#cass.

There had once been a time where Inge had been afraid to walk around late at night all by herself. But things had happened since — her transformation and the subsequent boost in confidence, the lessons in martial arts she’d followed and the comfortable blanket of supposed invincibleness that she lived under. Truth be told, she was safest at night, where there was no sunlight to give her head aches and she could slip into the shadows and astral at will.

So she wasn’t being overly cautious as she walked the streets of Wicked’s Rest, sundown having occurred a while back. She was on her way to follow a whimsy, this whole online-dating thing something worth exploring in a town as interesting as this. In her bag, she carried her most valued essentials: cash, gum, hairbrush, a few trinkets from odd countries, that one picture of Vera she never looked at and, of course, her sketchbook. Filled with references from nightmares and other things, the basis of all her work.

She was not afraid, nor worried, nor cautious, so when her bag was snatched, it was safe to say Inge was surprised. Whipping around, she heard footsteps smacking on the dark, wet Maine streets. “Oi!” Sometimes the British inflections returned, despite her being neither a Brit or an American. “Get back here!”

—

She didn’t usually do this. At night, when Cass wandered the streets, she usually did so with the intention of stopping things like this. But money had been tight lately, and her stomach clenched with painful hunger cramps and sometimes, a kid just got desperate. The woman she spotted walking down the street looked well off enough to not be concerned and, tonight, that was good enough.

Cass ducked by the stranger, grabbing her bag as she did so and taking off into a sprint. She felt bad about it, but what could she do? Her stomach was rumbling, and while she had people she could ask for food… she didn’t want to be an inconvenience. She didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to abandon her. This was better. This worked better.

Or it would, if the woman would stop chasing her.

The oread’s feet pounded against the pavement as she ran, searching for a place she could use as a cover to slip out of sight. She should have done this closer to the woods, where she could have found a cave to slip into or a mine entrance to retreat to. Most people wouldn’t follow you there. But Cass wasn’t really thinking clearly, and they were far from her chosen element, so… Running. Running was what she was doing.

—

This kind of thing happened in New York and other large cities of the world, and perhaps Inge had been foolish to not think Wicked’s Rest the kind of place where muggers ran rampant. It was, after all, a small town – almost too small for comfort most of the time – and the risk of being caught by something supernatural or other was als pretty big.

Speaking of, she was hardly a helpless human! It was night, even, and her vision in the dark was better of that of any mortal. Inge started running after the thief, keeping her red eyes focused on her — her sunglasses abandoned, her supernatural nature exposed for all to see. What did it matter? She wanted her bag back. No, more pressingly, she wanted her notebook back. Money mattered, but her drawings? Those were priceless.

She did have her weaknesses, though, and not being very fast was one of them. And so she was soon losing the other. Once Inge felt she could anticipate where the other was going, she let her body leave the earthly plane, slipping into the astral and following her there before reappearing about eight feet in front of her. “Give that back.” Eyes glowered red. She was pissed off, to be honest. She wished she had vampire fangs. “Now.”

—

It wasn’t a surprise that the woman chased her. After all, most people would pursue things stolen from them, especially if the thief wasn’t particularly physically imposing. Cass hadn’t used a weapon against her victim — she’d never do that. She wasn’t very large, either, her small frame obvious even in her dark clothing that she hoped would help her blend into the night a little better. She expected to be chased.

But she was pretty good at running.

She’d been living in Wicked’s Rest a while now, and a lot of that time was spent on the streets. Sure, she lived in the woods, but you couldn’t stay out there all the time. Not when you were someone like Cass, who loved humanity so much that she couldn’t bear to be separated from it. Losing this woman would be easy. All she had to do was slip down the right alley, get herself out of sight, and —

The woman appeared in front of her, out of nowhere. Like a ghost slipping in between the shadows, absent one moment but present the next. Cass stumbled backwards, the black bandana she’d pulled over her nose and mouth slipping just a little. The woman’s eyes were glowing, and she looked mad. Cass held the stolen bag close to her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie twisted her stomach, made her nauseous. But there was nothing in her stomach to protest, nothing to expel. That was the whole problem. “Leave me alone.”

—

Wicked’s Rest had been telling her, time and time again, to be more careful. That this was a town that attracted the supernatural and with it, hunters. And yet here she was, mare powers on full display, dragging her mind and body into the astral only to pop up further down the street. But Inge wasn’t thinking about who might see her, moving from one place to the other, eyes burning bright in the darkness as she looked down the other.

She was short, so it was a miracle her legs had gotten her as far as they had. At least she was not turning around and running again — though if she did, Inge would just slip back into the astral and follow her. Maybe she’d reappear right above her and use gravity to her advantage. She wasn’t a fighter, per se, but she was good at using her gifts. Fights with hunters would hardly be evenly matched if she had just her strength to rely on, but with her sleep-touch and astral-jumping, Inge could at times be a formidable opponent.

Usually, though, her aim was to disrupt and then run. Now, she wanted something. “Leave you alone? You just stole my bag! Open it and you’ll see my face on the driver’s license, you dim —” She swallowed, moved forward towards the other, outstretching her hand. If this was a dream, she’d transform it into a claw. In stead there was just her perfect manicure. “Give. It. Back. It has my stuff in it. Mine!” Honestly, Inge could respect the grind. Just not when it affected her.

