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Chapter Text

Previously

A feminine shriek pierced Greg’s eardrums right before she seized him and hurled him to the ground.  He slammed into the pavement and slid, but when he tried to move, his body simply…laid there.  And…why did he need to get up…?

“Oh, no, you’re not getting off that easy, peasant,” a woman snarled.

The world snapped back into focus.  Morgana le Fay loomed over him, rage in every line of her face.  An otherworldly ball of green fire floated above her hand, throwing the scene into eerie green shadow.  Greg fought to tense, fought to move, but his body didn’t react.

* * * * *

Ice spread as her magic flowed through him.  He felt himself sit up, hands reaching back to brace his position even as his chin rose to hold her eyes, but he wasn’t doing it.  “The Old Religion will not be denied, little knight,” Morgana spat.  “I will have my Vengeance on you.”  She paused, smiling at the horror in his eyes.  “But rejoice little knight.  I shall not punish you alone.”

“No,” Greg forced out.  “I’m the one you want.  Leave them out of this.”

“Had you accepted my Judgment, little knight, I would have.  I would have.”  Morgana rose and his body followed suit, a slave to her whims.  “But you chose to fight my ruling.  And your friends chose to free you from my punishment.”

Then her icy power encased his mind and her will pressed in all around him.  Numb, he summoned up the ‘team sense’, delivering his mistress’s orders to his vassals.  If his soul screamed denial, it mattered not.  Not to the mistress who stood next to him, smiling as the magical commands took hold.

* * * * *

He glared as best he could from within the prison of his own body.  “I’ll never stop fighting,” Greg vowed.  “And I’ll never give up on them.”

Morgana laughed and seized his chin.  Frozen power blasted through him, draining all the warmth in his body and soul.  “You.  Are mine!” she hissed.

“Yes, mistress,” he replied dully, bowing his head in obeisance.  Her will surrounded him; he could do nothing else.  Her word was law and he was nothing if not obedient to her.

* * * * *

The mistress paced around him, her power sinking into him until frozen cold was all he could feel.  “You are still fighting me.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but emotion slammed through the ice, hatred burning hot.  “Always,” Greg hissed.   He would never stop fighting.

Morgana whirled on him, an icy spear forming in her hands.  It flashed through the air, plunging into his chest and through his heart.  He heard his friends cry out in objection as he fell backwards.  Cold surrounded him and he gasped once before the warmth was gone.  He blinked as his body moved, pushing itself up before kneeling again, waiting for her Judgment.

The mistress waved her hand, conjuring a rope.  “Order your own to touch this,” she commanded.

“Yes, mistress,” he replied, relying her orders through the links.  His vassals obediently moved forward, gripping the rope.  After a moment, his body moved and he reached out himself, grasping the rope in an iron grip.  An instant later, magic spun them away.

* * * * *

Now

Helpless rage convulsed in Ed’s soul as they landed, all of them falling in a heap as their bodies failed to absorb the shock of impact.  He fought to move or speak, but the magical orders clamped around him, stilling his mind before he could even try.  The ‘team sense’ was jammed wide open and shivers were already wracking the Sergeant’s body as Morgana’s magic flowed from his link to Greg.  He could feel her icy cold fingers wrapping around his soul, thrilling in using their loyalty to Greg against them.

Grief joined the rage as Ed saw Greg’s body crawl to its feet, hazel eyes blank and his face frozen in an expression of obedient servitude.  He knew his friend was dead; no one could survive an ice spear through the heart; and yet Morgana was still using Greg’s lifeless body like a puppet, controlling the rest of them through the ‘team sense’.  The spear itself had vanished when Morgana conjured her Portkey, leaving Greg’s clothing unmarked, but the memory was seared into the sniper’s mind.

‘Get up.’

His own body moved by itself, never surrendering to Ed’s control as he stood up.  A silent, wordless prod had them moving into a rough line, still unable to fight the Witch’s control or even voice their newborn grief.  Ed struggled to lift his chin, to mold his expression into one of defiance, but his body refused to obey.  Even with his best friend dead, he was still bound to Greg, heart, mind, and soul.

“Fools,” Morgana sneered, surveying all of them.  “Did you truly believe you could defy the most ancient, most powerful magic that has ever existed?”  She gestured and Greg’s body paced to her, kneeling and bowing its head in perfect obedience.  “The Old Religion always triumphs in the end, little knights.  You cannot escape it, no matter how far you run.  You have been mine since first my eye fell upon your leader.”

The Witch paused, as if to let them speak, but it was a mockery.  They couldn’t speak, not with Greg’s magical orders wrapped around them, stilling all resistance.

Emerald sparkled with laughter and Morgana turned to Greg’s kneeling body, smiling, but it was a cold, vicious smile.  “What say you, my own?” she purred.

“I say…”  A violent shiver, then Ed saw hazel flash, saw his boss’s chin rise.  “I say go to hell!” Greg snarled, the orders around them shattering.  “You can’t have them!”

A second ice spear plunged into Greg’s chest before any of them could react to their sudden freedom.  Just as swiftly, new orders pressed in, stifling their budding cries, but Ed’s soul burned with hate.  The spears…they weren’t meant to kill Greg.  They were meant to control him, channeling Morgana’s magic directly into his magical core and preventing him from fighting back.

“You spoke truly,” the Witch mused.  “You swore you never stop fighting me.”  She stepped forward, cupping Greg’s chin as frozen hazel recoiled at her words.  “You swore you would never give up on them.”

“I’m sorry, mistress.”  The words were dull, with none of Greg’s soul behind them.  Puppet words, extracted by a puppeteer with a taste for kidnapping law enforcement.

“Perhaps,” Morgana granted, emerald shining brighter.  “Let us see how strong your will is, little knight.”  Power flexed and ice stabbed into them through their links to Greg.  It didn’t stop, either; Ed longed to cry out as it spread through his veins, leaving frozen misery in its wake.  When it struck his magical core, his body collapsed despite the orders keeping it standing and he involuntarily curled in himself, cold wracking him so violently that it almost felt like he was seizing.  On and on it went, an endless assault that left him freezing from the inside out.

“What is this, my own?”

Ed lay on his side, still shivering, but only just.  That…that was bad, right?

“How…how is this possible?”

How was what possible?  He didn’t know, he just knew he was cold and tired.  Just…just a little rest…sleep…sleep was what he needed…

A sharp slap roused him and he looked up into fury and hate.  “You dare,” she hissed.  “You dare transgress the ancient laws!”

What…what had he done this time…?

“Enough!  Tell them to get up!”

The order echoed in his mind and his body obeyed, stumbling in its half frozen state, but rising nonetheless.  Deep within, Ed just felt…numb.  What more did she want from them?  She’d already taken away everything that mattered.  Their freedom, their free will.  What more could she take?

“You!  Peasant!  Transform!”

Greg’s body obeyed, his form blurring into a gryphon that remained in a subservient posture before the Witch, faithfully awaiting her next command.  The gryphon never twitched as Morgana plunged a third ice spear into him, solidifying her control over his mind and magic.  She sneered at the horrified onlookers, then gestured casually.  A leather collar flew to her grip, with a familiar emblem on the buckle.  The red tree on the black banner in the Celtic coat of arms.

Ed tensed in hope; if the ‘team sense’ was cut off, they would be free.  But as Morgana fastened the collar around Greg’s neck, the ‘team sense’ thrummed within them, strong as ever.  His form rippled and changed, the wings, the talons, and the great gryphon head vanishing.  An African lion stood before them, still in that respectful, watchful posture before his mistress.

Horror redoubled when Morgana turned, throwing an eerie green fireball upwards.  It flew upwards gracefully, hurling emerald light into the surroundings around them.  An old, weather beaten building was revealed, crowded with cages.  None of them looked anywhere near large enough for an African lion, never mind a gryphon.  What…what was she going to do to them?

The Witch strolled to one, examining it a moment.  She glanced back, vicious glee shining.  “Truly, I had not expected this,” she remarked, her tone one of airy nonchalance.  “But the Goddess provides, as always.”  Snapping her fingers, she pointed to Greg.  “Come to me, my pet.”

He padded to her tamely, offering not so much as a snarl of objection as she pointed him into the cage.  The big animal entered, turning around as she closed and locked the door, but stood without protest, waiting for her next order.

“Instruct the bald one to move forward,” Morgana commanded.  Ed hurled invective at her, but it was fruitless; none of it left his mouth as his body woodenly walked forward.  She smiled angelically at him, as if she could sense what he longed to tell her.  Then her gaze sharpened and she lifted her hands towards him.  “Bestia Mutation Corpus Et Animus Non Magica.”

White light erupted from between her hands, striking him in the chest; he collapsed as Greg’s orders gave way.  Tingles ran over his body even as determination flooded his veins and he pushed himself up.  He had a chance; he would stop her.  Then the first bone gave way and he cried out as he fell forward.  Realization dawned, but nothing could stop the magic tearing his body apart.

One last coherent thought made it through his mind before the pain took over.  Why does she think I’m an Animagus?

* * * * *

He was aware.  Aware of everything he said, every move he made, but he couldn’t control himself.  Imprisoned inside his mind, Greg Parker wept.  The first ice spear had done it; before that, her power had clouded his own awareness to the point that he only vaguely remembered the chain of events, with brighter flashes during those instants when he’d regained a semblance of control.

Not that it had done anything in the long run.  Here he was – here they were, his prisoners just as he was Morgana’s.  If only there was some way to break the ‘team sense’ itself – then his friends might yet have a chance to escape.  But no, there was no way to break it now.  Never again could any of them choose the other.  He’d feared this – well, perhaps not this exact chain of events – feared what could happen if ever he abused the power the links gave him over his friends.  If only the links could tell when the orders were coerced, then they’d be free and they could’ve fought back.

Another command echoed through the ‘team sense’ and Greg fought to focus.  No, no, no, not Eddie.  Please not Eddie…what was she going to do to him?  But no matter how hard he fought, it did no good; her magic was too strong for him.  The orders remained, holding Ed helpless and motionless as Morgana cast her spell.  A spell he knew, a spell etched so deeply into his memory that he knew he’d never, ever forget it.

A gryphon wail of protest escaped and he rammed the cage bars in futile rage.  Morgana laughed as her magic rose around him, allowing him control over his actions, but not the ‘team sense’.  Magic wrapped around Eddie as he collapsed, crying out as the first bone broke.  Greg heard every single bone snap in the horrible minute that followed, as his best friend and former team leader was forced through the same nightmare he’d already been through.  Protest keened and shrieked, but did not a lick of good as the screams rang out; magic glowed brighter, totally obscuring Ed’s form, but Greg forced himself to keep watching.  He had done this to Eddie, it was all his fault.  The least he could do was witness the end result of what his magic had done to his friend.

The final scream echoed, sounding like a harsh movie bald eagle cry.  Hazel widened even before the magic faded.  That…that had been a red-tailed hawk screech!  And, sure enough, as the light faded, a bird lay on the ground, wings outspread and talons peeking out from behind the splayed red tail feathers.  Curiosity surged and Greg cocked his head to the side, inspecting Eddie’s new form with interest.  The hawk’s back was dark, so dark that Greg suspected the feathers were black rather than his own dark brown.  To his surprise, the lights around them brightened and turned more white, allowing a better look at the unconscious avian.

“How very interesting,” Morgana murmured; Greg lifted his head, fully prepared to hiss angrily – if futilely – in his friend’s defense, but the look in emerald eyes stopped him.  For a few seconds, the Witch looked just like a young girl, with a child’s natural inquisitiveness and awe at the world around her.  Funny; he was fully prepared to hate her for what she’d done to his friends, but now…  She was human, just like any other subject.

Emotions swirling, Greg looked back at Eddie.  In the better light, he could see he’d been right.  Ed’s feathers were black, though he could see lighter areas where each individual feather ended and another began.  The tail feathers, though, those were solidly red; it was almost a brownish red, with a tiny strip of solid black right at their tips.  Ed’s eyes were closed, but Greg could see the beak fairly well.  Unlike his own yellow, hooked beak, the hawk’s beak was mostly black, with a small band of yellow right at the nostril area, where the beak joined the head feathers.  Greg wasn’t sure, but the beak looked even more curved than his own, capable of tearing into prey that tended more towards land than his own seabird preferences.

A tiny screech heralded Ed’s return to the land of the living.  Awkwardly, the hawk flopped for a few seconds before managing to get his talons under him.  Those were more familiar to Greg when they came into sight; aside from being much smaller, they were not much different from his own.  The real surprise was when he got a good look at his friend’s front.  Unlike the black feathers of his back, Ed’s hawk form was far more lightly hued on the front.  His head was a dark brown rather than black, fading ever lighter towards the very top.  His eyes were blue, just like his human form, but his chest…  It was more of a tan brown and Greg could see white sprinkled through it.  At the top of his legs and in the chest area, Ed had several ‘lines’ of darker feathers the same hue as his back, giving him a slightly mottled affect.

The hawk cocked his head to the side, inspecting Greg in turn and the lieutenant felt his stomach twist.  Intelligence shone in those piercing blue eyes, but it…it wasn’t Ed’s intelligence.  Was this how he had looked right after his first transformation?  Intelligent, but wild.  A predator interested in only one thing.  Fresh meat.

Emerald magic materialized around the hawk and hauled him upwards, drawing a protesting screech as the bird fruitlessly fought to flap his wings and escape.  Greg voiced a screech-snarl of his own, then felt his throat lock in place as Morgana’s power once again surrounded his mind and wrenched his body away.  Helpless, Greg raged inside his head as Ed was forced into a bird cage that wasn’t even big enough for him to spread his wings.  The Witch locked the cage and turned back to her prisoners with a slim cruel smile.  “Who’s next?”

Greg slammed himself against her power, everything inside him begging for Someone to intervene, to spare his friends from this…this torture.  To be deprived of their human forms, imprisoned as animals, and left in cages that would drive them mad.  It was too much, surely it was too much.  He had never wanted this for them, for them to be forced through his own trials as he fought to conquer his Animagus form and instincts.

It didn’t matter; she had him.  And that meant…she had them.

* * * * *

Inside her mind, Jules fought.  There had to be a way!  Sarge, he didn’t want this for them, she knew that.  It was so obvious and he was fighting so hard.  It wasn’t fair that all his struggle was for nothing.  Those first few seconds of heart-wrenching betrayal had vanished into pure horror as soon as he yelled for them to run.  To be controlled so completely that you could be used against the people you loved best…  It was the Imperius in a nutshell and Jules finally understood why the mind-control spell was so feared.  But wasn’t Sarge supposed to be immune to the Unforgivable?  Either he wasn’t as immune as they’d thought or something else was going on; it didn’t matter anyway.

“Now the female, my own.”

“No,” Jules managed to force out, the moan stifled by the way her jaw wrenched shut partway through the word; she could feel Sam’s renewed struggles against the power holding them all as her body obeyed Sarge’s commands and stumbled forward.  The brunette negotiator struggled and strained, but her body wouldn’t obey.  Her mouth wouldn’t move.  She was helpless.  Would she suffer Ed’s fate or did the Witch have another plan in mind?

“Jules!”  Sam’s jaw locked shut even as the shout erupted, but she heard her boyfriend’s plea all too clearly.

“How very touching,” Morgana sneered.  “You wish to spare your mate this pain, young peasant?”  A pause, then the Witch waved a hand lazily.  “You may speak.”

“Let her go,” Sam begged.  “She hasn’t done anything to you, let her go.  Take me instead.”

No, Sam, no; don’t bargain with her.

Morgana considered, then smiled again.  Cold and cruel, with no warmth whatsoever.  “A truly intriguing proposal, little knight.  But I’m afraid your offer is quite…misplaced.”  Glee shone and the Witch whipped back towards Jules.  “All of you are mine now!  Bestia Mutation Corpus Et Animus Non Magica!”

The white light struck her and Sarge’s orders disappeared, letting Jules fall to the ground.  Tingles ran over her body and she knew.  It was starting and now…now her days of humanity were over and done.  A part of her wanted to weep, but another part realized that now, she really would know what Sarge had been living with ever since McKean.  Then her bones began to break and the world dissolved in agony.

* * * * *

Jules!  Greg rammed into the bars, voicing a gryphon cry of complete despair.  It was all too clear what punishment Morgana had in mind for all of them.  First Eddie, now Jules.  And there was nothing, nothing that he could do.  Even if he managed to break through Morgana’s control enough to break the orders on his team, where would they go?  For all he knew, they were in the Netherworld again.  It didn’t look like the Netherworld, but that didn’t mean anything.  Magic was more than capable of turning a small spot in the Netherworld into an ordinary building, weather beaten and filled to the brim with animal cages.

Aside from her initial cry, Jules didn’t scream as the magic broke her body down.  He remembered the pain all too well.  The feel of bones snapping, the heat that melted the remnants from the inside out.  The sensation of muscles and flesh rebuilding itself into something new, alien and familiar all at once.  When the light finally faded, Greg stilled in pure shock, gawking at Jules’ animal form.

At first blush, she was entirely black, from the top of her head and curved, triangle ears, to the pads of her feet and the tip of her long tail.  Whiskers burst from her muzzle, plentiful, long, and fine, and Greg could see the faint outline of her fangs beneath that broad, close-set muzzle.  But then she moved, ever so slightly, and the light revealed rosettes, all over her face and body.  The black hue of her coat hid them from easy sight, but they were still there.  She looked smaller than him, but the gryphon wasn’t sure if that was just his impression or not.

Then the jaguar yawned and shifted, rolling to her feet in one smooth motion.  Brown eyes so like Jules’ opened and focused on Parker; like Eddie, Jules cocked her head to the side in curiosity at the sight of him.  Her tail curled and lashed, the light illuminating the rosettes on the appendage as it moved.  The big cat’s ears flicked, listening to their surroundings, and her nose twitched, inhaling the scents; Greg knew well how startling it was to smell, to be able to catalog virtually everything around you just by scent.  It wasn’t something he ever talked about, but he’d been in his gryphon form around his team long enough that he could identify each and every one of them by scent alone.  Thankfully, he couldn’t do that in human form.

Jules snarled indignation as Morgana’s emerald magic closed around her, wrenching her sideways and off her feet.  The Witch never hesitated as she dragged the newly made jaguar to a nearby cage and hurled her inside.  Greg yowled protest; the cage was hardly big enough for Jules to turn around in; but Morgana leered triumphantly and gestured.  Her magic rose in his mind, locking him away again.  He fought, but she was just too powerful.

The raven turned towards her remaining captives, magic still dancing on her fingertips.  “Two down,” she purred, casting a pointed, triumphant look at a devastated Sam.  “Who shall I chose next?”

* * * * *

Spike wasn’t a guy who failed very often.  Growing up, his natural intelligence had given him an edge over his classmates.  From his earliest days, he’d been fascinated by two things.  Technology and things that went boom.  As he grew up, he came to realize that as fun as bombs were for him, they had the potential to hurt.  The potential to kill.  But they still fascinated him, so he decided he needed to find a way to make his fascination less hurtful.  He learned everything he could about bombs and then, when he was all done learning about them, he started figuring out how to beat them – and finally found his true calling.

For a bomb tech, failure meant death, either for himself or others, so Spike naturally tended towards not failing.  Even years after the fact, he was still haunted by his failures.  Especially that bloody land mine that had come so close to robbing him of his best friend.  Normally, he could lift his chin proudly and declare that where he had failed, the team had not, but that time…  The team hadn’t come through; Sarge’s half-pint nephew had.

Absently, Spike wondered why that episode had thrust itself forward in his mind, right in the middle of a completely different sort of crisis.  Maybe it was because, once again, he had failed and the team had failed, too.  Nothing any of them could do to save themselves and no chance of backup, either.  Not unless they used a time turner; fat chance of that, though.  Too many paradoxes, especially with both Ed and Jules now in animal form.

Abruptly, his body dragged itself forward and Spike frantically tuned back in, just in time to hear the Witch’s triumphant cackle as Wordy busted through the orders holding them mute to shout insults.  The bomb tech dug deep and forced his own insult out through gritted teeth.  “What, can’t take us on in a fair fight?”

“Fair’s for fools, little knight,” Morgana sneered.  “And you are the ones who defied my Judgment against your leader.”

“What, were we supposed to leave him like that?” Wordy countered, a snarl behind his retort.

“But of course,” the raven priestess replied, her voice a dangerous mix of fury and congeniality.  “My Mark was on the collar, signifying my Vengeance on one who dared to cross a High Priestess of the Old Religion.  A Vengeance you broke.  Therefore, you shall share his punishment.”

She turned towards him and Spike threw everything he had into trying to move, trying to dodge, trying to do anything, but stand there like a lump.  The spell rang out, the light struck him, and Spike felt himself collapse.  He had failed and his team would pay the price.  Dark eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see what would happen as his body tore itself apart.  The tingles running over him grew stronger and his bones followed, breaking themselves one by one.  Spike clenched his fists and locked his jaw, refusing to scream as agony built.  Heat erupted, turning his bones to liquid and his blood to lava; as his body convulsed, Spike lost the battle not to scream.

* * * * *

Helpless grief draped him like a shroud and Greg couldn’t muster the will to cry out or crash against the bars as Spike’s sole cry rang out.  What was the use, it wasn’t like he could really do anything.  All he could do was watch as Morgana brutally used his team’s unbreakable faith and trust in him against them.  He’d promised to never stop fighting, but she had virtually all of his magic under her control.  It was a battle he’d fought and lost before; even a Squib-born’s magic is effective against no magic at all.

Dull hazel watched in resignation as the light faded, revealing Spike’s new form.  Four legs, a bushy tail, and pointed canine ears.  Big, though, and rounded, almost like twin furry dishes atop a narrow canine head.  Spike’s coat was mottled, mostly tan, but with plenty of dark streaks on his back, sides, and legs.  His rounded, yet pointed ears looked mostly black, but shifted to the dominating tan close to his head; his muzzle was all black, with a stripe of black running between his eyes and up to his ears.  The eyes were rounded with black, and his neck had its own wide strip of black until it ran squarely into the white and black patches on his chest.

The canine let out a whine and struggled up on his feet.  The tail tucked instinctively, but not before Greg saw that it was all white on the lower half, with a band of black before it turned to tan.  Spike’s back legs were mostly tan, shifting to white near his paws, though there was a generous patch of mostly black with tan and white spots on his hips.  The front legs had more mottling; white dominated and black served as the lines between the white and tan patches.  The underbelly fur was almost entirely black, with white accenting the back of Spike’s shoulders.

Greg couldn’t muster a reaction as Morgana’s magic seized hold of the slender, compact canine; he yelped, dark eyes searching frantically for an escape that wasn’t there.  Funny; he’d been able to peg Eddie as a red-tailed hawk and Jules as a jaguar, but he wasn’t sure what Spike was.  Obviously a canine, but he didn’t look like any wolf or dog that the gryphon had ever seen.  Depression and helpless grief drowned out the Witch’s taunts as she finished locking up her latest victim and turned to the three left.  He’d fought as hard as he could and lost.  What point was there in fighting anymore?

* * * * *

If he could have, Lou would’ve clenched his fists.  Why drag it out?  They all knew what was coming – why taunt them and tease them with the inevitable hanging over their heads?  Of the three human members of Team One left, Lou was slightly further back than his friends, giving him a perfect view of them.  Sam was staring at Jules, devastation clear, particularly as the penned jaguar growled and snarled, not a trace of humanity in those feline eyes.  Wordy was alternating between Ed and Spike, his expression…broken.  His best friend and his magical brother, both torn away with no hope of getting them back.

Lou’s eyes drifted to Spike; his teammate’s canine form was recovering and finally registering the far too small cage he was trapped in.  The multicolored animal began to yelp, objecting to his imprisonment, the sound joining Jules’ snarls and Ed’s high-pitched screeches.

“Look, just get it over with,” Lou blurted, unaware he could speak until the words emerged.  “Enough with the gloating, we get it.  We crossed you and now you’re taking it out of our hides.”  He managed to shrug, though a discreet attempt to move his feet proved he was far from free.

Morgana’s expression was…displeased…to put it mildly.  “Well, if that’s how you feel,” she drawled.  A cruel, arch look at Sarge.  “Tell him to move forward.”

The disguised gryphon didn’t even twitch from his position on the ground of his own cage.  Dull hazel watched with resignation as the orders took effect, sending Lou stumbling to stand at the fore, forced to center stage for Morgana’s latest…entertainment.  The less-lethal specialist locked his attention on the Witch’s face, refusing to show fear.  He lifted his chin proudly as she raised her hands; it might be the end of his humanity, but he would face that end with dignity, like a member of the best group of cops in all of Toronto.

For a fourth time, a white spell erupted and struck its target with laser precision.  Like his friends, Lou collapsed, immediately feeling the tingles spreading through him.  Determination glowed and he lifted his head, gazing up into Morgana’s eyes as bones broke and pain rose to embrace him like a scorned lover.  He held the Witch’s gaze the entire time, even as heat surrounded him and his body spasmed.  As awareness tore itself away, still he held her gaze in utter silence.  He didn’t even scream.

* * * * *

Greg wished he could close his eyes and shut the spectacle out.  Wished he could turn away and pretend he wasn’t being used like a ventriloquist’s dummy, a puppet pulling other puppets’ strings as Morgana savagely turned the ‘team sense’ into a poor-man’s Imperius.  But he couldn’t; he owed it to his team to witness what his magic was doing to them.  To witness the depths of his own betrayal.  It was wrong, it was evil, and all he could do was watch.

Lou’s defiance was futile, but brave nonetheless, turning Morgana’s latest gloat against itself.  Considering they didn’t have much else left to offer, it wasn’t a half-bad effort.  Part of Greg wanted to applaud as Lou succeeded in looking Morgana in the eye throughout his transformation; that, too, was a well done bit of defiance.  Nothing that could change the outcome, but Parker figured there was probably something eerie about looking into someone’s eyes as they changed from human to animal in slow, excruciating pain.

The gryphon lifted his head enough to inspect his constable’s new form.  Very pointed ears, with none of the roundness he’d seen with Spike.  Lou’s coat was almost entirely black, with only the white tip of his tail offering variation.  But as the small animal breathed, the light struck his sides and Greg caught a shimmer of a different shade.  Lou’s head looked narrow and compact, a slim muzzle fitting onto an equally slim head, though his tail was more than bushy enough to make up for it.

Dark eyes opened and the lithe animal picked himself up, shaking his coat out as he made it to his feet.  Greg’s beak almost dropped open.  Lou was a fox!  Sleek, compact, and almost slender, though he didn’t look as skinny as Spike.  Intelligent dark eyes glanced around the room and Lou’s movements finally revealed that his coat wasn’t completely black.  Instead, it shimmered, appearing almost silver at times, especially on his facial fur, the shimmery silver bracketing the dark fur of his muzzle, eyes, and ears.  The pointed fox ears flexed, taking in the new sounds around him.

Of course, Morgana couldn’t let the moment last; the fox yipped in pain as her magic surrounded him, dragging him to another cage; just like the other cages, it was far too small, with scarcely enough room for the animal to lay down, never mind pace or turn around.  The Witch was scowling; clearly Lou had ruined her enjoyment in their predicament.  Vaguely, Greg hoped that wouldn’t mean she would find a new way to torment Sam and Wordy.

* * * * *

Only himself and Wordy.  Part of Sam wondered which of them would be taken first; the other part of his soul was still locked on Jules.  Begging for her to look at him with her eyes and her soul, not with a jaguar’s wild instincts and total lack of anything remotely human.  He’d just spent a whole day as a five-year-old oblivious child, treating the best part of his life with disinterest at best and terror at worst.  Couldn’t they at least have had a couple days to recover from that before Morgana took her revenge?

Cold realization struck him like a sledgehammer to the gut.  He’d been De-Aged…with an Old Religion potion.  One that had to be cured; it didn’t just run out on its own.  “You…you’re the one who attacked me.”

Wordy straightened and Sarge’s head came up off his forelimbs.  Morgana regarded him a moment, then chuckled lowly.  “Oh, very good, little knight.”  A brief, considering pause.  “I was not entirely surprised when Emrys freed you.”

“You expected him to,” Wordy growled.

The Witch applauded them, hands clapping lightly.  “I knew Merlin would not see my true intentions; he has always been so blind when it suits him.”

The blond swallowed a groan.  “Sarge couldn’t leave work until I was cured,” he whispered.  “And we left, too, so you didn’t have to worry about someone else coming along for the ride.”

Morgana smiled rather than reply and snapped her fingers.  “Come, my own, summon your little sniper to my side.”

It was useless to fight, so Sam did just that, fighting wildly inside his mind as Sarge’s orders rang and his legs obeyed, sending him stumbling forward.  She didn’t give him a chance to object, either, as that hated white spell lashed out, hitting him squarely in the chest.  Sam curled in on himself as he sank down, panic rising at the thought of losing his mind for the second time in as many days.  But panic couldn’t save him, nothing could.  His arms and legs began to tingle, the sensation spreading rapidly until his whole body was tingling like mad.  He tried to summon up his magic, to thrust that alien spell away, but instead he felt the silver power inside of him heave, warmth shooting through him.  An involuntary moan forced its way free as his magic embraced the spell, eagerly pulling on it.  Bones broke, so swiftly he couldn’t tell which had been the first, and heat followed as his magic surged, engulfing everything he was and transforming him from the inside out.

* * * * *

Sam tried to use his magic; Greg felt it surge and saw his constable’s eyes turn silver for a split second.  It didn’t help; if anything, it seemed to speed the process.  Power surrounded the struggling man and Greg flinched at the unmistakable snapping of countless bones, followed by that familiar, painful blur of man into animal.  Sam collapsed on his side, head facing towards Greg as the light faded.  Definitely canine, just like Spike.  His muzzle was short, sloping down from his forehead at a gentle angle.  Furry triangular ears rose from the animal’s head, not as sharp as Lou’s, but not as rounded as Spike’s either.  His coat was a very light tan, almost blond, albeit a darker blond than Sam’s hair color.  Black shaded his fur in areas, mostly on his back and tail, although his facial fur was a mixture of blond and black.  The ears and legs were almost completely blond, though his tail was much darker.

Seconds passed and the animal stirred, whining as he awkwardly pushed himself upright.  The head swung around, inspecting the area, and Greg let out a soft keen, deliberately attracting attention.  The shapely muzzle came around, giving the gryphon a good look at piercing blue eyes.  Sam’s eyes, in a wolf’s face.  He still wasn’t sure what type of canine Spike was, but Sam…he wasn’t the type of wolf that Greg was used to seeing in the zoo, but he was a wolf.  Lean, muscled, and powerful, with jaws capable of breaking bones.  The wolf’s nose twitched as he picked up Greg’s scent; absently, Parker wondered if he smelled more like a cat or a bird.

“Curious, is it not,” Morgana purred, her magic wrapping around Sam and dragging him towards her seemingly inexhaustible supply of cages.  “Predators, one and all.”  She sounded almost disappointed by that fact and Greg instinctively bared his fangs, growl-hissing.

* * * * *

Well, this was it.  Fini, Finale.  Last man standing – literally.  Funny; of all the ways Wordy had imagined his end, getting transformed into an animal hadn’t even made the list.  Just went to show you really never knew how it was gonna end.  He flicked a glance at Sarge, wishing he could say good-bye, but his jaw had locked up again as Sam was forced over to Morgana.  His body wasn’t listening either; the brunet desperately wanted to let his shoulders slump, but they remained as they were, his body standing in a loose at-ease position.

The Witch moved away from Sam, turning to face her final victim.  Glee danced in her eyes and instead of having Sarge order him forward, she sashayed close, smiling as she ran a finger over his chest.  Even beneath his shirt, his skin crawled at her touch.  “Just you and me, little knight,” she whispered, reaching up to stroke his chin; he struggled to jerk away, but his body didn’t even twitch.  Emotion shone in cold emerald and she leaned closer.  “Swear undying loyalty to me, little knight, and I will spare you.”

“Go to hell.”  Shelley would’ve had his head for swearing, but he didn’t care.  His girls would never know and he wasn’t about to betray his team and his family just to save his own skin.  Besides, he had a nasty feeling she had ways to enforce such oaths.

Her slap hurled his face sideways before she grabbed his chin and yanked it back.  “You shall pay for your defiance, little knight,” she hissed.  Releasing his chin, she grabbed his wrist, resting her fingers on his mithril healing bracelet.  Wordy felt her magic flow into the bracelet, lighting it up as she charged it.  Cold surrounded him, stabbing into his magical core and his body in equal measure.  He lost track of time as she used her magic to both heal and torture him, sending him into convulsions as the cold bore down on him, lowering his body temperature to truly dangerous levels.

When it was over, he came to in a fetal ball on the ground, his body so cold it couldn’t even shiver anymore.  Wordy heard the incantation, but he was too cold to care as it struck him.  His fingers and toes started to tingle, the effects spreading inwards.  Arms and legs, then his core.  Wordy felt his core react and a gasp tore itself free as his magical core began to vibrate.  It shook and trembled, his body following suit.  Pain ripped through him, but his bones refused to give.  The spell and his magical core fought, as if the spell was incompatible with what little magic he possessed.

Distantly, he heard a second incantation and felt a new spell hit him.  No, not new; Morgana had recast the same spell.  Wordy screamed as the two spells united and split his magical core in half, letting out what had never been intended to be let out.  Agony engulfed him as the assault on his core sent him into convulsions once more.  His brain locked up and Wordy had a fleeting hope that he would just die before the world went black.

* * * * *

Nothing could’ve prepared him for Wordy’s transformation.  Despite knowing it was futile, the gryphon hurled himself at the bars once more, screech-roaring objections.  Keens rose, unbearable anguish given voice.  And yet, he could do nothing.  Nothing save witnessing his friend’s loss of humanity.  Then it got worse as Wordy writhed and screamed, but failed to actually transform.  His crippled core, it had to be.  He literally couldn’t transform, but the spell was still trying to force it.

Morgana shouted, hurling a fresh spell at Wordy and the gryphon’s already shrill voice rose another octave as his screeching echoed in the building.  Greg collapsed seconds later, struggling to breathe as the ‘team sense’ thrashed and sent acid flooding through his veins.  It took several moments to focus enough to figure out what was wrong, then he sank down in utter grief.  Wordy’s core had broken apart, cut in twain by the spells trying to force an Animagus transformation their victim wasn’t capable of.

Parker was dimly aware of a third spell joining the first two, but he didn’t think it would help – unless Morgana just wanted to torture Wordy to death as his body fought to do what his magic couldn’t.  The ‘team sense’ roiled within him, anguish, agony, and torment echoing inside his heart and soul.  Determination and desperation combined within him, forging one last chance.  He had no idea if it would work, but that had never stopped him before.

Greg closed his eyes and reached for the ‘team sense’, channeling his own magic into it.  He could feel Wordy’s link pulse as the scarlet power flowed into him, angling directly for the damaged magical core.  The scarlet seemed to pause at something, though Greg couldn’t quite catch what it was surprised by.  He felt the link pulse again, then his magic flared, right along with Wordy’s own dark blue.

Power rushed around him and magic glowed brightly around his constable’s fallen form.  Greg held his breath, praying.  The light remained for several seconds, then gave way, revealing the figure beneath.

Wordy’s Animagus form…was a horse.

Chapter Text

The stallion lay on his side, panting hard as the last of the magic faded away.  Greg craned, but it was hard to tell much about Wordy’s new form.  He could see that the mane and tail were a very light color, more of a cream hue than anything like Wordy’s brunet buzz.  The animal looked muscular, but there was only so much Greg could see with the horse lying down.

Morgana moved forward, cautious and wary.  “Easy, boy,” she crooned, as if she hadn’t just tortured Wordy half to death with repeated uses of the Animagus spell.  The stallion’s ears flicked forward, taking in the sound.  Greg whimpered as the Witch frowned, lifting her hands.  Something appeared in them, an object that looked like a tangle of leather strips.  She knelt, sliding the object onto Wordy’s head and fastening it.  Another gesture produced a rope, which she tied to the leather object.

Rising to her feet, Morgana pulled on the rope.  Wordy’s head came up, pulled by the rope and the leather object around his head.  Greg hissed lowly, but Morgana didn’t even glance in his direction as she kept pulling.  “Up you get, boy,” she urged.  “Come on now, you can do it.”

There was a whinny and a whicker, then the stallion thrust his legs out, straining to rise.  He fell back once or twice, but Morgana kept tugging and urging him on.  With one final effort, Wordy rolled and got his legs beneath him.  He surged upright and his feet held him steady.  Morgana stopped pulling and stepped forward, stroking the stallion’s forehead and crooning praise.  The horse stamped his back hooves and his ears flicked back and forth as he huffed, leaning into the petting.

Greg eyed the Witch warily, but took the opportunity to inspect Wordy’s Animagus form.  His coat was much darker than his mane and tail, still a creamy hue, but also much closer to his hair color.  The stallion’s four feet were white, with feathery fur on the back of his legs.  Not much, but still visible.  The horse was big, with muscles that rippled beneath his coat and a wide, powerful chest that made it clear he was a working horse.

Wordy tossed his head and turned it, giving his boss a glimpse of a broad white streak on his face and a pink muzzle.  Just visible on his back, Greg could see the faint outlines of letters and his stomach lurched.  Wordy’s scars from McKean.  Glancing at the stallion’s front legs, Greg saw the scars from his own attack on Wordy at McKean and knew, without a doubt, that Wordy’s chest was also marked with a scar.  No matter what, it seemed, Wordy couldn’t escape from his half-brothers’ vicious attack, nor his superior’s own assault.  Shame burbled and Greg slumped down, wishing bitterly that his team hadn’t saved him after the Netherworld.  If not for him, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

Morgana fussed over the stallion for a few more minutes, then sighed to herself and led him to a cage.  Greg noted that it was actually halfway decent.  There was plenty of room for Wordy to turn around and, aside from being a cage, it was large enough to be a stall.  Parker wasn’t sure if it was large enough for Wordy’s breed of horse, but it was a darn sight better than what any of the rest of them had gotten.

The Witch locked him in the cage, but stood staring at Wordy for a long time.  When she finally roused herself and turned, Greg lifted his head, inspecting her.  A glimmer of what he almost might’ve called regret shone, then she shook her head and it was gone.  Turning towards him, she smirked triumphantly.  The gryphon tensed as she sashayed right up to his cage, but held his position.  There was nowhere to run to anyway.

Leaning forward, Morgana’s eyes sparkled with glee, yet another vicious smile appearing on her face.  “So you see, little knight,” she taunted, “The Old Religion triumphs yet again.”

He growled, low and furious.  Hardly a fair fight when your victims were incapable of fighting back.  That was no victory in his book, just a tyrant throwing their weight around and declaring victory when their opponent had been a helpless sap.  Contempt shone in hazel eyes, communicating just as clearly as the words locked inside his head.

Morgana’s smile faded, then she laughed and turned away.  “You thwarted my last Judgment, little knight.  Let us see you thwart this Judgment.”  Still laughing, she snapped her fingers and Greg felt her magic rise inside his mind, crushing all opposition.

By the time he regained both awareness and control, the Witch was gone and the noise level in the building was…incredible.

* * * * *

Wordy was panicking; plunging, bucking, and rearing as he whinnied loudly, eyes rolling in pure terror.  Greg couldn’t much blame him, either, not with three starving predators practically drooling for the fresh meat they could smell.  Jules, Spike, and Sam were all clamoring, pressed against the sides of their cages closest to the terrified stallion.  Yips, barks, and roars joined the whinnies, assailing the gryphon’s ears; he laid them flat, but it didn’t help much.  The noise level was just too loud.  Lou’s fox form wasn’t drooling, but he was adding his own high yips to the cacophony around them and Greg suspected the little fox wouldn’t mind trying horse meat if he got the opportunity.  But it was Ed’s red-tailed hawk that won the loudest, shrillest predator competition as he screeched loudly, beating his wings so violently that Parker was half-afraid he would break them.

‘ENOUGH!’ Greg roared through the ‘team sense’.  ‘Stop making noise!’

The sound cut off instantly and the gryphon breathed a fervent sigh of relief.  Surveying the situation, he frowned inwardly.  Wordy was still panicking – but quietly – and the predators were still eyeing him like he was breakfast, lunch, and dinner all rolled into one.  Oh, and Ed was still beating his wings against the sides of his cage and threatening to hurt himself.

‘Guys, calm down,’ he ordered, hating himself even as he exerted magical control over them.  Mentally, he started making a list of orders he had to confess to if they ever made it out of this one intact.  ‘That’s it,’ the gryphon rumbled, watching as his friends finally began to calm.  ‘Easy does it, guys.  Keep calming down.’

It was working; the predators were easing away from the sides of their cages and no longer pressing themselves into the metal in a frantic attempt to get to the one prey animal in their midst.  Ed kept beating his wings for a few seconds, but then they folded and the hawk began preening, neatening up feathers knocked askew by his instinctive panic.  Aside from a few hungry glances thrown in Wordy’s direction, it was clear he was regaining control over the situation.  Or not, Greg amended as Wordy began pawing the ground, calm evaporating as his nose caught the scent of predator.

‘Wordy, calm down,’ the negotiator ordered, watching as the stallion visibly relaxed.  ‘Guys, I know you’re hungry, but Wordy is not on the menu.’

The predators all let out various grumbles, but turned away as the fresh orders sank in, preventing their animal minds from registering the presence of prey.  Sadly, the exception was, once again, Wordy.  Greg watched in frustration as his constable’s fight-or-flight instincts overrode his orders; in a matter of minutes, the stallion began pawing the ground again, eyes rolling in visible fear.

‘Wordy.  Wordy, calm down and look at me.’

The stallion calmed down and turned towards Greg obediently, but the lieutenant could tell his new orders weren’t going to last any longer than the previous ones had.  Already, he could see the horse’s nostrils flaring, picking up the overwhelming scent of multiple predators.  Soon the pawing would start, followed by the eye rolling as full-fledged panic erupted.  But what could he do?  How could he keep Wordy calm even though he was the only prey animal in a room full of predators?

An idea dawned and he hated it.  Loathed it with all his heart; it was just as bad as what Morgana had done, but…  As Greg watched Wordy start pawing the ground, snorts of fear erupting despite his no-noise order, he knew he had no choice.  He could either protect his constable from himself…or watch Wordy tear himself apart through fear.  Much as Parker hated it, there had never been any choice in the matter.  And so, closing his eyes, Greg reached for the ‘team sense’.  ‘Wordy, I want you to calm down now.’  He waited a few beats for the first order to take effect, then added, ‘Wordy, from now on, you will not feel any fear.  Until I tell you otherwise, you won’t feel any fear no matter what happens, understand?’

Something touched him through his link to Wordy, a whisper of acceptance and understanding.  Inwardly, the gryphon keened, but outwardly, he opened his eyes and nodded as the dark cream colored stallion settled at last, blowing and huffing as his fear vanished.  Naturally, that was when his orders to the others started wearing off and the racket immediately started up again.

* * * * *

Greg wasn’t sure what time it was when he finally threw in the metaphorical towel and issued a fresh set of orders, tacking on a sharp, ‘Keep obeying until I tell you otherwise,’ at the end.  Exhausted, hungry, and hurting, the gryphon was just grateful that the noise had stopped as he curled up in his cage and tucked his head under one wing.  Part of him was tempted to set up some sort of noise rotation in hopes of attracting attention – and rescue – but he was just so tired.  He’d been awake for at least twenty-four hours – if not more – and he’d had enough.  His feet hurt, his stomach hurt, and his magical core was still struggling to recover from Morgana’s prolonged assault.  Frankly, he’d long ago reached the point where he was utterly wrung out and exhausted, but the least bit of noise would bring him back to his feet, raring to figure out what else had gone wrong.

Very, very quietly, he tugged on the ‘team sense’ and murmured, ‘G’night, team.’  He wasn’t expecting a reply, but the lack still drove a fresh stake through his heart.  Anguish and grief chased him into slumber.

* * * * *

He was…somewhere.  And asleep.  Greg shivered, wondering how he knew that.  Most dreams, he didn’t realize he was actually asleep until after waking up and feeling the memories fade.  Parker looked around, blinking at the corridor he was standing in.  It had the feel of an old castle, but the corridor itself had a metallic gleam.  As if someone had mixed an ancient castle with futuristic technology.  After a few seconds, Greg shrugged.  It was a dream; lots of weird stuff happened in dreams.

Above his head, a series of lights came on, illuminating the corridor to his left.  The officer glanced in the other direction, but it remained shadowed and dark.  He considered, then shrugged again and started down the lit corridor.  As he walked, he passed several doors; each hissed open as he drew close, but no lights illuminated their interiors.  Taking that as a hint, he kept walking, though he peered at the dark rooms curiously.  Eventually, the corridor led out into an open area.  Several chandeliers hung from the ceiling, glittering with fine cut crystal.  Old-fashioned and ornate, but somehow they fit with the futuristic castle around him.  Greg’s strides grew shorter as he gazed up at the chandeliers.  Fancy, far too fancy for a common officer like himself; he didn’t belong here.  Still, he kept moving, though he began to scan for an easy way out.  Dream or no dream, he had no desire to be chased off like some kind of criminal invader.

Abruptly, he stepped out of the chandelier corridor into another open area.  Only…  Greg swallowed hard.  This looked like a ball room, complete with a fancy staircase that rose up to a landing with a portrait.  On the opposite side, Parker saw a set of double doors.  With any luck, they would lead out and he could get away from this old-fashioned, yet futuristic castle.

Why do you run?

Greg froze, a chill running up his back.  Fluid, he whirled, one hand reaching for his sidearm.  “Who’s there?”

There was no one.  Just the portrait on the landing: a nobleman with an elegant cloak and a crown – and piercing blue eyes that seemed to be staring right at him.  The lieutenant shivered and backed up, towards the double doors.

You will not find what you seek.

Again, he halted and scanned the room.  Still nothing.  Out loud, he asked, “And what am I seeking?”

Redemption.

The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.  To be forgiven, accepted just as he was, despite all his flaws and mistakes…  He’d had that in his grasp once, only for it to slip right through his fingers.  Others could be forgiven, but him?  He’d hurt too many people for that, betrayed his friends and family in far too intimate ways for that.  “What I’ve done is unforgivable.”

The portrait’s blue eyes bored into his own.  Only if you keep running.

Unnerved, he returned the stare.  “And what would you know about it?”

Silence echoed for a minute.  I am one who had everything and traded it all away for nothing.

Greg shivered at the declaration, hardly noticing when he holstered his gun.  The words…every single one of them hit home.  “You think I’m doing the same thing.”

Are you?  A question, yet it held the edge of a taunt, leaving Greg in no doubt of the speaker’s opinion.

Hazel dropped to the elegant carpet.  “I don’t know,” Greg confessed.  “I wish I did, but everything that’s happened…”  He scrubbed his hands over his head and through what was left of his hair.  “I don’t know anything anymore.  What am I?”  Fingers spread and he stared down at them, envisioning talons at the very tips.  “Am I a gryphon or a man?”  An Auror or a cop?  Magical or non-magical?  And if he was gryphon, Auror, and magical, what on Earth was he supposed to do now?

You are who you have always been, Gregory Allen Parker.

What did that even mean?  Greg looked up to retort, only to freeze as the portrait began to rise, a motor humming as the panel ascended into the ceiling.  Behind the portrait was another room.  The officer held perfectly still until the panel thumped into place and the noise stopped.  Except…not all the noise stopped.  Greg closed his eyes, listening hard.  Breathing.  Harsh pants and gasps.  Someone…or something was in the room behind the eerie portrait.

Though wary, the lieutenant advanced, ascending the stairs and ducking into the room, absently noting the huge screens and an impressive computer control system in the center.  Following the sound, he looked around and froze as his eyes landed on the mystery person.  Wordy, sitting against a wall in the huge room and huddled up in a fearful ball.  Greg slowed his pace to a crawl, keeping his hands in sight, but his fingers firmly closed.  Partway across the room, gray eyes came up and fixed on him, uncomprehending.  The older man held his breath, but Wordy didn’t bolt as he crept closer.  Gray lifted, watching him approach, but its owner seemed more resigned than anything else.  Once he was next to Wordy, Greg crouched down to meet his friend’s eyes up close.  Inwardly, he cringed at the blank stare he was greeted with.  Pain spasmed inside his heart, but he held steady.

Before he could speak, gray narrowed a touch, then cleared.  “I know you,” Wordy whispered, though he still looked confused.

“Hey, Wordy,” Greg replied, struggling to keep his voice even.

“S…Sarge?  That you?”

Reaching out, Parker gripped his constable’s shoulders.  “I’m here, Wordy.”  A faint smile emerged.  “What do you say we get outta here?”

“S…sure thing, Sarge.”

Closing his eyes, Greg reached for a part of his mind he rarely visited.  He felt the world around them twist and when he opened his eyes again, the metallic castle was gone, replaced by a green meadow that ran near a cheerful, bubbling brook.

“Whoa.”

A low chuckle fought its way free, rusty but real.  “Welcome to Narnia, Constable Wordsworth.”

Wordy leaned forward, shivering despite the warmth around them.  Recognition shone in his eyes, but the constable was still confused.  “Sarge…what happened?”

Parker swallowed hard.  “What do you remember?”

Another shiver.  “That spell.”

The lieutenant nodded understanding.  Of course Wordy had passed out; between the Animagus transformation and his friend’s crippled core breaking in two, little wonder that Wordy’s mind had sought any escape possible.  “You’re not dead.”

“Gee, thanks, Sarge,” Wordy sniped.  “That makes a great opener.”

Fresh guilt surged and Greg looked away.  “You did finally transform,” he whispered, staring at the nearby stream.  Shame writhed in his chest.  “I…I helped her.”

“You helped her?” Wordy echoed, bewilderment and betrayal ringing.  “Why?”

Shame surged higher and condemnation shrieked inside his skull.  “You were dying,” Parker confessed.  Slowly, by inches, and in torment he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.  “You…your magic, you couldn’t transform.”

“But you just said…”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed, voice shaky.  “Your core, it split.  My magic put it back together and…”

“And let my Animagus form out,” Wordy concluded.

“That’s about the size of it.”  The merest, barest breath of air.  Guilt, shame, self-hatred.  Greg closed his eyes as it all swamped him, filling him up until he was shaking from the force of his own wretched, wretched guilt.  His fault, all of this was his fault.  His magic, his team, his responsibility.  It was his job to protect them and instead, he’d betrayed them.  Over and over again, until they were entwined in a web of lies and treachery.  So firmly held by his magic that it was impossible to escape.  Easy prey for Morgana’s greed and spite.  It would’ve been better if he’d never made it out of the Netherworld, better if he’d died right there on that goblin bed, freeing his team from the magical chains he had forced on them.

He felt Wordy grab his arms, then the dream world dissolved as he thrashed sideways and hit the bars of his cage.

* * * * *

The brunet’s eyes widened as his boss started shaking, tears running down his face.  Guilt and shame, coupled with an extreme self-hatred that scared him.  All of a sudden, Wordy was thankful none of them had access to their weapons because Ed had been so very, very right.  Sarge was right on the edge, no longer even trying to hold on.  He reached for the other man, only to curse as Sarge vanished.

In one move, Wordy thrust himself up, yelling, “Where is he?”  No, no, no, this was not happening.  He was not going to be the one who lost their boss and let him fall – again.  Beneath him, the ground lurched, then Narnia was gone.

He tried to call Sarge’s name, but it came out as a high-pitched whinny.  What the…?  Wordy shifted, then hefted his bulk up, calling again.  Another whinny rang out and his arms felt…heavy.  He tried to hold his stance, but his arms were too heavy.  Gravity yanked him down and he yelped as his hands crashed on the ground.  Except…it wasn’t a yelp, more like a snort.

‘Wordy, calm down.’

The order took affect at once; Wordy felt his racing heart slow and rationality pushed aside the panic he’d woken up with.  He stood stock still, letting his breath out in huffs and snorts.  A horse…his Animagus form was a horse.  That explained why his legs and arms felt so heavy.  After a minute or two, the constable turned his head, but froze when he turned enough to see his tail flick, the long, coarse strands of hair flying through the air effortlessly.  Well, that was different.  So much for his buzz cut.

Curious, the stallion craned his head around farther, taking in a completely different field of vision than he was used to.  The first thing Wordy noticed was that his vision was split.  As soon as he noticed that, the vision merged…but one of the bars of his cage vanished, as if it was too close for him to see.  Startled, he whinnied and tossed his head, regaining the split vision.  The bar reappeared, out of focus but there.  The stallion still couldn’t see his own nose or anything beneath his chin and it felt like he was getting two completely different pictures from each eye.  He had a feeling he could make them overlap again, but that would give him back the rather substantial blind spot in front of his nose.  On the flip side, he could see everything on both sides of his head and all the way back towards his tail without moving.  His ability to focus wasn’t the same and Wordy found himself automatically adjusting his head up and down to get different objects in the right spot for a good look.  It felt weird and yet his new set of horse instincts found it quite normal.

Turning back the other way, Wordy spied his friends, all of them in cages smaller than his own and so cooped up they could hardly move.  Most of them looked like they were sleeping, if rather fitfully.  Mentally, the constable frowned.  He hadn’t seen them in Narnia and Sarge hadn’t acted like there was anyone else to go after.  Hiking his head a little higher, he spotted the one animal that was still awake.  A lion…wait, who’d transformed into a lion?  Memory intruded and Wordy cringed at his own stupidity.

‘Sarge.’

The lion froze, his head jerking around to stare.  ‘Wordy?  You’re…’

‘Yeah,’ Wordy filled in.  ‘Seriously, Sarge, don’t run away like that.  Might leave a guy thinking there’s something wrong.’  A snort and a hoof stomp backed up the weak joke.

Sarge lowered his head without replying.  An instant later, Wordy registered a murmur through the ‘team sense’.  Magical orders…no, Sarge was pulling them back.  For a moment, he was pleased – and then the fear hit.  Sudden, intense, and overwhelming.  He could smell predators, all of them out for his blood and oh dear Aslan, get him out of here.  Panicking, the stallion reared, eyes rolling as he whinnied in terror.  Wordy landed hard and backed away; his flank touched something and he kicked out, an equine scream cutting the air as his hooves thumped against metal.

‘Sarge, make it stop!  Make it stop!’

‘Wordy, look at me,’ Sarge cried, but it wasn’t enough.  Wasn’t a magical order.

He looked anyway – and a fresh wail of terror rang out.  Predator.  Fangs that would cut into him, ripping him to shreds.  He had to get away, he had to.  Hooves lashed out, kicking at the metal bars keeping him caged.  Nostrils flared; predators, at least four of them.  He was dead, he was dead; they were coming for him.

‘Wordy, calm down right now!’

The panic vanished and he panted hard, blowing out and sucking in fresh air like it was going out of style.  His ears flicked back, then forward; each breath brought fresh scents flooding in, adding to his vision.  He could see predators, all around him.  Could smell them…close, way too close.  One hoof stamped as fear edged inwards once more.

‘Sarge, make it stop,’ Wordy pleaded.  ‘It’s happening again, make it stop!’

The lion leaned his head against the bars.  ‘Wordy, if I do that…’

‘Just do it, Sarge.  I’m begging you.’  He didn’t care about free will, he just wanted the fear and panic – and oh, dear Aslan, there were predators.  The stallion reared, screaming mortal terror; he landed and slammed himself backwards, uncaring of the metal bars his body was striking.  Again and again, he struck the metal, oblivious to anything but the fear.

‘Wordy, calm down.’

He stilled, feeling the panic ebb.  ‘Sarge, please.’

‘Easy there, Wordy.  Just keep calming down.’

Slowly, bit by bit, the fear was draining out.  Wordy panted hard, focusing on breathing.

‘That’s it,’ Sarge coaxed.  ‘How you doing, Wordy?’

‘Better,’ Wordy gasped out.  It wasn’t enough though.  The orders…they weren’t lasting very long.  So long as Sarge kept hitting him with the same order, it was helping, but…  ‘Sarge.’

‘I know, Wordy, I know.  Just keep on calming down.’

Understanding broke through.  Sarge had to get him calmed down before he could fix the problem.  He couldn’t go from sixty to zero in a split second.  The stallion reached inwards, gripping the ‘team sense’ and letting his boss’s steady stream of encouragement flow through him.  Pain and soreness surfaced, but Wordy disregarded them, closing his eyes to shut out the view of the predators around him.  Everything was fine; it was just his team.  Nothing to worry about or get panicky over.

‘Good job, Wordy.  Ready for the finale?’

‘Ready, Sarge.’

There was a brief hesitation, as if Sarge was bracing himself.  ‘Wordy, until I tell you otherwise, you cannot feel any fear, understand?’

The remaining tension drained, all at once, and Wordy felt himself slump.  As much as a horse could slump anyway.  Huh.  So that was how Sarge had done it.  No wonder he was going squirky; that was probably way too close to Sarge’s definition of abusing the links for comfort.  Well, he wasn’t complaining, at least it had worked.  Turning his head to the side until Sarge’s disguised-as-a-lion gryphon form was in the center of his vision, Wordy said, ‘Thanks, Sarge.’

To his dismay, the lion slumped down in his cage, a soft whimper-whine escaping.

* * * * *

He had just abused his power again and Wordy was thanking him?  Greg Parker let himself collapse down, hating himself all the more for what he’d just done.  But what other choice had he had?  Wordy had been terrified, the equine instincts overriding all reason and fully intent on panicking straight into an early grave.

All his fault.  Because of him, his friends had lost their very humanity.  Bad enough that he had lost his own humanity, but he’d been getting better.  Learning how to deal.  So he was half-gryphon.  So he hated himself, so what?  He had his team and his family and his job – and at least they would never have to live with the same struggles he did.  And now…now his friends were trapped in animal form, all of them out of their minds except Wordy.  And Wordy had just thanked him for abusing the links.

A whimper-whine escaped and Greg worked his way around until his back was to the other cages.  What had he done?  What had he done?  They’d lost everything because of him; he should’ve just died in the Netherworld.  Just fallen off that cliff the day after being freed from his gryphon form.  Should’ve signed those suspension papers.  Should’ve stayed in Colorado – or Kentucky.  So many ways he could have let them go, let them live their lives without him destroying them.  But he’d been a selfish, amoral scut, more concerned with his own desires than with their wellbeing.

‘Sarge?  You okay?’

He ignored his constable’s prod.  After what he’d done, he couldn’t be forgiven.  Better by far if Wordy learned, right here and right now, to never depend on his treacherous former boss.

‘You know, I never figured you for a sulker, Sarge.’

Muscles stiffened at the jab, then Greg forced himself to relax and close his eyes.

‘Never figured you for a coward, either.’

He jerked, but stayed where he was.

There was a deep, heavy sigh from Wordy’s direction and the stallion snorted air.  ‘So that’s it, huh?  Just gonna huddle up there and leave us hanging?  That’s fine; at least we don’t have our guns right now.’

The gryphon’s tail lashed and Greg shivered even through the warmth of fur and feathers.

‘You, ah, you gonna go Danny’s route or are the kids just gonna find you hanging in my guest room?  Maybe you and a rooftop…or you and a train, eh?’

‘I’m not that selfish.’

‘Oh, I think you are,’ Wordy countered.  ‘You’re thinking about…’

‘About a permanent solution to a temporary problem,’ Greg finished.  ‘Tell me, Constable Wordsworth, what about this situation is temporary?’

Dead silence.

Satisfaction feathered at the self-hatred.  ‘Tell me, Constable Wordsworth, how do you suggest I go about solving this problem, hmmm?  We know that Morgana can control me with her magic.  We know that I can control all of you through the links.  And we know that Morgana can use me to control you.  Any ideas about how to go about solving this temporary problem?’

More silence for several minutes, then Wordy jabbed, ‘Well, not being afraid of your own magic might be a start, Sarge.’

His tail lashed again at the direct hit.  ‘Wordy, I’ve been afraid of my magic since the day I realized it was why I could feel all of your emotions.  Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think that’s something I can change at this point.’

‘You’re not afraid of heights anymore, Sarge.  You can beat this, too.’

Greg hesitated for an instant.  ‘I’m not afraid of heights anymore because I can fly now.’

‘And the ‘team sense’ doesn’t dump all our emotions on you anymore, either.’

‘No,’ Parker drawled, ‘Instead, it lets Morgana have a free shot at all of you.’

Wordy swallowed hard and swapped tactics.  ‘C’mon, Sarge,’ he begged.  ‘Can’t you see what losing you would do to us?’

‘That just means you depend on me too much, Constable Wordsworth.’  Hardening his expression, the gryphon turned his head to meet his friend’s gray.  ‘You’re a team leader now, under a good Sergeant.  You need to stop looking to me for everything.  I’m just dragging you down.’

‘No, you aren’t!’ Wordy insisted.  ‘Boss, you’re the best boss any of us ever had.  You’re the first in, last out, and you’re the best negotiator in the whole damn city.  We’d be nothing without you, Sarge.’

‘No, Wordy, you’d be infinitely more without me,’ Greg spat.  ‘I have been dragging all of you down since day one.  I turned a SWAT team into my family because I’d destroyed my old one.  Well, I did a great job with my new family; I destroyed all of you, too.’

‘That’s not true,’ Wordy hissed, stomping his hooves in agitation.  ‘You’re the best of us, Boss.  You keep pushing all of us to be the best SRU cops we can be.  You never give up, no matter what, even when we think it’s hopeless.’  The constable paused, yet Greg could sense he wasn’t done.  ‘Sarge, you made me believe in myself even when I didn’t want to.  I thought I was finished, but you came right back at me.  “Here, Wordy, we got one last shot at this thing, now give it a try and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll sign the transfer.”  And it worked.’

‘Mio nipotes came up with that, not me.’

‘But they did it ‘cause they love you,’ Wordy blurted.

‘They love you, too, Wordy.  You’re their cousin.’

The stallion snorted derision.  ‘Yeah, if you really believe that, Sarge, I got a bridge to sell you.  Sure they love me, but it’s got nothin’ to do with me being their cousin.  My half-brothers were their cousins, too, but I betcha the kids were afraid of ‘em.  It’s you, Sarge.  You’re the difference.  You opened your door and you gave ‘em a new home, no questions asked.  Now come on, Sarge, don’t give up on us now.  We are gonna make it through this and we are gonna make Morgana regret what she did to you.’

‘What she did to me, Wordy?  Funny how that’s your priority.’  Grief shone in the depths of self-hatred.  ‘Wordy, I got nothing left.  You and the guys, you don’t need me; you never did.  Cut the rope, Word; all I’ve ever been is deadweight.’

‘Sarge!  You are not deadweight,’ Wordy exclaimed, stamping a hoof to emphasize his point.  ‘You cannot be serious; is that really how you see yourself?’  When Parker didn’t reply, Wordy snapped, ‘Well, is it?’

The gryphon curled in on himself.  ‘If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.’

For a long minute, silence echoed.  Greg heard a jangle from the leather thing on his friend’s equine head.  ‘You know what, Sarge?  You’re right; we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.’

What?  Lean muscles tensed, because Wordy didn’t sound like he was giving up.  Far from it.

‘We wouldn’t be here ‘cause Lou would be dead and I wouldn’t be all that far behind.’

‘Wordy,’ Greg protested; Parkinson’s was not a death sentence.

‘No!’ his constable snarled.  ‘I listened to you; now you listen to me, Sarge!  Maybe you’re right; this is more of a family than a SWAT team, but that’s why we’re the best!  You took a bunch of good cops and you made us into something more.  Half the reason we beat wizards is ‘cause you believe we can!  You have any idea how crazy that is?  We’re totally outgunned, completely outmatched, but we keep winning!  ‘Cause we got this loony boss who took one look at the odds and laughed.’

‘I’m not laughing now,’ Greg replied dully.

‘I know it’s hard right now, Sarge, but we’re gonna get through this.’  For a long moment, Wordy stopped, then he whispered, ‘I wish you could see yourself like we see you.’

The effect was instantaneous.  Greg choked on a gasp as his magic surged, joining with Wordy’s blue; he could feel it in his mind, trying to alter it, trying to change him.  ‘Wordy,’ he slurred out, fighting hard and struggling to force the magic out of his soul.  ‘S…S…Stop…’

‘Sarge?’  Concern rang, then the gryphon heard a whinny of horror.  ‘No, no, no, I take it back!’ Wordy blurted.  ‘I didn’t mean it like that!’

