provide the feast

monty rivera | cowboy | zombie

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The cabin PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) & Kaden (@chasseurdeloup) SUMMARY: Monty has something important to ask Kaden. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

—

Of course when Kaden saw him sitting on the porch like that, as if his legs had just given out from under him moments ago (though it had been hours), the man practically threw himself out of his truck, barely taking enough time to turn it off before the door was slamming shut and his feet were carrying him swiftly around the bed and up the steps to where Monty was crumpled over on himself. Whatever was said on the approach and after those hands came to offer comfort and security rolled over Monty like the waves of the lake that lay deeper in the woods. He’d been silent and still for a while now, but finding himself exposed like a nerve to cold air as Kaden worried over him, that fear and guilt and anger all returned, ripping open the wound and working him up again. This time he didn’t try to stop or muffle it, sucking in a shaky breath and just letting it happen. His lithe frame wrapped itself around Kaden, arms clinging to him like the life raft he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, ashamed to have let someone like Hector get to him like this. “I need—we need…” He choked on his own words, not wanting to sound like the man that had left him here on this porch, not wanting to tell Kaden what he needed or wanted. He needed to ask. Fighting to find his voice again, Monty allowed some space to form between them again so he could look at him, arms pulling back to his own chest, tangling there like they might protect him from the bite of such a big request. 

There was a long pause as he built up the courage for it, but he held the other’s gaze, his vision remaining blurry as he tried to blink away the tears.

“... can we leave? This… this place. This town. Just you and me, and the animals. I… I can’t… I think I need to be somewhere else.”

—

There was a lump on the porch that Kaden couldn’t quite make out as he turned into the driveway. His brows furrowed and it was hard to not let his heartbeat run away with him once he realized that lump was Monty. Launching himself out of the truck, He nearly forgot to put it in park. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay? What is it?” He asked what felt like a dozen questions as he crouched down, cupping his partner’s face in his hands and checking over him for any physical damage. Right, stupid, there was no point in looking for that. Any of that would heal damn near instantly. This was something else.

The crease between his nose deepened once Monty finally spoke. Apologizing. Why was he apologizing? What was he apologizing for? Kaden was certain that, whatever it was, it didn’t warrant forgiveness. It was unlikely that the cowboy had done anything wrong in the first place. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, pulling his partner closer to him, waiting until he was the one to pull away from Kaden. 

The silence sitting between them felt like it was expanding, pushing outward until it was pressing on his chest, making it tighter and harder to breathe. 

He knew whatever followed would be a big question, something that was hard to say aloud, but Kaden hadn’t quite expected those words in particular. His own silence followed as he tried to process the question. 

Can we leave? A simple question laced with so much more. Leaving Wicked’s Rest. It had crossed his mind more than once, but there had been Alex and Andy. Then there was Monty and the farm. And then there was Mack and Cass. They all kept him here, tied him to this town.

But now Monty was the only thing left. And he didn’t want to be here. Kaden couldn’t blame him. He looked back at the cabin, the safe haven he held onto in case Alex needed it or needed him. It didn’t have to be here, though. Maybe it shouldn’t be here. 

He brushed the tears away that he could with his thumb as he turned back to look at his partner. It was a simple question with a surprisingly simple answer. “We can do that.” It was hard not to smile a little at the thought of leaving this place behind. The distress coated over Monty was still there. There was a reason he was asking this and asking it now. It finally occurred to Kaden that they were alone there, that a name had been left out of Monty’s list before. “What about Hector?”

—

He wasn’t sure what kind of an answer he’d expected. There wasn’t much tying Kaden to this place — many of the people they’d cared for had left, or… and it wasn’t like this was home for Kaden. He’d come here out of necessity, or maybe obligation, but those things were no longer tying him down. Monty couldn’t say he’d anticipated such an easy ‘yes’, but he was quietly grateful for it. 

Of course, there was the question of Hector. 

It shouldn’t have caught him off guard, but it did. His breath hitched in his throat and he shook his head, trying to decide how much to say. Honesty, he figured, would be the best policy in this situation. 

“No, he — he is —” Monty drew in a breath to steady himself, feeling stupid for having fallen into this trap in the first place. When would he learn? Was that what telling Hector off had been? A lesson? It felt like too little too late, if his current state was anything to go by. “You… were right to have felt unsure about him. He, ah…” A hand came up to grasp weakly at Kaden’s wrist, squeezing for comfort in place of actually being able to make eye contact. “He wanted me to leave you. He wanted… the life we used to have. He’s trying to get that back.” Another sob was trying to claw its way out as Monty was forced to reckon with what that actually meant — what his life had actually been like back then, and who he had really been, as a person. He’d been stupid and cruel, never himself, only who Hector wanted him to be. Only what served their family the best, not who he knew he should have been. He’d never been good, just obedient. “I don’t want it,” Monty groaned, tripping over his own tongue. “I told him to leave. I—I’m—” 

Hector had started to show the truth of his intentions over the last few weeks, but Monty had been too blind to see it. Or perhaps he’d simply closed his eyes, wanting more than anything for this to be a version of the man he’d once loved that he could keep in his life. He knew Hector was right about one thing — one day Kaden would die, and Monty would be alone. He’d hoped that he could turn to his friend, then, but… but not like that. Not acting as his lap dog, not again. “I’m sorry,” the man squeaked out again, the agony of experiencing this loss a second time wrenching the words painfully from his throat. “I should have seen it. I should have known he had not changed. He was saying things, treating me like — like he used to. I should have seen it. I just… I wanted it to be different this time.” 

—

The longer that Monty paused and stuttered, the more concern covered Kaden. He’d been wary of Hector from the moment he stepped foot back in his partner’s life. The timing of his return was suspicious and introduced more questions than answers. Kaden didn’t like it, didn’t trust him, but he wasn’t going to wedge himself between Monty and his best friend— or whatever it was the outlaw was to the farmer. Even then, it was unexpected to hear from Monty that the man wasn’t who he thought. 

There was a sense of relief that washed over him upon learning that Hector was out of their life, at least for now. It was interrupted by a stab of guilt when that was his first reaction. Kaden wanted to be supportive, to see the best in the other man, but there was always something off there. “I didn’t want to be right,” he told his partner. Monty was dodging any attempts he made to make eye contact. That was fine. Instead of meeting his gaze, Kaden settled on the floor enough to pull his partner into an embrace. The hug wouldn’t erase the pain, no matter how hard the hunter squeezed, he knew that much. All he could do was try to soothe some of it. 

He hadn’t even begun to process that Hector had asked Monty to leave Kaden behind, not until he had his arms around the cowboy. It was a damn good thing he was wrapped tightly around his partner because Kaden could feel the rage start to seep in. If his hands were free, he might have taken the time to find Hector and use those hands to deck him. A few times, even. He didn’t even care that the man had insulted him, insinuated that he wasn’t good enough for Monty or whatever the fuck was in his head. Kaden may have even agreed with him in some respect but how fucking dare he walk back into Monty’s life just to use him. Again. To try and steal away his autonomy and ruin his life all for the outlaw’s own goddamn benefit. So yeah, it was better for everyone that his arms were wrapped around his partner, holding him steady, instead of dealing out violence to the source of his pain.

“Hey,” he interrupted as soon as Monty started apologizing. “Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for, got it? You didn’t do this. You’re not the one who needs to apologize.” He wanted to steady his partner’s shaking, steal away the sobs, but the best he could do was simply hold him. “I’m sorry he did this. I’m sorry I didn’t…” Kaden wasn’t sure if he should have intervened earlier, if he should have wrenched Hector’s true intentions from him the second he walked up to the cabin. Probably not. There was no scenario where Monty didn’t get hurt, not so far as Kaden could see. It only solidified his anger. “He probably won’t ever fucking say it but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, mon coeur. You deserve better than this.” 

—

Monty wasn’t sure if he agreed that he deserved better, but he knew that was the voice of the version of him that’d always been happily trapped underneath Hector’s thumb. How different it had all seemed from his new perspective: living a life that certainly had its challenges (the stink of burning hay and corpses never seemed to have left his nose), but had at least shown him what it was like to be respected, and to have his affection reciprocated. He didn’t have to throw himself down to the ground for Kaden to walk upon, and the hunter had never asked anything like that of him. He never would, Monty knew. He was good, kind, and gentle. He was all of the things that Hector had never been, and could likely never be. 

But enough of him. 

Holding Kaden tightly, Monty let his gaze focus somewhere over his shoulder, deep in the trees. “We both do,” he breathed. It wasn’t until he felt that he’d regained some of his composure that he finally pulled back, framing Kaden’s face in his hands. “This place is a poison, mi corazón. And it’s… it seems like it is dying. I don’t want to stay and find out what happens the next time something terrible emerges from the ground.” The overcast sky rumbled in response, a strong wind kicking up around them and blowing dead leaves in every direction. It was only a second later that the rain started, pattering against the roof of the cabin and its deck. Monty let his gaze wander over to the pen where the animals were and shook his head. They had plenty of money to move away from here, Mack had seen to that. Maybe they’d come back some day, if it ever seemed like a safer place to live. Monty wasn’t sure of anything other than the fact that he needed to get away from Hector and whatever he was planning. 

“I will need to… write some letters, I think. But the sooner we are able to get on the road, the better.” 

—

This place is a poison. The skies opened up just in time to cement that statement. Wicked’s Rest had been many things. An escape, a refuge, a new start, and a home. It had also been full of death, loss, and suffering. 

 watched the rain crash onto the dry leaves and grass in the yard just beyond the cover of the porch, absentmindedly running a hand through Monty’s hair as he took it all in. 

The cabin had been Andy and Alex’s. The farm had been Monty’s. Kaden was invited into both, found home in both of them but at the end of the day, neither had felt like his. This wasn’t how he expected this to happen, a result of a cascade of tragedies and hardships, but he felt a spark of hope in his chest. This was a chance for them to find a home together, something that was theirs. Something away from the ashes and scars that covered Wicked’s Rest. 

As easy as it was to feel like there was nothing he was leaving behind, Kaden knew better. He knew it was easier to look ahead than behind and the impulse to start throwing things into the back of the truck was almost too strong to ignore. Monty was right though. It was worth writing some letters, saying a handful of goodbyes. Loose ends worth tying up. “Me, too,” he said with a sigh. “Might see if I can find any last stragglers before we go.” Kaden nodded towards the animals. “Make sure we have enough supplies for them, too.” Not that he knew how far they planned to go. There was something exciting about that, though and he found himself biting back a hint of a smile, even more so when he looked back down at Monty. “You know,” he started, settling against his partner as they were folded up on the porch. They could head inside, sure, but it felt like breaking the seal, like it could take away from the moment. “We can go anywhere we want. Heard this is a pretty big country.” Kaden couldn’t contain his smile now. “Want to head somewhere warm?” 

—

The thought of where they would go hadn’t really crossed Monty’s mind, either. But as Kaden said it, settling in beside him and suggesting somewhere warm, Monty felt the heaviness in his heart lessen just a little. The frustration and aching sadness he felt watching the cold, grey rain soak the world beyond the porch gave way to something lighter as he turned his head to look up at Kaden, seeing the almost whimsical smile that brightened his eyes and finding it impossible not to reflect the same emotion right back at him. 

“Sí, yes, absolutely,” he sighed in relief. “I would give anything to see mesas again.” He was much more suited for a desert than he was the damp, stormy climate that surrounded them now, and if Kaden was offering… They could start looking immediately. Find some kind of homestead that worked for them, pay for it up front, and get on the road. It was doable, between the money Daisy had been setting aside and the money Mack had given them. 

Hector might have gotten the wealth he wanted if only he’d treat people right, Monty thought, bitterly amused at the idea. But that was neither here nor there. He wouldn’t keep lingering on it, wouldn’t let it drag him down any more than it already had. They were free of him, and they’d shortly be free of this place. It was comforting, really. Monty leaned his head against Kaden’s shoulder, already picturing what sort of life they might find for themselves beyond the borders of this northeastern hellscape. He knew it would be good. 

It had to be.

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Kaden's cabin SUMMARY: Hector shows his true colors, and Monty finally makes a stand. CONTENT WARNINGS: Emotional abuse/manipulation

—

“You can’t do this,” Monty pleaded, fingers curling around Hector’s wrist as his arm pressed into Monty’s front, shoving him backward. “Things are not like they used to be — Hector! You cannot do this! You will get someone hurt, or—or killed, or—” His words were cut off by the air being squeezed from his lungs as his back met the wall. He did not need air to breathe, but he did need it to speak. 

Hector towered over him, glaring down at him with an expression that Monty wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on his face. Now, with fear creeping up his spine, he realized he might never have loved this man if such anger had ever been directed at him before. In this moment, unease outweighed care, outweighed the strength of their bond, whittled down as it was by the century plus they’d spent apart and his assumption that Hector had been dead all this time. 

“Why can’t I? Why shouldn’t I? You found the perfect little place here, Montaña. More undead than I’ve ever seen in one place, and more of them struggling to get by than are not. They need someone like me. I know how to bring people together, how to protect them. Have you forgotten?”

“I… no,” Monty argued meekly, tightening his grip on the arm holding him in place. “But you can’t just bend this town to your will. It isn’t like that anymore, it isn’t —”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!” Hector bellowed, jerking Monty away from the wall only to drive him back into it again. The younger zombie’s head cracked against it in a way that should have been painful, but he couldn’t feel it. “I know perfectly fucking well that things are different now. But you did this to me. You didn’t tell me that you were infected, and you — you got all of them killed, Montaña. When you woke up again, you slaughtered them. And the ones you didn’t bother to eviscerate got back up, too, and came for the rest of us. You are responsible for everything that I lost, do you understand that?” Monty felt sick, the guilt twisting up his insides so thoroughly that even the frustration he felt intermixed with it failed to stand strong enough to even put an edge in his tone. He was weak, too weak to bargain with a person like Hector.

“I didn’t know! I swear to you, I didn’t know I was infected. I didn’t know any of this was possible then, I — I promise. Please, stop. Hector, please.” The older zombie drew in a long breath, standing up straighter and letting go of Monty’s shirt. He took only a small step back, still crowding the other’s space, but at least allowing him the room to compose himself. 

“Okay. I believe you. I’m sorry, you know how… well, you know how I can get. I just want what’s best for us, Montaña. You and me.” Monty stole an upward glance at him, shaking his head as he wrung his hands in front of him. 

“... and Kaden?” It was a foolish thing to ask, he knew… but they could keep the fact that Kaden was a hunter secret, right? Hector’s gaze, which had remained fixed on Monty and had softened with the apology, grew hard again. 

“... really?” Monty looked confused, stammering out a few syllables before being cut off. “Montaña, what do you think is going to happen in a few years time? Kaden is mortal. He is going to die to one thing or another eventually, and you will not. Why are you wasting your time with this? You have me. I will be here forever, and I will keep you safe. Forever. This… this thing you have might feel nice, but it is fleeting. You are too different from him. He does not understand you like I do.” Now it was Monty’s turn to look angry, his brows furrowing as he stared up at Hector in disbelief. The fear that had strangled his words melted away as soon as the Kaden was brought into the equation, Monty always having found it much easier to stand up for those he loved versus himself.

“Kaden understands me far more than you do, if you think I would choose you over him,” he snapped, pushing Hector away from him. Hector just scoffed, watching him move toward the door of the cabin for a moment before hurrying to get back in his way, blocking him from the exit. Monty came to an abrupt stop, throwing his hands up in the air. “What! What do you want me to say?! That I still love you? That nothing has changed, even though you shot me and forced me away, even though I have thought you were dead this whole time? Why do you want this? Why now!? You never cared before! I worshiped the ground that you walked on and you only cared about me when I was making you money! Fuck you, Hector. You do not get to decide my life for me anymore.” 

“Montaña—”

“I said get fucked! Leave!” Monty thrust a hand out in front of him, pointing at the door behind Hector, who looked absolutely bewildered and furious. 

“I have only ever wanted to help you thrive,” he bit out. “Nothing has changed! We both made mistakes, but—”

“No! That is the fucking problem, isn’t it? You still treat me like your lap dog! Only good for taking orders, just kept around to make your life easier! I have my own life now, pendejo. I don’t need you. I never did, but I know that now. You are a snake, Hector. All you do is spit venom and frighten people into doing what you want! I am not afraid of you, and I do not love you. Get out.”