—

It’s my bag, Cass wanted to claim, but the lie she’d already told was clenching in her gut and she wasn’t sure she could handle adding to it. Desperation clung to her, whispering for her to do things she knew were wrong. There’s rock under your feet, deep in the earth. You could call it up, could split the ground with it. There’s lava under your skin. You could dispel it, could melt the flesh from her hand. Why was she thinking these things at all? Was the hunger really getting to her that much? She’d been hungry before, and she’d never wanted to melt anybody.

Well, except guys in front of her in the line at cafes who yelled at the baristas. She still wanted to melt them a little bit.

But not now. To want to attack someone just for asking for something she’d stolen from them back… That was shitty, wasn’t it? So was the way she clutched that stolen bag protectively to her chest, taking a step backwards. Her stomach rumbled. To her, it sounded loud enough to shake the alley, like a lion roaring behind her to scare the woman away. In reality, it was a pathetic thing.

“No. I — I need it.” She needed something. She couldn’t keep begging meals off Jonas or raiding Leila’s fridge for snacks, because then what would she do when they were gone? If she let herself keep relying on other people the way she had these last few months, where would she be when those people left her? No one stayed with her forever, no matter what promises they made. No one had ever been able to manage that. “Why can’t you just let it go? You’re being seriously uncool about this.”

—

Wasn’t someone supposed to fold when caught in the act? Inge was getting more and more frustrated as the other kept talking, rather than giving her her bag back and scurrying off. She wasn’t even going to call the cops! She just wanted her stuff back and keep going with her night, still half-interested in meeting the woman she’d been chatting up online. But here was this annoying obstacle.

She needed it! Oh, that was almost funny. A stupid, silly excuse. Look, it wasn’t like Inge didn’t understand necessity — there had been the days in Amsterdam, where she and Sanne had been dirt poor. She’d ran from hunters in southern Europe once, having to leave all her belongings behind and thus having to start anew. She grifted, she lied, she scammed — all to get her life to be comfortable again. She was stingy when she needed to be. 

She understood necessity. But there was more in that bag besides petty cash. There was inspiration, there was memory there was … well, sentimentalism, even if she didn’t like to admit to it. 

“You need my hair ties? My crumpled receipts? My notes and my Werther’s? Forget it. You are the one being seriously uncool, stealing people’s possessions.” Forgive her hypocrisy. Inge moved in closer. “This really doesn’t have to be a whole thing. You give it back. You scurry off. I forget all about it. I think that’s what you really need, right now. Some fucking grace.” 

—

The woman didn’t understand, because no one did. That was what Cass told herself in moments like this, at least. She knew, on her best days, that the world was full of people who had struggled the way she was struggling. She knew that everyone was in pain, that she wasn’t the only person starving on the streets. On her best days, she understood that she was just one of many people in just one of many terrible situations.

But today was not her best day.

On days like today, she was selfish. She was so sure that no one else alive could possibly understand what she was grappling with, was angry that they’d even try. What did this woman have that was so important? Why shouldn’t it belong to Cass instead? What would this woman even do with it? Go home to her nice, quiet life and share the story with the people who loved her? Cook a hot meal on a stove that worked, fetch a cold drink from a refrigerator? Cass didn’t have any of those things. This stranger could stand to part with her bag, Cass thought. She probably had more bags. But what did Cass have?

Her eyes flashed the dangerous orange of the magma beneath her glamour, and she wouldn’t usually allow such a reveal but she was hungry and angry with it. “Do you think I’m scared of you? I’m not. I said I needed it, and I do. I need it. You scurry off.” 

—

Red glowing eyes met glowing orange ones and Inge’s eyebrows raised, face nearly brightening. So this wasn’t just a normal thief. She was something not entirely human, those eyes burning in a most literal sense. It was quite beautiful, admittedly. But that didn’t take away from the fact that that was her bag with her stuff in it, and she would not lose it.

“You need my personal affects? Bull-shit.” She liked the display of bravery, though. Besides, Inge knew she wasn’t the most threatening presence when it was just her in her earthly body. It was in dreams where she was her best self, something transformative and terrifying. Here, she was glitter, skin and bone. Red glowing eyes. A sleepy touch. If the other was afraid of her on this boring, limiting plane of existence, that would be pitiful.

She considered her options, then slipped back into the astral. There were a few options now, and Inge wasn’t a fighter per se — her methods of violence were different, more subtle yet more intrusive. But she’d faced off her fair amount of hunters. She’d picked up some things. Reappearing behind the other, she yanked at her shoulder to twist her around and made to grab for her bag, faces now close together. “It’s mine. All you need is some cold hard cash.” If she was a proper robber, she’d just take out the wallet and drop the rest, but she couldn’t even do that. 

—

She didn’t even know why she wanted the bag so badly at this point. Was it just because the woman didn’t want to let her have it? Was it the glowing eyes, was it the brash attitude? Cass clung to her stolen goods like they were a lifeline, refusing to let go even when she knew she was the one in the wrong. She didn’t even know what was in the stupid bag. Probably nothing worthwhile. But she needed it. Her heels were dug in deep to the proverbial dirt, stubborn and determined.

The woman disappeared, but Cass wasn’t stupid enough to think that meant she’d won. Sure enough, she felt the presence reappear behind her just a moment before a hand yanked at her shoulder, spinning her around. The oread took a stumbling step back, still clutching that bag close to her chest. 

