#clem 002

The whole werewolf thing put a lot of things into perspective. Like the gurgling of other peoples’ stomachs. Of her own, usually, but she usually felt it first. She swore she could hear it as she moved onward, old snow crunching beneath the too small boots she wore. Clem knew better than to walk home alone at night, but since there was practically a whole beast living inside of her now, she figured she was the worst thing on the block. It probably also didn’t help that she had a bit of liquid courage aiding her in her adventure. One or two shots with a customer she liked wasn’t a bad thing if it sold more liquor, she didn’t think.

It was a naive thing to believe, but if she didn’t believe in some kind of strength that had come with the bite, then where would she be? Of course, the whole thing was just cool, but every now and again, she was brought back to the pond where she’d nearly bled out before finding help. Clem kicked at a rock that’d yet to be covered in the snow’s dusting as she moved onward, her breath visible as it lifted into the sky. 

She could hear footsteps behind her, but they were far enough away that they didn’t really concern her. They seemed even with her own with a lack of urgency to catch up to her, so she figured it wasn’t that she was being followed; just that she and whoever was behind her were going the same way. 

Unbeknownst to her, there was something far more sinister than two women with the urge for a nightly stroll. It lurked in the shadows, bile leaking from its protruding teeth. Maybe Clem could’ve smelled it, had she been paying better attention. Instead, she was stumbling back as a car ignored the stop sign ahead of her. “Hey! Fuck you, man!” 

—

Another night, another confrontation of her uselessness. Nova hated to grumble about it, except when she’d dedicated her life to this, she imagined that by now she’d have Wicked’s Rest turned into Care-A-Lot. Y’know? The home of the Care Bears? Inside the Kingdom of Caring? Sorry she had been invested in Care Bear lore as a kid. Her last ditch effort to actually be a smidge helpful was to follow someone around. From experience, she knew that people didn’t enjoy being followed by someone in a ski-mask with a big chunky belt that had several suspicious pouches. She also knew that walking around at night was dangerous, and how else was she supposed to make sure this woman got home safe? 

Except that, when a car barreled through a stop sign, Nova had been a respectable distance away—if that car had hit her, Nova wouldn’t have been able to pull her back. So, really, she was back to being useless. Nova tried to kick the rock the other woman had, missing entirely. She tried again, harder. The pebble flicked up, sailing through the air, snapping into the woman’s back. “Shit!” 

Nova held up her hands, guilty. “I’m so sorry! I was trying to—I was—Look, the—I mean, what are the odds that—” 

The shadows stirred. From the coiling dark across the street, liquid appeared as if by magic, from a space about five feet in the air, dripping down. There was nothing but the plop, plop, hitting the snow. The shadows shifted again. Yellow pointed teeth, from which the liquid slipped through. Two red dots blinked. 

“Look out!” Nova sprinted forward. The creature tore from the cover of shadow into the misty moonlight; a jaundiced, gnarled thing with bat-nose and pointed ears. Nova had seen them before—she dubbed them “the ugly vampires”. And boy, were they.  

—

She could push herself to believe that she was the most dangerous thing on the street if she really wanted to. She could, and she would. The sound of stomping– or the sound of a shoe scuffing against pavement, almost made her turn around, but it was probably good that she didn’t. The very pebble she’d made an effort of kicking around found its way to her back, and Clem awkwardly arched away, as if ice had been shoved down the back of her shirt. 

“What the hell!” Her cheeks were warm and her vision slightly blurred as she whipped around, squinting at the figure behind her, whose hands were up in a pitiful display. She was speaking, and Clem squinted harder. She had excellent night vision now, though it was hard to break old habits. 

Her attention shifted as soon as the woman was yelling. She recoiled from the sudden noise, then looked to where she’d flailed her arms towards. Clem’s jaw dropped as she took the creature in. It was… disgusting. Not in a cool punk rock kind of way, but in the kind that made your stomach turn over on itself. She felt her fingertips go numb as she stumbled backwards, knocking into the woman with the weird pouches at her side. 

“What the FUCK is that!” Clem’s words came out half-question, half-statement. She grabbed a hold of the stranger’s arm, digging her fingers into the fabric of her jacket. “What do we do– what do–” 

The kuzlac’s jaw was hanging open exposing shiny (and slimy) rows of teeth. Its breath was rancid, smelling of roadkill and, for some reason, vodka. It stalked forward after landing onto the ground, its talons scraping against the snow with every staggering movement. 

—

“Stay behind me! And let go of my arm—ow.” Nova wiggled her arm out of the stranger’s grip, ignoring the throbbing in the shape of frightened fingers digging into her arm, she bent her knees and raised her hands by her head. “Come on buddy, let’s see what you’re made of.” The vampire staggered like he’d just come out of a bar—some kind of hunger sickness, Nova assumed. What the fuck did she know about vampires? Hunters were cagey with info and all of Granny’s notes were in layers of code. 

