never better, baby

"I understand." He wasn't trained to be an Alpha. He wasn't meant to be anything other than an advisor at the end of the day, and here he is. He only feels a little more confident in his abilities because of his experience there, and because of his age. With time, he knows Autumn will sink into the role.

"You don't know if they don't give a shit. And you don't know if they don't like you." He's firm with that, but then softens as he continues, "You have to show them they can trust you. If you're not confident in your decisions yet, let them know. Ask for help. The people there who have been there longer, and want the pack to succeed, they will help you. Get someone on your side as a right hand to help you with hard decisions."

After everything, she still can't bring herself to believe she's anything more than a bundle of bad decisions and split-second mistakes - a bilious assumption that she has to bed down like indigestion. She doesn't know how she'll convince anyone to trust her when she can't even trust herself half the time. Cerberus, at least here, is a handful of werewolves, aging and quiet, save her and Liam. "I do have... Liam's there."

She nods at the sentiment, sappy as it might sound. "Yeah. You're right." That's another thing she's been learning, for years now actually - the people who care will be there. Aria's there. Remi's there. Even AJ's there. She and Liam have been through a lot together in a short time. There's no reason not to let herself lean on him.

"It's okay." He doesn't know.

But he thinks he knows. And really, if it wasn't Tressa - it was going to be Autumn. His arms tighten around her, one hand going to the back of her head. It feels weird - mostly because he's bigger than he's ever been. Taller, more built. "It's alright." He says, again, hoping that it means something to her.

"If.. If you did what I think you did, then - yeah, it's.. I mean, I kind of figured. I wanted you to." If Autumn didn't do it, then this will be more awkward than before, he thinks.

It's wild, how many of her life's major events are book-ended by frank discussions in diners. She can add coup d'etat and resurrection to that list now. Truly strange times.

Autmn's eyes stare at the little bone around Jude's neck and it makes her think of the little green talisman she'd been given in New York - the one that had snapped from its bracelet the night the boy across from her had taken her place in front of a bullet that she's now strung around her neck on a simple lace of leather.

Before all of this, she'd never really believed in magic - but the amount of times that jewelry seems to have spared her life and doomed another, among, well, everything else, have made it irrefutable.

"So you just woke up," There's a hitch here, somewhere, like something doesn't add up - as if any of it should add up, like she doesn't spend full moons four-legged and hairy eating cows in a cell in her basement. "In some other guy's body."

She's recounting it, to make sure she understands - the same way she'd recounted the events of the past few weeks; Fortney, Kersey, the fact she's been thrown into the role of guiding a whole pack that she'd been on the verge of leaving. She doesn't expound too much on the injury in her side that somehow still makes it hard to reach for things with her arm - because a tiny part of her isn't sure this isn't connected to that somehow.

"Do we just... pick up? Where you left off?" They can't really - that means Jude leaving for Europe and the woods have gone weird - the roads out of town are said to vanish whenever you cross city lines. The weird haze of 'this is normal' has disappeared after the attack and replaced itself with what-the-fuckery, but that doesn't mean there's fuck-all she can do about it. She sips coffee in place of another question while she tries to process the implications here. Death is supposed to be the end. The idea that it isn't sort of grips her stomach in an uncomfortable way.

She's on the verge of a panic attack, boots near skidding against the cold flooring of the basement. Her body freezes and tenses as the wolf stalks closer until they are face to face. Hot, flesh coated breath fanning across her face and she can only let out a whimper. She'd avoided the threat outside only to meet her death at the maw of someone she still considers a friend no matter how things had left off. There was no one to stave this danger off this time. Her eyes squeeze shut tight, bracing for the pain.

Thwack

Her eyes shoot open, she can't see anything past that fucking faint illumination a couple feet away from them, but it seems Autumn can and whatever that noise is, it has distracted the wolf enough to pull back. Adrenaline rushes through her, thank whatever intervention as she pushes backwards and scrambles off the floor, blindly tracing the things she can see. She's messy when she reaches the stairs, nearly tripping into them, scrambling up nearly on all fours.

Run! Run! Run!