“Montaña—”

“Leave, god damnit! Get out of here before I fucking make you!” Monty stormed forward which seemed to startle the other zombie out of his defensive position, and he backed into the screen door, swinging it open behind him. Monty continued to march toward him, following him out onto the porch and watching him descend the steps into the dirt drive. His hands, while clenched into fists at his sides, trembled like leaves in the wind. Hector just stared at him for a few seconds before shaking his head and turning on his heel, walking down the drive and eventually out of sight. 

The moment he could no longer see any trace of the other zombie, Monty sank to the weathered wooden slats and wrapped his arms around himself, fighting the urge to retch as a sob clawed its way out of his throat.

The sun moved across the sky, sinking well below the trees and darkening the air around him as he sat there, unmoving, not even lifting his head again until he heard car tires crunching their way closer. Glancing up, Monty saw Kaden’s familiar truck rolling its way up the bumpy path, and his chest ached.  They needed to talk. They needed to go.

[howdy-cowpoke]

You're not a monster I'm not a monster But we have monsters inside of us

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: A dive bar PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) & Owen (@apaininyourneck) (& Hector) SUMMARY: Monty is surprised to find that Hector has been gathering a posse of undead behind his back. Owen is, unfortunately, acting as a bodyguard for one of them. Things get out of hand, of course. CONTENT WARNINGS: Gun use (not fired), emotional abuse

—

Left to his own devices, Hector could turn any stranger to his cause. He always knew just what to say, could read people with impressive accuracy and figure out what exactly it was that motivated them, then use that for his own gain. At least, that’d been the case back in the late 1800s and… it didn’t seem like much had changed. Having had other errands to run for most of the day that the other zombie hadn’t had much interest in, Monty had agreed to meet up with Hector after he was done at one of the local dives. He had no idea when Hector had arrived, but as he stepped into the dark, smoky establishment, he got the sense that it had been a couple hours at least. There was a small gathering in one of the back corners, and right in the middle of it, Monty spotted Hector. He was talking animatedly about something, seemingly passionate regarding the subject, but as their eyes met across the room, the man broke into a smile. “Monty!” he shouted, raising a hand and waving him over. Monty cringed inwardly, not liking the way he suddenly felt far too many pairs of eyes on him, doing his best to smile back and walk over to where the congregation was.

The people looking back at him were… scruffy, if you wanted to be nice about it. They looked like they’d seen better days, and immediately Monty’s alarm bells were going off. He looked at Hector again, who was behaving very much like the old leader he’d been, and his stomach sank. “And this guy, he’s the one that gets shit done,” Hector continued, gesturing at Monty, who looked uncertain as his eyes scanned the small crowd.

Near the back of it, set apart from the rest by a couple extra feet of distance, was a familiar face. Not one that inspired joy or fondness, though… no, quite the opposite. Monty recalled the first time he’d met this man, in a bar different from this one but similar in many ways, with a knife sticking out of his leg and threats of bodily harm — or was it purely just murder? — passing between them as he was questioned. There’d been no purpose to it, other than scaring him. Owen hadn’t actually made good on any of those threats, and seemed amused by the whole thing. Monty, however, had remained in the bar, petrified until he had had the sense to call his best friend to come pick him up, too afraid to leave the bar alone in case Owen was lurking in the shadows outside.

But here he sat, among a crowd of strangers and Hector, who he surely could sense was undead. Why? And why did he look so miserable, aside from the obvious assessment that he was a miserable person in general? Monty swallowed hard, gaze lingering on the slayer for a few seconds longer than he meant to. “I, uh… I suppose,” he agreed begrudgingly, forcing himself to look at Hector again. “What, um... what’s going on?” He tried to sound as casual as he could about it, forcing out a small, breathy laugh. Hector grinned, spreading his arms wide, palms up to the ceiling.

“Just helping the less fortunate,” he explained, and it only made Monty feel worse. What planning had gone on while he wasn’t here? How exactly was Hector helping these people? And again, why was there a slayer here? 

—

Owen had begun to wonder if he’d get used to the prickling, icky feeling of vampires nearby as that seemed to be most of his life at this point, but that train of thought only led him to remember that he had gotten used to it before. Granted, in the before, when the life he’d been on track for as just another in a lineage of proud slayer hadn’t yet been derailed, the sensation of vampires hadn’t caused such an intense discomfort. Yet another thing not worth thinking about, especially not here, surrounded by the zombie version of the less impressive cast of Peaky Blinders. At least there was a mild solace in it being zombies this evening, as it lessened the want to literally tear his skin off in an attempt to ease the prickling and meant he didn’t have to deal with fucking vampires. Owen didn’t know anyone at the table aside from the one that had rung him, a pot bellied zombie that Rosel had had him rescue a few weeks back - which apparently meant the slayer was now on fucking retainer. 

Maybe she was starting to have some success in breaking him because Owen hadn’t managed to muster up the anger necessary to protest this. 

Whatever shit the table of undead were talking about didn’t concern Owen - they could have plotting a mass murder for all the fucks he had to give - and it wouldn’t matter in the long run. He had long since decided that anyone Rosel deemed worthy of survival would get the opposite once all of this got untangled. Somehow. He barely glanced up as a new face was dragged along to the table, definitely not a threat considering how the burgeoning ring leader dragged him in. Meeting the mildly petrified gaze, Owen registered that he knew the name, too. Threats had been exchanged both ways, a while ago, but mostly Monty just seemed confused as all hell at Owen’s presence which, fucking fair. 

Aside from the one that had called him, Owen wasn’t sure whether the others knew what he truly was. Fuckface Gerald had simply introduced him as a ‘friend’ and that was that. A friend that looked like they’d rather take a bullet to the head than stay here longer but whatever. Now Monty knew as well. A single zombie wasn’t too much of a hassle but if this whole table decided to gang up on him… Green eyes narrowed in Monty’s direction before turning to Gerald. “Think I’ll give the newcomer my seat,” he tried, rising to his feet in an attempt to leave. 

“Nonsense. Monty can grab his own chair, can’t he?” Owen considered just letting the group tear him to pieces before ultimately sitting back down with gritted teeth and folded arms. 

—

Monty was strangely relieved when Owen sat back down, even though he looked about ready to rip out the throat of the man that had insisted on it. At least if he was within eyesight, he couldn’t spring any kind of attack on Monty or Hector. Or… whoever any of these other people were, if they weren’t human. Monty couldn’t say, and really, did it matter? Whatever Hector was planning wasn’t good, regardless of dead or alive status. A slew of scenarios were running through his mind as he nodded at the man that’d spoken to Owen, turning to grab his own chair and trying to hide his anxiety behind steady, purposeful movements. 

As he sat, Hector started explaining how he’d met each one of these people to Monty, introducing them by name and describing situations that could easily have been a cover for something a zombie shouldn’t say aloud in public. Monty knew there had been days that Hector had gone out on his own, finally permitting Monty to stay behind at the cabin instead of dragging him along, but he hadn’t realized his friend had been this busy. It was looking more and more like Hector was gathering himself a willing company of morally bankrupt individuals to help him amass some wealth, and most concerningly of all, that he assumed Monty was going to be right there with him. 

And again, why the fuck was Owen here, especially if these were all undead? 

“Hector was saying that you have a place we can stay?” a woman seated beside Monty asked him, looking hopeful. Monty couldn’t stop the look of confusion that bloomed on his face, attention flicking from her back to Hector. The older zombie grinned widely, holding up a hand to stop any protests that Monty might have been about to make.

“Of course he does. Now, there’s not currently enough room for all of us, mind, but that’s easily remedied. We’ve got a master craftsman in our midst, here.” He clapped a hand to Monty’s shoulder, who flinched. Hector had told these people they could move in? Without a fucking word? His stress was reaching critical mass, and he was desperate to turn the attention away from himself before he flipped out on Hector in the middle of a public space. 

“Why is he here?” Monty asked bluntly, swallowing hard as he pointed at Owen. “He should not be here.” Hector followed his friend’s gaze, and soon, all eyes were on the slayer. 

“And why’s that?” Hector asked, directing the question at Gerald, who had brought the stranger along. His eyes were narrowed and his smile gone as he challenged Gerald to explain what Monty meant.

—

For a slayer not in Owen’s current hellhole of a predicament, the stories being shared here would have been a goldmine. Still could be, as long as he held onto the baseless delusion that there was a way out of this mess because secrets were being shared with no regard for who was hearing them, the table of zombies clearly working under the assumptions that everyone present was safe company. As much as he could, Owen tried to place all these facts somewhere they would be remembered but in a mind so completely overtaken by anger, there wasn’t a whole lot of space. And watching Monty squirm was fairly distracting. 

Surprisingly, the slayer didn’t seem to be Monty’s main source of discomfort and whatever past he had with this Hector (who in Owen’s humble opinion was doing way too much) was clearly much, much more complicated than the small spat and mild stabbing the two of them shared as enemies by nature. Well, predator and prey by nature, which wasn’t the case between the two zombies which meant the past was personal and messy and Owen wouldn’t have cared if he had the choice of not witnessing all of this. Since he was forced to, at least the look on Monty’s face when his home was offered up as an AirBnB for these less than desirable zombies, was priceless. 

Because everything was a relentless shitshow, Owen’s moment of amusement was fleeting as Monty did the one thing it would have been preferable for him not to do. 

Staring across the table at Monty, it took a moment to fully register the complete change in character in Monty’s friend (maybe a generous term considering the way the two interacted). To his credit, Gerald managed not to say anything stupid but that was only because he seemed at a complete loss for words so the credit given wasn’t all that much. “Someone can clearly hold a grudge,” Owen threw at Monty because he didn’t feel like being helpful. Plus, it finally spurred Gerald into action. 

“Look, Monty, was it? Whatever-” The zombie waved his hand desperately, “grudge you have, it’s fine now. Things are under control. I just like a bit of… protection, is all. But you and Hector don’t have to worry, we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” Owen wouldn’t go as far as to agree with that statement but the one about them not needing to worry was mostly true. At least for now. Owen’s long suffering gaze turned to Hector, trying to gauge if that shitty and vague explanation had settled things. Fuck, would he actually have to protect this rot for brains idiot if Hector decided they weren’t friends, actually? If that was the case, he would have brought more fucking knives. 

—

“Fine? It’s fine?” Monty huffed, grasping desperately at anything that would make him feel like he was in control of some aspect of his life. If that meant turning this whole group on the slayer, so be it. At least it would delay the conversation of these strangers coming to live with them. “Es un cazador,” he added under his breath, turning his head to speak to Hector. It was something he now knew the zombie wouldn’t stand for, if his reaction to Emilio had been anything to go by. 

Hector scowled. “I don’t know, Gerald, are we?” He was zeroed in on the offending zombie and his unhappy companion, affording Monty a moment to glance around them. The bar wasn’t busy by any stretch off the imagination, but it wasn’t empty, either. This wasn’t the place for a confrontation. As if to telegraph this to his counterpart, Monty stepped into the familiar role of a canary and gently nudged Hector in the side, warning him of danger. Hector sucked in a sharp breath and smiled once more, though it had an underlying insidiousness that had been absent up to now. “Of course. Of course we are,” he corrected himself. “If you trust him, then I trust him, my friend.” It would be a convincing act to anyone else, Monty thought, but he’d heard that inflection enough times to know that the moment they were beyond the safety (or hindrance) of such a public space, both Gerald and Owen would be fighting for their lives. 

The rest of the meeting felt somewhat tense, many pairs of eyes darting between Hector and Gerald and whoever Owen was supposed to be, as it seemed many of the participants didn’t speak Spanish. Still, as the group disbanded, a few of them hung back with Hector and Monty to inquire after the slight confrontation. Sensing that these individuals were already aligning themselves with him, Hector took the bait. 

“He is not to be trusted,” he said in a low voice, watching Gerald and his escort head out of the bar. “And now, unfortunately, he knows too much about us. The slayer and Gerald need to be dealt with.” At the casual mention of a slayer, the three other people looked angry. Their gazes followed Hector’s, and they nodded. Without another word, they followed Gerald back outside, with Hector and Monty bringing up the rear.

Monty was wringing his hands as he walked beside his friend, his gaze fixed on Owen as the slayer rounded the corner, followed by the other three zombies. “We shouldn’t do this,” he warned. “Or, we shouldn’t let them do this. Do you even know if they can fight?” Hector shrugged and smiled. 

“What better way to find out?”

—

Unsurprisingly, Gerald’s explanation didn’t settle shit which as a direct consequence, meant trouble for Owen. Funny to think that if the idiot hadn’t called on a slayer to be here in the first place, or better yet hadn’t caught Rosel’s attention at all, things probably wouldn’t be spiraling. He knew it would probably be easy to spin in a way that made it Owen’s fault, knew it because he was currently cursing himself for just toying with Monty at the time instead of letting the doe eyed farmhand bring him somewhere quiet so Owen could remove his head. Because whatever Monty was whispering in his friend’s ear spelled bad news, even if Hector’s little performance was practically award worthy. 

Owen had made several attempts to convince Gerald that his presence here was a bad thing but clearly, the zombie was slightly less dumb than he looked, sensing the tension at the table and figuring that having one person forced to be on his side couldn’t be a bad thing. Smart decision but a fucking travesty for Owen. Even as the evening came to a close, his instinct for when shit was about to go sideways (granted, usually because of his own actions but still) told him very clearly that the night was still young. 

Whatever Gerald was yapping about was being effectively tuned out by Owen, now even more on edge than usual. A quick glance over his shoulder as they rounded a corner did little in terms of reassurance because of-fucking-course they were being followed. “Shut the fuck up,” Owen bit out, the unexpected sharpness of the words enough to actually shut the undead fucker up. “Do what I say and maybe you get to keep that empty shell you call a head.” 

Handing one of his blades over to a zombie felt wrong in a fresh, new way that tore at all the shit Owen had successfully buried in the back of his mind, from keeping undead scum alive to being turned into a little lap dog, but if he unearthed all of it right, they were both fucked. So he piled it onto the already wobbly pile of crap and relinquished his grip on the hilt of the knife, looking at the zombie that was probably about to get him fucking killed. 

Turned out, giving Gerald a knife had been about the worst possible thing since the motherfucker couldn’t really brandish it. The only good thing about that, his friends were utterly useless, too. Owen didn’t have time to boil over in anger at Gerald missing his mark by a mile and burying the knife into another zombie’s cheek which would only make it more fucking volatile, as he was busy making sure his own knife sunk properly into an eye socket. That wouldn’t kill it but it did give him something to hold onto as the second blade worked its way through the flesh of the zombie’s throat. Again, bigger fucking blades would have been real nice. 

—

They would find out quickly, it seemed. Almost as soon as the trio rounded the corner, Monty heard the commotion begin. They were far enough out toward the edge of town that there was less of a risk of someone coming across the scuffle, but it sent another shock of dread through him all the same. He hurried to catch up, drawing the knife he kept on him at all times these days as he and Hector came upon the scene. 

One of the zombies had a wound in their face and stood facing off with Gerald, and the other was caught in the grip of the slayer, thick blood pouring down her front. Hector frowned at the sight, watching as the third zombie took a swing at Gerald, tackling him to the ground. 

Monty moved toward Owen, glowering at him and holding his own knife out toward him. “Let her go,” he snapped, hoping to at least stall long enough for the other zombie’s wounds to begin to heal. Hector seemed more concerned with making sure Gerald met his demise in this dark corner, pressing a boot to his chest to hold him in place. He drew his own blade, passing it to the zombie that had tackled him to the ground. 

—

There were too many of them considering how much harder they were to kill than vampires and the added distraction of trying to keep someone other than himself alive, something that had always ended with Owen eating shit. He was good at wounding, killing, not protecting. Despite all that, Gerald still desperately needed some fucking protection. Hector seemed to be the most dangerous one here, eerily calm and focused on dealing with the zombie that had brought a slayer into the inner circle (a fair priority, if only it didn’t inconvenience Owen so massively). As for Monty and his little knife and little ‘hero of the people’ act, Owen wasn’t keen to find out just how far he’d go with that blade. 

