’d like your biggest cat, please!”

The attendant stepped up onto a step stool to procure the stuffed animal for Asher.

“I couldn’t have done it without your good-luck kiss,” he told Babe. Asher slid his hand to their cheek, looking deeply into their bottomless eyes. Wide smiles broke out on both their faces. They were surrounded by booths of games, chaotic rides, and dizzying displays of art and illusion, but even as they made their way through the carnival, what made their hearts beat a little quicker was simply being together. "Thank you, Babe."

“C’mon, sharp-shooter,” Babe exclaimed, watching as the attendant shoved the oversized cat into Asher’s outstretched arms. “I’ll buy you some cotton candy to celebrate.” He arranged the cat so that he carried her on his back, large paws flopping with every step.

By the end of the night, Asher and Babe (plus Violet the Cat) shared two cotton candies, a funnel cake, and a soft pretzel as they made their way through the rest of the carnival together.

On the way back to Dahlia, Babe kept one hand on Asher's thigh for the whole ride as he drove home and one arm hanging out the window, hanging onto Violet so she didn't fall off the roof of the car.

Chapter Text

When Cutie cracked their eyes open, they realized they were in their own bed.

How did I…?

They flipped over into their stomach, burying their pounding head in their pillow, feeling a deep ache stretch across their every muscle.

Oh, no…

Cutie felt the mattress dip at their side. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Geordi trilled, placing a hand at their shoulder.

“That remains to be seen,” Cutie grumbled. “Though, when it’s a morning with you, it is always pretty amazing.”

“I thought I’d check on you after I heard your thoughts.” He bent down to place a kiss on their bare arm before adjusting the blanket over Cutie, smoothing out a wrinkle.

Heard my thoughts? Sorry. Didn’t realize I was projecting. You mind?

“Not at all,” Geordi answered, loving how Cutie automatically checked with him. “How are you feeling?”

Sore. Kinda nauseated. Exhausted. Sweaty.

“Hungover,” they concluded. Cutie pushed themselves up against the pillows with their elbows. “So hungover. Like, oh-man-did-I-drink-an-entire-ocean-of-alcohol level of hungover.” They brought their knees towards their chest.

“Well, it wasn’t that much,” Geordi recalled brightly. “But close.” He settled the pillow to support them as they sat up. “You seemed like you were having a good time, though.”

“Did I?” Cutie thought hard, trying to scrape up their memories through a sea of blurred images.

The Telepathic Oversight Team happy hour. “The Department’s buying. Let’s put them in debt!” A special, blue-and-green cocktail that tasted like fruit and spice. Then another. And another. Dancing with Geordi on the floor. Dancing on the table. Hanging off of Geordi’s shoulders and whooping like a lunatic.

“I didn’t,” Cutie gaped.

“Oh, you did,” Geordi giggled. “You sure did.”

“Noooo!” Cutie lamented. “Everyone from work was there! How could I be so stupid?”

“Aww, Cutie, no!” Geordi quickly shushed, “No, you were fine. You were actually one of the tamer ones of your group.” He clicked his tongue. “The, uhh, T.O.T.s don’t really mess around, do they?”

“I don’t know who makes up those acronyms,” they groaned, as they always did when someone chose to shorten the official name. “Makes us sound like a bunch of egotistical idiots…” Cutie nearly choked on an inhale when another image flashed across their thoughts, automatically shared with Geordi.

Everyone chanting, with Cutie leading the charge: T.O.T.s are the top! T.O.T.s are the top! T.O.T.s are the top!

Cutie grabbed a pillow and shoved it in front of their face. “I was obnoxious!” they groaned. “How can you stand to be around me?!”

Geordi frowned. He placed a hand on the pillow and pushed it down to reveal their gorgeous face. “There’s no one I’d rather be around,” Geordi replied with a certainty that made Cutie want to weep. “Ever.” He threaded his fingers into Cutie’s, preventing them from playing with the sheets, something they often did when they were upset.

“Even when I…” Cutie felt their cheeks burn with hot embarrassment.

“My boyfriend makes the best cake!” they shrieked into a crowd. “And he’s the best kisser!”

Geordi gave a cheeky shrug. “Yes, even when you compliment my baking ability and kissing prowess.” He made a few kiss sounds, smacking his lips. “And hey, maybe I’ll see an uptick in cake sales this week. Of course, you know if that’s the case, you know I’m going to have to ask you to get loaded and proclaim how much you love all the products in my bakery every Friday night, right?

“Aww, Geordi,” Cutie winced, the ache in their head dulling as they contemplated their love for their boyfriend. “I would do it every day of the week, and do it sober,” they vowed.

I love you so much.

Geordi didn’t need the telepathic translation, but he appreciated it all the same. It made his heart sing to hear Cutie be so open and authentic with their feelings for him. “I love you, too,” he answered honestly. “And I’m going to have you featured in my next commercial.”

“Deal!” Cutie yelped, their own voice ringing through their throbbing head. “But, maybe I could wait until this headache dissipates?” they asked sheepishly.

“Sure thing,” Geordi winked. “Hydration is the best way to kick a hangover. Let me get you a glass of water.” He rose from the bed and dashed off to the kitchen to obtain what Cutie needed to feel better, relieved to be able to help his empowered partner. Once Cutie had revealed their powers to Geordi, he realized that he often struggled with thinking that, as an unempowered human, he was inherently unable to give Cutie the support they needed. He didn’t understand cores or empowered legal practices. He couldn’t feel magic. He still barely understood that awful training class he had sat through to learn about keeping covert. Cutie, of course, had told Geordi time and time again that he lacked nothing. Still, it was difficult for Geordi to believe Cutie.

Nursing them through a headache might’ve felt like such a small thing to anyone else, but to Geordi, it was everything.

Make sure it’s not blue-and-green colored, please?

“On it!” Cutie heard Geordi confirm from the kitchen.

Chapter Text

David Shaw felt blunt force smack him in the gut, jarring him into sudden wakefulness. He scrambled to all fours, instinctively beginning to initiate a shift until he realized where he was. His enhanced senses helped him make out the familiar shapes and scents that alerted the shifter that it was the middle of the night and that he was in the bed he shared with his mate. David released the shift so he could flick on the soft lamp that sat at the corner of his nightstand.

When David looked beside him, he saw Angel writhing against the mattress, their frenzied movements only serving to further tangle them in the sheets. “No! Davey, Davey!” they cried. Another solid kick landed on David’s hip crease.

“Angel?” David gasped, hand hovering over his terrified mate. A nightmare, he gathered quickly. He briefly wondered about that old myth that it was dangerous to wake a sleeping person from sleep walking. Was it the same for a nightmare? And why was it dangerous in the first place?

Suddenly, Angel coiled their spine into as small a ball as they could manage. “Davey, come back!” Angel called, voice quaking.

All thoughts of hesitation fled David. “Angel, I’m here. I’m right here. It’s okay.” He seized Angel by their shoulder and gave them a quick shake. “Wake up!” he ordered desperately, not willing to let his mate suffer their own dreams for another moment as long as he could stop it. “Wake up, please!”

Angel’s eyes flew open as David’s command resounded into their sleep-addled brain. They clawed at their chest, fighting away the remnants of their nightmare before they finally blinked themselves into awareness. “I… I… Davey!” they gasped, a lump forming in their throat as they sucked in shaky breath after breath.

“Hey, it’s okay.” David whispered, pulling them into his chest with ease, like he had to feel the warmth of their body to convince him that they were no longer trapped in whatever hellish scenes they had endured while dreaming. “I’m right here. We’re safe. At home, our home.” He brushed a hand through their hair and let his palm linger on their cheek. "You with me?

"Ummm…. Yeah, I'm with you." Angel leaned into his touch, utterly certain that physical contact with David was the epitome of safety. “N-n-nightmare,” they choked out, hot tears burning at the corner of their eyes. “Bad. R-really bad.”

“Alright, alright now,” David soothed, rubbing rhythmic circles in their back as he guided them closer to his body. Before too long, muffled sobs escaped Angel as their body hitched. David curled an arm around them, keeping Angel plastered to his chest even as he used his free arm to sit up straighter to help them in a more comfortable position. “Everything’s alright now, Angel. I’m right here. I’ll protect you.” He planted a soft kiss onto the top of their head before letting the bottom of his stubbly chin settle on the top of their head like a comforting, grounding weight.

Angel clung to David for all they were worth, savoring the security their mate provided, just by holding them and letting them cry.

He waited patiently until Angel’s sobs died down into the occasional whimper. When enough silence had finally passed, David asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Angel wordlessly shrugged.

“It might help,” he coaxed, careful to walk that fine line between supporting and pushing. “Talking about things, even really awful things, has a way of making them seem less powerful.”

“It was just a stupid dream,” Angel scoffed with more bravery than they actually felt. David silently marvelled at the quiet strength his mate always exuded, even in moments of crisis. They wiped at their damp eyes. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“I’m not,” David assured them. “I always want to know when you’re hurting, because I always want to help. You don't need to apologize for letting me help.” It made his heart ache to know that his Angel was more inclined to suffer alone rather than reach out for help. It was hard for them, he realized, to give themselves the permission to let someone else shoulder the massive burden they had piled onto their shoulders day after day, year after year.

Until David had slowly but surely cracked their tough, little shell and begun to take that burden from them, bit by bit.

“It… wasn’t exactly about anything,” Angel haltingly explained, sifting through the half-forgotten memories. “I mean, there was no story to my dream. It was more a series of feelings. Like, nothing was really happening, I just, I just…” Their fingers twitched, a flood of emotions rising up into their brain.

“You what?" David’s voice was like an anchor, keeping them still and centered even amidst a storm.

“I was alone,” they revealed. “I didn’t know why or how, but I just knew I was alone. That I’d always be alone. That you and everyone else was gone and would never come back.” The mere thought renewed their tears. “Everyone!”

David hugged them close. “We’re here. We’re all right here with you, and we’re not going anywhere, Angel,” he vowed.

“I missed you so much,” Angel recalled. “An ache that I knew would never go away. Ever, no matter what!” they burst out. “And I just missed you so much, and I knew it was all hopeless, because you were never gonna be here again. It was awful!”

“It sounds awful,” David crooned into Angel’s ear. “It sounds so awful. But it’s all over now. And it’s not true. We’d never leave you. You’re a member of our pack. Everyone loves you.” He took their face between his meaty palms. “And I will always be with you. Forever.” David took their hand in his, threaded their fingers together. “That’s what mate means. Always together forever.” He kissed the back of their palm. “I love you so much, Angel.”

“I love you, too,” Angel replied, feeling that sensation unlike anything they’d ever known surge through their chest, as if it could reach out to David and mingle with his core. Mate magic, they supposed. A little taste of the magic that secretly surrounded them.

“I know that dream logic doesn’t always make sense,” David relented. “And I hope there’s never a next time. I hope every dream you have from now until the end of time is pleasant and perfect,” David wished fiercely. “But there is a next time, I want you to remember this conversation, right now. Where we talk about how much I and our family loves you. How we’d never leave. Maybe those facts will be enough to remind your brain how illogical a scenario where you’re alone is.” David stoked his thumb up and down Angel’s cheek before cupping their chin, gently tilting them to stare into his icy blue eyes. “I’m always with you, Angel. I promise. Anything, including a dream, that says otherwise is bullshit.”

“Th-th-thank you,” Angel whispered. “For saying that, and for making me believe it.”

“Always.” David relaxed into the mattress, keeping his hold on Angel. They breathed in each other’s presence, content to put the whole world on hold and instead, just be together. It didn’t take too long for David to feel Angel grow limp in his arms, their breathing deep and even.

Sleep pulled at David, too, but he resisted just a little longer to watch as Angel slept peacefully, no longer plagued by such an insidious experience as loneliness. David gingerly brushed his fingertips across their slack cheek before kissing them, relishing how perfectly they fit together. “Sleep well, Angel.”

Eventually, the alpha wolf succumbed to his own tiredness, and followed his mate into slumber.

Chapter Text

Estelle Carina looked up from her pile of grading, suddenly jealous of all the D.A.M.N. professors who taught subjects that could get by with scantron answer sheets, rather than long-form free-responses. As much as she loved having the opportunity to set up incoming students for academic and magical success, Estelle wished she could forgo grading so she could spend that extra time on her current research project.

Or, at least, she wished she could use her magical prowess to perform an instant-grading spell.

“How am I ever going to finish this?!” she cried, flopping into a dramatic heap over the arm of her ergonomic chair. “Why did they all write so much? Why are these tests so lengthy?”

At her cry, Avior tentatively knocked on the door to her home-office. “Starlight?” he asked, the door muffling his voice. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah, c’mon in,” Estelle sighed, pushing her white hair out of her face.

Avior instantly rifted in, always preferring that method of d(a)emonic transportation, even if the only thing that stood between him and his destination was a door painted deep purple.

“Your students wrote so much because you taught them so well,” he answered, approaching Estelle so that he could let his hands take hold of her tight shoulders. “The tests are long because you’re the one who designed them.” Avior squeezed her frame, feeling the tension radiate off of her in waves. It would’ve been obvious to anyone that Estelle was stressed, but to an inchoate demon, it was impossible to ignore. “And you’re going to finish it because you always do, every semester. But…” he paused, waiting for Estelle to face him. “You don’t have to finish grading without taking a break.” Avior frowned, noting how exhausted her gray eyes looked. Even the freckles peppered across her fair skin seemed to set into a frown. “Put this away for today and eat something,” he bid. “You need to have dinner before you leave for your Dungeon of the Dragon Club Meeting.”

The slightest half-smile crossed Estelle’s face. “It’s Dungeons and Dragons,” she wryly corrected, following Avior’s lead to stand up from her chair. “But I think you know that.”

“You accuse me of mockery?” Avior put a palm on his chest. “Oh, I am wounded, my Starlight! How am I to keep up with your many elegic customs? You can’t blame me for making an error.”

“You know full well what DnD is,” Estelle giggled. “If I can remember the constellations and their connections to each and every one of your friends, you can remember a three-word, alliterative phrase.” Before she had the chance to continue her humorous rebuke, Estelle’s stomach growled. “Although, you make a good point about eating.”

Avior’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” he quickly said. “Yes, go to the kitchen and eat.” He pointed to the clock that hung on the far corner of the wall. Two elephants’ trunks served as the clock’s hands. “It’s almost time for you to go.”

Estelle glanced at the clock. Sure, she had spent most of the afternoon grading, but she certainly wasn’t late. “Someone’s eager for demons’ night,” she remarked, noting how Avior’s tongue pushed to the side of his cheek.

Avior only did that when he was nervous.

“Mhmm,” Avior nodded with more force than a bobblehead. “Gavin and I are going to spend some time in Aria together. Which is no big deal.” Avior blinked before hastily added, “But, I mean, it's a big enough deal for me to look forward to, which I am.”

Estelle studied Avior carefully, alarmed at how anxious her normally cool, collected, charismatic partner seemed. She applied her careful observation skills to the matter at hand, scrutinizing every part of Avior.

A vein in his neck throbbed with every word he spoke. His fingers twitched. His belly was inflating and deflating quickly. Beyond the physical anomalies that stood out to Estelle, she noticed that Avior kept glancing at the clock, like he was waiting for something.

And Estelle’s mind began to spin in a desperate effort to synthesize the data into a meaningful interpretation.

“What’s wrong?” she asked plaintively, all thoughts of joking pushed aside. “Avior?”

“Nothing!” Avior burst, voice raising an octave. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Nothing,” he repeated, deliberately slower. “Why would you th-think anything is wrong?”

“Because you’re more nervous than I’ve ever seen you before, and I’ve seen you literally face complete and total chaos while trapped in a hellscape prison,” she pointedly defended before listing each and every piece of evidence that revealed Avior’s emotional status. She combed over the day’s events, trying to explicate a pattern out of Avior’s sudden increase in agitation.

When one possible answer occurred to her, Estelle’s whole countenance dropped. “Are you extra eager to hang out with Gavin tonight because you miss Aria?” she asked, throat constricting. This had always been her fear. She loved Avior with all her heart, but she’d never want to constrain him to stay with her in Elegy when he truly belonged in Aria. “Because it’s okay if you do. I know how much you love Aria, and I’d never ask you to give up your home for me…” Her speech tumbled out of her mouth. “I…”

“What?!” Avior yelped, sickened at Estelle’s growing distress. “No! No, no, no,” he soothed, sandwiching her face between his large, warm palms. “I love you, and I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you, here. I may be of Aria, but I consider Elegy my home because it’s where I share my life with you.” He kissed her on the lips, soft and tender. “You need evidence? Then I give you evidence, Professor,” he teased, trying to coax a smile from her. “Remember that time when we went to the grocery store and accidentally left the bag with the peanut butter ice cream at the cashier?” He kissed them again. “That was better than the first time I rifted across the ends of Aria to practice my magical control.” He stroked a hand through her soft, white hair. “Remember that time we got locked out of your apartment and had to wait for your shifter friend, Marie, to show up with her spare key?” Avior laughed at the memory, brushing his thumb along her cheek, noting how the freckles on her face resembled the sea of stars. “That was better than my first feeding on nostalgic emotions, and you know nostalgia is my favorite flavor of emotions.”

“Then, what gives?” Starlight insisted. As relieved as she was to hear how Avior cherished their relationship, she needed to understand his earlier distress.

Avior rolled his eyes. “Ugh, nothing gets by you,” he grumbled without malice. “It’s endearing and infuriating,” he sighed. “I was nervous and wanted to make sure you were out of this room, because… I kinda lied.” His board, steady shoulder dropped at his confession. “Gavin was going to help me with a decoration project.”

“A decoration project?” Estelle echoed.

“I just wanted everything to be perfect for tonight when I… when I…” Avior dug in his back pocket for a moment before holding out a tight fist. “But, I guess this is just as good a setting as any.” Slowly, Avior opened his palm to reveal an elegant, silver ring with stars engraved into the band.

Estelle gaped at the ring, her core singing. “You’re…”

Avior nodded again, this time more confidently. “I’m promising you all of eternity,” he confirmed, the magic within him reaching out to Starlight’s core and enveloping it in an embrace. “If you’ll have me. Please, Starlight, will you marry me?”

For all of her life, Estelle had been the type to ask questions, to consider every perspective, to put forth all of her efforts to find the best solution. She thought carefully and critically. She came to conclusions only when she was satisfied that she had thoroughly researched and analyzed a subject.

For once in her life, Estelle didn’t have to think before giving Avior her answer.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she cried. “I love you, Avior. I… yes!”

Avior was quick to throw his arms around Estelle and hold her close. “And I love you, my Starlight,” he declared, slipping the ring onto her finger.

Chapter Text

Sweetheart stumbled into their apartment, head down and eyes covered with one arm flopped over their face. They began to balance on one foot, haphazardly reaching out with an outstretched hand to yank the boot off of their foot. Frustrated that they were only catching air, Sweetheart doubled their efforts, nearly toppling over into the wall as they struggled to no avail.

“Sweetheart!” Milo yelped, pulling them up before they collided into the wall. “Hey, just hang on a second and I’ll help.” He double-checked that he had properly locked their front door and properly adjusted the chain latch.

“I close my eyes during tree pose for an extra challenge,” they harrumphed, disoriented but not disappointed to suddenly find themselves tucked into Milo’s shoulder as he maneuvered himself to support them. “I should be able to manage this now.” When they felt Milo’s palm curl around their ankle, they gently lifted up their foot to allow Milo to pull off their boot.

“I know you can manage it,” Milo admitted, letting the boot fall to the floor before he repeated the process with their other ankle. “You just don’t have to.” His voice softened as he placed his own arm over Sweetheart’s to help cover their sensitive eyes. “That’s what I’m here for. To help until you feel better.”

“Because the healer wouldn’t release me alone?” they pressed, annoyed that some medical policy could determine what they could and couldn’t do.

