ad vitam aeternam

"I’ve sent an emergency call out. Heading towards the clinic on 34th St. They’ll be prepared for us there," Lois informed them, following basic protocol.

"No," he mumbled. "This isn't... this wasn't supposed to happen."

But they piled into the van, and Lois drove like their lives depended on it. Allison looked down barren streets, wondering if she imagined the roar of pursuing engines, or if she should have already been preparing for another attack. While they remained in enemy territory, it was possible. 

"Put pressure on the wound, Scott. We’re almost to a checkpoint. They’ll have supplies." She ordered from the front seat, words crisp and direct. They were nowhere near a checkpoint. Joseph had been clawed open, and every time Scott tried CPR, the squelch of what should have remained inside a human body was too loud. 

Scott should have known the extent of the internal damage. Instead he could only guess that Joseph's lungs were punctured, his ribs were broken and his chest cavity was soup. Scott should have put pressure on the wound straight away. This was basic stuff. He'd tried to use his absent abilities instead.

In her head, she counted the paces to their pick up point. Allison wouldn’t expect it, but it was comforting to think that they could make that many steps without incident. She’d intended to scout ahead. Familiar with the strength of a werewolf, she thought he’d be able to manage - she’d hoped. The smell of blood was too sharp, and there was already too much on her hands. 

She paused only long enough to regret it, then she was by Scott’s side, working with him to pick up a teammate who was more than halfway to becoming a nobody. “Scott - Scott your eyes. Are you in control?”

These things happened.

Except they didn't usually happen when Scott was in the field, and when they did, he'd been able to stop them happening. It had taken a lot out of him, the healing. With an injury like this, Scott would've been bedridden for days after, but Joseph would have lived. "Don't." The pain he was taking was fading, then gone. Scott rolled Joseph onto his back and bent over him, feeling for signs of life, attempting CPR, as well as one could on a victim whose chest was ribbons.

She wasn’t afraid, but she’d never thought she’d have to be wary around Scott McCall.

Lois’ voice was the worst sort of catalyst, but she was still radioing their support when Scott took off. She heard the battle before she arrived. Lois was still moving, her eyes glowing green and scaled claws coming into the fray more often than bullets, but when she found Joseph, she didn’t want to believe that he was the bloodied figure on the ground.

Their enemies were falling, fast.

Lois had the gremlins under control and Scott was at Allison's side, his eyes still molten gold but fangs and claws retracted before his knees hit the asphalt. The stench of Joseph's injury was overwhelming. Scott's hands slipped, trying to move Allison's out of the way, both of them blood-slick. He closed his eyes and focused and nothing happened. Nothing was happening. He couldn't make the edges of the wound knit back together. It was with a horror that snapped him back to fully human instantly that he realized why, and of course.

Except Scott wasn’t following script.

"Scott?" Allison asked, barely more than a murmur, stunned for a moment as the other agent got to his feet. Faster than she could blink, it turned into a brawl. Gremlins were vicious, jagged-fanged and razor-clawed. Scott seemed up for the challenge. And Allison cursed the moment their scuffle lost her her clean shot. She joined the fray, more focused on calling back a potentially rogue werewolf than knocking out her assailants.

Neither of them noticed when one of the gremlins disappeared.

He could die like this, except he wouldn't. His wounds would heal almost immediately, a fair exchange for longevity, at least as far as Scott was concerned in this moment. He was very aware of Allison. She didn't fade into the background but became a part of the fray that was moving in slow-motion, or may as well have been, because Scott was two steps ahead of everything.

If she had to, Allison knew how to pull the plug on this excursion. That wasn’t power she took lightly.

They didn’t need to speak, making their way through the streets, steadily abusing the cracks in the gremlins’ defenses. Scott was faster now. She wondered if he intended to be, but adjusting their timing was an easy repair. She wondered if he thought she was noisy.

A single beep through their earpieces told them that their colleagues had reached their destination and were beginning extraction. Allison and Scott were 90 seconds away from theirs, but when they turned the corner, there were 7 gremlins between them and their target.

That was 7 more than they expected. 

He was right beside Allison when they turned the corner, still privately celebrating the fact the others had hit their target when the first shot rang out.

Scott had his gun up in a second, Allison her weapon out, and they went in opposite directions, finding shelter behind buildings on opposing sides of the narrow street. Scott waited until he'd made eye-contact with her, made sure she wasn't hit, before looking around the corner, ducking back again quickly when another shot came. Scott returned fire, heard a ricochet and a thud.

This wasn't supposed to happen tonight. Scott found himself thinking that more often than not these days. It made him want to reevaluate his... everything. Allison was in sniper mode, and Scott was momentarily confused as his grip on his own weapon slipped, until he noticed it was because he had claws.

The Bureau took Allison to places part of her wished she’d never seen. Driving down main roads that looked like dark alleys, she read the stories of generations of poverty and social neglect. It was impossible to turn away. There was a responsibility that came with knowing. 

There were figures in the shadows that she’d been trained to find. No children this late, and those who walked with their heads up were risking a bullet through their brains. She was not be the first who wanted to change things, but hopefully she would not be the last. Tonight though, their mission was to catch the type of monster that had horns. 

"We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot," Allison pointed out, as the roads grew thinner. On the roads, the streets sparkled with the glass shards broken street lights. It was like driving through diamonds. There was a lot they’d be able to stow their car in. It was a few blocks from their target site, but crossing that distance was something they’d prepared for. "Haxen Territory begins in about 200 meters. Joseph - Lois, you two head up the building on the north. Scott, you’re with me. We’ll work the one on the south. Stealth is priority."

The Haxen Gremlins were heavily involved in the distribution of powdered manticore scales in the area. A fine, white powder, consumers had no idea what they were dealing with when they made a sale. The sale of other drugs in the area had all but stopped. The police didn’t need to know that. The Bureau just needed more information before they could try shutting down the operation.

But Scott didn't anticipate things going badly, and the deeper into enemy territory they got, the calmer he actually felt. This was familiar: a map on a small glowing screen in the palm of his hand, a final scan of the area's layout before all lights went off and the engine went silent. Scott's inventory was slightly different than it had been the last time he'd been in the field. He wasn't carrying any of his first aid gear, just a sidearm and his own speed and strength, which hadn't been field tested. No time like the present, right? But they were ready, and the primary objective was information retrieval. Scott got out of the van.

BIG BAD WOLF [a dark scott fanmix] [+listen]

If something happens, I’d rather some asshole who’s paid to do it stop me then you.