Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There are cryptids everywhere in the world, which only makes sense, when you consider ‘cryptid’ means ‘science doesn’t know about it yet.’”
—Antimony Price, That Ain’t Witchcraft

Deep in a forest, hunting things that hunt people

Takashi is eighteen years old when everything he’s ever known about the world changes.

It's not the existence of monsters. Takashi has known about those since he could crawl. The Shirogane clan can trace its lineage back for generations to ancient Japan, where his ancestors had defended humanity from the encroaching, hungry yōkai. The creatures were real, and not something out of myths and legends. They were creatures that could, and would, trick and connive, kill and consume. Creatures that would eradicate humanity if given a chance. 

Takashi had been raised on bedtime stories of the heroics of his family and the terrifying creatures they’d faced. He’d been trained in countless techniques passed down from warrior to warrior. He’d studied for hours on end, to learn the weaknesses of each of those things, that in turn thought humans were weak. He had been eager to earn the right to fight alongside the rest of his family and their allies in the Covenant of St. George. To truly earn the name Shirogane, and the duty and honor to safeguard ordinary humans from things that simply weren’t. 

No, it's not the existence of monsters that stuns him. It's the fact that maybe, this entire time, not all of them have been evil.

It happens at night, during one of his first solo missions. At eighteen, Takashi has been combat capable for years, and permitted on missions for the past two. But this is one of the first times he’s ever been allowed to split away from a seasoned veteran to continue a hunt on his own, and he’s eager to prove himself. 

He’s one of the brightest, most skillful trainees the Covenant of St. George has to offer. ( No surprise there, many of the higher-ups often say, he’s a Shirogane, they’re born and bred for this). But even so, he still has to earn his keep. A name and a family reputation mean nothing for an unproven cadet, and cockiness can still get him killed, no matter how good his family is supposed to be at this.

So he puts everything into his hunt. But even so, he’s surprised he finds the troll first. Especially when someone is screaming for help, and the call carries so far, even through the dense trees.

It’s not an easy opponent. Protocol says he should wait for backup, at least one or two other agents of the Covenant, before engaging. But the troll is rabid and ruthless, and there’s a human curled up in the loam with their hands over their head, quaking in fear. Takashi can’t wait. 

This is what he was meant for.

The troll is a difficult opponent. It’s enormous, strong, far faster than it looks, and it’s armed with a club that’s actually half a tree, which gives it a frightening amount of range. 

Takashi is armed as well, but the sidearms won’t do much against a troll of that size, and neither will the throwing knives. Getting close enough to use his sword nearly kills him. He takes a nasty slash to the face that should have cut out his eyes and just barely misses. The troll’s club connects with his right arm savagely enough to break it in two places. 

It’s a dangerous opponent, but Takashi is more agile, and clever, and he’s trained for this. He knows how to fight an opponent so much larger than he is, and how to turn its size to his advantage. It’s a hard battle, but it ends with him hamstringing the troll, and when it collapses, severing its head from its body. 

Takashi gasps, and he hurts, but even so, there’s a fierce, wild pride in his chest. He’d defeated a creature singlehandedly that should have taken three agents, while protecting a civilian, with no casualties. He has earned the right to his surname. They won’t be able to keep him as a junior cadet much longer. They’ll have to offer him his trial to become a full member of the Covenant after this.

But when he turns to help the civilian he’d rescued, he freezes. The young man that had been curled up in the dirt and begging for help is sitting up now, staring, eyes wide. 

He isn’t human.

There’s no doubting it, now that Takashi can get a closer look at him. He’s human- like, but his skin has a grayish pallor that’s not natural, and his entire body—especially his arms and legs—are too long to be normal. There are too many joints in his fingers. 

Bogeyman, Takashi identifies, after a shocked moment. 

They’re dangerous. All monsters are dangerous. But these ones are attributed to spreading plagues in human populations and preying on human fears for sport. 

He’s a monster. He has to die. 

Even now Takashi is in danger, with his right arm uselessly dangling at his side, and no backup. A bogeyman is much smarter than a troll, and will know how to use Takashi’s vulnerabilities to its advantage. Takashi has to fight back now. 

With years of instinct and training guiding him, he shifts his sword in his left hand, preparing to strike or defend, and takes his first step forward. 

But the moment he moves, the bogeyman crawls backwards several feet, long, spider-like limbs and hands scrambling awkwardly in the dirt. He watches Takashi, wide-eyed, and rasps, “Please. Please don’t. I just want to go home to my family.”

With a pang of shock, Takashi realizes this monster is scared of him.

It’s a trick, his training warns him, fierce and suspicious. Bogeymen were known to be excellent mimics. They could throw their voices with alarming skill, and were excellent manipulators of emotions...usually fear. This one was probably preying on his exhaustion and pain, trying to turn the situation to its advantage. 

But even as long years of training caution him to be wary, Takashi’s instincts say otherwise. There’s no way to fake the expression in those wide eyes, or in the shake of his limbs. This monster is terrified. Of him. 

Maybe that’s supposed to be a good thing. The monsters that prey on humanity should fear the Covenant of St George. They should fear the name Shirogane. They should know humanity has protectors, ones who aren’t so easy to hunt or kill.

Maybe it’s supposed to be a good thing. But there’s a twist of uncertainty in his stomach that nauseates Takashi, for some reason. 

“Please,” the bogeyman repeats, still scrabbling backwards. “I just...I don’t want trouble. I just want to go home.”

He’s injured, Takashi realizes suddenly. One of his unnaturally long legs is bleeding and swollen. He’d probably been injured by the troll. He can’t escape quickly, and he winces every time he puts his weight on the injury. He’d be easy to kill.

He could be the same age as me, is his next thought. He’s not sure, exactly. He doesn’t know how one tells, with a bogeyman. But if his limbs were the right length, and his skin wasn’t so gray, if he didn’t have too many joints in his fingers, his face looks like one that could belong to another Covenant trainee. Messy, brownish hair, skewed glasses crookedly hanging over his nose, goofy T-shirt with a science logo on it. 

And he’s terrified. Of Takashi. 

Takashi’s hand tightens on the sword hilt for a moment, so hard his knuckles turn white. 

He knows his duty. He knows what he’s supposed to do. The oath he’d sworn demands that he cut down this...this monster here and now. Eighteen years of training concur. Who knows what this...thing could do, if it escaped. 

He could make it painless. As merciful as possible. But better to end it now. 

Except, as he stares down at the frightened maybe-a-teenager and sees his own reflection in the bogeyman’s eyes—covered in blood, sword in hand, staring down like an executioner—he can’t help but wonder who the monster in this situation really is. 

He turns his back on the bogeyman, and without a word, he walks away.

Stupid! His training screeches. Even his instincts balk at the idea of leaving his back exposed to a creature he’d been taught would gleefully strangle him in his sleep. 

He does it anyway.

He makes it to the other side of the clearing, on the other side of the dead troll, and glances back one last time. The bogeyman has managed to haul himself to his feet, using a tree as support. But he hasn’t tried to attack, or chase, or come any closer. He just stares after Takashi, wide-eyed, shocked.

“Why?” he asks, after a moment. He’s twenty feet away, on the other side of the clearing, but Takashi hears him as though he’s standing next to the creature. It takes every ounce of restraint he has to keep from flinching. “Aren’t...you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Not even an hour ago, Takashi might have taken vicious pleasure in the bogeyman speaking of the Covenant like they were the frightening creatures in the night. Now it makes his stomach flop uncomfortably again. 

He doesn’t answer that question. Instead he says, “There’s more of them here. They’ll come soon. If you want to see your family again, you’d better get gone.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath right next to his ear, and twenty feet away. Takashi looks away again, and heads further into the woods alongside the clearing. When he glances back again, the bogeyman is gone. 

His training screams that this is bad. A bogeyman out of visual range is potentially deadly. But Takashi has a feeling he won’t be hassled by this particular bogeyman again. 

Physically, anyway. 

Mentally, whether or not the bogeyman had even realized it, he’d left behind a vicious wound that was already starting to fester. Takashi goes to make contact with the rest of the Covenant agents on tonight’s mission, to report his kill to them and—maybe, just maybe—to stall them a bit, just enough for the creature he’d protected to get away. But as he does, he turns the question over and over again in his mind.

Who had been the real monster here tonight?

He’s benched for nearly two months, while his broken arm heals.

“I’m impressed you got out of a fight with a troll with just a broken arm,” the Covenant physician says. “Shirogane indeed.” 

Strictly speaking, it isn’t just the broken arm. He’d gotten bruised up pretty badly in the fight, and his ribs are a little sore. The gash across his face is deep enough to leave a scar, and probably will; he’s lucky he didn’t lose an eye, or his life. It’s uncomfortable and pulls tightly at his face, sometimes, and it’s sore and sensitive while healing. Breathing is sometimes difficult. But he can live with it.

Most of the other Covenant agents treat it like a badge of honor. “A troll, defeated single-handedly,” they exclaim, impressed and awed. “At only just barely eighteen! He’s not even a full member yet. Blood shows.” 

He is reprimanded for fighting the creature solo, of course. He wasn’t supposed to fight one without backup; there was a very real possibility that he could just as easily have been killed. He doesn’t dare tell them about the bogeyman, either, so he can’t claim that he was rescuing a civilian. There hadn’t been one, when they’d gone to examine and burn the body of the troll. 

But the punishment is a light slap on the wrist compared to what might have happened. They’re too impressed. Even his father and mother, both seasoned veterans in their own right, admit as much after finishing with their lecture. They were concerned about him being too reckless, but they were proud of him for what he’d done.

Everyone’s proud of him. They’re already lauding him as a new champion for the Covenant. Two days ago he’d have been thrilled by it.

Their pride makes him sick to his stomach, now.

So it’s not like Takashi minds being taken off active duty for the duration of his healing. That encounter with the bogeyman had been...unsettling. He’s not sure he wants to go out killing more monsters just yet. Not until he’s had a chance to think. 

His right arm is bound in a cast and he’s stuck around the main complex in the English countryside, reduced to light exercise to keep from getting out of shape, but not permitted to push himself too hard. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him. He can still stay active, and the English complex is pretty, funded by old European blood on old European plots of land, with plenty of open space to roam and train. He’s been to a fair few of the complexes around Europe, and his family hails from Japan, but he’d probably consider this particular location the closest to ‘home’ that he’s ever known. 

But now he can’t help but wonder just how much these walls are drenched in blood, and how many of the killings that this place stood for were just. 

All his life, he’s been taught to defend the innocent. The weak. The helpless. He’s been raised on horror stories of monsters slaughtering defenseless humans, humans that hadn’t even known they existed, and hadn’t known how to protect themselves. He’s always believed in the cause. He’s always known what he was doing was right.

But time and time again he thinks back, to that terrified face on the bogeyman, and his pleading to just be allowed to go home. He’d acted so...human, even if he wasn’t. So vulnerable. And the longer he looks at it, he can only identify that monster….no, that person... as someone who was just as innocent, and just as unable to protect himself.

Takashi doesn’t like the thought that maybe he’s the predator. 

He tries to seek justification. For his own actions. For the people he’s known his whole life, who he’s talked with, laughed with, trained with. The people who have saved his life against dangerous creatures. They can’t be monsters, can they? 

Not all the stories can be wrong. He’s been attacked by monsters on his training missions. Lindworms and ahools, or the werewolf infestation that had spawned down south. The troll he’d killed had been wild and uncontrollable. There are things out there deadly to humans, and humans need to be protected from them.

The stories aren’t all wrong. 

But they’re not all right, either.

At the very least, everything he’s learned about bogeymen could be wrong. The one he’d met hadn’t tried to manipulate him, or strike when he was wounded, or take advantage of his vulnerabilities. He’d just wanted to go home. 

Two days before his cast comes off, Takashi comes to a realization. Despite eighteen years of training, he simply doesn’t know enough. Not about monsters. Not about anything. 

And if he doesn’t know enough, and the knowledge he’s been taught is wrong, and they’re indiscriminately killing innocent victims who might not be as dangerous as the stories would imply…

Then he’ll have innocent blood on his hands. He probably already does, and the thought makes him so sick to his stomach that he can barely eat. 

His coworkers, the Covenant, they have innocent blood on their hands too. His family, its vaunted duty and honor for generations upon generations, their hundreds of stories about deadly foes vanquished and precious lives saved... all of it may have come at the cost of innocent lives murdered. 

The name Shirogane might very well be so stained in blood it will never be clean again.

Takashi knows enough to know he doesn’t know much of anything.

But he does know that doesn’t sound like justice to him.

Just a few months after he turns eighteen, Takashi runs.

It’s not his first choice. When the cast comes off, he begs time off to retrain, get his broken limb in working order again. It’s not a total lie—it does twinge uncomfortably sometimes, deep in his bones, if he pushes himself too hard. 

But mostly he doesn’t want to go back on duty. Not if it means he has to kill again. Not without knowing if the blood on his hands is justified. Not until he knows if what he’s doing is right. 

He tries to research it. To read between the lines of the accounts in the library. But there’s nothing to find. Stories about dozens of kinds of monsters killed are there in droves, but it’s always justice, always deserved. They were always evil, cruel, conniving. The Covenant is always right.

Except Takashi knows they’ve been wrong at least once. Which means they might have been wrong before, and they could be wrong again. 

Running isn’t his first choice, but he plans for an exit anyway, just like he was taught. And a few months after the cast comes off, when he can’t avoid going on missions any longer, when he will be on a mission to eradicate a nest of ghouls discovered in London, he enacts that plan. 

It’s almost disgustingly easy to disappear. He drains one of the family’s financial accounts, converting some to cash and shifting the rest to safe, unknown personal accounts for later. Steals an ungodly number of jewels and silver from the Covenant complex, things easy to smuggle but worth a great deal to the right sellers. He’s trained in concealment, disguise and stealth his whole life, in order to discreetly enter countries, deal with whatever problem was discovered, and leave. A fake identity and passport are easy to create. He knows how to cover his tracks, create false leads, and hide his own trail.

He disappears in the middle of the night from the Covenant complex, and he never looks back.

He flees to America. The Covenant has footholds in most other countries, especially in Europe and Asia. But they’ve had a harder time breaking into North America, despite their many attempts. The Covenant had always been disgusted at the odd acceptance some parts of the country had for monsters, or at how easily it was for them to hide in the enormous populations or wide open landscapes. They could never maintain much of a foothold there, and only had a few spies at best.

Takashi wants nothing at all to do with them, so America it is. It won’t take them long to realize he’s gone absent without leave, and when they do, he needs to be so firmly hidden they’ll never find him again.

Getting set up in America is shockingly easy, with the amount of money he has at his disposal.

As soon as he touches down on American soil he dumps his first false identity, just in case, and picks up a second. He takes another flight, at random, to another huge city on the east coast called Garrison. He’s only vaguely familiar with it. It’s not one of the well known cities like New York, which is one of the first places the Covenant will look for him, but it’s still large enough he can get lost in the population. 

Once in Garrison City, he dumps the second false identity—he’s being paranoid, but he’d rather be paranoid than dead—and creates the third. This one, he’ll use for longer than a few minutes. 

In his head, he’s still Takashi Shirogane, loathe as he is to be attached to that surname now. But to everyone else, he’s Ryou Tanaka, freshly moved to the USA for some travel experiences before going to university. 

He gets a two-bedroom apartment, fully furnished, in a reasonably defensible area. He’s still being paranoid, but he knows what the Covenant are capable of. He doesn’t know what they’d do to traitors, because there haven’t been any in centuries. But he knows it won’t be good, whatever it is. He’ll still have to be careful of innocent civilians living in the building, but he has at least six ways to get out of the apartment and enough decent cover that he can defend himself in the event of an attack.

Once he has a base of operations, he arms himself to the teeth. He hadn’t been able to smuggle most of his weapons on the plane, but it’s almost depressingly easy to rearm himself with any number of firearms and throwing knives, two well-honed swords that weren’t merely for display, a set of brass knuckles, two collapsible police batons, a garrote, a crossbow and bolts, and a machete in short order. 

It’s not nearly his old arsenal back with the Covenant. But then again, he reminds himself, that arsenal had largely been for hunting monst— cryptids. He’s not doing that. Ever again. This is only to protect himself, and only if he absolutely has to. 

Even so, he’d been taught never to go completely unarmed. And he might not want a fight, anymore, but he’s not naive enough to believe a fight won’t still come to him. Not with his family’s reputation, and not as a fugitive of the Covenant. As soon as he has some access to his weapons again, he makes it a habit to always have at least one concealed firearm, a dozen throwing knives, and one of the batons on his person. 

Just in case. You never know when they’ll be needed.

He certainly hopes they won’t.

Chapter Text

“You misunderstand. This is my attempt to begin paying the Covenant’s debt to you.”
—Dominic De Luca, Discount Armageddon

The roof of an undisclosed apartment building in Garrison City

Takashi is right to be wary. Within two weeks of renting his apartment under his new name, somebody who knows who he really is finds him. 

It’s not the somebody he expects.

It happens at night, on the roof of his apartment complex. Takashi’s taken to spending nights up there when the sky is clear. It’s relatively safe—if he has to run, there’s fire escapes or roofs he can leap to on adjacent buildings. He’d scouted every inch of the place out within hours of moving into the apartment.

More importantly, it feels like the air is a little cleaner higher up, and he can breathe better. He can’t see the stars as well as he could in the old English countryside, in the middle of Garrison City. But he can find one or two constellations, and he can sometimes get a nice look at the moon. 

It’s only been two weeks since he ran, but already he finds himself coming up here often. He sits on the side of the building, stares up at the sky, and wonders what it would be like to disappear from this planet entirely. 

If there were cryptids when nobody believed in them, maybe there were aliens too. Maybe he could run that way. Or learn to fly. Be an astronaut, or maybe just fly a regular plane. He’d always wanted to, when he was younger. But his parents had always stressed the importance of the Shirogane legacy, and he’d eventually given up that pipe dream.

He really hates that legacy now. 

Sadly, the dream isn’t really possible either at this point. He’d be too recognizable as an astronaut, and too easily tracked as a pilot. It’s still nice to think about sometimes, though.

It happens while he’s watching a particularly beautiful full moon, two weeks into his escape, and wondering again about those old dreams. There’s a scuff on the gravel behind him, and a soft flapping noise. 

His instincts kick in immediately, and Takashi moves. He rolls from the edge of the building, back onto the solid ground of the roof. Something wooshes by over his head, fast enough he can feel the wind of it. 

He hits the roof. By the time he’s come out of the safety roll, he’s crouched defensively, and there’s a throwing knife in each hand. Even as he spins to face his attacker, he’s calculating his options for running, or fighting. What’s the fastest way to flee? How can he avoid getting civilians involved?

 His thoughts grind to a stunned halt when he sees his assailant. 

It’s hard to guess her exact age—maybe somewhere between eighteen and twenty-five. She’s slim and tall, with dark skin and a shock of long white hair, clutching a long staff in her hands. She wears mostly dark clothing, as though doing her best to blend into the darkness. The effect is sort of negated by eagle-talon feet and a large pair of white wings, still spread wide for balance from her staff attack.

Takashi’s eyes widen, and it’s all he can do to keep his jaw from dropping. A caladrius! 

But...but they were supposed to be extinct, according to all the data the Covenant of St. George had on them. Their feathers had magical healing properties, so they had been hunted down years ago. Supposedly, it was to gain the advantage of healing while keeping that power out of monsters’ hands. 

Now, Takashi suspects the story is very different.

“Covenant,” the caladrius snarls, spinning the staff into a ready position. Her combat forms are perfect, although it’s bizarrely fascinating to watch a large set of wings incorporated into the stances. “What do you want with my city?”

“Nothing,” Takashi says, truthfully. Very, very carefully, he holds up both hands, adjusting the knives in them so they aren’t in a ready to throw position. 

She watches warily, eyes narrowed, staff at the ready. “I don’t believe you,” she snaps, after a moment. “Not only are you Covenant, you are Shirogane. You have plans for this city. For the community. What are they?” 

There’s a sharp pang in his chest at that. She knows his name. His real one. The family he belongs to, and what they’re known for. That’s alarming, but it’s painful too, in his soul more than anywhere else.

But when he answers, his voice is steady. “No plans,” Takashi insists. “I just want to live. I don’t want trouble. That’s all.”

He’s aware, in an ironic twist, that it’s similar to what the bogeyman had said to him all those months ago. Unlike the bogeyman, he isn’t cornered just yet. Takashi has no interest in starting a fight with this cryptid, but if she pushes the fight, he can and will defend himself. 

“You draw weapons against me,” she says, eyeing the knives in his hands.

“You did attack me without warning,” Takashi points out, fairly enough. “I was only protecting myself.”

She considers this. “You have not struck yet.”

“I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

“You are Covenant. You are Shirogane. You need no reason other than that I am different from you.” 

But Takashi shakes his head. “That’s not the right way. Being different isn’t enough justification for murder.” 

She cocks her head at him a moment, considering. For the first time, Takashi notices her hair isn’t actually hair at all, but more like a long, feathery white down. Even in the dark, her narrowed eyes look more pink or purple as she stares him down. He feels like an insect in a jar, but he doesn’t move, and lets her stare. 

“I have been observing you,” she says, after a moment. “For almost two weeks, now.”

That sends a chill down Takashi’s spine. Not only does she know his heritage, and where he lives, she knows how long he’s been here. It means she has connections. Resources. Enough to identify him, even after he’d done everything in his power to get lost. Maybe he’s not as safe as he’d thought.

“For two weeks,” she continues, “You have not shown any interest in hunting or even seeking out those of the community. Why?”

“Because I’m not here for that,” Takashi says again, patiently. It’s frustrating to repeat himself, but he understands her distrust. The Covenant have slaughtered her people for generations. To the point of near extinction, most likely. He doesn’t expect her to accept him within five minutes of meeting each other. 

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’d be happy to tell you,” Takashi says. “But I’m going to put down my weapons first, and stand up. Okay? I have no interest in hurting you. I swear it.” 

She glares across at him, but finally nods. “I will permit this. Slowly.”

He does, very slowly, place the two knives on the ground in front of him before rising into a full stand. He doesn’t mind not having his most obvious defense in his hands anymore. He doesn’t think he’s in danger from this caladrius. If she does choose to attack, he has a dozen more weapons on his person to protect himself. But he’s not interested in a fight; he just wants her to understand he’s serious. 

“Thank you,” he says, as politely as possible. 

She nods curtly, before repeating her question. “What are you here for?”

“I’m in hiding,” Takashi tells her. There’s no point running through his slowly building ‘Ryou Tanaka’ cover story. She’d made it clear she knew exactly who he was. “It’s true, I was with the Covenant of St. George. I trained with them for eighteen years. But I recently began to realize that what they were doing wasn’t completely right.”

“Wasn’t completely right?” she says, and lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. “It is completely wrong and disgustingly immoral. You have slaughtered thousands of innocents over the course of centuries.”

The words are like a sword to the chest. Takashi’s knee-jerk reaction is to defend the people he grew up with, learned from, laughed and trained alongside. They didn’t know any better. Neither did he. He’d thought he was serving justice. 

But she’s only pointing out exactly what he’d begun to suspect for a while. It hurts to be so wrong, to have so much shed blood attributed to him. But he has a feeling she’s more right than the Covenant had been.

“I know,” Takashi says quietly. “I’m starting to realize that.” 

She blinks in surprise. Like she hadn’t expected him to openly agree to those flaws.

“What the Covenant is doing...it’s not right,” Takashi continues. “I’ve recently started to suspect that most of the stories I’ve been raised on about what mon... cryptids have done aren't so black and white. I learned just enough to know I don’t know anything at all. That’s not an excuse for anything I have done, but I have decided I need to be better than that. I don’t want to be a part of that anymore.”

“So you expect me to believe you ran away,” Allura says. Her voice is disbelieving, but there’s a thoughtful frown on her face.

“I did,” Takashi says. “Whether or not you want to believe me, that’s the truth. I left. The Covenant doesn’t have much of a hold in America, so I figured it would be the best place to hide. I’m in this city purely by chance.”

“You’ll bring the Covenant straight to us, Shirogane,” she hisses, a little angrily.

But Takashi shakes his head. “I won’t. I covered my tracks very well. I know what they’ll look for. They won’t find me, not as long as nobody says anything.” He gives her a pointed look.

She scowls at him. “Do you think me stupid enough to tip off the Covenant of St. George as to your whereabouts? I don’t want them in my city, either.”

“Then we’re in agreement.”

She considers. “So you are not an early scout for a purge.”

Takashi is revolted at even the thought. “No! God, no. They haven’t even considered a purge in the U.S. recently, either. For now, you’re safe.”

“And what are your plans for the cryptid community in this city?” she presses, unrelenting.

“I told you. Nothing. I’m not here to hunt,” Takashi insists. “I just want to be left alone and have a chance to get out of that life.”

“You would never attack or kill a member of the community here?”

Takashi considers that very carefully. “I will defend myself if I am attacked,” he says slowly. “I won’t stand by and let cryptids kill me because they know of my family’s reputation and think they have the right to put me down.”

She nods, although it looks grudging. 

“And if they attack humans,” he says slowly, “and I have hard evidence to prove they are causing harm, I will still feel obligated to stop it. If there’s no way to do that peacefully, then yes, I’ll use what I’ve been taught. But only as a last resort.”

She narrows her eyes at him challengingly. “And if the opposite were to happen? A human preying on cryptids? Covenant, or otherwise?”

“Then I would do the same,” Takashi says, after a long moment. “The innocent have the right to be protected, no matter who they are. I won’t stand by and let them be hurt.”

That’s harder to admit to. A part of him feels wrong, almost dirty, after his eighteen years of training, to admit that. It’s hard to say he would attack his own, if it came to it. 

But it isn’t right to apply that promise to protect and defend to one species and not another. If he steps in to stop a conflict and protect the innocent, it has to be for everyone, human or otherwise, in the community. No matter who the aggressor is.

She considers him thoughtfully, and once again, he feels like a bug in a jar. After a long moment, she finally says, “You are not what I expected, Shirogane.”

“Considering my family’s reputation, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Takashi says quietly.

She snorts at that, although the sound is bitter. After another long moment, she finally lowers the staff.

“I will permit you to live,” she says finally. “For the moment. And to remain unaccosted. The community will most likely avoid you, but I will make it clear that they attack you at their own peril.”

“Uh...thanks. I guess.”

She nods curtly. “But understand, Shirogane, that we are watching you. I will give you this one chance, but if you kill needlessly, begin a hunt, or bring the Covenant to our city, I will end you.”

“I thought caladrius were supposed to be non-violent,” Takashi says, before he can stop himself. 

Her expression is bitter. “Those of us left have been forced to evolve to survive.”

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. He means it, although it’s hardly enough. “For what the Covenant did to your people.”

She merely stares at him, not accepting the apology. But that’s alright. He hadn’t really expected her to.

“I won’t cross any lines,” he promises. “I’m not after the community. You won’t see trouble from me.” 

“Good,” she says curtly. “Then I will take my leave. Coran?”

There’s a soft click of a safety from the direction of the stairs, and a man steps out of the shadows. He’s an older gentleman, with red hair and a thick red mustache, both shot through with gray. He looks human, and by the way he carries himself, he’s probably ex-military. There’s a rifle cradled in his hands as he strides across the roof towards the caladrius. 

Takashi’s stomach does an uncomfortable flop as he realizes that rifle had probably been trained on him for the entire conversation. If he’d actually intended to harm the caladrius at all, he would have been dead before he started moving. He hadn’t even heard this man was there.

The man—Coran, presumably—nods once to Takashi with a slight smirk, clearly guessing the thoughts running through his head. “Should be safe, miss,” he says. “I didn’t see any evidence of friends. The streets are quiet right now.”

“Thank you, Coran,” the caladrius says. 

They’d both known that already, of course. Takashi suspects she’d only had her friend or bodyguard or whoever this was come out intentionally, just to prove she had more power in their entire meeting than he’d realized. 

She’d been successful.

The caladrius leaps gracefully off the edge of the building and soars into the air, wings spread wide. She can move quite fast in the air, and disappears in a matter of moments around one of the buildings. 

Her bodyguard remains, watching Takashi carefully, until she’s out of sight. Just in case he’s about to whip a sniper rifle out of midair and gun her down, presumably. Once she’s no longer visible, though, he strides over towards Takashi, transferring the rifle to one hand as he reaches inside his coat pocket.

Takashi tenses, but no weaponry comes out. Instead, Coran pulls out a business card, with a single phone number on it. 

“Call that, if you ever have one of those situations you were talking about,” he says. “Self defense, or protecting someone else. She’ll want to hear it from you first.” 

Takashi blinks, but takes the card. 

“Hope your story is true,” the man adds, as he heads for the door leading downstairs from the roof. He glances over his shoulder once, and his expression is still a little distrustful, but it seems like he wants Takashi’s story to be real. “Be a real shame if I had to kill you.”

“Be a real shame to have to be killed by you,” Takashi answers. “I’m sure I won’t like what I did to deserve it.”

Coran grins at him, and then disappears through the door, out of sight.

Several weeks go by in which Takashi doesn’t see or hear from either of them again. 

That’s fine with him, because it gives him plenty of time to do his homework. He checks and double-checks his entry into the country, but his alibi is solid, at least through human channels. He doesn’t know how the caladrius knew who he was or when he’d crossed the border, but it’s not the same way the Covenant would figure it out. That means he should still be comfortably hidden from them.

Once he’s reassured there, he researches the caladrius herself. Finding her is tricky, and in the end he actually discovers who she is not through her, but her helper. Coran isn’t a common name, and he’s human, which means he has to be on record somewhere, unless he’s sporting a fake identity too. She’s too obviously a cryptid to pass as human for very long, which means he probably acts as her intermediary to functioning human society. Somebody has to have seen him somewhere. 

He does eventually get a hit. Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, former Lieutenant in the New Zealand Defense Force, Army branch, honorably discharged over twenty years ago. Now in service to the illustrious House Altea, an old-money family long established in the country, known for their philanthropy and support of medical technologies and research funds. The main members of the household were known to be reclusive and infrequent to visit parties or grand events, but were known to be generous with their money all the same. Current head of household was one Allura Altea, rarely seen in public due to an illness since childhood that left her weak after too much activity. 

Illness. Of course. Takashi is sure her infrequent visits to the spotlight have nothing to do with her large wings and taloned feet. The entire family was probably ‘reclusive’ for that reason.

Knowing who she is makes him feel better, and certainly explains her vicious defense of the city. The prestige of her household would not only put her in a position of power with humans, but in an excellent position to protect or assist the cryptids of the city as well. His sudden arrival had probably worried her into thinking that might be jeopardized. He can hardly blame her for her reaction. 

He knows who she is, but he doesn’t act on the knowledge. He’d meant what he said. He has no interest in hunting, not her or anybody else. If trouble comes to him, or if he sees it happening around him, he’ll deal with it. Otherwise, he just wants to stay hidden.

He figures they’ve come to a grudging truce—you leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone. In the first month and a half that he’s in the city, he has no reason to contact the number Coran gave him. So he’s a little surprised when she contacts him, first.

The unknown number that pops up on his cell leaves him wary. He’s always paranoid, these days. Ignoring it is more suspicious than anything else, though, and there are better ways to drive off an unwelcome caller. He answers the call and snaps as disdainfully as possible, “This line is private. There had better be a good reason for this interruption.”

“I assure you, there is,” a clipped, familiar female voice says over the line.

He blinks. “Miss Allura! I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“Nor did I expect to call.” There’s silence for a moment on the line, before she continues slowly, “You have done your research, I see.” 

“When people threaten to break my head in with a staff, I like to know who they are,” Takashi says. 

“Fair enough,” she admits, grudgingly. “You have not done anything with that information, I notice.”

“I have no reason to,” he says. “I think your intentions are in the right place, and you’re just doing what you need to, so you can protect your city. I get that.”

There’s silence for the moment. “Your discretion is...appreciated,” she says finally.

“Of course.”

“That is the reason for my call, in fact,” she continues, pushing forward to business. “We have continued to observe you, but so far I have seen no evidence of hunting activity. I am actually beginning to believe you really were telling the truth, Shirogane.”

She still bites his surname out like it’s a curse word, and that stings a little. But still, progress is progress. 

“Thank you,” he says. “Like I told you before, I’m not interested in hurting anyone.”

“That is precisely why I have a proposition for you.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, although she can’t see it. “Proposition?”

“Yes. We are in agreement that neither of us want the Covenant to come to this city. That means keeping cryptid activity unobtrusive. If members of the community begin murdering humans wholesale, or if people begin disappearing or unusual happenings are reported, it will catch their attention. Am I correct in this assumption?”

“Yes,” Takashi says quietly. Covenant agents were always combing through international news for reports of odd happenings and strange murders or disappearances. The things normal human police and investigations couldn’t explain, or things brushed off as irresponsible hoaxes, were often indications of some kind of cryptid activity. 

“I do my best to protect this community,” Allura continues. “I encourage good relations, mediate disputes, and use my family’s influence to provide necessities to those in the community who struggle to gain access to them. I do everything in my power to ensure the Covenant has no reason to bring my city under scrutiny. But the city is growing, and sometimes things happen regardless.”

He’s beginning to see where this is going. “And you want someone to help you clean up those problems before they catch attention higher up.”

“Yes,” Allura says. “Peacefully, if possible. But if not, your...skill-set would be invaluable to protecting the rest of the community. And if the Covenant has no reason to look this way—if they do not see trouble—than both of us benefit.”

“I see.”

He doesn’t exactly like the idea of being her on-call ex-Covenant assassin. But honestly, she’s not wrong. If the Covenant has reason to look this way, both of them—and thousands of other cryptids, living in the city—will suffer. 

Besides, she’s not asking him to do anything more than what he’d already planned to do. If there are cryptids preying on humans, obviously enough to potentially draw the eye of the Covenant, Takashi would feel obligated to put a halt to it regardless. The only difference, with Allura’s resources at his disposal, is that he’d have a much wider field of view to act on. 

“This would extend to humans attacking cryptids, as well,” Allura adds, fiercely insistent. “A peaceful solution sought first, but if they persist...I will not permit my people, those in my community, to suffer at the hands of humans. I would expect your intervention in these cases as well.”

That’s only fair. He’d said he would do as much. And humans deliberately attacking cryptids has just as much potential to bring the Covenant down to Garrison as the other kind of story. Most humans won’t believe the crackpot on the news claiming he’s driven chupacabra away from his herds, but the Covenant will, and they will come.

It’s more or less what he’d planned to do, if he’d ever come across these sorts of things while in hiding. But is this really a job he wants to accept? He hadn’t wanted to live this kind of life. He’d just wanted to get out, because he hadn’t understood enough to make the right decisions.

That’s what it’s all about. Knowing enough. 

“I’ll agree to this proposition, with one stipulation,” Takashi says.

He can practically hear her frowning over the line. “And that would be?”

“I want to learn more about the community,” Takashi says. “The Covenant taught us to kill because it was us versus them, and I was never taught anything about the enemy besides that they were dangerous and evil. That was wrong. I won’t do that again for you, either, just because you tell me someone is wrong. If I’m going to be protecting this community, I want to understand it. I need to be a part of it. I need to know enough to know I’m doing the right thing.”

There’s silence for a long moment over the line. Then, in a rather surprised tone, Allura says, “That can be arranged. I think. It will take time, but I have many connections. Some may be willing to listen.” More silence, and then, “You really do surprise me, Shirogane.”

“Please,” Takashi says. “If we’re really going to be doing this, call me Takashi. I want nothing to do with that name.”

“Takashi, then,” she agrees. Maybe he’s imagining it, but her voice sounds slightly less icy than it had a moment before. “I will be in contact if I hear of a situation I require your help with.”

“I’ll be here,” Takashi says.

Allura’s more willing to trust him, clearly, but even so, they start off slow. A non-sentient ahool colony feeding on humans in the southern districts is his first official job from her. Ten of the creatures form a group, and people start disappearing, no doubt becoming dinner for the colony. It’s mostly been humans, but a couple of non-aggressive cryptids have been swarmed too.

They can’t be reasoned with, and relocating them would be almost impossible. So Takashi kills them as quickly and efficiently as possible, before the human body count gets so high the Covenant is sure to take notice. He disposes of the creatures and the evidence, and brings Allura whatever information he can about the victims. None had been left alive, but at least she can do whatever possible for the families.

Allura is grudgingly impressed with his work, and even admits to it. Takashi considers it a victory.

Over time, there are more missions. A mara willfully and carelessly siphoning life energy from humans, leading to multiple deaths. A trafficking ring run by humans for ‘exotic’ cryptid species. Out of control poltergeists and ghosts. Human witches manipulating power and people for personal gain. A string of arson cases tied to a fire elemental.

Takashi does what he can to deal with all of them. He usually tries a peaceful approach first, offering a warning if possible. A good scare is enough to make some cryptids or humans behave themselves and stop endangering the community. 

But sometimes that’s not enough. And if there are innocent lives endangered—immediately on the mission itself, or long-term with the risk of the Covenant discovering them—then Takashi will do what has to be done to protect those who need him.

He does good work for the community, and as months pass, he starts to feel a little better about himself. Nothing can ever make up for the things he’d done with the Covenant, or the things he’d seen them do to others. But at least he can try to make amends. Each successful mission for Allura reduces the guilt, if only a little. It’s a start.

And if nothing else comes out of his partnership with Allura to protect Garrison, at least his first step towards earning his trust in the cryptid community does. Starting with Allura herself.

It takes three months of working with her seriously before she really begins to thaw towards him, but she does, eventually, begin to seriously trust him. On that day, he returns to their neutral meeting place on a rooftop from a mission with humans creating illegal revenants, sporting a deep gash in his left arm that he’d hastily bandaged. On that day, she finally seems to look at him and really see him for the first time.

“I am sorry,” she says. “I have been...unkind.” 

“Not sure what you mean.” 

“I have only seen and heard the Covenant every time I’ve spoken to you,” she says. “And they have done...unspeakable things to my people. To hundreds of other cryptid species in the community. All I could see was another murderer.”

Takashi’s heart pangs, but he says nothing. There’s nothing he could say that would be right. 

“But I have been so focused on the group you belong to I have not seen the person,” Allura finishes. “And in that, I am no better than the very society that I loathe, seeing ‘monsters’ where there are people. You have done a great many things to protect this community already, even though most of them distrust and fear you, and spurn you behind your back.”

“They have a right to that,” Takashi says. “Like you’ve said…my family has done terrible things.”

“You are not your family,” she says firmly. “I am sorry it took me this many months to learn that, Takashi.” 

And she reaches forward, places her hand over the gash on his left arm, and closes her eyes. Her wings shimmer faintly, and so does her hand. The gash beneath the bandage itches for a moment, but then the sensation recedes. When he peels the gauze back, the cut is gone, and only the bloodstained hole in his sleeve proves he’d even been wounded.

He blinks, shocked. So the rumored healing powers were true. “You didn’t have to do that. After everything the Covenant did for those abilities—”

“They are mine by birthright, to use willingly, as I so choose,” Allura says firmly. “Who I choose to heal is up to me, and no other.” 

Fair enough. “Thank you, then,” he says. “That will definitely save me some time.”

Allura nods. “I intend to speak for you more seriously with the community in the future,” she adds. “Assure them that you really are on their side. Not all of them will accept at first. Many will still be wary. And some will never accept you, particularly the yōkai. But if I speak for you, perhaps it will be a start.”

That’s an even better gift than the healing. “Thank you,” Takashi says, breaking into a wide grin. “Really. I appreciate it.”

Allura nods. Behind her, the ever-present Coran winks at him around her wings. 

“Now then. Shall we go over the details of the mission? What exactly did you discover?”

Chapter Text

“There’s no such thing as doing absolutely no harm...everybody hurts and is hurt, in a grand cycle of being alive. But minimizing the damage...that matters.”
—Sarah Zellaby, Imaginary Numbers 

Inside an impressively secure apartment in Garrison City

Three years later, Takashi wakes to the sound of his cell phone ringing.

He groans and cracks an eye open, checking the time. Nine in the morning. He’d slept in far later than he usually likes to, but he’d been up late last night between his job, and picking up a shipment of reagents for his other job. 

He’s tempted to let the phone keep ringing and close his eyes for another ten minutes. But the ringtone is Allura’s, and that means she probably has a mission he needs to get involved in. He crawls a hand out of the sheets and paws around at his nightstand until he manages to grab the cell and drag it back to him. 

“Hey,” he mutters, voice still thick with sleep.

“Did I wake you?” she asks, sounding amused. “I thought you were an early riser, Takashi.”

“Early rising is predicated on an early bedtime,” he says through a yawn. 

“You need to stop keeping the studio open so late.”

“Need to. People need me. I’m finally starting to earn a little trust. I can’t let that go.”

Allura sighs on the other end. “Very well. I understand. But I’m afraid tonight will be a late night, as well.”

“About what I figured. What’s up?”

“I’d rather not speak of it over the phone. Come to the penthouse as soon as possible and I can give you all the details.”

Takashi grimaces despite himself. “That bad, huh? Okay. Give me an hour and I’ll be there.” 

“Thank you. I’ll let everyone know you’re coming.” 

Takashi hangs up with another yawn, but doesn’t waste time. If Allura’s calling him this early in the morning and it’s bad, he needs to get moving. He’ll probably need as much time as he can get to prepare for...whatever it is she’s found. 

So he rolls out of bed, has a quick shower, arms himself lightly (for him) just in case, and dresses. In fifteen minutes he’s out the door, pausing at the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts. The stop is mostly for the biggest box of donut holes money can buy, but he gets himself a coffee and a bagel as well. He’s starving, and he has a feeling he’ll need it. 

The Altea penthouse is located in the heart of the city, ostensibly situated to showcase the family’s old money, but in reality perfectly situated to keep an eye on things at all times. Takashi has always thought it looked like an elegant, modern castle sitting in the middle of the city, which only emphasizes the way so many cryptids in the community treat Allura like she’s royalty. The whole building belongs to Allura’s family, but the top six floors are her living quarters specifically. It’s also decked out with a private parking garage, which Takashi now has a pass for, and has some of the swankiest security money can buy and magic can make. 

She has personal security, too—at least two dozen guards at any given time in the building, all of them various kinds of cryptids. A few humans work there as well, but most of them have always been cryptid sympathizers, and don’t carry the stigma of the Covenant.

None of them, human or cryptid, liked Takashi much at first. Many of them still don’t. Most of them seem to be of the opinion that Allura trusts him too much, giving him access to her personal floors. The general consensus is that one day he’s going to stab her in the back, pluck her feathers, and run laughing back to the Covenant. 

Takashi tries not to let it get to him. They’ve got reasons to be wary. Even after three years of working with Allura, helping to protect the cryptid community, and doing everything he can to prove he’s rejected his heritage, it’s still not enough to wipe out hundreds of years worth of reputation. He gets that.

He just wishes it didn’t hurt so much. 

He parks in the garage and heads through several security checkpoints for Allura’s private elevator. By now, the guards know he won’t be parted from his weapons—Allura has even specifically stipulated he isn’t to be hassled about them. But he does do them the courtesy of letting them know he’s armed, at least. 

They finally let him through, after cataloguing (almost) everything hidden on his person. He heads into the elevator, wolfing down the last of his bagel and absently tapping the box of donut holes against his leg.

“Welcome, Takashi!” Coran greets him warmly at the elevator doors. 

“Hey, Coran,” he greets back, just as friendly. “Hope I’m not late?”

“You made excellent time,” Coran reassures cheerfully. “Miss Allura has barely had time to start setting up.”

Coran offers to take his coat, but as always, Takashi declines. That’s the way it’s always been, but it’s more of a running gag at this point between them than anything else. If three years have gotten Allura to trust him, then they’ve definitely charmed Coran, who keeps an eye out for Takashi now almost as much as he does Allura.

Takashi had asked him, once, how a human had even come to work for not just a cryptid, but a wealthy one with such influence. 

“I worked for her father, at first,” Coran had said fondly. “He was a caladrius too, of course. Saved my life in the war. I should have died from that gunshot wound...but he used his healing powers to give me another chance, at great risk to himself. I’ve served him ever since, and when he passed away, I vowed to serve his daughter, too.” 

His devotion to House Altea is impressive to say the least. Takashi had tried to figure out what his role was exactly—Manservant? Bodyguard? Intermediary?—but in the end, he’d realized Coran was a little bit of everything, and maybe a pseudo-father figure besides. He was fiercely devoted to protecting Allura, and could be suspicious of those that might be able to do her harm, like he had been with Takashi at first. But once his suspicions were assuaged, he turned out to be quite a friendly, mischievous, kind-hearted man—rather like what Takashi would expect a goofy uncle to be. 

“Miss Allura is down the hall, in the study,” Coran continues, as the elevator doors close behind him. “I trust you know your way?”

“Thanks, yes,” Takashi says. It’s a mark of how much Coran trusts him that he’s even allowed to wander there unsupervised. 

“Very well then. In that case, I need to prepare lunch—”

“HAIL!” a chorus of a hundred tiny voices cheer.

Takashi glances around. Where the entrance foyer had once been empty, there’s now dozens and dozens of mice, balanced on end tables and decorative cabinets and spread out across the floor. They might have looked like ordinary mice—if ordinary mice wore ceremonial clothing made out of old scraps of cloth and leather, and headdresses and jewelry made out of buttons, wire, candy wrappers, paper clips, pigeon feathers, and other sorts of junk one finds strewn about. Many carry staves made out of lolly-pop sticks, shaved down pencils, and occasionally the bones of some other small creature unfortunate enough to come across them. Others wave banners made on scraps of cloth and tissue paper, finely decorated with bits of paint and marker. Quite a number of them have died their white or brown fur with reds, blues, yellows, or greens. All of them stand upright on their hind paws.

These, Takashi had learned years ago, were Aeslin mice. They were a type of cryptid he’d never even heard of, despite the Covenant’s vast resources, until Allura had introduced him to her personal colony. Extraordinarily intelligent, and gifted to the last with eidetic memories and long-standing verbal traditions, Aeslin mice were exceptional at tracking history and preserving records. 

They also craved religion, and had a tendency to worship those they had deemed their gods and goddesses with an ecstatic fervor that was...overwhelming, until one was used to it. This particular colony had worshipped Allura’s family for several generations now, but before they had attached to her bloodline, their previous deities had been...unconventional. Including, but not limited to, an old rosebush, several farm animals, and a discarded stuffed toy they had discovered in a trash heap.

Takashi thinks they’re probably better off with Allura, who has the resources to protect them. Even if it does mean they extend their religious fervor to virtually anyone in her inner circle that she considers family. Including him, now.

“HAIL THE ARRIVAL OF THE HIGH PRIEST OF THOSE WHO WALK OUT OF THE DARKNESS!”

“Good morning, guys,” Takashi says, addressing the congregation at large with a wave of his hand.

“HAIL THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE MORNING!”

“Riiiight.” Even if he’d known the colony for two and a half years now, ever since Allura had decided to trust him more, Aeslin mice are still a little...difficult to become fully accustomed to. “What are you all doing out here? Don’t you usually hang out further inside the penthouse?”

He doubts they’ve come to see him, specifically. He’s earned honorary High Priest status by virtue of working with Allura and being invited into her home. But he’s not important enough to have started earning religious ceremonies or feasts on their calendar yet, other than the day he was officially inducted as a ‘High Priest,’ which today isn’t. At least, he thinks it isn’t. But there probably is some other event on their extraordinarily complex calendar of religious holidays that he’s stepped into.

Sure enough, one of the mice with red dye streaks in its white fur steps forward and says shrilly, “Today is the Holy Celebration of So Help Me God I Will Kick This Door In If You Don’t Open Up Right Now!” The rest of the mice cheer, and the ones holding banners return to vigorously waving them. 

“Ah, that was an adventure,” Coran remarks, fondly, to several more cheers from the mice.

“Oh,” Takashi says. “I see. So...you’re waiting for someone to kick the door down, then?”

“HAIL!” 

“Right.” He glances over his shoulder. “It’s an elevator, so that might be difficult.”

“If it is Willed, it will Happen,” one of the mice proclaims. The others cheer in agreement. Takashi will never get used to the fact that Aeslin mice are capable of speaking in capital letters. 

“But we must be Careful,” another mouse, this one streaked with yellow dye, adds. “We must observe the Sacred Law of Do Not Come Out In Front Of The Humans For Goodness Sake How Do I Explain That, and humans may See us at the door.”

“But the Holy Scripture of the God of Great Healing and Greater Science says, lo, ‘That One Is All Right For A Human,’ and invoked the law of Some Humans Are Okay To Be in Front Of, with the High Priest of Damn It Stop Trying To Get Yourself Killed!” the red-streaked mouse argues.

“And the Lion Goddess has extended the Scripture and the Law to The High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of The Darkness!” one of the blue-dyed mice adds.

“So they are considered human and not-human!”

“We may come out as long as the great portal to the land of humans beyond is closed and no one may See us!”

“So we may observe the Holy Celebration, if it is Willed!” the red-dyed mouse finishes triumphantly.

“Okay, well, I don’t want to interrupt that, and I do need to talk to Allura,” Takashi says, before he can get too heavily involved in a religious debate. 

He’s not entirely sure of the details, but he’s fairly certain there are different sects of Altean worship amongst the mice, indicated with the different dyes. He’s mostly sure the red ones are the group specifically devoted to Allura’s father, and the blue are Allura’s. He’s not really sure about the rest, although it’s a safe guess they’re devoted to other members of Allura’s family. 

He’d tried to sit down and talk to them about it, once, curious and intrigued. It had been a mistake. Aeslin religion was so complicated he’d left after six hours feeling further behind than when he’d started.

He has learned a few things that make interacting with the Aeslin mice a lot easier, though. So he holds the big box of donut holes in his hand aloft, enough to catch their attention, and says, “Allura and I need to conduct some business to protect the city. I know that will keep her away from you all for a little bit, and it will take a few of you away from your celebration. So I brought a peace offering.”

“HAIL!” several of the mice cheer. 

“Does this mean the Law of Witness for Food is invoked?” one of the green-dyed mice asks, stepping forward. This one has almost no trace of its original color left, so heavy is the green in its fur, and it wears a bird’s skull and an ornate necklace of little beads. It’s probably a religious leader of some kind. 

“Yes,” Takashi says firmly. “You know the drill.”

“We do,” the mouse proclaims. And then, louder, “The Offering is Accepted!”

“HAIL!” several of the mice cheer again.

Takashi places the box of donut holes on the floor, and the mice swarm it immediately. They dismantle it and the contents in moments, and march off with their prizes held high, doing a complicated little dance as they retreat. He’s careful to step around them and leave them to their work, but he doesn’t escape without one last “Hail the High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of the Darkness!” 

“I still don’t understand why they picked such a dramatic name for me,” Takashi mutters to Coran, who beats a hasty exit with him. He’s more or less resigned himself to being worshipped, after two years, but he’s never gotten used to the title. Aeslin mice pick the names for their deities and members of the ‘priesthood,’ and the named have very little choice in the matter. 

“Could have been worse,” Coran says cheerfully. 

He is, admittedly, not wrong. It had taken the Aeslin months to settle on his ‘High Priest’ title, and during that time they had cycled through a number of others. As dramatic as his current one is, it’s still better than High Priest of No Really It’s Just A Scratch I Promise, or High Priest of Do You Even Understand What Sleep Is, which had been a solid contender for nearly two weeks and had almost been the final choice.

“Maybe,” is all Takashi says in response. 

Coran gives him a knowing grin, pats him on the shoulder once, and heads off for the kitchen. Takashi, shaking his head in fond exasperation over the mice, heads for the study.

Allura is there, as promised. In her own home she’s able to wear clothing that doesn’t impede her large wings or her taloned feet. So she circles easily around the large table she has set up in the middle of the room, wearing loose sweats and an open-backed tank top designed for an extra set of appendages. 

An enormous map of the city fills the entirety of the table, with a glass sheet bolted over it to protect it. When pointing out areas of interest or searching for patterns in missions, it’s helpful to scribble all over the glass with markers, and then clean it up when the case is closed. 

Allura is in the middle of doing just that, marking several streets on the map with neat little x’s in pink pen. She looks up when Takashi enters. “Ah! Good. I was just finishing up.”

“Perfect timing. I just offered the mice Trade for Witness, so—ah, there they are,” Takashi cuts himself off, eyeing the four mice that scramble into the room from a neat hole cut into the wall. 

“Excellent,” Allura says, as the four mice clamber up on the little platform affixed to the end of the map table, left there for just such a purpose. “Thank you, my friends, for your timely arrival.”

“Hail, Lion Goddess!” one of the mice—the same fully-dyed green one from before, with the bird skull headdress—bows deeply. “We come to Witness!”

“Hail!” the other three agree. Like the green one, these ones are almost fully dyed in a solid color—blue, yellow, and red respectively. If Takashi remembers right, these are the four head priests or priestesses of their varying sects, and the leaders of the colonies. They take great pride in serving their Lion Goddess directly in all important matters.

Including witnessing—which sounds fancy and dramatic, but ultimately serves a good purpose. Aeslin mice never forget anything, and are excellent record keepers. Hard drives can be broken or infiltrated, papers can be destroyed or stolen, but Aeslin memories are forever. For Allura’s family, the creatures serve as one part stenographer, one part black box, and they can be invaluable for remembering key details at just the right moments.

Assuming one can become accustomed to all the ‘hails’ and ‘los’ and Spoken Capitals interjected every thirty seconds, anyway.

“Then let us not waste any more time,” Allura says, sweeping her wings back in a gesture Takashi has come to equate with ‘getting down to business.’ She squares her shoulders and taps on the glass surface of the map, where more than a dozen little pink x’s cluster around the same four blocks or so. “I have reason to believe we have a murderer on our hands.”

“Cryptid?” Takashi asks, circling the table and leaning over the map to pick out the street names. It’s not close to where he lives, so he’s not surprised he hasn’t heard any activity, but it’s not on the other side of the city, either.

“I have reason to suspect so,” Allura says. “Over the past three weeks, there have been a number of disappearances in this area, all human. Most have been homeless, so unfortunately there were no news or police reports. Recently three humans with family ties have disappeared in the same area, though, two young women and a young man. Their families reported their disappearances to the police, who are now investigating.”

“But not well, I take it,” Takashi says, frowning. “They’re probably looking for a predator, but not the right kind.”

Allura nods in agreement, lips pressed together grimly. “So far they suspect a serial kidnapper, or a sexual predator searching for young adult victims, based on the three known disappearances.”

“But that doesn’t explain the homeless people who disappeared,” Takashi agrees. “Which they may or may not even know about. It sounds more like someone was looking for easy marks.” Or a lazy dinner. “When did the disappearances happen?”

“Always at night,” Allura says. “I could find no indication of any kidnappings during the day.”

“There is a Pattern,” one of the mice, the yellow-dyed one, intones after a moment. “Lion Goddess, the days you have noted are five days apart always by the human calendar.”

“Thank you, Platt,” Allura says, with a gracious nod.

“So a night-prowling cryptid looking for an easy mark or an easy meal on a regularly scheduled basis,” Takashi summarizes. “Homeless people are easy to disappear off the streets, but drunk or high young adults heading home at night can’t put up much of a fight either. So far it looks like kidnappings, but none of the victims have reappeared?” 

“None,” Allura confirms.

Takashi sighs. They’re probably dead, unfortunate as it is. But he can at least do what he can to prevent more disappearances from happening. 

“When was the last disappearance?” he asks, glancing in the direction of the mice.

The blue-dyed one steps forward. “The last date was four days ago by the human calendar, High Priest of Those Who Walk Out of the Darkness!” it recites.

Which means the next ‘disappearance’ is most likely going to happen tonight, Takashi realizes grimly.

“I’ll canvass the area today,” he decides. Allura’s done everything she can with her resources, he’s sure. But while some cryptids have excellent ways of dealing in information, they can also be somewhat limited in actions they can take in the field without catching unwanted attention. That’s where Takashi comes in—he can wander the streets all day hunting for clues, and at worst people will only consider him a nosey tourist. 

Allura nods in agreement. “For now, the story is contained,” she says. “Other than very local news sources, the incidents have not warranted much attention, since they do not know the extent of the disappearances. But if this continues, it will draw Covenant attention.” 

Takashi agrees. This is exactly the sort of story they were excellent at sniffing out. A few more deaths, and they’ll have a new sort of murderer breathing down their necks. She’d been right to call him in as soon as possible. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Thank you.” 

It’s nearly eleven by the time he manages to extricate himself from the numerous hails and praises and ritualistic good-bye’s of the mice, and when he finally does, he’s eager to get to the potential murder site. There’s still a dozen types of cryptids he can think of off the top of his head that had the potential to be their killer, and he won’t know for sure until he can examine the area further. 

What he does know is their predator only strikes at night, which means they’re probably either injured by or just uncomfortable in daylight. Takashi intends to use as much of it as possible to prepare. 

The blocks Allura had indicated are in a middle-income section of the city, adjacent to a few of the seedier parts of town but not actually in them. There’s several apartment structures, a twenty-four hour coffee shop, a few convenience stores, a bar, and a sandwich shop spread out over the target streets, which will hopefully give Takashi plenty to work with.

He spends the rest of his daylight canvassing the area. He starts with the people—bartenders and baristas, clerks at the convenience stores, regulars to the establishments. Allura had provided him with a photograph of the most recent victim, a young woman named Nicole Ryder, and he flourishes it with faked anxiousness as he inquires about when the last time his ‘cousin’ may have been seen. 

Most people don’t know anything, and offer him either sympathetic looks, bored indifference, or narrow-eyed suspicion. But a few can offer little details here and there. The bartender remembers her being a little tipsy when she’d come in close to midnight, so he’d refused to serve her, which is a start.

“Told the cops this too,” he adds, with a raised eyebrow.

“They won’t tell us anything,” Takashi says, with an excellent show of nervous worry. “It’s ‘under investigation.’ I just want to bring her home. Please.”

“Yeah, sure,” the bartender says, apparently buying the story. “I offered to call her a cab, but she refused and said she was gonna go home herself. Took a left out the door.”

“Thanks,” Takashi says, and follows after the weak trail he’s given.

A few others remember her too, if vaguely. She had been seen a little after midnight, upon leaving the bar, but nobody can place her anywhere by one in the morning. Takashi knows from Allura’s research that she doesn’t live close enough to have reached home so quickly, not while on foot and tipsy. He has a window for disappearance.

They’re also able to shed some light on the ‘kidnapper,’ speaking in hushed whispers. Most refuse to go outside after eleven or so, not without being in groups. One man, around thirty or so, begrudgingly tells Takashi a story of heading home late last week after midnight, and spotting a man in a hoodie and cap.

“Couldn’t see his face,” the man admits. “But he...look, don’t tell anyone this?”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Takashi promises.

“He made me feel...weird,” the man says. “Like...I wanted to run. Just run. Get away. It really freaked me out, y’know? I’ve refused taking overtime at work since then. It’s stupid, but…”

It wasn’t stupid. Human instinct had survived shockingly well despite human nature’s desire to pretend the creatures under the bed didn’t exist. Those survival instincts to hide, run, or fight, passed down through evolutionary chains, had been one of the reasons they’d survived alongside so many cryptids with so much more strength, skill, or intelligence. 

There was no doubt about it, not now. There was a cryptid making humans disappear here. Now Takashi just has to find them.

He searches the whole area carefully, heading down alleys and discreetly observing apartment complexes for alternate entrances or places to hole up in. If something is hunting here, no matter what the reason, they need someplace to go to ground during the day. Any one of these places could be an option. So could the sewers, he notes as he spots a manhole cover, wrinkling his nose. Sewer diving is not his favorite pastime, but if it comes to it, he’ll do it.

He doesn’t find any human bodies or evidence of scuffles in the alleyways. He didn’t really expect to, but it was always best to be thorough. Which is why he is a little surprised when he finds bodies of the non - human variety. 

Specifically, rats. 

Specifically, exsanguinated rats, with the bodies stuffed behind dumpsters like hidden evidence. 

That’s a little puzzling, especially when he asks around as casually as possible and finds it’s not the first time it’s happened. The locals have found a few other dead rats, mice, pigeons, squirrels, and the occasional raccoon, but they’d mostly thought the creatures had been exterminated by pest control or killed by a prowling alley cat. Takashi has a feeling most of them were missing their liquid insides.

It does narrow down Takashi’s list of potential suspects; there are only so many cryptids that live on a liquid diet. But he can’t imagine why one might possibly be taking humans, and also hunting the local wildlife. 

It’s a curious puzzle, but one he can figure out later. He’s pretty sure he has what he needs by the time dinner rolls around. There’s nothing further he can do for now; the attacker doesn’t seem to come out until around eleven pm at the earliest, when there will be less witnesses. He’ll be back before then. 

For now, he packs up for the evening and gets ready for work.

‘Work,’ for Takashi, is a self-owned business. Not long after Allura had officially started to trust him, actually trust him, he’d decided he’d had enough of just hiding. It was exhausting to constantly look over his shoulder, and to try and stay out of sight as much as possible. 

Caution was necessary, but he didn’t want to live like a ghost. That wasn’t in his nature. He wanted to do things. Help people. Make a difference. That’s the one ideal he’d grown up on that he still firmly believes in, despite all he’s been through. 

So he’d started up a self defense studio. He’d had more than enough capital to rent a location, and more than enough skill with cover stories and forgeries to give ‘Ryou Tanaka’ all the necessary credentials to do so. 

During the day he has regular classes, mostly for human women and children, to teach them how to protect themselves from human attackers and what signs of trouble to look for. He’s helped more than a few members of his clientele with sticky situations, walks some of them home if they still feel unsafe, and he always has a list of support numbers pinned on his office door if anyone ever needs anything he can’t help with. 

By now, ‘Ryou Tanaka’ has a sterling reputation among humans. Most people like and trust him, or feel safe around him. Takashi likes not having a stigma assigned to at least one part of him. It’s refreshing. 

More recently in the past year or so, he’s started night classes as well. These aren’t for humans, not usually. His clientele for these classes are cryptids, and his lessons aren’t dealing with the average human predator. Muggers and stalkers aren’t a problem for the vast majority of cryptids, who have their own methods of defense against humans who picked the wrong victim. No, these classes teach how to defend against the Covenant—the things that will draw their attention, their weapons and methods, the things they know about whatever species he’s teaching. 

It’s slow going, the second half of his business. Most cryptids still don’t trust Takashi, and they have a right not to. But Allura has kept her end of the bargain, and has been working hard to introduce Takashi to some cryptid circles, and Takashi’s been doing his own work to ensure he’s trustworthy. 

And slowly now, he’s started to see some hesitant trust. Many of his cryptid students are kinds that are largely harmless, or defenseless if their one protection of camouflage is seen through, like madhura or sylphs. They’re afraid of him, but they’re afraid of the Covenant more, and they’re willing to trust Allura’s word enough to learn from him. 

It’s slow progress, but it is progress. Hopefully one day Takashi Shirogane’s reputation will be as sterling as Ryou Tanaka’s. 

But tonight there are no cryptid lessons, which is probably for the best. He has one evening class that goes well, and then he closes up the studio for the night and heads home to prepare for the evening’s hunt.

He’s not sure what he’s fighting, still. But he has some rough ideas, so he packs a little of everything, just to be safe. He arms himself to the teeth with a pair of handguns, a dozen throwing knives hidden around his person, the police batons, a small taser, and a garrote. In the pouches on his belt he stores away several different charms, herbs and reagents, many of which can incapacitate certain kinds of cryptids. He brings standard ammunition for the firearms, but he makes sure he has silver and copper rounds too, just to be safe. 

There are a lot of things he loathes that he ever learned while with the Covenant. But the one thing they had drilled into his head that he still takes very seriously is to always be prepared for anything. 

The one thing he’s learned more recently, since living in Garrison, is that most of those skills he’d learned with the Covenant can still be applied in good ways. Tonight, he’ll be using Covenant skills, but he’ll be using them to protect. Really protect, understanding in full what he’s doing. 

Now fully prepared, he heads back to the murder site, parks his car six blocks away just in case, and climbs up to perch on top of the bar. As far as he can tell, the kidnapper cases a lot of their victims from this area, now that they’ve gotten bolder and progressed passed helpless homeless individuals. If he’s going to see them anywhere, Takashi will see them here.

By ten at night, he’s fully settled in, and he waits.

Patience yields focus is an old Shirogane adage he’s been able to recite since he was two. Patience also yields results, and this time is no different. By midnight, Takashi catches his first sign of movement across the street, and spots the silhouette in one of the alleys. The figure is still on the other side, waiting, and Takashi stays still as well so he won’t be spotted.

By twelve thirty, a young man—college senior? Post grad?—stumbles out of the bar, clearly intoxicated. Takashi makes idle note of him, like he has for the past six patrons that have stumbled out of the bar. But his focus grows more pronounced when the figure on the other side of the street moves, following the drunk patron. 

Showtime, then.

It’s still hard to tell exactly what kind of cryptid this is, in the dark. But they’re humanoid, which cuts a few possibilities off the list, and built large enough they’re most likely male. The stalker is preoccupied following his victim, presumably waiting for a good chance to pull him off the street to a secluded area. He doesn’t notice Takashi slipping off the roof of the bar with practiced ease. 

Takashi doesn’t take his eyes off the cryptid as he follows them. This guy’s okay at stealth—he’s smart enough at least to keep out of streetlights and watch where he’s going. But Takashi is better, and he’s had practice hunting actual cryptids with enhanced senses and defenses, not helpless, inebriated humans. The cryptid doesn’t even know he’s there.

They turn a corner into an area with less working streetlights, and the cryptid makes his move. Takashi’s expecting it, so he doesn’t miss the way the stalker lunges forward, snags the drunk college grad by the collar, covers his mouth, and hauls him into a side alley. 

Takashi follows quickly. This will work better for him, anyway. If it turns less peaceful, less witnesses are preferred.

The drunk graduate is already pinned against one of the walls, eyes wide and rolling with fear. He struggles, but he’s uncoordinated and weak, and his attacker is practiced and ready. He tries to call out, but his cries are muffled by the hand shoved over his mouth. His attacker leers, and Takashi catches a glimmer of long, sharp, shark-like teeth.

He sighs. Damn it. He’d been hoping it wasn’t a ghoul.

“Enough,” he barks, stepping into the alleyway. “Let him go.”

Both look over at him, surprised. The human whimpers pleadingly. The ghoul looks startled, but then his leer returns, deliberately showing off his long, sharp teeth. “Beat it,” he hisses. “You have no clue what you walked into here, pal.” 

“Pretty sure I do,” Takashi says. “I’m only going to say this once, so this is your one chance . The ruling house in the city orders you to stand down immediately. You stop preying on humans and you get the hell out of Garrison. She will know if you don’t. And I won’t be so nice then.” 

He never mentions Allura’s name directly in these encounters. If this grad remembers this after, Takashi doesn’t want Allura implicated in any way that could get her into trouble. The cryptids know who she is, and that’s all that matters.

The ghoul rolls his eyes. “Then tell her royal fuckin’ highness if she wants to stop me, she can come down here herself, and I can taste what bird meat is like,” he sneers. “Beat it, or I’ll eat you after.” 

So that’s a ‘no’ on the peaceful approach, then. 

The ghoul turns and opens his mouth wide—far, far wider than looks natural on a human face—and lurches forward towards his victim. The drunk grad squeals through the hand still over his mouth, and struggles harder to get away.

The knife blossoms in the ghoul’s shoulder in seconds. The ghoul shrieks in surprise and jerks away instinctively, dropping his intended dinner as he presses his hand to the hilt now sticking out of his skin. “The fuck?” he snarls, glaring at Takashi.

Takashi already has two more knives out as he paces forward. He doesn’t want to risk the guns here, not with a defenseless civilian, in between two apartment complexes. “I told you I wasn’t going to be nice,” he reminds the ghoul. 

The ghoul’s eyes widen as he starts to put two and two together. “You’re the Shirogane,” he hisses. “The one she’s got on a leash!”

Takashi doesn’t have anything to say to that. He just paces closer. The ghoul does probably the first sensible thing he’s thought of this evening: he turns tail, and bolts. 

It’s not quite finished yet, but Takashi takes a moment to crouch next to the victim, neatly slipping his knives away. The young man sags against the wall, shaking like a leaf, and smells strongly of alcohol and urine. He regards Takashi with wild-eyed alarm, and stammers, “T-teeth…”

“You’re very drunk, buddy,” Takashi says, as soothingly as he can. It’s almost funny, talking to him like he’s a kid—the guy looks like he could even be a year or two older than Takashi—but he’s obviously way out of his comfort zone here. “He was just a mugger. Can you do something for me? Can you get back to the bar and ask for a cab home?”

“I…” the man blinks for a moment, then nods shakily.

“Great. I need you to go do that, then,” Takashi says, putting an arm under the man’s shoulder and hauling him to his feet. He gives him a gentle push in the right direction.

The man stumbles, but then regains his footing. He squints at Takashi for a moment, and asks shakily, “Are you some kinda super hero?”

“Nope. Just passing by,” Takashi says. “Go home, lock your door, drink some water and go to bed.” In the morning, he probably won’t remember any of this, and if he does, he’ll probably just remember getting waylaid by a mugger. Humans are exceptional at not seeing the things right in front of their faces that they’re too uncomfortable admitting to.

The man nods, and Takashi turns and follows after the attacker.

The ghoul hasn’t gotten very far, and he’s not doing a very good job of covering his tracks. He’s used to preying on the homeless, or inebriated victims, and has clearly never had to worry about covering his trail. After some of the things Takashi has hunted in the past, it’s almost child’s play to track him six blocks over, in the seedier area of the city. 

He slings another knife ahead of the ghoul, which causes the would-be killer to draw up short and whip around in alarm.

“I’ll say this one last time,” Takashi says. “No more victims. There are other ways to get you the meals you need. She’s willing to help you with that. You keep this up, you’ll draw the wrong attention.”

“Fuck you!” the ghoul shrieks angrily, and hurls himself at Takashi.

The ghoul is fast, but not inhumanly so. Ghouls are by nature more or less comparable to humans—they are even evolutionary cousins—which means they don’t have senses or strengths much greater than what a human is capable of. Moreover, this one is lazy, and used to taking helpless prey, not fighting for his meals. Takashi deflects the snap of the jaws at his face easily by cuffing the ghoul upside the head, and follows up with a quick kick to knock his attacker back into a wall.

“I don’t want to have to kill you,” Takashi tries, one last time. “But if you force my hand, I will.”

This time the ghoul’s answer isn’t even words, just an angry snarl. He hurls himself forward again, jaws gnashing, trying to rip a bite out of Takashi’s flesh. A single ghoul bite can get infected very quickly; their mouths and teeth are vile. 

Takashi hates this part. But he’s given more than enough chances, and the ghoul hasn’t taken any. And now, it seems, it’s down to kill or be killed. 

So he does what he’s been trained to do for years. 

The ghoul lunges, and Takashi has the knives ready before seconds have passed. The knife through the eye and into the brain is quick, efficient, and relatively painless; about as merciful a death as he can make it. The ghoul grunts once, his other eye wide in shock, and collapses in mid-run. The body hits the grimy pavement, rolls and skids once or twice, and falls still. 

“I’m sorry,” Takashi says. “I really didn’t want to have to do that, but you were putting others in danger. I’m so sorry.”

The ghoul doesn’t answer, but the stare from the one remaining eye is almost accusing. Takashi sighs, exhausted by the whole affair, but retrieves his weaponry. 

This is a part of the job he’ll never grow to like. But at least, this time, he knows what he’s doing is protecting victims. The immediate ones, and a city full of potential ones as well.

It’s a thought he clings to with each of these missions, and it makes the guilt hurt a little less.

Cleanup from the mission is relatively straightforward, mostly because the Covenant was very thorough in teaching how to cover one’s tracks after a kill.

Disposing of the body is the first and most important thing. It can’t go to a morgue and the police certainly can’t take it, or there will be a lot of questions about this human victim that isn’t human at all and probably isn’t on any kind of public register. Fortunately, or perhaps not, Takashi has ways of getting rid of the body, and Allura’s contacts can make it disappear forever. 

He also decides to check in with the bartender, just to make sure the victim made it. It’s a different bartender, fortunately, so he won’t be recognized as the same man searching for his ‘cousin’ earlier that day. The bartender does confirm that a disheveled, very drunk college grad had returned, rambling about a frightening mugging, and had been sent home in a cab. Takashi is relieved to hear it. At least one victim was going to make it home.

With the immediate issues taken care of, he spends half an hour searching for the ghoul’s hide-away. He finds it not far from where he’d made the kill, and shakes his head in disbelief. The ghoul had been so focused on getting away he’d all but led Takashi to his lair. It was incredibly stupid to show the enemy your safehome; the ghoul must have thought he could get away with anything. They were lucky they’d avoided Covenant scrutiny at all.

There’s not much in the hideout, an old basement level of an abandoned apartment complex, and he hadn’t been living with any other ghouls. That was a blessing, at least. 

Takashi finds a few trophy remnants of the other victims—a purse, a wallet, a cellphone with a dead battery—but no other victims. He hadn’t expected any. Ghouls preferred decayed flesh, but they would eat every single part of a living human. The victims had been eaten alive days ago. There was nothing left to be rescued.

He collects the remnants together, at least. He’ll bring them to Allura, and she can make sure the police are discreetly notified and the items are returned to the families of the victims. At least they can get a little closure, with confirmation that their loved ones aren’t ever coming back.

The whole case wraps up cleanly in less than twenty-four hours. Takashi leaves the area feeling...not satisfied, because having to make a kill is never satisfactory ... but at least better, knowing things are safer again. 

It isn’t until the next morning, after delivering the evidence and updating Allura and the mice on the results, that he remembers the exsanguinated rats. 

Ghouls don’t drain their prey of liquids. A ghoul would eat the animals whole, blood, organs, muscle and bone, assuming they were hunting living things.

Which means there’s still a problem in that neighborhood, and Takashi has no idea when it will strike next.

Chapter Text

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my family history, it’s that sometimes responsibility and proximity are the same damn thing.”
—Verity Price, Chaos Choreography 

The other side of town, probably wasting time

Takashi’s not entirely sure what he expects to accomplish, heading back to the scene of the attacks the next day at dusk. But he has to at least check everything out one more time. Just to be certain.

There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for the exsanguinated rats he’d found. There are some blood-drinking cryptids out there who are perfectly harmless to humans, provided they aren’t attacked first, like the chupacabra. It could be happenstance. 

But it could also be a sign of a problem. The ghoul’s kills could easily mask the activities of a competitor. And now that Takashi’s removed the competition, someone else could step out and start hunting humans. 

He’d never forgive himself if he saw a sign of danger and ignored it, to the detriment of innocent people. So he goes back to check it out again. Just for his peace of mind.

He’s glad he does. He cases the whole place again quietly before dark, and finds a couple more dried out rats and mice hidden away that he’s absolutely certain weren’t there when he’d left. They had to have been killed and drained between now and the time he’d made the ghoul kill and cleaned up the evidence last night.

He knows the cryptid doing this has to be nocturnal, or at least very stealthy, because nobody had reported seeing any of the animals get attacked during the day. That most likely limits things to a very narrow window somewhere after two in the morning to sunrise. 

“It’s gonna be another long night,” he grumbles to himself. It’s a good thing he’s used to functioning on almost no sleep. He buys a coffee from the twenty-four hour shop in the area, climbs up on a rooftop, tucks one earbud in for some late-night stakeout music, and settles in for the wait. 

By ten at night, he seriously considers the value of staying the whole time. Part of him wants to go home, catch a few Z’s, and come back during what he’s fairly certain is his target time table. But he also wouldn’t forgive himself if somebody died because he’d wanted a nap and wasn’t there to stop anything. So he stays. 

Patience yields focus, but it doesn’t do much for a bored mind.

By two in the morning the bar has closed, lights are out in most of the apartments in the area, and there’s almost no activity on the streets. The coffee shop is still open, but only has one bored barista manning the counter, and a single night owl reading a book and sipping on a late-night coffee on the inside. Nothing suspicious there. 

Takashi pays closer attention now, and stores his earbuds away. He hasn’t seen any unusual activity so far. But if he’s right, now’s the time his perpetrator should be sneaking about, assuming he hasn’t completely missed something.

By three, he starts to wonder if maybe he was overreacting. There’s still no activity, and the streets are dark and empty. There’s not even any movement in the alleys, apart from the occasional rodent scurrying past. 

By three thirty he’s almost ready to call it a bust. This is the most lifeless the city will get, but in an hour the early morning commuters are going to start coming out to get ready for work, and not long after that the sun will start to think about rising. Any nocturnal cryptid that can’t handle sunlight would be thinking about getting close to their safehomes for the day by now. He must have missed whoever it was.