“Because if you’re ever in pain, I want to do anything possible to help ease it as much as I can,” Milo declared like the words were a binding vow. “Always.”

Sweetheart breathed a sigh of relief as Milo’s large hand shielded them from a sliver of light that had bypassed their own hand clutched at their forehead. “Oh. Um, thanks,” they murmured unsteadily, teetering back and forth. “Me t-t-too,” they added. “For you.”

Milo felt his core dance and stretch out to meet Sweetheart’s own nebulous core. “Now let’s get you to the couch, hmm?" Milo carefully led them, shuffling at the pace they needed to move with stability. He eased Sweetheart into the corner, adjusting the pillow and encouraging them to stretch their long legs onto the cushions. “How’s that? You comfortable?” he fretted, mindful to keep his palm sealed against their scrunched up eyelids.

No one had seen the attack coming. By all accounts, Sweetheart had been dispatched to what seemed like a routine, run-of-the-mill accidental breach of covert. They’d assess the situation, take statements, decide whether or not if a memory-modification specialist was needed, run the records of the breacher, and, most likely, slap the breacher with a hefty fine if this was the first instance. If records indicated Sweetheart was dealing with a repeat offender, they’d take them into custody and let the legal system decide next steps.

Easy.

Except, it wasn’t an accidental breach at all. And it wasn’t easy.

Milo wasn’t quite able to get the full story when he picked Sweetheart up from the healing corridor of D.U.M.P. headquarters. Something about a domestic dispute, excessive alcohol consumption, and an earth-elemental who decided that stinging nettle plants would make for a good deterrent against a meddlesome investigator.

Sweetheart had taken the brunt of their attack in their eyes, though they had managed to call for backup immediately. Help had arrived, the earth-elemental was arrested, and Sweetheart was transported to a healing center. The healer made quick and efficient work of neutralizing the poison and cleansing their eyes so that they would heal.

“‘S good,” Sweetheart slurred back at Milo, contending with the large, sudden dose of healing magic buzzing around in their eyes, bouncing around their skull, and vibrating through their core.

Their answer didn’t convince Milo in the slightest. “Can I just check out those pretty pupils for a second?” he asked tentatively, stomach sinking. “I know it hurts, but the healer said we should check periodically to make sure things are headed in the right direction.”

“Mmkay.” Sweetheart reluctantly agreed, trying to keep the quiver out of their voice. They peeled their hand away from their eyes and forced their lids open. “How do they look?”

Their pupils were completely dilated, black depths swallowing Sweetheart's usually sparkling irises.

Milo sifted through a handful of synonyms in his head, trying to formulate a truthful, but encouraging, response. Creepy. Weird. Painful. Raw. Awful. My poor Sweetheart.

“Just about the same as when we left,” he answered with a slight hitch. “But no worse, so the healer must’ve did a good job getting that poison out.”

“Mmmm.” Sweetheart’s blinks turned into a shaky squint. “You’re still really blurry,” they reported to Milo, trying to hide their disappointment. “It feels like my eyeballs are too big for my sockets. Like now it takes constant effort to keep them inside my head. Like my eyes don't fit anymore, and I'm trying to make them fit anyway. And it's a losing battle. A painful, losing battle.”

"Well, let's make sure all eyes are going to be staying in their sockets," he quipped, earning a quick half-smile from the pained stealth. “You can close now,” Milo hummed, letting his fingertips brush their eyelids before settling onto their creased forehead. “I’m gonna be right back and grab your sunglasses, okay? They might help keep the light out so your eyes don’t get more strained than they are. And then, maybe you can sleep. Really let yourself rest and heal.”

“My sunglasses should be on my bedroom dresser,” Sweetheart nodded, but Milo didn’t miss the way they stiffly fidgeted as they spoke.

“What’s up?” he asked, even attentive to their smallest nuances. “Something wrong?”

“Could…” Sweetheart grabbed at their chest. “Could you help me get my jacket off first? Please?” When their fingers found their zipper, they fumbled without much success. “I’m kinda hot.”

Milo quickly caught Sweetheart’s hand and smoothly moved the zipper down their jacket. “Sure, sure, sure.” He helped Sweetheart slip their arm out of the green jacket, deftly pulling at the fabric as Sweetheart angled themselves to help Milo. As soon as the second arm was free of its sleeve, Milo stared at the jacket he knew was one of Sweetheart’s most prized possessions. The jacket was a beautiful, deep shade of green and featured two zip pockets which were always filled to the brim with this or that because Sweetheart liked to over-prepare. The Department’s logo was embroidered in white on the right side of their chest, proudly declaring that they were a part of the organization that served all of empowered society. Milo folded the jacket into a neat square, criss-crossing the arms and keeping the collar properly creased. The white, block lettering that read ‘Dahlia Division’ on the left sleeve of the fitted jacket caught Milo’s eyes. As worried as he often grew over the danger and stress that came along with Sweetheart’s career choice, he was truly thankful that their ambitions had brought them to Dahlia, and, eventually, to him.

Milo had a lot of problems with the Department, but damn if it didn’t do something right. He couldn’t dispute the fact that the D.U.M.P. had done him the greatest favor in his whole life. That stupid, bloated, bureaucratic organization brought Sweetheart into his life.

Sweetheart collapsed back onto the couch. They blindly pulled at their shirt, which had ridden halfway up their hip during the jacket removal.

“Whoa!” Milo carefully tossed the jacket over onto the nearby stool. “What is that?” A deep, jagged area of skin along Sweetheart’s hip crease caught his eye and refused to let go. Milo sat on the edge of the cushion near their head and leaned closer, peeling away the fabric to expose what looked like an ugly scar so he could get a closer look. Whatever wound they had sustained must’ve been a gnarly one, Milo figured, because the pattern was irregular and scraggly. The discoloration was blotchy and the skin looked somehow thick and tight, signaling to the wolf that the wound had been deep. “Holy shit, how long have you had that?” He couldn’t stop himself from lightly ghosting his fingers over the folds of their ragged scar, like if they were feeling even a shred of discomfort, maybe his touch could take it away.

“Hmmm.” Sweetheart squeezed their eyes shut, sensing Milo’s gentle touch. “A few years,” they explained through a sigh. “Just after starting with D.U.M.P. My last month of probation,” the stealth recalled. “Whoo-wee, the worker’s comp was a lot of paperwork. Healing and rehab was intense. I know the scar looks bad, but if you saw the actual wound, you'd think that scar was a work of art.”

Milo felt his wolf growl at the thought of Sweetheart enduring such a gruesome injury, even if it had been in the past. He swept his eyes over their body, a quick inspection to reassure himself that they were, save for their eyes, alive and well. His wolf eased up a bit, but still pounded and cried for Milo to shift to defend Sweetheart against any threat.

Remarkably, Milo’s core wasn’t the only one firing and surging. In response to Milo’s aura, Sweetheart’s felt as if glowed and vibrated beyond the stealth’s control, trying to reach out and call to the wolf it craved.

Embodying the need for closeness their core demanded, Sweetheart rolled towards Milo, pushing their head into his thigh to keep their eyes covered. Sensing their need for darkness, Milo quickly adjusted himself so their head rested on his thigh and his cupped hand rested across their eyes.

“An ersine shifter,” Sweetheart explained before Milo spoke the question on his tongue. “But not like you think,” they quickly added, flashes of the case dancing across their memory. “It was a difficult situation. An older Kodiak with dementia, too advanced for healing therapy anymore. He was scared and confused. I thought when he shifted back to human, that he was understanding me. I’d promised to get him home and safe.” Sweetheart swallowed. “And we did by the end of the night,” they shared proudly, “But not without him shifting into his bear form again and attacking me. I went intangible and escaped.” They snickered, keeping their eyes closed throughout the story. “For an old, confused guy, he sure did have one hell of a bite.”

The gravity of the story washed over Milo in wave after worrying wave. “A shifter?” he gaped, stomach plummeting. “A shifter did this to you?”

Milo knew that bear shifters were strong and powerful. Scared, confused bears were even more so, because of shifters’ instincts. He was and always would be eternally grateful that Sweetheart had been able to slip away with their life.

But a shifter attack?

“Yeah,” Sweetheart confirmed nonchalantly, more concerned with huddling their face into Milo, desperate to keep the light out of their sensitive eyes.

Milo knew how non-shifters often reacted to bites. People grew wary of shifted forms, not out of malice or bias, but out of sheer fear. He had seen the same mental change in unempowered humans, too. When an unempowered human was bitten by a dog, even after they recovered, sometimes, people developed a deep fear of dogs. It didn’t matter if the human actually liked dogs. It didn’t matter if they logically knew dogs wouldn’t just run up and bite them without reason. Attacks like that awakened a primal reaction, and frequently, that fear of dogs persisted through their life.

The same principle applied to non-shifters who had been unlucky enough to experience a shifter’s bite. As soon as a shifter took beast form, the human would always be scared. Sure, maybe some could overcome that fear enough to tolerate shifted forms to a degree, but not much more than that.

But Sweetheart didn’t just tolerate his wolf form. They loved it. He had been robbed of the choice to show them his wolf on his own terms. Their run-in with the shade prompted Milo to jump into action, drawing on his magic in every way to save them from their precious life being drained away. Afterwards, they complimented him profusely and even asked Milo, as long as he were comfortable, to shift again so they could gawk over his wolf like no one else ever had. They marveled at the softness of his fur, the strength of his muscles, the sharpness of his teeth, the existence of his toe-beans, all while petting him in the most perfect way.

Since then, Milo had grown quite accustomed to shifting in the safety of Sweetheart, relishing the way they accepted every part of him. At the time, Milo had been grateful to discover how sweet the stoic investigator really was. And as vulnerable as such a situation felt for shifters, Milo didn’t ignore how vulnerable non-shifters probably felt when they were in the presence of a shifted shifter, alone and, essentially, at their mercy.

To know Sweetheart had automatically embraced him after having experienced that traumatic, though tragic, injury from the confused Kodiak was almost more than Milo could bear. Was there no limit to their compassionate bravery?

Milo tried to figure out what to say. ‘I’m sorry that happened’? ‘I won’t bite you’? ‘Glad you’re alive’? None of it seemed right. No words could capture the profound love and admiration he felt for Sweetheart after learning about their resilience.

His chocolate eyes flickered to Sweetheart's face, finally able to pull away from their prominent scar.

“Milo…” Sweetheart whimpered into his thigh, sounding anything but resilient. “It’s still so bright…” They brought their knees closer to their chest, not bothering to mask their discomfort anymore. “I can't…” The healing magic was apparently catching up with them, and their energy levels were plummeting by the second. "My eyes really hurt."

Milo added a bit of pressure to Sweetheart’s eyes with his warm palm. “How’s that?”

“Bet’r,” answered Sweetheart, relaxing a bit once Milo’s hand prevented their eyes from being exposed to the light. “But I still feel awful,” they finally admitted. “I’m gl’d you’re with me. Th’nk you for comin’ to get me a’ work, and takin’ me home, and bein’ with me now.”

“Don’t have to thank me,” Milo chuckled, using his thumb to stroke their forehead with a slow, steady rhythm he hoped would help settle them enough so that they’d succumb to the healing-magic drowsiness and fall asleep. “I’m sorry you feel awful, but I promise I’ll be right here until you’re back to your incredible, healthy, hotshot, stealthy self.” He kissed their scar, letting their scent fill his every sense as he silently praised the scar as a physical representation of their survival. “I’ll guard your eyes, and the rest of you, too.”

It didn’t take more than another minute for Sweetheart to go limp under Milo’s touch. Their muscles relaxed, sinking into Milo. True to his word, Milo settled onto the couch so that he could keep his promise.

Chapter Text

The moment Warden stepped into the demonic housing unit was the moment that their blessed two week vacation ended. It had been a wonderful, relaxing time for the inchoate. They had blown through an entire series of fantasy novels, spent some much needed time with their friends, feasted on a variety of feelings until their magic was practically spilling out of their body, and even visited Aria for a while so they could flex their astral form. They had managed to strike a perfect balance between getting the things they needed done and carving out time to do nothing at all.

As soon as they scanned their badge and began their rounds, however, Warden returned to reality. That reality was doing everything they could to help rehabilitate the incarcerated individuals who had committed some sort of magical crime. Armed with their genuine empathy, a knack for coaxing even the most stoic of criminals to engage in therapeutic activities ingenious ability to read emotions, Warden was ready to see their first (and toughest) assignment of the day.

Vega was a tough case, but Warden was tougher.

That was why Warden had been stunned to approach Vega’s cell and see him limply lying across the hard floor, staring at the ceiling and weakly curling his fingers to grasp at air.

All thoughts of their vacation fled Warden’s mind.

“Vega?!” they called, tapping their hand against the warded door. “Vega! Are you okay?”

The sadism-demon didn’t respond. He merely shivered, letting out a pitiful attempt at what Warden presumed was a moan.

They hesitated, knowing that to break his ward was to break protocol. Vega could be faking it, trying to spring a trap on them. It wasn’t as if Vega was a particularly well-behaved inmate. Warden wouldn’t put something like that past Vega.

Despite that skepticism, Warden just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was really, truly wrong. They were taken back by how looking at Vega made their chest tighten and their vision tunnel. Without so much as a second though, Warden deactivated the ward, leapt into the cell, and worriedly hovered over Vega.

He looked gaunt and frail, not at all like the powerful, confident demon Warden had gotten to know over the last month.

They knelt beside Vega, putting a hand on his forehead, letting their fingers brush against the base of one of his horns. To their surprise, Vega’s head lolled into the crook of their shoulder.

“You’re so weak.” Warden reached out with their magic, disturbed to find Vega’s didn’t respond to their intangible contact. Had someone attacked Vega? How could someone just stroll into a secure facility and amass enough power to take down a sadism demon with no one noticing? That seemed unlikely. Besides, over the years, Vega may have made many enemies (When it came to their cases, Warden was a thorough researcher), but none of those enemies would have the power needed to incapacitate Vega. A surge of protection churned through Warden’s body, even striking the tip of the tail they kept hidden and the horns they purposefully covered with their hairstyle. “Who did this to you? Where are they?”

Vega frowned, puffing out air through shaking, barely parted lips. “So h-h-h-hungry,” he moaned, not quite able to hold Warden’s gaze.

That’s when it dawned on them: Vega was, quite literally, starving right before their eyes.

Part of Warden’s job was to ensure all their demonic or vampiric caseloads were properly fed, which often meant scheduling feeding sessions based on each inmate’s needs. Warden had painstakingly made sure Vega had feedings lined up and ready to go during their vacation, but apparently, the person decided not to bother providing even the most basic of social dignities to Vega.

“Please…” Vega muttered pitifully.

Warden patted Vega’s sunken cheek, stripping off their department jacket so he could rest his head on something soft once they eased him onto the floor. Absently, they wondered when was the last time Vega had ever experienced softness. “You’re way too drained,” they noted. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you some help.”

Warden dashed off, careful to lock the door behind them, ready to solve this little problem.

Vega felt like he was both floating aimlessly and sinking down into a bottomless pit of weakness and hunger. He ached to embody his astral form, but he couldn’t even grasp that small comfort due to the warding protocols acting upon his cell.

A screeching voice that sounded suspiciously like his Warden kept Vega tethered to consciousness. “69, D-block!” they ordered. “Hurry!” A few pairs of thunderous footsteps approached Vega. He became aware of the dull aura of a telepath and Warden’s luminous presence.

“Now what?” an unfamiliar voice asked worriedly. “What do I do?”

Always one to watch drama unfold, Vega cracked open his eyes to find Warden’s face, usually so stoically smug, take on a look of anxiety.

“Just hang tight right there” instructed Warden to the telepath, collecting Vega in their arms. “Vega,” they whispered in his ear, breath tickling his cheek. “I need you to feed, okay? Right now, on my friend. See them? Right in front of you?” They emphatically pointed to the telepath, who gave an awkward wave. “A total cutie. You have to feed on them. Now,” they insisted. “Can you do that for me?”

Trying to ignore the fuzziness descending on his mind, Vega initiated a feeding process. The telepath didn’t seem particularly sadistic, but thankfully, most people usually harbored some sort of inclination towards his kind’s emotion, and this so-called ‘Cutie’ was no different. As soon as the first bit of emotional energy hit him, Vega craved more. He bolted upright, desperate and unhinged, feeding on every single scrap of sadistic tendencies within the telepath. He consumed each iota of emotion with fervor.

“There you go, there you go,” Warden crooned at his side. “You’re alright now.”

After a too-short while, Vega discovered he had swept Cutie clean of all traces of sadism. He was still hungry, but the terrible gnawing feeling of starvation had eased. His thoughts swam, limbs hanging heavily, as he coiled closer around Warden, relishing the way they squeezed his hand without malice or insipid synophancy like everyone else. It was an odd sensation, to be cared for.

Vega felt himself being lifted into the air and deposited onto his paltry cell mattress. “Thank you, I owe you one,” they told the telepath, who answered but wasn’t interesting enough for Vega to tear his concentration away from Warden. “I’ll set him up with a real donor ASAP, but feeding on you makes sure he’d last long enough to do that.”

When Vega had first been visited by Warden, they had told him they were there as his counselor, keeper, and advocate. It wasn’t until that moment he truly believed them.

“I’ll be right back,” Warden promised, patting Vega’s now-warm chest. “Just rest now, okay?”

Vega wiggled a finger, confused to discover that he was disappointed to find Warden was not there by his side anymore. Thankfully, he did not have to endure those layers of confusion and disappointment for long, because he heard their normally melodious voice ring out like a lyre of destruction.

“... rehabilitation, not punishment! What is wrong with you? You can’t just deny a demon the ability to feed. That’s slow, agonizing murder! What do you think your job here is? Torture master? You are a gross violation of everything we stand for, and you better believe that every supervisor in our division will be hearing about this!!”

Vega relaxed into the pillow that had been set behind his head, content to listen to their outcry for incarcerated demons’ plight. He was only able to focus on bits and pieces of their speech, but, oh, those bits and pieces were delightful.

“... asinine, abusive conduct…”

“...I’ll have your badge and your pension…”

“... hard enough time earning trust among our demonic population, and you pull a stupid stunt like this…”

“...have a chance to do good, and you squander it with ignorance and cruelty!”

“...our responsibility to provide basic dignities to the population we promised to help…"

“...disgusting disgrace to your position…”

“Better hope and pray that this inmate suffers no long-term consequences, or else…”

Vega summoned his limited strength to manifest a mental message in his savior’s mind.

Well said. Thank you, Darling.

Chapter Text

Lovely stared at the mug of steaming, blood-laced tea Vincent had set in front of them. They watched the seam curl up and dissipate into the sky, wishing they could somehow imitate the steam and evaporate away from the world. A few unshed tears welled up in their eyes, the raw red color speckled with silver.

“Lovely?” Vincent asked again, growing more anxious with every moment his partner wouldn’t speak. “Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” Lovely droned, not bothering to conjure up some sort of not-technically-a-lie to withstand the maker-magic. They knew it was obvious they were in pain. Why not admit it? Their head ached. Their muscles screamed with soreness. Their stomach churned incessantly. They somehow felt uncomfortably hot and cold. As if that weren’t bad enough, they felt utterly exhausted. The thought of taking that mug and bringing it to their lips felt like an insurmountable obstacle.

That was to be expected.

“I figured as much. M.D.S. is nothing to underestimate,” Vincent said, voice hushed and thick. He reached out to cup their cheek in his hand. “I’m sorry, little one. You’ll get the hang of these new powers soon. I promise.”

Magical Depletion Syndrome, often shortened to M.D.S., was a common ailment amongst the empowered community. Whenever a person used too much of their magical reserves without allowing themselves the chance to rest and to recharge, their body rebelled, essentially forcing them to rest by developing aches, fatigue, nausea, and other unpleasant symptoms. At some point in their lives, most empowered people developed M.D.S. to some degree, present company included. Magical Depletion Syndrome was a bitch to endure, but it helped to know that it wasn’t dangerous, and that, eventually, even the most severe cases would pass once the person had enough rest.