Parker slumped as the magic dissipated, panting from the mental exertion he’d put forth.  That had hurt.  And it had driven the point home for him.  The ‘team sense’ was dangerous.  Not just annoying or inconvenient or even a constant breach of privacy – dangerous.  Too strong, too powerful – too easy to abuse.  And, all over again, Greg wished he’d never survived the Netherworld.

* * * * *

Wordy kept his mouth shut, watching as his boss finally relaxed and curled tighter before going back to sleep.  For a moment, Wordy wished he could feel fear.  He hadn’t, not even when Sarge had started thrashing around like a drowning man – er, gryphon – just a sense of concern and the intellectual knowledge that something was wrong.  Then the shame when he’d figured out what was going on.

The stallion let his head hang down, discouragement flowing.  He’d tried his best, but he’d failed.  Sarge was in full freefall, so wrapped up in everything that had gone wrong that he couldn’t see what had gone right.  Absent a miracle, they were gonna lose him.  The constable’s own exhaustion tugged and he let it pull him down.  Maybe he’d get lucky and wake up to find that all of this had been just one big nightmare.  With that happy thought, Wordy adjusted his stance and went to sleep, still standing up.

* * * * *

If it could have, the scarlet magic would have cringed.  The Emperor’s Law of Free Will had been transgressed and not just once, either.  Already the Wild Magic could feel the Great Lion’s displeasure.  He had permitted the Witch’s actions, just as He had permitted the state of affairs that had led to this situation, but His leniency only went so far.

“Please,” the darkness within the scarlet magic begged.  “Do not cast me into the Pit.”

The Lion’s growl resounded, not an ounce of give in it.  “Return to your master!” He commanded.  At those words, the demonic taint that Greg Parker’s magic had carried ever since his imprisonment in the Netherworld was stripped away.  The sleeping animals lurched, all of them feeling that change in the magic they bore.

And the scarlet magic let out a truly anguished wail as it sensed how horribly it had hurt its bearer.  The demonic power had granted it sentience and greater strength, but at a terrible cost.  Worse, the situation was now all but irretrievable; even when the scarlet magic surrendered to its human’s control, the damage to his spirit was done.

Aslan rumbled, soothing the grieving Wild Magic.  Tash, no doubt, believed he had won and finally succeeded in bringing the humans down, but the Lion and His Father had long foreseen these very events – and their outcome.  At the Lion’s direction, magic glowed briefly around the two Animagi.  It was time to remind Tash that there was no darkness so deep that Aslan could not find His own.

Chapter Text

Wordy blinked, looking around at his new surroundings.  Without thinking, he lifted his hands, sagging in relief at the sight of human hands and fingers.  He flexed them, thrilling in the simple act that was currently impossible in the waking world.  After a few seconds, the brunet looked around; Sarge was nearby, he was sure of it.  Just like he was sure that there had to be some way to reach the man.  They’d gone through way too much together to let Sarge destroy himself through guilt.  Fresh determination surged and Wordy strode forward, following that faint sense of where his boss was.

* * * * *

He found Sarge sitting on a bridge over a swiftly moving river.  The bridge was a simple wooden affair arching over the river.  No guardrails or anything.  Just a bridge with long, solid wooden planks.  The older man heard him coming, but didn’t move from his position.  He sat right at the edge of the bridge, legs dangling over the side and his posture slightly hunched as he watched the water flow.

Wordy sat next to Sarge, letting his own legs dangle over the side.  “Hey, Sarge.”

“Wordy.”  The reply was flat and dull, holding no enthusiasm, just the tired resignation of a man who’d all but given up on life.

This was not going to be easy.  But since when had that ever stopped any of them?  Wordy lifted his chin, set his jaw, and marshaled his arguments.  Ready, he opened his mouth to start talking and felt an odd check in his gut that stayed him; an odd impulse that offered a different course.  “Sarge?”

“Yes, Wordy?”

He bit his lip, debating for a split second, then thrust the question out.  “Could you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

The constable swallowed a nasty retort or three.  “Why you’re giving up.”

His boss stiffened and his head swung sideways, eyeing Wordy narrowly.  The big man held still, returning his boss’s stare calmly.  At last, Sarge turned, gazing out over the river again.  Slowly, haltingly, he began to talk.  Some of it, Wordy had expected, probably could have recited it back at his boss, word for word.  But as Sarge continued to talk, Wordy felt a lump materialize in his throat.

He’d known Sarge was breaking, but he’d never dreamed how long that had been happening.  Foolishly, he’d believed their problems stemmed from Moffet, Toth, and the Fletcher Stadium debacle.  But Sarge was talking about his kids – his fears that he couldn’t raise them properly, that he’d put them in danger, and that he couldn’t give them a home even half as good as the one they’d lost the night their parents died.  He was talking about his magic – how the links had almost certainly influenced the team into undermining or even abandoning their morals and values.  Forced them into decisions they otherwise might never have made.

Oh, he talked about Castor Troy, too, and how much it had hurt to lie to those he considered his friends and family.  But he also talked about Marina.  How much he loved her and how hard it was for Sarge to see how she treated his nipotes.  She saw them as competition and she was right – but only because she was treating them like that.

By the time Sarge talked himself out, Wordy couldn’t believe how short-sighted he’d been.  How stupid and blind.  Everything he could say, Sarge already knew, but just knowing it hadn’t taken away the destructive emotions and thought patterns.  Sarge didn’t need more talking, he needed healing.  He needed a miracle; he was caught up in a spiral of guilt and self-blame that was ripping him to shreds.

So rather than arguing as he’d planned, Wordy scooted closer to his friend and draped an arm over his shoulders.  There was nothing he could say that would make the situation better, so he didn’t say anything.  Instead, the constable sat next to his boss, gazing out at the river, offering the only comfort he could.  His presence.

* * * * *

Wordy had stopped arguing.  Greg couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.  He felt drained.  Empty; he had nothing left to give.  He’d fought so very hard…but he’d lost everything.  He’d had everything he ever could have wanted and he’d traded it all away…for nothing.  Less than nothing.

Redemption.  He hadn’t even realized he was looking for it until that eerie portrait had said it.  To be forgiven, given a clean start; Greg knew it was impossible even as he longed for it.  He couldn’t keep going like this, especially not after Morgana had used him so brutally against his friends.

Greg closed his eyes; his very soul was crying out.  Begging for an end to the torment and pain.  Begging for one last miracle, one that would see his friends freed from the magical chains that bound them.

“Greetings, Sons of Adam.”

They both whirled, nearly falling off the bridge into the river.  Then Greg recognized the new arrival and almost backed right off the wooden planks anyway; Wordy grabbed him just in time.  For the One standing behind them was Aslan.  The Lion’s stance was regal and proud, but His eyes were sorrowful, as though He knew, all too well, what Greg was struggling with.

Know that if ever you need My aid, call and I will come.

He’d forgotten that.  Utterly and completely.  Just like he’d forgotten all about the Lion’s unconditional forgiveness and the healing that the Lion had worked in those short, glorious hours.  Shame erupted; as soon as he’d found out what his magic had done to his friends, all thoughts of the Lion’s forgiveness and offer of aid had been thrown by the wayside as Greg struggled to fix what he couldn’t possibly fix himself.

Why?  Why had he thrown aside that unconditional offer of aid, healing, and forgiveness?  But he knew why; it was too easy.  All he’d had to do was ask – and it was his for the taking.  Far too easy for a man used to paying his own way.  Financially, physically, emotionally, Greg had paid his way all his life, figuring that everything he got, he’d earned.  Both good and bad – but especially the bad.  He’d gotten a bit better after his nipotes came; he’d known all too well that he hadn’t earned them and for sure didn’t deserve them.  Same with Dean – that, too, had been an incredible gift that he knew he would never deserve.

Despite his current depression and hopeless outlook, Greg knew he hadn’t had a bad life, but for all his striving, the truth was… he couldn’t do it on his own.  Never had been able to do it all by himself, he could see that now.  Even at his most arrogant and prideful, there had always been Someone guiding his steps, giving him incredible, priceless gifts, and patiently waiting for him to finally come to his senses and ask for help.

That’s all he’d ever had to do.  Ask for help.  Admit he couldn’t save himself and ask for help from the One who knew him best.  But Greg had scorned that.  It wasn’t right; it was too easy.  He should fix his problems all by himself because he’d caused them all by himself.

He’d been dead wrong.  Not only was there absolutely no way possible for him to save himself, this wasn’t easy.  It was the most embarrassing, humiliating, and humbling day of his life – and quite the feast of crow besides.  Every bit of his pride was outraged and offended that he was even considering asking for help.  Willing to accept redemption for free.  Looking up at Aslan, he saw the Lion knew.  Knew all his failures, all his struggles, every mistake he’d ever made, every sin he’d ever committed.  Selfish pride and stubborn defiance; his determination to live his life his own way, without any reference whatsoever to the One who’d created him.

Gathering himself, Greg stepped forward and knelt, the contrast to when he’d been forced to kneel before Morgana vivid in his mind.  Inwardly, he flinched at Wordy’s gasp, but held his position.  Without looking up, he whispered, “I know I don’t deserve any help, but will You help my friends?”

Aslan rumbled, the sound thoughtful; Greg sensed Wordy’s uncertain shift and realized the Lion had silenced his friend with a stern look.  “You do not wish Me to help you, Son of Adam?”

Ashamed, Greg kept his eyes down.  “I’ve turned Your help away so many times before…”  The words trailed off as his throat closed.

“That is true, Son of Adam,” Aslan replied.  “But I have not forsaken you.  Will you accept Me now?”

After everything he’d done – everything he should have done that he had not, Aslan still wanted him?  Greg choked, unable to reply even as his soul screamed its answer.

“You up for two?” Wordy asked abruptly.

Wiping at his eyes, Greg looked back and up at his friend.  “Wordy, don’t.  You have to make your own choice, not just follow me.”

“Who says I’m following you?” Wordy countered, then gray eyes softened.  “Sarge, I know you.  You’ve been thinking about this awhile; you just weren’t willing to take that last step.”

But now he was and Wordy was willing to jump in right after him.  Somehow, Greg knew the brunet’s decision had nothing to do with the tainted trust.  True, Wordy was following him, ready, willing, and able to provide backup in this new plunge he was taking.  But it was a decision his friend would’ve made anyway, even if his trust hadn’t been turned up to eleven.

Joy and hope surged to life, light shining through the darkness Greg had been living so long with.  He dared to look upwards at the Lion and was stunned all over again at the look of approval in His deep amber eyes.

“It is well done, Sons of Adam,” Aslan declared, shaking His mane.  Surveying them both, He gave a lion smile.  “Come now, walk with Me and we shall talk.”

* * * * *

Wordy was grateful when the Lion simply led them along, giving both men time to think and collect their thoughts.  Truthfully, his decision had been very impulsive, but he couldn’t deny that watching Sarge beg for help – not for himself, but for his friends – had struck a very deep chord within him.  Yes, he’d been swept along by the moment, but he’d made the decision and he would stick with it unless Aslan proved Himself untrustworthy.

Not that Wordy thought that would happen.  Especially since Sarge was already looking better.  Oh, his boss had a long way to go, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.  To himself, Wordy prayed Aslan had a few more tricks like that in reserve.  Better didn’t mean cured after all, especially with how bad Sarge’s emotional state really was.

After several kilometers – Wordy was secretly stunned that he didn’t feel tired at all – the Lion slowed His pace and led them to the top of a hill in a grassy meadow.  Once there, He halted and turned to them, though He focused on Sarge.  “Son of Adam, much has passed since last we spoke.”  Sorrow shone in those deep amber eyes.  “More trials yet lie before you, but you will not face them alone.”

Sarge swallowed hard, but nodded acceptance.  “What about right now?”

Aslan nodded gravely.  “I have removed the greatest issue you faced in your fight against Tash’s servant, but unless you can accept your magic as truly yours, you will yet struggle against her power.”

Wordy crossed his arms, glowering.  So much for Sarge actually getting some real help.  “That’s it?  You fixed one thing and now Sarge has to do all the rest?”

“No,” the Lion rumbled, flicking His tail and casting a brief chiding look at Wordy.  His tone softened as he turned back to Sarge.  “I will send your magic to you here, Son of Adam.  Ask your questions and test it thoroughly until you are satisfied; I have commanded it to answer you completely and honestly.  You cannot accept what you cannot trust.”

Sarge visibly shivered.  “I don’t think I’ve ever really trusted it.”

“You speak truly, but now I am calling upon you to trust Me in this.  Do not fear; I will grant you the strength you require for this task.”

Wordy was skeptical, but Sarge nodded and he knew he had to go along with his boss.  “What about the others?”

“When they are freed from their imprisonment, their minds will be their own again and My Father’s Gift will no longer be burdened by Tash’s dark plots.”  So saying, Aslan nudged Sarge’s chest firmly, the contact clearly doing something, though Wordy wasn’t sure what.  Power rose, impossibly wild, but Good and Wordy shielded his eyes from the brilliance of it all.  When he could see again, Aslan was gone.

* * * * *

They didn’t have long to wait.  Hardly five minutes after Aslan left, there was a flare of shadowy power and a pitch-black figure appeared in front of them.  Wordy suppressed a yell at the sight of a pitch-black version of his boss, complete with vivid yellow eyes.  Automatically and without the slightest hesitation, the brunet planted himself between the magic and his friend, fury boiling.  Fists clenched, shoulders tightened, and Wordy braced himself for combat even as he set his jaw.

“You had better have one heck of a good explanation for everything you’ve done to us,” the big man hissed.

The shadowy figure cringed back, the movement so like his boss that Wordy felt his gorge rise.  “You not listen,” came the faint protest and Wordy forced down a swell of nausea.  Even the voice was like Sarge’s.

“What didn’t we listen to?” Sarge demanded.

The dark figure shifted uncertainly, but those yellow eyes lifted.  “Power.  Too much.  Had to share.”  Frustration bloomed.  “Needed contact to share.  You not listen.”

The hair on the back of Wordy’s neck stood up.  That ‘you’ hadn’t been directed at Sarge, it had been directed at him.  But when had Sarge had too much magic…  His throat dried to a crisp.  “You’re talking about the magic booster,” he blurted.

It made sense, horrible, horrible sense.  The magic had been driving all of them half mad – until they’d made physical contact with Sarge.  Then the links had come roaring back to life and stabilized.

But Sarge’s eyes narrowed.  “Hard to listen if you don’t say anything,” he hissed.  “If you needed my friends to actually do something, why didn’t you ask?”

Point.  Wordy shifted, edging ever so subtly out of the line of fire.  Sarge was easygoing, friendly and difficult to provoke.  But that just meant he controlled his temper better than most, not that he didn’t have one.  When Sarge’s temper blew, it was a fearsome sight – and had been known to leave buildings in flames.

The shadowy version of Sarge seemed to know it, too, for it was fidgeting and not looking at either man.  “Pulled on vassals,” it admitted.  “Vassals would not listen.”

Wordy wasn’t sure what it meant by vassals, but Sarge did.  “So you made them obey,” he growled in a deadly soft tone.  Like the air before lightning split it.  “You used me to make them obey.”

To Wordy’s surprise, the shadow brought its head up, defiance flashing.  “Was necessary.  Vassals needed magic.”

“What?”

“Wait a sec, we already had too much magic,” Wordy interrupted.  “How come you wanted to shove even more at us?”

Sarge lifted a hand, stilling his double before it could respond.  “Clearly you’re having trouble talking.  Could you show us what you’re trying to explain to us?”

Yellow eyes blinked and the shadow canted its head to the side like a gryphon.  After a minute of thought, it nodded and gestured with one hand.  Wordy jumped when a ghostly image of Ed appeared, but Sarge just looked thoughtful.  The shadow mimed taking a potion and the ghostly Ed turned scarlet shortly thereafter.  After a few seconds, most of the scarlet turned yellow before the scarlet reappeared and intensified, growing brighter.  Yellow overtook the scarlet again and the image reached out to touch the shadow.  A ghostly link appeared between the two and ‘Ed’s’ magic turned completely yellow before absorbing into his chest.

Wordy frowned in confusion, but Sarge bore an expression of dawning horror.  Scarlet magic continued to flow from Sarge’s shadow to the ghostly Ed in a steady stream, turning to yellow as soon as it hit ‘Ed’.  Bit by bit, the magic was absorbed and Wordy watched as a sudden burst of scarlet turned the entire image yellow.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarge gesture sharply.  The whole scene paused.

“You weren’t just channeling magic to my friends, were you.  You’ve been building magical cores in them.”

The brunet’s skin crawled.  He and Sam, they’d been born with magic, just like Sarge, but the others were as technological as it got.  He’d known every member of the team now possessed magic, but how was that even possible?  Technologicals weren’t born with the physiology necessary to have magic.

Sarge’s dark twin straightened, lifting its chin proudly.  “As the Great Lion commanded, so I have done.”

Gray eyes widened, both at the sudden improvement in the shadow’s speech and…  “Aslan told you to give all of us magical cores?  Why?”

To his everlasting shock, it was Sarge who replied.  “Because we’ve been fighting Tash.”

“Huh?”

The older man sighed.  “Wordy, I’m not going to be arrogant and say that everything we’ve gone through was because of Tash, but for some reason, we landed on his radar.  And so far, no matter what he’s thrown at us, we’ve survived.”

“You are the guardian,” the pitch-black figure interrupted.  “You guard the Last of Narnia.”

Sarge blinked and Wordy froze, staring at the shadowy version of his boss.  “Tash is really after the kids?”

A somber nod.  “So long as the Last of Narnia remains in the World of Men, the Dark One cannot triumph.”  Yellow skewered them.  “Tash’s servants are many and he has long known of you.  The more you would not yield, the greater the strength he brought against you.”

“He won’t stop either, will he?” Wordy murmured.

“No.  That is why the Emperor granted all of you His Gifts, so that you might stand firm against the Evil One.”  Something like shame dropped those yellow eyes.  “The demon Tolay sought to turn me against the Emperor.  He did not succeed, but even after the Obscurus’s taint was removed from me, still his influence remained.”

“And you overrode my free will,” Sarge remarked softly.  “As well as my friends’ free will.”

The shadow cringed.  “I am sorry for all but the last.”

Wordy’s brows arched.  “That last one was an emergency?”

Yellow darted to him and away.  “Yes.”

“The collar,” Sarge breathed.  “How close were their cores to running dry?”

The brunet’s mouth dried up in horror, but the shadow simply canted his head to the side.  “A day.  Two at the most.”

By the Lion; if Sarge hadn’t made it home when he had…  Wordy flinched.  Every member of Team One probably would’ve died from magical exhaustion as their incomplete cores shut down from lack of power.  Even himself and Sam.

The constable swallowed harshly as the rest of the miserable story came together in his mind.  Once Sarge had been freed from the Animagus control collar, Team One’s incomplete cores must’ve been screaming for more power.  Little wonder, then, that Sarge’s magical core had ended up in such dire straits.  They’d probably used Sarge’s own magic to restart his core!

Sarge made a thoughtful noise and Wordy glanced over, startled at his boss’s lack of a horrified reaction to nearly dying.  Definitely a bad thing when near death experiences were so common that they stopped worrying about it.  “Sarge?”

“Eddie was right.”

“Huh?”

Hazel met his gray.  “I, ah…  The Friday before I went undercover…”

“You mean when Ed had to go after you?”

Shame glimmered and Sarge turned away.  “Yes.  He kept pushing me to come back and help and I finally blew up.”  Wordy whistled low and Sarge flinched.  “I yelled at him.  Somewhere in all the yelling, I told him what was going on.”

“And?” Wordy prompted gently.

After a few moments, Sarge looked back at him.  “While I was undercover, there was one night when he told me he thought maybe my magic was forcing me into stuff.”

“Like the commands,” Wordy breathed.

The other man twitched.  “That too, but Ed also thought the links were pushing me into putting all of you first, regardless of my own wellbeing.”

It was Wordy’s turn to flinch, especially when Sarge’s pitch-black double nodded confirmation.  Mentally, he flailed about for another, safer, topic and was privately relieved when one presented itself.  Glancing at the silent shadowy figure, he asked, “So, um, those sleep commands.  Were they just so our cores could get built?”

Sarge blinked at the subject change, then canted an inquiring look at his dark twin.  “And you said Gifts earlier,” he observed.  “Plural, not singular.”

Firmly at the center of attention once more, those yellow eyes appeared uncertain, but the shadow answered nonetheless.  “As your cores could bear the Gifts, so they came to light.”  An uneasy fidget.  “Once the cores were complete, the final Gift should have revealed itself, but…”

“But then we ran into trouble?” Wordy ventured.

Another fidget.  “Too much,” it admitted.  “Too much for a single night.  The cores were complete, but they could not support the final Gift.  Not yet.”

“Does that mean we’ll need another, um…sleep command night?” Wordy asked.

To his surprise, the shadow shook its head.  “The Lion has commanded and it shall be done this night, but your…your friends must be freed before they may use the final Gift without Tash’s curse.”

Well there was a pack of elegant sounding gibberish.  Wordy scowled, about to voice his opinion, but Sarge signaled him to stand down.  Despite the babble, apparently Sarge was satisfied with the answers they’d gotten.

“Let’s move on,” Sarge said, tone firm.  “What I want to know is why it was so important for you to override our free will.”  The stocky man glared at his pitch-black twin.  “I get that you had some demon magic running around making things worse, but I still want an answer.”

For several long moments, all was silence as the two officers faced off with the shadowy representation of Greg Parker’s magic.  Then it shuffled its feet and looked at Wordy.  “You wanted him to live.  All of you did.”  Without missing a beat, it turned to its bearer.  “You wanted them to live, no matter what.”

Unconsciously, Wordy backed up, trading a shocked look with Sarge.  That everything they’d been through could be boiled down to two simple statements…  Drawing in a breath, he turned back to the shadow, lifting his chin.  “Yeah, we wanted that, but Sarge is a lot better now.  And you just said it yourself.  Our cores are complete.  Doesn’t that mean we don’t need the ‘team sense’ anymore?”

Vivid yellow stared into his eyes.  “You wanted him to live.”

“What about the commands?” Sarge questioned.  “Even if the links have to stay, can the commands go?”

The shadow shook its head.  “They are your vassals as you are their king.”

Sarge cringed and Wordy throttled his own reaction.  Yeah, there was another title his boss wanted absolutely no part of.  But…  “Wait a sec, if Sarge is supposed to be in charge, how come my wish started doing something to him?”  And why had Lou’s wish done much the same?

The shadowy figure cocked its head to the side.  “You locked your heart away,” it stated simply.  “You wished to be free and your friend wished the same.  Your magic combined with his to free your heart.”  A glance darted at Sarge.  “My bearer wishes to be free as well, but his heart has grown accustomed to its cage as yours had not.”

“It wouldn’t have been permanent,” Sarge murmured.

“No,” the shadow confirmed.  “It cannot happen again, not with Tolay’s dark influence removed from my power.”

The brunet winced, but really, that was for the best.  It might’ve gotten him and Lou out of a jam, but it had done so by violating his free will.  Definitely not of the good.  Sighing, the big man rubbed his forehead.  “So.  Anything else we need to talk about?”

Sarge considered, canting a glance Wordy couldn’t quite interpret at his double.  “I’m satisfied for now.”

For now.  In spite of himself, Wordy frowned.  “Sarge.  You do know that after this there’s not going to be two of you, right?”  He wished he was surprised when Sarge squirmed, eyeing his magic as though it was a viper about to strike.  “Sarge.  You can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what anymore?”  Shifting hazel gave him away, though, not to mention the fearful expression on his face.

Fed up, Wordy glared at his boss.  “This!  You keep acting like your magic’s some kinda interloper that moved in one day and started wrecking your life.  It’s not.  Sarge, it’s you.  It’s always been you.  Same with the gryphon.”

“But…”

“Boss, I get it.  You’re scared.  The first time your magic came out, it hurt like heck and left you drowning in our emotions.  Then the gryphon comes along and nearly kills me.  Anyone would be scared of their magic after that.”  Wordy drew in a breath and kept right on going.  “But look at what you’ve accomplished with it.  You’ve saved lives and kept the peace.  Took out at least three serial killers…”

“I put you and Spike in danger!”

Wordy snorted disdain.  “Like heck you did.  Spike was down for the count and I wasn’t much better.  No way I coulda won if that guy hadn’t already been injured.  And even if you don’t wanna count him, you took out Castor Troy.  Serial killer, psycho cop killer, you name it – and you took him down all by yourself.”

“By fighting like a mob boss,” Sarge argued.

Resisting the urge to throw up his hands in frustration, Wordy stalked right up to his boss, jabbing him in the chest.  “They thought they had you, Sarge.  All by yourself, no backup, no anything.  But you proved ‘em wrong.  You proved ‘em wrong ‘cause you’re more than just a cop.  You’re a Wild Mage Squib-born with a gryphon Animagus form.  Every time you’ve used your abilities, you’ve done things we didn’t think were possible.  But if you can’t accept who you are…”  Deliberately, Wordy rapped Sarge’s chest.  “…then we’re finished.”

Sarge stared up at him mutely, hearing him but unable to respond.  After a few minutes, he dropped his chin, shoulders slumping.  “I don’t know how.”

Exasperated, Wordy looked between Sarge and his double.  “Do I need to knock your heads together?  Maybe that would knock some sense into both of you.”

Sarge blinked, then a rueful smile tugged at his jaw.  The smile was followed by an involuntary snicker and finally a snort of laughter.  His pitch-black double looked rather bemused, but Sarge laughed long and hard.

Wordy allowed a chuckle of his own, understanding.  Sarge had needed a release of tension, no matter how weak the excuse.  The brunet cast a wink at Sarge’s puzzled magic and turned back to his boss.  Sarge’s hazel twinkled merrily for the first time in months and Wordy had to smile back.  The boss they’d all follow to hell and back was still there – bruised, battered, and scarred, but still there.

Naturally that was when the magic slipped in behind Sarge and thrust itself forward, merging with him instantly.  Hazel turned scarlet and Sarge doubled over, automatically fighting back against the possession.

“Sarge, stop fighting!” Wordy shouted.  “Let it in.”

Sarge moaned and shook his head, collapsing to his knees as the battle raged within him.

Wordy followed his boss – no, his friend down, grabbing Sarge’s shoulders and squeezing.  “Come on, Sarge, you can do it.  You gotta stop fighting.  Your magic’s part of you, just like negotiating.”

Another moan and instinctive shake of the head.  The scarlet was dimming, Sarge’s magic dying away as he refused to accept it.

Desperate, Wordy cast about, thinking furiously as he sought to think of an argument Sarge would listen to.  Oh, how he wished Ed was here.  He would’ve known what to say to Sarge.

“Greg.”  Firm, unrelenting.  Hazel mixed with scarlet came up.  “I need you to trust me.  Stop fighting.”

“Can’t.”  A helpless rasp and moan.

“Don’t give me that, Greg,” Wordy insisted, trying to channel his best friend.  “You can.  Just stop.  I got you, I promise.”

Silence rang and the form under his hands quaked and shook.  Then Greg nodded and let himself sink forward into Wordy’s grasp.  The quivering muscles stilled, though Greg clutched his midsection, gasping for breath.  Slowly, painstakingly, the scarlet light grew stronger, obscuring the hazel beneath.  Wordy felt a pulse of something push through him, trying to knock him away, but he bared his teeth and hung on.

Greg moaned again and Wordy felt his shoulders tremble, as though he was shivering.  “Steady, Greg; I’m here.  I’m not going anywhere.  You got this.”

“Wordy?”

“I got you, Greg.  Just hang in there.  We’re okay.”

The eyes locked on his own were pure scarlet now and growing ever brighter.  Greg was panting as magic surged within him, enveloping him with all the might it had gained over the past five years.  Raw power brushed Wordy’s skin, coming from the most unlikely suspect on the face of the planet.  Greg himself was often the first to insist that he was nothing special.  Just a cop doing his part to save lives and keep the peace.

“Wordy, I’m scared.”

“That makes two of us, Greg,” Wordy admitted.  Magic was thick in the air and both of them knew.  Once this was over, there was no going back.  Greg would never be the same again.  “I’m with you, Greg.  To the end of the line.”

Twin scarlet stars gazed into his soul.  “Copy that, Kevin.”

Power roared around them, condensing down into Greg, mind, heart, and soul.  The magic he’d been divided against for so long seemed to shriek in triumph as he finally embraced it.  The intensity forced Wordy back as scarlet brilliance encased his friend.  A heartbeat later, the magic exploded outwards, sending the brunet sprawling.

As he landed hard on his stomach, the storm whipped around them for another instant, then dissipated.  Gingerly, Wordy picked himself up, peering towards his friend.  Worry surged when he caught sight of a figure on all fours.  The big man hustled forward, praying.

Hazel came up, so like Greg’s even as it was the gryphon’s eyes.  Powerful wings flexed and a lion’s tail topped with eagle feathers lashed.  But the arm that reached upwards in silent request was human.  Wordy gripped the hand and wrist, hauling his boss up on lion paws and legs structured more like a lion’s than a human’s.  Gryphon wings flared for balance as he staggered, unused to his new form, but the tired grin that met Wordy’s anxious gaze was pure human – and uniquely Greg’s.

“One last thing.”

“Yeah?” Wordy asked, puzzled.

A nod and Sarge whirled, wings arching out in a truly menacing fashion.  “Show yourself!” he yelled, every inch the SRU lieutenant he truly was.

The creature that appeared looked like a woman, helpless and fragile.  But something about her made Wordy’s skin crawl and her eyes were icy cold and pitiless.  Exposed, she crouched like an animal and hissed, the sound that of a large snake.

Sarge faced the creature down without an ounce of fear.  “Get out of my head,” he growled.  “Get away from my friends.  If you ever come near them again, I will destroy you.”

The snake woman hissed again, then disappeared in a flare of icy emerald magic.  Sarge held his stance for a few seconds, then relaxed, his wings shifting to an at-ease pose.  Then he glanced over his shoulder, gryphon hazel meeting startled, but very impressed gray.  Unthinking, Wordy reached forward and grasped his friend’s shoulder.  Except…  At the feel of feathers under his hand the brunet glanced down and blanched.  He’d grabbed Sarge’s wing.

“No, Kevin, it’s okay,” Sarge remarked before he could let go.  “Feels like friendship.”

The brunet smiled and squeezed, just a touch.  “You got it, Greg.”

Chapter Text

Awareness returned slowly.  The warmth of fur and feathers, the gentle pull of the wings on his back.  Even the feel of leather wrapped around his neck.  Deep inside, his heart sank.  His homecoming, his promotion, and everything that had come with it…it had all been a dream.  He was still trapped in his Animagus form, somewhere between Kentucky and Toronto, struggling to get home and his stomach constantly growling.

‘Sarge?’

Greg yelp-squawked and shot to his feet, a move he regretted an instant later as his head rang from its impact with a set of metal bars and he collapsed back down.  Owwww…

‘Whoa.  Easy, Sarge; you okay?’  The concern was backed with a horse’s snort and the sound of a hoof stomping the ground.

Parker held still, letting memory return and the world around him equalize before he tried to move again.  His head still hurt, but he could deal.  ‘Morning, Wordy.’

‘Morning,’ Wordy replied.  ‘Kinda hard to tell, Sarge, but I think I got a window over here.’

‘Oh?’  The gryphon rose to his feet again, though he was careful to avoid hitting his head on the bars.  Absently he noted that the cage was hardly big enough for him to fit inside, never mind move around in.  Dismissing that truth for the moment, Greg looked around the building they were in.  The window Wordy had found was a fair distance away and covered, but sunlight was still peeking in around it, lending just a bit more illumination to their surroundings.  It was a depressing sight.  Cages as far as he could see, most of them empty.  Not a single one of them had any sort of water bucket, never mind a feeding area; Greg was suddenly acutely aware of how thirsty he was.

‘Any ideas?’ the lieutenant asked, shifting his gaze from their dismal lack of options to his only aware companion.

‘I’ve been trying to shift back to human,’ Wordy admitted.  ‘No dice.’

The gryphon allowed himself to slump against the bars.  ‘I’ve got this blasted collar on; I can’t transform until it’s off.’

‘So we’re stuck,’ Wordy concluded grimly.  Without their human forms, they couldn’t open the locks on the cages or get out of the building they were trapped inside.  And that was assuming Morgana didn’t come back to ‘play’ with them some more.

Greg found his eyes wandering back to the distant window.  ‘We need help.’

‘Yeah, but how?’

Much as he didn’t like it, Greg had an answer to that question.  Gryphon hazel met the stallion’s gray.  ‘We make as much of a racket as we can, Wordy.  All of us.’

Gray widened, then Wordy bobbed his head in understanding.  ‘It’s gonna get loud,’ he remarked, grimace audible.

‘I know,’ Parker agreed, his ears flattening at the reminder.  ‘No choice.  We can’t last long without food or water.’

The stallion managed to make a face.  Their magic might make them more resilient, but it certainly didn’t remove their physical requirements – needs that were much different for an animal versus a human.  ‘Copy that, Sarge.  Who’s going first?’

Greg considered the question.  ‘Ed was definitely the loudest last night,’ he mused.  ‘But you’re the only one of us that’s domesticated.’

‘You think people are gonna be more willing to come help a horse?’ Wordy ventured.

‘Yes, Wordy, I do,’ Greg confirmed quietly.  ‘I don’t expect you to do this all by yourself, but I do think you need to be the first in the rotation.’

‘Then Ed?’

‘No.  Spike.  He’s some type of canine, so he might have a pretty good shot at attracting attention himself.’

‘Then Sam,’ Wordy guessed, earning a silent pulse of agreement through the ‘team sense’.  ‘Who do you think for after that: Lou or Ed?’

‘Ed.  He’s louder than Lou,’ Greg decided.  ‘Jules and I should be last.  I can go lion when it’s my turn and I can probably make more noise than Jules.’

‘You look like a lion right now anyway,’ Wordy remarked.  At his boss’s puzzled look, he bobbed his head again.  ‘I bet it’s that collar, Sarge.’

‘Funny.  The first one didn’t do that,’ Greg mused even as he flattened his ears as much as he could.  ‘Wordy.’

‘On it,’ Wordy replied.  Throwing up his head, he unleashed a loud, plaintive whinny.  Rearing, he added a stallion scream for good measure.  Landing, he realized that his twin cries had only taken a few seconds.  They were gonna need a whole lot more noise than that.  This…was not going to be fun.

* * * * *

Wordy found himself slumping in relief when Sarge told him to stop and had Spike pick up the rotation.  What had sounded like an easy task had, in truth, been nothing of the sort.  He would forever be in awe of yappy little dogs who made constant noise look so effortless.

‘All right there, Wordy?’  Concern rang in Sarge’s mental voice.

‘Sarge, that’s exhausting,’ Wordy groaned.  ‘It’s only my first time and I have no idea how long I can keep that up.’

The gryphon let out something like a sigh.  ‘I hear you, Wordy, but unless we can come up with some other ideas…’

‘It’s our best chance,’ Wordy finished.

‘Get some rest, Wordy,’ Sarge instructed.  ‘I’ll let you know when it’s your turn again.’

Wordy wanted to protest, but Sarge was right.  They needed to conserve as much strength as they could under the circumstances.  Huffing to himself, he adjusted his stance, feeling his equine muscles lock in place, and dropped into a doze.

* * * * *

Time passed, blurring together as Sarge patiently maintained the rotation, gamely taking his own turn and constantly urging Wordy to rest and keep his strength up.  Wordy objected, pointing out that Sarge needed to conserve his strength, too, but Sarge simply reassured him that he was fine and kept right on going.  Wordy kept to himself the awful suspicion that Sarge had gotten used to ignoring his physical needs and vowed to keep as close an eye on his boss as possible.  Sarge might be a whole lot better than he’d been before, but that didn’t mean he no longer needed support.

* * * * *

‘Wordy.’

The hiss broke through the stallion’s nap.  ‘Whazzat?’ the dark cream horse yawned, resettling himself.

‘Wordy.  Wake up.’

Grumbling to himself, the equine stomped a hoof, lifting his head to eye his boss rather balefully.  ‘What is it, Sarge?’

‘Someone’s coming.’  Sarge wasn’t looking at him; the disguised gryphon stood facing the sounds Wordy couldn’t yet hear, ears pricked forward.

Wordy felt his own equine ears respond as he strained to hear anything over Sam’s mournful howls.  He couldn’t hear anything, but he trusted Sarge.  There was no clock in the dilapidated building, but Wordy’s own imagination filled in the tick-tock of an analog clock’s second hand as the moments dragged on.  Then his hearing caught the very edge of what sounded like footsteps.  Rearing, he whinnied as loudly as he could manage.

Behind him, the noise level rose as Sarge roped the whole team in, the cacophony of animal sounds almost enough to send Wordy running for cover even with his ability to feel fear still locked down.  In his heart of hearts, though, he understood.  Unless they got extraordinarily lucky, the odds were that they’d been found by the locals.  Who probably didn’t have so much as an ounce of magic between them.  Which unfortunately meant that he and Sarge had to play dumb – literally.  And that Sarge needed to disguise the fact that a group of ‘dumb’ animals had been taking turns making noise – setting up a rotation was human intelligence and planning all the way.

“Pa!  In here!”  The voice was young, but mature; not a teenager’s voice by any means.  A few seconds later, a man appeared from a doorway beyond the rows of cages.  Wordy threw up his head, trying to get a good look.  Late twenties, early thirties, with close-cut brown hair under an old battered cowboy hat.  The stranger halted and held up an electric lamp as he stared at the assortment of animals before groaning loudly.  “Pa!  Old Man Nimmo’s at it again!”

Wordy whickered, the sound very much a horse’s version of snickering.  Apparently Morgana had stumbled on a building owned by someone with an, ah, reputation for sticking animals in cages.  Part of him wondered if this ‘Old Man Nimmo’ was also known for branching into wild animals.  It would be rather ironic if he was.

A second man entered the room, already scowling beneath his own cowboy hat.  White and silver hair peeked out from beneath the hat, accenting a weather beaten face, well grooved by time spent outdoors.  “Why am I not surprised,” he muttered, though Wordy heard him perfectly.  “That lout wouldn’t know how to stop hoarding if his life depended on it.”  The older gentleman surveyed the room and huffed in exasperation.  “Ray.  Go run and tell Ma to call the SPCA.  Then run the hose over here and help Mandy bring some buckets and another lantern.”

“Yes, Pa,” Ray replied, vanishing back through the door.

The older of their two rescuers strode around the cages to get a better look; Wordy heard the soft exclamation when the man got an eyeful of Team One’s animal forms.  “What in tarnation!  That fool gets more reckless every time!”

Wordy wasn’t surprised when the animal noises grew softer; no doubt Sarge was having even more trouble with the volume than he was.  Although his boss couldn’t risk stopping the racket entirely, they’d been found.  They didn’t need a level of noise capable of attracting attention for kilometers anymore.  Shifting, the stallion eyed the silver-haired man hopefully.  Hose and buckets…that sounded like water.  After an entire day without food, he was starving, but he was also parched.  Water…water sounded like an excellent start.

A few minutes later, Ray returned with a woman who sported dark blonde hair, both of them carrying black plastic water buckets.  “Ma’s calling them, Pa,” he informed his father – and the two aware Animagi.  “Mandy said we could get the hose over here later, once we got the ‘orses watered.”

Silver-hair rubbed his forehead, frustration appearing.  “Only one horse here, Ray.  Nimmo must’v’ been ‘n the gin ‘cause we got ourselves a whole passel of trouble.”

Both Ray and the woman – Mandy, Wordy was guessing – halted once they got their own gander at the host of wild animals penned up.  “What’s he been up to, Pa?” the woman wondered aloud.  “And why’s a horse in here with all them predators?”

“Darned if I know, Mandy, but we can’t take the poor feller out.”

“Pa?” Ray questioned, bewilderment clear.

The older man sighed.  “Son, the SPCA has to see all this, right the way we found ‘em.  We can give ‘em water and give that horse some feed, but anything more than that…”  He trailed off, shrugging in helpless frustration.

Wordy cast a glance at his boss, more than a bit surprised at the thought that helping animals in need could undermine a legal case.  It seemed like pure nonsense to him, but then, he was used to helping fellow humans in need, not animals.

Sarge shifted back and forth in his cage, a mental sigh audible.  ‘Animals are property,’ he reminded his constable.  ‘The rules are different.’

Indignation flared.  ‘We are not property!’ Wordy objected.

Hazel turned in his direction, surprisingly stern.  ‘Stand down, Constable Wordsworth.  We know that we’re not really animals, but they don’t know that.  So as a matter of fact, right now, we are property.’

‘Sarge!’

‘I don’t like it either, Wordy,’ Sarge countered flatly.  ‘But until at least one of us can transform and call for help, we’re going to be treated like animals.’

Wordy shivered, feeling every inch of fur on his massive equine form shiver right along with him.  He and Sarge were still the only members of the team with their human awareness intact and Sarge had an Animagus control collar around his neck.  That left him and so far, none of his attempts to shift back to human had worked.

The sound of water sloshing pulled his attention away from their dilemma.  Water!  Right outside the bars of his cage!  The stallion warily poked his head towards the bars in front of him, cringing internally when they vanished from his sight.  Then he felt something against his muzzle…  No, it wasn’t his muzzle, he was brushing the bars with the hundreds of fine hairs growing from his muzzle.  Huh.  Horse whiskers.  That’s new.

Gaining confidence, Wordy lowered his head, focusing on the sensations from his whiskers to find the water bucket he couldn’t see.  His nose twitched, picking up on the distinct scent of water and surprising the constable all over again.  Never before had he been able to smell water, but between his whiskers and the water’s scent, the stallion was able to successfully locate the bucket and start drinking.  Relief surged through him as the water hit his throat, soothing the parched feeling.

* * * * *

Greg did his best to keep from whimper-whining at the sight of Wordy drinking.  He didn’t begrudge his constable the water, but the fact remained that Wordy was probably the only member of the team who could get his head through the bars of their cages.  Which meant he could see the water he desperately wanted and needed, but he couldn’t drink it.

“Easy there, big fella.  Come along now.”  Surprised, Greg turned away from staring at Wordy to gazing at the oldest of the trio who’d found them.  The weather-worn man chuckled and lifted a black water bucket, tilting it towards the captive gryphon.  The water sloshed, but didn’t spill.  “There now, big fella.  Let’s see what you can do with that.”

The Animagus pressed his head against the bars, managing to get enough of his beak through to lap at the water.  It took a few tries before he found the right position, then the gryphon eagerly went to work with a will, lapping the water up as if he hadn’t had anything for days.  Which was probably truer than he knew; his last meal had been lunch at least a day earlier and given Morgana’s affinity for ice attacks, it was entirely possible his body had lost a great deal of water, leaving him with severe dehydration.

His thirst was only half-slaked when the bucket’s water level dropped too far for him to drink any more.  Instinct drove him to keep trying for a few seconds, then he backed away, rumbling thanks.  Much as Greg still wanted water, he wasn’t unaware that he and Wordy had gotten to drink first.  Nor was he unaware that the oldest of their rescuers had had to stand right next to his cage, holding the water bucket at an angle so he could drink.  It was an effort he couldn’t help but appreciate, especially since none of these people were obligated to help a bunch of ‘wild animals’.

Glancing around, he spotted the younger man holding a water bucket for Sam while the woman held yet another bucket for Lou.  Both were eagerly lapping away, oblivious to anything save the water in front of their noses.  Jules and Spike were pressed up against the sides of their cages, both of them whining for the water they could smell.  Past them, in the far-too-small bird cage, Ed’s hawk form was also keenly attentive to the water he, too, could smell.

‘Easy guys,’ Greg murmured through the ‘team sense’, careful to exclude Wordy from the orders he was handing out.  ‘Give them some space to work and wait your turns.  Pressing against your cages isn’t going to get you water any faster.’  A pause, then the lieutenant added sharply, ‘And don’t attack them!’  There was no verbal response from his trapped friends, but there was an impression of understanding from all of them and acceptance of his commands.

Mentally, Parker breathed out a sigh of relief when the older gentleman passed him by with his refilled water bucket in hand, heading directly for Jules.  Quite the adventurous soul, given that he’d gotten close to a ‘lion’ and was now moving to be within range of a jaguar.  “Easy there, pretty one,” the man crooned as he reached Jules’ cage.  “Here’s some water for you, nice and fresh.”

Jules let out a high-pitched whine, but, at Greg’s silent command, stayed back from the bars until the water bucket was in position.  Then she edged closer and stuck her muzzle through, lapping at the liquid offering.  As Greg watched, the younger man passed by his father, heading for Spike and the young woman took her own refilled bucket to Ed.  It took both hawk and woman a few minutes to calculate the best position and angle for the bucket, but soon enough, Eddie was rewarded for his efforts with plenty of water to drink.

To the Animagus’ surprise, all three of their rescuers patiently went back and forth, refilling water buckets and holding them in place until the animals were sated.  By the time he heard the rumble of an mid-sized car, Greg’s stomach was almost unhappy with how much water he’d just drunk.  The gryphon turned his head, focusing on the new arrival.  Unless he missed his guess, the new arrival was probably local law enforcement and their next step towards eventual freedom.

Feathery, furry ears pricked toward the sound of footsteps and Greg’s eyes were focused on the far away door when a young woman entered.  She appeared older than Mandy and her stride was confident.  Brown eyes regarded her surroundings from within a sculpted face.  The woman’s cheeks were slightly plump, framing a slim nose and thin brunet eyebrows.  Her hair was in a ponytail and Greg caught the glint of earrings.  In the light from their rescuers’ electric lanterns, the Animagus even saw the new arrival’s red lipstick, though the feminine look was paired with sensible boots, tan pants, and a denim top.

As she came around the cages and caught her first sight of the caged animals, brown eyes widened in shock and Greg heard her gasp.  Understandable, particularly since there were three humans in close range to wild animals.  Not that he was going to let his friends’ wild instincts put their rescuers in jeopardy, but none of the humans knew that.

“Sirs, ma’am, I need you to step away from the animals,” the new arrival instructed in a tone of forced calm.

* * * * *

Sharon Sundberg had been an investigator for the Houston SPCA for several years and she could count on one hand the number of times she’d come across exotic animals – wild animals kept as pets by private citizens.  She’d heard about other cases, of course, from fellow investigators who’d run into exotic animals during their jobs and one constant in those stories had been how unpredictable the animals were.  They were wild, with a full set of wild instincts and inherent hostility towards humans.  Even exotics in the best conditions wouldn’t hesitate to lash out and savage the unwary.

All of which was why she was horrified and appalled at the grossly inadequate cages in front of her.  Most exotics were penned behind solid bars and mesh type fencing, but these cages were only equipped with plain black iron bars.  Even worse, the bars were wide enough that the exotics could easily get their paws and muzzles through.  Although the exotics hadn’t taken any chunks out of the family that had found them, it was only a matter of time.

So she forced herself to remain calm and ordered the family away from the dangerous animals.  The lion’s deep brown eyes fixed on her, but he didn’t growl or lash out.  The oldest of the three ranchers turned to her, one silver eyebrow rising.  “We haven’t had any problems, Miss…”

“Sharon Sundberg, Houston SPCA,” she introduced herself.  Gesturing to the exotics, she explained, “Even if they seem tame right now, they’re still wild animals capable of doing major damage.”

The rancher considered, then nodded acceptance and waved his family away from the cages.  “We found these fellas about an hour ago.  Gave ‘em some water and had Ma call you folks.”

Sharon absorbed the report, walking forward enough to get a good look at all the animals.  Almost all of them were exotics, but there was one horse right near the front.  A big one, maybe even a draft, though she wasn’t sure of the breed.  Besides the lion and the horse, she could see a fox, two wolves, a hawk, and a jaguar.  The owner had to be completely insane, to put a horse in the middle of a bunch of meat-eaters, not to mention using such horribly inadequate cages to house them.  In the light of the ranchers’ electric lamps, the exotics were beautiful, even if the lion appeared rather thin, but they were still wild.  They weren’t meant to be caged like this, didn’t deserve to be deprived of food and water.

“Did you see any food or water when you found them?” the investigator asked, getting down to business.

“Nothing,” the rancher replied, expression sour.  “Had Ray and Mandy get some buckets and water from my place.”

Sundberg pulled out her black binder/clipboard and tugged the pen loose before writing down the information.  “Have you spoken with your neighbor, sir?”

The rancher frowned, turning to his son.  “Ray?  You and Mandy see Nimmo?”

“No, Pa,” the younger rancher replied.  “We just got the buckets and water.”

Sundberg frowned herself.  “How did you find these animals?”

The older man grunted, reaching up and resettling his hat.  “We’ve been hearing animal sounds all day, ma’am.  Finally came over to find out what all the racket was about.”

Sharon sighed to herself.  “Any information you can give me on the owner…”

“Not a problem; we’ve had you folks out this way before, but I never thought he’d be fool enough to keep wild animals in here.”

The investigator kept her surprise to herself and wrote down all the information the helpful rancher could give her.  Once she’d gotten all the information she could, she wrote out a notice to post on the ranch house and took pictures of the animals and their conditions.  Given the lack of food and water, she was confident she could get a warrant for removing the animals in the morning, but it was far too late to get a warrant immediately.

Having gotten everything she could, she instructed the friendly ranchers to leave the exotics alone, promised to return in the morning, and ushered them out of the ramshackle barn before posting a warning notice on the nearby house.  A part of her wondered if the owner would move the animals before she and her colleagues could get back, but there was nothing more she could do until morning.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Investigator Sharon Sundberg arrived early for her shift and checked her messages to see if the exotics’ owner had called them back.  Once she’d confirmed no calls had come in, she looked up the owner in the Houston SPCA files, frowning at the multiple instances of hoarding on his record.  Curiously, though, he’d never had exotics on his property before, just as the neighbor rancher had told her.  Setting aside the mystery, Sundberg contacted the constable on semi-permanent detachment to the SPCA and explained the situation.  Seven animals, six exotics and a horse, with no food or water and kept inside of cages hardly larger than they were.  It wasn’t acceptable and the lack of food and water would hopefully be the wedge that would get them an immediate seizure warrant.  Sundberg figured they had a fifty/fifty shot at getting a warrant so quickly, but they had to try.

* * * * *

When the clerk ushered them into Judge Barclay’s courtroom, Sharon fell back and let Constable Linda Kendrick take the lead.  Although Kendrick hadn’t been out to the property or seen the animals in person, she was more experienced with the legal system and how to wrangle warrants out of the judges assigned to the animal cruelty cases.  It was a crucial edge, especially since Sundberg was growing more and more convinced that they needed to get the animals out of their current situation.

Kendrick laid out the case in a straightforward and matter-of-fact manner, backing up the narration with the photos Sundberg had taken.  The judge lingered on the photos, marveling at the close-ups they’d gotten of several rare wild animals.  Sharon had managed to do some research overnight and she was fairly sure she’d positively identified all the animals except the draft horse.  His breed remained elusive, but once he could be examined up close, she was sure he’d be identified in no time.

To her surprise, when Judge Barclay pressed them for details, he focused on the inadequate cages rather than the lack of food and water.  It didn’t take her long to catch on, though.  The inadequate cages presented a clear and present danger, not only to the animals, but to any humans that might get close.  Although she’d regarded the lack of care as their strongest evidence, the risk to the public was greater still.  Satisfied with their information, the judge signed the seizure warrant.

Outside the courtroom, Kendrick looked at her younger colleague.  “We need to go back to the shelter.  We’ll need a full team to pick up the animals.”

Sundberg didn’t argue.  Unlike her, Kendrick had actually been on exotic animal seizures before.

* * * * *

Greg couldn’t deny he was disappointed when he and his friends were left behind in the cramped cages without either food or water.  To have freedom almost within reach and then snatched away was a bitter blow, particularly since they had no way of knowing when Morgana might come back.  Intellectually, he understood; the rules for animals were different, particularly since most jurisdictions regarded animals as property.  In most cases, no matter how cruelly animals were treated, the legal process had to run its course.  Emotionally, he was just as frustrated as Wordy, if not more so, since his physical reserves were much lower than Wordy’s.

Curling up and going to sleep was difficult, but Parker reminded himself that he was the ranking officer – and never mind that it was really just himself and Wordy – and he had a duty to lead by example.  There was nothing they could do now that they’d successfully attracted attention, so really the best course of action was to conserve their strength.  However difficult that might be.

* * * * *

The next morning, both aware Animagi woke early, disappointed that they were still trapped, but cautiously optimistic that rescue was coming.  Wordy, however, ventured an important question.  Even once they were rescued from their cages, how were they going to escape their animal forms?  Preferably before they were split up by the well-intentioned locals.

Parker wasn’t sure.  Once they were rescued, Wordy would almost certainly be separated from the rest of them and he suspected Eddie would be separated from them, too.  The links meant he would be able to find his friends even if they were taken away from him, but that still left the Animagus collar.  Despite all his attempts, Wordy hadn’t been able to transform back and Greg was starting to suspect he was the only one capable of an independent shift – if not for that blasted Animagus collar!  It was infuriating, but there was nothing Greg could do to change that reality.  All he could do was wait – and pray his newfound faith in Aslan wasn’t misplaced.

* * * * *

Greg’s internal clock insisted it was close to mid-day by the time he heard sound from outside the weather beaten building.  The low, powerful rumble of a truck engine coupled with several odd thuds.  The first truck was joined by several others, each of them with a similar low, powerful rumble.  Not long afterwards, the gryphon shied as two new doors were shoved wide, flooding the building with sunlight.  He couldn’t help the defensive snarl that erupted nor the automatic crouch into the corner of his cage furthest from the doors.  Behind the gryphon, the other predatory animals also voiced unhappy growls; the red-tailed hawk even let out a screech.

‘Sarge, cool it!’ Wordy called, tossing his head.  ‘It’s our backup.’

Parker’s feathers and fur continued to bristle, but he forced himself to breathe.  It took another minute or two, but his heart rate slowed and the adrenaline drained away.  Reaching inwards, he nudged at the ‘team sense’, tugging at his friends.  Wordy was right; it wasn’t Morgana, which meant it had to be their rescuers.  The gryphon straightened from his crouch, eyeing the new arrivals with curiosity.  All of them wore tan pants and denim shirts; keen gryphon vision picked out a dark blue star in a circle embroidered on the left side of each shirt.

One man in a white Stetson hat appeared to be their leader; he was already pointing to different areas of the barn and issuing instructions.  The heavyset man appeared friendly, if serious, and he was already marshalling his troops as effectively as any member of the SRU.  “Start clearing out the empty cages,” he ordered.  “We’ll need room to get our transport cages in here.  Don’t get close to the exotics right now; we don’t need them any more agitated than they are already.”

“Should we get the horse out?” one of the others asked; Greg immediately recognized her as the woman who’d come the night before.

“Let’s get video first, then get him out.”

‘Like heck you will,’ Wordy growled, his inherent stubborn streak materializing at the suggestion that he’d be separated from his friends.  Greg flicked a look at his constable, cocking his head to the side at the way the stallion was bracing himself in the cage, hooves planted and stubbornness evident.

‘Wordy…’

‘No way, Sarge!’ the stallion burst out.  ‘I am not leaving you guys.’

Parker forebode to point out that once they were out of the ramshackle barn, Wordy could easily be put on a different trailer and separated that way.  His constable was smart; he knew that already.  Besides, so long as Wordy was unable to feel fear, he wouldn’t suffer for being one of the last ones out.  No, his time would be much better spent with a different endeavour.  Figuring out how to avoid getting darted and knocked out.

During the long, lonely hours they’d been waiting, Wordy had confirmed he looked just like an African lion, not a gryphon.  That meant his wings were completely invisible to anyone save himself.  Although Greg had never been particularly interested in the animal realm of law enforcement, common sense and logic told him that the best way to handle unpredictable wild animals was to knock them out.  It was unnecessary, but their rescuers had no way to know that and a vested interest in protecting themselves.

It was all very sensible, except for the part where knocking him out would leave his wings vulnerable to being stepped on and broken.  If the Animagus control collar around his neck was like the last, then no magic could be used on him until it was off and he’d revert back to human automatically as soon as it was removed.  If his wings ended up broken, they’d still be invisible to any Healers and impossible to heal, to boot.  And who knew what would happen if he was forced back to human form while his wings were broken.  A lose-lose situation all ‘round.  But how could he avoid it?  He already blown the tame act to heck and gone by growling at their rescuers, and he could hardly expect them to risk their own health and wellbeing, so how on Earth was he going to avoid getting tranquilized?

Greg watched intently as those around him worked, removing the empty cages Morgana hadn’t used in an efficient, orderly fashion.  A few of them were taking video, getting documentation of the situation and the state Parker and his friends had been left in.  Jules and Spike, right at the edge of the rough circle of occupied cages, were getting agitated as the work around them continued.  When Jules let out a low, rumbling growl and Spike made a high, thin sounding whine, Parker reached out, murmuring a few orders to calm them down.

To the side, he heard Wordy snort disdain as one of the rescuers attempted to lead him out of his cage.  The big stallion’s firmly planted hooves and wide stance made it impossible to budge him.  Still, the young woman tried, crooning to the horse as she attempted to coax him out of his cage.  Greg even heard the rattle of what sounded like grain in a bucket as the local animal investigator ventured an appeal to Wordy’s growling stomach.

Lou let out a startled yip as two men next to his cage lost their grip on the larger cage they were moving, sending it crashing to the ground.  Forbidden from lashing out, the lithe fox fled to the opposite corner of his cage and curled up in a ball, trembling in fear.

From his own cage, Spike unleashed a high-pitched bark in the direction of the two men who’d scared his best friend.  Despite knowing that his friends were buried beneath their animal instincts, Greg couldn’t help the thought that their human loyalties were breaking through.  He knew it was unlikely, though, particularly since he was forced to issue a stern, ‘Calm down,’ order to Ed a moment later when one rescuer came just a little too close to his cage.

Wordy whinnied, the sound sharp and almost shrill.  ‘Knock it off; I’m not leaving them,’ he snapped.

Parker bit down on the impulse to point out that he was the only one who could hear Wordy.  His constable was simply blowing off steam and maybe even reminding his boss that not every member of the team was unaware and oblivious.  Instead, the disguised gryphon eyed the investigators’ overall progress.  They’d cleared out quite a few cages in a relatively short period of time.  It wouldn’t be long before they were ready to start the next stage of their operation.

The leader in the Stetson hat was talking to another man.  The second man was dressed in what looked like light blue scrubs.  A doctor or – more likely – a vet.  He couldn’t tell much about the vet aside from the man’s full head of black hair and his authoritative stance.

“If we can avoid sedation, it will be much better for the animals.”

“I understand that, but these cages are lousy,” the leader replied.  “We get in close and they can get those claws through the bars.  Believe me, it won’t be pretty if they catch one of us.”

The vet nodded in somber acknowledgement.  “Plywood?” he suggested.  “There are some boards in one of the trailers.  If we keep the boards between us and the animals while we get the transport cages close…”

“Could work,” the leader murmured.  He turned his head, studying Greg and his friends with a veteran professional’s frank assessment.  “Have the dart guns loaded, just in case.”

“Of course,” the vet agreed.  “We can probably get the hawk and the fox out first; they’ll be easier to handle.”

“Sounds good,” the leader replied.  “Get the rifles ready; we’ll clear out a couple more cages while you get set up.”

Greg shifted uneasily as he watched the investigators.  Although it was a positive sign that the vet was willing to give them a chance to cooperate, he wasn’t going to relax until he and his friends were safely out of the barn.  Inwardly, he gripped the ‘team sense’, though he temporarily shut down his link to Wordy.  ‘No threatening moves and no biting,’ he ordered.  ‘Let the locals do their job; once they’ve got the transport cages in place, get in ‘em.  Quicker we get in the transport cages, quicker we get out of here and finally get something to eat.’  A sense of agreement filtered through the ‘team sense’, every one of his friends eager to escape their current captivity.

The rescuers started with Eddie.  Parker’s hasty orders kept the hawk calm as a woman with thick leather gloves reached into the cramped bird cage and lifted him out.  Once removed from his captivity, the red-tailed hawk was placed in a brown cardboard carry box that looked a bit like a wine box with lunchbox handles on top.  As Greg watched the operation, resentment towards the ‘team sense’ stirred anew at the sight of his best friend’s animal form placidly accepting everything done to him.  Resentment at how much power the ‘team sense’ gave him over the people he cared about.  The negative view of himself, of his own abilities…it wasn’t good and the veteran negotiator knew he needed to restructure his mindset, but it was so hard to see things differently when he had to deal with all the fallout of his influence over his friends.

It wasn’t as bad as it had been in the first hours after Morgana had ruthlessly exploited him to hurt his friends, though.  Looking back, Greg could only feel a keen sense of shame at his initial reaction.  Wordy’s pointed jabs about suicide had been dead on.  Worse, he himself had been too wrapped up in his own guilt and self-hatred to acknowledge that there was anything wrong in wanting to end up dead – the sooner, the better.

What a difference knowing the truth made.  In more ways than one; although it definitely helped to know that not all of his actions had been his, it helped even more to know that he didn’t have to keep fighting by himself.  It was humbling to realize that he’d never had to fight alone, even during the loneliest situations in his life.  Although… Greg had a feeling that Aslan tended more towards quiet planning and nudges than flashy rescues.  Small, subtle, and in the background enough that if people chose to ignore His intervention, they could.  A large part of him cried out for that flashy rescue and instant healing, but the rational part of his mind could see the wisdom of His approach.

The gryphon snapped back to attention when Lou let out a fearful yip.  Two investigators were in front of the cage, long catch poles in hand.  Each pole had a steel noose at the end, meant to go around an animal’s neck, and the poles sported black rubber grips as well as a red plastic sleeve right above the noose.  The black fox cowered in the far corner of his cage, dark eyes fixed on the humans as he trembled.  Parker bristled; the poles weren’t necessary – but the humans didn’t know that.  They had no way to know, which meant Team One had no real recourse.

So Greg lowered his head, ears flattening unhappily, and did what he had to.  ‘Lou, calm down,’ he ordered.  ‘I know you’re scared, but let them catch you.  It’ll be okay.’

The lithe black fox continued to whimper and whine, but he obeyed, holding perfectly still as one of the humans opened the cage and stretched the catch pole out to loop the steel cable around his neck.  The investigator tightened the noose and gently tugged Lou forward, guiding him out of the cage and into a medium-sized dog crate.  Once Lou was inside, the second investigator closed the crate and held it shut while her companion released the little fox from the catch pole and pulled the pole back out.

Parker made himself watch, struggling all over again against the self-hatred swelling up in his soul.  He knew it had to happen, knew it was necessary, but he couldn’t help the guilt for putting his friends in this situation.  The gryphon’s gaze remained fixed on the investigators as they removed both the hawk box and the dog cage, staying well away from the four remaining predators as they worked.

As the first group pulled back, another group moved forward, pushing a rectangular cage on wheels into position next to Sam’s cage.  The dark blond wolf backed away, ears flattening as a low growl rumbled in his chest.  Greg winced inwardly, but he really couldn’t blame his friend’s animal instincts.  In addition to the squat, rectangular cage, several investigators were carrying what looked like plywood shields and they moved right up to Sam’s cage, pressing the plywood against the cage’s bars.  They were only doing it to protect themselves, but from Sam’s point of view, it no doubt looked like an attack.

One investigator climbed up on the transport cage and went from there to the top of Sam’s cage, balancing carefully as she manipulated the cage’s door to open it.  A second investigator opened the transport cage’s door, giving Sam an opening to escape the far-too-small cage he was imprisoned in.  The wolf eyed the opening and pressed back against the bars of his current enclosure, still growling.  It was plain that he preferred his known surroundings to the unknown that awaited in the transport cage.

Sighing to himself, Greg reached for the ‘team sense’.  ‘Sam, get in the transport cage.  The sooner you do that, the sooner you get fed.  They won’t hurt you, I promise.’

Keen blue eyes turned to meet his hazel, even through all the chaos inside the old barn.  The wolf didn’t reply, but Parker could sense his trust and acceptance of the orders he’d been given.  Sam’s ears perked up, then the canine prowled forward, whining and tucking his tail even as he crept out of one cage and into the other.  He yelped and panicked when the door slid shut behind him, but by then he was safe inside the transport cage.