But then, by a stroke of luck, he spots it: a movement in one of the alleyways, belonging to a distinctly humanoid figure.

Takashi is on the move immediately, prowling over the rooftops and leaping from building to building when he needs to. He moves cautiously, because he can tell within less than ten seconds that the figure is extremely skittish. They move slowly and with many pauses, acting more like a prey animal than predator, and they freeze at even the slightest hint of a noise or movement. He doesn’t want to spook them before he’s had a chance to observe.

But he manages to get close enough to see relatively quickly, even despite his caution, slipping carefully down a fire escape and staying close to the shadows. And when the figure gets close enough to a street light and glances around carefully, Takashi can make out the first details of very pale skin, and red eyes that flash in even a little bit of light.

Everything clicks suddenly. Vampire. 

Contrary to popular lore (and even more popular teen romance novels), vampires are not classified as ‘undead.’ They’re perfectly alive mammals, and cousins to the ghoul family, which is also often mistaken for being dead. But their exceedingly slow metabolisms, equally slow biology, and tendency towards pale skin often give an impression of a death-like state, which is where the confusion generally comes in. It’s not a difficult mistake to make, when their hearts only beat on average once per minute. 

Their dislike of the sun is true, however, at least in part. Younger or weaker vampires pass out during daylight hours, and prolonged exposure to sunlight is blinding and causes painful burns that can eventually lead to death. Some fully mature adult vampires can function during the day, but even then their skin and eyes—designed for nocturnal hunting—are still extremely sensitive to it. As a general rule, they still tend to avoid it like the plague. 

And they do need blood to live. Human blood is healthiest, although Takashi has read reports about vampires living in rural areas easily surviving on well-fed livestock. They don’t drain a human completely, as far as he knows. Nor do they particularly struggle with the presence of human blood and a violent need to feed, any more than a human would struggle to not eat a steak off someone else’s plate. In fact, an absurd number of EMT’s, surgeons and doctors are vampires, due to their high intelligence, delicate coordination and dexterity, and senses that can allow them to detect fatal bleeds or injuries before medical tools can. 

This one is definitely no doctor, though. Takashi’s not even sure this one is a fully mature vampire, the more he watches. He looks young—less than twenty, although with many cryptids it can be hard to tell. His long, dark hair is tangled and messy, his jacket, t-shirt and jeans are ripped and frayed, and his sneakers are scuffed. Another good look at his face in the next streetlight displays prominent cheekbones, and...well, ‘dried out’ is the only word Takashi can really think of to describe him. 

He frowns. This kid doesn’t look good. 

The vampire stumbles, and hastily catches himself on a wall. He stumbles again a few steps later, and lets out a harsh, shaky breath. If Takashi didn’t know any better, he’d swear the kid was drunk, but vampires don’t get drunk in the traditional sense. He doesn’t think they can even get inebriated at all, unless they’ve just consumed blood with an absurdly high alcohol content, and this kid hadn’t gone near any of the bar patrons. Takashi’s sure of it.

The kid staggers for a third time, and holds himself up against the wall for a moment, glancing around tiredly. Takashi uses the opportunity to creep a little closer, watching.

The young vampire spots a rat skittering past, and immediately makes a lunge for it. That answers that question, Takashi thinks. This kid was definitely the cause of the exsanguinated animals in the area.

But he misses the mark, crashing to the ground as the rat skitters between his fingers and behind a dumpster. He curses, lets out another harsh, wheezing breath, and pushes himself to his feet. Even from here, Takashi can see how much of a struggle it is for him to rise, and the way his arms and legs shake from exertion. 

Damn it. The kid isn’t drunk, he’s starving. Badly enough that he can’t even catch rats anymore.

Before Takashi can even consider his next steps, the twenty-four hour coffee shop’s door chimes. The book-reading night owl makes her exit, and her path takes her right near the vampire. She’s got her purse tucked tightly close and is appropriately wary of her surroundings, but she doesn’t spot the vampire sitting in the shadows at the entrance to the alley.

Takashi immediately tenses. The kid is starving, and there’s unsuspecting prey coming right this way. People, humans and cryptids alike, are known to do desperate things when they’re that hungry. If the kid attacks, he’ll have to stop it. 

But to his impressed shock, the vampire doesn’t attack. He hisses softly in surprise, and retreats farther back into the alley, ducking behind a dumpster and watching cautiously until the woman is gone. It’s only when she’s completely passed that the vampire slinks out of hiding again, returning to his stumbling, clumsy hunt for something smaller to eat. 

That settles things for Takashi. This kid is hurt and starving, but he’s got enough common sense or moral fiber or maybe both to not attack innocent human beings. He seems like he could be a good kid, but he needs a hand before he’s either forced into a position he’ll regret, or starves to death on the streets.

Takashi drops down to the streets from his perch on the fire escape, and approaches slowly and carefully. He keeps his hands visible and absolutely not near any weapons, and his voice soft and non-threatening. “Hey there. I’m not going to—”

He doesn’t get to finish. With a surprising amount of speed for how obviously weak he is, the vampire turns and snarls, baring the long incisors his species is well known for. He stumbles back immediately, doing his level best to back away from Takashi as fast as inhumanly possible while not taking his eyes off the perceived threat.

“Woah, woah, woah, woah,” Takashi says immediately, still keeping his hands up and fingers spread, as unthreatening as he can possibly make himself. “Easy, buddy. Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. I want to help. That’s all.”

The vampire is clearly not buying it. He continues to back away and show his fangs warningly. His red eyes glitter in the cast light of the streetlamps, and almost seem to glow in the dark. It would be eerie, if Takashi couldn’t clearly see the dark lines under his eyes, and the way his face seems so drawn and tight. 

This close, he realizes his earlier age estimate of twenty was way over the mark. The kid looks much closer to sixteen, now that he gets a better look at him. 

That answers a few uncomfortable questions about why the kid is out here to begin with, unfortunately. The common myth about vampires ‘turning’ humans is a complete fabrication born out of a mistake. Vampires gave birth to live young, like any other mammal. And like many other animals in other evolutionary paths, they had developed a unique sort of defensive camouflage for their offspring. Up until a certain stage of maturation, young vampires could consume some solid foods, survive in moderately sunny conditions, and retain their ‘baby teeth’ of the non-fanged variety, making them appear human for all intents and purposes. 

Once they had matured, they adjusted to an all-liquid diet and a more nocturnal lifestyle, lost their ‘baby’ teeth to grow in the distinctive fangs, and finally grew into their enhanced strength and agility. But for humans several hundred years ago, who inexplicably saw their supposed human neighbors ‘change’ into so-called monsters that fed on blood, it seemed like they had been taken against their will. 

In the modern era, it was much easier for vampires to protect their offspring and guide them through the process. But this one looks like he’s been living on the streets for months, if his clothes are any indication. If he hadn’t had anybody to teach him how to procure food or take care of himself…

Takashi wonders if he’d ever had any help with this. If he even understood what had happened to him.

“Easy,” he repeats. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help. You’re starving, buddy. I want to fix that.”

“No you don’t,” the kid rasps. His throat sounds dry, and his voice is hoarse. “You’ll kill me like that other guy.” 

Takashi winces despite himself. “That’s not my intention. That guy was killing people. You obviously don’t want to, or you would have attacked that woman.”

The kid looks startled, like he hadn’t realized Takashi was watching. Then he yelps, as he trips over a stray pile of garbage and goes down, crashing to the ground. 

Takashi takes a step forward immediately to help him, but the kid snarls at him again, and snaps his teeth warningly at Takashi’s hand. The meaning has never been clearer, although he is genuinely impressed with how much fire this kid still has in him, even in such an awful state. The kid’s a fighter. No wonder he’s lasted so long.

“Okay,” he says, hands still up placatingly. “Okay, I’m not going to come near you. Promise. I’m going to stay right here, and I’m not going to hurt you. Alright?”

He crouches right where he is, balanced easily on his toes. Very slowly, he drapes his arms carefully over his knees, still fully visible and definitely not near any weaponry.

The kid watches warily, but when Takashi stops coming closer, he stops snarling. Instead, he makes a valiant effort to get to his feet again, trying to push himself up with arms that shake violently. He fails, and tries a second time, and fails again, strength gone. When he realizes he’s not getting up, he resorts to crawling instead, fiercely determined as he drags himself a few precious feet away from Takashi and towards a corner of the alley.

It’s painful to watch. Takashi’s heart goes out to the poor kid. 

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats. Maybe if he says it enough, the kid will actually believe him. “Trust me. I just want to help, okay? Can you tell me your name?”

The kid glares at him balefully. 

“Okay. You can hold on to that for now. When was the last time you fed?”

The kid glares again, but this time it’s more tired than before. His strength gives out a moment later, and he collapses in the corner. When he tries to reach out again to drag himself further, his fingers scrape weakly on the grimy pavement, but he doesn’t make any headway. 

A soft, pained whine escapes him, and he glances anxiously in Takashi’s direction. The fear in his eyes is real. He’s starving, incapable of escaping, and confronted with a known killer of at least one other cryptid. He’s probably terrified, but still doing his best to hide it.

Takashi just keeps talking and staying where he is, hoping to reinforce that he’s safe. “I just want to help you, buddy. That’s all. Have you only been eating the rats around here?”

The kid just stares at him. He’s not even glaring anymore; he seems too exhausted for anger. He might be in shock. Takashi needs to help this kid sooner rather than later. 

“Have you had any human blood?”

“Didn’t kill anyone,” the kid whispers hoarsely. There’s a vicious defensiveness in his tone, for a moment, but then his energy seems to burn out again.

“I’m not saying you did,” Takashi says patiently. “But human blood is healthiest for you right now. And you need way more blood than rats can give you. Have you had more than a pint at any one time?” 

The kid stares at him again. He struggles once more to push himself up, fails after barely rising an inch, and then wearily squeezes his eyes shut. Everything about him seems resigned. He knows he can’t run and he’s not strong enough to fight. 

And Takashi just can’t get through to this kid. 

But there might be one more way. “I’ll be right back,” he says, low and soothing. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Give me a chance and I will. Promise.”

The kid doesn’t answer. His eyes snap open when he hears the deliberate scuff of Takashi’s boots, but Takashi doesn’t come any closer, and after a moment he stills again as he watches Takashi walk away.

Takashi has no intention of leaving him there. Daylight is only maybe an hour and a half away, and the kid is in no condition to move himself. Young as he is, and weak as he is, sunlight is sure to kill him. If he stays there, he’ll die, if some other predator doesn’t find him first. 

He’s not letting that happen. Not when it’s depressingly apparent the more he sees that the kid doesn’t understand his own dietary or physical needs enough to take care of himself. 

He steps into the coffee shop, and the bored barista looks up from her college textbook with a yawn. Takashi pays for a bottle of juice out of the fridge off to the side, and asks for an extra cup to go with it. She hands over the styrofoam cup with another yawn, not questioning once he stuffs a nice tip into the jar on the counter. 

By the time he gets back to the alley only five minutes have passed, but the kid has barely moved. A few more scrapes in the grime indicate he’d tried to take advantage of Takashi’s absence to make an escape, but he’s too weak to manage. His eyes crack open again at Takashi’s approach, though, and he watches warily as Takashi crouches again in the exact same spot as before.

“Hang on,” he says, still keeping his tone calm and soothing. “I’ll help you in a second, alright?” 

He’s already rolling up his right sleeve, and the kid’s watching with obvious confusion. The confusion turns to fear when Takashi pulls out the knife, and he makes a violent scramble to push himself up again and flee, showing his teeth and snarling again. When that doesn’t work, he collapses on his side once more and squeezes his eyes shut, clearly waiting for the killing stroke. 

“Relax, kid,” Takashi says patiently. “This isn’t for you. I promise, I’m not hurting you.” He digs the blade of the knife into his own arm, very carefully cutting into veins just below the elbow, and then settles the styrofoam cup just underneath. 

The kid’s nostrils flare wide immediately, and his eyes snap open. He watches with open shock as Takashi clenches his right hand into a fist and carefully massages his own arm, encouraging blood to dribble a little faster into the cup. The hunger in his eyes and expression is obvious, but there’s also revulsion in there, which is...unusual. 

Not important at the moment. The first order of business is getting the kid fed, and earning his trust. They can tackle other issues later.

Takashi’s very careful with the bloodletting. He knows how much a human can lose and still be functional, and at what point he’s crossing the line into dangerous territory, and he monitors extremely carefully. This method isn’t exactly the cleanest, but he does the best he can, and when he’s bled as much as he’s willing to, the cup is still decently full. He finishes up, wraps the cut in some of the gauze he always keeps on hand for emergency patch jobs, and rolls down his jacket sleeve again, neatly hiding away the damage. 

When he’s done, he picks up the styrofoam cup, slinks just close enough to get within range, and sets in down directly in front of the kid. Then he backs away as carefully as he’d come, just to make it clear he’s still not interested in hurting the kid in any way. 

“There you go,” he says. “That’s all yours. If you need me to help you sit up, I will. Otherwise, I’ll stay over here, okay?”

The kid stares at him, wide-eyed. 

“I’m serious,” Takashi says, very patiently. “You’re starving, buddy. I’m trying to help. But it would be easier if you could sit up to drink it.”

The kid doesn’t seem too keen on letting Takashi close even now. But it’s clear hunger, and a ready source of food right there, is beginning to override his caution. After a moment he nods shakily, eyes never leaving the cup. “O...okay.”

“Okay, I can come closer to help you sit up?” Takashi clarifies. 

Silence for a moment. Then, “Yes.”

So he does. Very carefully, like he’s closing in on a wounded animal, Takashi eases closer. He gets his hands under the kid’s shoulders and helps haul him upright until the vampire is sitting back against the alley wall. The kid’s hands shake as Takashi hands him the cup. And then he backs away again.

The kid stares down at the cup for all of two seconds before he takes a hesitant sip. Once he does, it’s like something hotwired in his brain takes over, and he’s drinking with a fervor that’s almost alarming. The desperation with which he finishes off even that little cup of blood is depressing, and the way he tears it apart piece by piece after, trying to lick every single drop, every remaining speck, is heartbreaking. In two minutes the contents are completely gone, and the cup is nothing more than little shreds littered around him in the grimy alley dirt. 

Takashi watches and waits, patient, sipping his own juice and ignoring the throb of pain in his arm. He doesn’t try to take the cup away or insist the kid is done, and he lets him rip it apart without argument. The kid is starving. He needs everything he can get. And most importantly, he needs to know Takashi is on his side. It’s the only way he’s going to get through this at all.

When the kid is done, there’s a little more color in his skin, and his hands don’t shake quite so badly. He’s not even remotely out of the water yet, but a source of blood from a healthy individual certainly helps. Eating rats that have been feeding on garbage is akin to eating junk food, for vampires; there’s no substance to it. But even a little healthy human blood will go a long way for a vampire.

“Feel better?” Takashi asks.

The kid doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t snarl, or regard Takashi like he’s a monster, either. Progress. 

He does look unhappy, though, and that look of revulsion is back. Takashi wonders at that. He wonders again if the kid even fully understands what’s happening to him. The thought of the kid dealing with this alone makes him a little sick inside.

But then again, he might not be alone. Takashi glances upwards at the sky, and decides to move on. “Okay, kid. You know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”

The kid watches him warily. But after a long, slow, hesitant moment, he nods.

“You know I’m trying to help you, right?”

After a moment, another hesitant nod. 

“Okay. Thanks for trusting me.” Takashi offers him a reassuring smile, and then continues. “My name is Takashi. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. Do you have something I can call you?”

Silence for a moment. The kid stares at him, seems to be sizing him up, considering. After a moment he whispers, “Keith.”

“Alright, Keith. The sun is going to rise in a little over an hour. Do you have a safe place to go?”

Another moment of hesitation. This time, the kid answers the question with a tired shake of his head. 

“Alright,” he says. “Is there anyone in the community I can take you to?”

Another head shake, this one quicker, more insistent. 

Takashi frowns. “Where have you been staying for daylight hours?”

Keith considers for a moment, before finally answering in the same weak, harsh voice. It still sounds dried out, despite having just consumed a significant amount of liquid. “Wherever I can.”

Not good. The kid had to come from somewhere around here. But then, seeing how weak he’d been earlier, maybe his last daylight hide away was a place where he couldn’t protect himself anymore. Takashi is hesitant to even try to find a hidey-hole around here to stick him back in. 

His heart breaks for the poor kid. Keith doesn’t seem to have anyone. He can’t be more than sixteen. No one should have to deal with this alone.

Takashi considers his options, but he’s sort of limited on time. He finally makes a snap decision.

“Okay, Keith. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to take you someplace safe for the day. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you. But I don’t want to leave you out here on your own either in your condition. It’s not safe. Okay?”

Keith looks wary again at that. His lips peel back to expose the ends of the infamous fangs his species is known for.

“I promise, you’re not going to be a prisoner,” Takashi says. “The moment nightfall comes, you can leave again. I just don’t want you to die out here. This isn’t your fault. You shouldn’t have to worry about dying because you’re hungry or can’t find someplace safe, okay?”

The poor kid seems more confused by that than anything else. “Why?” he rasps, after a moment. “You don’t know me. I’m a...I drink blood. Why are you helping?”

“You look like you could use a hand,” Takashi says honestly. “And I know how to help. So...” he trails off and shrugs.

The kid still seems too stunned to process. Takashi doesn’t blame him. Even with something in his stomach, he’s still starving, hurting, and scared to death.

“It’s going to be okay, Keith,” he promises, patient and reassuring. “Everything is going to be okay. I will help you, if you let me. Alright?”

The kid hesitates for just a moment longer, but then nods. “Okay…”

“Alright. You’re gonna be just fine. Can you stand if I help you?”

Keith tries, but even with Takashi’s assistance, he can’t get his feet under him. A little blood in his system may keep him from being dangerously ill, but it’s not enough yet to give him any kind of strength. He does his best, and Takashi is repeatedly impressed with just how much fight this kid has in him, but he fails.

“Okay,” Takashi reassures patiently, as the kid shudders, exhausted and sickly and so obviously frustrated with his situation. “It’s fine. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” 

So he carries Keith instead, piggy-back. The kid is not happy with it. It’s clear he’s independent as all get-out, and doesn’t enjoy this kind of treatment, or having to rely on a stranger. Takashi just reassures him over and over again that it’s fine, that this isn’t a problem, and things will be okay. 

Thankfully, there’s not a lot of pedestrian traffic just yet at this hour. The commuters will be out in force soon, but for now there’s no one out to question what looks, for all intents and purposes, like the kidnapping of a minor at the hour of so-late-it’s-early. Small favors.

He finally gets Keith to the car and settles him into the back seat, letting the kid stretch out as comfortably as possible. He shrugs out of his jacket, and after removing half a dozen dangerous weapons from it, tosses it gently over Keith’s shivering form. The kid almost immediately burrows into it, dragging part of it over his head to hide his eyes, and Takashi frowns at that. It’s still forty-five minutes to sunrise, but for something as light-sensitive as a vampire, now might already be too close for comfort. 

“It’ll be fine, buddy,” he reassures for the hundredth time, as he settles into the driver’s seat. “We’re going somewhere safe. Promise.”

The early morning commuters are just starting to head out on the roads, and traffic is heavier than Takashi would like for five in the morning. He heads for his own apartment regardless, taking any shortcut he can think of to make it back home before the sun comes. 

Allura’s penthouse would probably be safer, but Takashi had barely gotten Keith to trust him as it was, and that trust is still enormously fragile. The kid’s vulnerable, scared, and suspicious. He doesn’t want to imagine how Keith would react if he was taken to a complex with a dozen or more security guards, cryptids, ex-military, and a hundred talking mice, but he can reasonably predict it would be ‘not good.’ He’d seen how viciously Keith had shaken his head, when Takashi had offered to take him to someone in the community. 

So for now, Takashi’s place. It’s closer anyway, and they’re on a time limit.

He makes it home in record time. By now, the sky is more dark blue than black, and he can see a faint haze of light on the horizon if he looks hard enough. Keith doesn’t answer when he tells them they’ve arrived, and when he cracks open the back door and checks, the kid’s asleep. Or probably more like unconscious, what with the closeness of the day. As weak and emaciated as he is, the daylight hours and the sun would probably have a far stronger effect on him than usual. 

“Don’t worry, Keith,” he says, as he lifts the kid out of the backseat as gently as possible. “Almost here. You’re gonna be fine.”

Keith doesn’t answer. Takashi’s not even certain if he can hear or understand. Do vampires dream in these states? Do they have any consciousness or awareness at all? He has no idea. Nor is it important at the moment. He adjusts his jacket carefully over the kid’s head and torso again, just to be safe, and heads up to his apartment.

By some miracle, nobody is active in the building yet as he heads upstairs to his rooms. It lets him once again neatly circumvent explaining what definitely looks like kidnapping. He manages to balance Keith with one arm while he gets through his multiple locks into the apartment itself—it’s depressingly easy, with how light the kid currently is. 

Once safely inside, he kicks the door closed behind himself, and hastily settles Keith on the couch. The kid doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle at being moved. Takashi leaves his jacket over the kid’s exposed face and hands while he heads to the spare bedroom to prepare it.

Three years ago he’d chosen this apartment for its defensiveness, but also because it had come fully furnished. It had, among other things, another bed in the spare bedroom. Takashi hasn’t had a single guest stay in the three years he’s lived here; he’s too paranoid about being found by the Covenant to risk having anyone see the place. Allura and Coran know about his apartment and have been here a few times to drop him off after missions that left him exhausted or injured, but that’s the extent of it.

So the spare bedroom has usually functioned as storage for his extra weapons, reagents, and other necessities for his cryptid community work. He’s always meant to get rid of the bed at some point, since it took up too much space. He’s never quite gotten around to it, with how busy he’s been. Now he’s glad he hasn’t. 

He moves quickly, clearing the assorted blades he’d spread out for cleaning off the blankets and stashing them back in the living room. Spare bins for reagents, poisons, antidotes, herbs, and the like go next. He’s not certain if any of them could make Keith sick, but he doesn’t want to poison the kid by accident until he knows for certain. He finds the thickest, darkest spare blanket he can and fastens it over the window, blocking out as much potential sunlight as possible. 

The result is a dark little cave in his apartment, where Keith should be able to rest safely and comfortably through the day. 

Satisfied, Takashi collects the kid from the couch. He’s just in time, as the first rays of sunlight are beginning to slip through the drawn drapes of the living room windows into the apartment. Takashi carries Keith away from the invasive sunlight and into the darker room, settles him on the bed, and tosses a lighter blanket over him. 

“Safe,” Takashi breathes, with a sigh of relief. 

It’s still not over by a long shot, and there’s a lot left to tackle regarding this kid. But Keith will probably be all but dead to the world until dusk tonight, so for now he has at least a few hours to act. 

And his first order of business is sleep. He’s been quite literally up all night, on top of his job yesterday, and by now he’s exhausted. He wearily closes the spare bedroom door, leaving it open just a crack—just to reinforce Keith isn’t trapped, even though the kid would currently have no conscious understanding of that one way or another. 

He pauses only long enough to pull out a real first aid kit and bandage his self-inflicted blood-letting wound. He’d been careful with how he’d cut himself, and the wound looks clean and isn’t infected. He cares for it anyway, just to be safe, and determines to monitor his health for the next day or so. Even if he had taken precautions, blood loss is no joke, and he doesn’t want to have inadvertently sabotaged himself. 

But for now everything is fine. He changes into comfortable clothes and finally, finally, lets himself collapse on his bed for a few hours of well earned rest.

Chapter Text

  “We weren’t friends, although we might be eventually, but there are some burdens no one should be required to carry alone.”
—Antimony Price, That Ain’t Witchcraft 

Back in the impressively secure apartment in Garrison City, but this time with a vampire in the guest room

His alarm wakes him at ten thirty.

Takashi is loath to get up at all. He’s only had maybe four and a half hours of sleep. But he has classes to teach in the afternoon, and a lot of work to get done before that. So he drags himself out of bed, powered by sheer force of will. 

He checks on his unexpected guest first thing. The spare bedroom is still nice and dark, thanks to the blanket over the window. Keith hasn’t moved even a fraction of an inch from the position Takashi had laid him down in. He sleeps almost literally like the dead, to the point that it’s eerie. Due to the drastically slowed respiratory system of vampires, the kid is only breathing about once a minute, which means he’s alarmingly silent and frighteningly still. Takashi can definitely see how people back in the day might have confused them for being truly deceased.

But Keith is definitely still alive, and as far as Takashi can tell, as well off as he can be while still starving. He should be fine here until nightfall.

But I need to get him something to eat, Takashi decides. I can’t give him any more of my blood without risking health problems, myself. Last night had been something of an emergency, but it definitely can’t be the norm. 

There are ways to get around that, at least. It will be one of his errands for today. 

He checks the blood-letting wound again, but it looks like it’s healing nicely enough. He probably won’t even bother Allura about it. She could heal it easily, he’s sure, but healing tends to drain her of energy, and sometimes it causes her feathers to fall out. He’d rather not bother her unless it’s serious. 

There is something else she can help him with, though, so he texts her with his request. “Do you have any connections with CPS? Or maybe missing persons?”

Her answer comes quickly. “I do. Is this for a mission?”

“Sort of. Can you see if a kid named Keith went missing recently? Anything about him?”

“Last name?”

“Not sure. Only got his first. I think it would have been in the past year or so.”

The next response is slower in coming. “Cryptid?” 

Now it’s Takashi’s turn to hesitate. “Yes, but he’ll be in human channels.” There were other connections and networks for cryptids, who had their own way of communicating with each other on things they didn’t want humans to see. 

Takashi doubts Keith would be in that network, though. Not with the way he’d been acting last night.

“I’ll ask, but I don’t know how much I’ll get. Urgent?”

“Very. Thank you.”

“I’ll contact them immediately. I’ll want an explanation for this later, though.”

“I promise I’ll explain when I can.” 

She doesn’t answer, but Takashi trusts her to handle that discreetly. 

His next order of business is ensuring he can feed a starving vampire. For obvious reasons, his dietary options for Keith are limited. Animal blood would be easier to obtain from a butcher, but Keith is malnourished and young enough that he’s probably still growing. He’ll need human blood at the very least to recover, and it would probably be healthier for him to keep feeding on it after, at least until he’s in his mid twenties. 

Fortunately, there are ways to get access to human blood that don’t involve actually killing humans. Modern technology and the advent of blood drives, blood banks, and ways to safely store human blood for medical usage mean people these days are willingly giving away their liquid insides for a good cause. In this case, the good cause is going to be feeding a starving teenage vampire. 

The hard part is having a resource to get those materials. Fortunately, Takashi knows a guy.

The docks are as cliche a place as possible for a semi-illegal under the table trading business to be set up, but it’s cliche for a reason. With hundreds of shipments in and out every day, it’s easy to move goods and get one’s hands on items that they maybe shouldn’t. It’s where Takashi’s contact operates out of, so he drives down to meet him there. At this time of day, he’ll definitely be there.

The docks are full of activity by the time Takashi arrives, but it’s mostly dockworkers streaming out for a lunch break. That’s perfect, since there will be less witnesses around. He heads to a set of dockhouses where his contact has a legitimate shipping business, as well as a...less legitimate one. 

It’s not long before he notices the small shadow soaring over him from building to building, and glances up to spot a creature staring down at him. The uninformed might think they were looking at a raven’s head. The uninformed would be wrong. A raven had no business sporting a pair of tall, catlike ears, or the hindquarters of a fluffy maine coon. 

“Hey, Beezer,” Takashi greets, waving at the creature. “Want to run ahead and tell Rolo I’m coming? And also not to try climbing out the window this time?”

The church griffin squawks at him once, and promptly begins preening its wings, with all the energy of a cat feigning disinterest. Lesser griffins somehow manage to combine all the most obnoxious characteristics of both cats and birds into one package, and they’re too smart for their own good. Takashi’s not really sure how any of them make good pets. But some people love them, for some inexplicable reason. 

Takashi rolls his eyes and continues along towards the office. Beezer, sensing his indifference is being ignored, squawks indignantly, swoops down to buzz Takashi’s head, and darts ahead to the office in question. Takashi scowls a little as he brushes his now messy bangs back into place.

By the time he makes it to the office, Rolo is waiting for him at the desk. Beezer flops out comfortably over the papers, making odd cooing noises as Rolo pets him. “Hey, Shirogane,” he drawls. “What can I do for you today?”

“I need to get a few things,” Takashi says. “And I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s Takashi.” 

“Uh-huh,” Rolo says. “Right. My bad.” Takashi could almost believe he’s genuinely apologetic. He’s never heard anyone affect both casual laziness and a weird sort of friendly charm all in one quite the way Rolo does, but it works. He’s a skilled businessman, excellent at putting people at ease. 

He’s also a masterful smuggler, thief and con-artist, which is the actual reason Takashi is here.

Rolo is human, but a human who’s been a cryptid sympathizer for years. He and his partner in crime, a succubus named Nyma, have had a little business on the side for quite some time now. They make more than a little extra cash finding and selling foods, spell components, charms, and a dozen other cryptid-specific items that would be questionable or outright illegal in human markets. 

Rolo handles the business end of things, holding down the fort in human territory. He has a silver tongue that could talk him out of almost any predicament, and is a little too good at getting five-finger discounts. Nyma, with her succubus-granted persuasive telepathic abilities and pheromones that could bedazzle anyone attracted to women, could convince most men to hand over almost anything they were interested in stealing. If you needed something fast, if your choice in meals was questionable, if you wanted information, you could almost certainly get it from Rolo and Nyma. 

For a price, of course. A hefty one.

That was actually how Takashi had first caught them, almost two years ago now. After a mission Allura had given him, he’d recovered a number of expensive artifacts with residual magics. Rolo and Nyma had their eyes on the same prize, and had managed to steal one of the artifacts, a little sapphire lion statue, while Takashi had been preoccupied. They had not anticipated Takashi to retaliate so quickly, which was when they’d all learned he was immune to most of Nyma’s charms. 

It had been an eye-opening day for everyone involved, really.

But although Takashi had been able to subdue them easily and recover the stolen artifact, he hadn’t killed them. They were thieves, but they knew how to stay under the radar, and not catch Covenant attention. More importantly, Takashi had known even then that their cryptid black market connections could prove invaluable.

They had eventually worked out a truce of sorts. Takashi doesn’t turn them in, and lets them keep operating as they always have. In return, he gets information out of them for free when pursuing leads, and access to purchase items under the table when he needs them. 

“So what can I get for you today, Takashi?” Rolo asks, with the same laconic attitude. “Unicorn water? Bezoars? Anti-charms? Maybe a little liquid mercury?”

“Blood,” Takashi says firmly, in no mood for Rolo’s upselling today. “And I need it today.”

Rolo raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? What kind?”

“Human.”

Both brows raise at that. “Planning on getting hurt sometime soon, Shi—Takashi? Stocking up for transfusions?”

“It’s not for me,” Takashi says. 

“Planning on hurting someone else soon?” Rolo tosses out, unfazed. “Are they gonna need transfusions?” 

“It’s not for an injury,” Takashi says, crossing his arms. “Can you get it or not?”

Rolo raises his hands placatingly. “Easy, there. I get it. None of my business. Works for me. Need any specific type? A, B, AB, O, positive, negative?”

“No preference, but nothing rare.” Takashi needs to make sure Keith is fed, but that doesn’t mean he needs to take an already difficult to obtain blood type from somebody who might desperately need a transfusion later. “Murder free,” he adds, warningly.

Rolo actually looks hurt at that. Takashi doesn’t even think it’s completely feigned. “My stock is always murder-free, you know that.”

Takashi does, actually. It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t mind dealing with Rolo and Nyma. They might be underhanded thieves, and they will charm, sneak, seduce, trick, and talk their way into obtaining most of their merchandise. But they don’t kill. 

“Just making sure,” Takashi says. “I’ll need at least twelve pints to start. Can you have it before three?”

“I can have it in an hour, but I need to make a call,” Rolo says, smiling. “Nyma will pick it up for you. But a rush delivery is gonna cost you extra.”

“Of course it will,” Takashi says. “Let’s hear the price.”

Rolo names it. It’s steep, as promised, and Rolo is a sharp haggler. Takashi manages to bring it down a little, mostly to keep Rolo on his toes, but he’s not really worried about the money. He’d stolen a lot from the Covenant when he’d run, and has more than enough to cover the bill. Keith’s life is on the line. It’s a price worth paying.

“Go get yourself some lunch and come back in an hour,” Rolo drawls, once Takashi hands over half the cash—a down payment of sorts, until he has the goods. He looks smugly satisfied, like he always does after a good sale. “We’ll have the merch for you by then.”

“Will do,” Takashi says, as he heads out the door. Beezer squawks at him on his way out, and Rolo laughs.

There’s not much else for him to do at the moment, and now that he thinks about it, he is starving. So he takes Rolo’s advice and heads to a local sub shop to grab something to eat. 

While he’s there, he gets a text from Allura. “Sent you all the information my contact can find. Hope it helps. Still require explanation.” 

Intrigued, he flips over to his email app while he eats. A new submission from Allura titled only ‘request’ contains everything that could possibly be found about Keith. There’s only one match with any data in the past year, and it’s more than Takashi had expected, but still not all that much.

Name: Keith Kogane

Age: 16

Birthdate: October 23rd, 2003

Mother: Unknown

Father: Deceased, Death Date April 8th, 2008

Known living relatives: N/A

Reported missing 8 months ago

The attached photograph of a surly-looking ten year old is definitely the same kid he’d found last night in the alley. He’s got darker eyes here—the red pigmentation wouldn’t have come out at this age. No fangs either—he’s young enough to still be sporting his baby teeth. But that’s still the same face, the same dark hair, the same fierce look in his eyes.

Takashi frowns at the statistics, and the frown deepens as he skims through the brief paragraphs of history that Allura’s contact had been able to find. Entered into the foster system at five years of age, after his father’s death and without evidence of known living relatives. Bounced around multiple homes over the next ten and a half years. Known anger issues and had a tendency to start fights and disobey orders. Didn’t deal well with authority. Despite that, Allura’s contact assessed that by all reports, most foster families he’d been with had done their best to help and had genuinely wanted him. Keith had just never fit in properly, frequently pushed others away, and never fully trusted anyone. 

That was a fairly textbook case of a parentless kid dealing with grief and trauma, so it’s not a surprise that nobody noticed anything off. For Takashi, it also seems pretty clearly the result of a cryptid living in a human environment and struggling to fit in, even if he never understood why. 

He’d disappeared eight months ago, from a town two states away. No indication of kidnapping or foul play. His last foster family feared he’d run away, and his track record would support that. 

Based on his age and his species, it’s possible he’d also started growing into his more inhuman characteristics around that time. Takashi would bet his entire fortune on that being the catalyst for the kid bolting. If he’d only been five when he’d been put into foster care, there’s hardly any chance he would remember that his parents hadn’t been human, or that he’d understand what was happening to him. He’d probably been terrified, and scared to death of anyone finding out. 

Takashi closes his email app with a frustrated sigh. This kid needs help. Takashi just hopes he can get through to him before it’s too late.

First things first, he reminds himself. Step one: get him healthy. You’re already working on that. 

He’s surprised to find that reviewing Keith’s data had killed plenty of time, and his hour has already passed. So he heads back to the docks and Rolo’s office. Unsurprisingly, Nyma’s there this time, currently cuddling the now affectionate Beezer as he coos in her arms. 

“Shirogane,” she greets, nodding to him. She doesn’t try to turn on the charm with him anymore—not that she would have to with most men to begin with. She could smell like day old garbage and dress in a potato sack, and her succubus pheromones would still drive any person attracted to women wild with love bordering on lust. They’d remember her for days afterwards as the most attractive woman they’d ever seen, too. She’d admitted that on some days it was extraordinarily annoying. 

“Nyma,” he greets, nodding back. “And it’s Takashi.”

“Right, right,” she says. “I always forget. Y’know, that whole murderer family thing.”

That stings—it always does—but Nyma has a perfectly valid reason for being cautious. Her species has been marked down as ‘demons’ for generations, and the Covenant love to hunt them for ‘inducing sinful, wicked ways.’ Granted, she’s not exactly helping her own stereotype, since she uses her abilities to steal most things she wants, but still.

He doesn’t comment on that though, and instead merely raises an eyebrow, asking bluntly, “Do you want my money or not?”

“Of course we want your money,” Rolo says, placating. “Nyma’s just jokin’ around. We got your order, just like you wanted.”

Nyma nods in agreement, kicking the cooler next to her gently. “There you go. Twelve packs. A, B, and O, all positive, all relatively common. No murder, won’t be missed.” 

Takashi doesn’t ask where they got it. As long as they didn’t steal it from a hospital or clinic critically low on blood, or directly from a human being, he doesn’t want to know. He kneels down to inspect the contents of the cooler, ignoring Beezer’s indignant caw as Nyma stops petting him to focus on the transaction.

“All here,” Takashi agrees, counting the packs. Four of each blood type. He’s not sure if antigens have any effect on vampire health, but it’s probably best to have the variety, just to be safe. 

“If you’re satisfied with the inspection, then we’ll need the remaining fifty percent…” Rolo drawls. He sounds lazy, but he’s focused with laser intensity on Takashi.

“Right, right.” Takashi dutifully hands over the remainder of the cash, and collects his cooler full of human blood. He wishes he’d done weirder things in the past than this, but it can’t even crack his top ten.

As he hefts up the cooler though, he considers. “Keep an open line on these,” he says finally. “I’m not sure if I’ll need more, or how much.” He knows the theory behind vampire health and biology, between rigorous studies of how to kill them with the Covenant, and supplemental information from Allura’s archives. But he’s yet to actually have spoken to a vampire first hand, or know one in the community. He knows vampires don’t consume much blood when healthy, but he doesn’t know how much it’ll take to even get Keith back on his feet. Better to be prepared.

Rolo merely raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head. “Y’know what? I don’t want to know where it’s going.”

Nyma grins. “I can definitely get you more. I’ve got an in now. Just say when, and be sure to have another roll of cash ready to go.” 

Beezer caws indignantly, and paws at Nyma’s arm, demanding her attention again. She smiles and goes back to petting him. He coos with pleasure, then gives Takashi a baleful look, as if to say, move along, then. 

Takashi rolls his eyes. “That’s my cue to go. Stay out of trouble, you three.”

“Always do!” Rolo calls after him, grinning.

Getting the blood home isn’t difficult. The cooler looks like the sort of thing he might take to a picnic, if he was a normal human being. Nobody looks twice at him as he drives it back home and carts it up to his apartment. He stows the twelve blood packs carefully away in his fridge, next to a depressing lack of groceries.

Need to remember to go food shopping, he thinks, idly. Not that he does all that much cooking for himself. Most of it burns. Cooking had never been one of those skills the Covenant had deemed essential, and it wasn’t as easy for him to pick up as target practice or stealth kills.

A quick check in on his unexpected guest shows that Keith is still dead to the world, almost literally. He still hasn’t moved from the exact same position Takashi had first set him down in. It’s frankly a little creepy. 

A glance at the clock tells him he won’t be able to stick around much longer, though. He’s got classes to teach soon—one mid-afternoon for many of his college patrons, and an after-school one for the younger kids. His evening slots are actually taken too, tonight, which means he won’t be back when Keith is most likely going to wake. 

It’s not ideal, but he can’t dodge around his other responsibilities. Instead, he grabs a pad of paper and pen, and leaves a note on the pillow next to Keith’s head, where he’ll see it the moment he wakes up. “Hey, Keith. I had to go to work, but you’re welcome to stay here if you want a place to be safe. Just be careful about touching anything in the boxes in the living room, some of it could hurt you. If you don’t want to stay, you’re not a prisoner and you’re free to leave, but please lock the door behind you. Either way there’s packs of blood in the fridge, help yourself. Towels in the hall closet if you want a shower. I’ll be back by 10:30PM. -Takashi.” 

His training is not exactly thrilled with the prospect of leaving a virtual unknown behind in his home—the home he’d spent three years hiding from the world, the home he’s been paranoid about showing anyone. His instincts say otherwise. The kid needs a safe place and someone he can trust, and that starts by showing him he can be trusted in return. 

So he packs up his things, locks the door behind him, and heads out to work.

Classes go well, at least. There’s a weird sort of dichotomy in teaching self defense. He’s always proud every time one of his students masters a technique, and at the same time he hopes they never have to use it. But at least they feel safer, and more in control, every time they leave their classes with ‘Ryou Tanaka.’

His evening classes with the cryptid community as Takashi Shirogane are much smaller, but thankfully today, no less successful. These are less about teaching specific martial arts or physical defense moves, and more about teaching other cryptids how the Covenant thinks. He doesn’t have many students here yet, but the four that come to learn from him tonight are still four more than he’s had in the past, and they’re cautiously trusting of him. It’s a start.

Still, he can’t deny that he’s relieved when he wishes the last of them a safe trip home around ten at night, and can finally close up the studio. He’s remained dutifully focused on his work, but Keith’s been at the back of his mind all night. The kid’s probably been up for a couple hours now, and Takashi can’t help but fret over him. Did he see the note? Did he eat something? Was he even still there, or had he bolted the moment he’d regained consciousness? 

He’s cautiously optimistic as he unlocks his apartment door and lets himself in, snapping on the kitchen lights. “Keith? You here, bud?”

Silence. Takashi sets his bag down on one of the kitchen chairs, and pokes his head into the guest bedroom. It’s extremely dark, but he can still make out the now empty bed, and the light blanket he’d tossed over the kid earlier, discarded in a crumpled heap on the side.

He frowns. He doesn’t hear the shower running, and the bathroom door is open, so the kid’s not in there. He heads back to the kitchen, and checks the fridge, counting the blood packs. All twelve are there, unopened. 

His frown grows deeper, and disappointment pangs in his chest. He can’t say he’s surprised, exactly. The kid had been scared to death, last night, and his trust of Takashi had been a fragile thing. Takashi had promised him he could leave, and that he wasn’t a prisoner. If the kid didn’t want his help, he couldn’t make Keith take it. 

He can’t say he’s surprised, but he really wishes he could have made a difference for Keith anyway. The poor kid needed help. Takashi doesn’t like the thought of him being back out on the streets, starving. 

He sighs, and shuts the fridge door. “What am I going to do with all this extra blood, then?” he mutters out loud.

“You’re a Shirogane.”

Takashi’s already whirled in place, police baton half drawn, before he realizes it’s Keith. He immediately aborts the effort, but not before Keith recoils several steps, baring his fangs with a startled snarl and glancing at the door.

“Woah,” Takashi says immediately, disappearing the baton back into one of his pockets and raising his hands in a placating ‘I’m unarmed’ gesture. “Sorry, easy there. You startled me. You, uh...probably shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

For that matter, how had Keith snuck up on him? He’s usually got better awareness of his surroundings than this, and the kid is obviously weak. Then again, preternatural stillness, nocturnal vision, and only having to breathe once a minute probably go a long way towards making Keith hard to see or hear in a good shadowy corner, even when he is sick. It was one of the reasons vampires had such a fearsome reputation as night hunters to begin with.

Keith doesn’t answer. He glances uneasily at the door again, then back to Takashi. Takashi can all but see the gears whirring in his head, as he tries to calculate if he can make it to the door before he’s killed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Keith,” Takashi reiterates again. “I’m trying to help. I promise.”

“You’re a Shirogane,” Keith repeats, disbelieving. “I saw your stuff around here. Don’t try to deny it.”

It hurts a little, to hear Keith bite his name out like a curse word. Takashi’s used to most cryptids using his name that way, but this feels different. He’s really trying to forge a connection with this kid—Keith needs one with somebody, if he’s going to survive. His name getting in the way is a frustrating roadblock that he can’t do anything about. 

But he keeps his expression as calm as possible for Keith’s benefit as he responds, “And?”

“They’re...they’re murderers,” Keith says, after a moment. “For people who aren’t human. People like me. Everyone who’s not human knows that.” 

“You’re right,” Takashi says quietly. “That’s why I left.” 

Keith’s uneasiness spikes at the admission, but deflates into obvious confusion when Takashi finishes. “I...what?”

“I’d be happy to explain,” Takashi says. “But how about we sit down?” Keith’s managing to stand on his own currently, but Takashi doesn’t miss the way his whole body is trembling with the effort of staying upright. The kid needs to conserve his strength. 

And speaking of...“And you should eat,” he adds, gesturing over his shoulder to the fridge behind him. “I got you some blood today. Did you see my note?”

“I...yes.” Keith swallows. Takashi can see the blatant hunger in his eyes. “But you…you’re a Shirogane. Maybe you drugged them.”

Takashi’s heart goes out to the poor kid. He wonders what Keith’s been through, to be so blatantly suspicious to begin with. He can imagine his family’s reputation isn’t helping.

“Keith,” he says, slowly and patiently, “If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it last night in the alley, or any time in the past fourteen hours that you’ve been passed out on my guest bed. The same goes for anything else you might have heard regarding the Covenant ‘studying test subjects.’ I ran away from them. I’m not interested in hurting you. I promise.” 

It’s a blunt form of reassurance, but one that Keith seems to resonate with. The kid looks more comfortable now that he’s been reminded that he could have been killed at any point in the past fifteen hours and wasn’t, than when Takashi was repeating soothing ‘it’s okays’ and ‘you’re gonna be fines.’ 

It’s a little sad. But Takashi will work with whatever it takes for Keith to understand he’s not an enemy here.

“Nothing’s been tampered with, you can check the seals on the packs and open them yourself if you want,” Takashi continues, as he opens the fridge door to display the blood to the hungry vampire. “Do you have a preference on type?”

Keith blinks, licks his lips, and stares at the collection of blood. “Um...I don’t…I don’t know.”

“Well, then there’s no time like the present to learn,” Takashi says, as he removes the nearest pack—A positive—from the fridge and places it on the kitchen table. He gives it a gentle push, and it slides across the table towards the other end, Keith’s side.

For a moment, Keith just stares at it. Takashi can see that he’s desperate to eat, in the way his whole body trembles with the stress of just standing, and in the way his fingers twitch, like he wants to grab for it. But he doesn’t move. And that same look of revulsion is back, from last night.

“Kid—you okay?” Takashi asks, voice gentle. 

Keith doesn’t answer.

“You can have it in a bowl or a cup, if you want,” Takashi offers lightly. “They’re in those cabinets there. You can nuke it in the microwave too, if you prefer it warm.”

“And that’s not going to creep you out?” Keith finally asks. He manages to tear his eyes away from the pack on the table. “Me just...drinking blood in front of you?”

“If I was creeped out by it, I wouldn’t have let you drink mine,” Takashi points out calmly, gesturing to his right arm, and the bandage hidden beneath his sleeve. “Trust me, Keith. I’ve seen and done a lot weirder.” 

The look of revulsion grows even stronger, if possible, and Keith drops his gaze to stare at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Hey. Bud. Look at me.” Keith looks up slowly, and Takashi says firmly, “You don’t have anything to feel bad about here, okay? I willingly helped you out, because you needed it.”

Keith doesn’t look like he believes it.

“Keith...you understand what you are, right?” Takashi asks slowly. 

Keith nods after a moment. “Vampire.”

“Right,” Takashi says. “So you should understand that drinking blood is a perfectly normal part of your survival, and you don’t have to feel bad about it, okay? But you do need to eat, buddy. You’re starving. It’s going to take a lot of feedings before you’re healthy again. I promise it’s not going to weird me out, I just want you to feel better. Got it?”

Keith swallows. He doesn’t look completely reassured, and Takashi is sure there’s a story there to get into. Whatever it is, he’s not going to push the kid on it just yet. 

But Keith’s not a quitter. After a moment he takes a deep breath, and says, “Can I...you said I could warm it up?”

“Sure,” Takashi says, and produces a soup mug from one of the cabinets. “Do you want to do it?”

“I, um...I don’t know how to—”

“No problem,” Takashi says easily. “You sit down. I’ll take care of it, as long as you’re comfortable with me touching your breakfast.” 

Keith shakes his head. The kid seems woefully out of his element, confused, miserable, embarrassed, and tired. If he’s only been getting his dinner from alleys since his inhuman traits started coming in, that’s not surprising.

Takashi doesn’t mind helping, though. He empties the blood into the soup mug, and nukes it until it’s as near as he can get it to ‘still warm body’ temperature. Behind him, the kid has finally deigned to sit at the end of the table. He’s still perched on the edge of one of the chairs, like he’s ready to bolt at any moment, but Takashi’s just glad he’s not struggling to stand on shaking legs anymore. 

The scent of iron is cloying, but Takashi’s had a depressing amount of practice ignoring it. He places the warm mug gently in front of Keith, who’s all but drooling at the scent, even while he’s clearly uneasy. 

“Go ahead and eat up,” Takashi says patiently. “And I’ll explain what I meant earlier, about me leaving.”

So he does. He explains that a chance encounter with a cryptid years ago had convinced him not everyone in that community was evil. He goes into how that had changed his mind, how he’d run. How he’d come to America seeking to just hide. How he’d met Allura, and decided he wanted to make a difference instead. How he now taught people how to protect themselves, and protected them when they couldn’t, be they cryptid or human. 

He’s not sure Keith hears much at first. Like last night, the kid is obsessed with his meal at first, draining the mug depressingly quickly and swiping the remaining drops out with his fingers. By the time he’s done, only the lingering scent of blood is left to indicate there was anything in the bowl at all. 

Takashi dutifully pretends not to notice as the kid devours his breakfast ravenously, and then seems almost ashamed after. But Keith does pay closer attention to the later parts of the story, and Takashi is relieved to find his words are a suitable distraction for the kid.

“Feel better?” he asks, once he winds down.

“A little.” A pause. “It feels weird to be full. It’s...been a while.”

“I’ll bet,” Takashi says, carefully keeping his voice agreeable and not pitying. “Rats and mice probably don’t cut it.” 

Keith hmms softly in acknowledgement, and then fidgets for a moment. “What now?” he finally asks. Cautious. Uneasy.

Takashi merely raises an eyebrow at that. “That’s up to you,” he says patiently. “Like I said...I’m not going to kill you, or hold you prisoner. If you have somewhere you need to be, or you have family or friends who can help you, feel free to go. You can take the rest of the blood with you, too. I certainly can’t use it.”

Keith doesn’t say anything to that. He just stares at the bowl in front of him, and crosses his arms over his chest, digging fingers into the sleeves of his fraying red jacket.

Takashi sighs. He’d thought as much, but he’d been hoping that maybe there was still somebody out there for Keith that he hadn’t been able to dig up with Allura’s contacts. “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?”

Keith’s fingers dig even more deeply into his jacket. His voice is so soft it’s almost a whisper. “No.”

Takashi’s expression softens. “Keith...you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. But I’m here to listen if you do.”

Keith’s still staring at the table, and he swallows. “I mean. I sort of owe it to tell you now, right?”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Takashi says firmly. “It’s completely up to you.”

Keith hesitates.

But something in the kid must want to come clean. To explain his situation to somebody who’s willing to listen and who understands what he’s dealing with. Takashi is probably the first person Keith’s ever encountered who fits into both categories. The kid swallows again, but after a moment, he nods. 

“I, um...I didn’t know my mom. And my dad...he died when I was little. He was an EMT…he liked helping people. But something happened at one of the calls, and…” He shrugs. 

“I’m sorry that happened,” Takashi says quietly.

Keith shrugs a little uncomfortably. “It’s okay. I don’t really remember him much.” 

He stares at the table in front of him. “After dad died, I got put in the system. Foster homes and stuff. And...I mean. I guess they were nice. They tried. They didn’t, y’know, beat me up or treat me bad, like you see in movies. But I still hated it. And...well, they all knew it.” 

He scowls at the table, an expression that shows the tips of his fangs, even if he doesn’t seem to realize it. “I’m a screw-up,” he tells Takashi bluntly. “A ‘discipline case.’ Got into fights and pissed off most of the foster homes. People get tired of dealing with me after a while.”

There’s a note of challenge in his voice, as he glances up at Takashi at the end. Takashi can all but see the thoughts racing through the kid’s red eyes. You won’t stick around for very long either and you may as well just give up now and I’m going to screw something up eventually and very, very deep down, a cautious, wary, hesitant hope. 

He seems unsure about continuing, so Takashi prompts him gently. “That doesn’t sound great. But that’s not the reason you’re on the streets, is it?”

Keith swallows, suddenly nervous. “I...no. No, I...I could’ve put up with that. I mean, I didn’t like it, but like I said...most of those homes were okay. But…maybe nine months ago...” 

He falls silent again, and his fingers dig into his red jacket once more.

Takashi already knows where this is headed. “That’s when your inhuman traits started coming in, huh?”

Keith hesitates for a moment, but then nods slowly. 

“Started with my teeth. Some of them were loose and fell out. I just got in a fight with another kid at school who was talking shit about my mom, so I figured he just hit me hard. But then these started growing in.” He runs his tongue over one of the fangs, and shudders. 

“Then other weird things. It took me a while to realize I didn’t need to breathe as much as I used to. My heart slowed down. And I got faster and stronger. I’ve always been pretty fast, but this was...this was way too fast. And I crushed one of the doorknobs at the foster home I was at.” He shudders again. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even angry, I was trying not to screw it up with my foster family this time, but...and then…” 

He stops speaking, but the way he eyes the soup mug in front of him makes it clear what the next stage of development was.

“Your diet changed,” Takashi supplies gently. 

Keith swallows. He stares down at his lap now; he won’t even look near Takashi. “I couldn’t eat the stuff I used to. I’d throw it up. I was thirsty all the time but water didn’t help, and I’d throw up almost anything else. I thought I was sick, but with all the other stuff happening, I was scared to tell my foster parents about it. 

“Then one of the other foster kids cut his hand on an exacto knife doing an art project and I could smell it perfectly and it was like...like it used to be when you could smell cookies baking in the oven, or passed a pizza place, or something.” He shudders. “It smelled good.” 

Takashi gives him a sympathetic look. “And I’m guessing you didn’t know anything about the cryptid world?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. I tried googling it. I found stuff about vampires, but I didn’t...I didn’t want to be that. I don’t want to be that. And I couldn’t hide it from my foster family forever. They noticed I wasn’t eating, and I started skipping school because it hurt to go out during the day and I’d get sleepy, so they were already mad. They thought I was being a ‘discipline case’ again. And if they figured out what I was…” He shudders. 

“I was trying this time,” he finishes unhappily, almost whispering. “I really was. But I couldn’t stay. Not as a blood-sucking monster. So I ran.”

“Hey,” Takashi says, tone gentle. “None of this is your fault, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I don’t know what I did at all,” Keith says. The poor kid looks so miserable and confused that Takashi wants to give him a pat on the back or a reassuring hug or something, but it’s way too early for that. He’s lucky Keith is even telling him these things. “I didn’t get bitten or die or anything, or do that blood swap thing, or...I don’t know, but I didn’t want this. I don’t want to be this. I don’t want to be a killer. Or eat people.”  

“Okay,” Takashi says, holding up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. Toss anything you learned about vampires from the internet or media out the window. Most of it’s garbage. We’ll start from square one, okay?”

Keith’s miserable stare fills with confusion. “What?”

“Keith, here’s the thing,” Takashi says. “Vampires ‘turning’ is completely bogus. Vampires are born, just like any other mammal. The fact of the matter is, at least one of your parents was a vampire. Possibly both. I’m not actually sure if vampires are cross-fertile with humans, and frankly it’s a little rude to ask in casual conversation.”

Keith’s confused stare changes to one of teenage revulsion at the topic. Takashi snorts. “Sorry. Nobody wants to think about their parents like that, no matter the species. Point is, you were never human and you never ‘turned.’ You’ve always been at least part vampire, bud. And that’s completely okay.”

“I never ate blood before!” 

“Vampires use natural mimicry to protect their young,” Takashi says. “That’s where the ‘turning’ myth comes from. Preadolescent vampires resemble human children. When they’re old enough to start hunting and can reasonably protect themselves, they’ll grow into their natural traits. That’s why there’s so many stories about vampires with unnatural youth.” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Keith says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No? Nature’s a weird place, Keith,” Takashi says lightly. “Tiger babies have spots on the back of their ears to look like eyes, so predators won’t attack because they think the prey is watching. Some species of non-venomous snakes imitate the color patterns of venomous ones, so they’ll be left alone. There are bugs out there that look identical to sticks and leaves. Is it really all that strange that an apex predator would evolve to disguise its young as the offspring of the world’s dominant predator, until they could take care of themselves?” 

“I…” Keith looks bewildered and overwhelmed, unsure how to respond.

“The fact is, most of those myths and legends with demons and monsters are rooted in ordinary biology and evolution,” Takashi says. “A lot of things humans thought were mythical or magical or cursed are really just other branches of the evolutionary chain and other ways nature decided to mess around. 

“You, as a vampire, are just an apex predator somewhat related to me, a human, far back down the evolutionary chain. But at some point, nature decided your species would fit a better ecological niche as a nocturnal hunter on a liquid diet.” Takashi shrugs. “That’s it. No curses, no dying, no rabid feeding frenzies, no selling your soul, no creepy rituals or sacrifices, no viruses, no evil whatsoever. You could still have an angsty teenage romance, granted, but that’s strictly a teenager thing, and not a vampire thing.”

“But I could still hurt somebody,” Keith says. Takashi can tell they’re getting to the root of the problem now, based on the way the kid anxiously curls deeper into his jacket. “I could still...I mean, I got into fights all the time...before...and now I’m so much stronger and faster, I could...I could kill kids my age so easily. The other foster kids, or...or the foster parents, or anyone, if they made me angry, and I got angry a lot, and...and I’m so hungry. All the time. I can’t even control myself, I just need it,” he rasps. He’s staring at the bowl again, and no doubt thinking about how he’d polished off his meal in under two minutes.

“That’s because you’re starving, Keith,” Takashi says patiently. “It’d be the same if you were a human who hadn’t eaten properly in months, either. You’re not eating right, and you don’t have the nutrients your body needs, so it’s desperate for whatever it can get. I promise, you get on a normal feeding cycle and that won’t happen anymore.”

“But I don’t know that,” Keith says. “I’ve been like this since I started drinking blood.”

“But you’ve never had access to a steady supply of blood before, right?” Takashi asks, still keeping his voice calm and even. “Rats aren’t enough for you right now. You’re still growing. You’re always hungry because you’ve never had enough, but that’s easy to fix.” 

Keith doesn’t look like he believes it.

“Let’s try this,” Takashi says, changing his approach. “Before this, did you have favorite snacks?”

Keith nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“And I’m sure you’d see some kids bringing those snacks to school sometimes, right? Maybe even wished you had them?”

Again, another nod, this time more confused.

“Well, did you leap over the table and steal it from them?”

“No!” Keith snaps, indignant. “I got into fights, but I mean...not over something like that. That’s stupid.”  

“Then what makes you think you’d do it now?” Takashi asks, patiently. “Because it’s blood, and there’s a weird horror and sci fi stigma attached to it?” 

Keith opens his mouth to respond, and then slowly closes it, thoughtful.

“It’s just food for you, Keith,” Takashi says, reassuring. “That’s it. It doesn’t have to be scary or weird or gross or creepy. It’s just how you eat. And there are ways to get it without hurting anyone.” He gestures over his shoulder at his fridge. “Like I did. Nobody has to get hurt. You don’t ever have to kill anyone.”

Keith stares at his bowl again, but now it’s more of a careful pondering.

“As for your enhanced strength and speed,” Takashi says with a shrug, “That’s just a matter of practice. Learn your limits. Train a little. And practice controlling your temper and seeking other solutions to a problem before fighting. You’re right—you are stronger, and you could hurt somebody. That just means you need to learn a little more discipline and control. That’s all.”

Keith sighs. The kid looks exhausted. Takashi doesn’t blame him; this is a lot to take in all at once. “I don’t even know how to do any of that. I don’t know about any of this.” He laughs, but it’s a miserable sound, bitter and borderline hysterical. “I don’t even know anything right about what I am. I only just barely started to learn about other monsters when I got to this city.”

“Cryptids,” Takashi corrects absently. “Not ‘monsters.’ Monster is considered something of a derogatory term in the community.” 

“Oh.”

“Did you consider talking to other vampires?” Takashi asks, lightly.

Keith shakes his head quickly. “No. I thought about it, but...even if I knew how to find them...I didn’t want to be like them. I don’t want this. Didn’t want this? I don’t know. I don’t know anything. ” He lets out another exhausted, frustrated sigh, and digs his fingers into his hair.

“Okay, okay,” Takashi says, placating. “Easy there. There’s no shame in that. And if you thought the stuff you were reading online about vampires was real, I can see why you might have wanted to avoid them.” If he’d thought he could only learn about himself from the likes of Lestat, Dracula, Angelus, or Edward Cullen, he’d firmly avoid the community as well. 

“For the record, modern vampires have a reputation for being solitary sorts, and of course each individual is different. Any species can have one or two bad eggs, so to speak. But they’re generally smart, independent people who have their own lives and jobs, same as anybody else.” Takashi shrugs. “A lot of them are trauma surgeons and EMT’s.”

Keith breathes in sharply at that. “Like my dad?”

“Yeah,” Takashi says softly. “If your father was a vampire, he’d have been great at his job thanks to his enhanced senses.”

“Oh,” Keith says, in almost a whisper. “I didn’t…”

For the first time, something about his situation seems to finally resonate with him. Takashi can see the moment it seems to click for him that being what he is doesn’t make him a monster barely restrained from murder. That it can be something positive. 

After a moment, Keith says softly, “What do I do now? I don’t know how to do any of this.”

Takashi smiles gently. “That’s where I come in, bud. I want to help you, if you’ll let me. I can give you an idea of some of your options, but you can choose what you actually do. Sound fair?” 

Keith eyes him for a moment, considering. His instinct is still to be wary, and that’s not going to go away in a day. But Takashi can tell the kid is starting to trust him more, because after a moment, he nods. 

“Okay,” Takashi says. “The way I see it, you have a couple options. The first is finding some vampires in the community who would be willing to take you in. I don’t know any personally, but I know someone who has a lot of connections. I’m sure she could find you a good home with someone trustworthy and responsible. They could show you the ropes and help you figure things out, and they would understand what you need the best.” 

Keith shifts uncomfortably at the prospect. Even with the newfound knowledge that most vampires aren’t angsty, tortured souls permanently in their goth phase, or rabid mass murderers, he doesn’t seem ready to actually meet others yet. Or maybe he’s not comfortable with the idea of being rehomed with strangers, after spending a lifetime in the foster care system and hating it. 

Takashi had suspected that would be the case. That’s why he debates option number two for about five seconds before offering it. “Or, if you aren’t ready for that—you can crash here. For now, at least. Until you figure out how to take care of yourself correctly and you’re on your feet again.” 

 Keith stares at him, surprised. “What?”

Takashi shrugs. “I’m versed enough in the basics of vampires to help you get on your feet. I have the connections to get blood for you, obviously—in a safe, semi-legal way that doesn’t hurt anyone.” He nods to the empty soup mug. “I can show you how to get access to those things yourself, so you won’t feel obligated to live off rats on the streets. Those aren’t healthy for you. And this place is safe and definitely secure.”

The tension seems to rise in the kid again. “What’s the catch?” he asks, suspicious.

Takashi raises his hands placatingly. “No catch,” he says. “I mean, if you choose here, I’ll ask you to not make a mess of the place. And you’d need an assumed name for going out in public, and I’d ask that you not reveal this location to anyone without verifying with me, first. Remember, I don’t want the Covenant finding me, either. I can help you set that up, of course. But that’s it.”

Keith frowns, clearly confused. “Why?” he finally asks. “Why do all this? You don’t even know me. And…and you’re a Shirogane . I don’t even know anything about being a mon...a cryptid, but everyone I’ve met says Shiroganes mean death.”

Takashi closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s because I’m a Shirogane. I don’t want to be a part of that anymore. I just want to use those skills and that knowledge to do something good for a change. It’s like I said last night...you look like you could use a hand, and I know how to help you.” 

There’s more to it than that, of course. Takashi does want to help this kid. Keith needs it. But he also doesn’t want to have to track the kid down in a few years, because he’d finally resorted to preying on people when he didn’t understand that there were other ways. 

He wants Keith to get his second chance. 

Keith still looks hesitant, so Takashi says, “You don’t have to decide right away. If you’re comfortable with it, I’d ask you to stay for a few more days at least, so I can be sure you’re healthy again before you go. But if you want to walk out that door right now and come back later, or never again, you can. At any point. I won’t stop you.” 

Keith’s silent for a long time. But eventually he nods, slowly. “Okay. I’ll...I’ll think about it. You...don’t mind me being here, for a few days?” He seems almost bewildered at the prospect. 

Takashi’s heart breaks a little for him. Even if his foster families had been good people, it must have been hard to try and fit in over and over with so many individuals. 

“I don’t mind at all,” he says, and he really does mean that. “The guest bedroom is already set up for now to block sunlight, so you can keep using that during the day. You have free reign in the rest of the place too, but be careful touching some of this stuff. I have a lot of things that might hurt you accidentally. I’ll show you what to look out for tonight, just in case.”

“I saw lots of swords and knives and things,” Keith says. There’s honest fascination in his voice, but also a little confusion. “You really trust me around that stuff?”

Takashi actually laughs. “Keith, you’re a vampire. When you’re completely healthy, you’ll probably already have more physical strength than I do. If you were out to kill me, I’d have bigger problems than if you had a knife.”

“Oh.” Keith looks sheepish. “Right.”

“Okay,” Takashi says, getting up from the table. “I’ll show you what to avoid around here, and then you can take it easy. I have Netflix, if you want to watch something in the living room. I’ll also dig out some old clothes of mine, so you can shower and change into something clean if you want. I can take your stuff to the laundromat tomorrow while you’re sleeping. Then I’m going to go pass out. I’m running on four hours of sleep. Unless you need something else tonight?”

Keith shakes his head automatically, then hesitates. After a moment he asks slowly, “Actually...could I, uh...have another….” He gestures cautiously at his soup mug.

Takashi smiles. Progress already. “Help yourself, bud. They’re all yours.” 

And so, rather unexpectedly, Takashi has a roommate. 

Takashi half expects the kid to bolt almost every evening. Every time he comes home from a late night at work it’s with bated breath, expecting to see his place deserted. Keith is an enormously stubborn fighter and simultaneously a skittish, wary street kid. Even working with him to earn his trust, Takashi’s never sure if the kid will decide it’s not worth it after all and vanish. 

It’s hard to be patient. He wants this kid to know that he just wants to help so badly. But he lets Keith figure it out at his own pace. He doesn’t get in Keith’s space, but he does make sure he’s there to answer questions, to listen, or to keep him safe. 

He finds that Keith is a surprisingly quiet roommate. Of course, half of that is due to being passed out cold for most of the daylight hours. But even when he is conscious at night, he tends to be quiet and keep to himself. He’s not much of a talker and likes to keep his distance. But he does often hang out in the same room as Takashi when they’re both awake, watching TV with him on the opposite end of the couch, or reading at the kitchen table while Takashi’s making himself something to eat. 

Takashi thinks of it as almost cat-like behavior, although he never voices that thought out loud. He’s not sure if such introversion is a vampire thing, or a Keith thing. But he can see how it might have been a struggle for him with foster families, or in the system. So much activity, so many cases of forced interaction with people, were bound to grind on his nerves and eventually cause him to lash out.

Takashi doesn’t see any of these so-called ‘discipline issues’ with Keith, though. Sometimes he can see Keith getting frustrated or irritable, but he never seems to be pushed far enough that he resorts to the things on his CPS records. He seems to have grown to respect Takashi, and as the days pass, that respect turns to trust. 

Eventually, Takashi’s not afraid of coming home and finding the kid gone anymore.

Keith starts doing a lot better physically, too. Access to healthy blood on a regular basis and a safe place to hide away from the daylight hours does wonders for him. Within a week he’s got more color to his pale skin again, and his face starts to fill out a little more. After two, he looks like a perfectly healthy teenager again. His movements go from shaky and stumbling to containing a preternatural grace, and his strength and agility returns. 

His confidence starts to grow, too. For the first week or so, Keith’s still uneasy about eating in front of Takashi, and can’t seem to quite shake the revolted, shameful feelings whenever he consumes human blood. He finishes off his food as quickly as possible and usually retreats for a while after, like he’s hiding. 

That’s not all that surprising. He’d grown up thinking he was human his whole life. Even if drinking blood is perfectly natural for him, it must feel uncomfortable and strange. It will probably take a while to shake those feelings completely.

But the longer he’s there, the more comfortable he becomes with his meals. He stops being nervous about helping himself to his liquid lunches in front of Takashi. He experiments with different ways for eating—hot or cold, in bowls or mugs, or simply sticking a big straw into the packs and drinking them like the world’s grisliest Capri Sun. He doesn’t slink away after eating to hide, and the little glimpses of revulsion or shame in his expression gradually appear less and less. 

He’s getting there. Takashi’s happy for him. 

In the first week, Keith had been going through two packs of blood a day. By the second week, he’s down to one. After that, he admits he only really feels hungry once every couple of days or so, and even when he does eat, it’s not with the ravenous, desperate speed of before. 

“I’m not hungry all the time,” he tells Takashi, seeming honestly surprised at the revelation. “Not like before. I guess you were right.” 

“That means you’re feeling better,” Takashi tells him, smiling. “I’m glad.”

Once Keith is healthy again, Takashi half expects the kid to want to leave. He’d been nervous about being tied down to any one person, or living with strangers. But to his surprise, it’s Keith that brings up the topic of living arrangements, one evening after Takashi gets home from his classes.

“You said I had two options,” Keith says. “I think...I want to still stay here. If that’s okay with you.”

He stares at the floor when he speaks. It’s almost like he’s afraid to meet Takashi’s eyes, like he doesn’t actually want to see the rejection first. He’s been passed between homes for so long he probably doesn’t expect a positive answer. He’d still been brave enough to ask anyway.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Takashi says.

Keith’s head shoots up, and he gives Takashi a surprised, but cautiously optimistic, smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Takashi promises. “I will say I think you should still speak to some actual vampires at some point. They’d be a lot better at teaching you things you need to know about yourself. But if you’re more comfortable living here, you’re welcome to.”

“Thanks,” Keith says. The relief in his expression, in his voice, is almost overwhelming. “I won’t be a problem, I promise.”

“I know you won’t, Keith,” Takashi says. “You’re a good kid. You’re gonna be fine.”

Once he knows for sure Keith is a permanent member of his household, Takashi makes a few changes. He starts by getting him a new identity, forging the documentation for Ryou Tanaka’s younger brother, Akira Tanaka, and all guardianship documents to go along with it. The two look superficially similar enough that it would pass as a story. Allura’s contacts are able to remove Keith from the CPS files, just to prevent any wild accusations of kidnapping. If someone ever actually sees Keith and recognizes him, that could still cause trouble. Since he’d disappeared two states over, it’s unlikely.

He also makes some upgrades around his apartment. Through Rolo, he’s able to get a hold of some ‘darks,’ the inverse of a light bulb that emits intense shadows, designed by witches. He installs these in Keith’s room, and replaces the windows in the entire apartment with spelled glass that prevents the harmful effects of sunlight. Keith gets his own shelf in the fridge for his liquid diet, and when Keith eventually admits he has a preference for B positive, Takashi also makes an effort to get that blood type in higher quantities from Rolo. 

When the kid is ready to try going out in public more often, Takashi helps him with that, too. He orders some specialty contacts that will dull Keith’s red eyes to a less noticeable brownish gray, and buys him a few pairs of dark glasses to help with light sensitivity in brighter environments. 

“Won’t people be suspicious?” Keith asks, disbelieving, the first time Takashi hands them over. “It’s night. Who wears sunglasses at night?”

“Just tell them you have a medical condition,” Takashi says with a shrug. “Most people stop asking after that, since they’re scared to put their foot in it.” 

It does work. As long as Keith conceals his eye color with the glasses or contacts, and is careful to not smile too much or bare his fangs, he can pass for human easily. Keith is a little more comfortable going out on his own after that, especially when he’s not afraid of jumping the nearest human for their liquid insides out of ravening hunger anymore. 

Takashi uses the opportunity to take Keith with him on safer trips to notable places in the cryptid community as well, to gradually introduce him to the non-human world. Despite being a cryptid himself, Keith is completely new to almost everything about cryptids of any species. But Takashi stresses the importance of familiarizing himself with the community, so he can learn to be more independent in it and not completely reliant on Takashi himself, and Keith is a quick study. He even accompanies Takashi on bartering trips with Rolo and Nyma, learning how to get access to his own food and helping with minor errands.

Most importantly, Takashi starts training Keith in meditation and combat. 

Takashi gets the idea when he comes home from work and finds Keith carefully looking through his collection of swords and knives. There’s one he keeps going back to in particular, running his fingers over the hilt almost fondly. When Takashi asks him about it, he looks nostalgic.

“I think my dad had one like this,” he says. “It’s one of the only memories I have of him. He said he got it from my mom.” His hand pulls away from the knife hilt, and he crosses his arms in front of himself. “But I didn’t get to keep it when they put me in the system. Too dangerous for a kid.”

“You can keep that one, if you want,” Takashi offers. “I can show you how to use it, too.”

Keith looks surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Takashi confirms. “It might be a good idea, anyway.” Keith was more than strong enough to drive off a would-be mugger, but he’d have to use his unnatural power and agility to do so. It could bring up questions that should stay buried. A weapon might deter human predators not in the know about cryptids from even considering a supposedly skinny teenaged kid as a mark.

Keith accepts the knife almost reverently. “Thanks.”

So Takashi has the kid start to meet him at his studio after classes. He teaches him how to use the knife, and also instructs him in one of the martial arts forms he’d learned with the Covenant. The goal with both is to teach Keith control—to have a firm understanding of the strength at his disposal and how to manage it without hurting anyone. He stresses meditative techniques too, in order to help with the kid’s impatience and frustration, and they help Keith stay calmer and more focused. 

Keith seems to enjoy these lessons, even the meditation ones, which are more of a struggle for him. He’s an incredibly fast learner when it comes to combative techniques. He is a little nervous about sparring with Takashi, at first, unsure of his own strength. But Takashi is patient with him, and Keith learns how to better control his own power soon enough. 

In the end, months after that fateful day in the alley, Keith is a very different person than he had been. He’s healthy, confident, and safe, no longer afraid of his own nature or what he’s capable of. He’s completely comfortable around Takashi now, and no longer has any shred of distrust or wariness regarding this particular ‘Shirogane.’

Takashi’s happy to see it. He’s proud of how far Keith’s managed to come.

And if he’s honest with himself, it’s been kind of nice to have a little brother too.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes there’s no good answer to a bad situation. Sometimes there’s only trying to find the answer that results in the fewest casualties.”
—Arthur Harrington-Price, Imaginary Numbers 

A secure apartment, about to have lunch

It’s maybe a month after Keith’s eighteenth birthday when Takashi gets the call.

They’re getting close to winter by then, and the weather’s starting to turn. Garrison is south enough that snow isn’t common, other than the occasional light flurries. But it is still getting chilly out, the days are shorter, and the nights are progressively longer. And, like with other parts of the animal kingdom, it has just as much of an effect on cryptid activity.

Some cryptids hate winter. Species that fare better in sunlight, or in warmer temperatures, dislike the turn of the seasons. Cold-blooded reptilian variants, or avids, tend to be foremost here. They retreat to summer homes or spend most of their time hiding indoors, and some even go into hibernation. 

Allura admits to being more miserable in the winter months. As a bird-like caladrius, she does not enjoy the cold. She keeps her penthouse temperatures cranked well into the seventies, and almost never leaves. 

But some cryptids love winter. Keith has already admitted to a fondness for it. When ‘night’ starts at four thirty as opposed to eight, he has a lot more time to stay active. He can even gain access to stores and places that are normally closed by the time he usually wakes in other seasons. 

The same is true for other nocturnal cryptid species, which can be both a blessing and a curse. The ones who actively do good things for the community have more time to spare, and the ones who are indifferent to humans one way or another don’t really cause problems with their extra hours. But the nocturnal trouble makers having more time to act can be a problem, and winter months can be hectic in their own ways.

So when Takashi gets the call around noon from Allura, he doesn’t think too much of it. Getting a business call from Allura is never a good thing, exactly, but these days it’s usually more small-fry stuff. Bogeymen spooking humans for fun, taliypo knocking over garbage bins, someone’s pet coatl escaping and retreating into a human’s house for warmth. It all needs to be dealt with, but it won’t bring the Covenant down on their heads immediately.

But Allura’s voice is dark and urgent when he answers the cell. “I need you here immediately. We have a serious problem.”

Takashi frowns, and immediately starts shoving the sandwich fixings he’d just been taking out back in the fridge. “I’m on my way. How bad are we talking?”