Teeth bared in something awfully close to a snarl, Owen gave the knife in the eye socket a final twist before showing the zombie in his grip right into Monty. He’d only needed a few more moments to properly finish her off but no, this was a goddamn rescue mission. There were three of them rounding on Gerald and even if they weren’t at the height of their strength, there were still a lot of hands and blades and teeth present. Hopefully, they had some loyalty to their newly appointed leader. 

His knife flew through the air, thankfully finding its intended mark in the face of the zombie wielding the weapon meant for Gerald. A distraction, meant to delay Gerald’s death just long enough for Owen to tackle the person he had perceived to be the most valuable one here. The main focus was making sure nothing was in biting range - whether or not Hector had more weapons on him was an afterthought as Owen went for some leverage, both metaphorically and literally in trying to get a grasp on the zombie’s head in a way that would make breaking his neck easy if need be. “Your zombie’s undead life for mine,” he offered with a growl, hating the implication that a zombie was his but too busy grasping at straws to really linger on it. 

—

As the near-stranger crashed into him, gurgling and moaning in pain (which he could understand — despite their deadened senses, a mostly-sliced through throat and gouged out eye was no walk in the park), Monty helped lower her to the ground carefully, telling her to be still. He worried, of course, what that would mean in a minute or two once she started to heal, but there wasn’t much time afforded to that line of thought, because then Owen was going after Hector. 

Hector, who had been doing more and more to make Monty wonder if he’d changed at all. Who was proving that he hadn’t, and that Monty was nothing more than a tool for him to use, even a century later. Hector, who had always been more than capable of taking care of himself, and from the way he loathed hunters with a vitriol that seemed personal, had clearly dealt with his fair share. Monty wouldn’t be upset to see Owen fall victim to him tonight, as much as he avoided death. Owen had done plenty of harm, he rationalized. To him, to others. God, that’s what his life was now, wasn’t it? Rationalizing violence so it wouldn’t plague his ever-waking mind. He’d come full circle from the person he’d been back in the late 1800s. All because of Hector.

The aforementioned ringleader seemed unbothered by this development, grinning as he was held in place by the slayer. His hand moved slowly beneath his jacket, unnoticed in the commotion. The woman at Monty’s feet was growling and stirring, coming back from the brink and ready to feed. The two zombies still on top of Gerald had taken their own wounds to the face and both healed — while not as bad off as the woman, there was a glint in their eyes as they continued to hold Gerald in place, waiting for instruction from Hector. Monty stood still, keeping his eyes locked with Owen’s even though he saw Hector’s movements in his peripheral vision. “Not a fair trade,” Monty grunted, hating how the words tasted in his mouth. “Try again.”

And with that, the woman started to scramble forward in a clumsy attempt to get to her feet, her hands reaching out for the only living creature here. Hector took the opportunity to fish out his gun, pressing it briefly into Owen’s side to warn him of its presence, but quickly pulling it back again as he wrenched himself out of the slayer’s grasp. The weapon remained aimed at him even as the foggy-minded zombie scampered closer, and Hector stepped back several paces. He cast a sidelong glance at Monty, who swallowed hard. Right. Monty looked over to the other two and Gerald, and nodded. They took up their weapons, both manmade and natural, and made savage work of removing Gerald’s head from his body.

All that remained was to get rid of the slayer, but Hector seemed content to let the woman do it, if she could. 

—

Again, the gnawing regret at having let Monty live, a reminder that just because Owen didn’t have quite as much of a personal vendetta against zombies that didn’t mean they shouldn’t be eradicated, every last one of them. If he’d had the foresight to separate his head from his body, meager as Monty had been that night (a stark contrast to the stone cold version facing him now) then Owen wouldn’t be dealing with what was clearly the muzzle of a gun pressing into his torso. Alright, so he was the idiot bringing knives to a gunfight. 

Maybe he should have been grateful that Hector seemed to enjoy a bit of theatrics, or was it irony he was going for? Either way, the gun remained unfired in lieu of letting a very angry zombie eat their fill. The work Owen had done to saw off the woman’s head was all but undone and honestly, fuck these fucking zombies and their regenerating - the only sign any damage at all had been done was the dark stain down her front and the faint cloud over her eye, both of which were lacking all humanity. Between the gun and the threat of a very hungry zombie, all Owen could do was watch as Gerald’s pathetic undead life was ended and wasn’t that just an absolute treat. 

There wasn’t time to watch the whole brutal scene unwind, what with the woman swiping at him. Dangerous as she was, she was still a better shield for bullets than nothing, in case the son of a bitch that had effectively ruined Owen’s evening irreparably decided he did actually want to pull the trigger. But fuck if she wasn’t strong, flailing hands finally grabbing at a limb and it was all Owen could do to reclaim it, clothes tearing under her unrelenting grip. The thought of bigger knives resurfaced, especially now that the closest things to a big knife he’d carried tonight were out of reach. The blades still on his person would do a great job of a fucking toothpick for the zombie after her meal for all the good they would do him. 

At least she was easy to outmaneuver, uncoordinated and hungry, allowing him to actually trap her in a headlock. For the whole of about two seconds, her fingers digging into his arm and pulling, threatening to break it before Owen relented the grip to save his arm. Not his dignity however, as he was half-shoved, half-flung into the nearby trashcans which was poetic and fucking fucked. As he scrambled to his feet before those gnashing teeth could reach him, his hands desperately looked for anything he could get a hold on, fingers finding the cold edge of the lid of the trashcan. Not sharp nor particularly heavy but as a conduit for all of that pent up anger, surprisingly effective. It took three solid thwacks for the metal to finally sever all the way through the spine, painting everything in a mess of dark, cold blood. 

—

Monty looked on, anxious and uncertain. Hector, for his part, seemed amused. Behind him, Gerald was ripped to pieces, screaming more in terror than in agony. Before him, Owen was fighting for his life against an extra strong, extra hungry zombie… and he was losing. So far, Hector had hardly lifted a finger, and that was the way he liked it. His grin widened as the slayer was thrown into the garbage bins, while Monty’s frown deepened. The younger zombie was by no means a fan of Owen's, but this felt… barbaric, in a way. If only because the woman was nothing more than cannon fodder. 

But then Owen suddenly had the upper hand, and Hector's smile waned. He clicked his tongue in disappointment as he watched the woman's headless corpse crumple to the ground for the last time. “Shame. I'd really hoped she was going to pull through that,” he muttered, aiming the firearm with more intent this time and shaking his head. “Ah well. We can clean up the mess, eh, Monty?” 

Monty didn't respond. He was too busy closing the distance between them as fast as he could, grabbing the gun out of Hector’s hand and taking a quick step back. Hector’s rage was instant, gaze jumping between his traitorous right hand and the slayer who was now free to run. “Too loud,” Monty explained with a hiss. “We're still too close to downtown, Hector. Things are not like they used to be. You cannot just start shooting up a whole town when the law shows up.” The pounding of feet on the pavement drew their attention as Owen made his escape, and Monty was just turning to look back at Hector when he felt the dull pain of something colliding with his jaw, sending him down to the ground. 

Hector turned to the other zombies, telling them to go back where they'd come from and that he would round them all up soon. They quickly obeyed, shuffling past Monty who was slowly picking himself up off the pavement, his shock evident in his expression. “Do not ever fucking interfere like that again,” Hector spat, staring him down. Monty just nodded, cracking his jaw back into place. Hector collected the gun that had been knocked from his hand, then heaved a sigh. “Montaña, you just… you know better. That hunters need to die. Whatever the cost.” Monty's stomach churned. He glanced up as a hand entered his peripheral vision and took it without thinking, letting Hector help him back onto his feet. “Come on. Let's go home, where we can talk about this some more.” His tone was harsh and reprimanding, and Monty did not look forward to whatever that conversation was going to entail. 

[fromnewashes]

Unless I have multiple yards. With skeletons. Did you think of that? [...] Oh, no, I can't keep my attitude to myself, sorry. It's literally impossible to do. [...] Their best, man.

[howdy-cowpoke]

I did not. [...] I see. [...] I hope it is working for them.

[nicsalazar]

Ah, you celebrate Día de los muertos? That's nice. I'm Me to Used to You setting up a Haven't in a while, but it's superior to this Halloween shit. Maybe heard the day was satanic too many times growing up, I don't get it. Loud too, real fucking loud. Thinking of carving some pumpkins, yeah. I do like that part. Lighting them too. Hard to find good ones though, heard they're... a little chatty.

[howdy-cowpoke]

Agreed. Yeah, it's... well, it seems like an odd thing to celebrate, I guess. But I do not know the history of it, that's for sure. Mm, yes. The parties were never really my thing. Chatty-- oh, yes. Yes, I've... seen... some of that. Strange. Incredible what people can... pull off with decorations? I guess? [ user genuinely isn't sure if they're real pumpkins or not ]

[poisonousdelights]

That was the worst dad joke I've ever heard. I loved it! It made me giggle. Thank you But yea, do you know how to take back a mistake?

[howdy-cowpoke]

I suppose it depends on the mistake. If there is someone to apologize to, you could try that. If not, I will usually try to make up for a mistake by doing something good... doesn't really take it back or fix anything, but it can help you feel better. I'm sorry you feel the way you do.

[howdy-cowpoke]

@necrosemancy replied to your post “[after some significant googling of ‘Montaña,...”:

[pm] oh my gosh no! Don’t apologize you’re totally fine!!! I kind of just wound up tagging along because I got ditched- that’s not important. Anyway it’s really no trouble- I make kick ass double chocolate cherry brownies. Plus I’m already making them.

​[pm] Well, if you insist. You could take them to the Animal Control headquarters in town, my partner works there and could bring them home with him.

[howdy-cowpoke]

[after some significant googling of ‘Montaña, Monty, Farm, Maine, the user finally comes to the conclusion that this is in fact the guy]

[pm] hi sorry to bother you- this is Rosemary from Bigfeet’s Adventureland. I just wanted to apologize for crashing your day. I wanted to offer to make you brownies as a ‘sorry’ but I don’t know if you like brownies. Do you like brownies?

[pm] No, Rosemary, you do not need to be sorry. I am [...] sorry for how I behaved. It was not your fault! [ user has never had a brownie before ] Sure, who doesn't? But you really do not have to do anything like that.

[necrosemancy]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Bigfeet’s Adventureland PARTIES: Monty @howdy-cowpoke & Rosemary @necrosemancy(+ Hector) SUMMARY: Hector and Monty run into Rosemary at the park after she’s been ditched on a date, and they all try to make the most of their time there. Monty isn’t doing so great, though. CONTENT WARNINGS: Emotional abuse/manipulation, PTSD

Nearly every moment that Kaden wasn’t home was spent trying to satisfy Hector’s need to explore and experience things, and Monty found himself being dragged out of the house each day on some new quest to have fun or get into trouble, which were not always mutually exclusive. For someone who valued privacy and quiet as much as he did, it was a bit taxing on the younger of them, especially when the subject of an amusement park was brought up. 

“You can’t be serious,” Monty complained, shaking his head and turning away from Hector’s phone. The man huffed out a breath, straightening up and giving Monty an exasperated look. 

“Of course I’m serious! I’ve never been to a theme park!” 

“Isn’t that stuff for… you know…” 

“What? Kids? Monty, you need to learn to live a little, my friend. It’s for anyone who knows how to have fun.” The cowboy sighed, recalling his time with Kaden and Mack at the winter festival. Technically, most of those things had been ‘for kids’, but they’d had fun nonetheless. As long as there wouldn’t be singing… 

“Ugh, fine. Fine. But I am not going on any zip lines,” he argued, shaking a finger at Hector. The older zombie beamed.

“That’s what you think!” 

Several hours later the pair were in the park, just stepping off of the alpine coaster. Monty stumbled a bit, rattled by the sheer speed of that thing and the sharp turns he’d been sure were going to fling him straight into tree trunks, clinging to Hector’s arm for support. He was cursing under his breath, which was of course making Hector laugh something fierce. “You’re still such a big baby,” he teased the other in their shared language, leading him away from the coaster and toward where the game stalls were set up. “What if I win you a massive stuffed Caprifang, ah? Will that make you feel better?” Monty hissed out a sound of disbelief, untangling himself from his friend and leaning against one of the stools set up in front of this particular game. 

“I can outshoot you any day, Hector. You know that.” Hector grinned, nudging him with his elbow. 

“Prove it then!” He looked at the person running the stall, giving them a nod and pulling out some cash. There were a few other people to his left, and he caught the gaze of a pretty blonde woman, who was immediately graced with a charming smile. “Ahh, miss, you want to take on my friend and I here? He is bragging too much about being a crack shot. I think we ought to take him down a peg, no?” Monty huffed again, waving a dismissive hand in their direction. 

“Don’t drag her into this,” he griped, picking up the cheap plastic rifle and waving it threateningly at Hector.

—

She couldn’t believe it. She just couldn’t believe it. 

Rosemary had been stood up. At an amusement park, of all places. 

No, to say that she had been stood up made it seem like the stranger she’d matched with on a dating app hadn’t even given her a chance. Somehow, that wouldn’t have bruised her ego nearly as much. Instead, Trevor had played exactly one carnival game with her, got pissed off that she beat him at smack-a-squonk (which she could only assume was Wicked’s Rest’s version of whack-a-mole), and had left her there. At an amusement park.

Amusing, wasn’t it?

Rosemary huffed, as she pressed on his contact and sent him a dozen middle finger emojis before deleting the app on her phone. She hung her head in defeat as a tight sensation needled at her chest. No, no, no. The witch hastily looked up at the sky, willing whatever tears the blow to her pride had conjured to evaporate into the autumn air. Really? Trevor? She was going to be upset over a man named Trevor? No. Scratch that. She was not going to be upset over a man, period. 

She decided she would have fun to spite Trevor. What she needed was some overly sweet carnival treat and another game. Maybe not smack-a-squonk though- she felt a kindred spirit in those sad little creatures. 

Ten minutes later, Rosemary had a funnel cake, and her sights on a game. She was fishing cash out of her wallet when someone a few spots down smiled at her. She glanced at his friend who looked like he might be praying for divine intervention to save him from a day at the park. The witch handed the cash over to the person running the stall and flashed a grin back at the both of them. “I could use some good competition.” She moved over to the set up beside theirs. “I’ll warn you though, your friend may be a crack shot, but I’ve scared off my competition for the day by beating them at another one of these games. So I might take both of you down a peg.” She managed a laugh in spite of herself. “I’m Rosemary. What’re your names?”

—

“Oh, is that so?” Hector chuckled. “Well, Romero, I’m Hector, and this little bundle of sunshine is my friend Montaña.” 

“Monty,” the younger of them quickly interjected, pushing the muzzle of the water gun against his friend’s shoulder and giving him a shove. “And you could not hit a can of beans from twenty paces, if I remember right. I do not think Rosemary will have to try very hard to beat you.” He broke into a smile, looking past Hector at the poor woman that was being subjected to their asinine behavior. “Please, don’t mind him. He thinks he is funny.” Hector snorted in protest, picking up his own carnival-caliber gun and assuming the stance. Monty rolled his eyes and raised the brightly-coloured rifle to his shoulder, looking down what should have been a sight, but was just a beaten up nub of plastic. Helpful. The carnie running the stand waited for a couple other folks to join the lineup, took their money, then announced to all that the game was about to begin. 

“Hit the most targets to win!” they announced, gesturing at the backdrop of little bullseye targets that were moving left, right, up, down, and even in circles at all different heights and distances. Mm. Seemed easy enough. A loud bell broke the hush that’d fallen over the small gathering of strangers, and the place was very quickly drenched in a chaotic spray of water guns. 

Monty aimed, fired, and watched with a pleased huff as the small target flopped backwards. A ticker in front of where he stood clicked up to one, and he didn’t have time to wonder how it was keeping track as he moved to the next target, then the next, and the next. 

Hector wasn’t doing quite as well as his counterpart, but he still heard the satisfying click of his ticker counting up good shots… as well as Rosemary’s. It kind of sounded like she was beating him. Rats.

—

The witch was getting a blessed reprieve from her delightfully shitty day with her new company. A more genuine laugh bubbled up as she listened to the two bicker over names and who was the better shot. Having fun almost made her forget about Trevor. Almost. 