As their maker, Vincent always strived to ensure that his vampiric training sessions with Lovely challenged them, helped them to make progress as they learned to control their bloodlust, but never tipped them over into experiencing M.D.S.

Apparently, Vincent figured, he had miscalculated. And now Lovely was paying the price. All he could do was look on helplessly, wracked with guilt.

“It wasn’t the vampire powers,” said Lovely, wincing at the weakness in their voice.

“What?” Vincent blinked in confusion.

Lovely absently raised a hand in front of their face, bending each finger individually and studying each movement.

Vincent was quick to notice the idiosyncrasy. "Whenever you get stressed, you do this thing with your hands.” He mimicked their motion. “What is it?"

“Practicing the vampire powers didn’t throw me into M.D.S.,” Lovely confessed. “I was trying to create a little bit of electricity. I’ve been trying for weeks, and today I was close. Closer than I have been since…” They trailed off, still unable to speak of their own death as a past action. “But after a few seconds, I felt like my core was completely shredded. I had to stop.” They bent forward until their forehead came to rest on the table. “Now I’m so tired.”

“Oh, Lovely,” Vincent crooned, leaping off of his chair to kneel beside them. He put a hand at the back of their neck, gently stroking. “You need to lay down. I’ll bring you to the couch?” He deliberately paused, giving Lovely the chance to refuse. Over the past six months, they had lost so much and faced new challenges they probably hadn’t conceived in their wildest imagination. Despite all the things they had had to give up in their transition, Vincent would never, ever let them think they’d have to give up their agency as a person.

“Mhmm,” Lovely murmured, barely registering the feel of Vincent slipping his arms around them and marching to the couch.

Just as he was about to put them down, Lovely hooked their hands around Vincent’s shoulders, signaling that they wanted to stay in his lap as they sat together. Vincent was more than happy to oblige, never one to let Lovely feel touch starved for too long. He took their shaking hand in his, stroking his thumb across each knuckle. Not only did it give them some tactile comfort, but it helped deter them from engaging in their nervous habit of twitching. “Is this okay?”

“Always,” Lovely sighed, leaning heavily on Vincent. His presence seemed to quell the churning of their stomach as the M.D.S. surged through their lethargic body.

“Can you talk about it?” Vincent asked after a moment of silent soothing.

“I don’t know what to say,” Lovely shrugged. “I just want my electro-powers.” They frowned, just that small movement fatiguing them. “I miss them. I was just getting the hang of controlling my electro core, and now it’s gone, and I miss it, okay?” they snapped, voice rising in volume with every syllable. “Sam can still heal! Why can’t I recover my electricity?” The pounding in their head grew worse. “I should be able to!”

Vincent’s heart broke at the desperation in his partner’s voice. “You will,” he assured them, “You will, I promise, but only with time. You’ve barely had a chance to practice the vampire powers your core naturally facilitates. You can’t push yourself too far. You’ll make yourself sick.” He gave a playful scoff. “Well, sicker,” the prince corrected. “Be patient.”

“I’m trying,” Lovely whined, a shiver wracking through their body. “But it’s so hard.”

“It’s the hardest,” Vincent acknowledged, realizing, for the first time, he couldn’t draw on his own turning experience to empathize with Lovely. As an unempowered human, Vincent had to contend with the discovery of magic’s existence, but unlike Sam or Lovely, Vincent didn’t have to lose a magical specialty. No wonder they had been so determined to master their vampiric powers. They craved reaching that milestone so they could begin work on the next: recovering their previously strong electro powers. “I’m sorry, Lovely,” Vincent said, not for the first time. “I’m sorry things happened this way, so soon and so sudden. I’m sorry I took away your amazing electricity. I’m sorry that I replaced them with a physiology that you hate. I’m s-”

“I don’t hate my vampirism!” Lovely yelped, pushing aside their discomfort when Vincent began to spiral. “At all! How could I?” They pressed their lips to Vincent’s cheek. “It's natural. It's part of you. Of course I don't hate it.”

Vincent felt a tingle of warmth snake through his core at their kiss. “You don’t?”

“Wanting my electricity isn’t wanting to reject my vampirism,” said Lovely. “There’s no one I’d rather have turned me than you. It’s just… I wasn’t ready to lose my electricity.”

Vincent held them fiercely, nails nearly digging into their skin. “Oh, Lovely…” They never ceased to amaze him, even though he knew they were amazing. He was so proud and thankful to be their maker, and to know they would be together forever the rest of their eternal lives. “I promise, you’ll get through this bloodlust, and we’ll get you back on track with the electro stuff, too. Somehow. I’m not giving up on you.”

Lovely wiggled their hand between their chest and Vincent’s, giving him a knowing look before they extended their pinky finger. “Pinky promise?”

Vincent took hold of their finger with his. “Pinky promise,” he confirmed, “But only if you promise not to push yourself to the point of exhaustion.”

A wave of pain rippled through Lovely. “Deal,” they readily agreed, never wanting to experience such a serious case of M.D.S. ever again.

“You’ve got to trust the process,” Vincent advised. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t rush bloodlust through sheer will. Be patient, and we’ll work on building back your electro prowess in time. If Sam can offer pointers, I’m sure he will. And if necessary, we can consult someone at D.A.M.N. I’ll scour the earth for whatever expert is out there who can help, vampire, electro-energetic, or whomever.”

For the second time that night, Lovely felt tears well up in their eyes, though this time, not due to misery. “I love you so much, Vincent,” they smiled, slowly rolling their head so they could rest in the crook of Vincent’s shoulder.

“I love you, too,” Vincent replied, inhaling sharply as he felt Lovely kiss the column of his throat. And “I love it when you kiss my neck like that,” he purred.

Chapter Text

David stared at his dumbbell sets, barely registering the numbers engraved onto the ends of the weights. He yanked a heavier pair off of the shelf and began to set himself up to perform a lower-body circuit, beginning with deadlifts. He lost count after four reps, but decided to keep going until his muscles refused to move the weight any longer. Over and over again, he breathed in time with his lifts, inhales becoming more strained each time.

He wanted to tell himself that his racing heart rate and beads of sweat across his wrinkled forehead were due to the exercise, but deep down, David knew that wasn’t true.

The reason he was so upset was because he had snapped at someone he loved over something that was entirely his fault. And now he would never have the chance to make it right.

David set the weights onto the ground with a huff. He wiped away a few beads of sweat that popped out along his forehead. Bits of recollection replayed in his mind on endless loop:

”You cannot just say that to Asher!” Angel scolded like they were talking to a child. “He’s your friend, and thought he was helping you. Maybe if you communicated your plans a little bit better to him, rather than just doing everything yourself and presuming everyone around you can read your mind, then neither of you would be in this mess.”

David remembered how his blood boiled as an unempowered human, with no conception of what it meant to be in a pack, let alone how to run one, dared to criticize his actions.

”...so mean for no reason!” Angled continued, puffing out their chest and pursing their lips. “It’s one thing when you mock me over every little stupid thing when we’re alone, but to subject Asher to that kind of treatment in front of his colleagues, is just plain wrong, David. It’s not leadership. It’s cruelty. You can’t talk to people like that and expect them to shut up and take it. Asher deserves better. And you know what? So do I, sometimes.”

No one had criticized David since Gabe. He hadn’t been prepared to hear Angel’s legitimate disapproval of how he had handled an issue with Asher that had resulted in David harshly reprimanding his best friend. Instead of considering what Angel was telling him, however, David shifted his vitriol to his partner.

Awful things poured out of his mouth, all cutting Angel deeper than even his wolf’s bite. All the frustration and embarrassment and fear that had been building up for far too long finally reached capacity.

”If you’re so perfect, then why do you even bother with someone like me? Or Asher? Or anyone in your precious company? Why don’t you just go bask in the glow of your perfection alone and leave the rest of us poor schmucks to our stupid, little, pointless lives?” They were on the verge of crying, but fought to keep their tears contained.

David couldn’t unhear the deep shock in Angel’s voice as they struggled to respond to his monstrous words.

Usually, David scoffed at the idea of shifters automatically being monsters as uninformed, unempowered media often depicted. Maybe it wasn’t as absurd as he thought.

He sure felt like a monster.

Abandoning the idea of being able to focus on his impromptu lifting session, David decided to go on a run to clear his head. He made his way through the kitchen to grab a water bottle, slipped on his sneakers at the front door, and opened his door to reveal Angel, holding up their fist, about to knock on the door.

“Angel?” He blinked, unwilling to believe that he could be so lucky. Had he spiraled into despair so far that he was imagining them to be standing on his welcome mat? David longed to reach out to touch their face as a test to see if they were truly present, but if this were an illusion, he wasn’t quite ready to snap himself out of it yet.

“In the flesh.” Angel wiggled their fingers, making that gesture Asher did when he wanted someone to look at him. They quickly dropped the spirit fingers and wiggled past a bewildered David into his house.

“Are… are you here for your stuff?” he asked haltingly, shutting the door behind him. “Or… or what?” David puffed out his chest to counter the way he knew his whole countenance drooped when he remembered that he had ruined the one bright spot in his very dark life.

Angel frowned, their brow furrowing in confusion. “Stuff? What stuff?” they quizzed, casually kicking off their boots like they always did when they arrived to spend time with David at his apartment. “I’m here because we were planning to hang out tonight. I thought it’d be a good chance for us to talk after our little blow up yesterday.” They raised their sunglasses off their eyes and placed them atop their head. “Don’t you remember?”

“I remember…” David briefly wondered if Angel had somehow had their memories modified between now and then. Why else would they be so willing to see him again after what he had said to them? “But I’m surprised that I didn’t…” David captured the inside of his elbow with his hand. “Scare you away. With what I said. I don’t… I didn’t think…” Half-formed apologies and humble confessions flooded his mind, rendering him a stuttering mess.

“Scare me away?” Angel echoed incredulously. “I’m not afraid of you. Davey.” A hint of a smile curled their lip, like they wanted to emanate a little positivity before David was swept away in despair.

“Maybe you should be,” David sighed, cheeks burning with shame.

“Lucky for you, I don’t do lots of things I should.” They patted the cushion beside them, concern growing. Their heart fluttered when David made his way over to the couch with long, deliberate strides and sat down beside them. He never failed to make them melt. “Davey?” Angel nudged him with this finger. “What’s on your mind?”

“I…” David looked at Angel longingly, like he was trying to convince himself why gathering Angel into his arms and squeezing them tightly was not the best course of action. If the vein popping out of his neck was anything to go by, David was losing that battle. “I’m sorry I blew up at you like that, Angel. I’d take it all back if I could,” he croaked. “And I understand that everything’s all messed up now, and that it’s all my fault. But I just need you to know how sorry I am for what I said.”

“Messed up? Nothing’s messed up.” Angel turned their body to face David, bending their leg at the knee. “We had a fight, and yeah, some hurtful stuff came up for us both. We should definitely talk about it, and figure out how to move forward and be more mindful of our tempers in the future and all that jazz, but nothing’s messed up.” They cupped David’s knee. “We’re not messed up.”

David swallowed, covering Angel’s hand with his own. “We’re not?” The rare tentativeness in David’s voice sounded strange in Angel’s ear.

“Of course not!” Angel assured him, realizing in horror that David must’ve spent all day thinking that the fight had been the end of their relationship. Sure, Angel, too, had been feeling upset and hurt, but the thought of breaking up over a few angry words had never even crossed their mind. Why would it? Angel was never the type to flee in the face of difficulty, and their good sense of character told them that neither did David. As Angel’s eyes swept over David’s forlorn face, they realized it wasn’t fear that led him to believe that. It was a manifestation of the ingrained insecurity that seemed to have David in a permanent chokehold.

Slowly but surely, Angel would wiggle their way into that vice grip and pry its hand off of David’s neck once and for all. They didn’t know exactly how, but they knew they needed to try.

“One measly little fight can’t even put a dent in what we’ve got.” They took David’s shoulders in their hands and used him for leverage as they settled onto his lap. The weight of them sent waves of peace through David. “The fact that I speak up when I see you saying or doing things that just don’t seem like you isn’t just some blatant insult I’m making for the fun of it. I was only trying to help you because I know you’re better than that, and I trust and care about you enough to say so without worrying about bruising your ego.” They splayed their palm out on David’s heart, starfishing their fingers and pressing gently into his hard chest. “Look, I know I’m not the most tactful person. I don’t bother much with beating around the bush, and I’m sorry that I hurt your feelings with the way I criticized your treatment of Asher. It wasn’t fair of me to do that, especially considering I was telling you to be more mindful about how you come across to people.” Angel tilted their head, holding David’s gaze with wide, clear eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

David stared at them, truly in awe of the strength of his mate. His mind raced to catch up with their words, absently aware of how they managed to say exactly what he needed to hear.

“So, we’re okay?” he asked, a relieved grin spreading across his face as Angel emphatically nodded. “We’re still together,” he declared, the pressure in his head already evaporating.

“We are,” Angel confirmed. “But I need you to know that sometimes, those comments and digs you make at my expense, they hurt. A lot. I don’t mind brushing them off or chalking them up to your whole…” They waved their hand in circles in front of David’s face. “Davey-Vibe,” they succinctly described, enjoying how often they could pull out the new term they had coined about a week into knowing David. “But sometimes, you go too far. Abrasiveness is a personality quirk, but you veer too close to outright abuse sometimes, and it needs to stop.”

Emboldened by Angel’s assurance, David felt himself finally find the words that aligned with the mess of feelings within himself that he had fought for far too long. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that, Angel. You were right. What I said to Asher was uncalled for, and I’ll square up with him soon. I’ve gotten way too comfortable with thinking that harsh communication is effective communication. It’s not. I certainly don’t plan on becoming some schmaltzy, fluffy poet, but I owe it to my pack to ensure that I talk to them with respect and dignity. And I will, going forward.”

Angel snuggled closer to David. “I know you will, Davey. You’d never settle for anything less.”

“And,” David continued, looping an arm around Angel’s waist to pull them closer. “I owe you everything.” He nuzzled at the top of their forehead. “I’m so sorry that my comments have made you feel anything other than loved. I know it’s not an excuse, but I want you to know that I never mean to cross that line between teasing and mean. I’m not good at…” He mimicked Angel’s previous, vague hand gesture. “Romance.”

“Lots of people aren’t good at romance.” Angel raised an eyebrow. “They don’t mock their partner for wanting to be close to them on date night. What gives?”

David marvelled at their courage to be open and honest. They made him so uncomfortably aware of how closed and hard he had grown in such a short time.

He shrugged, at a loss for how to answer their simple, necessary question.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, words tasting more bitter than the time David had snuck a spoonful of vanilla extract out of the bottle as a child who favored vanilla cupcakes. “I guess I just wanted you to know what you’re getting into with me. Everyone else looks at me and sees a big, surly jackass who would rather break his own fingers than crack a smile.” A shudder rippled down David’s spine when he thought of how disappointed his father would be to know David had let himself slip into such an unpleasant persona. “But you? You look past all my bullshit. You have since day one. And you deflect my bad attitude without breaking a sweat, like it’s easy when I know for a fact I give you a hard time.” He flexed his fingers. “How do you do it? How do you just see the me no one else sees? And do you even like what you see?” David shrugged, at a complete loss as he wrestled with the tension within himself grew.

“Yup,” Angel confirmed without faltering. “I do, Davey.” They tipped their gaze up to David, planting a quick kiss on his chin. “And I don’t mind that you’re someone who expresses himself differently. That’s fine.” Angel kept a hand on David’s cheek, like they were ready to prevent him from looking anywhere but their face. “What’s not fine is subjecting me to extra attitude because you think you need to push me away. And what’s really not fine is that you’re so uncomfortable with saying what you need that instead, you retreat into yourself, then eventually get so overwhelmed that you blow up.” Their knuckles brushed up and down David’s cheek. “Especially when you blow up at people who care about you.”

“You’re right,” he said, voice hoarse but tender. “You’re so right.”

A soft smile crossed Angel’s face as they slightly relaxed, relieved to see David receptive to their concern. “You’ve got yourself twisted up in knots, with grief and responsibility,” Angel noted. “I know it all weighs heavily on you. It doesn't mean to make light of that or to expect you to just get over it. That’s not what I’m asking.”

David’s heart twisted. He had only mentioned his father’s death in passing to Angel, but they seemed to recognize that whatever the circumstances were, they deeply affected David. And despite their penchant for incessant questions, never once did Angel pressure him to delve into the details. It was like they were content to wait, confident that eventually, David would share the whole story with them on his own time.

“But, for your sake and everyone else’s, please Davey, you’ve gotta try to be more willing to say what you need and let people give it to you. Please, we want to do that for you.” Angel winked encouragingly. “The alternative is not acceptable.” Angel straightened their spine. “At least, not anymore.” They playfully patted David’s cheek. “So, go on. Tell me what you need.”

David knew that their gentle command was said in jest, but he couldn’t quite squelch the deep comfort that surrounded him as he listened to Angel encourage him to do something as radical as assert his own needs, not through veiled aggression or sarcasm, but genuinely and honestly. They made him want to want better- for himself, for his pack.

And for Angel.

“I need…” He took a deep breath, reflecting on Angel’s deceptively difficult question. What did he need? A break from his alpha duties? A chance to be a friend, and not his alpha, to Asher, Milo, and the rest of their crew? One more day with his father? Frankly, yes. He needed all of those things. He needed them so badly that it hurt, but David knew those things were not immediately attainable. One need that was in his reach, however, seemed to rise above them all for the time being. “I think… I need a hug.”

Angel was only too happy to provide David with that. They took him in their arms, laying their head into the crook of his shoulder. “You need it? You got it.” Angel felt David pull them closer, sealing his edges to their curves. “Always.”

At their embrace, David could’ve sworn he felt one of those internal knots of guilt and grief within himself loosen. Rather than give that a second thought, he squeezed Angel harder, so grateful that Angel was in his life. With them, he was safe.

Truly, they were all David needed. He looked forward to gathering up the courage to tell them that soon.

Chapter Text

Darling shuddered against Sam, another round of dry heaves rolling through their gut. They felt their body react to the sensation, clutching the rim of the toilet with their sweaty hands. With a cry of misery, Darling felt their body go limp. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s strong hold, they would’ve surely crashed into the floor.

“Easy, easy, easy,” Sam soothed, gently prying Darling’s hand away from the porcelain so they could grip his forearm. “You’re alright now. I gotcha, Darlin’.” He let this partner catch their breath as he supported them.

Sam cursed the fool who had dumped a batch of old pesticides into the river upstream from his isolated home. All Darling had done was take a few drinks from the water while they were out hunting as a wolf, and now they were in utter agony, riding out the effects of the pesticides, all because they were a little thirsty. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for his Darling to endure this kind of suffering just because of some idiot’s selfish, careless, destructive action.

“I think… I’m okay to go back to bed,” Darling croaked, already trying to push up from their jiggling knees. “I…” Suddenly, they swallowed again, a look of horror crossing their face. “Nope!” they yelped before returning to their dry heaving. Darling shivered against the cool tile of the bathroom as their stomach roiled despite having nothing to expel.

Sam yanked a modest, orange towel off of the nearby rack and draped it over their shoulders. “That alright?” he asked in a hush. “Don’t want you gettin’ chilled sitin’ here.”

“‘S good,” Darling confirmed, bringing the towel up to their cheek. “Thanks.”