Hands meet sticky gore on the first floor, bodies littering the ground, ghostly in the pale light that filters through the storefront. She shuffles and pushes upwards, back on two feet boots skidding against the blood bath that has been made of the place, to the door. There is a body blocking the exit, the shelves the man had been using to barricade them having been mostly been ripped away as he had tried to escape much as she is. She tugs at the door, it budges a bit but barely enough, a massive leg blocking it opening further. She yanks harder, he is already fucking dead a broken leg won't make a damn difference, his leg keeps bending back further and further.

Still, she follows, and emerges into the scent of carnage, the little creature opposite the basement door tugging her way out.

The werewolf pads up onto the landing then, ceasing its mad dash for a moment as it sniffs at the floor, stalking closer and closer through overturned displays and shelving, books strewn about the same as blood and gutstring and the spilled contents of stomachs and lungs and throats.

She finds something good - soft, wet, saline and iron in the scent of it.

She finds another body, arms curled in defense even in death, and sniffs at it - acrid fear spilled out of it makes her snuff in disapproval.

Which leads her gaze back to the stuck little thing, pinched in it's escape.

"But yes, I'm done - the job's finished. I'm sorry that I haven't been attentive." That's about as good as she can offer, she thinks. Because it's all been for the greater good - soon, they won't have to think about the limited time they have left. Soon, it'll just be another small hiccup to get through in the grand scheme of things.

Autumn looks at the assembled movies and snacks, pursing her mouth and feigning deep thought, then without further warning, flops herself against Aria, burying her head into the scent of her before the soreness in her side makes her groan and, eventually, she gives up and winds up just pulling Aria down with her, to find a comfortable position; movies and snacks wonderful, but they aren't much next to what she already has. "I can think of a few ways. None of them are in the bible."

It's two days of the same routine before something changes. She's late coming home again, but she feels lighter than she has in days. A quick pit stop at Silver Scream, and she gingerly enters their apartment. Autumn is asleep on the couch this time, instead of waiting for her. A sharp pang in her chest shaped oddly like guilt punches at her rib cage, and she sets the bags down as quietly as possible.

Thoreau - also fast asleep - rests on Autumn's thighs, and she picks her up first, answering the quiet 'mrr' sound with a kiss to the top of her furry, orange head.

Then her attention goes to Autumn. Crouching down to her knees, she scoots in close to press a kiss to sleeping lips, only breaking when she feels Autumn start to stir and wake. It's only a break, though, because she indulges herself in pushing the kiss deeper, taking advantage of Autumn's bleariness to take what she's been missing for the last little bit.

Two days of not asking. Two days of wanting to throw up. Two days of a really clean apartment, which is productive she'd supposed; all of which culminated on her third night falling asleep alone in the apartment on the couch, a streak that's broken when something pulls her out of a dream - hazy city-scapes and sunny weather and kisses from her wi-

"Mmn..." comes the little sound of strangely appreciative confusion. Autumn's eyes roll open unevenly and she pushes herself up on her side. She's about to ask what's wrong, but Aria speaks first.

Autumn sits up more fully, and tugs painfully at her side. "Mmn," she grumbles a second time before looking up into Aria's eyes with a bit of confusion mixed with light suspicion. "O...kay?" Her tone's a little disbelieving, but not in a rueful way - more sleepy confusion and bemused curiosity. She fingers through the offerings. "You've Got Mail?" She voices, reading one of the titles, shaking her head as she turns back to her fiance - a small smile (the surprised and confused kind) gives way to a question.

"Did... what..."

She grabs Aria's hand, pulling her up onto the couch with her as her smile fades to something a bit more serious. "I-is this over, this... this weird... ignoring me... thing? Is that what you're sorry for or like... are you apologizing because it's gonna keep happening?" She swallows a bit of fear down, like the next part's hard to say out loud, evidenced by the shake in her voice. "Because I know which one I need it to be."

Autumn doesn't lunge though, in the faint glow of the useless cellphone torch, pointed at the ceiling like a spotlight she can see her faintly. The gore that covers the wolf's face, the way the fur at her nape is bristled, everything a warning. No fast moves, keep eye contact, hope there is enough of the girl present to not become prey.