“Nice to meet you both,” Rosemary smiled. “I’ve never been much of a shot, but I’ll try to give you a run for your money.” 

She wouldn’t have to try too hard, as it turned out. While she may not have been a spectacular shot, what she lacked in accuracy she made up for with enthusiasm. Carnival games were never well made- and games like this with little toy water guns always seemed to work slightly askew. The aim was hardly as true as it could have been. Not that she noticed. This particular game served as a wonderful outlet to get out her frustrations of being abandoned not even an hour in to her date. All Rosemary had to do was imagine the man’s smarmy little face on the targets, and she watched as her points ticked up, up, up. 

She glanced over at the other two as the time on the game clock kept ticking down. She couldn’t tell if they were beating her or not, but she was pleased to find she didn’t care. She was starting to enjoy herself again. Not long after, the bell sounded to announce the game was over. She glanced down the row to see how they’d fared. “Who won?”

—

Hector should’ve had better aim, all things considered. But he’d been out of practice for a while, he would argue. Murder had become a thing that was much harder to get away with as the century had marched ever onward, so killing a guy for picking a fight with him in a saloon was something he’d not done in decades. He still had weapons, of course, they just never saw much action. Monty, however, had made a point to keep up with his skills. And living and working on farms… there were all sorts of predators to protect the livestock from. Particularly on his own farm, here in Wicked’s Rest, where giant vampire creatures would swoop out of the sky and carry off whole heifers. He’d always been a better shot than Hector, and he’d retained that skill through constant use and practice. And today, in this ridiculous theme park at this ridiculous stall with his ridiculous friend and a few strangers, he saw the fruits of those labors. The person running the stall was checking their tickers one by one after the game ended and the water shut off, moving down the row until they’d checked all of them. Then, they walked back up the row and stopped in front of Monty, flashing a grin at him. Somewhat unexpectedly, they reached for his wrist and grabbed it tightly, sending a shock of fear through him. But his arm was only lifted into the air as they loudly pronounced him the winner, by a margin of thirteen. 

Letting out the breath he’d sucked in so sharply, the zombie let his gaze slide over to Hector and Rosemary. He gave a small shrug, lowering his arm again. “Told you,” was all Monty said, albeit with a very self-satisfied smile. Hector rolled his eyes, holstering the water rifle and stepping back from the stall.

“See, now he has got an ego about it,” he complained to Rosemary, shaking his head. “That is no good! Listen, what kind of these games are you good at, señorita? We need a rematch. If I cannot show him a thing or two, then you must!” Monty was laughing now, distractedly looking at the prizes he was supposed to pick from. He didn’t really want any of them for himself, but there was one that he saw that reminded him of someone else, so he pointed at it. The gamemaster nodded and plucked it down from the wall, passing him the cartoonishly pink and sprinkled donut. Hector raised a brow at the choice (though Monty suspected he might have had something to say about anything that he chose), and Monty gave him a knowing look. “I know a young woman who likes sweets very much. I think she’ll like this,” he explained, tucking it under his arm and focusing his attention on Rosemary. “Miss, you do not have to play along with his games if you don’t want to,” he apologized with a smile. “But if you are fine with it, I would love to see you beat him at something else.”

—

There was a delicious moment of anticipation where everyone waited to see who the winner of the game was. The carnival worker made a great show of it, keeping them all in suspense, until he stopped before the man named Monty and raised his hand in victory. Rosemary clapped, happy to see if it hadn’t been her who had won, at least it was one of the two new friends beside her. 

It didn’t surprise her that Hector continued to give his friend a good natured ribbing. It was clear the heckling didn’t bother Monty too much. Rosemary watched, amused as the man took hold of the giant squishy donut. “If you two don’t mind some extra company, I’d be more than happy to tag along for a few games.” Spending time with two friendly strangers seemed a better option to her than stewing on her failed date. 

“Well, I was good at what was essentially whack-a-mole before. Good enough that my competition got their ego in a twist about it. Or maybe he was just really bad at it… who’s to say really!” Rosemary shrugged. “I’m pretty decent at ring toss games, too.”

—

There was a claw hammer in his hand, gripped so tightly it made his muscles ache. There was dirt and hay beneath him, knees pressed into the hard-packed earth trodden by hundreds of feet and hooves and paws. Between those knees, the warm body of a living creature that was thrashing and yelping and trying to get away. Monty’s arm lifted the hammer high, a scream building in his throat as he brought it back down. The man between his legs screamed in unison, bright blue eyes watching the hammer as it came down to strike him in the temple. 

There was blood, splattered across the hammer’s head, his hand, and his thigh. Its warmth didn’t compare to the heat of the flames that licked at his heels, already consuming the silent, twitching intruder’s legs. 

“Maybe not whack-a-mole,” Monty suggested thoughtfully. “Ring toss, though, I bet I could beat the both of you at that, too.” This was a lie. Monty was terrible when it came to throwing horseshoes, another activity burned into his mind from that night as he’d run past it — past Daisy and Felix and Wynne who had been playing it when all hell broke loose. But at least there wouldn’t be whacking involved. 

—

She couldn’t deny that she was grateful her new companions had decided against smack-a-squonk. The foam approximations of everyone’s favorite cryptid just looked so pathetically sad, and bopping them over the head felt as though it added insult to injury for the poor little creatures. Even if they were fake. 

Rosemary raised an eyebrow and grinned at Monty. “You’re pretty confident, aren’t you.” She glanced to Hector and held up a hand as though to tell him a secret that the other would hear anyway. “Tell me, is he always this confident he’ll win? Is he one of those people that’s just freakishly good at everything?” 

She spied a ring toss game a little ways down the row of flashing lights that drew in new contestants to play their games. “Aha- there. Ring toss. We’ll see if you’re as good as you claim. “ the witch teased as she headed in the direction of the booth. 

—

Monty shrugged in a noncommittal sort of way, trying not to let his thoughts wander further into the dark, fiery hole they were creeping over the threshold of. He could still hear Daisy’s laugh, could still see her standing there with her hands on her head as she watched her horseshoe completely miss the mark, thudding into the grass after it sailed over the stake in the ground and clattering into Monty’s that sat a few feet from the target. That hadn’t been on the night of the party, but some other warm, sunny summer afternoon when he and the farm hands had arranged a lunchtime feast for all. She’d turned to look at him, exasperated but amused, and wearing the smile he’d give anything to see again. 

“You know, he’s usually not,” Hector answered Rosemary, giving his friend a genuinely curious stare. “And the only things he’s freakishly good at, as you say, involve farm work. As far as I know.” Monty fought back the sense of dread that was climbing up his spine as he saw Daisy’s smile turn into a look of horror. His mind was combining the two memories, intermixing them in a way he really wished it wouldn’t. She was staring past him, and then screaming—

“Perhaps I am more complex than you remember,” he answered evenly, following after Rosemary as she spotted the game. Hector looked a bit surprised but was quick to bring up the rear, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially as they all came to a stop in front of the ring toss. Monty had very little faith in his ability to land a single one, but that was far from the most pressing thing on his mind right now. They all paid the fee for the differently colored rings, and bracing the donut plush between his knees, the cowboy gathered his rings up and stood ready. 

He tried not to pay attention to the way he was certain he could smell smoke.

—

She caught a glimpse of Monty in the corner of her eye as she started away that caused her bright smile to dim. The man looked lost in a memory as his body mechanically walked forward in the direction Rosemary was leading the pair. She turned her gaze ahead as she tried to decipher just what she might have done to inspire such an unfortunately melancholic looking mood. Was it Smack-A-Squonk? She worried her lip between her teeth as she walked, forcing herself to dismiss the thought. It was fine. She hadn’t upset anyone. Nothing was wrong. She was overreacting. 

“See,” she chirped cheerfully as Monty responded in a tone too even for Rosemary’s liking. She definitely upset him with Smack-A-Squonk. Godsdammit. “He contains multitudes.” The witch wiggled her fingers for emphasis. She handed the carnival worker a handful of slightly wrinkled bills before scooping up her stack of rings. “I heard there’s a strategy to this. Middle row is usually best, and if you kind of throw like it’s a skipping stone…” she snapped her wrist as she let the plastic ring fly and grinned at the sound of the plink as the ring found its home around the neck of a bottle. “Ta da!”

—

Hector looked impressed at Rosemary’s successful throw, wearing another grin as he forgot all about his troubled friend that stood on his opposite side. Taking her advice on the toss technique, the man tried to mimic what she’d done, but his ring just clinked loudly between bottles before falling to the floor. “Puta madre,” he cursed with a laugh. “You make it look so easy, señorita. Doesn’t she, Montaña?” Monty was staring at the bottles in a way that could be misconstrued as focused or determined, but in reality was just dissociative. Memories from the night of the fire were rushing back and overwhelming him, so much so that he could almost remember what it felt like to have his heart race. He felt eyes on him and absently threw a ring, watching with disinterest as it bounced off a bottle and dropped out of sight. 

The horses! Wynne had screamed as Monty and Kaden had bolted past the trio. He’d lost Daisy then — he never saw her after that moment of brief, shared terror. She’d stayed to get Felix out of danger while Wynne raced to help them with the horses, and that had been that. He hadn’t even been able to find any remains once the fire had burned itself out. She was there one moment, gone the next. The closest thing he’d had to family since he’d arrived in Wicked’s Rest, ripped away from him. His memories of her only haunted him, providing no comfort or happiness. Just guilt. 

“Oye,” Hector said for the second time, nudging Monty in the arm. He and Rosemary had already gone through all of their rings (and Hector had only managed to get one of them around the neck of a bottle), and Monty hadn’t really moved or spoken after throwing his first. “¿Estás bien?” The younger zombie blinked, shaking his head and glancing down at the rings gripped tightly in his left hand. 

“... no,” he answered, shoving them unceremoniously into Hector’s hands instead. Plucking the plush he’d won earlier from between his knees, he held it to his chest as he looked past Hector to find Rosemary. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to her, a frightened expression on his face. “I’ve got to go.” 

“Go? Go where?” Hector interrupted, sounding annoyed. Monty didn’t answer, just giving him an exasperated look and turning to hurry away, not caring if Hector followed or not. He was a grown ass man, he could find his own way back to the cabin. Maybe his new friend Rosemary could give him a lift, he thought bitterly. Which wasn’t fair, this reaction wasn’t her fault… he knew that, but still. Keeping his head down, the cowboy disappeared into the crowd. 

Hector, abandoned and frustrated by it, gave Rosemary a shrug. “Well… I guess that means you win.”

—

There was a plink and a dull thump as the little plastic ring Monty threw glanced off the bottle and landed in the patchy grass below. The witch continued to throw, and had thrown her third ring when she paused, glancing back to the quieter of the two men. 

He was still staring at the bottles, but Rosemary couldn’t tell if he was looking at the bottles, or through them. Distracted, the woman half heartedly tossed her last two rings, not caring when they didn’t land. Her attention was caught by the distant, haunted expression on the man’s face. “Your friend,” she asked Hector softly, concern tinging her voice. “Is he okay?”

After a few minutes Hector had managed to pull Monty back into the present with them. The poor thing looked terrified. Rosemary’s face creased with concern. She barely knew the man, but she knew that kind of fear. A rush of words and passed off game pieces, and Monty vanished into the crowd. The witch lurched a step after him on the instinct to try and fix whatever was wrong, but she stopped. It wasn’t her place. Monty likely wouldn’t want a stranger in that moment. 

“You should go check on him.” She said quickly, turning back to Hector. “Make sure he’s ok. I didn’t mean to crash your afternoon, and I’m really sorry if tagging along upset him.” She blindly snatched her prize from the carnival worker. The small plushy key chain of a cat grinned up at her, oblivious to the emotionally charged moment it was crashing. She hastily shoved it into her bag. “It was really nice meeting you, really.” Her gaze flickered past Hector, trying to track the clearly upset man through the crowd to no success. “Again, I’m like. Really sorry.”

—

“Ah, no, it is not your fault,” Hector sighed in response to Rosemary, shaking his head and glancing in the direction Monty had scurried off in. “He has… been through a lot, lately.” There was sympathy in his tone, but it was edged by something sharper, something venomous. “I thought coming here would take his mind off of things. It seems I was wrong.” Brandishing another disarming smile, Hector gave Rosemary a nod and held out his hand to shake. “It was nice meeting you, too. I hope you can still make the most of your evening, date or no,” he said with a chuckle. “I will go tend to my friend. Take care, Rosemary.”

Leaving the woman alone in the park, Hector wandered his way back to the parking lot, not in any particular kind of hurry. He searched lazily for the truck they had arrived in, and was pleased to see it still sitting in its spot. Rounding the bed, he came to a stop on the driver’s side of the vehicle, rapping his knuckles on the window. Monty, who was sitting inside the cab and staring off into space gave a start, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he whipped his head around. Hector frowned, then opened the door. “Get out,” he commanded, moving out of the way. Monty hesitated, which earned him a decidedly annoyed sigh. “I said get out, Montaña. You are in no state to drive.” Slowly, Monty obeyed, hopping out of the truck quietly and keeping his head down. As he stepped in front of Hector, a hand came out to grab at his arm. He jumped again, almost yelping reflexively as he caught the other’s hardened gaze. 

“Do not embarrass me like that again,” Hector growled. Monty nodded, dropping his chin again as he was released and scurrying around to the other side of the truck. His hands shook as he reached for the handle to climb into the passenger’s seat, and he made sure to keep his attention focused out the window to his right rather than on the man now backing out of the parking space, lest he earn himself any more lecturing that evening. 

He just hoped that Kaden would be home by the time they got back.

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Farmer’s Market PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) & Emilio (@mortemoppetere) (+ Hector) SUMMARY: Emilio is at the farmer’s market picking up some groceries for Teddy when he unexpectedly runs into Monty. He’s curious about the man accompanying the cowboy, and tries to get a read on both of them — but doesn’t really like what he’s seeing. CONTENT WARNINGS: Emotional abuse/manipulation

—

Emilio wasn’t usually tasked with doing the shopping. It was something that predated his living situation in Wicked’s Rest, went all the way back to Mexico when Juliana sent him to the store while she was making dinner to pick up a zucchini and he’d come back with a cucumber instead, earning him an eye roll and a kitchen towel tossed at his face. He was probably worse at it now than he had been then, addled mind easily distracted by the creeping feeling of uncertainty down his spine and the question of whether or not the guy with the manbun running the booth full of artisanal dog treats was planning on killing him or not. 

No, the farmer’s market really wasn’t his scene. But Teddy had asked him to pick some shit up and had given him a pretty detailed list, and Emilio was more than willing to do whatever they asked him to do whenever they asked him to do it, so here he was. Weaving through the crowd of the farmer’s market, glancing behind him periodically, and reminding himself that dog treat guy probably didn’t even own a damn knife. 

“Tomatoes,” he murmured to himself, staring down at the list. “Yeah. All right. Know what those look like.” He steeled himself, limping over to a booth full of them. Some were green, some were red. Emilio had no idea if there was a difference. He picked up one of each, holding them in his hands and staring down at them. “Didn’t say how many,” he mumbled. “Might as well get a few of each. Yeah. All right. Tomatoes.” He turned to speak to the girl running the booth, faltering when he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine. He forced himself to ignore it, because it didn’t matter if someone nearby was undead. Emilio wasn’t going to stab a stranger at the farmer’s market. (Not unprovoked, at least.) 

He grit his teeth, unable to prevent himself from doing a cursory sweep of his surroundings in spite of the adamant internal insistence that it wouldn’t change anything. His eyes darted over a few faces before stopping on a familiar one. Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. Monty was an annoying, self-righteous ass, but Emilio was pretty sure the guy wouldn’t kill him. He didn’t even think the zombie noticed him, the way he approached the stand. He seemed focused on the guy next to him, who was more unfamiliar to Emilio. The slayer couldn’t keep himself from making a comment as Monty moved into earshot, humming in acknowledgement. “Didn’t think they sold food for your diet here.”