Spike’s odd and high-pitched barks pulled Greg’s attention away from Sam; the disguised gryphon winced at the sight of Spike cowering much like Lou had.  The animal investigators had set up their operation in an identical fashion to how they’d handled Sam – and Spike was reacting just as Sam had.  Fearful and hiding as much as he could from the unknown.  Unhappy, but determined, Parker ordered his transformed constable into the transport cage.  He hated the fact that his friends’ animal forms were being frightened half to death, but he couldn’t change it.  All he could do was ensure they didn’t have to be tranquilized as well.

Jules’ reaction was the opposite; she snarled as the investigators moved in with a third cage, letting out a roar that left no one in any doubt that she was unhappy with their advance on her territory – such as it was.

Parker allowed his own growl to rumble, fixing the jaguar with a glare.  Jules’ attention snapped to him and she whined, confused by his disapproval.  The gryphon snarled, coupling the sound with a sharp, ‘Jules, stand down.  They’re here to help us.’

She whined again, but obeyed.  No further growls, snarls, or roars escaped her jaws as the large transport cage was maneuvered into position.  When the two cage doors opened, the big cat paced forward, lashing her tail as she stalked inside, proudly regal to the last.

Greg ignored the appraising glances being sent in his direction.  He didn’t care how out of character his behavior was, he wasn’t a dumb animal, darn it!  He was human; he had human intelligence and human reasoning and he had no intentions of allowing either himself, his friends, or their rescuers to be harmed.  Even if that did mean he had to act more like the human he was than the animal he appeared to be.

Turning towards his own cage door, the gryphon waited patiently for the investigators to get their last transport cage.  Inside, his instincts bristled at the sight of the plywood shields, but he refused to let himself get overly riled.  Precautions were not a threat, particularly when they meant he didn’t have to get darted.  Accordingly, he held still as the cage creaked up and clanged against his cage.  Noisy, but nothing to get worked up about.  Rumbling to himself, Greg waited for the two doors to squeak open; it took another minute, but then they did.  At last!  One step closer to ending their latest nightmare.  Pleased, the gryphon padded towards the transport cage.

Only to jerk to a halt when he started to step inside and felt his wings touch the metal of the cage’s door.  The gryphon backed up automatically, swallowing a hiss at the thought of damaging his flying appendages.  Greg forced himself to halt, examining the transport cage closely, and his heart sank.  It was big enough for the African lion he appeared to be, but it wasn’t big enough for a gryphon.  A gryphon’s wings were a third again as long as their bodies and very strong – but also very fragile.  Parker knew his bones were hollow and that the bones in his body were magically reinforced, allowing him to move on land just like his lion half could.  Gryphon wings were also magically reinforced, but to a far lesser degree; if he applied too much pressure to his wings, the bones would snap or end up crushed.

After a few moments of thought, Greg crouched down as much as he could, folding his wings as tightly to his body as he could manage, and crept towards the cage again.  It almost worked; he made it a bit farther into the cage, but the largest folds of his wings began to press against the bars, forcing the gryphon backwards once more.  Frustrated, he whined, sinking down on his belly in a desperate attempt to fit inside the cage, but even that was defeated.  The transport cage was simply too small.

“Come on, big guy, you’re almost there.”

Surprised, Greg looked around, his gaze landing on an older woman in a constable uniform.  She was watching from the far side, well out of range, but close enough to see his movements.  The gryphon whimpered and pressed against the transport cage – though he was careful to keep from applying too much pressure to his wings.  Pulling back, he turned to the constable, trying to communicate his situation – he wanted to go in the transport cage, but he couldn’t.

“All right, we’ll have to dart him.”  The leader, calm and collected despite the hours they’d already spent working.

No!  Frantic, Greg turned around and tried to back into the cage, sinking down on his belly and wriggling in an attempt to get his wings fully inside.  When his instincts shrilled warning, he froze, but locked his hazel eyes on the constable, whimpering in unspoken plea.  Please.  Please don’t tranq me.  He could hear Wordy rearing and whinnying protest, but that didn’t matter.  The humans couldn’t let that matter, not with their lives potentially on the line.

“Wait.  Jantzen, get over here; he’s trying to get in, but he can’t.”

The gryphon held perfectly still as he listened to heavy footsteps make their way past the plywood shields that guarded the investigators, but prevented them from seeing him clearly.  The lead investigator came into his line of sight, frowning as he joined his colleague.  When the man turned, Greg saw his eyebrows go up under his white Stetson hat.  Laying his head down, the Animagus whimper-whined, allowing just a hair of his eagle side back out.

“Linda, he’s just layin’ there.”

Before the constable could reply, Greg squawk-hissed indignation and pushed himself up just enough to lever back against the cage door.  The gryphon was achingly careful to keep from harming his wings, but he had to show that he was trying to get in.

“Somebody move one of those boards,” the constable insisted, dragging her colleague with her as she moved around the cage and closer to where Greg was.  “Jantzen, you ever see an animal back into a transport cage like that?”

One of the other investigators pulled a board away, giving both Jantzen and the constable an up close look at the gryphon’s position.  Greg turned his head to look at them, whimper-whining louder; if only they could see his wings, then they’d know why he couldn’t get in their cage.  But the collar hid his true appearance and Morgana’s cage was too small for him to spread his wings, much less flap them.

Jantzen frowned, studying the disguised gryphon in confusion.  “He’s got more than enough room to get in,” he pointed out.

“Do we have any bigger cages here?” one of the other investigators asked, a lilt to her voice that reminded Greg of the female investigator who’d come the night before.

The frown grew deeper.  “We can’t move the cage with him half in and half out.”  Before the man could continue, Greg pushed himself forward and out of the transport cage.  He moved far enough that his tail was well out of the way, then turned to gaze at the startled humans.  So what if he acted more intelligent than a regular animal – he was human and he wasn’t going to let himself get darted if he could help it.

“Well, that solves that,” the female investigator observed, though bewilderment shone underneath the wry tone.

“Only if we have a bigger cage,” Jantzen grumbled, automatically adjusting his Stetson as he headed out of the barn, presumably to find another cage.  Greg watched him go, heart sinking.  What if they didn’t have a bigger cage?  What then?  Behind him, he could feel Wordy’s gaze on his back, just as helpless and frustrated.

* * * * *

Chief Animal Cruelty Investigator Rick Jantzen scowled as he stalked out of the barn and headed towards the trucks and trailers his team had brought to the old ranch.  Something was off about this whole case.  No sign of the animals’ owner – and Rick had been looking for the man.  Who didn’t show up to their own animals getting seized?  It hadn’t been long enough to be considered an abandonment case, just severe neglect.  Seven animals, six wild, one domestic, and all of them locked in cages that weren’t suitable no matter how you looked at them.  Too small and utterly inadequate – and that was just the start of the weirdness.

The horse should’ve been all but frothing at the mouth to get away from a barn full of predators, but it wasn’t.  Instead, the stallion had planted himself in the middle of his cage and refused to budge.  Not even a bucket full of grain had been enough to coax the horse out.  It made no sense.  Why would an easily frightened prey animal want to stick around a group of meat-eating predators?

If that had been the only mystery, Rick would’ve been puzzled, but he would’ve chalked it up to just one of those things.  Animals could sometimes make the oddest friendships – it was unlikely, but not inconceivable that a horse could make friends with predators.  What he couldn’t believe was how easy it had been to collect all but the last exotic.  The red-tailed hawk hadn’t bitten, the fox hadn’t tried to get away from the catch pole, and the two canines might’ve been scared, but they’d walked right into the transport cages with no fuss at all.  Even the jaguar had strolled into its cage without any coaxing.  Unprecedented; he’d never had a multiple exotic animal seizure with no need for tranquilizers at some point.  Most of his investigators were just happy it was going so smoothly – he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Well, it had – and it was yet another oddity to one of the strangest cases he’d ever been on.  A lion who didn’t seem to be able to fit in a cage more than large enough.  Rick had been about to give the order to get the dart rifles, but Constable Kendrick was right.  He’d never, ever, ever seen an animal back into a transport cage.  Not unless they were fleeing from the ‘encouragement’ his team sometimes used to get exotics into their transport cages without tranquilization.  Nor had Rick ever had an animal look at him with such…such…such desperation.  Oh, he’d seen plenty of desperate animals during his career, but none of them had ever looked so… human.  It was downright unnerving.

Ahead of him, Dr. Egar looked up from his paperwork.  “Owner must not have had ‘em long,” he reported.  “Aside from dehydration, they don’t look all that bad.”

Rick nodded at the information.  “We got any more transport cages?”

“He had more?”

The big man shook his head.  “No.  For some reason, the lion’s not going in his transport cage and Kendrick thinks we need a bigger one.”

Shrewd dark eyes swept him.  “You think so, too, or you’d be asking for the rifle, not another cage.”

Rick shifted uneasily; he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t just going for the dart rifle.  It would be safer, both for the animal and for his team.  Maybe it was just the case and its oddities, but he had a gut feeling.  An impulse nudging him to try a different cage before using the dart rifle.  “Did we bring another cage?”

The vet examined him for another few seconds, then jerked a nod.  “Let me check.  Bigger than the other one, you said?”

“Yeah.”

* * * * *

Tension mounted inside the barn as Greg waited, curled up on the floor of his cage.  Anxiety churned within him; he’d cooperated so far, but his inability to get inside the first cage was license in and of itself for him to get tranqed.  If only he could get the collar around his neck off; sure, it would blow the Statute of Secrecy, but it wasn’t his fault that he had a gryphon Animagus form.  Nor was it his fault that Morgana had a fondness for Animagus control collars and trying to break the Statute.  Behind him, Wordy was just as still, just as tense.  The transformed constable knew just as well as his boss what could happen to the gryphon’s strong, but fragile flight appendages if Greg was tranquilized.

“Okay, let’s move that cage out of here.”  The lead investigator appeared.  “We got another cage, but we’re gonna have to get the first one out before we can get the other one in position.”

Parker slumped down further on the floor in sheer relief.  They were going to give him another chance.  Thank Aslan.  He watched as the first cage was moved away and replaced by another one.  It looked larger, but not by much; mentally, Greg bit his lip.  This was not going to be easy.  Still, it was almost certainly his last chance to escape with his wings intact and unbroken.  He’d have to deal, no matter what.

When the new cage was in place and the plywood shields were against his current cage, Greg held still until the doors of both cages were open.  Then he prowled forward, staying low as he folded his wings as tightly as possible.  The gryphon eyed the cage, then turned around and edged backwards into the enclosure.  Inwardly, he cringed as his wings scraped the sides of the cage and he froze when the largest folds began to press against the door.  Cautiously, with exquisite care, Greg worked his body and his wings against the metal, managing to finagle his way inside without breaking any bones.  Once far enough inside that he wouldn’t get whacked by the cage door, Parker slumped down.  That had been…  Nerve-wracking and excruciating, but he’d done it.  Hopefully, the cage at the other end of this trip would be larger than this one was.

‘Sarge?’

‘I’m in, Wordy.  Probably lost some feathers, but I’m in.’

‘Copy that, Sarge.  See you there?’

‘If we get lucky,’ Greg replied, though he was positive that Wordy would be separated from them.  Logically, it made no sense to house horses close to wild animals.  Eddie would probably get separated, too, though Greg wasn’t sure if anyone else would.  He would simply have to wait and see.  In the meantime, the gryphon allowed himself to doze off.  There was still nothing he could do; all he could do was trust the Lion wouldn’t let them down now.

* * * * *

‘Sarge.’

Parker stifled a groan as he stirred, lifting his head off his forelegs.  Beneath him, he could still feel the trailer moving in a steady motion that told him they were still on the road.  The metal of the transport cage pressed in around him and he couldn’t quite help the gulp.  Small, too small, like a metal coffin with air holes.  Stuffing down the fear, he growled, ‘Wordy, I’m crammed in a cage that makes Morgana’s look roomy and I haven’t eaten anything in two days.  What is it this time?’  Annoyance rang, annoyance his friend didn’t deserve, but Greg was worn to a frazzle and not nearly as patient as usual.

‘Sarge, the trailer I’m in just peeled off from the others.’

Of course it had; if he could have, he would’ve rolled his eyes.  The gryphon shook his head, transmitting a sense of dour amusement to his constable.  ‘Wordy.  Did you really think they would keep a horse close to a bunch of wild predators?’  As he spoke, he reached through the ‘team sense,’ silently rescinding his ‘no fear’ command.  If Wordy wasn’t going to be housed with his predatory teammates any more, the command wasn’t needed any more.

For several long seconds, Wordy didn’t reply, though Greg could sense his embarrassment.  Then he heard a long, heavy sigh.  ‘I hear you, Sarge, but still…’

‘Wordy.  Don’t forget, we’ve got the ‘team sense,’ ’ Greg replied patiently.  ‘So long as we’ve got that, it doesn’t matter if we’re separated.  We can still talk to each other and we can still find each other.’  He paused, then added, ‘How do you think I found my way home?’

Wordy’s tone turned sheepish.  ‘Copy that, Sarge.’

Greg let his head back down, controlling his fear with the same iron will he’d once used on his fear of heights and flying.  He didn’t voice what concerned him most about their new situation.  Wordy didn’t need to worry about it anyway.  Although it was true that he could find his teammates, no matter what, it didn’t change the fact that unless he or Wordy could transform back to human, they were still in a world of trouble.  A world of trouble that could quite possibly include, ahem…getting fixed.

He squirmed at the very thought, his tail lashing in time with an internal cringe.  He needed to figure out a solution, the faster the better.  They’d been rescued from Morgana, but they were still running out of time.

Chapter Text

Two days.  Two days since Uncle Greg hadn’t come back to Uncle Wordy’s place for dinner and Uncle Wordy had left in a hurry only to disappear himself.  It hadn’t been until the next morning that they found out every member of Team One had vanished.  Magically tracking the missing Aurors had failed, but then Roy had come up with a lead – Lance still had no idea how he’d done that.

It hadn’t made a difference.  The adults had found Team One’s empty, out-of-gas cars, but the team themselves…they’d been gone.  There had been a trace of a Portkey trail in the forest preserve’s parking lot, but someone had used the Old Religion nearby, thus wiping out any possibility of following that trail.  Even so, Lance refused to even consider giving up.  Team One was out there somewhere, he just knew it!  Surrounded by wards that hid their whereabouts, true, but the teenager maintained hope nonetheless.  So long as they weren’t dead, there was still a chance.  Determined, the young Wild Mage had started hunting through family lore and spellbooks.  Surely there had to be a way for Wild Magic to penetrate the wards and give them a location.

So far nothing had worked, but Lance wasn’t about to give up or lose heart.  The answer was out there; he just had to find it.  At least he had plenty of time; with all of Team One missing, Aunt Shelley and Aunt Sophie had pulled the team kids out of school, unwilling to risk any more kidnappings.  Uncle Ed’s house was larger than Uncle Wordy’s, so the mothers had chosen to bunker down in the Lane homestead until Team One could be found.  The SRU, Madame Locksley, and the other Aurors were searching for the missing officers, but with nothing to go on, their efforts were for naught.

Sighing to himself, the young man sat cross-legged on the floor of Clark’s room, reaching within for that sense of his family, both blood and chosen.  As always, his magic brushed against those who were near, acknowledging them before sweeping outwards in search of the others.  Lance closed his eyes, feeling his magic unfurl and expecting to fetch up against a familiar – and hated – mental barrier.  One that would prevent him from tracking his family, even as it confirmed they were still alive.

Then he froze as his magic thrummed, tugging towards the south-west.  In the next instant, Lance was on his feet and hurtling down the stairs to get his sister.

* * * * *

Alanna bit her lip as she listened to her brother’s excited babble.  Just like him, she’d sought to find their missing family, only to slam against wards that hid their location, practically sneering derision at the two young Wild Mages.  And now Lance thought he’d found them?

“You found a spell to break through the wards?”

Lance stopped and his shoulders slumped a touch.  “No,” he admitted.  “But in between the research sessions, I’ve been trying to just…find them.  I know it didn’t work when we tried it that night, but it doesn’t take long and it gives me something else to do.”

“Anything that might work, huh?”  Alanna kept her tone gentle; she knew very well how her brother felt – because she felt the same way.  Anything that might offer even a tiny smidgeon of hope was worth a shot.  Even if it meant trying something that had already failed more than once.  Even the stupidest plan might work, might bring them back.  So everything was worth trying, even if it ended with crushed hopes.

To her surprise, Lance perked up again.  “But that’s just it, sis.  This time, it worked.”

She gave him her best skeptical look, but he refused to back down.

“Try it yourself, ‘Lanna.  I’m gonna need your help anyway.”

The redhead frowned.  “Lance, if you can find them…”

“ ‘Lanna.”  Exasperation rang.  “I can’t triangulate their location from one reading.”

Her throat dried up as she understood.  “They’re that far away?” she whispered.

Grim, he nodded once.  “Not sure how far, but I’d bet anything they’re not even in Canada anymore.”

Alanna considered, then returned the nod and followed her brother back to Clark’s room.  Once there, she sat on the floor – not because she needed to, but because if Lance was right, then it would be easier to focus on just the magic if she wasn’t standing.  The young witch summoned her power, reaching for her family, just as she’d been trying for the past two days.  Violet flowed outwards, fierce and determined even though she knew it wouldn’t work.  It couldn’t, not so long as Team One was hidden behind magical wards.  No matter what Lance thought, no matter what Lance believed, it couldn’t work just like that…

South-west.  And not a close south-west either.  Alanna froze, her jaw dropping open and eyes almost bugging out.  No way.

“You feel them, too, don’t you, sis?”

Twisting towards her brother, Alanna allowed her hope to show.  “Yeah.”  Scrambling up, she whipped around, frantic.  “We need a map.”

“Copy that, sis.  Mindy!”

The house-elf appeared with a fierce squeak.  “Master be calling Mindy?”

Lance crouched, meeting the elf’s gaze.  “Mindy, we need a map of North America.  Fast as you can.”

Pop; pop.  Mindy disappeared and reappeared, a map in one hand and a pen in the other.

Lance grabbed them away, spreading the map out on Clark’s bed without a second glance.  “ ‘Lanna, I’ll mark down the direction from here.”  So saying, he frowned in concentration before marking an arrow on the map, right over Toronto.

Alanna nodded, already catching onto her brother’s strategy.  “You want me to flame to a couple different locations and take readings?”

“Yeah.”  Sapphire came up.  “You’ll be okay, right?”

“I will,” Alanna promised, dancing from foot to foot as Lance bundled up the map and the pen.  When he looked up, she blurred, reaching out with a phoenix claw to take the bundle before flaming away.

* * * * *

Flamewings started with Fawkes’ volcano hideaway, though she didn’t go looking for her fellow phoenix.  With any luck, they wouldn’t need his help, although she still appreciated that he’d been willing to bring her home when she’d Burned.  Belatedly, the young phoenix realized both she and her brother had forgotten to thank Mindy, but time was of the essence.  Who knew when Team One would disappear behind the wards again?

With that grim thought, she blurred back to human and immediately reached for her magic, analyzing both directions she was now getting from her sense of where her family was.  No time to figure out which one was Toronto; she’d just have to mark both directions down on the map.  Alanna unfolded the bundle and scowled, realizing she didn’t know where she was.  Frantic, the young Wild Mage dug for her phone and used the phone’s GPS to find her exact location.  From there, she marked her current location on the map and sketched two arrows, absently noting that one was pointing towards Toronto.

Instead of folding up the map and jumping blind, Alanna studied the map with narrowed eyes and picked out four other locations to get a reading from.  That would give them five locations total, more than enough to triangulate Team One’s ultimate position.  With a nod, the redhead looked up the first location with her phone.  She could flame more efficiently with GPS coordinates.

* * * * *

Instead of just waiting, Lance headed back downstairs and found a long ruler that he could use once Alanna returned.  Ruler in hand, he detoured to the kitchen and surreptitiously grabbed two kiddie juices that little Izzy liked to drink as well as a plastic container full of apple slices.  Neither of them used their Animagus forms much, but after Alanna’s Burning episode, she’d had cravings for juice and fruit for the next month or so as her magical core recovered from tangling with Fiendfyre.

He thought he’d gone unnoticed, but less than a minute after he’d returned upstairs, Clark appeared.  The curly-haired teen arched an eyebrow at the sight of Lance all alone in his bedroom.  “Where’s your sister?”

Lance returned the arched eyebrow, striving for calm.  “How should I know?  I’ve been in here all morning.”

“Right,” Clark drawled, smirking.  “That’s why you came hurtling down the stairs like the house was on fire ten minutes ago and yanked Alanna back up here with you.”  The smirk grew.  “That’s why you went and grabbed Izzy’s juice and apple slices after you swore up and down you’d never drink anything that sweet again.”

Busted, Lance flinched.

“Now give or I go tell Mom.”

Bitterness shone.  “And she’ll do what, Clark?  Face it; they’ve been gone for two days and nobody’s got the first idea where they might be or who might’ve taken them.”

Clark straightened, humor vanishing.  “And you do?”

“Not yet,” Lance admitted.  “But once ‘Lanna comes back, maybe.”

The brunet frowned.  “Mom’ll kill you if she knows ‘Lanna left.”

“What she doesn’t know might save them,” Lance countered, acid honing his tongue to a razor edge.  “And only a creature ward can block phoenixes.”

Clark blinked at that.  “Seriously?  She can’t be trapped?”

“They’d have to work at it,” Lance replied.  “Anti-Transportation wards can block regular wizard travel, but not creature travel or Old Magic.”

Clark blinked a few more times, then he grinned.  “Sweet.”  Then his gaze hardened.  “You really think they don’t care?”

Lance shook his head, not missing the undertone of warning in his pseudo-cousin’s voice.  “Your Mom and Aunt Shelley, they care, but they think we should let the adults do all the work.  We should just stay safe and not try to find them on our own.”

“And that’s a problem?” Clark inquired cautiously.

Sapphire narrowed.  “We know the Old Religion’s been used, Clark.  And the Old Religion is more powerful than Latin magic.  Revan’s been trying to learn some Old Magic, but he’s not very good at it.  That leaves us.”  Lance hesitated, then looked away and added, “I’m an adult anyway.”

“You’re what?” Clark blurted.

The young Lord grimaced, then stretched out his right hand, spreading the fingers so Clark could see the rings he was wearing.  “Seventeen is the age of majority in the wizarding world, Clark.”  He stopped, wrestling for the words.  “After…after Uncle Greg…left, I claimed my Lordship.  I’m legally an adult and the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House.  It’s my job to look out for my family.”

Clark whistled low, examining the rings with interest.  “Mom and Aunt Shelley won’t like that.”

“I don’t care,” Lance shot back, shoulders tensing.  “Maybe I’m not an adult yet in the tech world, but I can’t just sit by and do nothing.”

For a minute, the two boys stared at each other, then Clark twitched another smirk.  “Neither can I.”  At Lance’s instinctive protest, he shook his head.  “I’m in or I go tell Mom, capiche?”

Lance hesitated, considering, then he jerked a nod and shook Clark’s hand.  “You’re in.”  Frowning, he turned to look at Clark’s dresser, where he’d set down the juice and fruit.  “Could you go find some more fruit?  I don’t know how long ‘Lanna’s gonna be gone, but…”

“Sure thing,” Clark agreed.

* * * * *

A few minutes later, Flamewings appeared above Clark’s bed in a ball of fire.  She dropped the map and pen on the bed, then swooped forward and blurred, landing next to the bed with a tiny thud.  Lance pounced on the map while Clark got an arm around Alanna’s shoulders and guided her to his dresser.  The curly-haired brunet thrust a juice into her hand – already prepped with the straw inserted – and busied himself with getting the second one ready.  He could feel Alanna trembling under his arm and her bangs had turned a darker shade of red with sweat.

Lance focused on the map, letting Clark take care of Alanna.  A faint sheen of magic ran under the map, creating an impromptu desk surface just a hair above Clark’s bed.  Spreading the map out, Lance lined the ruler he’d retrieved up with the first arrow and sketched in a line that stretched from Toronto, across the United States, and into Mexico before hitting the Pacific Ocean.  First line drawn, the teen turned the map and started sketching in more lines based on Alanna’s travels.  It was easy to tell at a glance which arrows pointed back to Toronto, but he understood why his sister had drawn two arrows for each location she’d gone to.  When on the clock, it was far better to have more information than you needed.  Less chance of overlooking a crucial piece of evidence.

Accordingly, Lance didn’t even try to figure out where Team One’s ultimate location was until he was done with all five lines.  As he worked, he heard Alanna’s panting die down into regular breathing, if a bit heavier than usual.  He also heard her start munching on the apple and pear slices he and Clark had gotten.  When he was done, he straightened, casting a critical eye on his own work.  Then his jaw dropped in shock.  No way.

“Lance?” Clark half-demanded, half-asked.

Still stunned, Lance waved a hand and levitated the map up so his two companions could see it.  Once it was floating in the air, he turned to face them.  “They’re in Houston, Texas.”

Alanna choked on her apple slice and Clark blinked.  Then he grinned, a devious look in his eyes.  “I always wanted to meet a cowboy.”

* * * * *

By unspoken, mutual consent, the three teenagers broke off their conference and dispersed before the mothers could realize they were up to something.  Not that they were idle during their separation.  Lance started planning out their expedition and Clark busied himself with his own form of plotting.  The only member of their triad not working on the problem was Alanna; she called Mindy and thanked the house-elf for her help, then detoured to the shower so she could clean off the sweat she’d accumulated after six straight flamings.  Thankfully, she hadn’t Burned, but she could feel that she’d been pushing it.  Best to avoid any more long-distance flaming until they were in Houston.

* * * * *

After dinner, they reconvened in Clark’s room on the pretense that they were working on homework.  Alanna and Lance did bring their schoolbooks in, just in case either Aunt Shelley or Aunt Sophie looked in, but focused on the matter at hand.  Schoolwork could wait until Team One was back.

“Okay,” Lance began, frowning at his list.  “We know Team One was kidnapped by someone using the Old Religion and I’ll bet they’re keeping an eye out for any rescues.”

“Plus the Canadian Ministry is taken over anyway,” Alanna pointed out.  “We couldn’t get an International Portkey even if we wanted to.”

“So flying it is?” Clark asked.  At the twin nods, he slumped.  “I don’t have a passport.”

“Do you need one?” Alanna asked in surprise.  “I thought techie Canada and techie United States got along pretty well.”

The teen shrugged limply.  “They do, but ever since 9/11, border security’s been tightened up on both sides.”

“9/11?” Lance echoed blankly.

Clark’s head flew up.  “September 11th?”  When both his pseudo-cousins just stared at him, he groaned.  “It was a terrorist attack on September 11th, 2001 in America.  Terrorists flew planes into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., and there was another plane that crashed in Pennsylvania when the passengers broke into the cockpit and attacked the terrorists.”  He shivered, heedless of his cousins’ utter horror.  “I remember we were in school and they pulled us out of class.  Took us to the library and turned the TV on.  We saw the second Tower fall.”

“Lion’s Mane,” Alanna breathed.  “And after that they shut down the border?”

“They didn’t shut it down, but anyone crossing needs a passport these days.  And airports have security up the yin-yang.”

Lance frowned, but nodded.  “So you need a passport.”  He scrawled a note on his paper.  “I’ll talk to Silnok about it.”

Clark blinked.  “Just like that?  You think you can just pull a passport out of thin air?”

“There is an advantage to being a magical rich rat,” Lance replied, forcing a breezy tone.  “So we fly to Houston and…”

“Dallas,” Clark cut in.  He dug out a smirk as his cousins stared at him again.  “You wanna keep the adults out of this?  We need a diversion.”

“And?” Alanna queried.

“And Dean Parker lives in Dallas,” Clark added quietly.  “We knew each other when he lived here; I like to think we were friends, but I was five when they left.”

Lance considered the argument, nodding to himself.  “You think Dean’ll want in?”

“He doesn’t know about magic,” Alanna pointed out before Clark could respond.

Lance gave his sister a flat stare.  “Uncle Greg’s an Animagus, sis, and a Calvin.  We can tell Dean, no problem.  Besides, I don’t think Uncle Greg’s been able to tell him anything about what happened.  Not with his hands all messed up.”  Turning to Clark, he arched a brow.  “Can you get in touch with Dean?  No magic until we’re face-to-face, though.”

Clark frowned automatically, then relaxed as he understood.  “Not something we want to talk about over the phone, huh?”

The brunet shook his head.  “No way.  Maybe on the magical smartphones, but definitely not on a regular phone.”

“I’ll call him after we’re done here,” Clark promised.  “So…flight to Dallas, then Houston.  What’s the plan, then?”

Back on track, Lance bobbed his head and consulted his notes.  “We’ll be a lot closer, so it’ll depend on how close they are to the airport.”

“Assuming they aren’t stuffed back behind wards before we get there,” Alanna muttered resentfully.

“Sis, if that happens, we’ll just have to go to the Americans,” Lance replied firmly.  “You’re almost maxed out as it is.  No more flaming till we get to Houston, okay?”

Alanna made a face, but didn’t argue.

Running a hand through his hair, Lance turned back to his rough plan.  “Money talks, so I’m pretty sure I can wrangle us a rental car if we need one.  Assuming Team One isn’t stuffed back behind wards, we go straight to them, free them, then come home.”

“And if the guy who took them tries to stop us?” Clark questioned, sarcasm ringing.

Lance smirked.  “Then we’ll find out if they’re good enough to handle two Wild Mages at once.”

“They can use the Old Religion,” Clark reminded his cousin.  “And they grabbed seven cops.”

Sapphire narrowed.  “No one takes my family, Clark.  No one.”

Clark bit his lip doubtfully, but didn’t say anything else.  Part of him thought they’d be better off telling the adults what they’d found, but it was a small part.  Easily ignored.  Besides, Lance was right.  The adults had had their chance to find Team One and they hadn’t.  Time for the kids to take a whack at it.

* * * * *

The next morning, the three teenagers had breakfast as usual, then Clark volunteered to help Lance with his math homework.  Alanna chimed in, asking if Clark could help with her homework as well.  Clark agreed and the trio retreated upstairs with the team mothers none the wiser as to their real plans.

“ ‘Lanna, have you got our weapons and armor?” Lance asked once they were safely inside Clark’s room.

“Sure do,” Alanna replied.  “Clark says there’s a lot of stuff you can’t take on an airplane, so I put most of what we’re taking in my trunk.”

“Won’t they catch it?” Clark questioned.

Lance shook his head.  “Family trunks have all sorts of protective spells on them, Clark.  ‘Lanna could put Team One’s whole armory in there and no one would know the difference.”  Frowning, the brunet cast a quick glance at the door.  “Sis, go ahead and get changed, but don’t come back in till we open the door, ‘kay?”

“Copy,” Alanna agreed before leaving.

* * * * *

Clark felt woefully underdressed in his simple navy blue robe over his street clothes.  Compared to the elaborate getup his cousin had put on, it was like wearing a grungy t-shirt to a high-end business meeting.  Lance’s dress robes were fancy, there was no other way to put it.  Elaborate, too – the whole costume wouldn’t have been out of place in a medieval movie about kings and queens.  The boys finished changing before Alanna came back, something Clark was puzzled at, given how long it had taken Lance to get dressed.  Then the redhead came in, wearing the female version of Lance’s outfit, and for the first time, Clark understood just how out of his depth he really was.  He was friends with two kids who virtually defined the phrase ‘rich rats’ – and they were wizards to boot.

Feeling very out of place, Clark kept quiet as Alanna shifted into her phoenix form and flamed them away.  The curly-haired brunet was surprised when she didn’t take them straight to Gringotts, but firmly squashed the urge to ask.  The important thing was to save his Dad.  Then he could figure out where he fit in with two rich kids who had more money than his family could earn in a lifetime.

But the young man had forgotten that those two rich rats had spent the past five years living with his Dad’s boss, one of the best negotiators in the city.  No sooner had they left the alley where they’d landed then Lance edged closer, lowering his voice for Clark’s ears alone.  “Gringotts has wards against any kind of magical travel into or out of the bank.”

“They do?” Clark asked without thinking.

His fellow brunet nodded.  “Goblins take honor and gold very seriously.  Any gap in their security is a black mark against their honor and a direct threat to their gold.  You’d have to be either completely insane or utterly desperate to try and steal from them.”

Ahead of the trio, the bank loomed with its great white marble colonnade and armed goblin guards.  Clark fell back only to feel Alanna prod him forward again, refusing to let him slip ‘out of line’.  Lance paused before the doors, inclining his head respectfully to the guards, a gesture his sister and Clark imitated, then swept into the bank and settled into line.

Hanging close to his friends, Clark gazed around the bank, acutely aware of his total lack of magic.  For the first time, it dawned on the teen how outmatched his Dad and Team One were in the wizarding world.  They didn’t have any magic to protect themselves, just their wits and guns.  Why…why would they take that risk?

“Good morning, Teller Goldfarb.  I am Lancelot Artorius Calvin and I would like to speak with my account manager.”

Clark looked up in time to see the goblin teller nod and flip the sign on his desk to ‘Closed’.  “Wait here, please,” he instructed before hopping down and disappearing into the back.  The trio waited a minute or two before the goblin reappeared and moved around his desk.  “Follow, please.”

The goblin led them into a maze of stone corridors, never once hesitating as he guided them to an office set well away from the bank’s massive, open lobby.  Having arrived at their destination, the teller knocked, then opened the door and departed to return to his post.

Unoffended by the goblin’s abrupt departure, Lance led the way inside the office; Clark found himself in the middle, right between his…his friends.  Inside, an older goblin looked up from his work, expression fierce on the wizened face.  As soon as he recognized his guests, though, he straightened in his chair, smiling.  At least, Clark thought he was smiling.  He couldn’t be absolutely sure, though.

“Greetings, Lord Calvin.”

Lance froze in place, reflexively glancing over his shoulder for someone else.  Someone, Clark realized sadly, who was long dead, yet never forgotten by his children.  The curly-haired teen watched as Lance’s shoulders slumped minutely before he turned back to the goblin.  “Lion’s mane, Silnok; I thought you were talking to Dad.”

The goblin’s expression shifted to something that looked apologetic and sorrowful.  “I believe your late honored father said the same to me when your grandfather died.  I do apologize, my Lord.”  As he spoke, he gestured and a third chair materialized out of thin air.

Lance sighed and pulled out one chair for his sister.  “No, it’s okay, Silnok.  I have to get used to it sometime.”  The brunet’s jaw furrowed in concern.  “Where’s Silvergrip?”

Now the old goblin looked very pleased.  “Have no fear, my Lord; my son is quite well.  When he returns from his latest round of exams, I shall tell him you asked after him.”  The fearsome smile grew.  “Much as your great-grandfather asked after me when I was a young junior account manager.”

Clark almost choked.  The goblin had worked for four generations of Calvins?  That was…  That was wicked.  Lance and Alanna were surprised, too, which at least made him feel a little bit better.  If the goblin’s age was surprising to two wizards…well, then.

“Now, then, what may I do for you, my Lord?”

Lance met the goblin’s black gaze.  “Silnok, three nights ago, every member of Team One was kidnapped.”  As the goblin recoiled in pure horror, Lance added, “Last night we found them.”

Shrewd dark eyes narrowed.  “Where?”

In response, Lance pulled out their map and spread it on the desk.  “Houston, Texas.”

Silnok uttered a deep rumble, scowling as he leaned forward and examined the map in detail.  “You intend to find them yourselves?”

“We do,” Lance confirmed.  “Clark even called Dean Parker; he lives in Dallas and he’s gonna help, too.”

To Clark’s surprise, the old goblin let out another rumble and simply nodded.  “So you will need to travel to Dallas first.”

Lance scrubbed a hand through his hair.  “We’ll need to fly,” he said bluntly.  “International travel in or out of Canada isn’t possible right now, but Clark here needs a passport.”

Silnok inclined his head in agreement.  “As Goblin-Friend, my Lord, I could arrange travel from here to America without issue, but such would be…noticeable to those in power.  Better by far to travel as you propose.  I will arrange the passport and tickets immediately.”

“Um…sir?” Clark ventured, uncertain and hesitant.

But the goblin turned to him at once, interest shining.  “Say on, young one.”

“I…um…I talked to Dean last night and he told me Dallas has two airports.”

Silnok smiled, a fierce, vicious smile that sent shudders up Clark’s back.  “So it does,” he murmured.  “I had forgotten that.”  He considered, the smile growing wider.  “Excellent.  Most excellent; Lord Calvin, your companion possesses every bit of his father’s tactical brilliance.  Few indeed would consider the possibility that you and yours would fly into one airport and depart from another airport.”

“Or that we’d pick up a fourth team member in the process,” Lance pointed out, earning a sharp bark of goblin laughter.

“Quite so,” Silnok agreed.  “I shall make the arrangements.  Go and have something to eat.  By the time you return, all shall be in readiness.”

Clark wasn’t all that hungry, but Lance just nodded and rose.  The other two teenagers followed his lead as he said, “Thank you, Silnok.  We’ll see you in an hour?”

“Indeed.”

* * * * *

The goblin was as good as his word.  An hour later, Clark posed for a picture that was immediately added to his newly-minted passport.  Silnok gave them three tickets from Toronto’s Pearson Airport to Dallas’ Dallas-Fort Worth Airport.  He also gave them four tickets for a flight from Dallas’ Love Field to Houston’s George Bush Airport.  All the tickets were already made out, complete with the teenagers’ names on them, even Dean’s.

In addition to the tickets, Silnok gave them rental car and hotel reservations, rightly suspecting that they would need time to find the missing men.  The last thing he gave the trio was contact information for a man who would meet them in Houston to assist with the search.  None of teens were sure what to think of accepting a stranger’s help to find their family, but Lance thanked Silnok nonetheless.

Tickets, reservations, and intel in hand, the three teenagers accepted Silnok’s untraceable Portkey to the airport and departed.

Chapter Text

Dean Parker sat in his best friend’s car as it waited near the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport.  The dark-brown haired teenager had a duffle bag jammed full of clothes in his lap and a tangled mess running through his mind.  It was all so confusing and he wasn’t even sure if his Dad was supposed to be alive or dead any more.

Five months earlier, he had visited his Dad and cousins for a week or two.  When his Dad had driven him to the bus station so he could go home to Dallas, he’d almost gotten right back off the bus.  He’d wanted to stay, but his little sister wouldn’t have understood why he hadn’t come home.  So he’d returned home to Dallas, hoping to make plans for another trip to Toronto.

The last thing he’d expected was a phone call from a tearful, sobbing Alanna that her uncle, his father, had started drinking again and gotten himself kicked out of the SRU.  His cousin was adamant that his Dad was in rehab and he’d get better soon, but Dean had been too angry to care.  His father had betrayed him for the last time.  Although he knew he’d have to wait until he turned eighteen to change his last name, the furious teen started counting the days even as he filled out all the necessary paperwork.

Neither his mother nor his stepfather had said, ‘I told you so,’ though he surely deserved it for being so stupid.  Once a drunk, always a drunk, after all.  Instead they’d just been there and helped him ensure all the paperwork was in order, ready for his eighteenth birthday.  His little sister had been delighted to help, excited that her beloved older brother would finally have the same last name as the rest of the family.

And then one day he’d come home from school to find both his mother and stepfather waiting for him.  His mother…she’d still been crying and when she saw him come in, the tears had flowed even harder.

* * * * *

“David, how do I tell him?” she whispered into his stepfather’s chest, unaware that Dean’s excellent hearing was catching every word.  “How can I tell him what happened?”

Even as his mother broke down sobbing, Dean froze.  He broke out of his horrified stare to charge forward, grabbing his Mom in a fierce hug; the teen wasn’t sure if he was comforting her or if it was the other way ‘round.  “Mom, it’s okay, I promise.”

Her arms closed around him and she wept, half on his chest and half on his stepfather’s chest, so closely were the three grouped.  Dean held on tight and looked over her head at his stepfather, confusion glowing.  What had happened?  Why was his Mom crying like…like someone had died.

Sorrow gleamed in his stepfather’s eyes and grief twisted his face.  “Dean…son.  We got a call from Toronto today.”

Fury roared to life within him.  “What did he do?” Dean growled.

His stepfather looked up at the ceiling as if he was holding back tears.  But why?  Why would his stepfather cry over a miserable drunk he’d never even met?  Why cry over a man who cared more about alcohol than his family?

“Son, there are two things you need to know right off the bat.”

Dean nodded, keeping his mouth shut as his stepfather reached up to grip his sobbing mother’s shoulder.

“The first is…the first thing is that your father didn’t go to rehab.”

“He what?” Dean demanded, fury bunching his shoulders.

“Dean, stop,” his stepfather ordered.  “He didn’t go to rehab because he didn’t need to.”

Shock reverberated and denial surged.  Why would his father not need rehab; he’d started drinking again.  But…but if his father didn’t need rehab, then…then he hadn’t started drinking again.  So why…why pretend he had?

“And the second thing…”  Dean’s stepfather stopped, choking, and his mother wailed in renewed grief.

In that instant, Dean Parker knew.  He knew and he hated his father.  He had to hate his father because otherwise, he would have to face the truth.  He’d have to face the truth that his father was dead and he would’ve accepted anything if it meant he was still alive.  Better a miserable drunken sod than a dead hero.

* * * * *

When his Mom had finally calmed down, they’d told him the rest.  A mob boss who’d been arrested by a young greenhorn cop, the trial that had followed, and the assassination attempt two years later.  How the mob boss had broken out of prison and the undercover assignment his father had been forced into.  The gag order that had led directly to the drinking/rehab lie and his Dad’s boss getting shot.  And, finally, the fire.

In the numb, disbelieving hours that followed, his stepfather helped him shred all the paperwork.  Dean had expected him to be angry over him going back on changing his last name, but instead his stepfather had been…proud.  The grieving teenager didn’t understand, but somehow his father had earned his stepfather’s approval by sacrificing his life to protect his family.  And that night, before he could go to bed, his Mom had pulled him aside and explained one of the biggest reasons her ex-husband had turned to alcohol all those years ago.

Well, Dean considered, it probably hadn’t been the biggest reason.  Although he’d been very surprised to find out he had grandparents on his Dad’s side.  Somehow, he’d always thought they were dead or something.  It had never occurred to him that his Dad might have a family history; Dad definitely hadn’t mentioned it.  Now Dean wished he had; maybe it would’ve been easier for him to understand and forgive if he’d known what his father had been struggling with back then.

“Freaky, huh?”

Lost in thought, it took a minute to pull away from his absent stare at the nearby airport; one eyebrow arched in Ricky’s direction.  “What’s freaky?” he asked.

His best friend was taller than him by six inches, sporting blue eyes and very blond hair in a ponytail, something he insisted girls loved.  Feeling Dean’s gaze on him, Ricky shrugged.  “Well, didn’t you tell me your Dad died?”

“Yeah.”

“But then your Canada buddy calls and says he’s missing.  How’s that work?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted.  Before he could continue, his phone buzzed with a text; he lifted it and eyed the message.  “But I think we’re about to find out.”  They’d better be; he wanted the truth about what had happened to his Dad.

* * * * *

Clark couldn’t deny a sense of profound relief when they made it through International Arrivals and out into the main airport.  He’d been sweating a mile a minute when the customs inspector examined his passport for several seconds before stamping it and congratulating him on his very first International trip.  Clark thought his return smile had been more sickly than genuine, but it had apparently passed muster.

Lance and Alanna were looking around with a keen sense of interest and it sounded like they were comparing their current experience with their first trip to Dallas.  Clark gazed back at them, confused.  When had they been to Dallas before?

As if she could sense his thoughts, Alanna sailed forward to walk next to him.  “It was our second year in Toronto,” she informed him.  “You remember that guy who kidnapped a girl and kept her for years and years?”

Clark shuddered, the memories coming back.  “He grabbed you.”

Alanna nodded.  “After, when it was all over, Uncle Greg brought us here to meet Dean.”  Sorrow gleamed.  “His Mom wouldn’t let us in.  That’s when Uncle Greg sued her.”

The older boy felt another shiver run up his back and changed the subject.  “Do you guys know where to go?”

“Should be this way,” Lance put in, pointing ahead.  “Uncle Greg just got taxis for us last time, but I think all the cars go through the same area.  Can you text Dean and let him know we’re here?”

“Sure thing,” Clark agreed, digging out his phone.

* * * * *

Dean waited until Ricky had navigated out of DFW’s terminal area before he twisted in his seat to stare down his cousins.  “So.  Dad’s not dead.”

Lance darted a glance in Ricky’s direction.  “No, he’s not.  But it’s really complicated.  And classified.”

Dark eyebrows shot up and disappeared under his bangs.  “Classified?” Dean blurted.

Alanna fidgeted.  “You’re family.  We can tell you everything, but…”  Like her brother, she darted a look at Ricky.

A scowl materialized at the implied insult to his best friend.  “I trust Ricky with my life.”

“Dean, we get that,” Clark interceded.  “But they’re right.  We’re talking about a secret that affects thousands of people.”  Gray eyes were troubled.  “It’s a secret that isn’t ours to blab around about, if we do that, it could get people killed.”

“Plus America’s laws are stricter than Canada’s,” Lance murmured, though his gaze was direct.  “If we tell your friend this secret, there’s a good chance he’ll get hurt.”

Dean’s mouth dried up, especially when a miserable Clark backed up the assertion with a nod and a ducked head.  He glanced at Ricky, seeing his friend’s surprise and unease, then sighed heavily and turned back around.  He’d just have to wait on the full story.

* * * * *

Several hours later, he was getting very annoyed.  He was still waiting for an explanation about what had happened to his Dad, but all three of his companions had focused exclusively on the trip from Love Field to Houston instead of answering any of his questions.  So much for them being willing to fill him in.

Even now, Clark was asking, “Rental car next, right?”

“Actually, Silnok said we’re supposed to meet someone here,” Lance replied.

“Meet someone?” Dean echoed.  If they pulled out classified again…

“Yeah, someone named…”  Lance double-checked an odd yellowed paper.  “Ah, his name’s Budrick Roberts Junior.  No idea why Silnok wants him involved.”

Neither did Dean, but a white sign with the name ‘Calvin’ on it caught his eye.  “Guys, over there.”

The man holding the sign looked friendly, if rather uncertain.  He possessed dark brown hair and pale blue eyes, and something about his stance seemed…off.  He was definitely military, though; enough of Dean’s older friends had joined ROTC that he could spot the stranger’s military traits behind the casual clothing.  But why would a military man get involved with searching for a group of Canadian cops?

Lance’s expression looked just as doubtful as he felt, but the younger boy headed for the stranger anyway.  Tentative, he waited for the sign-holder to look at him, then said, “Hi, I’m Lance Calvin.  Are you Budrick…”

“Bud,” the stranger interjected, reaching out to shake Lance’s hand.  “Call me Bud, Mr. Calvin.”  He surveyed the group, visibly surprised.  “Your account manager didn’t mention you were so young.”

“He just called you in, huh?”  At Roberts’ sheepish nod, Lance sighed.  “Okay.  We need to pick up our rental car and then we can fill you and Dean in, Mr. Roberts.”

The military man was less than enthused, but he nodded anyway.  “Sounds like a start, Mr. Calvin, but you really can call me Bud.  I don’t mind.”

“Only if you call me Lance,” Dean’s cousin countered.

* * * * *

Despite the fact that he was vibrating with anxiety and impatience, Dean was shocked when the rental company didn’t even blink at renting a mid-sized SUV to someone who wasn’t even an adult yet.  He knew perfectly well that renters were supposed to be at least twenty-one years old – so how the heck was a seventeen-year-old kid renting a car?

Lance filled out the last of the paperwork, accepting the keys from the perky rental company representative.  “I’m not sure how long we’re keeping the car, ma’am.”

The woman nodded even as he spoke.  “Your account manager already informed us of that, Mr. Calvin.  You’re paid up until the end of next week.”

Paying for two weeks right up front?  Well, that probably bought you enough goodwill to rent a car, no matter how young you were.  Dean eyed his cousin thoughtfully; he knew from his father that his cousins came from a rich, powerful family, but this was the first time he’d ever seen them use that influence.  Much as he’d liked them in his few meetings, his impression of his cousins were that both of them were stand-offish.  Friendly, but unwilling to get close or really make friends.  Forcing Clark into keeping secrets had not landed them in Dean’s good books.

Except…except Lance wasn’t using his family’s power to joy-ride or party, he was using it to find Dean’s father.  Dean wasn’t sure about a lot, but his cousins had been very clear on one point.  His Dad was alive and if his cousins had anything to say about it, he would stay alive.  No matter how uppity or arrogant his cousins were, they were still trying to get his Dad back – and that meant a lot to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Calvin,” the rental clerk fairly chirped.  “Please enjoy your stay in Houston.”

Dean traded looks with Clark before following the two siblings, acutely aware of Bud Roberts right behind them.  He wasn’t sure what to think of the man yet.  Lance and Alanna didn’t know him, but they seemed to trust whoever had recommended Roberts to them.  Dean wasn’t nearly so trusting, but there were four of them.  Safety in numbers and all that.

Once at the silver SUV, Lance turned to face Roberts.  “Do you need your own rental, sir?”

“I don’t need one yet,” Roberts replied.  “Your account manager offered to get me my own car, but I’ve been on a few missing persons cases before.  Until we get more intel, we’ll be better off sticking together.  Splitting up only helps if we get a lead.”

Lance accepted that with a slow tilt of his chin.  “All right.”  He frowned, then added, “Let’s find some place nearby and then…then we can talk.”

“And you’ll tell me about my Dad?” Dean interjected.

Keen sapphire met his gaze.  “Yes, Dean.  We’ll tell you everything we know.  My word of honor on it.”

* * * * *

Lance sighed to himself as he guided the rental car into a handy Walmart Supercenter parking lot.  There was a big part of him that wanted to just look for Uncle Greg and Team One right now.  Explaining would take too long, would leave his family in danger, but…  Dean deserved the truth.  He still wasn’t sure what to think of Bud Roberts, but he did trust Silnok.  If Silnok thought they needed Roberts’ help, then they probably did, even if they didn’t know it.

So he parked the SUV and piled out.  The parking lot was big enough that they were unlikely to be disturbed, not with him parked way away from the store entrance.  Always a good thing when magic was about to be discussed.  Dean’s face was confused and mulish, but given how long he’d been waiting, Lance couldn’t blame him.  Clark was nervous and Alanna impatient while Roberts appeared intrigued by all the contradictions their group presented.  Magicals who were openly friends with non-magicals and knew how to operate without magic.  He hadn’t missed the skeptical expression when he’d told Roberts they needed to get their rental car, nor that Roberts had double-checked his seat belt before he’d started the car’s engine.

So Lance started with him.  “So are you a Squib-born, Mr. Roberts?”  He saw Dean frown and mouth ‘Squib-born?’ to himself, but kept his eyes on Roberts.

For his part, Roberts blinked, caught off guard.  Then he nodded.  “If that means what I think it does, yeah.  No one in my family really remembers who it was, but we’ve always known.”  Pale blue fell a moment.  “When I first joined up, I was contacted by an organization I’d never heard of.  They wanted me to help, um, keep an eye out for any…unusual enlistees.”  The man shifted, uncomfortable with what he was discussing.  “Something about them felt fishy, though, so I said no.”

“I’m guessing they really didn’t like that,” Lance observed, tone dry.

Roberts flinched.  “Honestly, it all worked out in the end.  If that hadn’t happened, I never would’ve met Harm and Lieutenant Pike or ended up in JAG.”  A shrug.  “A couple years ago, I put myself in a bad spot, but somebody pulled some major strings and, ah, it worked out.  Mostly.”

Lance didn’t mind the lack of details.  Goblins upheld honor, but it rarely matched up with the human definition of honor.  “So they say jump and you gotta say, ‘How high?’, huh.”  He sighed at Roberts’ instant squirm.  “Once this is over, I’ll see what I can do for you, okay?”  Turning to Dean, the young man set his shoulders and lifted his chin.  “Look, Dean, you deserve the truth and you’re gonna get it.  But is it okay if I just stick to the highlights for now?  Team One needs our help, the sooner, the better.”

Dean considered, then cautiously jerked a nod.

Returning his cousin’s nod, Lance began.  “Okay, well…”  He drew in a deep breath.  “Best start with the biggest bombshell.  Magic is real and our entire family has it.  Including you.”

Dean’s jaw dropped open.  “You gotta be kidding me!”

Lance returned the stare steadily.  Everything he’d said was true; deep within himself, he could sense Alanna’s magic and the constant traces of Wild Magic lingering around Clark.  He could even sense Roberts’ latent magic, his core small and inactive, but still very much there.  Yet above all save his sister, he could sense Dean’s magic.  He was still a Squib-born, but his core was right on the edge, almost big enough to use.  Any kids Dean had, they would be magical, no two ways about it.  Wild Mages, like their ancestors before them.  He couldn’t use his magic out in the open; they’d get caught; but Lance could do something else.  So Lance let his eyes glitter gold and used his own magic to prod Dean’s to life.  If he was anything like his father, it wouldn’t take much.

Power surged and Dean’s face twisted as he felt it rise within him.  For an instant, he closed his eyes and when he opened them, crimson filmed his irises.  Darker than Uncle Greg’s scarlet, but no less powerful.  Frankly, Lance suspected his cousin had the potential to be an out and out hedgewizard.  No magical trauma necessary, not like Uncle Greg.

Dean’s eyes kept glowing as his magic twined around him, still manifesting, but slowly settling back into his skin after Lance’s deliberate prodding.  “Whoa…” he managed, looking rather dazed, almost giddy with the sensations coursing through him.  “That feels…”

“If you say freaky, I’m gonna have to hit you,” Clark declared.  “Look, magic is how Lou survived stepping on a Russian land mine,” Roberts winced in the background, “Magic is how Lance here survived that car accident on his sixteenth and I’m not stupid.”  Looking directly at Lance, he finished, “Team One has magic, don’t they?  Even my Dad.”

Dean gawked, but Lance’s shoulders slumped.  “I think you’re right, Clark,” he admitted.  “Before…before Uncle Greg came back, I would’ve said no, but it’s dead obvious now.  Otherwise that bomb Uncle Spike was forced to build woulda killed them for sure.”

Roberts’ stance, already straight, straightened even further, pale blue snaring Lance and demanding an explanation.  Lance held up his hands in a peace gesture and traded a glance with Alanna.  “Okay, okay.  I’m skipping over a lot, but let’s start with what happened four, five months ago…”

* * * * *

Stunned.  Shocked, appalled, surprised.  There were undoubtedly a great many more adjectives he could use to describe his current state of mind, but Dean was just grateful for the relative privacy of the bathroom in his and Clark’s hotel room.  Magic.  Magic was real and his Dad had it.  He had it.  And his Dad and his team had been working in the wizarding world for five years.  Saving lives and keeping the peace for little girl witches and boy wizards just like that little girl the day he’d come to ask his Dad to drop the lawsuit.

Absolutely unbelievable and yet Dean could see it.  Easily.  The Dad he knew now had a big heart, big enough to open his door to two young orphans, and the determination to make their world his own.  Dean couldn’t deny he felt a bit jealous at how far his father had gone for them.  He shouldn’t; his Dad loved him just as much as he always had; but it was hard.  For all that Lance and Alanna were his distant cousins, they were also, in a very real way, his siblings.  His Dad had adopted them as his own and made them part of his immediate family.  Their welfare was just as important as Dean’s.

Gazing up into the mirror, Dean reached for the power his cousin had unlocked within him.  It rose, filling him with a sense of strength and awe.  His eyes turned crimson, but he wasn’t afraid of the sinister look it gave him.  No, more than ever, Dean wanted to be like his Dad.  He wanted to help people and keep the peace and make the world safer.  But at the same time, Dean instinctively knew that magic didn’t make you better.  It was an edge, but he had to make something of that edge.

And he would.  Just as soon as he and his friends brought his Dad and Team One home.

Chapter Text

This was proving to be one of the oddest cases Lieutenant Commander Bud Roberts had ever been on.  A missing persons investigation, searching for a group of Canadian cops in Texas.  Definitely not a typical case for a Naval lawyer, even if he didn’t count the four underage teenagers.  He’d been expecting the average, stuck up pureblood lord, too aloof to be bothered with footwork and heaven help you if you expected them to enter the No-Maj world.  Truthfully, most of his extra cases required an inordinate amount of work, particularly since the goblins didn’t seem to realize that just because he was a lawyer didn’t mean he knew every law ever passed in the United States.  He knew the UCMJ (1), but that didn’t mean he knew inheritance laws or child custody laws or any of the other laws he’d been forced to research ever since the goblins had managed to put himself and his family in hock to them.  Bud still wasn’t sure how they’d done that, only that it had happened right after he’d stepped on a land mine in Afghanistan and come within a whisker of coding on the operating table.

None of the teenagers seemed to realize their adult companion had a prosthetic and Bud was reluctant to inform them.  In his experience, most people didn’t seem to realize having a prosthetic had nothing to do with a loss of hearing or intelligence.  Wizards were the worst in that regard, often gifting him a look of pure contempt when they realized he was missing a leg and then treating him like the village idiot instead of the capable lawyer he was.

Bud sighed, then picked himself up and headed for the room’s telephone.  He’d learned early on that the goblins regarded calling home as a waste of their valuable time and they had no compunctions about eavesdropping on his cell phone.  It was best to call his wife from the hotel phone and let her know that he’d arrived safely and met the latest client, but he’d be out of touch until the case was resolved.  At least this case already seemed interesting.

* * * * *

Lance munched his way through a breakfast of sausage, ham, and bacon, archly ignoring Alanna as she waved a bowl of fruit under his nose.  Next to him, Dean had gathered his own collection of meat and was doing his best to bolt it down without violating the principles of physics or table manners.  Clark was staying out of the fray, munching on biscuits and gravy with a generous helping of scrambled eggs.  Mr. Roberts hadn’t come down for breakfast yet, but Lance was planning on dragging him out of his hotel room if he didn’t appear soon.  It was going to be a long day, especially since none of the teens intended to stop until they found Team One.

Dean rose and went back for a second helping, having demolished his first plate in minutes.  Internally, Lance winced.  He should’ve expected it; unlocking Dean’s magic had also unlocked his gryphon Animagus form, with its keen taste in meat and higher caloric needs.  It would take Dean some time to get used to instincts he probably didn’t even consciously register yet and for his body to adjust to the physical changes it was going through.  He and Alanna had grown up with their Animagus forms, even if they’d been locked down, so they were used to it, but Lance remembered all too clearly what Uncle Greg had gone through once his magic had reached the point of manifesting the gryphon instincts.  The increased strength hadn’t manifested until after McKean, but after that…  Well, there had been more than a few broken doorknobs and alarm clocks – and even one dead toaster – before Uncle Greg finished adjusting to the changes.

“ ‘Lanna, I’ll split the bowl with Dean, but you need to go back for a second helping.  We’re gonna need you the most today.”

Alanna considered his offer, then sighed and put the fruit bowl down between his and Dean’s spots.  “Copy that, big brother mine.”

As she headed after Dean to get more breakfast, Lance canted a look in Clark’s direction.  “How’re you doing?”

Clark shrugged, keeping his eyes down.  “Just thinking about Mom and Aunt Shelley.  They’re gonna kill us, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe, but we’ll have them back.  Isn’t that worth it?”

Curls bounced as Clark’s head snapped up from his meal.  “Always,” he replied, not an ounce of give in his voice.

Lance cast a sidelong glance at Dean’s plate as his cousin sat down again.  Yep, more meat; Dean’s brand-new gryphon instincts on full display.  “Hey, Dean,” he remarked, pointing his fork at the fruit bowl.  “I promised ‘Lanna we’d split the fruit bowl.”

“No thanks,” Dean replied, digging into his fresh mounds of sausage.  “Not hungry for it.”

“Don’t care, eat it anyway,” Lance growled, letting his own gryphon side out.  Dean was older than him, but he was far more experienced with his Animagus form.

Dean froze as instincts he didn’t even understand reacted, pushing him into reflexive submission.  An almost inaudible whine rose and he tilted his head, exposing his neck.  “What?” he managed, bewildered by what he’d just done.

Lance sighed and gestured to the fruit bowl again.  “Look, can’t talk about it here, but let’s just say the guys in our family are really into meat, but humans can’t live on meat alone.  We still need veggies and fruit, just like anyone else.  I know you’re not thrilled about it; neither was I; but eat it anyway.  You’ll feel better when you do, trust me.”

Dean studied him for a long minute, then nodded acceptance.  Instead of literally splitting the fruit bowl, he picked it up and tipped half onto his plate.  Cautiously, he dug in, grimacing at first, but then his human instincts kicked back in and his whole frame minutely relaxed.  Lance took the bowl back and ate right out of it, enjoying the fresh pineapple Alanna had picked out.  He would always be more of a meat-eater, but that didn’t mean he hated fruit or vegetables.  Funny, though.  Dean hadn’t had any problems getting his human side to kick back in, something Uncle Greg had struggled with since day one.  Once this was over, Lance would really have to look into that.  See if he could fix it.  After all, if he could fix it, that was one more card he could pull to keep him and his sister from getting kicked out once Miss Marina moved in.

* * * * *

Bud was rather bemused as he made his way back to the park where he and his young compatriots had set up shop.  Naval lawyer with an expensive degree and plenty of on-the-job experience and Mr. Calvin’s first task for him had been to find a map of the city.  As detailed as possible, but also fast.  Bud could admit to himself that it was smart to send an adult; a teenager might be seen as a truant, lost, or maybe even a runaway.  At least in theory.  In practical terms, the four teenagers were old enough that clerks wouldn’t think twice, even in the middle of a school day.

Entering the park, he headed for the picnic table his companions had commandeered, pulling the map out as he walked.  It was a fold-out map of the whole city and quite a bit of the suburbs as well, though Bud wasn’t sure how young Mr. Calvin intended to use it.  A spell or a potion, perhaps?  When he reached the table, he unfolded the map and laid it out.  “I found the largest one I could, Mr. Calvin.”

“Lance, remember,” came the quick rejoinder as the young man leaned over the map.  “Clark, have we figured out the GPS coordinates for this park?”

“Yeah,” the curly-haired teenager agreed, leaning in from the other side, though he scooted sideways to give Bud a place to sit between himself and the last boy.  He blinked when his friend got up and moved to the table’s side.  “Dean?”

“Clark, he can’t get over the bench,” the standing teen scolded absently.

Bud froze, but the young man didn’t elaborate as he studied the map.  The lawyer sat down and scooted inwards on the rough wooden bench, wishing yet again that he’d been able to get last names for all four teens.  Every wizard he’d ever dealt with had taken offense if he didn’t use the ‘proper respect’, but young Mr. Calvin had introduced his friends and his sister by their first names, skipping last names entirely.

  “You guys can use this map to find Dad?”

“They sure can,” Clark replied for the siblings.  He double-checked his phone, then dug out a pen and carefully marked the map.  “Lance, we’re right here.”

“Okay, gimme.”  Clark passed over the pen as Mr. Calvin frowned, gold obscuring his blue eyes for several seconds before he drew three arrows on the map.  One he drew lightly, but the other two were darker.

“They’ve been split up?” Clark asked before Bud could.

“Feels like it,” the girl – Miss Calvin – remarked.  “Same plan as before, Lance?”

Mr. Calvin considered, then nodded.  “It’s a smaller area, but are we gonna need juice or fruit or something for you?”

“No, I should be okay,” Miss Calvin said.  She leaned over the map, studying it, then took the pen and marked out four more locations; Bud noticed that they encircled the city and realization took his breath away.  They were triangulating the missing men’s position – or possibly positions – instead of blundering in like a bull in a china shop.  Most wizards – heck, most people, period – wouldn’t bother with such planning.  They’d just dive straight in and worry about consequences later, maybe never.

Mr. Calvin looked around, then flicked his fingers at the map, eyes glowing an instant.  The map folded itself back into a small packet and Miss Calvin scooped it up before tucking the pen away in her jeans pocket.  “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“Copy that,” Mr. Calvin acknowledged.  As the redhead strode away, the young wizard turned towards Bud, arching a slim brow.  “Do we need to find somewhere else to wait, Mr. Roberts?  I can text my sister if we need to move.”

“I’m fine,” Bud replied stiffly.  Interesting the case might be, but he still wanted it over as soon as possible so he could go back to pretending he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life trotting around the country doing the goblins’ bidding.

Sapphire was unimpressed, but the young man inclined his head and turned towards Dean.  “As long as we’re waiting, I might as well start filling you in on our family Animagus forms.”  Bud couldn’t help his astonished blink.  Since when did wizards have familial Animagus forms?  And why would someone who was completely normal need to know about them?