Sam’s heart clenched at how pitiful Darling sounded. It was no surprise. Consuming pesticides would certainly make anyone feel miserable, that is, if it didn’t kill them. Sam was so grateful for Darling’s strong constitution and quick thinking to come home as soon as they felt themselves grow sick. They burst into the house, calling for Sam both with strained words and keening howls as they shifted to and fro between their wolf and human form as their body tried to put up its best defense against the poison. Alarmed at their obvious distress, Sam had quickly cast a diagnostic spell that helped him figure out what was going on with his beloved mate. As soon as the spell pointed towards poison, Sam had been quick to draw on his healing power to stop the progression of its effects from getting any worse before he used his magic to neutralize the poison completely.

The only problem was, healing magic couldn’t undo the internal havoc it had already wreaked upon Darling. Sure, it was a relief to know that Darling was in no danger from the pesticides, but watching them ride out the lingering nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and dizziness?

It was awful.

“What else can I get you, Darling?” Sam asked, ready to move heaven and earth if it meant helping ease Darling’s suffering.

Darling shrugged, their lower lip trembling. “I just wanna go to bed,” they huffed, a hybrid between a petulant complaint and a vulnerable lament. “And be where it’s soft and warm and comfy. Instead, I’m hunched over a toilet, kneeling on the bathroom floor, making you hold my head up as I heave my guts out, even though I have no guts left to heave.” They frowned, slumping a bit more into Sam when their stomach flipped over itself. “When is it gonna be over?” they plaintively whined. “All I want is to get off this floor and get into bed.”

“Soon, Darlin’. You will soon. Just hang in there.” Sam patted their back, humming a simple tune to help the time pass for Darling as they waited out their nausea.

Sam’s heart could’ve shattered as he contemplated their answer. All they wanted was a soft bed. Was that too much to ask? Darling had spent so much of their life enduring hardship and difficulty. One awful thing after another. Loneliness and loss. Betrayal and manipulation. Despite it all, they doggedly kept on searching for something better for themselves. They hacked away at the dark, rigid circumstances around them in hopes that eventually, they’d whittle away at the sharp points enough to round them into comfortable softness.

Why did everything in Darling’s life have to be so hard?

Before he could stop himself, a growl cut through Sam’s humming. Darling flinched, unprepared for the sound after they had been lulled into a drowsy daze.

At that moment, Sam was determined to bring some much-needed softness into Darling’s life. He closed his eyes, summoning the little magical reserves he had left. After his turning, Sam had painstakingly worked to recoup his healing powers, and although he couldn’t exactly recapture them completely, with practice, he could confidently say that he harnessed much of his old powers. The other stuff he had learned, not so much. Powers such as psychokinesis or basic telepathy never seemed important enough for Sam to put forth the effort to relearn as a vampire. Healing had always been his priority.

But today, he realized, looking down as Darling huddled into his chest, healing came in many forms.

Sam clutched the towel between his fingers, trying to remember what it felt like to engage in transfigurative magic. It took some work, but eventually, the towel transformed into a luxurious fleece blanket that resembled the one thrown across Sam’s and Darling’s shared bed, except it was the same orange color of the towel.

“Hey! W-W-What?” Darling blinked, wondering if pesticides could cause hallucinations.

Sam didn’t respond. He stroked his fingers on the thin rug under Darling’s knee, conjuring more transfigurative magic and infusing it into the object. He felt his core scream out in protest, aching and stalling even as Sam drew more on his limited magical reserves. It was only until Sam felt the rug grow under his touch that he opened his eyes to find that he and Darling were now perched atop a comfortable mini-mattress.

“Sam…” Darling couldn’t believe their eyes. “How did you…?”

“Shhh,” Sam soothed, helping Darling unfurl a bit so they could relax better, all the while keeping his hold on them. He barely even registered the toll the transfigurative magic took on his body. Seeing Darling able to get more comfortable could’ve sustained him for days. “Don’t worry about that now. Just rest. We’ll wait this thing out together.”

It was so hard to do anything but listen to Sam when he spoke in that soft, lilting drawl he reserved only for Darling’s ears. They let themselves melt into the mattress as Sam adjusted the fuzzy blanket around them, relishing the way he always managed to bring softness into their life.

Chapter Text

Sweetheart loved to swim. They had learned as a child, surrounded by their large family, all modeling how to kick their legs in time with their strokes, keep their fingers closed as they moved water with their arms, and enjoy the feeling of being underwater. Sweetheart loved both the big, loud pool parties and quiet moments of solitude as they swam lap after lap. In fact, one of their very favorite pastimes was swimming in the rain. The tactile sensation of being submerged in water with water falling down upon them was like nothing else they had ever known.

Along with proper swimming (and floatie-fun) techniques, water safety rules had been drilled into them, too. Don’t run near the pool, because you might slip and hit your head. Only jump into water that is deep enough to break your fall. If it’s hot out, wet the concrete before you reach to grab it with your hand. Don’t splash the aunt who dyes her hair. Get water out of your eyes with one, deliberate swipe. Never, ever fake drowning or struggling in the water.

Well, they sure weren’t faking this.

The icy current swirled around Sweetheart, dragging them further and further down river. They struggled to maneuver themselves in a way that kept their head above the water’s surface, but they were growing tired. Their ankle hung limply from their calf, flopping along with the pull of the water. The slightest attempt from Sweetheart to move it resulted in resounding agony that lit up their every nerve. Wind whipped past their ear, disorienting them as they tried to find their bearings.

Sweetheart desperately clawed at the surface of the freezing water, squinting in hopes of making out something, anything, that would help them survive as they fought off a raging river in the pitch darkness.

The stealth could feel their movements grow slower and clumsier by the moment. With a sinking feeling they weren’t sure was real or just in their head, they realized they would soon succumb to the water. The sheer irony of it all made Sweetheart want to scream, but they didn’t want to swallow any more water than they already had. Not one bit of their incredible magic could save them from drowning, even if they could summon up the strength to use it, which they definitely couldn’t.

What good was invisibility or intangibility in the middle of an ocean? Even their other powers Sweetheart had honed in pursuit of their Full Certification degree all seemed impossibly inadequate as they thrashed in the river, alone, exhausted, and injured.

So this was how they were going to die. Shoved into a river, during the middle of an overtime shift, by some crazed vampire. Somehow, the fact that the vampire, probably in the midst of his bloodlust and evading his maker, had been terrorizing a few pups from the Shaw Pack who had been practicing their shifting and magical control in what should’ve been a safe clearing. First on the scene, Sweetheart had managed to enact a protective ward before the pups were hurt, but they couldn't quite subdue the vampire enough to keep themselves safe.

Just before they hit the water, a chorus menacing howls rang out across the still, silent night. Sweetheart didn’t speak wolf, but they could figure out that the Shaw Pack was announcing their arrival, and declaring that they had just begun to descend on the vampire, ready to tear apart anyone who dared threaten one of their pups.

Sweetheart’s thoughts strayed to their large, loving family and how they’d react hearing of their death. They fondly remembered how everyone had been so proud of them when they moved to Dahlia to pursue their career as an investigator. Now, the whole family would be utterly heartbroken. Sweetheart thought of the Shaw Pack and how they had come to consider them a second family, especially after they entered the mate-bond with Milo. Even David, who had initially butted heads with Sweetheart at every moment, had become a close friend. Sweetheart thought of all their colleagues, who would erroneously blame themselves for their on-duty death, as all Department employees did when one of their own died. Sweetheart thought of all the people they’d never get the chance to help, since their life was about to be cut short.

Sweetheart thought of Milo.

What would he do when he returned from the car show tonight to learn that they were dead? Just the thought of the deep, profound grief they knew Milo would feel gave Sweetheart a newfound energy. They kicked and thrashed against the water, clawing to escape the unforgiving water even as their ankle throbbed relentlessly.

But it was no use.

Their muscles finally rebelled against their demands. Sweetheart felt themselves dip lower and lower into the water. The chilly waves rushed into their ears and nostrils. They felt themselves grow limp and heavy, unable to keep up their dogged effort to swim to safety any longer. Sweetheart’s eyes closed on their own accord and, despite the way their heart swelled with desperation to survive, their face slipped underneath the water’s surface.

It was an odd sensation. Sweetheart would’ve felt like they were merely floating underwater, if their chest weren’t threatening to explode from inescapable pressure.

Suddenly, a massive presence interrupted their eerie, underwater peace. Sweetheart felt something sharp, yet gentle, enclose around their shoulder. Before they knew what was happening, they were pulled up to the surface of the water, gasping and panting as they sucked in breath after breath. Their body shook and sputtered, confused as to how they could possibly be gliding against the river’s current without moving. Sweetheart kept their eyes closed, trying to reacclimate to the feeling of being secure and stable on land, even as they coughed and spit up river water. They rolled onto their side, trying to leverage their position to help themselves with that unpleasant process.

An imposing weight rested on the center of their back, thump-thump-thumping in time with their coughing. Sweetheart blinked as they came to realize the shape of the helpful pounding was a large wolf paw. The deep, commanding howl confirmed their suspicions.

They craned their neck to look at their rescuer. A huge black wolf stared back at them, hovering his body over them as his ears swiveled to notice the constant din of the forestry area, evaluating any threats. He looked simply magnificent, grace and power exuding from him with every breath. “D-D-David?” they recognized, wondering if they were still in that water, their brain indulging in a hallucination before they truly passed on from this life. “Is th-th-that you? I… I… I…” They grasped out at David, catching a fistful of his wet fur in their freezing hand. “You s-s-saved me,” they concluded, fighting off the way their chattering teeth made it hard to talk.

In a flash, David returned to his human form. Fur gave way to skin. His paws, and the claws they hid, receded into human hands. Beastly limbs transformed into human arms and legs. It never failed to amaze Sweetheart how different someone’s shifted form and human form could look, and yet, there was something uncannily similar between them. David was no different.

“Easy,” David ordered, sounding like there were still a few sparks of wolf-magic imbued in his speech. Sometimes that happened when a person shifted too quickly; a delay in their animal’s retreat. “Just focus on breathing,” he advised, methodically sweeping his hands over their body, starting at their head and traveling downward. “I’m gonna check you out, okay?” He was pleased by the lack of blood, but dismayed to find areas with swelling and scrapes. “Jesus, you’re freezing,” he gaped, noting how Sweetheart shook under his touch.

“Ahhh!” Sweetheart squealed as soon as David’s hand had strayed down their calf. They jerked away from his touch.

“Okay, okay.” David immediately removed his hands, raising them in surrender to show Sweetheart he wouldn’t cause them anymore pain. “No more.”

“Ankle,” Sweetheart supplied through quick pants. A gust of wind brushed across their skin, only making them shiver harder. “Br-br-br…”

David easily deciphered the message. “You think it’s broken?” When they nodded, David swallowed a growl, the knowledge that Sweetheart had been injured stroking both a surge of protectiveness and anger within him. “How’s the pain? Scale of one to ten?”

“F-f-f-four,” Sweetheart stuttered.

David stifled a scoff. “When you say your pain’s ‘a four out of ten,’ that’s a normal person’s ‘8 out of 10.’ As soon as we get out of here, we’re going to the hospital.” David sat back on his heels, gut twisting as he considered how uncomfortable Sweetheart must’ve been, half-drowned and injured. “A few others will be here soon,” he told Sweetheart, cupping a hand around their shoulder. The bluish tinge to their lips alarmed him, but he didn’t want to show anything other than calmness as Sweetheart layed there, looking at him like he was the only thing standing between life and death. “We’ll get you outta here in no time, okay?” His eyes impatiently flickered to the distance, scanning for any sign of his pack. David had no doubt they’d follow his trail just as soon as they had that vampire immobilized. “Get you all warmed up and healed.”

The words numbly entered Sweetheart’s addled, hypothermic brain, but the meaning didn’t quite sink in. “The v-v-v-vampire,” they yelped, like they just remembered what had kicked off the whole ordeal. “Trying to at-at-at-tack p-p-p…”

“The pups are alright,” David assured them, touched but not surprised to hear that the group of teens had been Sweetheart's first concern. “Totally alright. Your ward kept them safe.”

As soon as the Department had alerted David to the emergency call one of his pack members made, he and a few other available members of the pack rushed to the scene. David had been ready to rip into the vampire who, according to the frantic call, had tried to attack the group of newly manifested wolves, both with physical aggression and an attempt to trance without consent, but when he arrived, he found his endangered pack members were safe, protected by a ward that radiated Sweetheart’s aura as the stealth bravely engaged with the vampire, splitting their magical efforts between keeping that ward around the pups fuelled and keeping the mid-bloodlust, ravenous vampire at bay.

When David saw Sweetheart take that last punch and get pushed into the river, he felt his heart leap into his chest. It hadn’t been a difficult choice for him. He had leapt into that river as fast as his legs would take him, content to trust that Asher would lead Christian and the others in a successful hunt for the vampire and some of the older wolves would guard the pups with their lives.

“You did good,” David said, simple and honest. “You really came through for the pack, you know. You're a hero.”

Sweetheart trembled. "Mm'na."

Looking at Sweetheart lying there, prone and shaking, David couldn’t help but think about how far he and Sweetheart had come. At first, the stealth and the alpha had bickered constantly, neither willing to admit just how similar they were to each other. They traded coarse words, quick insults, and went out of their way to see the worst in the other, letting misunderstandings fester and grow into outright vehemence. It wasn’t until an emergency situation that the pair had realized that the friction between them was unwarranted.

Shortly thereafter, David and Sweetheart had developed a strong, dependable friendship. According to Asher, they were the ‘grumps of the group,’ but no one would ever know to designate them as ‘grumps’ when they were together. David and Sweetheart had found an ally in each other, someone to share a knowing look with when Angel suggested they go to a club at 10pm or Milo grew a little bit too heated over an annoying commercial jingle. It was nice for both David and Sweetheart, for the first time in their lives, to be able to find comfort in likeness.

“I… I…” Sweetheart only grew more agitated as the memories of fighting off that vampire came rushing back to them. David could practically feel the adrenaline draining out of the investigator, leaving an exhausted, disoriented, freezing stealth in its wake. “He cou’ c’m back-ck,” they meekly protested, lolling their head from side to side to look for the vampire. “You saved me,” they repeated incredulously, appearing to have looped back into that dazed shock of realizing they were no longer drowning.

David pushed the back of his hand to their cheek, flinching at the frigid feel of their skin. “Of course I saved you. I’m not just gonna let you drown,” he huffed in that way that usually left no room for argument. “Why wouldn’t I save you?”

Sweetheart was one of the few people who managed to wage an argument despite that tone. “You shoulda g-g-g-got the vamp-p-p,” they fussed, confused as to why they’d even have to explain themselves. David wasn’t stupid. “He could h-h-hurt the p-p-p-pack-ck-ck-ck.”

David frowned deeply. “The vampire already did hurt someone in our pack,” he reported. He flipped his hand to cup their cheek, noticing how Sweetheart leaned into just that little bit of heat and pressure. “He hurt you.” David sandwiched their face with his palms, hoping he could break through the traumatic stupor that he saw was coming over them. “And you’re part of our pack. Not ‘like’ a member. Not ‘almost.’ Not ‘basically.’ And not just because you’re Milo’s mate. You’re one of us, and we’ll always be there when you need us, just like you always show up when we need you.”

Sweetheart curled closer to David. “Al-w-w-w-ways,” they vowed through a shiver, any trace of their normal bravado completely gone. To hear that they were so readily accepted as one of the Shaw Pack made them feel indescribably safe. “Th-th-thank y-y-you. I r-r-really nee-ee-eeded you t-t-t-today.”

David brushed some of Sweetheart’s wet hair off of their forehead, hoping that the small gesture might prevent the chill from seeping into their bones more than it already had. It pained him to see his close friend in such distress, but he’d never risk looking away, as if his gaze could keep them tethered to reality.

"So c-c-c-cold," Sweetheart mumbled, probably unaware they were vocalizing their disjointed thoughts.

A strong howl cut through the silence of the night. One by one, more howls joined in to the call and grew into a loud, trilling chorus.

“There’s your pack now,” David translated for them. “On their way to help you.”

Sweetheart whimpered in acknowledgement, struggling to make their mouth move in the way they needed to express their profound gratitude and love for David and the rest of the pack. Sweetheart had never even expected someone as amazing as Milo to enter their life, but for him to bring his whole family with him?

“They’re not far,” David said, as much for Sweetheart’s benefit as his own. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out how he could possibly give the stealth a bit of comfort as they waited in agony. He couldn’t do anything about the broken ankle. He couldn’t magically transport them to a hospital. He couldn’t even dry them off.

But, David realized with a start, he might be able to help chase away the cold.

“Don’t worry,” David whispered, noting how sleepy and slack Sweetheart’s normally alert expression grew. “I’ll keep you safe until you get here, just like you kept those pups safe.”

Sweetheart barely registered David’s gentle words. They were too busy being lulled to sleep by the beautiful, haunting howls of their family. They did, however, feel the weight of a large, furry wolf splay out over them, mindful to avoid their broken ankle. David huddled closer, happy to share every bit of his body heat if that made Sweetheart a little bit more comfortable as they waited for help.

Eyes closed, Sweetheart cuddled into David, content to know that their pack wouldn’t leave behind one of their own. They soaked up his warmth, letting themselves finally rest as they dreamt of their new plan to invite the pack to a pool party with their family sometime in the summer, so everyone they loved could be together for one day of fun.

Chapter Text

Lasko Moore strolled across the footbridge overlooking the skyline of Prenswick. Prenswick was a smaller city than Dahlia, about three hours south of the famed, cornerstone city. While Prenswick didn’t merit empowered status, it did house a significant number of empowered people, meaning that there were a few magical amenities tucked away in the heart of the city, as long as someone knew how to search for them. By all rights, the city wasn’t particularly grand or luxurious. It was, however, a popular vacation spot for those in Dahlia looking for a quick trip or a change of scenery without a long drive. That’s exactly why Lasko and Dear had decided to spend their long weekend at a nearby B&B.

So far, Lasko and Dear were having an incredible time together. They had spent the night in a cozy room, enjoyed an incredible breakfast featuring decadent pastries and delicious herbal tea, visited the Prenswick orchard to pick apples and to take a tour of the cider mill, and even nabbed a hot dinner off of a cart on the street as they wandered around the metro area. Eventually, Lasko and Dear had found themselves strolling along the footbridge, not yet ready to admit that their wonderful day was coming to an end.

The tall bridge couldn’t have been a more perfect setting for the pair. Being so close to the water instantly energized Dear. As a water-elemental, even just the proximity of a large body of water could electrify Dear’s strong core. Lasko loved to see how their face lit up as they gazed over the edge of the bridge to watch the gentle sway of the water. Likewise, heights always seemed to intensify the natural gusts of winds that whipped around Lasko’s body. The movement of the air never failed to soothe Lasko, so much so that he had no fear when it came to heights.

Between the height, the water, and the way they held hands, Lasko and Dear felt truly content, maybe for the first time in either of their lives.

Ever observant, Dear’s gaze traveled upwards to the navy sky. “”Look!” They excitedly pointed with their free hand.

But Lasko didn’t turn his head to look at whatever they were trying to point out to him. He couldn’t. Instead, he continued to stare at Dear and feel his core sizzle and surge with utter delight. How had he been so lucky to have this amazing person in his life?

They were incredibly smart, having published four articles this year alone on water’s molecular and magical properties. They were a top-notch professor, always thinking of amazing educational activities to ensure their students were engaged and learning. They were super funny, ready to crack a joke at any time. And they were so kind and courageous and endearing and talented and supportive and compassionate and…

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” Dear beamed.

Lasko couldn’t take his eyes off them, the glow of the moon faintly shimmering against their silhouette. “I love you,” he blurted out.

Dear hummed. “I think it’s almost full, isn’t it?” They straightened their spine, Lasko’s words ringing in their ear. “Wait.” For once in their life, Dear was speechless. They couldn’t form one normally eloquent word with their mouth. “W-W-What?” they gasped, feeling a sheen of sweat break out across their forehead and palms. “You lo-lo-lo-lo…?”