—

Despite the farmer’s market not having things that either of them needed, there was one man living at the cabin who very much needed human food, and while Monty wasn’t much of a cook, he was determined to have something nice waiting for Kaden when he got home that day. Hector, the cowboy was surprised to find, had significantly advanced his culinary skills somewhere along the way, so he could at least take solace in the idea that what they cooked would not be bad, if only… heavily spiced. And it might have been something of a peace offering, if Monty was being honest with himself. While Hector and Kaden had not been at odds, necessarily, he knew that Kaden still felt very wary of the man. So had Monty, in the beginning. But it was hard to not fall into familiar, comforting patterns, and so he’d relinquished all concern and hesitation in favor of having someone around who shared in his struggles, diving headfirst into repairing the friendship that had so heavily defined the person he’d become. And Kaden… well, there was a chance that Kaden wasn’t exactly happy about that. So they’d do something nice for him! A gesture that would hopefully help to convince him that Hector had changed, that he meant well! Monty was sure it was a good idea. 

List in hand, Monty squinted at it a few times before passing it to Hector (who was a faster reader, too), and let himself be led from this stall to that, just enjoying the mild weather and his less mild company. The two were conversing in Spanish for the entirety of the trip — they both preferred it, and since Kaden wasn’t around, it didn’t feel exclusionary. 

Both men glanced up as they were addressed, Monty’s expression quickly darkening. But Hector, who hadn’t heard anything of the (un)healthy rivalry these two shared, smiled. “Shut up,” Monty groaned at Emilio, glancing at the tomatoes in his hands. “It is for Kaden.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain their presence there — it wasn’t like Emilio actually cared, he was only looking for a chance to start another argument. Hector, who had several very important questions lingering in his mind, was finding that many of them were answered purely by observing how the two were interacting. 

“Ahh, yes, we are preparing a feast for the young man!” he interjected brightly, looking from the stranger to Monty. “... well, Montaña, aren’t you going to introduce me to your… friend?” Monty scoffed, keeping his eyes down on the produce and picking at it absently, pretending that he was trying to pick the best specimen when really he was just praying that Emilio would buy his damn fruits and move on. Hector, sensing that no such thing was going to happen, laughed and turned to Emilio, holding out a hand for a moment before realizing the stranger was a bit preoccupied with tomatoes. “Hm. Well, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Hector,” he introduced himself, instead pointing at the tomatoes the man held. “Good eye, by the way. Those ones look tasty.” 

—

It was clear that Monty wasn’t happy to see him and, in a way, this helped to ease Emilio’s mind a little. The market was an unknown entity full of unknown entities. He couldn’t predict most of its occupants, couldn’t determine how the people running the stalls or the ones buying from them would think or act in any given situation. Monty, however, was a touch more familiar. The two of them were far from friends, but Emilio understood him, to a certain extent. Certainly not in the same way he knew other people, but well enough to carry some comprehension of what he did and how he would react. It was ironic, in a sense; he disliked Monty immensely, and Monty was the safest person at this market. Few people understood how Emilio’s mind worked, least of all Emilio himself.

The man with Monty was still an unknown, of course. Emilio could pick up on the barest of basics from the way he’d approached with the zombie — he spoke Spanish, he was someone Monty was clearly familiar with and comfortable around, he was in charge of the list so he clearly carried some of Monty’s trust. The way Monty responded to his light goading offered another hint — he’d specified that the shopping the two men were performing was for Kaden. No second person, just Kaden. That implied the man with Monty had the same disinterest in the groceries as Monty himself. Emilio’s eyes flickered between the two briefly, and he wondered if the hair on the back of his neck stood on end not for one undead presence, but for two. 

“Brave to cook for a Frenchman,” he commented, sliding into Spanish with little thought. He preferred the language, but rarely allowed himself to be the first one to switch to it in conversation. Somehow, it felt a little too much like exposing his throat in a fight, like admitting that English was still a complicated, clunky thing even now. “He’s probably not going to like it. I know you’ve heard him complain about food.” Emilio certainly had, and he wasn’t the one sharing meals with the guy. (Or watching him eat? He wasn’t sure how dinner dates worked when one party was undead.) 

His eyes slid back to Monty’s companion as he spoke, carefully studying him in a way that tried to make it seem like he wasn’t. The guy seemed friendlier than Monty, though Emilio supposed Monty himself might have been friendly to people who weren’t Emilio. He looked down at his hands, still full of tomatoes, when the stranger held one out for a shake. It was something of a relief when the guy pulled back; Emilio didn’t particularly like handshakes, anyway. Deciding Monty would probably be irritated if Emilio struck up conversation with his friend, the slayer nodded and vowed to do just that. “Emilio,” he replied. “I don’t know shit about tomatoes, man, I’ll be honest. Is there a difference between the green and the red? I’m not really in charge of the cooking.”

—

Rolling his eyes, Monty chose to try and ignore Emilio’s attempts to belittle their decision to do something nice for Kaden — just because he was incapable of feeling anything other than anger didn’t mean that everyone else was, too. Putting down the tomatoes in his hands, he was about to ask Hector if they could go look for some nice green beans instead when he heard the other man laughing at what Emilio had said. 

“Well, we’re going to try our best to impress him! And yes, they’re very different. The greens are great for pickling, baking, or frying! They’re less juicy than the reds, and way more acidic. What is it you’re making?” It was a bold assumption, but maybe Emilio was just new to this — everyone had to start somewhere! Monty watched as Hector started to chat him up with a slight look of disbelief, then an indignant snort. 

“Please, he is not the one cooking anything, that I can guarantee you,” he sniped. “It is for Teddy, his partner.” Hector raised a brow as an amused smile crept over his face. 

“Ahh, I see… Well, in that case, if you were sent off for tomatoes, there’s a very strong chance that Teddy only wanted the red ones. That’s the safe bet.” Okay, so this Emilio person was not a friend of Monty’s, and had in fact brought out a very catty side of the other zombie that Hector hadn’t ever seen before. “I would say… the ones you have there, plus those two,” he added, gesturing at a few more that sat near Emilio. “This really is a small town, eh? I feel like every time we leave the cabin, we are running into someone else that Montaña knows.” He wanted to ask how they’d met, but could already tell that Monty was primed to shut that conversation down as soon as it began. So instead, because he was genuinely enjoying himself at his friend’s expense… “What do you do, Emilio?” 

—

Monty’s friend was… well, friendly. Somehow, Emilio was caught off guard by it. It was entirely due to the fact that Hector was here with Monty, of course; Emilio tended to expect most people would try to kill him upon first meetings, and anything less than that was always something of a surprise. But the fact that this man was here with Monty made his eagerness to help seem all the stranger. Was it arrogant to have assumed Monty might have spoken of him? It would make sense for the zombie to offer Hector a word of warning, if Hector was what Emilio suspected he might be. Evidently, though, the cowboy hadn’t seen this as something that was necessary. Emilio wasn’t sure how to feel about that, wasn’t sure if it felt like an insult or came as a relief. When you’d been one thing all your life, it was jarring to realize that no one considered it to be true of you anymore.

He was about to tell Hector that he wasn’t the one doing the cooking when Monty beat him to it, sounding rather irritated in the process. Emilio let his eyes slide over to the zombie, brows shooting up in an expression that could really only be described as smug before he looked back to Hector. “They like to cook,” he added. “Always ‘experimenting’ in the kitchen. Half of it looks like it’ll eat you before you have a chance to eat it, but it’s usually good.” Not that Emilio ate most of it; his appetite had never quite returned to him after the massacre and, most days, Teddy had to trick him into eating anything at all. But he liked complimenting their cooking, and he liked how pissed off Monty looked at his conversation with Hector, so he kept it going anyway.

And… it turned out, Hector was helpful. This, too, came as a surprise. Emilio nodded thoughtfully, putting the green tomatoes back in the stand. He picked up the ones Hector indicated, nodding again. “That’s very helpful,” he commented. “I appreciate that. I’m not much of a shopper. Someone else is usually in charge of this kind of thing, but I guess I’ll do in a pinch.” Were it not for Monty’s presence, he might have turned away there and let the conversation end. Emilio wasn’t social, after all, and had no real desire to continue getting to know… anyone, really. But Monty was there, and he was irritated, and that was enough for Emilio to decide this conversation was worth his time after all. “I’m a private investigator. I have a small firm in town, take on as many cases as I can keep up with. How about you?”

—

That was a curious way to describe someone’s cooking, Hector thought. Monty, having been inside the house before, felt that it sounded appropriate — but he wasn’t invested in this conversation. In fact, he’d rather be anywhere else, talking to anyone else, but Hector was doing what he always did. The man had never lost that ability to command a room, or in this case, strike up conversation with the unlikeliest of strangers and immediately get on their good side. Of course Emilio’s willingness to continue talking probably had a lot to do with the way Monty was frowning at them from the other end of the stall’s display table, but pretending he was happy to see the slayer wasn’t going to make anything better. 

Hector chuckled, giving Emilio a shrug. “Ah, me? I’m kind of… in between jobs right now. Just got into town not that long ago, you know? Always on the lookout for opportunities. I guess that makes me a freelancer for… odd requests.” He always had to be his own boss, Monty knew that much. “But hey, if you still  have some things you need to pick up for Teddy, we’d be happy to help! Wouldn’t we, Montaña?” Monty looked absolutely gobsmacked. 

“Have I not suffered enough?” he answered lamely.

“Oh, come on now, it’s just some vegetables,” Hector argued with an amused grin. He nodded at Emilio and his handful of tomatoes. “Pay for those, then let’s figure out what you need next, ah? I’ll make sure whatever you grab isn’t going to put a spanner in the works.”

Monty could have continued to argue, but he knew better. Hector had his mind set on this for whatever reason, and honestly, he was too damn beaten down from everything that had happened lately to complain about it any more. He might’ve told Emilio (or both of them) to fuck off at one time, but he didn’t have the anger in him for it anymore. So he just rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head, hoping that Emilio had a short grocery list.

—

The ever-present unease that had lived in his head for years now meant that Emilio was dissecting every word from Hector’s mouth as soon as the syllables settled. He was new to town and between jobs, which meant his friendship with Monty likely predated his time in Wicked’s Rest. The two seemed too comfortable around each other to have only just met. How far back did it go, then? Hector’s accent was from Mexico, but Emilio had no idea how much time Monty had spent in their shared home country after being turned. Had he fled the moment Emilio’s ancestor refused to kill him, or had he stayed longer? Had he met Hector in Mexico, or had the pair run into one another out in the world, just as Emilio and Monty had? The questions swirled in the detective’s mind, eyes darting between the pair carefully as he tried to narrow things down further.

It was hard to say if it was the mystery or the promise of bothering Monty that made Hector’s offer to stick around feel tempting instead of annoying. Most days, Emilio had little desire for companionship from someone he’d only just met in a casual setting. There were too many people in this town already who’d fooled themselves into thinking he was someone worth hanging around, and he didn’t tend to jump at the opportunity to add to that list. But he wanted to know more about Hector, even if only for the sake of his own suspicious curiosity, and he wanted to annoy Monty, even if only to satisfy his petty streak, so he nodded. 

“Ah, I’d appreciate that,” he said, flashing Monty a shit-eating grin. “I’m a little out of my depth here. Never been much good at groceries.” Especially not when there were so many options available to him. It was a stupid thing to feel overwhelmed about; Emilio felt like he was drowning all the same. 

Turning back to the person manning the tomato booth, Emilio passed some cash over with a nod. At least that part was the same no matter where you were. With the tomatoes bagged for easy transport and his wallet tucked back into his back pocket, he turned back to the pair of undead men. Pulling out the list he’d been provided with, he held it up. “Got a few more ingredients I need to pick up,” he commented. “No idea what it’s all for.” He’d found it was better not to guess, with Teddy’s cooking.

Scooting away from the tomato booth and immediately finding it a little easier to breathe with a few less people surrounding him, Emilio headed towards the next target. He glanced back to see if Hector and Monty would follow, nodding to Hector again. “So, what brings you to town?” Was he here for Monty, or had running into him been a surprise? 

—

Arms folded across his chest, Monty followed after the pair, taking up the rear with his head down. It felt familiar, in a way. Back in their livelier days, Monty had often followed the other man around, trying to learn how it was that he managed to charm everyone he talked to, or even just as a support in case he needed anything. He’d often fade into the background while Hector talked jobs with other, more experienced gang members, absorbing as much as he could until their leader would eventually turn to him with a grin and clap a hand across the back of his neck, announcing that Monty would be joining the team for this one. So, as he walked and the other two talked, he felt somehow comforted more than he felt annoyed or awkward stepping back into those very well-worn shoes. 

“Well, if I am honest, I heard about the fire.” Hector glanced back at Monty, who failed to acknowledge the statement and instead just kept his gaze focused on his boots. “I had been looking for him for some time, but he did not make himself easy to find. Then one day, I saw his name in print and had to come see for myself. So I set up camp on his farm and waited.” He seemed proud of this, wearing a satisfied smile. “And he turned up, of course. He’s always been very good at coming when called — I do not even have to speak the commands anymore.” Monty lifted his head now, furrowing his brows at Hector, wondering what on earth he meant by that. Why would he say something like that to a perfect stranger? There wasn’t any time to protest, however, because Hector was barrelling through the brief pause with a sharp inhale and a very animated glance downward at Emilio’s list. “So! What is next, my friend? Ahh, yes… I think those are this way!” Lifting his head and pointing to their right, Hector motioned for the other two to follow. Monty hugged his arms to himself a little tighter, avoiding Emilio’s gaze as they carved their way through the thin crowd and over to the next booth.

—

There was something off about the way Hector spoke about Monty. Emilio sent a subtle glance back towards the cowboy, trying to gauge his reaction. If Monty made himself hard to find, had he been hiding from Hector? The pair seemed friendly now, but he figured Monty was more likely to put on an act in front of him than anyone else. And the rest of it… saying Monty came when called, as if he was a dog responding to his owner’s sharp whistle… It didn’t sit quite right in Emilio’s chest. He wouldn’t pretend he was Monty’s biggest fan, but the fact that he knew the guy put him above Hector on the list of people Emilio wasn’t entirely uncertain about. He didn’t trust Monty — he was pretty sure the guy would leave him to die in a heartbeat, even if he was too self righteous to kill him directly — but he was, at the very least, a known entity. Hector was something else; something dangerous, maybe.

Or maybe Emilio’s paranoia was getting the best of him. He’d thought the guy with the manbun and the homemade dog treats was dangerous, too, after all. 

He tried to push his uncertainty to the side, tried to remind himself that he didn’t really care one way or another. Monty was surely capable of taking care of himself, so it made no difference to Emilio what his ‘friend’s’ intentions might be. Presumably, Kaden was aware of the situation, too, and that was someone the slayer did trust. He figured, between the two of them, a skilled ranger and a guy who was probably pushing two hundred could take care of themselves. 

“I was sorry to hear about the farm,” he commented, glancing back to Monty again. The apologetic tone was a genuine one, though he wasn’t sure Monty would accept it as such. “I guess it’s good Monty’s got your support.” He kept his eyes on the cowboy as he said it, waiting for a reaction. Was Monty happy with the ‘support?’ He avoided Emilio’s gaze in a way that made it difficult to tell. The detective studied him for a heartbeat more before turning back to his shopping list, nodding his head. He followed Hector as he led the way to the next booth, still looking at Monty out of the corner of his eye. “My partner can be picky on ingredients. We’ll have to make sure we get the best ones.” And maximize the amount of time he could spend trying to figure Hector out. (Not that he gave a shit or anything; he was just curious. That was all.)

—

A brief, melancholic glance was spared in Emilio’s direction when he expressed his condolences — it was funny, really. He’d come to the farm the first time to kill someone who worked there. Had threatened to do it again if he found out that Monty was protecting anyone he wanted dead. How could he be sorry? How could a slayer be sorry that a community of undead had been almost completely wiped from existence?

Yet his tone wasn’t the snarky, sarcastic one he usually used around Monty. It didn’t seem to be digging for any kind of specific response, or trying to egg him on in a way that would end up with Monty upset and Emilio either amused or threatening to do something he wouldn’t like. It was just that — sympathy. Or pity, maybe. That felt more likely. 