* * * * *

At first, Dean was confused why his cousin was starting with something so unimportant…right up until his cousin said, ‘gryphon’ and then he figured it out.  He liked meat as much as the next guy, but he’d never craved it before, not like he had just that morning at breakfast.  Leaning forward, he asked, “Did you have to tell my Dad this stuff?”

Lance froze for an instant, then sighed and nodded.  “It’s part of the really long, complicated story, but the short version is that he and Team One got locked up for something they didn’t do and a group of bad guys came after them.”  His cousin grimaced.  “One of the bad guys used a spell to force Uncle Greg into his Animagus form.  He’d already been getting some of the instincts before that, but afterwards?  He got the whole nine yards; he can even transform on his own now.”

Dean goggled.  “Can I?”

His cousin considered that, frowning.  “Maybe eventually,” he finally replied.  “Definitely not yet, though.  You’ve got access to your magic, but you need to get used to that first.  And believe me, getting transformed by a spell is not the recommended route to becoming an Animagus.  Most Animagi have to learn what their form is first and there’s a big long process before they can actually transform.  We’re kinda the exceptions, ‘cause of our type of magic.”

“Type of magic?” Mr. Roberts echoed, sounding interested in spite of himself.

Lance gave the man a wary glance, but replied, “The Calvin family and by extension the Parker family…we’re Wild Mages.  Our family dates back to Camelot, Mr. Roberts, and we still use the Old Magic.”

“Not Latin?”

A mirthless grin.  “We can use Latin, sir.  Old Magic is harder to use, but we have a gift for it.  Most wizards couldn’t use Old Magic if their lives depended on it, so our family used to hide our status.”  Bitterness shone.  “Everyone knows now, so my sister and I had to leave school and re-enroll on the techie side of the fence.”

Roberts shifted in his seat, suspicion growing.  “And you’re telling me this, why?”

One shoulder hiked even as Dean tensed.  “Silnok’s information said you’re a lawyer, Mr. Roberts,” Lance replied.  “I’m assuming you’ve been working with the goblins for awhile.”  At the confusion on Dean’s face, he added, “Goblins take client confidentiality very seriously.”  Switching back to Roberts, Lance’s expression turned solemn.  “Look, I don’t know your back story, sir, and I’m not asking for it, either.  But my family knows what goblins can be like when they think they’ve got an advantage over you.  I meant what I said yesterday; once this over, I’ll see what we can do for you.  There is one thing I do need to know, though.”

The lawyer’s expression was wary, fearful.  Cornered.  “And what’s that?”

“What are the goblins holding over your head?” Lance asked, tone blunt.

Roberts flinched and for several seconds, he didn’t reply.  “Why should I tell you?” he demanded.  “How do I know you won’t use that against me.”

Lance stared right back at him for a long minute.  Then he sighed and nodded, sitting back.  “I guess I wouldn’t trust magicals either, if I were in your shoes.  Never mind; I’ll do what I can, sir, but it would be a lot easier if you told me.”

Pale blue narrowed, their owner easily seeing the subtle prod.  Clark cleared his throat, pulling attention away from Lance.  “For what it’s worth,” he offered.  “Lance and Alanna aren’t like most wizards.”

Dean bit his lip, not liking the sound of that.  It sounded like most wizards weren’t worth trusting, so what did that mean for him and his Dad?  Or was Clark just trying to talk Roberts into telling them?  He wished he could ask, but that might blow the whole game.

For his part, Roberts was staring at the picnic table, expression twisting as he debated his options.  When he finally spoke, his voice was hesitant.  “They…they claim I owe them for the goblin Healers they sent out to the carrier when I was…badly injured…several years ago.”  One hand rubbed his right leg, the same one Dean had noticed him limping on.  “They said they paid for my prosthetic and physical therapy, too.”

“Wouldn’t the Navy pay for that?” Dean broke in, frowning.  “I mean, if you were hurt on active duty…”

“I was.”  So soft Dean could hardly hear it.

Lance’s eyes were narrowing and a dangerous light was appearing in them.  Abruptly, he stood up.  “Thank you for your candor, Mr. Roberts.  I believe I need to contact my account manager immediately instead of waiting until we’ve found Team One.”  He studied Roberts, gold specks flickering in sapphire depths.  “You have my word of honor as Head of the House of Calvin that I will get to the bottom of this, sir.”

Without waiting for a reply, Lance stalked away, already pulling out his phone.  Not long after that, Dean heard his cousin shouting.  He traded a glance with Clark, noticing how startled his friend was.  “He’s mad?”

Clark nodded.  “My Dad says your Dad can be pretty easygoing unless somebody tries to hurt Team One or stops them from doing their job.  When he yells, it isn’t pretty.”

Dean whistled, getting the message.  Lance was a lot like Dean’s father.  “I wonder…”

“You wonder?” Clark followed up when Dean trailed off.

Dean gazed down at the picnic table.  “I wonder if Lance is like his Dad.”

* * * * *

Alanna reappeared a bit more than an hour after she’d left and she brought along a large lunch.  Clark and Dean blinked at how much she’d brought, but she didn’t seem to notice as she spread it all out on the picnic table.  Lance helped, although the impatience in his eyes was impossible to miss.

“Lance, settle down,” Alanna ordered.

“Did you find them?” Lance blurted instead.

The girl cringed and all three boys stared at her, demanding answers.  “I did,” she replied.  “It doesn’t make sense, though.”

“Why not?” Clark asked.

The redhead’s shoulders slumped.  “I went to all the locations we’d picked out,” she explained.  “And I marked the directions I was getting, but the last location had a couple boards sitting there, so I used them to draw the lines.”

“You looked up where the lines intersected,” Lance concluded.

Long hair bounced in a nod.  “Yeah.  From what I can tell, they’re in the Houston SPCA animal shelters, but I can’t figure out why.  They’re humans, not animals, and there’s no way Uncle Greg would use his gryphon form in a heavily populated area like this.”

Lance mused on the revelation.  “So I’m guessing we can’t get into the shelters until after lunch?” he ventured.

Alanna sighed.  “We could, but I think the easiest way into their pet shelter is when they’ve got pets up for adoption.  We missed the morning rush, but I’m thinking after lunch, they’ll get another rush.”  The redhead shrugged, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.  “They’ve definitely been split up, but I think most of them are at the pet shelter.”

Dean frowned thoughtfully as he dug into the meal Alanna had brought.  Fried chicken – and a lot of it, too.  “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, staring directly at his cousin.  From what Lance had said, phoenixes were much more into fruit than meat.

Violet blinked in surprise, then Alanna chuckled, catching on.  “I’m fine, Dean.  I had a lot of fruit this morning and I got a bottle of apple juice at the chicken place I found.  Besides, chicken sounded really good.”

Relieved, Dean felt a slight blush rise.  “Guess I’ve got a ways to go with this whole thing,” he admitted.

“You’ll catch up,” Alanna reassured him.  Violet shifted to Roberts, quietly assessing.  “Sir, do you think you can get us in?”

Roberts considered the question, then he stiffened, eyes flicking to Lance.  “Mr. Calvin, earlier you were telling Mr. Parker about a spell capable of forcing the Animagus transformation.”  Pale blue cut to Alanna.  “If Miss Calvin is correct that we are looking at the local animal shelter, then…”

He trailed off, but the teens gawped in horror nonetheless.  “By the Lion,” Lance whispered, ashen.  “If you’re right…”

Dean started eating faster; if his Dad was stuck in his animal form, then they had to get there.  As fast as possible, because he had a nasty, nasty feeling that Roberts had just solved every last one of their mysteries except who was responsible.  Then he choked.  “If they’ve got a gryphon,” he blurted.

“Bloody hell,” Lance groaned, dropping his sandwich and burying his head in his hands.  “The Americans are gonna kill us!”

* * * * *

There were times when you had to play by the rules and then there were times when the rules got in the way of helping people.  Bud had been in both situations enough times to know that when the latter inevitably came up, the best course of action was to pull a ‘Commander Rabb’ and hope for the best.  He’d lost count of the times his friend Commander Harmon Rabb had been dumped in an impossible situation and come up trumps.  Must be some of his fighter pilot luck, even years after he’d stopped actively flying.

Not that any of that meant Bud liked helping magicals.  He didn’t, plain and simple, never would, not after what the goblins had pulled on his family.  But Lieutenant Commander Bud Roberts knew what Harm would do in his situation.  He’d help these four kids find their missing family members, no matter what the goblins had done.  Harm could never know about any of this, but Bud knew he’d never be able to look his friend in the eye again if he didn’t live up to his example.  So Bud dug up the courage Harm so often seemed to see in him and frantically flipped through his mental catalog of all the crazy stunts Harm – and Mac – had pulled over the years for an idea.

“Hey, it’s an animal shelter, right?”

All heads turned to young Clark – Bud still hadn’t gotten his last name – and Mr. Calvin arched an inquiring brow.  “Yeah…?”

“Well, don’t most animal shelters have volunteers?” Clark pointed out.  “I mean, it wouldn’t hold up, but it doesn’t have to.  All we gotta do is get close to Team One, right?”

Part of Bud was embarrassed – he hadn’t been the one to offer a solution – but most of him was relieved.  He knew himself to be a good lawyer, but he didn’t have Harm or Mac’s talent for quick thinking.  He could get to a solution, but it usually took him awhile.  He also tended to be law-abiding – it came with being a military lawyer – so the idea of sneaking in and pretending to be a volunteer rankled.  Sadly, even if his speculation was right, it was unbelievable to anyone without magic, so what other choice did they have?  More to the point, with the goblins’ debt hanging over his head, what other choice did he have?

Mr. Calvin was nodding.  “Once we’re in, we can go straight to them.”  He grimaced.  “Hope Uncle Greg’s there, ‘cause if Mr. Roberts is right, then Uncle Greg might be the only one who can recognize us right now.”

How lovely.  Not only was he going to break the law, the people he was going to help rescue were completely out of their minds.  This was going just swimmingly.  Maybe he should’ve told that goblin to shove it and never mind the consequences.

* * * * *

Lance really would’ve preferred to leave the Navy lawyer who didn’t like magicals behind.  Not that the guy didn’t have cause – that was the worst part, he did.  According to Silnok, early on in his career, an anti-magic techie group had tried to recruit Roberts in a mistaken belief that American magicals joined the military.  When he’d turned them down, they’d done their dirty darndest to ruin his career.  He’d survived and managed to land himself in Judge Advocate General, where his advancement had been slow, but steady.  For some reason Lance couldn’t fathom, the goblins had decided that meant Bud Roberts was part of the anti-magic group and come up with a bogus debt to blackmail him with.  It was nasty and the young pureblood Lord fully intended on raising merry hell once he got back to Toronto.  Assuming Silnok didn’t get there first – for a Goblin-Friend to discover such dishonorable behavior was a stain on the account manager’s honor even though he’d not been part of it.

Yet here he was, strolling through the Houston SPCA with Mr. Roberts right behind him.  When he’d offered to let the man just go home since they’d located Team One, Mr. Roberts had refused.  He hadn’t looked like he enjoyed refusing, but he’d still refused.  Lance suspected that meant either one of two things.  One, Mr. Roberts was afraid Lance would go back on his word and bring the wrath of Gringotts down on his family, or two, Mr. Roberts, despite having been shafted by the goblins, had committed to helping and thus wouldn’t back down on that commitment.  Fear or honor – and it stung that Lance couldn’t be sure which one it was.

‘Lanna was ahead of him, walking right next to Dean and chattering away with him in Narnian; Lance found it deeply ironic that the older teen still had yet to realize he was talking in a totally different language.  Clark was on his left, rather uncomfortable since he could hear ‘Lanna and Dean talking, but he couldn’t understand them.  Lance felt bad for him; the odds of Clark developing magic like Team One had were somewhere between zero and zilch, which sadly left Clark on the outside looking in.

“I’m sorry.”  The words slipped free before he could think about them.

Gray eyes came around and locked with his, Clark somehow understanding what he was apologizing for.  “It’s not your fault.”

Lance’s shoulders hunched.  “It is, a little,” he countered.  “If me ‘n’ ‘Lanna hadn’t moved to Toronto, Uncle Greg never woulda found out about his…heritage…and none of this would’ve happened.”

Clark’s eyes widened.  “And what then, cuz?  Lou would be dead and Wordy’d be out of the SRU for sure.  And that’s just what we know about.”  He stopped, staring down at the floor guiltily.  “Do you remember when I asked you guys to show me around?”

Frowning, Lance bobbed his head.  Clark had taken the attack in the candy store badly, but really, it could’ve been a whole lot worse.  Drunken bums usually didn’t hit as hard as they thought they did.

“I, ah, I talked to my Dad afterwards and, um, he told me how they see you guys.”  Clark’s head lifted and he set his jaw.  “Even after ‘Lanna helped stop that school shooting, they won’t take you guys back.  It’s not fair, none of it is.”

Lance couldn’t hold his friend’s gaze and he looked away.  “It’s my fault they found out, Clark.”

“Oh, you made this crazy lunatic come to the barn and try to kill your uncle, huh?”  Sarcasm rang.  “What were you supposed to do, let her kill him?”

Fists clenched involuntarily.  “She wanted me.”

“We want you more,” Clark retorted.  When Lance swung around and opened his mouth, Clark’s hand slashed across, cutting him off.  “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.  Maybe I’m not like you or ‘Lanna or Dean, but what’s that matter?  I’m your friend.”  A pause, then he smirked.  “Can you teach me how to call my Dad an idiot in Narnian?  ‘Cause he’s gotta be an idiot for jumping headfirst in a trap.”

Lance blinked, then returned the smirk.  “Amadan.”

“Yep, that’s what you are,” Clark agreed breezily before speeding up to walk next to Alanna and Dean, leaving Lance blinking at his back.

Behind him, Mr. Roberts chuckled softly.  “I would say you walked right into that one, Mr. Calvin.”

The young man cast the lawyer an annoyed look, then sighed and faced forward again.  Clark didn’t understand just how much he and his sister had cost Team One; if he did, he wouldn’t be so insistent that he was their friend.  As Lance walked, he shivered.  This close, he could tell that Uncle Greg was up ahead, but there were three other magical signatures as well.  Only Uncle Greg, Uncle Wordy, and Uncle Sam should’ve had magical signatures; the others should’ve had the same traces that Clark had, not full blown magic.

He and ‘Lanna had done this.  They’d tipped the row of dominos that had eventually ended with Team One fully embroiled in the magical world.  Their magic had awoken Uncle Greg’s, leading like night into day to the whole of Team One having magic.  Because of them, Team One would spend the rest of their lives struggling to survive in the shadowy, gray area between the two worlds.  Lance kept his eyes down even as a new resolution solidified in his heart.  First they needed to get Team One out of trouble and then…then it was time to face facts.  They’d had their chance and they’d blown it.  Time to put things right, once and for all.

* * * * *

Alanna followed her sense of family, chattering away at Dean about magic and everything that had happened since she and her brother had come from England.  She wasn’t worried about being overheard, not in Narnian.  Dean was soaking it all in, asking questions and nodding thoughtfully as she elaborated.  He wasn’t afraid of his magic, not like Uncle Greg, which was good.  Virtually all the problems Uncle Greg had were because he was scared of his own power, a fact he knew, but just knowing didn’t take the fear away.

And then…they were there.  Team One was just through the next door.  Alanna stopped talking and scrambling forward, pushing the door open.  Inside, she skidded to a halt, horror flooding her.  Mr. Roberts, he’d been right.  Four animals looked up from their cages and a keen of despair rose in her chest.  None of them was a gryphon, but she’d been so sure.  An instant later the lion… trilled?  Like an eagle, she knew that instinctively.  Alanna looked in the big cat’s eyes and she knew.  Hazel eyes.  His eyes.

“Hey!  You can’t be back there!”

“ ‘Lanna, go!  We’ll hold them off!” Dean hissed, already whipping around.

Alanna didn’t hesitate; she threw herself forward at the bars separating her from her beloved uncle.  One hand raised, magic rising without thought.  “Tóspringe!”  The gate sprang open and then she was right by him, down on her knees.  Violet power thrummed in her veins, guiding her to what her eyes couldn’t see.

“Kid!  Get outta that cage!”

Just one second more.  Her hands found the collar, slipped behind the buckle, and she felt an indentation under sensitive pads.  The girl’s fingers twitched, pressing down, and the collar’s buckle gave way.  Someone grabbed her, dragging her away, but she seized the collar and pulled.

There was a flash of magic, an involuntary scream from the gryphon, and then Uncle Greg was there.  Alive and real and collapsing.  She cried out, but her brother was faster.  She heard the sharp crack as he bypassed the cage door and simply Apparated in, landing right next to Uncle Greg and catching him before he could fall.

There was a breath of silence.  Then a male voice demanded, “What the hell is going on here?”

[1] Uniform Code of Military Justice – The core of military law in the United States, governing the conduct of every branch of the United States military.  Passed by Congress and signed into law by President Harry Truman in 1950.

Chapter Text

It was the anticipation that woke him up, the feeling that something was about to happen.  Greg opened his eyes, blinking sleep debris away, but remained where he was, in the corner of his cage furthest from the door and the most defensible location.  He moved when they gave him food or water, but other than that, he stayed put.  It was the best way to protect himself from tranquilizer darts – and besides, getting trapped in his gryphon form again hadn’t taken away the long-term damage to his feet that he was still recovering from.  As a matter of fact, it was probably making things worse.  Joy.

At least his cage was big enough for him to spread his wings, unlike Morgana’s.  It didn’t change their situation, though.  They were still trapped in animal form, unable to change back and inching closer by the day to the point of no return.  Wordy had been trying to shift back, summoning up his magic so fiercely that he’d remarked on the volunteers calling a vet over because his eyes had changed color, but all to no avail.  For the past two days, Greg had been working himself up to daring his own shift, but the memory of the first Animagus collar kept intruding.  Over and over again, he felt phantom pain course through his system as flashbacks of that punishment surrounded him.  If he tried to shift, that excruciating agony would engulf him, but to tamely surrender to their fate didn’t appeal in the slightest.

Scarlet magic stirred, reacting to…something.  Or maybe someone.  Greg prodded at it, still unused to how closely it now twined with his soul.  In response, it purred, curling around him and tugging his awareness to his sense of family.  Not the ‘team sense’, though that was ever-present.  Power flowed outwards and two – no, three – pulses of magic sang back, as high and clear as struck crystal.  Two were familiar to him; he’d know them half-dead; but the third…  He’d never felt it before, but he knew it in his bones.

Drawn to those familiar pulses of magic, Greg uncurled from his corner and padded to the front of his cage, hazel fixed on the door which led to the rest of the building.  In the other three cages, his friends paced, oblivious to what he could sense and still bound to their animal instincts.  For once, Greg refused to let it bother him; they were here, rescue was only seconds away.  Gryphon wings flared, despite their invisibility.

The door crashed open, Alanna almost running into the room, but she immediately skidded to a halt, gaping in horror at the sight of four animals instead of four humans.  Confusion shone, too; Greg knew she could sense him, but she didn’t know about the collar.  A shout came from behind her – no, behind them, he realized as he spied several other figures.  Greg trilled, unleashing his purely eagle side in an effort to communicate.  Violet eyes fixed on him, going wide.

“ ‘Lanna, go!  We’ll hold them off!”  It didn’t sound like Lance, but who else could it be?

Alanna didn’t hesitate; she threw herself at his cage, casting the spell to open it without thought.  Greg met her halfway, praying she would figure it out; he could hear someone pushing past his rescuers, intent on ‘saving’ Alanna from the ‘wild animal’.  Then it happened; slim fingers found the collar and slipped behind the buckle, searching for the release.  Please, please…  The buckle gave and Alanna grabbed the collar even as she was seized from behind and dragged backwards.

For a breath, Greg thought she’d failed, but then the collar left his neck and the magic flexed.  The scream ripped free, his body spasming as it was brutally wrenched back to human.  He ended up standing, but the abuse he’d sustained was too much; already, he was collapsing forwards, right towards Alanna.

A crack resounded and familiar arms caught him, holding him tight.  Lance.  His nipotes had found them, rescued them.  Greg let Lance support him as he looked up, hazel gazing directly at a woman in a constable’s uniform.  She still had her hands on Alanna, but she’d stopped and she was staring at him in utter astonishment.  Well, no wonder; she’d never seen an animal transform into a man before.

Naturally, that was when a male voice rose above the stunned silence.  “What the hell is going on here?”

The constable released Alanna, still looking like she’d been hit upside the head with a two by four.  Pointing at Greg, she stuttered, “Jantzen, he just…he just…”

“Turned back into a human,” Lance filled in wryly.  “Uncle Greg, you really gotta stop getting kidnapped like this.  Might break the Statute of Secrecy.”

Greg felt a breath of laughter break free.  “Copy that, mio nipote.  Next time I’ll be sure to ask for the standard kidnapping package.”

Outside the cage, Dean snickered.  Wait…Dean…?

“Hey, Dad.”  It was Dean.  “Clark called me, said you were in a jam and asked if I wanted to come help.”

Clark?  Greg craned his neck and immediately spied Clark’s dark curls and gray eyes that were still so much like his father’s.  Wait a sec…  “You four came alone?”  The growl was dangerous.

Alanna snorted.  “Commander Locksley’s still trying to figure out how to follow that Portkey trail from where they found your cars.”

Confused, Greg swung to his niece.  “You didn’t tell her that you could find us?”

“We couldn’t,” Lance cut in.  “Not till a couple days ago.”

The picture came together; Morgana must’ve warded that weather-beaten barn against any type of tracking magic, but when they’d been removed by the SPCA, those wards had been rendered moot.  Which didn’t explain why his nipotes – and Clark – had decided to launch a kids-only rescue mission.  He could guess why’d they’d done that, but he didn’t care.  He didn’t even care that they’d been successful.

“You’re all grounded.”

Dean jerked in surprise, though Clark and Alanna both looked resigned.  Next to him, Lance squirmed.  “Uncle Greg?  Can I have a day before I’m grounded?”  Parker’s eyes narrowed, but his nephew darted a glance at one of the men outside the cage.  “I made a promise.”

Greg was tempted to demand more details on the spot, but it wasn’t the time or place.  “I’ll consider it, Lancelot.”

Lance flinched, reading his uncle’s unhappiness, but nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

“Okay, what the heck is going on here?”  Parker shifted his gaze towards the bewildered expression beneath a white Stetson hat.

The unknown man cleared his throat, though he appeared rather uncertain.  “Missing persons investigation,” he remarked in a bland tone.

Jantzen whirled on him and eyed him narrowly up and down.  “You’re not a cop.”

The stranger straightened to attention.  “Lieutenant Commander Bud Roberts, U.S. Navy, Judge Advocate General.”  He gestured towards Greg – or maybe Lance.  “Mr. Calvin, his sister, and his friends requested my assistance in locating seven missing members of Toronto’s law enforcement, including Mr. Calvin’s uncle.”

“And that’s all you need to know,” Lance cut in, authority ringing despite his young age.  “Anything more is classified by international law under the Official Secrets Act.”

Commander Roberts winced.  “It’s not called the Official Secrets Act in the States, Mr. Calvin.”

“Whatever it’s called, same difference,” Alanna cut in.  She pulled herself free from the female constable’s lax grip and casually shifted backwards; the constable backed up, expression still so stunned that Greg knew her reaction was automatic.  Nevertheless, he appreciated it since it allowed Lance to support him out of the wild animal cage he’d been locked inside for the past several days.

Once clear of the cage, Greg made to take over, but Lance’s subtle pressure on his arm kept him quiet.  His nipote looked Jantzen in the eye.  “Look, if I were in your shoes, I’d want answers, too.  Trouble is, those answers could get you and us in a ton of hot water.  It’s gonna be a lot better in the long run if you and your friend turn around and walk outta here.  We’ll take care of the rest.”

Anger flashed in the big man’s brown eyes.  “And what, let you and your friends steal three exotic wild animals?  It’s not happening, kid.  I don’t know what you did to the lion, but you are not doing it to the other three.”

Lance bristled and Greg felt his shoulders bunch, but Alanna smirked.  “All I did was take this collar off,” she announced, holding up the Animagus control collar.  “It’s not my fault you didn’t realize he had a collar on,” the redhead added, aloof with just a hair of superiority.  Parker shuddered involuntarily and would’ve backed away from the collar if he could have.

Disbelief joined the anger.  Gesturing to Parker, Jantzen demanded, “You expect me to believe you took off a collar none of us found on that lion and he turned into a human?  I suppose next you’re going to tell me that these animals are your missing people?”

In a mild tone, Greg replied, “Yes, actually.”  When Jantzen swung to him, already opening his mouth to launch another volley, the lieutenant held up a hand.  “That day, when you picked us up, did you ever find the ranch’s owner?”

Jantzen was taken aback, but the constable had recovered enough to say, “No, we didn’t.  Why?”

Greg met the woman’s eyes and kept his voice calm.  “You might want to do a welfare check on him.  The person who shoved us in those cages is someone we’ve had previous encounters with in Toronto.”  He paused a beat, then added the punch line, “And female.”  Dismissing the Americans, he turned towards Alanna.  “Kiddo, could you help Jules?”  Hazel cut to his son.  “Dean, could you take over for Lance so he can help Sam and Spike?”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Dean agreed at once, moving forward to trade places with his cousin.

“Now hold on a minute here!” Jantzen protested, cutting off a question from Clark.

“No, you hold on,” Greg snarled, letting his fury out.  “My men have spent the past four days trapped as animals!  If you think I’m going to leave them like that for one more second, you’re out of your mind!”  Beside him, Dean and Lance switched off, but the lieutenant never missed a beat as he jabbed a finger towards Jules’ cage.  “I know it sounds crazy, but these animals are just as human as you and me.”

Before he could continue and before Jantzen could snap a reply, Alanna opened Jules’ cage with a whisper-soft, “Tóspringe.”

Greg hastily reached for the ‘team sense’ and ordered his three constables to remain calm and not lash out, even if they were hurt.  One last order ensured all his magical orders would end once they were back to fully human for at least thirty seconds.  Parker wasn’t sure how long they’d be disoriented, but he knew his friends would react badly if they accidentally hurt either of his nipotes.

With the cage door open, Alanna knelt, reaching for the beautiful black jaguar.  Jules came directly to the girl, butting her head into Alanna’s chest and rumbling a purr.  Greg blinked; he hadn’t ordered that…was his constable breaking through the curse?  Or could the jaguar sense that Alanna was family, even without Jules’ conscious memories?

“Animus Invertio,” Alanna ordered, soft but audible.  Blue-white flew from her fingers to impact the jaguar’s chest; inwardly, Greg cringed, knowing all-too-well what Jules was about to go through.  The big cat let out a sound like a groan, curling in on herself as magic began to run over her body.  The light intensified and Greg heard Jules’ bones begin to break; inside, the ‘team sense’ writhed with her agony and the negotiator had to work to control his breathing.  The pain stretched out each moment, Jules’ body going into convulsions as it was forcibly restructured, but in reality, it was only seconds before the light around the constable blazed, then faded to reveal a human form collapsing forward.  Alanna caught the brunette and stayed where she was, lifting tired eyes to her uncle.

Both Jantzen and the female constable gasped at the sight, taken aback by the clear, indisputable evidence that the animals in their care were, in fact, human.  Greg thought the constable’s last name was Kendrick, but he couldn’t be completely sure.  Nor did he care; they were on American soil, which meant he had no authority to sign either one of the animal investigators onto America’s version of the Official Secrets Act and he didn’t think Commander Roberts had that authority either.  Without that authority, he was legally bound to keep magic secret, however impossible that was.

While Greg stared down the Americans, Lance had reached the other side and opened up Sam’s cage, picking the blond wolf either by luck or intuition.  Parker dragged his gaze away from Jantzen’s hostile stare to watch as the wolf let out a sound of greeting.  Not quite a yip, but close.  Lance petted Sam’s head for a few seconds before pulling his hand back and gesturing.  “Animus Invertio,” he ordered firmly.  Parker forced himself to watch as a familiar blue-white spell flew at Sam, impacting his chest.  Forced himself to hold steady as the wolf collapsed, panting as magical agony engulfed him.  Every twitch and jerk and writhe echoed in the ‘team sense’ and Greg accepted that pain, part of him hoping that would make it easier for his friend.  Then it was over and Lance was catching the limp blond sniper.  Clark moved forward, wriggling in next to Lance so he could take over, freeing Lance to head for Spike.

Greg swallowed down any protests; he knew that look in his nephew’s eyes.  Lance wouldn’t stop until Spike was free, his determination easily overpowering any exhaustion.  In the final cage, Spike was dancing from paw to paw, as if he could sense how close he was to being free and maybe he could.  Two members of Team One were back to being human, after all, plus Greg, and the last three were all quite a ways away.  The lieutenant watched as Lance opened up the cage and crouched to meet Spike’s lunge; he laughed as the canine licked his face, tail wagging eagerly.  Spike’s enthusiasm in a nutshell, coupled with canine instincts, though Greg suspected Spike was acting more like a domestic dog than the wild animal he’d been labeled as.  The two SPCA investigators certainly looked like they’d descended into a new level of shock as they stared at the wriggling canine trying to clean Lance’s entire face.

“Down, boy,” Lance ordered, pushing the wild dog back on the ground.  “I bet you’re gonna be really embarrassed about that in about thirty seconds.”  Spike whined unhappily, but at Greg’s silent prompting, he held still for the spell that hit him a moment later.  He yelped as the pain hit, curling in on himself just like Jules had and Greg winced, closing his eyes as the ‘team sense’ lit up like a Christmas tree.  When it was over, Parker resisted the urge to sag in relief.  Halfway there.

“S…Sarge?”  Greg whipped his head back towards Jules; she had woken up, though she still appeared dazed and confused.

Dean read him perfectly; the teenager helped his father limp forward, reaching the two women in moments.  “I’m here, Jules.”

“Hurts,” Jules moaned, only partly conscious.

Greg eased away from his son’s support and let himself sink down to his constable’s level.  “I know it hurts, Jules.  I’ve been where you are, but you can get through it, I promise.”

“S…Sam?  Is he okay?”

Parker craned his neck around, but Clark had heard and he was already helping Sam to his feet.  The blond sniper’s expression was pained, but he was awake and fully conscious.  Likely because he had more magic than Jules did.  Part of Greg cringed, waiting for the accusing stare, but Sam’s eyes were warm with understanding and held not even a shred of condemnation.

“Right here, Jules,” Sam called, although limping closer required Clark’s support.  “Don’t suppose anyone got a picture, though.”

“We did,” Jantzen replied, so stunned that all four ‘animals’ had turned out to be human that his response was entirely automatic.

Greg winced and took the opportunity to crane towards the last cage.  Lance was still supporting Spike, though it looked as if the bomb tech was starting to come ‘round.  Sapphire met hazel for an instant, then dropped away, the guilt so clear that Greg had to stomp on the urge to race over to his nephew and shake him.  Absolutely none of this was Lance’s fault, but the situation was still too much in flux to focus on the young Wild Mage.  Bother; the longer he left it, the worse it would be, but he literally couldn’t address his nipote’s misplaced guilt yet.

* * * * *

Bud watched the entire scene play out, morbidly fascinated by the way all three animals reverted to their true human forms.  He’d been under the goblins’ thumb long enough to know about Animagi, of course, and more than a few of his cases had actually been helping his clients fill out and file the Animagus paperwork, but he’d never before encountered a case where the Animagus in question was forced into their form at all, much less during the initial transformation.  From what he understood, that had been beyond dangerous, with a high probability of leaving the victims in a half-human, half-animal state.  Particularly since Bud was willing to bet none of them had even known what their forms were supposed to be.

Yet from he was seeing and hearing, it was clear all the transformations had been successful.  Perhaps, Bud mused, it was due to Officer Parker’s unique brand of magic?  Even if his colleagues had no access to that magic, the officer had to have been right there when the initial transformations had occurred.  He clearly possessed enough magic to have an Animagus form, so perhaps he’d been able to prevent any deaths?  It was as likely a theory as any, particularly since Bud was very sure none of his clients would enlighten him as to the truth of the matter.

The former wolf – Sam, apparently – had fully recovered and taken young Miss Calvin’s place next to the ex-jaguar while Mr. Calvin was still assisting the other former canine.  Officer Parker was still leaning on his son, but from what Mr. Calvin had told young Mr. Parker, the older man had yet to recover from a prior kidnapping.  Bud couldn’t help a shiver; back to back kidnappings sounded like something straight out of a pulp novel.  He heard a mumble and swung back towards his primary client.  There was a second mumble and then a very canine-like yelp.

“Easy, Uncle Spike, it’s okay!”

“It’s okay?” the dark-haired man demanded, right on the edge of hysteria.  “I just licked you!”  He looked quite sick at the very thought.

Bud didn’t see Mr. Calvin roll his eyes, but the tone of voice left him in no doubt.  “Yeah, that’s what dogs do, Uncle Spike.  Even if they’re Animagi.  Seriously, stop freaking out; we still gotta get the rest of Team One outta this mess.”

The declaration worked much better than Bud would’ve expected.  The sick expression vanished into determination and the former canine started trying to get up.  “Copy that, kiddo.”

“Sam, help me up,” the ex-jaguar put in, struggling to rise herself.  “We can’t leave Ed, Lou, and Wordy like that.”

“Stop.”  All three halted at Officer Parker’s firm tone.  “I’ve been where you guys are; I know you’re hurting and in no shape to do anything.”  The officer’s gaze rose to Jantzen.  “I’m sorry, but you and your colleagues are going to have to lose the paperwork from that ranch seizure.  Animals might be considered property, but humans are not.”

“Can’t be done,” the big man retorted.  “We got a court date coming up.”

“A court date?” Sam blurted.  “Why?”

Jantzen shifted uneasily and reached up, adjusting his Stetson.  “Texas state law, sir.  Any animal seizure includes a hearing in court to determine whether we can keep the animals or if we have to return them to the owner.  Sometimes the owner will sign a release and voluntarily surrender the animals or we can come to an agreement out of court, but the hearing was scheduled as part of the warrant.”

“Claim the animals were stolen,” Bud cut in without thinking.  “Once you recovered the animals, the original owners came forward with all the necessary documentation, therefore the ranch owner has no standing to contest the seizure.”

The animal investigator scowled as he turned to the naval lawyer.  “So you want us to lie.”

Pale blue narrowed.  “It’s not about want, sir.  The truth won’t fly in this case, for a number of reasons.  The hearing is moot anyway; no one has the right to own another human being, so obviously, the ‘animals’ cannot be returned even if the ‘owner’ were to win.”

The scowl grew deeper, but Jantzen didn’t contest the point.  “Assuming we go along with this, we’d need documentation.”  A glance was cut in Jules’ general direction.  “Owning exotics requires licensing and state permits.”

“We’re from Toronto,” Clark protested before turning to Officer Parker.  “And where’s my Dad, sir?  Is he here?”

“No, Clark, he isn’t,” Officer Parker replied.  “I think he and Lou are together and Wordy’s in a third location, but beyond that…”  One shoulder shrugged, though the unhappy tension on his face spoke volumes to his concern.

Bud frowned; to make the three remaining officers wait while he hashed out the details of their cover-up rankled.  “Mr. Calvin, I can remain here and work with Mr. Jantzen and Constable…” the lawyer paused, gazing expectantly at the local constable.

“Kendrick,” she filled in, though she didn’t appear any happier with the situation than her colleague.

Roberts nodded.  “I can work with them to figure out the details of this court case.  In the meantime, perhaps you could be a little more discreet than you’ve been so far?”

All four teens flushed bright red and looked anywhere but at him.  “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Clark mumbled to the floor, tugging on the SPCA volunteer t-shirt he was wearing.

* * * * *

Greg eyed the American lawyer, more than a touch suspicious of him.  He didn’t know the man and didn’t particularly care if he’d come with the kids.  That just made it worse in Greg’s book because the man had enabled all four teens in their quest to put themselves in a great deal of danger.  If he could make the locals see sense, though, Parker was all for it.  He had no intention of getting involved with a sham court proceeding if he could help it.  But first things first.

“Dean,” he murmured, unable to help his smile as his son gazed up at him.  An instant later, he forced himself to sober.  “I hate to ask this of you, son, but Sam, Spike, and Jules are hurting bad and they’re going to be like that for awhile.  They won’t be able to go very far and Clark deserves to get his Dad back as soon as possible.  I’ll need your cousins’ help for that and for Lou and Wordy, too.”

“That leaves me,” Dean whispered, shoulders straightening under the responsibility his father was giving him.  “Don’t worry, Dad.  I’ll look after them, I promise.”

Truly, Greg didn’t like leaving his seventeen-year-old son behind with three unknowns and three injured constables any more than he liked the whole situation, but there was nothing he could do differently.  He’d just have to trust the Lion to keep his son and his friends safe, though that was far easier said than done.

“Dad?”

Glancing at his son, Greg quirked a questioning brow.

“What’s with the maple leaf?” Dean asked, fingering the stylized brass maple leaf embroidered on his father’s uniform’s shoulder.

Hazel glowed with genuine delight.  “Long story, but I got promoted.”  Anticipating the next question, Greg laid his free hand on the leaf, atop his son’s.  “Lieutenant.”

Dean lit up, excitement clear, but he just nodded and traded places with Lance.  Parker wasn’t at all surprised that Lance had overheard his quiet discussion with Dean.  Likewise, he wasn’t happy the support was necessary, but he was resigned to that reality.  Parker watched as his son headed over to Clark and Alanna, whispering to them both and pointing to his father and Lance.

“Where you think you’re going?” Jantzen barked, eyes hard under his Stetson as he turned from his and Constable Kendrick’s fledgling discussion with Commander Roberts.

Parker returned the glare.  “I’m not the one you should be getting angry at.  That would be the witch who did this to me and my team.”  He softened, but only by a hair.  “Look, I’m sorry you and yours ended up in the middle of this mess, but sorry doesn’t change the situation.  I have three more men trapped in animal form and I’m not about to leave them like that, so please get out of our way.”

Jantzen grunted, unimpressed, but moved aside.

Lance wasted no time in helping his uncle limp forward and out of the room.  Outside, he dug in a pocket and came up with a set of car keys.  “ ‘Lanna, go get the car started.  Clark, get his other side.  Fast is good right now.”

Greg didn’t protest as Alanna hurried off and the two boys got under both shoulders and used their combined strength to lever him up enough to manage a brisk walk.  Lance must’ve done something else, too, because no one seemed to notice the strange sight they made as they moved through the facility.

“Why didn’t you do this on the way in?” Clark asked when a vet tech shifted out of their way without ever noticing them.

“I did, but ‘Lanna took off when we got close,” Lance replied, grimacing.  “What I’m doing isn’t very strong, so when she started running, she attracted more attention than the charm could divert and it broke.”

Parker made a note to have a word with Alanna later.  Much as he disliked deception, it would’ve been much easier for everyone concerned if the Canadians had been able to sneak out under the radar.  His two helpers stopped talking after that, saving their breath for hauling the gaunt, underweight, but still heavy SRU lieutenant towards the parking lot.  When they reached it, Clark helped Greg up into the passenger seat while Alanna ran around the SUV to open the back passenger door and Lance scurried for the driver’s seat.

Once all four were in and the vehicle began to move, Lance flicked a glance up at the rearview mirror.  “ ‘Lanna, you put in the next destination?”

“Yeah, just hit the Start button,” she confirmed, brushing a windblown lock of hair out of her face.  “I picked the closer one.”

Reaching for the ‘team sense’, Greg concluded that they were heading towards Ed and Lou.  That was good; Clark would get his father back and by the time they were done, only Wordy would be left.  He almost ‘pinged’ Wordy, but then Clark asked, “So what kind of animal did my Dad get changed into, sir?”

Focusing back on the SUV, Parker replied, “Clark, your Dad ended up as a red-tailed hawk.  Lou’s a fox.  A black one.”

Alanna whistled low.  “No wonder that guy was babbling about exotics.”

Craning around to look at his niece, Greg inquired, “Any idea why he was so hostile?  I mean, aside from the obvious.”

“The obvious being the whole magic is real bombshell,” Alanna grumbled.  “I don’t know, Uncle Greg,” she admitted.  “Maybe he didn’t believe us about everyone really being human?  Like, he thought we’re changing real animals into humans or something?”

“Or it’s easier to get mad at us over his life going crazy than blame whoever actually did this,” Lance offered.

Parker winced, both for their theories – which matched his own – and the reminder.  “It was Morgana,” he confessed softly.

Lance exhaled hard, eyes flashing with anger.  “Was afraid of that,” he muttered.  “Anyway, not everybody likes having their world turned upside down, Uncle Greg.  And then we went and pulled the classified card on them.  Not really surprised they’re mad after that.”

An excellent point.  “Not exactly my best first impression,” Greg murmured to himself.

“I’m impressed you didn’t freak, what with getting trapped in your gryphon form again,” Lance observed.

“Morgana told me she did it the last time, too,” the lieutenant reported dully.  “She claimed it was her Judgment on me and she did this to the others because they freed me.”

Alanna sucked in a breath, but Lance turned his head, sapphire fierce.  “Don’t you dare blame yourself, Uncle Greg.  That wasn’t Judgment, that was Revenge on all of us, not just you.  None of this is your fault.  It’s hers.”

The navigation system chirped before Parker could reply and Lance shifted back to the road.  He still had to talk to his nipote, but while Lance was driving wasn’t a good time.  Once again, it would have to wait.

Chapter Text

They got lucky.  For once.  Ed and Lou were being kept together, probably, Greg realized, because they were both from the same animal seizure and their ultimate fate couldn’t be decided until after that court date Jantzen had told them about.  His throat tightened; whatever else he thought of the hearing, it had given his kids crucial time.  Time to find them and time enough to come and rescue them before anything permanent happened.

Glancing at his nephew, Greg asked, “Here?  Or should we get them somewhere else?”

“There’s a forest nearby.”  Parker and his nipotes swung around, the former arching a brow at Clark.  The young man forced a smile and bounced on his heels, doing his best to pretend his Dad wasn’t stuck as a hawk a bare meter away.  “I asked one of the ladies in front.  She said the wildlife shelter’s close to a forest so they have a good place nearby where they can release the animals.  We could go in there.”

Alanna nodded thoughtfully.  “I know an Old Magic ward that will keep people away,” she offered.

“All right,” Greg breathed.  “Let’s do this fast, kids.”

Clark started for the red-tailed hawk, but Lance stepped into his path, shaking his head.  He opened the cage, seemingly oblivious to Greg’s hasty ‘team sense’ order for Ed to stay calm and let Lance pick him up.  A glitter of magic wrapped around his nipote’s forearm and he turned to face away from the cage, holding the arm out, the movement pricking his uncle’s memory.  He wasn’t sure what he was remembering, but it was clearly a stance that would let Eddie come to him.  Accordingly, Greg amended his order and bit down on an involuntary smile as the red-tailed hawk spread his wings and swooped forward to land on Lance’s forearm.

While Lance retrieved Ed, Alanna moved to Lou’s enclosure and opened the lock with her trusty Old Magic spell.  The little fox came right to her and yipped when she scooped him up in her arms.  Despite his surprise, Lou wasn’t afraid of the redhead and even nuzzled into her, resting his head against her chest with a tiny fox sigh.  Privately, Greg suspected his constable was going to be just as embarrassed about that as Spike was over his slobbery canine greeting towards Lancelot.  He said nothing, though; the important thing was to get his friends out of the shelter so they could finally be freed.

* * * * *

Although Greg’s recovery had been set back a great deal by his latest ordeal, he had regained enough strength to walk by himself and stand for at least a few minutes.  Nevertheless, the injured man was relieved when they reached a quiet area of the woods and he was able to sink down on the forest floor.  Alanna let Lou down so she could set up her wards and the little fox trotted right to his boss, begging for attention despite his ‘wild animal’ form.  Greg reached out and started scratching behind the little fox’s ears, knowing very well how good that felt to Lou.  Even if his constable had been in his right mind, he still wouldn’t have hesitated.  Validating his decision, Lou leaned into the petting, letting out tiny noises of contentment as he closed his eyes and rested his muzzle on Greg’s leg, right by his hip.

In the middle of the small clearing, Ed’s hawk form idly flexed his wings open and closed as he balanced on Lance’s forearm and gazed around at the woods.  Greg gripped the ‘team sense’, silently reinforcing his order that Ed stay put and not fly off.  The magical orders would let him bring his friend back if necessary, but he would rather not get to that point in the first place.  Hazel drifted to his nephew; while not at the top of his game, he hadn’t missed the fact that his nipotes had a rental car.  They shouldn’t have a rental car – none of them were old enough to rent a car – but they did and he was going to bet that Lance was the only listed driver on the contract.  Which meant that his nephew needed to save his magical strength if possible.

“Okay, done,” Alanna called, brushing her hands off.

Lance nodded and focused on the hawk, only for Parker to clear his throat.  Both he and Clark turned to the older man, confused.  “Uncle Greg?”

“How many people are allowed to drive that rental car of yours, mio nipote?”

Sapphire widened.  “Just me.”

Greg nodded in satisfaction.  “All right, then.  Let Alanna handle the reversions here, mio nipote.  You still need to be able to drive to where Wordy is.”

The young man hesitated.  “And what about after that?”

Parker winced, but held firm.  “I can drive, Lance.  I might not be on the rental contract, but better me than either Clark or Alanna.”

“I guess that means you get Uncle Wordy, big brother mine,” Alanna teased.

Lance blinked, then smirked.  “Only fair, sis.  You got Uncle Greg.”  So saying, he knelt down, coaxing the hawk off his arm and onto the forest floor before his uncle could even reach for the ‘team sense’.  He backed away, then spied Greg’s puzzlement and edged over.  “It’s been forever,” he whispered, “But Dad started teaching me falconry before I even started Hogwarts.  It’s old-fashioned, even in the magical world, but he said it was a skill worth learning and it would teach me a lot.”

“Why didn’t you say anything when you came to live with me?” Greg asked, upset that his nephew had given up something he’d clearly been good at and never said anything.

The young man stared at the ground, shoulders hunching.  “It…it was something just between me and Dad,” he admitted.  “I mean, we had the Old Magic lessons, but I always knew ‘Lanna was gonna get them, too, but Dad…  Dad said it was something Grandfather taught him, so it was special.”  Looking away, Lance rubbed his opposite shoulder and mumbled, “Besides, you’re supposed to keep the hawk or falcon and ours died in the fire and you already had to get a new apartment when we moved in.”

Gently, Greg touched his nephew’s shoulder.  “Hey, hey.  I get it; even though he’s gone, you still had that to share with him, am I right?”  Sapphire came up, blinking back tears, and Lou’s fox form lifted his head, whining in distress.  “I’m not mad at you, kiddo.  If you want to do falconry again, we’ll figure out a way, but if you want me to leave it alone, I can do that, too.  Your choice, mio nipote.”

Lance rubbed at his eyes.  “Can I…  Can I think about it?”

“Sure thing, sport,” Greg agreed at once.  An instant later, his gut tightened as the ‘team sense’ lit up and the stocky man’s focus snapped to Ed.

The hawk was already screeching as magic ran over him, fruitlessly beating his wings in an effort to escape the pain.  Inside his heart, Greg reached for his tie to his best friend and commanded him to stop thrashing.  To calm down and let it happen.  Ed stopped fighting, but the hawk’s wails pierced the air, communicating every scrap of the agony he was in.  Parker flinched as he heard Eddie’s bones break, one right after the other, and he prayed it would be over soon.  The light intensified, totally obscuring the hawk before it expanded outwards as the sniper’s body returned to its true form.  Clark dove for his father as the light faded away, though he didn’t have to catch him.  Ed was already lying on the ground, unconscious, but breathing evenly.  Greg let out his own breath.  Only two more to go.

Clark lifted Ed’s limp form and slid himself underneath, uncaring of the dirt on his clothes as he cradled his father, looking as if he dared not let go for fear of Eddie disappearing on him again.  Alanna crouched and gripped his shoulder lightly before moving towards her brother, her uncle, and Lou.

Lou whined in fear and scampered to Greg’s opposite side before curling up so tightly that his head was buried in his bushy fox tail.

“Easy, Lou,” the lieutenant soothed, stroking the fox’s side and back.  “I know it’s scary, but you’re gonna feel a lot better once it’s over, I promise.”

The fox squeaked a reply, skepticism clear, and he refused to unroll from his ball.

“Lewis.  Enough.  Come on out and let Alanna help you.”

Parker suppressed a wince as his magical orders took effect and Lou obediently uncurled to pad around him once more, meeting Alanna part way.  Greg added a final, silent order for Lou to stay calm and not lash out, no matter what.  Though he tensed up in anticipation, Parker held steady, refusing to reveal his own internal turmoil over the process.

Alanna knelt down, whispering the spell as she held her hands out towards Lou.  Blue-white flew at him and impacted; the fox let out a high-pitched, terrified yelp and curled up once more, shaking from fear.  A few seconds later, it was more than fear; Lou shook violently under the force of the magic restoring his humanity.  Both gryphon Animagi covered their ears as the fox screamed, the sound pitched higher than ordinary human hearing.  Alanna flinched and covered her own ears; Clark couldn’t hear the sound, but covered his father’s ears anyway.

Yet again, Greg heard his constable’s bones break and felt the anguish twist and writhe within.  The ‘team sense’ thrashed as every bit of Lou’s fear and pain slammed into his boss’s psyche.  But Greg had endured worse and he held steady, refusing to cut his constable off from any relief the ‘team sense’ might offer.  Light surrounded the fox, intensifying before fading to reveal Lou, partially curled in a ball and just as unconscious as Eddie.

Alanna was trembling and she sank down next to Lou, exhaustion plain.  There was no way she’d be able to even make it to Wordy’s side, much less revert him to human.  It would have to be Lance and…  Greg’s heart sank; he would have to tell Lance what had happened when Morgana had forced Wordy into his Animagus form.

Parker swallowed hard and he was very grateful when Ed chose that moment to stir, mumbling incoherently as his mind crawled back towards consciousness.  Blue eyes blinked open, cloudy and unfocused, but Ed’s fatherly instincts were fully intact.  “Clark…?” he muttered, peering up at his son.

“Right here, Dad.”

Ed’s brow furrowed.  “When…when’d you get here?” he mumbled.

Clark opened his mouth, but stopped at Greg’s signal.  Sotto, Parker hissed, “Give him a few to catch up.”  Understanding, the curly-haired teen nodded fast.

“Greg, stop whispering to my son,” Ed complained.  “I can hear you, you know.”

Parker’s heart contracted; as soon as Eddie’s memory cleared up, he wouldn’t be using that affectionate tone any more.  “Copy that.”

Ed’s jaw tightened.  “Whatever it is, it’s not your fault,” he announced.  “So can the guilt trip or I’ll do it for you.”

“Eddie…”

The Sergeant growled and jerked up, accidently breaking out of Clark’s grip.  Once partially upright, he groaned and curled in on himself as memory resurfaced and pain made itself known.  Ed sucked in a steadying breath, then brought his head up, fierce blue catching his best friend’s hazel.  “Greg.  You were fighting with everything you had.”

“I couldn’t win.”  The merest whisper, shame for what he’d done to his friends.

“You were up against someone way more powerful than any of us, Greg.  You made her work for it, buddy; I bet she thought she’d waltz right in and it’d be a cakewalk, but you wouldn’t stop fighting.”  The sniper paused, studying his boss.  “I’m not mad at you, Greg.  Not for what happened.  But if you keep blaming yourself for not being Superman, I will get mad at you.  It happened, we got through it, it’s over.”

Parker flinched.  “Not yet, Eddie,” he admitted.  “We got split up and Wordy’s still stuck.  And…”  He hesitated; Ed was exhausted and hurting.  “And there’s something else, but it can wait.”

The lean man eyed him narrowly, but nodded slowly.  “Okay, I’ll hold you to that, buddy.”

Greg returned the nod and forced himself back to his feet, wincing internally as Lou began to stir.  “Alanna, Clark, stay with them.”

“We’ll call Dean,” Alanna offered.  “I need a few, but then we can call him and get everyone back to our hotel.  We’ll start figuring everything else out tomorrow, all right?”

“Sounds like a plan, mia nipote,” Parker agreed.  “Lance?”

His nephew moved over, slipping under one arm.  “Ready, sir.”

Hang it all…he really needed to figure out what was up with his nephew.  Soon.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.  Lance deftly evaded Greg’s inquiries, focusing first on Commander Roberts’ situation vis-à-vis the goblins and then on what animal Wordy had been changed into.  Greg related what had happened when Morgana had used the Animagus spell on the Squib constable, prompting a great deal of lip-chewing and thinking out loud as Lance debated what aftereffects they could expect.  Anything from Wordy shifting back without any problems to Wordy being more or less permanently stuck in animal form.  Parker shuddered at the latter possibility.

“It’s not likely,” Lance remarked, catching the shudder out of the corner of his eye.  “Actually, we’ll probably be somewhere in the middle, Uncle Greg.”

“Oh?”

A quiet nod.  “Yeah.  Um…make sure you keep an eye on the ‘team sense’, okay?  Uncle Wordy might need your help to shift back.”

The lieutenant considered that.  “So…you think that Wordy can change back, but he needs a little boost to make it over the hump?”

“Pretty much.”  Lance darted a look sideways.  “I could probably give him the magic he needs if I have to, but you’ve got the inside straight.”

“I can do it,” Greg reassured his nephew.  “Besides, you’ve already used up a lot of magic today, kiddo.  Let me help you.”  He paused a moment, then added ruefully, “I haven’t told him we’re coming.”

Sapphire blinked.  “Isn’t he like the others?”

“At first, but then he managed to snap out of it,” Parker replied.  “He was not happy about getting split up from the rest of us, but I expected it.”

“Right.  Prey animal with a bunch of predators.  No way they’d keep you guys together.”

Greg nodded, then tried to change the subject back to whatever had been bothering his nephew since he’d first come home.  Much to his everlasting frustration, Lance refused to talk about it.  The reaction cemented Greg’s certainty that something was very, very wrong, but until he could coax his nipote into talking, there was literally nothing he could do.

* * * * *

More than once over the past day or so, Wordy had considered running away.  If Sarge could follow the links to his teammates, then by the Lion, so could Wordy.  And maybe, if Wordy could get close to his friends, maybe Sarge could share his magic and Wordy himself could finally punch through whatever was keeping him locked in his Animagus form and change back.  It was worth a try, surely.  Sarge couldn’t try shifting back himself, not unless he wanted to get hit with the collar’s version of the Cruciatus, but that wouldn’t stop him from sharing his magic.  At least, that’s what Wordy was hoping, because he’d tried just about everything else he could think of, with no success.

If only the stable volunteers weren’t so enamored with his Animagus form; when they weren’t cooing over him or running to the vet because his eyes were changing color, they were debating with each other on how fast he would get ‘adopted’.  Couldn’t they find some other horse to bother?  A real horse, rather than an Animagus who just wanted to go home.  No adoptions necessary, he’d already been adopted, thank you very much.

Wordy flicked equine ears back as a volunteer came into his stall, chattering with a woman who was already devouring him with her eyes and carrying a clipboard.  He snorted, turning away from the volunteer.  If this was another vet check, he wasn’t interested.  He’d already had his jaw pried open so they could inspect his teeth, jabbering about whether they needed ‘floating’, whatever that was, had his hooves yanked up off the ground so they could be checked – the farrier had muttered something about him needing shoes – and been poked and prodded enough for a lifetime.  Couldn’t they just leave him alone so he could go back to planning his great escape?

Undaunted, the volunteer clipped a lead rope to his halter and tugged, pulling his head sideways towards the door.  Wordy snorted and stomped a hoof, but the volunteer paid no attention to his demand to be left alone.  Instead, she pulled on him until he gave in and let her lead him out of the stall, giving both humans the evil eye.  They dragged him outside and proceeded to lead him around in circles, toss a huge blow-up rubber ball in his path, and poke their hands into his sides.  The finale was a massive syringe that one of them jabbed in his shoulder, sounding pleased when he didn’t take her head off for the invasion.

“He should be very adoptable once the court case is over,” the new woman announced, writing something on her clipboard.  “He didn’t react at all to the ball and he is a draft, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up with the city’s mounted unit.”

I don’t want to join some random city’s mounted unit; I want to go home.  The stallion danced sideways, snorting unhappily.

“Might need some more training first,” the volunteer pointed out, yanking on the lead rope until Wordy stopped.

Equine ears laid back and Wordy glared, but his mother had raised him as a gentleman.  Tempting as it was, he knew he couldn’t bite either one of them.

The woman with the clipboard hummed absently, but nodded.  She examined her notes for a few seconds, frowning.  “Okay, I think that’s everything.  Go ahead and put him in the paddock.  We’ll keep an eye on him, but he should be okay in there.”

The volunteer holding his lead rope didn’t reply; she simply turned and led Wordy towards the nearby fenced in area, clicking her tongue encouragingly.  The transformed constable snorted and looked away, doing his best to communicate his total displeasure with the whole process.  The area in front of them didn’t look all that big and Wordy didn’t think he’d be able to escape from the paddock any more than the barn.  He’d be seen and chased down in a New York minute.

Once inside the paddock, the volunteer unclipped the lead rope and slapped his muscled flank.  “Go on, boy, have some fun.  I’ll be back for you later.”

Wordy snorted and blew air at her back, but he had a sinking feeling that she saw it as affection, not annoyance.  Once she was gone – the gate safely closed behind her – he turned away and trotted for the far corner of the paddock.  If they wanted to catch him again, he was darn well going to make them work for it.

* * * * *

Several hours later, he was just as bored in the paddock as he was in his stall.  He’d decided against bugging Sarge, though.  Sarge was the one under constant threat of getting tranqued, after all.  The last thing Wordy wanted was to distract Sarge at just the wrong instant.  It did, however, leave him with no one to talk to.  Usually Sarge overrode his concerns and chattered away at him, but that hadn’t happened yet, leaving the constable tense and nervous.

Then magic pulsed against his awareness.  No words, just a silent tug backed by a sense of impish glee.  Confused, Wordy shook himself, skin shuddering and his tail flying, before he pulled himself out of the ‘locking maneuver’ his horse form used to stand for hours on end.  Glancing around, Wordy threw his head up, scanning for anything out of the ordinary.

“Wow, Uncle Wordy.  You’re looking good there.”

The high-pitched whinny and instant spin on his hindquarters was unmanly, but Wordy scarcely cared as he saw Lance and Sarge leaning against the fencing closest to his position.  Delight overtook the shock and he trotted to them, thrusting his head at Sarge in an unspoken demand for attention.  Sarge chuckled and stroked his forehead, right on the ridge of fur that ran up the middle of his head between equine eyes.  The stallion leaned into the petting, delight buzzing through his system.

‘The guys?’

“All free,” Sarge replied.  “You ended up being the furthest one out.”

The stallion snorted and felt his ears flick forwards, but he understood.  ‘So how’s this gonna work, Sarge?’

Sarge’s eyes cut to Lance.  “We’re pretty close to that stable, kiddo.”

“I know, but I don’t think we can sneak him outta here in horse form, Uncle Greg.”  Shifting towards Wordy, the young man added, “Hold still, Uncle Wordy.  I got to get you inside the ward, okay.”

‘Copy.’

Sarge nodded and Lance leaned forward, murmuring in Narnian.  Sapphire glowed gold and Wordy’s skin prickled, as though his horse form could sense the magic in the air.  Equine instincts fidgeted, fearful of the magic, but Wordy easily overpowered that unease.  When it was done, a faint dome of golden power curled around him and his two companions, shielding them from casual observation.

“Ward is set,” Lance announced, though he kept his voice low as he reached up and unclipped the halter on Wordy’s head.  He maneuvered it off as he said, “Uncle Greg told me what happened when Morgana forced you to transform.”

Wordy flinched, remembering searing pain and unending agony that had finally chased him into blissful darkness.  ‘Is that gonna happen again?’

Sarge repeated the question and Lance grimaced at the leather halter in his hands.  “It might,” he admitted.  “There are two possible extremes, Uncle Wordy.  One, your core is totally busted ‘cause of what Morgana did and you’re stuck.  Or two, everything goes fine and dandy aside from the, um, natural process.”

The stallion bobbed his head.  Even if everything went right, he was still going to have to go through the pain of his body restructuring itself back to human.

“I don’t think we’re going to get either one, Uncle Wordy.  More like something in the middle, okay?”

‘In the middle?’

Lance’s expression was half-grin, half-grimace.  “I’m going to use the Animagus reversal spell.  It’s worked on everyone else, but because of your core, Uncle Greg might have to lend you some of his magic just like he had to do the first time.”

Mentally, Wordy swallowed hard, but he bobbed his head again.  ‘Go for it, kiddo.’

Sarge gave Lance a definite nod and the young Wild Mage nodded back.  He dropped the halter on the ground and turned towards Wordy, eyes blazing gold again.  Both hands came up and he incanted, “Animus Invertio.”

Blue-white erupted from between Lance’s hands and flew at Wordy.  He cringed automatically, equine instincts screaming for him to run, but then it hit him.  For a breath, nothing happened, then the tingles spread over his body.  Seconds passed, the tingles growing stronger until he was vibrating from the feel of magic running through his veins.  Then the pain began and he felt his core thrashing inside his chest, fighting against the change, clinging to his horse form as it had clung to his human one.

“Lance!  Again!”

“Animus Invertio!”

He’d collapsed; when had he done that?  Sarge’s magic ran from the link, surging into his struggling core.  Wordy fought to embrace the magic, trying to envision his true, human, form.  The pain grew, but not a single bone gave, even with Sarge’s magic fighting against his core’s inability to change.

“Animus Invertio,” Lance hissed, determination lacing every syllable.

Please.  Please work; I want to go home.  He thrashed, forcing down every equine scream that fought to surface.  Sarge’s magic was growing stronger, obscuring his vision; dear Aslan, how much did he have left to give?  Then the first bone cracked, splitting in two a moment later.  Fresh agony engulfed him, but Wordy clung to consciousness.  It was working, finally working.  More bones followed, but he was exultant despite the excruciating pain.  He was almost there, almost human again.  Lava swallowed the bone fragments, but Wordy refused to let himself pass out.  Magic surrounded him, permeating every millimeter of skin, flesh, and bone.  He cried out as his core split and knew it had happened the first time, too.

But where before it had been only Sarge fighting to heal him, now there were two.  Lance’s golden power joined his uncle’s scarlet.  Wordy could only watch as the two magical colors twined together, blending as they wrapped around his core, gently pulling the edges back together until the core’s sides rejoined, stronger than ever.  He felt a final surge, then the light faded and Wordy realized he was lying on the ground, gasping for air as pain hammered at him.  It was over.

Chapter Text

Greg whipped to the side as soon as the final light faded away and caught Lance’s collapsing form.  The young man’s eyes slid closed as he fell; he’d pushed himself well beyond his limits with three wandless casts of the Animagus reversal spell.  Parker let himself sink down on his haunches, easing Lance to the ground before he turned back towards the wooden fence separating him from his constable.  Hazel hardened before he set aside his own weariness and lingering soreness to vault over the fence to a semi-conscious Wordy’s side.  Sheer stubbornness had kept the big constable conscious, but he was right on the edge of collapse after the ordeal he’d been through.

If the ward wasn’t down already, it wouldn’t be long, so Greg levered the big constable to his feet and summoned up his inner strength to haul the taller man back over the fence.  “Wordy, I need you to stay awake a little longer, all right?”

“Copy,” Wordy rasped.

The lieutenant nodded and ordered his strategy.  “Okay, I’m gonna crouch down.  Lance has a set of keys; I need you to get those and pass them to me.”

“Car keys?”

“Yes.  Once I’ve got the keys, I need you to get Lance’s arm under your shoulder.”

The big man blinked.  “You’re gonna haul both of us at once?”

“I have to; I’m not leaving either one of you behind and we’ve already attracted too much attention as it is.”

“We have?” Wordy echoed.

“Not here,” Greg corrected.  “Earlier, when mio nipotes first found me, Sam, Spike, and Jules.”

“Oh.”  Wordy didn’t ask any more questions as Greg knelt; he went down with his boss and reached out his free hand, digging in Lance’s far pocket.  With a frown, he pulled his hand out and checked the other pocket, coming up with the keys after a few seconds.  “Got ‘em.”

