bellowin' barlow

There had been a time where no such text would have been sent. There had been a long time where Wyatt had ached for a deeper connection, a more tangible consideration, and for that bitch of a vampire that had chewed Owen up and spit him back out to be dead dead and gone and no longer controlling his every thought — not literally, but damn near. 

Now that she was, and now that the scars had finally started to heal, his wishes for innocuous displays of affection were granted. Owen was checking in, and though the message itself lacked warmth, Wyatt could see it for what it was. He was missed. He was wanted. It made his lips curl into a smile while he typed out an equally abbreviated response, relishing how he knew it would affect Owen in much the same way. 2320. 

A sudden commotion pulled his attention away from his phone and he quickly shoved it back into his locker, swinging the door shut and finishing getting dressed after his post-fight shower. His damp hair dripped down the back of his neck as he rounded the end of the row of lockers, sending a superficial chill down his spine that had everything to do with the temperature fluctuation and nothing to do with the fact that one of his fellow fighters had just come flying into the locker room looking alarmed. 

“Agnes,” they gasped, their gaze falling on Wyatt. He was not the only fighter in the room, but now all their attention turned to him. He stopped moving, his brow furrowing. “She’s gone, and—”

“Yeah, she left early. Told me herself she was gonna today,” he bit out, anxiety clawing up his throat. 

“No, you idiot. She’s gone. There’s a huge puddle of blood in the staff parking lot.” Wyatt’s heart skipped a beat as he pushed past the fighter to get out of the room. Stepping into the back halls of the Pit, he could hear the scuffling of hurried feet and distant shouts, those voices fraught with fear. 

“Warden!” One voice rang out above the rest and Wyatt’s blood ran cold, his thoughts of course turning to Eve — had she done this? Was this her way of getting back at him? He followed the sound of shouting into parts of the building he wasn’t technically allowed in, but no one was really paying that any mind at the moment. 

The door to their security room stood open, and it was from there that the loudest voices emanated. The shifter moved quietly along the wall, listening while he held his breath to try and make sense of what was happening. 

“There! See, there’s someone fucking breaking into her car! And — there’s two of them! Two fucking wardens!” 

“Can these videos be any fucking lower resolution? How are we supposed to figure out who they are?” 

“Yeah, what if they come back to pick us off, one by one?!”

“Enough.” The voice that silenced them was one Wyatt was familiar enough with to recognize, though that may have just been by virtue of her ability to shut everyone up with a single word. There was a long, painful pause, and then Corinna addressed the room again. “Do not panic, my friends. We have no guarantee that this was the work of wardens.” Someone started to pipe up (likely to argue), but immediately stumbled into silence again as Corinna spoke over them in a loud, powerful tone. “And even if it was, we will take measures to make sure this never happens again. When you leave here, do so in pairs at minimum. See one another to your vehicles. I will address the security issue in the parking lot and make sure this is not possible in the future.” Another pause, during which Wyatt imagined her smiling down upon her fellow fae in a motherly sort of way. “Now. Since you are all here, there’s the matter of contracts to discuss…” 

Wyatt’s stomach churned, partially out of dread and, stupidly, partially out of hope. Was she about to say that all of Agnes’ contracts had been broken? Were they going to have to make the faun’s fighters agree to new ones? Is this my chance? 

“There’s a real possibility that we will have to untangle some of these binds ourselves, if they have backfired in unfortunate ways due to Agnes’ untimely passing.” Unfortunate ways? What the fuck does that mean? “Gene, I want you to reach out to all of Agnes’ contracted fighters and make sure they’re still alive. On the subject, Lockjaw was here tonight — make sure he hasn’t expired in our locker room.” His dread was beating his hope with a crowbar as he heard this, breath catching in his throat as he stepped back from the open door. 

“Who’s getting her contracts?” another handler piped up. There was a sudden chorus of agreement, and immediate claims to fighters and arguments about who deserved what. Once again, Corinna had to command their silence, this time perhaps with only a stern look — Wyatt couldn’t see what was happening, after all, but the room fell into a hush. 

“That is for me to decide. I’ll disperse her work amongst you as I see fit. You’ll be notified soon. Until then, get home safely.” Sensing that the conversation had come to an end, Wyatt’s adrenaline spiked and he started trying to back quickly away from the security office, but the handlers came pouring out of the room before he could get far enough down the hall to not be seen. He froze under their gazes, his throat tight as their expressions shifted from surprise, to relief, to covetousness. They walked past him, none of them speaking to him, until… 

“Ah. Made my job easier, didn’t ya?” Wyatt looked down at the ground, avoiding Gene’s gaze. He was second to last out of the room, followed only by Corinna. The handler looked to his boss, wearing a wry smile. “Well, there you have it, miss. Haven’t lost our prize fighter.” Corinna smiled back, taking a moment to observe the dynamic between the two curiously. Lockjaw was subdued in a way she’d never seen him before — she recalled his attitude when signing him on as being very overconfident and insubordinate. Of course he’d proven himself to be an exceptional fighter, but as the years stretched on, his discontent had started to rear its head. Corinna had trusted Agnes with his contract because she had felt that the young faun knew how best to handle such a large personality, but it seemed that she hadn’t been the only one.