His gaze darted back to the ground when Emilio said he must be glad for the support. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure yet. Some things about it seemed good. There was comfort in that familiarity, in having someone around who shared his complicated, bloody past. But Monty wasn’t sure that Hector had moved beyond that past, especially not with comments like the one he’d made about Monty being… the way that he was. It wasn’t untrue what he said, but it didn’t feel quite right. Still familiar, but something that Monty had grown unaccustomed to. Still, if he stayed too quiet, then Emilio might read into it too much. And Monty didn’t want to accidentally reveal anything about himself that he wasn’t prepared for someone like Emilio to know, so he just laughed a hollow laugh and nodded. “Yes! Very grateful for Hector’s…” Help wasn’t the word. “... presence. It had been a while. Always good to have your friends around.” 

Hector smiled at him in a way that almost felt approving, and that confused, annoying anxiety was swirling in his gut again in seconds. “Of course, of course, only the best,” Hector agreed, attention having returned to Emilio and his list. 

For the most part, Monty hung back while the other two men went around and completed both shopping lists. He was handed bags to carry, Hector of course far too busy helping Emilio pick out the best of the best to be bothered with lugging produce around. He didn’t really speak unless spoken to, and by the time both lists had been completed, he’d lapsed into a state of distracted staring off into space and only half-listening to their conversations. Hector chided him for it once, but Monty tried to brush it off by saying he was thinking of work that still needed to be done at the cabin. Which wasn’t untrue, there was a lot that could be done to the makeshift pen and stable that they’d erected on the property and he was often thinking of ways to improve it, but… well. He just didn’t care for this situation, nor the way Hector seemed intent on getting Emilio to like him. He was agreeable, warm, and helpful — all the things he’d been back in the 1800s, when a teenage, captive Monty had been untied from that tree and brought to meet him. It was how he drew people in. Always had been. Then he’d start asking things of them, but Monty wasn’t sure that was the case here. More likely, he was just looking for something to lord over Monty in moments of impatience or anger. 

—

Reading people was the kind of thing you needed to be decent at if you got into as many scrapes as Emilio did. Understanding a person’s body language allowed you to decipher whether they were going to start throwing punches or buy you a drink when you pushed their buttons, let you decide whether someone was a threat or a nuisance. (Monty had always been the latter.) Emilio had gotten good at it over the years, had started figuring it out as a kid who had to try a little too hard to please his mother and carried it with him until he was an adult at a farmer’s market standing between two undead men. 

He stared at Monty a moment, dissected his hesitation and his carefully chosen words. The pause before he described Hector’s assistance as little more than his presence, the intentional choice in terminology. Coupled with the way Hector had spoken about Monty, and Emilio wondered if the two were friends at all or if there was something else going on. They seemed familiar with each other, but familiarity didn’t always equate to fondness. He thought of Lucio, turning up again out of the blue and turning his life upside down. He thought of Rhett, who had been both a welcome and unwelcome presence from his past. Maybe this was something closer to that, some uncomfortable uncertainty shrouded with a past obligation. Monty described Hector as a friend, but was that just because there was no word that really fit? 

Emilio studied Monty a moment longer before turning back to Hector, not wanting to alert either man to his own uncertainty. Monty would only grow defensive, and Hector was an unknown entity whose reaction couldn’t be predicted without further exposure. (Emilio wasn’t sure he wanted further exposure.) 

The shopping continued, and Emilio continued trying to solve the puzzle presented to him throughout without cluing either man in on his suspicions. He was civil with Hector, even friendly; as long as the other man thought Emilio liked him, Emilio could continue gathering more information. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t still want to irritate Monty, even if it was far less fun when the cowboy was as withdrawn as he’d become throughout the shopping trip. Emilio tended to poke at people in hopes of gaining the satisfaction of a reaction, and Monty wasn’t giving him that anymore. And the more Hector spoke, the less Emilio liked him. It was clear that he was trying to get Emilio to like him, and the paranoid corner of his mind that had grown larger and larger of late insisted that there was some unknown ulterior motive behind this. Whatever Hector wanted from him, Emilio wasn’t sure he wanted to provide it. Mostly, he just wanted to get his groceries. 

In the end, he was successful in that much, at least. Hector made short work of his list, and Emilio’s arms were full of bags full of shit he figured Teddy would be happy with. He nodded at the two undead men as they neared the entrance of the market. “Appreciate the help,” he said, glancing to Monty but keeping the majority of his attention focused on Hector. “Probably would have taken me all day to make it through that shit on my own. Maybe you can come by for dinner sometime.” He couldn’t be sure how much of his suspicion was valid and how much was his paranoia rearing its ugly head. Having the pair in his house, in a situation where he was in control, and with Teddy as an additional witness… that would help him figure this out. He was sure of it. 

—

Monty remained quiet, his gaze distantly focused on the ground beneath their feet until they came to a slow stop, preparing to go their separate ways. As he lifted his chin again, he realized Emilio was inviting them over for dinner. A sense of dread started to climb up his spine and he flicked his gaze over to Hector to see what he’d say. There wouldn’t be any arguing it, at least not while Emilio was standing right in front of them. The reason he was inviting them over escaped Monty entirely: he knew that his dislike was mutually shared, so it certainly wasn’t a sudden change of heart. Hector might be charming, but he wasn’t that charming. Not enough to inspire something like that, especially not from someone so paranoid and angry as Cortez. 

“Ah, so kind of you,” Hector answered for them both, that disarming smile never leaving his face. “We’d love to.” There was no attempt to ask for Monty’s confirmation this time — there wasn’t even so much as a glance in his direction, Hector’s focus solely on the man standing in front of him, zeroed in with a predatory focus. “I’ll have one of the boys get you my contact information.” The statement was marked with a playful wink, goodbyes were exchanged, and Monty didn’t speak a word until Emilio had disappeared from view. Hector was still staring at the spot they’d last seen him, and Monty could swear he saw the gears turning in the man’s head. 

“He’s a hunter,” Monty explained bluntly, voice low and soft. “A slayer.” Hector smirked.

“Of course he is. And you haven’t killed him?” Monty looked back down at his feet, swallowing hard. 

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“Hector, please… can we just go home?” The man narrowed his eyes in the direction Emilio had gone, the smile falling from his face. 

“Fine.” The question of whether or not it was Emilio’s intention to lure them somewhere where he could kill them went unspoken, which Monty was grateful for. He didn’t know how to answer, because he was pretty sure that Emilio wouldn’t try anything like that on him, at least, since… well, because of Kaden. And if he had to tell Hector that, then Hector was going to want to know what Kaden and Emilio had that bound them, and Monty just wasn’t prepared to lie about that. It was easier to say nothing at all. 

He only hoped that these dinner plans would never come to pass, because he truly didn’t know what Emilio intended to gain from them. And he didn’t want to find out. 

[necrosemancy]

I mean, I feel like it's entirely possible that someone wanted to go for a distressed look and found a ay to make their door look like it had been attacked... But I'm not quite sure how to do that exactly. Maybe some worbla? paper mache and modge podge? Take a really sharp knife to some metal?

Can you tell I like arts and crafts?

[howdy-cowpoke]

Worbla? Mod-- are you making up words right now? I can tell you like something, but I couldn't tell you if it is arts and crafts or just plain old witchcraft.

[fromnewashes]

First of all, twelve foot tall skeletons never went out of style. I have six in my yard right now. [user has neither a yard nor six twelve foot tall skeletons.] Second of all, why are you looking at my doors? I didn't give you permission to do that. Kindly avert your eyes. That's incredibly rude of you.

[howdy-cowpoke]

Well, if you have six in your yard, then I do not think I was looking at your doors, actually. So you can keep the attitude to yourself. [...] Why six? What are they doing?

[nicsalazar]

Wouldn't surprise me if it's a new trend. Giant skeletons are still happening too for some fucking r. Saw two on my drive home the other day. Don't remember Halloween being this popular back in the before. Thought it was about carving pumpkins and that's it.

[howdy-cowpoke]

The giant skeletons I could get behind. They felt a little like the cartonería skeletons you'd see back home during Día de los Muertos, just... mass produced by machines, because America. Still. They are a lot, though, you're right about that. All of it is a lot. Especially in this town. Do you carve pumpkins as well? I have tried a few times, but I seem to always just end up with one big hole in it instead of a face. Not very crafty.

[eldritchaccident]

Timing: Before the Fire at Monty's and Before Levi got home Location: The Jones Home Feat: @mortemoppetere @chasseurdeloup @howdy-cowpoke & @eldritchaccident Warnings: Child Death tw (adjacent, and remembered) Summary: The egg hatches!

“Do we have any more butter?” Kaden called out as he prepped the dough for the pie he was making for tonight. Telly’s house was well stocked with all kinds of foods and ingredients but the two of them had already gone through a lot of butter while they were cooking up a storm. And flour. And, well, everything else. Dinner was important. It was going to be their first family dinner with all five of them: Kaden, Telly, Monty, Emilio, and Lianya. It had to be perfect. They had to start out on the right foot for the baby’s sake.

He knew it was going to be a little rocky at first with Emilio and Monty. The two of them didn’t exactly get along but he hoped that they could put their differences aside to be step-dads to Lianya. On that note, it had been a whole minute since he’d last checked on them, but before he could peek over the edge of the counter to check on the egg nestled into the baby cradle just on the other side, the doorbell rang. “Got it.” There was no doubt in his mind who it was waiting at the door. This would be Monty’s first time seeing Lianya and Kaden was overjoyed to share this with his partner. Telly was great and all and a solid parent, but they weren’t Monty. Kaden wasn’t going to abandon his kid so he needed his partner to be on board with this. The last thing he wanted was to have to walk away from the cowboy if it came down to that.

Putain, this was supposed to be a celebration. Kaden shoved the thought from his mind as he swung the door open, beaming as he saw Monty standing there. “Hey,” he said as he reached out to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Glad you made it. Dinner’s a little ways away but that gives you plenty of time with Lianya.” He took his partner’s hand in his and led him straight to the kitchen and the baby, heart pounding as he waited to see their first interaction with one another, sure that it would be magical. 

—

There weren't really words that could be assembled in a way to accurately describe what the farmer was thinking. He wasn't even sure what he was thinking, beyond a helpless sort of confusion. He'd been told that this was… a goggie egg. And there was something about pheromones. Which explained the behavior, he supposed, but it didn't bring him any closer to solving the problem, which was how to convince Kaden that this egg was not his child. Monty didn't really care if this Telly person kept it, that wasn't his problem, but Kaden needed to be convinced that the emotional attachment he had wasn't real. And, again… how the fuck was Monty supposed to do that?

For now, he played along. He agreed to come to whatever kind of ‘family meal’ this was supposed to be, making his way to World's End Isle and feeling immediately out of place. God this house was huge, he thought as he approached the front door. Who was Telly? It only served to make him feel more uncomfortable, shifting his weight anxiously as he rang the doorbell.

Thankfully, a familiar face answered. Monty smiled back, forgetting the strangeness that had brought him here for a moment as he angled his head slightly up to look at Kaden, just happy to see him, as he’d been rather busy lately with… all of this. Right. The smile became forced, and he hoped it wouldn't show. Kaden kissed him, took his hand, and started to lead him into the house as he talked about meeting the… egg. Monty felt weirdly nervous, lacking faith in his acting ability and not wanting to upset Kaden with lackluster enthusiasm. The egg came into view and Monty just stared at it. He made no comment on the smell, because he couldn’t smell anything. All he could do was stand there, a healthy distance away from it, not knowing what to do or say. “Wow,” he managed, blinking away the stunned look on his face, “that's… that's some egg.”

A sound behind them was his saving grace, relief flooding him as he turned to see who had arrived to spare him this discomfort, and as quickly as it had arrived, that relief was sapped away from him. There stood Emilio, looking as perturbed as ever. Monty bristled. 

“What is he doing here,” he asked in a tone that was harsher than intended, forgetting the egg in favor of being face to face with perhaps one of his least favorite people. 

—

Something had to be done about the fucking egg. Emilio had privately found it a little funny when it was Kaden going on and on about how the egg was the greatest joy in his life, privately glad that it was something for Kaden and ‘Telly’ to deal with and that he could watch from an enjoyable distance. But then, ‘Telly’ turned out to be Teddy, because Emilio’s life was a cosmic goddamn joke, and now he was preparing to have a ‘family dinner’ with his partner, a French guy he once accused of framing a polar bear for murder, and a zombie who he was fairly certain would throw a party if he died, even if he didn’t think Monty would actively try to kill him himself. 

So, yes. Something needed to be done about the egg very soon. Preferably before Emilio lost his goddamn mind, though the ship might have sailed on that one.

He sighed, steeling himself before walking into the kitchen. The egg gave off a stench that went unnoticed to someone who had spent most of his life living in… far stinkier conditions than this, especially when he immediately became hyperfocused on the people standing in the kitchen. He’d hoped Teddy would be in the room already upon his arrival, but Emilio had never been a lucky man. Instead of his partner, or even Kaden alone, he walked in on Kaden and Monty standing over the egg.

It was impossible not to hold back the frustrated sigh, which didn’t go unnoticed by the kitchen’s other occupants. (Minus the egg, who Emilio doubted noticed anything at all, because it was a fucking egg.) They turned around, Monty’s eyes landing on him with a predictable amount of surprise and frustration. Emilio grimaced. 

“I live here,” he snapped, unable to keep the ire out of his tone. He craned his neck a little to better see the egg, trying to identify it as best he could. It just looked like an egg. He couldn’t imagine how it had gotten an experienced hunter like Kaden and an incredibly intelligent spellcaster with experience in all things demonic like Teddy all worked up. “Where’s Teddy?” They wouldn’t have strayed far from the egg; Emilio was certain of that. 

—

The rocking cradle was a calm source of background noise as Teddy worked. They’d much prefer the baby swaddled up and curled in on their chest, but this was the best option while cooking and carrying potentially dangerous things like knives and hot pans. Kaden had been a great co-parent so far, and surprisingly a wonderful co-chef. Far more versed in the realm of pies than Teds had ever been. 

(Though there was that one class with that youngin’ one time. Hadn’t she had a cousin named Kaden? If Teddy had any brain cells to spare, surely they might have made that connection, but alas.) 

The caster was much more a ‘jack of all trades, master of just a few maybe’ than a connoisseur of one cuisine. But that worked really well lined up next to Mr. Gangly. That was what he said his name was right? Certainly fit his frame. 

The doorbell rang and Teds was more than happy to let Kaden go get it, everyone would be by soon enough, and this… well no amount of egg fever was going to dissuade Teddy from knowing it might be a mess. They just had to believe the love they shared with the animal control officer for the little bundle snuggled up in the chair just next to the counter was enough to guide them through. A distraction pulled them from the kitchen just for a moment, had to grab the extra butter from the second fridge downstairs. It would only be a second, they figured, and Kaden was right there so–

So why did it give them a pang of panic to see the three men crowded around the cradle when they returned. Kaden was fine, obviously, but something in the way the other two stood, or maybe how they looked at each other, it wasn’t right. “Hey hey– no sour pusses in front of the baby. Save it for after dinner.” Instinctively, Teddy wormed their way through, picked up and held Lianya only to turn and get ready to introduce themself to– Oh hey. “Wait, you’re…”Oh shoot what was his name… “Monty, right? Small world I guess. Welcome!” 

—

Kaden was practically leaning on the tip of his toes, watching as his partner got a first look at Lianya. He was hoping to see his face light up or witness some sort of connection or emotional, well, anything. Instead, there was a lot more shock and confusion covering Monty’s expressions. It was hard not to be a little disappointed but Kaden figured that maybe he just needed to wait until she hatched — maybe that was when the connection would come. He also figured some of the hesitant response could be blamed on Emilio. It was hardly a secret that his partner didn’t see eye to eye with the slayer (to put it lightly) but Kaden had hoped they could put their differences aside for the sake of the baby. 

“Yeah, save the fighting for after dessert,” he added, giving Monty’s shoulders a quick squeeze as he headed back to the kitchen to keep an eye on the food while Telly was out there with Lianaya. 

Wait. It was Telly, right? His brow furrowed as he processed what Emilio had just asked. “Hold on, did you say Teddy?” he asked, pausing on his way to the kitchen. His eyes darted back and forth between Cortez and his partner, unsure if either of them were fucking with him. Kaden had no idea why neither of them would have corrected him this whole damn time if he had been—

Crrrick.