“People are dying,” Allura says curtly. “Bring your gear. You will most likely want to survey the situation as soon as you can.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish gearing up,” Takashi promises, and hangs up.

Winter poses challenges with the cold, the dark, and slippery footing from the occasional flurry. But it does also have its advantages. The long, thick woolen coat Takashi wears can also hide a frankly absurd amount of weaponry, including a small sword and some larger firearms. He arms himself as quickly as possible, in addition to the usual weapons he always has on his person. 

He scribbles a quick note to Keith, who will still be in a sun-coma for a few more hours— Call from Allura, not sure when I’ll be back— and then heads out the door.

Allura had sounded stressed, so he doesn’t even pause to get an offering for the Aeslin mice like he usually does. They’ll be disappointed, but they’ll live. From the sounds of it, if Takashi doesn’t move, other people won’t survive.

He makes it to the penthouse in record time. Security lets him through with less hassle than usual—clearly, Allura had warned them in advance. Coran lets him in quickly, and immediately escorts him to the study, past a sea of Aeslin mice that enthusiastically “ Hail!” to the High Priests of Damn It Stop Trying To Get Yourself Killed and Those Who Walk Out Of The Darkness. The hails are moderately quieter than usual, which means on some level the mice are aware of the solemnity. 

Takashi understands why when he gets to the study. The four head priests that usually act as stenographers are already there, at the platform on the map table, which means Allura has already enacted the law of Witness for Food. She’s not kidding around for this one, so it has to be serious.

“Good,” Allura says curtly, the moment he steps through the door. “You’re here. Come and see this.” 

The glass-topped map is already marked with circles, exes, and notations, all on the western side of the city, opposite to where Takashi lives. That already explains why he hadn’t heard of any immediate problems. Allura also has a sheaf of photographs and papers in her hands, which she spreads out along the other side of the map.

One look at the photos tells Takashi this one is already going to be bad. They depict three people, all women, all with varying degrees of mutilation covering their bodies. 

Further inspection indicates all of them are cryptids. The closest photograph shows a harpy, but almost all of her feathers have been plucked out. He can only barely tell what she is based on a few other minor facial features and her birdlike legs. He guesses the second might be a wadjet, although that’s purely based on what he thinks are cobra-like fangs pried out of her mouth—it’s hard to tell based on the grainy photograph. The third almost looks human, but Takashi has seen enough of the same drop-dead gorgeous blond females who look strangely related to recognize a dragon princess. 

Takashi’s seen enough gruesome images in his time to not be physically sick at the sight, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling sick inside. This is vile. Allura had been right to call him immediately.

Unlike Takashi, Allura does look a little green. Caladrius aren’t aggressive by nature, being natural healers. They have an instinctive need to fix hurts where they can, and injury and death, especially maliciously inflicted, tends to make them uncomfortable or physically sick. But she keeps her composure like a champion, and taps the marked points on the board. 

“I’ll get straight to the point,” she says. “Over the past three weeks, women have been disappearing. They vanish for a few days, and then the bodies are found in these states. The first two—” she taps the photos of the harpy and the wadjet, “—vanished here and here—” she taps the points on the map, “—and were found in an abandoned apartment complex retrofitted for nocturnal cryptids, and in the community sewer complexes, respectively.” 

“Cryptid-dominated communities,” Takashi notes. “No chance for human law enforcement to report on it.” 

Allura nods. “The third,” she points to the dragon princess, “disappeared here, and was found in an alley in an area more trafficked by humans. However, she was discovered by cryptids in the police force, who were able to ensure the body was properly returned to the dragon princess nest, rather than being entered into a morgue.” 

“So nothing on the radar just yet,” Takashi says. It’s not really a relief , not with so gruesome a series of murders happening. But at least the Covenant won’t be breathing down their necks due to the discovery of bodies that were definitely not human.

“Yet,” Allura agrees, “But a fourth woman went missing as of last night, and this time she was human.” She removes another photograph from the stack of papers, depicting a pretty young woman in her mid twenties, with caramel skin, dark hair, and a big smile, happily clinging to the arm of an attentive, smiling man. 

They look like a happy couple. But Takashi has a gut feeling their story won’t end happily.

“Her family has already reported her missing to the authorities,” Allura says. “If the pattern holds true, she may reappear in a few days, in a location where the police will be able to find her. At which point, not only will she be beyond help, there will be actual records of a disappearance case for the Covenant to dig into.” 

She hesitates. “Assuming that this is not already the work of the Covenant? The original victims were cryptids...”

But Takashi shakes his head grimly. “No. Even assuming agents could enter the country without either of us knowing about it, this isn’t how they operate. If they were purging cryptids, no bodies would be left around for people to find. They’d be disposed of discreetly. And the Covenant wouldn’t include humans in their kills, not unless they were harboring known cryptids and considered ‘corrupted.’” 

Allura’s lips press together for a moment. “I did not find any evidence of cryptid activity when studying her file,” she admits. “In which case…”

“This is some kind of serial killer,” Takashi says grimly. “They’re killing with purpose, for some kind of reason.” 

He circles the map to the notations Allura had marked on the glass, already studying, searching for some kind of pattern. He voices his thoughts out loud as he struggles to find the connection. 

“Victims have disappeared in both the day and night, so we’re not dealing with a species that’s strictly nocturnal or diurnal. Or we’re dealing with a team. They do know about cryptid-safe spaces, but that doesn’t exclude humans as potential suspects. The only targets so far have been women, but they don’t seem to have any sort of connection...there are mammals, reptiles and avians all represented here. The bodies aren’t re-appearing anywhere near where they were taken, and all disappearances and reappearances are spread over a twelve-block radius that covers everything from residential districts to industrial and shopping areas.” He taps his fingers on the glass in frustration. “There’s no pattern here.”

“Do you see anything that our eyes may have missed, head priests?” Allura asks, glancing at the four Aselin mice.

The mice cluster together to consult amongst themselves, and then the green one steps forward, standing up tall on its hind legs. “There is but one Pattern, Lion Goddess,” it squeaks importantly, “and that is that all females here were bonded in some way, prior to disappearing.” 

Takashi frowns, and glances thoughtfully at the photo of the human girl and her significant other again. “Hmm. It’s the only connection we have so far, but it’s something to think on.”

“Indeed,” Allura says. “I will see if I can look more into this angle with the information I can gather from the families.”

“Is there anything else to work with?” Takashi asks. “Surveillance footage, other photos, testimonies, witnesses?”

“I have some here,” Allura says, gesturing to the stack of papers and photographs. “There are some additional photos of the crime scenes and images taken from surveillance footage. It was difficult to get some of this information, and there isn’t as much as I would like. I will have Coran give you copies of everything we have obtained so far though, and you can review.” 

“Right. Thanks.” Takashi sighs for a moment, rubbing his forehead, and then says softly, “Allura...why didn’t I know about this before now?”

Allura gives him a flat look, but seems hesitant to answer.

“Three weeks, Allura,” Takashi says. “A single death can’t make a pattern, and with the spread here, I understand even the second not drawing notice. But the third disappearance? The third death? I should have been brought in by then. I might have been able to make a difference.” 

Allura sighs. She looks very tired, suddenly, far more than she should. “I wanted to call you in immediately,” she admits. “I could tell there was something wrong by the time the dragon princess disappeared. As you said, a pattern had been formed. But the dragon princesses were insistent that you not be involved, and it was their nestmate. I believe they honestly thought you might be the cause of the murders.”

Takashi closes his eyes and takes a deep, struggling sigh. Patience yields focus, he reminds himself sharply. 

He can’t blame the dragon princesses for being afraid of him, even five years later. The Covenant of St. George had hunted dragons to extinction, according to all reports. As far as anyone knew, dragon princesses had some kind of symbiotic relationship with them. They were cold and slow to trust, and had no reason at all to believe Takashi was on their side; the Covenant had taken everything from them. Perhaps the only cryptids who had the right to fear and hate him more were the yōkai.  

But still, it hurts, to know he might have been able to save one of them and make a difference, and how he’s lost that chance.

“They have a great deal of resources and believed they could find their missing sister on their own,” Allura continues. “The strength of a dragon princess nest is not inconsiderable. Family and community is very important to them. I thought perhaps they could succeed, and a matter of the community could remain in the community. I was wrong.” 

She swallows. Takashi can see the pain of responsibility on her shoulders, and her wings draw closer around herself, as though shielding her. 

“I will not make that mistake again. The moment I realized this killer had struck a fourth time, I called you. I am sure the nest will not be happy, but I will deal with the ramifications if it means catching this despicable person.”

Takashi nods. “Alright. I swear, I will do everything in my power to make sure we can catch whoever is doing this.”

He doesn’t make the promise to bring the human girl back alive. He desperately hopes he can, but the odds that she’s still alive are dropping by the second. He won’t make a promise he can’t be certain he’ll keep. 

“Thank you. Keep me updated on the situation, and I will provide what information I can. Coran—make copies of everything for Takashi, will you?”

“Of course, miss,” Coran, waiting by the study door, nods in acknowledgement. His normally cheerful face is somber as he collects the photos and profile documents together into a stack, and heads out the door to complete his task.

“Allura,” Takashi says. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

He takes a deep breath for a moment. She’s not going to like what he says next. “Stay indoors until this case blows over. Or keep Coran with you at all times if you have to go out. It’s cold out, anyway—I know you don’t like leaving the penthouse. Maybe keep it that way for a while.”

“Are you worried about me, Takashi?” Allura asks, raising her chin proudly. “I do not need your protection.”

He gestures at the city map on the table. “Neither does a wadjet, or a harpy, but they were still taken somehow. You fit the target requirements.”

“I am not seeing anyone.”

“We don’t even know if that is a requirement for this killer yet,” Takashi says. “Could still be a coincidence. A caladrius is a tempting target, and you’re a well known figure in the community. If somebody has an opportunity to get at you, we both know they’ll take it. Just be careful, please?” 

Allura sighs, but nods. “I will take care. And there is no way this killer will be able to get past my security in my home. I will be safe.”

“Thank you,” Takashi says. “That’s all I ask.”

He collects his copies from Coran and heads out the door, waving only a hasty goodbye to the Aeslin mice and their chorus of Hails for their departing High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of The Darkness. It’s already close to two, which means he only has a couple more hours of prime daylight to do some on-sight scouting before the sun sets. And for this, he wants every bit of an advantage he can get.

His first stop will be the place the young human woman, a girl named Rosa, had reportedly disappeared at. She had left work around five in the evening, but never made it home. Her boyfriend had gotten worried around eight pm and called her friends and family, but no one had seen her. 

With no other leads to work with, it’s the only shot Takashi has. But with the disappearance happening only last night, the trail might still be moderately fresh. 

He manages to find parking near her office and pumps the meter full of quarters as he surveys the area. It’s a relatively nice looking district. Safe, clean, and friendly. Not the sort of place one expects a woman to disappear. 

At this time of day it’s relatively quiet. Most people are at work or in school, and the November chill is enough to drive most people indoors if they don’t have a reason to be out. There are a few people here and there, though. A dog walker cajoles four or five excitable animals down the street with practiced experience. A kid around Keith’s age plays on his phone on a bench while tapping along to the beat in his headphones. Several people huddle around a coffee cart set up by an enterprising older gentleman, indulging in warm drinks. The occasional walker passes, and the occasional shopper leaves one of the many little boutiques or specialty shops on either side of the road.

Any one of them could be a killer keeping an eye out for their next victim. Or anyone of them could be the next victim. And there’s no way to know at face value. 

Setting his jaw grimly, Takashi sets to work.

He retraces Rosa’s usual path home from her office to her apartment, keeping an eye out for any potential clues. It’s only about a four block hike, and under better circumstances, probably a pleasant little walk. But she’d disappeared somewhere along this route, so Takashi scours every inch of it, checking every back alley and side road along the way. He looks for everything he can possibly think of—signs of struggle, evidence of someone or something living in the area, discarded spell components, residue from regurgitated meals or non-human fluids. 

He tries everything, but he finds nothing. There’s a healthy population of small animals along the way, which means nothing, sentient or non, is feeding on the resident rats and pigeons that might prefer a bigger target. There’s no sign that the animals are frightened or hiding either, which means if something is preying on sentient cryptids, it doesn’t bother the smaller critters. 

Canvassing the area discreetly doesn’t offer much information either. The commute transitions into apartment complexes two blocks down, but the whole area is relatively quiet, in a safer part of the city without a high crime rate. Nobody heard any kind of commotion, because if anyone had, it would have been the talk of the hour. It suggests that Rosa had either left with her captor willingly, or had been coerced without putting up a fuss, but that still doesn’t help Takashi narrow his options down any.

His only other potential leads are the sewer grates he spots along the way. It’s possible the attacker is striking from there, or using the sewers to move their victims and dispose of the bodies later. One of the bodies had been found in a sewer near here. 

It’s something he can possibly follow up on, but he’s not prepared for the sewers tonight. The underground was built by humans for subways and trains, but it ultimately belongs to the cryptids. It’s primarily bugbear, hidebehind, and bogeyman territory. Takashi has enough of a reputation with them by now that they’ll at least remain frostily cordial if he takes a stroll through their domain, but he’s not exactly welcome, and it’s better not to push his luck. Plus, the sewers can hide nastier things as well, and he didn’t gear for a spelunking trek. 

He tries visiting the location the dragon princess had been discovered in next, five blocks over. The other two bodies had been found in places he won’t exactly be welcome in, although if he has to, he’ll use Allura’s name to at least gain a few minutes to investigate. But the dragon princess had been found left on a fire escape in an alley, which was more publically accessible. He runs over the whole area with a fine tooth comb, hoping to find something that the other cryptids investigating had missed, some clue to give him something to work with.

He doesn’t find anything. 

By the time darkness falls two and a half hours later, Takashi has almost nothing to work with. He’s frustrated, but there’s not much else he can do right now, not without better night gear and a clear head for what to do next. 

I’ll comb through Allura’s photos and surveillance, Takashi decides, as he heads back to his apartment. Maybe I can pick up a clue in those that I can’t see when the crime scenes are cleaned up. 

Keith is awake by the time Takashi gets back. After two years on a steady diet of human blood, Keith’s built up a little more resistance to the sun, which mostly means he starts to wake up a little before dusk and can manage to stay up a little past dawn. 

He’s usually groggy when the sun is still out, though, even if he’s not completely unconscious anymore. Takashi affectionately refers to the condition as ‘sun dazed,’ since Keith has a tendency to remain in an upright stupor and occasionally zone out, sometimes in the middle of something. And the poor kid can’t even drink coffee anymore to wake up faster.

He’s passed the sun daze and into full nocturnal awareness by the time Takashi makes it back, though, and glances up from the couch when Takashi opens the door. “How’s the mission with Allura?”

“Bad,” Takashi says. He tosses his coat and extra weapons aside, and pulls out the manilla folder to spread the contents out over the kitchen table. “This one’s...really bad, Keith. A girl’s life is on the line and we’ve got no leads.” 

Keith frowns, switches off the TV, and comes over to look at the photographs. He makes a soft hissing noise at the sight of the mutilated bodies, and instinctively bares his teeth in anger. “Somebody’s doing this to people?”

“Yes,” Takashi says grimly. “Three so far that we know of, and a fourth missing.”

Keith scowls at that. He’s not great with his words or his temper, but his heart is always in the right place, and he hates seeing people suffering. “You’ll catch them,” he says after a moment, confident.

“I hope so.”

Shiro gets to work with the photos, organizing them by time and location, trying to see if there are any discernible patterns. Nothing jumps out at him immediately, but if it was obvious, the Aeslin mice would probably have already seen it. He digs through the profiles next, and pages of case notes, looking for any clue that might help him stop this killer.

A plate clacks down next to one of the photos. Keith glares at him over the pages, and says, “Eat.”

Takashi blinks at the sandwich on the plate, and then back up to Keith. “I’m not—”

“I can hear your stomach grumbling even if you’re ignoring it,” Keith cuts him off, “and I can’t smell any residual food on you, which means you haven’t eaten all day. You can’t bring this guy down if you pass out ‘cause you’re hungry. Eat while you work.”

  “I really hate that you can do that,” Takashi grumbles. Of all the traits a vampire roommate could have that might have been troublesome, Takashi had never quite expected heightened sense of smell and hearing to be the most irritable. 

But he dutifully picks up half of the cut sandwich and chews on it while he reads through the documents. It’s not gourmet, but considering Keith can’t exactly sample his own food preparation anymore and is making it entirely through imitation, it’s not half bad. Keith nudges a glass of water towards him as well, unrelenting, and Takashi hydrates under duress as he works.

The profiles of the four missing or dead women don’t reveal any useful clues or connections to tie them to a single killer. Frustrated, Takashi throws himself at the pictures again as he wolfs down the other half of his sandwich. 

At first, he doesn’t notice anything of interest in the cropped photos from surveillance cameras and hastily snapped phone images of the places the victims disappeared and reappeared. But after studying the faces in one of the earliest photos, he suddenly freezes.

He drops his sandwich on the plate and snatches up the photo, so fast even Keith starts. The picture is cut from a security camera’s feed on the night the first victim, the harpy, went missing. It’s near a club that’s known to cater to cryptids, and there’s a prominent shot of several patrons entering and leaving. The image is grainy and not well focused, but he swears he recognizes one of the people lurking near the alley leading to the back entrance. 

“Him,” he says softly, pointing to the figure. “I saw him today, when I was canvassing the area.” 

Keith squints at the photo. His eyes aren’t any better at discerning the details in the picture, and he frowns a little. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” He recognizes the kid, no question. He looks around the same age as Keith, and of some kind of latino heritage. The winter jacket and the headphones match the ones he’d seen the same kid wearing while he’d been playing on his phone outside the latest victim’s office.

Playing on his phone...or maybe watching for the next victim.

Keith scours the other images, and then points at one on the far side of the table. “He’s here too. Just barely, but you can see him in the corner.”

Takashi studies the photo. This one is from the discovery of the dragon princess’ body, nearly three weeks after the last photo the mysterious kid was in. The cryptid police officers had managed to quietly and discreetly spirit away the dead dragon princess to her sisters and had never opened an official crime scene, but they had been smart enough to take a few photos for Allura to work with. The mystery kid is just barely visible in the corner of one of the shots, down the alley. You’d have to be looking for him to actually spot him.

Takashi takes a sharp breath. “I think we have a suspect.”

The remains of the sandwich are forgotten on the table as Takashi leaps up and starts recollecting his gear. Keith doesn’t call him on it. He understands the urgency of the situation.

“Do you want me to talk to the Marmora Society?” he asks after a moment, still frowning at the images. “See if they’ve heard of this guy?”

The Marmora Society is still a relatively new connection of Keith’s. About six months ago, after Keith had grown comfortable living as Takashi’s unofficially adopted younger brother, Takashi had finally convinced him to reach out to some actual vampires for assistance. He’d argued that although he knew the basics regarding vampires, there was no way he could know the intricacies and necessities of vampire health in the same way actual vampires could. Keith could be missing important health milestones or needs and neither of them would ever know.

Keith had grudgingly agreed, and Allura had provided assistance in finding them a contact. The result had been the Marmora Society, a group of vampires that lived in Garrison. The Society had been established for years and was ultimately dedicated to the preservation of their species and acclimation to modern-day society. They policed their own species for offenses, assisted with supplying food resources, undercover stories, housing arrangements, and job opportunities, and interceded on legal and governmental scenarios that could prove problematic for their members. Amongst other things, that also meant they had an exceptional informational network throughout the city, on par with Allura’s own, although it reached different sections of the cryptid community.

The Marmora Society had been suspicious of Takashi at first, suspecting a trap when he and Keith had first reached out to them. One of their members, a vampire by the name of Ulaz, had finally vouched for him to their organization. They had eventually been willing to accept Keith and teach him about his own heritage and abilities. They had even offered to give Keith a place to stay amongst themselves, although he had declined. 

And, sometimes, they would even offer information in their network—provided Keith was the one to ask for it.

Takashi considers, then nods. “Yes. As long as they feel like sharing, anyway. I know it’s hard to get information out of them sometimes.” 

“I can try,” Keith says confidently, heading for his own jacket.

Takashi nods. “Great. I’ll let Allura know as well, see if she can get any feelers out.” He intends to head straight back to the area Rosa had disappeared in to search for her and this suspect. But if that fails, dozens of other eyes searching can’t hurt.

Takashi’s still not sure if the mystery kid is human or cryptid, but he’s not taking chances, and arms himself for battle. In addition to his usual weaponry from before, he also packs a few small mag-lites and a pair of night vision goggles. If the kid tries to disappear into the sewer, Takashi isn’t letting him get away.

“I’ll text you if I hear anything useful,” Keith says, as he shrugs into his jacket. “Otherwise I’ll leave something for you to look at in the morning.” 

“Thanks, Keith.” 

“Call me if you need my help,” Keith adds. “I’m serious.” 

“If it comes to that,” Takashi agrees, “I will.” 

He hates involving Keith in any of his work. Keith’s had a hard life, and he deserves a chance to make something of it now without getting tangled up in so much violence. That had never been Takashi’s intention when he’d offered the kid a safe place to stay.

But it won’t be the first time Keith has joined him on one of his missions. Eight months ago Takashi had come home, bloodied and limping, from a mission that had ended poorly. Keith had bandaged him up, determined and anxious all in one, and monitored his health aggressively until Allura had arrived to perform her healing. The next night he had insisted that next time, he was helping. Takashi had argued that it was too dangerous, that he lacked the experience, that Keith ought to have a life of his own. But Keith had pointed out fairly that if Takashi hadn’t been teaching him combat for this, then for what?

“You didn’t give up on me when everybody else had,” he’d said. “You got me a second chance— this is what I want to do with it. I can help people, and I can keep you alive.” 

Takashi had been reluctant at first, but Keith had been insistent. And he was helpful. His senses and abilities as a vampire opened up other avenues of hunting Takashi normally couldn’t access. He was a natural fighter, and fiercely loyal, which made him great backup in a fight. Takashi’s learned to trust him in missions, over time.

He’s still not thrilled with involving Keith in missions. But this is how Keith wants to grow, and if that’s the case, all Takashi can do is support him as much as possible and trust him to handle himself. 

And the way this mission is going, he may very well need Keith’s abilities before everything is finished.

He calls Allura and lets her know his progress as he drives across the city to the last place he’d seen the mystery kid. Allura agrees to spread the word immediately on the new suspect, and see if her dozens of contacts can’t figure out who this kid is and what he’s doing there. Or, even more importantly, where to find him.

It’s close to seven at night, by the time Takashi makes it back to the target area. There are still people about, getting last minute shopping in and having dinner at the restaurants in the area. But it’s cold enough without the sun that nobody is hanging around outside if they don’t have to, and the streets are deserted.

Mystery kid isn’t on the bench Takashi had first seen him at, outside Rosa’s office, not that Takashi had expected him to still be there. He does a full sweep of the immediate area, discreetly checking in the shops and restaurants too, but he doesn’t see his suspect. 

“Not close to finished yet,” Takashi mutters. The night is young yet. There’s still a lot of searching to do.

Takashi extends his route, and does a full circuit of the entire area where the disappearances and reappearances have occured. There’s twelve blocks to circle through, and they’re full of stores, coffee shops, restaurants, and apartment complexes. It’s a lot of ground to cover, but the victims had all disappeared while traveling and the bodies had re-appeared at or below ground, so he keeps his route close to the streets. He goes through every nook and cranny, every alley, makes note of every manhole cover, and when he’s done it all he does it again. And a third time. 

He doesn’t find his suspect. He doesn’t find any bodies, either, or any clues.

He keeps at it doggedly, but by two in the morning, he’s finally forced to call it quits. Seven hours of patrolling would be exhausting on anyone, but doing it in the dark, in frigid conditions, is brutal. He pushes himself hard, and warms up with short breaks by ducking into late night coffee shops or bars, never the same one twice. But he can’t keep it up forever, and his strength is wearing thin. 

He hates to leave. There’s a killer out there, and he has a lead. He doesn’t know how much longer that girl has, and he doesn’t know what other victims could be in danger. If he’s here, he has a chance to save. To protect. If he leaves, their only line of defense is gone. 

But he can’t save anyone if he’s dropping dead from exhaustion. He doesn’t know what he’s hunting, still. But human or cryptid, if he’s not prepared, a bad encounter will end in his death. And then there won’t be anyone left at all to stop them, or to stop the Covenant from sniffing them out.

It kills him to do so, but he heads home.

Just for a few hours, he promises himself. Crash for a few hours, get your strength back, get warmed up, and then you’ll be right back at it. 

If there’s one thing the Covenant taught him that’s been invaluable, it’s how to be absolutely relentless about a mission, and how to see it through until the end, no matter what.

He texts Keith for updates, and gets a negative in reply. They’re still digging through their contacts, but they’re looking, Keith texts back. No leads yet. 

I’m crashing for a few hours, Takashi texts back. But wake me if you get a solid lead on this guy. 

He doesn’t wait for acknowledgement. He knows Keith will follow through if there’s even a chance at taking this guy down. Instead, he shucks off just enough of the weapons to be able to sleep safely, and collapses on his bed fully clothed, hoping for at least a few hours of sleep.

Chapter Text

“I think sometimes the world doesn’t really care about how we feel. It just keeps on turning, and we’re expected to do whatever we have to in order to keep up.”
—Alex Price, Pocket Apocalypse 

In bed, when it’s way too early in the morning to deal with this

Allura calls at seven in the morning. 

The sound of her ringtone is like a death knell. Never mind that he’d barely gotten just over four hours of sleep—Takashi is wide awake the moment he hears the first notes. Wide awake, and with his stomach already sinking in dread. 

“The police found Rosa’s body this morning,” Allura says, without any preamble. 

Takashi’s heart ices over at that. “It’s too early,” he says, helpless. “The other victims didn’t show up the day after they disappeared. We should have had time.”

“We didn’t,” Allura says. Her voice is grim. “She was found barely half an hour ago. I’ll send you the address. You should get there as soon as possible.”

“Right,” Takashi says, as he bolts out of bed, and recollects his weaponry. “Damn it! I was there in the area. I missed her by just a few hours. Damn it.” 

Logically, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to do anything for her anyway. She would have already been dead. She had probably been dead by the time Takashi had been patrolling. 

Logically, he knows he’s not at fault for any of this. He’d been doing everything he could. He knows that.

But he can’t help but feel the weight of that girl’s death on his shoulders anyway. He should have done better. He should have protected, made a difference. This is on him. It’s his fault. 

Allura must know what’s going through his head, because she says in a more gentle voice than before, “Takashi. The blame for this does not lie at your feet. You didn’t kill her. You did everything you could to save her.”

“Does it matter?” Takashi asks, bitter. “At the end of the day, she’s still dead.”

“And others will follow, unless we act quickly,” Allura says. “You can’t save her. But if you hurry, you can save others. Her last offering may be to provide clues that will prevent future victims.”

“Right.” Takashi snatches his keys and heads for the door. “I’m on my way.” 

He hesitates a moment, and then adds softer, “He’s accelerating, Allura.” The first deaths had been more hidden, buried away in protected cryptid communities. They had come slower. But the dragon princess had been placed somewhere more noticable, and now human police had found the latest victim. The disappearances, the kills, they’re happening faster.

Somebody wants to be noticed. 

“I know,” Allura says, just as softly. “We must hurry.”

“I’m on it,” Takashi promises.

He checks his messages in the car. The address Allura gives him leads to a street three blocks over from where the dragon princess had been found, and he heads in that direction. An earlier message before the call indicates they’ve had no luck yet identifying their primary suspect, but word has been spread through the community to keep an eye out.

There’s also a text from Keith, but it’s just more bad news. The Marmora Society has no idea about the mystery kid either. He’s never been seen in cryptid databases or networks in the city, and he isn’t in any human networks either with a record. 

It means Takashi’s still flying blind. He has no idea if he’s facing down a human or a cryptid, and this guy’s now got four murders to his credit. Four murders, and he’d potentially eluded Takashi last night for hours. 

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. No more. He doesn’t know when the next victim will be targeted, not if the culprit’s changing tactics, but he’s not letting this happen again.

Morning traffic is rough, fighting against school busses and commuters, but Takashi still manages to make it to the scene of the crime in record time. Forensics and police are already on the scene, and the area has been marked off with tape. Curious gawkers watch from the sidelines with horrified fascination and curiosity, and Takashi is able to blend into the crowd discreetly to observe. 

Even with a whirl of activity from the police, and with the body carefully covered, the scene is still gruesome. The killer had left the girl’s body in a dumpster, this time, on a mound of garbage. Takashi can’t see it, but he knows she’s covered in the same mutilation marks as the other three victims. 

I’m sorry, he apologizes to her in his own head. It doesn’t count for much, since it’s not like she can hear him. He thinks it anyway. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I tried. 

But like Allura said, he can save others. So while the police work the crime scene in their own way, Takashi works it in his.

He won’t be able to check the immediate area until the police have packed up and moved on, and that’s likely to take hours. There could be some benefit there—he’ll have to see if Allura has a contact that can get a copy of the forensics reports. But he can look for other clues in the meantime. 

His gaze sweeps the area, picking out all the possible exits and escapes. The killer had to have gotten her here somehow. He’d swept through this place twice last night, and there hadn’t been a body. At some point between two and six thirty in the morning, the killer had dumped her here. Did he have a staging ground in the area? A convenient sewer path? Could he be working with someone, maybe?

Takashi almost misses him. But as he does another visual sweep, searching for clues, he spots the exact same kid he’d seen yesterday in the crowd of bystanders. The hood on his jacket is pulled up today, but Takashi recognizes the headphones. The kid’s on the fringes of the crowd, watching the police work with an intensity that’s alarming.

Takashi’s eyes narrow, but he forces himself to keep looking around, as though he hasn’t spotted his suspect. He keeps all his senses trained on the kid, even as he subtly begins to shift through the crowd, pretending like he’s trying to get past them to go to work. 

Coming back to the scene of the crime. Witnessing the fallout. Did that match with the profile of a serial killer seeking attention? Maybe. 

At this point, does it even matter? He has his target. He can put this kid in the vicinity of three of the disappearances or murders, now. 

No more. There’s not going to be another Rosa. He’s finishing this today. 

He gets maybe three quarters of the way there when the kid senses something off. His head turns, and he spots Takashi. Their eyes meet, and Takashi can see the moment this kid not just spots him, but recognizes him. He knows who Takashi is, what his legacy is, and there’s fear in his eyes. 

Good, he thinks. You deserve it. 

Most of the time, it bothers Takashi to be seen as a Shirogane. But this sick bastard wasn’t just killing to survive, to protect himself or feed. There was intent to this. Cruelty. This isn’t filling an ecological niche—it’s sadistic torture. If he’s scared of Takashi, well, Takashi’s not sorry in the least to see him squirm a little.

The kid does a neat turn and starts fast-walking down the road towards the nearest alley. Smart of him. Running would draw attention, and with a dozen police and forensics people still swarming the scene, it wouldn’t look good. 

Unfortunately, Takashi is in the same boat, and can’t risk forcibly shoving his way through the crowd to follow. It only takes him two minutes to get through the crowd, but it’s two minutes too many. By the time he’s got more room to move, the kid is already turning the corner to duck down a side alley.

Takashi fast-walks his way up the street to the corner, already loosening a throwing knife in his sleeve. Ideally, he’ll want to bring the kid down without killing him. He’ll need to be questioned. It won’t be easy to pull off, with the police less than thirty feet away. 

But he wasn’t the best of the Covenant’s initiates without reason. And he’s not letting this kid go.

Except, when he turns the corner, the kid is already gone. 

He glances up out of force of training. There’s no one clambering up or clinging to the fire escapes, or even the walls of the apartment complexes. No manhole covers to have disappeared into. There are a pair of side doors on either of the buildings forming the alley sides, but a quick check confirms both are securely locked, and neither lock has been tampered with. It’s a dead end—no place to go.

“Damn it,” Takashi curses. He glances around fruitlessly again, and with the same results. He’d had the mystery kid right there, and then he was gone. And with the head start he’s had, who knows where the kid is now. 

At least, after all this time, he can confirm one thing. His suspect is a cryptid. There’s no way a human could disappear like that so quickly.

Now if only he knew what he was dealing with.

Takashi spends most of the morning and afternoon in the area, trying to catch a glimpse of the mystery kid again. He has no such luck spotting him, however. Whoever this cryptid is, he’s smart enough to go to ground for the time being.

Takashi’s not happy about it. But on the plus side, if the kid is hiding, he’s not out killing. Hopefully, Takashi’s presence serves as a protective ward.

He only tears himself away from the area at the onset of dusk, heading back to his part of town. As much as he loathes to leave again—especially after what had happened the last time he’d left—it’s necessary. He puts up signs on his studio doors and sends out a blast email to his human clients saying his classes are cancelled tonight, due to feeling ‘sick.’ The cryptids that had been scheduled to learn from him tonight get a similar email, warning them to stay inside and keep their doors locked. 

Most importantly, now that night is coming, it’s time to grab Keith.

He times his arrival perfectly, just as the sun is starting to slip below the horizon. He snags a fresh pack of B-positive from Keith’s shelf in the fridge, dumps it in a travel mug, and heats it up to body temperature in the microwave. The scent of iron is strong as always, but to Keith, it’ll be the equivalent of bacon sizzling in the morning when first waking up.

Sure enough, Keith slinks out of his room a minute later, still in his pj’s, half asleep, and following his nose to the scent of food. He pauses when he spots Takashi, and blinks at him in confusion.

“Evening, Keith,” Takashi greets. “I’m sorry to ambush you straight out of bed, and I know you’re still shaking sun daze, but I need your help. You can eat on the way.” He caps the travel mug and shakes it gently.

Keith blinks owlishly again, and it takes him a moment to register everything Takashi says. When he does, he frowns. “What happened?”

“Rosa’s body was found this morning,” Takashi says, very softly.

But not softly enough for Keith to miss it. His frown changes to something angry, and he shows his fangs as he snarls. “Let me get dressed and I’m good to go.”

Less than five minutes later they’re out the door again. Keith sits in the passenger seat and sips his blood, while hunching as far into his drawn up sweatshirt hood and wrap-around sunglasses as possible. It’s nearly dark out by Takashi’s standards, but for Keith it’s still practically broad daylight, and not exactly comfortable. 

Takashi wouldn’t ask this of him at all if they weren’t on a time limit. But their killer isn’t constrained by the sun, and with Rosa dead, a new kidnapping is imminent unless they act fast. Keith gets it, and he doesn’t complain once.

Takashi explains everything he’s discovered since he saw Keith last while driving back to the scene of the crime. “He got away from me,” Takashi finishes, eyes narrowed. “Fast. He’s good at eluding people. But if you can track him by scent or sound…”

“I’m not a bloodhound,” Keith reminds him. 

“You’ve still got a better nose than I do,” Takashi says. “And other senses that are far superior. He can dodge humans, but let’s see if he can dodge a vampire.”

“He can’t,” Keith says, eyes narrowed. “I’ll catch him.”

By the time they get to the crime scene, the sun has set, and Keith is both a little more comfortable and a lot more alert. It’s around five thirty, and even in the dark, things are still busy. Perfect for blending in.

The crime scene is still taped off, but the police are long gone. Takashi takes Keith to it first. “She was found here,” he says, slipping under the tape and gesturing to the dumpster. “I’ve already scoured the area, but I didn’t see any evidence that I can make use of. No blood trails or anything left behind. Allura’s waiting to get the forensic reports, but who knows when that’ll be. Can you get anything better out of it?”

Keith slips his sunglasses off. His eyes catch the cast light of the street lamps, and they glow red in the gloom. “No,” he says, after a long moment. “Don’t see anything. I smell a lot, but nothing I can make use of. Mostly human smells. A couple cryptids, but they’re so covered over by human scents and the smell of garbage I can’t really distinguish any or how long it’s been. Nothing fresh.” He takes a deep sniff. “I think one’s a gorgon? Maybe? Has that dry reptile smell.”

“Could have been Melanie,” Takashi says slowly. “She’s a lesser gorgon on the police force. She probably knows about the full case already.”

Keith grunts in agreement. “Something else here kind of stinks,” he adds, after a moment. “But I can’t tell if it’s garbage or a cryptid. Sorry.”

Takashi shakes his head. “Not your fault. It was a long shot. Let’s do another patrol of the area, then. I left to pick you up...our killer may have figured it was safe to come out of hiding. Maybe we can catch him.”

Keith nods in agreement, eyes still narrowed, and they set off.

They case the area for a few hours, constantly checking for anyone suspicious. Takashi has more experience with this sort of job, but Keith’s superior night vision and senses attuned for hunting provide extra insight. Between the two of them, they can cover plenty of ground. 

Even so, it’s hours before they turn up anything useful. Most of the restaurants and shops are closed, and only the late-night establishments and some apartment buildings still have lights shining by the time they get their break. The streets are emptier and travelers are more solitary, which means less witnesses and more opportunities for a would-be kidnapper.

Maybe that’s why they get their break. Takashi turns a corner to a new block, and recognizes the mystery kid two streets up, lurking near a streetlamp. 

“Keith,” he hisses softly, putting a hand out warily to keep the vampire still. “Look. There he is.”

Keith’s eyes widen in surprise, but then his lips peel back to reveal his fangs again in a soundless snarl. “I’ll get him,” he hisses under his breath.

“Careful,” Takashi warns. “He’s dangerous, and he knows how to hide.”

“Once I get his scent, he’s not getting away again,” Keith says, eyes narrowed.

Watching a hunting vampire is an alarming thing to witness. Even Takashi, who knows Keith is a good kid who would never intentionally harm him, finds that it triggers something deep in his monkey brain that screeches to run away from the predator now now now, hurry! Vampires might get their dinner from humane resources these days, but they are designed by evolution as apex human-hunting predators, and human instinct has never quite forgotten that. 

Fortunately, Takashi spent years training to seize command of those instincts. He stays put as Keith stalks up the street towards their killer. 

Keith is very good. He has natural athletic talent, and he’s trained it further working with the Marmora Society. If he’d been stalking a human, that human never would have stood a chance. 

But his prey isn’t a human. It’s another cryptid, and another set of senses that aren’t human. Mystery kid’s head snaps up when Keith is almost there, and he bolts. 

Keith is fast—vampires are, by nature—but so is this other kid. He manages to duck around an alley corner first, even as Keith gives chase. By the time Takashi catches up with Keith, the vampire is pacing restlessly in the alleyway, and the mystery kid is gone again.

“Did you see where he went?” Takashi asks.

“Up,” Keith says curtly. “I don’t know how he got there, but I saw him going over the roof. But I think I— yes.” His nostrils flare wide as he breathes deeply, and he bares his teeth again. “I’ve got his scent. He’s the reptile smell. Sort of. I think.”

Takashi frowns at that, trying to run through his internal catalogue of cryptids. Mystery kid is something that’s human-like, or can take a human shape, but qualifies as a reptile, and can make it to a rooftop in under thirty seconds. As far as he knows, there isn’t anything like that. 

Even as he thinks, he asks, “Can you track him?”

“Yes,” Keith snarls, still confident. 

“Can you flush him out? Back this way?” Takashi asks next—low, under his breath, in case the mystery kid is still listening in. “He’s faster than me, but if he’s preoccupied with you, I can take him down.”

“You got it,” Keith says, and now there’s a hint of a smirk in his expression. “Get ready.”

Keith disappears around the corner, still breathing deeply to chase the scent. Takashi trusts him to handle his job, and slips off to the side, melding into the shadows near a dumpster. It’s a smelly, cold hiding spot, but he blends in well—well enough that a preoccupied cryptid running from a vampire shouldn’t notice him.

It takes almost five minutes, but Takashi knows better than to move. He doesn’t know exactly where the mystery kid will be coming from, but he watches all potential exits and the roof, remaining vigilant. 

And then it happens. He hears a scuffing noise, and the mystery kid’s head appears over one of the rooftops. He glances back—presumably in the direction of Keith, on the other side of the building—and then starts to descend. He doesn’t bother with any of the fire escapes. Instead, he scuttles down the side of the wall like something straight out of Spider-man, and hits the pavement fifteen seconds later.

If Takashi wasn’t so furious with this guy, he’d actually be impressed. He has no idea what kind of cryptid can do that, but it’s no damn wonder he’d been able to evade Takashi that morning. 

The kid doesn’t waste time, darting for the end of the alley back to the main street. He probably knows Keith is already circling around for him, and he’s anxious to get gone. Takashi can see the nervousness on his face as he bolts for the street. He probably hadn’t anticipated a vampire being hot on his heels.

The nervousness slips to startled fear when Takashi steps out in front of him, sliding a sword out from under his heavy winter jacket. “That’s enough.”

The kid curses under his breath—Spanish, from the sound of it—and whips around to bolt for the wall again. Takashi flings a throwing knife at the wall as the kid reaches for it to start climbing. The kid jerks back with a yelp, narrowly avoiding getting his fingers sliced. 

“Why the hell are you doing this?” the kid snaps. He whips around to face Takashi, probably realizing that there’s no way Takashi will let him climb, now that he’s figured out the secret.

“This has gone on long enough,” Takashi says. 

The kid looks alarmed, but then his eyes narrow. “Fine,” he growls—and to Takashi’s surprise, it really is a growl . The kid’s shoulders are starting to hunch, and Takashi spots spines beginning to punch out through the back of his head and along his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m not gonna let you hurt those ladies anymore!”

Wait, what? 

Before Takashi can process that unexpected turn of events, the mystery kid leaps at him. When he leaves the ground, he’s still vaguely humanoid. When he lands, there’s nothing human about him. He looks like a cross between a bony dog and an enormous lizard, covered in thick spines all down his back. All four paws have hooked, reptilian claws, and his large canine-like mouth is full of serrated teeth. 

Now, and only now, does he recognize the beast. Chupacabra! 

By then, the mystery kid is on him. He lets out a furious snarling noise and snaps his toothy jaws at Takashi as he leaps again. Takashi hurls himself to the side, narrowly dodging as he throws himself into a safety roll and nearly crashes into the nearest alley wall. He braces his leg against it to absorb his momentum and whips around quickly, sword held defensively.

The chupacabra skids to a halt before he slides out into the road, and manages to spin around quickly. His tail lashes as his head whips back and forth, searching for Takashi. Once he spots him, he starts to pace forward again.

“Wait,” Takashi says, stowing the sword away and hastily holding up his hands in a gesture of ‘unarmed.’ Something’s not right here. He doesn’t want to be forced to do something he’ll regret, defending himself. “Hold up. There’s a misunderstanding. I don’t want to hurt you—”

The chupacabra doesn’t seem to believe it. With another snarl, he hurls himself at Takashi again, jaws wide—

—and Keith shoulder-checks him bodily in the side, smashing him hard into the wall. 

“ Don’t hurt Takashi,” he snarls, red eyes gleaming.

The chupacabra shrieks indignantly, and whips its head around shockingly fast to snap at Keith’s face. But Keith has his own preternatural swiftness, and manages to pull his head out of the way. The chupacabra thrashes next, but Keith manages to get his arms around the creature’s bony, spiny shoulders, and smashes him into the grimy pavement, pinning him there. 

The chupacabra yowls again. He scrabbles madly with all four paws for purchase, whips with his tail, snaps with his jaws, and even tries to gouge with the spines all along its back and head. But although Keith looks like a scrawny teenager, he’s much, much stronger than he appears. Despite the creature’s thrashing, and the few cuts his spines slice into Keith’s skin, the vampire holds him down gamely. 

“Woah!” Takashi says, circling around to the chupacabra’s head. He stays just out of reach of the snapping jaws and whipping spines, but makes sure he can make eye contact. “Woah, buddy, hold up, calm down. Listen. We don’t want to hurt you. Just relax.”

The chupacabra makes another spine-chilling shriek of disagreement. He doesn’t stop thrashing.

“Can you talk in that form?” Takashi asks. “It’d be easier if we could talk with you, please—I’m serious, buddy, we’re not trying to hurt you. We’re after the same guy you are.”

The chupacabra finally stops yowling and thrashing, but the low growl and baleful glare is enough to make his feelings on the matter abundantly clear, even if he can’t speak. He twists his head to glare at Keith, and then looks back to Takashi, as if to say, a little help, please? 

“How about a compromise,” Takashi says. “Keith will let go and let you up, as long as you don’t run. Okay? I swear, we aren’t trying to hurt you. If you’re after the same guy as us, then I’d actually like your help.”

The chupacabra makes a resigned snorting noise, but after a moment affects an awkward nod with his spine-covered head. 

“Alright. Thank you. Keith—let him go.”

Keith gives him an incredulous look. “Seriously? He tried to kill you.”

“Keith,” Takashi says sternly. “We made a deal. Let him go.”

Keith grumbles, but after a moment, loosens his restraining hold on the chupacabra.

The chupacabra moves immediately, scrambling away from Keith at the same time that he shifts back into his humanoid form. “Stupid human-drinker,” he mutters, glaring balefully at Keith and rubbing his shoulders, as though they’re sore. “What are you, some kind of traitor? Why’re you working with a Shirogane? Are you crazy? They kill people like us! And you’re helping him!”

Keith bares his fangs in a snarl. “Takashi’s not like them. And I’m not a traitor. You’re the one killing women—”

“I am not!” the chupacabra snaps back. “ You guys are, I’ve been trying to—”

“Enough!” Takashi snaps. 

He’s actually impressed to find that works. Both the mystery kid and Keith click their jaws shut. They continue to glare at each other, but they don’t argue. 

“Alright,” Takashi says. “First things first. My name is Takashi. This is Keith. Can I ask your name?”

The kid gives him a deeply suspicious look, but after a moment, offers, “Lance.”

“Okay, Lance,” Takashi says. “That fight made quite a bit of noise. We are still near a crime scene, which means somebody has almost certainly called 911 by now, and police are probably on their way. I suggest we take this conversation somewhere safer, and try to figure out our next options.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Lance says, incredulous. “I know better than to walk off with a Shirogane. Do I look stupid to you?”

“A little,” Keith answers, with a sour expression on his face.

Lance bristles—almost literally, as his spines start to appear again—and snaps, “Listen, people-drinker, I didn’t ask for your opinion, so—”

“It will be a public setting,” Takashi interrupts, before they can get started again. “There’s a late night coffee shop not too far from here. Neither side can do anything dangerous out in the open until we get the measure of each other. Fair?”

Lance glances between the two. After a moment, he nods. “Fine.”

Fifteen minutes later, they’re settled in the late-night coffee shop, at a quiet table off in the corner. Lance and Takashi sit across from each other, carefully distant. Takashi sends Keith to the counter to get coffee; Lance is obviously nervous and on edge, and it’s already clear that Keith is only exacerbating things. Until the kid is more comfortable, it’s better to keep them apart.

“Alright, Lance,” Takashi says, keeping his movements as unthreatening as possible, his hands visible on the table, and his voice friendly. “I have to admit, you threw me for a loop for a while. I wasn’t sure how you were evading me. I didn’t know chupacabra could pull a Spider-man.”

Lance snorts. “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly information we like to share. The more the Covenant knows about us, the more of us you can kill.” 

He’s not wrong. And chupacabra were famously undocumented to begin with. They had only recently been discovered in the last few decades, and the Covenant still didn’t know a lot about them. Takashi had added a little more to his own personal dossiers, but only thanks to tidbits and details he’d picked up in Garrison’s cryptid community. 

What he does know is still pretty sparse. Chupacabra are a species of therianthrope, a shape-shifting type of cryptid that has a humanoid form and a more animalistic form they can transform between at will. That was how they had remained undetected for so long to begin with. If their lizard-dog form was spotted by a human, they could simply change back to a humanoid shape and disappear into a crowd, and no one would know the difference. 

Beyond that, Takashi only knows that it’s unclear if they classify as a reptile or a mammal—the closest he’s been able to determine is a ‘mammal-like reptile’ that has characteristics from both classes—and that like Keith, they live on an all-liquid diet. In the case of the chupacabra, though, the insides they prefer are varieties of animal blood, ranging from livestock or large deer to smaller pigeons and rats. 

And apparently they can also wall-climb with shocking ease and speed. Takashi mentally reminds himself to add that to the dossier later. He wonders if it extends to hanging from ceilings. Maybe, if he can get Lance to calm down, he can eventually ask.

“Fair enough,” is all Takashi says. “And to be clear, I’m ex -Covenant.”

Lance sneers. “What, they just let you leave?”

“No,” Takashi says. “I ran away. I didn’t like what they were doing. So I left, came here to America, and started trying to use what I know to do the right thing.”

Lance snorts, disbelieving. “Sure thing, Shirogane.”

“It’s Takashi, please,” he says, patiently. 

“Fine. So, what, you only kill people who ‘deserve’ it? Because I definitely don’t deserve it, and you threw a knife at me.” 

“That was a misunderstanding,” Takashi says. “And I’m sorry for that. I don’t like to kill unless I have to, but I do make it my job to make sure this city stays under Covenant radar. Which, tonight, includes tracking down this killer that has already kidnapped and murdered four people.”

Lance’s suspicion shifts into something more solemn and morose. “Yeah. That, I get.”

“You want to tell me what you were doing?” Takashi asks patiently. 

“Why should I?” Lance asks, but he’s still frowning. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could be the killer, and you’re just trying to get rid of me for getting in the way.” 

“He’s not.” 

Keith is back, once again wearing his wrap-around sunglasses to hide his eye color around humans. Lance had already given him crap for that, and Keith’s fists had been clenching warningly; Takashi had been forced to give them both stern looks. That was the catalyst for sending Keith to go get coffee in the first place.

Thankfully, nobody else seems to care that Keith’s wearing shades at night. He sits down at the end of the table, holding a small cardboard cup-holder tray, and wordlessly divvies out three coffees. He also shoves a bagel in front of Takashi unceremoniously. Takashi shakes his head in fond exasperation.

Lance gives the coffee cup in front of him an incredulous look, before staring at Keith with long-suffering irritation. “C’mon, people-drinker, you know we can’t touch this stuff. Unless you’ve figured out how to swill this garbage. I know I haven’t. It stinks.” 

“It’s just for blending in,” Takashi cuts in quickly, before Keith can retaliate and things get out of hand. “Just hold it in your hand and pretend to drink from it every once and a while. It looks less suspicious.” 

Lance raises an eyebrow, and gives Keith another incredulous look. “Is he serious?”

In answer, Keith merely fakes a very deliberate swig of coffee, while glaring balefully through his sunglasses at Lance the whole time. The challenge seems to be all Lance needs, since he bristles—though thankfully, this time, not literally—and awkwardly does the same. 

“He’s not the killer,” Keith repeats, once Takashi actually takes his own first sip of coffee, savoring the heat and the sweet caffeination. “You know the rumors about Shiroganes?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Well, have you heard the rumors around here?” Keith presses. “You’ve been here for a couple weeks at least. You have to have heard about the Shirogane working with House Altea. Even if people don’t like him, there’s enough rumors flying around to confirm he’s not like the others.”

Lance bites his lip, for the first time looking unsure. “I...guess,” he says, after a slow moment. “I didn’t believe them. Who gets a Shirogane on a leash? But…”

“He could’ve killed you, and he didn’t,” Keith points out. 

“You tried to though,” Lance mutters, a little sullenly.

“I didn’t. Anyway, you’d have deserved it. You attacked to kill too.”

“You were chasing me! He trapped me!”

“You started it by running!”

“I’m not gonna just stand there when a Covenant guy is coming after me with murder in his eyes—”

“Enough,” Takashi says, and once again, to his surprise, they both shut up. “Look, Lance. I’m really, genuinely not interested in hurting you, okay? We were under the impression that you were the killer. 

“I know,” he adds, holding up his hand to forestall Lance’s indignant outburst, “—I understand now that you weren’t responsible. But we can place you at several of the crime scenes, buddy. You’re in a few surveillance photos. You were at Rosa’s crime scene today, and at her office yesterday. You’re still lurking in the area the killer operates in. It doesn’t exactly look good. But I promise—if you tell me what’s going on, I’ll do what I can to help you out. And I will catch the real killer.”

Lance bites his lip. The look he gives Takashi is still suspicious, but more thoughtful than before. Finally, he says slowly, “You’re really serious. You really want to take this guy down.”

“Yes.”

“Even if he’s human?” Lance challenges.

“Even if,” Takashi agrees. “I don’t care what species is doing this. Four women are dead because of them. Before that, they were tortured. It’s wrong.”

Lance taps his fingers on the table nervously for a moment. Both his hands wrap around the coffee cup in front of him. The warmth seems to give him comfort, even if he can’t drink it. After a moment he says, “Okay. Okay, fine. I’ll work with you guys. Whoever’s doing this, they need to pay. If that means working with Covenant—”

“— ex- Covenant,” Takashi reminds, with tired patience. 

“—then I’ll do it.” Lance pauses. “Um. I don’t really know where to start, though.”

“Start from the beginning,” Takashi suggests. “What made you get involved in all this?”

“Um. I knew one of the girls. Makka. The harpy lady.” Lance shrugs. “She works...um. Worked, at that club a couple blocks over. The swanky one that’s cryptid friendly? She was one of the bartenders.” 

Takashi raises an eyebrow. “You’re a little young for that place, aren’t you?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “You and every bouncer there agree,” he says. “So did Makka. She didn’t like my pickup lines much either.” He pouts a little. “But she was still nice enough to let me sleep in the kitchen sometimes when I couldn’t find a place to stay, so she was cool. I liked her. She kind of reminded me of my big sister.” 

Takashi frowns. “Wait. You’re homeless?”

“Transient,” Lance corrects, a little testily. “I’m not from this city. I’ve been moving around a lot for the past year or so. There’s usually people in the community willing to let me crash in a back room or point out a safe space in exchange for a little work. Makka didn’t even make me wash dishes or mop the floors, so I was staying there a lot while I was here.” 

He doesn’t elaborate on why he’s in the city. For now, Takashi doesn’t push. “Do you have safe places to stay now?”

“I thought we were finding a killer, not putting me on trial,” Lance mutters.

Takashi sighs. “Fine. The case is more pressing, but we’ll come back to this later. I do have connections that can help you, if you need it.” 

Lance merely shrugs. 

“Alright. So you knew Makka. And that explains why we found you in surveillance footage around the club,” Takashi says. “And then what? She died?”

Lance swallows. “Yes,” he whispers softly. “She disappeared first. Didn’t call into work sick or anything. She was real good at her job, really liked it, always showed up on time. Her husband didn’t know where she went either. The call went up for the cryptids in the area to look for her. I helped, of course. But then…”

“They found the body,” Takashi finishes, when Lance doesn’t continue.

Lance’s expression is subdued now. “I might have been one of the last people to talk to her,” he says softly. “I keep wondering if maybe, if I’d done something different, I could’ve saved her. If I, I don’t know, walked her home or something. I didn’t think anything of it. Harpies are tough, y’know? And she could fly. Obviously. What’s a chupacabra gonna do? She locked up for the night and left me in the kitchen to snooze, and that’s the last time I ever saw her.” 

Lance shakes his head. “It was...it was sad. It sucked. She wasn’t really family, but she was a nice person. She didn’t deserve that. But then...that other girl disappeared. The wadjet.”

“Did you know her?” Takashi asks.

Lance shakes his head. “No. But the story sounded the same, y’know? Wadjets are scary. How does anybody make a cobra-lady just disappear? It had to be the same thing. It had to be. And I figured...I was so close last time, maybe I could get lucky, find something… ” Lance shakes his head. “But she died, too. I didn’t get there in time, either.”

“And the same with the dragon princess?”

Lance nods. “Soon as I heard a girl disappeared, I spent my time looking. I’ve been wandering around this whole area where the killer keeps hunting, trying to spot the guy. That was how I found her body so fast, at the same time the cryptid cops did. And when the human girl got nabbed...I was running out of options. I started looking around her office, her home, everything. Trying to case the place, see if the killer came back, or if I could catch a familiar scent, or something…” He shrugs. 

“I saw you outside Rosa’s office,” Takashi says. 

“Yeah. I saw you too.” Lance grumbles. “You scared the hell out of me. But I figured my thinking finally worked out. The killer came back. And of course it was Covenant. Covenant wouldn’t have a problem murdering cryptid girls, would they? And then you kept finding me all over, and I was scared, because if you could do that to them, you could do that to me. But I was the only one that knew, so when you trapped me, I figured I had to try and take you down.”

“That was very brave of you,” Takashi says. 

Lance brightens a little. He obviously enjoys praise, even from an ex-Covenant agent he’s suspicious of.

“It was also very stupid,” Takashi continues, and the kid’s expression deflates. “If I had been an actual Covenant agent, you understand you would have been dead, right?”

“I could’ve taken you,” Lance says, a little stiffly. “You had to have him come in and rescue you.” He nods to Keith. 

“He wasn’t trying to fight you,” Keith snaps back. “Didn’t you hear him? He told you he wanted to talk. If he’d been trying to kill you, you wouldn’t have made that first leap. He’d have shot you with the gun he’s hiding in that coat.”

Lance’s eyes widen in alarm. “You have a—”

“Lance,” Takashi hisses warningly. Screeching about firearms in a public area is a sure-fire way to start a panic, and possibly get arrested. “Relax. The answer is yes, but no, I don’t use it unless I intend to kill, and certainly not on you.”

Lance still looks dumbfounded at the notion that he’d charged someone who’d been fully armed. 

“This is what I’m talking about, buddy,” Takashi says, in a more gentle tone. “You’re not trained for this. You’ve got a lot of spirit, and I think it’s very noble of you to want to help. But this isn’t about being a hero. This could have gone very badly. If you’d come across the actual killer…”

Lance swallows a little. 

“Alright,” Takashi says. “Well, what’s done is done. For now, you’re safe as long as you’re around me. That means from me, as well as anything that tries to attack while you’re around me. Okay?”

“Uh. Right.” 

“Okay. Now. I know how you got involved in all of this,” Takashi says. “Do you know anything that could help us find who really did this? Anything at all?”

Lance shrugs uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Like I said, I thought it was you. I guess I didn’t do a very good job of putting the clues together.”

“You might have seen or sensed something without realizing it,” Takashi says. “Let’s try rethinking the first disappearance, with Makka. Can you tell me more about that night? Anything you remember.”

“Um.” Lance closes his eyes and thinks hard, clutching his coffee cup. “Well, it was one of Makka’s work nights, obviously. Her shift started at eight pm. So I showed up a little after that so she’d let me in the back door and I could snooze in the kitchen.”

“At eight at night?” Keith asks, incredulous. 

“Hey, some of us aren’t nocturnal,” Lance snaps, cracking his eyes open to glare at Keith. “And I was tired after a long day of—”

He snaps his mouth shut abruptly, and gives Takashi a nervous look out of the corner of his eye. 

Takashi ignores it for now. He doubts Lance could have been up to anything endangering others at this point, and it’s not his business to pry. “Okay, so you turned in for the night?”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Makka let me in. She seemed totally fine. Even chatted with me for a few minutes since there weren’t a lot of people there yet. Then she left to get back to work at the front and I curled up in the corner for a rest.”

“So you slept until she left?”

“Well, sort of. ‘Dozed,’ more like. See, the kitchen’s right behind the bar, and the door’s kinda flimsy, and I’ve got real good hearing. Especially in my other form.” He gives Takashi a pointed look. “So I can hear a lot of stuff that goes on in the bar area. Makes it kind of hard to really sleep sleep since it’s kind of loud, but it’s still a nice safe place to curl up to rest. Plus it’s warm. And all the activity kind of reminds me of home.”

Lance falters at that last part. There’s a far-away look in his eyes. Takashi’s got an uncomfortable feeling there’s something going on with this kid that he doesn’t want to talk about, but he still doesn’t push. He can find a way to help Lance, but later. 

“So you were listening in on the bar activity,” Takashi summarizes.

“Yeah,” Lance says. “It’s fun listening to the people. And listening to Makka deal with them. Or….how she used to deal with them, I guess. Lots of people would hit on her, it was funny to listen to her make’em back off. She was married, so she was never interested.” He frowns. “Well, mostly never interested.” 

Takashi raises an eyebrow at that.

Lance remembers to pretend to drink again, using the time to collect his thoughts. “Now that I think about it, the night she disappeared, there was one guy she seemed kinda into. Actually, it sounded like a lot of ladies were into him, but Makka didn’t shut him down right away like usual. I don’t know why. His flirting wasn’t that great,” he mutters, a little sullenly. “I’m way better. And he reeked.” 

“How could you tell if you were in another room?” Keith says, frowning. 

Lance shrugs. “I only smelled that stink when he started talking, and it went away a little after they stopped. Plus I could smell it on Makka later, so he must’ve touched her arm or something.”

Takashi frowns. There’s an uncomfortable thought digging at the back of his mind now, but he really hopes he’s wrong. “Lance—how did Makka seem when she left? You said you saw her before she left, right?”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “After all the patrons left Makka was always the one to lock up for the night. I stopped dozing long enough to say goodbye. She seemed…” He pauses to consider, before finally choosing, “Dreamy.”

“Dreamy?”

“Yeah. Y’know, like heads-in-the-clouds happy? Not high exactly, though. I figured she was tired. Or maybe looking forward to something with her family. But now that I think about it…” He shrugs. “Dreamy.”

“Was that normal for her?”

“Naw. Makka’s one of those ladies that’s always really practical. No nonsense. But friendly. Not like that, though.”

He’d thought as much. “Okay,” Takashi says. “Now I want you to think very hard on this next one, Lance. Take your time if you need to. Do you remember smelling that bad scent at any other point when you investigated the other disappearances and deaths?”

Lance blinks at him. “What?”

“Just answer the question,” Takashi says patiently. “I don’t want to say anything else and color your memories. Take all the time you need.”

Lance frowns at that, but closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. His nostrils flare, like he’s trying to scent for the same rank smell now.

“Maybe,” he says finally, after nearly two minutes. “Maybe, I...I wasn’t looking for it, and all the places since were really smelly too. But...I think I remember it for the dragon princess. And the human girl. Actually, now that I think about it, I definitely remember it for the human girl. That’s still fresh in my memory. I thought I was smelling the garbage from the dumpster she was in, but...yeah.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Takashi breathes, rising to his feet. “I think I know what we’re dealing with. And if I’m right, we have to move. Fast.”

Chapter Text

“We can get hurt anywhere. It’s better to get hurt doing something you love, or helping someone you love, than to get hurt because the world isn’t fair.”
—Fern Conway, That Ain’t Witchcraft 

The parking garage of the modern Garrison City castle, aka Allura Altea’s penthouse

Just over half an hour later, Takashi pulls his car into the private parking in Allura’s building. He’d broken half a dozen traffic laws to get to his apartment fast enough to pick up a few supplies before coming here, but he’d done it in record time. He’s out of the car immediately, rushing for the door with Keith and Lance hot on his heels.

Lance mutters under his breath as he chases after Takashi. “I still don’t see why I had to come with you,” he grouses. “I could’ve stayed back there to keep watch for this guy.”

“We’ve been over this,” Takashi reminds him for the fifth time. “First, you’re not trained, and second, you’re not prepared to deal with this type of cryptid. Not until I can get us all equipped.”

“Besides,” Keith adds, “You’re currently on the ‘most wanted’ list in the cryptid community. Everyone thinks you’re the killer right now. We didn’t kill you, but other cryptids might.”

Even having heard the argument almost half a dozen times now, Lance still pales at the thought of an angry bugbear or bogeyman out for blood and vengeance to protect their community. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters, sullen.

“Then you shouldn’t have been sneaking around murder scenes,” Keith snipes back.

Lance looks ready to argue, so Takashi says curtly, “Relax, Lance. You just have to stick with us until this is over, and I can get the search called off of you. Then you’re free to go. Okay?” 

Lance sighs, but nods. “Right.”

Takashi pushes them through security at record speed. There’s more guards than usual, and they all regard Lance with extreme suspicion, hands on weapons—or natural weapons at the ready. It’s only thanks to Takashi’s urgent prodding, and insistence that they need to move to catch the real killer, that security finally lets him through at all. But they do eventually get into the elevator leading to Allura’s suite, and before long they’re at her foyer.

Coran is already waiting, and most notably, he has a firearm close at hand. “Security informed me the suspect was on his way up with you—”

“It’s a misunderstanding, Coran,” Takashi says patiently, as Lance eyes the human—and the gun—warily. “I need to talk to you and Allura about—”

“ You!” 

Allura herself comes striding down the hall. It’s not wide enough for her to bristle her full wingspan in a threat display, but she does her best to threaten anyway, feathers flaring angrily and knocking several paintings and photographs from their mounts. Her taloned eagle feet are normally graceful, but now they clack ominously on the tiled flooring as she stalks forward. She snatches a staff from one of the ornamental mountings against the wall as she moves, and spins it into a ready stance under one arm as she charges straight for Lance. “How dare you show your face here, you vile—”

Lance’s expression goes from surprised to awed to flirtatious to terrified in the span of ten seconds. What had probably been intended to be a (most likely) terrible pick up line turns into a frightened squeak as he hastily backpedals into the elevator. Spines are already beginning to burst along the back of his head and shoulders. “Wait—”

Takashi hastily puts himself between the two, holding his hands up to both show he’s unarmed and block the way. “Woah! Allura, calm down.”

Allura does her best to get around him, glaring hatefully over Takashi’s shoulders at the chupacabra in the elevator. “How dare you bring that murderer into my home—”

“Allura! Allura, calm down,” Takashi says, keeping his voice as patient and as calm as possible. “There’s been a misunderstanding. This is Lance. He isn’t the killer, but he has been looking for him, and he may be the key to stopping them.”

“And you believe that?” Allura asks. She steps back, finally lowering the staff, but her expression is anything but trustful.

“Would I put my back to him if I didn’t?” Takashi asks. 

Allura hesitates.

“Look, I know it’s hard to swallow, but I think his story checks out,” Takashi says. “At least for this. More importantly, I think I know what is doing this. And if I’m right, we have to move fast, before we lose another victim.” 

Allura takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes once. After a moment she withdraws completely, curling her wings closer to her body again in their natural fold, and places the staff back on its rack. “I will trust you, Takashi,” she finally declares, after a moment.

Glancing over Takashi’s shoulder, she adds curtly, “I apologize. We had reason to believe you the killer. These past few days have been...difficult.”

“Uh, no problem,” Lance says. “I get it. Sorry about, uh, being suspicious on accident.”

Allura snorts. She’s still a little icy, but at least she’s not hellbent on killing Lance anymore. Takashi finally lowers his arms and steps aside. 

“The briefing room?” Allura asks.

“Yes,” Takashi says. “I’ll need the table to start assembling the charms.”

“Very well.” Out loud, she says, “You may come out. Please treat our guest with respect.” 

“HAIL!” a chorus of a hundred tiny voices cheer. The Aeslin mice swarm out of seemingly nowhere to fill the halls. “HAIL, HIGH PRIEST OF THOSE WHO WALK OUT OF THE DARKNESS! HAIL, HIGH PRIEST OF UNDYING LOYALTY! HAIL, THERIANTHROPE, NOBLE GUEST OF THE LION GODDESS!”

“Hey guys,” Takashi says, with a quick wave. “We need to move, I’ll bring an offering later when this is all over for Witness.”

“HAIL!” The mice cheer. One of the blue-streaked mice adds, “The High Priest of Those who Walk Out Of The Darkness possesses Word that is Bond! He will grant Offerings! We will Witness!” 

“Great,” Takashi says. He’s already following after Allura, but he’s careful to step around the little creatures, which dutifully swarm out of the way of his boots. 

Keith picks his way through the crowd with more or less the same confidence, even if his lips are pressed together at the high pitched squealing of the mice. Their voices are a little...intense for someone with hearing as good as Keith’s. It’s why he generally avoids visiting Allura’s penthouse if he can help it.

Lance doesn’t move a muscle from his spot by the elevator, staring at the mice. “Um?” he yelps, after a moment, a noise of high pitched alarm. “There are...the mice talk? Am I going crazy? They talk? They know who... what I am? And also... talking? Did I mention the part when they talk?”

“Aeslin mice,” Takashi calls over his shoulder. “Incidentally, that means none of them are snacks, got it? C’mon, Lance, we need to move, there are lives on the line.”

“Aeslin mice are real? I thought they were a myth!”

“Lance! Move!”

“Right! Right, I’m on it.” He follows after the others, doing his best to not step on the mice that part beneath his footsteps. “No worries, talking mice. I like my dinner of the non-talking mice variety. No offense.”

“None is Taken, Noble Guest of the Lion Goddess!” one of the mice chirrups at his feet. 

“This is so weird,” Lance says, bewildered, as he catches up to Takashi and Keith. Then he frowns. “Hey. Wait. How come you guys get to be ‘high priests’ and I’m just a ‘noble guest’ ?”

“Trust me,” Keith grumbles, “You don’t want to be a high priest.”

“It’s a long story, Lance,” Takashi says, as they round the corner into the briefing room. Allura is already clearing off a section of the table, and Takashi immediately deposits the bag he’d picked up from his apartment on it, unpacking plastic tupperware containers of reagents and a few small glass bottles, carefully wrapped in cloth. “I’ll explain another day. For now we have lives to save.”

“Yes,” Allura agrees, crouching to collect the four Witness Aeslin to deposit them on the table. “You believe you know the killer? The real killer?” She glances at Lance for a moment.

“I think so. I’m almost positive we’re dealing with a Lilu. Specifically, an incubus.” To the four mice now on the table, he adds, “Can you please divide these into five piles of ten each?” and pushes a plastic tupperware of howlite stones towards them. The creatures set to work with a will, eagerly sorting through the stones as Takashi removes some cloth scraps from a container and begins setting them out. 

Allura is incredulous at that. “An incubus?” 

“It tracks,” Takashi says, dabbing a little bit of unicorn water onto each of the cloth scraps, and then moving on to shredding aconite. “All the victims are women that had been dating or married to men. Lance here remembers a strong scent when one was making an advance on the first victim, and he remembers she seemed uncharacteristically interested in that advance. The scent was also around when some of the other bodies were discovered. Lilu, male and female, exude pheromones that usually inspire attraction in anyone attracted to their gender, barring some exceptions or built up resistances.” 

“I’ve never met an incubus before,” Lance says slowly, frowning. “I wouldn’t know what those pheromones smell like. I still have a hard time believing anybody would fall for somebody who reeks like that, though.”

“That’s because you’re thinking like a chupacabra,” Takashi says, as he places the shredded aconite in each of the cloth scraps he’d prepared. “To humans, it smells more floral, and only in very concentrated quantities. The same rule applies to most other mammals known to be cross-fertile with incubi or succubi, which are usually their targets for a liaison. I doubt a human would consciously notice the smell at all.” 

“But this guy wasn’t targeting mammals,” Keith says slowly. “The first was a bird lady. The next two were reptiles. Only the human fits that. None of them should have been affected, right?”

“That’s why I think something else is going on here,” Takashi says quietly. He accepts the divided pebbles with a nod of thanks to the mice, and splits them up into the cloth scraps, before tying off the charm bags neatly to contain their contents. “This guy is trying to be noticed...or he’s trying to prove something. The way his victims disappear and reappear in increasingly more noticeable ways almost feels like he’s testing the waters. His kills are getting more outgoing, more difficult. But he’s definitely having an affect on people he shouldn’t be able to. Lance’s witness account for Makka proves it.”

“It’s worse than that,” Allura whispers, suddenly looking both furious and sick to her stomach. “Male lilu—incubui—are natural empaths. And his victims were tormented before they died. Many incubui can be troublemakers due to their...interests...but those interests generally don’t extend to torture.”

“So this one’s crazy,” Lance summarizes angrily. “He likes hurting people. For fun.” 

“And his powers are way stronger than they should be,” Keith adds, also scowling. “Why?”

“We can figure out the why later, after we get him,” Takashi says. “For now, here.” He finishes stringing the charm bags on sturdy cords, and tosses one to every humanoid in the room, including Coran back by the door. “These are anti-incubus charms. Until we bag this guy, everyone wears one at all times. They’ll let you keep control of your awareness.” 

Lance frowns. “His powers didn’t work on me before. He stinks, and so does this.” Based on the way Keith’s lip curls distastefully, showing one fang, he agrees.

“He also wasn’t targeting you specifically,” Takashi notes. 

Lance still looks skeptical. 

Takashi gets it, but he has no time for argument. “Listen. I don’t care if you’re a different species, if you’re not a mammal, what gender you’re interested in, if you think his powers won’t work on you, or how much the charm stinks. We already know these powers are working on people they shouldn’t, and when those people are affected, they lose control, and they die. Period. We don’t know how far that extends. So until he’s neutralized or dead, every single one of us carries one of these charms at all times, or you stay here in the penthouse on lockdown. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

All of them stare at him for a moment. After a long few seconds of tense silence, one of the witness mice finally cheers, “HAIL! The High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of The Darkness hath Spoken! Lo, his wise word is now Law!” 

That breaks the tension, and Lance says sheepishly, “Uh, right then. What the mice said.” The others nod in agreement, and loop the charms around their necks. 

“Good,” Takashi says, putting his own on, and securing it underneath his vest. “Now we’ve got our protection, so the next step is to find this bastard, before he takes another victim.”

“That is easily remedied,” Allura says, raising her chin high. “We will simply control the situation, and ensure he chooses a victim of our own design.” 

It’s her turn to be stared at. After a moment, Coran shouts, “Absolutely not, miss! I’d rather you stay here. Your father would be furious—” 

“My father would say it is our duty to protect this city,” Allura counters sharply. “I can do no less than to make myself a part of the fight. This is my mission just as much as anyone else’s.” 

“But miss—” 

“No, Coran.” Allura turns to stare Takashi in the eye. “Think about it. You yourself said I would make a very enticing target. If this murderer comes after me, he will not go after a victim we cannot know about or protect until it is too late. And if we know where he will be, we can set a trap.”

Everyone looks between Takashi and Allura nervously. The mice skitter forward to the edge of the table with their little hands clasped, awaiting the verdict that will no doubt go down into the annals of Aeslin mice religious rites. 

And Takashi…

He’s not really fond of the idea of putting Allura in danger. He’s not fond of putting any of them in danger, but at least Coran is ex-military, and Keith and Lance are both natural apex predators capable of doing a lot of damage if they wanted to. 

But caladrius don’t have much in the way of natural defenses, and they aren’t predators. Allura is more of a fighter than most, but in the cold she’ll be much weaker than usual. And if he’s deduced wrong on the enemy, or if there is something special going on with his powers and Takashi’s charms don’t work...he’s handing Allura over to a known torturer and murderer.

But she is right, too. They’re never going to get this guy if they don’t control the situation. She’s willing to play the victim, but she’ll be more prepared than any of the others, and she isn’t as helpless as she might look. And more importantly, she’s brave, and she’s fearless, and she’s willing to do anything to protect her city.

“Fine,” he says. “You’re in. But only if we play this according to plan. I’m not losing anybody over this guy.”

Allura nods, fiercely determined. “Of course. I have no interest in being a true victim.”

The mice cheer, leap up and down, and wave their minute staves, overcome by a wave of religious ecstasy. “HAIL! HAIL THE LION GODDESS! REJOICE, FOR THE LION GODDESS COMES TO PROTECT! HAIL!” 

Keith visibly winces at their high-pitched shrieks of delight. So does Lance.

“Right,” Takashi says. “Everyone circle up. We need a plan to bring this guy down, and we need to bag him tonight.” 

They’re pushing two AM by the time they make it back to the streets their murderer has been taking his victims from.

Takashi can only hope they moved fast enough. During their trap planning, Allura had tasked several of the Aeslin mice with monitoring her usual channels, in case news came of a new kidnapping. As far as they know, nobody—human or crypid—has gone missing from that area in the past few hours. 

Hopefully, that means their killer is out there, stalking the streets and waiting for another victim. One they’re about to put right out in front of him. One he won’t be able to resist, despite other potential choices. 

The fabled ‘princess’ of Garrison City, Allura Altea.

Allura is bundled up in the thickest winter jacket she has, specially designed to hide her wings, and long thick skirts that keep her warm and hide her taloned feet. Even so, it’s a bitter cold November night, and Takashi can see her shivering from his hiding place in a side alley. He hopes this doesn’t take too long, and that their killer is out there hunting even now. Allura can’t handle these kinds of temperatures for too long, not as an avid. 

The bars and clubs are closing by now, and since it’s the most likely place for a hunter to get his victims at this time of night, that’s where they set up shop. They choose a street close enough to a bar that Allura will definitely be spotted by a hunter, but far enough that drunk humans shuffling home won’t pay her attention. Allura’s nature is fairly well hidden by her jacket and skirts, but if she has to run, she’ll need her wings. They don’t need that hitting the news. 

Allura strides down the street at a slow pace, affecting unease and wariness at the dark shadows around her and sticking to the cast light of the street lamps, like a real potential victim might. Her neck burrows down into the thick fluffy collar of her jacket and her shoulders are hunched. 