Parker inclined his chin and took the keys, slipping them in his own pocket.  Once they reached the SUV, he could get them out again.  “Good job, Wordy.  Now the next part.”

“Copy.”  It took another minute or two of fumbling, but then Wordy got himself under Lance’s right arm and stretched his left arm across, gripping the young man with all the strength he had left.  “Ready, Sarge.”

Greg adjusted his own grip on Wordy, then lifted, focusing on doing it right; he didn’t need to throw his back out, thank you very much.  It was easier than he’d expected, only his lingering injuries hindering his movements.  He set that thought aside to examine later and locked his attention on finishing the maneuver.  Once he and Wordy were upright, he silently indicated their direction via the ‘team sense’ and started for the SUV Lance had parked well away from the stable.

It took another few minutes to reach the car, then he had the joyful task of getting an unconscious nephew and a mostly unconscious Wordy in the vehicle.  Once they were secure, he stole Lance’s phone and called Clark.  Though startled to be getting a call from his father’s boss, Clark readily explained that the hotel’s address was already in the car’s navigation system.  Greg started the engine, waited for the navigation to load, then brought up the recent addresses and read them off to Clark.  The fifth address down proved to be the one and Parker loaded it up, giving Clark their estimated time enroute before thanking him and hanging up.

* * * * *

Clark and Dean were waiting by the hotel’s side door when Greg pulled up.  Both of his passengers were still dead to the world and Greg really couldn’t blame them.  With any luck, they’d sleep through the night and wake up tomorrow morning, starving, but much less worse for wear.

Peeling himself out of the driver’s seat, Parker gestured his two assistants over.  Looking at Clark, he asked, “How’s your Dad?”

The young man’s jaw tightened.  “When we got them back, they all crashed pretty bad, sir.  We’d be really crowded, but Lance’s account manager set up a whole block of rooms when he booked us here.  Alanna called him and he said he’ll get some more rental cars arranged, too.”

Greg nodded and resisted asking about the animal seizure case.  As long as it wasn’t scheduled for tomorrow, they had time to hash it out.  “Two to a room?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Dean concurred.  He shuffled his feet.  “Clark’s staying with his Dad, so, um…”

The lieutenant frowned and held up a hand to still his son.  He liked the idea, but…  “We have an odd number of people,” he pointed out.  “And I don’t want anyone who’s unconscious right now to wake up alone.”

Clark bobbed his head.  “ ‘Lanna’s gonna share with Jules, sir.  I’m with my Dad and we stuck Spike and Lou together.”

The frown turned thoughtful and he cast a speculative glance at the SUV.  “We could put Wordy and Sam together for tonight.”  Because he absolutely was not going to allow his niece to sleep in the same room as an unrelated man.  Above and beyond the impropriety of the situation, Sam would be very embarrassed.  Shifting back to Dean, he arched a brow.  “I’m afraid the ranks of the unconscious includes your cousin, so are you okay with three to a room?”

Dean lit up and nodded so fast and hard that Greg was tempted to check for whiplash.  “Sure thing, Dad.”  He stopped and looked at the car.  “Should I get him up there now?”

After a second of consideration, Greg nodded.  “I’ll get Wordy.  Clark, can you get the doors?”

“On it,” the young man agreed.

With Clark handling doors and locks, the operation proceeded smoothly and Greg found himself on the hotel’s second floor in a shorter span of time than he’d expected.  He eased Wordy down on the bed across from Sam’s, making sure to rest his constable’s head on the pillow.  Clark followed him in and tossed a blanket over Wordy; it wasn’t worth it to try and get him undressed and under the covers.  Sam was out, but Greg still swept by him and squeezed his shoulder before he and Clark left the room; the young Lane guided him to the room he’d be sharing with Lance and Dean, paused long enough to give Greg several room keys, then left to return to his father.

Bemused, Greg wandered inside, wondering if he had the key to his own room or not.  Dean looked up from where he’d gotten his cousin down on the bed and blinked at the room key packets that his father held up.  “Whatcha got there?”

“Clark gave them to me,” Greg replied.  Frowning, he studied the room numbers on the packets.  “I don’t think any of these are for this room.”

“Prolly not,” Dean agreed, coming over to look.  He plucked one away and eyeballed it.  “Okay, this one’s for, um…  Blond guy.”

Greg chuckled.  “Sam’s the blond.  Wordy’s the other one.”  He held up the second packet.  “Let me guess: Spike and Lou?”

“Umm…I think that’s what Clark called them,” Dean said, still uncertain.  Uncertainty deepened as he met his father’s gaze.  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Humor vanished.  There was so much that he hadn’t told Dean that his son could be referring to anything.  He considered his response, then decided to start with the basics.  He moved to the bed that Lance wasn’t on, then sat down, patting the bed next to him.  To his private delight, Dean joined him, though he was far enough away that he could look directly at his father.

“At first I actually didn’t know I could tell you,” Greg admitted.  “Your cousins, they grew up in that world.  They knew about the Statute of Secrecy, but they’d never had to deal with instances where the two worlds came together.”  A slight grimace.  “My team; they weren’t supposed to know, but things went sideways on their first day here and my team found out.  It took a bit of wrangling, but I managed to keep them from getting Obliviated.”

Dean nodded.  “You signed onto the Official Secrets Act.  Lance told me that part.”  A frown.  “Well, kinda.”

Greg huffed a sigh.  “In any event, I wasn’t aware that immediate family members are allowed to know about magic.  Wordy’s three daughters found out right about the time we discovered they had magic, but Clark didn’t know until after Lance’s car accident.”  Gazing down at his hands, he admitted, “When you came up to visit, I really thought about telling you then, but I kept finding excuses not to.”  Which hadn’t been fair, not to Dean and not to his nipotes.  So long as Dean hadn’t known the truth, his nipotes hadn’t been able to share all of themselves with their cousin.

“Does your girlfriend know?”

Greg shook his head.  “No, she doesn’t, and I’m not planning on telling her anytime soon.”

“Why?” Dean pushed.  “I mean, you’re dating her.”

Hazel rose, meeting his son’s slighter darker shade of brown.  “Dean, I meant to introduce her to you when you visited and Marina was really looking forward to it, but then our schedules just wouldn’t mesh.”  The balding man grimaced.  “I wish you had been able to meet her, if only so I could see how she got along with you.”  A deliberate pause.  “She doesn’t like your cousins.  At all.”

Dean’s eyes went wide.  “Are you gonna talk to her?”

“I’m planning to,” Greg replied.  “I need to do it soon, before I mess things up with your cousins.”  Discouraged hazel shifted in Lance’s direction.  “Or maybe that’s before I mess things up with them even more.”

“Why haven’t you done it yet?” Dean asked carefully, wariness shining.

Parker let his shoulders slump down, revealing much of his exhaustion.  “Maybe two, three weeks after your visit is when everything blew up.”  Another sigh pulled free.  “I haven’t even had time to find a new apartment, much less have a talk with Marina about her behavior.”

Dean considered that, then scooted a little closer.  “Could you tell me about it, Dad?”

Greg paused long enough to scan his nephew, trying to ensure they hadn’t woken the young man up.  Then he turned back to his son and nodded before launching into the whole, miserable tale of old enemies, undercover assignments, and intrigue.

* * * * *

Ed groaned, tossing and turning as a host of nightmarish images paraded through his dreams.  The feel of his body changing, becoming much smaller as his vision dialed up to eleven and his bones turned hollow.  The sensation of air through his feathers and wings, even the way his talons closed around a perch.  Fear was constant in the images, coupled with thirst and hunger, but the sense of Greg was overwhelming.  Greg’s reassuring presence in the background, keeping him grounded and aware enough to obey his friend’s magical orders.  Part of him bristled, but the rest of him knew.  Greg wouldn’t have used magical orders if there’d been any other options.  Ergo, it had been the only way.

As if thinking of Greg, even in dreams, had been a trigger, Ed was vaguely aware of his mind settling, the nightmare slipping away.  As his mind relaxed, his body did as well, sinking into slumber far too deep for dreams.  Faint yellow light shone underneath his eyelids and his magic flowed through him, beginning the process to stamp his new ability into flesh and bone, mind and soul.

* * * * *

A faint whine made it out of Jules as she curled in on herself.  Even in her sleep, pain throbbed and memory stabbed.  The nightmare surrounded her, a nightmare of wild cat instincts that slavered after the meat she could smell, only steps away.  The feel of feline muscles and agility, coupled with a predator’s mindset and total lack of morals or empathy.  The look in Sam’s eyes as he stared at her desperately, silently pleading for her to respond.  She hadn’t.

Sarge had saved her, his orders rising above her instincts.  Keeping her from harming herself or anyone else.  It had to have half-killed him to do that, to shackle her free will, but he’d had to do it.  Without her human mind, she’d been a threat.  If she could have, she would’ve killed, but her boss hadn’t let her.  Even now, as she wandered in nightmares, she could feel the ‘team sense’ in the background; Jules curled around that constant reassurance, letting it soak into her mind and heart.

It didn’t take long for the dreams to fade; Jules sighed, feeling herself relax into the mattress below her.  Seconds later, she was deeply asleep and light flowed over her, tinted pink.  It glowed in her eyes, illuminating the pillow, and sank into her, changing her body from the inside out even as her mind also altered.

* * * * *

Spike fought, twisting from side to side in his sleep as he struggled to escape from the images haunting him.  What had he done?  What kind of monster had he become?  Lance had called it a dog and he knew the kid was right, but it hadn’t felt like a dog.  Not like any dog he’d ever encountered.  No, it was wild and vicious and it could break bones in a millisecond.  If not for Sarge, who knew what damage he could’ve done to his helpless friends.

The bomb tech trembled in his self-recrimination, but felt Sarge’s worried touch in his heart.  He didn’t wake, but he did feel his emotions tumble down the link, a confusing jumble that probably knocked Sarge right outta bed.  Guilt joined the other emotions and a whine escaped his throat.

‘Spike, it’s okay.  Just let it go for right now; it will look better in the morning.’

It wasn’t a magical order, but the reassurance might as well have been.  He let out a tiny sigh that might’ve been a relieved whimper and relaxed, clinging to that reassurance as the nightmare faded away.  Green chased him into darkness and Spike wasn’t aware of his muscles relaxing or the way emerald played behind his eyelids, cementing canine instincts and traits into his soul.

* * * * *

Fear swirled around him, but also a sense of resignation.  He couldn’t stop what was happening, couldn’t even slow it down.  Nothing to be done but accept it.  And yet…along with the fear there was a sense of playfulness.  Curiosity and the joy of flitting through the woods, the fox to his friend’s hound.  Well, maybe a bit more than a hound.  The security of knowing he was under the protection of an arch-predator.  The forest knew gryphons, remembered them of old.  Not the pale imitations that lived in wizarding wildlife preserves or even the untamed raging beasts who’d threatened lives and livestock alike during the era of Camelot, but the Old Gryphons.  Talking gryphons, proud, noble beasts hailing from a land just as magical as they were.

The fear slipped away, replaced by contentment.  Sarge wouldn’t let him get hurt, no matter what his form was.  Lou relaxed, smiling as his muscles went lax.  Bronze filmed his skin and a fox’s playful spirit joined with his prankster soul.  It didn’t even hurt.

* * * * *

Sam wasn’t sure where he was or what was going on.  One second he was in Afghanistan, hearing the shot that had stolen his best friend’s life in his ear, the next he was in the Netherworld, only for the Netherworld to twist into an ancient fortress, hidden by mist as he dangled off the edge, supported only by his teammate’s desperate grasp.  A little boy cried out, fleeing from a dark shadow that had been his only anchor in a scary world where the Lieutenant was a General.  The Witch’s laughter rang above it all, sneering at him as she wrenched his humanity away, taking the last shred of the Samuel Braddock his parents had loved.

He gasped, trying to pull free of the nightmares, but he couldn’t.  Just like he hadn’t been able to save himself or Jules…  A failure, that’s all he was.  Tears wet his pillow, then he felt someone gently grasp his shoulder.

“Easy, Sam; it’s over.  We’re all right and Jules is just fine.”

Sarge.  Sam fought harder, trying his best to wake up, but the harder he fought, the more leaden his body felt.

“You and Spike, I swear.  You never learned how to handle failing, either one of you.”  The grip tightened.  “Can’t throw too many stones myself, though.  Go back to sleep, Sam.  It’ll be better in the morning, I promise.”

As if that had been all the permission his mind needed, Sam felt the world around him dim and fade into darkness.  He thought he heard his boss chuckle, but he was gone too fast to tell.  And once he was fast asleep, he couldn’t feel the silver twining around him, weaving through mind, body, and soul.  His eyes glowed, but he never stirred, not even when he unconsciously rolled over on his stomach.

* * * * *

It was different for him.  He’d been aware for all but the first couple of hours, after all.  And the others hadn’t had their magical cores half torn apart during their transformations.  So once Wordy closed his eyes in the SUV, he was out for the count.  He wasn’t aware of being moved or of the blanket draped over him once he was down on the bed.  His brow furrowed in pain, but he never regained consciousness.

So there was nothing to impede the blue light that swept over his body, relaxing his muscles and ensuring his mind was too deeply asleep to struggle.  Breathing grew shallower and shallower as his own magic depressed his system to the point that even involuntary muscles were beginning to relax.  Yet it never went below that point, holding Wordy right at the sweet spot between deep sleep and a coma.

As the minutes ticked by, the Squib’s magical core split along the same lines it had before.  It had never originally been intended to support its native Animagus form, not with the deformation and crippling it had suffered in the womb.  Given more time, the core would have fully absorbed the last of Greg Parker’s shared Wild Magic and restructured itself enough to properly support the Animagus transformation, but Morgana had forced it much too soon.

Greg’s desperate last-ditch effort had kept Wordy alive, but it had set up two weak points in his magical core, weak points that had grown worse with his reversion to human form.  Fortunately, both Lance and Greg had channeled their magic into Wordy’s core to help him regain his humanity.  Even better, the effort had gone far beyond what was required, leaving an excess of magic flowing through the constable’s freshly damaged core.  That excess was just what the Healer ordered – and Wild Magic to boot.

The deep blue magic purred as it began the slow, tedious work of stitching the core’s innermost cylinder walls closed.  Each layer would need to be repaired and it would take time before the ‘stitches’ healed entirely, but with so much magic to work with, what could’ve taken months would take only a few nights.

* * * * *

Dean woke up when his father sat on the bed and he turned, squinting in the shadowy grays of the dark hotel room.  He hadn’t realized his Dad would be getting up at all hours of the night when he’d suggested they could share the queen-sized bed and make sure Lance wasn’t bothered while he slept off his magical exhaustion.

The young man opened his mouth to complain, but his father leaned in.  “Easy, son.  That was the last trip, my word on it.  Now do me a favor and roll over a bit.”

Dean blinked, but obeyed.  A few seconds later, his father’s thumb started rubbing on his back, right between his shoulder blades.  He yawned and snuggled down in the bed, drifting back to sleep so effortlessly that when he woke in the morning, he didn’t even remember his Dad’s last trip.

* * * * *

Greg smiled sadly as Dean went limp, sound asleep and unlikely to wake until morning.  He kept rubbing his son’s back, right in the same spot that was guaranteed to send him off to dreamland; he’d suspected his son had that same trait.  After another minute, Greg stopped and slipped under the covers, though he wasn’t sure he’d get any rest.  The ‘team sense’ was churning within him and it had already woken him up several times as his friends’ distress bled through from their dreams.

Rolling onto his side, the lieutenant sighed to himself and closed his eyes.  Even if he couldn’t get back to sleep, he could lay still and rest as much as he could.  To his surprise, the ‘team sense’ let out a thrum and his magic curled around him, gently tugging him down.  Huh; that was new.  Usually his magic seemed more concerned with his friends’ wellbeing than his.  A guy could really get used to this new state of affairs.  With that thought, Greg surrendered to the sweet pull of slumber.

* * * * *

It was Dean’s turn to be bemused at breakfast as most of his father’s coworkers descended on the meat like it was going out of style.  The tall, broad-shouldered brunet stuck to bread and pastries, casting his friends askance looks for their plates full of meat.  Next to Dean, Alanna sighed and didn’t even wait for the group to sit down before she swooped in, scolding like a mother hen.

In short order, fruits and veggies graced every plate and a generous serving of ham and sausage was on the vegetarian plate.  The officers glared at her and she glared right back, propping her hands on her hips; the sight was so much like Dean’s mother that he blinked.  “After what you went through, I get why you picked what you did, but it doesn’t matter.  Don’t you dare start with anything but the fruit and veggies; just trust me on that.  Don’t stint yourselves either, even if you have to go back for seconds.”

Dean fidgeted in his seat and tried not to blush.  He was still eating more than usual, but the meat cravings had died down to a dull roar.  Alanna was right, though; once they got down some normal food, they’d be okay.  Hankering for more food than before their ordeal, but okay.  Sure enough, once his father’s coworkers sat down and began to eat, reluctantly starting with the fruits and veggies as ordered, the strange tension around them faded and they relaxed.  The banter started slow, but picked up speed as the officers regained their confidence.

When his father walked in with Lance, they greeted both with enthusiasm, earning his Dad’s gentle, pleased smile and a flush from his cousin.  Lance still looked pale and Dean noticed his father hovering, quietly urging Lance to fill his plate.  A pang of jealousy ran through him, but from what Dad had told him, the last reversion had also been the worst.  His Dad hadn’t elaborated any further, but Dean figured it made a certain amount of sense.  Better to just accept and move on.

Commander Roberts appeared right at the tail end of breakfast, a slightly worried look on his face as he regarded the nearly empty platters on the buffet line.  Lance whistled, catching his attention, and hefted a full plate high enough for him to see.  The man flushed but came over, flush growing deeper at the selection on the plate.  Dean bit back his smirk; his cousin had eaten his first helping then gone back up and come back with two plates, the second piled high with just about everything Roberts had picked out the day before.

“Noticed you were late, so I grabbed some stuff,” Lance informed the naval lawyer.

Roberts stammered a few seconds, then sat down and pulled over the plate.  “Thank you, Mr. Calvin.”

The teenager rolled his eyes.  “I’m never gonna get you to call me ‘Lance’, am I?”

Silence fell until Roberts had eaten his way through most of his meal, then Dean’s father cleared his throat.  “Commander, was there any progress after we left yesterday?”

“Some,” Roberts replied.  “Chief Animal Cruelty Investigator Jantzen and Constable Kendrick do understand that yesterday’s turn of events invalidated the hearing that’s scheduled for tomorrow, but that makes no difference at present.”  He fidgeted.  “They are willing to go along with the story I suggested, but we’ll need documentation to back it up.”  The lawyer’s face fell.  “And we’ll need to get it by tomorrow.”

“What kind of documentation are we talking about?” Clark’s Dad asked, leaning in from the side.

“Ed, long story short, Texas state law says any animal seizure has to have a hearing,” the blond guy explained.  “Two of the locals saw us get changed back, so they know the hearing’s a waste of time, but it still has to happen.”

“Got it, Sam, but what about this documentation?  What’s that supposed to do?”

Dean swung to Roberts expectantly, noticing his cousins and Clark doing the same.  The lawyer squirmed under all the attention, but rallied.  “I proposed that we could claim the ‘animals’ were stolen from an established sanctuary and thus their current ‘owner’ has no standing to challenge the animal seizure.”

Clark’s Dad nodded slowly.  “No claim on stolen property,” he murmured.  “And where’s the sanctuary gonna be?”

“I gave some thought to Toronto, but I’m not even familiar with U.S. or Texas law on exotic animals, much less Canadian law,” Roberts admitted.

“So we’re gonna need someone who knows animal law,” Clark’s Dad mused.

The naval lawyer’s expression was rather miserable.  “If I had more time, I could probably research the laws, but the hearing can’t be pushed back.”

“Then we need someone who knows about magic, but can search through American law really, really fast,” Lance observed.  At the odd looks he got, he smiled mirthlessly.  “The odds of finding a lawyer who knows about magic and knows animal law are pretty much zilch.  No offense, Commander Roberts.”

“None taken,” the lawyer replied quietly.

The whole group pondered the problem for some minutes, then one of the constables heaved a sigh and plopped his head down on his crossed arms.  “Bummer.  What do we do now, guys?”

Chapter Text

In the aftermath of the Lyndhurst Flats ‘disaster’, the Knight Industries Two Thousand had found himself practically under house arrest.  Apparently, he was supposed to anticipate that his driver would get in over his head and get himself shot after disabling KITT’s controls.  Apparently, KITT was supposed to do the impossible and save the day, even when the manual override was activated.  Apparently, he was supposed to do or be any number of things that he wasn’t, nor could he truly be expected to be.  Yes, he was an AI, but that did not make him a god.  Michael had understood that.  Devon and Bonnie had understood that.  They would’ve grieved for the driver who refused to trust him, but they would not have blamed KITT for the man’s death.

More and more, KITT wished he’d stayed with Detectives Lane and Onasi instead of bidding them and their colleagues a polite farewell before trekking back to FLAG and the inquisition that awaited him.  He had exchanged phone numbers with them and been delighted when both men responded positively to his text messages.  He’d kept things light, implying that he’d been assigned a new driver and dropping hints of various cases.  He…wasn’t entirely sure why he’d done that.  It wasn’t as if they would care about him being on house arrest, after all.  Nor was he trying to impress them, certainly not!  He was merely doling out tidbits from his favorite cases with Michael, honoring his first and best friend’s memory as well as he could.  It wasn’t like KITT had anything else he could do, after all.

So it was that on yet another long, miserable, boring – he had not been designed to sit around for days and weeks on end, doing nothing – day, KITT received a text message from one of his Canadian acquaintances.

HEY KITT, GOT A SEC?

OF COURSE, ROY.
WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE PROBLEM?

There was a hesitation on the other end, then Roy typed,

ACTUALLY, CAN I CALL?

Intrigued, KITT transmitted a confirmation.  Mere seconds afterwards, his built-in phone line lit up with an incoming call.  He darkened his windows to prevent any FLAG employees from eavesdropping and accepted the call.  “Hello, Roy.  It’s been quite some time.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Roy replied.  “Things’ve been crazy up here these past couple weeks.”

His tone implied that things were still crazy, but KITT offered a noncommittal, “I see.”

“Look, I don’t know how to start this, but do you know anything about missing persons cases?”

On the front of his hood, KITT’s scanner swooped back and forth with its typical hum.  “Michael and I worked some from time to time.  Has Detective Onasi gone missing?”

“No, my brother and his whole team.”

KITT’s scanner sped up, transiting three revolutions before he could make sense of Roy’s words.  “I apologize, Roy, but I seem to have misheard.  Your brother and all five of his teammates have vanished?”

“Six, actually,” Roy corrected.  “Parker came back from the dead.”

Parker came back from the…  “That is highly illogical, Roy.  No one comes back from the dead.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to Mister ‘I survived a shootout with a mob boss and his sister, disappeared for two months, and came sailing back without a scratch’.”  Bitterness rang in his friend’s voice, bitterness and the pain of half-healed wounds.

KITT considered the matter.  “Are not your colleagues investigating this disappearance, Roy?”

“Yeah, they are,” Roy admitted.  “But there’s no leads and then this morning my sister-in-law called me.  My nephew Clark and Parker’s two kids took off, looking for ‘em.  We think they’re headed for Dallas, but I’ve got no idea why they’d go there, KITT.”

“I see.  You wish me to find the children?” KITT inquired.

“Yeah.  This whole thing is breaking Sophie’s heart.  I don’t know what she’ll do if we lose the kids, too.”

KITT’s processor began to hum as he reached out digital fingers, accessing databases and scanning for flight information.  “Please send me photos of the children as well as their full names and ages, if you would.  I shall investigate and get back to you once I know more.”

Roy’s sigh of relief betrayed how worried he was.  “Thanks, KITT.  Thank your driver for me, too.  I know you’ve got way more important stuff to do than search for a couple of idiot teenagers tryin’ to play hero.”

“It is no trouble at all,” KITT reassured Roy.  “I shall contact you every other day with an update.”

“Copy that.  Photos and names as soon as I hang up.”

The two farewelled and Roy was as good as his word.  Out of habit, KITT popped the photos up on the computer screen in his cabin even as he studied them with a critical eye.  One was similar enough to Roy that he was able to identify the young man as Roy’s nephew even without the name.  The other two were not related to Clark, but were related to each other.  Interesting.

KITT was not supposed to venture even a single tire out of FLAG’s headquarters, but he was thoroughly sick of playing the scapegoat and being sidelined.  So he researched as much as he could until dark, then quietly accessed the garage controls, slipping out with nary a sound to alert the night watchmen.  A minute later, he was through the gates and disappearing into the deepening twilight.

* * * * *

For a group of runaway teenagers, they were most naïve.  They hadn’t tried to change their names or appearances or anything of the sort.  The most cunning thing they had done thus far was to fly into one Dallas airport and depart from the other, a fourth teenager in tow.  At least, that was what the flight manifests said and KITT had no reason to doubt them.  From the records he’d found, they had flown from Dallas to Houston and were still there if the hotel reservations were to be believed.  Ah, yes, and the rental car application.  KITT was confused by that, though.  None of the teenagers were old enough to rent a car and the application hadn’t been falsified.  Why had it been accepted?

He could inquire soon enough, for he was now parked in the lot of the teenagers’ hotel, only a few feet away from the rental car in question.  His lack of a driver was most unfortunate since it meant he was stuck in the parking lot with no one who could go in and locate the runaways, but they would have to come for their rental car at some point.

“You grounded them, right?”

“As soon as my head caught up enough to realize they’d come all by themselves, Eddie.”

KITT froze.  The second voice was unfamiliar, but the first…

“You call Soph or Shelley yet?”

The second voice sighed.  “No, Ed, I haven’t.  By the time all of you were...back, Lance was absolutely exhausted and every last one of you were flat on your backs, unconscious.  We could call them now, but we can’t go back until this hearing thing is dealt with.”

“Why not?”

The men had come into sight and if KITT had been human, he would’ve been gawking.  It was Sergeant Ed Lane and the man with him matched the photo Roy had sent along of Sergeant Greg Parker.  Although it appeared Sergeant Parker had lost quite a bit of weight since the picture.

“Eddie…” Sergeant Parker chided, turning to face the taller man.  “I don’t like it either, but those two animal investigators got dumped in a load of hot water.  It’ll be even worse if they have to say the ‘animals’ up and vanished while in their custody.  Besides, Morgana might be there; do you really think she won’t take it out of their hides?  She attacked all of you simply because you helped me.  What do you think she’ll do to them?”

“And if we get close to her…”

Sergeant Parker grimaced and looked away.  “I don’t think she’ll be able to control me again.  She’s powerful, but with seven of us…”

“Risky, Boss.”

“I know, but if we go to the Americans, the investigators will get Obliviated.  They don’t deserve that.”

KITT’s processor was stalling in shock.  Three, no, four, that was right, he’d confirmed that teenager number four’s name was Dean Parker…  He halted the degenerating processor loop and restarted it.  Four teenagers had succeeded where their adult counterparts had failed.  They’d located the missing men – for KITT was quite sure that if any member of Sergeant Lane’s team had still been missing, he wouldn’t be calmly discussing an upcoming court case with his boss – and clearly, they’d had access to information that Roy didn’t have.

Logic ground back into motion, automatically rehashing the facts.  Dallas had been a red herring, meant to throw off adult pursuit and pick up young Dean.  Houston had been the final destination all along, but how had four youngsters solved a mystery Toronto’s finest were still wrestling with?  His processor reiterated that the four must have had access to intelligence that no one else had.  Intelligence that had apparently led them right to the missing men, though a complication of some sort appeared to have arisen.  How very interesting.

KITT’s scanner tracked back and forth, its usual high-pitched whooshing whirr turning up to the max as the AI came to a decision.  On his front bumper, the license plate rotated, returning to the California KNIGHT plate he’d had since his earliest days of operation.  Ever since leaving FLAG, he’d been using his secondary backup plates which were a random string of digits and letters.  Only Michael had ever known about the secondary backup plates, so he’d been able to skate right under FLAG’s BOLO for the missing Knight Industries Two Thousand and he had no intention of going back.  The schematics for any part he’d ever need were all in his memory banks, along with his own research into possible upgrades.  He even had money; Michael’s will had left his bank account to KITT, an arrangement Devon and Bonnie had managed carefully, turning the account into a trust for KITT prior to their own deaths.  The only reason KITT had stayed with FLAG had been loyalty to his friends, a loyalty that FLAG had callously tossed aside.  Perhaps it was time he find a new path.

Even as he spoke to his boss, Sergeant Lane’s eyes swept the lot; KITT was alert for the exact moment the man’s gaze paused on his black Pontiac Trans Am frame.  Both doors popped open slightly and KITT deactivated the heavy window tint that hid his lack of a driver.  The Sergeant’s eyes started to move past, then the man jerked and swung back towards KITT.  He stiffened, one hand flying down to where his weapon should’ve been.

“Eddie?”

“One sec, Boss.”  Blue eyes narrowed and Sergeant Lane advanced towards KITT, shoulders stiff and expression wary.  Sergeant Parker turned towards KITT as well and he followed half a pace behind, confused, but also just as wary.

When the two men drew closer, KITT’s doors opened further and he dialed back the sound on his scanner when he spied Sergeant Parker’s subtle wince and sidelong glance at the front of his hood.  The AI didn’t dare speak aloud and unfortunately he’d never gotten the number for Sergeant Lane’s cell phone.  Doors that opened by themselves were enough of a risk.  Hastily, KITT took down the photos of the four teens from his cockpit computer screen; no need to alarm either officer any further.

Sergeant Lane paused, eyeing the open doors before he waved his fellow Sergeant towards the opposite side of KITT’s chassis.  KITT took the opportunity to scan both men from head to toe; his medical diagnostic pinged at once.  A picosecond’s perusal of the data was sufficient to establish that, contrary to Roy’s bitter claim, Sergeant Parker was still recovering from significant injuries to his hands and feet.  Injuries that appeared to have been exacerbated very recently, a fact that made KITT shudder.

The men froze as soon as he shuddered and Sergeant Parker gestured for Sergeant Lane to back away even as he did so himself.  KITT couldn’t help it; he sank down on his tires, wishing he dared speak.  But FLAG would surely be alert to any reports of ‘talking’ cars and he had no desire to return to their custody after running away.  Nor did he wish to leave the case unfinished.  He could call Roy, but there was likely a reason Sergeant Lane had not yet done so.  A hasty decision would almost certainly make a bad situation worse.

“Greg, wait.”  Sergeant Lane’s tone was considering.  Thoughtful.  KITT focused his attention on the man, holding his nonexistent breath.  “I think I’ve seen this car before.”

“Where?” Sergeant Parker asked.

“Place up in Alberta called Lyndhurst Flats.  It was…right after the fire.”  Sergeant Parker winced and KITT’s databanks supplied the reason; the good Sergeant had originally been listed as missing and presumed dead following a four alarm fire.  Sergeant Lane shifted sideways, gaze on KITT’s side as he moved.  Then he got far enough to see inside KITT’s open driver-side door.  “Yeah.  It’s the same car, Boss.”

“What’s it doing here, Ed?”

“Don’t know; let’s ask.”

“Eddie, there’s no driver,” Sergeant Parker pointed out.

Sergeant Lane’s jaw curved in a smirk.  Playful, he countered, “What, you can take magic, but not an AI?”  Shifting towards the Trans Am, he added, “Long time, no see, KITT.  What brings you to Houston?”

“A missing persons investigation,” KITT replied dryly.  “Perhaps we might speak privately?”

Although Sergeant Parker was still wary, he followed Sergeant Lane’s lead and sat down in the passenger seat at almost the same time his fellow Sergeant sat in the driver’s seat.  “Okay if we leave the doors open?” Sergeant Lane drawled.

“I have no objection, Sergeant Lane,” KITT replied.  “I see reports of your death have been greatly exaggerated, Sergeant Parker.”

Sergeant Parker’s eyebrows rose, but he remained calm.  “I understand you met my former team during my absence?”

“Former nothing, Greg,” Sergeant Lane contested hotly.  “And KITT?  Last names or first names, but skip the ranks.”

“Certainly,” KITT agreed.  “As to your previous question, sir, your brother Roy contacted me approximately two days ago.”

“Asking for your help in looking for me and my team?” Lane asked.

“No, actually,” KITT admitted.  “He wished me to search for your son and his friends after they ran away from home.  He advised me that he and Detective Onasi believed the three had traveled to Dallas, but after that, their trail had been lost.”

Lane nodded.  “So you tracked ‘em down and basically followed them right to us.”

“I only arrived in Houston this morning,” KITT replied.  “However, from what little I overheard, I understand there is still some outstanding issue?”

To his minor surprise, Parker lifted a hand, stilling Lane’s response.  “AI.  That’s what Eddie called you.”

“That would be correct,” KITT said.  “I am the voice of the Knight Industries Two Thousand, K, I, T, T, KITT if you prefer.  I am indeed an Artificial Intelligence by the commonly accepted definition.”

“Greg, from what Roy told me right after that whole mess, KITT looked up his and Giles’ personnel files while they were still forcing open the doors to the old barn they found him locked inside of.  Said he has access to both U.S. and Canadian law enforcement databases, plus he saw Giles using wandless magic after his wand got broken.”

Parker’s eyebrows rose again, absorbing the abbreviated report.  “KITT, do you also have access to U.S. and Canadian law?”

“But of course,” KITT confirmed.  “The Foundation for Law and Government would hardly be of any use to the law enforcement agencies we assist if we did not have access to laws and regulations currently in force.”

The men traded glances.  “Greg,” Lane started.

“Eddie, what are the odds?”  KITT was curious, but the man didn’t elaborate any further.  “KITT, does that include laws on animals?  Specifically, which laws and regs apply to keeping exotic wildlife?”

KITT allowed a thoughtful hum.  “I can certainly reference the applicable laws, but for what purpose?”

It took a few minutes for the officers to explain the basics of the situation and a few more beyond that for KITT’s processor to stop whining in protest over all the illogic he was being forced to regard as fact.  Resigning himself to live with the illogic, he agreed to help and even volunteered that his built-in printer could produce the documentation necessary for the court hearing once it had been created.

Chapter Text

Something had changed.  He could see Greg was still struggling with guilt over what had happened – over how Morgana had used him against his friends – but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Ed had feared.  After breakfast and after that strange tension had dissipated, he’d gone to Wordy to thank him – only for the brunet to shake his head.  “It wasn’t me, Ed.  Everything I said, anything else I could’ve said, he already knew it.  Didn’t make a darn bit of difference.  Someone else saved Sarge.”

According to Greg, it had been Aslan.  Aslan and a whole slew of answers to questions he’d had for a very long time.  Ed wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  He couldn’t deny that Greg’s demeanor had changed for the better – but did it have to be Aslan?  Did it have to be Someone who should’ve stopped it from happening in the first place?  A part of Ed was ashamed of questioning the miracle that had stopped his best friend’s self-destruction in its tracks.  Not just stopped it either; beneath the lingering shame and current stress, there was a peace and stability that hadn’t been there before.  A quiet rock solid confidence that a solution to their current problem would present itself in due time.

To Ed’s disbelief it had.  Before they’d even known what they needed, KITT had been lurking in the hotel parking lot, waiting to pounce on a quartet of runaways.  Backup, ready and waiting, right when they needed it.  It hadn’t even been all that hard to hide KITT’s status as an AI; Greg had simply gone to Commander Roberts’ hotel room and explained that his Sergeant’s brother Roy had called in a favor from an American private investigator to find the kids.  The investigator had tracked the kids to Houston only to run into himself and Ed before he could collar the runaways.  Although the private investigator wasn’t an expert in U.S. animal law, he had plenty of experience with researching on a tight deadline, an extensive computer system, and already knew about magic.

Spike stepped in to help the naval lawyer set up a conference call with KITT and in short order the pair was deep in discussion and legal jargon.  Lance had called Silnok on the sly with an update and the goblin provided the final piece of the puzzle: a name and location for an old, well-established, but very private animal sanctuary which had supposedly suffered a major animal theft in the past two weeks or so.

With everything falling neatly into place, the three leaders of the team met in Ed’s hotel room to discuss their next steps.  Ed was still sore and achy, though he felt a million times better than immediately after his…reversion.  His memories of his time as a hawk were blurry and indistinct, although he had a feeling in his gut that he’d dreamed about it.  Greg was limping badly and the patches of raw flesh on his palms had expanded, proof that he’d reinjured himself by merely walking in his Animagus form.  And Wordy…

Wordy was paler than a ghost and still trembling.  Just trembling; he didn’t appear to be conscious of the vibrations running up and down his frame, but he looked like he’d been bashed over the head with a two by four and dragged backwards through a whole forest of prickly bushes.  Small wonder given what had happened, how Morgana had ignored the fact that the Squib’s magical core was incapable of the Animagus transformation and forced it anyway.  Even worse, Lance had been forced to do much the same, just so Wordy could get back to being human.  Ed was counting the seconds until they could get Word’s core examined by Healer Queenscove and if his friend even thought about using his magic before then, he was gonna have another bash upside the head.

The sniper forced his attention away from his best friend and back to Greg.  “So what’s the plan, Boss?”

Greg sighed and rubbed his bald dome.  “I’m not sure, Ed.  We can call Holleran and your wives right now, but until that hearing is over, we’re stuck here.  Once it’s over, you guys can fly back to Toronto, but I need to take Dean home to Dallas first.”

“And get screamed at by Catherine,” Ed deadpanned, eyeing Greg’s reflexive flinch at his razor sharp assessment.  “Clark ‘fessed up to being the one who recruited Dean; we’ll go with you, buddy.”

“But Sophie…”

“Will understand that I want Clark to see the consequences of his actions,” Ed finished.  “You think it’s gonna be fun for him to watch you get screamed at because of a decision he made?”

There was a pregnant pause, then Parker sighed and gave in with a tilt of his chin.  “All right.  Unless you two have an objection, I’m going to call Holleran.”

“On speaker,” Wordy suggested, alert despite his pallor.  “We can help explain, plus it’s evidence that we’re together and we’re all in one piece.”

“Mostly in one piece,” Ed muttered, though he nodded at his team leader’s observations when Greg canted an inquiring glance in his direction.

The Boss dug out his cell phone and opened it up with a quick thumb of the power button, fingers flying as he navigated to his contact list and located Holleran’s number.  For a breath, he hesitated, then jabbed the screen and tapped another control.  The sound of ringing filled the room, sending tension skyrocketing.  All three men knew the kidnapping hadn’t been their fault, but emotions were not so easily conquered.

“Commander Holleran speaking.”

For an instant they froze, then Greg leaned towards his phone.  “Commander?  It’s…”

“Greg.”  Raw relief laced the word.  “Greg, is Team One with you?”

“Yes, sir, they’re here,” Greg confirmed at once.  “It’s…  It’s been a long couple of days, sir, and we’re not quite out of the woods yet.”

“I see,” Commander Holleran replied, still relieved, but Ed could hear the weariness and wariness underneath.  The older man drew in a breath.  “I’ll need the full report, but first...  Greg, Sergeant Lane, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“No, sir,” Ed cut in, already knowing where the commander was going.  “They’re here; they’re the ones who found us.”

For a beat, the commander froze, then he barked, “Report!”

Ed started, casting his boss a ‘don’t interfere’ glare as he skated over exactly how Morgana had been able to capture seven SRU officers without much of a struggle.  Parker took over when the Sergeant’s words petered out; he had no memory of anything after he’d been hit by Morgana’s spell.  Terse, Greg explained the situation he’d found himself in, trapped in a location with six mentally incapacitated subordinates and no food or water to be seen.  Wordy pointed out that he had regained awareness and Ed swallowed his grin at his boss’s ‘surprised’ reaction to that tidbit.  From there, lieutenant and constable traded off explaining until after the animal seizure.  Greg described how the teenagers had shown up, ruefully admitting that they’d broken the Statute of Secrecy, and finished with a brief recap of all the reversions.

Commander Holleran listened closely, the scratch of a pen occasionally in the background.  When the trio was done explaining, he continued to write for a few minutes.  “I see.  And you’re sure le Fay was behind both the Portkey to Colorado and Constable Braddock’s De-Aging?”

“She claimed responsibility for both,” the Boss replied.  “I took a look at the second Animagus control collar and it has the same red tree on a black background emblem as the first one did.”  He hesitated, rubbing his shoulder.  “I think she must’ve done something else, too, sir.  When I tried to use my magic to fight back against her, I couldn’t.  It was like I was struggling against myself and her magic was right between me and mine…”  A shudder and Greg stopped, staring down at the floor.

Ed felt himself freeze, but Wordy wasn’t surprised.  Despite his pallor, he shifted over and slung an arm across their boss’s shoulders.  “Easy, Sarge.  Maybe she got you once, but that trick won’t work twice, I’ll bet.”

The sniper wasn’t so sure; if Morgana’s magic was inside of Greg’s, then…

‘Ed.  Really.  We’ll tell you later, but believe me, it’s gone.  She won’t be able to get inside his head anymore.’

Jerking a nod, the Sergeant turned back to the call.

“Lieutenant, that’s enough.  No need to go any farther,” Commander Holleran said, firm, but gentle enough that Greg didn’t startle away from the phone.  “Now, about this hearing, is it necessary?”

“Only in the sense that we have to keep the Statute, sir,” Wordy replied.  “Ed and I weren’t present when it was initially brought up, but Sam told me that it’s Texas state law for an animal seizure warrant to have a court date.  We’ve come up with a cover story, but the court date still has to happen.”

“Understood,” the commander acknowledged.  “What about your wives?  Are you planning to call them?”

“Yes, sir, we are,” Ed cut in, though his brow furrowed.  “Are they both at my place?”

“They are,” Commander Holleran confirmed.  “I don’t believe they will appreciate the news that all of you need to stay in Houston another day, though.”

The Sergeant winced, but held firm.  “Sir, if you could inform my brother and Giles, we’ll call our wives and break the news.  Greg and I will need to get Dean back to Dallas, but the rest of the team can fly home once the court case is over.”

“Very well.  Once you return, I’ll expect written reports as soon as possible.”  The commander did not sound pleased, just resigned.

“Yes, sir,” Greg agreed.

Once the phone was hung up, Ed drew in a fortifying breath.  “Okay, Boss, you want to stay while Word and I call them?”

“I’ll stay.”  Determination rang and the sniper knew his boss wouldn’t be dissuaded.

The two husbands traded looks, then Ed dug out his cell phone and dialed his home number.  Sophie answered, only to burst into tears when she heard her husband’s voice.  It took ten minutes to calm her down enough to tell her where Clark and Greg’s nipotes were, then Sophie put her side on speaker and the men were able bring both women up to date on what had happened ever since they’d vanished.  The women were not impressed when they found out about the court case and Sophie was livid when she discovered Clark had pulled Dean Parker into the teenage rescue mission.

It took several minutes to calm both women down enough to explain why the hearing was necessary, though Sophie readily agreed to her husband’s plan to show their son why his actions had been foolish and reckless.

* * * * *

Bud had long since given up on typing anything out as he and the private investigator discussed the case and what needed to be in the ‘sanctuary’ documentation.  The investigator – call me Kitt – was a speed demon on his computer, typing things out almost faster than he spoke, though he needed help on the best way to phrase certain areas.  Aside from lawyerly advice, the most Bud had had to do was forward the email from Mr. Calvin’s account manager with the nitty-gritty details on the ‘sanctuary’.  Out of curiosity, he’d glanced over the records and been forced to suppress a low whistle.  They appeared to be genuine and old enough that the sanctuary, had it existed, would’ve been grandfathered into newer U.S. animal laws.

According to the forged records, the sanctuary held a prestigious reputation within its immediate community, but interacted rarely with anyone outside that community.  It had supposedly started as the private menagerie of a wealthy, eccentric family, but had developed over the years into a respectable animal sanctuary that occasionally acquired abused exotics from irresponsible owners.  Its name, according to the records, was Pemberley, after the famous estate in Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice, and it had recently suffered a large theft of animals.  Bud even found several police reports describing the theft and the current owners’ distress over the loss of so many animals, as well as their daughter’s rare draft horse and the red-tailed hawk their son had trained for falconry.

There was a large part of Bud that hated this.  He wasn’t supposed to lie in court and peddle a story he knew was pure fiction.  But the alternative wasn’t worth considering.  Even if all the animal investigators were Obliviated, the animal seizure was a matter of public record and the warrant had been signed by a judge.  The potential for the collapse of the Statute of Secrecy was simply too great to do anything else.  The only thing he could hope for was that no one would show up to contest the seizure so he could simply present the records and let them lie for themselves.

Sighing, Bud gazed back at the Skype conversation on his laptop.  “You’re going to make it look like everything was faxed over?”

“Yes,” Kitt confirmed.  “Given that the sanctuary is supposedly in Virginia, the lack of original documents will be understandable.”  The investigator paused.  “You seem to be rather…hesitant.”

The naval lawyer stiffened.  “I’ll be fine.”

Kitt audibly sniffed in an ‘I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it’ fashion.  “I understand your reluctance to lie in a court of law, Commander Roberts, but have you found any alternatives?”

“No,” Bud admitted, sinking down in his chair.  “I know this is necessary, but I don’t have to like it.”

“No, I do not believe that was a requirement either of us were given,” Kitt drawled.  He hesitated, then ventured, “For what it might be worth, Commander Roberts, I do not believe you are violating your integrity.  There are times when to tell the truth is to harm a great many people who must be protected.”

The dark-haired man considered that.  “So…think of it as concealing classified information?”

“I believe that would be most appropriate, Commander,” Kitt remarked.  “After all, it is what you are doing, is it not?  If not for the delicacy of this situation, we would not need the cover story and we could simply inform the court that there are classified matters involved.”

That…  Bud sighed and nodded.  “You’ve got a point.”  A faint smile appeared.  “I may not like it, but I won’t let the bad guys win.  How soon can you get the documents printed?”

“I shall commence with the printing momentarily and I will have them delivered within the hour,” Kitt promised.  “Would that I could attend the court hearing tomorrow, but I fear I will have a prior commitment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bud reassured the other man.  “It might be a bit tricky, but I’ve had tougher cases before.”  He frowned as he recalled the rest of their plan.  “Lieutenant Parker won’t be pleased that we want his niece and nephew in the court room.”

“I shall explain it to him,” Kitt promised.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Greg Parker was very much not happy, but KITT raised a number of mitigating factors.  First, it would allow a crucial element of truth into their otherwise fictitious cover story.  Second, it would cover the greatest hole in their cover story; namely, how on Earth seven stolen animals had been located several states away from their reported point of origin.  KITT maintained that the two teenagers would be able to appeal to the judge in a way Lieutenant Commander Roberts could not, ‘proving’, in essence, that they’d ‘identified’ the ‘animals’ they so sorely missed.

Intellectually, Greg understood the arguments KITT was making and even agreed with them to a certain extent.  The problem was if Morgana showed up and realized the teenagers had freed himself and Team One.  Bad enough if the animal investigators were on the line, but his kids?  That was unacceptable on a number of levels.

But if Morgana showed up, his team would freeze.  Every last one of them – and Greg included himself in that assessment.  It was too soon.  With the memories of fighting so hard and losing fresh in their minds, Greg knew they’d expect to fail again.  Even if it was only in their subconscious, they’d expect it…and it would happen.  Lance and Alanna…they were young, too young, but they weren’t primed for failure and they’d already demonstrated their willingness to use magic, even where they weren’t ‘supposed’ to.  For if Morgana showed up, there would be a fight and it would be magical.  They had to go…but that didn’t mean he’d let them go alone…

* * * * *

Lieutenant Commander Bud Roberts tried to stay calm, envisioning how unruffled Harm could always be, even when he was about to spring an entirely new stunt in the courtroom.  Once this was over, he would have to give his old friend a call, even if he couldn’t tell him all the juicy details.  Next to him, Mr. Calvin and his sister waited patiently, both of them clad in nice clothing, though not what Bud would usually expect in a courtroom.  Still, this was an entirely different type of courtroom than what he was accustomed to.  The code of conduct was different and they’d all agreed that the teenagers shouldn’t appear as though they’d anticipated a court appearance.

Both teenagers were clutching pictures – which Bud suspected had been Photoshopped, but he wasn’t asking – of themselves with their ‘animals’.  The pictures looked worn around the edges and when combined with the soulful gazes the Calvins were already sporting, were practically guaranteed to win the judge’s sympathy right off the bat.  Bud himself had his briefcase with all the ‘faxed’ documentation from the sanctuary, as well as papers indicating how the ‘animals’ would be transported back to Virginia.

“Commander Roberts.”  Bud turned, followed by his clients, as three figures approached.  Two of them were familiar to Bud: Chief Animal Cruelty Investigator Jantzen and Constable Kendrick.  The last was an unknown.  Jantzen reached out, shaking Bud’s hand, then turned, indicating the newcomer.  “I’d like you to meet Investigator Sharon Sundberg; she took the initial report that led to the seizure.”

The slightly plump woman smiled at all three of them.  “It’s nice to meet you.  Jantzen said the animals were stolen from your sanctuary?”

“Pemberley,” Mr. Calvin filled in.  “Grandma’s family used to run it, but now my Dad keeps it going.”  He elbowed his sister.  “ ‘Lanna’s hoping to get Dileas back; he’s all hers.”

Miss Calvin nodded, lifting huge violet eyes to Sundberg.  “He must’ve been so scared; I’ve never taken him near any of the pens.  Thank you for rescuing him, ma’am.”

“I just hope Aeolus hasn’t forgotten me,” Mr. Calvin grumbled, shoulders slumping.  “Dad and I haven’t gotten very far in his training.”

“Training?” Sundberg asked.

The young man nodded.  “Dad’s teaching me falconry.  Aeolus was…is my first bird.”  Pain ran across his face and Bud had a feeling there was far more truth to his client’s words than the investigators realized.

The bailiff called them in before the conversation could go any further, but Bud felt his heart drop straight to his shoes when they entered the courtroom and a woman was already standing on the defendant’s side of the room.  She was beautiful, in a high-class dress with her raven hair cascading down her back.  Elegance and grace personified…until you looked into cold emerald eyes or noticed the tightness of her expression.  He’d never seen her before, but instincts honed for both combat and the courtroom went on full alert.  She was dangerous and here he was with no magic, a prosthetic right leg, and two teenagers who weren’t even out of school.

* * * * *

Bud was genuinely surprised when the case proceeded without any violence, though the woman shot himself and his clients an impressive death glare when he presented their evidence of the sanctuary and the judge heard his clients’ impassioned pleas on behalf of their poor, lost animals.  Jantzen gruffly assured Judge Barclay that he’d personally looked into the sanctuary’s background and reputation, finding nothing to concern him.  He did raise the question of safe transport, cuing the naval lawyer to offer that portion of their case.  It was, really, one of the smoothest presentations Bud had ever had in his court proceedings and he wished they could all go so well.

The defendant, of course, insisted that the animal theft claim was utter hogwash, weaving her own yarn about how she’d encountered a group of obviously abused animals and purchased them from their prior owner.  The inadequate cages had been a stop-gap measure, she declared, and she’d had every intention of moving the animals into quarters far more suited to their wild natures.  If only the Houston SPCA had worked with her, she lamented, the seizure and the costs incurred wouldn’t have been an issue.  Despite that, she was fully prepared to cooperate with them, taking their advice on how she should house and feed her animals.

Bud swallowed the urge to scoff; was that really the best story she could come up with?  Then she spied his expression and smiled.  But it was nothing like a real smile, no, this one was vicious and triumphant in equal measure.  As if she’d already won the court case.

“After a consideration of the evidence before me,” the judge announced, “I’m going to rule that the animals be returned to Miss Pendragon.  The Houston SPCA will work with her to determine the best living conditions for the animals going forward.”

“But Your Honor,” Bud protested at once.  “Even if Miss Pendragon isn’t responsible for the original theft, she has no standing.”

The judge gazed at him and Bud felt his stomach lurch; the man’s eyes were clear and steady, with no signs of confusion or coercion, but they weren’t quite focusing on him.  Even without magic, he could feel there was something off.  Gut and intuition, but he wasn’t wrong.  “I don’t believe these are the animals stolen from Pemberley Sanctuary.”

“I would like my property returned in the same condition in which it was taken,” Miss Pendragon declared, vicious triumph blazing as she dropped the sweet, innocent tone like the act it had been.  The judge didn’t even seem to hear her.

Miss Calvin’s eyes flashed.  “In your dreams,” she spat, pulling out a length of leather topped with a silver buckle.  “Make yourself another one,” the redhead hissed, holding up the collar.  Bud’s eyes widened; he could see markings on the side of the buckle, but all of them were cracked right through.  Miss Calvin waited for her opponent to get a good look, then dropped the collar and jeered, “And what’s with using the name Pendragon; I thought you hated your biological father.  When you weren’t trying to steal everything he owned and murder your half-brother.”

The words struck home, though the animal investigators were bewildered by the turn of events.  The judge and his bailiff simply stared at the confrontation, not offering any comments at all.  Miss Pendragon glared at the teenagers, raw hatred shining.  “You dare,” she snarled.  “You dare flout my authority.”

“What authority?” Mr. Calvin asked, though he spread his hands, ready for a fight.  “Your authority holds no sway in this place, no more than your Vengeance holds sway over our own.”  He cocked his head to the side.  “Your time is long past, everything you sought for and strived after has crumbled to dust.  All you have left is hate.”

Miss Pendragon smiled again.  “You freed them.  All of them.”  The teenagers didn’t respond, but the answer was clear.  Her cruel smile grew wider as she gestured to the bailiff; he stalked away without a backwards glance.  “Let us see if you can do it again.”

Again?  Bud shifted, but Miss Calvin got in front of him, a violet glow edging her fingers.  “What have you done?” she demanded.

“Oh, it is not what I have done, little Wild Mage, but what I will do,” Miss Pendragon replied, tone arch.  “For you see, despite his fear of me, your little Squib-born cousin followed you…and his pathetic team followed him.”

The bailiff returned as she spoke, dragging a familiar figure with him.  Lieutenant Parker wasn’t in his uniform, but despite his fear and the bailiff’s tight grip on his arm, his expression remained calm with defiance shining in hazel eyes.  That gaze darted first to his wards, then returned to Miss Pendragon.  “Morgana,” he greeted in a flat tone.

Behind Bud, Chief Investigator Jantzen started forward, but the naval lawyer threw out an arm, keeping him back.  “Don’t,” he hissed.  This wasn’t a fight anyone without magic could win, he knew that much.  Heck, they’d be lucky if they survived.

Miss Pendragon – or rather, Morgana le Fay – sneered, pacing in a semi-circle around Lieutenant Parker.  “You simply cannot seem to learn.  This is the second time you have flouted my Judgment upon you and yours.”

Lieutenant Parker’s shoulders tightened.  “I guess Someone overruled your Judgment.  Otherwise we’d probably be dead of thirst by now.”

She snarled and emerald power leapt from her to strike the lieutenant in the chest.  He staggered back and the bailiff let go, letting him collapse to the ground.

“You cannot escape my power, little knight!  You and your pathetic friends are mine!”

But even as she spoke, Parker’s head was coming up.  Bud couldn’t see the man’s face, but le Fay flinched when she saw his expression.  “You know, that’s what you said that night,” Parker whispered.  “And I fought and I fought, but I couldn’t win.  Not that night.  Couldn’t save myself or my friends from what you made me do to them.”

Scarlet glowed, faint, but building.  And for the first time, le Fay’s confidence faltered.

“You knew as long as I couldn’t accept who and what I am, you could use me like your puppet,” the balding man growled.  “You could turn me against those I’d do anything to protect.  Well, not any more.  Not anymore.”

He pushed himself up, standing straight with that scarlet power rippling around him.  His opponent backed away, visibly fearful.

“If you ever touch my own again, I will take you down,” he promised.  “I won’t kill you; I’ll do you one worse.  I’ll make you watch while we do what you never could.”

“You think you can return Magic to the world of Men?” Morgana hissed.  “You believe they will accept those of Magic?”

“Not all of them, no,” Parker admitted.  “But I’ve seen what your route will do and it’s nothing but a bloodbath.  On both sides.”  He shook his head.  “You, you’re trying to force it and that will never work.  Not long term.  Hiding forever won’t work either.  No, the only way this doesn’t end with tears and bloodshed is if both sides work together to make a better future.”

“You are a fool.”  Emerald flared, slamming into Parker.  Only for his scarlet to blaze, throwing back her magic in a wave that swept through the courtroom.

Both the judge and the bailiff shuddered and looked around, as if released from a dream, but the bulk of the magic struck Morgana le Fay.  She shrieked as her high-class fashionable dress vanished into a tattered, ragged black dress and her elegant appearance morphed into deranged emerald eyes and black hair done up in a messy, wild hairstyle.  An instant later, wind whipped around her and she was gone, leaving utter chaos in her wake.

* * * * *

What a disaster.  He hadn’t even intended to be seen; he’d only wanted to protect his kids if something went south.  Greg kept his mouth shut as both Ed and Wordy read him the riot act, the pair of them completely ignoring the civil court judge demanding an explanation and the bailiff slumped in his own chair, clutching his head after Morgana had used him just like she’d used Greg.  Lieutenant Commander Roberts was doing his best to keep the situation from blowing up any further, citing both federal and international law for why he absolutely could not answer any questions about what might have just occurred.

A few meters away, the three animal investigators were pale and shocked.  Even the pair who’d known bits of the truth hadn’t had more than hints of what kind of mess they’d landed themselves in.  Truthfully, Greg could sympathize; it had been five years, but he still vividly remembered the day he’d first met his nipotes.  As well as the chaos that had followed.  If someone had told him that day that he’d manifest magic within a year or two of meeting his kids, he would’ve laughed in the speaker’s face.  He would’ve laughed even harder if he’d been told that Dean was right on the edge of being a full-fledged wizard or that Wordy should have been a wizard.

“Ed, enough,” he ordered as his Sergeant began to repeat himself.  A gesture halted Wordy’s next volley.  “What’s done is done and at least she wasn’t able to control me this time.”  So saying, he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the judge and Commander Roberts.  The lieutenant commander saw him coming and tried to wave him off, but Greg marched right up to Judge Barclay’s bench.  “Your Honor, I understand that you’re angry and upset about what happened.  I would be, too, if I were in your place.”

“But?” the man questioned in a very tight tone.

“If you react badly and lash out, if you expose the magical world and convince people that magic is a threat, you’ll be playing right into her hands,” Parker explained, tone blunt.  “Morgana believes that it’s impossible for those with magic and those without it to coexist peacefully.  In her view of the world, armed conflict is inevitable, so magicals might as well strike first and win the war instead of ending up on pyres.”  Judge Barclay’s eyes widened in horror and Greg heard a feminine gasp.  The lieutenant turned just a bit to include the animal investigators in his speech.  “The magical citizens of your own country have a law that prevents them from even making friends with non-magicals.  No other magical country that I know of has gone to that extreme, but they still hide from us.  They hide because they’re afraid.  They’re afraid of being persecuted and driven out of their homes.  They’re afraid of losing their families and friends.  Of putting their defenseless children at risk.”  His gaze dropped to his nipotes.  “They are afraid because to them, ancient history might as well have been yesterday.  Events that we are ashamed of, that we shun and vow to never let happen again, they’ve memorized them all and they believe if we discover magic is real, it will happen again.”

“So we should just accept what that woman did?”

“I’m not saying that,” the lieutenant countered, turning back to the judge.  “I’d love to put her in cuffs and toss her in prison, believe me.  But don’t tar every magical with her brush.”  Hazel flicked back to his nipotes.  “I know two kids who lost their parents and moved to a whole new country.  Might as well have been another planet; we’re talking serious culture shock.  But you’d never know it now; they can navigate the non-magical world like they grew up in it.  I know a wizard who started out not liking me at all, but when the chips were down, he jumped between me and a curse that kills every single time.”

“You have magic,” Jantzen pointed out.

Hazel swung around.  “I was born with it,” he admitted.  “But my family forgot that part of our history a long time ago.  Didn’t have a clue about magic till mio nipotes came to live with me.  Being able to use my magic is a recent development.”

“Very recent,” Ed growled.

Lieutenant Parker twitched a brief smirk.  “My point is, they may have magic, but they’re just like us.  So, please, don’t take your anger at one person out on all of them.”  On all of us.

The judge considered that, gradually calming down.  “So you and your officers will be pursuing this…individual?”

“We will,” Greg promised.  “I don’t know how long it might take, but we’re going to do our best to bring her to justice for all the people she’s hurt.”

Judge Barclay regarded him narrowly, then nodded once.  “I will hold you to that promise, sir.”

* * * * *

Lieutenant Commander Bud Roberts sighed as he hefted his briefcase in one hand and tugged his rolling suitcase with the other.  The lawyer left his empty hotel room and awkwardly maneuvered the suitcase towards the nearby elevator.  He could manage, he always did, but it was impossible to forget how much easier this had been before he’d stupidly walked right into an Afghan minefield to save a kid who’d known where all the mines were anyway.  He was used to his prosthetic, but that’s all it was.  A replacement for a far superior original limb that he’d never truly appreciated until it was gone.

“Sam, Spike.”

Even as Bud turned, two men bore down, sweeping both the suitcase and briefcase away.  The blond gave him a friendly grin.  “We got it, Commander.”

“I can handle it,” Bud protested, sighing when the Canadians ignored him.

“Let them help,” a low voice remarked; he turned to regard their lieutenant, eyes narrowing.  Lieutenant Parker smiled, not at all offended by Bud’s suspicion.  “None of them were able to do much,” he explained.  “First the SPCA had to help us, then mio nipotes, and finally you had to help us.  They’re not used to other people helping them.”

Bud frowned, but he thought he understood.  “They’re used to being the heroes.”

“More or less,” Lieutenant Parker confirmed.  “And Sam’s a JTF2 vet; he probably had you pegged as soon as his head stopped spinning.”

Canadian Special Forces; Bud suppressed a low whistle.  But…  “But you all have magic,” the lawyer protested.

Amusement shone.  “So people with magic, they can’t live tech-side?”

“Tech-side?” Bud echoed.

One shoulder shrugged.  “Muggle.  No-Maj.  I probably would’ve been okay with No-Maj, but mio nipotes are from Britain and Muggle sounds like an insult.”  A pause.  “So do you really think people with magic can’t live and work in the non-magical world?  Or is that just because that’s all you’ve seen?”

A retort rose to his lips, but Bud forced himself to stop and think critically.  “Wouldn’t that be better, though?  They don’t bother us, we don’t bother them?”  If his debt to the goblins was ever paid off, he’d leave the magicals behind in a heartbeat and do his best to never, ever run across any of them again.

“Technology’s getting better every day, Commander.  How much longer do you think they can hide?”

Bud grimaced, but didn’t respond.

Lieutenant Parker sighed and rubbed his head, right behind the bald spot.  “All right, all right.  I can agree to disagree.  What I came up to say was ‘thanks’.”

“Just doing my job,” Bud replied.  Paying off my enormous debt that I don’t remember racking up.

“KITT offered to drive me, Dean, and mio nipotes back to Dallas.  I’ve got to go talk Eddie out of coming with; KITT’s car is going to get crowded if we add Ed and Clark to the mix.”  Hazel pinned him.  “My constables are probably going to hover all the way until you get to your flight.  Please, let them do it.  This whole thing rattled them badly and they could use a distraction.  And when you get home, check your email.  Lance had a few choice words with his account manager over what Gringotts D.C. pulled on you.”

Bud was scarcely aware of leaving the elevator and shaking Lieutenant Parker’s hand.  A large part of him shook with fear; what would happen to his family now?  The goblins didn’t like being yelled at or accused of fabricating a debt.  He’d learned very fast why no wizard crossed a goblin or tried to escape their debts.  A much smaller part, though…  Hope tingled, hope that his family’s nightmare might be over.

* * * * *

Hours later, after he’d indeed had a group of Canadian constables mother-henning him all through airport security and carrying his belongings until they found his departure gate, after he’d flown home and been met by his wife at the airport, after they’d driven home and he’d greeted his children, Bud Roberts sat down and pulled out his computer.

“Bud, sweetheart, can’t you check that in the morning?” Harriet asked, regarding the computer as if it were a snake.

“I just want to check one thing,” Bud promised.  The little laptop booted and in short order, he had his email open.  Two new emails caught his gaze and he clicked on the first one.

“Bud?” Harriet asked as he stared at the screen, paling.  “Bud, what’s wrong?”