The sound was coming from the bundle in Telly’s (Teddy’s?) arms. “What was that?” he asked, taking a step toward the baby, hand reaching out protectively. He bent over and saw a small hairline fracture in the shell of the egg. Was it— hell, it had to be hatching, right? Was that too early? Was it just the right time? Kaden didn’t know. “I think she’s—” Panic gripped the hunter as he realized he had no fucking clue what to do or how to help. “Lianya is hatching. She’s— I mean, that’s what’s happening, right? What should we do? Do you know what to do?” He was asking his co-parent who had the baby cradled in their arms, hoping they had some insight that Kaden lacked. Something told him that Emilio and Monty weren’t exactly experts in this situation either. 

—

It was difficult to tell from Emilio’s reaction if he was also under this egg spell, Monty noting the way he craned his neck to see it behind them. If he was up against three brainwashed people tonight, he might actually lose it. 

When the fourth person entered the room, Monty was surprised to realize he did know them, at least as an acquaintance—Teddy was their name, Kaden had been saying it wrong this whole time, which had only confused him further. Wait. Teddy was dating Emilio? Surely they could do better than that—

He was pulled from his thoughts when Teddy addressed him, and he tried to muster a small smile. He suddenly felt bad for being so hostile towards Emilio, when both Teddy and Kaden sounded desperate for them to relax. “Sorry, I—” He was cut off by the sound of eggshell cracking, and his eyes widened as they fell on the thing Teddy was holding. Kaden immediately moved in and panic started to lace itself into his voice. Worried about what was going to come out of that thing, Monty flicked his gaze upward to meet Emilio’s. He tried to express his disbelief as best he could in silence, shaking his head. Perhaps a temporary truce would be best. He just hoped that Emilio was not also under the hypnotic influence of this thing. 

While Kaden and Teddy fretted over the egg, Monty sidled over to Emilio, speaking in a low voice. “I was told it is a goggie egg, most likely. I do not know what that is, do you?” 

—

It wasn’t exactly rare for Teddy to attempt to ease Emilio’s anger when it began to boil over, but he found he liked it a lot less when they were doing it for the benefit of an egg. He barely stopped himself from transferring the glare he’d been shooting Monty to the egg now cradled in Teddy’s hands, well aware that his partner, in their current state, wouldn’t take kindly to it. Kaden, too, would likely take offense to anyone shooting rude looks towards something he seemed to think was his child. 

There should have been some relief in knowing that Monty, at least, didn’t seem to be under the egg’s thrall. Not having to face whatever this was alone might have been nicer if his only ‘companion’ in the ordeal wasn’t someone he disliked immensely. He clenched his jaw tightly as Kaden agreed with Teddy, disliking this alliance just as much as he disliked the one that would undoubtedly become necessary between himself and the self-righteous zombie standing in the middle of his kitchen. 

Glancing to Kaden, he exhaled. Right. Kaden thought Teddy’s name was Telly, and Emilio hadn’t corrected him because it was funny. He opened his mouth, either to feed into the joke to calm himself or to cut it out and focus on larger things. Even he wasn’t sure which. But it seemed he’d never find out for certain, one way or the other; the crack that sounded through the room seemed to cut through the quiet like a blade, and Emilio felt a strange ache in his chest at Kaden’s excited panic. For a moment, he was reminded of himself years ago, pacing the length of a living room and staring at a closed bedroom door. He shook the thought away, forcing it down as quickly as he could. This wasn’t Kaden anticipating the birth of his child; this was a hatching egg that was probably malicious. 

Emilio bristled a little as Monty came to stand next to him, his muscles taut and ready to spring into action. At Monty’s words, his nostrils flared, eyes landing on the egg as his hand slipped into his pocket. A fucking goggie? He hadn’t even known they hatched from eggs. It seemed strange that the egg was so small, if this was what it was. Goggies, from what he knew, were large. Their size was part of what made them so dangerous; maybe this one being small would help them out here.

Though… not if they ended up having to fight Kaden and Teddy, too.

“Bad news is what it is,” he said lowly, switching to Spanish. Teddy would still be able to understand them, but he didn’t think Kaden would, and Kaden’s hearing was better. It probably didn’t matter, with the two of them distracted by the egg, but it seemed like a good idea, anyway. “Goggies are… dangerous. But part of that is because they’re big. This one is small, if it fits in the egg. Either way, though… I think we’re going to need to kill it. Before it can get big, before it can hurt anyone.” He paused, eyes settling on Teddy and Kaden. “We might have to fight them to do that. It’s got them under some kind of spell, I think. I don’t know what it is. Goggies don’t do that, as far as I know, but I’ve never spoken to anyone who fought one that just hatched or found an egg. Maybe the spell goes away when it hatches, maybe not. Lot of unknowns here. I say we take the fucker’s head off. You going to fight me on that?”

—

Hairline fractures splintered along the surface of the most important thing in Teddy’s life right then. A wellspring of panic and joy and anticipation and worry bubbled up from deep in their gut. Do they put it down? Should they keep holding onto it?? Frantically they looked to Kaden, who seemed to be in just as tightly wound of a knot. Ahh, first time parents. C’est la Vie.  

Were their brain not clouded with foreign feelings, and forced affection Teddy might very well have stopped to realize how harshly this might hit Emilio. How much he should have been a part of this, rather than Kaden. But Kaden was a fine co-dad so far. Dutiful, careful, stronger than he looked, and packing a full arsenal of assorted weapons, mostly silvered. Was he a—? The thought almost formed in Ted’s mind, but drifted away on the pheromone tides tying them to the sudden arrival of their child. 

“Okay lets— the couch. Right? We should be sitting.” Quickly and as gently as they could, Teddy bee-lined it towards the softer surfaces. Forgetting all about everything going on in the oven and on the stove, and moving farther away from the boys having a bit of private talk. Obviously they had to be chatting up who gets to spend more weekends with Lianya, and who gets to be called Papa Prime, obviously. What else could they possibly be conspiring on? 

—

“Couch, yeah, sitting,” he repeated as he followed Teddy to the sofa, crouching down beside it to get as close to eye level as he could with the egg, watching it intently. Kaden was far from fluent in Spanish but by now, he was able to pick up a few words at the very least. “Huevo” came up a few times between Monty and Emilio which made sense. He assumed the two of them were talking about how wonderful she was, maybe even speculating what she would look like.

It didn’t seem like they would have to wait long to find out. The shell was cracking and whatever was inside was rattling and pushing its way out. Kaden’s heart was pounding in his chest, wondering if he should help remove the bits of the shell and speed the process along. Would she suffocate if she was left alone too long? His hand hovered over the shattering egg, but he thought better of it. Something told him this was a thing she had to do on her own if she could and to not intervene unless it was absolutely necessary.

When the top popped off and a hole was visible in the shell, Kaden knew he’d made the right call. Seeing Lianya emerge all on her own was worth every second of fear and doubt. “She’s perfect,” he muttered as the child wriggled out of its egg.

She was long (horizontally) and covered in thick almost fur. No it wasn’t fur, it was more like spikes only that wasn’t the right word either. They were more like… bristles. Bristles. His brow furrowed as he mulled over the word in his mind. Bristlecat seeder floated in the back of his thoughts, like it was trying to push through to the surface but couldn’t quite make it. Funny, Lianya did sort of look like a bristlecat seeder. It was lucky for them she wasn’t. She’d eat them out of house and home if she were. Hell, she might try to eat them if that had been the case. Lucky for them, she was a perfect angel. 

His hand brushed over the bristles and he could feel pin pricks across his palm from the ends of eac one. They weren’t spikes, but they were sharp, and Kaden felt a small swell of pride knowing that his child would be able to protect herself if anything were to happen. Lianya made a small gurgle of approval at the attention followed by something like a worm version of a whine. “She’s asking for something,” he said, processing this all outloud. “What is she asking for? I don’t think she needs a diaper. Should we hold her? Or is she…” It was obvious once he thought about it. “Hungry. I bet she’s hungry.” Another approving grumble from the child. In fact, she started wiggling on her own and Kaden was so swept up in the joy of the moment, he didn’t notice that she was headed directly towards Emilio and Monty. Surely it was just to greet her other dads. It was sweet, really. 

—

Emilio was just full of information on the subject, which should have come as a relief, but the knowledge itself was even more troubling. Monty listened with a frown, his gaze fixed on the egg as Teddy and Kaden took it over to the couch. “... fight them? We cannot fight them, what are you talking about?” He closed his eyes, dragging a hand over his face. “And if the spell does not break when it hatches? Do you think it will break when the creature is dead, or are we both about to get dumped over a fucking egg?” There was considerable strain in his voice as his gaze flicked between Emilio and the egg. 

The egg that was now definitely hatching.

A breath he did not need to take was hitched in his throat, eyes wide and unblinking. I bet she’s hungry. That particular out-loud thought of Kaden’s didn’t strike the cowboy as very lucky, as the hairy worm-thing started to make its way toward them. “Emilio,” he stammered, taking a step back, “do they eat people? Do goggies eat people?” There was a good fucking chance they did, wasn’t there? The goggie squirmed its way closer, and Monty realized with a groan that he had no real way of helping, here… no weapons to speak of, and there was no way he was going to be able to stop Kaden if he got upset and tried to attack Emilio. And Teddy… the memory of that person in the cave came to mind, and the zombie shuddered. Their touch while wounded had killed that person. Monty would really like to avoid Teddy sustaining any injuries, if possible. 

—

The egg was definitely hatching, which meant the amount of time Emilio and Monty had to argue about what to do when Kaden and Teddy’s little bundle of bullshit sprung into the world was growing shorter by the second. Emilio resisted the urge to toss his hands in the air, not wanting to draw any attention to the conversation he and Monty were having. He wasn’t sure how big a concern it was, really; both Kaden and Teddy seemed utterly mesmerized. Emilio wasn’t convinced an apocalypse would draw their attention away from that damn egg.

“What do you suggest, then? Because I’m not really looking to sit back and watch that thing eat them. If I get dumped after, I can live with that. That’s better than watching whatever comes out of that egg kill them. If Teddy’s alive to dump me, it’s a fucking victory.” It was hard not to get frustrated. It wasn’t as if he wanted to fight Teddy or Kaden, either. Teddy was his partner, and Kaden was his friend (even if he probably wouldn’t say that bit out loud). Emilio wasn’t looking to butt heads here. But… anything was better than losing them, wasn’t it? And they didn’t have a lot of time to think of an alternative. The egg cracked, something came out, and Teddy and Kaden looked just as awestruck as they had when it was a fucking egg. Any hope of the spell breaking with the eggshell was lost.

And whatever had hatched had hatched hungry. Wasn’t that just the icing on the goddamn cake? Emilio let out a long, frustrated exhale. The thing, whatever it was called, was moving directly towards the two men not caught up under its spell. That was bad. “I think it’s better if we don’t find out the hard way,” Emilio snapped, grabbing Monty and yanking him to the side just as Lianya pounced. She tore through the air where Monty had been standing, letting out a disappointed screech when her teeth met empty air instead of the zombie’s flesh. Emilio palmed a knife, shooting Monty a look. “One of us needs to kill it,” he said, “while the other one keeps them back. Which job do you want, cowboy?” 

—

The caster was just about to turn and fetch something from the kitchen when the very hungry baby took her first steps, oh how exciting! A swell rose up in Teddy’s chest, some kind of pride they’d never really experienced before. While their eyes had been glued to the child, they spared a millisecond to flick over to Kaden to watch the same reaction beam across his face too. Then another over towards the source of Lianya’s preoccupation. The boys. Their boys. Well, Emilio was theirs and Monty was Kaden’s and Teds was pretty sure they didn’t want to share that with their co-parent, but ahh— 

Wait. 

Processing might have been slower than normal, what with the excitement of everything going on, but Teddy knew that look in Emilio’s eyes. Knew the hardened stare that came with a tough decision. The set of his jaw, the way his shoulders stood far too rigid, poised like a rattlesnake about to snap. Something in their head tried to coax away the rational thought, he was just worried for her safety. Didn’t want to lose another— 

“Liaaa, you can’t eat hiiiiim silly billy—“ Their voice pried out of them almost involuntarily. Cooing after and coddling the insectoid creature. 

No, wait, this— this was— 

“One of us needs to kill it,” 

Two parts of a mind divided sprang forth, resulting in a rather clumsy leap forward. Gangly arms scooped up the ‘infant’ and clutched it to their chest. 

“The fuck do you mean, kill it?” There was something wrong, Teddy’s brain kept screaming, alarm bells blaring. This wasn’t normal, something was wrong. But which part? Defensively, they turned to cast a shoulder towards the boys, hoping Kaden knew enough Spanish to understand the situation and step in too. 

Emilio and Monty were confused, that’s all. Right? That— it had to be— 

— 

Before Kaden could fully figure out what was going on, Lianya was in Teddy’s arms and everyone around him was speaking in Spanish. His Spanish lessons with Metzli hadn’t covered this sort of thing nor had any of the parts he’d picked up from Monty. Even so, he could tell that there was tension in the air. Mostly due to the knife in Emilio’s hand. And it didn’t look like the slayer planned on using that knife to protect Lianya. If anything, it looked like he was going to— Kaden couldn’t even finish the thought let alone imagine it. 

So far, he caught “huevo” and “trabajo” and “goggie.” Egg made sense. Goggie, less so. Sure the egg had looked like a goggie egg and if he squinted, maybe Lianya looked similar to a bristlecat seeder (a subspecies) but that was impossible. She wasn’t a monster. She was perfect. And nowhere near old enough to get a job so what the hell was Cortez saying? 

It didn’t matter because Telly was up in arms and holding the baby in a protective stance. That was all he needed to know. “Mon coeur,” the hunter asked his partner as he inched towards the side table by the couch. If he knew hunters, Emilio had at least one knife stashed near there if not two. Kaden usually carried a few on himself at all times but he’d been sure to stay unarmed while there was a child in the room. It’s not like they wouldn’t be protected with two hunters in the house.

Though he was starting to think that maybe wasn’t the case. “What’s going on?” he asked, hand fumbling around the space between the sidetable and the couch, fingers brushing against a handle to some sort of weapon. It was that or a remote or some bullshit but Kaden was counting on Emilio to be a paranoid bastard and it paid off when he pulled out a knife. His heart sunk at the thought of using it on either of the men across from him, but the thought of Lianya getting hurt destroyed him. He hoped it wouldn’t come down to it but, if it did, the ranger wouldn’t hesitate. 

—

Of course getting dumped was a better alternative to anyone being eaten, but Monty hadn’t assumed that anyone would be getting eaten… not until that thing was bee-lining for them both. He gasped as he felt Emilio grab him and yank him out of the way, eyes wide while they followed the goggie’s trajectory through the air, stomach churning at how disappointed it sounded to have been denied a bite. Emilio was speaking. Monty blinked, looking at him again and then holding his hands up defensively. “You’re the one with the knife.” But before they could act, Teddy was swooping in and gathering the gross little grub in their arms, making this all the harder. Monty frowned, looking from person to person while stepping closer to Kaden. Teddy wanted to know exactly what they meant by kill, and Kaden wanted to know what was going on in general. He was speaking to the zombie, whose attention was constantly flicking between him and the creature that Teddy held, watching it squirm in their grasp. 

“This is not—that thing is dangerous,” Monty explained to Kaden, knowing that it would fall on deaf ears but trying nonetheless. He turned fully to the other, now seeing the knife in his hand and grimacing. “Kaden, please—do you trust me? I would never do anything to hurt you, you know that, right? This thing is dangerous. It is… manipulating you both. Emilio is right. It needs to be taken care of, before it hurts someone.” He was reaching slowly for the knife in Kaden’s hand, holding eye contact with him with each step forward. 

—

Shit. He’d been counting on Teddy remaining distracted enough by the creature’s thrall to avoid listening in to his conversation with Monty. Emilio wasn’t used to having to navigate around Teddy; most of the time, it was the two of them speaking quiet Spanish under their breath to avoid eavesdroppers. Teddy scooped up the creature — the goggie, because of-fucking-course that’s what it was — and the betrayed look in their eyes was enough to send a pang through Emilio, even though he knew they weren’t thinking or acting rationally. 