“I love y-y-y-you,” Lasko finished, a huge grin spreading across his face. He didn’t bother to fixate on his stutter as he had for so much of his life. Dear had always made Lasko feel like waiting the extra few moments for him to express himself was well worth it. At their gentle but frequent reminders that his stutter was a neutral thing, that it in no way made what he had to say more or less important, Lasko finally found himself able to relinquish that death-grip he held on the belief that his stutter was a flaw in need of correction. “I think I’ve loved you since I first met you, when we struggled to get the coffee maker working in the professors’ lounge.”

The image of Lasko jiggling every button on the machine and feeling the huffs of his annoyed breath flashed across Dear’s memory.

“And then, I was pretty sure I loved you when we went on our first date and you made the fountain at Monroe Square spell out my name,” Lasko fondly recalled.

The gesture was simple and spontaneous on Dear’s part, but Lasko had been so deeply moved by their choice to show him that kindness via their creativity.

“And n-n-n-now, I’m certain of i-i-i-it,” Lasko concluded, stepping closer to press his body to theirs. “I j-j-j-just had to t-t-t-tell you. I c-c-c-couldn’t not t-t-tell you,” he admitted with a shrug. “I think you’re amazing, and wonderful, and sm-sm-smart, and kind. You make me feel heard in a w-w-w-way I never have before.” Lasko’s arm snaked around Dear’s waist, and they were only too happy to feel him surround them. “I love you, my Dear,” he smiled.

“I love you, too, Lasko,” Dear squeaked, feeling a lump form in their throat. They leaned forward to kiss Lasko, melting into the passion that erupted between the two.

“I think I loved you since you finally made that stupid coffee machine make me a cappuccino,” Dear said, breathless. “I was pretty sure I loved you when you were so impressed by that moving-water art piece at the fountain. And now, after that kiss?” They smirked. “I’m certain of it.”

“You are?” Lasko beamed, almost uncomprehendingly, like he couldn’t believe he’d have the good fortune to love and to be loved by Dear.

But it was true. It was real. And neither Lasko nor Dear could’ve been happier as they were in that moment.

They held each other close, both air-elemental and water-elemental acutely aware that they fit together so perfectly on every level. As they stood together under the moonlight and kept trading whispered ‘I love you’s, Lasko and Dear felt whole and complete. It was the epitome of their entire relationship: comfortably supportive, but never forcing or suffocating, strong like the steady waves of a bubbling brook and yet easy like a feathery breeze of a summer wind.

They kissed again, lost in the glow of the moonlight and each other.

Chapter Text

“Shall I attempt some wind elementalism to dry it up?” Cebalrai stared intently at the sink before him, full of clouded water and a few remnants of suds. “Or perhaps fire to evaporate it?”

“No, no, no.” Morgan Kyne pushed up the sleeve of his flannel shirt and stuck a tentative finger down the drain, pursing his lips as he swirled a small pattern in the drain. “Magical intervention like that would be just a temporary fix. And a dangerous one at that. It doesn’t take much for magic to damage human-made infrastructure, I’m afraid.”

Cebalrai nodded attentively, glancing around his beloved cottage. What his friend said held true in his experience with elegic culture. Had it already been ten months since Cebalrai had accidentally put two horn-shaped holes in his ceiling in his first apartment while attempting to follow along with a cardio workout video that his friend Camelopardalis had recommended he try to help ease his mounting stress?

The sadism-demon’s memory-modification skills had certainly come in handy then. Before too long, Cebalrai had found his current home, a quiet cottage on the outskirts of Dahlia, complete with extra-high ceilings to accommodate his 6’9’’ frame. He had grown to love his new home even more than the first one, especially once he finally moved his belongings (including his massive library) into the cottage. This sink issue was the first home repair he'd ever faced, so he was quick to call on Morgan for help.

“Does this happen a lot?” Morgan removed his hand from the water, drying off his arm on his jeans.

Instead of Cebalrai’s soft-spoken voice, a sharp bark rang out from behind him. Three corgis pitter-pattered into the kitchen, their trimmed nails tap-tap-tapping against the hardwood flooring. The trio surrounded Morgan’s and Cebalrai’s legs, whining as they sought out pets and chin scratches.

“As Maxine answered, no, this is not something that happens often. It has not happened before, in fact.” Cebalrai knelt down to take both LaVern and Patricia under each of his long arms for a gentle squeeze. Morgan was busy yanking on a toy Maxine had in her mouth, smiling as the dog’s wide-set ears circled back and forth and her tail wiggled with effort to wrench the polka-dotted rope from the seer’s grip. After a moment of intense battle, Maxine finally dashed off with her prize in tow. As soon as her sisters noticed, they, too, rushed off, yipping and nipping at each other all the while.

“Well, it’s probably just a clog. That can happen periodically,” Morgan decided. “We can snake it, maybe pour some Drano down there, and get this all fixed up in a jiffy.”

“A snake?” Cebalrai repeated incredulously. “How interesting.” He cocked his head over the sink, judging the circumference of the drain with his thumb. “I’m sure I can find a snake just about that size in my garden. I see them often while tending to my water lilies.”

Morgan paled at the thought of bringing a snake into the house. “No!” he yelped. “Not a literal snake. A drain snake. Like…” He looked around the cottage and frowned. If Cebalrai didn’t know what he was talking about, he surely didn’t have one lying around. “Like…” He patted his pockets and plucked out a ballpoint pen. Focusing on the object, Morgan strummed at his threads to conjure enough transfigurative magic to transform the pen into a snake that was ready to enter Cebalrai’s sink drain.

Cebalrai gave a skeptical eyebrow raise. “I thought you said magic would not permanently rectify this issue,” the sadism-demon said.

“Well, this isn’t a magical solution per se, Ceb,” Morgan grinned. “It’s all in the way we apply it to the problem, I think. We’ll still have to manually snake the drain, but now we actually have a working snake to use.” He shoved the newly formed snake, which glowed a faint purple around the edges as the transfigurative magic hummed through it, into Cebalrai’s palm. “Just depends on how we apply the magic.”

Cebalrai tightly gripped the snake in his hand. “It is hard to know, in your world, when and how to apply magic in a helpful manner.”

His thoughts drifted to his many clients, most of whom were sent to Cebalrai due to his specialty as a Thread-Cutter within the Dahlia Division of the Department of Uniform Magical Practices. Of course, Cebalrai’s job wasn’t merely to sever an empowered person’s connection with magic at their say-so. At least, that was not the expectation of the role anymore. The job had undergone a significant evolution to ensure that clients were provided with the information and compassion they might need to navigate such a decision with life-altering consequences. Cebalrai was quite in favor of that solution. He took the time to get to know his clients, their unique needs, their expectations of thread-cutting, and more. As a sadism-demon, Cebalrai was well-equipped to help his clients discern their often-layered emotions regarding their magic and decide whether or not cutting threads would be the optimal way to move forward. It was a good gig, overall. Cebalrai got to help people, to feed to his heart’s content, and to create a life for himself on the plane that had always fascinated him to no end.

But, for all those positive elements, there were certainly some drawbacks. It was hard to see these humans come to him, often completely saturated in distress, resentment, and fear.

When Morgan saw how his friend’s golden eyes were glued to the floor as he spoke, he took a step closer, leaning on the sink. “Hey. You alright?”

Cebalrai started, unprepared to have his own emotional state evaluated. He used a bit of easy psychokinetic magic to remove his glasses and to clean the lenses on his sweater. It was a nervous habit of his.

“I am fine,” he responded, trying to match his tone to an inflection of indifference. “I suppose it is interesting to see all the different ways magic can be so unexpectedly unwelcome in your world. After all, only a certain kind of magical intervention helps us now.” He gestured to the sink, still clutching the transfigured snake. “The same thing goes for my clients. Their circumstances and goals dictate whether or not magic is a useful feature to their life. It can be quite a strange topic to broach,” Cebalrai admitted. “I am, for all intents and purposes, pure magic.” He shrugged under Morgan’s confused countenance. “Day after day, I must objectively help humans decide if their lives afford the room for magic. It is challenging to grapple with the reality that for so many humans, not even including those who are uninformed and unempowered, which are many, magic is not compatible with their lives. I am not compatible with their lives.” Somehow, saying that out loud hit Cebalrai harder than he expected. “I am not as compatible with this world as I would like to be. Some people, they hate magic and the life it comes with so much they wish to rid themselves of it. And I… sustain myself through their hate for the very thing I am by feeding on their emotions.”

Distraught at Cebalrai’s self-critique, Morgan gently took the snake from the demon’s hands and set it down next to the sink. “What? No!” the seer burst. “That’s not true. I… You…” he stuttered, struggling to find the right words to express to Cebalrai that his presence in the world was just as important as anyone else’s. “You belong here, Ceb. You do important work, even if it is tough.” Morgan suppressed a shiver when he had considered severing his own threads to escape the struggles that came along with his unpredictable magical speciality of visions and second-sight. “The work you do and the magic you have, it’s natural. It's part of you. Of course I don’t hate it, because I know it’s what keeps you healthy. I hope you don’t, either.”

“Ah, yes, my work.” Cebalrai gave a tight nod and half-smile. Morgan had seen Cebalrai genuinely grin enough to know that the sadism-demon was not soothed in the slightest. “That is a fine point. I do provide the world with a service your kind cannot do, or at least, do as readily as I can,” he acknowledged.

Morgan’s brows knit together in a deep furrow. “Service? No, forget that,” he demanded hotly, frustrated that he wasn’t communicating his ideas clearly and Cebalrai’s self-esteem was paying the price. “You’re more than a service! You’re you. You’re a part of this world. I…”

The sink suddenly let out a deep, guttural groan. Bubbles appeared and fizzled in the standing water.

“Give me that.” Morgan wrenched the snake free from Cebalrai’s grip and began to plunge it down the drain. Beads of sweat formed along his forehead as he pushed the snake further and further into the pipeline. “You belong here, you thick-headed therapist!” It was a paltry insult at best, but as far as Morgan Kyne’s insult game went, that was his best. “And I’ll tell you why once I fix your sink, okay? One issue at a time! Is it too much to ask for one crisis at a time…”

Surprised to see (and to feel) the burst of anger and proactiveness emanating from his friend, Cebalrai straightened his spine and couldn’t help but listen as Morgan’s voice raised. “Morgan…” Cebalrai the demon tentatively interjected. “You don’t have to-”

“I do, apparently. If you’ve got ideas like that taking up space and swirling around your brain.” Morgan stayed focused on his task, driving the snake with mighty force through the pipe so it would poke through the clog of gunk. “Look, don’t you remember when the whole Therapeutic, Holistic Interventions, and Rehabilitation Services Team at D.U.M.P. planned that huge surprise party for you last year? Everyone had such a fun time at the party, but I’ll tell you something, it took weeks of prep on our parts to do that. Some days, we were at each other’s throats over which flavor of cake to get or how to decorate the place. But we did it! And why?” Morgan hunched over the sink, not yet ready to admit the snake had gone as far as it could go. “Because we think you’re amazing!”

Cebalrai thought back to that joyous memory. An inchoate coworker of his had called him in a pretend-panic, claiming their car had broken down and they needed to be picked up from a nearby gas station. When Cebalrai had arrived to the unknown address, he was shocked to find not a gas station, but a banquet hall full of his friends, trays of food, and all the trappings of a fun party.

“So many blue balloons,” Cebalrai fondly recalled, corners of his lips curling upwards.

“Or how about when my nieces bring you a book and plop down on the floor?” Morgan prompted, twirling the snake while giving it another dose of transfigurative magic to ensure it stayed in the correct form. “Do you think they do that because of your employment status or magical skill?”

The thought of Guiliana and Brooke sitting beside Cebalrai as he sprawled out on the floor, narrating their favorite story, Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site for the umpteenth time, hanging on his every word and bravely grabbing at Cebalrai’s long horns or tracing the tattoos around his shoulder, brought a warmth that vibrated through every cell of Cebalrai’s corporeal form. The almost-two-year-old humans adored Cebalrai, and the sadism-demon was all too ready to admit they had him wrapped around their little fingers.

“They are both so smart,” Cebalrai noted. “Brooke knows all of her colors, and Guiliana can count higher than I can,” he joked.

“See?” Morgan jerked back, pulling the snake with him. The water rumbled and bubbled as he did, quickly draining away in a swirl down the pipe. “Don’t you see? Like it or not, you’re fully entrenched in this world, Ceb. And that’s because you’re fully entrenched in our lives. Not because of your magic or the valuable work you do.” Morgan pointed the snake, most of it covered in dark sludge, at the demon. “And, by the way, your work is super valuable to so many people, but that’s another conversation.” Morgan clicked his tongue. “Look at the life you’ve made here, the people you’ve met. You belong on Elegy because it’s your home, because the people who love you are here. And we’re all so lucky for it. ”

Touched at his friend’s honest, kind words, Cebalrai couldn’t help but nod. “You… make excellent points, Morgan” he choked out. “Th-thank you.”

“Anytime,” Morgan waved off, letting the snake drop towards the ground before he waved his hand to turn it back into a pen. He made to clap a hand on Cebalrai’s shoulder, but quickly pulled back. “Ugh, I should probably wash my hands before I do that, huh?” he sheepishly shrugged. “Well, looks like that clog is gone. You should be all set now.”

“I will not let the evidence of your help with my sink prevent our physical contact.” Cebalrai gathered Morgan up in a tight, full hug, easily lifting Morgan up off the ground for a moment before letting him come back to the ground. “Thank you, Morgan, for fixing the clog in my sink drain, and in my mind.” He knocked his knuckles on his head.

"No snake required for that one," Morgan joked, returning the embrace.

Chapter Text

David Shaw stirred the vegetable soup that had been bubbling on the stovetop for the last two hours. He carefully inspected the texture of the carrots, using their tenderness to determine whether or not the soup was finally finished. After a brief debate with himself, he turned the burner on simmer and set the lid slightly ajar to let some steam escape as the soup continued to cook. David glanced at the table, pleased to see the bowls, spoons, napkins, and glasses of water he had set out earlier were still there, ready for him and his Angel to sit down to dinner.

He hoped they liked the soup.

Over the last few weeks, Angel had been facing a terrible slew of challenges and stresses. At work, they were asked to perform more and more with less and less internal support. Angel was a hard worker who took pride in doing a good job, but management was the epitome of dysfunction and toxicity, and that negativity was beginning to bleed into every one of Angel’s duties. Their personal ambitions, including some artistic activities and social outings, had to be put on hold so they could manage their workload responsibilities, leaving them anxious and isolated. To top it all off, Angel’s health issues had finally flared up into a dangerous condition, landing them in the hospital for a lengthy stay, horrific pain, and, eventually, a surgery.

Although Angel submitted a request for permission to receive magical healing from the Department of Uniform Magical Practices, the rigid institution was in no hurry to respond. Additionally, the alpha-mate had absolutely refused the multiple offers from Marie or Sam to heal them. Not only was their condition quite complicated, but Angel did not want to risk any covert breaching getting back to the Department. Milo’s mate had promised to bury any sort of paper trail things went awry, but the last thing Angel wanted was to cause trouble for anyone. So, they insisted on waiting for D.U.M.P.’s response.

Which was supposed to arrive in six to eight weeks.

Unfortunately, Angel’s health warranted immediate action, and the unempowered emergency room was the only option.

It had been a difficult time for both Angel and David, but thankfully, the unempowered human had since returned home and was recovering as well as expected, though the pain and discomfort persisted, often keeping them in bed for a few days at a time in between bursts of frustrated energy. Angel was tired. Tired of being ill. Tired of recovering. Tired of taking it easy. Tired of the accusatory conversations and borderline abusive policies at their work. Tired of proving they were not faking their health problems. Tired of resting. Tired of feeling stuck. Tired of being tired.

David hated to see them in this state. He knew Angel was doing their best to put on a brave face, often minimizing their pain or shrugging away their fatigue, only to curl up into a ball as they binged a television series and fought hard not to let David hear them cry.

Angel was fiercely independent, and he knew how they valued that part of themselves. David did, too. He could see how upset Angel was at the notion of not being able to take care of themselves. So, he had made it his mission to show Angel that accepting his care was not a forfeiture of their independence. It was merely a measure of their relationship’s strength.

After double-checking that the burner was set to a low simmer, David made his way to the bedroom. He gently knocked his knuckles on the half-closed door as he entered the room. “Hey.”

As he expected, Angel was lying on the bed, arranging their body in a way that they hoped would grant them some sort of solace from the pain. Their eyes were pinched at the corners, their neck craned tightly, and their hips wiggling idly. “Hi.” Angel flopped over so they faced David. They patted the edge of the bed and trilled with a bit too much excitement, “Come hither.” They forced a grin on their face. “Oh, my, Little Red Riding Hood. What wolfish teeth you have.”

David approached Angel’s bed, dropping to his knees beside them. “You’re messing up the story,” he admonished with no malice, letting his large hand settle upon their forehead. “Not that I mind. It’s a shit story.” He pressed a bit into Angel’s forehead, hoping the weight would ease the turmoil he knew was brewing inside their brain. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Same, I guess,” Angel sighed.

“Angel…” David brushed their hair back, hoping the repetitive movement might soothe them momentarily. “You don’t have to do that with me.” His voice took on that thick, deep tone it always did when he spoke from his heart. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but for the record, I do want to know how you really are feeling. Now and always.”

Angel thought of all the times in their life their mask had become their lifeline. They thought of all the times they had felt as if that mask were the only thing keeping them tethered to the world, valuable to the people around them, or able to navigate a world that threatened to swallow them whole. They thought of how habitual the act of masking had become. They’d switch out one mask for another depending on the day, the person, the job, but always feel that need to transform into someone who was more palatable, less intense, more relatable, less chaotic…

The list of things Angel wasn’t but needed to be never seemed to stop growing. Each new challenge in their life or new person they met resulted in another mask added to their collection. Only when Angel was alone did they feel able to shed those heavy masks. Although they had perfected masking into an art form by the time they reached adulthood, that fact only made their masks heavier and more uncomfortable for Angel to don over and over again.

When David had come into their life, he had invited them to set their mask down, even if just for a moment. David never pressured them. Never forced them. Never expected that of them. He simply showed Angel, over and over again, with kindness and compassion, that they could be their true self with him. Little by little, despite their stubborn streak, Angel was beginning to believe David.

Without warning, Angel threw their arms around David and pushed their face into his chest. “Not goo,” Angel reported sadly. Just the idea of David asking them in earnest how they were feeling and emphasizing that he wanted a real answer (not just an easy answer) had them near tears.

“C’m here.” David gathered his mate into a tight embrace, transferring himself from the floor to their bed. Angel’s muscles trembled underneath his hold. When he felt Angel’s respirations begin to increase, he took a few deep and deliberate breaths, waiting until Angel’s exhales lengthened in time with his. “That okay?”

Angel nodded against his chest. “Th-thank you,” they mumbled, feeling a wave of dizziness come over them. Angel shut their eyes, waiting for the world to still before they dared say another word.

David nuzzled his face into Angel’s hair, surrounding himself with their presence. It was a nice reminder for David that they were home and recovering from their condition, rather than in a hospital, waiting in agony as a flurry of healthcare providers tried to figure out the root of their problems. Plus, the added bodyweight pressure seemed to calm Angel further. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, letting his thumb rub back and forth at the crook of Angel’s elbow. “I hate that you’re going through this, but I’m gonna be right here with you as you do.”

“But...” Angel swallowed against a rise of nausea.

“No,” David interjected. Keeping Angel pressed close and tucked between his legs, he maneuvered so he could sit up a little bit straighter against the headboard. “Angel, I need you to listen to me, okay?” He paused to organize his thoughts. Expressing his feelings didn’t come easy to David, especially after his father’s death, but he could tell from Angel’s anguished expression and recent despondency that they needed to hear him say what seemed so very obvious to him.