"Autumn…" She breathes out softly, trying, and then there is a wet plop and her eyes trail down to a steaming lump of what she tries to convince herself is just meat, not wanting to tie the source of it to her thoughts. It's nudged closer and she swallows thickly as she looks up slowly to those piercing eyes again. The order is clear and her stomach clenches at the thought, she'd be crying if she had anything left to give. Her movements are slow as she begins to kneel, eyes staying on Autumn's, no fight or challenge in her own, a soft sound of fear as her hands make contact with the slowly cooling mass of matter. Her eyebrows pinching together, so close, she picks it up her stomach giving another lurch at the thought of what she is about to attempt. Shaky hands bring it up.

'Just meat' She tells herself, as red drips down her fingers and hands, runs over her flesh. She bows just slightly, eyes displaying that she is listening as she readies herself. It squelches as her teeth press into it and she gags, breathing heavy as she tries again. Maybe she does have more to give, her eyes welling as she takes a piece of it into her mouth.

Then that rush of scent rolls back over her and her head dips when Ashlyn shrinks away. The scent of magic had, for a moment, kept her at bay, made her way. But in the thing's worming away Autumn feels herself emboldened. The fear is weakness. Weakness is opportunity. It's simply arithmetic. Autumn steps forward, towards the opening of the caged off space in the room, lips curling over her fangs silently.

Yellow eyes crawl all over Ashlyn. Throat. Thigh. Wrist. Where best to open her up and weaken her before tearing into her? Autumn crowds into the cell, mouth curled in a snarl, growl filling the space. Her claws tap against the floor. She's never eaten a witch. Her mouth grumbles into Ashlyn's face, close enough that her breath, hot and foul, fogs at the girl's face.

And then she hears it, the creak of door, the compression of the top stair and she wants to yell out for him to not come down, but it's too late. A brush of fur, just close enough for her to stumble lightly away and then there is blood and snaps, a sickening crack. She's disgusted, but even with that she can't fault the werewolf, her territory has been breached and Ashlyn had been the culprit.

Scream and plea after plea is heard, she backs further into the basement. She needs to think quick. Funny how this is the second time she thinks she will die in this bookstore. She doesn't worry for Thoreau, it's clear the wolf won't hurt her if the position she had found the two in was anything to go by.

The cage, it glints in the light of her cellphone and she moves towards it, quicker when she hears thudding steps grow closer. The door is open and she moves into it, safety. If this thing normally kept Autumn in, hopefully it will keep her out. There is one problem, she's already tired, drained from her extensive use of her power and this door is fucking solid despite it being bars. She tugs it, trying to get momentum to swing it shut, but it won't budge and she's breathing hard.

Months and months behind that wall of silver and iron, fed whatever the Aria-thing has on hand. Sometimes it is plenty - often its not. But here, there are plenty of things. A snapping jaw, a pounce that cracks the chestbones down into the soft bits under her weight. Rip and tear and gnash and rend until it is quiet.

Autumn's pulling some stringy bit of red out of one of them, digging into a tooth-worn hole and licking and champing at meat when she hears the whine of metal echo out of the basement. Ah right. The Guest. She swallows something red and raw whole and lets out a howl.

Then, heavy footfalls have carried her down the stairs to find it - the other one - the familiar scent.

Her face is sticky with blood, shadowed in the basement, only the occasional gleam of her eyes catching a glint of light in the dark.

The cat's head tilts as it peers from Mama to the girl from her high perch.

Autumn can see where Ashlyn is, pulling uselessly at the door. A sort of memory floods in - nothing finite or specific, just... colors of emotions. Thoughts of... of territory. She doesn't rush the cave though, where she tugs at the door. She stalks forward.

Autumn stops at the door and puts something down between herself and Ashlyn, and nudges it towards her - a scrap of meat, steaming in the cold. An offering.

Her snout wrinkles and her mouth lays hungry and open, fur slicked greasy and teeth bared and pinked with blood. There's no sound - just a stare, the black-brown fur around her neck on end. Her forelegs are spread - paws almost human in the way they splay to hold her wait. Her eyes hold a single, wordless command.