“I said leave me alone!” In her frustration, her glamour dropped fully. Her veins glowed with red hot magma, eyes still burning that dangerous orange. “You’re right, I do need cash. If you hadn’t chased me, I would have dropped your stupid bag after I got the wallet out. But you know what? You suck!” 

—

Inge let out a laugh, something cruel and hardly-amused. Something that had no emotion behind it at all besides indignation and disbelief. “Leave you alone? You stole my stuff and  now you’re fucking victim-blaming me for being too fast in catching up with you and that’s why you feel entitled to keeping it? If you were a proper mugger, you’d have already done that, but nooo. All my fault? Do you hear yourself?”

The other was not human, that much was clear, and Inge would have appreciate her natural form if she wasn’t so pissed off. Glowing, like embers or the pictures of magma she had seen in books and online. Dangerous, most likely. She pushed forward, however, trying to snatch the other’s wrist.

As finger’s snaked around her glowing skin, Inge tried to hold on despite the warmth, tried to make her tired. She wanted her bag back. She would not stop until she had her bag back. “I suck? You’re not even good at being a thief!” 

—

This lady was mean, and Cass didn’t feel bad for stealing from her anymore. Everything she said was cruel and harsh, like her stupid bag was more important than Cass’s empty stomach. The oread felt her control slipping more and more, and when the woman reached out to grab her wrist, the fire in her chest burned hotter.

“Let go of me,” she snapped, yanking on her wrist. The woman’s grip was tight and Cass, in response, flared. The magma beneath her rocky skin burned hotter, heating up the area gripped in the woman’s hand. It wasn’t entirely intentional, but it wasn’t entirely accidental, either. The motivation lay somewhere between the two.

“You do suck! You’re mean and stupid and I don’t even want your dumb bag, anyway!” The magma that flowed down her arm and into said bag was unintentional, but Cass didn’t exactly feel bad for it.

—

Her touch seemed to only awaken rage in the other, which was completely the opposite of what Inge was trying to achieve. Pulling back her hand, she hissed and stared down, wondering if blisters would form. Glittering wounds, shining in the bright fiery light — fucking shit. The skin already shone silvery. 

She would be in awe, if she wasn’t so pissed. Inge’s red eyes stared down the other, mouth opening to protest until she saw magma – yes, actual fucking magma – flow from the girl. “No, no —” She flew forward, wanting to grab for her bag but the heat that radiated making her jump back.

It wasn’t just anger now, but something more honest, something almost vulnerable. Those were not just her things, not just materialistic bits and bops but things she cared about. “Stop it, you  Jesus, you can have my money but that’s my stuff! Drop it!” Her octave had shot up an octave and later this would embarrass her. For now, however, Inge didn’t much care about her emotions taking the upperhand. 

—

Glitter. There was glitter on the wounds left by Cass’s smoldering skin. And Cass knew what that meant, stared down at it with wide eyes. She didn’t know a lot about mares and what they could do — Ariadne didn’t like to talk about it and after the mare had attacked her in her cave, Leila didn’t seem fond of it either — but she knew this much. She knew what that glittering wound meant. The stranger was a mare, like Leila, like Ariadne. And Cass had hurt her. 

She stumbled back, uncertain. The magma still poured from her and into the bag, and the mare looked desperate at the sight of it. She tried to make a grab for it, and that was stupid because it was lava. Thankfully, she jumped back without taking it, without hurting herself, without making Cass hurt her.

But she looked upset, and Cass felt guilty. The magma stopped flowing, though the searing liquid already in the bag bubbled and hardened around its contents as the air cooled it. Cass dropped the bag, taking another step back. “Sorry.” She sounded small now. “I’m sorry.”

—

The bag dropped between the pair of them and Inge stared at it for a moment before looking at the culprit, feeling no satisfaction at the resolution. The thief sounded small and young, rather than a proper hardened criminal who was easy to villainize and even worse, it seemed the contents of her bag had succumbed to the actual lava that had been poured in it.

“Jezus Christus,” she cursed in her native tongue, eyes rolling as she crouched near what remained of her bag. Inge didn’t know a whole lot about lava, but she had a feeling that sketchbooks and other things were not going to hold up against it. Even if it looked like a pretty snack sometimes.

She tried one of the handles, realized the bag was heavy and hot and decided to let go of it for now. “You’re sorry?” She lifted to her full height (which wasn’t a lot, but still more than the other had) and raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. All of that — most of my stuff is melted now. Can you at least … try to save my sketchbook, assuming none of this heat bothers you? That would be a good way to show how sorry you are.” 

—

She wanted to warn the stranger to steer clear of the bag, but she was afraid of drawing attention back to herself. She was afraid of facing the consequences of what she’d done, even if the consequences only went as far as a stranger’s disappointment. She couldn’t stand the thought of someone being angry with her, even if that anger was deserved. Even if that anger came from someone she didn’t know.

Looking down at the bag, Cass nodded. The sketchbook, she suspected, was ruined. Paper and cardboard wouldn’t even hold up against a match, let alone the magma that had unintentionally dripped from the oread’s hand. But she was sorry, and she could prove it.

Carefully, she reached into the bag, digging around carefully. When she removed the notebook, there wasn’t much left of it. It was tattered, shambled, barely held together at all. But she held it out to the woman, anyway. “You shouldn’t touch it yet,” she said hesitantly, “but, um, I can put it on the ground for you or something.”