Angel let their head tip up and rest into David’s clavicle. They lazily traced their index finger back and forth over the indentations on the skin of David’s shoulder.

“You are my mate. I love you,” David declared. “And part of being your mate is being here with you when you’re sick, doing what I can to help you recover, and waiting with you as you wait to feel better.” He shrugged a bit. “And it’s my privilege to be able to do that. Really. It’s not something I do because I have to, or else the mate-police will take me away to prison.”

The thought of the existence of mate-police made Angel let out a small, quick laugh. “You wouldn’t last a day in mate-prison,” they teased, slurring a bit as their cheek smushed further against David. “You’re too soft.”

“I…” A slew of argumentative rebuttals flooded David’s thoughts, but he pushed them away to get back to a more important matter. “Well, my ability to handle a fictional prison notwithstanding…” He booped them on the nose, knowing the tactile sensation would usher Angel back into the conversation. “The point is, you menace, that I’m here to help you. I’m here because I love you. I want to be here because I love you. And that doesn’t correlate to your health. It’s not dependent on your ability to walk or to eat without vomiting or anything else you can think of.” He gave them a bit of a squeeze, as if the sensation could imbue his words with more persuasion. “And, you can be as miserable as I know you are without worrying you’re burdening me or inconveniencing me or whatever you got cooking in that hyperactive, hyperfixating brain of yours.” He kissed their forehead, willing away any heavy, negative thoughts. “You won’t scare me away. You won’t make me think you’re any less independent or strong. You could never do any of those things, because…” He gave them a warm, slow kiss. “Because you’re my mate.”

Angel blinked, feeling their tongue sit awkwardly in their mouth. “Yeah?” they responded tentatively. “You sure?”

“One-thousand percent sure,” David answered.

Angel considered his words, analyzing them from every angle they could possibly fathom. No matter what they did, they couldn’t find a loophole. More than that, Angel couldn’t deny the overwhelming safety and comfort they always felt when they were with David. He protected them in ways they hadn’t realized were possible. He relaxed them in ways without them even realizing it. He made them laugh, even as the rest of the world made them want to scream. Angel couldn’t imagine a life without David, and frankly, they didn’t want to imagine such a thing.

What they wanted was to wrap their body around David’s and never, ever let go.

“I love you,” Angel said simply before they squeezed David harder.

“I love you, too,” David whispered, his hand trailing across their back in a circular pattern. The rhythmic pressure soothed the staticy feeling that threatened to overtake Angel every time they exhaled. “Just hang on, Angel, okay? You’re gonna make it through this.”

The sheer tenderness of David’s genuine words undid every bit of Angel’s frazzled defenses.

“But when?” they sobbed into David’s chest. “I want to feel better now. I can’t keep doing this.”

David’s heart sank at Angel’s admission. To hear them express their misery so blatantly was a sharp gauge as to just how sick they were. When it came to their own body, Angel hated complaining. They were much more likely to shrug away discomfort or pretend it didn’t exist. As lucky as David felt to know that his presence was a safe space for Angel, the fact that they were in pain cut him to the core.

David was a fixer. A problem-solver. When faced with a challenge, he wanted to confront it head on and work the challenge until he had it completely conquered. Whether in his human form or as a wolf, David didn’t let go of a problem until he had an answer for it.

But Angel’s illness was one problem he couldn’t solve. He couldn’t use his muscles or teeth to bend their body into submission. He couldn’t use his steely glare or alpha status to demand their surgery site healed and their organs suddenly functioned perfectly.

He couldn’t do much, other than hang onto Angel for all he was worth for as long as they needed.

So that was exactly what he did.

“I don’t know, Angel. I don’t know when,” David murmured, hating the truth of that statement. He curled his legs around Angel, knowing the gentle pressure might help Angel ride out the wave of nausea they were trying to mitigate. “But I know it’s gonna be okay. I promise. You’re gonna get through this, and you’re gonna feel better.” It wasn’t soon enough, as far as David was concerned. But lamenting reality wasn’t what his Angel needed.

What they needed was a mate who would take care of them so they could focus their limited energy on healing and recovering. What they needed was a mate who would stay with them as they cried, hug them to sleep, and promise to protect them until they felt like themselves again.

Later, he’d offer them the soup. But for now? There wasn’t anything in the world that could’ve dragged him away from Angel.

Angel melted into David’s hold, holding onto his promise like it was their lifeline. They were one stubborn menace. That was one positive thing about Angel’s stubbornness for which David would always be grateful.

“I love you so much,” David whispered, noting how Angel’s eyelids had dipped closed. He continued to comb a hand through their hair, noting how their probably-sore muscles relaxed. “You’ve been so strong through all of this,” David praised, his honeyed voice dropping an octave so that his words could penetrate Angel’s hazy fog and usher them to sleep. “Take it easy now. This will pass.” He heaved a sigh. “But for now, just relax. I’m here, right here with you.” David kissed them on the forehead, content to give his mate a small moment of restful reprieve, and ready to give them many more during their recovery.

Chapter Text

Colm Maxwell Greer stared in disbelief at his phone. He tapped the ‘play’ button on the touchscreen one more time, still not quite convinced of the audio captured in his voicemail.

”Dad? Umm… It’s me, Milo. I’m… I’m sorry to just call out of the blue like this. But Ma’s flight won’t land for a few hours and Nic’s phone was off and the rest of the pack’s wrapped up with a sensitive job… And I-I-I didn’t know who else to call.

It’s my mate. They’re hurt. I don’t know much. Their sergeant called me when they were on their way to the ER of the healing ward.

But she said it was bad, Dad. Real bad.

I just got here. I… I’m waiting here for someone to give me an update. Can…

Can you come? Please?”

He barely recognized the anguished voice. The weak tremble was a feature Colm had never before heard in Milo’s speech, but what was more surprising was that last pleading line.

”Can you come? Please?”

Not even the years of heavy conflict and resentment could hold a candle to his son asking for Colm to be there.

Steeling himself, the retired investigator strode through the automatic doors and began looking for a front desk or a sign that could point him in the direction of the waiting area .

Colm had received that voicemail exactly thirteen minutes ago. He had just departed from his weekly Gambleholics Anonymous meeting at the Dahlia Community Center, which he had been attending regularly for the last decade. The Dahlia Community Center was at least a fifteen minute drive away from the Healing Ward of Dahlia General Hospital.

Colm made it in eight.

As soon as he arrived, Colm parked the car, and followed the blue arrows down three hallways that had been labeled with “ER Dept” in big, block lettering and accompanied with tactile references. He hovered outside of the door only for a minute before scanning the area for Milo. The wolf in his chest was on high alert, shrewdly stalking and surveying as he sniffed out the aura of his only son.

Ever the shrewd observer, Colm spotted Milo in a moment.

Milo was hunched forward in his plastic chair, one hand combing through the same section of hair over and over again. His other hand stretched out long and then curled into a ball with no regular pattern.

Colm wondered if that was a habit Milo had developed from when he was younger, or if it were just a spontaneous marker of his sky-high anxiety now.

A rush of sweltering shame burned through Colm, hot enough to make his wolf whine and cower. Rather than give into that paralyzing guilt, as he had done for so many years, Colm forced himself to approach his son.

Milo barely blinked, focusing all his attention on the closed door.

Suddenly tongue-tied, a rush of awkwardness flooded through Colm.

Was he supposed to sit or stand? Should he hug Milo or let him initiate contact? Was he supposed to ask about the condition of the stealth or wait until Milo was ready to speak? Would positive, hopeful words give Milo comfort, or was silence a better way to offer support?

Colm frowned. He wasn’t good at this. He didn’t know what to do.

Truth be told, he had never done this before. By the time Milo, the last of his children, had come along, Colm was already lost to a spiral of addiction that had threatened to swallow him whole. It hadn’t taken young Milo long to learn that his mother or older sisters were much more present and willing to kiss away scabbed knees, read favorite stories, or otherwise be a part of his life. As Milo grew, his shy, hopeful requests eventually gave way to sullen silence and bitter hurt. He didn’t expect Colm to attend his gymnastics meets. He didn’t ask Colm to take him to the park to practice shifting as his powers manifested. He didn’t engage any more than he had to.

It had taken Colm far too long to begin the difficult work of bridging that gap. He had to come to terms with having missed out on so much of his family for so long. No matter how hard he had worked to stay sober now, Colm would never be able to get that time back. He’d never get a chance to relive that time of his life, to be the father Milo needed for much of his life.

Colm took another breath to evaluate Milo. He may not have had much experience with being a parent, but in his day, Colm had been one heck of an analyst. Left with no other choice, he flexed that muscle and took in the sight before him.

There was a suspicious puffiness around Milo’s eyes, though the dark brown share of his iris was as piercing as ever. The muscles in his jaw and neck were clenched and tense. His breathing was ragged and sharp.

“Milo?” escaped Colm’s lips before he even realized that he said something.

Milo’s head jerked up. Colm stifled a gasp when he saw how disheveled and exhausted Milo looked. Fretting over his mate with no ability to help them had that effect on people, though. Even the most

“Dad,” Milo whispered. He pushed himself up to sit a bit straighter in the unforgiving chair. “You came?”

Colm hated how surprised Milo sounded, though he knew the young man had more than enough cause to be surprised. “You called.” He knelt in front of Milo so they could be eye-to-eye. As Colm reached out to use the arm of the chair for leverage, his hand found Milo’s shoulder. “I know I haven’t always acted like a father in the past. I’m sorry my track record made you presume I wouldn’t show up. But I want to change that. And for something like this?” Colm shrugged. “This is one of those times a kid just needs his dad.”

Milo swiped the heel of his palm across his tired eyelids. “Yeah,” he said, scooting a little closer towards the edge of his seat. “I still don’t know the details about what happened, but a healer came out to tell me about the healing they’re undergoing now. It’s touch and go.” Milo sniffed. “B-But they’re strong, I know they are. They’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“Mhmm.” After a deep exhale, Colm confirmed, “They’re gonna be okay.” He took a seat beside Milo, deliberately leaning his body to hover near.

Milo bobbed his head up and down. “Yeah,” he agreed hastily. “Yeah, they are. They’re gonna be fine.”

The crack in Milo’s reserve happened in a fraction of a second, but Colm saw it all happen in slow motion. Milo’s stoic expression crumpled into despair. His breath hitched. A strangled noise caught in his throat. When he clenched his teeth, Colm could’ve sworn the glint of a sharper canine peeped through Milo’s lips as he fought to prevent an involuntary shift.

“But… what if they’re not?” Milo wondered through a hybrid of a sob and growl. “What if…?”

Colm had seen a lot in his day. At work, he had grown accustomed to encountering one tragedy at work in the morning, only for what seemed like a miracle to take place later during that shift. He had seen things that should’ve been impossible, like how his mate had juggled her no-nonsense demeanor with an unrivaled gentleness he could only have hoped to deserve. He had seen criminals make spontaneous confessions and administrators implement insane policies. Moreover, he had surprised himself that morning when he had woken up with no memory of the night, no wallet, and no idea where he was before deciding he had had enough booze and gambling to last more than a lifetime.

But not even Colm Maxwell Greer, retired Investigator in the third degree, could have imagined that the day would come when his son collapsed into his arms, clung to him with all his might, and cried into his chest. “I can’t lose them… Please, I…”

Colm wasted no time as he wrapped his arms around Milo’s shaking form and squeezed him fiercely. “Okay, okay…” The older man took Milo’s weight with more ease than he thought he could, letting Milo settle so that his forehead rested into the depression of Colm’s clavicle. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he murmured, hoping he sounded believable and dependable. It had become increasingly obvious that Milo was hanging onto his composure by a fraying thread. And his grip was slipping.

For the first time in a very long time, Colm seized the opportunity to step in for his son. To keep a strong and steady hold of that rope, like any father would’ve done for his family.

When Milo shook with worry and exhaustion, Colm let a hand come to the back of Milo’s neck to give a slow, soothing squeeze. When Milo’s muscles melted with fatigue, Colm was careful to support his weight. When Milo’s sobs died down into silent tears, Colm made sure to wait patiently before he spoke another word.

He could feel his core stretch out to meet Milo’s, familiar and linked together from both blood and magical lines. Even without shifting, Colm could feel his large wolf curl protectively around Milo, licking at his ear and tucking his tail around his now-grown pup.

“Dad…” Milo sniffed. He felt a bit awkward having broken down so thoroughly in public, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Colm’s comforting embrace. “I’m scared for my mate.”

Colm hummed in response, ruffling a few of the thick curls that just barely brushed the back of Milo’s neck. “That’s part of what it means to be mated, son. The worry never ends because the love doesn’t, either.” He smiled wryly, thoughts floating to his own beloved mate. To Colm’s utter relief, there was so much of Marie in Milo. Her fiery spirit, her grit, her deep compassion, her bravery, her unwavering loyalty… He could see it all shine through Milo.

He was so damn proud of the man his son had grown up to be.

“Milo Greer?” a voice suddenly called out. A woman in yellow scrubs holding a tablet stood near the threshold of the door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only.’ Milo had recognized her from early as the lead healer on Sweetheart’s case. She had brusquely ordered a technician to keep Milo out of the room once the intense magical healing processes had begun.

“Yes!” Milo vaulted up from his seat, making a beeline for the women. Colm wasn’t far behind. “That’s me! How are they? How’s my mate?”

“They are resting now, but stable and expected to make a full recovery,” the healer succinctly reported, always happy to be able to tell family that happy news.

“A full recovery,” Milo echoed. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Thank you, thank you,” he choked through a suddenly thick throat, overwhelmed with gratitude and relief.

“Outstanding news,” Colm added, exhaling the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

The healer gave a polite smile, always empathic to the rush of emotions that overcame her patients’ families during pivotal moments such as this one. The stealth’s injuries had been gruesome, and altogether there were moments of uncertainty, the investigator had endured the healing and was already showing signs of improvement as their body acclimated to the magic. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to their room. And I can fill you in on their condition as well as our recovery plan going forward.” She eyed Colm warily. “Though I have to insist on limiting visitors only to family at the moment. Your mate still needs a lot of rest.”

Colm bit back the pang of the disappointment that bubbled in his gut at the healer’s words. He had wanted to see the stealth alive with his own eyes as well as be there for Milo. It was never easy to see your mate directly after undergoing such serious healing. Still, Colm could understand the policy. Never would Colm want to jeopardize their recovery. He was ready to relent, opening his mouth to tell Milo he’d wait outside as long as he needed and to give the stealth his best wishes.

Before Colm could say a word, Milo interjected. “He’s family. My dad.” Milo tipped his head to give Colm a pleading look. Apparently Milo never outgrew those puppy dog eyes. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

To hear ask for him to be there again was almost more than Colm could bear. How many years had he spent wallowing in self-pity and shame, lamenting the fact that his destructive behavior and dangerous addiction had snuffed out any chance for him to develop a real connection to any of his children, especially Milo?

“I will,” Colm asserted, heart swelling with pride and protectiveness. He could feel his wolf howl a warbling warning call, cautioning anyone and everyone not to make an attempt to get between him and his son.

“That’s fine,” the healer absently approved. She may not have been a shifter, but her sonal-energetic core did sense the dynamic change and, without even noticing, she took a step backwards in deference to Colm. “Please follow me this way, gentlemen.”

Milo eagerly did, anxious and aching to see his mate.

Colm trailed just a step behind him, thankful for the chance to be the father his son needed.

Chapter Text

Why are you awake, Pet?

They had been tossing and turning in their bed for hours, mind restlessly churning through all the hellish possibilities that might occur. Over the years, Pet had learned that ignorance was an efficient way to counter the horrors that loomed. They’d turn off the I.D.L.E.-sponsored news. They’d shut off anything with a wifi signal. They’d force a pristine smile on their tense face and walk through the world as if it weren’t all crumbling around them. Pet was a survivor, leveraging their optimism like a weapon, and had gotten quite skilled at wielding.

But sometimes, like tonight, even Pet couldn’t turn off their thoughts long enough to fall asleep. Sometimes, they spiralled into endless worry, conjuring awful horrors in their imagination that left them utterly awake, despite the exhaustion that crept into their muscles and bones.

His deep, lulling voice in their head was a welcome change.

“I can’t sleep,” Pet answered, pushing up to sit in their bed. Suddenly, Vega rifted into their room, perched next to them on the edge of the mattress. Even sitting, he practically dwarfed them. They liked the way his eyes softly glowed and his corporeal form was outlined from the dull light of their night light plugged in at the opposite side of the room.

I see that. Vega took their cheek in his large palm, thumb absently rubbing up and down their throat column. But why?

Pet shrugged. “You’re the one in my head,” they answered. “I don’t hide anything from you, and I wouldn’t if I could, which I can’t.” A shiver zipped through Pet. That fact should’ve made them upset, but instead, it soothed their soul. To know that Vega had access to every bit of themselves filled Pet with peace. They were his, mind and body. “You tell me.”

Their brand of brattiness never failed to bring a curling smile to Vega’s lips. On the surface, Pet was meek and obedient, his willing little thing, so enamored with his every need, secure in the knowledge that Vega would take care of them. But, there was a fire to them, hidden behind their submission that Vega couldn’t help but admire.

And that was true. Vega had made it his mission to see their trust didn’t go unwarranted. No, Vega refused, tailing flicking idly to wrap around Pet’s legs. My efforts would be better spent rectifying this situation. He rifted again, materializing at their side, stretching his frame along the bed.

Vega liked to take any opportunity he could to demonstrate his demonic identity. Likewise, Pet loved to see Vega lean into those demonic tendencies.

Vega looped a long arm around the human, pulling them close. He loved feeling how perfectly they fit to him, like they were made for Vega and Vega alone.

The sadism-demon had quite the penchant for taking what was his and never, ever letting go.

Rest now, Pet. His gentle command was imbued with a bit of sleeping magic that quieted even their loudest thoughts. Pet relaxed into Vega’s chest, relishing the feel of fingertips lazily dragged up and down their bicep. No more worries of what might be. Only what is now. He guided their head to land into his chest. And know that I am here with you now.

Vega’s sleeping magic curled around Pet like a comforting blanket. He was irresistible. It was true that they couldn’t do much to change the Imperium’s nightmarish realities, but Vega had a way of changing even the most sadistic plague of nightmares into a beautiful dreamscape. They grew drowsy and docile in his embrace, weightlessly drifting under Vega’s charge, content to let him lull them into a protected oblivion of his devising.

Vega continued to flood Pet with sleeping magic, halting their mind from creating any more ugly scenarios, even if Vega might’ve believed them to be probable. Once they slipped into a slumber of his devising, Vega would feed on the twisted, sadistic emotions that simmered below their subconscious. His Pet tried so hard to keep their anger towards their unjust world at bay, but Vega knew better. He knew all of them.

And he loved them for it.

Vega gathered Pet closer to him, sealing his body to theirs. That’s it. Sleep, Pet. I will keep you safe from everything, including your thoughts.

Chapter Text

Angel set the pumpkin on the ground, ensuring that the area was flat enough so that it wouldn’t roll. They stepped back, admiring the stark contrast of the orange decoration against the faded gray of the gravestone. The autumn wind whipped across the air, sending a chill into Angel’s bones that they didn’t bother to notice.

“Your jacket.” Angel turned their face towards the voice and saw their husband standing beside them, his handsome face pulled tight. He was hovering next to them, their blue rain jacket gripped by one of David’s fists.

Angel waved away the offer. “I don’t need it. I’m only gonna be a minute.”

David gingerly set the jacket on Angel’s shoulders. “You said that when you got out of the car. It’s been twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Angel blinked, stunned at that realization. Hadn’t they just arrived at their mother’s grave a moment ago?