The group of people she ushers towards the store front she hadn't been expecting, but she couldn't just let them be sitting ducks. She's trying, stretching out her magic, curling it in their minds in an attempt to calm the fear that even she is feeling. It is making her dizzy, making her feel weak. She has somewhat of a better grasp after her time helping Autumn, but Ashlyn's magic is still mostly wild and unstable.

She ushers the thankfully calmer group into Bookends, telling them to hunker down where they can, to stick in the shadows as a couple of them bar and barricade the door. She needs to find the owners. Needs to know the little family is safe. She pushes out a final feeling of calm before disconnecting, feeling completely drained. Needing a break, somewhere to recharge. The basement. She remembers Aria's offhanded comment to that man who has marred her flesh in veins of gold.

Carefully she separates and keeps herself discreet and soon she starts to make her way down the basement steps after closing the door quietly. Using her phone's flashlight to save herself from breaking her neck. A soft, worried meow sounds and she pauses for a moment before stepping down a little quicker thinking of the little orange cat.

A snuff - once, in warning. You should run.

But then, behind Ashlyn, another survivor stumbles down the stairwell, asking after her. His questions cut off when he sees what has the witch frozen, though and the wolf's blinking glare lands past the witch and onto him instead.

The wolf darts, sending the cat scrambling, barreling past the unlatched door of the cage. She doesn't care when she barrels past Ashlyn, to the scent that isn't as familiar, crushing his spine on the stairs and tearing his throat out before his scream has the chance to echo. Then she's off, up the stairs, where a cacophony echoes out, screams and pleads and snarling growls tumbling down the stairs until for a moment there's quiet.

Leaning over, she cups Autumn's cheek with her hand, stroking along the puckered scars on her face with her thumb. She's right, though, Aria has been weird. But there's a good reason she can't share with her just yet. So instead she closes the distance and pulls her into a kiss - all love, all passion.

After she continues to stroke along the scars with her knuckles. Last year, this would have been a screaming match rattling the walls of the apartment until one or both of them left with slamming doors. She doesn't want to let it get to that point, but she does need Autumn to understand.

"It's for Reardon." It's the best, and only excuse she can give. "You worried me. With the.. the thing. And I have to throw myself into vampire stuff, just for a little longer. Commitments already made." Patience is not something Autumn has in spades, Aria is well aware. "I love you and I'm sorry. But I really need to.."

That expected anger doesn't bubble out of Aria, who instead attacks with softness - her hands cool on Autumn's cheek, her breathless lips with their gentle give sucking the tension out of her. Her eyes close at the kiss, and she wants to just let it go, but even as she strokes at her face, Autumn can feel the coarse scratch of a loose thread that her mind can't help but pull on.

"I love you too-" she starts, murmuring it quietly in reply even as Aria's still speaking, but then he eyes open and frown. Because it isn't actually an answer Aria gives, and there's a hairy, yellow eyed creature inside of her that can sniff that out. Lie, it says. Lie lie lie lie lie. Aria pulls back, and Autumn's tranquility, purchased and spent, fades. Even if it's not a lie, it's not the truth either - you know this.

"No-" she stammers out, "No, it's not okay." She says, shaking her head as she pushes up from the bed, pouting. She grabs a pillow from the bed then, cradling the sore spot on her ribs as she turns, Autumn shakes her head. "I'll let you focus." It's not a kind tone in her voice. "See you in the morning." If I wake up before you leave.

And then, stepping past the cat, roused by either the energy of the quiet noise, she heads for the couch, jaw set.

She leaves her hand there and chews on her lower lip. "Autumn.." It comes out tired, exasperated even. Aria knows she needs to focus more than anything, because she can't stand to see another person try to hurt her again. Not after that hunter, not after Jude, not after this weird fucking thing in the store. "I really have to focus."

Aria answers, but that only sinks the tooth of anxiety deeper.

She's not used to this sort of evasiveness. Not only that, but she doesn't like it - it reminds her too much of a year ago. She swallows thickly when their hands separate and Aria pulls the attention to the laptop. A breath of air jets from her nose - loudly and purposefully so.