—

This was annoying. Inge wanted to be angry, the way she thought she deserved to be, and rage at this magma-filled child who had ruined her notebook. But she was trying, digging around for her notebook and saving whatever was left. She was apologetic. Inge would definitely prefer it if she remained proudly defiant, so her anger would feel more warranted, but alas.

She watched, discontent and frustrated, arms crossing and pinching into her own skin. It seemed they were both losing, and for a moment she wondered if the other would start crying. That would be even more annoying.

“Oh. Okay,” she said, staring at the sketchbook. So much work, gone. “Just put it on the ground. And — well, try and save whatever’s left.” Inge thought of her wallet, with all the cards she’d have to reapply for, which was going to be annoying what with her identity being a farce. She’d have to waste money on forgeries again. “Happy now? You didn’t even get any money.” 

—

Cass complied with the request, which seemed reasonable enough. Setting the ruined sketchbook on the ground, she winced at the way some of the pages crumbled against the concrete. She looked back to the bag — already, the magma inside had hardened against the much cooler air. Even in summer, Maine’s temperature was far, far colder than magma. Most things were, as it turned out. Still, Cass reached a hand inside the bag.

It was mostly for show, really; she knew there was nothing left to save, but she didn’t want it to look as if she’d just given up, either. Privately, part of her still thought that maybe the woman had deserved this, somehow. She thought it was a very nymph way of thinking, and she wasn’t sure she liked it, but… Well. Some habits were hard to break, weren’t they?

Admitting defeat, she pulled her hand from the bag with a shrug. “Nothing left,” she replied, almost apologetic. But, like the magma, she hardened a little against the stranger’s cold words. “If you hadn’t yelled at me, I would have just dropped the bag when I got the money out,” she mumbled. It was technically true, though she omitted the part where she likely would have taken more than just the money. The sketchbook was cool.

—

Inge was starting to think that she really, truly hated this town. From the dogs that people failed to control, to the plethora of hunters that hid in nooks and crannies, to this — being robbed by some kind of spellcaster or fae. Sure, she liked her job, and some of the people, but Jezus Christus, this was just getting ridiculous. 

She was watching the other sharply, her red glowing eyes narrowing as the other gave up. She almost looked defeated, this tiny little criminal, but Inge had little empathy for someone who had stolen from her. Besides, she thought guilt one of the more boring and annoying of human emotions. She couldn’t relate to it because she refused to, so she just wanted to roll her eyes.

“Uh,” she began, tone still sharp, “I’m sorry? Are you blaming me for not standing idly by as you robbed me? You know, if you hadn’t taken my stuff, I wouldn’t have yelled or chased you.” This was lacking in logic. Inge stared at her bag, rubbed at her hand, shook her head. “Well, it’s done now. I don’t assume you’ve got the cash to help me replace my lost cards and other belongings?” She crossed her arms. The girl seemed sorry. But she didn’t say she was sorry. “People barely carry cash these days anyway.”

—

“Oh,” Cass said, perking up a little as… ‘controlled listening’ allowed her to pick up only on parts of what the woman was saying, “apology accepted.” Logically, she knew that the apology had been sarcastic, but she felt bad and she didn’t want to, and this helped. Accepting an apology that wasn’t genuinely given eased some of the guilt in her chest, made her feel a little more of that slippery confidence she’d been chasing all her life. 

She shrugged at the request, because of course she didn’t have the cash to help the woman replace her lost cards. If she had, she wouldn’t be stealing in the first place. “I’m not very liquid right now,” she replied. “You, um… You can have some lava?”

—

“What?” She looked at the other with a frown. “I wasn’t — Jesus, forget it.” She wanted to jab a finger at the other, but resisted. Inge didn’t want to be called a Karen by another zoomer and so she refrained. “You owe me an apology too, you know. For the thieving and the destruction of property.” 

A laugh slipped past her lips, but it wasn’t a sound of amusement. It was something colder. “You seem … pretty liquid. What even are you? Spellcaster or nymph?” Inge would be more appreciative of the other’s powers and its potential scariness if she wasn’t so pissed off. “Keep your lava. I have no use of it, clearly.” Her gaze dropped to her sketchbook, and she looked almost mournful as she nudged her back with the toe of her boot.

—

“I already apologized for that,” Cass pointed out, “and you yelled at me.” She didn’t really want to be yelled at again — who did? — but the woman seemed… maybe not less mad, but a different kind of mad now. Like maybe she was finished yelling, at least. Like maybe she was willing to recognize that there was nothing more to be done.

The question stung a little, if only because it seemed harsh to ask. What are you? It was the what that brought on that quiet sting. Cass didn’t particularly want to be a what. She much preferred to be a who. “Nymph,” she replied, because it didn’t feel worth the lie and the woman knew enough to guess it, anyway. “You could make art with lava, you know. But whatever.”

—

“Just saying sorry isn’t an apology,” Inge said in return, but she didn’t go much further than that. Part of her wanted to yell again, to grab the girl and shake her as if that would make her see sense, but her hands was still aching. Apologies took stupid work, and neither she or the nymph seemed inclined to put in such labor.