When he didn’t respond except to shake his head, she grabbed the computer and turned it so she could see.  When she did, she gasped.

The first email was a shipment confirmation for a new prosthetic, one which was far newer than Bud’s current prosthetic and well beyond the family’s budget.  There was a note at the bottom, informing them that the purchase was already paid in full and that the requested enhancements had been added for comfort and increased daily usage.  More details on the enhancements would be included in the prosthetic’s shipping box.

Trembling, Harriet clicked back to the main email screen and clicked on the second email.  Again she gasped and this time, she almost dropped the computer as her hands rose to her mouth.  Bud grabbed the computer before it could fall, gawking himself.  It was an email from Gringotts D.C., informing him that certain irregularities regarding his account had come to their attention and, upon further investigation, it had been determined that no debt had ever been owed to Gringotts by the House of Roberts.  Therefore, the email declared, his account had been marked for special attention and suitable recompense paid for every case he’d worked on Gringotts’ behalf.  The bank would be pleased to meet with the House of Roberts at the House’s convenience and discuss the matter further, however, if the House of Roberts wished to simply close their account, the funds currently in the account would be transferred to whichever bank they requested at no charge.

It was quite some time before husband and wife went to bed that night.

Chapter Text

KITT’s interior was uncomfortably full, but the Knight Industries Two Thousand breathed not a word of complaint.  He was driving, speeding along the highways towards Dallas at a rate of speed more suited for the raceway, but that was his normal pace.  The two officers in his front seats had been uncomfortable at first, but KITT had reassured them by bringing up his scanner’s readout on his computer screen, mapping out their course and where the current Highway Patrol cars were.  If any came close, he would drop to standard highway cruising speeds, but until then, the miles were falling away beneath his tires and life was good.

The four teenagers in his back seat were quiet, all of them well aware that they were in trouble and even more aware of the unpleasant scene that awaited them in Dallas.  KITT had wasted no time in bringing up the missing person report Dean’s mother and stepfather had filed for him; the young man had cringed, but remained largely unrepentant.  After all, his father was safe and alive, which was all he’d wanted in the first place.  KITT wasn’t sure of the back story, but he had the distinct impression that the teenagers were in trouble more for putting themselves in danger than anything else.

After about an hour’s worth of driving, Sergeant Lane cleared his throat.  “So, never got a new driver?” he asked.

“No, I did not,” KITT replied.  “The Foundation was not pleased that I could not prevent either of the two murders in Lyndhurst Flats.”  That was putting it mildly.

“Roy told me you’ve been telling him about lots of cases,” the Sergeant observed in a mild tone.

KITT’s frame heated and he sank down a millimeter on his shocks.  “They were old cases,” he confessed.  “Cases that Michael and I worked together.”

“That was your first driver, right?” Lieutenant Parker asked.

The Trans Am bobbed in affirmation.  “That is correct, Lieutenant.  Although all my drivers have used the name ‘Michael Knight’, only my first driver befriended me and he remains the only driver I have ever called Michael.”

“So why not tell Roy the truth?” Sergeant Lane questioned.  “If he’d known you were cooling your heels in a garage all day, he’d’ve invited you back to Toronto in a heartbeat.”

A strange sensation coiled through KITT’s engine and he couldn’t respond for a second or two.  “I did not feel it was something he or Detective Onasi needed to be concerned with.  Perhaps it was…misleading…but I felt it was a situation that would resolve itself in due time.”  It always had before…each time a driver moved on, he’d ended up sitting for awhile before the Foundation finally decided they might as well get their money’s worth from him and assigned him a new driver.

Lieutenant Parker shook his head.  “If you really believed that, you would’ve contacted Houston police about four runaways, not come looking yourself.  And you wouldn’t be hiding that license plate you made sure Eddie got a good look at.”

Internally, KITT winced.  “You are correct, Lieutenant Parker.  Were I to return now, I would certainly be disabled and likely replaced with another model.”  The Foundation as it was now had no place for ‘rogue’ AIs.  Michael, Devon, and Bonnie would’ve understood why he’d done what he’d done; if they’d still been alive, KITT never would’ve had to sneak out.

For an instant, he imagined it.  Detective Lane calling Michael after their joint case in Lyndhurst Flats.  Michael going to Devon, overriding whatever case Devon had for him in favor of the missing persons case.  His driver strolling into the garage just as Bonnie finished her tasks, the two of them bantering with each other and KITT before Michael got in and turned KITT’s nose towards Dallas.  How their route would have changed to Houston once KITT finished scanning the records and found the second flight.  He could just see it, all of it.

The lieutenant’s hand on his steering wheel jarred him out of the illusion.  “We’re coming up on a speed trap,” the balding officer murmured.

KITT dropped his speed, applying a tiny amount of brake since he’d gotten a bit closer to the danger zone than usual.  “Thank you, Lieutenant Parker.”

Silence draped his cabin.  In his backseat, the four teenagers had all curled up and fallen asleep; they’d ended up draped all over each other in positions that KITT anticipated they’d be highly embarrassed by once they woke up.  In his front seats, the two Canadian officers appeared to be engaged in a silent conversation with each other, judging by the way their expressions were changing and the way their eyes kept darting to each other, though Lieutenant Parker was doing an excellent job of pretending to drive.

KITT’s scanner bleeped at him; he was past the speed trap zone and out of speed gun range.  He gave himself another thirty seconds, then applied his accelerator until he was once again flying down the highway at a clip the other drivers could only gape at.

* * * * *

Greg wasn’t sure what to think of Ed’s proposal.  Sure, having a sentient computer/super car around might come in handy – and his two geeks would be over the moon with delight – but at the same time…  Computer.  Unless KITT’s components were EMP-hardened, to bring him around magic on a regular basis would be a death sentence.  Even if they were EMP-hardened, all it would take was one instance of high-intensity magic and KITT would be permanently down for the count.  If the AI asked, he would tell the truth.  He’d explain that while they weren’t saying no, it wasn’t a good idea.  Greg wished he could do more for the AI; KITT had certainly been their unlooked for, but very welcome solution to the court case; but facts were facts and putting the AI in constant danger seemed a poor way to say ‘thank you’.

In the meantime, they were getting close to Dallas.  In all likelihood, Catherine would be livid at him and he’d never see Dean again until his son turned eighteen – if he was lucky.  There was nothing he could do to stop that reality, much as he wished otherwise.  The best he could hope for was to mitigate Dean’s punishment for running away.

After that…  Toronto and a whole mess yet to deal with.  Greg wasn’t blind; his teammates were all craving the very same types of food their animal forms preferred and some very careful questioning of Eddie had elicited his friend’s admission that he could feel a few…unusual…sensations in his gut.  When they’d stopped to buy gas for KITT, Parker had been pumping the gas and he’d turned at just the right instant to see the longing on Ed’s face as wind blew through that humble gas station.  Longing for the air, a strengthening urge to fly, to leave the Earth behind and dance through the clouds.  The longing had vanished a second later and Greg knew Ed hadn’t even been aware of the emotion.  He sure hadn’t, not when his Animagus form had still been imprinting itself onto blood, muscle, and bone.

In hindsight, his Animagus form had been active well before McKean or even the evals.  His lack of sufficient magic meant his abilities had taken years to manifest, but manifest they had.  Yes, he’d noticed, but he hadn’t.  Not really; he’d noticed the effects but not the source of those effects.  Now he did, but only because he finally, really truly accepted his magic and all that came with it.

His friends were still in denial, but Greg was not.  For better or for worse, Morgana had unlocked Pandora’s Box; every member of Team One was an Animagus now.  They would need to be registered and they’d need to learn how to shift on their own.  They’d need to retrain, too, because the lieutenant was positive that their human forms had changed as well.  It was possible their bodies were still in the middle of changing, hence their increased appetites.  All that change needed fuel, after all.

He wouldn’t say anything though; Ed would only deny it and Greg could not, would not risk putting his friends in the same situation he’d been.  Afraid of their magic and their Animagus forms.  Convinced their humanity was irretrievably gone and that they were helpless in the face of their own animal instincts.  Better if the change happened gradually and they only realized it after it was all over.  His friends might be angry at a fait accompli, but Greg had a feeling that once their bodies had finished changing, they would know the truth in their subconscious and it would make accepting their new abilities that much easier.

* * * * *

Greg knocked on his ex-wife’s front door; beside him, Dean vibrated with anxiety and Parker’s peripheral vision caught that same anxiety on Clark’s face.  Eddie was a solid presence at his back and his nipotes were behind Dean and Clark, sympathy plain.  All four teenagers were being punished, but Clark was being punished the most.  It had, after all, been his idea to recruit Dean and switch airports to throw off pursuit.  Excellent tactical planning, but not something Parker wanted to see from a teenager who’d quite willingly put himself in danger.

The door creaked and Greg focused on the upcoming negotiation.  If he could divert Catherine’s anger onto himself, then hopefully Dean’s punishment for running away would be a bit less.  Not nonexistent, but less.  He did still owe his son for looking after three of his constables while he sallied off to save his other three subordinates.

The negotiator’s opening statement died when he saw Catherine’s face, though.  Her eyes were wider than saucers and she didn’t even seem to have seen their son as she stared at him, going paler with every second.  Bloody hell; he signaled without a second thought, only to jerk in surprise himself when Dean reacted before Eddie could.  His son wrenched open the screen door and grabbed his mother’s shoulders, forcing her to look at him instead of her ex-husband.

“Mom, it’s okay.”

Catherine stared at him, reaching up to touch his face, then her gaze flew back to her ex-husband.  “Greg…?  But you died…Eddie said you died…”  She sounded faint, shocky.

“Ed was wrong,” Greg replied, keeping his tone level and gentle.  “I was missing and presumed dead, but I was never declared dead.”  He flicked a glance around, then met Catherine’s gaze.  “May we come in?  The whole story might take awhile.”

It took a minute, but Catherine rallied, as Greg had known she would.  “Yes, yes, come in, all of you.”  A familiar glimmer of anger entered her eyes.  “I believe I’d like to hear your latest story, Gregory.”

Internally, Greg winced, but outwardly, he nodded and stepped into the house.  It was time for a number of very overdue explanations.  And at least he’d get to be with his son during those explanations.  It was likely all he’d get for a very long time.

* * * * *

A day, several phone calls, and an international flight later, Greg was still reeling.  Shocked, stunned…and thrilled to the depths of his soul.  For walking off the flight next to him was Dean.  Almost as soon as he’d finished his tale, before Catherine had even had a chance to react, his son had been lobbying his mother to let him move to Toronto.  And the three co-conspirators had been right in there, giving Catherine wide-eyed gazes of puppy-dog pleading, coupled with fervent promises that Dean wouldn’t lack for anything in Toronto.

Ed had shut the lobbying down hard, then personally apologized for his son putting Dean in danger.  Greg could still feel Catherine’s eyes on him, studying him closely, weighing what she’d heard.  Then, quick as a wink, she’d been right in front of him and pulling his right hand towards her before he knew what she was up to.  The soft gasp at the raw flesh on his palm sealed the deal.  He had no right to bring their son to Toronto and the danger that awaited him there.  Better that Dean stay far, far away from those who would target him for being Greg Parker’s son.

So Greg had done the noble thing.  He’d reiterated the threats that the SRU faced every day in the wizarding world and made it clear that many of those threats would think nothing of targeting his teenage son.  With Dean still underage and under Catherine’s guardianship, that would be the end of the matter.

Except Catherine had invited all of them to stay the night, after wrangling Dean into admitting that his father had yet to buy tickets home to Toronto.  It had been a bit of a tight fit, but the stunner had been getting up to find Dean saying goodbye to his half-sister.  The little girl’s wails had been heart-breaking and Greg had felt worse than ever, but when he’d gone to talk Catherine out of it, she’d stood firm.

“Dean wants this, Greg.  He wants to know you and, heaven knows why, he wants to be part of your world.  You told me two years ago that this had to be Dean’s decision, not yours and not mine.  Are you taking that back?”

Dean had been right behind him when she’d said that last bit and Greg had known that to answer yes was to lose his son forever.  His heart had screamed to do it, to protect Dean even if it meant losing him, but the words would not form.  He’d simply stared at Catherine, unable to answer either way.

Then Dean had hugged him.  Hugged him.  “Don’t worry, Dad.  I’ve got you and my cousins.  The bad guys won’t stand a chance.”

So Greg was back in Toronto with his son beside him and his nipotes behind him and life was more incredible than he’d ever dreamed of.  Even the problem of his lack of housing had been solved when Clark volunteered to share his room with Dean until a new apartment could be found.

It had taken another phone call to Sophie, but in the end, both Lanes accepted their son’s proposal, though Sophie insisted that Greg start actively looking as soon as he was cleared for duty again.  Parker was determined to start looking earlier, but it would have to wait until he could reliably stand for more than a few minutes at a time.  At least his recovery was swifter than it had been the first time.

Most of Dean’s belongings would have to be shipped, but Catherine had agreed to wait on more than the first shipment of clothing and schoolwork until her ex-husband had a place to live.  In the meantime, Dean had come with as much clothing as they could fit in one suitcase and a backpack with his laptop computer.  He would be enrolled in Clark’s high school and the two boys would share schoolbooks until things could be ironed out and the chaos of life dealt with.  It rather invalidated the grounding; all three of the original runaways were thrilled and hadn’t stopped bouncing ever since they’d found out Dean was coming with them.

Once out of the arrival gate, Greg found himself being thrust into a seat before Ed stalked off to collect a wheelchair.  That was the unfortunate bit; while traveling through the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, Greg had reached his limit and collapsed, with only Ed’s quick reaction keeping him from anything more than injured pride.  The wheelchair was embarrassing, especially since he wasn’t visibly disabled, but neither Ed nor the teenagers had budged on the issue.

The lieutenant grumbled to himself, but made no protest.  Instead, he tapped the ‘team sense’, though he kept it to just Ed.  ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better than you, Boss.’

Hazel narrowed.  ‘Ed.’

For a long moment, the Sergeant didn’t respond, then he sighed.  ‘Okay, okay.  It’s still the same.’

‘Your shoulder blades itch?’ Greg queried.

Through the ‘team sense’, he could feel Eddie squirm.  ‘If I stop moving, everything feels tingly.’  There was a pause, then the other man growled, ‘Greg, I’m tired and I’m hungry and I just want to get home and hug Sophie.  Could you save the inquisition for some other time?’

‘Copy that,’ Parker agreed.  He did, however, cast his nephew a rather significant glance, earning a curt nod in reply.  During the flight, he’d asked how long it would take for his friends’ Animagus forms to finish manifesting.  Lance’s counter had been to ask how long they’d already been manifesting, confirming Greg’s theory that they must have started manifesting prior to Morgana’s stunt, otherwise her spell never would’ve worked.

When Greg tentatively dated it to the day after he’d been freed from the first Animagus control collar, Lance had scribbled down some rough calculations on a handy drink napkin, chewed his lip, and ventured a guess that it might take another day or so.  It likely would’ve been longer, but Morgana’s actions seemed to have sped things up, hence the rather large meals and cravings.

Parker hoped his nephew was right, because either way, they only had one more night before he’d have to tell Commander Holleran his suspicions.

* * * * *

Ed felt bad for snapping at his friend, but he was exhausted, hungry, and cranky.  The in-flight peanuts had only made him hungrier, longing for something with heft to it.  Plenty of meat and bone.  The tingling was getting worse and he’d been getting flashbacks to that instant when Morgana had cast her spell on him.

A meal and a good night’s sleep.  That was all he needed.  With that thought in mind, Ed finished collecting a wheelchair so he could head back to Greg and the kids, and they could get the show on the road.

* * * * *

Hours later, Ed lay next to Sophie, smiling at the feel of his wife curled against him.  If he’d been in any doubt of her love, her welcome home would’ve obliterated it.  How had he gotten so lucky to have his very own earthbound angel?  Inwardly, he vowed to never let her down again and curled closer to her, letting sleep come.  A faint part of his brain hoped for no more hawk nightmares, but the rest of him…the rest of him was starting to like those nightmares.  As unbelievable as that was.  Firmly, Ed shoved those thoughts away and focused on Sophie, letting the sound of her breathing fill his awareness.

He never felt a thing as his magic coaxed him into slumber, just it had ever since he’d regained his human form.  Didn’t register the phantom feel of feathers and talons as they briefly flashed around his body, outlined in yellow, and sank down into him as his core finished incorporating his newly minted ability.

* * * * *

The next morning, Ed scarfed down his breakfast and stole one of Clark’s Hot Pockets because even after his typical bacon, eggs, and toast, he was starving.  Sophie arched an eyebrow at his appetite, but said nothing, even though he’d also eaten more at dinner the night before than he usually did.

“Do you have today off, Eddie?” she asked instead.

The Sergeant see-sawed his hand.  “Commander Holleran wants our reports, but apparently getting kidnapped gets you the rest of the week off work.”

Sophie glared at him.  “Don’t even joke about it!  Do you have any idea how afraid I was for you?”

Ed let the half-eaten Hot Pocket slip down on his plate and headed right to Sophie, wrapping her in a hug.  She clung to him and he could feel his shirt getting wet.  “Sorry, Soph,” he whispered.  “Sorry for bringing it all up again.”

Her grip tightened and she turned her head, listening to his heartbeat.  Another sniffle came from her.  “It’s okay, Eddie.  I know you were scared, too.”

He couldn’t respond.  Yes, he’d been afraid…right up until he’d been hit with that spell, then he’d been a bird and he hadn’t cared.  That was what scared him most; the loss of his humanity and how that loss had ripped away everything he was until all he’d been was a bird.  If not for Greg, he probably would’ve spent the rest of a very short life as a bird and never known what he’d lost.  But though he shivered at the thought, there was a large part of him that remembered what it had been like to be a hawk – and still wanted that.

* * * * *

At first, Ed wasn’t concerned when he entered the small conference room his commander had set aside for the reports and Greg wasn’t there.  But as the rest of Team One arrived and settled into chairs, the Sergeant began to frown.  His boss knew about the meeting, so where was he?  And where was Wordy?

“Sergeant, calm down,” Commander Holleran instructed, bringing himself to the focus of attention.  “Lieutenant Parker called me this morning and informed me that he and Constable Wordsworth managed to get appointments with Healer Queenscove.”

The sniper relaxed and nodded.  “Makes sense, sir.”  At the querying glance, he elaborated, “Morgana did something to Greg’s magical core so he couldn’t fight back that first night, plus he couldn’t protect his hands and feet while he was stuck.”

Commander Holleran tipped his chin.  “Yes, of course.  And I’m already aware that the transformation was much more difficult for Constable Wordsworth than the rest of you.”

Ed shivered at the reminder and turned away to survey his teammates.  They were tense, but things were getting better.  A week or two and they’d be back to normal.  Maybe Greg would even be recovered enough to start working full days?

A few minutes later, Greg and Wordy arrived, already in their uniforms.  The surprise was his boss’s tagalong; Lance trailed his uncle into the room, not in the least uncertain about where he was or what was going on.  Ed eyed the young man and flicked a confused glance at his boss.

‘Full report, remember?  Clark might’ve done the travel arrangements, but Lance is legally an adult in the wizarding world.’

‘And Head of his House,’ Ed finished, understanding.  The kids’ rescue mission wouldn’t have even gotten off the ground if not for that fact, therefore his friend was inflicting an adult punishment on the teenaged Head of the House of Calvin.

“Lieutenant Parker, Constable Wordsworth, have you been cleared?” Commander Holleran inquired.

“Yes, sir,” Greg confirmed.  “Healer Queenscove said although my short-term recovery’s been set back a bit, he doesn’t think it will take me long to get back on track.”  A slight grimace.  “I’m back on the potions for my hands and feet for the next week, though.”

“And your magical core?” Commander Holleran prodded.

“Healer Queenscove thinks it was able to recover faster because I was in my gryphon form, sir.”  Both shoulders shrugged and Ed noticed his friends trade a glance.  “I’m not sure if I agree with that theory, sir, but he said my core’s actually farther along than it was before this mess.”

Holleran nodded acceptance of the report and focused on Wordy.  “Constable Wordsworth?”

Wordy fidgeted.  “He told me my core shows signs of splitting twice in the past week, sir, but then he said it’s already recovered from that, so I’m not sure what to think.”  Another fidget.  “I think everything’s okay, though; I’m not on any restrictions or anything.”

Their commander considered a few seconds more, then gestured to the remaining chairs.  The officers sat, but Lance remained standing, a shade of wariness in his eyes.  Ed kept his expression still, not sure what he was seeing or if it was a problem.  Then Holleran called the room to attention and started the report.

Greg jumped in before any of his team could stop him, openly admitting that he’d been drawn to the forest preserve in large part by his own magic, a result, he believed, of some sort of weakness or perhaps a mind-control spell Morgana had planted in his magical core.  The most likely time for her to have planted it was before Portkeying him to Colorado, though he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.  With himself under her control, she’d been able to lure Team One in and capture all of them.  Nice, neat, and probably even the truth, though not the whole truth.

Wordy tackled most of the time immediately after their capture, ending right before his own transformation; with a sympathetic glance in the big constable’s direction, Greg handled that part.  Terse, he also outlined everything up to the SPCA animal seizure and when the team had been split up.

Commander Holleran had already heard the basics and he nodded thoughtfully, writing down a note or two where additional details had presented themselves.  Once Greg was done, he wrote for another minute or two, then turned to Lance.  “Mr. Calvin?  Would you care to continue?”

All eyes turned to the teenager and he lifted his head, slightly pale, but determined.  The report was concise, but to the point, outlining his initial discovery that Team One’s location was no longer masked, his sister’s trip to triangulate which city they were in, and the teenagers’ departure from Toronto.  With a glance in Parker’s direction, he admitted the whole purpose of their first stop in Dallas had been to pick up Dean and switch airports to keep any followers off their trail.  Their arrival in Houston and the subsequent discovery – and rescue – of Team One.  Ed’s eyebrows hiked when Lance made no mention of Lieutenant Commander Bud Roberts.

‘Ed, leave it,’ Greg ordered.  ‘Roberts may have helped with the search and the court case, but he was doing it under duress.  He doesn’t want anything more to do with the magical world, so Lance and I agreed to leave his name out of it.’

‘Copy,’ Ed acknowledged.  He was curious, but knew better than to ask; if his boss had wanted to tell him, he would have.

The topic of KITT did come up and Greg took over again at that point.  Before they’d left Dallas, he and Greg had talked with the AI, making it clear that although they wouldn’t say no to KITT moving to Toronto, the AI was at risk if he started working near magic in general.  Far from taking offense, KITT had thanked them for the warning that even EMP-shielded equipment wasn’t completely immune to magical interference and tentatively asked for Silnok’s number.  In the meantime, he planned to remain in Dallas.

It wasn’t the written report that Holleran had requested, but Ed suspected it was good enough for the SRU commander, particularly since Greg had had to give most of the report and was still recovering from the nerve damage to his hands.  Yet even with the bulk of the meeting over, Greg, Wordy, and Lance were still tense.  On edge.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant Parker?” Commander Holleran asked, a shrewd gleam in dark eyes.

“Yes, sir, there is,” Parker confirmed softly.  “Could we get Auror Onasi in here before I address our remaining issue?”

Holleran frowned.  “Will we also need Commander Locksley, Lieutenant?”

“Possibly, sir, but I’d rather start with Giles and get him onboard before we bring anyone else in.”

“Understood, Lieutenant,” the commander agreed before pulling out his phone and dialing swiftly.

“Boss?” Jules questioned.  “What’s wrong?”

“Not yet, Jules,” Greg chided, but gently.  “Let’s wait for Giles to get here.”

‘Greg.’

‘No, Eddie.  I am not going to spill over the ‘team sense’.  We are going to wait for Giles and then I can do this all at once.’

Ed glared, but his best friend’s quiet shake of the head dissuaded him.  ‘Word?’

‘Sarge’s right, Ed.  All at once is better, trust me.’

Tension ratcheted up as they waited, but it was only a few minutes before Giles arrived, concern in his brown eyes.  “Commander Holleran?  You said you needed me?”

Holleran indicated Greg and the Auror turned to the stocky lieutenant with a raised brow.  Parker pulled in a slow, bracing breath and Ed felt his pulse increase.  What was wrong, had they missed something?  And could they fix whatever they’d missed?

“Giles, you remember the Animagus spell that was used on me at McKean?”

The Auror blinked.  “Sure I do, Parker.  I’ve used it myself.”

Greg nodded once.  “And what would you say if I were to tell you that that’s the spell Morgana used on every member of Team One?”

For a breath, there was silence as Onasi absorbed the information.  Then he sucked in a sharp breath and paled, eyes going wider than saucers.  “Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

The Auror’s face paled even further, expression turning fearful.  Commander Holleran frowned and leaned forward.  “Detective?  Is there a problem?”

Onasi gulped, then tilted his chin down.  “You could say that, sir.”

“What?  What’s wrong with the spell?” Ed demanded.  What did she do to us?

The flinch was impossible to miss.

“Giles,” the Boss broke in, gaze steady.  “I’m sure there’s been some research since McKean.  Could you start with that?”

With a tangible place to start, the Auror’s pallor faded and his nod was more definite.  “Yeah…yeah, there’s been research.”  He frowned thoughtfully.  “Look, most of this is second-hand, from the Unspeakables.”

“Revan?” Spike guessed.

“Only a little,” Giles admitted.  “He was a field operative, not a researcher.”  The Auror shifted, considering a second longer, then began.  “First off, the original Animagus spell isn’t what was used at McKean.  I mean, it can’t be; it’s meant to be cast by a wizard on themselves as they’re trying to become an Animagus.  In theory, they know what their form is by that point and they focus on it and if the spell works, their magic transforms them.”

Spike and Lou nodded, never noticing that they were in sync, but opposite of each other.  “Right,” Lou agreed.  “But Sarge didn’t even know he had an Animagus form when he got hit at McKean.”

The Auror tilted his head in acknowledgement.  “After the goblins raided Moffet’s labs, they gave the Unspeakables copies of Moffet’s research.”

“Wait, this was his spell?” Jules asked.  “Why would he make a spell like that?”

Giles sighed heavily and scrubbed at his hair.  “In theory, the spell can transform anyone into an animal and it’s got that nice little side effect of really making them an animal.  If someone who isn’t already an Animagus gets hit, they lose their human awareness.”

“What if they are an Animagus?” Greg inquired.

The grimace said it all, but the brunet explained, “If an Animagus gets hit with Moffet’s spell, they don’t lose their awareness, but they can’t transform back on their own.  Only with the reversal spell.  The Unspeakables had Moffet’s research, but they did more.  A lot of it, trying to figure out how this spell works.”

“Why?” Sam pressed.  “I mean, yeah, Sarge got his Animagus form unlocked, but he already had it, so why research this?”

Onasi chuckled, the sound humorless.  “You guys don’t get it yet, do you?”

Ed arched a brow.  What was there to get?  Okay, the spell had done its job, turned them into animals and stolen their minds, but it was done, it was over.  Why were Greg, Wordy, and Giles getting so worked up?

“Okay, fine, I’ll spell it out for you.  The Unspeakables did a ton of research and they tore through Moffet’s notes from top to bottom.  When they finally got done with all that, the end result was that this spell isn’t as good as advertised.  Moffet wanted a spell that would work on wizards and techies, no matter what, but that’s not what he got.”

“And what exactly did he get, Auror Onasi?” Commander Holleran asked, expression tight.

“Bottom line, sir, this spell only works if the target already has an Animagus form.  They don’t need to have trained for it, heck, they might not even know they have it, but if they’ve got the potential to become an Animagus, Moffet’s spell forces that potential out and turns it into reality.”

Ed froze and he saw his teammates freeze as well.

“Sir, if Parker’s right that this was the spell Morgana used on Team One, then they’re Animagi now.  Every single one of them.”

The bottom dropped out of Ed’s stomach.

Chapter Text

Greg traded a sorrowful look with Wordy.  They’d known, they’d both known, and Healer Queenscove had even confirmed it that morning for Wordy and offered to do his registration.  The officers had turned him down, promising that it would get done, but they needed to get to their meeting.  Wordy had asked if he was even able to transform yet, since his core’s splitting had been because of the Animagus spell, but Queenscove had shaken his head and explained that Wordy’s core had recovered and was more than capable of sustaining the Animagus transformation without issue.

The rest of Team One looked as though they’d had bricks dropped on their heads; the idea that Morgana’s attack could have permanent consequences had never crossed their minds.  Commander Holleran’s jaw was tight and unhappy; he was waiting for the other shoe, though it had already dropped.

“Giles, were there any other results the Unspeakables observed with their testing?” the lieutenant asked.

The Auror frowned, thinking through the question, then nodded.  “It, uh, took a couple days before new Animagi could transform on their own and they usually ended up eating a lot more than usual during the adjustment period and maybe a couple days after, too.  From what I heard, a couple of them practically had to get force-fed food that wasn’t what their Animagus form preferred before they’d eat normally again.”  He shrugged, forcing nonchalance.  “Once they got the hang of it, though, they weren’t any different from typical Animagi.”

Parker wasn’t surprised when his former teammates went even paler, all of them recognizing the signs they’d been unconsciously giving off.  The lieutenant flicked a glance at his nephew; Dean had also been eating more than normal from what he’d observed.  Lance shook his head in response and Greg inclined his chin, accepting that, though he resolved to inquire further once the immediate issues were dealt with.

“Auror Onasi, what are the steps at this point?” Commander Holleran questioned, dark eyes intent behind his glasses.

“We register Team One, sir,” the Auror replied.  “I can do the parchmentwork, but we should probably get Commander Locksley involved so she knows we’ve got more active Animagi.  Every member of the team will have to transform into their Animagus form so we can get sketches and measurements.  We’ll have to send it to the ICW since the Neo Death Eaters still have the Ministry, but since they’re Aurors, the registrations will be sealed until they retire.”

“How about not,” Sam grumbled.  “I’m not ever using my form again, so what’s it matter?”

The rest of the team muttered agreement, none of them enthused about the revelations; Greg’s heart sank.  If they rejected their forms, they were also rejecting their magic and he knew personally why that never ended well.  Suppressing their abilities would only lead to grief.

“It matters because if we don’t, Morgana wins,” Wordy declared.  He sat straighter in his seat.  “I’m not happy either, guys, but we got two choices.  We can ignore this and pretend it never happened…right up till the day it blows up in our faces, just like it did with Sarge.  Or we can figure out how to use what Morgana forced us into and turn it back on her.”

“There’s another reason ignoring this isn’t an option,” Greg pointed out.  He stood up and quietly motioned for Spike to get up.  The bomb tech obeyed, confused.  The confusion grew as his lieutenant pointed Wordy to the vacant seat, right across from Jules.  “Okay,” he announced, pinning both constables with his eyes.  “Arm wrestling match.”

Jules opened her mouth to protest; Wordy’s size and additional muscles made the outcome a foregone conclusion, but Sarge shook his head at her.  Sighing, she reached forward and the pair took position.  It was a touch awkward since the table was a little too wide, but it would do for demonstration purposes.

“Begin.”

Muscles flexed and strained as the two constables pitted their raw strength against each other.  To Jules’ utter shock, though her arm trembled at the force Wordy was exerting, she was holding her own.  That wasn’t right; sure, she was tough, but she didn’t have the raw strength necessary to defeat her teammate.  And yet, slowly, ever so slowly, she was beginning to push Wordy’s arm towards the table.  He gritted his teeth, pushing back, but it still took over five minutes before Jules’ arm hit the table.

The petite constable drew back in bewilderment, but Sarge didn’t look surprised as Wordy flexed his hand open and closed, panting a little.  He’d won, but he’d had to work for it.  “How?”

All eyes turned to her, but it was Lance who replied.  “It’s your Animagus form, Aunt Jules.  You’ve got more muscle than you had before and I’ll bet that’s not all you’ve got.”  The brunet tilted his head towards his uncle.  “If Uncle Greg arm wrestled you, he’d win without hardly trying.  Gryphons are really strong ‘cause flying’s not just the wing muscles.  But your average bad guy on the street?  If you don’t know what you can do and how you can do it, you could probably really hurt them.”

Jules drew back, appalled, but Ed’s gaze turned assessing.  “So you’re saying we need to figure out what’s changed for our human forms?”

“That’s right, Ed,” Sarge agreed.  “If you guys ignore your Animagus forms, you’ve handicapped yourselves right out of the gate.  You’ll never be able to use your new abilities to their full extent.”

“This coming from the guy who hates his Animagus form,” Ed bit back.

“No, Eddie, this coming from the guy who refused to learn how to use his magic or his Animagus form until he didn’t have a choice and by that point, pretty much everyone he cared about had gotten hurt because of his negligence.”  Sarge’s gaze was intent.  “Don’t make my mistakes, make your own.  I ran as hard and as long as I could away from my magic and the worst of it is, I’m not the only one who paid for that.”

Ed’s eyes narrowed.  “So instead of saying something in Houston, you waited until now?  I know you, Boss; you already suspected this, didn’t you?  I’ll even go one further, I bet you suspected this even before Morgana left, didn’t you?”

“No, not then,” Sarge countered.  “When she was initially using the spell, it was too close.  I was too worried about what she was doing to all of you to think about what the long-term consequences might be.  Before the kids rescued us, I had a few theories, but nothing concrete.  Even then, I was thinking Wordy and maybe Sam.  No, Eddie, it wasn’t until the next morning at breakfast when I started suspecting it was all of you.”

“But you didn’t say anything,” Lou protested.  Next to him, Spike’s expression was a study in dismay.

Their lieutenant drew in a shaky breath.  “You really want to know why I didn’t say anything?”

“Yeah, Boss,” Sam whispered.

Anguish shone.  “I didn’t say anything because I knew that if you guys started panicking while this was still manifesting, it could damage your ability to control your magic.  When my magic started manifesting, I didn’t have a clue what was going on.  I started fighting it, started trying to get back to what I was used to.  I wanted my life back, my nice normal life with no magic of my own and no strange things happening to me.”

Jules swallowed around a lump in her throat.  “You think because you fought it, it made things worse?”

“I know it made it worse, Jules.  I really, honestly thought I could bottle all my magic up and stuff it right back in the box it came bursting out of.  But you can’t.  Even if it works for a little while, it comes back and it’s just that much harder to control.  And I did it again and again and again, until finally, I couldn’t keep it down, but I couldn’t control it either.”  Hazel gleamed in a suspiciously shiny fashion, but Sarge didn’t back down.  “I knew if I could keep this from you long enough for your magic to finish manifesting, then you guys would be mad at me, but you wouldn’t have to deal with what I did.”  He drew in a breath.  “But if you want to know the biggest reason we can’t just ignore what happened, it’s this.  You are Animagi and each one of you has your Animagus’ instincts inside of you.  Sooner or later, you’re not going to be able to resist the urge to shift, to let that part of you out.”

Chills ran up her back, because as much as she wanted to deny it, she could feel it.  Now that he’d said it, she could feel that urge, she could feel the jaguar inside of her, its instincts no longer in opposition to her own.  If…when…she shifted, she would be able to control herself, there was no doubt at all in her mind.  The jaguar was part of her, just like her soul or her magic.  The shivers grew worse; she hadn’t been born with magic and it felt alien to her, but…but then again, it didn’t.  It was part of her now, just as much a part of her as her hair or her intelligence or her empathy or her sniper’s eye.

If she turned that away, she’d never be whole and she’d always have that strange tension in her life.  The feeling of only being half-alive, of being caged and denied the deepest longings of her heart.  How had Sarge been able to stand it?  This sensation of denying your very soul, it was already tearing her apart and she’d only been an Animagus for a couple of days.

Gazing around at her teammates, she saw the same thing on their faces.  Regardless of what they’d been only a week before, this new ability was part of them now.  Woven into their very souls; Sarge’s impassioned plea for them to not make his mistake had woken up their animal counterparts.  Denying it was impossible with the feel of their wild halves running through their veins.  It was all Jules could do to keep the jaguar from bursting out as those instincts rose in her mind, begging for release.

* * * * *

“Okay,” Greg breathed, wishing his little speech hadn’t worked quite so well.  ‘Easy, guys, let’s take this slow, all right?’  Wild, almost feral gazes turned to him and the lieutenant deliberately channeled his magic through the links, every bit of it infused with a sense of calm.  Not a magical order, but the tactic worked as the wildness left his friends’ eyes.  Turning to his commander, he said, “We’re going to need space to do this, sir.”

“Not indoors,” Wordy tacked on.

“No, Wordy,” the lieutenant countered.  “We do have to keep this indoors, but we can use one of the training buildings.”  He canted a query at his commander as he spoke.

“That sounds like it would work,” Commander Holleran agreed.  “Detective, can you work with photographs?  I know you said sketches…”

“Photographs are fine, sir,” Giles replied.  “We do have photography in the wizarding world.  The sketches are tradition, but I’m sure they can be taken from a photo instead of in person.”  He frowned.  “The only problem might be the measurements.  Height, weight, and so on, but I know some spells that should give us an approximate.”

“Neal,” Wordy suggested.  “His Dad’s been giving him some Healer training.”

“Approximates are fine, Wordsworth,” the Auror reassured the big man.  “Measurements are required, but everyone knows they aren’t going to be exact.  It’s more about the Animagus form and any distinctive markings it has.”

Parker nodded approval, but Ed cleared his throat.  “Greg, aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked, jerking his head at the young Wild Mage watching them.

A slight grin emerged.  “No, Eddie, I’m not.  Lance is staying, at least until your registration is done.”

“What, why?”

The young man perked up and cast a grin at the Sergeant.  “Because I’m probably the only one here who knows falconry.  Auror Onasi knows how to handle owls, but not hawks.”

‘Greg?’

The lieutenant swallowed a chuckle at the distinctive whine in his friend’s voice.  ‘Look on the bright side, Eddie.  At least you finally get your own version of my ‘super-vision’.’

Judging by Ed’s glare, his friend was not impressed.

* * * * *

Ed swallowed hard as he surveyed their rough set-up.  They’d dragged lights out to the training building to dispel the shadows that normally lurked inside it, giving SRU teams a practical challenge as they kept their skills and abilities sharp.  Along with the lights was a table for Giles to use and several chairs, though only the Auror and Greg were using them as the rest of them ranged in a circle.

He was going first, both because he was the team Sergeant and because Greg had suspended Lance’s grounding to allow his presence.  The sooner Ed transformed, the sooner the young teenager could get back to being grounded.  Lance hadn’t objected and every member of the team knew he’d go quite tamely back to school because that was what Greg’s nipotes did.  They broke into the action, breaking rules set down for their own safety, and then, when it was over, they accepted their punishment and never tried to get out of it.  Greg still hadn’t figured out a punishment that would finally convince them to stay out of danger…probably never would.

The only fly in the ointment was Roy; when Giles had left to get parchment and a table to use, he’d come back with Roy and the younger Lane was not happy with Greg for some reason Ed still hadn’t figured out.  He did know his brother needed to get over his unhappiness soon because if Roy kept antagonizing Greg, he was going to get Ed’s fist in his jaw; Greg did not need Roy’s latest snit.  There was more than enough guilt going around without Roy making it worse.

“All right,” the Boss remarked, surveying the setup.  “Everyone ready?”

“I’m ready,” Giles confirmed after one last check of his own.  “Roy, you got the camera?”

“Right here,” Roy replied, holding it up.  “I think the settings are right.”

“If they aren’t, we’ll know,” Spike reassured the detective.  “I brought my laptop out so we can check the pictures right on the spot.”  He grinned.  “Gotta get everyone’s good side.”

Lance chuckled and took up his own position, adjusting his stance and holding out his arm in a pose Ed vaguely recognized.  His hawk instincts thrummed in the background, eager for the moment they could sense was at hand.  “Ready, Uncle Greg.”

Greg smiled and turned towards his Sergeant.  “All yours, Eddie.”

Swallowing hard, Ed focused on Lance’s upheld arm and the instincts deep inside of him.  Fear pulsed, but so did determination.  This had to happen; better if it was under controlled conditions than out in the field.  Mentally, he reached for the part of him that had become a bird, that was now a predator more comfortable in the air than on the ground.  The instincts surged within him…but nothing happened.

Shoulders tensed and Ed reached once more, snatching at that alien feeling in his chest.  Come on, come on, don’t just hide from me.  But it skittered out of his grasp, slipping away into the recesses of his mind.

“Ed, easy.  You’re trying to force it.”

Of course he was trying to force it!  He wanted this done and over with so he could keep this thing on a leash and more or less locked up.

“Ed, stop.”  The sniper looked up, caught off guard to see Greg right in front of him.  His friend turned, gesturing Lance to the side.  “Over here, kiddo.  Let’s try something else.”

“Greg, what…?”

Keen hazel met his blue.  “Forcing it won’t work, Ed.  Although I did say for you guys to make your own mistakes, so I guess that’s on me, huh?”

“Heh.”  Ed had to smile at his friend’s wry tone.  “So what now, Boss?”

Greg studied the new setup and started to speak only to cut himself off mid-word.  Turning to their teammates, he ordered, “Guys, out.  We don’t need six brand-new Animagi transforming all at once.”

Ed’s eyes widened at the thought.  “Boss’s right,” he agreed.  “One at a time until we’ve got a handle on this.”

His constables were rather put out that they were being banished right as it got good, but Wordy backed up his superior officers and ushered his teammates out.  “Come on, guys.  Let Ed get his feathers on in private.”

Ed choked, then glared at his brother when he laughed.  “You wanna go with ‘em, Roy?”

Ever the peacemaker, the Boss intervened.  “Ed.  Take it easy, all right?”  Turning to the two detectives, he added, “Roy, Giles, you can stay if you’re quiet.”  He flicked a Look at his nephew, but Lance met it with a wry salute, sapphire glittering with mischief.  Ed’s heart ached as he watched, for it was an all-too-rare sight from the young man these days.

But as he registered that all possible delays to his ordeal had expired, the sniper’s heart rate sped up.  The idea of mastering an ability Morgana le Fay had forced him into was terrifying.  He’d never wanted to become an Animagus, for crying out loud.  Not after all the problems Greg had had with his.  He hadn’t wanted magic, either, but at least magic was somewhat understandable after everything their team had gone through.

“Eddie.”  Fearful blue locked on Greg, a silent plea in them.  “You’re going to be fine, Ed.  Just going to take some extra effort this time.”  His friend gripped his shoulders, squeezing an instant, then released.  “I know you don’t feel ready so we’re going to take this slow.”

“Copy.”  Slow.  He could do that.

“All right; eyes closed.  No, don’t give me that look, Eddie.  Trust me on this one.”

Ed grimaced, but shut his eyes as ordered.

“Okay, instead of trying to force it, I want you to find your hawk instincts.  Don’t grab at them, just find them.  Let them come to you this time.  Slow is smooth.”

In his mind’s eye, the foreign, wild instincts were touchy.  Wary and not inclined to get on board with getting things over fast.  Ed strived to wait, to keep himself from snatching at those alien feelings.  The urge to shift forms came back, prodding at him insistently, but getting grabby hadn’t worked the first time.

“Feeling them yet?”

“A little,” Ed replied without thinking.  He was; the hawk was getting curious, its fear lessening.  The instincts were rising, new sensations filling his awareness.

“Good, that’s progress.  Keep it slow, buddy, and start small.  Try imagining air brushing past you.  You’re not flying yet, you’re just feeling a breeze.”

Ed knew what that felt like.  Wind slipping around him, rustling his feathers.  A slight chill against his legs and talons, only just nipping through his layer of downy feathers.  The shift of weight, jostling the branch he was on and spreading his wings to test the wind.  Keen hawk’s eyes examining the trees, evaluating the winds aloft.  The feel of strong, lean muscles wrapped around a lightweight structure.

Greg was still talking, but Ed scarcely heard him as he sank deeper and deeper into that imaginary scene.  The sensations were so real, overpowering any sense of the world around him or his human form.  So powerful was the illusion that the sniper was unaware of the exact moment when his body blurred and transformed.  His first hint of the change was when his friend tapped the ‘team sense’ and his feathered head at the same moment.

“You got it, Eddie.”

Piercing blue hawk eyes opened to a completely different world.  Greg and Lance towered over him and he could see every twitch they made, every strand of hair that moved.  Greg shifted out of the way and Lance knelt, holding out his arm.  Fear surged, but then something about the boy’s stance clicked in Ed’s hawkish mind; he found himself hopping up onto the young man’s wrist and forearm without a shred of hesitation.  Balance took another few seconds, but Lance moved slowly enough that he had time to adjust.

By the time Lance had risen to his full height, Ed was comfortable enough with his balance to start looking around and testing his wings.  It was so different.  His talons closed by reflex, so to open them required using his muscles.  His heart felt like it was pounding, but he was curiously unconcerned by it all.  There weren’t many scents to speak of, but his vision and hearing had dialed up way past eleven.  Ed let his beak hang open, feeling air move in and out of his large-capacity lungs.

“Is he all black?”  Jules and she sounded close.  Ed turned his head towards the sound, fixing his constable with a hawk’s impassive glare.

“Black or really dark brown,” Lou concurred.  “Tail’s a different color, though.”

“That’s because he’s a red-tailed hawk,” Lance explained.  The young man turned towards Team One and adjusted his forearm; Ed spread his wings without thought.  “His chest and underside are much lighter so he’s harder to see in the air.”

“How’d you get him to spread his wings like that?” Wordy asked.

Lance shifted, head lowering, and Ed heard his heart rate increase.  “Well, um…  My Dad started teaching me falconry when I was little.”  Two fingers touched Ed’s feathery head, the stroking motion automatic.  Rather than being uncomfortable, it felt very pleasant and he finally understood why Greg was always begging for attention while in his form.  “Maybe it’s the magic, but he’s acting like an experienced hawk.  Like he’s been in training for awhile and knows the usual cues.”

Ed bobbed his head.  It was all coming from his instincts and the longer he was in his form, the more comfortable they became.  As if he’d had to transform in order to complete his transition from ordinary human to Animagus.  He was grateful Greg had forced the issue; he hadn’t had a clue what he was missing.

The click of a camera shutter brought him back around to stare menacingly at Roy.  Lance brushed his head and wings, murmuring reassurances and Ed felt his instincts calm.  It felt right to trust the young man, to let him reassure and coax his hawk form into holding still for pictures and measurements and even a spell that captured his weight.

The coup de grâce was a flight from the roof of the training building; gleeful, the hawk soared around the barn and the outer buildings.  Ed screeched in pure joy as he dipped and swooped, pulling pinpoint aerobatic maneuvers with hardly a thought as he tore through the air.  In the end, he was so wrapped up in flying that Sarge had to verbally prod him to come back via the ‘team sense’.

Ed returned to land on Lance’s outstretched forearm, still trembling with so much excitement that they’d hardly made it back to where they’d set up before he thrust himself forward off his perch.  In the blink of an eye, the hawk transformed back to human with no hesitation whatsoever.  “Greg, that was amazing,” he blurted.  “How could you ever be afraid of that?”

“Are you actually bouncing?” Roy demanded before Greg could reply.

Lance’s chuckle cut off Ed’s incipient counterattack.  “There’s nothing else like it,” he agreed.  “But Uncle Ed, Uncle Greg couldn’t fly, remember?  That’s why he was scared of heights.”

Ed deflated at the reminder, realizing his friend probably hadn’t gotten many opportunities to stretch his wings and enjoy flying, even after his crippled wings had been miraculously healed.  “Sorry, Boss.”

Greg waved aside the apology as unnecessary.  “Think you’ve got the trick of it now?”

“Yeah,” the Sergeant confirmed.  “You, ah, you might have to talk all of us through it, though.  The hawk definitely remembered the first time.”

His constables winced and Giles whistled.  For his part, Ed tried not to shiver as his post-flight high evaporated.  He still couldn’t remember his first time as a hawk, but he had a feeling those memories were very present in his subconscious.  Assuming his Animagus manifestation was complete, he probably had several nights of nightmares to ‘look forward’ to.

His boss cast him a sympathetic glance, then turned to the others.  “Okay, Ed’s done.  Who’s next?”

Chapter Text

Rather than drawing straws, Jules suggested they use the same order Morgana had.  That way, they could start reclaiming their lives from the memory of her cruel, capricious actions.  That it also meant she could go next was a bonus she was careful not to advertise, though she wasn’t fooling her teammates.

The proposal was agreed to and Jules shortly found herself alone with her boss, Roy, and Giles.  Lance had been sent back to school since he was no longer needed – and he was grounded – and Ed, with help from Wordy, had gotten her teammates out of the room.

Jules felt tension at the thought of unleashing her jaguar form in an enclosed area, but Sarge was right beside her.  He wouldn’t let her hurt anyone.  So she closed her eyes as instructed and focused on the wild cat instincts inside of her.  A comfortable buzz enveloped her as he spoke, coaching her to take her time, using small steps to bridge the gap between herself and the jaguar instincts.

Before long, the real world seemed to fade away as the sounds and scents and sensations of being a jaguar took hold in her awareness.  The feel of her many fine whiskers twitching, the burn of muscles working as she stalked her prey.  Bark under the pads of her feet as she ran up a tree.  The way her ears flexed and rich scents filled her nose.  A cat’s agility and strength rising within her, opening up a world she’d never even dreamed of.

“Good work, Jules.”  The voice was low, soothing to her ears.

The large black jaguar opened her eyes, inhaling a bouquet of scents.  Immediately, she picked up Sarge’s, a mix of human and something else that brought both fellow cats and birds to mind without really being either.  He was scratching behind her ears and the sensation was pure bliss; a purr rumbled in her chest, growing louder the longer he scratched.  Movement and a squeak snapped her sideways, hackles rising without thought.  A growl overrode her purr.

“Easy, Jules, it’s just Roy,” Sarge chided, stroking down bristling fur.

Though Jules’ instincts continued to hum, regarding Roy as threat, she pushed them down and let out an apologetic chirrup.  After all, most jaguars might be solitary predators, but she wasn’t.  That truth was driven home when Ed and Wordy brought her teammates back in.  She padded right to them, purring fit to burst and sniffing at them.  All were distinctly human, except for Ed’s mix of human and bird.  A sense of disappointment stirred; she would have to wait to really learn their scents.

With that denied her, she focused on Sam, curling around him and nuzzling into him as she purred with all her strength.  He hugged her, eyes suspiciously wet, and Jules knew how badly he’d taken her initial transformation.  The rest of their teammates crowded in and Jules felt the missing pieces slip into place, tempering her Animagus form’s solitary habits.  She had a pack, a pride.  She had friends that no amount of solitude could hope to match.

Oddly, she had to be ‘introduced’ to Roy and Giles before her wild instincts could accept them and permit them close.  Not that they were in any danger; Jules found herself hiding behind her teammates whenever they tried to approach, more shy than threatening.  Her coat, according to Spike, was black with her jaguar rosettes shimmering a silvery hue beneath.  Like Ed, her primary distinguishing mark was her eyes; they were the same shade of light brown as her human ones.

Giles did have to coax her away from Sam so he could get her measurements and Roy could photograph her.  She obliged, though she would’ve preferred to stay with her mate until he stopped shaking.  At least Ed had finally made Sarge sit down in the chairs they’d brought out; she could smell his hurt and distress, an oddity she resolved to keep to herself.  When the two detectives were finished documenting her animal traits, Jules reached for her humanity and slid back into it without a whisper of difficulty.

* * * * *

Spike hid his gulp as Sam grabbed Jules in another fierce hug, visibly trembling.  Hard to imagine what the blond was going through, despite his girlfriend’s efforts to reassure him while she’d been in her jaguar form.  That was a mental wound that would take time to heal.

“Spike, you’re up.”

The bomb tech swung towards his boss.  “Actually, um, maybe I could do this later, Sarge?”  Like, never.

But then Sarge was in front of him, gripping his shoulders.  “Spike.  You’re going to be fine.  It’s you, nothing more, nothing less.”

The words stuck in his throat.  That wild canine was him?  No way, it couldn’t be.  But it was too late to back out; his teammates had already left.  “Sarge,” he pleaded.

“You can do this, Spike.  I have faith in you.”  Sarge smiled encouragingly.  “Now come on, Spike, close your eyes.”

He didn’t want this, but he trusted Sarge.  So the bomb tech let his shoulders slump and closed his eyes.  His boss’s voice was low and coaxing, prodding his attention inwards.  Fear and reluctance made it take longer, but as the alien instincts he shied away from grew stronger, Spike felt a strange eagerness well up in him.  A sense of playfulness, like his own but not.

The urge to let go and let his wild half out thrummed in his chest, the pull of those canine instincts irresistible.  The desire to fight faded away, replaced by the feel of wiry muscles, fur coating him in multicolored patches.  Desert brush under his paws and large ears atop his canine head.  The high-pitched barks of his pack, all of them playing and hunting together.

The feel of concrete jolted him out of the dream.  Sarge was right there; Spike surged forward, canine delight spilling out in odd squeaking barks and a furiously wagging tail.  He wanted to lick, to sniff, to bowl Sarge over and play with his packmate!

“Whoa, there, Spike.”  Before he knew it, his packmate had grabbed him.  He wriggled in Wordy’s grasp, whining loudly as he protested being held back, but his packmate hung tight.  “You can do it to us, Spike, but give Sarge a break for now, okay?”

Spike whined louder; that was so not fair!  If he couldn’t play with Sarge, would they still be packmates?  Worry pierced excitement and the wild dog wriggled harder, thrusting himself forward to break away from Wordy.  A faint whisper in his heart kept him from knocking Sarge over, though he did prance around the man, barking and yipping in pure delight.  His tail wagged furiously and Spike felt a canine grin split his muzzle.

“Not that bad, huh?”

Lou!  Spike darted away from the Boss, rubbing against Wordy’s shins as he flew by to his favorite packmate, barking happily.  His packmate laughed and crouched, a grin on his face as Spike bowled him over and frantically started licking.  Packmate; mine!

“Spike, that’s gross,” Lou objected, fending him off.  “That’s my limit, buddy.”

Not packmate?  Not mine?  Spike whimpered, one paw covering his muzzle and his ears drooping.  Didn’t they want to be pack?  Had he done something wrong?  How could he fix it; he didn’t want to lose his pack!

“Spike, it’s okay.”

Wide, pleading canine eyes turned to Sarge, faith shining in their depths.  His packleader would make everything right again.

Sarge knelt down next to him, the movement awkward.  “Spike, I know you’re excited, but try to focus on your human instincts.  Don’t shift back, but I think you got a little deeper than you wanted to.”

He had?  Spike cocked his head to the side, a fresh whine escaping.  Everything was normal, wasn’t it?  But packleader had told him to do it, so he would do it.  Mentally, the canine reached for that part of him that was very solidly human.  An instant later, he blanched.  He’d done it again; he’d gotten so wrapped up in being a dog that he’d completely forgotten how his friends might react to purely canine behavior from him.  No wonder Lou looked rather ill…he felt rather ill himself now!

But then Lou’s fingers touched his head and started scratching, finding the sweet spots right behind large furry ears and Spike’s guilt trip dissolved in absolute canine heaven.  “Easy there, buddy,” Lou whispered.  “You got carried away, no biggie.  I’m not mad.”

“None of us are,” Ed added from the other side.  “Heck, Roy’s right; I was so amped up, I couldn’t hold still.”

Spike managed a canine snicker at the memory of his Sergeant’s expression right after he’d transformed back from his hawk form.  With a yip and a nod, he pulled away from Lou and padded around his friends, rubbing against each of them and enjoying their pets as he cataloged their scents.  Canine instincts stirred, accepting his human bonds with his teammates; they were pack, even if he hadn’t ‘initiated’ them.  With his mind and instincts far more in tune and balanced, Spike acknowledged that he’d gotten in too deep, but his packleader’s quick response had prevented it from getting any worse.

Gamely, he trotted back to the desk they’d set up for Giles and struck a pose, tongue lolling at his team’s immediate catcalls and Roy’s snigger.  For his part, the wizard chuckled, but got down to work.  He filled in the parchmentwork while Roy took photos, only pausing at the very end.

“Um…anyone know what kind of dog he is?”

“African Wild Dog,” Sarge supplied.  At the querying glances, he smiled wanly.  “The Houston SPCA identified all our Animagus forms and I got the paperwork after the hearing.”

“Not yours,” Wordy mumbled.  At their Auror liaison’s sharp look, he shrugged.  “Morgana’s collar thingamajig made him look like a lion.  Even had a mane.”

Fortunately, his type of canine was the last piece of information Giles needed, so Spike was soon cleared to shift back.  As soon as he did, he headed for his best friend.  “Lou, buddy, I’m sorry.”

Lou’s hands came down on his shoulders.  “Don’t beat yourself up, man.  We’re smack dab in uncharted territory here.  We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

A large part of Spike wanted to keep protesting.  He’d failed and he didn’t like that, but he knew Lou well enough to know when his friend’s mind was made up.  So he nodded and let Ed tow him towards the door.  After all, his bestest buddy was next in line.

* * * * *

“Lou, you need a minute?” the Boss asked when the less-lethal specialist stared after his friend.

Shaking himself, the tan-skinned constable turned to his lieutenant.  “I’m good, Sarge.”

In spite of his words and apparent calm, Lou felt his heart rate pick up and adrenaline began to flow.  Maybe it was just him, but he could already see how ‘activating’ their Animagus forms had changed Ed, Jules, and Spike.  What would change for him?  And would it take away from the person his friends relied on and Lisa loved?

“I know it’s tough.”

Lou blinked, surprised.

Sarge’s gaze was rueful.  “I spent a lot of time trying to deny I was changing, Lou.  Trying to be normal again.”

“But you can’t,” Lou whispered.  “We can’t get back what we were, can we?”

“No, we can’t,” Sarge agreed.  “That’s why I’m not letting you guys drag this out.”

“Do it, get it done, and start making a new normal, huh?”

“Exactly,” Sarge confirmed.

“Copy,” Lou murmured, planting himself and closing his eyes.  His heart was still pounding, but he could deal.  Just another day on the job.  Sarge kept his voice low, the pace steady.  It didn’t take Lou long to find a frame of mind that coaxed the shy, but playful fox instincts to the fore.

From there, it was almost absurdly easy to let those instincts surround him, pulling him into an illusion of a forest.  Leaves rustled beneath his paws as he raced through them, delighting in the onset of fall.  Lithe black paws dug through soft dirt, creating a burrow he could use for shelter.  A sound brought him around, ears perking forward as a squirrel scolded him from the safety of its tree.

Amused, he yipped back – and the spell was broken.  He gazed up at Sarge, sharp teeth showing in a foxy grin.  The grin widened when Sarge crouched down and whispered in his ear.  Panting rapidly as only an excited fox could, Lou nodded eagerly and turned towards the door.  He crouched, slim legs in a spring-loaded position as he waited for his teammates to reappear.

Whether by plan or coincidence, Spike was first through the door and Lou moved.  He raced across the room and sprang, hitting his best friend in the chest.  The bomb tech yelped as he fell backwards into Sam and Jules, who in turn fell on top of Wordy.  Only Ed escaped the Team One pile up and he roared with laughter as Lou turned the tables on Spike and licked his face, vulpine mischief radiating.

“Glad you think this is funny, Ed,” Sam growled, not even waiting for Spike and Lou to move before he shouldered out from under them.  “I’m real glad we can be your amusement.”

Lou stilled with a whine at Sam’s caustic tone.  Okay, maybe he should’ve waited a few more seconds so he wouldn’t have hit most of his teammates and maybe Ed shouldn’t have laughed like that, but Sam’s angry tone wasn’t necessary.  Of course Sam was unnerved and totally freaked out about suddenly being an Animagus; they all were.  He wasn’t as freaked as he’d been before transforming, but he was still scared.

Everything was changing so fast.  Losing Sarge and getting him back, but not really ‘cause he wasn’t on the team any more.  Sam’s day as a four-year-old followed by their mass kidnapping and several days spent as animals.  And now they were Animagi without a lick of notice or consent.

“Thanks, Lou.”  Spike’s voice was wry, understanding perfectly well why his friend had pranked him.  The bomb tech paused, studying Lou’s fox form.  “Huh.  I guess you’re a real silver fox now.”

I’m a what?  Alarmed, Lou let out a cry…that sounded like a scream.  He winced, cringing away from his friends’ stares.

“Silver?  He looks all black to me,” Wordy pointed out, rubbing the back of his head.  “Well…except for the tail.”

“Spike’s right,” Roy put in, coming over with his phone.  “It’s like Jules; their coats are melanistic (2), so they look black, but they’ve got a silvery undertone.”  He flipped through the web page he’d found.  “Jules’ jaguar markings looked kinda silvery and most silver foxes have more silver on their fur than Lou here, but I can see it on him, too.”

Ed nodded, though he appeared thoughtful.  “I wonder if the black fur’s our trademark.”  At the confused looks, he said, “Like our uniforms.”

“Spike wasn’t black and neither is Sarge,” Wordy pointed out.

“I can kinda see it,” Roy disagreed.  “But your hair used to be black, bro.”

“It was?” Jules asked; Lou perked up both ears and studied Ed, trying to imagine him with black hair.  It didn’t jive; the image just felt wrong.  He was far too used to Ed’s bald dome.

Team One’s Sergeant shrugged and turned back to the matter at hand.  “Lou, good job getting Spike out of his funk.”

Lou yipped smugly and waved his long, fluffy tail.

“Photos, measurements; let’s get this done.”

The black fox nodded and briefly wove around his teammates before padding over to the detectives and posing for his Animagus registration shots.  The sooner he was done, the sooner it would be Sam’s turn.  Which was good because he could smell the terror pouring off the blond sniper.

[2] This refers to animals with higher melanin in their fur, which often gives them a black coat.

Chapter Text

If Sam could’ve run, he would have.  But mind and muscles seemed to have totally locked up.  To see Jules, his Jules, peering up at him from a jaguar’s face and body…  Somehow it had been even worse than what Morgana had done.  And then she’d been excited, eager for his own transformation and comfortable with what only hours ago had been a bad dream.  Sure, he’d wondered if maybe there’d be permanent effects, but he’d written his worries off to an overactive imagination.  Not…not something he’d have to live with for the rest of his life!

Locked in terror, unable to think or move, Sam didn’t register it when Sarge started talking.  Even when the sound began to penetrate his awareness, it didn’t seem real.  His eyes came up and he was physically shaking.  But Sarge kept talking; Sam turned his head away, closing his eyes without thought.  He didn’t have to listen, he wasn’t going to do this.  No, even if all the others went through letting this…this freak show trick become permanent, he wouldn’t.  He was human, darn it, and that wolf thing could go to hell for all he cared!

For an instant, he felt desert sand under his paws before he forced the images away.  No, no, no.  My heart belongs to me.  How could Sarge ask this of him…sounds in the air; his pack’s mournful song, clear in the desert’s night air.  Sam growled, pushing himself free of the illusion.  No, he was gonna open his eyes and tell Sarge…  Running through the brush, flanks heaving, but head high.  They were close; the pack’s leader bayed, echoed by all the wolves.  At the commanding growl, Sam cut out of line, leading his own small group to cut off the prey.

No!  Sam jerked away, eyes opening as he gasped for air, wrestling against the instincts rising to swallow him whole.  Human, he was human.  Not an animal!  He wanted to cry out, but Sarge…Sarge was so wrapped up in what he thought was best for them.  How could surrendering their very humanity be good for them?  The wolf’s howl rang in his head, the instincts pulling him in.  Stealing his humanity, his very soul.

“Sam, stop fighting it.”

“Why?” he slurred out.  “Never wanted this.  Why’re you doing this to us?”

Sarge jerked as if struck.  “I’m sorry, Sam.”  The merest whisper, but Sam could hear it as clearly as if he’d shouted.  Inside, he felt the links stir to life.  He fought, but his boss’s mental voice reached him.  ‘Sam, I won’t force anything, I promise, but let me show you something.’

‘What?’

Hazel gryphon eyes met wolf blue.  ‘What I had to do to accept my magic after I’d spent so much time rejecting it.’

Sam considered, then jerked a nod.  Seconds later, he was wrapped in visions again, but this time, it wasn’t the desert or a wolf pack hunt.  No, he found himself right next to Sarge and Wordy as Sarge’s magic merged with him and Sarge fought back.  He watched helplessly as his team leader saved their boss, supporting him through a nightmare Sam couldn’t even fathom.  The blond shivered as he understood; if he turned away his magic, if he denied his Animagus form, it was entirely possible that he’d end up right where Sarge had.