It makes her look worried, but it also serves to hide the Aeslin mouse sitting on her shoulder. Takashi had made this a requirement for Allura to participate in the trap. In the event that they were hoodwinked somehow and she was captured, one of her Aeslin priests would stay with her until she was taken to wherever the killer operated out of, and then come back to find Takashi and the others. The mouse had been specially chosen, knowing the deadliness of the task, and had been honored to accompany his Goddess to serve her in her moment of need.

Takashi hopes it doesn’t come to that. It will still help them find the killer, but it probably won’t save Allura. He can’t let that happen.

Allura meanders down the street, past Takashi, and the others farther down. All of them are spread out in various hiding places, providing full coverage in the event the killer comes from any direction. 

But nobody shows by the time Allura hits the end of the street. So, as discussed, she steps into a twenty-four hour convenience store, and wastes several minutes browsing magazines and snacks. She buys a few meaningless items, always staying within viewable distance of the store’s windows, so any observer on the outside can see her. It lets Takashi keep an eye on her.

It also lets her potential attacker find her.

After wasting almost exactly ten minutes, she exits the building and heads back up the street towards a residential area, as though heading home. Takashi follows carefully, staying concealed in the shadows. He can just barely track Coran doing so as well on the other side of the street. Lance is following from the rooftops, since it’s easiest for him to go up and down. Of Keith, Takashi sees no sign, but that’s hardly surprising. Keith is a vampire—he’s not supposed to be seen by human eyes when he’s hunting in the dark. Takashi trusts that he’s around somewhere, though.

Allura makes it nearly to the end of the second street when someone approaches her.

Takashi focuses immediately on the potential attacker, but although he has his hands on his weapons, he doesn’t use them just yet. He has to be sure this is the killer first. They can’t afford to make further mistakes on this case.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing out here at this time of night?” the newcomer asks. His voice is gravelly, and sounds older, warped, but polite. “It isn’t safe, you know.”

“I am aware,” Allura says curtly. “That is why I am going home. Good night.”

She starts to step past him, but the stranger gasps softly. “Why, I know you,” he says. “You’re the so-called princess of the city. An inspiration to cryptids of all kinds who live here.” 

“You are a part of the community, then?” Allura asks. Takashi is impressed at how steady her voice is as she speaks. 

“I am,” the figure says. Takashi can’t see his face. He’s wearing a hood, and the shadows cast from the nearby street lamp obscure his face. “You could say I have wanted to meet you for a long time, princess.”

“I am not actually royalty,” Allura corrects. “And if you are interested in meeting to discuss issues in the community, you may call my office and schedule an appointment. For now, I must be going.”

She takes a step forward again, but the stranger steps with her. “I would rather talk now,” he says, a little more forcefully, a little less polite. “Wouldn’t you like to talk now, princess? I know a safe, quiet place nearby where we can talk without interruption. Doesn’t that sound pleasant?”

Takashi stalks as close as he can without revealing himself. The man sounds confident and casual, affecting just enough politeness and faux care to make the lie passably believable. He doesn’t seem to think for a second the answer will be ‘no.’

But ‘no’ it is. Allura shakes her head curtly. “Thank you, but I must head home.”

The man seems surprised for a minute, then scowls. “I said you’re supposed to come with me,” he says, irritable now. “That means you’re supposed to come with me. Why aren’t you listening?”

He reaches out for her arm. Without a shred of hesitation Allura smacks it away and backs up several steps, taking a firm stance. She raises both fists, which allows her loose coat to fall open a little, making her wings less cramped. “You will not lay a hand on me,” she orders, her voice full of command, her tone sharp. 

“How the hell are you resisting?” the man snaps. A moment later, his eyes widen as he spots the charm around her neck, revealed when her coat slipped open. “You’re protected. You know. She won’t be happy.” 

That’s enough for Takashi. He darts forward, already withdrawing his sidearm; he’s not close enough to use his vial of mixed aconite and holy water. He’s at a bad angle to shoot. Allura had stepped back into his line of sight when repelling her attacker. But if he can circle around he can try to get a clear shot, and his bullets have been treated with the same aconite-and-holy-water substance.

A glint of red eyes down the street is his only indication that Keith is circling for an opening as well. Lance is more obvious, crawling down a wall three buildings up. Coran is even further back, with a worse angle—he’s armed, too, but he won't be able to safely take a shot with Allura there.

But even as they move, so does the incubus. His hand plunges into his jacket, and withdraws with a pistol of his own.

Takashi curses, even as he runs. “Allura! Get out of there!”

Things happen very quickly, almost too quickly to keep track of.

Allura shucks her coat off fully, exposing her brilliantly white wings to the cold winter air, and the Aeslin mouse clinging to her shoulder. 

The incubus takes a step back in surprise, and Allura takes flight without a second’s hesitation, gliding sideways away from the man’s aim. She won’t be able to keep up flight for long in this weather, but as long as she gets away, she doesn’t need to.

The incubus curses, and whips the pistol around to try and aim at her. He spots the rush of movement surrounding him as a chupacabra, a vampire, and an armed human all charge for him at once. His eyes widen in shock. 

Takashi shouts, “I’ve got him, stay back!” and immediately levels his weapon, releasing the safety and raising it towards the incubus.

Lance, in his lizard-dog form, digs in his long claws and scratches his way to a halt, spewing freshly-cut pavement shavings.

Keith, even closer thanks to his preternatural vampiric speed, hastily twists his heel and manages to skid to a halt, barely far enough away that he won’t accidentally impede Takashi’s shot.

And the incubus, whipping around to spot his closest threat, fires his gun point-blank in Keith’s direction.

“No!” Takashi yells, as a jolt of panic and fear hits him hard in the belly. He fires at the incubus, but his split-second shocked delay costs him. The killer ducks, and Takashi misses.

He curses, but runs for the collapsed vampire in the middle of the road. 

Keith is bleeding badly—his own vampiric blood, but like any other living creature, something he desperately needs to keep inside of him. He writhes on the ground for a moment, gasping, and his hand comes up to clench at his right shoulder. His right arm hangs limp and useless, and blood runs far too quickly beneath his hand. He curls in on himself, gritting his teeth.

But as Takashi crouches down next to him, ignoring the way his knees are stained red almost immediately, Keith’s eyes snap open. “I’m okay,” he rasps. His voice is heavy, harsh and strained, like he’s trying to hold back from crying out. His pupils are nearly hairline slits from stress and pain. “I’m f-fine, I just need a...a minute.”

He struggles to get up, but collapses back down against the pavement. 

Takashi curses. “You’re not fine. You got shot, and you’re just as vulnerable to bullets as I am.”

“I’ll be—”

“Hey!” Lance barks, voice high-pitched with alarm. “He’s getting away!”

Takashi whips his head around. The incubus had taken advantage of the distraction to bolt for the nearest fire escape and start climbing. He’s already halfway up the building. What’s worse, he’s heading in the direction Allura had escaped in. He’s clearly still got his eyes on his target, and in this weather, Allura won’t be able to keep away from him much longer.

“I’m fine,” Keith repeats, wincing. “Don’t let that bastard get away.” 

Takashi hesitates, frustrated. Keith needs help, but Allura—

“I’ve got him,” Coran says, rushing over and shouldering his weapon even as he crouches down next to Keith in the street. “Those are civilian units, I can’t risk shooting. Protect Allura! Hurry!” 

“Right,” Takashi says. Coran is experienced; he can keep Keith safe until Allura can heal him. “Hang in there, Keith.”

“Hit him once for me,” Keith calls after him as he bolts, his voice still harsh and strained. 

“You got it,” Takashi calls back over his shoulder. 

He charges for the fire escape the incubus is making his way up. By now, the incubus is already just a floor away from the roof. If Takashi loses sight of him, he may not catch the bastard again. He might not be able to close the distance fast enough, but he’s sure going to try.

But he’s only just starting to gather himself for the leap to the bottom rungs of the fire escape, when Lance yells, “Hey! Shiro!”

Takashi glances over his shoulder. Lance is charging after him, shoulders already hunching as spines begin to break through his skin. He tosses his half animal, half human head back in a sharp gesture, even as he collapses onto four clawed paws, and bolts straight for the wall.

Takashi gets it. As Lance careens past him and leaps onto the lower level of the wall, Takashi throws his arms around the chupacabra’s bony shoulders. 

Takashi is not a lightweight. He’s a heavily muscled human being carting a not insignificant amount of weaponry around on his person. But while Lance’s human form looks like a stick-thin beanpole of a human teenager, his chupacabra form is apparently considerably stronger. Takashi causes a little resistance, and he can feel the strain in some of Lance’s quadruped muscles as he climbs, but that doesn’t stop him from shooting clear up the side of the building in record time. If anything, it’s more uncomfortable for Takashi, with Lance’s spines digging into his chest and shoulders as he hangs on for dear life. 

They make it to the top only seconds behind the incubus, enough to still keep an eye on him. Lance grips the raised edge of the roof and braces long enough for Takashi to grab it as well and vault over the side, before he slips over it like a slinky lizard.

“Thanks,” Takashi says. Lance merely grunts in response, remaining in his reptile-dog form. 

The sound of a gunshot and the sharp crack of a bullet narrowly missing them sends them both scurrying for cover behind the nearest air vent. Takashi curses to himself, but immediately removes his own gun again. Next to him, Lance bares his teeth with a low growl, tail lashing.

“Do not engage, Lance,” Takashi warns. “You’re not trained for this.”

Lance grunts again. Even in his other form, Takashi swears it’s sullen. 

The incubus hasn’t fired again. Takashi frowns. “Can you still hear him? He hasn’t left the roof, has he?”

Lance cocks one dog-like ear, then shakes his head. He gestures vaguely with one clawed lizard-like paw to the right, and then covers his nose with the same paw, making a soft whining noise of displeasure. 

Great. The incubus is probably trying to use his pheromones to inhibit them again. Takashi can’t smell a damn thing, but Lance must. Takashi’s glad he forced him to wear the protection charms.

But as long as he’s not escaping, or going after Allura, they’re good. “ Stay. Here. Let me deal with him.” 

He removes one of his throwing knives, and flings it in the opposite direction. It clacks against some piping with a metallic clang, and immediately there’s a pair of gunshots in that direction. Takashi takes the opportunity to bolt from his cover to a second large metal vent, gun at the ready. 

He can just barely see where the incubus is hiding, on the far side of the roof. If he knows any kind of parkour, he could make it to another rooftop easily. Takashi’s priority is to keep him from getting away. 

The incubus is apparently thinking along the same lines. When everything goes still and silent again, he starts inching for the side of the roof. He’s still focusing on the direction Allura had escaped in, but he’s smart enough to use his cover to his advantage. 

Takashi curses. He’s just going to have to risk going out into the open to try and bring this guy down. He doesn’t have a clear shot.

Except just as he’s about to move, there’s a frightening growl from the far side of the roof, as Lance’s dog-lizard head pops over the side. The incubus yells in anger and surprise, but leaps up to whip around and fire several times in the chupacabra’s direction. Lance’s growl turns into a dog-like yelping whimper of pain, and he ducks below the roof again. The incubus actually laughs. 

Takashi swears. 

But Lance’s intervention had helped in one way: the incubus, in his startled reaction to a nearby attacker, had moved into targeting range.

Takashi steps out from behind his cover, raises his pistol, and aims. His first shot disarms the incubus, shredding his hands and forcing him to drop the gun. Takashi’s second and third shots hit center mass with textbook precision as the startled incubus turns to face the new threat. 

The incubus looks genuinely shocked as he collapses.

“Lance!” Takashi hollers, even as he leaps forward. “Lance, buddy, you okay?”

Lance’s chupacabra head pokes back up over the roof, spotting the downed incubus. After a moment, he slinks up over its edge again, and shifts back to his human form. “I’m okay,” he says, a little shakily. There’s a gash along the side of his face that’s bleeding, but he does otherwise look uninjured. “He just grazed me. Startled me is all.”

“Good,” Takashi says. “We’re going to talk about this in a second.” 

But for the moment, he has bigger problems. He crouches down next to the incubus, putting his gun away but still keeping a knife on hand, just in case. 

For the first time since the whole mess started, Takashi gets a good look at the attacker’s face. His hood has fallen back, giving a clear view of his features. 

Incubi have a reputation for being drop-dead gorgeous—or at least, they’re usually remembered as such—but there’s nothing attractive about this one. His whole face is scarred and twisted, his ears and nose burned down to nubs, and his ruined skull has no hair. His lips are thin and twisted too, but even now, there’s a malicious smile in them, and his eyes glitter with malice as well.

The incubus is still alive, but his breathing is labored and wet sounding. Blood bubbles at the corners of his mouth and coats his chest, and Takashi is glad once again for the charms he’d made. Incubus blood has the same effect as their pheromones, but dialed to eleven, and there is a lot of blood. He’d definitely hit a lung. The incubus won’t be alive much longer, and Takashi’s aconite-and-holy-water treated bullets will negate the increased healing factor his species possesses.

Takashi regrets the lethal shot, but only because he’d been hoping to question the bastard. He doesn’t regret for a second wiping this scum off the face of the planet. If it came down to protecting Lance or a chance at taking this guy alive, he’d protect Lance every time.

He nudges the incubus curtly. “What’s your name?”

The incubus’ eyes roll to meet his. “Macidus,” he whispers after a moment, harsh and bubbling. To Takashi’s horror, he smiles. “Learn it. So my mistress will know I served…”

Takashi’s eyes narrow. “Mistress? You work for someone?”

“You can’t stop her,” the incubus says, almost dreamily. “She’ll kill you...she’ll kill all of you…”

“Her name,” Takashi orders sharply. 

But Macidus doesn’t seem to care. “I served,” he whispers, almost giggling. “I served her well…”

Takashi grits his teeth. But he can see the incubus is fading, and he still has more questions. “Why did you kidnap those girls? How did your powers get stronger? How did you affect non-mammals?”

“...made me stronger…” Macidus whispers, hazily. “Made me stronger...prove how strong...I served...promised rewards for serving…” He smiles. It’s a dark, manic smile, even as he coughs blood. “Got to choose...so many different kinds of screams...so beautiful...a gift enough from my mistress. I served… I was rewarded...”  

“Who did you serve?” Takashi barks, angry now. 

“...Galra…” Macidus slurs, as his eyes flutter closed. 

He’s still smiling as he dies. 

“Galra?” Lance asks, uneasily. “Is that some kind of cryptid?”

“No cryptid I’ve ever heard of,” Takashi says slowly, frowning at the incubus. “But it’s something to look into.” If somebody had been enhancing cryptid powers somehow, and siccing the results on innocent civilians…

She’ll kill you. She’ll kill all of you. 

Takashi’s stomach churns at the thought.

He digs out his cell phone and dials Allura. Thankfully, she picks up after the very first ring. “Are you alright?” she asks immediately.

“I’m good. He’s dead. Are you okay?”

“Chilly, but alright,” Allura says. “I flew two blocks over and hid on a roof.”

“Good,” Takashi says. “I need you to talk to your contacts and stall. A lot of gunshots were fired out here, police have probably already been called. I need time to get rid of the body. Afterwards, Keith got shot pretty badly, if you could—”

“I will take care of everything,” Allura says, grim and determined. “Return to my penthouse in one hour.”

“Deal.” Takashi hangs up, and immediately sets to work. 

But not without staring Lance down, first. “Now that everything else is out of the way—what the hell was that?”

Lance looks appropriately chagrined. “What?”

“I told you not to get involved, didn’t I?”

“I wanted to help take him down! And he was trying to sneak away.”

“Lance,” Takashi says, frustrated, “This isn’t a game, and it’s not some hero’s story. That wound on your face is a bullet graze. You understand that you are incredibly lucky, right? A centimeter to the left, and you would be dead tonight.”

Lance winces, and presses his hand to the wound on his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. His voice shakes a little, and Takashi realizes the kid is trembling a little, too. The shock is finally starting to wear off as the reality of what just happened sinks in. 

Takashi sighs. Yelling at the kid isn’t going to help any. “You don’t have any training, buddy,” he repeats his admonishment from earlier. “You don’t know how to deal with this. I’m grateful for your help tonight, but please. Don’t do anything like this ever again. Okay? This isn’t your responsibility.” 

Lance swallows, but after a moment, he nods shakily. “Uh. Okay. Right.”

“Thank you.” Takashi sighs. “I need to get to work making this guy disappear. It can get a little grisly. You don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to, but stick with Allura and Coran until we can get the search for you wiped.”

Lance stares at him for a moment. “Geez,” he says finally. “You really confuse me. How can you yell at me about staying safe and then flip to talking about just ‘disappearing’ a body? I guess you still got a little Shirogane in you after all.” 

Takashi snorts. “Some of it’s still useful,” he says bluntly. “But I’m on your side.”

“Thank God for that,” Lance says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’d be pretty scary otherwise.”

Chapter Text

“I’m my own person, unique in the annals of my family tree, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a part of the lineage that made me.”
—Antimony Price, That Ain’t Witchcraft

Running all over the city, trying to clean up way too much

Things quiet down after that night.

Takashi is able to successfully dispose of the body without any interference from the local authorities. It takes some doing; incubus blood still contains its attractive properties even after death, and he has to be certain nothing is left behind to affect anyone not protected by a charm. But before he does, he goes through every item of clothing and every pocket of Macidus’, searching for any hints of information about this mysterious Galra, or any indications if he was working with a partner. 

He doesn’t find much that’s conclusive. As far as he can tell, Macidus had been working alone to kidnap and torture the girls. But the talk about a higher power is disturbing, and try as Takashi might, he can’t find anything in Macidus’ possessions that talks about this ‘Galra.’ 

He does find a hotel key in the incubus’ wallet. It lets him identify where the man had been staying—from the sounds of it, he’d used his pheromones to bribe his way into staying free and being left alone. 

From there, Takashi digs up information about where the man had been keeping and torturing the girls, in an abandoned nook off an old subway line. His guess about using the sewer to transport the girls had been accurate. He’s able to recover the personal effects of most of the girls, and give them to Allura to distribute back to their last of kin. 

The case details are closed, but Takashi still finds he has more questions than answers. Who the hell had Macidus even been? Allura had asked around her contacts. Keith—once he’d recovered from his gunshot wound—had checked with the Marmora Society as well. 

But the incubus is a virtual unknown. The name was most likely fake. His features had been so scarred over and destroyed he was unrecognizable to most people in the communities—assuming they had ever seen him pre-scarring properly to begin with, without having their memories of his attractiveness altered by his pheromones. His fingerprints had been completely burned away. There was no way to identify him, other than as a psychopath who took pleasure in torturing innocent victims. 

But someone had set him loose on the city of Garrison. Someone who’d instructed him to kill as he pleased, in order to test their ‘upgrades,’ if Macidus’ dying words were any indication. 

And they had been upgrades. Takashi had taken samples to a cryptobiologist Allura knew in the community. They had agreed the strength of the incubus’ pheromones, and his blood, had been exponentially higher than the average lilu of either gender was capable of.

Somebody is trying to play god. Takashi doesn’t like that.

Galra. 

There’s nothing at all about ‘Galra’ that Takashi can find. He doesn’t know if it’s a species of cryptid, an organization, a codeword, or even an ideal. He doesn’t know, and neither do any of his contacts, or Allura’s, or Keith’s. But the fact that this ‘Galra’ is already willing to go to such great lengths worries him. Researching them goes to the top of his list of priorities.

But there’s nothing he can do about it now. And he is confident, at least, that the kidnap and murder of women is over. 

He spends most of the next few days cleaning up and doing his follow-up research. But he also does take the time to check in on everyone else. 

As promised, the day after the fight, he brings the Aeslin mice another box of donut holes as thanks for their Witness, and a block of cheese to commemorate the brave mouse that had stayed with Allura. They accept the offerings with a lot of shrill cheering and a large number of hails. 

Allura and Coran are both also fine. Allura had been chilled through and had spent most of her day bundled up in warm clothes with the thermostat cranked to almost ninety, but otherwise she’s hard at work doing her own research on the mysterious ‘Galra.’ Coran had been away from most of the action, other than helping Keith, but he thanks Takashi profusely for keeping Macidus away from Allura. 

Keith’s own part of the adventure had ended abruptly with his gunshot wound. Coran had helped him move out of the street so he wasn’t accidentally run over, but then he’d been forced to simply wait until Allura had healed the worst of the injury. Takashi had gotten him home, let him go through two more blood packs, and then put him to bed before the sun even rose. 

But vampires are fairly resilient by nature. The incubus had used ordinary bullets that hadn’t been treated with wild rose, white oak, or white ash, which were the only things that could seriously impede Keith’s tenacity and healing ability. Since Keith hadn’t been shot anywhere lethal and wasn’t immediately killed, he would be right as rain in a week or two, after several more regular feedings. He’d been irritated and sore more than anything else.

But of all of them, the one Takashi is most worried about is Lance. 

Lance had stuck around with them long enough to get his name cleared from the ‘wanted’ charges, and Allura had even healed his face, to thank him for his assistance. Once the city wasn’t out for his blood anymore, though, he’d disappeared on them. 

Takashi still isn’t sure exactly why. Lance had struck him as a rather sociable kid, when he wasn’t being suspicious of Shiroganes, and he’d certainly worked well with them. But he hasn’t forgotten Lance’s stories about being ‘transient,’ and he knows Lance is in some other kind of trouble. He wishes he could help...but just like with Keith two years ago, he can’t force Lance to accept his aid. 

He does wish he knew where Lance was, though.

But as it happens, just a few days after they’d finally brought down the incubus, Takashi answers that question without trying to.

It happens when he stops by Rosa’s wake. He dresses up appropriately for the occasion—it’s disturbing how easy it is to hide two dozen weapons in a nice suit—and introduces himself as an old acquaintance from her college. She’d been a popular person, from the sounds of it; she had dozens of visitors that had come to pay their respects to the smart, pretty, nice young lady who’d made their lives a little better. Takashi had never known her, but he does pay his respects anyway, and silently apologizes to her once more for being too late to save her. 

“He won’t hurt others,” he promises her softly, when no one else is around. “I hope you can rest easy, knowing that.” 

It’s partly to appease his own conscience. But it’s also partly to ensure her spirit is at rest. Victims with such cruel ends often come back as very terrified and very angry ghosts, especially when they’re human. Hopefully, she’ll go on to her final rest, wherever that is. 

It’s when Takashi finally manages to break out of the oppressive, formal gathering, loosening his tie as he heads down the steps of the funeral home, that he spots Lance. The chupacabra is sitting on a bench in the park across the street, far enough away to look like he’s not watching the wake, but Takashi knows exactly what he’s there for.

Takashi sighs, adjusting his heavy winter overcoat—today is especially cold, with possible flurries forecast for later that evening—and crosses the street to head to Lance’s bench. Lance spots him, but thankfully, doesn’t bolt.

“Hey,” Takashi greets, voice soft, once he’s close enough. “Come to pay your respects?”

Lance shrugs awkwardly. “Sort of. I never really got the whole...wake thing. That’s a human thing. Kinda gives me the heebie-jeebies, personally. I don’t get why you put your dead bodies on display.”

Takashi shrugs. “If it makes you feel any better, it gives me the creeps a little, too, and I am human. It gives some people closure, I guess, but it’s still weird.” 

“Even if you’re used to dead bodies?” Lance asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Even if. Maybe especially in this case,” Takashi says. “Most of the dead bodies I’m around were trying to kill me in some way. At least that was a defense situation. This is just…” He shrugs.

Lance nods quietly. “Yeah.” 

“Mind if I sit a minute?” Takashi asks, gesturing to the other end of the bench.

Lance shrugs. “It’s a free country. Isn’t it a little cold out for you though?”

Takashi shrugs. “I’ll live.” He settles on the bench with a sigh. “The cold’s nice, in a way. Fresh.”

Lance hums noncommittally. 

“So. Lance,” Takashi says, after a few minutes of silence. “I told you before that after all this was over, I wanted to talk with you about your situation. You said you were…’transient.’ Did you want to elaborate on that?”

“Not really,” Lance says. He fakes ‘bored teenager’ fairly well, but Takashi can see that the topic makes him uncomfortable.

“Any reason why?”

“Nothing to talk about,” Lance says, shrugging. “I’ve got my situation under control.”

“Do you?” Takashi says. “Lance, please tell me you at least have a place to stay for tonight. It’s supposed to be below freezing.”

Lance shrugs again. “I’ve got it under control,” he repeats, which isn’t an answer at all.

Takashi sighs, but tries another tactic. “Okay. Why were you originally in Garrison? Maybe I can help.”

Lance blinks. “What?”

“You were here for something else before this,” Takashi says reasonably. “Your witness statement the other night suggested Makka was giving you a place to stay while you pursued something else during the day. You got caught up in this whole mess, but there was a reason you’re here. What is it?”

Lance says nothing.

“I can help you, if you let me, buddy,” Takashi says patiently. “I’m sure you’re not doing anything to hurt anyone, not after you helped us bring Macidus down. I’ve got a lot of resources. Allura does too. Even Keith knows a few people that could help you.”

Lance scowls. “Like stupid Keith would help me.”

“He would,” Takashi says. “Keith is a good kid. Even if you two bicker a little. I think you could eventually learn to get along, you just got off on the wrong foot. I’m digressing—the point is, what is it you need, Lance? If you’re willing to talk to me, I can try to help.”

Lance is silent for a few moments. But then, rather abruptly, he curls his arms around himself in a loose self-hug, and whispers, “I want to go home.”

Takashi feels his heart break a little at that, but he keeps his expression calm. “Okay. Where’s home, then? I’ll buy you a plane ticket back.”

Lance blinks, and turns to stare at him, incredulous. “You want me to tell the Covenant where a chupacabra den is? My mother would eat me.”

“Ex-Covenant,” Takashi corrects automatically. “I think I’ve proven by now I’m not out for you or your family. I want to help you. But if you still don't trust me, that's fair—I can give you the money for a full trip around the world, and that should be more than enough to pay for where you need to go. Cash. Untraceable.”

Lance laughs, a little hysterically. “Have you done this before? You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Travel untraceably? Yes. Send a chupacabra home? Well, there’s a first time for everything. So?”

Lance swallows. “I’d…I’d like to take you up on that. I really would. I want to go home, so bad. But I don’t know where home is anymore.” He stares down at his feet, no longer daring to look in Takashi’s direction. “I’m pretty sure the Covenant already hit it.”

Takashi breathes in softly. “Do you want to tell me about it? I might be able to…to help you figure out what happened.” 

Lance’s voice is thick with barely held back emotion, and it’s an obvious struggle to speak. “I was away from home last year. At a special space camp. NASA.” He laughs, and his voice is a little hysterical again. “Sounds kinda stupid, right? Chupacabra in space. I mean, how would I cover that up? No way it could happen. How would I eat? They wouldn’t ship animal blood out to a space station for me. Total pipe dream.”

“It’s not stupid, Lance,” Takashi tells him quietly. “You’re allowed to dream big.” 

“Yeah. Well. I figure it couldn’t happen in real life, but my parents scrounged the money to send me to the camp, at least. It was fun. Real fun.” He smiles fondly at the memory, but the smile fades too quickly. “Coming home wasn’t.”

He pauses. Takashi doesn’t interrupt this time, just gives Lance a chance to build up to speaking.

“It was all gone,” Lance finally says. “All of it. We...chupacabra don’t all live in one place, but we form little community families throughout neighborhoods or towns. Supposed to be safer in case somebody is found, y’know? Support is nearby, but they can’t kill all of us at once.” He swallows. “It’s always worked before. It didn’t work this time. There were four or five houses...they were all torched to the ground. The local news called it a freak arsonist. Seemed a little too convenient they only hit cryptid houses.”

“Lance...I’m so sorry,” Takashi whispers. 

This was his family's legacy. This was what he'd been trained for. To tear families apart because they were a little too different from humans. Takashi wonders if he knew the operatives who'd done it. He wonders if he'd have praised them for what they'd done, five years ago.

But the past is past. He can't do anything about who he was then, just who he is now. And now, he can help a kid who isn't all that much younger than him who really needs someone to listen.

Lance sniffles slightly. He’s still trying hard to hold back, but his voice is shakier now, and he hugs himself tighter. “I figured...no bodies were found. The news said they would’ve been destroyed completely in the blast, but...maybe they escaped, right? They could’ve survived. So I’ve been looking for news ever since. If they ran, they went into hiding, but I don’t know where. I already tried everything I could think of, and they’re not...they’re not…” 

He finally breaks, head bowing forward. “They’re not anywhere,” he sobs helplessly. “I can’t find them. They c-can’t be…” 

Takashi’s heart breaks for him, but he’s not really sure what to do. The Covenant didn’t exactly practice demonstrable affection, and their idea of grief support was ‘train to avenge your dead family.’ And Keith isn’t a huge fan of physical comfort or affection most of the time, even when he is feeling down. 

But Takashi has a feeling those rules don’t apply to Lance at all. He settles for putting a hand on Lance’s shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring way.

It seems to be the correct answer. Lance sobs again, but he seems desperate for some form of contact. He leans into Takashi’s side, and promptly buries his face in Takashi’s shoulder. 

Takashi’s a little surprised by that, considering not five minutes ago Lance had still been wary about even telling him where he’d lived. He allows it anyway, patting Lance’s back gently. He’s not sure if Lance has ever been able to talk about this to anyone. It’s probably the first chance he’d had to let it all out.

Lance doesn’t cry for long. It’s a little too cold for that, and the park bench is exposed to not just the elements, but the public. This close to a funeral home, most people just assume Lance is mourning for someone, and carefully avoid looking out of a mix of respect and embarrassment. But it’s still an awkward place to break down. Takashi doesn’t mind, but Lance, apparently, does.

“Sorry,” he mutters, when he wears himself out. He sniffles again as he finally pulls away from Takashi, rubbing his nose. “I probably got snot all over your jacket.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Chupacabra snot’s pretty hard to get out of stuff,” Lance says.

“I’ve still probably had worse,” Takashi says mildly. “Feel better?”

“A little. In one way. Now I feel like an idiot for crying all over you,” Lance says, a little sheepish.

Takashi shakes his head. “Doesn’t bother me. I’m glad you could finally get it out.”

“I guess. I just…” Lance squeezes his eyes shut. “I want them to be alive. So bad. But I’m starting to think—”

“Don’t,” Takashi says.

Lance blinks. 

“You’re not wrong,” Takashi says. “There’s a chance they could have escaped. An operation like that would have taken multiple agents to complete successfully. Multiple Covenant agents are hard to get into North America—I’m assuming this took place in North America?” 

Lance nods.

“Alarms would have gone up somewhere,” Takashi says. “If it happened last summer, like you said, Allura and I certainly would have heard about a large number of Covenant agents making their way into the country. We didn’t.”

Lance frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“It means,” Takashi said, “That if this was Covenant, this was a small sting operation. Two agents, three max, enough to get in and out of the country stealthily by using one of the borders instead of an American airport. Three agents are not enough to supervise multiple neighborhood blocks to ensure no cryptids got out of the houses. They probably did kill some individuals—I’m really sorry that happened at all, Lance. Those bodies would have been...removed. But there’s no way they got everyone. Not if the family units were as widespread as you said. Not when the Covenant doesn’t understand chupacabra communities.” 

Lance’s eyes widen. “So...so some of them could still be alive?”

“I’d be willing to put money on it buddy,” Takashi says. He doesn’t think he’s lying to the kid, either. This isn’t false hope. It’s a real chance.

Lance frowns. “But I haven’t had any news...none of them have reached out to me…”

“Do they have a way to?” Takashi asks. 

“I...I mean, they have my cell number…”

“If they’re in hiding, they might be scared to try it,” Takashi says. “If they’re afraid of being tracked or found, calling you could put you in danger. It sounds like you were the only one they knew for certain was safe and as far away from the danger as possible.” 

“I...guess.”

“Did you have any backup safe houses?” Takashi asks. “Some place to go in case of emergency?”

“Already tried’em,” Lance says. “I didn’t find anyone. Nothing had been used in months. No messages.” 

“Probably the same case, then,” Takashi says. “I’m guessing they’re afraid of inadvertently drawing attention to other survivors. And if you’re constantly on the move, there’s no way for them to contact you by more discreet means.” 

“Oh.” Lance swallows. “Then how do I even find them?”

“Probably by staying put,” Takashi says. “Preferably in a secure location you know is safe. Get to know the community and somebody might be able to keep an eye out for you.” He shrugs. “You might even be able to start here, if you want. You already know a lot of people with connections. We can keep an eye out for you.”

“You could?” Lance asks brightly. “That wouldn’t be so bad. You and Coran are alright. Allura is great. Even Keith is okay, I guess.” 

Takashi chuckles a little at that, but then grows more serious. “Of course, that relies on having a secure place to stay, Lance. You didn’t answer me earlier. Do you have a place to stay tonight? Or on a more permanent basis?”

Lance hesitates, but then slowly shakes his head. “Not yet. There’s a couple more people I could ask, maybe, but I’m not sure if they’re around today. But, hey—cold’s not so bad in my other form. I can always hulk up and sleep under a bridge or something if I need to.” He shrugs. “I’ll be fine. Most things won’t mess with a fully transformed chupacabra.” 

“Absolutely not,” Takashi says. “You know I can’t let you live like that. It’d be irresponsible of me. I’ve got a spare couch you can surf for the night. You can stay until we figure out a more permanent solution for your situation. As long as you’re comfortable with that, at least.”

Lance’s eyes light up at that. Takashi realizes he’s delighted just as much with the prospect of having people around, some semblance of family, as he is with having a roof over his head. “You mean it?”

“Yes. Of course, Keith also lives there,” Takashi adds, a little warningly. “You’d have to get along enough to not burn the place down.”

Lance scowls a little at that, but the prospect of a warm place to stay with people he trusts seems to outweigh the fact that one of those people is Keith. “I can behave if he can,” Lance says decisively. 

“Good,” Takashi says. “Do you have anything you need to grab? If not, I can take you back there now, show you where it is.”

“Nope. I’m good to go.” Lance stands, and turns to look one last time at the funeral home, before turning away. 

“You did your best, Lance,” Takashi says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

“Do you believe that?” Lance asks, giving Takashi a look.

“It’s hard,” Takashi admits. “But I’m trying.” 

Lance nods. “Yeah.” He considers, then says, “You’re alright, Shiro.” 

Takashi raises an eyebrow. “Shiro? Now that I think about it, you called me that the other night, too.” 

Lance shrugs. “Y’know. ‘Cause you’re a Shirogane but you’re not one of them. You’re ours. So you’re Shiro. You’re better.”

“Hmm,” Takashi says. It’s not...terrible, actually. He’s spent the first eighteen years of his life being incredibly proud of his surname, his clan, his heritage. And he’s spent the next five years of his life being ashamed of it, about what it means for others, about the bloodshed attached to the name Shirogane. 

But it’s a part of him. Being a Shirogane is who he is, for good or for ill. He’s spent five years doing everything in his power to disassociate himself from that name, but maybe...maybe it’s time to reclaim it. His own way. For how he is.

Shiro. 

It has a sort of nice ring to it.

“You’re not mad?” Lance asks, a little nervously. “I can still call you Takashi instead. I know you were kind of touchy about it earlier. My mom and my big sister say I talk too much sometimes and kinda say dumb things without realizing it so maybe that was—”

“No,” Takashi— Shiro— interrupts. “No, I actually kind of like it.”

So, rather unexpectedly, Shiro has a second roommate. 

Lance is a very different sort of roommate than Keith. Keith is quiet, keeps to himself, and only operates during nocturnal hours. 

Lance is louder, boisterous, full of energy, and very awake during the day. Shiro isn’t used to hearing anyone moving around in his apartment in the morning or afternoon, and it takes a little getting used to. And adjusting to another cryptid and another set of dietary needs takes some work, although thankfully animal blood is far easier to come by at a butcher shop, so he can at least avoid Rolo’s exorbitant prices. But he doesn’t mind Lance’s company, and it’s sort of nice to have a little more energy in the apartment. 

Keith is less than thrilled with Lance as a new roommate. He tolerates it, especially after Shiro has a talk with him one on one and explains Lance’s living situation. Keith’s been homeless himself; he knows how hard the streets can be. 

He puts up with Lance as a result, but it doesn’t stop their bickering. And Shiro is frankly impressed at the things they can find to fight over. From food—

“Did you drink my last goat’s blood, Keith?” 

“Why would I touch that crap when I’ve got human blood right there?” 

“Um, because it tastes better, people-drinker?”

“It does not!” 

—to personal space—

“Will you stop leaving your crap all over the couch?”

“Ex cuse me, I don’t have my own room, where’m I supposed to put my clothes?”

—to even his own name—

“Hey, Shiro, can you—“  

“Don’t call him that! His name is Takashi, he’s not one of them.” 

“He’s Shiro, mullet!” 

—and sometimes it can get a little irritating. It’s probably a good thing that Keith is nocturnal and Lance isn’t, since it means there’s only a few hours of overlap where they’ll actually be interacting. Keith, at least, is all but dead to the world during the day, so Lance’s noisiness in the apartment goes unnoticed. 

(It doesn’t stop the pranks, at least at first. Lance had thought it would be interesting to pile different items on top of Keith during his sun-coma, when he’d be perfectly still and easy to balance things on. The resulting crash at dusk had been legendary, as had Keith’s fury. Keith had gotten his revenge afterwards by scaring the hell out of Lance at three in the morning, with his gleaming red eyes in pitch blackness, after startling him awake. Shiro had nearly attacked them both on pure adrenaline-fueled instinct when he’d woken to Lance’s panicked screams. They both learned their lessons after that). 

But mostly, Shiro learns over time, their bickering stems from a one-sided rivalry of Lance’s, exacerbated by Keith not really knowing how to respond. Lance is jealous of Keith, Shiro realizes. Keith has a family of his own choosing, a number of interesting abilities that are just a little bit ‘better’ than Lance’s, and the training necessary to assist with Shiro’s job. Lance feels out of place. 

It becomes most clear after another knife lesson Shiro has with Keith. Lance has heard about the lessons, and it’s become something for Lance to mock Keith for after. But Shiro doesn’t miss the longing way Lance watches them leave for practice lessons, or the way he sometimes tags along to the studio to watch with a sullen look on his face.

“Do you want me to teach you something, Lance?” he finally asks, one evening. “You seem like you’re interested.” 

“What? Why would I need that?” Lance says, a little too quickly. “I’m a chupacabra, right? I don’t need human weapons.” 

“Keith is a vampire, and doesn’t need them either,” Shiro says patiently. “He wanted to learn because it was interesting to him. If it’s interesting to you, you should learn it, regardless of species.” 

Lance mulls that over. 

“No pressure,” Shiro adds. “But if you want to learn something, I’m more than happy to teach you.”

“Actually…” Lance looks a little sheepish. “I was kinda wondering...do you think you could show me how to shoot?”

“As in, firearms?” Shiro asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I don’t care about learning knives. I’m like, made of knives, normally,” Lance says, gesturing vaguely at his back. “But guns...they kinda scare me a little, but I want to know more about’em, too. Maybe it’d be a good idea?”

“I think that would be a great idea,” Shiro says. “And I’d be happy to teach you.”

So he does. He sets up time to take Lance to a range and try out several different firearms. Lance is a natural, once he has a chance to try out different weapons, and has surprisingly good aim for a beginner. He prefers the rifle the best, but has a decent aptitude with most of them. And he’s definitely more confident around them after. 

That segues neatly into learning other forms of combat training as well. Lance is competitive, and wants to be just as useful for Shiro’s work as Keith is. Shiro’s not exactly thrilled about that, but Lance strikes him as the kind of kid that might end up getting in over his head out of a false sense of heroism. He already has before. If it comes down to it, Shiro would rather he’s at least trained to handle himself. Before he knows it, he has a second cryptid on call to assist him, in the event of a community emergency. 

Admittedly, that’s not a bad thing. Keith is great, but his working hours are limited to nightfall. If something big happens in the day, it is nice to know Shiro has another form of backup in Lance. 

And Lance, once he has more of a sense of worth and importance, noticeably bickers less with Keith than before. Shiro has a feeling they’ll always argue with each other a little, but it’s less volatile now, and growing more and more into good-natured, friendly ribbing.  

The longer Lance trains, and learns to get along with his newfound family, the less he seems interested in leaving them behind. Shiro’s offered to pay for another apartment for him once or twice, but Lance has always seemed hesitant. What he really wants, Shiro realizes, is that sense of community, of family. Even if the apartment is fully paid for, Lance would probably hate living alone. 

Shiro doesn’t push him to get out. And when Lance finally asks if he can just keep surfing the couch for a little while longer, he permits it.

“I promise, I won’t be like, a deadbeat or anything,” Lance says. “I can help out with stuff, or get a job, or something. I don’t wanna mooch off you or anything. I just like it here.”

“It’s fine, Lance,” Shiro reassures. “You’re welcome here. Even Keith doesn’t mind having you around, anymore.”

So Lance becomes a more permanent addition to the family. And Shiro was telling the truth—he really doesn’t mind having Lance living there.

Even if his couch is forever beyond repair, having a spike-covered therianthrope who occasionally changes shape in his sleep as a roommate.

Chapter Text

“What’s a little inhumanity between friends?”
—Verity Price, Discount Armageddon

At the breakfast table, actually eating for once

“Hey, Shiro,” Lance says, one morning over breakfast. “D’you mind if a friend of mine meets you? I think you can help him with a problem.”

Shiro blinks and looks up from his coffee, toast, and newspaper. Lance had laughed the first time he’d seen Shiro with a newspaper— ”Nobody reads those anymore!”— but Shiro keeps on top of them anyway. The Covenant uses any and all news resources to hunt, which means Shiro needs to as well, just to stay on top of things. 

There’s nothing particularly interesting in this one today, though, and Lance’s question is more intriguing. “Who are they meeting?” Shiro asks after a moment, curious. “Ryou Tanaka, or Takashi Shirogane?”

“They’re meeting Shiro, obviously,” Lance drawls, putting down the exsanguinated remains of what had been a pigeon. Shiro has a sneaking suspicion Lance had caught it on the window ledge in the living room this morning, but by now he knows better than to ask. Three months of having a chupacabra as a roommate have more or less gotten him used to occasionally bizarre eating patterns, like draining pigeons at the breakfast table. As long as Lance doesn’t make a mess, he has no problem with it. 

If nothing else, he’s excellent for pest control. Shiro will never have a rodent problem. A chupacabra is better than a housecat in that regard.

“So somebody in the community then,” Shiro summarizes. Most likely a cryptid, but possibly a human sympathizer. Despite Lance’s snarky commentary when they’d first met, Lance is actually pretty accepting of all sorts of people, including humans, provided they aren’t trying to stab him. He’d been doing his best to play tough guy on that night, but Lance really loves people. He spends most of his days out networking, meeting people in the community and making friends, and he’s surprisingly good at it.

“Yeah,” Lance says. “I think you could figure out how to help him, though.”

Shiro frowns. “Is he in danger?” he asks, setting down his coffee. 

“No no no, nothing crazy,” Lance says. “It’s just...well, I’d rather let him explain it, really. After I check if he’s cool asking you for help.”

He doesn’t elaborate on the details, or even explain who—or what—this cryptid is. Shiro doesn’t push. It’s not polite to out a cryptid passing for human, especially to someone they might see as a threat. Shiro has no interest in hurting whoever this is, but they might not be comfortable with an ex-Covenant agent knowing their exact species—and their weaknesses, by proxy.

“I don’t mind talking to him, if he’s okay with it,” Shiro says. “But I’d rather not do so here. I don’t know anything about him either, and until I do, I don’t want to compromise this place’s security.” He considers. “What about the studio? I have classes all afternoon, but you could swing by in between, or after if it’s serious.”

“Sounds great,” Lance says, grinning. “I’ll talk to him and see if I can convince him to chat with you tonight.”

“Don’t force him,” Shiro says, frowning a little. It already sounds like whoever this was might be less than confident interacting with Shiro. “I know a lot of people are uncomfortable around me. I don’t want him to feel unsafe.”

“I would never,” Lance says, with a mock insulted expression. But he grins a second later. “It’ll be fine. I think he’ll be cool around you, once he gets to know you like the rest of us have. Anyway, thanks! I’ll catch you later, then.” 

Lance deposits his dried out pigeon husk in the bin Shiro had specifically designated for that exact purpose, snags his coat, and heads out the door. Shiro isn’t particularly worried about him heading out for the day, or about getting into trouble. Lance can take care of himself much better now, after his training, and he is still a chupacabra. Plus, he’s made sure Lance knows he can call Shiro at any time for help, if he needs it. 

Besides, he knows Lance is trying to figure out what to do with himself, while he’s in Garrison, and the kid needs the opportunity to figure himself out. Lance hates feeling useless. Wandering around the city helps him, and he’s been working hard to make connections with other members of the community, so his family can find him one day. But in the interim, he doesn’t have much of a goal, or anything to do with himself. Shiro’s pretty sure he’s been combing the city for some kind of job or calling he could be happy with. He probably can’t get in trouble that way.

Probably.

With Lance gone, the apartment gets quiet fast. Keith is home, but at nine in the morning he’s deep in his sun-coma, and won’t be conscious again for hours yet. The quiet is a little weird, after having Lance living there for three months, but Shiro can’t deny he still enjoys moments like this. It gives him plenty of time to catch up on his own work. 

He spends most of the morning and afternoon researching and updating his field kits. Allura hasn’t given him any major missions recently, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s mid February by now, and everyone—human and cryptid alike—seems to be in their deep winter doldrums. Most diurnal species are exhausted and desperately looking forward to spring, and even the nocturnal ones are starting to wear out from over-activity. 

But that’s not to say there’s no activity, and he could definitely do with some restocking. Between the routewitch that had been abusing uber and lyft patrons to siphon magic, the bogeyman getting a little too ‘scarecrow’ for his tastes by using nightmare fungi to start hallucinations, and the idiot who thought importing a unicorn to a petting zoo would be a good idea, he’s blown through several of his antidotes, poisons, and specialty bullets. 

So he spends most of his morning and early afternoon mixing new toxins and antitoxins, prepping new specialty rounds, and making a list of things he still needs. He’ll have to visit Rolo again soon, who will probably demand an arm and a leg for his troubles. But he’d rather be prepared than dead. 

By the time his classes are approaching, Shiro’s field kits are in better shape, at least. He scribbles a note for Keith— classes, may stay late to help a friend of Lance’s— and then heads out the door. 

Classes go well. Today starts a new round of lessons with a new crop of students, and he spends most of his time introducing himself to new people and running them through the basics of self defense. Despite his paranoia, long instilled by the Covenant and made worse by being an exile, he still enjoys meeting new people and learning their stories. First days are always interesting, and time flies by with remarkable speed.

He’s still in high spirits as the last of the new patrons leave for the night, and he sets to cleaning up the studio. He’s in one of the back rooms, putting away some of the equipment, when he hears voices out front. 

“Are you sure about this?” an unfamiliar voice asks nervously. “He’s a Shirogane. ” 

“Relax,” the second voice says. Shiro recognizes Lance immediately. “He’s cool. He’s Shiro. He’s not gonna hurt us.”

“But they kill people. All the time! How is getting killed gonna help me?” 

“He’s not gonna kill you!” Lance says, sounding fondly exasperated. “I told you, I’ve been living on his couch for three months, and look, I’m not stabbed. Or shot. Or experimented on. Or anything else.”

“I don’t know…”

Shiro decides it’s probably time to make his entrance. He leaves the back room slowly and calmly, just to make it clear he’s not bull-rushing the visitor for a quick murder, and enters the main practice room. “I promise,” he says, “I have no interest in harming you. Not unless you plan on going on a rampage and killing a bunch of people, anyway.”

“Even then, he’d probably just try to talk you out of it first,” Lance adds, grinning a little at his companion. 

“Not wrong,” Shiro agrees. He reaches them, and extends a hand to Lance’s friend, surveying them curiously. He’s still not sure what species this guy is, but you can’t go wrong with a handshake. For some species it’s a friendly gesture, and for others it’s an indication that you’re putting yourself within striking range of them willingly, as a show of trust. “Hey. My name’s Takashi. Lance said I could help you with something?”

The newcomer stares at Shiro for a moment, bewildered and a little uneasy. He’s a big guy, nearly as tall as Shiro is, with dark skin and dark hair held back from his face with a long strip of cloth. Shiro estimates he’s probably around Lance’s age, although with cryptids it can be difficult to tell, sometimes. And if he is a cryptid, Shiro has no idea what kind. He looks perfectly human...but then, many cryptids excel at passing for human in a human-controlled world, out of sheer necessity.

“Um,” the newcomer says after a moment. He blinks once, but then cautiously accepts Shiro’s hand. When Shiro doesn’t immediately launch into some kind of murder attempt, he shakes it with a little more confidence. “Hunk,” he introduces himself. “And uh, don’t worry about the killing rampage thing. I’m not really a fan of blood, especially when it’s, y’know, not supposed to be coming out of people.”

Cross chupacabra and vampire off the list of potential cryptids, then. “Well, then I don’t foresee us having a problem,” Shiro says with a smile, trying to keep things light. “So...how can I help you?”

Hunk hesitates, giving Lance an uneasy glance. “Are you sure he can help?”

“I told you, he does non-murdery solutions to problems too,” Lance says. 

“I prefer them, actually,” Shiro says. “I really don’t like to resort to killing unless absolutely necessary.”

Hunk seems a little bewildered by that response, but after a moment says, “I, uh...have a bit of a food problem.”

Shiro frowns, now all business. “Food problem? In what regard?”

“It’s, uh…” Hunk glances back at the large, open, public windows of the studio’s main room, and back to Shiro. “Is there a less...obvious place we can talk? It’d be easier to show you, but…”

“My office is private,” Shiro says, gesturing over his shoulder. He’s not worried about Hunk pulling a fast one. He doubts Lance would bring anyone deliberately dangerous to meet him, and a less public setting would make most cryptids feel more at ease. But even if Lance completely misread the situation and Hunk’s nerves are a very clever act, Shiro is positive he can handle whatever kind of cryptid Hunk turns out to be. 

Lance follows Shiro confidently into the office, unconcerned. Hunk, presumably reassured by both the privacy and the fact that he has backup against a Shirogane if needed, follows after a moment. Once safely situated with a closed door, Shiro gestures to the extra chairs for the two of them while he sits behind his desk. 

“Okay. Food problem. What’s going on, and how can I help?”

“Well, it’s kind of a matter of getting food. Or, keeping food, I guess you could say,” Hunk says slowly. “I’m, uh...well, here.” He reaches up to his head, and removes the strip of cloth serving as a headband. As soon as it’s not touching his skin, his hair flickers, and suddenly it isn’t there anymore. Instead there’s at least a dozen dark-colored snakes with soft yellow markings sprouting from his skull, which curl, docile, around his neck and head. 

Shiro doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the snakes, other than to identify the head shape and patterns. Two of the three species of gorgons aren’t all that uncommon, and they’re generally pretty friendly, provided you aren’t trying to kill them or their communities. Based on these snakes, Hunk is a pliny’s gorgon, and they aren’t known for being overly aggressive or deadly unless provoked. 

Which is not to say that Hunk can’t be dangerous, if threatened. Hunk’s snakes are venomous and could definitely petrify if they bit Shiro, which would be an unpleasant way to die. His gaze could be potentially dangerous too—the gaze of a pliny’s gorgon can temporarily paralyze at worst, and would be lethal to anything smaller than an adult human. 

But Hunk is almost certainly wearing contacts to prevent mishaps with his gaze. And while his snakes are alert, they aren’t aggressive, hissing, or taking strike positions. As long as Shiro doesn’t cause trouble, he doubts he has anything to fear.

He is impressed by the headband, however. “Illusion magic?” he asks, nodding to the strip of cloth. “It’s pretty good. I didn’t hear or see anything.”

Hunk blinks for a moment, apparently having expected more of a reaction to his living hair. But then he grins, glancing down at the headband now twined around his fingers, and seems to relax a little. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Pretty great, right? I fixed up some electrical issues for a community of hidebehinds down in the sewers and they gave me this as payment. Better than any wig. It dampens sound, so you don’t have to worry about people asking why your hair is hissing. And it’s got a minor compulsion that keeps them calm, so I don’t have to worry about accidental bites around campus.”

“Sounds great,” Shiro says. The hidebehinds could probably make a real market off of those, but they were secretive with their illusion work, for obvious reasons. Shiro’s not sure he’s ever seen what an actual hidebehind looks like, and not even the Covenant have any details on the matter. They’d want to hold that close to the chest.

“It’s a real lifesaver, that’s for sure,” Hunk agrees. “Pretty sure petrifying people on campus gets you expelled.”

Shiro chuckles a little. “Probably a good bet. So. Campus? You’re going to college here in Garrison?” He looks around Lance’s age, so it’s probably a safe guess.

Hunk nods. “Engineering major at Garrison U. I’m a freshman. It’s a useful skill my community back home could use, and it’s interesting. But I’ll need to get the classes out of the way before I’m too old.”

Shiro nods in understanding. Pliny’s gorgons usually live in hidden communities in the countryside or other remote areas. Not only does this permit them to wander around in the open without risk of being seen, it prevents accidental mishaps when non-gorgons meet the gaze of a gorgon without eye protection. 

Most communities are self-sustaining, with their own people obtaining medical degrees and tradeskills necessary for the whole community’s benefit. Many grow their own food to be as independent as possible, without relying on humans for survival. As a result, gorgons tend to keep to themselves, other than leaving a few ‘scouts’ in human communities to give early warning of danger. But they do need to leave the safety of the community periodically to learn skills, get information, or travel to other communities. 

So Shiro isn’t surprised to see Hunk in the city. Nor is he surprised Hunk is trying to finish as soon as possible, even if it means starting in the Spring semester. Male pliny’s gorgons can grow up to eight feet tall in height, and Hunk is already fairly tall in his late teens. In four or five more years, even with the hidebehind illusions to mask his snakes, he’ll stick out like a sore thumb—probably the last thing he or his community would want. 

“That’s kind of the problem, though,” Hunk says. “I got a single room at the dorms, because, well.” He gestures at his snakes. “Rooming with a gorgon can be tricky. But it’s a little more expensive than I’d hoped for. And on top of that, feeding these guys is just a chore. Everything’s so much more expensive here in the city!” 

“Feeding the snakes?” Shiro clarifies, eyeing the mass of writhing reptiles on Hunk’s skull. 

“Yeah. Do you know how expensive live mice and rats are? And they won’t do bulk frozen thawed, I tried it,” Hunk says, with a sigh. “Picky eaters. Only the best rodents will do. And I mean I get it, I only like the best food too, but still. ”

“Alright, I’m starting to see where your problem is coming in,” Shiro says, tapping his fingers on the table. “Have you tried breeding your own feeder mice? Reptile collectors will take that route when they have large numbers of animals to care for.” 

“Tried it,” Hunk says, glum. “But pets aren’t allowed on campus, and the RA’s have already given me two warnings about it. If they catch me again, I’ll get kicked off campus. And I can’t afford to rent an apartment in the city!” 

“Alright,” Shiro says, thinking fast. “What about your community? Are they able to help with the extra expenses?”

Hunk shakes his head. “They would, but it’s already costing a lot to get me out here. Tuition and board is expensive, especially when you can’t cut costs by rooming with people.” 

“I’ll bet,” Shiro agrees. “Is there a gorgon community here you can talk to? Maybe they can help with food supplies?” 

“If there was, do you think I’d be rooming on campus?” Hunk asks, a little incredulous. “Not, that I’m, y’know, affirming or denying there’s gorgons here,” he adds hastily. 

Shiro doesn’t push him on that. If he wants to keep his community’s connections a secret, that’s his business. He’s got a right to want to keep that kind of information from a former Covenant agent. 

“How about other friends you can ask to house a feeder colony?” Shiro tries next.

“Thought about it,” Hunk says, a little despairingly now. “But most of my friends on campus aren’t, y’know, in the know. They’re nice humans, but they’d want to know why I needed so many mice, and if I say it’s to feed pet snakes, they’d want to see the snakes.” He shrugs. “My friend Shay’s in the community, but she lives on campus, so she’d have the same problem as me. I don’t want to get her in trouble, either.” 

“That’s how I figured out about this stuff,” Lance adds brightly. “Hunk asked me if I could keep a colony for him, ‘cause he knows I don’t live on the campus or anything.”

“Oh?” Shiro asks, raising an eyebrow. “How exactly did you two meet each other, anyway?”

“I met him on the campus,” Hunk says, blinking. “When he was hanging around the enrollment office.”

“Enrollment office?” Shiro repeats, directing his attention to Lance. 

Lance looks sheepish. “I kinda figured, y’know, maybe there were some cheaper classes I could try out or something,” he mumbles, almost too low for Shiro to make out. “Something I could use to get a job, maybe. So I’m not quite so useless.”

“You’re not useless, Lance,” Shiro reassures automatically. “But I think it’s a good idea to look into classes if it’s something you’re interested in pursuing. We can talk about it later, if you want help figuring it out. For now, though…” He gestures at Hunk.

“Right,” Lance says, straightening. “Well, like Hunk said, I met him on the Garrison U campus and he’s pretty cool. Really smart and stuff. But not much of a sense for adventure,” he finishes, grinning a little at Hunk.

Hunk grumbles. “Your adventures cause trouble. Usually for me. ” He shakes his head, and his snakes hiss gently as they curl around his neck a little more. “Anyway, I knew Lance didn’t live on campus, so I figured maybe I could ask him to hold on to the feeder mice for me. He could even have one sometimes if he wanted.” 

Lance licks his lips at the thought. 

“He said he doesn’t own his own place, so he couldn’t agree,” Hunk says. “But he told me about you, and I figured he must be crazy or maybe kidnapped or brainwashed or something because, well, Shirogane, but you seem, I don’t know. Not as stabby as the stories talk about? I mean, you haven’t tried to kill me yet.”

“I’m only stabby with bad guys,” Shiro promises. 

“Well, I guess maybe I believe it a little better,” Hunk says with a sigh. “You’ve been nice about giving me suggestions at least, even if none of them worked out.”

“I’m glad I’m a little more trustworthy now,” Shiro says. “Which leads me to add that I’m not actually done giving suggestions. If you want, you can store a feeder colony here.”

Hunk blinks at him. “What?”

Shiro gestures around at his fairly large office. “You can store one here,” he repeats. “As long as you trust me enough to be storing your food supply. I can get you a spare key for the studio as long as you’re good about locking up after. The office is private, so your snakes can eat without anyone walking in on you.” 

Hunk looks shocked. “What! I mean, of course I’m good about security and all that, I mean, hello.” He gestures at his own head, and several of his snakes wave gently towards his fingers. “But why would you trust me with your place?”

“You seem nice enough,” Shiro says with a shrug. “Lance wouldn’t have brought you to me if he didn’t think I could help, and you look like you could use a hand. And I’m a pretty good judge of character. I don’t think you’d cause any trouble.”

Not that Hunk could if he tried. Shiro had made sure the studio was secure a long time ago. There’s nothing in his documentation linking back to his actual address or his real identity, and he keeps his clients’ personal information locked away securely. Even if Hunk did have access to his office and less than reputable intentions, Shiro’s sure things would be protected long enough for him to deal with it.

He doesn’t mention that last part, though. Hunk is only just starting to relax around him. Shiro doubts it would help.

“If you’re not comfortable with that, that’s fine,” Shiro adds. “I can also speak to Allura about seeing if she can arrange alternative measures for you. It might take longer to set that up, though, and I’m not sure what your food situation is now.”

“You know Allura?” Hunk asks, startled. “Like, Allura Altea, the city’s cryptid princess?”

“She’s not actually a princess—”

“I know her too!” Lance interrupts, scowling. “I told you that already!” A little less sullen, he glances at Shiro, and adds, “I thought about her too, but I wasn’t sure how she’d take to, y’know, talking about breeder mice, considering the whole Aeslin colony thing.”

“Aeslin mice? She has Aeslin mice? They’re not extinct?” Hunk squeaks, bewildered. 

“They aren’t. They also are off the table as dinner,” Shiro says, a little sternly. 

Hunk squirms a little. “Oh, I wouldn’t. I mean, everyone back home talks about them like a fancy delicacy, but I think it’d be weird to eat something that could talk.” 

“Yeah,” Lance agrees. “I like a mouse snack as much as the next chupacabra, but I wouldn’t touch the Aeslin, it’d just be...awkward. Especially now that they’re figuring out priest names for me.” 

“It’s up to you, Hunk,” Shiro says, steering the conversation back on track. “Just let me know, and we can work out the details.” 

“I’d be happy to taste-test to prove they’re not poisoned, if you pick here,” Lance offers brightly, licking his lips again.

“Could...could I try it here, for a bit? If you don’t mind,” Hunk says, tentative. “This place isn’t too far from the campus, it’d be good to have food on hand nearby.” 

“Not a problem,” Shiro agrees. “You said you’d gotten some breeders already? You can bring them by tonight if you want, so you don’t get in trouble on campus.”

“Can I really? That’d be great,” Hunk says, relieved. “My hair doesn’t need to eat until next week, and it’d be nice to not have to worry about the RA’s breathing down my neck.”

They hash out the details easily after that, and Hunk seems noticeably more relaxed the longer he interacts with Shiro and isn’t stabbed for daring to do so. Hunk has most of the equipment already, including a rack to store everything on; it’s just a matter of location. He promises to do most of the caretaking work, although Lance volunteers to help as well, in exchange for a snack or two. 

He’s so relieved by having his food source taken care of that he’s even willing to get into Shiro’s car, after Shiro offers to drive to the campus so they can store all the equipment and animals and bring them back immediately. Shiro stays put in the car itself, letting Lance and Hunk haul things out of the dorm—he doesn’t want Hunk to feel too pressured about an ex-Covenant agent knowing his exact living location too early, especially when gorgons are traditionally cagey about it to begin with. But Hunk’s more than happy to have help moving everything, and by eleven at night they’re back at the studio with everything needed.

By midnight, everything is all taken care of. The rack setup fits neatly into one corner of Shiro’s office, and a small side table is now devoted to food, bedding, and other necessities for the project. Several lab cages full of rodents stack neatly on the rack. Shiro can’t claim to be an expert on rodents, but the animals look clean, healthy and humanely cared for, even if they’re ultimately destined to be dinner. Hunk certainly knows what he’s doing, at least. 

“Thanks so much, Shiro,” Hunk says, as they close up the studio for the night. “I really appreciate this. This takes a huge load off my mind.” He willingly shakes Shiro’s hand this time, much more friendly and relaxed than he had been a few hours ago. 

“No problem, Hunk,” Shiro says. “Stop by tomorrow any time after four. I’ll have a spare set of keys for you by then, you can pick it up after my afternoon class.” 

“Right! I’ll be here! Thanks!”

And so Hunk becomes another regular cryptid in Shiro’s life. 

At first, it’s purely business. Hunk stops by almost every day to feed the animals or check on the cleanliness of the cages, and at least once a week to feed. If he picks a day that Shiro is there, he’ll usually chat with him for a few minutes. If it’s a day Shiro’s out, the studio still remains well organized, the safe is left alone, and none of the equipment goes missing. 

He does find evidence that Hunk has snooped through the entire rest of the office—the desk drawers rifled through, the first aid kit rearranged, and the little lost-and-found trunk thoroughly investigated. But when he mentions it to Lance, the chupacabra laughs.

“Hunk’s just like that,” Lance says, grinning. “First day I met him he went through my whole backpack like an hour after he said hello. He’s nosy, but he won’t steal your stuff. I mean, not for too long. Usually he gives it back. I think.” 

Shiro’s seen no evidence of anything taken, and there’s no dangerous information that Hunk could uncover at the office. So he bemusedly lets it go, and gets used to his pens, forms, and coffee cups moving around from week to week. 

At first, it’s purely business, but over time, it shifts into something a little more than that. Hunk might stop by to care for his feeder animals, but he also stops by more and more often to just hang out. Sometimes he’ll do his history or literature homework in the back office (“It’s way quieter here than party nights in the dorm,” he confesses). Sometimes he’ll meet up with Lance there, to grab a bite to eat before they head out to catch a movie or hang around the vintage arcade six blocks over, but he’ll always take some time to catch up with Shiro first. Hunk is easy to get along with, and in very little time Shiro finds himself smiling whenever he catches sight of the gorgon at his studio. 

He isn’t the only one. Hunk meets Keith after the first week of the new food storage arrangement, when Keith stops by the studio for his and Shiro’s weekly blade combat sessions. Hunk is happy to finally meet the roommate Lance complains about so often (“I don’t know what Lance is whining about, your face isn’t that scary—wait, nevermind—”) and delighted at the prospect of meeting a vampire (“I’ve never met a vampire before. Are you all vampire or just part vampire? Do you sleep in a coffin? Or like a dirt pile? Do you have one of those cool capes? Are you like a billion years old?”). 

Keith is initially overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions, which makes him a little defensive and snappish. But once Shiro intervenes and Hunk cools down on the questions, Keith gets along with him better, and doesn’t mind Hunk being around as much. He’ll even engage in friendly banter, and occasionally can even be convinced by Hunk to join them on excursions to game centers or movies. For Keith, who still doesn’t do well with unknown people, it’s high praise. 

Weeks pass, and Hunk becomes a commonplace sight at the studio. He fixes an electrical issue free of charge when an issue with the security cameras comes up. He tutors Lance through a few high school level lessons, since the chupacabra’s been homeless for a while, so he’ll be able to pass entrance exams when he does eventually apply for some courses. He convinces Keith to actually smile, fangs and all, for a few selfies with him, under the guise of seeing ‘if that thing about vampires and showing up in pictures is true.’ (It isn’t, and Shiro could have told him that easily, but it’s so good to see Keith making friends with people his own age that he keeps it to himself). 

Shiro will admit, it’s nice to have Hunk around. Even after being in Garrison for years, there are still precious few cryptids that trust him absolutely. But Hunk has rapidly shifted from being cautious and nervous to hanging around on a regular basis. It’s nice to have someone just give him the benefit of the doubt, and trust him based on who he is, and not his name.

Hunk must like hanging around them just as much, because he shows up one March evening during Keith’s sparring session with Shiro, bearing an armful of warm drinks in paper cups, each one banded with a different color. “Got a surprise for you guys, as a ‘thanks for letting me store my food here’ present,” he announces. “Lance! Out front!”

Lance slinks out of the office. He tends to hide in there on feeding nights that overlap with Keith’s sparring sessions, at the risk of gleefully heckling the combat practice otherwise. “What’s up?”

Shiro and Keith both pause in the middle of training as Hunk bustles over to the nearby table against the wall, and settles the drink tray on it. “My masterpieces,” he announces, waving at the drinks, as he carefully pops each one from the cardboard tray and sets them out next to each other. The white paper cups are banded with red, yellow, blue, and black. 

Keith takes a curious sniff, and frowns. “Is that blood and...coffee? Chocolate?”

“Definitely blood in there,” Lance agrees, taking his own deep whiff. 

Shiro will never get used to being surrounded by so many people with incredibly enhanced senses. With the caps on the cups, he can barely smell anything until he gets close enough, and then it’s mostly the iron tang of blood.

“Little of everything,” Hunk says brightly. “I’ve been experimenting with some drinks. Just for fun, y’know. Who says neat holiday drinks have to disappear after Christmas? This time of year is when people need a little cheer, anyway.”

“I can’t drink that stuff anyway,” Keith says, frowning.

“That’s why I made you your own thing,” Hunk says, plucking the red-banded cup from the table and handing it to Keith. “Red for blood, ‘cause you’re a vampire, y’know.”

“I drink blood too,” Lance complains, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, but I marked yours with blue, ‘cause it’s your favorite color,” Hunk says. “That’s what you told me.” He hands off the second cup to Lance, who looks mollified.

“These two are for us,” Hunk adds, gesturing to Shiro. “But don’t take the yellow one, it’s spiked with rattlesnake venom for an extra kick. Well, an extra kick for me. You’d probably just get extra dead.” 

“That would certainly be a kick,” Shiro comments wryly, but he obediently takes the black-banded cup. It’s comfortably warm in his hands, and when he pops the lid carefully and sniffs curiously, he picks up warm cinnamon and frothy chocolate, and just a touch of cream. “What is all this, Hunk?”

“Just try it. Let me know what you think. You’re all kind of my guinea pigs,” Hunk admits, a little sheepishly. 

“If we try it, are you gonna explain everything?” Lance asks.

“Yes. Promise.”

If it were any other cryptid offering him the drink, Shiro might be hesitant. There are a lot of crytpids out there that would prefer him dead, after all, and wouldn’t hesitate to ‘accidentally’ let him pick the cup with rattlesnake venom instead. But Hunk looks so enthusiastic and hopeful, and he’s never been a particularly violent or aggressive sort. So Shiro shrugs, and takes a sip.

It tastes wonderful. Nothing like the cheap coffees or watery hot chocolates he picks up from chain coffee shops on his way to a job. This is rich and smooth, with just the right subtle blend of flavors. 

“This is great, Hunk,” Shiro says, impressed. 

“It’s alright? Humans have different taste than gorgons do, but I hoped I got the blend okay. I’ve been watching human cooking shows and stuff.”

“It’s more than great, it’s fantastic,” Shiro says, taking another sip. Admittedly, his taste isn’t all that refined, and he could easily live out of boxed meals until his dying day with no complaints about the flavor. But this is something else. 

Keith takes a hesitant sniff of his own drink, and an equally hesitant sip. His eyes light up a moment later, though, and he stares at his cup in shock. “Woah. What did you do to this?”

“Added a shot of adrenaline to some B positive,” Hunk says, beaming. “Did it work? To add flavor? I’ve never worked with anyone that drank just blood before, either, but I figured there had to be something to make your food more interesting that you could like...not get sick on, right? Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, still staring down at his cup in bewilderment. “It tastes different. Good, actually. Kinda like...I don’t know if there’s a word for it. A little spice? Only it’s not spice. I don’t know, but it’s good.” He takes a larger gulp of his doctored blood concoction, far less hesitant than before. 

“How about you, Lance?” Hunk asks, hopeful and anxious all in one. “I got some quality goat’s blood and added—”

“Nope, nope, don’t ruin my drink with science,” Lance says, holding his hand up. “I don’t need to know what’s in it to know it’s good. And it’s really good.” 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, Hunk,” Shiro says, “Because I do, this really is delicious—but what exactly is with the drinks?”

Hunk looks a little sheepish as he sips his own rattlesnake-venom spiked coffee. “It’s, well, it’s sort of a silly dream of mine. See, I’m here for my community to learn engineering, and then I’ll head back home and live there forever, I guess. But it’s always kind of...been my dream to open a restaurant. For people in the cryptid community. Y’know...a safe place to go to get some quality dinner that you won’t find at the local Olive Garden or whatever.” He shrugs. “It’s silly, I know, but—”

“That’s not silly, that’s awesome,” Lance interrupts, eyes bright. “D’you know how much I’ve always wanted to do the ‘go out to dinner’ thing? It looks fun, but people look at you like you’re a serial killer if you order a cup of blood instead of the soup and sandwich.” 

Keith snorts, but nods in agreement as he takes another sip of his drink.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Shiro says. “You obviously have a talent for it. Allura could probably help you get set up in a safe space to do that here in Garrison, if you wanted.”

“You think?” Hunk says brightly. Then he frowns. “But...I don’t know. My community needs me to go to school for engineering stuff back home. They’re paying my tuition out here...it’d be kind of a jerk move to let them pay all that money and then not even do what I was sent here for. Plus, I do still really miss my family...”

“It’s not a decision you have to make right away,” Shiro says. “Take some time to think on it. You can always practice your cooking skills in the meantime. I’m sure none of us will complain.” 

“Not that we can help much,” Keith says, nodding to Lance. “We’re kind of limited in food choices.” 

“That’s alright,” Hunk says. “I still have a few other things I can try for you guys. And Shiro can help out a lot, too.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Not that I don’t mind helping, but how many humans do you expect to frequent this establishment of yours?”

“Well, the nice ones can still come, like you,” Hunk says. “And they’d still get human food. Food brings all sorts of people together! But I mean, I’m sure there’s a ton of other cryptids with similar diets, right? Bogeymen, lilu, jinx...Shiro can help me figure out what works good for them, too.”

“When you put it that way...then I’m more than happy to assist,” Shiro says, smiling a little. “It’s probably one of the nicer jobs I’ll ever do for the community.”

Hunk beams at him.

In the end, it becomes impossible to think of Hunk as just another stranger, especially when he comes around the studio with a used Nintendo Switch console and a handful of controllers. “I got the system and a bunch of games we can all play together,” Hunk says, eyes bright. “I bought them off another student who was trying to get rid of them all for half price. I think it’d be fun, if we can find a place to play. Although, uh…” He glances around at Shiro, Keith and Lance. “I might not be able to fit all of you in my single dorm…”

Lance gives Shiro a pleading look at that. “Shiro...c’mon. He’s got Mario Kart. And Smash. And Party.” 

Even Keith, normally the quietest of the lot, actually looks intrigued at the prospect, and gives Shiro a hopeful look.

Shiro sighs, and throws up his hands. “Alright. Fine. Hunk can come to my apartment. But just to be clear, Hunk, you can’t tell anyone where I live. I’m in hiding for a reason.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Hunk says, miming zipping his mouth shut. “Man! I finally get to see the secret ex-Covenant apartment! You guys are all so tight-lipped. I’ve been wondering for ages.” 

That has Shiro a little worried, at first. And true to his expectations, Hunk spends his first visit snooping around the whole place. He’s excited and nervous in turns, as he digs through the kitchen cabinets, and the now well-stocked dining room that’s served as Shiro’s storage area for hunting ever since Keith took over the guest bedroom. The multitude of guns, knives, crossbows, regents, charms, and other odds and ends definitely make him uneasy, and Shiro gently warns him away from a few things that might be harmful to him, but it doesn’t deter him. Thankfully, it doesn’t make him any more frightened of Shiro, either, and Shiro’s relieved that Hunk still trusts him even around all of his instruments of killing. 

Hunk becomes a regular visitor to the apartment after that, and true to his word, he never discloses Shiro’s location to anyone not already in on the secret. It’s not uncommon for him to commandeer Shiro’s kitchen, and bring over bags of ingredients to try out his latest concoctions for all of them. Shiro’s fridge is better stocked than it’s ever been, and Hunk has a tendency to leave containers of healthy meals and leftovers behind, which both Lance and Keith are quick to ply on Shiro when he gets too involved in his work.

The Nintendo Switch has a permanent home hooked up to Shiro’s TV. It’s not unusual at all anymore for Shiro to come home from his late classes or a simple mission of Allura’s to find Hunk, Lance, and even Keith all on the couch, yelling at and taunting each other as they enthusiastically beat each other up in Super Smash Brothers. None of them have to hide who they are here, either. If Lance’s spines start protruding from his head and shoulders due to his enthusiasm, or Hunk takes off his headband to let his snakes slither and wiggle excitedly in the open, or Keith’s red eyes gleam like a demon’s in the cast light of the game, well, Shiro’s just glad they’re all comfortable enough in his apartment to do so. 

They get him in on the games too, sometimes. “It’s way more fun with four people,” Hunk insists, and he’s not wrong. Being surrounded by high-energy gorgons, vampires and chupacabras ought to be setting his instincts haywire, but he doesn’t feel like he’s ever in danger. Although he is still careful about getting too close to Hunk’s snakes, which all have their own brains and could potentially strike when highly stimulated.

He is sorely at a disadvantage against the three of them when it comes to video games, though. Especially when both Keith and Lance have preternatural reaction instincts, and Hunk’s been playing video games for years. Shiro’s not the best at the games, not when he’s never played any before now, but he does his best and he has fun. 

He looks forward to the game nights, when there are no missions and no classes, when Hunk whips up a new experimental snack for everyone to enjoy as they play. When they game into the dark hours of the night, until all of them but Keith are passed out from exhaustion. When Keith tosses blankets over the rest of them, sets Hunk’s alarm on his phone for his classes the next day, and cleans everything up. And he’s pretty sure the rest of them enjoy it, too.

Even if at least half of the reason is so the three of them can brag about how they destroyed the invincible ex-Covenant Shirogane at Mario Kart.

Chapter Text

“Choosing to be good means choosing to do what needs to be done even when no one appreciates it or thanks you.”
—Sarah Zellaby, The Measure of a Monster

In a secure undisclosed apartment in Garrison City, which is way too small for this many people

But nothing can ever go perfectly, and eventually, things start to change again. 

Shiro doesn’t notice the changes at first, because it doesn’t sound all that unusual. Hunk mentions offhand during one of their game nights that almost nobody is showing up for his 8AM class anymore, so he’s not even sure if it will be held the next day. 

“I think a lot of people are getting the flu, or something,” he notes, absently. “There’s not as many people around the campus, anyway.”