Maybe the largest insult of the entire interaction was this: a nymph insinuating that Inge should make art with a substance she’d never be able to touch without getting hurt. Because God, would she like to! To create a sculpture with such a thing. “Why don’t you, huh? Go make some art with your lava rather than pour it into people’s bags. Maybe you’ll make some money that way.” 

She was trying to be better. It was a desperate thing, the way she carefully schooled her features in front of Alex, the way she tried to pretend that nothing ached. It was stupid, too, because she knew Alex saw through it. She knew her girlfriend could hear the way her heart pounded in her chest, the way her pulse raced and her breaths came a little too quick. Alex knew she was scared, and Alex was fine with it. Alex wanted to help. But accepting help felt like a confession that Cass didn’t want to make. She wasn’t supposed to need it. She was supposed to be a superhero. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid.

But she was anyway.

So she clung to distractions. She asked her friends to come over so she could practice her performance, pretended to be fine in front of all of them so she could start to believe the act. She laughed with them, and she pretended it didn’t hurt. She focused so hard on keeping her glamour up that she was exhausted when company left. She invited more people over the next day. It was an easy enough pattern. She was getting good at it.

Wynne was here today. They were one of the ones she’d felt the worst about leaving hanging when she’d gone through her messages after waking up. They’d clearly been worried, and the fact that Cass’s experience had prevented Wynne from being able to share whatever news they’d had to share made her feel guilty, because Wynne deserved to share that news no matter what it might be. Cass looked at them now, smiling softly. She reached out, taking their hands in hers. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Did you want to talk? About the news. It’s okay if you don’t, but if you do, I’d really like to hear it!”

—

The fatigue that had overtaken their body after they’d finished the ritual had never really left their body. Wynne felt the tiredness in their very bones, weighing them down like lead. They wanted to be happy and relieved, and though some part of them was, it all seemed numbed by that exhaustion. What broke through that numbness, though, was the news of what had happened to Cass. Suddenly there was something to do again, something clear to feel again. Anger on behalf of another. Concern. There was something like purpose, even.

It felt crude to think of it in such a way, so they tried not to. They just wanted to be there for their friend, to seem like something solid to lean on. Like someone who did and had faced their problems head-on, and had done so without feeling like they’d destroyed part of themself in the process. 

Looking at Cass was a little hard, with the way she didn’t look her bright self. She was smiling and warm, as always, but there was something about her that seemed paler. Wynne fought their fatigue at the reality they were in where they felt that more hurt was inevitable. And though they knew pain was a part of life, some of this just seemed pointless. Rhett’s violence was pointless in how cruel it was and how it left nothing but despair. They didn’t get it. What they did get was how mad they were at it all.

“I’m glad you’re here,” they said, giving a sad little smile before tucking their legs closer. They had felt so certain when they had announced to Cass that they wanted to talk, but that was gone now. But their friend was eager, and Wynne wanted nothing but to appease her and they should tell her. They owed some kind of truth, didn’t they? “Well, I don’t really know if it’s news, if that’s the right term you know? But I guess I wanted to tell you about something that happened, that I did or went through, I don’t know.” They rubbed their knee. “It’s about where I’m from and all. It’s a bit heavy, though, I guess? So if you would rather talk of light things, that’s okay.”

—

Wynne looked tired, and Cass wondered if it was egotistical of her to think that some of that exhaustion might have something to do with her. She wasn’t the center of anyone’s universe, she knew, but Wynne was her friend. They’d been worried about her, she’d seen it. In the messages they’d sent, the way they’d kept poking her for contact even when those messages went unanswered. Some people gave up the first time a message went with no reply, and Cass got that. It was easy to convince yourself that someone was just busy, that they didn’t feel like talking. But Wynne hadn’t. And didn’t that mean something? Wasn’t there a message being sent there, a good one?

So maybe Wynne was tired because of her. Maybe they looked so withdrawn because the same man who’d hurt Ariadne had hurt Cass, too. Maybe there was some righteous anger there, the kind no one had ever felt for Cass before she’d come to this town and met all these people. She decided not to ask about it. If she asked, the answer might be no. And she wanted it to be yes. She really, really did.

She smiled a little as Wynne spoke, trying not to feel the heaviness under the words. They were glad she was here because she almost wasn’t. Because if that knife had found purchase in her head, the way Rhett had meant for it to, she’d be gone now. It was a scary thing to think about, a heavy weight hanging over her head. She’d almost died. She wasn’t sure how to conceptualize it. 

She couldn’t think of what to say in response, so she said nothing. She’d rather have the distraction, rather hear the news Wynne would have delivered to her if she hadn’t been writhing on an autopsy table with an impossibly pounding heart. “I don’t mind,” she said quickly. “I don’t mind heavy. I — I want to hear it. You’re my friend. I want to know more about you, if you want to tell me.”

—

It was getting a little easier to tell this tale now. Wynne would prefer not to, on one hand. To just let the past rot and fester where it belonged. But how could they, when there was so much that went unsaid? When their own friends opened up and told them about their pasts because they trusted them? It felt unfair to keep it quiet and besides, it was hard to explain the things that were happening and had happened. 

It wasn’t like they didn’t trust Cass. They trusted her, as they had trusted Emilio, Zack and Arden, Ariadne and Nora. They just didn’t want to say those words aloud, to see the response to revealing that they used to partake in human sacrifice, to feel that fear of condemnation. Because what if Cass did think that they should have died? So far no one outside the commune had, but there was a first time for everything, was there not? Besides, sometimes they still thought they should have died, if only to save Iwan. Even now, after all that had been done, all they had dragged people into — they wondered if it might have been better.