“Baby — “ He took an uncertain step towards Teddy, and the goggie in their arms snapped and thrashed, clearly intent on getting free to make a snack out of either of the men not under its spell. Kaden started to move, and Emilio’s eyes darted to follow him, chest tightening when he realized the ranger was headed for the couch. Kaden knew hunters — knew him — well enough to know that he’d have weapons stashed all over. Of course there was a knife within easy reach of the couch; there were several, in fact. It would be easy for Kaden to find one. Now both hunters were armed, with opposing goals, and the goggie was still trying to get free. 

Three to two, then. Three to one, really, because Emilio wasn’t sure he trusted Monty to be much help. (Monty had less to lose here, didn’t he? The goggie would have a hard time killing him. Emilio wasn’t sure its jaws would open wide enough to bite the zombie’s head off and, short of that, he’d regrow whatever he lost. If the goggie had no intention of hurting Kaden, and could only temporarily hurt Monty, what motivation did the zombie have for helping him? Emilio tried to push the thought away, but it was difficult. He wasn’t sure Monty wouldn’t let him die.) 

His eyes darted warily between the knife in Kaden’s hand and the goggie in Teddy’s. Monty was trying to reason with them, and maybe it wasn’t a bad idea even if all Emilio wanted to do was stick his blade into Lianya’s head. (Would that kill a goggie? Christ, this kind of thing was easier when the monster you needed to kill wasn’t being cradled by the person you loved.) “Look, you really think me and Rivera would agree if this wasn’t serious?” He met Kaden’s eye, tilting his chin upwards slightly. “This thing is in your head, man.” He turned back to Teddy, expression softening. “I’d never do anything to hurt you. You know that. You know I’ve only ever wanted you to be okay. This thing isn’t what you think it is, Teds. It’s dangerous. It’ll hurt you.” It wouldn’t, actually; not as long as Teddy was the one feeding it. But… “It’ll hurt me. Look at it, baby. You know the second you let it go, it’ll rip my throat out.”

—

Concern laced Teddy's eyes, brimming with a slight sheen of confused tears. Too much was happening all at once and it was too hard to process. Whenever they tried to piece it out bit by bit, the whole picture got too foggy to fight through. The wiggling child in their arms fought its own battle for focus and attention, driving Ted to turn their gaze from the hunter and the zombie to their little bundle of joy. 

Emilio’s words stung. 

There was no way Lianya would hurt Emilio, or anyone. At least not on purpose. “No, babe it's– she's just a little fussy is all, needs some good food–” The grub grumbled and groaned, singing a song of buggy rage as it burbled back and forth in its flesh prison. Teddy reached an arm out, going for something on the counter but Lianya had other plans. Seeing the big hunk of arm looming just in front of its hungry hungry maw, the baby sunk her teeth deep deep into Ted’s forearm. 

They screamed. 

Then it screamed. 

Some of its spell wore off in the dizzy distraction. Or maybe in the sudden adrenaline rush that followed. Either way, Lianya Jo-lang-cor-vera had quite literally bitten more than she bargained for when she went for her mommy. Having no exact equivalent of an arm, its side burst a bristlecat seeder sized bite mark in the few moments before it detached from Teddy's arm, and started shrieking in pain on the tile below. Teddy, for their part, stood stupefied, still bleeding, and in shock. Not quite coming to terms with what the hell was going on. 

— 

None of this made sense. The words that Monty was saying to Kaden (it’s manipulating you), the words Emilio was saying (it’s in your head), the sharp smell of blood in the air and the screams that came with it. It didn’t make sense. 

The ranger’s eyes had been locked with his partner’s, but he spun to face the baby as soon as he heard its cry of pain. “Mon ange,” he shouted as he darted over to the child writhing in pain on the floor. Blood. There was blood. Lots of it. Kaden reached out to cradle Lianya, trying to shush and calm her through the injury. He couldn’t make sense of it. It was like a bite mark, like a chunk had been removed from her. But how? What happened, how did—

Kaden scrambled for a towel, pot holder, fucking anything to press against the wound, frantic to find anything that could help. All his fingers found were pots and pans, utensils and left over ingredients. “No, no, no, no,” he started muttering to himself, trying to press his palm into Lianya’s side to stop the bleeding. It didn’t help. Nothing was helping. 

Putain de merde, why wasn’t anyone helping?! He could feel her breathing growing shallow under his hand as the blood continued to spill. Kaden could feel a grip being loosened somewhere in the back of his mind, but not enough to distract him from the fact that his child was going to die in his arms. “Help,” he mumbled to no one in particular, “help, someone has to—” Salty sniffles choked the rest of his words.

—

It all happened quite fast, really — Monty wasn’t even sure what had happened, until he whipped around and saw the creature laying on the floor with a bite in its side that looked awfully familiar to the healing one on Teddy’s arm. Well… if that was the thing to kill it, then at least Kaden wouldn’t have a reason to be angry with him. Silver linings, and all. 

Everyone was a bit shocked by the turn of events, Kaden being the only one to spring into action, though it seemed not to be helping. Monty threw Emilio a hopeful glance, moving over to where Kaden was trying and failing to stave off the bleeding and squatting down beside him. “I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, knowing that now was not the time for any more harsh truths. Even if this was only the byproduct of some strange magical charm, it felt real to Kaden. And that was all that really mattered. Eventually, the effect would wear off and Kaden would understand. But that didn’t mean he was going to try and save the grub, either, so emotional support was where the line was drawn. What could he do, anyway? And if Teddy touched it again… he’d seen that ability, wherever it came from, in person. They were out of options. 

—

He wasn’t expecting the little shit to bite Teddy. The moment those teeth found a home in his partner’s arm, Emilio surged forward, but there was little to be done. Teddy’s arm was already healing, the bite transferred to the very beast whose teeth had made it. There was something karmic about the whole thing that Emilio might have enjoyed a little more if not for that look on Teddy’s face, or the way Kaden cried out. He moved towards Teddy, carefully trying to draw them away from the goggie. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He brought his hands up, cupping Teddy’s face carefully. There wasn’t much of the bite left — most of it had gone straight to the goggie who caused it — and he didn’t mind taking on what little remained, didn’t flinch even as the pain surged on his arm. “Look at me, Teds, all right?” Look at me. Not at that. 

It was hard not to look, what with Kaden’s panic. It wasn’t real, Emilio reminded himself. The spell, whatever it was, would probably fade soon after the goggie breathed its last, and maybe he would make fun of Kaden for going domestic with his partner or tease Teddy for letting a caterpillar wrap them around its finger. But right now, Kaden was crying out for help and Teddy stood in shock and the thing on the ground wasn’t their kid, but they felt like it was. He didn’t know how real it felt to them, how intense. He didn’t know if what was running through their heads now was the same thing that had gone through his in Mexico. There was a lot he didn’t know right now.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, focusing on Teddy. He heard Monty behind him, tending to Kaden. He’d take care of the ranger — Emilio had a spellcaster to console. “Look at me, yeah? Deep breath. It’s okay. It wasn’t real, baby. You gotta know that. It’s gonna be okay.”

—

The world crawled to a slow drip. The vice-like hold the creature’s pheromones or magic or whatever had on Teddy's mind hadn't disappeared, just got muted enough that a split second reaction bid them to drop what they still believed to be their newborn child. Stunned, and filling to the brim with shame, their eyes couldn't leave the small frame in Kaden’s trembling arms. Crying out because of what Teddy did to it. To her. To Lianya, their daughter, she was bleeding out and it was all because of their stupid siphon. 

Teddy was an earthquake. 

Rooted firmly where their feet hit the tiles, but shaking enough to break the foundations of anything nearby. Anyone nearby. Emilio rushed to intercept and Teddy did their best to violently yank themself away. Except, well, the hunter was much much stronger than them now. Sinew snapped shut, they felt the rest of the wound seize up and close. Emilio was saying something but Teddy couldn't hear. 

Panicked, they thrashed against his arms. Not even realizing they were screaming too. Some ancient language only Leviathan ever spoke to them. Cooing words it had soothed them with, only rasped and gagging out of the frantic caster. 

Like a storm trying to sing a lullaby. 

Teddy tore themself from Emilio's hands, just enough that they could look back at her, at the little light that grew dimmer. Getting a clear line of sight only in time to watch that tiny body grow still, her tiny cries weaker until they were silent, her color pale, devoid of life. 

And it was over. 

—

Gone. She was gone.

Lianya was–

Kaden couldn’t tell if it was the bile rising up his throat or his sobs that choked him. The longer he stared at the little body in his arms, the less it looked like a child to him. Only it wasn’t enough to erase it, to wipe the slate clean. No, he still felt like a failure, like he’d lost something precious. That’s what was in his arms, right? Something precious. Something he needed to protect.

It wasn’t– she wasn’t a monster. She couldn’t be…

The loss felt like a spear driven straight through him but the image forming in front of him didn’t fit. Like a puzzle piece from a different set that settled in the right place but didn’t match what was around them. Kaden wanted to drop the body on the ground, let go of the dead weight, just as much as he wanted to cradle the corpse to his chest. The conflicting emotions were too much and left him stunned in silence. He knew Monty was close, kneeling next to him. He wanted to reach out to his partner, have him make it all make sense, but Kaden couldn’t move. He couldn’t rearrange his limbs and risk discovering what reality really was. 

—

It didn’t wear off as quickly as Monty had hoped it would — Teddy was fighting against Emilio to try and get to the creature before it died, speaking some language he had never even heard before (what was that?) and Kaden was crying over it like it was Alex in his arms instead of an ugly little grub that was using them both. But it drew its final breath, and there was an eerie stillness as everyone just stared at it. But that stillness was telling, wasn’t it? The parent of a true child wouldn’t have hesitated, he didn’t think. Couldn’t be sure, of course, but he thought he knew Kaden well enough to recognize that uncertainty in the way he was still holding the dead thing, frozen like a deer in headlights. 

“Here,” he said softly, glancing from his partner over to Teddy, who looked stricken, and then to Emilio. He didn’t exactly want to suggest what he was about to say, but maybe it would help. Right now, they were both in shock. He shrugged off his outer layer, draping it over the creature Kaden still held. “May I take… her? Perhaps we should… bury her.” He held out his hands expectantly, glancing worriedly back over his shoulder at the other two. “Give you time to… process.”

—

Teddy was fighting against his grip in a way they never really had before, and Emilio was at a loss. He’d hoped that when the creature was dead, the hold it had had over its two ‘caretakers’ would die with it, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Teddy was speaking a language he didn’t recognize, Kaden sat in the floor cradling the dead beast and looking stricken, Monty looked at a loss, and Emilio —

Emilio was doing everything he could to remain grounded in the present, to keep himself from being torn from where he stood and hurtled back across time and distance to a house in Mexico he’d left behind years ago. This creature had been controlling two people who were important to him. It had carved out a hollow in their chests and made a nest for itself there. None of what they’d felt had been genuine. But it was clear that, to Teddy and Kaden, it had felt real. It was clear that, to them, the feeling of having lost a child, a daughter, was as whole and present as it had been for Emilio in that living room three years ago. His throat felt tight. His chest ached. 

Monty was speaking, but it took a moment for Emilio to tune in. He only caught snippets, caught bury her and process and thought of Rhett standing in a town that had become a graveyard and digging two holes in the dirt. He swallowed, shook his head. The feeling would fade, wouldn’t it? For Teddy, for Kaden. Eventually, the feeling would fade, because it had to. There had to be some kind of a difference between this and Mexico. Emilio wasn’t sure how to cope with the alternative. 

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, hating the way he felt so wholly inadequate. Teddy had torn themself from his grip, and his arms felt empty now, felt like they were grasping for ghosts all over again. Monty was doing a better job; it was hard not to resent him a little for that. Selfishly, he wished the situation had been something that resembled some inevitable baggage in Monty’s past, too, as if the both of them being haunted would make it easier for Emilio to cope. Realistically, it was good that that wasn’t the case. One person here needed to have their wits about them. “Me and Monty will…” He trailed off, realizing belatedly that continuing in Spanish would lock Kaden out of the conversation. Clearing his throat, he started again, in English this time. “Me and Monty will dig a grave. We’ll put… her in the back. And you can visit any time. Talk to her. Bring flowers.” His mouth felt dry. He stepped away from Teddy, unsure even as he did it whether or not it was the right move to make. Desperately, his eyes darted from the people in the room to the monster corpse to the ghosts that weren’t really lurking in the corners. “We’ll take care of it.” 

(He hadn’t even buried his own daughter. He’d run for his sorry life, left her corpse on the floor for Rhett to find. He’d dig a hole for a thing that had hollowed Teddy out and sent Kaden to his knees, he'd bury a monster and put up a stone and leave flowers on the dirt if it made Teddy feel better, and he’d done none of that for his own kid. What kind of father did that make him? What kind of man? He tried not to think about it.) 

“We’ll take care of it,” he said again, because what else was there to say? “Don’t worry.”

—

While twisted and torn, Teddy's heart couldn't tell the difference between sources. As long, painful seconds trickled by, some cogs clicked into place. Some previously blocked motes of sensibility struck several chords. Instead of soothing, though, all they served was shame. She was theirs, but she wasn't. It was a baby, but not their child. Thoughts like that could form now. Unclouded by pheromones and panic. Sitting in the stark reality of the situation they were in.

Teddy looked down at the still form, saw it for what it was. A bulbous, caterpillar-like grub with teeth like a lamprey. Sure, it was the kind of thing Teds would find adorable in its grotesque-ness. Hadn't they been so sure she was just like them? Just moments ago, that little shape was their pride and joy. Couldn't think of a future without her. 

Maybe, maybe this was denial? Some supernatural shade, trying to protect them from the horror of what they'd done to Lianya– or rather… what the grub did to itself. Teddy was at a loss for words. The room was spinning. Nothing matched its place, the only thing that seemed like it was on the same plane of existence was Kaden and somehow even that seemed wrong. The man was a stranger, and yet since the grub came into their lives, they both had been wrapped around its… prolegs. Or whatever caterpillars had. 

“I'm– sorry– I–” Teddy trailed off. All energy sapped away. They crumpled in on themself, unable to move forward, unable to make true sense of anything. Not really. Mostly they just felt… numb. 

—

The weight lifted off his arms as Monty took the body, but it didn’t do anything to alleviate the burden of emotions pinning Kaden in place on the floor. He felt small and stupid. A bristlecat seeder. He could see it now, his mind clearing from the fog of the pheromones. He could hear his mother’s voice in the back of his mind chiding him, telling him how he put so many people in danger over this beast.

Only she wasn’t just a beast. Even though he saw the monster for what it was, he could see the corpse for what it was, the ache of loss didn’t go away. The clouds had parted but the sun shining through felt like scorching rays instead of warmth, punishment where there should have been comfort. Kaden searched around him for something that could be that source. Monty was there and he was trying, but he could tell that his partner didn’t understand what was going on. Teddy understood, felt the same confusing emotional depths that had been shattered in front of them, but they weren’t able to support, Kaden knew that much. And Emilio… The ranger couldn’t get a good read on him. There was too much he was masking, or trying to. Anyone looking could see there was something there, it was the what that was being held close to his chest. 

If he’d been able to pull forth any emotion, Kaden might have laughed. Four fucking adults in the room and not one of them knew what to do with this shit. 

We’ll take care of it. Almost the same thing the slayer had said when it was him, Kaden, and Andy all in a room with a dead body between them. Emilio would take care of it. And Kaden wouldn’t because he couldn’t. He knew he should but he couldn’t. “Okay.” It was all he could manage. He would stand up, follow the two men and the monster they were burying when he could.

Kaden didn’t know when that would be.

[howdy-cowpoke]

I was walking down the main road through town yesterday and saw... claw marks on doors? At least I think that they were claw marks. Is there a werewolf-- Are these a new Halloween decoration trend? I cannot keep up. Last year it was twelve foot tall skeletons, now this...

[necrosemancy]

Hello all! I broke my phone the other day by dropping it after getting jumpscared by that absolute JACKASS and it finally got to a point where it was unusable so I got a new one. Even worse, I lost all my contacts.

Please help?

[howdy-cowpoke]

See! This is why pocketbooks should never have gone out of fashion. You could keep a permanent record of everyone's name, number, and address in those things! I never had one because I never had friends, but--