“So glad to hear it,” she agreed. Her hand reached for Lockjaw, who of course did not flinch, but also did not even look up at her. No matter. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she spoke slowly, the compassion in her tone spiked with something venomous. Her fingers brushed over the fighter’s broad shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze before being drawn back to her side. The beat of quiet between them begged to be filled, and Wyatt found his senses buried somewhere deep in the pit of fear he’d fallen into. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, which seemed to lighten the tension. Corinna nodded at Gene and turned to leave. But halfway through the movement she stopped, angling herself back toward the pair and looking as though she’d had a thought. 

Lockjaw stood silent and obedient. Gene straightened his posture and regarded her with alert readiness to receive instruction. She cocked her head slightly, smiled, and let her gaze settle on the handler. 

“You’ll have the privilege of taking over Lockjaw’s contract,” she informed Gene, who sucked in a deep breath through his nose but kept his expression even. “I’ll go formalize it now, but…” Her eyes flicked over to Lockjaw, who had a distantly horrified look in his eyes as he kept them fixed on the floor. “Circumstances what they are, your contract with us has not yet been satisfied. You must be assigned a new handler until such a time is reached. Gene here will be assuming that responsibility. Gene, do you agree to these terms?”

“Yes,” Gene answered without hesitation, staring at Wyatt with barely contained malicious glee. 

“Wyatt Barlow, do you also agree to these terms?” Corinna asked. 

Wyatt felt like he was drowning. His eyelids fluttered and he lifted his head, his vision blurry. His attention fell on the hand being extended toward him – Gene’s hand. Mouth hanging slightly open, he glanced from the hand to Corinna’s face. 

“If… if I don’t, do I…” Having expected this, Corinna had an answer ready.

“If you are still in our employ but lacking a handler, you will not be permitted to leave the premises until you are assigned one.”

“Am… I ain’t in your employ, though, if Agnes is—”

“Oh yes, you are, Mister Barlow. Make no mistake. It’s all in the contract you signed.” He stammered something unintelligible, dragging his gaze back to Gene’s hand that still hung expectantly in the air between them. There was no way out of this, was there? They’d planned for this exact scenario, leaving no opening for him to slip out of the deal. He swallowed hard, unable to bring himself to shake Gene’s hand. The fae, now agitated, shot his hand forward to forcibly grab Wyatt’s own.

“It’s a deal,” Gene hissed, squeezing too hard. Wyatt let out a soft gasp, unexpected tears stinging his eyes. 

“Oh, I know. It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Corinna’s voice was sickly sweet, and Wyatt’s expression was nothing short of bemused as he looked back at her. “Agnes’ death will be felt by all of us. It’s so touching to see you grieve her like this.” Purposeful misinterpretation, for the benefit of no one. Existing only to let Wyatt know that he was not going to be pitied. She raised her brows at him, that fake look of empathy shifting to impatience. 

He felt strangled by the word as it slipped out. “Deal.” Gene released his hand immediately, wearing a wide, triumphant grin. The two fae exchanged some congratulatory words as they left Wyatt there, drifting down the hallway to tend to all the other contracts that needed adjusting. The fighter squeezed his eyes tightly shut, letting his back hit the wall and his head sink into his hands. His ears were ringing. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

2320.

Wyatt picked himself up again, remembering the other, much less life-altering promise he’d made that night. He wandered numbly back to the locker room, collecting his things in a haze before making his way to the parking lot. There were a few others gathered around in the lot, and they all stopped to stare at him suspiciously as he made his way to his own car. Do they think I’m behind this? he wondered. The idea of it almost made him laugh – they had no idea the lengths he would have gone to to protect Agnes from such a fate, if he’d been able. She was the best handler he could have had, and even though the bar was pretty much on the floor, he’d managed to find himself wedged beneath it in the world’s shittiest game of limbo.

He tried not to look at the puddle of blood, bile rising in his throat as he opened his car door and dropped into the driver’s seat. Slamming it shut behind him, he took a moment to press his forehead against the steering wheel and take a few long, steadying breaths. 

I’ll get through this. What else can he do to me? This won’t change anything. Just focus on everything outside of work. He thought of Owen, of Maggie, of Emilio, of Talia and Daniel. Of all the other people he’d managed to find space for in his heart (despite his best efforts), and how things had been better for him lately. This doesn’t change anything.