Where was that supposed relief? Sometimes it came and sometimes it went, and right now as they sat in anticipation for Cass’ response, it was nowhere to be found. Wynne crossed their legs, grasping their ankles. “Okay, it’s about … well, why I ran away from home.” There was a deep inhale. “My commune used to worship this demon. And it required gifts and sacrifices and stuff, so it could give us good things. Mostly just food or small animals but also sometimes humans. Me.” They stared at their ankles, jaw growing tight.

“I didn’t want to die, so I ran.” The words hung in the air. They wanted to continue, to rattle on about what had happened since and what they had done to the demon, about Padrig and all the grief and anger in their chest. But Wynne was quiet. “And bad things happened because of it afterwards. I was —” They pushed their finger into the flesh of their foot. “Selfish, just like they all were, but bad things happened.”

—

When you lived most of your life on the defense, you got good at reading people. It was a necessary thing. If you were sharing an abandoned warehouse with someone you’d only met a few hours before, it was important to be able to know if they were planning on stabbing you and making off with your stuff the moment you turned your back. If you were working with another thief on a big score, you had to be able to determine whether or not they’d leave you hanging at the first sign of trouble. If your greatest nightmare was to be left behind, you learned to pinpoint the exact moment someone decided to walk away. 

So it was easy to see Wynne’s discomfort as they festered in the silence for a moment, preparing to say whatever it was they wanted to say. Cass took a moment to think about the unfairness of it all, of the way everyone she loved had some terrible shadow lurking in their past. Alex’s experience with her parents, Ariadne’s death and the fear surrounding it, Metzli’s issues with their clan… There wasn’t a single person in Cass’s life who didn’t have some tragic tale to speak of. And it wasn’t right. They were good people, all of them. None of them deserved anything heavy enough to make Wynne look the way they looked now.

Cass offered her friend an encouraging smile as they began their tale. But whatever she’d expected to hear, it wasn’t… this. Demons and human sacrifices and Wynne almost being one of them. She ached, deep in her chest, for what that must have felt like. For the burden it must have carried with it. She thought she would have run, too, if it had been her. She thought anyone would have.

But Wynne didn’t seem so sure. Cass reached a hand forward, hiding a wince at the way even that smallest motion pulled at her injuries. She placed her palm on top of Wynne’s hand, shaking her head just a little. “No,” she said quietly. “No. It’s not — It isn’t selfish to want to live, Wynne. It’s not. They were the selfish ones for… expecting that of you. For wanting you to die for them. That’s selfish. What you did — You had to do it. You had to run. I would have, too, okay?”

—

Part of them wanted to look away as they told the story and waited for Cass to response, to simply not have to face whatever reaction was waiting for them. They expected judgment, even if that was not fair, even if that did not fit with who Cass was and who she had proven to be. But they expected it all the same, as if lifting this part of the veil would suddenly turn the tide and make Cass see them for what they were — selfish, a failed martyr, a blight upon their community. Wynne almost held their breath, unsure of how to continue.

And then there was Cass’ hand, reaching for their tensing knuckles around their ankles. Soft and warm and reassuring, followed by the same sentiments they’d heard before. Sentiments they tried so hard to believe but they still couldn’t — because Iwan was still dead, and that was a direct consequence of their actions or lack thereof. It was so easy to say it was the elders and their parents and the demon who were to blame, but even so it didn’t change the cold hard facts. If Wynne had died, their brother would still be alive.

They looked at that hand on theirs and wanted to burst out in tears. “I — I guess. I don’t … I know it’s wrong, that they want that of people. That a demon would expect that and that they’d all follow along. But …” They shook their head. There was no avoiding it, that one thing it always came back to: their dead brother, the tragedy they could have avoided. Never mind how they had sentenced Padrig to death and had felt justified in it. Never mind how much they all had seemed to hate them.

“But they killed my brother in stead. I could have — I could have saved him. I should have just –” Wynne shrugged, shook their head. It all didn’t make sense. It hadn’t been wrong to run, they understood that. But it had led to something horrible. “I wish no one had to die like that and that no one had to be hurt like you were hurt and I thought … I thought that me running would be good, but it was also bad and it’s just …” They looked up now, finally. “There has to be a right answer, right? A way to stop it without causing more carnage?” But they knew better, didn’t they? The world was cyclical. Everything acted in correspondence with one another. “We went there. That’s – that’s why I was ready to talk. We went there and we killed the demon, but someone else had to die too. And it’s just … endless. I just want it all to stop hurting.”

—

It must have been lonely, what Wynne was going through. Cass couldn’t begin to understand the weight of it, the things they must have felt growing up the way they had. She’d been rejected from her own community, and maybe that was kinder. Maybe it was better to have no one care about you at all than it was to have them want you for the wrong reasons, though Cass had a difficult time believing it. She’d rather be loved for something she wasn’t than hated for something she was. She wondered what she might have done if it were her in Wynne’s place, if her aos si had wanted her to die for them instead of simply leave them alone. She liked to think she’d have been brave the way Wynne was brave. She knew the truth was probably something far less admirable. 