Angel had decided on a whim to decorate their mother’s grave with a pumpkin to mark the season. They almost hadn’t told David of their idea, wondering if he would think it was silly to decorate something as solemn as a headstone. Perhaps unsurprisingly, David simply grabbed his keys and offered to drive them to a nearby farm stand he’d passed on the way to the office.

“I didn’t realize…” Angel sniffed. “Oh. Sorry. Thanks.”

“It’s okay,” David replied, adjusting the collar of their jacket before letting his arms dangle at his sides. “Take all the time you need.”

Angel scoffed. “If I did, I’d need a lot more than just a jacket.” Their eyes fell on the gravestone again, the sight of their mother’s name and the years she lived etched in stone chasing away their paltry attempt at humor. “Time,” they echoed. “Time is funny, isn’t it? Because, I’m looking right at the numbers and… and…” they sputtered. “And it doesn’t feel like a year has passed. But, look.” Angel pointed to the bottom of the gravestone. “The numbers are right there in front of me. It’s been a year.” They shrugged their shoulders. “How could it already be a year?”

David’s gut twisted into a knot. He had been anticipating this for the last few weeks. The first anniversary of his father’s sudden death had undone him in ways he hadn’t imagined. Grief had a sinister way of playing with a person’s time.

“It feels like it hasn’t been nearly that long,” said Angel. “But it also feels like it’s been way, way longer.” They crossed their arms at their chest, a pitiful attempt to keep the chill away. “A year. It shouldn’t still feel like this, should it?” They swiveled their head and titled it upwards to search David’s face. “It shouldn’t feel so hard by now. But…”

David snaked a palm at the small of their back.

“But it does,” continued Angel. “I feel like I must’ve wasted the whole year not doing something I should’ve, or maybe doing something I shouldn’t have.” Words tumbled out of their mouth and now a whole year’s gone by and I wasted it all and I’m supposed to be used to my mom being dead by now but I’m not.” They leaned heavily into David, who was just waiting to take his mate in his arms. “I’m not.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” he soothed, feeling Angel tremble in his grasp. “There’s no time limit to stuff like this, and there are no rules as to what you should and shouldn’t feel.” The shifter gently pushed his palm at the back of Angel’s head as they sobbed into his chest. “Oh, Angel.” He sighed, wishing he had the right words to say at a time like this. He wished he would have performed some kind of magic that would have given Angel some desperately needed comfort, but David knew from his own experience that nothing, not even magic, could wash away the grief left behind when a loved one died. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing.” He squeezed them close, practically lifting Angel off their feet. “You feel how you feel.”

Before long, Angel’s crying grew more silent as they soaked up the presence of their mate. “Will it ever feel better?” they asked.

David glanced at the gravestone, never one to lie to Angel, even if he wanted nothing more than for a lie of ‘yes’ to be true.

A few more tears escaped the rims of Angel’s eyes.

“It gets different,” he promised honestly. “Even though it feels like it never will. I promise it does. I’ll be here with you every step until then.” He tracked a steady thumb across their cheek, letting his hand linger there for warmth. “And forever after that.”

Chapter Text

Alpha David Shaw wasn’t exactly sure what had happened.

One minute, he was erasing the whiteboard of notes that had accumulated over the last hours of brainstorming and discussion just as Asher concluded the pack meeting by initiating the ceremonial closing howl. The next, he was thrusting a plastic garbage bin into one of his pack member’s chest as they heaved up the contents of their stomach with a groan louder than the collective howl of a pack of shifters.

The stealth clutched the black bin like it was their lifeline amidst a raging storm. “Th-thanks.” Even with his enhanced hearing, their muffled voice barely registered for David. The thin, pitiful tone nearly broke David’s heart in two. They lurched forward to vomit again, whole body spasming as they did. “Sorry.”

“No.” David had intended to tell them that they hadn’t had any reason to apologize. He had sensed that something was wrong with them from almost as soon as the pack meeting, but he had chalked up their malaise to Milo’s absence.

Milo had been gone for the last four days, and he wasn’t expected to return for at least another three as he celebrated Fake-Thanksgiving with his sister and the rest of her family. As a healer, she often worked through holidays, so it was tradition for her to host a large gathering featuring Thanksgiving food favorites, even if it was the middle of March. Sweetheart had planned to join Milo, but unfortunately, they felt obliged to continue the particularly harrowing case involving what appeared to be deliberate covert breaching as a means of domestic violence. It was a stressful, delicate situation that was a fear of so many empowered/unempowered couples. Sweetheart was determined to develop a case against the abusive jerk, and to help that poor contra-earth elemental escape and move on with her life, without worrying about a dangerous covert breach being linked back to her. So, Sweetheart had worked day and night until finally, just a few short hours ago, they had closed the case, resulting in the human having their memory modified and finding themself brought up on financial abuse charges through human authorities, and the empowered woman finally able to feel free and safe for the first time in far too long.

Sweetheart had rushed over to the pack meeting as soon as their shift was finished, squelching the nervousness that bubbled and churned in their gut on the drive over to the den. It was the first time they would be going without Milo. They had entered a mate-bond not even a year ago, and as the very first non-wolf mate of the Shaw Pack, Sweetheart felt acutely aware of what they (and they alone, according to Milo and the rest of the pack) perceived as shortcomings and knowledge gaps of shifter culture.

Rather than skip the meeting, however, Sweetheart had assured Milo they would attend. They wanted to take the chance to prove to themselves that they belonged in the pack, and could do something as simple as sit through a meeting alone, just as any adult pack member could.

And they totally could’ve done exactly that, if this migraine attack hadn’t completely derailed their plans.

Retrospectively, Sweetheart wasn’t exactly surprised about the migraine’s timing. The horrible pain had a way of flaring after they had finally come to the end of a stressful event. It was a pattern they had noticed since their first semester at Dahlia Academy for the Magical Novices. Only after finishing the hard thing did their body finally admit it was struggling under the weight of the pressure and worry.

David had noticed, too. He noticed the way Sweetheart's successes at work were often coupled by them having to cancel group plans. He noticed the way Milo grimaced when he reported, “My mate’s got a bad headache and… other stuff going on tonight. I'm gonna stay with them. Rain check?”

David noticed because he, too, suffered from the occasional migraine since his powers manifested. They were horribly debilitating when they hit, and the only thing worse than having a migraine attack was having one in public.

Or perhaps, David reconsidered, the worst thing was having a migraine attack when you were alone.

David had experience with both of those scenarios, and neither was particularly pleasant. Rather than debate which was more awful to endure, he dropped one knee to the floor and pressed a palm to Sweetheart's forehead.

“Don’t waste energy apologizing for something you can’t help,” David admonished, noting how Sweetheart slightly jerked in surprise at his touch, only to lean in after a moment passed. “You need all the energy you can get during a migraine.”

Sweetheart shrugged. “I’m ruining your night,” they observed. The stealth took a deep breath, sensing they could at least put the garbage bin on the ground for a moment. “I’m just gonna go home now. Umm, th-thanks.” Gritting their teeth, Sweetheart planted their feet flat onto the ground and forced their legs to take their weight. “My car… Where’d I park?” Sweetheart mumbled. They hoped that staring at a singular spot on the floor would keep their growing dizziness at bay.

But it didn’t.

“Hey!” David acted quickly, grabbing a fistful of their green jacket and yanking it upright. His other hand caught Sweetheart at their stomach, fingers splayed out so he could bear their weight.

Sweetheart felt their mouth go dry as their muscles refused to support the weight of their bones. Their head roared and rebelled against the attempt at movement. If they had only been capable of thinking about something other than the pounding sensation behind their right, Sweetheart would’ve been mortified to know they hung limply in David’s grasp.

“You are not driving anywhere,” David spat with more vitriol than he intended. He had heard how critical and stern the comment was, and the frustration of not expressing himself accurately silenced any attempt he might’ve made to explain what he meant. Even though he knew Asher was busy fielding those post-pack meeting questions that always seemed to crop up to give Sweetheart a bit of privacy, David couldn’t help but swivel his head in hopes that his wonderfully communicative, charismatic, and comforting beta would come to help him manage the situation. David would never have dreamed of telling Asher, but he was always quite envious of Asher’s skill when it came to connecting one-on-one with pack members. As far as David was concerned Asher’s skills in that department were only second to his father.

Who also was not going to come help David.

“No?” Ignoring the pang of sadness that thrummed through his gut, David shuffled across the room, Sweetheart dragged behind him, struggling to remember how to put one foot in front of the other. “I guess…” They swallowed. “I guess, I could walk then…” David’s suggestion didn’t exactly make sense to Sweetheart, but they figured maybe he was right. Driving in this state would be tough. The last thing they’d want to do would be to get in an accident and possibly hurt someone else. Besides, even on the best of days, Sweetheart’s poor sense of direction always made driving a challenge.

David shut a door behind them. Sweetheart flinched, barely aware that they had even crossed the threshold of the conference room and made it into the small office area. When David awkwardly deposited them onto a couch, they couldn’t fight the urge to push their face into the cushion and bend their knees towards their chest. They strained to focus on something other than the pounding pain, if only to regain their ability to perceive what was going on around them. Sweetheart had always cherished their observation skills as a gift. Migraine attacks robbed them of that gift, leaving them disoriented and vulnerable.

Which was why they desperately wanted to retreat into isolation.

But David stood there, looming and large.

“Just… easy,” David ordered. If anyone could’ve commanded away a migraine, it would’ve been David. He was steady in the face of stress, cool in the face of chaos. “Take it easy, okay?” Never rattled, never riled, never not in control.

It was something he had in common with Sweetheart.

“Wha…?” they asked, not even bothering to turn their head. David could see their forehead crease, as if there were actual gears inside their mind grinding and turning to interpret the situation. “No, no, I can’t stay here. I…”

“You’re not going anywhere, whether you drive, walk, or somehow learn to rift as a human,” David informed them. He reached over the couch, yanking at the shade. Blessed darkness fell over Sweetheart.

“I wish I could rift,” Sweetheart settled onto the couch with an exhale. The pain clearly still plagued them, but David was pleased to see some of the muscular tension had drained out of their body and let them sink a bit deeper into the couch. “That’d be cool.” Sweetheart let their eyes close. “I bet shifting is cool.” They rubbed at their eyes, wishing the pressure they applied could somehow alleviate the pressure inside their skull. “I can’t shift.” Their voice was tinny and timid. “I wonder if Milo minds.”

David flinched as Sweetheart flickered out of visibility for a moment, returning to visibility in a slightly different posture.

“Do you think you’d mind?” They rolled over, eyes open and pupils looking impossibly contracted. “Having a mate who can’t shift with you, can’t know what it’s like and share it with you?”

David felt his breath catch in his throat.

Truth be told, he’d never considered having a non-shifter mate for himself. Since the death of his father, David had decided a mate bond was not in his future. And even before then, sometimes, for as much as he wondered who might his mate be, he would also wonder what might happen if he didn’t find a mate. Never once during those thoughtful musing had David imagined his mate was not a shifter.

It was all moot now, he supposed wryly.

But looking down at Sweetheart as they randomly flickered and held their head as their nerves fired mercilessly, David suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

Sweetheart was utterly miserable: assaulted with horrible head pain, embarrassed beyond measure, and, if their expression were any indication, probably not finished vomiting.

Despite all that, it was Milo’s happiness that was most on their mind.

If that wasn’t the epitome of a mate bond, David didn’t know what was.

It wasn’t as if finding a mate completed you. But, David surmised from both his own observations and the stories his father would tell over and over again, entering into a mate bond was the chance to be something bigger than yourself.

Milo and Sweetheart had that, David realized as he squashed the sizzling feeling of envy in his core into nothing more than a smoldering ember that his wolf could easily put out with his large paw.

“Milo doesn’t mind,” David asserted, secure that he was telling the truth. “Not at all. He’d never want a mate who was a shifter, because then they wouldn’t be you.”

“Oh.” Sweetheart blinked sluggishly. “Thanks.”

David’s only answer was a huff, hoping that would be enough for Sweetheart to let go of such an absurd thought as that their mate was unhappy with them.

Sweetheart flickered again, though the pitiful whimper they unsuccessfully tried to swallow gave away their presence.

David leaned against the arm of the couch, mind reeling in a way that was all too familiar. “Just rest now,” he instructed, pretending his words might help assuage Sweetheart’s pain. “It’ll pass soon.” As alpha, David was used to having everyone listen to him, to take him at his word, to trust him.

If only Sweetheart’s migraine would’ve done the same.

David settled himself in a causal lean against the sofa, not wanting to intrude on Sweetheart’s space and yet ready to spring into action should they suddenly need him. He watched with relief to see Sweetheart reemerge into visibility, this time their face looking slack and their breathing slower. Exhaustion had won out, at least for a brief reprieve. Sweetheart was asleep.

As David watched over Sweetheart, he let his mind wander to the rest of their question he pointedly avoided answering.

Would he mind having a non-shifter mate?

He scoffed and scratched at his beard. The question was simply too preposterous even to consider.

But he did know one thing:

He certainly didn’t mind having a non-shifter pack member.

Chapter Text

A drop of cool water trickled down the shifter’s face as they tried to make sense of the wavering scene of vague shapes and colors that tracked in front of their eyes. They blinked once. Then twice. Only to discover that they were staring at something that should’ve been very familiar:

The faded blue-and-white-checked tile pattern of the bathroom floor.

“What?” they jerked backwards, startled by the sudden realization. They felt their heart throw itself against their ribs as their wolf raised their hackles in alarm. “I…”

A steady hand caught their cheek, preventing them from rolling their head beyond the constraints of their neck muscles as they were trying to do. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Darling. Take it easy. You’re alright.”

Sam. It was Sam. Sam was there. They exhaled, sagging as breath left their lungs.

“I found you passed out in the kitchen,” their mate explained, answering the unspoken question that hung in the air like the scent of blood after a successful hunt. Sam’s tone grew softer than the inside of those honey-crusted biscuits he would bake after a particularly grueling week. “You wanna stop working yourself so hard?” he admonished, the words void of the mocking critique Darling had once believed was all they would hear from a partner. “Or do I need to keep hitting the gym to carry you to bed every day?”

Darling flopped their head into Sam’s waiting chest. They clumsily groped out their hand, pinching Sam’s bicep between their thumb and middle finger. “Perfect,” they evaluated. “As always.” They tipped their head backwards to catch Sam’s gaze. “You don’t need a gym.” Darling squinted when a rivet of water flowed into their eyes. “Ah!” They squinted against the strange sensation.

Was it raining? But weren’t they inside?

“Darling!” Sam yelped, instinctually conjuring a small dose of healing magic and pushing it through his fingers. He hadn’t been able to access that smooth kind of control over his core for very, very long. A few years ago, he would’ve been giddy with delight, oohing and ahhing over the slightest return of his nimble, magical skill.

But today?

Today, Sam barely noticed, let alone cared, about the evidence of his magical progress.

All he cared about was easing Darling's distress.

And lately, Darling had made it their mission to collect a mountain of stress and keep it balanced upon their strong shoulders.

For the last several months, Darling had been working on a degree part-time at the Dahlia Academy for Magical Novices. They were determined to take their academics seriously this time, and that had led Darling to throw themselves into super-duper study mode when it came to big exams such as their two, looming midterms. Not only that, but they had continued working full-time at the body shop. Never one to do anything halfway, Darling was an artist when it came to their mechanic work. They treated every car they saw as their own. Whether the problem was wear, tear, or an accident, they skillfully restored every bit of it to its original glory and took immense pride in doing so.

They loved the look on customers’ faces when they saw the finished products. It was like every job was an opportunity for Darling to prove that damage, even ugly damage, isn’t a good enough reason to junk a whole vehicle. That, with patience and knowhow, the car could look and run better than ever. Maybe it wouldn’t look exactly the same, but it would be well worth the effort.

Darling had grown quite passionate about that particular cause as of late.

A particularly busy month at the shop perfectly coincided with Darling’s midterms, and Sam could see coming from a country mile. It was only a matter of time before Darling’s constant, challenging work caught up with them.

And apparently that day was today.

Darling breathed deeply, shuddering as they inhaled. “Oh, I…” They blinked owlishly. “I… don’t feel good.” Despite the discomfort, Darling relaxed when they felt Sam push a kiss to their forehead, lips softer, warmer, and steadier than anything Darling had ever known.

“I know,” Sam soothed, keeping an outstretched hand at their waist. “I know, Darling.” He winced. “I’m here.”

Sam absently wondered if Darling had always been someone prone to overworking, or if they had taken on that habit after years of abuse at the hands of, well, frankly, far too many people, though Quinn was clearly the headliner of that list. Maybe for Darling, overworking was a foreign object that had been embedded into them, the way that some fish would struggle against the fate of a bitten hook. A fish escapes with its life, but the hook stays stuck, scaly skin growing around the foreign object until it becomes a part of its body forever.

Sam snaked a hand up to Darling’s clammy forehead, letting his palm linger as his thumb stroked across their hairline. “Fever’s a little better,” he breathed, conjuring a bit of diagnostic magic to evaluate their condition. His magic rippled through their body before boomeranging back into Sam. It was a little-known type of magic that those who studied as healers were required to know. Diagnostic magic gave the healer an inside look at the inner machinations of a patient’s body, alerting of those small bodily issues that would sometimes cause the greatest problems if left unchecked.

It was also good for monitoring a fever.

Darling had pushed doggedly themselves to their extreme, and the most worrying way their body rebelled was that it developed a fever. Compounded with the exhaustion and the headache he could tell they were hiding, the fever was enough to tip Darling’s health over the edge. He wasn’t sure exactly how or when, but what the vampire did know was that sometimes after Darling had arrived home from work and announced their plan to change clothes so they could meet with their studygroup, they had collapsed.

Sam suppressed a shudder when the memory of seeing Darling slumped onto the floor of their bedroom, unresponsive, flashed through his brain. As soon as Sam found them, it didn’t take him long to notice how their skin burned as the fever ravaged their body. He had made quick work of gathering Darling up in his strong arms, all the while cradling his mate to his chest.

Healing magic to combat a fever was possible, but it typically came with a high chance for side effects. Not only that, but it was never as effective as it should’ve been. Even with magic’s influence, human bodies were infuriating, resistant things. It took a lot of magic to cool down a fever, and even so, the effect was short-term and usually not enough to get a temperature down to a safer range once it was as high as Darling’s.

Sam opted for a more unempowered technique to reduce their fever.

He gathered Darling up into his arms, marched over to the shower with precious cargo in hand, and held them close while turning on a cool, not cold, shower.

It had only taken a few moments for Darling to stir back to consciousness, but to Sam, it had felt like hours. He had barely blinked as he watched their every minuscule move: the way their breath rippled across their chest, the twinge of their forehead, the slight grasp on their fingers. Finally, he was rewarded with them opening the deep-set pair of eyes he yearned to see free of pain and worry. A man could get lost in eyes like that if he weren’t careful.

Sam Collins was a careful man, but Darling had a way of undoing him without even trying. And he liked that. Liked it a lot.

Darling groaned, leaning against Sam as the dull ache settled around their skull. It had been so long since they’d honestly, properly rested. The wolf had pushed hard and fast for truly as long as they could hold out, but now that Sam was holding them, they couldn’t muster even a bit of energy to do anything other than lean into their mate. To them, Sam was a safe place to rest. He was their respite. He always would be.

That thought had them leaning even harder into Sam. “It’s… kinda cold?”

Without taking his eyes off Darling, Sam summoned a bit of psychokinetic magic to yank their blue towel off the rack. He made quick work of drying Darling, absently thinking of how grateful he was when Vincent had insisted on giving the pair a gorgeous set of luxury towels. The terrycloth was soft and plump, gently massaging against Darling’s skin to absorb any lingering water.

They groaned at the feel of the towel wrapping around their fatigued body.

“How’s that now?” Sam murmured, giving Darling a kiss on the forehead. He took the opportunity to gauge their temperature, which still was too high, but certainly out of that extreme range. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Despite a healer’s need for objectivity, Sam had truly never gotten comfortable with seeing someone suffer.