After after pregnant set of triplet seconds that seem to reach into her throat and pull her stomach into her mouth, she reaches over, and claps the laptop shut again. "I'm serious, what is it? You're acting fucking weird ever since..." She doesn't finish - likely doesn't have to - the dregs of that night are still visible downstairs in the plywood that barely keeps the cold and wet air out of the shop. "I- it's pissing me off."

Wiping at her face, she tries to force the frown into a smile. It only ends up coming out more like a grimace than anything.

"Yeah, sweetheart." She moves over closer to her, pulling her into a hug. She presses a kiss to her temple, then to her cheek, then to her lips. There is so much love for this woman in her, it feels like she's going to burst at the seams. That's why this is important. A little absence here for an eternity to make it up to her.

Closing her eyes, she drinks in her warmth and the scent of her shampoo. But then she peels away - can't be distracted. There's a lot of things to research, and something her bag that needs to attempt to be translated. Wiping her face, she plops down on the bed and starts to reach for her laptop.

These are the kinds of things that he wished he was there for in the beginning.

"Autumn." He starts, keeping his voice as soft and gentle as he can muster. "You're here now. Neither one of us can change what got us to this point, whether we meant it or not. We just gotta do our best. I do right by my people, you do right by yours."

Because they are her people now.

The thought makes her skin craw and makes it feel like the eggs and sausage are going to come right back up onto the table. What the hell has she gotten herself into?

She swallows it down, along with his assessment, nodding.

"I..."

Autumn sets the silverware down, pushes the plate away. "I don't want to fight them or fucking, go after them." She says. "I already did that and now-"

She lets him go, starts pacing. And he stands there, rubbing at his neck and chest - there'll be bruises there shortly. So.. weak now. "I'm not a hunter. I'm not fucking with you, Autumn. They shot me, I remember that - I wanted them to save you, because you have your girl and this store. And a whole lot more going on than I ever did."

He wants to say he's sorry, but he's not. He'd do it again for her, to give her a chance to live. But he still doesn't move, just hangs his head. "We met for the first time because I was skating down a road, debating on whether or not to go meet a guy and you almost hit me. We went for a drink at the Heron club, talked about packs, I got you in on Cerb."

He peels away from the shelf, and starts picking up the books that fell, turning to put them back where they belong. "I showed you Elden Ring, remember? We ate pizza on your couch, talked about relationship stuff, and I told you I was gonna show you Kingdom Hearts."

Another pause, while he slowly finishes and turns back around, hands in his pockets.

"It's me, Autumn. It's me. I swear on my.. on my fucking life, I swear."

And then it curls back up, around her legs and her guts and her shoulders.

"You can't be." She says, shaking her head, hands flattened against the wall. "You can't, you can't be here, I..."

Did what you had to.

She'd spent most of the time after the attack doting on Autumn - she was healing, but not fast enough. It was enough to send her mind into overdrive. The more she sat up awake throughout every day and night since the attack, the more she thought about the possibilities of what might have happened if she weren't there.

Some nights, she'd trace her fingers along the healing scar on her torso. Other times, she'd walk out of the room, unable to stand the idea of watching her.

It's been about a week and some change in total. She was healing. But Aria's mind was already spiraling down into worst case scenarios. The more time passed, the more Aria would spend time away - picking up jobs with Reardon or conducting her own research based on information she'd gotten at the conclave a year prior.

It's a late night getting home, and she doesn't feel guilty about staying away from the store. There are things to be done. She finishes her cigarette before heading up the stairs to the apartment. It's dark inside, and she thinks nothing of going to the blood supply to drink two bags down, nor does she think anything of heading to the bedroom immediately after. Tomorrow will start the same routine over and over again until she finds the answers she needs.

Autumn had spent the first few days barely able to move for the burning soreness where the thing had lashed her open. By the time she could get around better, she'd come down into the shop to find their window boarded up. Apparently, Aria's friend from New York had helped.

It was hard though - she'd been hurt, but never quite that bad, and while she was healing - quicker than someone normal might have, it was a lot to take. As the days went on, there was less Aria. And then, somehow, less. It isn't much, to take care of the shop in a snow-locked city where people's last priority is books.