‘Sarge, ‘m scared,’ Sam rasped, feeling the war within him rise to a fevered pitch.

Another jerk, but Sarge remained by him, steady as always.  ‘That makes two of us, Sam.’

The blond managed a faint smile at that deliberate echo of the foreign memory he’d just lived through, then groaned and curled up as the wolf sought to pull him in once more.  Pants rose and it felt like his sides were heaving, just like a wolf’s would.

“Sam, let it happen; you’re halfway there already.”

He was?  He wasn’t an animal…he was human.  But as Sam lifted his head, he felt his ears twitch, and when he looked down, his arms were wolf-like.  So were his legs; terror engulfed him.  He was stuck, it had gone wrong, how was he going to get back to human?  Instinctively, he thrashed, a canine wail rising and terrifying him even more.  What was he?  A freak, a hybrid, a former Squib who had enough magic to be an Animagus.  The General was going to be so mad at him…

“Easy, Sam, easy,” Sarge murmured, pulling his half-human, half-wolf form close.  “We forgot, didn’t we?  You haven’t had time to reprocess your adult memories, have you?”

He shook his head, a fresh whimper breaking out.

“No wonder you took all this worse than any of the others; you’re stuck in that mindset that says any magic is bad.”

The whimper grew louder.  He knew, in his head, that magic wasn’t bad, but the four-year-old inside his heart wasn’t convinced.  Sam had every single one of his adult memories, but his recovery from the De-Aging Potion had scarcely begun before he’d been forced into animal form.  Once he had, that recovery had come to a dead stop and even after he’d regained his humanity, things had been moving far too quickly for him to even think about that stupid De-Aging Potion.  Heh…his subconscious had done all the thinking for him and now it was convinced that his four-year-old self had been right about magic.

Inside, his link to Sarge opened again, scarlet magic trickling through.  His tension, already sky-high, sought to intensify, but then the magic hit his core – and a sense of calmness radiated through him.  Not his calm, Sarge’s.  ‘Boss…?’

‘You’re halfway there, Sam.  We pull back now and it’ll be that much worse when we try again.  Let me help you.’

“Okay.”  The barest breath of a response, torn free from the part of him that was fully adult and knew what had to be done.

Mentally, he clung to the calm, squeezing his eyes shut to block out his half transformed state.  The flow of scarlet magic increased, helping to drain the adrenaline pumping through his system and sending fear skyrocketing.  As that fear faded, the wolf instincts were waiting, crying out for recognition and acceptance.  Sam’s eyes flickered open, holding Sarge’s hazel as he let the change come.

His body blurred and then it was over.  He was still laying on his side, panting, but he was fully wolf, not trapped in between.  Fear was a living thing inside his chest and knowing it was just an echo of his younger self didn’t help.  Didn’t banish the emotions dominating his rationality.  A whimpering whine rose, begging for something, though he knew not what.

“Just stay there a minute, Sam.  I gotcha, I promise.  We’re gonna get through this.”  Sarge reached out, scratching behind wolf ears.

Sam’s eyelids dropped to half mast as sheer bliss ran through him, obliterating the fear in its path.  He let out a little grunt of contentment, pawing at Sarge without thinking.  Keep it going, Boss.  Oh, yeah, that’s the spot…

Sarge chuckled and kept scratching, though he partially turned as he did so.  “Giles, can you and Roy take a break?  I think Sam needs some time here before we get the paperwork dealt with.”

“Sure thing,” Giles agreed, though there was an undertone that sounded like he’d cast Roy a ‘shut up’ glare.  “We can go grab lunch and be back in an hour.”

An hour?  An hour as a wolf?  Sam whimpered, only to still as Sarge’s scratching continued to work its magic, sending fear and anxiety fleeing for cover.

“Easy, Sam.  I know you can handle it.”  ‘And this gives us some time to debrief.’

‘Debrief?’ Sam questioned.

The Boss nodded.  ‘Yeah.  I think we need a serious debrief about everything that’s happened since the hot call right before the picnic.’

The golden wolf lifted his head a touch.  ‘Are we doing the hot call, too?’

‘Yes, Sam, we are.  I never debriefed that call; don’t know about you guys.  But regardless, we’ve needed this for awhile.  It might not be the time or the place, but that’s on me.’

‘It’s okay, Sarge.’

The older man sighed and kept scratching.  “No.  No, it’s not, Sam, but I can’t change the past.  I can only change what I do now.”

* * * * *

It was the oddest debriefing Sam had ever been through.  As soon as Giles and Roy were gone, Sarge called the others back in; Ed was the first through the door, eyebrows hiking at the absence of his brother and their Auror liaison.

“Boss?”

Sarge understood; he remained by Sam, still scratching behind the golden wolf’s ears as he explained.  “Guys, we overlooked something today, something that came awfully close to backfiring on Sam.”

‘Wasn’t that bad, Sarge,’ Sam objected.

“Sam, don’t downplay it,” Sarge chided.  At the blank looks from their teammates, he sighed.  “The De-Aging Potion.”

Ed and Wordy groaned in mixed recognition and dismay; the team leader dropped down in a crouch, running a hand over Sam’s furry flank.  “Geez louise, Sam, you never got a chance to reprocess all your memories, did you?”

Sam lifted his head enough to shake it.

“But it’s more than that, guys,” Sarge murmured.  “We haven’t done any debriefings since the Thursday before my undercover assignment.  That’s almost five months worth of trauma that none of us have talked about.”

“Ed’s run us through debriefings,” Wordy pointed out, sinking down on the floor.  “But yeah, there’s a lot we haven’t covered.”

“Sam, are you okay with…”  Jules trailed off.

The blond wolf whined and tried to shift towards his girlfriend.  ‘Jules, it’s not you.  It’s all me.’

“No, it’s not,” Jules disagreed.  “I was so wrapped up in this that I made you really uncomfortable, Sam.  I’m sorry.”  And before any of them could say differently, Jules’ form blurred and a black jaguar appeared to curl up next to her mate.  With gentle determination, she began to purr from her position against the trembling wolf, doing her best to calm him down.

Given his druthers, Sam would’ve preferred for Jules to stay human, but he wasn’t sure how to say that.  It felt like they were losing what made them unique, what made them different from the wizards.  If they just relied on magic…

“Jules.  Maybe next time let Sam get a word in edgewise before you take matters into your own hands.”  The chide was gentle, but pointed.

Jules froze mid-purr.  ‘Sam?’  Then she sagged.  ‘I did it again, didn’t I?’

“You did,” Ed confirmed.  He gestured the rest of their team down to the floor and sank down himself, rubbing his head.  “Look, we’re all off our games and not thinking straight.  We’ve been running on pure emotion and reaction ever since we woke up in Houston.  Greg’s right; let’s do one big debrief, then we can finish up here and spend the rest of the week decompressing.”

Lou gazed down at the ground, thinking hard.  “I don’t know about anyone else,” he began.  “But I don’t think we should use our Animagus forms unless we really have to.”

“Buddy?” Spike queried.

“Well, think about it.  Maybe Ed and I could slip under the radar, but three of us are wild animals and Sarge’s a gryphon.  Plus whatever Wordy is.”

“Not exactly subtle,” Wordy concurred.  “Kinda ruins our gig, too.”

Ed smirked, mirthless.  “The ‘Muggle’ Aurors.”

‘Might come in handy, though,’ Sam observed.  ‘The trick no one would expect from a bunch of ‘Muggles’.’

“I can get on board with that,” Spike agreed, perking up again.  “You doing better there, Samtastic?”

‘Still freaking,’ Sam forced himself to admit.  ‘But we only got an hour.’

“No, we don’t,” Ed announced, holding up his phone.  “I’m sending Roy a text to stay away till I call him.”

“Good thinking, Ed,” Sarge agreed.  “So.  Let’s start with our last hot call.”

Sam hated that description; it sounded like they’d never have a hot call with their Team One ever again.  But that wasn’t fair; why should they lose Sarge just ‘cause he’d been promoted?

And yet, Ed nodded as if was a foregone conclusion and launched into the debriefing, just as if they were debriefing as usual, on the same day as the hot call itself.  It was hard, harder than Sam had anticipated.  Parts of that call were seared into their memories, but other parts had to be dragged up from the depths as the whole team struggled to remember the call’s exact sequence.

When they reached the burn house, Ed had Sam take over, debriefing their attempts to reach Captain Banks and buy those inside the burn house more time.  The blond finished with the eventual outcome and Alanna’s statement of how the fire had been halted.  Then Sarge rehashed his breakdown, retreat, and finally his screaming ‘discussion’ with Ed, though the whole team already knew the whole of why he’d fled that day.  By mutual, unspoken agreement, they skipped Wordy’s ordeal.

Instead Ed outlined his fledgling efforts over the weekend to find a solution for the stress and pressure their boss had been under.  The Monday…debacle that had followed, stealing away their Team One without warning.  None of them held back their anguish or even their anger for what had been done, the lies that had torn their world apart.  By the end, Sam was afraid they’d pushed too far.

“Greg?”  Their Sergeant sounded just as worried and as if he was kicking himself for being so blunt.

Wan hazel returned their regard.  “Both barrels, huh, Eddie.”  Without waiting for a reply, he stared at the ground, only smiling when Sam worked his way into the Boss’s line of sight.  “That morning…”  Raw pain, naked and unvarnished.  “…I came in and Holleran called me into his office.  Told me what had happened and what I’d have to do.”  His voice cracked.  “As soon as he told me I’d have to lie to you guys, I knew.”

“Knew what, Sarge?” Wordy asked, tone hushed.

Grief and loss contorted familiar features.  “I knew I’d lose you guys.  I knew Ed would be promoted and even if I made it out alive, you guys wouldn’t want anything more to do with me.”

“Sarge!” Lou erupted.  “How stupid are you?  Yeah, we were ticked, but you basically had a gun to your head.  What were you supposed to say?  No?”

‘You did what you had to do,’ Sam agreed.  Wolf blue narrowed.  ‘Don’t tell us you’re still stuck on that.’

“And there speaks the tainted trust all of you have been living with since Fletcher Stadium.”  Sarge’s voice was scathing.  “I know I couldn’t have done any different, but I still hurt you guys and you’ve never said anything about it until now.”  He stopped, sighing.  “Answer me honestly, guys.  We’ve been reaching for magical solutions more and more lately; how much of that has to do with the fact that all of us have magic now?  How much of that has to do with how my magic’s been influencing you?”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with it,” Wordy argued.  “I think we’re ending up in more situations that don’t have a tech solution, so we’ve needed magical backup.”

“Point,” Ed murmured.  “But Greg’s got one, too, guys.  We need to reassess and re-evaluate.  Magic’s not the answer to everything that comes our way.”  He pinned their lieutenant with his eyes.  “And for the record, you are still a member of this team.  We gotta figure out how it’ll work, but you are our Boss, our lieutenant, and the rest of the SRU can darn well get in line!”

It wasn’t the end of the argument, Sam knew.  Not even close, Sarge could be more stubborn than a mule when he put his mind to it.  But for that moment, Sarge jerked a nod and kept going.  The team was utterly silent as their boss told them about his undercover assignment, unconsciously slipping into Carl Elias’s speech patterns as he spoke.  But the smooth, honeyed cadence didn’t matter; the anguish behind it was pure Greg Parker.  His voice shook as he reached their commander’s shooting and the fire that followed, ending with the brief flash of pain that had turned his world dark.

None of them could speak as he explained how he’d woken up in the mountains and his futile attempts to transform back to human.  Growls rose from all of them as he recounted the experience in detail, though Sam shared his boss’s awe when, in a low, soft tone, he described the incredible mountain vistas he’d seen as he traveled.  But the awe was overshadowed by the murders and the sibling serial killers the Boss had tangled with.  His futile attempt to get help from the FBI profilers and an American witch drew a furious hiss from Jules and a rumbling snarl from Sam.

Visibly flagging, Sarge skimmed over his journey home and Sam understood.  Some things were just too personal to share, even with the most sympathetic of audiences.  He was just grateful Sarge had opened up to them as much as he had.  Maybe the Boss would open up even more to Ed and Wordy later; they were his best friends.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Ed cut in.  “Greg, you’re running on fumes and we still gotta finish up Sam and Wordy’s registrations.”

“We can do the rest in a day or two,” Lou agreed.  “We got a lot of it out, Sarge.  It’s good enough for now.”

Sarge didn’t look convinced so Sam rubbed his canine head against his lieutenant’s side.  ‘Boss, I’m with them and Sophie and Shelley are gonna kill us if we don’t wrap this up soon.’

“He’s right,” Wordy agreed.  “Shel’s already threatened to tie you to our guest bed if you keep pushing it, Sarge.”

“And it’s done,” Ed announced, brandishing his phone.  “Roy and Giles will be here in five.”  He pointed to Jules.  “Change back, now.  Unless you want ‘em to have a ton of blackmail material.”

Sam snickered to himself at how quickly Jules reverted to her human form.  He was still freaked out and unnerved, but he knew it would get better now that the root of the problem was out in the open.  And in the meantime, they’d gotten most of the past five months out of their systems.  It wasn’t perfect; they still had more debriefing and decompressing to do, but already he could feel the relief.  The relief of lancing a long festering mental wound and draining its emotional poison.

It was enough for the newly minted wolf Animagus to crawl to his paws, perk up his ears, and tentatively wag his tail at his pack.

* * * * *

They’d been stupid, short-sighted idiots!  Sarge had been absolutely right to call them out over their idiocy.  Yeah, the past week had been one heck of a rollercoaster, but how could they have forgotten about the De-Aging Potion or Merlin’s frank assessment that it would take Sam time to readjust.  That he’d be prone to mood swings and overreactions until he fully recovered.  It had come far too close to costing them a good friend and teammate.

Wordy forced his rather homicidal thoughts away.  Going after Morgana le Fay on his own was a Bad Idea and more likely to end with him in pieces than her in cuffs.  And couldn’t they catch a break?  How come Morgana was getting the credit for their new Animagus forms when the true Giver had been Aslan?  How come their enjoyment of His gift had been wrenched away and tainted?

“Ed, take Roy and Giles outside with you.”

“What, why?”

The brunet constable blinked, just as surprised as his Sergeant and the two detectives.  “Sarge?  I’m okay.”

But Sarge had his stubborn-as-a-mule face on.  “Wordy, you had the worst initial transformation.  The reversion was just as bad.”  He tapped his head.  “You know it won’t be as bad this time in here.”  The finger moved to his heart.  “You don’t know that here.”

Wordy swallowed hard and didn’t argue any further as Ed shooed the detectives out, their teammates following him.  Instead he focused on calming down; his heart seemed to have decided it was a wonderful time to start panicking.

“Maybe…maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Sarge.”

“Wordy, I’ll say to you what I said to Sam.  We stop now and the next time is going to be even harder.  I have faith in you, my friend.  You can do this, you just need a little help.”

Wordy gulped, struggling to stifle the tide of terror welling up in his soul.  Distantly, he registered a sense of relief that Sarge had kicked everyone else out so they wouldn’t see his panic attack.  The idea of transforming again, of putting himself through that agony; rational thought fled in the face of his memories.

“Kevin, deep breaths.”

Terror glazed gray eyes, but he obeyed.  Sarge breathed with him, creating a pattern for him to match.  The big constable felt his link to his boss open, a sense of rock steady calm streaming from it.  Wordy clung to that calm, letting Sarge coach him through breathing techniques.  He never noticed when the flow of words shifted from calming him down to coaxing his Animagus instincts forward.

His breath quickened, muscles tensing as adrenaline and fear engulfed him; the terrified response forced Sarge back to calming him down and through a new round of breathing techniques.  Recalling his teammates’ chatter about their own transformations, Wordy searched his heart and soul for an alien set of instincts.  A frown touched his jaw as they shied away.  Was his Animagus form afraid of him?  No, that didn’t make any sense, but maybe it was afraid of the pain.  That was fair; he was afraid of the pain himself.

But he had to do this; Sarge wasn’t going to back down.  Not now, not when they were so close.  Raw panic squeezed his chest and Wordy was slammed right out of his calm into hyperventilation.  Sarge – Greg – reacted at once, flooding the link with his calm, unshakable confidence.

“It’s scared, Greg,” Kevin managed.

“Set you off again?” Greg pressed.

“Yeah.”

Hazel narrowed, but Greg nodded acceptance.  “Copy that.  From the top?”

“Sorry, Boss.”

“No,” Greg chided.  “You helped me through worse.  Let me help you.”

Kevin jerked his chin, clinging to the link with all his might.  “Third time’s the charm.”

“Make it so,” Greg murmured.  “Try to rope it?”

He blinked.  “What, like a cowboy?”  It sounded crazy, but…but maybe it was worth a try.  Closing his eyes, Kevin envisioned himself back in that SPCA paddock.  He stood on one side of the field, a white Stetson on his head and a lasso in his right hand – like a cowboy in an old Western.  On the other side of the field, his dark cream colored Animagus form pranced, high strung and fearful.  He could see gray eyes rolling in terror.

Setting his jaw in determination, Wordy stepped forward, a flick of his wrist setting the lasso to spinning.  In the real world, it would’ve looked utterly ridiculous and amateurish, but here, in his mind, the lasso twirled, gaining speed and height with each revolution.

The stallion pawed the ground and snorted, backing away in fear.  Wordy ignored that, focusing on his own calm, reinforcing it with Sarge’s and lacing in his determination.  Gray narrowed, judging the large, gun-shy stallion.  Then he moved, racing forward with the lasso twirling above his head.

The stallion bolted.

Wordy threw the lasso as hard and far as he could, praying.

With a squeal, the stallion skidded in the dirt, changing directions.

The lasso landed around its neck and yanked tight.

As the stallion reared, screaming mortal terror, Kevin realized.

He was the stallion.

* * * * *

Hooves slammed down, equine terror a living thing that raged through his whole body.  Reflexively, he bucked, kicking at anything behind him, and squealed again as the lights went out and something clattered to the ground.  Away, he had to get away.

The door rammed open, a tall man darting in with several more humans right behind him.  “Greg!”

He reared, fear and challenge erupting in another scream; hooves lashed out before gravity dragged him down again.

“Eddie, get out.  Get out and stay out.”  The speaker was close, much too close, but he wasn’t yelling and calm fairly radiated from him.

“But Boss!”

“I said out.  Now.”

The tall human looked as if he’d bitten into something sour, but waved his fellow humans back, withdrawing himself, though the door didn’t close entirely behind them.  The stallion huffed and blew air, partially rearing towards the last human in silent warning.

“Easy,” the human whispered.  “I’m not coming any closer and no one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

He snorted disbelief and pawed the ground.  After a moment, he adjusted his head to watch both the human and the door, tense and waiting.  But nothing happened.  The human simply stood there, gazing at him with a calm, steady expression.  Interest feathered at his awareness and one ear rotated towards the human.  The longer the silence hung, the less his heart raced, a thread of calm slipping through his awareness.  When the human moved, he snorted and tossed his head, shifting to back away.

The human halted, watching him closely.  “All right, Wordy.  Your pace.”

His second ear rotated towards the man, both ears flicking towards the sound of his voice.  Familiar.  Trusted.  The fear ebbed, bit by bit, though the stallion was still skittish and on high alert.

“I guess it makes sense.  You were only able to hang onto your awareness when you were calm.”

He whickered, swishing his tail and shaking his neck out.

“Hope that’s just a temporary effect.  Could get dicey if we ever end up in a situation like this week.”

One ear flicked back and he snorted, adjusting his stance.  Overwhelming terror still throbbed under his skin, but it was fading, ever so slowly, as if the human’s presence was pushing that terror back.  Curiosity filtered in, along with a stronger mental tug towards the bald human.

“You’re going to give Ed one heck of a surprise once he gets a good look at you, you know.  I don’t think he saw you all that well before I kicked him out.”

Amusement rang in the human’s voice and the stallion snorted, absurdly pleased at the thought of his impending prank.  Wait…prank…?  Why would he…

‘Sarge?’

Sarge was at his side in a wink and Wordy couldn’t help his reflexive shy.  “Easy, Wordy, I’m here.”

‘Dark.’

In the dim light, he saw Sarge grimace.  “You kicked over the lights.  Can you hold still for me, buddy?”

‘Copy.’  His mind was clearing.  Slower than he would’ve liked, true, but clearing nonetheless.  He could remember losing himself to the overwhelming terror and the stallion winced as memory emerged and he recalled what had happened.  ‘Sarge, you okay?’

“Hmmm?  Oh, I’m fine, Wordy.  You gave me a scare, but my magic started yelling at me to back up even before you shifted.”  A pause.  “Could you pick up your left rear…ah…”

‘Hoof,’ Wordy filled in, mental tone wry as he lifted the requested appendage.  ‘Never gone horseback riding, Boss?’

“No, can’t say as I have, Wordy.  I’m a city boy through and through.”

‘Well, yeah, me too, but Shel and I have gone riding lots of times,’ Wordy protested.  ‘Did I break them?’

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Sarge replied, cautiously working himself away from the transformed constable’s hooves.  “I’m hoping you just knocked them over and pulled the power cord.”  He pushed himself up, brandishing a power plug.  “Let’s give it a try.”

‘Ready, Boss,’ Wordy reported, bracing himself for the flood of light.

Sarge moved around him and picked up the knocked over light, setting it in place once more.  Moving to the wall, he crouched and plugged the lights in again.  Two flared to life, but the one Wordy had kicked over in his blind panic did not.  It left the room rather shadowy right where he was standing.

‘Sorry, Boss.’

The older man shook his head.  “I’d rather have a broken light than a broken constable, Wordy.  The light is fixable.  You are not.”

Embarrassed, Wordy bobbed his equine head.  ‘Copy that, Sarge.’

“Ready for company?”

‘Sure thing, Sarge.’  Swinging his head to get his boss more in his line of sight, Wordy added, ‘And Sarge?  Same to you; I’m really glad I didn’t hurt you.’

He turned his head farther as Sarge came back to him and rubbed his neck affectionately.  “Copy that, Constable Wordsworth.”

Wordy lifted his head so Sarge could duck in front of him and head for the door.  Despite his terrified reaction, he did remember Ed and the others busting in only to get evicted by Sarge.  They probably hadn’t gone far and his Sergeant was undoubtedly fuming over getting kicked out without being allowed to help or get a word in edgewise.

“All right, guys, we’re all good now,” Sarge called, nudging the door open.

Ed was first in, evaluating the room even as he stepped over the threshold.  “Greg, what happened?” he demanded.  “Where’s Wordy?”

Wordy waited for the rest of his team and the detectives to get inside before he tossed his head up and snorted.  Their attention snapped to him and Wordy quite enjoyed their shocked expressions as he clip-clopped out of the shadows.  The remaining lights shone off his dark cream coat and illuminated every inch of his Animagus form’s powerful physique.

Spike broke the silence with a soft, “Whoa.”

The stallion whickered, flicking both ears forward as he watched his friends recover from the surprise at how different his form was from their forms.  Ed moved first, the movement so quick that Wordy shied, snorting and blowing.  He wasn’t scared, but his horse instincts seemed to be hardwired for fight-or-flight, with flight as the default option.

“Easy, Word,” Ed coached, reaching out to stroke the stallion’s muscled shoulder.

He turned his head and deliberately bumped Ed’s shoulder.  ‘Then don’t move so fast; haven’t you ever been around horses before?’

“I have.”  Both looked over as Jules came forward.  “Don’t move fast, guys.  That’s a really good way to spook horses.”  Light brown fixed on him.  “Let me guess.  You panicked and it just got worse when you knocked a light down and we all came running in.”

His neck and head sagged, both ears drooping, and Wordy heaved an equine sigh.

Jules pushed his head back up and reached up with her free hand, nudging an ear.  “Wordy,” she chided.  “You might be our rock in every storm,” he snorted and thrust his nose at her, bumping her hands, “But you’re still human.  Don’t blame yourself for not being superhuman.”

‘Pull that line on Sarge, Jules,’ Wordy countered, stomping a back hoof.

Ed bit back a laugh and cast their boss a look.  Sarge allowed a shrug, then turned to their detectives.  “Roy, Giles, can you finish this up?  I don’t think we’re going to have any more problems, but I’m sure Wordy would like to change back.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant Parker,” the Auror agreed.

In the background, Lou snickered.  When the group turned to him – Wordy even flicked both ears towards the less-lethal specialist – he smirked.  “You guys look at his mane yet?”

Wordy tossed his head up, alarmed.  ‘What’s wrong with my mane?’

There was an instant of silence, then Jules giggled.  “Oh, Wordy; your mane is a buzz cut.”

‘It is?’  Wordy tried to crane around, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see his own mane.

“Yeah, buddy, it is,” Ed concurred.  “Stop tryin’ to look; you’re just gonna hurt yourself.”

“Sarge?  Do you know what breed he is?” Jules asked.

“Jules?” Sam questioned, surprised by her question.

Wordy swung his head towards his boss, whickering.  Sarge had known what Spike was, after all.

Sarge frowned to himself.  “Give me a few, guys.  I brought the SPCA’s paperwork with me, but I left it in my new office.”

“You’ve got an office?” Spike yelped.

The stocky man fidgeted.  “Came with the promotion, Spike.”

“Isn’t the mayor paying for all your new stuff?” Sam inquired.

Wordy huffed in surprise, but Sarge’s expression turned resigned.  “Yes, Sam, he is.  But let’s not advertise it.”

With that, he left, oblivious to Sam’s subtle wince.  The blond avoided his teammates’ gazes, unaware that they’d already figured out how he knew that tidbit.  For his own part, Wordy stamped a hoof to regain the center of attention, then strode to the nearby table.

Ed chuckled.  “Giles, I think that’s your cue.”

“Copy that,” the Auror acknowledged.  “Roy, camera?”

“On it,” Roy agreed.

By the time Sarge came back, all the photos had been taken and almost all the parchmentwork was filled out.  At the universal looks of curiosity, Sarge smiled wanly.  “Wordy is an American Cream Draft.”

Chapter Text

Lieutenant Greg Parker slipped into his boss’s office with a stack of photos in hand.  Wordy had wanted to hustle him back ‘home’ before Shelley took her ire out of their hides, but he’d refused.  No, he needed to talk to Commander Holleran first.

Inside the office, Greg let the photos drop on the desk and all but collapsed in the guest chair.  He’d overdone it, big time, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.  His team, they had to come first, even if he had no right to call them that any more.  Parker let his head fall back against the chair, closed his eyes, and focused on simply breathing.  He was exhausted, hungry, and hurting.  And his voice had gone hoarse after talking every single one of his friends into their Animagus forms.  Plus the mammoth debriefing that had been mostly on his side.

He heard Commander Holleran reach out and pick the photos up.  The lean black man flipped through the stack slowly, whistling under his breath at the sheer variety of Team One’s Animagus forms.  He stopped at the last one and Greg could almost hear his boss’s puzzlement at the domestic horse in a sea of wild predators.

“We think Wordy might’ve already had an Animagus form, even before mio nipotes came here and everything we’ve gone through.”

The commander hummed thoughtfully.  “Because he should’ve been a wizard?”

“Yes, sir,” Parker confirmed, opening his eyes.  “Team One is hoping to keep this new development under wraps.”

“Oh?  I would have thought this would be an advantage for them, Lieutenant.”

Greg chose his words with care.  “It is an advantage, sir.  Animagi are rare in the magical world and it’s not commonly known that some of the animal’s traits will carry over to the human side of the equation.”

His commander nodded, though his expression was guarded.

“However, both Constable Braddock and Constable Young raised the concern that if they start relying too much on magic, they risk losing their unique edge in the wizarding world.”

“Technology,” Holleran filled in, relaxing a hair.

The lieutenant nodded once.  “There’s also the concern that most of Team One’s Animagus forms are wild animals and exotic wild animals at that.”

Holleran grimaced.  “A wild animal on the loose would be shot on sight.”

Greg returned the grimace.  “That’s the least of it, sir.”  He stopped, letting his breath out.  “Bottom line, Sergeant Lane informed me that they’re going to use the rest of this week to decompress from everything that’s happened in the past few weeks and months, then start fresh next Monday.”

“What are your expectations?” Commander Holleran prodded when he stopped.

The lieutenant hiked one shoulder.  “Ed’s the one who worked with me when my gryphon strength came out.  He knows what to look for and I suspect he’ll be able to use most of the same techniques to help his team retrain.”

“What about Sergeant Lane’s retraining?”

Parker frowned, thinking that over.  “I’m not sure he’ll need to, sir.  He might pick up the hawk’s vision and hearing, but I can coach him through that and I don’t think he’ll have any other changes to deal with.”

“The changes are individual?”

Greg nodded.  “Yes, sir.  Since they all have a different Animagus form, the traits they’ll get will be unique to their animals.”  A wry gleam shone.  “Once they’ve retrained, I expect they’ll be able to pick up where they left off prior to my return.”

Commander Holleran considered that, expression thoughtful.  “And what about you, Greg?”

“Sir?” Parker asked, brows rising.  “I’ve already been through this.”

The commander frowned, skewering his lieutenant with a glare.  “You’ve already been through back to back kidnappings…”

“No, sir,” Greg interrupted, flushing.  “I meant the retraining.”

His boss paused, then nodded ruefully.  “Of course.”  He considered his subordinate, then shook his head.  “I can see you’re dead on your feet, Lieutenant.  If I see you in here any sooner than next Monday, we’ll be having a serious discussion about workaholics and burnout.”

“Yes, sir,” the stocky, but gaunt man acknowledged, dredging up one final smile.  “Those photos are yours to keep, by the way.”  He pushed himself to his feet, doing his best to keep from swaying, then left.  Holleran gazed after him in concern, but relaxed when he spied Wordsworth intercept Parker almost immediately.

* * * * *

Wordy was grateful when his boss curled up in the passenger seat and went to sleep.  He’d been run ragged more times than Wordy could casually count and desperately needed the rest.  The worst of it was that Sarge would only say he was just doing his job.  With any luck, Sarge would sleep all the way back to his place, then Wordy would be able to get him inside and to bed without waking him up.

His boss and friend was still struggling.  Oh, he was much better than he’d been, but Wordy hadn’t missed the flash of self-loathing when Sarge had announced they were still living with ‘tainted trust’.  Tainted because of what Sarge’s tainted, out of control magic had done at Fletcher Stadium.  And so long as that tainted trust remained, it would be an anchor around Sarge’s feet, tripping him up and dragging him down no matter what he did.  Frowning, Wordy set a portion of his mind on the problem and returned to his more immediate concerns.  To his relief, Shelley was waiting when he arrived home and the pair managed to maneuver the sleeping man to his bed without incident.

* * * * *

A day or so after officially moving to Toronto, Dean Parker eyed his father’s girlfriend with a touch of uncertainty.  He’d wanted to meet her and his Dad had immediately set it up, even dragging his cousins into the impromptu gathering.  But Dean hadn’t missed the fact that his Dad and Clark’s mother were practically sitting on his cousins to keep them from running away.

“So you must be Dean!” the woman exclaimed, a smile lighting up her whole face.  Gray eyes sparkled and he couldn’t help but like her, returning her smile with one of his own.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“None of that now,” she chided playfully.  “Call me Marina.”  Her smile widened.  “So tell me, Dean, will you be living with your father from now on?”

“Yes, ma… Marina,” Dean confirmed, switching to the blonde woman’s name when she frowned at him.  “Dad still has to find a new apartment…”

“Why, that’s perfect,” Marina gushed.  “I have too much space in my own apartment as it is.  I’d be delighted to have both of you.”

“No, Marina,” his father cut in before Dean could think of a reply.  “We very much appreciate your offer, but we couldn’t possibly impose on you like that.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing at all, Greg,” Marina countered.  “Why, I have a room that would be just perfect for Dean.  Plenty of room for him and any friends he brings home.”

Well, that was nice, but what about his cousins?  Dean darted a glance at them; Alanna was crestfallen, but Lance’s expression had gone completely blank in a way that sent a nervous shudder up Dean’s back.  All of a sudden, he realized this was far from the first time his cousins had had to listen as they were pointedly excluded from their guardian’s life by his girlfriend.  No wonder they’d tried to get out of seeing her again.

“Marina.”  Dean shivered at the coldness in his father’s voice.  “We discussed this already.  Although we do appreciate your generous offer, the answer is still no.”

Dean was happy his cousins had been able to hear that, but he was still uneasy.  Why hadn’t his Dad called Marina out for ignoring them?  Especially if it wasn’t the first time.  If it were him, he would’ve told her to treat them like family or else.  If she was gonna treat his cousins like dirt in public, she deserved to be called out about it in public.  And his Dad should be the one to do it.

But though Marina clearly understood her boyfriend was upset with her, she continued to ignore Lance and Alanna as she got to know Dean and fussed over his father.  Aside from his flat refusal to move into Marina’s apartment, his Dad never called her out; instead, he treated her like a fragile, priceless piece of porcelain.  Far too valuable to risk criticizing, lest he harm her.

Halfway through the visit, Dean was finally able to extricate himself from Marina’s affectionate interrogation and he promptly retreated to Clark and his cousins.  From his new vantage, Dean watched the interaction between his father and his girlfriend closely.  It wasn’t as lopsided as he’d thought at first.  Once she calmed down, Marina engaged his father, drawing him out enough to confide in her, even as she also used him as a sounding board for her own day-to-day issues at her business.  Having spent years watching his mother and stepfather, Dean could see just how much his Dad loved and valued Marina.  Likewise, he could tell that Marina cared about his father just as much.  They were well matched – scarred by life, but all the wiser for it and dedicated to making the relationship work.

But if all of that was true, then why was Marina treating his cousins like interlopers?  Why were her eyes full of a strange resentment whenever she looked their way?  She smiled at him, the joy of meeting him genuine, but there was none of that warmth when she gazed at his cousins.  Why didn’t his Dad see that?  Why didn’t his Dad stand up for his cousins?  If his Dad had missed what was happening, why hadn’t his cousins said anything?  They had to know about it and yet…  Dean turned in time to see Alanna gaze up at her brother, a silent plea in tearful violet.  Lance shook his head, a carefully crafted blank expression on his face and unbearable anguish in his eyes.  A second uneasy frisson ran up Dean’s spine and he wished all the harder that his father had seen what he had.

* * * * *

Greg watched Marina’s car drive away, feeling the meeting had gone fairly well, all things considered.  When he’d been setting it up, he’d been caught off guard by Shelley’s anger and firm refusal to permit Marina into her home.  He’d asked Sophie instead, relieved when she agreed, though she’d sounded…ambivalent.  And Marina had been thrilled to meet Dean, enfolding his son into her heart just as Greg had known she would.  The clinginess had been there as well, but overall, Greg had been pleased with how much less she’d clung to him this time.  Oh, Marina had still been a touch shrill and desperate at first, but as the visit went on, she’d relaxed.

Once she had, they’d fallen into the easy give and take that he cherished in their relationship.  He couldn’t tell her about magic, of course, but he could still bounce other problems and ideas off her.  She had a surprisingly deep insight into interpersonal relationships and a viewpoint much different from his own; already, she’d helped him through a number of situations that might’ve been much stickier otherwise.  She wasn’t a negotiator and she didn’t have his gift for understanding people, but Marina had her own flair, something he was coming to rely on.  In turn, he did his best to offer her the same courtesy, listening to her daily troubles and trying to give her insights just as valuable as the ones she gave him.

In fact, it wasn’t until the meeting was over and Marina left – kissing him on the cheek before leaving – that Greg realized Sophie was livid.  With him.  Very quietly, she ordered Clark to take his three co-conspirators somewhere else.  Mentally, Parker swallowed.  This wasn’t the incandescent with fury valkyrie who’d screamed at him for dying on them.  No, it was much, much worse.

She waited until the teenagers were gone and well out of earshot, another sign that it was him she was angry with.  And when she spoke, her fury was all the greater for her soft voice.  “What do you think you’re doing, Greg?”

Parker held still, weighing his response.  Allowing his confusion to show, he requested, “Perhaps you could explain what you’re upset about?”

Dark eyes narrowed.  “You mean you don’t know.  You have no idea why I’m angry with you?”

Mute, Greg shook his head.

Fury grew, but her voice never rose above that deadly whisper.  “Tell me, Greg.  In that grand plan your girlfriend had for you and your son, where were your niece and nephew?”

He blinked, still confused.  “I told her no.”

“And that was the only thing you did,” Sophie hissed.  “You didn’t remind her that she was leaving two of your children out of her plans, you didn’t rebuke her for not saying even one word to them the entire time she was here, and you didn’t make any effort at all to add them to the conversation.”  Disgust shone.  “You insisted that they be here and you made them sit and watch while you introduced your son to your girlfriend and treated them like yesterday’s news.”  One hand slammed down on the table.  “You couldn’t have made yourself clearer if you’d shown them the door and told them to get out!”

Greg’s jaw dropped open in horror.  He hadn’t done that, had he?  No, Sophie had to be wrong; his kids knew he loved them like nothing else.  His own anger smoldered and he rose.  “Marina knows mio nipotes are part of the deal, Sophie.  Today was about introducing her to Dean and it’s natural that she was excited to meet him.  She knows mio nipotes, but this is the first time she’s met my son.”  He paused, coming to a decision.  “Thank you for your concern, Sophie, and for being willing to host us.  I hope to be able to find an apartment this week, so it shouldn’t be much longer before Dean can move in with me officially.”

“I think you’re making a mistake, Greg.  Even if she was excited to meet Dean, that’s no reason to snub Lance and Alanna.”

For a moment, he hesitated, recalling that Shelley had raised some of the very same concerns.  But then he shook his head.  “I’m sure it was just a mistake on her part, Sophie.  I’ll mention it to her the next time we talk.”

With that, he left the kitchen.  He and Shelley had a meeting with one of the leasing offices on her short list and he didn’t want to be late.

* * * * *

The remainder of the week was hectic, but productive.  With Shelley’s help, Greg was able to whittle the short list of possible apartments down to three.  All had the space he and his kids needed, all were within an acceptable distance to Clark’s high school, where Dean would shortly be enrolled, and two of them even had gateways to the wizarding world practically in their backyards.  He presented the photos he and Shelley had taken of the apartments to his three charges and dutifully described the features and amenities of all three complexes.  Shelley chimed in with the cons and together, the group settled on a final choice.

With the final choice made, Greg met with the leasing office again, gave them the supporting documentation of his salary and job history, then signed the documents and made the payment for the security deposit and the first month’s rent.  With the detailed information on his new apartment, Greg also made the necessary calls to switch the electricity into his name and select an Internet, phone, and cable package.  Keys in hand and Shelley by his side, Parker then made the arrangements for a moving company to pull his belongings out of storage and move them to his new home.  All three of his kids helped with the unloading, claiming bedrooms – the boys playfully argued over which one of them got the side of the room with a window – and generally assisting with the massive project of moving into a new apartment.

The whole process pushed Greg to the very limits of his still fragile endurance, but he persevered.  It was time and past for him to stop living with his former teammate, to reclaim his independence, and make it clear that he was, really truly, on the road to recovery.  Yes, he was still exhausted at the end of each day; yes, he was still hurting whenever he had to stand or walk for long periods; but he would no longer let his injuries impede him from making a fresh start.

The sacrifices were all worth it on Friday when all four of them were moved into the new apartment and he was able to order pizza while watching Lance and Dean battle it out in some random racing type video game on his brand-new flatscreen TV.  He finished his call and headed for the couch, dropping down next to his niece and smiling as she giggled at the boys’ antics.  Alanna gazed up at him, then sighed and nestled into his chest.  Greg draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, wondering what on Earth he’d ever done to be so blessed.

He knew the answer – nothing – but it didn’t bother him anymore.  He’d been given an extraordinary gift and his job was to cherish and treasure that gift, not question it.  Carding his fingers through his niece’s fiery mane, Greg leaned his head against the cushions and closed his eyes.  He was oblivious to Alanna realizing he was asleep and promptly shushing the boys.  Oblivious to Lance quietly paying for the pizza and even more quietly putting several slices aside on a plate charmed to stay warm for when he woke up.  He was even oblivious to the three teenagers carefully moving him from the couch to his bed when it became clear he was dead to the world.

* * * * *

He woke slowly, distantly confused about where he was.  Hadn’t he been on the couch?  When had he lain down?  He felt warm, though, with a comfortable pillow under his head and the room pleasantly dark.  Sighing, Greg closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.  He dozed for some time, but finally registered two things.  Warm was rapidly becoming hot and he needed the bathroom.

Even with those two realizations, it still took the half-asleep man another couple of minutes to wake up enough to crawl out from under the covers.  Once out, he discovered why he was too hot; he was still wearing all his clothes from the day before.  Yawning, he blearily stumbled to the bathroom, switched to his nightwear, and headed back to bed without ever realizing it was midmorning.

* * * * *

Lance held still for another minute, then turned to Dean; the two boys nodded at each other in perfect agreement.  They would keep staying quiet; Uncle Greg needed more sleep than he’d been getting and if he still thought it was the middle of the night, all the better.  That was the entire reason Lance had snuck into his uncle’s room and charmed the window to stay black; he’d even unplugged his uncle’s clock to keep him from seeing the time.  The young man knew his uncle might be mad when he finally woke up for good and realized what he’d done, but hopefully he wouldn’t be too mad.  Hopefully he’d understand that Lance had only done it to help.

Not, Lance knew, that that would make any difference in the end.  Uncle Greg might’ve refused to move in with Miss Marina, but he wasn’t stupid.  They acted like they were already married, with a close bond that he remembered from when his parents had been alive.  If Uncle Greg’s inner gryphon didn’t already consider Miss Marina his mate, it wouldn’t be much longer.  Once that happened, them getting married was a foregone conclusion; the gryphon wouldn’t tolerate being apart from his mate.

After that…  Miss Marina would be Mrs. Gregory Parker and she’d already made it clear what she thought of his and his sister’s invasion into Uncle Greg’s life.  Uncle Greg wouldn’t go against his mate; his inner gryphon wouldn’t let him; and they’d be done.  Out of Uncle Greg’s life and Dean’s life and Team One’s lives, too.  They’d probably be grateful to be over and done with the two little brats who’d ruined their lives.

Alanna still thought it would get better, but Lance knew it wouldn’t.  Yes, they’d stepped in and saved the day again, but if not for them, Team One never would’ve been in danger in the first place.  Morgana le Fay wouldn’t have had any quarrel with Team One if not for their staunch support of two young Wild Mages.  And Uncle Greg finally had Dean back.  Compared to Dean, he and Alanna were second-fiddle at best.  Lance was tempted to resent the older boy for that, but he knew better.  If he and Alanna hadn’t ruined their guardian’s life – and his friends’ lives – then Miss Marina wouldn’t be angry and they could’ve stayed.  So, really, in the end it was their own fault that they were about to lose their family.

Lance’s eyes stole to his notebook.  If he had a little more time, he could finish it.  It was insane and risky, but with the help he’d gotten, he almost had everything ready.  Alanna would probably hate him, but if it worked, maybe Miss Marina would finally accept them and they could stay.  And if it didn’t?  Well, then Alanna could be mad at him, but it was better than waiting for the inevitable to happen.

Chapter Text

On Monday morning, Greg headed for work, still rather sheepish over sleeping the entire weekend away.  Dean had finally rousted him out of bed on Saturday night so he could have something to eat, but he’d barely finished the meal before he was out like a light once more.  Sunday hadn’t been any better, as if his body had decided he needed sleep and never mind what he wanted to do with his last free weekend.  At least his kids hadn’t seemed angry over their guardian ignoring them.

Commander Holleran was waiting for him when he arrived at the barn and the two men started in the locker room.  To Parker’s considerable surprise, he was assigned to the very same locker he’d had as a Sergeant.  He still had Eddie’s combination, so once he’d set up his ‘new’ locker’s combination, it was a simple matter to move his belongings from Ed’s locker to his own.  Commander Holleran supplied the extra uniforms he’d requisitioned and Greg felt his shoulders ease as the last of his current supplies made it inside the locker.

“I usually keep my gear in my office, but I thought you’d do better with the locker room at first,” the commander explained.

“Thank you, sir,” Greg replied, heartfelt appreciation in every word.  He still wasn’t used to the idea that he wasn’t a Sergeant any more, that he was now the SRU’s second-in-command, and that he had an office of his own.  To have his gear in the locker room was familiar.  Comfortable.  One hand absently rubbed against his shoulder, feeling the embroidered maple leaf that had replaced his chevrons.  Then Parker shook himself and looked up.  “What’s next, sir?”

“Your laptop, I think.”  Amusement crinkled the older man’s eyes.  “I don’t know if you remember, but I did manage to wrangle a laptop of my own out of His Worship.”

A breath of laughter and a responding smile met the pronouncement.  “With all the paperwork on your desk, sir, I’m surprised you didn’t get one earlier.”

Holleran sighed.  “Budget constraints, Greg.  I wasn’t about to requisition a laptop for myself when we needed every penny we could get for gear, personnel, and training.”

The lieutenant cringed.  “You only requested one for me because of my hands.”

“Greg, if you start blaming yourself for what that woman did to you, we will have words,” the commander countered firmly, leading the way out of the locker room and towards the office area.  “It’s done and thanks to you, we didn’t even have to dip into the budget for either your gear or my laptop.”

“Yes, sir,” Parker acknowledged, trailing along behind his boss.  “If I recall correctly, I believe I’m to start with mostly paperwork?”

“That’s the plan, Lieutenant,” Commander Holleran agreed.  “Today will be a lighter day; we need to set your laptop up before you can use it and I can see the dark circles under your eyes.”  A brief frown crossed his face.  “It’s none of my business, Greg, but why the rush to get a new apartment?”

One shoulder hiked.  “With everything that’s happened, sir, I highly doubt I have much leave time left, if any.”  Greg squirmed.  “I knew it needed to be done and I wanted to be in the new place before Shelley and Sophie got any angrier with me.”

Holleran’s brows lifted, but the commander simply nodded and moved on.  “Well, you look like you’ve been through the wringer, Greg.  I’d like you to get more sleep and recovery time under your belt before giving you a full workload.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Entering his subordinate’s new office, Holleran turned to look Greg in the eye.  “I can understand why you wanted back in a place of your own, Lieutenant.  I’d probably feel the same in your position.  I may not have anticipated the second kidnapping, but I did anticipate that this process would take time.”

Greg swallowed hard and didn’t protest.  Instead, he glanced around the room; he’d been inside it, but he’d been in a rush and hadn’t really had time to take much in.  The office itself was smaller than his commander’s office, but well proportioned.  A desk of decent quality dominated the room, with a comfortable chair behind it and two plain, but serviceable chairs against the wall, ready to be used by any guests.  Gray steel file cabinets loomed on the far wall, ready and waiting for the mountains of paperwork that would shortly be crossing the lieutenant’s new desk.  A desk lamp sat on top of the desk, so new it was still gleaming.  The squat body of the lamp and its flexible neck were a golden color, but the rectangular curved lampshade was green; Greg could see how the lamp’s position would put its light right on the keyboard of the laptop that sat next to it, lid closed.  The laptop itself appeared to be a standard, ordinary specimen.  Black matte, with a silver Dell insignia on the top of its lid.  A power cord and cable lock completed the picture, but there was also a black case sitting on the opposite side of the lamp.  Parker eyed it, not sure what it was.

Holleran chuckled and reached out to pick the case up.  “I added that at the last minute,” he explained.  “The mayor’s office was a touch put out, but I told them I wasn’t going to expect a man recovering from injuries to his hands to use a touchpad.”  Gently, the commander tugged on a zipper his subordinate hadn’t noticed and opened up the case.

When he lifted the lid, Greg blinked rather quizzically at the azure mouse inside.  “It’s missing its cord, sir.”

The commander chuckled again and lifted the mouse to reveal a cord beneath.  “It’s a Bluetooth mouse, Lieutenant.  The cord is for recharging it and I’ve been told that one charge can last for several months.”  He let the case down on the desk and set the mouse aside, gesturing to a dongle tangled with the neatly bundled power cord.  “We’ll need to install the software, but once you plug that in, the mouse will work just fine.  I picked a model with a side-scroller, though, and I’m not completely sure that will work without the software.”

Although Parker wasn’t a geek himself, long experience with the geeks on his team – former team – had rubbed off.  Aside from a few user name and password hiccups, it didn’t take long to get the little laptop up and running.  Commander Holleran took over once Greg was logged in, frowning as he carefully worked through the process to set the laptop’s printer default to the SRU printer.  A quick call to Kira and a few test page printings were required to complete that part of the process, but once it was done, Greg was permitted to reclaim the laptop.

The mouse’s dongle was plugged in and the mouse itself turned on before Holleran patiently walked his new second-in-command through all the forms and programs he would need to get started.  By the time lunchtime rolled around, Greg felt like he was drowning in new information, but he knew it would get better.  He just needed time and practice.  Lots of it.

* * * * *

It did get better.  As the week marched on, Greg readjusted to getting up at a certain time so he could get ready for work and be at the barn by 9 AM.  One other change that had come along with his promotion had been a departure from working various shifts to a ‘regular’ nine-to-five schedule.  Not that his commander was permitting him to work that long.  Healer Queenscove had authorized him for a maximum of six hours a day and Commander Holleran was insistent that his second-in-command obey those orders.

The programs and digital forms became easier to handle as Greg slowly mastered their quirks and complexities.  Partway through the week, when Commander Holleran gave him several more forms to master, Parker wasn’t quite so overwhelmed at the thought.  He couldn’t say he was eager for the challenge, but the satisfaction of conquering digital paperwork was there nonetheless.

As for his former team, they dropped in every day to check up on him and make sure he wasn’t pushing himself too hard.  Greg was aware they’d been assigned to secondary status so they could retrain and get their new Animagus abilities under control, but he was so busy learning his new duties that he hadn’t gotten a chance to drop in and watch any of their training sessions.  The lieutenant felt bad for abandoning them like that, but then he sternly reminded himself that they weren’t his team any more.  Ed was their Sergeant now and he was doing a great job, just as Greg had always known he would.  Much as he missed working with Team One, that wasn’t his life anymore and it was better he accept that fact right upfront instead of letting his heart cling to false hope.  He was, therefore, rather surprised when Commander Holleran brought Ed in on Friday morning.

* * * * *

The sharp double knock on his office door brought Greg’s head up, his mind still busily processing what information he’d need to get from Kira to finish up his latest round of paperwork.  Unlike his old paperwork, he could rarely fill paperwork out entirely on the first go-around.  Most of it, yes, but inevitably, there was information he wasn’t quite sure about or needed to pull from the system.  The former usually required Commander Holleran’s help, though Kira or Winnie could sometimes help, and the latter almost always required help from the two dispatchers since his laptop didn’t yet have access to the SRU’s database.

All of that fled when Commander Holleran eased the door open; Parker straightened to attention.  “Lieutenant?  Are you in the middle of something?”

“It can wait,” Greg replied, nudging the laptop aside.  A wan smile crossed his features.  “I was almost done with my list anyway, sir.”

“List?” a familiar voice asked from behind the commander.

Commander Holleran chuckled as he entered his subordinate’s office with Eddie right behind him.  “You can ask Lieutenant Parker about that later, Sergeant Lane.”

“Yes, sir,” Ed acknowledged; he looked around Greg’s office with a mix of curiosity and regret.  For his part, Parker squirmed.  His office was still plain and impersonal; he was so busy trying to master his new role that he hadn’t given much thought to personal knick-knacks.

Lifting his chin, the lieutenant eyed his guests.  “Is something wrong, sir?”

“Not at all, Lieutenant,” Commander Holleran replied.  “Sergeant Lane came to me to report in on Team One’s retraining and I want him to brief us both.”

Understanding broke through and Greg nodded.  “Because I’ll be the main point of contact for the Sergeants once I’m up to speed.”

“That’s correct,” Holleran confirmed.  “Until you’re cleared to work fulltime, I’ll still be the point of contact, but this will get your feet wet.”

And it would be with a friendly face; Greg knew perfectly well that most of the SRU Sergeants would test him in their own way, prodding for any weak points they could use to their advantage.  It was simply the nature of the job and the inevitable jostling for position.  Up until his new role had been created, rank in the SRU had been almost nonexistent.  They had constables, sergeants, and a commander.  That was it, hence why an experienced team leader like Ed had still been just a constable.  With no ‘extra’ rank to be had, human nature had provided a sort of pecking order within the teams and within the Sergeants.  Greg had played the game, of course; everyone did; but his reputation had stood him in good stead, keeping the antics from his fellow Sergeants to a minimum.  Now he was ranked above them and the status quo had been obliterated.

Setting that ‘happy’ thought aside, Greg shifted in his chair.  “Sir?  Are we going to do this in my office or yours?”

“Yours will be fine, Lieutenant,” Commander Holleran replied, discreetly gesturing Ed to the two plain chairs for guests and grabbing the more comfortable one for himself.

For an instant, Ed looked utterly unnerved, then he growled under his breath and picked up the second chair, hefting it to a spot in front of his lieutenant’s desk.  The wariness returned as he sat and Parker winced internally.  To be put on the spot with both of his bosses had to pushing a few of Eddie’s buttons, even if it was for a good cause.

“How are they doing, Ed?”  Not as impersonal as he should be, but Greg didn’t care.  He knew Team One and they knew him.  No point in pretending his years of being their Sergeant hadn’t happened.

“We’re having some bumps,” Ed admitted, subtly relaxing.  “We haven’t had any calls this week, though, so we had time.”

One brow arched.  “How’s your vision?”

The sniper fidgeted.  “I don’t need my scope anymore,” he admitted.  “Actually, it started getting in my way.”  He twitched again.  “My hearing’s better than it used to be, but mostly it’s the vision.”

Greg nodded, though he frowned.  “Would a higher powered scope help?  Something that can go even farther than your current one?”

Ed considered, but finally shook his head.  “I don’t think so, Boss.  Might go to a higher end gun shop and take a look at what kinda scopes they got, but I think the hawk’s got ‘em all beat.”  With a tiny sigh, the sniper rubbed the back of his neck.  “Jules and Wordy are a lot stronger than they used to be.  I made ‘em both go all out so they could see what they could do, then back to basics until they have it under control.”

“Just like what we did,” Greg mused.  “No one else has increased strength?”

“Not combat-wise,” Ed replied.  “Sam, Spike, and Lou are all faster; they could probably outrun an Olympic sprinter if they wanted to; and their endurance is a lot higher, too.  If they go flat out on the treadmill, they can all go at least fifteen minutes.”

“And longer if they’re not at full speed,” Parker concluded, earning a nod.

“Word can’t run as fast, but he can beat everyone except Sam at the endurance game and I’m having trouble finding a weight level that gives him a challenge.”  Ed huffed something like a laugh.  “He’s basically gonna be able to handle entry all by himself.  We won’t need a ram when he can just kick the door down.”

Greg frowned.  “That would give him away, Ed.  Have you had him try using the ram?”

The Sergeant jerked and shook his head guiltily.  “Not yet, Boss.  He and Jules are still struggling with holding back.  Once they get their strength under control, I’ll have him try the ram, Boss.  Both solo and with the others.”

“Jules, too?”

“Prob’ly,” Ed murmured.  “She’s up to max weights, but she can’t lift as much as Wordy can.  Right now, her hang up is takedowns.  She’s got more agility than she knows what to do with.”

Parker considered that, letting his mind go to work.  “Didn’t she do some gymnastics at one point, Ed?”

Lane’s jaw fell open, then he grinned.  “I’ll ask her; if she did, that’ll be a big help.”  He nodded to himself as the implications spun out in front of his eyes.  “Might help Lou, too.”

“Lou?” Greg echoed, then hazel narrowed.  “Lou has increased agility.”

“Yep.  He can’t run as fast as either Spike or Sam, but he’s been untouchable ever since he got the fox instincts to click during a fight.”

Parker leaned forward, intent.  “Who’s got the most speed?”

“Spike, but he’s gotta work for it.”

Greg made a thoughtful sound.  “Spike does triathlons, so that might be more than just his Animagus form.”

Ed grumbled under his breath about Spike’s legendary avoidance of the weight machines, but inclined his head in agreement.  “Sam seems to be the most rounded.  He’s got speed, he’s got endurance, and he might not have more strength, but his hand-to-hand is better than ever.”

“Has anyone lost abilities?” Parker pressed.

His Sergeant had to think about that, expression shifting as he measured and weighed his constables’ performances.  “I wanna say no, but Wordy’s been having a little trouble with his hand-to-hand.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Ed frowned, thinking though his answer.  “If I can get his head in the fight, his biggest problem is keeping from punching too hard, but it’s like he’s been rewired to back down from fights.  And yesterday, I slammed my locker door and he jumped a foot in the air.”

Greg’s breath caught.  “Ed.  That sounds like his Animagus instincts are more active than they should be.”

The lean sniper stiffened.  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” he promised.  “Any ideas on how to fix it?”

“None off the top of my head,” the lieutenant admitted.  “But if it goes on for more than another week, have him schedule another appointment with Healer Queenscove to get his core checked.”

“Copy,” Ed acknowledged.  “I was thinking, once you’re a little better, we could get you back in workouts.  Get back up to snuff with your hand-to-hand.  They’re gettin’ there, but you’re even better than I am at hand-to-hand now.”

Greg twitched a smile.  “I might see things you don’t?”

“That’s the idea, Boss.”

The lieutenant considered his friend’s proposal, weighing his options and the hang ups that his former team was experiencing, then leaned forward.  “Ed, tell me exactly what they’re having problems with.”

Ed leaned forward himself, expression intent.  “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we need to nip any bad habits in the bud.”

The Sergeant twitched a grin.  “Copy that, Boss.”  With that, the two men fell into a familiar, effortless give and take as they discussed the retraining efforts and what could be done to speed the process along.  After all, the sooner Team One could get back in action, the sooner the SRU would be back at full strength.

* * * * *

Commander Holleran slipped out of the office without either Lane or Parker noticing, smiling to himself.  His new second-in-command was proving all over again why the commander had wanted him for his new role.  In spite of his lingering injuries and complicated recovery, Parker was leaps and bounds ahead of what Holleran had anticipated.  He’d expected to start Parker off with a small number of forms and work him up from there, but already Parker was managing to tackle roughly half the forms he’d eventually be responsible for.  The workload was still very light – not even a third of what it would be eventually – but that was largely due to Parker’s medically reduced hours and the simple truth that he’d need more than just a week to learn all the ins and outs of his new job.

And now he could simply send Sergeant Lane to Parker whenever the man needed to report.  Lane was used to reporting to Parker anyway, but the differences in location and subject matter would start easing both men into the new authority structure.  Holleran wouldn’t send any of his other Sergeants to Parker until his lieutenant had more of a handle on his role and was medically cleared for a full day’s work, but the familiarity of working with Team One would do his lieutenant a world of good.

“Sir?” Kira asked, drawing her commander’s gaze.

In two steps, the commander reached the dispatcher desk.  “Yes, Kira?”

She bit her lip.  “The IT department is demanding your authorization before they’ll give Lieutenant Parker’s new laptop access to our database.”

Commander Holleran sighed to himself.  “Thank you, Kira; I’ll deal with that now.”  With that, he headed back to his office, good mood dampened.  And yet…it wasn’t.  His top team was getting back in the game, ironically better than ever, and his second-in-command was finding his feet.  It was hard to get too upset with facts like that brightening his day.

Chapter Text

Wordy hadn’t been a happy camper when he found out Shelley was actively helping his boss find and rent a new apartment.  He would’ve much preferred to keep Sarge in his family’s guest room for another month or so and not just because having his boss close by was a safety net of sorts.  After what he and Sarge had gone through in those hours after their forced Animagus transformations, after what Sarge had gone through as his magic truly remerged with his soul, Wordy had wanted to keep a very close eye on him.

But Shelley had put her foot down after Sarge had introduced his son to Marina; both she and Sophie had been livid with Sarge and Wordy hadn’t been all that happy himself when he found out Sarge had let Marina get away with completely ignoring Lance and Alanna.  Sarge didn’t seem to realize he was treading on thin ice – ice that was getting thinner each time he let Marina treat his nipotes like interlopers.  Frankly, the rebellion from one or both teens was going to be extremely well-deserved as far as the women were concerned and Shelley hadn’t wanted it happening in her house.  Hence her very efficient efforts to help Sarge get a new apartment and move into it within the span of a single week.

The big constable was wary of angering his wife any further – as far as Shelley was concerned, Sarge had dismissed her warnings and she didn’t appreciate that – but that didn’t change the fact that Sarge’s usual sounding board didn’t have a clue what he’d gone through.  After some careful thought and calculation, Wordy opted to give Shelley a week to calm down and then he’d find some time to drag Sarge out somewhere to talk.

Preoccupied with Sarge’s troubles, it hadn’t occurred to Wordy that simply transforming into his Animagus form wasn’t the end of the transition from ‘ordinary’ Squib to Animagus Squib.  Then he’d arrived at work on Monday morning and found out his team was on secondary status until they were done ‘retraining’.  Naïvely, he’d thought retraining would take all of an hour, maybe two.  He’d thought that right up until Ed told him to hit the punching bag with everything he had.

Ten seconds later, the whole team was gawping at the broken chain, the hole in the bag – and the dent in the wall that hadn’t been there before.  Wordy squirmed as his teammates turned to stare at him, torn between dismay and awe.  Seriously, what was going on?  It wasn’t like he was Captain America.

“Still think we don’t need retraining, Word?” Ed questioned, tone light, but expression intent.

His jaw worked, but no sound came out.

“Just be glad the Boss and I knew this was gonna happen.”  Light blue narrowed and his Sergeant pointed to the bag.  “What if that had been a subject?”

Wordy blanched.

Without waiting for a reply, Ed turned to the rest of the team.  “None of you are going to have exactly the same abilities; I picked Word for the demonstration ‘cause I was pretty sure he’d be able to break the chain.”

“Horses are strong,” Jules murmured.

“Yeah,” Ed confirmed.  “Plus I looked up draft horses; they’re big on brute strength.  I can make some guesses for the rest of you, but we’ve got to figure out what you guys can do and how you can do it before we can deal with anything else.”

Gazing at the broken punching bag and imagining what his punch could’ve done to a subject’s chest, Wordy couldn’t help but agree.

* * * * *

The easy part was figuring out what he could do.  Then came the much harder part – learning how to hold back without holding back too much.  Never before had regulating his strength been such a struggle for the big man, but he did understand why it was happening.  All his muscle memory and training was tailored for his previous level of strength.  While he’d definitely gained strength over the years, it had happened gradually, allowing him to adjust without even noticing.  With the sudden, extreme increase in his abilities, he was essentially starting from the ground up as he sought to unlearn prior habits and engrain new muscle memory all at the same time.

None of his teammates had it any easier, not even Ed.  Although his Sergeant didn’t have increased strength, speed, or agility to deal with, he’d found out fast that super-vision and super-hearing were nice to drool over, but a royal pain to have.  The whole team was treated to his strident complaints when he figured out his sniper rifle scope was actually inhibiting his shooting ability.  To say nothing of the pricy noise-canceling shooting muffs he’d had to go out and buy right after his first time back in the range.

Sam, Spike, and Lou were all but outrunning the treadmills and Spike was complaining that he wasn’t getting enough of a challenge – a surprising thing to hear from the team slacker.  Not that Spike wasn’t up to SRU requirements – he was – but his teammates knew perfectly well that he didn’t enjoy that part of the job.  Sam’s agreement with Spike’s complaint wasn’t quite as surprising, but Wordy did take note that the two canine Animagi had very similar physical enhancements.

Jules almost had it worse than Wordy did; with both increased strength and a big cat’s agile frame, her chances of unintentionally hurting a subject were far too high for comfort.  Ed was drilling her on safe takedown procedures, but her inner jaguar’s excitement at a ‘hunt’ kept intruding and pushing her into lethal maneuvers; she had yet to move beyond the magical ‘dummies’ they were all training with.

They were getting better – slowly – and yet Wordy dreaded their first hot call if they couldn’t get themselves completely under control.

* * * * *

The continuing lack of any hot calls during Friday’s shift was a relief and Ed even appeared to have hit on a breakthrough at some point during the morning.  After a quiet talk with Jules, he sent her to the mat without a training dummy and left her alone to practice gymnastics of all things.  The Sergeant called Lou, Sam, and Spike over as well, speaking to them in a low tone before the three men headed outside.

Mentally, Wordy swallowed as Ed came over to him.  “What’s the plan, Boss?”

“You in the ring with me, Word.”