“Weird time of year to get the flu,” Lance says, as he finally makes his character selection on-screen. “It’s almost spring.”

Hunk shrugs. “I dunno, but Professor Montgomery’s been sending out notes via email, so the lectures aren’t as important to get to.”

No, Shiro doesn’t think much of that. It’s a weird time of year for the flu, but illnesses happen. Sometimes, strange things happen that really are just happenstance, and not linked to the cryptid world.

He doesn’t think much of that, but he does know something’s wrong when Hunk calls him in a panic a few weeks later. 

They’re waiting for Hunk to show up at his apartment for dinner and another video game session when Shiro’s phone lights up with Hunk’s ringtone. The gorgon is a little late—by now it’s after dark, and even Keith is up and out of his sun daze. Shiro fully expects Hunk to simply be calling ahead citing he’ll be a few minutes, due to a late class or traffic or picking up ingredients for dinner. 

He doesn’t expect Hunk to immediately stammer over the phone, “Shiro, you—you gotta come quick, it’s bad—”

Shiro tenses immediately, sliding into his role as ex-Covenant hunter with ease. “Easy, Hunk. Slow down. What’s bad?”

“It’s bad, it’s—there’s a dead guy, it looks like he was mauled—oh geez, I don’t know what to do, there’s a lot of blood, I hate blood—”

“Hunk,” Shiro interrupts the rambling again, stern but not aggressive. He’s already equipping extra hidden weaponry and grabbing his coat, while Keith and Lance watch in wide-eyed alarm. “Calm down. I’m coming right now, okay? Just stay calm and tell me where you are.”

“On...on campus,” Hunk says, voice shaking. “Near the theater building, and the Niloofar Lunch Cart. Hurry...it’s bad.”

“Okay,” Shiro says. “I’m coming right now, okay? Just hang on.” He heads for the door, unsurprised when both Lance and Keith flank him. Both have extra sensitive hearing, and had probably picked up every word.

“Please don’t hang up,” Hunk says, soft and more than a little frantic. 

“I won’t, I promise. I’ll stay connected until we’re there,” Shiro says, as he heads down the stairs, Lance hot on his heels. Keith locks up behind them and catches up within heartbeats. “I’ll hand the phone off to Lance so I can drive, but I’m not gonna hang up, okay?”

“Lance is there?” Hunk says, a little hopeful.

“And Keith,” Shiro confirms. “We’re all coming, Hunk, just hold on.”

The campus isn’t that far away, and Shiro doesn’t waste time getting there. He’s heard Hunk nervous before—Hunk is a nervous person in general. But he’s never heard him so outright panicked, not even when Lance had first dragged him to meet a former Covenant agent. Whatever Hunk’s wrapped up in, it has to be bad. 

Luck is with them—he finds a parking space on the street near the building Hunk had mentioned, after Lance directs him to the general area. The three of them pile out of the car quickly, and Lance points the way to the lunch cart. 

“Go careful,” Shiro warns. He already has a hand close to one of his hidden throwing knives. “We don’t know what happened, but it sounds like an attack. The attacker might not be gone yet.” To the phone, he adds, “Hear that, Hunk? We’re here.”

“R-right,” Hunk says. He doesn’t sound much calmer, despite Shiro’s constant reassurances. “Hurry…”

They do, but they barely make it ten steps before Kieth’s head shoots up, and he curses under his breath. A second later, Lance does the same, rubber-necking madly. “Holy crap, what happened here?”

“What is it?” Shiro asks, frowning.

“Blood,” Keith answers curtly. “A lot of it. Hunk wasn’t kidding when he said it was bad.”

“Human?”

“Yeah.”

Shiro’s frown deepens. They aren’t even near the area Hunk had described yet. Keith and Lance are both pursuit hunters with noses designed for blood, but if they can smell it even this far out, it has to be bad.

It takes them a few minutes to reach Hunk, but with two blood-scenting cryptids, finding him is easy. Both Keith and Lance make a beeline for the kill, leading to a little outdoor alcove off to the side of the main grounds on the campus. It’s a neat little landscaped area with shrubs and trees and a little side flower garden that form a quiet pocket away from the main activity of the campus, with a few picnic tables and benches. It’s the sort of place that, in better weather, is a haven for introverts, quiet studious folk, or people trying to get a smoke in without being bothered. 

In any other circumstance it might have been a charming little nook. It’s anything but charming now, with the bloodied, dead body half flopped backwards over one of the benches, eyes wide and staring skyward. It’s dark, and the nearest streetlight is at least thirty feet away. But there’s just enough for Shiro to catch the reflection off the person’s eyes, and the pools of blood glimmering around them. This close, even Shiro can smell the cloying tang of iron. 

This is definitely bad.

There are two other people in the little alcove who are most definitely alive. The first is recognizable as Hunk, but the second person Shiro doesn’t know. She’s relatively tall and thickly built, with short brown hair curling around her face, and large hoop earrings that glimmer in the distant streetlight. Both of them are as far as they can get from the body while still remaining hidden in the alcove.

“Shiro!” Hunk gasps with relief, hanging up on the call and stuffing his phone away. “Oh, sweet Athena, you made it. I was so worried, and that guy is dead, and there’s so much blood, and I hate blood when it’s like this, it’s not something to cook with, it’s supposed to still be inside that guy—”

“Easy, Hunk. Calm down. I’m here.” Shiro holds up one placating hand as he draws close. Hunk is so agitated not even the calming spell on his headband is working anymore, and his snakes are starting to clip outside the illusion, twisting and hissing frantically. Bearing that in mind, Shiro stays carefully out of strike distance. Hunk wouldn’t hurt him on purpose, but his snakes aren’t exactly tame, and a distressed animal might strike without warning to protect itself. 

“Right,” Hunk says. He glances around at the others, and adds, “Um, thanks for coming, guys. All of you.”

“No problem, man,” Lance says, standing as close as he dares. 

Keith nods distractedly as he starts to circle the body, sniffing carefully. Of all of them, he has the best night vision and senses to start an initial examination, so Shiro lets him continue while he handles the other front.

“Alright,” Shiro says. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

“Right. The beginning. Um, it actually doesn’t start with me.” Hunk nudges the unknown girl, who’s standing surprisingly close to Hunk, considering how agitated his snakes are. “Shay here called me and said she found a body of some kind and asked for help. I came down to take a look, but I saw this and I just...knew this was way over my head, so…”

The girl, Shay, nods in agreement. “I found him like this perhaps forty-five minutes ago,” she says slowly. She picks each word carefully, like English isn’t her first language. “I…” She hesitates, glancing at Hunk.

“It’s okay,” Hunk says. “Shiro’s cool. He’s not Covenant anymore and he won’t hurt you.”

Shay worries her lip for a moment, but then nods. “I am an oread,” she says after a moment. “I am not worried about myself, but this is...very violent. It could be very dangerous. I do not know what could have caused this, though, so I called Hunk for help. I am not sure what to do…” 

“I understand,” Shiro says. An oread...that explained quite a lot, actually. Oreads were humanoid cryptids, sometimes called mountain nymphs in old mythologies. Their skin was as dense as granite, and they were extraordinarily strong physically, which explained both why Shay feared neither the campus attacker, nor standing too close to an agitated gorgon. Hunk’s snakes would be unlikely to pierce her skin if they struck, and even if their fangs did manage to penetrate, she was probably immune to the petrifying venom they would inject. 

It also explained why she would be hesitant to call actual emergency services, like the police. Oread could pass easily for human visually, so Shay was unlikely to be caught on campus as long as she didn’t allow other humans to touch her, and was careful about displaying her greater than average strength. But that would change drastically if she became involved in a murder case. Police would inevitably get involved even if she was innocent, and her cover would be blown quickly. 

“Did you see anything at all that might suggest what did this?” Shiro asks her.

Shay shakes her head. “No. There was no one around when I found him, and he was already dead. I investigated because I heard a yell and a thump, but no one ran past me when I came in that way.” She points at the entrance that Shiro, Lance and Keith had come through.

“Alright. Hang tight for a minute so I can take a look.” 

Shay nods nervously. Hunk pats her on the arm reassuringly, and says, “Don’t worry. Shiro’s, like, really good at this stuff. He’ll take care of it.” 

Shiro appreciates the vote of confidence. He’s had a few jobs for Allura since Hunk became part of their odd social group, but nothing major yet. Hunk’s faith is mostly born out of the cryptid equivalent to campfire ghost stories about the Shirogane family, and a few of Keith’s and Lance’s own retellings of some of his more recent deeds. Still, he doesn’t intend to disappoint here. 

“Keep an eye and ear out for anything odd,” he tells Lance. “Your senses are better than mine. If you do pick up on something, let me know.”

“On it,” Lance says, nodding seriously. Shiro can already see the first signs of spines protruding from the back of his head and shoulders, as he slips unconsciously a little closer to his more animal form and its increased senses.

Having a chupacabra as an early-warning system, just in case the attacker comes back, will do for now. Shiro approaches the body next, pulling out his phone to use as a flashlight.

“Careful,” Keith says shortly, as he approaches. His eyes gleam an eerie red in the glow of Shiro’s flashlight, and the rest of him is a stark silhouette in the gloom that makes the instinctive monkey brain in Shiro’s subconsciousness gibber in fear. Shiro reigns it in with long practice. “The blood is all over the place. Step over this way or you’ll start tracking it.” 

Shiro dutifully obeys, sidestepping around the blood he can only see when he swings his flashlight over it. With some help from Keith, he manages to get close enough in the dark to observe the body.

It’s not pretty. The victim is a young man—late teens or early twenties—definitely a student at the college. There’s a shredded backpack nearby, straps torn. His winter coat is shredded as well, padding ripped out everywhere, and the sports T-shirt underneath his in bloody tatters...as is most of his chest. There are gouges in his arms and hands, like he’d thrown them up to defend himself. But the killing stroke is definitely at his neck, where his throat had been torn open and crushed. The stench of blood and urine is so strong it’s enough to cause even Shiro’s stomach to flip-flop uncomfortably, and he’s had blood drinking cryptids as roommates for years.

“You okay?” Keith asks, eyeing him critically.

Shiro blinks. It takes him a long moment to realize he’s been staring, and his heart is thudding almost painfully in his chest. It’s not the first time he’s seen a corpse mauled by a wild animal, but something about the savagery of this one sends a chill up his spine. It’s violent, messy, and just a little too familiar to be natural, and a part of him immediately wants to flee before they come and— 

Don’t jump to conclusions, he tells himself sharply, interrupting the thoughts before he can go too deep. That doesn’t mean anything. Plenty of things could do this. He shakes his head to clear away dark, frightened thoughts and distant memories of screams.

Keith is still watching him, waiting for an answer. There’s no way he missed Shiro’s hesitation, or his heartbeat. “Yeah. This one’s bad, though,” he answers, grimacing.

Keith grunts noncommittally, then says, “There’s a footprint over here. Part of one, at least. Looks animal.”

Shiro’s head snaps up. “Where? Let me see.”

Keith guides him through the dark to the edge of the blood pools, and points. “Here.”

Shiro illuminates it carefully, and his frown grows deeper. It’s a paw print of some kind. Only half of the print is marked by the edges of blood, but it’s enough to make out the top of four large toes. It’s not a lot to go off of, but it’s a start, and would suggest something inhuman and non-sentient. 

He wracks his brains as he scans the area, trying to come up with a cryptid that has a similar paw print. His mental search is halted as he catches sight of the edge of a second paw print, presumably from the same foot, edged with slightly less blood than before and heading for one of the secluding shrubs in the little alcove.

“See that?” he asks, shining the flashlight more heavily on the second footprint. Keith nods, and Shiro adds, “We’ve got a trail. Think you can track it?”

“Footprints made out of blood? Sure I can.” Keith’s eyes narrow.

“Good. Take Lance with you for backup. His nose can help too. If you find the killer, be careful, and try to send up a signal immediately. It attacked an unaware college kid, but that doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous to a vampire and chupacabra.”

“Got it.” Keith disappears out of the edge of Shiro’s flashlight and into the dark with alarming swiftness, and a moment later Shiro hears him over near Hunk and Shay, speaking to Lance. He warns the gorgon and oread to keep an eye out, and then Shiro hears the clatter of long nails on concrete as Lance—presumably now in his fully animal form—dashes off after the eerily silent Keith. 

Shiro isn’t thrilled with sending either of them off to hunt this thing on their own. But both of them are made for tracking even minute blood trails, and he isn’t; he’d only slow them down. Lance and Keith can handle themselves on their own, and as a team he’s sure they’ll be okay. They still bicker like cats and dogs, but they know how to work together where it counts.

He goes back to studying the body carefully, taking pictures as he does. The student hadn’t been eaten; he’s been mauled violently, but it doesn’t appear to be because the killer intended him as a food source. It’s possible Shay had interrupted the creature before it could feed, but Shiro thinks that’s unlikely. Any cryptid animal willing to make a kill like this in the relative openness of a college campus wouldn’t be driven off by a single person showing up. If anything, it would have attempted to make Shay a second meal. 

That’s not a good sign. It means the kill was made not out of necessity—food or protection—but for sport, or with intent. The first implies a natural maliciousness that’s always dangerous; something that kills just because it can isn’t predictable. The second implies willful intelligence, which is even more frightening.

The kill is strange, too, in that it’s messy. Blood is everywhere, spattered over the ground and the bench the body is leaning against. The killing blow is clumsy-looking, the throat crushed and torn in multiple places, like the attacker hadn’t known where to latch on. 

It’s unusual. Most predators have efficient means to dispatch their prey out of necessity. In the wild, messy kills that take a long time cost valuable levels of energy that the animal might not be able to replenish after eating, and it’s always possible the prey animal can give as good as it gets before dying. Whatever did this is either unpracticed, lacks control, or had willingly drawn out the kill for whatever reason. None of those things are good.

But strangest of all are the markings. Between the killing blow, the gouges in the young man’s body, and the pawprint…

No. No no no. It doesn’t have to be that. There’s still so many other options. Don’t panic. Not yet. 

“Do you know what happened?” Hunk asks nervously, drawing closer. He’s careful to keep his distance from both the blood, and from Shiro. Considering his snakes are still hissing in agitation, and a few are curled into strike positions, Shiro appreciates the distance. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear this was a wildcat attack,” Shiro says. 

“A wildcat?” Hunk asks, incredulous. “What, like a mountain lion or something?”

“Yes,” Shiro says. “Or something. You won’t find mountain lions in Garrison City...not unless one escaped from a zoo. That print isn’t big enough to be a bobcat, and jaguars aren’t native to the area.” 

“What about...y’know... undocumented cats?” Hunk asks nervously. “Like manticores? Manticores have cat feet, right?”

“If it was a manticore, it wouldn’t have stopped at mauling one person,” Shiro says grimly. “It also would have a much bigger footprint.”

Hunk gulps. “Oh.” He glances over at the footprint. “How do you even know it’s cat-ish? What if it’s like...a rabid pet dog, or something?”

Shiro gestures absently to the footprint. “No claw tips. Wildcats, cryptid or otherwise, retract their claws. Canines can’t.”

Hunk stares at him incredulously. “How do you know these things?”

“Many years of training.” Shiro keeps snapping pictures as he talks. “Still, I’m not sure exactly what this is yet. I’ll need to consult some of my field guides and journals. But you were right to call me on this. This definitely isn’t normal.” 

Shay steps up nervously as well. “What do we do?”

“Go home,” Shiro says. “I’m sure Hunk would be happy to walk you back.” At this point, he’s not concerned about Shay being involved in this murder. Oread are typically slow to anger, and if she had wanted to kill this victim, it would have involved a lot more smashing and crushing. “As far as you’re concerned, you weren’t here. Once you two are in the clear, I’ll have Allura call in an anonymous tip through her connections in the police force.” 

Because there’s no way this can be covered up. Not on a busy college campus. If it’s a wild animal, or a wild cryptid, people need to know to stay off the campus at night. Even if it is an attack with willful intent, people being on their guard for an assault, or traveling in groups, could make all the difference. Even human students and professors unaware of the cryptid community need a way to stay safe. 

But Shiro does want to make sure Hunk and Shay aren’t dragged into it. And he’d rather not be involved himself. He does have one or two connections of his own in the police force, but the police do start to question if the same civilian shows up repeatedly around their strangest homicide cases. Shiro doesn’t need that kind of attention either. 

“You’re sure?” Hunk asks nervously. 

“I’m sure,” Shiro promises. “Hunk, once you get her back home, go to your own dorm and stay there. Game night is cancelled, sorry. I’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah...yeah,” Hunk says, shakey. “That...that makes sense. Okay. Can...can I call tomorrow? See how things are going?”

“Sure,” Shiro says. “I’ll keep you in the loop, I promise.”

“Thanks. Be careful, Shiro.” 

“Always.” 

“Goodbye, and thank you,” Shay adds. Shiro nods to her as well, before the two disappear off into the dark. They should be fine—their dorms aren’t far, and they’re two strong types of cryptids primed and ready for an encounter. If anything, Shiro, now alone without backup, is the more attractive target.

That’s not ideal, so Shiro finally quits snapping pictures, and slides back into a stand, ready to fling a knife at a moment’s notice. There’s nothing else he can do here as it currently stands. It’s too dark for him to try and look for the killer, or any additional clues, and he needs time to review his journals.

Besides, with the way this student was mauled...it just feels too familiar. He doesn’t want to be caught unawares out here on his own, not if those things were responsible—

Stop. It isn’t. Any number of animals could have done this. It’s important to remain vigilant for any of them.

As if in response to his thoughts, a voice comes out of the darkness to his right. “We lost it.”

Shiro barely holds back a curse, and an instinctively flung knife, as Keith’s gleaming red eyes materialize out of the gloom. His outward response is non-existent, but Keith can clearly hear the way his heart jumps reflexively, because he mutters, “Sorry. Forgot you can’t see as well in the dark.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro says curtly, willing his heart to slow. He’s too jumpy right now, and while Keith is very good at stealth, that shouldn’t have caught Shiro as unawares as it did. “You mean you lost the trail?”

Keith nods as Lance, in his spiky lizard-dog form, scuttles up next to him and prowls watchfully around the area. “There was a blood trail, but it gets weaker as the blood gets left behind on the ground. It goes about two blocks that way off campus, but then it gets to a high traffic area. Lots of people smells, lots of different kinds of blood, lots of other scents to mask it...cars, human food, the works. Neither of us could trail it further.” 

Shiro sighs. It had been a long shot, to hope they could track the killer down so easily. According to Shay’s report, the body had been there for at least forty-five minutes before they’d even arrived. The killer would have been long gone by now. Still, it had been worth a try.

“That’s alright,” he says finally. “We’ll study up tonight, and I’ll come back tomorrow and see if I can dig up a few more clues in the daylight.” 

Keith makes a face at that. “Daylight. Ugh. I won’t be able to help.”

“Sorry, buddy. I know you hate getting benched. I promise we won’t get killed in the interim.” He glances over at the creeping chupacabra circling the area, and adds, “Lance, change back to human form. If people catch sight of a spikey dog in the area, they’re going to assume you did this.”

Lance immediately shifts back to his humanoid form with a scowl. “Not again! Why do people always think I did it? Keith could kill the guy too, he’s got fangs.”

“Vampires don’t use their fangs to maul people,” Shiro says immediately, before a scowling Keith can retort. Lance isn’t completely wrong—Keith is also capable of this level of carnage, if he so chose. But it would be more along the lines of ‘literally tearing someone’s arm off’ than this clumsy murder. “Whatever killed this was some kind of animal, and you’d be the only animal-looking thing visible. People will make the connection, even if it’s wrong.” 

Lance looks distinctly sullen about it, but mutters, “Yeah, well, they’re dumb. And at least I can come back and help you tomorrow morning.” 

Keith’s glare is poisonous. “I would—”

“There’s nothing else we can do here,” Shiro interrupts, before the two of them can get into it at a murder scene, with a potential killer still out there. “We’ll head back tonight. Lance—if you’re backing me up tomorrow, you should head to bed early. Keith, if you’re up to it, I’d like your help combing through the old Covenant journals and field guides to see if we can find this thing. I want to be as prepared as possible tomorrow.” 

“Yeah...I can help with that,” Keith says, at least somewhat mollified by the idea of being able to help at all. Lance seems satisfied at the prospect of being Shiro’s main backup tomorrow, enough to quit bickering with Keith, and the three of them head out.

Once they’re clear, Shiro is quick to call Allura. It’s only early evening, maybe two hours past dark by now, so Allura is still up and active. She seems quietly perplexed by the story, but dutifully promises to notify the police anonymously of the attack, and start reaching out to her contacts in the community to see if there’s any news about attacks or mishaps going on. 

“I will call immediately if I find anything,” she promises. “This cannot be permitted to stand, or the Covenant will be on our doorstep before long.”

“I agree,” Shiro says. “I’ll let you know what I find, too.” 

With game night officially cancelled and murder on their minds, the evening isn’t nearly as fun as any of them had originally been hoping for. Lance cleans up the living room game setup, putting the games and controllers away, and then curls up on the torn couch to nod off early. Chupacabra are diurnal, and if Lance is expected to play backup against an enemy capable of mauling an adult male human to death, he’ll need to rest up. 

Shiro is also diurnal, but he’s got a long night ahead of him, and he’s used to late nights and early mornings. He digs out the old journals and field guides he’d stolen from the Covenant years ago, and his own journal and laptop with his more recent discoveries and observations after starting to integrate into the cryptid community, and spreads them all out on the kitchen table. Keith joins him, with a tupperware container of Hunk’s leftovers warmed up for Shiro, and a blood pack for himself, and they settle down for a long night of researching.

It’s slow going. Shiro actually enjoys reading up on cryptid information, and pursuing the old journals or his newer notes is often an interesting way for him to kill a few hours on a rainy day. The Covenant journals can be problematic, sometimes—they have more to say about how to kill certain kinds of cryptids than they do about culture, ecosystems, or diplomatic means of engaging with other creatures. But there is still plenty of information about cryptid abilities, skills, known locations, and historical reports of sightings and murders attributed to them. 

Unfortunately, it takes some reading between the lines to extrapolate that sort of information, which means it takes time. Plus, not all of the journals are in English. The Shirogane clan has long preserved its own history and records of cryptid information and kills, even before they joined the Covenant, but all of it is recorded in Japanese. Others are in Latin, German, French and Spanish, some in dialects from hundreds of years ago. Shiro’s been working on creating translated copies of everything to English, but it’s a years long project that’s nowhere near finished. 

So researching is slow going. Shiro takes the Japanese volumes, while Keith pores over the English ones, and some of the pages Lance had helped translate from Spanish. Shiro is accustomed to sitting for long hours at a time reading and taking notes, but Keith is antsy about it, and frequently gets up to pace around the room just for an opportunity to move. Keith’s always been better at action and instinct than this sort of thing.

But they do make some progress. Between them, they manage to compile a list of feline-like cryptids, any of which has the potential to just maybe be responsible for this attack. Sphinx, mngwa, tatzelwurm, ozark howlers, chimeras, even the questing beasts—despite having no Covenant or cryptid sightings in over a hundred years—all make the list. Notes are taken on each one, as well as its habits, hunting patterns, common locations, and, in the case of the first two, their cultures. 

It’s a reasonable list to work with, and Shiro researches it diligently. Still, none of it feels like it quite fits, not in his gut. All of them are potential suspects—the intelligent ones could be living in the city, and the simple animal cryptids could have easily wandered here or been set loose on purpose—but none of them feel right. And Shiro has learned to trust his gut as much as anything else. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps him alive.

He still takes the notes. But he can’t get the savagery of that murder out of his mind’s eye, or shake that crawling familiarity and those distant screams and scents of blood out of his head. And as much as he doesn’t want to, as much as he wills himself to remember it could be any of these cryptids, he prepares himself for the possibility that their killer isn’t any of them at all.

By three in the morning, Shiro’s starting to have trouble focusing, and Keith finally kicks him out of the kitchen. “Go to bed,” he orders. “I’ve got nothing else I can do to help with this, I’ll finish reading through what I can. If you find this thing tomorrow you need to be rested enough to deal with it.” 

Shiro hates leaving a job unfinished, but Keith does have a point. So he nods, yawning, and excuses himself from the table. “Leave out whatever else you find and I’ll look it over tomorrow morning before we head out.”

“Will do,” Keith promises, pulling one of the next journals closer. 

It shouldn’t be as easy as it is to fall asleep after witnessing that murder victim. But it’s not Shiro’s first murder case, and he’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow. His sleep is hardly restful— his dreams are unsettling, full of blood and shredded bodies, some caused by an unknown creature prowling the dark, some from the past, others caused by himself—but they aren’t his first bad dreams, either. He muddles through somehow, and wakes the next morning around eight, not exactly feeling great but at least better than he had at three in the morning.

Lance meets him, sipping on a glass of warmed pig’s blood while looking over their notes from last night. “Morning,” he greets. “You guys found a lot of stuff. D’you think any of these things are actually what we’re looking for?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping we get some better ideas after looking the place over this morning,” Shiro admits honestly. He glances over Keith’s extra notes from after he’d gone to bed. He’d found a few other things, but most were too small, or unlikely to be in the area, like cactus cats. 

The note about kitsune makes his heart ice over a little— known shapeshifters and illusionists, could misdirect?— and he really hopes that one doesn’t turn out to be true either. Most cryptids distrusted him for his surname, but kitsune, along with other yōkai , had a special place in their hearts for sheer hatred of the Shirogane clan. They had good reason. His ancestors had been directly responsible for the eradication of dozens of types of Japanese cryptids, and the near-extinction of others. If the killer is a kitsune he’ll do what he has to, but it certainly won’t look good, and they definitely won’t attempt to communicate with him at all.

“Well, I’m good to go as soon as I finish this,” Lance says, holding up his glass of pig’s blood. 

“Good. I’ll just grab something from the food cart when we get there. It does breakfast, right?”

Lance eyes him sideways. “Yeah, but Hunk’s gonna lecture you real good. It’s all junk.”

“I’ll live. Let me arm up and we’ll head out.”

Ten minutes later, with Lance comfortably full and Shiro armed to the teeth, the two of them pile into his car again and head back to the murder site. Shiro has a field kit stored in his car for situations just like this, and he snags the backpack out of the trunk, hefting it over one shoulder. Hopefully, it helps disguise him a little better on the campus. He’s only just turned twenty-four...at best only a couple years older than the seniors, and he doesn’t think he looks that much older than everyone else.

In the light of day, the body is long gone. The little alcove is blocked off with police tape, and a narrow-faced security guard keeps careful watch to ensure nobody crosses the line. A few dozen students and what Shiro assumes are a few professors ring the area with expressions ranging from nervous to curious to openly suspicious. One of the professors, an older looking gentleman with thick mutton-chops straight out of a civil war photograph, even glares at Shiro with open, hostile wariness, as though he’s the one responsible for this mess. Other students give Shiro equally confused or wary looks, and he realizes he probably looks more out of place on the campus than he’d thought.

“Ryou!” 

Shiro turns automatically, long used to reacting to his cover name. Hunk hustles over to them through the crowd, with Shay in tow.

“Hunk,” Shiro greets, giving him a careful once over. Hunk seems calmer this morning, which is fortunate. His illusion and headband are safely in place, and Shiro doesn’t hear any tell-tale hissing. 

It does say a lot that Hunk’s wearing glasses this morning, though, rather than his usual contacts. The lenses are polarized to keep anyone from accidentally being stunned by his gaze...but more importantly, they’re faster to remove than contacts. Hunk’s not pulling any punches. He knows there’s something dangerous out there, and he’s prepared to fight back, if it comes to it. 

Good. 

“Do you know what happened here?” Shiro asks, as though he doesn’t already know. With so many students milling about, it would be stupid to act as though he’d already seen the damage.

Hunk blinks in confusion for a moment, but then seems to pick up on the trick. “Oh! Someone was attacked last night. Scary, right? The campus and city police are both saying it’s a rabid dog of some kind. Animal Control’s already been called and they’re keeping an eye out...but they cancelled classes for today, and they’re telling people to stay indoors or keep an eye out if they go outside. No petting dogs or anything if you see’em.” 

“Smart move,” Shiro agrees, although his stomach does an odd flip-flop at the mention of rabies. It’s a reasonable guess to make, but the implications of that...

He does catch Hunk’s significant look at the word dog. They both know it’s not a dog, but humans not aware of crypid society will do their best to explain away the unbelievable. At least people are being cautious, now, and the ‘dog’ story won’t call the Covenant down on them.

“So you have free time then?” Lance asks. “If your classes were cancelled? You could come get breakfast with us. Shiro hasn’t eaten yet.”

Normally, Shiro would be irritated at Lance throwing him under the bus like that. But it’s actually smart thinking on his part, giving Hunk a valid excuse to hang around them for the time being, so Shiro lets it pass. Hunting whatever this is will go faster with three sets of eyes...figuratively speaking, anyway, since Hunk has significantly more eyes than the rest of them. 

The civil war professor glares at them over the heads of the students. “Really? A man is dead, and you have the gall to discuss going out for breakfast? This is no holiday. It’s serious.” 

Hunk winces. “Right. Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”

The professor harrumphs, but before the argument can be taken further, the security guard watching the taped off area intervenes. “Alright,” the narrow-faced officer says, making shooing motions. “Move along. The man is right, this isn’t a place for sight-seeing. Get indoors and stay safe.” 

The crowd grumbles and chatters amongst themselves, but dutifully disperses. Shiro, Lance, Hunk, and Shay head off as a group, and Shiro says low under his breath, “Lance—head in the direction of the trail you and Keith were following last night. I want to see if there’s anything to work with.” 

“Sure.” Lance steers them in a meandering enough way it doesn’t look suspicious to anyone watching them, but does lead them gradually in the right direction. “Hey, Hunk—what’s eating that guy?”

“Hmm?”

“That professor—the one with the ridiculous mutton chops,” Shiro says.

“Oh, him.” Hunk winces. “He’s not a professor, actually. He’s some big important buyer or something. Garrison U’s engineering program has a sort of...project apprenticeship thing for juniors and seniors. Businesses get discounted engineering work and students get some practical experience on projects for their resumes.” He shrugs. “I’m just a freshman, so I don’t know much about the project. I don’t even remember that guy’s name, I just know everyone complains he’s a real uptight bastard.”

“They’re not wrong,” Lance grumbles. Shay nods nervously in agreement. 

They wander away from the campus, like they’re heading for one of the parking lots. But once they’re out of sight of the security guard and the gaggle of dispersing students and teachers, Lance takes a sharp right. 

“The trail went this way last night,” he says, leading them to a nearby four-way intersection with a diner, a beauty salon, and a discount textbook exchange store. “Keith and I followed it up to...here.” He gestures to the edge of the road, near one of the busy intersection’s crosswalks. “But we lost it around this point. I can’t catch it at all today, too many people have walked past since.” 

Shiro surveys the area. “Not great,” he admits. “They could’ve crossed the street, although it was only early evening last night...somebody might have still seen them, even in the dark. This is a busy area. Lots of headlights and streetlamps. Somebody might have seen something.”

“And if they did not?” Shay asks, nervous. 

“Then whatever or whoever did this is very good at evading notice,” Shiro says, “which would be unusual, since they didn’t bother to hide killing that student last night, or drawing attention to themselves with the kill at all. Or it means they had another way of disappearing.”

“Like, what...a getaway driver waiting or something?” Hunk asks, glancing around at the cars.

“That...or that.” Shiro points at the manhole cover nearby, and another not too far away down their side of the street. 

Hunk shudders. “ Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“We’re not going down there now, are we?” Hunk asks, hunching his shoulders nervously and worrying his hands close to his chest. Even with the illusion of hair still firmly in place, Shiro can imagine his crown of snakes curling protectively around his neck and shoulders.

Shiro shakes his head. “Not yet. The sewers and the underground tunnel systems are dangerous enough as is without an unknown enemy wandering around in them to contend with. I want to know what we’re messing with before we try that.”

“Oh, good,” Hunk says, relieved. “Then before we do anything else, how about we do what we actually said we were gonna? To, y’know...not make people suspicious, or whatever.” He points across the street to Vrepit Sal’s Diner, with a sign in the window indicating breakfast is served until two pm. 

Shiro’s not thrilled at the prospect of interrupting a hunt for something as mundane as eating, but Lance and Hunk are both giving him hopeful and simultaneously watchful looks, and he doesn’t think he’s getting out of it. Besides—this close, it probably has a fair number of student patrons, and other locals. Maybe somebody heard of something related to the case.

They cross the street to the diner, and are lucky enough to get a booth right away. Lance orders just a coffee to pretend to drink—which Shiro periodically takes a swig from, just so the waitress doesn’t get suspicious—but the rest of them order actual breakfasts. The food is actually pretty decent—”Sal’s a nice guy,” Hunk informs them, “I even taught him a trick or two for cooking,”—but the real reward is the information, as far as Shiro’s concerned. 

“More students, huh?” A haggard, middle-aged waitress comments, as she takes their orders. “There’s a lot of you today. Cancelled classes, right? We never get a rush like this at this time.” 

“Yes,” Shay says meekly. 

“There was an attack over on the campus,” Lance offers, eyes gleaming and ready to gossip. “It was pretty bad, I heard.”

“So did I,” the waitress says. “Everyone’s telling the same story. Not what I expected to hear when I came to work this morning! That poor boy...I’m sure his family will be upset. I hope they find the idiot who let his rabid dog loose and put him in jail.”

It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. “You didn’t hear anything at all until this morning?” Shiro presses. If the killer really had come by this area…

“Not for that, hon,” the waitress tells him, as she collects their laminated menus. “I thought we had it exciting around here yesterday with a nasty racoon getting into the garbage. I told Sal I weren’t takin’ the trash out until the awful thing was gone, it scared me. Doesn’t hold a candle to murder, though. I don’t think a raccoon could’ve done that to a college kid.” She smiles at them wearily. “I’ll get your orders in right now.”

Shiro listens in on a few other conversations, and so does Lance with his superior hearing. But the waitress’ news is by far the most interesting. The death is the talk of the hour among the breakfasting students around them, but no one else has anything to add that they don’t already know. 

The news around the racoon shouldn’t even be all that interesting, either, but something in Shiro’s gut tells him to check it out. He’d wanted clues, and there’s nothing else to lose.

So after he pays the check, leaving a hefty cash tip for the tired waitress, he and the others circle around the side of the building to the diner’s dumpster. It’s full of day-old food and a regular smorgasbord to all the critters living on the streets, so he’s not surprised to hear they have raccoon problems. 

“You don’t really think a raccoon could’ve done that, do you?” Hunk asks skeptically.

“I could take care of it if you do,” Lance offers brightly. “I love raccoon.”

“Not exactly,” Shiro says, as he gingerly shoves open the dumpster half full of old diner food. “But the prevailing ‘normal’ theory is rabies, and raccoons are common carriers. The waitress said it was acting aggressive. If we find one carrier, it’s possible it either bit or was bitten by whatever made the kill last night.” 

“Oh.” Lance considers this. “I guess I shouldn’t eat it, if it’s got rabies.”

“ Please don’t,” Shiro says. “Nobody knows enough about chupacabra biology to know if you’re immune like a reptile or susceptible like a mammal, and I would really prefer to not have to kill you.”

“Yeah, I’d kind of prefer that too,” Lance says, wincing. 

Banter aside, rabies would explain a few things. The aggressiveness of the kill, for one, and the way it clearly hadn’t been made out of hunger or self defense. It might also explain why any number of feline-like cryptids might come out of the safety of their regularly scheduled hunting patterns and grounds to run wild across a human-dominated campus. Cryptids weren’t immune to perfectly normal diseases and viruses just because most of the world didn’t think they existed. 

But that sick churning in Shiro’s gut is only getting worse now. Between his own hypothesis of a feline attacker of some kind—but nothing on the compiled list feeling right—and the discussion of rabid attacks, there’s a frightening little suspicion beginning to form at the back of his mind at what the culprit might be. The familiarity of the attack, the sheer savagery...he’d dealt with something like it once before, years ago, when he’d still been with the Covenant. No matter how much he tries to convince himself it can’t be, some of the details are alarmingly identical.

The sound of pounding paws and scraping claws everywhere. There had to be more than a dozen—so many, too many. The growls and snarls, the shrieks of pain, the sickening snap-crack of shifting bone. Blood, blood, blood everywhere, everywhere, too much, nothing spread that much blood for any good reason, how many victims had there even been? Shredded and torn, dismembered and chewed to pulp, it’s impossible to even tell anymore. Flashing teeth, glittering, hungry, wild eyes, hot breath, close, too close, too close—shoot and shoot and shoot and shoot and shoot until it’s dead, dead, dead, don’t let it touch you don’t let any of them touch you, it’s wrong, wrong, wrong—

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Thankfully, it goes unnoticed by his friends.

Yes...everything is too similar. And yet he’s never hoped so badly that he’d be wrong.

Please, let him be wrong.

The dumpster is as disgusting as anticipated, full of half eaten, rotting food from the past few days of dining. Several rodents scatter as Shiro finally shoves the lid all the way up, and peers into its confines.

“Dumpster diving,” he mutters to himself. The banter is routine, and keeps that anxious little worry in the back of his head at bay. “Just another glamorous part of the ex-Covenant lifestyle.” Louder, he calls, “Hunk, Shay—keep an eye on the street, let me know if anyone’s looking a little too curious. Lance—use that nose to help me find any trace of that raccoon.”

“What do we say if people are interested?” Shay asks, frowning.

“Tell them Lance lost his retainer or something when we were eating here last night,” Shiro says. “We’re trying to find it.”

Lance scowls. “Like I need one of those! And even if I did I wouldn’t be that stupid!” 

“Just roll with it, Lance,” Shiro says. “Can you find that raccoon?”

Lance grumbles under his breath. “Keith never has to go digging through garbage on his missions....”

As it turns out, they don’t have to look far. The raccoon doesn’t have much of a trail, because it’s dead in the second dumpster, half covered by trash bags, grease drippings, and other lovely by-products of the diner. Shiro retrieves a pair of latex gloves from the field kit in his backpack and carefully removes the critter, laying it out flat behind the dumpster where he and Lance can crouch without being immediately visible from the street. 

“Woah,” Lance hisses in surprise, once he gets a good look at the dead animal. “What happened to it? I’ve never seen a ‘coon like that before.” 

Shiro presses his lips together, and doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pokes at the deep gash splitting down the back of the creature’s body neatly at its spine, exposing bone and muscle. 

It looked as though the animal had split like a sausage casing, its insides ripping out as it popped open from behind. The spine is twisted and broken unnaturally, the fur near the split skin paler and creamier, the belly distended and swollen. The unique little raccoon hand-paws had half-formed curled claws, and when he gently levers its jaw open, the teeth are longer and sharper than they should be. Worst of all, when he carefully thumbs one of its closed eyelids open, the eye is a clouded amber instead of a raccoon’s beady black.

“Shit,” Shiro whispers. His gut instinct had been right on the money. “ Shit. I did not want to be right about this.” 

Howling shrieks, rabid yowls, crackling bones, stumbling misshapen paws. Hungry and wild, saliva dribbling in ropes around its jaws, eyes on him. Trapped. Fight back or be part of the mess. Shoot and shoot and shoot and shoot—

At least he knows exactly what they’re dealing with. 

He just wishes he didn’t.

Chapter Text

“There’s no such thing as a ‘good’ werewolf.”
—Alex Price, Pocket Apocalypse 

In the Altean Penthouse, trying really really hard to not panic

“Lycanthropy,” Allura says slowly.

“Yes,” Shiro answers, carefully examining the dead animal on the clean observation table.

“So like...werewolves?” Lance asks, disbelieving.

“No,” Shiro says, cautiously prodding one of the wounds while wearing a pair of gloves.

“I’m so confused,” Hunk moans.

Shiro sighs, pausing in his examination of the animal. It’s just over an hour after discovering the dead raccoon. He’d wrapped the creature up as carefully as he could in several clean trash bags for transport. There was only one place he could think of safe enough to both keep people or scavengers from exposure, and study it closer without getting strange looks on the street: Allura’s penthouse. Her quarters had a neatly stocked medical room for emergencies, where people could be treated and, if necessary, receive healing from her. It served just as well for impromptu autopsies. 

Lance and Hunk had both insisted on coming with him, curious and alarmed at his discovery. Shay had opted to stay on campus. “Someone must be here to keep an eye on things, if something goes wrong or the creature returns,” she’d stated. “I do not fear these creatures. But I will alert you if something changes.” 

It had been a sensible suggestion, so they’d let her head back to the campus, and Shiro had rushed to Allura’s as soon as possible. The faster his suspicions were confirmed, the faster they could deal with the problem. Introductions were made between Hunk, Allura, Coran, and an entire congregation of mice, and then Shiro had immediately gotten to work. 

Unfortunately, explaining that work is a little...complicated.

“Lycanthropy isn’t a cryptid, it’s a virus similar to rabies,” Shiro explains, as patiently as he can, while trying to fight down his own gradual panic. Lycanthropy is dangerous, as he knows from brutal, bloody first-hand experience. If they didn’t deal with this fast, an outbreak would not only be inevitable, it could be deadly. “Werewolves aren’t a species...lycanthropy-w is just a very common strain of the lycanthropy virus. Others are more common in other countries. In Africa lycanthropy-h is more common, and the source of most werehyena myths.” 

“And this isn’t the ‘w’ version?” Hunk asks slowly.

“I don’t think so,” Shiro says, as he goes back to work examining the dead raccoon. “Remember what I said last night? All the hallmarks of a feline attack. I’m guessing we’re talking either lycanthropy- t or lycanthropy- l ...that’s tiger or lion,” he adds, at their confused looks. “I’m guessing lion, based on the fur coloration here. More tawny than orange, no stripes.” He runs a gloved finger carefully over the paler coloration of the fur around the spinal gash.

“So...werelions,” Lance sums up, making a face.

“Basically.” Shiro frowns. “But I don’t understand where it came from. Lycanthropy- l is rare, even for this virus.” How could a carrier have even gotten into Garrison? 

“What does this mean for my city?” Allura asks promptly.

Shiro gives her a serious look. “It’s...bad. If we don’t get to the source of this fast, it’s very bad. I’ve only dealt with lycanthropy once, when I was still with the Covenant. There was a big outbreak of lycanthropy- w in northern France. At least fifteen specimens, and potential for dozens of other carriers. It was all hands on deck, even for cadets like me. It’s something I’ll never be able to forget.” 

He swallows, and for just a moment, closes his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose to try and stave off the bloody memories. They’d found where most of the werewolves had originated from, and where they were hiding. They hadn’t all been human carriers, and that made tracking and killing some them even more difficult. 

They’d also found the victims. They’d never been able to properly identify just how many bodies there had been—they’d been so violently shredded and scattered it was impossible to pick all of the pieces apart. The walls, ceiling, floor, furniture—everything had been painted rust red with dried blood. 

He’d been cornered by two of the lycanthropes, and had nearly become a part of the gory mess. Two other agents had been bitten and had taken their own lives to keep the infection from spreading.

He’d been sixteen at the time. The event was burned into his memory for the rest of his life with crystal clear detail.

When he opens his eyes again, the others are staring at him. He shakes his head slightly, focusing again. When he continues, he’s as clinical and detached as he can make himself be. “ Anything mammalian is susceptible to lycanthropy. Humans, other mammalian cryptids, cats, dogs...raccoons.” He points to the animal he’s examining. 

“Anything that eats the flesh or blood of an infected animal can potentially be infected itself. That applies to scavengers and smaller animals, too—even if they’re not a threat to actually transforming, they’re still carriers. And anything the size or weight of an adult human or bigger has the potential to turn into a wild, uncontrollable animal about twenty-eight days after it’s been infected.”

“What, no full moon?” Hunk asks, frowning.

“Complete fallacy,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “The lunar cycle and the incubation period happen to be similar, so people draw conclusions that are wrong. They can transform day or night, at any point, after the incubation period is up. At which point, they won’t be in control of their actions anymore, and there’s no telling what they’ll do—other than something extremely violent.” 

“Like maul a student on a college campus,” Coran says solemnly, shaking his head.

“This is...difficult to understand. I have never heard of such a thing in Garrison, before,” Allura says, frowning. Her wings draw closer to herself, almost defensively, as though shielding herself from the unknown.

On her shoulder, one of the Aeslin mice—the blue one, her own personal devotiary—squeaks, “Lion Goddess! There was a Great Battle in the time of the God of Great Healing and Greater Science’s reign, against the Mindless Ones.”

Coran frowns. “Alfor fought werewolves?”

Another mouse, streaked with red paint—a priest of the order of Alfor, Allura’s father—stands upright proudly, holding its little paws together. “It is So!” it squeaks. “It was many Aeslin generations before the High Priest of Damn It Stop Trying To Get Yourself Killed found his faith in the God of Great Healing and Greater Science. Our God was still a young God and sought to Heal the Mindless Ones with His Great and Holy Power.” The mouse’s ears droop sadly. “Alas, even the power of a God cannot heal the Mindless Ones.”

“But we know the Scent of them,” a yellow-dyed mouse says solemnly. “The rot-stench of rabies, but sweeter. We know the danger of them. Many lives were Lost.”

“The God of Great Healing and Greater Science drove the Mindless Ones from His domain,” a green-dyed mouse finishes. “With the aid of other High Priests that had Faith in Him. But there was much death.”

Lance frowns. “Can somebody translate?”

“My father encountered a lycanthropy outbreak years ago, before he even met Coran,” Allura summarizes. “He and some others stopped it, but only by killing the aggressors. And it sounds like it cannot be healed, not even with my powers. That is...unfortunate.”

“There are other methods,” Shiro says. “No cure, as far as I know. But there is a tincture that can be administered after a bite and prior to transformation that could—maybe—prevent infection.”

“Only maybe?” Hunk asks.

“It’s also just as liable to kill them,” Shiro admits. “Amongst other things, one of the ingredients is liquid mercury. Another is aconite, which is extremely toxic to most mammals.” 

“Ouch,” Lance mutters, wincing. “Better not get bit.”

“You most of all, Lance. In fact, it would be better if you stay benched for the rest of this mission,” Shiro says seriously, as he turns the racoon over carefully. If he can find the source of the bite…

“What? No way! You can’t expect me to just sit back and do nothing after learning there’s werelions running around on a college campus,” Lance snaps. “It sounds like this is bad. You need all hands on deck.”

“Not if it risks you, Lance, and you’re more liable to be hurt by this than anybody else,” Shiro says, halting his examination again to look Lance square in the eye. “As far as anybody can tell, lycanthropy first originated from therianthropes. Shape-changing cryptids would get sick, probably with a strain of rabies, and when they bit non-shape changing mammals...eventually, it stuck. There’s only a small chance most of us would get infected if we got bitten, but that chance gets a lot bigger for you. I’m not risking it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not risking any of you getting mauled to death, either,” Lance says, eyes narrowed. “I can be smart about it and not bite them or anything. I’d love to see them try to bite me, when I’m covered in spikes. But I’m not backing down. You need me on this.” 

“You don’t know what they’re capable of, Lance.” Shiro shakes his head, frustrated, remembering again that red-drenched room. “I’ve seen it. It’s not—”

“If we already know it’s werelions, what exactly are you looking for on that guy, Shiro?” Hunk interrupts, gesturing at the raccoon. “And what... happened to it, anyway?”

Shiro gratefully allows himself to be diverted before his mind can go down the path of those dark memories again, breaking his staredown with Lance. “I’m looking for a bite scar of some kind. If I can figure out what bit it, I can try to figure out who caused it, or at least how big a threat we’re dealing with.” He sighs. “But the body’s so messed up and the skin’s so torn apart I can’t find anything easily. Allura...do you think Ryner can take a look at this as soon as possible?”

Allura frowns. “I can ask her. Her specialty is cryptid flora, but…”

“I’ll take any biologist over none at all. If she can verify the lycanthropy strain, and maybe where it came from, so much the better.” Shiro shakes his head, carefully bagging up the animal for further transfer. “As for what happened...it’s too small to succeed in transforming. Not enough mass. The first transformation killed it. I’d wager some of its organs ruptured, and the spinal restructuring definitely failed halfway.”

Hunk looks a little green at the thought. “Oh,” he says meekly.

“What do you mean?” Lance asks, confused. “Transforming doesn’t do... that. I do it all the time, and I’ve never ruptured anything.”

“Yes, but you’re designed for it by evolution,” Shiro says patiently. “A raccoon’s organs and bones aren’t meant to reshape themselves. The same goes for a human or other cryptid mammal that’s been bitten...we’re not made for that kind of strain. Lycanthrope victims die just as often from ruptured hearts and warped bones as they do from being shot down or killed in fights.”

“Oh.” Now it’s Lance’s turn to look a little green. “I hadn’t thought of that. Lycanthropy sucks.”

“If this is so dangerous, what can we do to prevent it?” Allura asks, frowning.

Shiro considers. “We need to find patient zero, if possible,” he says. “And anyone else they may have come into contact with. Anyone or any thing that’s been bitten needs to be put under observation. We won’t know for certain if they’re infected until twenty-eight days after their first bite or fluid transfer, but we can’t risk them undergoing a transformation and biting even more people.” 

“That’s a big list,” Coran says, frowning. “Not just people in the cryptid community. Civilians may have been in contact without realizing it, especially if patient zero has been hunting on a crowded college campus. And that’s not taking into account dozens or even hundreds of other animals like this one that may have been infected.” He gestures at the bagged raccoon.

“I know.” Shiro closes his eyes for a moment. It’s bad. It’s really bad. He’s read histories of Covenant hunts on lycanthropy, and if he’s being honest with himself, he thinks it’s still one of the few cases where they had actually been in the right. Lycanthropy victims are mindless, deadly, and have the ability to cause an epidemic in less than a month. The blood-soaked memory of his own personal experience with them certainly agrees that nothing good comes of letting them live. 

If they don’t get this situation under control soon... it won’t even matter if the Covenant shows up at Garrison. There won’t be much left to save at that point, anyway. 

“We’ll just need to do what we can,” he says, composing himself as much as possible. “Allura, see if you can get the word out to the community. They should be on the alert for a lycanthropy outbreak, especially for any mammals. If we can start getting a network focused on finding these things, we might have a shot. When Keith’s up this evening, I’ll see if he can get the Marmora Society to mobilize as well.” 

Doubtless they would—a lycanthropy outbreak would be an enormous threat to a vampire population. Infected animals or people could just as easily pollute their food supply and threaten them as well. The Marmora Society is largely reclusive, but their information network is enormous, and once they act on something, they are a force to behold. They would definitely be useful here.

“HAIL, the wisdom of the High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of the Darkness!” one of the mice cheers. Most of the mice take up the chorus, bobbing up and down on their hind legs and waving their tiny staves and scepters excitedly. “Hail! Hail!”

Shiro considers. “Maybe consult the mice, too,” he says after a moment. “If Alfor dealt with these before, maybe they have a few tricks up their sleeves. Metaphorically speaking.”

“It would be an Honor to recite the glorious tales of the God of Great Healing and Greater Science,” the red-streaked mice recites. “We will do His Bidding!” 

“Okay, so, keeping an eye out for evil crazy lions, got that part,” Hunk says nervously, “But, um, how do we know where werelions are when they’re not lions? Like, how do we know where they are, right now? Do we know?”

“No. We don’t,” Shiro says grimly. “We just have to be careful, and keep an eye out for unusual or suspicious activity. When transformed, they’ll be mindless...but prior to that, they could be scared, or skittish. Paranoia is common in both rabies and lycanthropy victims. They may also have bite wounds, or be concealing an injury.”

“That’s not a lot to go on,” Lance says, frowning.

“We know the Scent!” one of the mice repeats sternly. “We can smell the Sickness! No matter what form they wear, we will Know them for the Mindless Ones!”

Shiro frowns. “How close do you have to be to smell it?” he asks, addressing the excitable red-dyed mouse perched on the edge of the medical table. 

“Close enough to smell the breath of the infected,” the mouse recites primly. “Close enough to scent the wounds.”

“That’s too close to be safe,” Shiro says, frowning and shaking his head. “I won’t be able to protect you in the event of an attack.” The Aeslin mice would barely be a mouthful for a hungry, violent werelion. The congregation would be decimated in seconds.

“We are not afraid of a dangerous mission if the Lion Goddess Wills it!” the red-dyed mouse squeaks solemnly. 

“Perhaps there are other ways for their skills to be of use,” Allura says. “Doubtless there will be victims who are more willing to submit to the Aeslin testing, without immediate risk of danger. If the danger could be as wide-spread as you say, they would be invaluable in identifying infected populations who have not yet turned.”

“ HAIL!” the mice praise, in a high pitched chorus. 

“Alright,” Shiro decides. “Keep that on the back burner, and find volunteers who might be willing to help with that. It will still be dangerous, but at least not as dangerous as hunting transformed lycanthrope victims.” 

Allura nods in agreement, sweeping back her wings regally. “Of course.” 

“In the meantime…” Shiro thinks fast, and makes a few snap decisions. “Allura, Coran, I’ll give you the recipe for the anti-lycanthropy tincture. It was made with lycanthropy- w in mind, but it should apply to lycanthropy- l as well. Get whatever ingredients you can and start mixing up batches. Anyone we find who was recently bitten will need to consent to take it, but if the Aeslin identify them as infected, it could still save their lives.” 

Even if the Aeslin didn’t identify them as infected, it might still be worth trying. Aeslin mice have eidetic memories and could pass down the memory of scent just as much as spoken word, but there wasn’t hard proof that they could really do what they said. 

Allura nods again. “We will begin immediately. Give Coran the list of ingredients and he can procure the items. I will prepare this room for creating the batches, and coordinate the search efforts in the interim.” 

“Good. I’m heading back to the campus—I’ll see if I can’t track down who’s causing this mess, or keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Hunk—I hate to ask it, but if you’re willing, I’d like you as backup. Gorgons are more reptile than mammal, and I’ve never heard of any gorgon sub-species with lycanthropy. You should be immune.”

“Immune to the disease,” Hunk says. “Not immune to them mauling me. I’m pretty sure lions are still super dangerous!” 

“I’m not going to force you,” Shiro says. “I realize it’s dangerous, and I’m asking a lot of you. I know you’re not trained for this. But we need to move fast, before this spreads so quickly it’s past what we can handle.” 

Hunk takes a deep breath, clearly distraught, and worries his hands nervously. But after a moment, he says, “I don’t like the idea, but...I’ve got a lot of friends on that campus. Plus Shay. And these things are dangerous. I don’t want people to get hurt. So...I guess I’ll help.” He groans. “I just really hope we don’t end up dead in the process.”

“We’re not going to die. We’re going to be careful.” He turns. “Lance...I assume you’re going to refuse to stay benched, like I asked?”

“You assume right,” Lance says, eyes narrowed. “I’m not letting my friends go into danger alone.”

Shiro sighs. He knows Lance will follow after them, one way or another. He’s both stubborn and loyal to his friends—admirable qualities, but occasionally troublesome. “Fine. But I’m going to ask that you do things my way, okay? I’m serious when I say you’re more at risk than anyone else here.”

“I’ll be careful, and I’ll listen,” Lance promises. “But you’re not leaving me behind.”

“Good. Can you smell the lycanthropy, like the mice can?”

The ears of the mice prick up in interest, but Lance only shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Sorry. I can smell raccoon blood at a hundred paces, but the only thing that smelled off about that one to me was the fact that it’d been rotting for a night. Whatever the mice are making out, a chupacabra nose isn’t made the same way.”

“Alright. Not a problem. It was still worth checking. In that case, we’re swinging by my place to get properly armed, and then we’re going back to the search.” 

“Properly armed?” Lance says, blinking. “We?”

“Yes, we,” Shiro says firmly. “That includes you. Your chupacabra form is dangerous, but you’re liable to infection when you fight naturally. You’re getting a gun. With silver bullets.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Lance’s eyes light up with delight. “Aw, man. Bring it on, werelions!” 

And really, that about sums it up as well as anything else.

One trip to Shiro’s apartment later, and the three of them are armed to the teeth.

Well, two of them, really. Hunk had declined the weaponry. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun, so I’d probably just hit you guys,” he admits. “And if a werelion gets close enough to attack me, I can stun it, or my hair will petrify it. You said I can’t get lycanthropy, so I can bite’em, right?”

It’s a fair enough assessment. Although Hunk is generally nervous and non-confrontational by nature, that doesn’t make him harmless. If a werelion attacks him, it will probably regret it. 

Shiro and Lance have no such advantage, not when both of them are susceptible to infection if they’re bitten. To that end, Shiro arms them as efficiently as possible. 

The first step is dressing correctly. Shiro’s ‘working’ gear is usually sturdy, but he swaps his lighter long-sleeved shirt for a thicker sweater, and his fingerless gloves for full ones. The less skin exposed to be wounded and potentially infected by lycanthropy, the better. The heavier jacket and sweater also make it much easier to conceal additional weaponry—which he plans to carry in spades.

Two semi-automatic pistols loaded with silver bullets are hidden on his person, and more silver rounds are stored away in a box in one of his jacket pockets. A third is handed off to Lance, who conceals it carefully on a shoulder harness that will remain secure even if Lance shifts to his other form. Shiro exchanges several of his normal knives for silver ones as well, hiding them away in his sleeves, boot holsters, and inner coat pockets. 

After some contemplation, he stows a collapsible crossbow and several silver-tipped quarrels in a bag to hide in his car as well. The firearms would be most efficient, but an insane werelion could attack anywhere, even in broad daylight. Shooting loud guns in a public setting with a lot of civilians could do more harm than good, and would draw far too much attention. Crossbows were a beloved classic of the Covenant, and Shiro doesn’t like the heavy association between the weapons and the organization. But they were Covenant favorites for good reason—despite seeming archaic and out of date, they were convenient and easy to get rid of in a hurry, and just as efficient at killing things as a handgun with far less noise. 

His final selection for werelion hunting isn’t for the lycanthropes at all. He selects two pairs of polarized glasses, handing one set off to Lance. “Just in case,” he says.

Lance blinks. “In case of what? Needing a fashion change? Nearsightedness?” 

Shiro rolls his eyes. “The lenses are treated, but not prescription. If Hunk needs to take his own glasses off to try and stun something, this will keep us from being caught in the crossfire by accident.”

“Oh, good idea,” Hunk says, eyes bright. “When did you get those?”

“When a pliny’s gorgon started frequenting my home at all hours of the day and night,” Shiro says mildly. “Don’t take it personal, Hunk...it just pays to be prepared. I’d rather not get knocked out in my own home because of an accidental glance.”

“Naw, that’s fair,” Hunk agrees. 

“I guess,” Lance concedes. “But trade me—yours look cooler.”

Shiro shakes his head in exasperation, but dutifully trades over the glasses. “I don’t think the werelions will care much about fashion, Lance.”

“It’s never a bad time to look good,” Lance says, fitting the glasses on and checking himself out in the TV reflection. “And I definitely make this look good.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure the lycanthropes will be so stunned they’ll pause long enough to let you shoot them,” Shiro says. 

“That’s the plan,” Lance agrees, grinning smugly.

Shiro pauses long enough to peek in on Keith—still almost literally dead to the world, since it’s barely past noon—and scribble a quick note about the day’s events so far. Attack caused by lycanthropy- l . DO NOT GET BITTEN OR DRINK BLOOD FROM ANY SUSPECTED CARRIER. Contact Marmora Society ASAP to mobilize lycanthropy watch. Carry silver. Call when you can. He leaves the note next to another pair of polarized glasses and some silver knives—silver doesn’t hurt vampires, contrary to popular lore, and he knows better than to think Keith will stay out of the fight just because he’s susceptible too. He’d rather Keith be armed and prepared.

And then, as ready as they possibly can be, they head back for the Garrison U campus.

They spend the next two hours roaming the campus, hunting for any kind of hint of werelions. The class buildings are unusually clear, due to activities being cancelled for the day, but it gives Hunk the chance to play tour guide without interference and show them around the place. He texts Shay to join them, too, although she doesn’t respond. 

“That’s not that weird,” Hunk says, although he frowns a little as he says it. “She’s doing environmental studies, and sometimes she gets wrapped up in going out and trying to find ways to help heal the Earth, y’know?” 

Shiro gets it, but he still thinks it’s a little strange that she wouldn’t answer in the middle of a crisis on the campus. Especially after she’d volunteered to stay behind in case something happened. “Keep trying to reach her,” he says instead. “Call if you have to, too.”

“Right,” Hunk agrees. “Okay. I can keep doing that.”

While he does, they keep up the search. Hunk shows them the buildings devoted to the sciences, liberal arts, and businesses, and points out the dorms in the distance. He also shows them around the outdoor parts of the campus, a fairly open set of well-landscaped grounds with a naturalistic look, even smack in the middle of Garrison City. 

Shiro reflexively takes note of every exit, hidden alcove or nook, window, storage closet, and out of the way classroom. He’s not expecting to find secret hideouts or hidden passages in a public university, but any place that a transformed werelion could stay hidden away until it lost control and went on a rampage was still good to note.

They don’t find anything after the first hour. They don’t hear from Shay either, despite another text being sent. So Shiro decides to change tactics. 

“You mentioned people disappearing from classes recently, right?” Shiro asks Hunk.

“A couple weeks ago,” Hunk says, frowning. “I thought it was the flu. D’you think it was lycanthropy?”

“It’s possible,” Shiro says slowly. “The raccoon we found attempted to transform last night, based on the waitress’s story. That means it had to have been bitten at least twenty-eight days ago, and the incubation period finished up last night.”

“So werelions have been running around on the campus for at least a month already?” Lance summarizes. “Ugh. There could be so many by now!”

“True, but it gives us a place to start, at least,” Shiro says. “Hunk...did you know any of the people who stopped coming in to classes?”

“A couple,” Hunk says slowly. “Some of them were in my dorm building.”

“Alright,” Shiro decides, “Let’s see if we can talk to some of them. If they really do have the flu and it’s been this long, they should be going to a hospital anyway. If not...we might learn a thing or two.”

“Or get the flu,” Lance grumbles.

“Which is treatable,” Shiro says. “I’ll take it over lycanthropy any day of the week.” 

They give it a shot. Hunk lets them into his dorm building, and they try tracking down the few students Hunk happens to know who had disappeared because they were ‘out sick.’ 

But what they find is questionable. They’re able to talk to the roommates of two of the students who had vanished from classes, but it seemed they had disappeared in other regards as well. One roommate confirmed that a missing student had left the semester early to go home and spend time with her sick grandmother before she was expected to pass away. The second stated his roommate hadn’t been feeling well, but had left to go home for a family vacation. Neither roommate knew when the missing students were expected to be back; they’d been housed together at random, and didn’t know each other well. 

A third missing student doesn’t answer the door of his dorm at all. When Shiro lets himself in—lockpicking is a skill he’s had since he was seven—the room appears unlived in for at least two weeks by any of the three students in the triple.

Shiro doesn’t need his gut instinct to tell him something is definitely wrong there.

He doesn’t need to be proven right, either, but he is anyway at the end of the second hour. 

Hunk calls up Shay to check in yet again, more nervous-looking than ever. But his expression grows more hopeful when someone clearly picks up on the other end of the line. “Shay! Thank Athena. I was starting to get worried when you didn’t—”

His jaw snaps shut audibly, and his eyes go wide. He swallows, and his hand shakes as he quickly holds the phone out towards Lance and Shiro and swaps it to ‘speaker.’

“—ill with the Shirogane?” A low, gravelly voice growls. “Answer me. Now.” 

It’s not Shay’s voice. Based on the screen, it is Shay’s phone. A cold shiver runs down Shiro’s spine. 

“I won’t wait much longer,” the voice growls again. “Is the Shirogane there or not? I will kill the girl if I have to wait another minute for an answer.” Hunk fixes Shiro with a pleading look.

“I’m here,” Shiro answers, voice curt and cold. “I don’t think it needs to be said, but just to be clear: if you do hurt that girl, I will end you.” 

“I am hardly surprised to hear the Covenant hunter threatening me with death,” the low, gravelly voice answers. Although they speak in near growls, they sound calm and in control. That’s not necessarily a good sign. It means they most likely won’t kill Shay out of a fit of rage...but it also means that whoever is speaking feels they have control of the situation. 

“I’m not Covenant,” Shiro says, firmly. “I don’t kill needlessly. But you’ve kidnapped an innocent girl. Protecting her won’t be needless. ” 

“Not so innocent, if she helps the Covenant hunt us,” the voice says coldly. 

That makes Shiro’s stomach turn, but he keeps himself outwardly steady. Shay’s kidnapping is no mere coincidence, then; they’d seen her with Shiro, Hunk and Lance earlier. That meant they’d been observed, as early as last night when they’d found the kill, or that morning when they’d shown up to investigate further. And whoever it was hadn’t hesitated to try and clean up the loose ends. 

“What do you want?” Shiro says, voice sharp. 

“I want you to come have a chat,” the voice says. “Let’s discuss that innocent blood, and the Covenant and Shiroganes running around in our backyard. You are meddling in things you should not.” 

Shiro has a feeling that chat is supposed to be one he never finishes. Still, he doesn’t have much choice. “Alright. Let’s talk. Where?”

“The sewer grate near the diner. You know the one. Bring your friends.” 

So Hunk and Lance weren’t supposed to walk away from this little chat, either. “Of course. When?”

“Immediately,” the voice orders. “Take too long, and I will kill the girl.” 

“If you do, there’s no place on Earth you can go where I won’t find you,” Shiro says, with maddening calm, compared to the way his heart pounds inside his chest. “I’m not Covenant, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t learn their tricks.”

“Then don’t dally,” the voice growls, and hangs up.

Shiro stares at the phone in Hunk’s hands for a moment, and then turns to head in the direction of the diner.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Lance says, making a ‘T’ shape with his hands. “Time out for a minute! This smells like a trap all over. A really stinky one. And you’re just gonna walk into it?”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Shiro says. “If we wait too long, he’ll kill Shay.”

“I definitely don’t want Shay to die, but don’t we like...need a plan, or something?” Hunk asks urgently, as he hurries up next to Shiro.

“We have one,” Shiro says. “We’re springing their trap. We have a few key details on our side.”

“Please, enlighten us,” Hunk says, anxious.

Shiro ticks them off on his fingers as he moves quickly. “One, we know what we’re dealing with. They don’t know for certain that we’ve figured it out yet. It means we’re armed for fighting exactly their kind of danger, while they’re liable to think they’re all but invincible. Lycanthropes can take absurd amounts of damage, but not against silver.” He ticks the second finger. “Two—they’re focusing on me.” 

“And that’s good why?” Lance asks. “Last I checked, you can also get were’d.”

“It’s good because they don’t seem to recognize that either of you are cryptids,” Shiro says. “And with the way they keep referring to me as Covenant, they probably assume you’re other Covenant agents...probably junior cadets.”

Hunk shudders. “Ugh. No, no thank you. Nope.”

“It works for us,” Shiro says. “It means we’ve got a few abilities in our back pocket. Three—I don’t think they know Shay isn’t human either. They just refer to her as ‘the girl.’ That doesn’t mean she’s unkillable, so we still have to hurry—but she won’t be as easy for them to kill as they probably think.” 

“So we just walk into a trap. With werelions. Probably a lot of werelions, if they’ve been around for a month,” Lance summarizes. “In the sewer. The place where you said we definitely shouldn’t go, until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“We know what we’re dealing with,” Shiro says. “That was point number one.”

Lance swears under his breath before muttering, “We’re gonna die.”

“You can stay behind if you want, Lance,” Shiro says. “I meant what I said before. I would prefer you benched.” 

“Hell, no,” Lance says. “If you’re gonna go charge into the middle of the werelion base or whatever it is, you’re at least gonna go with backup.” He sighs. “So what’s the plan? Get in, grab Shay, get out, dust ourselves off?”

“Something like that,” Shiro says. 

“I notice there’s not much plan for ‘get out,’” Hunk observes.

“Leave with Shay,” Shiro says.

“I think we’re improvising our way out,” Lance stage whispers to his friend. 

“I’m so bad at improvising,” Hunk says with a moan. 

They reach the manhole cover in record time. Hunk keeps an eye out for pedestrian watchers, while Shiro and Lance lever the cover off. “Someone is probably watching from up top,” Shiro murmurs, low under his breath. “But they won’t strike right away down below. As soon as you’re under, change and go up.” 

Lance blinks at him for a moment, but then breaks into a grin of understanding. “Oh. I’m your eyes in the sky, yeah?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Shiro says. “Don’t get spotted. If we’re in a tight spot...spike drop.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The cover slips off. Shiro insists on going first, dropping neatly down with a splash into water runoff and stray garbage with a grimace. Nothing immediately leaps out of the darkness of the tunnel beyond to try and kill him, so he calls above. “Clear—for now.”

Lance climbs in next. He only clambers partway down the ladder in his human form before taking a leap into the darkness. Shiro never hears a splash of landing; instead there’s a soft scrape of long claws on concrete, and a mass of spines slithers overhead into the darkness. As long as he stays in the shadows and uses the old piping and ceilings of the sewers and subway systems to stay unnoticed, his ability to Spider-man his way upside-down through the whole complex will give them at least a little cover. 

Hunk comes last, reaching up to neatly shove the manhole cover mostly back into place—enough so the police won’t come down after them, anyway. The very last thing Shiro needs are humans coming down into a cryptid-dominated labyrinth infested with lycanthropy- l.

“Careful, Hunk,” Shiro warns softly, under his breath. “Take it slow, and keep all your senses at the ready. Let me know if you see anything coming at us.” 

“Right,” Hunk says. His voice shakes a little, but even so, he seems determined to do what he can to rescue his friend. 

Shiro leads the way down the tunnel. Even during the day, the lighting in the Garrison underground is not ideal. There are little electric fixtures here and there for the city maintenance workers, but the lights aren’t maintained often, and cryptids frequently disable them at intervals for their own ease of mind anyway. So Shiro can see, but not well, and finds himself relying on his other senses more than his vision.

Lance will be in more or less the same boat, as well. Chupacabra are diurnal species, and not known for their night vision. Gorgons see quite well in the dark, but Hunk lacks the training to really take advantage of it in this situation. Shiro finds himself wishing he had Keith for backup—a natural night hunter, with training for this sort of work, Keith would have been perfect for this mission. A pity he’s not due to wake up for another few hours, at which point they’ll have already pulled off the rescue successfully, or they’ll be dead. 

Even without the looming threat of a pack—pride?—of werelions ahead, Garrison underground is a dangerous place to be. Although human maintenance workers do occasionally come down here for upkeep, everything below the pavement of the city traditionally belongs to the cryptid community. Bugbears, hidebehinds, bogeymen, ghouls, vampires, lamias, and other species that either hate the daylight or can’t easily hide in human communities, have long since seized control of the network of sewer systems and old subway tracks and stations. Places not under immediate observation or regular use by humans have been carefully carved out, expanded upon, and hidden behind illusions and spells that cause any wandering humans to turn away and forget why they’d come. 

Garrison underground is practically it’s own city district by now, complete with its own hidden cryptid hospital for those who can’t risk checking into a human one. Areas that have been carved out for habitation are well maintained, clean, and have modern amenities like electricity, running water, internet and cable, siphoned from their sources with a few payoffs and a little help from House Altea. It’s got its own thriving community of cryptids. 

But that doesn’t make it human-friendly. And wandering into the underground is a bit like wandering into a wolf pack’s territory: they might leave you alone, but they might just as well decide to run you out, or worse. 

Shiro is on cordial terms with the underground cryptids, which more or less means they agree to ignore each other, provided one side doesn’t attempt to murder the other. Shiro doesn’t head down into the sewers unless he’s hunting something that deserves it. Even then, he usually does his best to make it clear exactly who or what he came for, and why, and he never overstays his welcome. 

Coming down here now, uninvited and with little to no warning, is not the smartest decision he’s made. He could make the denizens of the underground very angry, and a horde of angry bugbears and bogeymen isn’t something he wants on his plate. 

But the threat of lycanthropy is far worse—and the threat of lycanthropy infecting many of those mammalian underground citizens is blatantly terrifying. If there are werelions down here, he needs to take them down as soon as possible. And he needs to make sure Shay, and Hunk and Lance, get out of here in one piece.

So he picks his way forward, slow but careful, firearm loaded with silver bullets in hand, but not raised. He won’t risk accidentally shooting an innocent cryptid and starting an underground war. He won’t risk leaving himself unarmed and easy to strike, either.

They follow the main tunnel for a while. It’s lit with the occasional maintenance light, and is clearly still moderately well traveled by humans. They’re cautious, but Shiro doubts the lycanthropes will be hiding out in the main service tunnels, not if their goal is to make sure Shiro’s body is never found again. It’s too obvious. For a while, he doesn’t see any kind of indication that there’s anyone down here but the three of them.

Even so, Shiro can’t shake the unmistakable feeling he’s being watched.

The feeling gets stronger and stronger until, ten minutes later, he’s almost relieved when he sees a flicker of movement amongst the shadows ahead. It’s low to the ground, so it’s not Lance, but it’s far too big to be a stray rodent. 

Bingo.

The shadow seems to disappear into the wall, and for a moment Shiro can’t tell where it would have gotten to. But when he runs his hands over the damp concrete, his fingers slip through the stone unexpectedly. The moment he withdraws his hand he finds himself nearly forgetting what he’d just seen.

He smiles grimly to himself. “Hidebehind illusion,” he mutters to Hunk. “Pretty good one. It’s spelled to make the maintenance workers ignore it.” It was probably a route into the Garrison underground proper, although Shiro doesn’t know this one yet. He makes a mental note to do his best to remember it for later. He’s had some training resisting these kinds of spells, but it does take some degree of willful intent to do so.

They step through the illusion and into a whole new section of the underground, one that doesn’t belong to humans anymore. The tunnels change here, becoming less modernized but no less architecturally sound. Not too far in they come to what looks like an old, abandoned subway station that had long since been forgotten, its tracks covered over and its tunnels converted to a miniature cryptid highway underground. It looks well trafficked, as much as Shiro can see in the dim light. The feeling of being watched by many eyes is far worse here.

The reason why is clear not ten seconds later. As they step into the dimly lit abandoned station, Shiro spots a figure hanging over the cemented-over tracks from a set of chains around their wrists. Ten steps closer, and it’s obvious it’s Shay, gagged and struggling to free herself from the chains or the old set of pipes they’re hooked around. 

“Shay!” Hunk hollers, taking several hurried steps forward. “Shay, hang on, we’ll get you down!”

Shay’s eyes widen as she spots Shiro and Hunk, and she shakes her head frantically, making muffled noises behind the gag. She tries to kick with her feet and jerk her head to a point near one of the subway platforms, but spins awkwardly in place from the chains a moment later.

“Hunk—” Shiro snaps warningly.

“I am impressed,” says a voice to the right. “They really did come quickly.”

“I saw the opportunity for the trap, and I took it,” the low, growling voice from the phone call says. “It is not so hard to catch the Covenant as everyone seems to think.”

Shiro’s head jerks right, as does the gun in his hands. 

They aren’t alone in the underground. There are three men there, all muscular and clearly used to combat. One is very tall, with a lean, athletic build, and long hair bound in two tails down his back. The second is more thickly built, with a square face and sturdy limbs, wearing his hair tied back into a single ponytail. The last of them is the shortest and most stout—and also familiar, because he’s the same angry buyer with the civil war muttonchops Shiro had seen that morning at the murder site. 

Muttonchops is the one to take a step forward. “Shirogane,” he says, and his voice is lower and more gravelly now, recognizable as the voice on the phone. “I am glad to see you know how to obey commands.”

Shiro narrows his eyes at the man. “I showed up, as agreed upon,” he says, and gestures to Shay. “Let her go.”

The tallest, lean man laughs. The noise is unpleasant. 

Muttonchops gives him a stern look. “Silence, Throk,” he snaps, before turning back to Shiro. “None of you will be leaving. You are meddling in Galra affairs. I won’t have a Shirogane interfere with my mistress’ work.” 

Shiro’s eyes widen. Galra again! He’s tried to dredge up any information he can on the mysterious word ever since the altercation with Macidus, with no luck whatsoever. And now it’s fallen into his lap once more. 

“Galra is wrapped up in this lycanthropy business?” he asks, voice cold. “What is Galra? And why are you so dead set on killing people in this city?”

The tall one, Throk, scowls at him. “We owe no explanation to unascended humans,” he sneers. “Much less the dogs of the Covenant. ” Pony-tail on the right gives a grunt, and a nod of agreement. 

Shiro opens his mouth to snap something back, to try and get any explanation out of them. This ‘Galra’ is dangerous, and he still knows nothing. But he barely opens his mouth before Hunk whimpers softly, “Um...Shiro…”

Shiro glances at Hunk, who points at the tunnels and broken doorways around the perimeter of the old subway station. Gleaming within all of them are large eyes—the eyes of a cat reflecting even the dimmest of lights to glow eerily in near darkness. 