She might not have been able to comprehend the weight, but she did think she understood the loneliness. After all, wasn’t loneliness the only thing she was, most days? Hadn’t it been the thing to shape her, to raise her? Loneliness had stepped in to make her who she was when everyone else had stepped away, a pseudo parent in its consistency. She was alone, and she was nothing. And Wynne was alone, too, at least for a while. It was better, Cass thought, to be alone together. She liked it more.

She swallowed as Wynne went on, as they detailed the consequences of their actions. Was there a right answer, in situations like that one? Was there a perfect response? If Wynne had taken their brother with them when they’d left, Cass was pretty sure someone else would have died instead. If they’d replaced Wynne as a sacrifice, they would have replaced their brother in a similar manner, wouldn’t they? It was endless, this cycle of what if. You could make up a thousand different scenarios and still have more left unexplored. 

“I think…” She trailed off, a little uncertain. “I think nothing is all good or all bad. Everything’s a little bit of both. And — And it sucks sometimes. It sucks most of the time. I don’t think there’s a right answer. I don’t think there’s such a thing.” There was no perfect solution to any problem. It had taken Cass a long time to learn that. You did what you could, but it was never going to be flawless. “I — I’m glad you ran. I’m glad you came here so I could meet you. I think I’m better because I know you. And you make Aria happy, too. She wouldn’t be as happy as she is if she’d never met you.” She wondered what it had felt like, going back. Choosing someone else to die the way they had chosen Wynne to die. Privately, she thought… it might have felt good. And the thought scared her a little, the idea that hurting people who’d wronged you could be an exhilarating thing, the concept that she’d do it herself if given a chance. She didn’t want to be like that. She wanted to be a hero, brave and true and flawless. But no one really was, were they? “You saved people,” she said quietly. “By going back, by — by ending it. You saved a lot of people, you know.” Shouldn’t that count more?

—

They wanted the verbalisation of what had happened to feel more powerful, to feel more like they were lifting a weight from their chest as they put it all to words. But it wasn’t working. It was good to reveal the things they had been keeping unspoken the past months, but it didn’t really alleviate the crux of the issue. That this was constant. The pain Wynne was feeling, the pain Cass must be feeling, the pain Alex and Ariadne and everyone else had and would feel. And that pain wasn’t just caused by stubbing a toe or hitting a head — it was caused by others. By people so cruel that they’d make others suffer for their own gain.

It was an overwhelming truth and one they were only now really starting to understand. They had never really thought the people at home cruel, after all: they all did what was to be done. They were dutiful and dedicated, just as they were. Sometimes that duty and dedication hurt them or others — but they didn’t hurt people because they wanted to. And yet, somehow, it had been wrong, hadn’t it? Everyone kept saying it was, so it had to be. It was wrong that they expected them to die and that they hadn’t been allowed to speak of any doubt that lived within them. It was wrong that they had strict measures for people who broke the rules. It was wrong that they had killed their brother in order to appease a cruel demon.

Everyone at home had failed what Wynne had done in the end: say no and fight. In a way, it had made them feel empowered. In a way, it made them hopeful — because maybe they could say no and fight the other cruel people out there. The people like Rhett or those now-dead vampires. And yet, here they sat. With their good intentions, staring at a hurt Cass and feeling their own chest cave in. They would fight, if given the opportunity — but when would they? How could they muster up the energy to always be ready or it? How could they know that they were capable? Because they hadn’t been able to defeat that demon by themself. By themself they were just this pitiful thing, weeping and shaking and angry with no resolution.

Cass spoke with a kind of insight that made them wonder where she had found it. Wynne tried to take her words at face value and not add any but’s. “That makes sense, I guess. Like … it’s not as black and white as sometimes I might think. And maybe there was no good thing to do in my situation, because if I had died then it would have just kept happening. But then my brother would have been alive. And if I had taken him with me maybe we would have been caught and … I don’t know.” They traced their nail with an absentminded thumb. “I’m glad I met you too. That I got to come here. For that I am glad. That I found friends and Ariadne and everything.” That was what they clung to, when it all felt like it shouldn’t have happened. They had people they loved here. 

And sometimes it was hard, because they had spent their formative years convinced that they were going to die before properly reaching adulthood. Sometimes they still thought they were going to die, before metaphorically pinching themself to remember that they had a future now. Wynne looked up at Cass. “I hope I did. I spared someone from the fate that took my brother, at least. I’m glad I could end that. At least.” 

—

In comic books, things were simple. That was part of what had drawn Cass to the medium all those years ago, part of what made her dedicate such a large part of her life to it. The battles were hard fought, sometimes, but good always came out on top. The villains were cartoonish more often than not, two dimensional and foolish. They did inexcusable things and they twirled mustaches and no one could ever look at them and think, even for a moment, that they were anything but bad. And the heroes, by comparison, were all light and brave and powerful. They had strong morals and strong powers, and they were difficult to hurt. They fell sometimes, died sometimes, but it was always only a temporary thing. The reader knew that, within a matter of months, the dead would rise and the status quo would return. The Fantastic Four would defeat Doctor Doom. The Joker would be placed back in Arkham. The world would not end, the city would not burn. It was a given, a forgone conclusion.

But real life wasn’t like that.