But when it was Darling?

Sam would rather break his own fingers one by one than have Darling be even slightly uncomfortable.

“Better…” Darling hummed sleepily. “Yeah, better. You make it better. You make everything better.” They blinked, lazily tracing a trembling hand across Sam’s chest, still damp from their emergency shower. “We can go to bed?” Darling asked, not bothering to hide the hopefulness of their voice. It wasn’t exactly a question. Darling wasn’t in the habit of asking for permission. Even at their worst, they had always been decisive, relying on that instinctual part of themself to make things happen. For so long, if they didn’t do something, it never got done. There hadn’t been anyone else who would’ve cared to do it. “Get you dried off, too.”

Sam cared. Not only did he care enough to be with Darling, but he also understood their need to project some semblance of control, even when they were feeling so out of sorts. He was the rare type of person who would care for them unconditionally without ever stopping to laud that care over them.

“Sure thing, Darling,” Sam agreed, tone mellow and deep. He watched as Darling’s eyes dipped closed again, but this time in true rest, not alarming exhaustion. “Let’s do that.”

Darling felt themselves be lifted into the arm, and they curled closer to Sam, content to know he was there and he was theirs.

Chapter Text

The first bite is rough, with jagged edges and a sharpness that threatens to steal his breath. He tenses under its rawness of it as his skin molds to fit the imprint of teeth before leaning heavily into the sensation. “Lovely…” he whispers without a care, bending his neck to the side so that there’s ample access. It’s an ultimate gesture of submission and safety: a silent way of saying, ‘I’m yours to use, but I trust that use will be good.’

And it is.

It is very, very good.

Vincent Solaire never dreamt he’d be in a place where he’d feel able to grant another the chance to bite him, but here he is, bending his neck as eagerly as a tranced thrall. There wasn’t one bit of a trance humming through his head, but magic? Surely there is plenty of that, even if it is a different kind of magic than the kind that gave him his enhanced senses, his ability to heal, and an insatiable hunger.

He groans when their tongue rakes over his sensitive skin. When Vincent wonders how it’s even possible for someone to make him feel this good, he only plunges himself deeper into ecstasy.

Bitten. Claimed. Loved.

The faint thump-thump-thump of his pulse reverberates through his chest and up his neck. Vincent can’t help the wide smile that breaks out on his handsome face, lips curled up even as the pain of the bite blossoms. Or maybe especially because of that.

Vampires lived and died by the bite. Primal and powerful. Human blood sustained and sated. Taste of iron and energy, But vampire blood?

It was near-divine nectar, heady and sweet.

To drink it was a high privilege of vampiric kind. But to be devoured?

To be devoured was to be exalted.

Vincent rocks closer to Lovely, feeling his blood bubbling up under his skin and spilling out of its own accord, only to be lapped up before it even had the chance to drip along his skin, mixing with that sheen of sweat glistening across his skin. “I’m yours,” he shudders, as if the way he offers himself up doesn’t suffice to denote that immovable, immortal truth.

To be devoured was to be adored. To be devoured was to be more than yourself. To be devoured was to be another’s— body, mind, and soul.

“Vincent, so good…” Lovely’s voice washes over him like a wave crashing across the shore, dragging along a sandy bar and rearranging the grains one by one into a whole new form. He smiles and rocks his body along Lovely’s curves. “You taste incredible.”

As more blood flows faster from the bite wound, Vincent’s thoughts slow down into a murky haze. Thoughts float through his head, but never stay still long enough for true comprehension. He thinks of how happy Lovely makes him. He thinks of how much easier eternity seems now that Lovely will share it with him. Time dissolves into nothingness. Pure bliss blossoms from his neck, radiating through his core with a sizzling heat that permeates each and every cell.

“Yours,” Vincent whispers through a swallow, not realizing the word tumbling out of his mouth until they hit his ears. “Yours, I'm yours.”

“Mhmm,” Lovely agrees, lips and tongue stained with his blood. “Mine. You’re mine.”

Chapter Text

They pushed the tray of charcuterie closer to him. “It’s for you,” they insisted, snagging a round cracker and slice of golden aged gouda.

Morgan Kyne blinked at the rectangular plate overflowing with food. Crackers of all shapes lined the board, framing rows of sumptuous meats and a variety of cheeses. Piles of sun-dried tomatoes and miniature pickles added splashes of color, inviting him to select the first of what he knew would be many snacks of the night.

He blinked, overtaken by… something. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Thank you,” the seer smiled, opting for a whole-grain cracker and a piece of salami.

“You’re welcome,” they beamed, setting the board on the coffee table next to the couch.

That was it. Welcome. He felt welcome in their presence. Cozy. Comfortable. Like he was home, despite being in a space he’d never been in before, not in the neighborhood he knew, and decorated in entirely the wrong color.

Morgan basked in the warmth he would’ve sworn radiated from them, relishing the simple act of sharing a not-quite meal somehow more powerful than the magic housed in both their cores combined.

To be with them was sanctuary.

Chapter Text

“This… this is not right.” Their eyes darted from the crude, wordless drawing on the thin paper on the floor and the monstrosity of a shelf sitting in front of them. “Neither is this.” The water-elemental snatched up the four little screws and cupped them in their palm. “Huxley, we gotta start over.”

“Oh, no,” Huxley groaned. “No, it’s fine,” he insisted to his dear friend, trying to make the U-shaped thing stand upright. When the structure wobbled and fell to its side, Huxley quickly leaned it against the wall. It teetered for a moment but did manage to stay standing, though it looked like one hard breath would be enough to send it crashing to the ground. “That’s how it’s supposed to look.”

Dear raised an eyebrow, gaze trained on the earth-elemental. They knew if they were patient enough, he would come to see their point.

“Dames can still use it for his books,” Huxley added, running a large hand across the edge. “He just has to be strategic about which books go where based on their weight.” The hulking man pointed to the bottom shelf. “Heavy books down there and to the right.”

Dear continued to wait. They took a slow, deliberate step forward to inspect the section of the shelf Huxley had deemed fit for heavier texts.

“And lighter paperbacks up there!” Huxley’s voice was drained of his usual steady confidence. “And… And…”

Dear waited.

“Fine!” Huxley huffed. “Fine, you’re right.” He bent down to grab the top level of the shelf, then put foot onto its bottom layer. “We’ll start over.” Before he even noticed Dear searching for the correct tool that would help dismantle the lopsided creation, Huxley began ripping it apart with his bare hands, a few small grunts the only indication he was exerting any energy.

“I know it’s a pain to rebuild this thing,” Dear sympathized, watching Huxley dismantle the shelf piece by piece until it was nothing but a pile on the floor.

Huxley nodded with a frown. “The directions aren’t even directions,” he observed. “Just pictures and arrows.”

“You’re completely and totally right about that.” Dear threw the large paper a menacing glare. “But, I think Damien is really going to like this shelf once it’s level and able to hold books of all weights.” They kicked at the faux-wooden piece nearest to their foot.

“I hope so.” When the wistful smile on his face gave way to a more casual countenance, Huxley fell to his knees and let his fingers steeple under his chin as he surveyed the instructions and materials.

“He will. You’ll see.” Dear gave their friend a solid nod before joining him on the ground. They turned the diagram around so that it was right-side up in front of Huxley and then patted his shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

Babe twitched their nose as the faint scent of coconut reached them. They watched as their packmate squeezed a dollop of cold, heavy cream into their waiting palm and place the bottle onto the white sink ledge. “Guaranteed glow?” Babe read, eyeing the label. “I feel like that claim is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Darling scoffed. “Why?” they demanded, raising their chin to ensure they rubbed the cream under their chin. They had learned that some of the older scars needed a thicker coat to ensure its soothing moisture seeped into their skin. “I use it, and I’ve noticed a difference. Are you saying my face doesn’t glow with the intense light of a thousand suns?”

Babe’s normally steady expression pulled into a frown before springing back to their typical, inquisitive expression. “What? No, no!” Babe denied. “It’s not that your skin is bad!” the beta-mate quickly explained. “I’m not saying that at all.”

The wolf’s eyes narrowed. “So… what are you saying?”

The beta-mate shrugged. “I’m saying I don’t see how using some product that’s probably mostly water anyway could make one of the most sensitive areas of my largest organ, the skin on my face, to glow— which is something that honestly has a loose definition as it is. How do you quantify ‘glow?’” Babe’s eyebrow rolled up to meet a crease in their forehead as they spoke. “It can’t possibly make that much of a difference in how I look.”

Darling could see how Babe’s gaze floated over towards the large bathroom mirror. They didn’t need their enhanced senses to see the thinly veiled disapproval hidden behind the unempowered human’s eyes.

Was that the real reason behind Babe’s resistance to the idea of indulging in a face mask? They didn’t think they were good-looking enough? The thought made Darling’s heart ache.

Well, no more.

“This is qualitative, not quantitative.” Darling snatched the bottle up and unsnapped the cap. “Glow comes from within. It’s not about changing what your skin looks like.” They framed Babe’s face with both of their hands and began to massage the coconut substance into their skin. “It’s about giving yourself a little extra care, for no other reason than it feels good.” Darling moved their fingers to swipe the cream onto Babe’s forehead, hoping some of those worry lines might disappear with their touch. “Because you’re an amazing person who takes care of their pack nonstop,” they narrated. “So it’s only fair you show yourself a little bit of that same care, too. No expectations. No pressure to perform. Just… because.”

Babe swallowed, letting Darling’s words sink into their brain as the cream sunk into their pores. “Oh,” they said in a small, thoughtful voice. Babe was never the type to seek external validation, but damn if it didn’t feel to be appreciated. They worked so hard to serve their pack in every way possible, whether that was by supporting Asher or independently.

It was nice to hear that work be acknowledged. And it was even nicer that the acknowledgment came from Darling, because Babe knew the wolf always meant what they said.

The cream still lingered on Babe’s face, but Darling was pleased to see a glow emanating from their wide grin.

Chapter Text

David wound the clean bandage around his mate’s wrist. He gently bent his shoulders so that he could brush his lips against the back of Angel’s knuckles. “You were amazing today,” he hummed before settling Angel’s hand at his side and bringing the orange and blue striped blanket up over his mate.

Angel smiled under David’s praise. “No big deal,” he said through a yawn. The healing magic was clearly still circulating Angel’s system, lulling his normally high-speed thoughts into a lethargic stupor. “All in a day’s work as an alpha-mate.”

David scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Hardly.” He scooted his chair a little closer to the bed. “Not every alpha-mate would risk his life for a pack member like you did today,” he corrected gently.

“She’s my friend,” said Angel, as if that explained everything. That matter settled, Angel let his eyelids droop until they closed and he drifted to sleep.

Watching over his mate, David reflected on Angel’s heroic actions of the day. The unempowered human had thrown himself head first into danger in an effort to help extract his best friend from the clutches of a criminal interested in seeking revenge on the stealth investigator who arrested them years ago.

That very same investigator who was sitting in the bed next to him.

Unlike Angel, who was finally finding some much-needed respite after his harrowing ordeal, Sweetheart seemed to be devolving by the second.

It was always like that with her. During an emergency, she was stoic and steadfast. It was a point of pride for her, mostly because it made her a great asset for when people needed help.

But once the dust settled? That was no longer the case. Not by a longshot. Once the danger had been taken care of, Sweetheart had what she would call a bad habit of letting the struggle ‘catch up’ with her.

The few people who had ever witnessed Sweetheart like that called it a panic attack.

“I was… tr-tr-trapped,” she kept repeating, sitting on the edge of the bed with a garbage can held between her knees. It was empty, but with how worked up she was getting, having the can nearby and lined with a plastic bag was a good call. “Couldn’t cloak, couldn’t d-d-do anything.” She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around her chest so that her hands landed on her biceps. “He nearly died saving me…” Sweetheart gripped herself hard, like she was trying to hug the anxiety out of herself, a remnant of how she used to endure her ‘catch up’ moments alone from the days before finding her pack.

“Okay, it’s okay now, Sweetheart,” a deep voice thrummed in her ear. Milo sat close next to his mate, one arm slung around her waist and the other carding through her curls. “You’re safe now. Safe and home.” His wolf inwardly growled aching to bite the criminal who had dared shackling her with magic-muting cuffs before subjecting her to cruelty.

Sensing Milo’s conflicting thoughts, David caught his gaze and shared a pointed look, each understanding the sheer relief and charged anger flaring through their wolves as they thought about the day’s events.

Sweetheart’s body was rigid against Milo, soaking up his comfort but still so shaken by what had transpired. Confronting one’s own vulnerability was never easy, but for the stealth, it was a herculean effort. She kept trying to say something, but all that came out of her mouth was garbled, strangled noise.

As weak as the sound was, it had a powerful effect on Angel. Hovering on the cusp of sleep, Angel wiggled until he made his way to the edge of the bed. He used his good arm to wrench himself into a seat, rolling his eyes a bit when David rounded the bed to help him stay upright and steady.

Angel leaned over, fingers stretching out until they clamped onto Sweetheart’s knee, which was damp with a thin sheen of sweat.

Sweetheart’s head jerked at his touch, falling into silence.

“It’s all over,” Angel declared, wincing at the way the movement yanked at his stitches. “We made it.”

Sweetheart gave him a small but genuine smile, feeling some of the tension that had plagued her for so long finally beginning to relinquish her from its hold. “We made it.”

David and Milo, each keeping hold of their mates, stretched an arm over them for a high five, silently echoing the sentiment.

They’d all made it.

Chapter Text

“You got me a candle for my birthday?” Damien gaped, inspecting the box clutched in his hand.

“I got you a satsuma-scented candle for your birthday,” Huxley corrected. He proudly tapped on the box.

The earth-elemental had spent hours in the store, sniffing more candles than he ever thought possible. By the time he had checked out, his varsity jacket had taken on a noxious odor of vanilla-lavender-evergreen-rose that made him throw the jacket in the washing machine as soon as he stepped in the door. Still, Huxley endured the endless olfactory evaluation to ensure he selected the perfect scent for Damien’s candle.

It was a close call, but satsuma had won out, and Huxley couldn’t have been more pleased. Bright notes of citrus burst forth from the candle, reminding Huxley of sunny summer days, full of sweetness and filled with life.

Just like Damien.

Damien blinked again. “You… bought me a satsuma candle,” he repeated.

To others, a candle was probably a boring gift. Something that didn’t hold much meaning or require much thought to the rest of the world.

But to a fire-elemental?

Having a candle in the house you shared with a fire-elemental was a great show of trust. For Damien, a candle’s flame did more than release subtle smoke and a thick scent in a room of the home he shared with his partner.

It was burning proof that Huxley trusted him and the magic that always stoked through his core.

“I love it,” Damien said, inhaling deeply. “And I love you.”

Chapter Text

Aaron dropped himself onto the sofa next to his partner and let out a deep exhale. “Okay. You were right, Smartass,” he beamed. “I feel amazing.”

Smartass put their palms together and clapped their fingertips together. “Yay!” they said. “Midday showers are the best!”

It had taken more than a little persuasion for them to convince Aaron to make a production out of his normally six-minute shower. “It’s different!” Smartass had repeated, over and over again. As soon as they had learned Aaron restricted himself to morning showers only, like some kind of staunch bathing utilitarian. “It’s a completely unique experience. A reset, where you get to pause your whole day and wash it all off, only to emerge like a clean butterfly to enjoy the rest of your day!”

Aaron was a strong man, but Smartass was a persistent arguer. One minute, he was defending his tried-and-true method of using his shower to kickstart his day. The next, he was stripping off his dress shirt and accepting the two fluffy towels being shoved at him through the bathroom door.

Twenty-seven minutes later, Aaron was ready to get on his knees before Smartass and eat each and every word he dared speak against this glorious activity. Just as Smartass had predicted, Aaron had lost himself in the luxury and comfort of the warm water cascading down his body, the subtle cherry scent of his sudsy body wash, and the absolute ecstasy it was to simply take a moment for himself amidst a typically hectic day.

He was a newly minted midday shower believer.

“I love you so much,” Aaron whispered, letting his chin settle onto the crook of their shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss at a sensitive spot of their neck. “Thank you for this.”

Smartass leaned back and let their eyelids flutter, aware of nothing but the fact that Aaron’s lips were on them. “For what?” they mumbled shakily. They let their fingers comb across his scalp, mindful of Aaron’s much-beloved dreadlocks. “Pestering you until you give into my demands?”

It took all of Aaron’s strength to peel himself up off of them. “No,” he gently answered, always enjoying the rare chance to laud technical correctness over them. “For using that super-smart brain and super-passionate heart of yours to make me feel good, and safe, and loved.” He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat.

“Hey.” Smartass patted Aaron’s cheek and then let their hand linger on his chin. “All of this…” They pointed to their head. “And all of this…” They pointed to their heart. “Is all for you. Always.”

Chapter Text

“This activity is futile,” Hush noted, gripping a terry cloth towel from the heaping laundry basket. The warmth from the towel seeped into his hands. It felt nice, so he gripped it tighter and pressed it to his thin, if slightly liquid-like, skin.

“Well, it’s futile if you’re just going to wrinkle it up like that,” Doc smirked, holding out their open palm. “If I didn’t do laundry, I’d run out of clean clothes to wear.”

“But you do more than clean the soiled materials,” Hush protested. “You arrange them by which body parts they intend to cover, then you steam them with the hot apparatus.” He pointed to the iron sitting upon the bed, still plugged into the outlet. “And then you fold them, put them on display devices.” He fingered a wire hanger sticking out from the pile on the floor. “Only to wear the clothes again, soiling them again, and having to start the entire process.” He clutched the soft towel hard, not noticing that his fingers had produced slits through the material.

“But you’re missing the best part!” Doc huffed playfully. “The wearing!” They ran their hands dramatically over the hoodie they sported.

Hush blinked at them, waiting for elaboration.

“It makes me feel good when I grab a shirt that’s all pressed and ready to go from the closet,” Doc explains. “Or when I can look through a drawer and see all the different shorts I can choose from.” They yanked a very organized drawer open to reveal six pairs of shorts all neatly folded and arranged by color. “It’s a way of taking care of myself, of giving my future self a little bit of joy and fun.”

“But…” Hush protested, “You make your present-self do repetitive and monotonous tasks.”

Doc scratched at the back of their neck, trying to formulate how to communicate a feeling they’d never been asked to contemplate until Hush entered their life. Suddenly, even the most obvious truths were subject to careful consideration.

And, more often than not, Hush’s curiosity had led Doc to relinquish a tight grasp on things they hadn’t ever stopped to think might’ve been unhealthy, nonsensical, or even just not what they wanted.

“I don’t mind because eventually my future-self becomes my present-self,” Doc answered.

“I never thought of myself in terms of present or future,” Hush said as he relinquished his hold on the towel and sat upon the bed. Doc bit their lip to keep from scolding him as the freshly ironed dress shirt wrinkled under his body. “Or past. Only in relation to my purpose.”

Doc frowned at the thought of such a barren existence. No one should have to endure such a sterile life.

Especially not their Hush.

When Doc filled Hush’s empty hand with theirs, they felt him squeeze tightly. Normally, he had trouble gauging his own strength. But not when it came to Doc. “When I think of my future-self,” they said as if confessing a secret, “Your future-self is there, too.”

Hush smiled at the thought. His teeth were jagged, crooked even. But to Doc, the pattern and shape fit his mouth perfectly. “My present-self would do many repetitive, monotonous tasks to ensure that fate for our future-selves,” he said plainly before picking up a shirt. The creature smoothed each sleeve before tucking them into the shirt to produce a crisp, folded product.

“Same,” Doc vowed, leaning forward to give Doc a kiss on the cheek before taking their shirt and tossing it into the open drawer.

Hush silently hoped that his future-self would experience more kisses, too.