The monster clawed at the ground. It lunged. Nova was faster. Her fist snapped under the vampire’s jaw, clacking its teeth together. It staggered back and then lunged again, arms out. The ugly vampires were stronger than her, and in a fight of power, Nova would lose every time. She’d learned that the hard way, as she’d learned most things. With her arm up to block the claw on her right—hissing at the tearing of her skin—she held the vampire’s bicep with her left hand, closing in. In another motion, her right arm—bleeding—curled around the vampire’s head. With her elbow locked around the creature’s neck, she twisted and spun the ugly bitch over her hip, slamming it down into the ground with her arms locked around one of its. 

She twisted and snapped the arm out of its socket—on a normal human, a dislocated shoulder was enough to end a fight. On a vampire, she’d have a few seconds. Enough, at least, to pin the thing down with her knee at its chest. It trashed, breath reeking of cheap booze and iron. “Ugh,” Nova groaned. “God, these things are so gross. You got anything long, girthy, and woody, kid?” She looked up. “Kid? You okay?” The creature was starting to recover—hungrier and angrier. 

—

Clem held her hand to her chest after it was slapped away. A frown pulled at the corners of her lips, and maybe she’d be a little more upset by the sting of rejection had there not been a freakishly ugly monster in front of them. She thought back to the werewolf that had originally bit her, thankful that at least it wasn’t ugly, which in turn definitely meant that when shifted, she wasn’t ugly either. Because that’s how it worked. 

Her companion was talking to it, like she was ready to tussle, and Clem couldn’t help but be left dumbfounded. Both of them were probably a cart’s weight, soaking wet. So why did this girl, not much taller than herself, think she could take on that? Her lip quivered in response to the noise that the creature made, not because she was going to cry, but because she wanted to yell back at it. Which, really, wasn’t probably a great idea, but that’s what the stranger was doing, so why couldn’t she join in? 

Just as she was about to yell back in response, the creature was lunging towards them. Her partner in…whatever the fuck this was connected her fist with the underside of its jaw, and a soft crack echoed through the air between where she stood, and where they stood. Clem watched, unable to move, as the woman tossed the creature around like it was something matching her own stature. The smell of blood, however, made her skin begin to prickle. 

A resounding pop should’ve been enough to pull her out of her thoughts, but she was left, her mouth hanging open, inhaling the scent of the blood. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth as she clenched her teeth. The woman was asking her something, and Clem forced her attention downward. But she could see the blood, could taste it. It settled on her tongue like a warm hug, like something she could devour. She swallowed thickly, the pressure in her shoulders and fingers becoming harder to ignore. 

“You– you’re ble- eeding.” The words came out bastardized, choked on, and in an attempt to swallow them back, Clem staggered to the side, grabbing a nearby lamppost. It was clear the creature had no intention of staying pinned, because its movement was becoming far more forceful. “Uh..” She blinked several times, trying to force back the growing pit in the center of her stomach. It crawled its way up, ravenous. It no longer saw the woman and the creature, but two beings put on display, meat and flesh– blood and bone. “Run.” 

—

The monster lifted its head, nose twitching; air whizzed through its flat, oversized nostrils. Was it… sniffing? It looked at the girl, snorted, and shoved Nova off. She fell back with a grunt, landing on her ass. “Hey!” The creature scrambled over the snow, stumbling away in a feverish sprint. “Coward! We weren’t done!” Nova watched it fade into the shadows, running away with the desperation of a chased animal. Odd, considering its only threats were two human women. Of course, Nova could totally kick its ass, but the other girl? 

Nova stood, brushing herself off, her blood soaking into the snow at her feet. “So much for that,” she said. “But all in a day’s…” The girl staggered. “Kid?” The girl clutched the lamppost. “Hey, you okay? This isn’t a bad wound or anything, are you worried? Or…” She was saying something; a particular three-letter word that Nova extricated from her vocabulary, except when she advised other people to do it. 

If Nova had any sense, she would’ve ran—she was a chronic sense-lacker. Even if she understood the danger, she wouldn’t have moved. She’d tried running before, she didn’t like the taste it left her with. In the end, it was a simple choice: this was a person in need, and in such cases, what else was there to do? “Hey, do you need help? What’s wrong?” The bleeding of Nova’s arm slowed, but the scent of her iron-rich blood was pressed into the air. “Are you okay?” she asked again, that reeking arm outstretched.

— 

The woman’s words filtered in one ear and out of the other, making Clem dizzy. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, trying to realign herself with her current surroundings. There was a… no, it was gone. She blinked through her blurred vision to see the monster– creature? She was also a creature. Some would call her a monster. What if that being was like– 

The woman was speaking, still. Her attention moved from the creature to the brunette. The one who was bleeding. Breathing in through her mouth did nothing to placate the beast that stirred beneath her skin. If anything, it only made it more ravenous. It was angry that it had been attacked, that it had watched somebody else attack– it should have been the one to initiate the bloodshed. 