“But what if I hurt you?”  The question slipped out without thought; yes, he’d sparred with Ed over the past week, but each time, he’d done it after several rounds with a training dummy to make sure he wasn’t hitting or kicking too hard.

“You won’t.”  Confidence rang, backed by Ed’s calm expression.  “Word, if you’re afraid of failing, it’s going to get in your way.  You got this.  Believe that.”  A tiny grin quirked.  “And believe I know what I’m doing.  This isn’t my first rodeo, buddy.”

“Copy.”

* * * * *

The first round was nerve-wracking – right up until Ed slammed him to the ground and glared at him.  The second round didn’t go much better and Wordy felt his ego kick in.  He could fight better than this…but what if he hurt his boss?  What if he hurt his friend?  While he was still pondering that, Ed kicked his feet out from under him.

“Wordy,” his Sergeant growled.

The brunet flinched and pushed himself back up to a standing position.  “Copy, Boss.”

Without warning, Ed swung, angling for a sucker punch; Wordy dodged without thought, training kicking in with a vengeance.  The other man pressed him hard, never giving him an opening or time to think as the blows rained down.  Instinct screamed and Wordy went low, trying to escape, but Ed wouldn’t let him.  In the back of his mind, a stallion’s fierce pride rose, fight-or-flight firmly shifting to fight.  The constable swung, but Ed slid away from him, diverting the blow with a smooth efficiency he’d never had before.  Wordy growled, indignation swelling – if Ed wanted a fight, he was sure gonna get one.  Red tinted his vision and it was his turn to go on the offensive, training and stallion pride combining to make him a lethal combatant.

Closing with his opponent, Wordy unleashed another punch – but it never connected as his wrist was seized from the side and he was thrown off balance.  His new opponent continued the maneuver, yanking his arm forward and turning so that Wordy slammed into the guy’s shoulder.  Then Wordy’s world turned upside down as he was flipped, landing on the mat with a whoof.

“Ed?  You all right?”

“Fine, Boss.”

As adrenaline faded, shame rose and Wordy turned his head away.  He’d very nearly unleashed every bit of his strength on Ed, on one of his best friends in the world.

“Wordy.”

Guilt shone in gray eyes as he looked up at the man kneeling next to him.

“Ed knew what he was doing, Wordy,” Sarge informed him.  “I told him to goad you, to push you into a corner and not let up.”

“Why?”  Puzzlement crept in.

One hand dropped to his shoulder and squeezed.  “Wordy, you might not be in your form, but the instincts are still there.  They’ll control you if you let them and you needed to see what that’s like.”

Fresh shame erupted; he’d been letting his Animagus instincts run the show all week, ever since he’d hit that punching bag and seen what he could do.  Awkward, Wordy pushed himself to a sitting position on the mat and gazed up at his two bosses.  “Sorry.”

“For what?” Ed asked, crouching down next to his two friends.  “The Boss was right there; I knew he’d jump in before either of us got hurt.”  He reached forward, tapping Wordy’s chest.  “You know what it feels like now, so now we can work on not letting ‘em out.”

Understanding finally broke through.  “I had to lose control to get it back.”

Sarge beamed.  “Absolutely correct, Constable Wordsworth.”  A gleam joined the triumph.  “Now let’s try this again, Wordy.  But you won’t be up against Ed.”

Wordy wanted to argue, wanted to ask if Sarge was cleared for hand-to-hand.  But he knew why Sarge was insisting.  It was the same reason he’d insisted on the Animagus transformations.  If he didn’t get up and fight again, right now, it would be all the harder when he came back the next time.  So he nodded and clambered to his feet.  “Copy that, Sarge.”

* * * * *

By the time Sarge was satisfied, Wordy was sweating and exhausted.  Sarge was supposed to still be among the ranks of the injured, but that sure wasn’t slowing him down a wit; Wordy felt thoroughly pounded and yet all he had were a few bruises and sore muscles.  He hadn’t been able to even touch his boss – his boss who was also supposed to be the worst member of the team at hand-to-hand combat.  Yeah, right; Sarge had to be a freakin’ black belt.

Ed drifted over as Sarge moved onto his next victim…er, sparring partner – a nervous, vibrating Jules.  Wordy blinked at the water bottle his Sergeant offered, then gave his friend a wan grin and a nod.  “Thanks, Boss.”

“Surprised you, huh?”

Wordy gulped down half the bottle before responding.  “I thought he was on desk duty.”

“We wrangled an exception from Holleran after I showed him your punching bag.”

The big constable winced.

“Word.”  Ed waited for the brunet to look at him.  “It was one thing for me and the Boss to take things slow.  He’s a negotiator; he’s not usually in the thick of things.  Plus we had to figure out what the heck we were doing.”

“But I’m on the front,” Wordy murmured.  “Same with Spike, Sam, and Lou.”

“And Jules,” Ed tacked on.  At his constable’s askance look, the Sergeant shook his head.  “Commander Holleran is giving us a permanent exemption from the seven-man rule.  Once the Boss is cleared, we can drag him out on hot calls again, but even then we’re gonna be running with six men most of the time.  I bet he’ll come as often as he can, but he’s the SRU’s second-in-command now, buddy.  It’s always gonna be tighter for us.”

“Copy that,” Wordy acknowledged.  Still, getting to keep Sarge was more than worth the hassle of permanently adjusting to a six-man team.  “So since Sarge can take more of a hit…”

“Yeah,” Ed confirmed.  “Jules has the same problem as you.  She’s gotta cut loose before she can hold back.”

Wordy frowned; sure, he could hit hard, but if Sarge wasn’t careful, Jules could really hurt him.  Absently, his gaze returned to the mat and both brows rose.  Jules was literally growling in frustration; Sarge was dancing just out of reach, slipping away every time she came at him.  As Wordy watched, eyes widening in undisguised shock, Sarge closed the distance and treated Jules to the same flip he’d used during their spar.  Jules twisted in midair, managing to land on her feet; snarling, she went for Sarge, but he blocked her, forcing her backwards with a skill born of training, instinct, and experience.  Then he moved, in a manner that looked like a takedown, but wasn’t anything Wordy had ever learned.

Jules’ yelp was very catlike as she finally landed on her back.  Sarge pinned her, speaking quietly, but Wordy was fairly sure he knew what it was.  His teammate stiffened, then relaxed as their boss kept talking.  Well acquainted with the shame Jules was experiencing, Wordy turned back to his Sergeant.  “So what’ve you got the others doing?”

“Running laps in full gear until they get tired,” Ed replied.  “Way the Boss figures it, Lou will probably come in first.”

“And the others?”

The sniper shrugged.  “They’re a tossup.  Wolves can go all day and the same’s probably true for wild dogs.”

Wordy nodded thoughtfully.  “Then what?  Sarge might be wiping the floor with me ‘n’ Jules, but you can’t tell me he’s got enough in the tank for all of us.”

“Maybe not, but I do,” Ed pointed out.  As Wordy digested that, his bald Sergeant added, “We can’t treat him like an invalid forever, Word.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but…”

“Not saying I’m thrilled either,” Ed interrupted.  “But the Boss needs this.  He needs to know that not everything in his life is gonna change.  He can’t do paperwork like he used to till his hands heal up, but he can do workouts and sparring if we’re careful.”

“Workouts and sparring with us,” Wordy whispered, understanding.  “But Ed, this is normal?”

“For him?  Word, it’s a darn sight closer to normal than he’s had ever since he came back.”

Wordy considered that as he watched Sarge coach Jules through the worst of getting a handle on her jaguar instincts.  Weird as it was, he could see Sarge’s relief to have something so ‘normal’ to do.  But behind that relief was an aching grief and guilt.  Sarge was struggling and he needed support that Ed just couldn’t offer.  He could, though.  And he would.  None of this was Sarge’s fault and it was about time Wordy reminded him of that fact.

* * * * *

It was harder than he expected to get a six pack of lemonade.  In the end, Wordy had to give up on the six pack and buy the bottles individually, much to his disgust and the dismay of his wallet.  But given how often Sarge had had to guzzle Coke while undercover, his boss was probably going to be a very happy man if he never had to drink soda again in his life.  Well…maybe it wasn’t that bad, but Wordy didn’t regret his choice of drink for their discussion.

Shelley suggested a drink carrier and pulled one out of their freezer, promising that it would keep the drinks colder for longer.  Wordy was rather skeptical, but thanked his much-smarter-than-him wife and headed for Sarge’s new apartment.  Once there, it was easier than he’d anticipated to wrangle Sarge out the door.  Dean was so busy pestering his cousins for more info on magic that he only paused long enough to say good-bye to his father before going right back to pestering Lance and Alanna.  Amused, Sarge waved Wordy ahead of him and out the door before locking it behind them.

* * * * *

At the park, Sarge blinked at the lemonade, then smiled and Wordy knew he’d judged the situation correctly.  He hoped he’d picked the right park, too.  It wasn’t as neatly trimmed as most of the city’s parks, but it wasn’t a wildlife preserve either; Wordy hadn’t wanted to stir up any bad memories right when he was trying to get his boss in a safe place to talk about it.

The two men wandered through the park, Wordy carrying Shelley’s drink carrier and Sarge sipping at the first bottle.  The banter flowed with ease, mixed with the woes of their first week back at work.  Wordy was undeniably curious about Sarge’s new job and pleased to hear that his recovery was largely back on track.  Sarge teased him gently about the retraining and Wordy was quick to counter that their breakthrough had been thanks to Sarge’s greater experience.

The topic slipped to family and Wordy listened as his boss talked about all three of his kids, awe bleeding through as he described how they’d meshed already, forming bonds almost overnight.  It was still early days, but Sarge was confident they had a good start to lifelong friendships.  Wordy kept his grin to himself.  For all that Dean had been out of his father’s life for a decade, he seemed to see Sarge as a hero to look up to and emulate.  Only Sarge… only Sarge could go from a son who didn’t want anything to do with him to a son that practically idolized him.  Still…it was something to keep an eye on, particularly given what might happen when Sarge fell off that pedestal.

An hour slipped away as they talked and bantered, but Wordy didn’t mind.  Yeah, he’d set their weekend meeting up with a different purpose in mind, but Sarge needed the normalcy only innocent chatter and easygoing banter could provide.  Even as he watched, tension was easing out of his shoulders and the stress was melting off his face.  Not eliminated, but lifted for the moment.

It couldn’t last forever, though, and both men knew it.  So, with a tiny sigh, Wordy gestured to a bench nearby.  “Sarge, got a minute?”

Sarge stiffened and Wordy hated to see it, but they really did need to talk.  After a moment, Sarge nodded and followed his constable to the bench.  “What’s up, Wordy?”

Wordy waited until they were both sitting down, then looked his boss in the eye.  “How are you, Sarge?  Really?”

The older man tensed again, then he sighed and let himself slump down.  “I should’ve known you wouldn’t let it go.”

“Sarge…I’m not Ed, but what we went through…what you went through…  If you don’t talk about it, it’ll tear you up.”  He let that statement hang, then coaxed, “Well?”

Silence filled the air, the sounds of laughter and insects filtering in.  Then Sarge forced a limp smile.  “Wordy, don’t compare yourself to Eddie.  He wouldn’t ask, he’d just keep pushing until I snapped at him or talked.”

“Copy.”  But that wasn’t the end of it and they both knew it.  Wordy waited patiently, cocking his head to listen to the park sounds in the meantime.  Sarge was worth waiting for and pushing him wouldn’t help.

“The nightmares aren’t as bad.”  The words were abrupt, torn from the depths.  “I used to wake up in a cold sweat, convinced I’d done something worse to you guys then just the sleep commands.”

Wordy’s breath caught in horror.  “You didn’t.”

His boss twitched.  “No,” he agreed softly.  “But…”  He stared down at his hands.  “This is still my fault.”

“How you figure that, Sarge?” Wordy pressed.

A bitter smile.  “Not a single one of you asked to be magically bound to me for the rest of your lives.  You didn’t ask for magic or the Animagus forms.  And you definitely didn’t ask for your trust in me to get tainted and dialed up past eleven.”  Tears formed.  “You didn’t ask to end up trusting me so much that I can control you.”

“None of that is your fault,” Wordy countered, not an ounce of give in his voice.  “Your magic was babbling about that demon guy from the Netherworld.  I say we blame him for everything and move on.”

Sarge laughed.  It was a short, bitter bark, but it was still a laugh.  “I still have to live with it, though, Wordy.”

The brunet frowned.  Much as he wanted to deny it, Sarge was right.  He did have to live with it.  They all did.  “It’s not all bad, Sarge.  Once we get the hang of it, we’ll be better than ever.”

“You shouldn’t have to get used to it,” Sarge snapped.

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda, Sarge.  I don’t mind and I don’t think the others do either.”  Gray eyes narrowed.  “What happened to trusting Aslan, Sarge?  What happened to letting Him help you?  Or is it just easier to blame yourself and try to fix everything yourself instead of asking for help?”

Sarge flinched and stared at the ground.  Wordy opened his mouth, then stopped and waited.  Sarge was thinking, thinking hard.  Thinking was better than guilt.  At least he thought so.  The buzz of the park filled the air and Wordy smiled to himself at the gleeful shrieks of children.

“I thought it would get better.”

Wordy’s attention snapped to his boss.  “It did.”

Sarge attempted a smile, but it fell flat.  Gently, he tapped his chest.  “In here.”

The brunet considered, then huffed.  “He said He’d give you strength, Sarge.  Said He’d help you, but He didn’t say anything about making everything better all at once.”

Hazel lowered and Sarge drew in a deep, shuddering breath.  “Copy that, Constable Wordsworth.”

“So maybe you need to ask again,” Wordy suggested, leaning forward.  “Maybe you just have to ask and keep asking.  I don’t know for sure, but I get the feeling He likes to be asked.”

“Just ask?”

Wordy debated, then shook his head.  “No.  Maybe what we gotta do is pick one thing and ask about that first.  The biggest problem we still got, the thing that keeps you up at night and keeps tearing away at you.”

Consideration shone.  “Start small,” Sarge mused.  “But…He could fix it all at once.”

One eyebrow hiked.  “Yeah, I bet He could.  But what good’s that gonna do us, Sarge?  If He just went around fixing everyone’s problems, no one would ever learn.  We’d just keep getting ourselves in the same messes ‘cause we’d never have to face the consequences.”

Very, very softly, the Boss whispered, “It hurts.”

Reaching out, Wordy rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “I know, buddy.  I know.”

And if a tear slipped down Sarge’s face, Wordy would never, ever tell.

* * * * *

Hard won instincts told Wordy to back off in the wake of Sarge’s soft, anguished confession.  There was really only so far you could push a man and Wordy was fairly sure they were near that limit.  So he stayed quiet and simply offered another bottle of lemonade as Sarge struggled to regain his composure.  The older man dredged up a tiny smile as he took the bottle and stared down into the depths of store-bought lemonade.

“The links.”

Wordy cocked his head at the non sequitur, but he knew what his boss meant.  “Not exactly starting small there, Sarge.”  The brunet hesitated, then blurted, “And would you really want that, Boss?”  Unable to help it, he shivered at the thought of losing that steady, firm reassurance.  Maybe he hadn’t wanted it in the beginning, but to lose it now…he wasn’t sure he could survive that.  It was part of him, tangible proof of his unshakeable bond with the best friends and teammates he’d ever had in his entire life.

“It would solve our problems, wouldn’t it?” Sarge challenged.  “No more magical commands and you guys wouldn’t be stuck with me for the rest of your lives.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Wordy quipped.  “Besides, you’re forgetting something, Sarge.”  Without waiting for the question, he whispered, “We can’t.  That’s what He told us.”

The older man slumped, turning away.  “Never again can you choose the other,” he quoted bitterly.

“Easy, Sarge.  So we can’t do that one.  Maybe we can do something else.”

A trapped expression flashed, but Sarge nodded anyway.  Silence surrounded them again and Wordy leaned back against the bench, content to wait and let Sarge work through their options in his head.

“The commands.”

The big man frowned, pondering the suggestion.  “I could get on board with that,” he agreed.  “But, ah, didn’t your magic make it sound like the commands are part of the ‘team sense’?”

Sarge’s face fell at the reminder.  “Yeah,” he acknowledged, discouragement flowing over him as one hand rubbed his head and remaining hair.

“Is there any way we could make the orders less effective?” Wordy ventured.  “Give us more of a choice?”

“Only if we could get rid of the tainted trust,” Sarge replied, tone dark.

Wordy blinked at the words.  “Well… why can’t we?”

Sarge stiffened, head swinging towards his constable.  “I don’t even know how my magic did that!” he protested.

“Well, yeah, I get that or you would’ve found a way to fix it already,” Wordy countered in a wry tone.  “But if our trust in you is all outta whack, I’d bet Aslan would be up for helping us fix it.”

For an instant, Sarge went stiffer than ever, then a glitter of hope shone in his eyes.  “You really think so?”

“I think we should get everybody together and see if we can come up with something,” Wordy insisted firmly.  “And if we can’t, then we can ask for help.”  There was a part of the constable that suspected they were doing things backwards, that they should ask for help before going off and making their own plans, but Wordy wasn’t used to asking for help before he’d tried his best.

Deep within, his magic sighed at his stubbornness.  It would be so much easier if he asked for guidance before plunging right into the deep end.  But it was early days yet; he would learn.  They all would.

Chapter Text

Not about to waste any more time, Wordy pulled out his phone to call his teammates as he and Sarge headed back to the parking lot.  Although the ‘team sense’ would’ve been faster, the brunet had a reason for sticking with his phone.  Two, actually.  The most important reason was that until they could fix the tainted trust, just using the ‘team sense’ put more stress on Sarge.  His boss hadn’t said that, but Wordy suspected he was right nonetheless.

Beyond the stress factor was the point that Lou and Sam had brought up.  They were getting used to using magic even when there was a perfectly good tech alternative.  Sure, the ‘team sense’ was a great tool, especially if they landed in situations where the comm wasn’t an option, but a large part of their success in the magical world had to do with their ability to adapt, innovate, and use technology.  Although Wordy knew they’d continue using the ‘team sense’, it was time for them to stop depending on it.  No, they needed to keep their technology edge and what better place to start than with their greatest temptation?

So he dug out his phone and calculated for a few moments before he tapped at the screen and carefully finagled his way through setting up a group text message that would go to their entire team.  Once he had the message ready, he glanced over at Sarge.  “I, um, I added you so we don’t have to set this up again, okay?”

Surprise shone in hazel eyes.  “A group text message?”

Wordy nodded.  “Yeah.  We gotta start somewhere, right?”

Sarge blinked, then he understood and nodded once.  “Copy that, Wordy.”  Digging out his own phone, the lieutenant added, “Ready.”

The big constable sent his message, quirking a grin when Sarge swiped it off his notifications without even looking.  “Ignoring my messages now, Sarge?”

His boss smirked right back at him.  “Only when I know what it says already.”

The brunet chuckled and nodded, conceding the point.  “Spike’s Mom is still outta town, so I suggested we meet at his place.”

Sarge inclined his head.  “Get it done?”

“Well, yeah, it’s just gonna get worse the longer we leave it, Sarge.”

“I wasn’t disagreeing, Wordy.”  The older man hesitated, but his constable understood.

“It’s happening fast, isn’t it?”

A jerky nod and Sarge looked away.  “We don’t know that it is going to happen, Wordy.”

Wordy bit his lip, but shook his head.  “Maybe we don’t, Sarge, but once we got everyone on board, we’ll figure something out.  We’ve lived with this long enough and we’re never gonna get you back for real if we can’t solve this.”

The flinch told him he was right, but Wordy didn’t say anything more.  What was there to say?  Unless and until they could take back their free will, Sarge was going to keep struggling under a load too heavy to carry.  He’d already broken under that weight and unless they could find some way to fix it, he was going to break again.

* * * * *

At the Scarlatti homestead, Wordy took the lead, explaining what they needed – what Sarge needed – to move forward.  He wasn’t surprised when his teammates were caught off guard – yes, Sarge had told all of them about the tainted trust while they were undercover, but all the revelations that night and the subsequent chain of events had driven it out of their heads.  Even Ed, who’d known about the tainted trust for months, was abashed at how he’d forgotten and overlooked the issue.

“So Sarge and I were talking and we figured that even if we can’t get rid of the ‘team sense’ or the commands, maybe we can fix the tainted trust.  Once we do that…”

“…We’ve got more of a choice,” Ed finished, nodding acceptance and agreement.

Wordy squirmed, just a touch.  “Well, Sarge could probably still override us if he really worked at it, but…”

“It wouldn’t be as bad as it is now,” Sam muttered.

Sarge frowned.  “I wouldn’t override any of you,” he protested.

“Yeah, you would,” Wordy countered.  “If it was an emergency, you would.”

Their boss considered the argument, then sighed.  “Point taken.”

“So how do we do it?” Spike asked, glancing between his boss and his teammate.  “What, does Sarge just um…order us to go back to where we used to be?”

“What exactly does ‘where we used to be’ mean?” Jules questioned, expression shrewd.  “There’s no way to know what kind of trust we had in Sarge before Fletcher Stadium, Spike.  We don’t remember and Sarge wouldn’t know either.”

“Besides,” Sam cut in, “Right now, we’re used to trusting Sarge with everything we got.  Even if your idea worked, what’s stopping us from boomeranging right back up?”

“So maybe Sarge has to order us to stick to a lower level of trust till we’re outta the danger zone?” Lou suggested.

“How long would that take?” Sam countered.  “What if that wears off right before we do get used to it?  Then we’d still boomerang back to where we are right now.”  Sharp blue shifted to his nervous boss.  “The safest way to do it is to pick a level and make us stick to it.”

“Forever?” Jules pressed, scowling at her boyfriend’s nod.  “That’s just as artificial as what we’ve got now.”

“And if we go too low, we won’t be able to trust Sarge at all anymore,” Wordy tacked on, a scowl of his own appearing.  “We’d fix one problem and make ourselves an even bigger one.”

“One the Boss wouldn’t be able to fix,” Ed agreed, expression solemn.

“Or at least, not without a lot of work,” Wordy remarked.  “Kinda the opposite of what we’re going for, guys.”

“Okay, so maybe we leave off the permanent part,” Sam muttered.  “But if we go low, then that should keep us from rebounding.”

Lou arched a brow.  “You wanna go on a hot call with a guy you suddenly don’t trust anymore?”

“And worse, you know why you don’t trust him,” Spike agreed, expression fierce.  “We’d destroy the team, Sam.”

“How?” Sam questioned.  “Yeah, we’d know why our trust levels are low, but then we can build them back up.  Just not to the max.”

“How would we build them back up?” Wordy pressed.  “Sarge’s not officially on our team anymore and he definitely can’t go on any hot calls until he’s healed up.”

“Workout room,” Sam countered.  “Sparring.  Stuff like that.”

Sarge grimaced, but it was Ed who replied.  “Friday was an exception, Sam.  After we were done, we went back to Holleran and he made Greg promise he wouldn’t go anywhere near the workout room again until he’s cleared.”  In the background, Wordy winced; Sarge hadn’t looked that bad, but he must’ve been much worse off than he’d let on for their commander to put his foot down like that.  Lane shook his head and drove forward.  “By the time the Boss could get back in there with us, I’m guessing it would be too late.  We’d be used to not trusting him and it wouldn’t matter that our heads know we can trust him.  We wouldn’t trust him, plain and simple.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped and he nodded.  “Copy.”

For a long minute, silence draped the room and Wordy winced as the hope faded from Sarge’s eyes.  Then Jules cleared her throat.  “What if…what if I’m wrong?  What if we do remember what we used to have?”

“What, you think maybe our subconscious remembers?” Lou probed.

The brunette negotiator nodded.  “So what if Sarge tells us to trust him like we did before Fletcher Stadium?  That’s when it happened, right?  If it works and we go with that…”

“…we’d be winding back the clock,” Sarge mused.  “Is that what you’re thinking, Jules?”

Jules nodded.  “Whatever we had then, we know we trusted you, Sarge and we know it was all us.  Maybe we lose what could’ve happened, but we’ve lost that anyway.”

Wordy traded a glance with Ed, slowly nodding himself.  He could live with that.  Rather than an arbitrary level that would come back to bite them later, they could get back what they’d had, right up until Sarge’s tainted magic had decided to make its move and ruin all their days.

“Good thinking, Jules,” Ed rumbled, a pleased expression in his eyes.  “Boss?  You onboard with that?”

Sarge considered, hazel flicking back and forth as he debated.  “I am, Eddie, but I think it should be your trust levels before the Netherworld, not Fletcher Stadium.”

“What, why?” Ed demanded, a beat before any of the rest of them.

Their boss drew in a breath, then replied, “Because before the Netherworld, my magic wasn’t influencing any of you at all.”

A chill ran up Wordy’s back.  “You think our trust in you was already being affected, even before Fletcher?”

Sarge nodded once.  “I can confidently say that the anchors weren’t tainted; my core protected them from that until Fletcher Stadium; but that doesn’t mean my magic wasn’t pushing you and nudging you into seeing me in the best possible light.”

Sam scowled.  “But if we do that, that means we don’t just lose a couple months, that means we lose a couple years.”

“It’s too much,” Lou agreed.  “Sarge, whatever happened before Fletcher, we can deal with it, but going back that far…”

“It’s just like going too low,” Jules opined.  “Yeah, we trusted you back then, Sarge, but not like we do now.”  She hesitated, then amended, “Well, not like we did before Fletcher.”

Wordy could see both sides of the issue, but he agreed with his teammates.  “Sarge, we gotta pick something.  I say go with Jules’ idea.  It’s not gonna be perfect, but it’ll be better, right?”

A stubborn gleam appeared in hazel orbs and for a moment, Wordy was afraid Sarge would just force the issue, but then his boss shook his head.  “That means accepting what my magic did to all of you.”  Intensity shone.  “That means accepting what Tolay did.”

The brunet blanched, finally understanding.  Around them, their teammates stiffened and he felt Ed’s gaze bore into him.  “Word.  What’s Greg talking about?”

“No, Eddie, it’s okay.”  Sarge waited until attention shifted to him.  “The short version is that Wordy and I found out a few things while we were in Texas.”  The lieutenant’s face was pale, but determined.  “Apparently, when I was in the Netherworld, Tolay managed to twist my magic enough that it was already tainted, even before what happened at McKean.”

Wordy sighed heavily.  “That means Sarge is right,” he admitted.  “The only ‘team sense’ that wasn’t tainted was the very first one.  Anything after the Netherworld is suspect.”

“But…if we go back to that,” Sam protested, “What if it affects our trust in each other?”

Silence fell again, because Sam had a point.  Their trust in each other was so tightly woven together that to affect one aspect of it was to affect all their trust.  As the team rookie, Sam was the most likely member of the team to be directly affected by that change.  And who knew what the fallout of their decision could be.  While Wordy had been willing to accept his pre-Fletcher Stadium trust, he wasn’t so sure he wanted his pre-Netherworld trust back.  But he knew Sarge and now that Sarge had made his argument, he wasn’t going to budge.  Not when it came to the very real potential for tainted magic.

* * * * *

Lou thought furiously, dark eyes shifting back and forth as he sought to pin down a possible solution.  There had to be one, because leaving Sarge in the lurch wasn’t an option.  It wasn’t even just leaving Sarge in the lurch, it was all of them.  There had to be some way to fix the problem without acting as though the past two, almost three years hadn’t happened.  He shook the arbitrary trust idea away – that was even worse than ‘resetting’ their trust in Sarge and bound to end badly even if Sarge agreed to it.

But what other plan was there?  They could pick a random trust level or they could try to ‘reset’ their trust levels.  It wasn’t like Sarge could order them to trust him as if they’d never had to deal with tainted magic in the first place…  Wait…  Could he?  Could they?  Lou’s gaze brightened, then common sense whacked him across the head.  Sure, Sarge could give an order like that, but how would that even work?  None of them even had a clue what their trust levels should be, that was the problem they were trying to solve.  Without that knowledge, all they had was some sort of stop-gap measure.  And given the stalemate between Sarge and their team, there might not even be a stop-gap measure.

What they really needed was some way to find out what should’ve happened.  But how?  An idea tickled at the back of Lou’s mind.  What if, what if there was someone who could give them the answers they sought?  Someone who could help them fix what had been broken, seemingly beyond repair.  Do the impossible…

“Hey, guys?”

Lou’s teammates turned, giving him quizzical looks at his tentative, but hopeful tone.

“What if we ask Aslan for help?”

“Aslan?” Jules pressed.  “Why would He help us, Lou?”

The less-lethal specialist fidgeted.  “Well, He’s helped us before, hasn’t He?  And if Wordy and Sarge are right, that demon guy is part of why Sarge’s magic went nuts on him.”

“So because Aslan helped us get out of the Netherworld, you think maybe He’d help us fix what happened there?” Sam ventured.

“I don’t know,” Lou replied honestly.  “But we’re not getting anywhere like this, guys.  Worth an ask, right?”

Sarge and Wordy traded a quick, chagrinned glance, then Wordy arched an eyebrow.  “Worth an ask?”

More sure of himself, Lou nodded.  “We can’t make Him do anything, Wordy.  If we tried that, He’d probably get mad at us.”

Softly, almost to himself, Wordy murmured, “I get the feeling He likes to be asked.”

Sarge flicked a second glance at Wordy, but focused on Lou.  “So what exactly would we ask Him to do, Lou?”

Certainty fled, but Lou refused to back down.  “If it were me, Sarge, I’d ask Him to give us the trust we should’ve had all along.”

Ed’s expression was thoughtful.  “You mean what we would’ve had if not for Greg’s magic twisting everything up?”

“Yeah, Boss.”  For an instant, he hesitated, then Lou plunged on.  “And not just that, Boss.  I’d ask Him to give Sarge the trust in us he should’ve had.”

Hazel snapped against him.  “You think my trust in you is tainted?”

Lou returned the stare.  “Isn’t it?  You’re obsessing so much about our trust getting tainted that you don’t trust us anymore, Sarge.”  Dead silence rang, painfully loud as the truth crashed down.  Softly, in a tone of aching regret, Lou whispered, “Sarge, we get it, but I’m right and you know it.  You let what your magic did to us destroy your trust in us from the inside out.  Even if our trust in you gets fixed, you still wouldn’t trust us.”

Sarge let his breath out in a shudder, impossible grief shining.

“Lou.”  The tan-skinned constable turned to his Sergeant, cocking his head to the side.  “Run with it; come up with how we do it and we’ll do it.”

Lou froze.  Him?  He wasn’t a negotiator – sure, Jules was training him to be their new backup negotiator, but he wasn’t far enough along for something so crucially important.

“Lou, I’ll help,” Jules offered in an undertone, though the whole team heard her.  “But it’s your idea, not mine.  You should take the lead.”

About to reply, Lou froze all over again as a feeling of something brushed against his skin.  He turned towards that sensation and wasn’t surprised in the least to see a Lion in his best friend’s living room.

* * * * *

“Greetings Sons of Adam and Daughter of Eve.”

Inwardly, Greg swallowed hard.  He’d done such a wonderful job of trusting Aslan.  Not even two weeks after surrendering his life to the Lion’s paws and he’d already snatched control back.  Gone right back to trying to solve all his problems by himself.  He knew better – or he’d thought he knew better.  Why couldn’t he seem to stop making the same decisions?

He felt the Lion’s gaze on him and tried not to shudder as Aslan spoke.  “Son of Adam, answer Me truly.  If I do not remove this burden, how then will you respond?”

Parker felt his throat close up.  “You mean, if You don’t take away the tainted trust?” he rasped.

The great Lion inclined His head.

Inside, his heart raged and thrashed, protesting against the injustice of carrying on as he had.  How could Aslan expect him to keep shouldering the knowledge that his friends’ judgment was suspect where he was concerned.  The certainty that he could still control them – and worse, their acceptance of that truth.  Greg knew, with all his heart, that the tainted trust was why none of them hated him for the situation.  They should hate him, but they didn’t.  The taint had done that.  His demonically-influenced magic had done that.  It was wrong.

As soon as Wordy had suggested that they could deal with the tainted trust, he’d clung to that.  Clung to his certainty that surely Aslan would permit that, surely Aslan wouldn’t expect him to endure the tainted trust any longer.  For that certainty to be yanked away…  It stabbed deep into a heart still reeling and left him flailing.  Alone and in the darkness once more.  For if Aslan wouldn’t take the tainted trust away, could He really be relied on?  If Aslan wouldn’t deal with injustice, wouldn’t give him his heart’s desire, then how could Greg trust Him?

Anguish closed in around him and he looked up into those deep amber eyes.  Grief equal to his own gazed back and a small, still whisper echoed in his head.  The times when you have seen only one set of footprints is when I carried you. (3)  “Will You help me?”  His own voice sounded desperate.  Almost shrill.  “Can You keep me from hurting them?”  That was the noble thing to say, right?  Yet his heart screamed out its own plea.  Take it away, please, just take it away.  I can’t take it anymore.

Aslan continued to gaze at him, regal and wild and so impossibly Good.  “And if I do not take away your authority over your own?  What then, Son of Adam?”

Ed opened his mouth and Greg gestured him quiet.  He knew what his best friend would say, but that wouldn’t help.  Not in the least.  This wasn’t about the team, this was about him.  This was about if he was willing to stick by the commitment he’d made or if he’d abandon that commitment at the first sign of things not going his way.  He wanted the tainted trust gone.  He wanted the magical commands gone.  But now the Lion was challenging him; was he willing to accept that Aslan’s strength was enough to get him through?  Was he willing to let the Lion carry him through the trial of being able to control those he cared about?  Much as he hated it and didn’t want to admit it, both the tainted trust and the magical commands had been critical to getting his friends out of Morgana’s trap.  Good had come out of them precisely because they violated his friends’ free will; they were wrong, but Aslan had turned them into weapons against a greater evil.  And if He was demanding that Greg endure, then maybe that cruel mercy would be needed again.

Tears shimmered, unshed, but present.  A lump lodged in his throat, making speaking nearly impossible.  “I will still trust You, Lord.  But I can’t do this by myself anymore.”  Please, take it away.  Don’t make me keep doing this, I’m begging You.

The Lion nodded slowly.  “I have heard your words, Son of Adam, and the plea of your heart.”  Shaking out His mane, His eyes sought each one of them.  “Know this, Sons of Adam and Daughter of Eve; the Gift of Free Will is among the greatest of My Father’s Gifts and I have redeemed it with My very blood.”  Amber seemed to deepen.  “Those of Tash’s ilk ever seek to deny My Father’s Gifts to the race of Men and they despise Free Will even as they twist it to suit their purposes.”  Stepping forward, the Lion continued, “I will grant your request, Son of Adam, but take heed.  Soon a choice will present itself to you and you must choose well, for in choosing one path, you must reject the other.”

“Reject as in?” Greg ventured warily.

Amber locked with his hazel.  “In choosing one path, Son of Adam, you will forever part company with those who choose the other.”  With those words, the Lion breathed out, His power dazzling their sight.  When they could see again, He was gone.

* * * * *

Ed bit back a reflexive gasp as he felt that inhuman level of trust in Greg evaporate.  For a split second, it seemed as though he’d lost all trust in his best friend, then memory rushed through his head.  The feel of those memories was overwhelming, but he endured, holding tight to his own identity as his every interaction with Greg since the Netherworld played out, emotion rising and falling right along with each image.  In the back of his mind, he realized his friend had been right; the trap they’d fallen into had been years in the making, intended to hold them fast in a web of lies and ensure their self-destruction.

In the space of two heartbeats, it was over; Ed lifted his head to meet worried hazel.  Angry indignation stirred in his chest, pumping sheer rage and adrenaline through his veins, but a quiet observation intruded.  If he let his righteous fury destroy his friendship, then the bad guys would win.  They’d get exactly what they’d wanted – Team One turning on each other over a situation that had been truly beyond their ability to prevent.  It might’ve been Greg’s magic, but he hadn’t had any control over it.  It hadn’t been his fault that Tolay had twisted it, no more than it was his fault that Airwolf’s Obscurus had tainted it.

“All right there, Eddie?”

Emotion boiled and the sniper felt his fists clench.  Acid lurked on his tongue, aching to be unleashed, to let Greg know what he thought of the other man’s high-handed interference and willingness to use those magical commands and their tainted trust against them.  But then one last memory flew through his head.  Greg, yelling for them to run.  Fighting with everything he had against Morgana in hopes that he could hold the Witch off long enough for his team to escape.  His best friend hadn’t even been trying to save himself.  Only them.  Was that what Ed wanted?  Did he want his friend to pay for the rest of his life for a situation he hadn’t asked for?  Did he want his brother to keep on sacrificing himself for their sake?

“I thought You gave him a choice, too.”

We wanted him to live.  Never asked what price we’d pay for that, we just wanted him to live.  And Greg had – and every last one of them had paid dearly for that miracle.  But…but they still had Greg.  They still had Lou and Wordy; they still had their team.  Be careful what you ask for; you just might get it.

“Still here, Boss.”  Wry, with humor glinting in his blue eyes.

Hazel warmed.  “Copy that.”

Another gasp wrenched his chest, but Ed swallowed it down.  No, it wasn’t possible.  But it was…the shadows he’d gotten used to seeing in his friend’s eyes had faded away.  The lurking suspicion – not remnants of Elias, as he’d thought, but rather Greg’s instinctive distrust of the taint affecting his team – it was gone.  For the first time in months, Ed was looking at the Greg Parker who’d brought their team through so many hot calls and traumatic events.

It was just a glimpse, but Ed had a feeling that his best friend was finally out of the woods.  He’d never know the depths of the valleys Greg had gone through, but he could see the results.  Stronger, wiser, and refined by fire, Parker was more than ready to step into his new role and job as the SRU’s second-in-command.  They still had to deal with the ‘team sense’ and the magical commands, but now that the tainted trust was gone, the rest was manageable.  No longer was Greg chained to uncertainty and the soul-deep fear of going too far.

Shifting back on his heels, Ed surveyed his teammates.  They were all dazed, still recovering from the abrupt removal of the tainted trust they’d been living with for so long.  He would have to keep an eye on them, make sure none of them took their long-delayed anger out on Greg.  That wouldn’t be fair to any of them.

Closing his eyes, Ed let the memories run through his mind once more and allowed the fury and indignation free rein.  Then he made the conscious decision to let the past go.  Yes, he’d been influenced, every single one of his decisions subtly tainted, but he couldn’t change that.  None of them could change the past, not even Greg.  If he let his resentment remain and fester, it would destroy the fresh start they’d just been given.

“Whoa.”

Ed twitched a smirk as he opened his eyes and cocked a brow at Spike.  “That your professional evaluation of the situation, Constable Scarlatti?”

Dark eyes danced with mischief.  “Sure is, Boss.”

Lane allowed a brief chuckle and turned to their lieutenant.  “I guess we got one last miracle, huh, Greg.”

“So it would seem,” Greg concurred, a warm smile lighting his features.  After a few moments, the smile faded into solemn regard as the veteran officer turned to his teammates.  “I just wanted to say that it’s been an honor to work with all of you.”

“Hey, it’s not like you’re leaving,” Sam protested.  “What’s with the farewell speech all of a sudden?”

“No, I’m not leaving, Sam, but I’m not a member of Team One anymore,” Greg replied gently.  “Even when I’m medically cleared, I’ll have to focus on getting to know the other teams before I can even consider going on Team One hot calls again.”

“Sarge.”  All eyes turned to Wordy and the team leader lifted his chin.  “We get that.  You’re the SRU’s lieutenant now, but that doesn’t change anything.  Not for us.  You are one of us, no matter what.”

“Maybe this time you’ll believe us,” Lou murmured, giving their lieutenant a challenging look.

Their lieutenant fidgeted.  “Please, let me finish.”  At the nods, he drew in a deep breath.  “All of you, this team, it’s the proudest thing in my life.”  A pause.  “Aside from my kids.”  Laughter rippled around the room at the caveat.  “That day, at the fire house, I told Ed that I just couldn’t do this anymore.”  Again, he stopped, gathering up his words.  “Well, I still can’t do this, but now it’s because of my physical injuries.”  Parker smiled, wan but warm.  “But I’m going to get better, guys.  It’s never going to be like it was before; too much has changed for that.  So instead of trying to shoehorn the way things used to be into how things are now, let’s start making something new.  Something better.”  A familiar gleam of determination came to life.  “So in a way, Sam’s right.  This is my farewell speech.”

“Saying good-bye to the old Team One,” Jules finished.

Greg nodded and Ed considered, then flicked a startled glance at Wordy when the other man headed for Spike’s kitchen.  The surprise faded as his team leader came back with a drink carrier.  Six bottles of lemonade were stuffed in the carrier and Wordy had a seventh bottle in his free hand.  “I picked up more while we were on our way,” the brunet explained, passing the carrier to Sam.  “So let’s do this right, guys.”

Ed grinned at his best friend and waited for the carrier to work its way around their circle.  When Lou gave him the carrier, he pulled out one bottle and passed it to Greg, then took the last for himself.  Setting the carrier down on the carpet, he met his teammates’ eyes and lifted his bottle of lemonade.  “To Team One as we knew it,” he announced.  “And to our fresh start.”

Seven bottles tapped together, sealing the toast.

[3] “Footprints in the Sand” by Mary Stevenson

Chapter Text

Dean Parker followed Clark Lane to the high school’s office, still confused.  Just as they reached it, he asked, “So how come Lance and Alanna don’t go to school with us?”

His friend’s shoulder hiked.  “Well, your Dad used to live in a different district for one thing.”

Dean pondered that.  “But he lives in your district now, doesn’t he?”

Clark sighed.  “Yeah, he does, but you weren’t here when they first got kicked out of their old school.”  The teen rolled his eyes.  “I mean, seriously, your Dad actually had Spike pull out primary school educational games from the nineties and they were learning stuff from ‘em.”

The young Parker whistled.  “They were that far behind?”

Clark nodded, expression solemn.  “I don’t know the whole story, but I do know they spent the whole summer in school, trying to catch up enough to stay in their same grades.  Lance didn’t even know how to use a graphing calculator, it was that bad.”

“So they needed a special school for that?” Dean pressed.

“I heard my Dad tell Mom that it’s one of the best private schools in the city, so I bet their family money is paying for it.”  Clark turned, serious and grim.  “Don’t get jealous of them, Dean; they need all the help they can get if they’re gonna live on our side of the fence.”

Dean nodded, thinking that Clark had probably gotten that same speech from his father.  A part of him didn’t get it; from what he’d been able to pick up, his cousins were magical powerhouses.  The wizardy version of Superman with Batman’s wealth and an aristocrat’s pedigree.  With all those advantages, his cousins needed more?

But then he remembered Alanna shyly asking him if he could help her with citing her sources for an English paper.  Lance struggling through a chapter in his biology textbook and the sheer relief on his face when Dean had finally asked if he had any questions.  They knew magic, but when it came to the modern side of life, his cousins struggled.  Made sense, though.  They’d only lived in the technological world for five years, after all.  Everything Dean knew, he’d learned over the course of his entire life.  His cousins were trying, but they just didn’t have the experience to survive outside of their archaic, insular world.

What good was all that magic when they couldn’t use it?  What good was all that wealth if they were dependent on it, unable to get jobs outside the wizarding world?  And that aristocrat’s pedigree?  It only counted in the magical world; not a soul in his world would recognize their status, for good or ill.

Dean pushed his thoughts away as he followed Clark into the office to get his new school schedule.  Getting jealous of his cousins over which school they went to was stupid.  Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what their classes were like.

* * * * *

Lance ignored the quiet snickers from his classmates as he finished writing down all the assignments he’d missed and was now required to make up as soon as possible.  Seeing as he and ‘Lanna were grounded until their thirtieth birthdays, he’d have lots of time to catch up.  Plus, when he considered the results, a few – okay, a lot – of make-up homework assignments weren’t anything to get upset over.

Particularly not with Uncle Greg on the mend, both physically and emotionally.  The Sunday morning after the Saturday he’d gone out with Uncle Wordy had been a shocker for all three teens – Uncle Greg’s smile had been so much more real than it had been in months.  Maybe even years.  He’d laughed, teasing all of them until only a full-fledged prank war would suffice as retaliation.  Even better, they’d had a whole week without Miss Marina coming over at all.  Oh, they’d still been grounded and most of the week had been spent handling the final logistics of Dean’s move to Toronto, but Lance knew he wouldn’t have traded that short, glorious week for anything.

Hope was starting to burn once more, hope that maybe he and ‘Lanna wouldn’t have to leave.  Maybe…maybe he could talk to Uncle Greg about Miss Marina and then maybe Uncle Greg could talk to Miss Marina and Miss Marina would stop treating them like invaders.  He wouldn’t do it right away, though.  No, he could wait until he’d gotten advice at Shiloh.  Best not to rock the boat until then; he would know what to do.  He would know how to approach the situation.

Decision made, Lance nodded to himself and flipped his notebook over to start taking notes on a fresh page.  He had a lot of class work to catch up on and it wouldn’t do to miss anything his teacher said.

* * * * *

Greg Parker bit back a sigh of resignation as a glance down at his laptop’s clock revealed that he’d worked through lunch.  Again.  It hadn’t even been intentional; he’d just gotten so wrapped up in trying to conquer the latest paperwork that he hadn’t even noticed the time slipping away.  His laptop was finally allowed to access the SRU’s database of hot calls and he’d only had one or two questions for Commander Holleran on a few specifics, so he’d been determinedly powering through the paperwork until finally an insistent grumble from his stomach had alerted him to the obvious.

Stiff and hungry, the lieutenant worked his way up out of his office chair and tapped the keys to lock his laptop.  A sound from the door brought his head up to see his boss eyeing him with some concern.  “Lieutenant?  Were you planning on going for lunch?”

A slight flush rose.  “Yes, sir, that’s what I’m doing now,” Greg replied sheepishly.  Gesturing at the computer, his tone rueful, he added, “I, uh, I didn’t realize how late it was.”

Holleran relaxed.  “Understood.”  A chiding smile worked its way across the lean man’s face.  “Give yourself more credit, Lieutenant; you’re doing very well for only being three weeks in.”  Turning, the commander ordered, “Now, come on; you need more than just that bag lunch I saw you come in with.”

“Yes, sir,” Greg conceded, following the other man out of his office.  “What did you have in mind, sir?”

“There’s a new restaurant that just opened up a few blocks from here.  I’ve been meaning to try it out, but it’s been so busy around here that I haven’t had the time.”

“It’s still busy,” Greg pointed out; he knew very well that his commander was still doing most of the paperwork he was supposed to be doing.

Holleran chuckled.  “You’ve shouldered more of the load than you think, Greg.  Now come on, before young Auror Queenscove reports to his father that I’m overworking you.”

Parker bit back a chuckle of his own.  They both knew Neal would do just that, especially if the Auror found out Greg had worked through lunch.  Again.  “Copy that, Commander.”

* * * * *

Lou tried not to groan as he surveyed their latest magic-side subject.  The ragged, rough-looking half-giant had started off ‘merely’ causing a ruckus, but he’d escalated fast.  The terrified little girl in his big, brawny hands gave mute testament to how the subject had reacted to a business owner who’d asked him to move along instead of loitering in front of his store.

“Ah’m not givin’ her back!” the half-giant roared.

“Could you tell me why that is, sir?” Ed asked, tone steady.  The Sergeant had made a snap decision to not add another female to the situation; sure, Jules could probably break the guy in half with her jaguar strength, half-giant or not, but that was beside the point.

The subject eyed Ed with great suspicion, but Lou thought he could see an edge of consideration as well.  “Yeh mean that?”

Ed returned the suspicion with a calm expression.  “I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, sir.”

The half-giant grunted.  “Listen.  That don’ mean yeh’ll do ‘nything ‘bout it.”

“Sir, we’d like to resolve this peacefully without anyone getting hurt,” Ed replied.  “Now could you please explain why you don’t want to let the little girl go?”

The subject grunted again, surveying their entire team with a skeptical eye.  “Yeh Aurors ahe all th’ same.  Yeh don’t care ‘bout ‘nything Ah say.  Ah’m jus’ a ‘alf-giant to yeh.”

Their Sergeant met the challenge without batting an eye.  “Sir, I understand that you have no reason to trust Aurors, but what do you have to lose by answering my question?  If we don’t respond, that’s on us, not you.”

Lou held his breath; it was risky, pushing like that, but all negotiation involved some risk.  The trick was to minimize that risk as much as you could, but people were unpredictable at the best of times.

The huge man gazed down at the little girl in his arms, then up at Ed.  “An’ wha’ if Ah tell yeh she’s ‘ungry?  Wha’ if Ah tell yeh she ain’ had ‘nything to eat all day?”

“He’s lying,” the shop owner snapped from the doorway to his store.  “Why would I starve my own daughter?”

Lou moved, shepherding the man away from the confrontation before his interference could escalate the situation any further.  The wizard resisted, but Lou refused to back down, getting the angry father back inside his shop.  “Sir, you need to let us handle this.  We’re going to get your daughter out of this safely.”

The wizard opened his mouth to bluster, but fell silent as the half-giant’s bellow carried to them.  “Ah seen it with me own eyes!  She’s ‘ungrier than ‘ny youngin shou’ be!  Ah tol’ him Ah woul’ ge’ ‘er sommat to eat an’ he tol’ me Ah couldna.”

Instinct snapped Lou to the side, grabbing the wizard before he could run out of his shop to confront the half-giant again.  “Sir, please, let us handle this.”

“She’s my daughter!”

“I hear you, sir, and I know you’d do anything you could to protect her, but right now, she needs you to help us figure out why this is happening.”  Lou met the wizard’s eyes.  “Now, could you tell me about what’s been going on with this gentleman?”

Fury and indignation blazed, but then the wizard sagged.  “He comes here almost every day.  Abby likes to go out and talk to him and he seems to like her, too, but I never thought it would come to this.”

Lou nodded.  “Has your daughter been eating less lately?  Something small that might give the wrong impression?”

The wizard swallowed harshly and cast Lou a deadly glare, but the constable simply waited him out.  It was natural that the man would take offense to Lou implying that the subject might be right.  Reluctantly, the shopkeeper admitted, “She did get dragon pox a few weeks ago.  We kept her home and when he asked about her, I just told him she wasn’t feeling well.”

The constable frowned to himself.  From what he knew, dragon pox was usually the equivalent of chickenpox, but could become more serious.  “Did she get it bad?”

Sighing, the father replied, “Not badly enough to take her to St. Mungo’s, but I swear, if her temperature had gone up any more, we would’ve.  And getting her to eat had both of us pulling our hair out.”

Ah.  “So she lost a lot of weight that she hasn’t gotten back yet,” Lou concluded.  At the wizard’s glum nod, the less-lethal specialist reached up to his comm.  “Ed, the little girl came down with dragon pox and she’s still recovering.  Father says her name is Abby.”

His Sergeant didn’t verbally respond, but Lou knew he’d heard it.  Wordy cut in, asking the question their negotiator couldn’t.  “Lou, do we know the subject’s name?”

Gazing back at Abby’s father, the constable asked, “Sir, do you know his name?”

The wizard shook his head.  “No, he never buys anything; he just comes by to talk to Abby and then he moves on.”

Lou turned towards the front of the store.  “That’s a negative, Wordy.  Our subject’s only interested in the little girl.”

* * * * *

Ed bit back a grimace.  Innocent the interest might be, but for a cop, adult interest in little children usually didn’t end well for the kids.  Meeting the subject’s gaze, he said, “Sir, one of my Aurors is talking to Abby’s father.”

Disgust shone.  “An’ wha’s his ‘xcuse?  No’ e’ough gol’ fer a lil girl?”

“No, sir, it’s not,” Ed replied firmly.  “Were you aware that Abby was sick with dragon pox recently?”

The half-giant jerked, gazing down at the little girl in his brawny arms.  “Tha’ so, angel?”

The strawberry-blonde head nodded with great solemnity.  “I was itchy all over, Kenny.  Mummy wouldn’t let me go to school or the playground and she said not to itch.”  The little face twisted.  “And Iggy wouldn’t come near me after I sneezed on him and Mummy had to put his fur out.”

“Wh’ didn’ yeh ‘ust sa’ so, angel?”  Chagrin rang, echoed by the half-giant’s expression of pure dismay.

The little girl gazed up at the half-giant innocently.  “You didn’t ask, Kenny.”

Ed bit back a sigh, wondering if little Abby had any idea how much trouble her big friend was in.  The half-giant knew, though, judging by the way his massive feet were shuffling.  Eyeing the Aurors around him one last time, the huge man knelt and let the child down without putting up any more of a fuss.  The little girl skipped away and shrieked in glee as her father emerged from his store and scooped her up.  Wordy and Sam moved in, using cuffs large enough for the half-giant; the subject didn’t resist at all, his gaze fixed on the reunion nearby.

“Wait,” the wizard called before the Aurors could get the subject on his feet.  Walking right up to the half-giant, the shop keep looked the big, brawny man in the eye.  “When you get out, I don’t want you back here.  Not until you explain yourself to my wife.”

The half-giant flinched, but nodded his large head, accepting the ultimatum.  He didn’t resist as Wordy hauled him up to his feet and let the patrol Aurors guide him away.  Behind him, Ed blew out a breath, grateful they’d been able to get the little girl back to her father safely.

Reaching up, he tapped his comm.  “All right, team, good job.  Let’s wrap up with the on-scene Aurors and then we can head back to the barn.”

Acknowledgements flowed in, only for Winnie’s voice to intrude.  “Sorry, Team One; we just got another call in.  Warrant call a couple blocks away escalated into an armed stand-off.  SRU presence is requested.”

“Copy that, Winnie,” Ed replied.  “Route the on-scene commander to my comm and let’s start briefing the situation.”

“Copy,” Winnie said.

Without breaking stride, Ed gestured for his teammates to finish wrapping up the current call and shifted his attention to the incoming hot call.  When his comm clicked in his ear, he said, “This is Sergeant Ed Lane, SRU.  Can you tell me what’s going on, sir?”

* * * * *

Silnok frowned thoughtfully, regarding the goblin in his office.  “You have been contacted by a living computer?  Explain.”

The American goblin grimaced, revealing every one of his sharp teeth.  “Some years ago, a No-Maj in my country built two vehicles capable of acting on their own recognizance.  One was eventually destroyed, but the other is still operational.”

“And?  What has any of that to do with the House of Calvin?”

“The device made contact with one of our partner banks and requested a meeting outside of the wizarding world.  It wishes to come here, but it cannot do so unless it is fortified against magical interference.”

Silnok leaned back in his chair.  “I still do not see the problem.  Surely your branch is capable of such modifications as this, particularly with the monetary resources this vehicle has access to.”

The American goblin scowled.  “We would never be able to reclaim our rightful property from such a creature.”

One eyebrow lifted.  “Our contracts have always stated that our items may be kept by the purchaser until their death.  That this purchaser may last indefinitely does not change our contracts.  On the contrary, I do not believe you see the matter aright.  Simply because this purchaser has the potential for immortality does not mean that potential will be fulfilled.”

“Our managers have declined to take that risk, Account Manager Silnok.  We agreed to supply the creature with fuel enough to reach its destination, but beyond that is your problem.”

Silnok waited until the other goblin was gone to sneer, then flicked a casual glance down at the information his American guest had supplied.  Certainly, the situation presented a challenge, particularly since any failures would result in dire consequences, but that was bound to attract the interest of the very best goblin artificers.  Yes, perhaps it was best the American branch of Gringotts had passed on this particular challenge.  After all, while Gringotts Toronto had disseminated all of the new techniques for modifying non-magical technology to work in the magical world, few branches had found a use for any of the knowledge.  Most of them disdained what Gringotts Toronto was doing, though none of them said so outright.

Fools.  The potential for Muggle computers was vast and, as yet, all but untapped by any magical race.  And a living computer?  Silnok was intrigued by the concept and curious as to how the machine would react to goblin haggling.  From the information he had, it would take the vehicle some time to arrive in Toronto, time enough for Silnok to make arrangements for a meeting location and additional fuel.  Once he had proven his good faith…then, then they would see how this ‘Knight Industries Two Thousand’ would fare.

* * * * *

“Morgana.”

The Witch turned to regard her visitor, a haughty sneer curling her lip.  “What do you want?”

“Do not go near them again.”  The words reverberated around the room.

“And why should I do that?” Morgana demanded.

Her visitor lifted his hand, a image forming above his palm.  “All you accomplished was unlocking their Animagus forms and eliminating Parker’s weakness.  Had you left well enough alone, they would never have discovered their new abilities and Parker would still be ripe for the picking.”

“Ripe for the picking?” Morgana repeated.  “What madness is this?  I know where you stand and it has never been with me.”

The man shrugged.  “Of course it wasn’t.  My loyalty has always been to the Old Religion and you betrayed it when you refused to acknowledge the prophecy.”

“Why should he have Camelot?” Morgana hissed, fists clenching.  “He is just like his father; how proud Uther would be if he could see what has become of our kin today.”

“Had you been patient enough to wait, you would have seen Albion,” her visitor replied.  “But that is all in the past, Morgana.  Heed my advice and stay away from them.”

“And again, I ask why I should do that?” Morgana growled.  “Why should I trust a traitor like you?”

The sorcerer’s gaze hardened.  “If you interfere again, Morgana, then they will gain even more power that they can use against our kin.  Stand aside and you may watch them fall to a threat they never perceived.”

A cunning gleam entered Morgana’s eyes.  “You plot against them?  Why?”

Her visitor caressed his staff, expression thoughtful.  “We are of the Old Religion, Morgana.  The wizards of today are but hedgewizards compared to the power their ancestors wielded.  I intended to reclaim our former glory, but that cannot happen if the Old Magic returns.”  A pause.  “You know of what I speak.”

“I do,” Morgana agreed.  “They will fight you, you know.  I cannot imagine that you will have any greater success than I.”

The smile she received was unlike any she had ever seen on her visitor’s face.  “I do not have to fight them, my dear Morgana.  All I must do is reap the harvest I have already sown.”

A chill of foreboding blew through Morgana’s body.  “What have you done?”

The other chuckled and turned to leave.  “You shall see.  So long as you do not interfere again, all will be well.”  A pause.  “They cannot fight Destiny.”

“You presume too much,” Morgana hissed.  “You assume Destiny agrees with you.”

Deep blue gazed back at her, meeting her emerald.  “Destiny has always been on my side, Morgana.”  With that, wind whipped around him and he was gone.

Morgana le Fay stared at the place where her visitor had been, more chills working their way up her spine.  “There is always a first time for everything,” she whispered.

* * * * *

In a corner of the Netherworld, far from the demons who ruled the realm, a medieval castle sat.  Though it had largely fallen to ruin over the years, once it had been a proud fortress, home to hundreds and protector of thousands.  In the days after its last ruler’s death, it had disappeared from the World of Men, returning to the Netherworld whence it had come to wait for the appointed hour.

An upper middle-aged man made his way through the hallways of his home, ignoring the ache of aging bones and a nasty gash on one hip.  For years he had been the castle castellan, guarding the ruins and the ancient secret they held.  It was a sacred charge, one he had taken up from his father and his father before him.  But it was a lonely vigil; by necessity, he ventured outside the castle but rarely and only visited the World of Men but thrice a year.  The rest of the time, he survived on the castle’s well-stocked magical larder and journeyed through the countless tomes in the castle’s vast library.  Boredom and natural inclination had forged him into a scholar of world-renown, if only because demons were ill-suited for bookish pursuits.

Yet there was an aura of excitement in the castle’s air unlike anything the castellan had ever experienced before.  Only a few weeks before, he’d been awakened by the sound of his door sliding open and the hallway lights shining into his darker chambers.  Alarmed, he’d hurried to the castle’s central control room only to encounter two shades.  Neither of them had registered his presence and Coran had frozen in the control room’s doorway until they vanished, but ever since then, the castle’s magic had been active.

“My old friend.”

Coran paused, turning to regard the ghost of the castle’s former ruler.  As always, he bowed deeply before the ancient king.  “Your Majesty.”

The ghost smiled, but it was not the sad, knowing smile Coran knew so well.  “Tell me, old friend, what say you?”

The old man considered.  “I have never felt such anticipation, Your Majesty.  Has the time come?”

“Not yet,” the kingly ghost replied.  “Soon, very soon, but the hour is not yet upon us.”

Coran bowed again.  “You wish me to make ready, Sire?”

“That is wise,” the king agreed.  “But another matter has arisen, old friend, one which you are most suited for.”

“Say on, Your Majesty,” Coran urged.  “If it is within my meager power, I shall do all I can.”

“As you ever do.”  The ghost nodded to himself, then gestured towards the library.  “Once you have breakfasted, old friend, meet me in the library and I shall acquaint you with our task.”

“As you wish, King Alfor,” Coran said, though he did not bow before continuing his trek to the castle’s smallest dining room.  If his suspicions were correct, he was likely to spend many of the coming days in the castle library researching whatever matter had come to his king’s attention.  It would be best to be well-fortified for such a task.

* * * * *

A blond man frowned as he stood in a very different library, running one finger over the titles in front of him.  He tired of reading, of learning about the world he’d fallen into.  He wanted his wife back.  He wanted his men back.  He wanted his world back.  A sound from behind him made him stiffen and he turned to regard the woman who’d brought him to this place between worlds, trapping him even as she insisted it was for his own good.

“What do you want, Luthien?”

For a moment, hurt shone in her silver eyes, then the star dipped her head.  “I hath brought lunch, Sire.”

Arthur stiffened even more.  “How long do you intend to keep me here?” he demanded.

“Until the Wheel turns, Sire.”

“You say that every time,” the blond knight hissed.

“So I do,” Luthien agreed.  “Dost thou wish to bring thy sister down upon thy friends?”

“How do I even know they’re still alive?” Arthur snapped.  “How do I know you aren’t helping Morgana?”

Luthien’s silver eyes met his, her light blue magic blazing.  “My people follow the Lion, young King.  We do not bow to Tash’s ilk!”  Slowly, she shook her head.  “Thy sister yet seeks thee and she would find thee if thou were not here in my people’s domain.  Thy knights are safe, guarded by my people and thy sister’s blindness, but their time is not yet at hand.”  The star pointed to the shelves behind Arthur.  “I canst not force thee to read what I hath offered thee, but thou wouldst be wise to do so.  There is much thou must learn about thy new home.”

“All I want is to go home to Camelot,” Arthur protested.

“Thy kingdom has long faded into the mists of time, Sire,” Luthien replied.  “Thou canst not turn back time, not even with thy protector’s aid.”

Arthur scoffed.  “What sorcerer would protect a Pendragon?”

“The one thou called brother, even if only in thy heart,” Luthien said simply.  With that, she set out the meal she’d brought for the blond, time-lost King of Camelot.  “When the hour is at hand, Sire, thou will see thy friends, this I swear on my honor.”

Arthur turned away; the sorceress had made the same promise each time he pressed her, but he knew better.  No one so lost to the evils of magic could be trusted.  But he would continue to play along and he would keep searching for a way out of her trap.  Somehow, someway, he would get home to Gwen and the knights and Camelot and Merlin.  He wouldn’t let magic win.

* * * * *

Soon.  Power was gathering, gaining ground with each day.  The Veil between the worlds, once so strong, was fading.  Soon the worlds would meet, on footing far more equal than either side truly understood.  Magic held a strength all its own, but as a group of Muggles and Squibs had proven, that strength could be met and matched with cunning and tactics.  While sheer numbers certainly offered an advantage, it was a bloody advantage at best.  No, the non-magical world’s true advantage lay in the strength of their minds and the innovativeness of their technology.

But battle, once all but inevitable, was no longer a foregone conclusion.  The newborn bonds between the worlds were yet fragile and limited in scope, but the potential was there.  Bit by bit, those born to the non-magical world were beginning to resist the wizarding world’s efforts to sever their bonds to their families.  Many, driven out by the purebloods’ monopoly on the wizarding world’s political power, were learning how to be magicals in a technological society.  Though resentment ran deep, the whispers coming out of Magical Canada intrigued them.  As did the more concrete overtures from certain quarters of the wizarding world.

For the nonce, the barriers remained.  The resentment remained.  But soon all concerned would need to pick a side and the choices were no longer black and white.  From the murk, a third option was emerging, the greatest risk any of them had ever taken.  The end to all that they had known with only the barest chance that their lives would get better.  A slender thread of hope in the midst of endless darkness.

It was a hope that whispered one single truth:  Aslan has landed.

~ Fin