As he watches, several lions pad slowly out of the gloom into visible sight. The animals don’t look good—they’re all scraggly and scrawny, underfed with dirty fur, and the males have underdeveloped manes. But even a weak lion can kill an unprepared, average human, and there’s got to be at least fifteen of them here. 

Several of the animals snarl, and drool dribbles in ropes from their fangs. They pace closer—close enough to surround—but they don’t strike yet. 

Shiro frowns. Lycanthropy—and these were definitely werelions, no doubt about it—wasn’t known for encouraging patience in its victims. A lycanthrope would be wild with bloodlust, waiting to kill any prey that had wandered too close. They had an instinctive need to spread the virus, especially when freshly transformed. What were they hesitating for?

Muttonchops regards Shiro coldly. “We owe no explanation,” he agrees with his companion. “But I will give you a declaration. The Galra are an empire—and I am building it an army.” He sweeps a hand grandly about at the werelions inching closer. “You will have the honor of dying by its claws.” 

Building an army. Shiro thinks of all the unexpectedly disappeared students in the Garrison U campus up above, and at the underfed werelions all around them, and suddenly has an awful feeling he knows where they’ve disappeared to.

“Them, Prorok?” Throk questions, with obvious disgust. “They are barely infantry. I have worked faithfully for the Galra for many years. Grant me the honor to kill the Covenant beasts. I have earned it.”

“Very well,” Muttonchops—Prorok, apparently—agrees. “Kill them quickly then, Throk. We are behind schedule already due to their intrusion.”

“Gladly,” Throk says, eyes wild, as he sneers across the subway station at Shiro. “I’ve fought far more fearsome enemies than you for the Galra, and left them all for dead. A juvenile Covenant brat will be nothing.”

“Ex-Covenant,” Shiro corrects automatically. He’s afraid of the lycanthropes, but not of this person, and the calm control in his voice is unmistakable.

Throk’s sneer changes to a scowl. Clearly, his threat was supposed to intimidate far more. With a howl, he leaps forward to strike—

—and with a sickening crack of snapping bones and a ripple of fur, Throk is gone, and an enormous lion charges for Shiro instead.

Chapter Text

“We’ve all got our skills. There’s no shame in depending on them. Just in falling apart if things don’t go exactly the way you were planning.”
—Mike Gucciard, Midnight Blue-Light Special 

In the sewers under Garrison, which isn’t always a bad place, but this part is

For one startled moment, Shiro doesn’t know how to react. Throk had changed. Throk is a werelion too. 

But he’d still been sentient. He’d been unpleasant, but he’d spoken perfectly rationally as a human, and been capable of having a conversation. He’d controlled his transformation, chosen when to use it.

Shiro’s never heard of that before. He didn’t know it was possible. Everything he’s studied, even the papers and materials written by other cryptids, has always suggested lycanthropes were the very definition of monsters once infected. They couldn’t think or reason. They just attacked, until their bodies gave out.

Not Throk, though. And that means everything he knows about lycanthropy could be wrong.

He freezes. For just one moment, he freezes, as the werelion charges at him, eyes hungry. He freezes because he could be wrong, and maybe this person doesn’t deserve execution, and if he kills him then maybe even after all this time he’s still too Covenant to ever really change . 

And he freezes because he remembers this, too—more than five years ago, when a whole Covenant party had been sent to deal with a werewolf outbreak, with the wolf bearing down on him, jaws slavering, eyes wild, yowling and hungry, and he can feel its hot breath and see the gleam of its fangs too close too close too close and—

—and then it passes, and instinct takes over. With almost maddening, calm precision that doesn’t at all reflect how afraid he is inside, Shiro raises his gun and puts four silver bullets into Throk’s head, right between the eyes, one after another.

Throk makes an odd sound, somewhere between a yowl of pain and a strange, bubbling little confused whimper. His forward momentum doesn’t stop, but his front paws collapse beneath him, and he pitches forward in an ungainly flop. His body slides a good six feet, rolls awkwardly, and finally shudders to a halt ten feet from Shiro and Hunk.

Shiro shakes inside, confused and uneasy, even if he maintains outward control over his body. He hadn’t wanted to do that, not if Throk had been truly in control of himself. But the man had also been determined to kill him. At some point, no matter how hard he wants to try to keep everyone alive, self-preservation has to become the priority.

It doesn’t mean he won’t ever forget this, though.

And it doesn’t stop him from raising the gun to aim at Prorok next. And however shaky he might feel inside, his hands are unerringly steady as he aims. His finger is off the trigger, but it will take him less than a second to change that, if he’s pushed.

“Let Shay go,” he repeats, very slowly and deliberately. “And then we can talk, like you wanted.”

The tension in the room grows so thick that it’s a heavy weight Shiro can all but feel on his shoulders. Hunk whimpers next to him again, clearly not happy with the turn of events. The transformed werelions around them shift uneasily, and a few back up several paces. 

Prorok’s still-unnamed companion, the one with the ponytail, sputters angrily. “That’s not possible!” he snaps. “We’re immune! We’re unkillable! She promised! He can’t kill us with a gun!” 

“I can when the gun is filled with silver bullets,” Shiro says, still keeping the weapon trained on Prorok. “I will say it one last time. Let the girl go. If you don’t, you’re kidnapping, and I can’t permit that.”

Prorok’s eyes narrow. When he speaks, his voice is raised, addressing the werelions. “You’ve seen where this Covenant bastard stands,” he snaps. “If you need any further proof that he’s here to murder you all, there it is. Attack him. Now!” 

The werelions surrounding Shiro and Hunk still hesitate. Several mince forward a few uneasy steps, but they’re clearly nervous. Considering Shiro had just put down one of their own, that’s not surprising. They know what he can do to them, if they’re the first to get too close. 

“Now!” Prorok snarls. “Death is preferable to what he will do to you if he captures you. Attack!” Even as he roars the order, he begins to really roar, as his own body begins to snap and crack and sprout tawny lion fur. His companion also begins to shift, sprouting a long mane and long claws. 

Shiro curses, and fires in their direction, hoping to catch them mid-transformation. Prorok is clearly the instigator; if he can put him down now, with the way the rest are hesitating, he might stand a chance. 

But Prorok is equal to that, and is already moving by the time Shiro starts shooting. His few first steps are awkward stumbles as he shifts from upright to quadrupedal, but then he has his footing and darts away at rapid speed, while his unnamed companion circles in the opposite direction. Shiro tries to shoot him again, but Prorok is as fast as an actual lion, and Shiro no longer has the advantage of surprise. His next two shots miss before he has to stop firing altogether—Prorok is smart enough to run in the direction of Shay, and Shiro can’t risk using the firearm without potentially hitting her instead.

Shooting also has an unfortunate side effect: it startles several of the other werelions into trying to strike. When he misses immediately killing their leader, and reveals he’s not as invincible or as perfect a killer as initially implied, it only seems to embolden them. Several of the lions, a scrawny male and two lionesses, come at both Shiro and Hunk with nervously switching tails.

“Okay, no, nope, definitely not,” Hunk says, in a panicked, sarcasm-filled rambling way Shiro’s never quite heard out of him before. “I don’t care if I’m immune, you do not get to eat me. Shiro, glasses.” 

They’re already on, but Shiro takes half a second to make sure the bridge of the glasses are pressed firmly against his nose for maximum coverage. At the same time Hunk whips his off, and yanks his headband down around his neck like a bandana. With the spells on the headband shifted, his snakes emerge out of seemingly thin air, and without the calming spells, they’re already coiled to strike and hissing madly. 

The closest of the three werelions, the large male, meets Hunk’s collective gaze. It stumbles for a moment as though drunk, before flopping forward on its face, completely out cold. The two lionesses follow suit as Hunk’s gaze and those of his snakes sweep across them—it only takes a few bare seconds of locked eyes to be stunned by a pliny’s gorgon. Within seconds, all three are collapsed several feet away, unconscious, in ungainly leonine sprawls.

The remaining surrounding lycanthropes, with growls and yowls of distress, back up several paces again.

“Good job, Hunk,” Shiro approves. “Keep them warded off as best you can.” He hesitates. “But try not to kill any of them.” 

If his gut instinct is right, and the missing students are in fact these werelions...well, they’d also displayed a stunning amount of sentience. They don’t attack ravenously, and they’re capable of taking orders. They show obvious fear and hesitation at approaching. They’re smart enough to know what he and Hunk could do to them. 

If he can get rid of the general...maybe they still have a chance. But only if they’re not dead.

“I’ll try,” Hunk says. “I really don’t like killing things. But if they get close enough for my hair to bite…”

“Understood,” Shiro says grimly. Pliny’s gorgons had the most intelligent hair of the three distinct gorgon families, and they could to an extent be trained. In calm situations, gorgons could easily interact with other people without potentially killing others by accident. But in a fight or flight response they would probably strike, and they were extremely venomous. Hunk wouldn’t be able to stop them if he’d wanted to. 

This needs to be ended quickly. Shiro scans the crowd of animals and the dark shadows in the subway station beyond. Prorok and his unnamed accomplice were still out there, lost in the confusion, but no doubt circling. The leader had been adamant about killing Shiro and the others; Shiro doubts he’s fled. The question is, can Shiro take him down before too many fatalities on either side? 

He thinks he catches a glimpse of Prorok, circling around behind the crowd of other werelions. Unlike the surrounding weres, which are scrawny and unhealthy looking, Prorok and his companions had been large, healthy lions when transformed. It’s easy to differentiate him from the rest. 

But Shiro doesn’t have a clean shot at him, not without killing the others. And before he can do anything to change that, Hunk yelps, “Shiro, look out!” 

Shiro whips around, just in time to see Prorok’s unnamed companion leaping for him.

He curses, raising the gun, but he already knows it won’t do any good. Even if he gets a killing shot, the Galra servant’s momentum will carry him straight into Shiro; he’ll have enough time to do a lot of damage before he dies. Shiro will still try, but that enormous lion maw and equally enormous paws are already coming for him, and it’s so familiar too familiar no no no not like this —

—and with a terrifying, unearthly howling, a spiked dog-lizard form comes slamming down on the lion’s back from the ceiling. 

The effects are almost comical. A lion, even a werelion, is a lot larger than a chupacabra—but in midair, with propelled downward momentum, even a wolf-sized chupacabra can pack enough force to send a lion smashing hard into the ground. The werelion’s paws splay out beneath it like something out of a cartoon, and its lower jaw cracks against the ground with an audible crunch. Lance, on the other hand, sticks the landing—possibly literally—crouched like an unholy demon dog on the werelion’s back. 

“Nice timing, Lance!” Shiro praises, breathing a sigh of relief that he doesn’t bother to hide. He drops the firearm to point at the ground again, not willing to risk hitting Lance.

Lance can’t speak in his true form, but offers a toothy, dog-like grin. 

The werelion beneath him bobs its head this way and that, trying to regain its senses and weakly lever itself to its feet. Lance kicks off of the animal, shoving with his powerful back legs to send the werelion stumbling back and rolling again, and using the momentum to leap lightly to Shiro’s and Hunk’s side. His claws gouge bloody rivets in the werelion’s sides, and Shiro winces at that. But as long as Lance doesn’t have any open wounds on his hands or feet, he’s not in danger of infection.

The unexpected arrival of another opponent causes the remaining werelions to back off again, unsure. Lance takes the opportunity to shift back to his humanoid form, and says without preamble, “I freed Shay while nobody was looking. The chains were on the ceiling, so…”

“Shay’s okay?” Hunk asks, relieved.

“More than that. She’s—yup, there she goes,” Lance says, as he shoves his borrowed, polarized glasses more firmly up his nose and glances in the direction Shay had been held in.

Shiro turns his head to look in the same direction, just in time to see Shay bringing her own bonds crashing down on the nearest werelion, a scruffy brute with a large mane. “I am sorry!” she calls loudly, and she really does look deeply apologetic, as the lion collapses in a dazed heap. 

Right. Oreads were very strong. 

Shay makes her way to the rest of them easily enough after that. One female werelion takes a hesitant snap at her calf, and gets a crack of chains upside her head for the trouble. After that the creatures back off, permitting Shay safe passage to their growing defensive circle. 

When she’s close enough, Shiro realizes she’s still technically shackled around both wrists—Lance had probably just unhooked her from the ceiling. Her own bonds are now a makeshift weapon. 

“I can get those off of you once this is over,” Shiro tells her, as she settles in next to Hunk. 

“That would be much appreciated,” Shay says, with a relieved look on her face. Although the shackles are still around her wrists, the long loops of chain are held firmly in her hands like a weapon.

“Oh—so we are gonna live through this?” Lance asks. “That’s really great, ‘cause I was starting to worry.” He unholsters the firearm Shiro had given him, keeping it trained on the staggering werelion he’d ambushed. “Now what?”

“Avoid killing,” Shiro says. “I think...I think these might be the missing students.”

“They are,” Shay confirms sadly. “I recognized a few of them from my classes. They had not all transformed when I was taken. They are afraid. I do not think they understand what is happening.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Shiro says grimly. “They’re still able to take orders, and they don’t seem like they want to do this. They’re being pushed. We might still be able to help them. Try to wound only.” 

“Easier said than done,” Lance mutters, still carefully watching the Galra servant he’d ambushed. 

“If it’s down to self defense, take the shot,” Shiro agrees. The students—they might have a chance. He has a feeling Prorok and his remaining companion are too deeply involved in whatever this Galra thing is to be willing to accept surrender as an option. 

“Roger that,” Lance acknowledges. 

To Shiro’s other side, Hunk nods, and his snakes still hiss wildly. “Got it.” 

The werelions are still circling nervously, but they’re starting to edge closer again. Shiro turns to face them, gun pointed at the floor, but ready to raise it should he have to. “Listen, all of you,” he calls, “This doesn’t have to end badly. I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“He lies,” Prorok snarls, from somewhere in the shadows of the abandoned subway station. “Look at what he’s done to Throk. Look at the way he and his soldiers have already killed a third of you. He is Covenant.”

The werelions make low growling noises and shift nervously. That makes Shiro uneasy in turn, but he keeps that  hidden behind a facade of calm. “Only Throk is dead,” Shiro says, loud but not angry, “And only because he would have killed me otherwise. The others are all alive—just stunned. I don’t want this to end in death. Surrender peacefully, and we’ll use our connections in the cryptid community to help you adjust safely and honorably.” 

“He’s Covenant,” he repeats. “He lies.” 

“If I was Covenant, I wouldn’t be surrounded by non-human companions,” Shiro says. “My job is to protect this city. If you’re going to hurt others, I will have to stop you. But I’d much rather help you. Stand down and we’ll figure this all out. I promise.”

It’s hard to tell, with werelions, but Shiro can almost imagine his words are getting through to them. They stop edging forward to attack, and they don’t seem quite so...twitchy. Like they’re chewing on the things he said. 

“Enough,” Prorok snaps. “Attack.” 

At his words, one of the werelions—a lean male, with a scraggly brown mane and skin stretched tight enough to just begin to see his ribs—steps forward. Shiro tenses, but the werelion doesn’t attack. Instead, with another horrible crack-snap of readjusting bones, the werelion rears up and disappears, and a human stands in his place. 

He’s young—probably around Keith’s or Lance’s age—with pale skin, messy brown hair and bangs that fall in front of one of his eyes. He might have been athletic, before lycanthropy- l. But now his face is wan and thin, and he’s clearly lost some muscle. His eyes are still defiant, though, and he eyes Shiro suspiciously. 

“You really believe that?” the kid asks after a moment. “You really mean that?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Prorok snaps.

But Shiro looks the kid in the eye and says firmly, “Yes.” It might be hard for the young man to understand—like rabies, lycanthropy inspires paranoia in its victims—but he does everything he can to convey that he doesn’t want to be this kid’s enemy. 

The kid stares him down for a long moment, and then takes a step back. “Stand down,” he says, glancing around at the other werelions ranged around him. “This fight isn’t worth it.” 

Shiro’s not sure what to expect from that, but to his surprise, the other werelions seem to actually listen. Another dark-furred male lion immediately backs away several steps, two lionesses follow suit. The other werelions, the ones still standing, twitch their tails and glance around uneasily, but slowly hunker down on their bellies or back away.

“No!” Prorok snarls. “The Galra gave you the right to ascend and taught you how to use this power, and this is how you repay the empire?” 

Shiro knows what’s going to happen next almost before it does. It’s just as well, since things move in shocking, rapid succession. 

There’s a horrible snarling noise from behind him. At the same time that Prorok leaps, body warping into something leoline again. Hunk yelps in fear. Shiro raises his weapon from the floor to aim in the direction of the pride of werelions. Three gunshots sound from behind him. Shay gasps. The unknown young werelion’s eyes widen as he stares at the barrel of Shiro’s gun aimed in his direction. There’s a furious, betrayed look in his eyes as he raises his hands defensively and flinches. The other werelions, especially the first three to respond, leap forward with snarls and exposed claws.

Shiro fires four times, and puts four silver bullets in Prorok’s skull as the werelion leaps for the kid’s unprotected back.

Prorok’s momentum still carries him into the kid, who takes a glancing blow to the shoulder and is knocked over. The kid scrambles to his feet immediately, already shifting defensively back into his werelion form with sickening cracks of bone. 

Prorok does not. He hits the ground, rolls awkwardly in his lion form, and half-shifts back to his stout human form. His head is a bloody mess, but he manages to glare balefully at Shiro as the light leaves his eyes. 

“Served...faith...fully…” he rasps, in a wet, bubbling, growling voice, through a jaw only half properly formed for spoken language. 

He’s still staring when he dies.

Shiro ignores him, turning around to find the source of the other gunshots. “Everyone okay?”

“We’re good,” Lance answers, a little shakily. His own gun is still aimed in textbook perfect precision, although his finger is now off the trigger. The unnamed companion of Prorok’s is dead, skull riddled with holes made from silver bullets. “N...never had to do that before, it’s...um. Yeah. We’re good.”

Shiro puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You did a good job,” he says soothingly. “He would have killed us if you hadn’t acted. You protected everyone.” 

“Right,” Lance says, swallowing. “Yeah. Right.” 

“We can talk later, if you want,” Shiro says. Lance isn’t a stranger to killing things—hunting for blood-filled animals in order to stay alive frequently requires it. Killing something sentient willingly is a far cry from killing an animal for food, though, and this would be Lance’s first. Shiro wouldn’t blame him in the least if it took some time for him to come to terms with it. It’s hard.

He knows full well, from years of experience. And he knows it never gets easier.

“Yeah,” Lance says, nodding shakily. He finally seems to realize the gun is still aimed, and hastily lowers it to point at the floor, clicking the safety on. “Yeah, let’s do that. Thanks.” 

“Sure thing, buddy.” He turns to Shay and Hunk. “You two okay, too?” 

“That was not fun,” Hunk says. “But we’re alive.” His snakes are hissing wildly, clearly worked up and distressed, and the gorgon keeps a careful distance from everyone else for their own safety. But he must feel a little better at least, because he slips his polarized glasses back on a moment later, hiding his stunning gaze away.

“I am okay,” Shay says. Her voice is shaky, but she does finally drop her improvised weapons, letting the chains hang from her wrists. 

Shiro nods in relief. Good. At least his team had come out of this unscathed. 

Turning to the young werelion, he takes a careful step forward, deliberately holstering his firearm. It’s potentially a very stupid decision, and his instincts and experience both scream not to. He still doesn’t have the measure of this kid yet, or any of the other werelions around him. A paranoid, cornered lycanthrope could strike without warning, even if Shiro’s starting to realize it might be through no fault of their own. 

But he needs them to know he can be trusted to not shoot them, and that starts by giving them the benefit of the doubt, as alarming as it might be. “Everyone else okay?” 

The young werelion regards him quizzically, then shifts back to his human form again. He looks exhausted in pain with the rapid shifting back and forth, and Shiro can hardly blame him. Humans weren’t meant for this. But he still manages to pull his shoulders back proudly, and give Shiro a look of disbelief. “You saved me.” 

“Like I said, I’d much rather help you all,” Shiro says. “Were you badly hurt?” 

“Just a scratch. It’ll be okay. We heal pretty fast.” The kid watches him carefully for a moment, before saying incredulously, “You really do believe that, don’t you? About helping us?”

“I do,” Shiro says. “For all of you.” 

He glances around at the gathered werelions. Several of them are shifting back behind him to their human forms now that the fight is over...the ones that are conscious, anyway. Most of them still cower away from Shiro, eyeing him with suspicious or fearful expressions. 

Three of them have more guts than that—based on their positions, the same three that had originally responded to this kid’s order. A tall young man with dark skin, a short blonde girl with observant blue eyes, and a young woman with tanned skin and a fiercely determined expression all sidle up behind the first werelion, providing backup almost unconsciously. 

But all of them, regardless of courage or fear, seem to wait with bated breath for the conversation to continue between the werelion speaker and the Covenant agent that they’ve been told will kill them.

“Well?” The young man asks finally, after a long moment of tense silence. “What now?”

What now indeed. Shiro doesn’t have a playbook for this; he’s only just learning new things about lycanthropy even as they speak. But these kids need help, and helping people is what he does. He’ll just have to wing it.

“I’m Takashi Shirogane,” he introduces himself finally. “You can call me Takashi, or Shiro. What’s your name?” 

“Griffin,” the kid says after a moment. “James Griffin.”

“Alright, Griffin,” Shiro says. “Let’s talk.” 

Griffin is more than willing to. He’s able to confirm in a matter of minutes that the bulk of the lycanthrope army Prorok had been building is largely composed of college students like himself. There are others, but as far as he knows, it’s just a smattering of homeless people and other ‘loner’ sorts. 

“At least, for the ones I’ve met,” Griffin admits. “Was it different for you guys?”

He glances over his shoulder, where his three primary companions—introduced as Nadia Rizavi, Ryan Kinkade, and Ina Leifsdottir—are ranged nearby. All of the other werelions have shifted back to their human forms now, but most of them keep their distance, cautious and skittish. A few tend to their unconscious companions, now beginning to come around after being stunned by a gorgon or oread. These three seem more than willing to get close to Shiro and the others alongside Griffin, though. 

But they only shake their heads. “The overwhelming majority of those in my training den were students,” Leifsdottir confirms. 

“Same,” Rizavi says. “Not everyone was in my classes, but I recognized them around campus.” She eyes Hunk quizzically. “I recognize you too from some of my engineering classes, but your hair is...uh...alive, now.”

Hunk grins, a little sheepishly. “I’m a gorgon. Surprise. Uh...don’t tell anyone, please.”

“I’ll keep your secret if you keep ours,” Rizavi says. 

“Deal.” 

“Kinkade?” Griffin presses, keeping them on track. 

The dark-skinned man merely shakes his head again, pressing his lips together. After a moment he merely says, “Same,” and leaves it at that. 

As appalling as it is, Shiro can see why. College kids are adults, so attention wouldn’t immediately be drawn to their disappearance like a minor’s would. They’re independent enough that no one would think twice if they left to go ‘on a trip’ or ‘back home.’ But they’re still inexperienced enough in the world that it would be easy to manipulate them, especially if they were afraid and didn’t understand the whole situation. And Shiro has a gut feeling none of them had been aware of the cryptid community before they’d contracted lycanthropy. 

Still, something else they’ve said concerns him. “What do you mean, of the ones you’ve met?” Shiro asks, frowning. “It sounds like you came from different locations.”

“That’s because we did,” Griffin says, eyes narrowed. “Us here? We’re just some of the first successful transformations. They’ve got us split up all over under the city in different packs.” 

“Once people are bitten, they’re taken,” Rizavi confirms. “And you get put under observation for a month until they figure out if you’re infected or not. Some people don’t change, and they get bitten again.” 

Lance frowns. “That’s sick.”

“What happens if they do change?” Shiro presses, although he, too, has a twisting feeling in his gut. 

“They observe us through the first change,” Leifsdottir says. “If we survive the initial transformation, we are kept under surveillance and ‘trained’ to control it better.”

“The first change is...hard,” Griffin admits. He’s been straight-backed and in control until now, but now his spine curls forward as he pulls in just a little on himself, and his voice shakes slightly. “It’s...it’s really hard to focus. There’s so much input and instinct and...and it really hurts. You’re just wild. You could kill anyone. They keep you locked down until it’s over and then they force you to learn how to deal with it.” 

Shiro feels sick to his stomach at the thought. 

All this time... all this time he, and every other being on the planet, Covenant or cryptid, has assumed lycanthropes of any kind were always wild and crazy. That they have no control anymore, no sentient mind, no rationality. That they’re bloodthirsty, that their only focus is to kill and kill and kill until they run themselves into the ground. All this time...and it’s been wrong. 

How many innocent lives had been taken, because a victim had been scared and confused and in pain, and didn’t know what was happening to them? How many people could have been saved if they’d taken the time to study the disease and to help people learn control, instead of just murdering them? 

How many times is Shiro going to have to learn this damned lesson?

“It’s good to learn how to manage it,” Kinkade speaks up, thoughtful. “But the rest of the training isn’t. They want soldiers. They want carnage. It’s...wrong.”

“Yeah,” Rizavi agrees, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t sign up for any of this. I just wanted a degree in engineering.”

“How come you didn’t just run?” Hunk asks, confused. “Go for help?”

Griffin spreads his hands wide in frustration. “Even if we could escape, who were we supposed to go to? I didn’t even know there were people or things other than humans until I got bit.” 

Leifsdottir nods in agreement. “They kept us under watch, but it was always made clear that it was to be ready for a transformation...not to keep us from running. We were told everyone outside the protection of the Galra training dens would want us to die for what we were. Especially these…’Covenant’ people that hunt monsters.”

Rizavi scowls. “They made it out like they were protecting us, giving us a place to stay. It didn’t feel right, but none of us wanted to die either. So we did what they said, because it seemed like the only option.”

Griffin nods. “Most people here are scared,” he says. “No one here’s a soldier. People just wanted to live. But if you’re not here to kill us…”

He eyes Shiro. His glance is cautious, but more trusting than before. All of them seem more willing to listen to him, and to believe him, now that he’d taken down Prorok to protect them. 

“I’m not,” Shiro promises. “Not unless you actually threaten innocent people.”

“None of us want that,” Griffin says, and the others nod vehemently in agreement. “All of us knew it felt kind of messed up, how they were teaching us to do so much damage. The four of us, we kept trying to figure out a way out of it, so we could save everyone without having to do what they wanted.” He gestures around at the others.

That certainly explains why they’d reacted so seamlessly together in the fight itself. Shiro can definitely see the first hesitant indications of a well-oiled machine in the four of them. All of them seem to have enough confidence and moral strength to have resisted the trappings of what sounded like some sort of lycanthropy cult, while still dealing with their own rapidly developing powers. 

“If you aren’t going to kill us,” Kinkade says, “Then what do we do now?”

“We can’t go home like this, can we?” Rizavi adds, staring at her hands. “Back to school? Or see our families again?” 

Shiro feels for them. These four are strong, but even so, he can tell they’re confused and scared. And if that’s how they are, the rest of the group of huddled students surrounding them have got to be even worse off. 

And he doesn’t have answers for them. Not really. No matter how hard they’re looking to him now for some. He’s only realizing now that he barely knows more than they do. 

But he can give them a place to start, at least. And he can help them take the first steps. 

“How much do you know about lycanthropy?” he asks them. “How much did they really explain to you?”

“Not much,” Griffin says. “They treated it like some sort of ‘ascension.’ I didn’t even know there were things other than werewolves until I turned into a lion for the first time.” 

Shiro presses his lips together for a moment, disgusted with Prorok and his cohorts, before he explains. “It’s not an ascension. It’s a disease. A lot like rabies.” 

He goes over everything he knows about lycanthropy- l, the same things he’d told Lance, Hunk and Allura earlier, even as he seethes inside. Those bastards had been spreading a disease among perfectly healthy individuals. And all to create an army of monsters out of scared young men and women who didn’t have any place else to go. 

“Rabies is fatal, and has no cure, once symptoms begin to develop,” Leifsdottir says after a long moment, once Shiro finishes explaining the basics. “What about this?”

Shiro hesitates.

But lying won’t help them, not after everything they’ve been through. So he says, “After a bite has been received, but before the first transformation, there’s a tincture that can be used. It has a chance of preventing the disease from spreading, and it’s most effective the closer to the time of the bite it’s administered. But after transformation...as far as I know, there is no cure.”

He can all but see the light dimming in their eyes at the revelation. The students surrounding them sag, and a few start to whimper or sob. Kinkade and Leifsdottir stare at the floor, silent. Rizavi squeezes her eyes shut. Only Griffin speaks, his voice dull and devoid of emotion. “So we’re dead, then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

All four blink slowly. Even Hunk, Lance and Shay glance over, surprised. “What?”

“I said as far as I know, there’s no cure,” Shiro says. “But up until an hour ago, as far as I knew, lycanthropes had no remnants of sentience, and couldn’t control themselves after their first transformation. Obviously, that’s wrong, which means I could be wrong about the cure, too.”

That little thread of hope breathes life back into the four of them. Rizavi asks hesitantly, “So what does that mean for us?”

“It means we might still have options,” Shiro says. “But you’ll need to trust me on a few things, and be willing to help out in others.”

“In what way?” Griffin asks, cautious.

“For starters—absolutely no transforming,” Shiro says. “Not until we have a better handle on this. Lycanthropes die just as often from transformations gone wrong as they do from silver bullets. Heart attacks, ruptured internal organs, broken spines—human bodies aren’t made to change like this. Every time you do, either to a lion or back, there’s a chance you won’t live through it. Can you do that? Not change?”

The four of them glance at each other, and nod slowly.

“I think we can,” Griffin says, after a moment. “But it will be harder for some than others.”

Kinkade nods. “It’s hard to control,” he says softly. “And sometimes it feels like...you have to. There is an...instinct...to bite. To grow.” 

“But if we lead by example, maybe the rest can do it too,” Rizavi says, gesturing around at the others. 

“The ones in the training dens would still need help,” Leifsdottir says. “Some haven’t transformed yet, or have only done so once. Control is much more difficult then, especially with the instinct to attack others. But we could try to make them understand.”

“It’s a start.” Though not a great one. Even without transforming ever again, assuming they can keep a handle on that, Shiro has a bad feeling their lifespans might be shortened considerably due to what’s been done to them. 

Griffin seems to be thinking along the same lines. “What good will this do us?” he asks, after a long moment. “We’re only buying time with this.” 

“Time is exactly what we need—that’s the next part,” Shiro says. “We have contacts in the cryptid community. Cryptids who are medical professionals and scientists. Until now, no one has ever been able to seriously study lycanthropy, because people or creatures infected with it were always thought to be too dangerous and wild to contain. But if you’re willing to volunteer, let them study the disease and yourselves...it’s possible a cure could be found. Or at the very least, they could help you manage your symptoms.” 

“That’s not a guarantee,” Leifsdottir says. 

“No,” Shiro says. “I can’t guarantee it, and I won’t lie and promise you I can. But I can promise I can get you help, and access to resources who will respect you and do their best to help you, without treating you like a lab rat. With their assistance, maybe we can get you stable enough that you can go back to school safely, or go home.” 

“And you’d do that for all of us?” Griffin stresses. “Not just those of us here. Everyone—everyone in the dens, everyone who’s been bitten and put under observation. You’d make sure they all got that chance.” 

“Yes,” Shiro says, very firmly. “No one gets left behind.” 

Griffin seems to consider this. He glances around at the anxious, exhausted, frightened students huddled around them, at his three friends, and then back to Shiro. “Alright,” he says. “What do we need to do?”

Shiro smiles.

“What. Happened,” Keith hisses, incredulous. 

Shiro glances up from his discussion with Allura and the lycanthropes, just as Keith steps through into the study, to the delightful cheers of the four Witness Aeslin. Following him are Kolivan, Antok, and Thace, three high-ranking vampires of the Marmora Society, all dressed in uniform dark colors and all wearing cautious looks. 

“Is it night already?” Hunk says, bewildered.

“Oh, man, you missed some serious action, Keith,” Lance says, grinning. “That’s what you get for napping all day!” 

Keith scowls at him, before giving Shiro a frustrated and helpless look.

“You missed a lot, buddy,” Shiro says sympathetically. “Come here, and I’ll make the introductions. Kolivan—you should probably hear all of this too. I think the Marmora Society will want to mobilize for this.” 

Keith steps over to the rest of the group, frowning at Griffin and the others. Allura’s penthouse is getting awfully crowded, and with strangers to boot. “I got your message, so I called Kolivan right away. Werewolves? Really?”

“Werelions,” Shiro corrects. “And it’s gotten a little more complicated than that.”

He goes through everything they’d discovered since Keith had been involved last night. He starts from the discovery of the raccoon, to the realization that they were dealing with lycanthropy, to Shay’s kidnapping and subsequent rescue. 

Each time Shiro reaches an important point, his explanation is interrupted with “ HAILS!” and “Praise the great wisdom of the High Priest of Those Who Walk Out of the Darkness!” It’s normal, but frustrating, and certainly something the newcomers are unaccustomed to. Griffin and his friends are positively bewildered by the hyper-religious talking mice, and Kolivan mostly looks annoyed. Thankfully there are only four Aeslin, not a congregation, and the interruptions are easier to ignore. 

Keith is sorely put out at having missed so much, and especially at being completely unable to help with the fight in the sewers. It’s only exacerbated by Lance bragging about his usefulness in the fight, and the delighted agreement cheers of the mice, and Shiro can’t help but shake his head at that. No matter how well they get along, they’ll probably always be rivals to some extent.

Shiro also introduces Griffin, Rizavi, Kinkade and Leifsdottir, all of whom are surprised to find vampires are a real thing as well.

“Are all the things from the stories real?” Griffin asks, bewildered.

“Most of them,” Shiro says.

“Aren’t vampires and werewolves supposed to not get along?” Rizavi asks, frowning. “Does that apply to us?” 

“Not unless you threaten our lifestyle, or reveal us to others,” Kolivan says. A tall vampire with a long braid and a stern expression, Kolivan leads the reclusive Marmora Society with a strict adherence to their rules. The Society can be ruthless, when it comes to defending—or policing—their own, and Kolivan didn’t get to be the leader of the society by hesitating to exact that ruthlessness. He isn’t exactly a trusting sort, outside of the vampires under his protection, and usually Keith is the one that has to contact him if they need his help or information at all.

But for all that, he is also fair. Shiro has seen it enough times to know he means exactly what he says. Even knowing they’re lycanthropes, he won’t harm these kids unless they endanger his people. And knowing the full extent of the problem, he and the Marmora Society can almost certainly be counted on to assist with the cleanup. Other members of the Society will take his lead and follow his orders unconditionally, even if they’re not thrilled with the assignment, because they trust him and his decisions.

“You don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you,” Griffin agrees. 

Kolivan nods curtly, then turns to look at Shiro. “With this Prorok defeated, what are the next steps you suggest, Shirogane?”

Keith frowns, and looks ready to object at the name, but Shiro cuts him off. “There’s still a lot of cleanup to do,” he says, addressing the group as a whole. “I asked for only a couple volunteers to bring to Allura’s for now, and these four were almost unanimously voted for.” He gestures to Griffin and the others. 

That hadn’t come as much of a surprise to Shiro. It had been clear most of the ‘successful’ werelions already viewed Griffin and his three friends as trustworthy figureheads. Griffin showed a clear knack for making calls, and Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up the leader of the little pack—pride?—before all this was over. His friends had the confidence and skill to survive their situation and back Griffin up, while providing insight to help him make the best possible calls. It was inevitable these four would be here, and they took their jobs of representing the rest of the lycanthropy victims seriously.

“But this isn’t a full representation of all the people affected by a long shot,” Shiro continues. “According to them, the group we found is only the successful lycanthropes who were capable of transforming and controlling their changes. Most of the group are students who were first bitten a while back. There’s more training ‘dens’ situated all throughout the underground, where others who have been bitten are either under observation, or being forced to master their transformative abilities. Our next goal is to find them and administer what aid we can.”

Kolivan frowns, and Keith asks, “Find them? You don’t know where they are?”

Leifsdottir shakes her head. “We know where the dens we were kept are, approximately,” she says. “I can give the exact location of mine, and based on descriptions from the others, I can calculate approximate positions of some others. But there are other dens we were not a part of, and can’t provide information on.” 

“That explains why you’d want us to mobilize,” Kolivan says curtly.

Shiro nods. “You’ve got the resources and the manpower to make the search a little faster,” he says. “We can start with the ones we know—we’ll send a few of your agents, accompanied by lycanthropes appointed by Griffin, who will make it clear we’re here to liberate them and help.” 

Allura looks up from the map table. A transparent overlay with a new set of maps of the underground has been placed over the city, and Allura has been carefully marking what locations she can, based on Leifsdottir’s calculations. The mice scurry across its surface as well, occasionally pointing out a missed detail or location to their goddess.

“I’ve been brewing Shiro’s remedy for lycanthropy,” she says. “Additionally, I have been speaking to the Aeslin mice, and several members of the congregation belonging to my father have volunteered to help identify those who have been infected.” 

The red-dyed mouse on the table puffs up its chest proudly and squeaks an enthusiastic, “ HAIL!” at the top of its tiny lungs.

Allura nods absently to the mouse in recognition. “If the Marmora Society agrees to keep them safe, I will have one member of the congregation accompany each of the Society’s rescue teams. If someone was bitten but has yet to transform, and they agree to take the cure voluntarily, the rescuers can administer the tincture.” 

“That is possible,” Kolivan agrees. “I can ensure members on the teams will have medical or first responder experience.” It goes without saying that the Marmora Society has little interest in feeding on Aeslin mice, and being fully mature vampires, most of them are fully capable of defending themselves and a single rodent. 

“I’m putting together some sandwiches and stuff too,” Hunk adds. “Nothing fancy, and I had to order from a sandwich shop, there just wasn’t time to get the supplies to make it all myself. But these guys said they didn’t really get great food when they were captured, so I’m sure everyone else down below is starving.” 

He isn’t wrong there. One of the first things Allura had done was order the four lycanthrope students food. All of them are too thin and pale, and the constant transformations have stolen energy and nutrients their bodies can’t afford to lose. Each of them look a little better for the soup and sandwiches Coran had hastily thrown together for them, but it would be a long time before they were back on their feet again.

“Very well,” Kolivan agrees. “Once these lycanthropes are found, and cures administered where applicable, what are we doing with them?” 

“I have several of my agents preparing a safehouse at this moment,” Allura says. “The Atlas project was originally intended to be an apartment complex remodelled for cryptid housing. It’s still in development, but it has the necessary amenities to keep these lycanthropes safe and away from others until we have a more permanent solution. I already have Coran making calls regarding medical assistance and long-term planning.” 

“That just takes care of the human targets for this weird...Galra army project,” Keith points out. “What about all the racoons and whoever or whatever else that got bit?”

Shiro sighs. “That’s harder,” he says. “And unfortunately, it’s just going to take time to deal with that. The only way to really be sure rabies is gone from a population is to keep capturing specimens and testing them until you stop getting results. Lycanthropy is the same. We’ll have to stay on high alert for stories about wild animals on the loose in the city and test regularly until we’re sure the population is clear. Anyone who feeds on animals or mammal blood will need to screen where their meals are coming from to be safe. But there’s no way to know how far the infection has already spread, or how long it could take to wipe it out.”

“Farther than you might think,” Griffin admits, grim. “Accidental bites aren’t uncommon. Especially in the beginning, before Prorok and the others got better at identifying and restraining potential werelions. Some people didn’t get dragged below ground until after their first transformation.” 

Rizavi nods in agreement. “Yeah, and topside training made it worse. They made us go up to get used to handling all the sensory input and stuff above ground, and practice tracking and stuff. Some people, it was too much, and they lost control again.” 

“They would usually take us to places that were less populated,” Leifsdottir says. “But even if humans weren’t bitten, other creatures could have been.”

“Is that what happened on campus last night?” Hunk asks, eyes widening. “That student that Shay found…”

Griffin winces. “I heard about that,” he says. “That was...yeah. That wasn’t one of my group, but it’s all Prorok’s fault. That girl wasn’t supposed to be one of us at all from the sounds of it. She probably got bitten by something else that had contracted it, and her first change was last night. Without somebody to help you through it, it’s so easy to lose control. I doubt she even knew what she was doing.” He shrugs, looking guiltily at his feet. 

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened,” Kinkade says softly. “But it is the first time evidence was left behind.”

“Prorok was pissed,” Rizavi agrees. “By the time he heard about it and hunted down the werelion to drag her below, you guys had gotten to the body. They’re usually pretty fast at cleaning up these messes, but not this time.” 

“Is the girl okay?” Lance asks, horrified.

“Don’t know,” Griffin says. “We never saw her. They would have taken her to one of the new dens. We just heard Prorok cursing about it afterwards.”

Shiro frowns. Yesterday he’d been dead-set on finding their killer. Now, it sounds like their killer is just as much of a victim. Even if she had survived her first transformation, she was infected for the rest of her now much shorter life with a disease hardly anyone knew about. And if she remembered anything at all that had happened last night, she’d probably be dealing with severe trauma for the rest of her life as well. All for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Shiro rarely feels vindictive. In his line of work, it’s dangerous, and a fine line to walk. But he finds himself coldly satisfied that he’d managed to at least take down the cause of all this with his own two hands and several well-placed bullets. 

At least there won’t be more victims like this unnamed girl.

“We’ll find her, if she’s still alive,” Shiro says. “And she’ll get the same assistance as everyone else.” 

Kolivan nods in agreement. “This was a disgusting practice, but at least there are methods to contain it,” he says curtly. “I will mobilize the Society at once into teams with at least one medical professional. We will work with Miss Altea’s Aeslin mice and the lycanthrope representatives to locate, treat, and rehome these werelions. Nonviolently, if possible, although if they insist on attacking they will be forcibly restrained for the safety of my men and themselves.” 

“As long as it’s nonlethal, that’s fair,” Shiro agrees. He doubts Kolivan’s teams would be in much danger, now that they understand the extent of Prorok’s army-building plan. Griffin’s pride of werelions had been one of the few successful fully-trained groups; the remainder hidden away in the other training dens would be unskilled and weak from nutrition deficiency and stress. They might act wildly, if they lacked control over their transformations or succumbed to the instinct to bite and spread the virus. But they would be no match for experienced, healthy vampires trained extensively in combat. 

“I will touch base with you once the initial search is over, Kolivan,” Allura adds. “We can combine our resources to build a proper lycanthropy-watch network, until we are sure the threat from any non-sentient infected cryptids has been neutralized in the city.” 

“Of course.”

“HAIL!” The Witness Aeslin cheer, overcome with religious ecstasy at so many of their icons working together. “HAIL THE WISDOM OF THE LION GODDESS! HAIL THE PLAN OF THE HIGH PRIEST OF THOSE WHO WALK OUT OF THE DARKNESS! HAIL THE ASSISTANCE OF THE GREATEST OF THE BLOOD HUNTERS!”

“We’ll help with the search,” Shiro decides, ignoring the Aeslin and glancing around at Keith, Hunk and Lance. “As long as  you’re all on board. It doesn’t sound like there’s at much risk now, and the extra set of eyes could be useful—”

“It isn’t safe,” Kinkade interrupts. “Not yet.”

Lance frowns at him. “I thought it was just a bunch of students and homeless people and stuff left?” he says. “You guys said they wouldn’t want to fight if they had a way out!” 

“They are not the threat,” Leifsdottir says, as the four lycanthropes exchange glances. “Your plan is efficient, but I do not believe it will be successful against Sendak.”

Shiro frowns. “Sendak?”

“The guy in charge of all this,” Rizavi says, eyes narrowing. “And a real piece of work.”

“What? Wait, wait, wait,” Hunk yelps. “I thought this Prorok guy was in charge! I thought all of the scary stuff was over!” 

But Griffin shakes his head, wearing a particularly grim expression. “Prorok was in charge of us,” he says, gesturing around at himself and his three companions. “And the whole werelion army. But he reported to people even higher up, like Sendak. This Sendak guy’s the whole reason any of them are even here. I think he’s overseeing something big.”

Shiro can feel a chill working its way up his spine. The danger isn’t over yet. Prorok had been a dangerous enemy, but if he wasn’t the head of the metaphorical snake, then they’ve just tipped their hand too early to the real mastermind. And he doesn’t know anything about who he’s facing—other than knowing they’re involved with Galra, whatever that is, and incredibly dangerous.

He forces his voice and expression to stay calm. “Have you ever seen him? Do you know where he is now?”

All four of them shake their heads. “He never bothered with us,” Rizavi says. “We just heard Prorok call him sometimes, to get orders or give updates. Sometimes Prorok would talk to Throk and Rezak about him too.” 

“There is one thing,” Kinkade says, slow and contemplative. “They talked of wanting blood on a grand scale. By Sendak’s orders.” 

Lance’s eyes narrow. “I’m guessing they don’t mean that like we’d want, for dinner,” he says, gesturing at himself and Keith. Keith frowns, expression dark. 

“No,” Allura says, an equally dark and furious expression on her face. “But it does explain why they are building an army in my city, and teaching you all to maximize on carnage.” 

“They’re preparing for a slaughter,” Shiro agrees. 

“But why?” Hunk asks, bewildered. “What’s the point of kidnapping a whole bunch of college students and homeless people and stuff, and using them to kill a bunch of other people? That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, I know some cryptids hunt humans, or maybe don’t like them much, but everyone knows something like this is gonna drag the Covenant in.” 

He isn’t wrong. Unfortunately, they still know too little about this mysterious ‘Galra,’ or its motives, to really know what the bloodshed could be for. 

“For now, it doesn’t matter,” Shiro says. “The takeaway here is that we’ve still got the leader, Sendak, on the loose. That means we don’t have a handle on the lycanthropy- l issue until we take him down. Until we do, everyone here is in immediate danger, and an outbreak is imminent.” 

Hunk makes a miserable little squeaking noise. His snakes hiss in response to his anxiety. “This sucks.” 

“Woe!” The Aeslin mice wail, in agreement with Hunk’s grumbling. “Woe the acknowledgement of Bad Situations!”

“So what do we do, Takashi?” Keith asks, still frowning. 

“We still need to evacuate those lycanthropes from the training dens,” Shiro says, after a moment of thought. “The longer they’re left down there, the longer Sendak has to get to them and manipulate them. Even if he never bothered with Prorok’s part of this...project...before, he’ll need to get control of those resources as soon as possible. We can’t let him, or give him a chance to use them as hostages.” 

He glances at Kolivan. “Of course, with Sendak as an unknown variable, this does put your teams in danger…”

Kolivan is a little too mature to scoff, exactly, but he definitely doesn’t look impressed by the warning. “As far as I and my people are concerned, there is no difference,” he states firmy. “The Marmora Society is well trained in combat, and have far more experience than any human, even a transformed one. If this Sendak shows his face during our search and rescue, we will kill him. Naturally, we will also protect the students we rescue, and the Aeslin mice assigned to our teams, out of respect for Miss Allura.” He nods to her. 

Shiro politely ignores the slight to himself...mostly because Kolivan isn’t speaking out of arrogance. The vampire is very skilled, and has a lot of years on Shiro. If they had to face off, Shiro’s not entirely sure he could come out the victor, and even if he did, Kolivan would almost certainly make him work for that victory. 

“We’re not scared either,” Griffin says. “We’ll still help find the dens and convince people everything’s okay. What’s the worst he can do to us at this point? We’re already werelions.”

“He can kill us,” Leifsdottir points out blandly.

“Not with attack vampires on our side,” Rizavi says, surprisingly cheerfully, and seemingly ignorant of Kolivan’s sour look in her direction.

“Alright,” Shiro agrees. “Then that part of the plan doesn’t change. I’d rather get the jump on Sendak if I can, though...he sounds too dangerous to just allow to wander freely.” He turns to the four werelions. “Is there anything you can give me on this guy at all? Anything you might have overheard?”

Griffin glances at the others. “Well...I think he called Prorok about the student that was killed on the campus. The one you guys found. And from the sounds of it, he was pissed. ”

Rizavi nods in agreement. “Prorok was supposed to be watching all of us. Even if they’re gearing up to kill a lot of people like you said, I guess it wasn’t supposed to happen until Sendak said so. Otherwise…well, otherwise this happens.” She waves a hand around at everyone in the room.

“Prorok was supposed to clean up all ‘loose ends’ regarding the killing,” Leifsdottir summarizes. “If he did not, Sendak would, and punish him for his failure. I imagine this ‘Galra’ does not punish lightly, because Prorok was angry and afraid.” 

“And he didn’t finish,” Kinkade concludes. “You were the loose ends. You were supposed to die down there.” 

“Okay, I do not like the sound of this,” Hunk hisses. “This is bad. There’s a scary man who wants to kill a bunch of people after us specifically. Why is no one else freaking out?”

“I’m freaking out,” Lance says. He does, in fact, look nervous, so much so that a few spines are involuntarily sprouting from his shoulders and head. 

Shiro can feel his own face going pale, but it’s not out of concern for his own safety. “No,” he says, coming to his feet. “it’s worse than that. Shay is back on campus—she’s also a loose end. And, depending on how badly he wants to cover this up, anyone else who knows about the killing or may have seen the body. Police, first responders, campus security, and any other students in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“That’s...a lot of people,” Keith says slowly, eyes widening in growing realization. “And if he’s being really thorough, he’ll check the site of the attack too, and search for any other evidence that might give him away.”

“Then everyone on that campus is potentially in danger,” Allura summarizes, standing upright and drawing her wings back, angry and determined.

“Alright,” Shiro says. “Kolivan—your people will have to do the underground search on their own. I’m heading back to the campus. If Sendak is heading back to ground zero, I’ll find him—and if he’s after me, or Shay, I’ll get the drop on him first.” 

“You’re not going alone,” Keith says, fierce and determined. “I’m the best backup you have at night.”

“If Keith’s going, I’m going,” Lance says. He manages to get his panic under control enough to retract his spines, as he assumes a look of competitive fierceness. “I’ve already fought werelions, I’ll be useful.”

“Oh man,” Hunk moans. “I really don’t want to, but if you guys are in danger, and Shay’s in danger, and all the students who don’t even know they’re in danger are in danger...I’ll help. I’d feel bad if I didn’t.” 

“No one is obligated,” Shiro says. “And Lance and Keith—you two especially are in danger here. One bite is all it might take.” 

“Don’t care,” Keith says. “Still going.” Lance nods in agreement, and Hunk follows suit after a moment.

“Alright. If I can’t talk you out of it, then the help is appreciated.” He turns to Allura. “Keep an eye out, and be ready to call authorities if needed.” 

“I will,” she promises. “And be careful, all of you. Garrison cannot afford to lose you.”

“Don’t worry,” Lance says, suddenly all confidence and bravado, as he gives her what’s probably intended to be a roguish grin but mostly just looks goofy. “We got this.” 

“Hail the Bravery of the High Priest of An Extremely Large Number of Pointy Ends!” the Witness mice interject. Lance’s goofy grin becomes more pleased, between the latest priest name the mice are testing on him, and the blatant praise.

Shiro certainly hopes they do have this. One way or another, this is ending tonight. Whether it ends in victory, or in a violent bloodbath, is yet to be determined.

Chapter Text

“It’s a hazard of the job. When you decide to be the immovable object standing in front of the unstoppable force, you’d better pray that you’re right about being immovable, and they’re wrong about being unstoppable.”
—Verity Price, Midnight Blue-Light Special 

On the Garrsion University campus, where it is way too cold for this time of year

Two thirty in the morning finds Shiro shivering out in the open on the Garrison University campus grounds, slowly beginning to regret his decision. 

It had seemed so straightforward. With a killer on the loose, one willing to sacrifice dozens of students and take thousands of lives, Shiro had figured the best choice he could possibly make was to paint a target on himself. If Sendak came after him, an obvious target wandering the grounds, then he wasn’t going after others. It was risky, but Shiro was a thousand times more capable of defending himself against that danger than innocent civilians. 

But Sendak hasn’t shown up. Shiro’s been wandering the campus for hours now, making himself deliberately easy to find as he searches outside campus buildings and close to overhead lights. And yet, there hasn’t been so much as a threatening glance in his direction. 

The others haven’t seen anything either. Hunk doesn’t wander far, nervous and anxious and rubber-necking madly over his shoulder every thirty seconds, but he doesn’t see or hear anything unusual. Lance is a little braver, occasionally ducking into the shadows and melding into his quadrupedal form to do a quick looping patrol around them. His chupacabra form’s night vision is poor, but he still tries to sniff out if anyone is watching and waiting, and comes out with nothing to show for his efforts. Keith, their best night hunter by far, does much wider circuits and keeps an eye on them from a distance, but even his well-attuned night vision catches hide nor hair of a werelion leader. 

Shiro doesn’t like it. The more time passes, the more he has a bad feeling he made the wrong call. If he isn’t here, Sendak must have an ulterior motive. Maybe he’s hiding in the sewers, ready to pick off one of Kolivan’s Marmora teams, or the unsuspecting fledgling werelions. 

Except so far there’s no problems there, either. Keith is in regular contact with Kolivan through texts, and Shiro has a direct line to Allura. Neither one has reported anything going wrong. In fact, so far Kolivan’s teams have been successful; they’ve found three of the training dens and secured about twenty-six werelions between them. There had been a couple of aggressive moments, according to the reports. But Griffin and Kinkade had both been able to talk down the aggressors, and so far there have been no casualties on any side. In short, it’s going perfectly. 

So where the hell is their mastermind? 

“I feel personally offended,” Lance mutters, after he circles back to Shiro and Hunk for the fifth time in the past hour in his human form again. “Here we are, showing up to get assassinated, being good little loose ends, and nobody even shows up. Where are they?”

“I’m okay if they don’t show up,” Hunk mutters. “I’m really, really okay with that.”

“I don’t exactly want to get killed either, but I just wish this guy would get it over with, whatever he’s doing,” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest and rubbing them. “It’s still kind of chilly at night. Not that I can’t handle it, but I’d rather be asleep. It’s three in the morning! What self respecting person is up this late wandering around like a loser?”

“Keith is always up this late,” Hunk points out. 

“Like I said. What self-respecting person is up this late wandering around like a loser?” 

“No one’s keeping you here, Lance,” Shiro says. “You can go home if you’re uncomfortable. I would still really prefer if you did.”

“And get picked off the moment I go off on my own?” Lance says. “No way.”

“You’ve been going off on your own all night,” Hunk points out.

“Not that far! I’m still within yelling distance.”

“You’re still—”

“Guys!” Keith interrupts, materializing seemingly out of thin air in the darkness. Lance jumps with a yelp of surprise, which causes Hunk to bellow in reactionary panic as well. Shiro manages to keep his expression calm, but he can’t keep a hand from reaching for one of his silver knives instinctively, or his heart from pounding reflexively. 

Keith winces. “Sorry, I didn’t—look, I was doing another circuit, but I think I smelled smoke. Do you guys?”

Hunk shrugs, and Shiro shakes his head, but Lance sticks his nose in the air and takes a sampling sniff. “Stupid useless people noses,” he mutters, before glancing around hastily for witnesses and dropping to all fours in his chupacabra shape. His much more doglike nose raises to the air and takes another, deeper whiff, and his canine head cocks for a moment before nodding hesitantly. 

“It’s not close,” Keith says. “I wasn’t sure if I was just imagining it. There’s so many scents here.”

Lance shakes his head, then jerks it in one direction, gesturing for the others to follow. He takes off, with Keith easily on his heels. 

“Lance, wait!” Hunk yelps, stumbling into a hasty run after him. 

Shiro frowns. Smoke? Something is certainly happening; it’s no coincidence that this would come up tonight. But how does it factor into everything that’s happened so far? He settles into an easy lope after the others as his mind runs a thousand miles a minute, trying to figure out the puzzle before it costs someone.

It doesn’t take long for Lance to lead them at a breakneck pace across the campus. Shiro is barely able to keep up with him. Lance is certainly booking it, and a sprinting chupacabra is not something a human was ever designed to keep up with. 

But he can follow in the general direction, at least. And after five minutes, he doesn’t even need Lance’s guidance anymore. He can smell the first acrid scents of smoke on his own, weak and distant but unmistakable. And worse still, he can see the faint orange glow in the distance, several stories up and visible despite the wash of campus lights. 

Hunk gapes in horror. “That’s my dorm building!” he yelps. “That’s where I live! That’s where Shay lives! And where a lot of other people live!”

Shiro’s stomach plummets. “Why isn’t the alarm going off?” he says, voice sharp. “If we can see it and smell it from here, at least one of the smoke alarms should have been triggered.”

“Unless they were tampered with,” Keith says, materializing out of the gloom, voice grim. 

Shiro’s eyes narrow. Blood on a grand scale... this would certainly accomplish that. And bury any witnesses in the process—like Shay, who was probably still in there, and Hunk, who was supposed to be. 

Shit.

His mind races. Is this a plot of Sendak’s? Is this his method of cleaning up? Does he have some kind of ulterior motive? Is this some kind of move in the overall scheme of Galra’s?

And does it even matter? It’s almost three in the morning, in the middle of the week. That building has got to be nearly full—all but the wildest night owls will be in bed for morning classes. These people need to be saved, even if it means playing into Galra’s hands. He could never forgive himself if he did anything less.

“We need to get everyone out of there— now. Keith, Lance—call the fire department and then figure out how to get that building evacuated. Do anything you can think of.”

Lance has already shifted back to his bipedal form and has his cell phone out of his pocket, dialing 911. Keith’s response is less immediate. “And leave you alone against Sendak? I’m your best backup in a night fight. You need me.”

“Those people need you more,” Shiro says. And at Keith’s skeptical look, he adds, “Look, Keith, of all of us you need to breathe the least and use the least amount of oxygen. That makes you the best candidate for going into a smoke-filled building and getting people out without dying of asphyxiation. They’re running out of time as we speak. I’ll be fine, now go. ”

Keith grits his teeth, which displays his fangs in a frightening-looking grimace. But after a moment, he nods. “Okay. Fine. Just...don’t die.” And he vanishes into the shadows again, heading in the direction of the burning building.

Lance hangs up the phone just a few moments later. “Firemen are on their way,” he reports. 

“Good. Be careful helping Keith. You’re a lot more susceptible to the smoke than he is.”

Lance grins, although the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got an idea already on how I can help. You guys just be careful.” And he, too, disappears into the darkness of the campus.

Hunk moans next to Shiro. “Oh man. Oh man. What if Shay gets hurt? What if everyone else gets hurt? What if my stuff burns? I don’t have any place else to live if my dorm burns down!”

“Hunk. Look at me.” 

This is not exactly the wisest thing to say to a gorgon of any kind, but it does show a sense of trust that Hunk no doubt recognizes. Hunk blinks behind his polarized glasses, but after a moment he does meet Shiro’s eyes. “Y...yeah?”

“Everything will be fine.” Shiro promises. He’d like to put his hand on Hunk’s shoulder, just to solidify he means exactly what he says, but it’s also not a wise move with any agitated creature that has independent venomous snakes for hair. “No matter what happens, we will figure it out. But for now, we have to focus on keeping ourselves alive. Sendak is still in play, and we’re down half our team. So let’s focus, okay?”

“Okay,” Hunk says, swallowing. “Okay. Right. Yeah. Scary guy’s still out there.” 

“Yes. More than that, he’s probably responsible for the fires—which means he might try it with other dorms, or he’s using this as a diversion to split our strengths.”

“Very astute, Shirogane. The legends of your clan’s prowess are not overstated.”

Shiro whirls, so fast that Hunk yelps in surprise and his hair starts hissing wildly beneath its illusion. Silver knives are in his hands in seconds and raised defensively as Shiro takes a ready stance, already searching for the enemy by the dim cast of the nearby campus security lights. 

He’s ready for an attack, but shockingly, Sendak doesn’t strike immediately. He stands maybe thirty paces away, shoulders back and standing tall. His bearing his military, his expression cold and self-assured. He’s tall and thickly built, all sharp angles and strong muscle, with a squarish face, close-cropped hair, and only one single eye. It glares at Shiro intently, but with far too much intelligence and deliberate malevolence for his liking. The empty socket next to it only makes things worse; Sendak hasn’t bothered to hide it or the ragged scarring around it with a patch, and the dark depths seem to hint at even darker thoughts in the mind behind it. 

“My mistress was right to fear your intervention,” Sendak concludes, watching Shiro coldly. “I am glad my orders were made clear in advance.” 

Shiro’s eyes narrow. Sendak is too far away for him to get a good knife throw in that will do any damage, and too far to charge, especially if he’s also some kind of werelion. He could try shooting, but firing a gun on a college campus at three in the morning was sure to draw more attention than any of them want, and could hurt a bystander besides. The crossbow and silver-tipped quarrels still stored in the bag slung over his shoulder would be perfect, but there’s no way for him to get it out in time without Keith or Lance making a decent distraction.

He needs to stall, until he can find an opportunity to strike. As long as he’s got Sendak in his sights, he can’t hurt anyone else.

“Did you light the fires?” Shiro snarls, voice cold. Behind him, Hunk makes the tiniest whimper, and belatedly Shiro probably realizes he’s never seen his Shirogane side in action before while truly, unconditionally furious. It’s not a pretty sight for any cryptid.

“I ordered it so,” Sendak admits, without a shred of shame or regret.

“Why?” Hunk asks, unable to conceal the horror in his voice—but there’s anger there too, anger for a group of people incapable of defending themselves against this. “How does torching an entire dorm of helpless people help you get your stupid werelion army?”

“I don’t care about the army,” Sendak says. “I allowed it because it suited our purpose, but that was Prorok’s idea, and Prorok was always a fool that never understood the true intent of Galra. Nor did he understand the mistress’ ways of building on those intentions. She needs blood, and she will have blood. If not by her virus, then in other, faster ways.” 

Shiro grits his teeth. This man wasn’t fooling around. He was willing to torch a few hundred students for this Galra, and this mysterious mistress, without a shred of mercy or guilt. And he’d simultaneously managed to split Shiro’s team and bring down the strength of his enemies by half. Sendak is both ruthless and intelligent, and if Shiro doesn’t take him down fast, there’s no telling what kind of carnage he could cause.

So he narrows his eyes, shifts his stance back defensively just a fraction, and snarls, “You’re not hurting any more people. Not on this campus, not anywhere else.”

Sendak’s single eye narrows, and he says with absolute conviction, “Yes. I will.” 

And he charges.

Shiro fully expects Sendak to transform into an enormous lion, and he’s prepared for it, already ducking sideways out of a lion’s strike range. What he doesn’t anticipate is for Sendak to grow to almost ten feet in height, or for him to retain his humanoid shape while gaining bulging muscles, enormous claws and teeth, and a coating of thick protective fur. His form is somewhere between human and lion, but maintains a shocking amount of grace and coordination as he rushes forward. 

Shiro’s dodge is perfect for escaping a lion, but Sendak’s humanoid form has a longer reach and rudimentary clawed hands that he simply hadn’t anticipated. He tries to twist in time to strike with one of his silver knives, but the blade passes harmlessly through thick fur. 

One enormous clawed hand draws back and lashes out with surprising speed and dexterity, and Shiro gasps as it cannons into his side and sends him flying. He smashes hard into a bench and collapses onto cold pavement, stunned. 

“Shiro!” Hunk shrieks, alarmed and horrified.

Shiro groans. His mind spins, and suddenly everything hurts. He can hear Hunk yelling frantically. Beyond that—deeper than that—he can hear the panicked screams and tearing flesh of years ago in France, the snarls of hungry wolves, and the stench of blood and death. 

No, no, no. Not again. Not now. This was going to be different. Not like that. Not like that. 

But it is. It’s all wrong. He’d fucked up—he’d never anticipated this. What the hell was Sendak? He’s never heard of lycanthropes doing that. Not even Griffin and the others had known about this third form. He’s too big, he’s too strong, he’s too smart, there’s no way Shiro can beat that...he’d barely survived the incident in France, and this is so much worse...he can’t, and everyone is going to pay the price for his failure—

“Shiro!” Hunk yells. “Shiro, get up!”

Focus. His mind is swimming, still, but clarity is starting to come back now, and forcibly overrides the panic. He’s not dead yet, and until he is, he’s fighting with every scrap of willpower he’s got left. 

He falls into old Covenant training immediately, skills he’s honed to razor perfection over the years, evaluating himself as fast as he can.

Status check. He can still move. His back hurts, but it doesn’t feel like it’s broken, so he can fight. Dazed, but probably no concussion. Arm and side are bleeding— oh god, bleeding because of a lycanthrope, no no no no— but not so badly he can’t move them. No chance of infection from claw wounds, but he’s going to have to be careful about exposure. 

Gear check. He can feel his personal weapons still strapped to his body or hidden in pockets, jamming into his arms, legs and torso uncomfortably, but secure. Weapons bag—gone. Not ideal, but he has enough on him to make it work, at least until he can retrieve it. One of the knives is gone from his hand, but he can replace that with his personal inventory. Anti-gorgon polarized glasses—not on his face. He feels around in front of him with his eyes squeezed close until he finds them and shoves them back onto his nose. The last thing he needs is for Hunk to accidentally stun him when trying to help.

With his eyes protected, he finally forces them open. His vision swims for a moment, and comes back into focus just in time to see Sendak charging him again.

Shiro curses. He struggles to his feet, but while he’s already regaining his mobility, his legs still feel wobbly beneath him. Damn—Sendak hit like a tank. He raises one of his silver knives anyway, glaring at Sendak as the werelion closes in, leaning on the park bench he’d hit for support.

“Leave him alone!” Hunk yells, as he charges in from the side. His spelled headband is down around his neck, leaving his snakes exposed, and all of them are hissing and spitting wildly. Several of the snakes strike lightning-fast at Sendak’s arm as he closes in, and the rest twist and writhe defensively around Hunk’s skull, agitated. 

The strikes don’t hit, unfortunately. But they do cause Sendak to swerve aside or risk being bitten; not even a lycanthrope of Sendak’s size or form would be able to survive multiple doses of pliny’s gorgon venom. Sendak slides to a halt and whirls to face Hunk, giving Shiro enough time to fully gain his feet.

Hunk, although nervous, doesn’t hesitate to fight back with everything he has. His polarized glasses whip off, and as one all of his snakes turn in unison to glare in Sendak’s direction, still hissing and writhing violently. 

A unified effort from a pliny’s gorgon like that is enough to temporarily stun even a full-sized adult lindworm, and Shiro hastily rechecks his own protective glasses again on his nose. But Sendak doesn’t drop from even momentary paralyzation, and when Shiro glances at his face, he realizes with shock that Sendak’s one remaining eye is closed. 

Damn. On top of everything else, Sendak is smart enough to know how to defend against other cryptids. How the hell are they supposed to beat him?

Hunk makes a soft, inelegant squeak of surprise when his stun fails. After a moment, he realizes his mistake, and tries to run forward into his hair’s striking range again. 

But his momentary hesitation costs him. With a snarl Sendak stoops low, whirls out with one leg, and sweeps Hunk’s legs out from beneath him, safely out of range of the striking snakes. Hunk yelps as he crashes to his back, and his snakes hiss and snap at each other wildly in surprise, without a better target to attack. 

It’s not ideal—but it is enough time for Shiro to get his wits together. 

New strategy, he decides. I’m never going to win a contest of strength against Sendak. Which means I need to be smarter and faster. 

Drawing a second silver knife to replace the lost one, he darts forward, silent and quick. With Sendak’s one eye closed still, he’s completely blinded, and Shiro takes advantage of it, lashing out with the blades at Sendak’s still lowered face.

Sendak’s ears twitch, and he twists away at the last moment, wrenching his good eye open to glare balefully in Shiro’s direction. Shiro doesn’t hesitate to twist the second knife and strike again, and this time he’s rewarded with the feel of resistance on the blade as it digs through flesh. It’s just a tiny cut beneath Sendak’s good eye, but it’s all he needs. 

Sendak isn’t invulnerable, and Shiro can hit him.

Sendak snarls wordlessly and whips one of his enormous clawed hands around to lash at Shiro again. But now Shiro has the measure of his range, and isn’t caught off guard by this new form. He manages to duck under the blow at the last moment, and slash up with one of the knives, scoring another cut in the fleshier underside of Sendak’s heavily muscled arm. 

Sendak snarls again, and tries a different maneuver, smashing downwards at Shiro’s unprotected head. Shiro manages to roll back at the last minute, gaining his feet as thick claws gouge into harded, cold earth, and then ducks towards Sendak’s side for another slash. 

He can’t do a lot of damage, he discovers quickly. The thick fur coating on the humanoid form halves the power of Shiro’s cuts, even using silver, and at best he’s doing little more than nicking Sendak here or there. Sendak’s throat and part of his torso are protected by an even thicker mane-like coating of hair that serves the same defensive purpose it does on a regular male lion, and there’s no way Shiro’s going to be able to cut through it like this. 

But Shiro’s not dying either—and Sendak, for all his intelligence and strength, doesn’t seem to have much experience with his opponents surviving this long in a match against him in this form. If Shiro can just hold out long enough for the right opportunity...maybe this won’t be completely hopeless.

So he ducks and dodges, nicks Sendak here or there with a silver blade, and does his best to not die. Sendak gets a glancing blow at him once or twice, and Shiro’s already hurting where he’d taken more than one hard dive to the ground to dodge a strike. Everything is a flurry of movement in the darkness; all of Shiro’s focus is on the fight. 

Once or twice, he catches Hunk hovering on the sidelines, glasses back on but hand anxiously hovering on the temples. He can’t get involved without potentially hurting or killing Shiro. Shiro barely has time to even think on it. 

And then opportunity strikes, literally, in the form of a sharp jab from one of Sendak’s massive clawed hands. Shiro twists aside just in time, and with a snarl, rams his right silver knife down through the back of Sendak’s left hand, clean through to the other side.

Sendak shrieks, and for the first time he looks genuinely startled and in pain. It’s not a killing blow by any means, but it is a crippling one, and Shiro can already see the skin starting to blacken around the blade everywhere it severs flesh.

Shiro lashes with his other knife to press the advantage, but he underestimates Sendak. The werelion snarls, and using his own impaled hand despite what has to be excruciating pain, backhands Shiro hard enough to once again send him flying. 

Shiro sees stars as he’s sent reeling for a second time, and hears the clatter of his silver knife hitting the concrete of the campus walkway as he loses it.  He hits the frozen ground hard, with an agonized gasp of pain as he slams down on his wounded side and arm. But this time he doesn’t smash into any decor, and manages to turn his momentum into a safety roll, sliding shakily to his feet with his head still spinning.

Sendak is already charging him again, fangs bared in a furious snarl, uninjured hand drawing back for a devastating strike. Hunk chases after him, frantic, but he’s too far behind Sendak and definitely wouldn’t be able to intervene on time. 

Shiro sets his jaw and crouches, shaking away his spinning vision. If Sendak thinks he can outmatch Shiro just because he’s bigger, stronger, and faster, he’s got another damn thing coming. And if he thinks Shiro’s completely helpless just because he doesn’t have any knives out, he’s about to be sorely disappointed.

Sendak lunges, lashing out with his stronger arm. Shiro ducks aside, snatches the extended wrist with one arm and slams his other palm into the werelion’s stomach, and lets his opponent’s own momentum and weight do the rest. He hurls Sendak past him into a set of landscaped bushes and trees, with the werelion yowling in surprise the whole way.

“ Gods,” Hunk yelps, as he stumbles up a safe distance away, snakes still hissing wildly. “Did you just throw him?”

“Old Shirogane technique,” Shiro says, wincing a little and pressing his good hand to his side. The move was not intended to be used with a wounded arm or torso, but one did what one had to. “Big monsters never expected tiny weak humans to pull that off. Always catches them by surprise.”

“I’ll say,” Hunk says, with a mix of awe and fear.

Shiro can already see Sendak thrashing about in the bushes as he tries to free himself from the tangle of branches and thorns, and figures they have maybe fifteen seconds at best to prepare. And he’s fast running out of options. Sendak is just too damn strong in close combat, and that trick’s not going to work again. All it takes is one hit to send Shiro reeling, and he can’t take too many more before he’s down for the count. He needs range, and a chance to make a plan.

Then he hears the first sirens, and his heart plummets into his stomach. 

Shit. 

“We need to go,” he says sharply to Hunk, whirling. It’s not easy to see in the dark, but he catches sight of his discarded weapons backpack in the glow of one of the campus lights. He snatches it up by the straps as he runs past it, and picks a direction opposite both the sirens and Sendak. “Hurry, Hunk!”

“Wh—wait for me!” Hunk yelps, running after him. “What’s the rush? Aside from the terrifying lion-man, anyway? Which, okay, fair, good reason to rush, I get it—”

“The firemen are here,” Shiro says, interrupting the nervous rambling and jerking his head towards the sirens. “And probably other first responders. If they hear a fight, they’ll investigate. If they do, Sendak will slaughter them. He doesn’t care about subtlety anymore, he wants blood. We need a place in this direction that’s got cover, where we can finish this without anyone getting involved. Any ideas?”

“Um, um, cover, a place with cover…” Hunk rubbernecks madly as he runs, snakes hissing in agitation, and then points. “There! It’s the campus center. Nobody will be there this late. Some food places, open hang out areas, the theater...the side door’s always open, they never remember to lock it.”

“Good. Lead on.” 

Hunk does, and locates the door in record time. As promised, it’s unlocked. They squeeze their way in as quickly and quietly as they can, and Hunk locks it behind them. It won’t hold Sendak for long, Shiro’s sure, but at least it will buy a few precious seconds.

Once indoors, Shiro starts pulling the collapsible crossbow and silver-tipped quarrels out of the bag he’d salvaged, arming the weapon. If he has to he’ll switch to firearms, but with police no doubt on the scene on the other side of the campus, that’s asking for a whole new level of trouble. 

“What now?” Hunk asks anxiously.

“Look for some place defensible. We need range and a way to keep Sendak at a distance,” Shiro murmurs, setting a bolt in place. 

“Got it.”

They wander through the halls, looking around as fast as they can. Unfortunately, the campus center was never designed with lycanthropy defense in mind, and its open spaces—while ideal for club gatherings or getting a meal—offer little in the way of protection. There are a few little reading nooks where Shiro might be able to get a stealthy shot off, but he’d be exposed after with no place to run. 

A loud banging sound from behind them heralds Sendak’s arrival. First one thud, then two, and then a heavy, shattering crash as the door they’d entered is ripped off its hinges. 

“Oh man, oh man,” Hunk moans. “This is bad, this is really, really bad…”

Shiro agrees. They’re out of time and they still don’t have a place to fight from. 

They break into a run, pelting down one of the halls. “The auditorium is there,” Hunk says, pointing at a set of doors to one side of the open, wide hallway. “Maybe there’s something we can use—”

A figure steps out around the corner on the far end of the hallway, past the auditorium doors. It’s difficult to tell at first, in the dim emergency lights the building always has on, but the man is tall and lanky, wearing a campus security guard’s vest. As they get closer, Shiro recognizes the man as the same narrow-faced security guard that had been overseeing the alcove where the murder had taken place that morning. 

Shiro curses under his breath. He hadn’t wanted to get any innocent civilians in trouble, but with Sendak only seconds behind them, this man is in danger. Of all the worst times to run across a guard doing a routine patrol!

He’s not sure that he can save the guard, but he tries anyway. “Hey! Get out of the building!” he shouts, as he discreetly lowers the crossbow and keeps it obscured at his side. Hopefully the dimness of the building will help disguise the fact that he’s armed. Thank goodness he’d chosen against the guns. “There’s an arsonist on the campus—he’s behind us—the building might be on fire already—run!”

“An arsonist?” the man calls back. He’s still maybe thirty feet distant, which hopefully is keeping him from noticing anything unusual, like the fact that Hunk’s hair is made of living snakes. “I can—”

“No, you really need to get out, like now,” Hunk says, a little frantic. “Can’t you smell the smoke? We all gotta get out!”

There’s an alarming crash behind them, and Sendak steps around the corner into the hallway. Shiro curses again, as Hunk whips around to face Sendak with a small whine, as back-to-back as possible with Shiro while having living, venomous snakes for hair. There’ll be no way to explain this off, not now, not when Sendak’s head nearly touches the ceiling and he’s built like a damn tank.

But a moment later, Shiro’s stomach ices over as Sendak says in a rough, harsh voice through his not-quite-human jaw, “Good. You cut them off, Haxus.”

“Of course, sir,” the security guard answers, with a smug look. 

“The building is sufficiently prepared?”

“There will be nothing left by morning,” Haxus confirms. “The flames are already high. I began preparing the next one, but thought it prudent to prioritize the Shirogane, per the mistress’ orders.”