But something had been jarred loose by that thing while it stuck her fingers into the cleaves of her brain, and it was the fact that this wasn't normal. All this snow, it wasn't fucking normal. She'd been drifting through it, concerned with everything but the fact that it was blizzarding in May, and for those first few days, that was all she could think about in between terrifying bouts of crashing, healing thoughts. But as that damage repaired, something else became apparent. Aria was... gone.

Not just out. Not just working. Gone. Their talks were shorter. Aria was gone before she woke up. Aria was home after she went to sleep.

Not tonight though.

"Hey," she says. Autumn's voice is a little tired, raspy. She's tired - it's late. "Another long day?"

Maybe it's why he'd tossed her into the deep end whilst they're in the hot tub. Sink or swim, babe. He's held her over the edge of a cliff and dared her to go tombstoning with him. Every game has risk, and the rocks below were the sharpest.

He had known the limitations of alchemy, before. Bent the rules of it, since. Now, he's rewriting the legislation, and the laws of it entirely. Waterborne, airborne, prickles of every element that makes up every carbon-founded thing on the planet. Even the ones not of the earth. AJ dares to dip his fingers in it, with the aid of a ghostly hand he guides with his endless battery well. Aut's right in his orbit.

And when she gets the balls to move, cheek against flesh, mouth whispering in an ear that'll never repeat what it hears. AJ smiles, offering her the key to lock the box entirely.

Not offer. Give.

It starts when Aut pulls back. The branches of gold that spread across the busser's cheek where she'd brushed skin. Melted gold burrowing towards her skull and spreading like a disease, solidifying and transforming biology into metallurgy. Whatever Aut's said and whatever relief he assumes it gives her, Astor assumes it's a freedom she'll like — she'd spoken her darkest thoughts and then sealed the secrets away.

Not even AJ heard her confessions, and she hadn't been quick with it.

"I guess you do have it in you." Look at that. Far cry from the girl desperate to hand an envelope of a paid tuition back to him in a Porsche she'll later crash. (Not just once)

The busser's sudden splashing of realised agony slices through the moment. It must have dawned on her — the unforgiving end , as she tries to scramble for the edge of the tub. Autumn had wanted a sword to swing in her murder of a hunter; he'd given her the weapon to test and she'd used it, the same way he would. Gold is heavy, and it's quick to slow down a woman made silent in the water when it pools down her shoulders molten and sticky, and wraps around arms that can no longer move. One knee hits the marble with a clang. A half-flesh hand reaches out of the water as she is swiftly sealed in a tomb shaped like her. A frozen scream, with their reflections misshapen on every gilded edge of her.

Aut had picked the catalyst. Not him.

He'd have chosen a foot, not a cheek, and let it work its way north instead of south. But it's her first, and he's not judging. Just smiling.

AJ remembers a time too, where he wished he'd known sooner how to reverse the power.

Blinking the thought away, he stares at the wolf pup in the hot tub with him. "Have you ever had a box of secrets so pretty, love?" He's mostly joking about the backside pointed in their direction, where a busser hasn't managed to claw out of the tub, and has left herself in a compromising position half-in the pool of water. A victim of Medusa, if Autumn and he were as boring as to metamorphose stone.

It's not quite like she ever thought it'd be. The wolf, it gives glimpses - usually in her dreams, or in those first breaths of agonal sapience when the moon sinks low enough to lose its gravity and the thing planted under her skin by fangs one careless night sinks into the sea of her being. Flashes of red hot blood spilling into her mouth, the feel of skin shredding under claws - phantom feelings that she can never lay a firm hand on.

This isn't that. She scrambles, and wriggles, and squirms through the water, and she's rendered little more than a lifeless hunk of gleaming metal as she tries and fails to mantle the edge of the tub. Autumn watches, and she knows she should care more. She knows she should feel guilt, or horror, or both.

But as the secrets she's spilled are sealed away, and she turns back to the grin fishing its fancy champagne out of the water, she doesn't feel any of those things.

She turns back to the lifeless shape at the edge of the pool then, trying to figure out what it is that she's feeling. Try as she might, she can't figure out a word to put on it... but she doesn't hate it.