In real life, things were messy. Things were complicated. Good people did bad things, and it didn’t make them villains. Bad people did good things, but they still weren’t heroes. People who were supposed to love you abandoned you or marked you for death or mistreated you or loved you in all the wrong ways, and there was no narrative reason to ease the pain of it. There was no overarching story to make the things you suffered worth it. Heroes fell and heroes died, and they didn’t come back a few issues later to kick the status quo back into place. Cass was supposed to be a hero, but she didn’t feel like one. Rhett must have been a villain, but he’d been so easy to trust. Superman didn’t have problems like this, she thought. How enviable it was to be so unbreakable that your enemies needed kryptonite just to try it.

“I wish it were easier,” she admitted quietly. She wished there was some ‘right’ answer that Wynne could have gone with, some way that would have saved them and their brother without damning the future children of the community they’d left to repeat the same fate every few years like clockwork. She wished this were a comic book, wished she had a cape that fit her right. She wished everything was different. For her, for Alex, for Aria, for Wynne. For all of them. 

But they had each other, at least. Wynne was here, had been worried enough to want to check up on her, and hadn’t that been something Cass had wanted all her life? Hadn’t she spent two decades yearning for it? Things were what they were. There were still villains, even if it didn’t feel much like there were heroes to combat them. But, in the midst of it all, there was this. Quiet moments with a friend who loved her, a friend she loved back. She offered Wynne a small smile as they spoke, nodding her head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” she admitted. Without Alex, she would be dead in the woods now, Rhett’s knife having found its home in her head. Without Wynne, she’d be lost in this cabin, alone and afraid. Her friends made her better. She liked that.

And maybe that was true of the rest of them, too. Maybe they all made each other better. She nodded again, thinking about how Wynne had certainly made their community better by ending the cycle that had been repeating for ages within it, of saving the next kid even if they hadn’t been able to save their brother. That had to count for something, didn’t it? “It was good,” she said firmly. “You are good. You’re kind of like a superhero, you know?”

—

There had never been much fiction for Wynne to use as escapism. There had been bedtime stories and tales told around a fireplace, but it had all been supplied by the same people who supplied everything. But even there, things were simple. The Protherians painted a simple picture of the world, one where their close bonds and the boons they received from their pact made everything go around. Everything was a balance, a giving and taking, a simple combination of good and bad, of winter and summer, of reaping and sowing. But it was not that simple, was it? The world was all out of balance. There were good people and there were bad, but it seemed it was the latter that kept winning out. The latter that had more impressive means, more ruthlessness, more chance.

They didn’t want balance any more, anyway. Not when it came to these things, at least. They wanted these people that hurt others out of this world, or changed and redeemed in some kind of way. They didn’t want to worry about it any more, there being people out there that had cruel intentions and nothing holding them back. Why did it always have to be balanced? Why couldn’t they have saved themself and Iwan, why couldn’t Alex and Aria and Cass not have gotten hurt? There was good in the world too, yes — Cass was proving that once more, but what if it wasn’t enough?

“Me too,” they said. “I wish all of it was easier and kinder.” They wanted the world to be bright again, to not feel so weighed down by their conscience and their past, to not feel afraid of all that was out there. They wanted to be overtaken by wonder at all these things that existed in the world, like Cass being a fae. But in stead they were afraid for her. 

They reached forward, placing a hand on Cass’ knee. “Me neither. I’m really glad and grateful to have you. And I wouldn’t know what I’d have done if —” Wynne swallowed and blinked, as if trying to push away something. “Well, you know. But you’re here.” And she would be okay. She had to be. They inhaled sharply, thinking for a moment about Rhett again, about how afraid Ariadne had been after she’d been taken by him and how small Cass looked now. They wanted him to feel like that too. They wanted what had been done to Padrig to happen to him. For the tables to be turned on him. It wasn’t a pretty thought, but it swirled through them all the same.

They blinked and swallowed some more, but their eyes burned sharply. “Okay.” They nodded. They believed their friends, even if the things they said were hard to believe. Wynne wiped at their eyes. “You’re also — you’re also good. Don’t ever let them tell you any different.” They moved forward, pulling Cass into a gentle hug. “You got that?”

—

Even before this, Cass had known that the world wasn’t kind. She’d figured it out as a child, shoved into a boat and forced far away from the island she’d been born on. She’d had it proven to her time and time again living on the streets, experienced all the cruelness the world had to offer. This had been a harsh wakeup call, but it hadn’t entirely been a surprise. She’d known what hunters were since the first time Alex told her about them, known how dangerous they could be since the day one tried to kill her girlfriend. In a lot of ways, this had been a matter of time. A rite of passage she’d managed to avoid through luck that was always going to run out sooner or later. The world wasn’t easy or kind. Not for her, and not for Wynne, either. She knew that.

But she still wanted it to be.

She offered Wynne a small smile, starting to shrug before the motion sent a wave of pain through her shoulder and aborting it hastily. “Maybe… All we can do is try to make it easier and kinder for each other. All of us.” The world had been cruel to them both. To Alex and Aria, too. To Nora, to Milo, to everyone in their circle of friends. But that didn’t mean they had to be cruel. Maybe, if they were kind enough for long enough, they could change something.

She still felt small. And scared, and powerless, and weak. But with Wynne beside her, and the knowledge that the rest of her friends were in her corner as well… It wasn’t as bad as it would have been if this had happened when she was still on her own. It wasn’t as suffocating, wasn’t as unsurvivable. She’d be okay; she knew that now.