“Excellent work, Haxus.” Sendak says. His smile is cold and cruel. “We will finish killing these two and continue preparing the site for her.” 

“The other two members of his team are attempting to evacuate the building,” Haxus reports. 

“Let them try. We will kill them after as well. Without them to interfere, it will be easy to raze everything to the ground.” 

Shiro scowls darkly. “You’re one of them.”

“Of course I am,” Haxus says. “After Prorok’s idiocy, I was chosen to clean up his mess. The moment I saw you this morning, I knew there would be problems, and I notified my commander immediately. The mistress wanted the virus tested, but Prorok’s attempts went too far and gained the wrong attention. Fool.” 

The hallway shudders slightly as Sendak takes a heavy step forward. “You did well. I will ensure Galra recognizes your actions this day.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Shiro!” Hunk hisses under his breath. “What do we do?” 

It’s a good question. They’re trapped in a campus hallway between Sendak and Haxus. The auditorium doors are still to their left, and might make a viable exit point, but only if they can get there. Sendak is too fast to outrun, and Shiro would be a fool if he didn’t anticipate Haxus being a werelion, either.

They’ll need to catch the two by surprise then. Just long enough to buy a few seconds of precious time.

Shiro leans back as far as he dares, and prays he’s out of striking distance of the agitated snakes he can hear hissing behind him. “Hunk,” he murmurs, low under his breath, and makes  a second prayer to the universe that the lycanthropes’ hearing isn’t all that great, “on the count of three, we’re going to swap places, okay? We both rotate to our left so you don’t run into me. Stun Haxus. I’ll deal with Sendak.”

Hunk makes a nervous noise in the back of his throat, but after a moment says so softly Shiro barely hears him under the hissing snakes, “O-okay.”

“Good. One—”

Haxus takes a step forward, skin already beginning to ripple as he shifts into a smaller and wirier but no less deadly third-form werelion. 

“—Two—”

Sendak takes a thundering step forward of his own, snarling, “Kill them—”

“Three!”

Shiro immediately whirls to his left, raising his crossbow as he does. He feels the rush of movement behind him, the angry hissing and spitting of many angry snakes, and a shocked yelp from Haxus. Then Sendak is in front of him, still ten paces away and closing fast. 

Shiro pulls the trigger on the crossbow, and fires a silver-tipped quarrel point-blank at Sendak.

He’d been aiming for center mass, just below the thick mane-like fur on Sendak’s transformed body. To his frustration, but not his surprise, he misses—Sendak is too aware by half, and manages to dodge a lethal shot. 

The crossbow quarrel does lodge deeply into his shoulder just below his collarbone, though, and Sendak shrieks in genuine agony as he reels back in surprise. The bolt lodges deep, too deep for Sendak’s enormous clawed hands to easily yank out, and will definitely impede movement. He claws at it anyway out of pure instinct, momentarily distracted by his own direct pain.

“Move!” Shiro yells, bolting for the auditorium door.

He glances to his other side, where Hunk hastily bolts after him, shoving his glasses back on his face. Down the hall, Haxus’ eight-foot humanoid-werelion form jerks and twitches spasmodically, frozen in place but already fighting the effects.

“S’not gonna last long,” Hunk warns, a frightened look on his face. “Didn’t last long on the other werelions and these guys are way stronger. Go!”

Shiro goes. He reaches the auditorium doors within seconds, while Sendak howls behind him. The double doors are locked, but not well, and Shiro is able to forcibly shoulder them open with a little well-applied force. He and Hunk tumble inside, and Hunk hastily flicks on the main lights. Good call—Shiro would be at a disadvantage against the werelions in the dark, and while Hunk’s night vision is decent, he hasn’t had any training in night combat. 

The auditorium is organized chaos. The seating area is largely clear, but the stage is covered in props, tools and stray lighting apparatus. Shiro vaguely recalls seeing advertisements for some theater production to be staged in two weeks by one of the campus clubs when hunting werelions earlier that day, and they’re probably in the thick of final preparations. 

Shiro has a feeling there may be setbacks, after a pair of werelions, a gorgon and an ex-Covenant cryptid hunter rampage through the place. But then, everyone must make sacrifices for the greater good sometimes. Shiro is prepared for those sacrifices to come in the form of broken props. Thankfully there are no ambitious theater kids pulling an all-nighter, and the auditorium is blessedly empty of other life. He’ll take the small win.

He’s already resetting a new silver-tipped crossbow bolt by feel—a skill he’d perfected at age seven—as he charges into the room, surveying for something, anything, he can use to turn this situation to his advantage. Unfortunately, options are limited. Even the clutter on the stage is more likely to trip him up than make proper cover. 

And then they’re out of time. With a furious snarl, Sendak smashes his way through the now-thoroughly-abused auditorium doors, hitting one so hard it crashes off its hinges. “I have had enough,” he snarls, as he stomps his way towards them. “You only slow my victory down. Surrender, and I will kill you quickly, which is more mercy than a Shirogane deserves.”

Shiro’s answer is another silver crossbow bolt, hastily fired on the run. Sendak dodges, but he’s forced to duck to do it, halting briefly and buying a few precious seconds more. The bolt pings off the askew metal auditorium door and goes spinning off to the side, narrowly missing Haxus’ face as the second werelion ducks through the doors after his commander. 

Hunk looks around frantically. “Again—what do we do?”

Shiro grits his teeth for a moment. “Can you distract Haxus?” 

He’s not thrilled with the idea of forcing Hunk to solo a werelion, even if it’s the weaker of the pair. Hunk’s a non-combatant civilian, and hasn’t exactly been in his element for the entire mission. This isn’t what he wanted and Shiro’s more than sorry he’d dragged the poor kid into it. 

But Sendak’s already too strong as it is without having a loyal officer to back him up. They’d pulled off that ambush seamlessly, without having to communicate. They have to divide and conquer, and Shiro’s definitely not pitting anyone but himself against Sendak. 

Hunk looks stunned at the prospect. “Do you want me to distract him by dying? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what’s gonna happen!”

“Even stalling him will work,” Shiro says. “We just need to split them up. You don’t have to beat him.”

“Stall,” Hunk says, swallowing. “I can stall. Maybe. Okay, I’ll try.” A new thought seems to come to him. “But what about Sendak? He’s so big and he’s already hit you pretty hard—”

“Let me worry about Sendak. I’ve got range now.” To prove it, he raises his crossbow—he’s rearmed it again while talking—and fires directly at the werelion in question. Sendak dodges, but the quarrel still leaves a deep, smoking gouge in his side. “Hurry—draw him off, go!”

“Right!” Hunk scurries down one of the rows of chairs, like he’s making a break for the far set of auditorium doors. Haxus, apparently under the impression their quarry is trying to escape, snarls and thunders after Hunk, trying to keep up while staring at the ground and stumbling a little in his haste. Shiro can’t help but smirk—Hunk’s paralytic gaze had left an impression, and that should hopefully give Hunk an advantage.

Then he doesn’t have any more time or attention to spare on Hunk anymore, because with a roar of fury, Sendak charges down the aisle at him once more.

Shiro curses, but ducks into the rows of folding theater chairs. The little aisles are difficult to traverse even with the seats folded up; they’re not exactly meant for running down. He solves the problem by leaping onto the nearest chairback, and hopping from one to the other as he tries to put more distance between himself and Sendak. 

There’s an angry snarl from behind him, and a cracking metallic noise. Shiro feels the chairback he’s currently stepping on wobble violently, and leaps to a second, whipping around as he slides a new silver quarrel into place. He’s just in time to see Sendak ripping a full auditorium chair out of the brackets it’s bolted to on the ground with his uninjured right hand. The werelion hurls it in Shiro’s direction like a cannonball.

Shiro swears. He throws himself sideways in an awkward, twisting flip, and feels the breeze of the chair as it misses him by an inch. His boots find another set of chairbacks in two different rows. For a horrible moment he feels his footing slip, and has awful visions of crashing to the seats in a painful, defenseless sprawl. But a quick twist of his hips, a bent knee to absorb impact, shifting his center of gravity just so, and he has his balance again.

Sendak looks genuinely surprised at both Shiro’s dodge and his recovery. Shiro takes the opportunity to fire another silver crossbow bolt at his face.

He hits, though once again the shot isn’t lethal as intended. It does hit Sendak’s left shoulder again, though, and between all the damage Shiro’s been racking up there, it’s clear his left arm is starting to become useless. It moves sluggishly, and it takes obvious painful effort for Sendak to use it at all. 

It will take a while, but you’re not invincible, and I can wear you down, Shiro notes, with grim satisfaction. 

The question of the hour will be if his ammunition holds out long enough for him to do so. And, for that matter, if he holds out long enough to do so. 

Sendak clearly realizes the same thing, because he bares his teeth at Shiro in a look of pure hatred, rips up another chair, and hurls it at Shiro as well.

Shiro dodges that one too, and the three others after it, leaping between the auditorium chairs and trying to keep enough distance from Sendak to make his crossbow a legitimate threat. He’s yet to land a fatal shot on the werelion, but more and more smoking silver quarrels begin to pepper Sendak’s arms, shoulders and legs as Shiro returns fire. And it is working—Sendak is slowing. Not dramatically, but he’s starting to lose blood, and because of the silver, the wounds aren’t healing. 

And Sendak is clearly at a frustrated loss for how to strike next. He could easily leap into the thick of the chairs, but he’s smart enough to know it would be a gamble. If he misses Shiro, he’ll be stuck in a tangle of mangled auditorium seats, and an easy, immobile target. 

He keeps trying to force Shiro out to more open ground, where his advantage is clearer. The moment Shiro sets foot in the main aisles, Sendak will be on him. But Shiro refuses to let him dictate the terms of the fight, and maintains enough spacial awareness that he’s not so easily driven out of his cover. 

The strategy might have worked indefinitely—except that with his sixth chair, Sendak gets lucky. Shiro tries to leap aside, but the haphazardly flung auditorium seat clips Shiro’s leg as he throws himself out of the way. The hard plastic and shattered metal would be painful enough thrown by a regular human, but with Sendak’s force, it’s like getting a boulder thrown at him. With a yelp, Shiro whirls off balance, collapses over several of the chair backs, and rolls painfully into the main aisle on the left side of the theater.

He barely rolls back to his feet, desperately trying to fit a new silver bolt to the crossbow, when Sendak is on him. The werelion leaps across the entire row of auditorium seats in the middle of the theater, smashes down directly in front of Shiro, and brings his right arm around in a devastating slashing uppercut. 

Shiro jerks back and tries to raise the crossbow defensively, but he’s not fast enough to dodge or deflect. Claws gouge his stomach and chest, dragging on heavy winter coat material, and the force is so strong he’s thrown up and backwards onto the auditorium stage. 

He screams as he hits the ground, gasping as new pain in his torso and leg mingles with older pain from his arm and side. The crossbow clacks somewhere on stage, and his polarized glasses slip from his face and shatter on the ground. He rolls, once, twice, and his back slams into a set-piece on the stage. His whole body protests, and he moans softly. 

The howls and the screams start gibbering in the back of his head once again, but training forces it back. No. No. Not yet. Not yet. I’m not done yet. 

It takes grueling, excruciating effort, but he forces his eyes open.

His vision swims, blurry and indistinct at first, all dark shapes and glimmers of metal. It takes him a moment to realize he’s on his back, staring up at the pipes above the stage, strung with heavy stage lighting, set backdrops, special effects technology, and miles and miles of cables. Everything is turned off, at the moment, but the emergency backstage lighting still reflects off the metal casing of the tech strung high above him, heavy and straining at the thick weighted cables and metal pipes above. 

Right. On stage. His stomach throbs in pain, and wetness leaks out into his winter coat. Sendak had hit him. Hard. The coat had blunted the force of the claws somewhat, but it had still been enough to gash him open and throw him at least ten feet. 

He’s not going to survive another hit like that.

Moaning again, he rolls onto his side, doing his best to ignore the agonizing spike of pain in his chest and stomach, and the slightly less strong throbs from his leg, arm and side. As he shifts his arm, something clacks on the stage, and he realizes after a bewildered moment he still has that last silver quarrel he’d been trying to load into his crossbow in his hand. 

It’s not much good without the crossbow, but at least it’s something. 

The stage thuds in a way that sends every part of his body aching and the pipes above jangling like ominous, heavy wind chimes, and there’s a splintering crack of wood as Sendak leaps onto it. The werelion is bloodied, thick fur coating matted and disgusting, and he leaves red drops on the stage as he walks. His left arm more or less hangs at his side now, virtually useless. 

But he’s still moving, and Shiro isn’t. 

“You won’t be using that throwing trick on me again,” Sendak says coldly, as he paces forward, slower than before but no less deliberate, no less military. “Though you put up a decent fight,” he finally concedes, after a grudging moment. 

Shiro coughs, spitting up a mix of saliva and blood as he manages to force himself to his hands and knees. His limbs are wobbly, barely taking his weight, but he keeps going anyway. The quarrel is still clenched in his right hand, silver tip hidden by his fist. 

Sendak snorts at the pitiful attempt to fight back, and raises his right fist high. With a note of finality, he brings his enormous, clawed hand smashing down at Shiro’s unprotected back.

Shiro gathers what remains of his strength, and throws himself forward at the last minute, ramming the silver crossbow bolt into Sendak’s unprotected ankle. 

Sendak shrieks in pain. His arm whirls reflexively, and smashes most of the set piece behind Shiro instead, sending plywood chunks and nuts and bolts showering over him. The werelion kicks out reflexively next, and catches Shiro in the side, but it’s nowhere near Sendak’s level of force. Which means it sends Shiro rolling three feet to the right with a new set of bruises over his ribs, but doesn’t actually manage to break anything. 

He staggers to his feet immediately, swaying heavily, with one hand pressed to his stomach, and stumbles for stage left. 

“You’ve nowhere left to run!” Sendak snarls after him, voice still garbled with pain. 

Shiro is well aware. He’s barely got any fight in him left—Sendak’s only managed to hit him a few times, but each hit has been devastating. He’s willing to chance the silver bullets at this point, but Sendak’s proved too good at dodging even when Shiro could aim properly. Now with his body a complete mess...with his luck, he’d make just enough noise to attract the police to Sendak, just in time for the werelion to shred them, after he’s done crushing the life out of Shiro. 

But he doesn’t have any other options . Sendak’s too big, too strong, and too smart, and without any decent backup or a solid plan of attack, Shiro’s not strong enough to take him on his own. All he can do is delay the inevitable.

He limps off stage left to the backstage area proper, stumbling past the fly system as he does, squeezing through rows and rows of straining cables and heavy stacks of counterweights. The whole system shudders slightly as Sendak takes his first thundering step after Shiro, and once again from above comes the ominous chime of clacking theater lights and hefty stage pieces. 

And suddenly a smile—weak, but genuine—comes to Shiro’s face. He might not be strong enough to fight Sendak—so he’d just have to find something else stronger.

“Enough running,” Sendak snaps, coming ever closer.

“Fine, then,” Shiro gasps. It hurts to move, and it hurts even more to lift, with his torn stomach and wounded side. But he drags several weighted bricks out of the nearest counterweight stack, wrenches the safety lock off, and kicks the lever free.

An almighty screech resonates overhead as one of the heavily weighted pipes, laden with several hundred pounds of lighting equipment, comes crashing down. Without proper weights to counter it, the whole thing rockets stageward with alarming speed. 

Sendak looks up in confusion, and his remaining eye widens in alarm at the sight of the heavy equipment collapsing towards him. He tries to dodge away, but with his wounds and damaged ankle he’s not quite fast enough, and by then it’s too late. The whole rig comes crashing down on top of him, crushing him to the stage floor with a thundering smash and the sound of splintering wood and metal.

Shiro throws up his hands at the impact, shielding his face from flying bits of metal and wood. He barely keeps his feet as the whole stage shudders alarmingly beneath him. But before the dust even settles he’s moving again, wrenching more bricks free from the next pipe, and the next, kicking their own levers free and allowing the unbalanced rigs above to come thundering down in roaring fury. 

The racket is incredible, and once again, he can feel the stage heaving beneath him from the impacts as he throws up his hands to protect his face once more. When stillness finally settles in once again, he wearily lowers his hands and surveys his work.

Any human would have died in an accident like that, crushed beneath hundreds of pounds of stage equipment. Sendak, unbelievably, is still alive even after all of that, groaning softly and shifting weakly in the mess. But he is solidly pinned beneath the equipment to the stage floor, at least. Not even Sendak, for all the strength his hybrid werelion form gives him, can seem to shove the weight of the tangled, heavy pipes off of his back. 

Shiro’s not stupid enough to think this means a victory. Not yet. He wearily limps across the stage again, staying carefully out of range of Sendak and the equipment, briefly scanning the auditorium for signs of Haxus. They’re alone; Hunk must have taken his fight elsewhere. That’s a concern, but at least Shiro won’t be ambushed while he finishes this.

He spots his crossbow and the weapons bag, still with a few silver quarrels left, on the edge of the stage. He snatches both up quickly, keeping his eyes warily on Sendak once again as he examines the crossbow by feel, and re-arms it once he’s determined it’s still operable. He aims the silver-tipped quarrel at Sendak’s head, bleeding but still visible in the wreckage, and paces just close enough to ensure he’ll make a lethal shot.

Sendak watches him balefully with his one remaining eye. He strains at the rigs piled on top of him again, and then claws angrily at the stage with his massive right hand. But crushed flat on his stomach as he is, he can’t quite get the leverage for any kind of escape.

“You think this is what real, honorable combat is?” he snarls after a moment, still glaring hatefully at Shiro.

“Dropping a theater production on you?” Shiro asks. “Maybe not, but you crossed the line past honorable the moment you made the call to burn two hundred students in their sleep.”

“Their lives are worthless.”

“Their lives are priceless,” Shiro corrects. And before Sendak can be allowed to rant further, he snaps, “What is Galra?”

Sendak says nothing.

“Who is your mistress?” Shiro tries next. “Is she one who demanded blood and had you testing lycanthropy- l?” 

For the first time, Sendak answers, with a cold smile on his face. “She knows of you, Shirogane. All of Galra knows about you. She’ll kill you. You will be a dead man.”

“Most cryptids know the Shiroganes,” Shiro answers, keeping his voice indifferent, even if his thudding heart says otherwise. 

“Not your family, Shirogane. You. House Altea’s pet monster hunter. A thorn in Galra’s side. You have already opposed us twice. You will die. ”

That sends a cold spike of fear through Shiro’s already throbbing gut, and it takes all his self control to keep himself from showing his panic on his face. He’s spent years being as unknown as possible in this city by anyone but cryptid channels. He’s covered his tracks, he’s kept the Covenant from finding him, he’s used a dozen aliases and has a dozen more waiting just in case. Nobody can know about him. Nobody. Everything he’s worked for will be for nothing if he’s exposed.

He must not do as good a job as he’d thought, hiding his expression, or maybe Sendak can smell his panic. The werelion smiles, cold and malicious. “Did you think you could hide away forever? Did you really think you could earn yourself a little redemption with this silly game? Did you think Galra wouldn’t notice you, Shirogane? Everything you’ve done means nothing. She will beat you. You. Will. Die. ”

Even pinned, Sendak wounds deeply. To Shiro the words are like a stab to the heart, and can’t help but let out a shaky, rasping breath at the accusations. 

No hiding. No amends. No future.

And then Sendak is moving, snarling angrily as he shoves upwards with everything he has. Hundreds of pounds of metal creak and groan alarmingly as, against all odds, Sendak actually begins to free himself, just enough to lash out with a clawed hand at Shiro’s legs—

—and Shiro, with years of ingrained instinct, puts the silver crossbow bolt straight through Sendak’s remaining eye. 

Sendak makes a soft gurgling noise, and his whole body drops, hand thudding to the stage. The stage equipment groans in protest again as it thuds back on top of him, and creaks and clatters as it settles once more. 

Shiro’s not stupid enough to think that’s it. Killing cryptids is the one thing he knows exceptionally well, and one of the all encompassing rules drilled into his head by the Covenant was always be sure of your kill. He puts three more silver-tipped crossbow bolts into Sendak’s skull with mindless, relentless efficiency, and waits a full minute, counting and listening for breaths, before he takes so much as one step into Sendak’s range.

But Sendak is dead—really, unequivocally dead. There’s no pulse, there’s no breath left, and his brain is full of silver. He’s not coming back. Never again. 

Everything you’ve done means nothing. She will beat you. You. Will. Die.

Shiro shudders, swaying painfully on his feet. 

No, no, no. Not now. You cannot lose it now. There’s still another one out there and Hunk might need your help. 

So as much as he desperately wants to collapse onto the stage and drift into an exhausted rest, he doesn’t. He manages to keep a hold of his crossbow, fitted with the very last silver quarrel in his arsenal— need to make more , he reminds himself idly—and limps his way to the stairs off the stage. He’d seen Hunk heading for one of the other sets of doors, and there’s a good chance the fight worked its way out into one of the halls.

It takes an excruciatingly long time to even get to the doors, and his leg protests vehemently as he moves. So does every other part of him—his chest, his stomach, his side, his arm. This is the worst beating he’s taken on a mission in a long while. Allura is going to be very busy patching him up. 

He winces at the thought. He hates forcing her to use more of her power than is strictly necessary.

“Hunk?” he calls softly, at the doors. One is ripped off its hinges—Haxus had most certainly passed this way. “You good, buddy?”

There’s no answer at first, but there is a trail of destruction to follow. Tossed chairs and benches, holes in the walls, and more smashed-in doorways gradually lead the way to the cafeteria. It’s deathly quiet, and Shiro’s not sure if that’s a good sign. He keeps the crossbow at the ready, and scans the area carefully, but he keeps his eyes ready to drop to the ground at any moment. He’d lost his glasses, and if Hunk is fighting, he’s liable to be an accidental victim.

“Hunk?” he calls, at the entrance to what appears to be some sort of burger joint. 

“Shiro?” Hunk’s voice is shaky, but not panicked, and he doesn’t shout any warnings. Combined with the almost eerie quiet, Shiro has a feeling Haxus is no longer an issue anymore. Considering how gorgons take care of their enemies…

He immediately drops his eyes to study the carpet, and puts a hand up in front of his face for good measure. “I lost my glasses—you shielded?”

“I—um, yeah. It’s safe. You’re safe. It’s…” 

He trails off, and with safety confirmed, Shiro wearily limps his way into the food joint. Tables and chairs are upended everywhere, the condiments bar is on its side, and ketchup and mustard splatter the walls. In the middle of all of it stands an enormous, eight-foot statue of a werelion, expression twisted in a look of horror, with no less than six sets of fang marks embedded all up and down his left arm. 

Correction— most of a statue. Gorgon venom tended to petrify victims from the inside out. The outer extremities are still somewhat fleshy and furry in certain areas, but the bones, the muscle, the blood—all of it would be stone. It was a terrible, excruciatingly painful way to go. 

Haxus had deserved every second of it.

Hunk swallows. Shiro spots him sitting wearily at one of the tables far from Haxus’ petrified body. He’s very still, and even his snakes slither gently around his face and neck, no longer agitated with the threat taken care of. “Y...you know how you said I didn’t have to beat him?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, gently, as he limps wearily over to his friend.

“Well...I kind of had to beat him.”

“You did a good job,” Shiro tells him, and it’s the honest truth. He doesn’t know many people that could take down any kind of lycanthrope, much less one with military training and some sort of cult loyalty. 

“Maybe. I’ve never had to kill any people before,” Hunk says meekly. “I don’t know if I like it much…”

“It’s not a bad thing if you don’t ever like it. But you did the right thing. He was helping Sendak burn your dorm. He would’ve put two hundred students to the torch...including you. Including Shay.” 

“I know. I know. It’s just…”

“It’s hard,” Shiro says, sympathetic. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mostly.” Hunk displays a series of claw marks on one of his arms, which razors through his long-sleeved shirt and exposes fine scales on his skin. “He got me a few times, but I’ll live. Can’t...can’t say the same for him. He got too close to my hair, and…” He shrugs, displacing a few of the snakes in question. 

“Mm.” And that is precisely why Shiro is careful to keep his distance around Hunk’s hair in general. He has no desire to become a partially petrified lawn ornament. 

He wearily looks around for a chair that isn’t broken, and spots one not too far from Hunk’s table. Bending to try and set it upright is excruciating though, and he can’t help but hiss in pain, pressing his hand to his stomach and accidentally dropping the crossbow. 

Careless, he can practically hear his old mentors lecturing. Dropping a weapon before the area is secure. 

But Haxus was the last of them, as far as he can tell. And he’s tired, damn it. 

“Shiro?” Hunk blinks in alarm behind his shielding glasses. “Oh, man. You’re bleeding. That’s...that’s blood on the carpet. Shiro, holy crap, stop for a second. Here, take my chair.” Hunk obligingly stands up and pulls his chair out, and Shiro, too tired to argue, obediently takes it once it’s safely out of snake range. 

“What happened?” Hunk asks anxiously, once he recovers a second chair and sits across from Shiro. He’s hovering, anxiously fidgeting with his hands, and his snakes are starting to grow agitated from his stress again.

“Sendak happened. I just...just need a minute to sit,” Shiro promises, with a wince. “Can you get the crossbow? Shouldn’t leave it on the floor…”

Hunk retrieves the weapon and sets it on the table very carefully. “But you’re bleeding, really bad. I’m gonna call Allura. She can—”

“No. No, not yet.” Shiro winces, but plows on gamely. “There’s still too much I need to do first. The first responders will be distracted with the fire, but there’s only so much time until they discover the break in here. Everything needs to get cleaned up before then. And Keith and Lance are still out there—need to check on them—and on the progress with the Marmora Society hunt—”

“Okay, yeah, that’s all important, but so are you,” Hunk says, wide-eyed. “Shiro, you look like you’re barely awake right now. I really think we need to get Allura to send somebody to pick you up and get you some first aid. Please?” 

“I promise I’m okay,” Shiro says, wearily shoving himself to his feet. He’s had enough time to rest. “I’ve had worse before. Really. This is….this is all in a day’s work for Covenant agents…”

“If that’s true, then I think I might actually feel a little sorry for them, for the first time ever,” Hunk says. 

Shiro snorts at that. “You shouldn’t. Let’s check on the progress of the fire, and then—”

He loses track of what else he’s going to say, because the whole world swirls alarmingly. He takes a staggering step and tries to brace on the flimsy fast food table to catch himself, and ends up knocking it over instead. Both he and the table pitch over, and Shiro hits the carpet hard, gasping out loud as it violently jars his injuries. 

“Shiro! Oh, geez, this is what I was talking about—”

“I’m f...I’m fine,” Shiro stammers. Except he’s starting to think maybe he’s not, after all. The whole world is starting to get fuzzy, his head is spinning, and everything hurts. 

Blood loss, he realizes distantly. Great. Not now...too much to do...damn it…

“Shiro? Shiro? Oh, man. Oh man. I’m calling Allura, I don’t care what you say, just hold on, man—hang on, I’m getting help right now—”

His voice warbles in pitch and gradually fades away to silence, while he fades away to darkness. Shiro doesn’t fight it. The hard part of the job is done, so maybe he can rest, for just a minute.

For the first time since the whole mess started, the sounds of howling wolves and screams and the stench of blood and rot begin to fade, and everything is blessedly quiet.

Chapter Text

“Well, you know, I have it on pretty good authority that I’m not completely bad at my job. I mostly come home in one piece.”
—Alex Price, The Measure of a Monster

An unknown location, which is not great, but at least it’s comfortable

Shiro regains awareness slowly, distantly aware of soft murmuring and scritching all around him. 

His hazy mind can’t quite figure out what the noises are, and he’s vaguely aware that should frighten him. Waking in an unknown place, surrounded by unknown things, is a nightmare for any Covenant agent, and that extends to ex-Covenant agents in hiding as well. But something in his gut tells him he’s safe, and he decides to trust his instincts. 

He’s not in pain—mostly sore and uncomfortable, like he’d pulled a muscle or taken a hard fall. It’s bearable, and he’s tired, and has no inclination to move. He isn’t bothered and he’s not being tortured or interrogated, so nothing else matters at the moment. He lets himself drift lazily on partial awareness, dipping in and out of sleep.

He doesn’t have any concept of time, and he doesn’t know how long he drifts. But eventually, the hazy thoughts begin to recede, and his waking mind begins pushing its way back to the surface. The sounds around him are sharper now, more distinct. Tiny, skittering footsteps, and soft, muted voices, speaking in...prayer? 

Oh, no. 

Shiro cracks his eyes open, and blinks sleep out of his vision, gazing blearily around. Soft pastel colors eventually sharpen into a guest room of some sort, with a soft bed, a dresser, several comfortable overstuffed chairs, a desk, and a nightstand. 

Every square inch of surface besides the bed is covered with Aeslin mice. 

Almost in unison, the mice swivel to face him as he begins to move his head, standing attentively on their back legs with their front paws clasped in prayer, or clutching makeshift holy items. Each one leans forward with anticipation so strong the air all but crackles with energy, as they wait for a deep and meaningful message from one of their chosen high priests. 

“Ugh,” Shiro mutters, with absolutely none of the sage wisdom the mice are probably expecting. “What day is it?”

“HAIL!” The Aeslin mice chorus. “Sing praises! Hail! The High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of the Darkness has Awakened at last!”

Shiro groans, squeezing his eyes shut. The high pitched voices of the mice are like needles to his ears. Distantly, he wonders if this is what Keith feels like every time he’s around them. “Volume. Please.”

Several of the mice bow respectfully in apology, and they do a reasonable approximation of silence. With Aeslin mice, they’re never truly quiet. But at least they make the attempt, murmuring softly to each other instead of screeching praises. 

One of them, some sort of revered priest of Alfor’s order to judge by the red-dyed fur and ornate regalia made of candy wrappers, steps forward on the nearby nightstand and offers a deeper, more formal bow. “Our apologies, High Priest. We did not mean to cause discomfort.”

“Mm.” Where he is definitely isn’t in question; the Aeslin mice can only be found in Allura’s complex. But there are definitely other questions to ask. “Why are you all here?”

The priest stands up proudly, puffing out his little furred chest. For the first time, Shiro notices a string of tiny black beads looped around his neck, and several streaks of black in his red fur. “We are Keeping Vigil,” the mouse explains, “By order of the Lion Goddess. And she said, lo, ‘Keep an eye on him, and let me know when he Awakens or if anything Goes Wrong.’ And we have Waited, and we have Watched, as the Goddess Commands.”

“Ah.” So Allura had healed him and kept him here for observation—a much more literal task when one had Aeslin mice on their payroll. Even now, several of the mice scamper down off their perches and rush for the door, eager to give their deity the news of his waking. “How long has it been since the fight?”

“It has been a full day and a half by the human calendar, High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of The Darkness,” the mouse answers dutifully. “In an hour, the Blood Hunters will come, and make their reports once again, as will the High Priest of Undying Loyalty. The rest wait alongside the Lion Goddess for news of our vigil.”

It takes Shiro a bit to translate the Aeslin speak—his mind is still a little foggy—and even when he does, there’s just as many questions as answers. “A whole day? No, no, there was too much cleanup left to do. I need to—”

He starts to shove himself up, ignoring the soreness and mild twinges of pain as he does. But the Aeslin mice start to chatter frantically as he moves, a steadily rising mess of “This is not the wish of the Lion Goddess!” and “The High Priest of Those Who Walk Out of the Darkness must rest!” and other, nonsensical wails of concern. 

He groans, flopping back to the pillows and covering his ears with his hands. “Volume. Please. ”

Thankfully, the mice quiet once he lays back down, and he’s able to flop his arms out to his sides. “I can’t stay here. I have things to do. You did your job for Allura, now please don’t complain when I try to get up again, okay?”

“They are Concerned for You,” the mouse priest says, very seriously. 

“Why?”

“Because they are your new congregation,” Allura says from the door, striding inside with a smile. She folds her wings neatly in the more enclosed space to avoid accidentally knocking any of the mice across the surfaces flying. One of the blue-dyed mice sits on her shoulder, the older-looking head priest of the religious sub-group devoted to Allura specifically.

Shiro isn’t surprised to see her in her own home, but he is surprised by her words. “New congregation?” 

The Aeslin were primarily devoted to Allura, and all her family members before her. While they recognized her close family friends as ‘high priests’ to honor their importance to her, it wasn’t nearly so extensive as their worship of her. 

There were a few mice who dutifully memorized the stories and words of Coran or Shiro or the others, and they always paid their respects to Allura’s friends, often as loudly and enthusiastically as possible. The day each of them officially became a ‘high priest’ is celebrated with feasting, singing, dancing, and enthusiastic prayer. But those outside the Altea bloodline didn’t have extensive catechisms of their own. Their presence and stories were considered to be part of Allura’s catechisms, since they were considered to have been granted ‘high priesthood’ by her.

“Of course.” Allura sweeps a hand around grandly at the small congregation of mice across the surfaces. “Didn’t you see the new color?”

Shiro blinks, and gazes around the room at the mice again, paying more attention to the little home-made trinkets and clothes they have. Several of them puff up proudly, eagerly displaying the items for Shiro to see. He’s genuinely surprised to find that although the majority of the mice present still have red-dyed fur and carry religious trinkets for the branch devoted to Allura’s father, Alfor, many of them now also have black streaks in their fur, or wear makeshift black clothing. 

“I don’t understand,” Shiro says, bewildered.

The priest mouse that had been explaining everything to him earlier steps forward eagerly. “The High Priest of Those Who Walk Out of the Darkness achieved a heroic and noble victory against the powerful Mindless One,” he squeaks excitedly. “A victory that is equal in Magnificence and Holy Power to the victory of the God of Great Healing and Greater Science took against the Mindless Ones! Though you are not a God, of the line of Gods, you nevertheless have shown great Faith and Devotion. The spirit of the God of Great Healing and Greater Science lives on in your actions. HAIL!” 

“HAIL!” the mice around them cheer, leaping up and down in religious delight.

“My father’s faction was so impressed by your victory against Sendak, they have assembled a catechism specifically in honor of you,” Allura explains, more calmly, but with an amused smile on her face. “Many volunteers from my father’s priests have devoted themselves to you, and all agreed honoring you honors him as well. In effect, you are a High Priest of both myself and my father now, which has never happened before, and has thus elevated your status. You have a feast in your name, and the day of your victory is now a holiday by the Aeslin calendar. So is the day you chose to walk away from the Covenant to protect cryptids. Congratulations.” 

The mice take the congratulations to heart, continuing to cheer enthusiastically, “HAIL!” 

Shiro groans. “I think I’d prefer to go back to bed.”

Allura chuckles as she carefully strides around the bed to stand at Shiro’s side, talons clicking gently on the hardwood floor. “You’ll get used to it. Consider yourself lucky—for now, it’s only one feast, and two holidays. My family has had generations of mice and hundreds of different celebrations, feasts, festivals, holidays, days of mourning, and days of observance.”

“Thousands, Lion Goddess!” the Aeslin priest corrects, reverently but firmly. 

“Of course,” Allura says, placating. “Either way, you don’t have nearly as much to remember, even if having your own catechism means more will eventually be added. And this little fellow will remind you of anything important. He’s your high priest.” She gestures to the spokes-priest on the nightstand, who once again swells proudly. 

“He’s the high priest...to a high priest,” Shiro says, slowly. 

“It is So, High Priest!” the little mouse confirms. 

Shiro closes his eyes. “My head hurts.”

“A perfect transition,” Allura says. “I wanted to check on your healing status, anyway.” 

Without giving him a chance to argue, she reaches out and gently but firmly places her palm on Shiro’s forehead, closing her eyes as she concentrates. A little electric tingle seems to rush through his entire body as Allura’s wings begin to glow, and almost immediately some of the fogginess in his brain clears. The sore, pulled-muscle feelings in his chest, stomach, side, arm and leg all ease a little, and he doesn’t feel as tired as he did a moment before.

“You are healing very nicely,” Allura says, opening her eyes and smiling. “I was worried, at first, when you were brought in. But Kolivan’s medic team did an excellent triage job until I could heal the major injuries. I think you’ll be completely fine in a day or two.” 

The mice surrounding them give an enthusiastic, “HAIL! HAIL, THE HOLY BLESSING OF THE LION GODDESS! HAIL, THE RECOVERY OF THE HIGH PRIEST OF THOSE WHO WALK OUT OF THE DARKNESS!” Thankfully, after Allura’s healing touch, the sound isn’t nearly so grating as it had been five minutes ago.

“Thank you,” Shiro tells her honestly. “I know it’s not easy to heal such big injuries. I really appreciate it.” Even as he speaks, he can’t help but notice one of the wilting feathers on her wings that finally flutters free and lands lightly on the bedspread. Three of the mice leap forward immediately to collect it with reverence, after an approving nod from their goddess.

“And what else would I have done?” Allura asks. “Left you to die, after you single-handedly removed the leader of the largest threat to face my city in some time? You saved hundreds of innocent lives while risking your own. I would do no less in return.” 

“Still. I might have done just as well in a hospital. I appreciate you getting me back on my feet much faster.” Being laid up with any kind of injury was always nerve wracking. It was impossible not to imagine the Covenant had found him and would burst through the doors when he couldn’t escape, or that disgruntled cryptids with a grudge against his family would decide to take action while he was at his weakest. 

Allura nods. 

“And…” Shiro swallows. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but...the lycanthropy?”

He had, after all, been in a no-holds-barred fight with a ruthless werelion. Sendak had never bitten him, but both of them had been so bloodied by the end that it was still entirely possible fluids had been transmitted to an open wound without him realizing it, in the thick of battle. The chances of such an exchange transmitting lycanthropy were small, but they grew greater with every new transmission, and it was impossible to keep track of it in a fight.

It’s the little priest— his high priest, apparently—that answers. “The High Priest of Those Who Walk Out of the Darkness contains No Sickness!” he proclaims, to the enthusiastic “HAILS!” of the congregation around the room.

“It’s true,” Allura agrees. “The mice tested you thoroughly, including all the ones with personal experience from the sewer searches. They all agreed nothing had been transmitted to you.”

Shiro breathes a deep sigh of relief, and immediately feels some of the tension and anxiety melt away from him. After everything that he’d been through, if that had happened on top of it all...well, he’d have tried to deal with it, as best as possible. But it wouldn’t have been easy.

But there’s no sense in thinking about ‘what ifs’ now. “Thank you,” he says, both to Allura and the little priest. “Really. That is...great news.”

“HAIL!”

“If you’re feeling up to it, I think you should be able to get up out of bed now,” Allura offers. “I asked the mice to watch over you until I was able to assess you when you woke, but I think you are doing fine. Provided you do not engage in heavy activity for a few days, and take it easy,” she finishes, with a warning look. 

He raises both hands placatingly. “I’ll do my best,” he promises. “But I’m going to want answers, and to at least know the status of the mission. There were too many things to take care of, and I didn’t have a chance to get it started.” 

He pauses. Sniffs. Winces. “Actually, I’ll take those answers after a shower.” He’s been going non-stop on this lycanthropy case for more than a day, run himself ragged, been in multiple fights, and been unconscious for at least a day while coated in blood, sweat and dust. He feels vile, and he smells terrible.

Allura chuckles knowingly. “Very well. The bathroom is down the hall—the Aeslin can show you to it. There should be spare clothing there already for you. When you are done, the rest of us have been entertaining ourselves in the sitting room, and Keith should wake in less than an hour or so to join us. You are free to join us as well, and ask whatever questions you like.” 

“Thanks.”

She departs, and Shiro levers himself out of bed, under the watchful eyes of several dozen black-and-red clad mice. He feels a little shaky, but more from having been asleep for a full day than from any actual weakness, and he can feel the strength coming back to him as he walks.

True to Allura’s words, the mice are eager to guide him to the bathroom, chanting “HAILS!” and “PRAISES!” the entire way, two doors down. It’s the longest two-door walk of Shiro’s life. They gather eagerly at the door of the bathroom and watch with delight, attentively waiting for any scrap of wisdom from their newfound religious leader.

“Let’s get something straight,” Shiro says, glancing down at the mice. “First order: I’m to be left alone in the bathroom. The shower is for me alone. Got it?”

“HAIL THE SHOWER!” the mice cheer, apparently not at all disappointed by his first holy order. As he closes the door on their little faces, he can already hear them excitedly chattering about the Holy Word, committing his request to timeless scripture.

Shiro sighs in exasperation as he turns on the hot water. Maybe it would have been worth letting Sendak kill him, if it got him out of... this. 

One delightfully warm, long shower later, Shiro is dressed in one of the sets of spare clothes he’d left at Allura’s place for just such an occasion, when he’s stuck here recovering. 

Even better, to his delight, is discovering his new congregation of Aeslin mice had been busy outside the door while he’d been cleaning the blood and grit off. They had somehow located and produced his arsenal of weaponry from wherever it had been stored when he’d been brought in for healing, and had left everything in careful piles just to the left of the door. He gratefully stores away his throwing knives, sidearms, garrotte, police baton, and brass knuckles on his person, and stows the sword and crossbow away in the duffle bag the mice had also helpfully brought him. 

It feels good to be armed again—he felt more naked without his weapons than he did without clothes. Never be unprepared for a fight in any situation was the old Covenant adage, and Shiro had taken it up to eleven when he’d fled from them. Not all Covenant advice was sound, but that bit certainly was.

“Thank you,” he tells the mice honestly, as he slips away the last knife. “For finding these. I feel much better now.”

“HAIL!” the mice cheer, and his tiny high priest swells with pride at properly serving his religious leader.

Now clean and armed, Shiro makes his way down to the sitting room. To his relief, everyone he’d been worried about is there. Hunk occupies his own, comfortable overstuffed chair, and Allura has taken a second that is designed for her wings, with Coran standing attentively at her side. Lance is sprawled on the couch, next to an awake but sleepy-looking Keith nursing a mug of one of Hunk’s blood concoctions. To Shiro’s surprise, Rizavi and Kinkade are also there, chatting with the others. 

They all look up when they spot him, and everyone’s faces light up. “Shiro!” Hunk says, his tone a mix of delighted and relieved. “You’re okay! Oh man, I’m so glad. Allura said you’d be fine but it’s nice to see you not all passed out asleep. Are you hungry? Allura said you’d be hungry after all the healing, so I made food. Soup, since she said it should be light on your stomach. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Shiro admits. Now that he thinks about it, he’s ravenous. His last serious meal was breakfast at Sal’s Diner, and that was two days ago. 

Hunk dutifully fetches him a tray with a large bowl of soup, some bread, and a drink while Shiro settles down on the couch next to Keith and Lance. “Is everyone else okay?” he asks, glancing around at the rest of them. 

“I’m good,” Lance offers brightly. “A few minor burns and cuts from window glass. Allura healed me right up.” He shoots her a sappy smile, which she studiously ignores. 

“We’re fine too,” Rizavi offers, gesturing at herself and Kinkade. “We helped with the search efforts, but nothing got out of hand. So’re Griffin and Leifsdottir.” 

Keith merely grunts in answer. Based on the time, he’s probably still in the middle of his sun daze, and even less talkative than usual—the vampire equivalent to desperately needing his morning coffee. There are a few burns on his fingers and face, but they’re already light. A few more days of drinking human blood regularly and they’ll be all but gone. 

“My wounds weren’t too bad either,” Hunk says, as he settles the tray down on the coffee table in front of Shiro. He displays a bandage on one arm, and adds, “Should be good in a day or two, but Allura wanted to focus on your injuries first...you had us worried for a minute there, man.”

Shiro frowns, even as he starts in on the soup. “That bad, huh?”

“ Scary bad,” Hunk confirms. “And I was all alone, so like, what was I gonna do? It was hard enough to try and do first aid while also keeping my hair from biting you, ‘cause I was freaking out, so they were freaking out. It was not fun. I called Allura for help, and thankfully one of Kolivan’s search teams was nearby underground, so they were able to pop up and come help. Ulaz had some medical experience, so he was able to at least patch you up enough that we could move you.” 

“Such Carnage,” Shiro’s newfound Aeslin high priest says, from the position he’d taken on the back of the couch. Most of his new congregation had scurried off to do whatever Aeslin mice did, but this one remained, attentive to his new religious devotion. “Such Destruction. The Mindless One had great power, power enough to nearly overcome the Faith of the High Priest of Those Who Walk Out of the Darkness. The wounds upon the High Priest were Great and Terrible. Thus came the Hour of Fear and Darkness, when the High Priest’s strength and Faith were tested.”

Shiro sighs. “Let me guess. You were the Aeslin mouse assigned to Ulaz’ team to scent for lycanthropy- l.” 

The mouse stands tall and proud. “I had such an honor. I gain this honor now, for I bore First Witness to the Trials of the High Priest of Those Who Walk Out of the Darkness.” 

“Great.” Already, Shiro knows that’s going to be a story he hears over and over for the rest of his life, no matter how long it is. Aeslin lives are short—Aeslin oral history and culture is eternal. “Alright, so you got me here and Allura was able to heal me up. What about the mess in the auditorium?”

“The Marmora Society took care of that too,” Allura says. “They were able to remove the bodies of the werelions, clean up the blood, and destroy any evidence directly leading back to Sendak’s werelion fanatics, you, or Hunk. Not to mention themselves.”

“They were like, freaky good at it,” Hunk admits. “Like ninjas.”

“They have to be,” Keith says, speaking up for the first time. “The Marmora Society polices their own. Any vampire that crosses the line and threatens the Society or the cryptid community gets taken care of by them, and they smooth over all the damage after to keep from attracting unwanted attention.”

“They can’t have had time to clean up everything, though,” Shiro says, frowning. “The place was torn up. Doors off the hinges, ripped out auditorium chairs...I probably destroyed thousands of dollars of theater equipment and most of the set pieces for whatever production they were working on. They’d have had hours at best to handle it all.”

“That’s all still there,” Lance says. “I think the police are writing up as vandals, though. The same ones that started the fire. People are on high alert, but nobody’s looking for werelions.” 

“The show’s been cancelled, though,” Hunk adds. “Which sucks, because I was gonna go see it with Shay to support some other friends in it.” 

Shiro shrugs apologetically as he bites into the bread. It’s fresh, and still warm, not that he expects anything less of Hunk at this point.

“The Marmora Society also collected your weaponry,” Keith adds. “All the silver bolts you used, anyway. I found your knives outside when Lance and I looked for you after the fire. Lance dropped it off back home yesterday morning.”

That’s a relief. Although…”Dropped it off?”

“We’ve all been staying here for the day,” Lance admits. “Allura had plenty of guest rooms. We were worried about you. Plus…” he hesitates, glancing at Hunk. 

“The whole dorm burned,” Hunk says, a little miserably. “There’s nothing left. I didn’t have any place else to stay, so Allura’s putting me up for a day or two, until I figure something out. The school’s investigating and trying to figure out what to do with all the students who’d been living there, so until I hear back...”

“The whole thing?” Shiro says, alarmed. “Did everyone get out? Did Shay make it?”

“Shay’s fine,” Hunk says. “This pretty much shut down classes for a week or two, so she’s probably going home for a bit, but she’s fine. The rest…”

“There were mostly no casualties,” Keith says quietly. “We did what we could.”

“Alright,” Shiro says. “Fill me in on what happened after we split up.”

As it turned out, Keith and Lance had been very busy while Shiro and Hunk had been fighting for their lives against Sendak. Haxus had managed to disable all of the fire alarms in the entire building, and by the time they’d arrived, flames had already been licking up the edges of the exterior walls and the lower halls were already filled with smoke. 

Neither had been ready to let that beat them. Keith had gone inside the building itself, to sound the alarm and forcibly drag people from their beds if necessary. His superior vision and ability to hold his breath far longer than any human made the threat of smoke asphyxiation minimal, and didn’t slow him down any as he ran through the halls. 

Lance had taken a different route. Entering the building would have been far more dangerous for him, but he’d found another way to help. With his ability to stick to walls and ceilings, he’d assumed his quadrupedal form and dashed back and forth across the building’s exterior, wailing a terrifying high-pitched hunting scream and smashing every window he came across. Although chupacabra were never designed to hunt humans, primal instinct in their primate brains couldn’t let them simply ignore the hunting cry of a dangerous apex predator so close. Between that and the shattering glass, it was enough to wake even the deepest sleepers and the heaviest drunks. Most of them had enough sense to try and leave once they smelled the smoke and heard the alarmed shouts of other students. 

The two of them had kept it up until the fire department came, which finally forced Lance into hiding. Keith kept it up a little longer, but once the firemen had started entering the building, he’d been forced to retreat or risk exposure.

“It got a little toasty at the end,” Lance admits, but he’s grinning proudly to himself. “It’s a good thing I’m made of spikes or punching a ton of windows would have hurt a lot. And Keith got smoke inhalation anyway even though he doesn’t breathe, somehow.” 

“I breathe!” Keith snaps, glaring at Lance. “I just breathe less than the rest of you. And I didn’t see you in there hauling people out of beds!”

“People would start screaming if I went in there to haul them out of beds,” Lance says, glaring back. “And probably assume I was trying to eat them, as if any self-respecting chupacabra would drink people, eugh.” 

“It’s better than your gross goat blood.” 

“You take that back!”

“You guys sure are the saviors of the dorm,” Rizavi notes dryly, raising an eyebrow at the banter.

“Hail!” the few remaining Aeslin mice agree, cheering dramatically from their perches around the room. “Hail the bravery of the High Priest of Undying Loyalty and the High Priest of Unsuccessful Flirting!”

“What?” Lance’s head whips around, and he stares at the nearest mouse with a look of betrayal. “Aw, man! I hope they don’t go with that name…” 

Allura puts a hand to her mouth to hide her amused chuckle, and behind her, Coran openly grins at the experimental title. 

There were stories about the rescue, of course. Coran passes Shiro a tablet with several news articles on it, and he flicks through them with a studious eye. A few students claimed to have heard strange screaming noises, or seen shadows flicking past the windows, before they exploded. A few others had even more outrageous tales of a terrifying red-eyed demon that had smashed down their dormitory doors, dragged them thrashing out of their beds, and hauled them through the smoke and over flames to fire exits, or shoved them out broken windows. Those were largely being written up as hallucinations from stress and smoke inhalation, or explained away as the result of drinking or smoking a little too much. 

Shiro doesn’t think these stories will attract Covenant attention, either. The hallucinations story is thin enough for them to see right through, but he has a hard time believing the Covenant would accept the story of any cryptid saving people. 

“All told, there were nine casualties,” Coran says. “And about twenty students are in the hospital with serious injuries. Many others have minor injuries from the smoke or fire, but they should recover.” 

Nine deaths. Shiro’s heart sinks at that, and based on Keith’s and Lance’s uncomfortable looks, he knows they feel it too. They’d all done everything they could, and considering the circumstances, only nine deaths when there were supposed to be at least two hundred was shockingly good. But even so, Shiro wishes they’d been fast enough to prevent even that little loss of life. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Allura says softly, “It would have been worse, Shiro. All of you. It would have been so much worse if you hadn’t stepped in. I know it is difficult, but Hunk, if you hadn’t called Shiro that night, if that one student had not died and set things in motion...it would have been so much worse.” 

“We sure appreciate it,” Rizavi says, trying to lighten the mood. “You guys really helped us out a lot.”

Shiro sighs. “I’m glad there’s a silver lining there, at least.” He turns to eye the two werelions. “Where are Griffin and Leifsdottir, anyway?”

“At the Sanctuary,” Kinkade says. At Shiro’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “That is what most of our trainees are beginning to call that Atlas safehouse Allura gave us.”

“We came to update Allura on the stuff we still need, actually,” Rizavi says. “It’s got basic facilities, but if it’s a place to hide and teach lycanthropes how to stay in control and live normally, it still needs work. For starters, a safe place for people to deal with their first transformations, without destroying the place or escaping accidentally.”

“The Marmora Society has been assisting with medical procedures for now, as well,” Allura adds. “But Coran and I have already been researching to find doctors in the community that specialize in cryptid illnesses and diseases, and we’re starting to get a few hits. Hopefully we will be able to provide Sanctuary’s residents with a few on-call doctors that can help treat, and possibly cure, the lycanthropy- l they need to deal with.”

“Griffin’s overseeing it all for now,” Rizavi says. “He sent us here to report in, but he wanted to stay behind to make sure everything’s on schedule and everyone’s comfortable. Most people from below listen to him. Even that scary vampire—Kolivan?—listens to his advice about werelions.” 

That was not an unimpressive feat. Kolivan did not trust easily, and even less outside his own species. But Shiro’s not really surprised by the news. Griffin had a good head on his shoulders, and if he could get a decent chain of command and a good care plan set up, the werelions would probably be in safe hands. The fact that he’s already dedicated himself to the task says a lot about how far he could go with this.

“He would like to try opening it up to other lycanthropes, as well,” Kinkade adds. “Once we have better structure and safety methods set up for ourselves. If there is a place to go…” 

Then there would definitely be less potential destruction, and less people trying to deal with a frightening transformation on their own. “It’s a good idea,” Shiro agrees. “I’ll help however I can. Did you find everyone down below?”

“Near as we can figure,” Rizavi says. “Probably close to sixty people, all told. Leifsdottir thinks that’s all of them, based on all her crazy calculations and estimates. I don’t know how she keeps track of it all in her head. Math majors, am I right?”

Hunk chuckles at that. “Hah! For real.”

Sixty werelions. Shiro can’t help the icy cold feeling that rolls down his spine into his stomach at the thought. Prorok had at least sixty werelions in the process of being trained, all with the express purpose of wreaking havoc. Sendak had said their mistress’ purpose was blood. He and Haxus had clearly been disdainful of Prorok’s methods, but if he’d been able to complete his project...it would have been a massacre on a grand scale. 

And even with that project halted, the threat isn’t over. “There may be others on the streets, still,” Shiro warns. “We don’t know if others were bitten and didn’t realize what happened, like the victim that started all of this.” He frowns. “Which reminds me...did we find her, specifically?”

Rizavi and Kinkade exchange glances. “Yeah,” Rizavi says, after a moment. “She’s at the Sanctuary too. Real shook up over it, she sort of remembers killing the guy. Before that she was the kind of person that would never hurt anybody—heck, apparently she used to be vegetarian.” 

“We will help her adjust,” Kinkade says quietly. “That was her first time changing. It’s...hard, at first. She definitely needs to stay in Sanctuary for now. But with time, maybe…”

Shiro shakes his head, but more out of frustration than disagreement. It’s cruel and unfair, but there’s not much else they can do. The girl hadn’t asked for this, and clearly hadn’t intended to harm anyone, but Sendak’s cronies had made her sick and it had devastating consequences. With time, maybe she’ll be able to come to terms with them—both the physical, and the emotional. 

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you,” Shiro says, deeply apologetic. “Or the girl. Or any of you.” 

He wants so badly to be able to fix all of this, for their own well being, and for his. He’d spent so long believing lycanthropes really were monsters, violent and uncontrollable. He had terrifying memories of the horrific things they could do, things that haunt his nightmares. To learn he’d been wrong is a stab to the heart, and to learn he’d relentlessly judged people who had been victims, not monsters, even years after his escape from the Covenant, is another. To have finally learned the difference, and to realize it’s not something so easily fixed by an attitude change and a willingness to do better, is almost a slap in the face. 

But both werelions look genuinely surprised, and Rizavi says, “Are you kidding? Last week I was living in a sewer. I was convinced I was a bloodthirsty monster who could never go home, and that people would kill me on sight. I had to work for that asshole Prorok because we didn’t have other options. Now I’ve got a decent apartment, people who want to help us, and a whole new life goal for how to help other people. Might even be able to go back to school one day, or see my family again. Considering I’ve got this creepy lion virus, I think this is a best-case scenario.”

“Agreed,” Kinkade says, succinct and to the point as always.

Shiro offers them a weak smile. “If you say so. I admire your optimism.”

“You should,” Rizavi says. “And while we’re at it, you should also stop by the Sanctuary at some point. When you’re feeling up to it. I know Griffin still wants to thank you too, plus maybe you’ll have some ideas on how to help.”

“I’ll put it on my calendar,” Shiro agrees.

“Great! So that’s pretty much a win, right?” Lance asks brightly. “I mean, Shiro kicked Sendak’s ass, we got rid of all the other bad werelions as far as you guys know, we’ve got a whole rescue set up for new lycanthropes, and we totally saved the day. All we need now is a parade!”

“It’s not about the glory, Lance,” Keith says, frowning at him. 

“Nobody even knows we saved the day anyway,” Hunk adds. “Other than the Sanctuary guys and the Marmoran guys and Shay, anyway.”

“I know, I know,” Lance grumbles. “You guys take the fun out of all our cool superhero work.”

“We’re not superheroes—”

“Please, we’re totally the cryptid Justice League. Shiro’s our Batman cause he’s a boring human but still badass. Don’t tell me you don’t see it.” 

“That’s not what it’s about!”

Shiro passively absorbs the banter between his friends, frowning over Lance’s words. It’s not really a victory, not yet. There’s still months of testing and research to do, keeping an eye on mammal populations until the lycanthropy- l is confirmed gone. Until that’s taken care of, Shiro won’t truly sleep well at night, knowing there’s still a chance for a lycanthropy outbreak that isn’t controlled by Sanctuary.

And beyond even that, there’s the bigger threat. Galra. 

Not your family, Shirogane. You. House Altea’s pet monster hunter. A thorn in Galra’s side. You have already opposed us twice. You will die.

Shiro shivers. No, there’s definitely still a threat. This isn’t over. Not yet.

But the team desperately needs a victory. The past two days have been hard for all of them, in so many ways. The immediate threat is over. He’ll let them take the win, and discuss the matters more in-depth with Allura later.

So for now, he finishes off the last of his soup, and tunes back in to the now heated debate regarding superhero identities. “So I’m the Batman, huh? Does that mean I get those cool gadgets? ‘Cause, not gonna lie, I could really use one of those grappling hooks.” 

The next few days are a whirl of activity. Despite the technical victory, there’s still so much clean-up work to do to wrap up this whole unexpected mission, much of it tedious and routine. 

People only ever notice the hunting part of a monster hunting job. The post-kill work is never, ever appreciated, more’s the pity. 

Allura gives him the all clear to leave after waking in her penthouse, and Shiro is relieved to be able to go home and rest in his own bed. He’s also relieved because it means he’ll be parted from his congregation, which, after only a few hours, he already needs a break from.

“But we are your Devoted!” the high priest mouse protests, when Shiro is about to leave.

“I don’t have room for a splinter colony in my apartment,” Shiro counters, entirely reasonably. “I also don’t want to lose my deposit with you making new holes and tunnel systems in the walls I don’t own.” 

Allura’s penthouse is full of hidden chambers and tunnels in the walls, where the full congregation of Aeslin mice lived, worked and worshipped on a regular basis. She didn’t mind, but then, she’d lived with them for her whole life, and more importantly, she owned the whole building. He’s fairly certain his landlord won’t understand, or accept the argument of ‘but they’re my congregation and worship me’ as an excuse. Hell, if his landlord encountered talking mice, he’d probably torch the whole building.

The mice aren’t entirely convinced by this, so Shiro adds, “I also cannot guarantee the protection of the congregation. You know what hunts me and what my job entails. You also know where I came from. If they ever find me, they will not hesitate to kill you all because you’re different. It’s for your own protection that you can’t live with me.” 

It’s not entirely untrue, although his defenses aren’t as weak as he’s making it sound. It’s enough that the mice seem to buy into it, though. They grudgingly agree to remain in Allura’s penthouse with the main colony, as long as he tells them stories of his deeds when he does visit and work permits. 

When he leaves, he can already hear the high priest preaching to the rest of the sub-faction about how ‘The High Priest of Those Who Walk Out of the Darkness shields his flock from the Unbelievers, and that he hunts and treads where the Faithful cannot.’ It’s far edgier than he’d like, but considering the circumstances, he’ll take it. 

At least his apartment is blessedly silent. Mostly. 

He checks in on his studio on the way home. He’d missed lessons, with this most recent mess, and being unconscious for a whole day. Thankfully, Keith had thought to put up a sign indicating that Shiro was out sick for the human patrons, and that lessons would be delayed. The other lessons, in the cryptid community, were less of an issue. The community already knew about the lycanthropy outbreak, and had been smart enough to keep their heads down. 

So he gets one night of rest, at least. And despite having slept for a full day, he finds that by the time he gets home, he’s exhausted all over. Allura’s healing is highly effective, but it does drain one’s energy, and Shiro’s never been so glad to see his own bed. 

But by the next morning, he’s back at work. Keith is out cold in his sun coma in his room, and Lance has already left for the day to meet up with Hunk and Shay to survey the damage on the campus. So Shiro heads right back to Allura’s penthouse, while he’s unlikely to have eavesdroppers or cause an undue panic.

Coran meets him at the elevator, mildly surprised. “Shiro! Wasn’t expecting to see you back so quickly.”

“I wouldn’t have imposed again so soon if it wasn’t important,” Shiro promises. “But we have more things to discuss.” To the mice already coming out of the woodwork to greet him enthusiastically, he adds, “I’m invoking Witness for Food,” and hands over a box of donut holes as payment. 

“Serious things, I see,” Coran notes, expression growing hard. “I’ll get Allura and meet you in the study.”

It takes a little while to get everyone—himself, Allura, Coran, and what now amounts to five Witness mice, with the new sub-faction—arranged in the study. Coran insists on making tea and bringing in breakfast pastries to sample from while they talk, and Shiro’s growling stomach agrees. He’d been in such a rush at the Dunkin’s to get the payment for the mice he hadn’t bothered with himself. 

But once everyone is settled, he begins. “This thing with the lycanthropes—it’s not really over.”

Allura frowns, sweeping her wings back regally as she watches him sharply over her cup of tea. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

“The origin of the lycanthropes is the real problem,” Shiro says. “Sendak wasn’t an independent threat—he was a symptom of a much larger one. Galra.”

Allura’s frown grows deeper. “Galra. The same Galra behind the Macidus attacks, several months ago?”

“As far as I can tell.” Shiro leans forward, elbows on knees, fingers laced together as he talks. “Macidus talked of a mistress that he served, who had been enhancing his powers and rewarded him for killing as many people as possible. Sendak mentioned a mistress too, who assigned them the task of creating as much blood as possible. Based on the things they said, and what we saw in the sewers, it sounds like she was testing the effectiveness of lycanthropy- l as well.” 

Coran scowls at that. “Then someone else is calling the shots, and organizing some depraved experimentation on top of it. There’s a chain of command, and a mistress telling them what to do.”

“A mistress who has her eyes on my city,” Allura says angrily, as she raises herself in her seat a little higher. “That’s twice now that the order has involved carnage, and senseless killing, not to mention experimenting with cryptid abilities and uses. What is the purpose? To bring the Covenant down on our heads? To create new cryptid races and factions?”

“I don’t think so.” Shiro stares at the carpet. “Both Sendak and Macidus were pretty tight-lipped about sharing information, even if they both thought they would kill me.” That implied training, which implied organization and planning, both things Shiro does not like to think of in conjunction with mass murder. 

Allura’s eyes narrow. “I have looked for information since the Macidus incident, but I still have never heard of this Galra, or this mistress,” she says. She turns her eyes to the witness mice, all five perched delicately on the nearby table. “Is there anything in our family history that matches?”

The green-dyed mouse steps forward, bows reverently, and says, “No, Lion Goddess. The Aeslin have no knowledge of this ‘Galra,’ or any God they might serve.” 

“They’re clever, whoever they are,” Coran says. “This is our second encounter with them. Both attacks were fairly well thought out and both caused a great deal of damage, not to mention more than a few casualties. And if they were experimenting with cryptid abilities, we have no way to know if they got the results they wanted, or if they plan to take it further.” 

“And we still don’t know anything about them,” Shiro concludes. 

“I will reach out to my contacts, both in the city and outside of it,” Allura says. “If there is any knowledge of this ‘Galra,’ I will know of it. They threatened my city,” she growls, outraged, as if it’s a personal offense. 

And it might very well be, Shiro realizes. “There’s...one more thing.”

There must be something in the tone of his voice that reveals the direness of the situation, because Allura sets her teacup aside. She settles her hands in her lap, attentive and waiting. Coran also stops bustling about with the tea set, and even the mice lean forward in anticipation.

Shiro sighs. “Sendak knew me. He was targeting me directly.”

“That is not unusual, in this city,” Allura says. “You have been working hard to build a reputation amongst the community as a safe Shirogane. Certainly he must have heard rumors.” 

“No, this was different,” Shiro says. “He didn’t know me by my family reputation, or even as just a ‘safe Shirogane.’ He called me House Altea’s pet monster hunter. He said this mistress, whoever she is, is specifically aware of me intruding on their plans twice, and that it means I’m a target to them.” 

Allura frowns. “It is not... unknown that you protect this city now, either,” she says slowly. “Or that you have done so at my request.” 

“No, but it’s getting a lot closer to the truth,” Shiro says. “Most people just assume you have some kind of dirt on me, or hire the nasty monster killer to kill the things you think need killing, like some kind of cryptid assassin. Sendak...he was too close to the truth. He knew things, things he shouldn’t have.”

Did you think you could hide away forever? Did you really think you could earn yourself a little redemption with this silly game?

Shiro shudders. 

“This is bigger than just being irritated because I’ve intervened,” Shiro finishes. “They know that I, specifically, am a threat to their operation. They know why I do what I do, and what motivates me to stop them. And since they called me your pet monster hunter, they know you’re a threat, too.” 

“Then Allura could be in danger,” Coran summarizes, eyes widening. “She could be a target. And we don’t even know where to look for this Galra!”

Allura squares her shoulders and sweeps her wings back regally once more, chin held high. “It makes no difference,” she says, determined. “They will not frighten me. I will not run. This is my city. The House of Altea has protected it and its community for generations, and I will always be a threat to anyone who dares to harm it. I will not relinquish that duty now.”

Despite their vow of silence for the duration of the meeting, the witness Aeslin burst into a frenzy of enthusiastic cheers. “HAIL! HAIL THE LION GODDESS! HAIL THE COVENANT OF THE CITY! HAIL!” 

Shiro shakes his head, weary. He can’t really explain the way Sendak’s words to him and dug so deeply. The man had gotten under his skin so easily. Allura’s words make a logical kind of sense, but he still can’t help but feel like he’s being watched. Like this Galra has him under surveillance, and know his darkest secrets and his deepest desires. 

“I don’t expect you to run,” he says. “I never did. But I do suggest you be careful. Please. Galra has struck twice. They want this city for something. Whatever they’re trying to do, you’re in the way of it. You’re an obvious target. Watch yourself.”

Allura nods graciously. “I accept your warning. And if you still wish to give it, despite all that has happened—your aid.”

Shiro sits back in his chair again, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “Of course you have it, Allura. If there’s one thing the House of Altea and the Covenant of St George have in common, it’s that none of us ever run when we should.” 

The next day is dedicated to visiting Sanctuary. 

It’s an apartment complex built in one of the middle-income sections of the city, with more cryptid neighbors than most. The area is relatively safe, with lower crime rates and access to a plethora of modern amenities and shops, as well as an easy access point to the cryptid underground. It would have been perfect for Allura’s original intention of creating a safe housing district for cryptid families that was affordable and accessible to non-humans, with a landlord that would understand the need for roof access, protection from sunlight, or a need for extreme privacy. 

Now, it serves as a lycanthrope haven. 

Griffin meets him outside, along with Leifsdottir, Kinkade and Rizavi, and the four eagerly give him the grand tour. “It still needs a lot of work,” Griffin says, “But Allura’s got a lot of contractors that are cryptid friendly—or just cryptids—on payroll. We’re figuring it all out.”

One of the modifications is extreme soundproofing, reinforced walls, and a lockdown procedure—a necessity given the potential violent tendency of lycanthropes undergoing their early transformations. First transformations are confusing, painful, and frightening, and even mild mannered lycanthropes are capable of extreme levels of damage and a great deal of noise. While the neighbors are predominantly cryptids, not all of them are. Even the cryptids might take issue with excessive amounts of screaming, roaring, and breaking things on a regular basis. 

Beyond that, the facility is planned to have a medical wing on the first floor. It will be for both study and research of the lycanthropy virus, as well as for an alternative resource for even standard medical evaluations. Blood tests drawn at a local clinic or hospital would inevitably turn up results that would cause problems, but the new lycanthropes still need someplace to go when they catch the flu or break a leg. Allura already has contractors set aside to build the facility, and several more doctors interested in the position, Griffin notes proudly.

The complex is otherwise like any other sort of apartment building in the middle of the city. The lycanthropes who have displayed some degree of control over their transformations have all claimed apartments in the building, and most of them have already taken to setting up their newfound homes as they see fit. The ones who haven’t quite mastered their disease and are still potentially at risk for causing harm are kept in secure, but comfortable temporary apartments in the basement level, and are worked with consistently every day by more experienced lycanthropes until they gain full control. 

The first floor has a functioning gym, a small pool, and an indoor greenhouse. Allura had spared no expense when designing the place for a variety of different cryptids originally. All in all, it seems like a fairly nice place to live, and the best the lycanthropes could hope for given the circumstances. 

“Allura’s even covering the expenses,” Rizavi says brightly. “Electricity, water—she’s not even charging us rent.”

“You’re paying enough by letting the doctors study you,” Shiro says. “I know that won’t be easy, but trust me—you’re doing a huge service to the entire cryptid community. If there’s a way to combat lycanthropy, everyone would benefit.” 

He might even be tempted to anonymously send a tip back to the Covenant, in the event of a cure. It would save lives on all sides. He thinks back to the infestation in France—to the dead victims, and to the two Covenant agents who had taken their own lives over becoming monsters—and quietly closes his eyes for a moment. 

Yes—that would be one piece of information that would definitely be worth breaking radio silence for.

“It will benefit us in the end, too,” Leifsdottir says. “That is hardly a payment.” 

“I just wish there was a better way to give back to the community,” Rizavi admits. “I guess we’ll figure something out eventually. Maybe we can help Allura with other stuff, once we get a handle on all of this.” Kinkade nods in agreement.

Shiro finishes up the tour with them, impressed with the building. Allura had been kind, giving this to them, but then this was who Allura was. A beacon for the community, always protecting them, always doing everything she could to help them. It was no wonder so many in the community thought of her as royalty. 

He does point out a few different weak points for them to target with their renovations. That was what they had asked him for. He suggests plans for every problem and a contingency for every plan; an escapee on the streets, a new lycanthrope discovered who needs help, a way to keep humans or other cryptids from wandering in accidentally. They take all his suggestions to heart, especially Griffin, who types it all up on a tablet to bring to Allura’s attention later. 

But it’s when he’s leaving that the most important conversation happens. Leifsdottir, Kinkade and Rizavi say their goodbyes and head back inside to get back to work with their preparations and training, but Griffin hesitates. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” Shiro agrees, curious. 

Griffin runs a hand through his hair, and finally sighs. “Look, I’m kind of new to all of this. This is...a lot to take in, and apparently I’m in charge of it all, somehow.”

Shiro chuckles. “I’ve been there. For what it’s worth, you’re doing just fine. You’re a born leader, and those three have your back. Everyone else here really trusts you. You’ll be great.”

Griffin smiles tiredly at that. “Coming from you, that means a lot.” His expression grows serious. “Look. You didn’t let us down. You kept your promise, you treated us with respect, and you made sure all of us got help. No man left behind. None of us ever figured we’d ever have an opportunity like this, and it’s all because of you.” 

“Not just me,” Shiro says. “I hope you know you can rely on Allura and the others, too. Maybe not all of the community will be so kind. Lycanthropy has a...a stigma to it. But we’re all here for you.”

“I know. I’ve seen all of you in action, I know you’re trustworthy.” Griffin meets Shiro’s eyes. “But you’re the one who first reached out to us. You offered a hand instead of filling our skulls full of silver. So thanks.” 

Shiro internally winces. He really doesn’t deserve such a heartfelt thanks. Until that encounter, he’d been absolutely ready to do exactly what Griffin is thanking him for avoiding. 

But he’d tried, at least. He’d tried to be better. That had to count for something in the end. “You’re welcome.”

Griffin nods, but he doesn’t seem done yet. He regards Shiro carefully for a moment, before he speaks up again. “Prorok’s idea...with a werelion army. It was bad, obviously. All of us have to pay for his stupid plans. And nobody’s happy with the idea that he just wanted us to hurt people indiscriminately. None of us were okay with that and we’d never do that.”

“I know,” Shiro says, a little perplexed as to where this is coming from. “We’d have done things a little differently if all of you were out for blood.”

“Yeah, well…” Griffin shrugs. “I did some asking around. Talking to the contractors and things. Learning more about this cryptid community. It’s kind of funny...everyone I asked talks about Shiroganes like they’re the monsters under the bed.”

Shiro frowns, now very curious where this is going. He crosses his arms almost without thinking. “My family has...done a lot of terrible things that I’m not proud of.”

“I wouldn’t know it, talking to just you. You seem pretty okay to me. You’re the first person who offered to help us, and you always stood up for us.” Griffin shrugs. “I guess what I’m getting at is...if you ever need a werelion army...give us a call. We’re there to help. I don’t think anyone would argue.”

Shiro’s heart freezes for just a moment. “I...that is a very dangerous power to offer me. I don’t know if that’s wise.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Griffin says. “You get that. So I’d trust you with that kind of power. I think you’d use it the right way, if the city ever needed us.” He shrugs. “So, y’know. If something really bad is going on, and you need some extra soldiers...we’re here. We’re ready to pay it back to the community, and to you.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shiro says. “But I hope I never have to make that call.”

But against Galra...maybe, one day, he might have to.

“Me, neither,” Griffin admits. “But I wanted to be sure you knew.” He glances back at the Sanctuary. “Anyway. I gotta get back to work. We’re helping some of the newer werelions this afternoon and I need to figure out how to train them.” 

“You’ll do fine, Griffin,” Shiro promises, and he really does mean that.

“Thanks.” 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Shiro tells him. “The offer goes both ways. If you guys ever need help with anything—give me a call.”

“Will do,” Griffin says, before tossing him a little salute, and heading back indoors. 

For a few days after that, things quiet. At least for a little while. 

Which isn’t to say they’re completely uneventful...but at least it doesn’t involve throwing himself into mortal combat. Shiro keeps touch with Allura regularly, and Keith with Kolivan. Both leaders have established lycanthropy watch networks, and information pours in daily. They’re beginning to be able to map the extent of the damage Prorok had caused with reported sightings of ‘rabid’ animals or half transformed corpses, and they’re slowly starting to get a handle on just how much work is left for them.

It’s not ideal, and as long as any creature with lycanthropy is out there, there’s still a danger of outbreak. But it’s a start, and between the network and the Sanctuary, Shiro feels like they’re at least starting to get their arms around the problem.

But there’s still fallout in other ways. And the next biggest issue comes to light a week after the climactic battle with Sendak. Hunk arrives at Shiro’s apartment in an anxious frenzy, an exasperated Lance in tow, pacing and rambling so much Shiro actually starts to get dizzy. 

“I’ve been trying to calm him down all morning,” Lance says, giving Shiro a tired look. “Please work your magic and fix things.” 

Shiro can only raise an eyebrow at that.

“They sent out emails to everyone in my dorm on next steps,” Hunk explains, when Shiro finally manages to talk him down from his anxious maelstrom enough to actually communicate. “ Look.” He hands over his phone, which Shiro takes dutifully. He thumbs through the official email quickly and immediately sees the problem.

The university’s response was fairly reasonable. They were not cancelling classes, but would be awarding partial refunds to students who had lived in the afflicted dorm and had opted to halt the semester early in light of the tragedy. It would not affect grades or overall placement in the university, and students’ places were still guaranteed for the next semester. 

If students wanted to stay and continue on, professors had been asked to give leniency and extensions, and the school had contracted with a few local hotels to provide housing for the remainder of the year. Students would be paired with new roommates if their old ones were no longer available. But due to space constraints, all students would be housed in a double room with another person.

That was reasonable for humans. It was less reasonable for cryptids, especially ones like gorgons, who had a few notable living constraints others didn’t. 

“Okay,” Shiro says. “That’s unfortunate. I’m guessing you want to stay, and not take the refund and try again next semester?”

“Of course I do!” Hunk says. “Besides, the whole dorm won’t be rebuilt in time for the next semester anyway. They’ll probably be contracting with the hotels until they’ve got housing options again, and they definitely won’t be offering single rooms. I can’t wait forever, I’m kind of on a time limit here!”

That was true. Hunk only had a few more years before he was tall enough that people would definitely take notice. 

“I don’t want to leave, anyway,” Hunk admits, softer now, but no less anxious. “I like it here. I like you guys, you’re my friends. I like my classes. I like this city. I don’t want to have to turn tail and leave over this.”

“Aww,” Lance says, grinning a little. “I knew you liked us.”

“What do your parents think?” Shiro asks, putting the conversation back on track. “Your community?”

“I haven’t told them yet,” Hunk admits. “I’m afraid they’ll tell me to just come back home and try a new university. But I like Garrison U. And it’s not their fault the place burned down, nobody expects rampaging cultist werelions.” 

“Worse than the Spanish Inquisition,” Lance agrees.

Shiro shoots Lance an exasperated look. “Alright. So to keep going to school here, you’d need someplace else feasible to stay.”

“Yeah, but I’m a broke college kid,” Hunk says. “I can’t afford an apartment here, even with the partial refund everyone gets on housing, and even with help from back home. City living is expensive!”

“What about Allura?” Shiro says. “You’ve been staying at her penthouse, haven’t you?”

“Yeeees,” Hunk says. “And she’s offered to give me a room there, and that’s super nice of her, but I also kind of don’t want to. It’s kind of creepy with all the security there...and my hair gets hungry every time the Aeslin mice are around, which is like, all the time . It’s manageable for little visits, but I’m kind of afraid somebody will get eaten at some point. My hair can’t tell the difference between super smart mice and normal ones.” 

That was, admittedly, a very fair point. Aeslin mice were intelligent, and knew better than to get too close. But all it would take was one accident, and Hunk would be forever immortalized in Aeslin doctrine as a killer of the priesthood, which probably would not go over well in the long run. 

“I mean, the answer seems pretty obvious to me,” Lance says. “You can just stay with us! Right, Shiro?”

Shiro gives him a bewildered look. 

“I mean, Hunk already stays over here all the time anyway for game nights,” Lance continues, oblivious to Shiro’s stare. “And he can’t have a ton of stuff to bring with him anymore since, y’know, it all burned. We all know he’s a gorgon and we’re cool with that. So why not?”

It’s on the tip of Shiro’s tongue to say it’s just not feasible. There’s not enough room. His apartment already feels too small with a human, a vampire and a chupacabra in residence; he’d never purchased it years ago with the intention of anyone but himself living there. Adding a gorgon to the mix could actually be dangerous. If there was one thing any creature with venomous hair with a life of its own needed, it was appropriate amounts of space.

But Hunk gives him such a wide-eyed, hopeful look that Shiro can already feel his normally iron will cracking.

He sighs. “Sure. Why not. I’ve been meaning to get a bigger place, anyway.”

Hunk actually beams at him.

Allura has been a helpful resource in many different research projects, but Shiro had never quite expected to get her help on apartment listings. 

Her aid proves invaluable, though, in the long run. Allura has contacts all over the city, and is instrumental in helping him find good-sized apartments with reasonable defensibility that won’t put cryptids or humans at risk in the event of a Covenant attack. Shiro ultimately finds a multi-bedroomed apartment for a decently affordable price, close enough to Garrison U for Hunk to commute, and within a reasonably safe area. Not that he’s particularly concerned about muggings for himself, a vampire, a chupacabra, and a gorgon, but it’s convenient to not have to defend oneself on a daily basis from ordinary human thugs. 

“You could have just stayed here, you know,” Allura says, as she helps Shiro with the final paperwork on the apartment. “I have more than enough levels to spare for all of you.”

“It’s safer if all our eggs aren’t in one basket,” Shiro counters. If the Covenant or Galra ever did attack, it would be imperative that both Allura and Shiro weren’t under the same roof. Having a man on the outside for a rescue or a counterattack was essential. 

Besides—despite years of working with Allura, Shiro still hasn’t quite earned the trust of her extensive security staff. It’s irritating enough on visits, to put up with their glares. He can’t imagine the thought of dealing with it multiple times a day.

And, maybe, he also would like to avoid his personal Aeslin congregation as much as possible, and living in-house makes that extremely im possible.

The new apartment is nice, though. Shiro takes a week to get it all set up like his old one, with sun-filtering glass and darks for Keith’s protection, and sturdy blinds for everyone else’s privacy. Everyone gets their own room—particularly essential for Hunk—and there’s even a spare left over for him to store his weapons, reagents, and research materials in. He finally doesn’t have to worry about accidentally poisoning any of the cryptids that live with him when they wander through the dining room and touch something by accident. 

The team settles in reasonably well, and if Shiro’s honest, having Hunk as a full-time roommate really doesn’t take that much adjusting to. Lance had been right; they were so used to Hunk spending the night for late night movie and game sessions that it’s not a huge step for him to be there permanently. He gets along with both Keith and Lance very well, and is usually able to break up any spats between the two with minimal fuss. There’s always good food in the refrigerator and the cabinets, and Hunk has taken it upon himself to be in charge of the kitchen and the grocery shopping, in repayment for being given a place to stay. He’s a good roommate. 

There are some minor adjustments, of course. Hunk is extremely careful about always putting on protective contact lenses or glasses before ever leaving his room, and everyone else is equally careful about wearing their own eye protection before knocking on the door to fetch him. Shiro makes it a priority to always have pliny's gorgon antivenin in the first aid kit, and be sure everyone knows how to use it. It becomes almost second nature to give Hunk just enough space for his hair to be comfortable, although Shiro notes with interest that the longer he lives with them, the more relaxed the snakes get around all of them. He has a tendency to snoop through other peoples’ things or ask nosy questions, but that’s hardly anything new, and Shiro takes to locking anything private, personal or dangerous up if he doesn’t want Hunk to get into it.

Most importantly, never in a thousand years would Shiro ever have expected to have such a feeling of family again. If he’d been told, the day he left the Covenant, that he’d one day have a large home filled with happiness and safety and friendship, he’d have laughed in their faces. But it seems like for all the disasters he’s encountered since leaving his old home, his family somehow keeps growing, and his life gets warmer, and his decisions feel more and more right. 

It’s not a feeling he’d trade for anything in the world.

Chapter Text

“Running and screaming comes later, after we don’t die. It would be a little self-indulgent right now.”
—Antimony Price, Magic for Nothing 

In the park at midnight, not having a great time

“Hot dog stand!” Lance yelps. “ Duck!” 

Shiro hurls himself aside, narrowly avoiding the little food vendor cart as it whistles past his left ear. He hits the grass, rolls to his feet, and searches for his quarry.

“No!” the creature in question shrieks. “No, no, no, no! No monsters! I just want my mommy!” 

Ghosts are not an uncommon spectacle in the cryptid world, and of all the non-human supernatural occurrences, they’re probably the ones humans are most willing to accept as real. Dealing with ghosts is par for the course for any kind of hunter. Shiro had known how to exorcise things since he was three. 

This one is proving problematic, though. Mostly because it’s the ghost of a six year old, deep in the throes of a temper tantrum. 

The accident happened two months ago. It had been tragic—a six car pileup at a local intersection that had resulted in the deaths of four people and major injuries for five others. Among the victims were a mother and her six year old son, who had been T-boned by a truck rushing a red light. The coroner’s report concluded they had both died instantly. It had been considered a tiny blessing that they hadn’t suffered.

Shiro had investigated the accident, of course. He made it a point to check most accidents, fires, murders, and scenes of other unexpected deaths, partly to look into foul play, and partly in case anyone involved... lingered. Sudden, violent deaths were the most common reasons for spirits to stick around, and humans seemed to do so more than any other species. Half the time, they didn’t understand they were dead, but the loneliness and frustration and confusion usually led to destruction and chaos if it was allowed to go on too long. 

He hadn’t turned up anything at the scene of the accident. It looked like the spirits had all moved on, and hadn’t needed his intervention. But when he’d heard about strange things beginning to happen at the park just a block away from the crash site, he’d had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d missed something.

“I want my mommy!” the ghost of six-year-old Noah shrieks again. He glimmers faintly in the dark, pale and barely visible in the park’s street lamps. Shiro can feel more than see the dark aura surrounding him, angry and violent in the purest, unfiltered way only a child could truly pull off. 

“See-saw!” Hunk shrieks, and everyone dives for cover as the playground equipment rips free of the ground and hurtles in their direction. Bright, colorful plastic flashes past overhead and slams into a tree hard enough to make it crack.

“How is he doing that?” Keith hisses. Of all of them, he’s having the easiest time dodging, with his superior night vision and heightened agility. That doesn’t seem to help him get any closer to the kid, though.

“Poltergeist,” Shiro answers. “They usually haunt houses. This one picked a playground instead, I guess. Not the weirdest haunting I’ve seen, sadly.”

“I am really, really scared to hear what you think a weird haunting would be,” Hunk moans, as he tries to find cover behind a tree, his hair writhing and hissing in agitation.

The poltergeist in question stomps his feet in frustration, beats his little fists at the air, and howls with pure, exhausted, frightened, child-like fury. Keith’s eyes widen, and he careens into Lance and Shiro, knocking them aside just as a shovel goes whizzing by overhead. 

“Better question,” Lance yips, voice high-pitched with shocked fear. “Where is he getting all this stuff?”

“Groundskeeping shed,” Keith says. “He ripped it through the wall.”

“He almost decapitated me!” Lance says. “Shiro, when you asked for my help ‘cause I’m good with kids, I didn’t expect decapitating ghost six year olds!” 

“Me too!” Hunk hollers, from behind his tree. “The same goes for me! Scary kids are not cool!”

“This really surprises you two?” Shiro asks, rolling to his feet and circling, looking for a good way to get close. “When would you ever expect a job of mine to be normal?”

“I figured, like, your self defense job. You teach kids self defense!”

“At midnight?” Keith asks, giving Lance an incredulous look.

“Shut up, Keith.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, but a witty retort is abandoned as he throws himself aside in time to dodge a rake and a pair of pruning shears. Near the swingset, the ghost of Noah calls again, “Where’s MOMMY? She’s supposed to come GET me!” 

“Your mother’s dead!” Keith calls back. “And so are you! She’s not gonna come to you, you have to go to her!”

Shiro inwardly groans. 

There’s a frightening, silent pause, and then Noah screams. “No! No! You’re a bad monster! I want my MOMMY!” The ground rumbles alarmingly, cracking beneath their feet, and several of the park trees along the landscaped path creak and groan warningly. “She’ll come GET me! She SAID! She said she’d GET me!” 

“Real smooth, Keith!” Lance snaps, bolting for cover. “Have you ever talked to a kid before?”

“I hated it when people tried to sugar coat my parents being gone!” Keith hisses, glaring. “I thought that would work!”

For someone like Keith, who has always preferred blunt, straightforward talk, it might have. For a traumatized ghost child that’s already confused enough, it definitely doesn’t. 

“Hunk, can you stun him?” Lance asks, narrowly missing being impaled by the spikes of a decorative metal fence post.

“I can’t stun dead things!” Hunk yelps. “They don’t have a nervous system to stun!”

Shiro swears under his breath. He’s not quite close enough to use his usual toolkit, and the kid is screaming so hard no exorcism phrases he could speak would even be heard. 

More than that, he really doesn’t want to have to go the hard route with this kid. Six year old Noah is currently an almost literal unholy terror, but it’s hardly his fault. He didn’t ask to die in an accident, and he certainly doesn’t understand what was happening to him. Most adult ghosts couldn’t even do that. 

“Noah!” he calls instead. “Noah, buddy—I need you to try and calm down, okay?”

The ghost doesn’t stop flinging things. But he does seem suitably distracted enough by someone knowing his name that the ground stops shuddering ominously. “You’re not my mommy or daddy,” he observes after a moment.

“I know, buddy,” Shiro says. He keeps his arms out, hands spread wide, as unthreatening as possible. Aware that he also towers over the poor kid with sheer height, he also keeps his distance. “I know. I’m sorry about that. But I’m here to help you.”

The ghost child eyes him suspiciously. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he says after a moment, wary. “Mommy says strangers could take me away.” 

“That’s true,” Shiro agrees. “That’s very smart. That’s good of you to remember.”

The child seems mollified enough with the praise that the haphazard items scattered about begin to float, instead of hurling themselves with alarming speed at peoples’ heads. The dark aura diminishes, just a tad. 

“You’re a stranger,” the ghost says after a moment. “I don’t know you. Go away. I want my mommy.” 

“I’ll stay right over here,” Shiro promises. “I won’t come near you at all, okay? I just want to help. Are you lost, Noah?”

The ghost stares at him for a moment. “No,” he says. “I’m at the playground.” 

Okay. Well. He’d sort of deserved that one.

“That was a dumb question,” Shiro says. “Okay. Did you get separated from your mom?”

Noah sniffs. “She’s supposed to come GET ME. That’s what she said! She said if I couldn’t find her, go to the swings, and she’d come GET ME!” The ground rumbles alarmingly again, and several of the floating items shoot off into the dark, causing surprised yelps from his companions. 

“Woah. Sssh, Noah. It’s okay, buddy. We’ll figure this out.” Shiro waves his hands gently and pitches his voice low and soothing. It seems to help, since the dark aura around the ghost recedes once again.

“I want my mommy,” little Noah says after a moment. He can’t actually cry, as a ghost. But he doesn’t understand he’s dead, and his see-through body does a shocking impersonation of crying. “I’m scared. I wanna go home. I want MOMMY.”

It’s depressingly clear what’s happened here, by now. His parents must have had a rule for him if he got separated on family outings, and gave him a designated place to go when he’d gotten lost. He’d followed the rule perfectly. He just hadn’t understood he was dead, and his family couldn’t search for him anymore. The mother’s ghost had been long gone—she’d probably already passed on, expecting her child to be there, and couldn’t return for him anymore. The father wouldn’t even know to look for him.

“I can help you find your mom, Noah,” Shiro says. “I know where she is, okay? If you let me help you, you can go see her.”

The child sniffles again, but regards him with wary hope. “You can?” 

“I can,” Shiro confirms. “But to hear her, you’re going to have to calm down and stop hurting people. Okay?” 

The ghost seems to consider this, but stares over at Shiro’s friends after a moment. Keith has been stealthily slinking closer in the dark with a small pouch of purifying salts, and Lance, now in his chupacabra form, is also belly-crawling closer on his stomach. The ghost’s eyes flash, but more with fear than anger as he whimpers, “I don’t LIKE them. They scare me. Go away, monsters!” 

Lance makes an animal howling noise as the same shovel from earlier narrowly misses clipping off one of his spines, and he awkwardly leaps sideways. Keith, red eyes flashing in the gloom, dodges the hot dog stand again and hisses in frustration, showing gleaming fangs. 

“Okay, everyone, back off!” Shiro yells to his friends, as the young ghost jumps back in fright that rapidly shifts to a swirling storm of emotional fury. He knows Keith and Lance are more or less harmless—at least to a six year old—but the child certainly doesn’t. And he has to admit, a spiked lizard-dog larger than he is and a red-eyed, fanged creature looming out of the darkness would probably scare the hell out of him, in Noah’s position. He’d fight back too. 

“But Takashi—” Keith protests.

“Now,” Shiro answers, in a tone that brooks no argument. They grumble, but they retreat.

The ghost regards him with confusion “You made the monsters go away?” 

Shiro’s not going to press the point about ‘monsters’ verses ‘cryptids’ with a six year old. “Yes.”

“Are you a police?” the child asks next. “Mommy said I can talk to police people.” 

“Sort of,” Shiro says. “For...monsters.” The word itches on his tongue, but he spits it out anyway.

“I don’t like monsters,” the child says. “There was one in my closet. They’re mean. I want my mommy. I’m scared.” 

“Okay,” Shiro says. “Okay, buddy, I know. There’s not gonna be any more monsters here. I’m gonna help you. Can I come sit next to you on the swings?”

The child finally nods, and the floating objects swirling around him gradually lower to the ground as the dark aura of loneliness, fear and confusion starts to diminish. He settles onto one of the swings, and Shiro, walking over slowly and carefully, sits down on the one next to him. They’re made for children, and he’s far too big for them, with his knees stuck up too high and his back awkwardly hunched. Noah seems to appreciate it anyway.

He’s in prime position to act, if he really needs to. But he’s starting to get this little ghost to trust him, and if he’s lucky, maybe he can do this in a less traumatizing way.

“Okay,” he says. “So, your mom was supposed to pick you up here?”

“Yes,” the ghost says. “But it’s been a real long time and I’m scared. Nobody wants to play with me. I don’t like the dark. I want my night light. I want my teddy. I want my mommy.” 

“That sounds really scary,” Shiro says. Because he’s been through and seen things that would make adult men and women wet themselves, but for a six year old nothing can be more terrifying than being out in the park alone at night, with no one to comfort him. 

The ghost nods. Shiro can feel the swirl of uninhibited child emotions near him, so pure and unrefined and strong, but this time they don’t manifest in a violent way. The poor thing is scared, lonely, and lost. He wants to go home.

Shiro uses that to help him.

“Okay,” Shiro says. “I want you to do something for me, okay? I want you to close your eyes, and think about the last time you saw your mom.”

“If I close my eyes the monsters will come back,” the child says, whimpering softly.

“I promise, I will not let any monsters get you,” Shiro says. It’s a promise most parents have probably made to their kids at some point, but Shiro could quite literally fight them off if it actually came to it. 

The ghost considers this. He must believe Shiro the monster-police-officer on some level, because he closes his eyes. 

“Do you remember what you did with your mom last?”

“I did Kindergarten,” the child recalls, eyes squeezed shut. “It was the last day, but mommy said I could have Justin and Sarah come over to play for summer. She said I did good at school and we got ice cream and she said I could have mac and cheese and applesauce for dinner.” 

That alone is painful to listen to. The kid had a whole life ahead of him, and now he didn’t, because some asshole just had to beat the red light. And worst of all, he’s far too young to understand the injustice of it, to know he should have had more time.

“And then?” Shiro asks.

“And then…” the little ghost frowns. “It’s loud. I don’t like it. I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” The wood shavings around their feet start to hover, floating just a few inches off the ground, surrounding them like circling asteroids. Everything gets colder.

“Shhh,” Shiro says. “That’s okay. You don’t have to. Can you think about your mom? You got ice cream?”

“I got a cone,” the child says proudly. The wood shavings trickle back to earth, settling once more. “Chocolate. With rainbow sprinkles! For doing good at school. Mommy said so.”

“Can you remember her voice?”

“Yes. It’s my MOMMY,” the child says, as if Shiro had asked an especially stupid question. 

“Alright. Think about her voice. And I want you to do something important—can you listen for her? Listen really hard. I bet she’s calling your name, from really far away. Like if she was on the other side of the playground and telling you it’s time to go home.”

The ghost’s brows squeeze down in concentration. There’s silence for a long moment. But then Noah’s eyes pop open excitedly. “I hear her! I hear mommy!” His face falls immediately, when he sees no sign of his mother on the playground itself, and he gives Shiro a deeply confused, hurt look.

“You need to keep your eyes closed,” Shiro says. “And listen really hard, and then think really hard about going home. Okay? You can do that. You’re a smart kid, after all—you finished Kindergarten.” 

The little ghost swallows, but the nods, and squeezes his eyes shut again. “Mommy,” he murmurs, voice soft. There’s silence, but Shiro watches intently, waiting. Noah smiles suddenly, a bright, enthusiastic smile of delight, and squeals, “MOMMY! You came, you came, you came!” And he leaps off the swing, throwing his arms out to hug someone.

One moment he’s there. The next he isn’t. There’s a stillness that falls over the whole playground, like a ripple in a pond that finally exhausts itself. 

Shiro sighs wearily in relief, and stretches his cramped legs out in front of him.

“Is it over?” Keith calls from across the park. He’d probably been eavesdropping on the whole thing, with his superior hearing, and had only grudgingly kept out of sight because Shiro had ordered him to.

“Yeah,” Shiro calls back, after a moment. “I think he’s finally passed on.” Good luck, Noah, he thinks, very quietly.

It doesn’t take long for the three of them to reach him, stepping cautiously over the discarded remains of Noah’s impromptu ammunition. “Where did he go?” Hunk asks, bewildered, looking around anxiously.

“To his mother,” Shiro says. “I just taught him how to hear her.”

“Hear her? What, no ‘go towards the light’?” Lance asks, skeptical. 

“Adult ghosts understand that reference and might perceive it that way,” Shiro says, with a shrug. “A six year old certainly wouldn’t. He wanted his mom—I just had to put it in those terms.” 

“So did we drag this stuff in for nothing?” Keith asks, lifting the pouch of purifying salts with an irritated look on his face.

“Not exactly. We’ll purify the area just to be safe. A poltergeist’s been sitting here for a couple months—who knows what kind of screwed up energy that might leave behind, or what might invite in.” In this profession, it always paid to be careful. Paranoid, even.

“First thing’s first, though,” Shiro adds, glancing up at the three of them. They give him curious looks, and he says sheepishly, “Help me up. This swing seat is way too small and short. I’m pretty sure I’m stuck.” 

Lance grins. “The terrifying son of the Shirogane clan,” he chortles, gesturing at Shiro with a flourish, as Keith offers him a hand.

Shiro is reasonably sure they won’t see any further problems from Noah the poltergeist again. But ‘reasonably sure’ is not ‘one hundred percent confident,’ so for the next week or so he monitors the park, just to be sure. He’d already missed one thing on this case. He’s not about to miss something else. 

Garrison’s famous Arusian Park isn’t as large as Central Park in New York, but as far as tourism goes it’s a solid contender. For a city park, it’s quite large and beautifully landscaped. There are a number of attractions, from the Green Lion Gardens, the intricately carved Balmera Terrace, and on the shores of Nalquod Lake, the miniature Rygnirath Castle, which visitors could tour through. A relaxing walking trail leads through trees and gardens, visitors can rent horse and carriage or bike tours, and dotted everywhere are famous sculptures and fountains and monuments. Street performers often set up shop in the highly trafficked areas, and there are special seasonal events throughout the entire year.

Unbeknownst to most human visitors, much of it had been designed for cryptids. A great deal of the park had either been funded by or designed by Allura’s family over the course of generations, and they continued to support it. For cryptids who needed nature, open spaces, or access to a reasonably large body of water, it was absolutely essential. 

That was also why so much of the decor—the gardens, the sculptures, the intricate designs in the buildings—was lion themed. The Altea family crest and animal was a lion—it was even, presumably, where Allura had earned her goddess name from the Aeslin mice. The city had seen fit to honor the House of Altea for their continued charitable contributions to the park by dedicating a significant amount of the decor to them.

It’s a nice park, though. Shiro visits it often throughout the year, to keep an eye on things and make sure any cryptids living there or using the facilities are safe, as well as behaving. It’s busy year-round with tourists and locals alike, and generally a pleasant place to escape the claustrophobic feel of city life, at least for a little while.

A week after the incident with Noah, Shiro loiters around the more activity-themed section of Arusian Park. The large playground that had been the site of the battle is in the area, and not too far away is a small baseball field and a set of basketball and tennis courts. It’s July, and hot as hell, but that doesn’t stop local games from playing or kids from clambering all over the jungle gym and swings. 

By now, the city has repaired most of the damage Noah had done to the playground area, which had been written up as vandals. The see-saw that had been torn up has been replaced, and the other projectiles put away. The hot dog vendor had replaced his cart and was doing stellar business at the baseball game. It’s as though there had never been a ghost at all.

Nor does anything seem unsafe on the supernatural end. Shiro’s been keeping a sharp eye out for any unusual circumstances or strange sightings, but as far as he can tell the playground is just a playground once again. After a week, if something spiritual was going to move in, it would have done it already. Anything left of Noah’s terrifying aura will have weakened with every sunrise. 

It’s probably safe to call this mission done, then. After today, he’ll halt his surveillance of this particular area and go back to his usual rounds.

He’s sort of enjoying watching the baseball game though. The Bluve Badgers are facing off against the Olkari Owls in the city’s league, but the score is neck and neck. They’ve attracted a fair few viewers to the metal bleachers around the stand, and more are starting to crowd in. 

Shiro’s just considering leaving his shady tree, buying a hot dog from the vendor—as a sort-of apology for wrecking his first cart—and finding a space to watch the game, when someone skids to a halt in front of him. “Finally!” the person says. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

He doesn’t recognize the voice, and is immediately on high alert, his hand already going for the police baton hidden under his T-shirt. It will cause a scene, but survival is the most important, and the knives or guns will cause more of a panic. 

But he freezes when he gets a good solid look at his attacker’s face. It’s a little obscured in a bright green sweatshirt, with the hood drawn up. But he can make out the grayish pallor of a bogeyman, short, messy brown hair, and golden-brown eyes behind a pair of round glasses.

He remembers that face, from years ago now, when the world as he understood it had been a very different place. He remembers those eyes, watching him with wide-eyed terror as he’d paced closer, blood dripping from his face and arms, sword in hand. 

He remembers this person from the day he’d first learned that everything he’d ever been taught was wrong.

“You,” Shiro breathes, eyes wide with shock. He aborts his grab for the police baton, and for the first time in years he’s completely frozen, unsure what to do next.

The bogeyman blinks, and his own eyes seem to light up in realization. “You have seen him!” he says, face splitting into a grin with teeth that are slightly too sharp to be natural on a human. “I knew it!”

Shiro frowns. That voice—now that he thinks about it, it’s not quite what he remembers from before. He surveys the bogeyman again and realizes after a belated moment that he isn’t quite the same as the last one. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he is actually a she, although it’s hard to tell at first with the baggy T-shirt and short, messy hair. Younger, too—maybe a few years younger than Lance and Hunk, if he had to guess. The other bogeyman he thought might have been around his own age.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says politely, after a moment. “I’ve mistaken you for someone else. I thought—”

“—that I was my brother,” the bogeyman says. “I look a lot like him, not a hard mistake to make. And you’ve seen him. I can’t believe I finally found you!”

Now that his initial confusion is past, that starts to set off alarm bells in Shiro’s head. That, and a few other things. 

This might not be the bogeyman he’d been thinking of, but she’s still a bogeyman. Bogeymen are naturally stronger than humans, but they’re extremely sensitive to sunlight. It’s not to the same extent as vampires, but more than a few hours out in the daylight can start to cause them extreme pain. 

It’s early afternoon in July. Any bogeyman wandering around outside in this weather isn’t doing so for the fun of it, not when they physically stand out amongst humans and it injures them.

Not only that, but it sounds like this bogeyman had been searching for him. Somehow, she had tracked him down. Shiro’s not comfortable with the implications of that, especially since this is clearly somehow related to her brother. 

Her brother, who had been in the vicinity of a Covenant hunt years ago. Her brother, who no one knew had ever met Shiro, because Shiro had never told a soul the full details, not even Keith, Lance, Hunk, or Allura. 

“Who are you?” he asks, wary. 

“Pidge Gunderson,” she answers promptly. Shiro’s worked with aliases enough to immediately know one when he hears it, but he doesn’t press—not yet, anyway. He has bigger concerns.

“And do you know who I am, Pidge?” 

“A Shirogane,” she answers, completely unfazed. “But the nice one. Not the crazy ones that hunt people down for sport.”

Even after all these years, Shiro can’t help but wince a little internally at that description. His family has done terrible things, yes, but they’d never hunted cryptids for sport. They’d done it to protect. They’d been mistaken, for sure, but it had never been entertainment, it had been a duty.

He doesn’t fight the point now, though. 

“And how did you find me?”

She can clearly hear the caution in his voice, because she says, “Not through normal means. I mean, I’m a pretty good hacker, but you covered your trail really well.”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” Shiro says bluntly. “Not when you know an awful lot about who I am already, and I don’t know anything about you.”

“I had a lot of help. An...outside source, you might say.”

“The Covenant can use any source you can,” Shiro says. “If you can find me, I need to know how so I can make sure nobody else does.” Not when this is already so close to very dangerous waters. 

It’s an odd experience, watching a bogeyman go pale, but Shiro witnesses it now. She shuffles uncomfortably, hands hidden in the kangaroo pouch of her hoodie, and stares at the ground awkwardly. “Yeah, I...I don’t think they’d use this source. Call it a hunch.” She swallows.

Shiro has a bad feeling about that reaction. Bogeymen don’t unsettle easy. This kid is in over her head, and he knows it already, even without knowing the details.

“Look,” Pidge says, finally lifting her head to look him in the eyes again. “I really need your help with something else, and that’s one of the reasons I wanted to find you. But before that, I have a way more urgent issue I need help with.” 

Her eyes widen as she glances over his shoulder, and she hisses, “Like, right now.” With remarkable speed, she reaches out with one of her too-long, multi-jointed hands to grab his wrist and tug him behind the nearby hot dog cart. 

Normally, Shiro would immediately fight back, with the assistance of weapons if necessary. Even on friendlier terms with the local cryptid population, letting a strange cryptid drag you off is exceedingly dangerous. 

That was especially true with bogeymen in particular. They had very strong grips, and their penchant for enjoying the sound of screams and expressions of fear meant they had a tendency towards mean-spirited actions. Usually they were harmless—appearing out of nowhere in the shadows, throwing their voices to imitate ghosts, hiding in tight spaces until they could grab the ankles of passersby. Sometimes they weren’t harmless, and people died, or went missing. 

But Shiro has never seen an expression of such abject fear on a bogeyman’s face before, and that’s more than enough to convince him to play along. He permits himself to be hauled behind the cart, adrenaline already starting to rush as he prepares for danger. As casually as possible, he glances around the hot dog cart and its patrons in the direction Pidge had been looking.

His heart turns to ice, and fear races up his spine.

Ellen Sanda strolls through the west gates of Arusian Park with precise, military bearing, straight-backed and head held high. To the casual observer, she probably appears perfectly ordinary: an older woman with close-cropped gray hair, gray eyes, and a severe expression. Her outfit is professional, in that it blends in perfectly with the other tourists—baseball cap, light windbreaker, jeans and tennis shoes, and a small backpack for a picnic lunch or a casual tour through the many attractions.

Only Shiro is aware that she’s one of the deadliest people alive. He’s sure she has no less than twenty weapons on her person—more with the backpack, which is probably full of hunting supplies. She’s already observing the park with a practiced gaze, noting each escape point, each hiding place, each tourist’s placement. 

Ellen Sanda—one of the most efficient Covenant of St. George agents of the twenty-first century.

Shiro swallows. “They found me,” he whispers, after a long, horrifying moment.

His heart is pounding, and his mouth is suddenly dry. Despite his best efforts, his hands shake, and he feels rooted to the ground. This is the culmination of every one of his nightmares since he was eighteen, and the cause for his constant paranoia. And now it was here, finally happening. 

How had he not known? He and Allura have dozens of measures to tell when Covenant agents enter the country, much less Garrison. How had she gotten this far, within viewing distance of him? 

And worst of all, why Sanda? Any of the Covenant agents would have been bad, but Sanda was one of their best. Her kill count was enormous, and her combat skills so renowned that she had earned herself the nickname ‘the Admiral.’ She had been with the Covenant for decades, and had more victories and more experiences than many other agents could lay claim to. 

If Sanda wanted him dead, Shiro was going to die.

Don’t panic, a little voice in Shiro’s mind orders. She hasn’t seen you yet. There’s still time to act. 

He swallows, although his throat feels too dry, and turns to glare at the bogeyman next to him. “I thought you said your ‘outside source’ wouldn’t be used by the Covenant?” he accuses, voice sharp. 

“They wouldn’t!” Pidge insists. She, too, looks quite frightened, eyeing Sanda’s position warily from around the cart. “I mean that. She’s been following me for days, back from Europe even. I don’t think she knows you’re here, yet.”

“So you led her right to me?” Shiro asks. He doesn’t mean to be sharp with her, but with his adrenaline pounding and his instincts screaming to flee, he’s not feeling at his best. “Are you trying to get me caught?”

“No!” Pidge snaps back. “From what I’ve heard about you, you’re the only person to ever escape the Covenant, human or cryptid. I need your help to do it too.” 

Shiro groans. 

He really wants no part of this. Sanda is pacing ever closer, and his mind is screaming at a fever pitch now, frantic to escape before it’s too late. If she really doesn’t know he’s here, he has to get out, immediately. Get out, and form a plan. Ditching the bogeyman would be the fastest way to do so and would be guaranteed to save his own skin.

Except, easy as it would be, he can’t leave a kid like Pidge at the mercy of the Covenant. He knows what Sanda will do to her if she gets caught. His mind is a whirl of panic, but the rules in his heart override even that. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to slow his rapid heart, and calm his frantic mind. You’ve done it before. You’ve planned for this for years. You can do it again. 

“Does she know you’re a bogeyman?” Shiro asks curtly. 

“Pretty sure, yeah. She’s gotten a look at me before.” 

“Is she working with anyone else?” 

“I’ve never seen anyone but her,” Pidge says, frowning.

“You would have by now, or she wouldn’t have let you escape Europe,” Shiro says. “Alright. Do exactly what I say, got it?”

Pidge swallows, but nods. 

Shiro checks Sanda’s position again. She’s currently investigating the crowd surrounding the famous Lion’s Pride fountain, five lions roaring at the sky as they blast jets of water from their mouths. If ever there’s a time to move, it’s now.

“Walk normally,” he instructs, placing a hand to her back and gently but firmly guiding her towards the baseball game. “Don’t run.” He can feel her muscles quivering with the effort of not fleeing, and he can bitterly relate to that. Only years of his own training are keeping him from bolting like the hounds of hell are after him.

“The park gate—” Pidge protests.

“She’s counting who goes in and out,” Shiro says. “That’s not an option for us. We need one of the other park gates to get out.” 

He guides Pidge towards the ball game, where the crowd has grown even bigger. It would be easy to get lost in the crowds of cheering sports fans, but Sanda would expect a maneuver like that and would be watching carefully. Which means a different tactic is in order.

“Ditch the hoodie,” Shiro instructs, the moment they round the corner at the back of the metal bleachers. There’s almost nobody back here, with no shade to offer and a poor view of the game. 

Pidge gives him an alarmed look. “But she’ll see me! And so will everyone else. I can’t exactly walk around in public easily. And the sunlight—”

“Sanda probably already has your sweatshirt color memorized,” Shiro says. “She knows you’re a bogeyman, and injured by sunlight, so she’s looking for anyone hiding their face. It’s one of the easiest ways to spot a cryptid in a crowd. Especially in summer—there’s no need for a human to keep a hood up like that. Dump it. Sunlight won’t hurt you for a little bit.”

Pidge swears loudly, but immediately starts shuffling items out of the hoodie pockets and unzipping it, revealing a goofy T-shirt with a science pun. Her grayish pallor will be a little unusual in a crowd, but there’s a lot of people with a lot of different skin tones out there. It won’t be immediately noticeable, especially since she seems to be paler than usual for a bogeyman to begin with. She’s also unnaturally short for a bogeyman, so as long as she keeps her three-knuckled hands and pointier teeth hidden, people won’t notice right away. 

Most importantly, Sanda will be looking for something else, and it might buy them a few minutes. 

Shiro deftly slips under the bleachers as she shucks off the hoodie. Above him, viewers cheer and boo for the baseball players, and the metal stands creak and shiver under the combined movement of excitable crowds. In the distraction, he snatches two unattended baseball caps from a different pair of seats, and brings them back to Pidge. He’s not thrilled about stealing, but survival comes first, and the humans will live. 

“Here,” he says curtly, shoving one of the Olkari Owls hats on her head. It offers a little shade for her eyes, and also obscures her messy hair. He places the second hat on his own head, and then shrugs out of his own light windbreaker, and drops it around her shoulders. “Wear that. Don’t touch anything in it, and hide your hands in your jeans pockets.” 

Pidge shoves her hands into the sleeves and then into her own pockets. She swims in it—it’s far too big for her—but it does an excellent job of breaking up her usual shape. “Geez. What’s in this thing? Rocks?”

“Something like that,” Shiro says curtly. He doesn’t have time to remove his weaponry from the jacket, but he still has enough hidden on his own person if things get nasty. “Let’s go.”

He pulls the baseball cap down a little farther over his forehead and leads the way around the other side of the stands, towards the interior of the park. Pidge looks different enough at first glance that she may not stand out to Sanda right away in a crowd, which is the best he can do on such short notice. 

Himself, he’s not so sure of, and he desperately hopes he’s unrecognizable. He’s grown a couple extra inches since he left the Covenant, and filled out with a little more muscle. His clothing style isn’t the same, and he’d taken to wearing an undercut since moving to Garrison, which makes him look very different when wearing a hat. If he keeps his face turned away, he doesn’t think Sanda could identify him from the back of his head. But he can’t be sure, and there is a very terrified part of him just waiting for the moment she recognizes him across the park and comes for him.

But no one calls his name, and his back isn’t filled with knives or bullets. When he checks discreetly, Sanda’s still occupied with a different group of tourists. For now, they’re safe. Now he just has to keep it that way.

Shiro leads them away from the activity section of the park towards its interior, still walking at a brisk but unremarkable looking pace. The point is to look as normal as possible, and breaking into a run will be noticable. It’s hard to go slow, but Shiro resists, and makes sure Pidge does as well.

For a while they do just fine. They pass crowds of visitors, circle around monuments and sculptures, and keep moving inward. Shiro does whatever he can to put crowds of people between the two of them and Sanda’s position, hoping to break up line of sight in the open sections of the park as much as possible.

As they pass the Balmera Terrace, things get less straightforward. Pidge immediately tries to turn to head into the terrace, with its towering archways and hidden rooms to explore. Shiro grips her shoulder and forcibly steers her back alongside him, passing the entrance.

“We should hide in there!” Pidge hisses, angry. “It’s the first shelter we’ve seen since she showed up!”

“No.”

“But if we stay out here, she’ll see us!” Pidge says. “Okay, fine. One of those archways, then.”

“No,” Shiro says, sharper that time. He keeps a firm grip on her shoulder, while doing his best to make it look casual to an outside observer. “If we stay out here, we’re civilians. A bogeyman will duck into shadowy areas like terraces and archways to hide. It’s your first instinct, and she knows it.”

“Because it’s a smart instinct,” Pidge protests. “We need to not be seen, and stay out of direct line of sight!”

“You’re thinking like a bogeyman,” Shiro tells her bluntly, as he steers her down another path, towards the Green Lion Gardens. “She’s hunting a bogeyman. She knows what she’s hunting and where to look to find you. That’s how the Covenant works.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Pidge grouses. “This isn’t going to work—I shouldn’t have expected you to—”

“If you don’t believe me, wait until we get around this corner,” Shiro cuts her off. “You can look back and find her. Carefully.” 

Pidge does just that, waiting until they round the bend in the path and are blocked by shrubbery before carefully peering behind her. Shiro does the same, taking the opportunity to snap a quick identifying photo of Sanda on his phone as he does.

It comes as no surprise to him to see Sanda already confidently heading for Balmera Terrace. From her stance, he knows she has one hand a fraction of a second away from some kind of shiv or other thin blade up her sleeve. If she were to find a bogeyman in the dark confines of the interior rooms or archways of the terrace, even if there were people around, she’d be able to discreetly make a kill without causing a panic. 

A thin blade through the ribs, spine, or back of the head would be enough to incapacitate or kill easily, without making any noise. She could claim her ‘granddaughter’ was feeling ill, to explain the sudden slump and floppy movements. Walk the body right back out and stash it somewhere hidden in the park for the day when no one was looking, or maybe even get it all the way to the car she no doubt had planted nearby. Dispose of the corpse later. A perfect kill, no muss, no fuss, no humans knowing about the monster that lived in their closet. 

Pidge won’t know all of the details about the specifics, but the sight of Sanda moving unerringly for the hiding place she would have chosen is clearly enough to convince her. She swallows, her face an unusually pale gray once again, and whispers after a moment, “Okay. You win. Lead on.”

Shiro nods. “I promise I will do my best to get you out of this,” he says, as he turns around and gently puts his hand on Pidge’s back again to guide her.

“I notice that’s not ‘I will get you out of this’,” Pidge notes grimly.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Shiro says. “This is a bad situation. Even if we get out of the park, if she’s after you and followed you all the way to America, she’s not going to let this go. Your best bet is going to be getting on a plane as soon as I help you shake her and getting as far from here as you can.”

“I can’t do that,” Pidge says fiercely. “Not when I finally found you.” 

Shiro sighs. “Fine. Focus on escaping, first. Then we’ll talk.”

He leads them through the Green Lion Gardens, down the dozens of little trails and lawns lined with flowers, shrubs and pretty trees. The star attractions, the hedge maze and the topiary, are as full of visitors as always. Shiro hopes the maze serves as a decent distraction for Sanda—there are dozens of little nooks and crannies hidden away in there that a bogeyman might like, and it would definitely waste her time. 

They head past the animal-shaped shrubbery quickly, ducking under the gaze of the exhibit’s centerpiece, the enormous green lion from which the entire gardens earned its name. The shrub animal stares down at them regally; it’s not hard to imagine it as a great guardian, shielding their escape while they try to vanish. Considering the majority of the topiary pieces were designed and maintained by dryads, Shiro wouldn’t completely disregard the possibility that one could come to life, but he certainly can’t expect it to do so now.

The Green Lion Gardens are close to another exit to the park. Shiro leads the way to it as swiftly as he can while still maintaining a reasonable, unremarkable walk. By now, he’s lost sight of Sanda, which is both good and bad. She’s probably been suitably shaken for a few minutes with the number of bogeymen-hides he’s deliberately walked them past, but at the same time, it sends a spike of anxiety through him when he can’t see where the hunter is.

He doesn’t see her observing the gate, though. Not at any obvious posts that a Covenant agent might take up. He bites his tongue, decides to take the chance before it’s too late and she definitely shows up, and leads Pidge through the gate.

It’s an anxiety-fueled, terrifying five seconds of walking before he concludes that nothing happened, and nothing will continue to happen. 

“I can’t believe we got out,” Pidge says, incredulous. 

“We’re not done yet,” Shiro says. “I intend to fully lose the trail, which means we’re going to wander for a bit. I know that will probably make you uncomfortable, being out in the sun for so long. Let me know when you can’t handle it and we’ll find some place to break.”

“I can go a little while,” Pidge says, narrowing her eyes in determination. “If it means finally being rid of her.”

“Good to hear,” Shiro says, leading them off.

The next hour is simply wandering. Shiro knows Garrison like the back of his hand, so he knows exactly where they are, and that’s the single advantage he has over Sanda. Well, that, and the fact that she’s hunting a bogeyman, not an ex-Covenant agent, which means he can use what he knows to help Pidge avoid further contact. 

He avoids any known areas cryptids frequent often—the last thing he wants is to lead Sanda straight to a madhura’s shop, or a bugbear den. But he does deliberately take them past places Sanda might think were viable areas for a bogeyman to hole up. He zigzags, crosses roads, heads through buildings and shops, and avoids any kind of pattern, and eventually even Pidge admits that she is thoroughly lost. Hopefully, Sanda will be as well.

It’s at the end of that hour that Pidge finally admits she needs a break. Her stolen baseball cap is pulled so low over her eyes he can barely see them anymore, and she’s starting to wince in pain as she walks. 

“Alright,” Shiro says. “We’ll take a break. You hungry?”

“Famished,” Pidge admits.

He leads her to a small family restaurant two blocks over, deliberately bypassing a few pubs and diners along the way. The family restaurant is bright and feels distinctly human; Sanda wouldn’t expect a cryptid to hide there. He selects a booth in the back of the restaurant, out of immediate view of the windows and in a position where he can see all the exits. It’s dark enough that Pidge’s grayer pallor can easily be written off as cast shadow by the waitress, and will leave the bogeyman comfortable for at least a little while.

Pidge sighs wearily as she settles into the booth. “Oh, thank goodness. Sunlight sucks.” 

“I bet,” Shiro says absently, surveying the busy restaurant crowd one last time before finally taking his own seat. 

Pidge watches him expectantly, but there’s something else more important to handle, first. He pulls out his phone, creates a group text to Allura, Keith, Lance, and Hunk, and types up a quick message. Covenant in town. Just one agent so far, I think. See pic. BE CAREFUL, DO NOT ENGAGE, VERY DANGEROUS. Getting details, will update soon. He attaches the photo he’d taken of Sanda from afar, so the team knows who they’re dealing with, and sends it all out. 

Hopefully, by the time he’s done with Pidge, Allura will at least have some information on how the hell a Covenant agent slipped by both his and Allura’s defenses.

Pidge raises an eyebrow as he slips the phone away. “Important message?”

“Very,” Shiro says. “A lot of people need to know there’s a Covenant agent in town, for their own safety.”

Pidge winces. “I didn’t want to put anyone in danger. I just...didn’t know where else to go.”

Shiro sighs. “What’s done is done. You got your wish. You found me, and I got you away from Sanda. I can’t guarantee that will last, so if you really want my help, it’s time to tell me everything.” 

“Yeah. Of course.” Pidge takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and begins.

Chapter Text

“The word ‘bogeyman,’ much like the word ‘human,’ is gender-neutral. If you ever want to see a bogeyman laugh herself sick, call her a ‘bogeygirl,’ or better, a ‘bogeywoman.’”
—Verity Price, Discount Armageddon 

A family restaurant in downtown Garrison, trying to not be found

“My father is a scientist,” Pidge starts off. “And he’d been training my brother Matt, too.”

“A scientist?” Shiro says. “That’s an interesting choice of profession.” 

As a general rule, bogeymen tended to prefer things closer to the entertainment business. A significant number of novelists and horror screenplay writers were bogeymen, many successful bars and nightclubs were maintained by them, and they adored pop-up costume stores and haunted houses at Halloween. They were also exceptional at cutting deals and writing contracts, which made them excellent, and thoroughly terrifying, lawyers and negotiators. Science seemed fairly tame for a bogeyman, although admittedly every individual was different, and it did probably lend itself well to nocturnal hours.

Pidge shrugs. “It runs in the family. Anyway, my father, he’d been working on this one research project for years, before I was even born. He always said it was his life’s work, and that if he cracked the code it could be the key to decoding the entire universe.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow at that. “Like, space?” 

Pidge shakes her head. “Wrong universe. You’re thinking up.” She points at the ceiling with one long, three-jointed finger. “You should be thinking down. Or more like, smaller. Building blocks. Fundamentals.” She taps the table in front of her. “See, my dad was studying the link between modern science and the universe as we know it, and magic.”

Both of Shiro’s brows raise that time. Magic wasn’t exactly a common occurrence, and what there was of it was complicated. Many species of cryptid naturally had a gift with certain kinds of magics; sylphs could levitate, caladrii could heal themselves and others, dryads could force grow plants. Humans could harness magic, too, but it didn’t happen often. Natural born sorcerers and witches with a genetic disposition to it were powerful and could unleash extraordinary spells, but they were exceptionally rare. 

Witches could also be made, rather than born. But as far as Shiro knows it can’t be done easily, and even then the magic they harnessed could be oddly picky. Routewitches dealt in distance, and trainspotters could be enormously powerful, but only when they could harness the energy of a vehicle on rails. Magic operated by its own laws of physics. Shiro can’t see how it could possibly be linked with modern science.

Then again, Shiro isn’t a scientist. If someone with a better mind than him for this sort of thing thought there was a link, who is he to argue?

“Just think of the possibilities,” Pidge continues, eyes glittering brightly with excitement as she warms to the topic. “Magic is capable of almost anything, if you know what you’re doing. It can manipulate all kinds of matter and energy. You can fix things, save things from dying, manipulate fire or ice, enchant items, predict things, siphon or redirect energy...the list is endless. You can even break into other worlds and planes of existence, with the right summoning spells, or pull things from other places here.” 

“Not necessarily for the better,” Shiro points out. 

There are at least a few species of cryptid that exist on Earth that, as far as anyone can tell, don’t belong there and do not contribute to the ecosystem in any capacity. The Covenant had assessed that Apraxis Wasps and Johrlacs originated ‘not of this world.’ Shiro had been both impressed and horrified to find cryptozoologists in the cryptid community had theorized essentially the same thing. The standard accepted theory was that creatures like these squirmed their way in from another reality entirely, and were an invasive species to this one. 

They’re still some of the few things Shiro will shoot on sight, without any attempt at negotiation, because they are that terrifying and dangerous.

“No,” Pidge agrees, “But the fact is you can do it, and it’s even proven. But only certain species are capable of doing certain things naturally. Even learned forms of magic have extremely complicated rules that don’t seem to make any logical sense, when you think about it in terms of how we understand the laws of reality today. And we still don’t understand why those rules are the way they are. 

“I mean, why do trainspotters need trains, and why are train-related magic users so good at detecting lies?” She waves her hand with emphasis. “Did they just not exist a couple hundred years ago? Did trainspotting magic spontaneously begin to exist when the relevant equipment was invented? If we invent something new in the next hundred years, will it spawn a new kind of magic? Or has it always been there, and we just stumbled over a way to harness it by accident?” 

“I have no idea,” Shiro admits. 

“Neither do we,” Pidge says, “But that’s what my dad’s been studying for his whole life. There has to be a fundamental set of rules that ties this whole new set of laws of reality together. We don’t understand them currently, even if we dabble with them. It’s the same as people thousands of years ago knowing if they could keep a fire going if they gave it fuel, but didn’t understand the chemical reactions going on to make that fire. My father wants to know how it all works, under the surface.”

“That would definitely shake things up,” Shiro agrees. Magic was such a fiddly thing, surrounded by mysticism. But if there were fundamental laws to it, it would be an incredible discovery.

“It would change everything,” Pidge says enthusiastically. “Imagine if you could harness how a caladrius heals and apply that in a standardized setting. Hospitals and clinics would improve so much! And that’s just one kind of magic. Figure out the rules for other kinds, and the possibilities are endless. Agriculture would benefit. Charms to protect or help people would be more commonplace and a lot more affordable. The community could improve by a huge margin!” 

It could also be very easily weaponized, Shiro can’t help but think. Magic could be a boon. It could also be deadly, and not everyone would use it for noble intentions. But Pidge’s enthusiasm is almost adorable, and he doesn’t want to ruin the mood.

“So, is your father making any progress?” Shiro asks, as their food arrives. He sinks his teeth into his burger as his stomach rumbles, reminding him how hungry he is. Evading the Covenant on an empty stomach was brutal.

Pidge’s face falls, and she stares at her own burger without touching it. “I...I don’t know.”

Shiro frowns. 

“That’s kind of what I need your help with,” Pidge says. She swallows. “About six years ago, my dad and my brother Matt went missing while on a research trip. My mom and I haven’t seen or heard from them since.”

Shiro’s eyes widen. Six years ago... it would have been around then that he’d accidentally stumbled across her brother—Matt?—when fighting a troll, and inadvertently saved his life. And then quite deliberately spared it.

The pieces are starting to come together, now. Unfortunately, they’re not making a picture he likes the look of.

“I’ve been looking for them ever since,” Pidge says. “At first we waited for news. I mean, my dad and brother were in Europe at the time researching magical history and trying to get in contact with some old caster families. But Europe is also Covenant territory. They had to be careful about contacting home, and we knew it. Sometimes they’d go off the grid for a bit and we wouldn’t hear from them for a couple weeks. It was always a little scary when they went silent, but we’d get news eventually.”

“Except this time you didn’t,” Shiro guesses.

Pidge nods in agreement. “They took way too long to get back to us. We started getting worried. We called a few of their last known contacts—nobody had heard from them. Tried some scryers...nothing. It was like they disappeared.” 

“And you’ve never heard from them since?” Shiro asks, frowning. “Or anyone else who’s seen them?”

“No,” Pidge says, still staring at her food. “Nothing. I’ve got nothing. My mom and I tried everything. We called in every favor, asked everyone who’d ever talked to them for help or if they’d heard from them. We paid routewitches to try and divine answers, but none of them could find any. We don’t know what happened to them. It’s like they vanished.” 

Shiro presses his lips together for a moment, considering how to approach his thoughts delicately. “I’m sorry I have to bring this up, but—considering the territory they were in, have you considered they might be dea—”

“They’re not dead,” Pidge snarls, glaring warningly. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. When she speaks again a moment later, she’s a little calmer than before. “They’re not dead. I know that sounds like denial, but they’re not. My mom paid a routewitch to try and speak to the dead, to call them, but she got no answer. That means they have to be alive.”

It doesn’t necessarily mean that. There are things to bind or trap ghosts, assuming the routewitch was playing legit in the first place. Even if they were, the last known location of Pidge’s family was in Europe. Shiro is reasonably sure a routewitch can’t speak to overseas ghosts—their power lies in roads, and there are no roads to Europe from America. 

But it seems like a sensitive topic, so for now Shiro moves on. They can revisit it again in the future if need be. For now, he still has other questions.

“Okay. So your father and brother vanished somewhere in Europe, and nobody knows what happened to them,” Shiro summarizes. “Which leads me to ask...what do I have to do with all of this?” 

“I’m hoping you can help me find them,” Pidge says.

Shiro frowns. He has a terrible feeling he knows what direction this is going in, but he has to keep pushing anyway. “Why me, exactly? Do you think they ended up in Garrison? I know some people in the community that could try to help, but—”

“No,” Pidge interrupts. “That’s not it. I mean, I would love it if they were here, but…” She swallows, and gives him a look that’s very quickly losing hope. “You really don’t...you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

Shiro shakes his head slowly. “No. I’m sorry, I’m still out of the loop on this. Are you asking me for insider Covenant information? Because if you suspect they’ve been captured, I don’t know how to break this to you easily, but the Covenant doesn’t take prisoners. Not with cryptids, and not for that long. If you think they were found by the Covenant—”

“No,” Pidge says. She shakes her head again, but this time it’s less furious denial, and more an expression of horrified, growing realization. “No, that’s not it at all, that’s...he said. He said you’re the one. You’re the last one. I thought for sure…”

“Who said?” Shiro’s frown grows deeper. “Your father? Your brother?”

“No. No, I…” Pidge squeezes her eyes shut in frustration. “I was so close.” 

“Kiddo, you need to talk to me if you want me to help you,” Shiro says, growing more concerned by the moment.

Pidge grimaces for just a moment, exposing her much sharper than usual teeth, before abruptly slumping in defeat. “I needed to find them,” she says. It sounds defensive. “I would do anything to find them.”

Shiro can feel his heart starting to sink into his stomach. “Pidge. What happened? What did you do?” 

Pidge swallows. “No one could help us. Nobody knew the answers. Nobody was willing to take the risk to hunt for them in Covenant territory. I tried, I even left home to head overseas to look for them myself, but I couldn’t find anything, and...and I think maybe I did something to catch the Covenant’s attention. I didn’t know what else to do. Nobody mortal had answers.” 

She closes her eyes for a moment, and then says softly, “So I...I went to the crossroads.”

The sinking feeling in Shiro’s stomach turns into a full-force plummet. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

Pidge’s shoulders hunch a little defensively again. “I told you. I would do anything for my family. And I’m a bogeyman. I figured if anybody had a shot of cutting a good deal, it’d be me.”

Bogeymen do have a strong reputation for being excellent with deals and negotiations. Under normal circumstances, anyone dealing with a bogeyman is almost guaranteed to come out of the deal worse. 

But the crossroads are not normal circumstances, and never will be.

The crossroads were one of those strange truth-in-myths that existed all over the world, with hushed stories passed down in cultures everywhere. Head down to the crossroads with a desire in mind, a goal to achieve, and strange things could happen. Spirits lingered by crossroads, and they were close to otherworldly places, places of mystery and power.

Deals were cut at the crossroads. Stories varied on what, exactly, was on the other end of the negotiating table; some said demons, some fairies, others spirits. Modern cryptozoology has always been unclear on if it was some type of cryptid or something else entirely signing contracts on wishes and desperate desires. 

But one thing was clear: you might technically get what you bargained for, but it might not be what you wanted. Sometimes deals would happen to the letter, not to the spirit. Sometimes they were twisted so out of scope they were only just barely met. And always, the price was steep, and probably worth far more than whatever you had bargained for.

“Kid, you should never deal with the crossroads,” Shiro says, barely containing his horror. “ Never. Not even if you’re so good at negotiations you could convince the Covenant to accept the cryptid community as kindred spirits, you could never win against the crossroads.”

“I know, I know!” Pidge says, frustrated. “I know it was reckless. Stupid. But you don’t understand. I have to find them. I will do anything to find them.”

“Is that what you asked for?”

“Yes,” Pidge says. “I wanted to know if they were still alive, and how to find them.”

“That obviously didn’t work out, since you’re here,” Shiro says grimly. 

Pidge shakes her head. “No. No! It was...it should have worked. They—he—sent me to you. He said you were the last person to see one of them that I would be able to talk to. Matt, I’m guessing, based on the way you reacted to me.”

“Your ‘outside source,’” Shiro realizes, eyes wide. “The crossroads. That’s how you found me, even though I’ve covered most conventional ways. And why you were so sure Sanda didn’t use it to track me.” 

She wasn’t wrong there. The Covenant knew about the crossroads, but viewed it as demonic, a vile practice that resulted in fates worse than death. In that regard, they weren’t really wrong. An agent would never use it.

Pidge nods. “Yeah. He could tell me the exact city, what you looked like, your job, your apartment number, common places you went to....everything I needed to find you.” 

That’s absolutely terrifying. It’s only through sheer force of will that Shiro is able to keep his expression calm. 

“So...so I thought...maybe I’d have a new clue, when I talked to you,” Pidge continues. “He had so much information to give me about you, and if he was stressing meeting so much, I was so sure you’d know…”

“Pidge,” Shiro says softly, sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. I did see your brother, once, but that was six years ago. I’ve never seen him since. And I don’t think I’ve ever met your father. I know some bogeymen in the community, but none of them are scientists.” 

The expression that crosses Pidge’s face is one of absolute defeat. Without her stubbornness, independence, and fierce loyalty to her family, she looks as young as she actually is, and so small and frail for a bogeyman. She pulls her knees up to her chest on the booth, wraps her too-long arms around them, and huddles in on herself.

“So...he lied to me,” she says, after a moment. “After all this time, I thought I finally had a chance, and he lied to me…”

Shiro shakes his head grimly. “I don’t think the crossroads can do that, technically. But they are notorious for manipulating the truth to their advantage. They did give you information about your brother. It’s just six years out of date.” 

Pidge moans, burying her face in her knees for a moment. Shiro feels awful watching. She’s so miserable, and the last of his frustration for her is starting to melt away in favor of sympathy. He’d like to offer her something —a hug, or a pat on the shoulder—but they’re still strangers, and he doubts she’d appreciate it. 

But he can’t imagine what she’s been through for the past six years. He’s been separated from his own family for as long, but even if that’s hard sometimes, it’s always been by choice. To be so close to your family, and to have them disappear without knowing what had happened, without any closure...it has to be terrifying. 

“What do I do now?” she asks, after a very long moment. “I went to the crossroads for nothing. I’ve got nothing to show for it, if you can’t help me.”

Shiro closes his eyes for a moment. He’s almost afraid to ask the next question. “Pidge...what did you pay?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“You don’t...Pidge, you have to barter something with them,” Shiro says, alarmed. “That’s how they operate. You pay something and you get something. Usually the something you get wasn’t worth the price you paid, or it wasn’t really what you asked for, just close enough. But both sides have to offer something.” 

Most people thought the price was souls; Faustian deals were very popular in western mythology and lore. The actuality was a lot less clean cut and abstract. The crossroads could ask for any kind of collateral or payment. Abilities, lives, people, memories, service, changes in lifestyle. The enormity of the price might not be immediately apparent, not until a long time later. Desperate enough people would still pay, just like Pidge.

“I know. I know.” Pidge hesitates, and nervously licks her lips. “I didn’t...promise them anything immediate. Right away.”

“Which means…”

“I owe them a favor.”

Shiro feels the blood drain from his face. “They could make you do anything, kiddo. Anything. You understand that, right?”

“I know,” Pidge says, fierce desperation in her voice. “But I have to find my family. I have to get dad and Matt back. It’s not negotiable.”

“Pidge, you don’t understand,” Shiro says, struggling to make her grasp the enormity of her price. “They could lead you right to your father or brother, and then call in their favor, and you’d have to kill them, or turn them over to the Covenant, or...anything. Until you pay your debt, they own you.”

“I know,” Pidge whispers. “I know. That’s why I was hoping so badly you’d have the answers. If you had something for me to work with...if I could just find them...things will get better. I know they will.” Her long arms tighten around her folded knees. “But if you don’t know anything, then…”

Shiro takes a deep breath. God, this kid was in so far over her head it’s a wonder she’s not drowning yet. A debt unpaid to the crossroads, and one of the most dangerous Covenant agents currently alive on her tail. And all of it led her to him, under the false assumption that he could fix everything.

He can’t. Not so easily as that. But it isn’t in his nature to let people drown without at least trying to give them a hand. 

“Okay,” he says, after a long moment. “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, you’re going to eat, because no matter how this shakes out, you will need your strength.” He pushes her plate of burger and fries towards her insistently.

She blinks at him, disbelieving. “Huh?”

“I can’t help the way you want,” Shiro says. “I don’t know your brother or your father, like I said. But I am in the business of helping people, and there may be other things I can do here. At the very least, I can try to keep you safe from Sanda. And maybe I can help you figure out this thing with the crossroads, too.” 

Pidge’s eyes light up at that. “Could you really do that? Would you really do that?”

“I’m already in this far with you,” Shiro says. “I’ll need to deal with Sanda regardless, and make sure she’s not killing people. That would include you, too.” Although the thought of having to deal with Sanda in any capacity makes Shiro want to be physically ill from fear. 

“I don’t know what I can do about the crossroads, but there are some people we can talk to, I think,” Shiro finishes. “Maybe they’ll have ideas. Preferably before your debt comes due.” 

The relief on Pidge’s face is so strong Shiro can practically feel the emotion coming off of her in waves. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” she breathes, her voice shaky but hopeful. “I didn’t know what else I was going to do, I... thank you.” 

“It’s no problem,” Shiro says. “We will figure out a way through this. We just need to think it through.”

Pidge nods. She finally releases her folded knees and pulls her untouched food close, appetite suddenly restored. “Right. Right, I can do this. We can do this. And if I find them with only a little bit of the crossroad’s help, maybe I won’t need to pay as much. There has to be a clue here somewhere. They’re screwing with me, but if I can beat them…”

Shiro closes his eyes for a moment. Beat the crossroads. Nobody’s ever beaten the crossroads, not so far as he knows. They’re bad news, no matter what side you’re on, Covenant or cryptid. Everything he was taught when he was young told him to stay the hell away from them, and everything he’s learned since concurs. 

But Pidge is asking him directly for his help, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. 

And something about Pidge’s crossroads story stinks to him. He doesn’t know enough about the crossroads other than the rumors and stories to know what it is, but he might know some people who are experts on the subject. It’s better than anything else Pidge has so far.

“You did meet my brother, though, right?” Pidge asks, through a mouthful of burger. 

“Yes. Once.” Shiro thinks back once more to that fateful night, the battle against the troll, and the moment he realized that maybe not all cryptids were evil. “Though, I wouldn’t mind seeing him again. To thank him. He did me a favor, whether he realizes it or not.”

“He did?” Pidge asks, attentive. She drinks up even the tiniest details about her missing family almost as fast as she drains her coke. It’s a little heartbreaking to watch.  “How did you meet? Were you friends? What happened?”

“It’s complicated,” Shiro admits. “Finish eating, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

It only takes them half an hour to finish off their food, and for Shiro to pay the check. Sanda doesn’t come strolling through the doors in that amount of time, and Shiro figures they’re probably safe, at least for now. There are a dozen other places she’d probably try first, under the assumption her prey was a lone bogeyman, and not an ex-Covenant agent. 

It doesn’t stop him from leaving Pidge inside the restaurant, just briefly, to do a quick scouting check for danger. It might be excessive in most circumstances, but paranoia is never excessive when it comes to the Covenant.

His scouting turns up nothing, however, which means it’s time to get moving. And there’s only one place Shiro can think of to safely bring Pidge, now that Sanda isn’t on their trail: the Altea penthouse. 

As it turns out, it’s necessary to head there anyway. His friends have been blowing up his phone during his lunch with Pidge, in response to his brief warning; he has half a dozen missed calls and two dozen increasingly more frantic texts. In the last few, Allura threatens to send Lance, Coran and Hunk out hunting for him, to rescue him from the enemy that must have captured him by now. Shiro’s lucky Keith is in his sun coma and completely ignorant of the whole debacle so far, or he’d probably already be here.

In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been a smart idea to go silent after warning everyone about Covenant being in town.

Stay put at Allura’s place, Shiro texts back. Lost her trail, coming with a friend. Bogeyman. Warn the guards. 

Getting to Allura’s place takes longer than Shiro would like. They have to take the bus, because Shiro had left his own vehicle back at Arusian Park. He’s not willing to risk being seen in the vicinity just yet, not when Sanda could still be watching it. If he needs to, he can ask Coran to go grab it for him—as a human and a virtual unknown to the Covenant, Sanda wouldn’t think twice at seeing him in the area. 

But for now, the bus, and then a four-block hike to the penthouse itself, watching his back the whole time for a trail.

Allura’s security is extra vigilant, which Shiro is grateful to see. They’d taken his warning about a new Covenant agent in town seriously. Unfortunately, it also means they regard him with even more suspicion than usual as they catalogue his weaponry for the day.

“Did you call your friend in from overseas?” one of the guards, a sasquatch with most of his hair shaved so that he looks almost human, asks as he glares at Shiro and takes note of his knives. 

“Of course I didn’t,” Shiro says, as patiently as he can manage. “I don’t want to be found by her either. As far as she’s concerned, I’m a traitor.” 

The sasquatch grunts in response, obviously not convinced. He’s loyal to Allura, though, and grudgingly lets Shiro through the checkpoint. Pidge is already on the other side, looking rather small and scrawny for a bogeyman ever since Shiro took his windbreaker—and its hidden arsenal—back. She hadn’t had much on her besides that, and it hadn’t taken long to search her.

“What is this place?” Pidge asks, bewildered, as security finally waves them on to the main elevator.

“A place that can help you,” Shiro says. “I don’t want to say too much more until we get up top. Oh—and head’s up, there’s Aeslin mice, so...don’t be too surprised when the room starts cheering.” His congregation always had an acolyte at vigil by the door these days, waiting for him to show up so they could partake of his wisdom, or some such thing.

“Aeslin mice?” Pidge blinks for a moment as they step into the elevator, but then her eyes widen in excitement, and she bursts into an enormous grin. Without all the anxiety and stubborn determination she usually wears, she actually looks quite young, but so much healthier and happier. “I thought they were extinct! Dad always wanted to find a colony, he said they have great memories and might remember old spells or histories we could use to learn more about how magic works. Do you think they would talk to me about it?”

“The problem would be getting them to stop talking,” Shiro says honestly. “Or for that matter, understanding what they say.”

“What does that mean? Do they speak a different language?”

“They can speak English, but it’s hard to understand them all the same,” Shiro says with a sigh. “You’ll learn to hear capital letters pretty fast. You’ll see what I mean when we get there.”

There isn’t just one mouse when the elevator doors slide open. What appears to be his entire congregation is there, and they burst into enthusiastic cheers and hails, waving little flags and rattling little staves and chattering in holy excitement.

“HAIL, High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of The Darkness!” the head priest of Shiro’s sub-order proclaims. “For he has returned Victorious after facing the Unbelievers!” 

“Woah,” Pidge says, awed. “This is...wow. Wow.” 

“I tried to warn you,” Shiro says. To the mice, he adds, “There wasn’t any victory. We saw her and we ran. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s not a fight we’re ready for.”

The mice consider this carefully for a moment, before the head priest proclaims, “Lo, the High Priest of Those Who Walk Out Of The Darkness shows wisdom! For there are some fights that Cannot Be Fought. As the High Priest of Seas and Celebrations once taught, ‘You Must Know When To Hold Them, And When To Fold Them.’” 

“Yeah, sure. What he said,” Shiro agrees passively, although privately he has no idea which priest that is. Possibly a friend of Allura’s father, or maybe mother, or maybe of her relatives before that. The Aeslin have named everyone major in the Alteans’ lives since they first began to worship Allura’s family. As far as Shiro can tell, the main family itself are gods and goddesses, and all extraneous close friends that are almost-but-not-quite family are honorary high priests. Marriage to a ‘god’ or ‘goddess’ means ascending to godhood oneself. 

Aeslin religion is complicated. 

The Aeslin aren’t the only ones to greet them close to the door. Coran is already there, and Allura, Hunk, and Lance are coming down the hall, drawn by the commotion from the mice. They stop at the sight of Shiro and Pidge, and Pidge freezes at the sight of them.

“This day just keeps getting crazier,” Pidge says after a moment. She looks stunned. “Is that a real caladrius? Dad always wanted to meet one too, to ask them how their healing powers worked. Wow. I really wish he was here right now, he’d love this.” 

She looks a strange mix of delighted and disappointed at that, so Shiro puts a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “Allura is nice, and her job is helping people, too,” he says. “I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you, when this is all over.”

Pidge nods. “Thanks.”

“Shiro!” Allura says. “You’re alive! We were concerned, after you warned us of the Covenant and went silent…”

“I’m sorry for that,” Shiro says. “I was talking to Pidge here to try and scope out the situation.” He pats Pidge’s shoulder once before letting her go, and pointing at everyone as he introduces them. “This is Coran, Allura, Lance, and Hunk. Guys, this is Pidge. Pidge has a couple problems I’m hoping we can help her with, one of which was the Covenant agent I warned you about.”

“Where is that agent now?” Coran asks. Although his voice is full of concern, the way he holds himself suggests military readiness, as though he half expects Sanda to burst through the elevator doors behind them and start swinging. Shiro can’t entirely fault him for the wariness; it is his job to protect Allura at all costs.

“Gone, for now. She’s still in the city, but I managed to help Pidge here shake her trail.”

“Are you sure about that?” Coran asks, still wary. He’s clearly not happy with the situation. “If she managed to follow you, and you led her right to Allura’s home…” 

“I promise, I broke the trail,” Shiro says. “Sanda is convinced she’s following a single bogeyman. She’s using tactics to catch a bogeyman. I gave her some false places to look, kept Pidge out of obvious bogeyman haunts, and tracked all over the city. Sanda won’t find this place, and as long as Pidge doesn’t leave again, she won’t have the chance to pick up the trail once more.”

“She could have other tracking methods,” Coran says, unconvinced. “You of all people ought to know the Covenant has more than one way to find their so-called ‘monsters.’” 

“You’re right,” Shiro agrees, although he knows they’re safe. It’s just a matter of proving it. “Pidge—were you ever captured by Sanda?”

“No,” Pidge says, frowning. “You said they don’t do captives, anyway.”

“Did you ever bleed from an encounter with her, or leave blood behind after a fight?”

Lance raises an eyebrow at that. “What—do you guys use bloodhounds or something?”

“Something like that,” Shiro says. “Pidge?”

“No blood,” Pidge confirms. “She never had a chance to injure me. She almost grabbed me a few times, and she got my backpack with my spare clothes and my laptop once—ripped it right off my shoulders. But no blood.”

“Then we’re fine,” Shiro confirms. “If she doesn’t have blood, she can’t employ a tracking spell.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hunk says, holding his hands up and waving them in a ‘halt’ gesture. “Tracking spell?” 

At the same time, Pidge, bewildered, yelps, “The Covenant uses magic? Isn’t that...against what you do?”

“They, not me,” Shiro says. “And there’s...a fine line, in Covenant doctrine, for human magic users. It can be considered a necessary evil in certain regards, but witches in the Covenant’s employ are monitored very carefully and only used for certain things. Like tracking spells.”

“That’s insane,” Pidge says. “My dad and Matt had no idea.” She frowns. “Or maybe they did, and that’s what happened. I don’t know, but I’ve learned more in the past two hours than I have in years...maybe he was right to send me to you.”

“These tracking spells...they need blood?” Allura asks, pulling the conversation back on track.

“There are charms that can attune to blood,” Shiro says. “They can be used to find the owner of that blood. One of the first things I did when I left was burn mine.”

“Why would they have one for you?” Lance asks, bewildered. “Weren’t you like, the star pupil of the Covenant before you left? I thought Shiroganes were supposed to be like, the elites there, even by Covenant standards.”

“It would be to find my body if I died in the line of duty, so I could be given a proper funeral and burial,” Shiro says quietly. “Or to rescue me, in the event I was badly injured or taken on a hunt. They haven’t had a traitor in a long time. These are supposed to be safety backups, not insurance policies if one of us went rogue.”

“Oh,” Lance says meekly. 

“But they can be used for prolonged hunts, if there was a first encounter that went poorly,” Shiro says. “If a Covenant agent fought something that got away, but left blood behind, it could be used if the blood is fresh enough. Create a charm, and find the target holed up wherever they went to.” 

“But that’s not a problem, because I didn’t get injured,” Pidge says, with obvious relief. “Lucky. I didn’t even know they could do that…”

“What about the backpack she stole?” Coran asks, still wary. “Could she get tracking materials from that?”

“It’s a spell, not a DNA test,” Shiro says. “It’s not like offering a shirt with a person’s scent to a dog and following them. It requires fresh blood—and a significant amount of it.” 

He shakes his head. “I understand your concern, Coran, but I’m positive that for now we’re safe. It’s been a couple hours since we saw Sanda, and we sat still for some of that time. If she had any kind of tracking charm, she would have honed in on us immediately. Sanda isn’t a witch either—she can’t make those charms on her own, and I don’t think she has a partner, from what Pidge has told me. I’m sure I wasn’t followed. For now, we’ve foiled her.”

“HAIL!” the mice cheer. “HAIL THE WISDOM AND THE CUNNING OF THE HIGH PRIEST OF THOSE WHO WALK OUT OF THE DARKNESS!”

Shiro ignores them, long used to doing so. “What we do have to worry about,” he says, “is a plan for dealing with her next time. I was able to avoid her for now, and get Pidge to a safe haven. But that won’t last forever.”

Shiro gestures to Pidge. “Sanda’s focused on hunting a single bogeyman at the moment, so she may not deliberately go out of her way to hunt other cryptids right now. That doesn’t mean she won’t attack if somebody blatantly shows they aren’t human in front of her. We need to figure out how to get her out of the city, and keep Pidge and everyone else alive while doing so.” 

Allura nods, cutting off Coran’s protest. “I agree. Let us all go into the sitting room, and we can discuss our next steps. Pidge—welcome to my home. I am sorry for your troubled circumstances, but if Shiro wishes for us to help you, then I will do my best to assist.”

“Thanks,” Pidge says. She looks a little dazed, and Shiro can’t really blame her. This is a lot to take in all at once. He gently puts a hand to her back to nudge her forward. Once she’s moving she recovers herself, and follows obediently after the others. 

They settle in the sitting room quickly—Shiro, Pidge, his friends, and a large congregation of mice. The rest of the group had clearly been discussing the issue already, because there’s several large printed photographs of the picture of Sanda that Shiro had taken earlier to review. A large TV screen on one wall displays several other grainy photographs of Sanda from other angles and other encounters, to judge by the photo quality and different clothing. 

“You’ve done your research, I see,” Shiro says, nodding to the screen as he settles into his chair. 

“What we can,” Allura agrees. “The community tries to keep tabs on notable Covenant members. We’ve seen this one before, but don’t have much information on her. Most of our intelligence comes from tracing Covenant family lineages. De Lucas, Healeys, Cunninghams…”

“Shiroganes,” Shiro finishes grimly. He wonders if Allura has dossiers of his parents, grandparents, and other extended family. He wonders if she had one of him. Maybe that was how she’d found him so quickly, six years ago.

“Yes,” Allura says, after only a moment’s hesitation. “But this one I don’t have as much information on. She’s been involved in some great tragedies, but beyond that…”

“I can fill in the gaps,” Shiro says, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees. He stares forward at the grainy images, and can’t quite bring himself to look at the others as he speaks. 

“This is Ellen Sanda. You won’t be able to trace her Covenant lineage because she’s new blood, relatively speaking, not one of the old families. She doesn’t lead the organization, but she’s well respected by its leaders and most of the common agents because she is very good at what she does. So good, in fact, she earned the nickname ‘the Admiral.’ She is extremely dangerous, one of the Covenant’s best.” 

Lance frowns. “But she’s old. Look at her. I mean, Covenant are bad, yeah, but how bad could she be?”

“This is no joking matter,” Shiro says, voice sharp, as he turns to look at Lance. “She’s very dangerous, and you need to take this seriously.” 

“But she’s gotta be pushing, what, sixty? She can’t be faster than me. C’mon, Shiro.”

“Think about it, Lance. Covenant agents spend their entire lives fighting cryptids. The ones that last this long?” He gestures at the photos of Sanda. “Are the ones that always win, anytime they track something down, and any time something comes after them. ” 

“Oh,” Lance mutters, shrinking down into his seat a little.

“I can’t stress this enough to all of you,” Shiro presses, glancing around at them all, making sure he meets the gazes of Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Coran by turn. “Covenant agents are human. They know they don’t have the natural advantages most of you have when it comes to speed, strength, stealth, or special abilities. That’s why they train to find counter solutions to those advantages. You’ve seen me fighting things that are bigger, faster, and stronger than me and win. Sanda was responsible for training me in a lot of those techniques. If you’re careless, she will kill you.”