Clem coughed into her shoulder, pressing her forehead against the lamppost. It was cold. If she could just focus on the way it felt cool against her skin, then maybe… 

Weren’t vampires the ones that were meant to be bloodthirsty? Or was it the promise of exposed flesh, of rubbing the blood with its muzzle, of spreading it, organ and bone, that caused the wolf to rear its head? Clem didn’t want anyone to get hurt. But the wolf didn’t care. 

“RUN!” Clem barked it out, though there was no real edge to it, no real urgency. It was lackluster, decaying before the ‘n’ could be growled out with her tongue tucked behind her teeth. The wolf was not going to succumb to any kind of plea Clem had, and should she have let it? She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but the wolf was who she was now. It was her before anything else was. She staggered forth, knees hitting the ground. 

Her body began to break down, bones realigning themselves to make room for something bigger. Clem screamed as the wolf overtook her. Her clothes split away from her skin, and tufts of fur began to ripple over her body. The sickening snapping that came from her as she writhed on the ground ceased moments later. Before succumbing to the mind of the wolf, Clem had no real idea if the woman had managed to run. 

In her place stood Clem’s wolf, mouth hanging open, inhaling the iron and open flesh.

—

Moonlight reflected in the monster’s eyes, becoming the moon itself, watching her above a jagged line of pointed teeth. Nova jerked away and hit the ground; ass stinging, palms burning with cold. The werewolf's breath curled between its (her?) teeth, grey as it lifted up. The werewolf that ate Rachel had been smaller, but it didn’t matter. Every sinewy, furry beast was the same: hunger was universal. She wasn’t going to run. Her skin was cold; her heart thrashed inside her ears. She wasn’t going to run. Her body trembled. She wasn’t going to run.

Nova scrambled to her feet, kicking up snow. There were no classes on what to do if a werewolf was staring you down. For all hunters claimed to care about the world, and the people in it, they weren't handing out self-defence education. No, Nova was. And everything she learned was on her own—it might've been wrong. It was probably wrong. You could only  experiment so much before you finally got eaten. Who were the ones actually facing down the monsters day-to-day? The people without powers, without knowledge, without abilities; gristle for Wicked's Rest. Maybe the hunters thought that if you got this far, you weren't making it out anyway. Maybe to them, every human was a lost cause anyway. Save what you can, don't mourn the rest. 

Nova insisted on mourning. She'd never known the transformation from human to wolf was so violent—when the girl was less furry, she'd ask her if it hurt, and if she remembered everything and if that hurt too. Nova wasn't going to run. 

The streetlight caught the lazy dusting of snow, shimmering down on the werewolf's fur like glitter. She wasn't going to run. Nova pulled a vial from one of the pouches on her belt, sloshing with a steaming snot-green liquid. "Alright, big girl, let's go." With magic the way it was, she had to rely on old potions. With her alchemy skills what they were, she hadn't exactly brewed de-werewolfing juice.

She threw it at the werewolf, and it arced in the air before smashing at the creature's feet. A green cloud fogged around, filling the air with sulfur-compounds. The potion was—if you were going to diminish all the cool alchemy work Nova had done—basically the same as a skunk's spray. Except stronger, because you might as well if you're stirring the cauldron for an hour breathing in burnt-rubber fumes. 

"Oh god," Nova groaned, burying her face in her elbow. She wasn't exactly thinking when she threw it—not anything more than don't eat me. Gas famously loved to travel. "Oh god. Shit. This smells terrib—" She turned and gagged. 

—

The wolf stood over a foot taller than its human vessel, and though it knew the girl didn’t want this woman to die, there was a hunger that could only be satiated by ripping skin from bone. 

Whatever fight the girl had in her had died out the moment the wolf took over, and rightfully so. Its amber eyes swept over the scene, until they landed back on the woman who had decided not to run. At a quick glance, one might think that the wolf had been grinning. Its gums and teeth were exposed, saliva coating each individual structure. 

A low rumble built its way up the wolf’s chest. It should have attacked, that much it knew, but a part of it was curious as to why she hadn’t run. Then, it clicked. 

She reached for something, and if the wolf had been only a little more mature in its existence, it might have known to swipe its claws across the opposing cavity, but instead it stood there stupidly. 

The smell that dispelled from the ball the woman threw made the wolf gag, and immediately, its mouth snapped shut. Its nostrils were filled with the scent of whatever the fuck that was, so much so that its eyes began to water. It thrashed its arms ahead of itself, as if to wave the smell away. The putrid scent followed, however. It tasted it on its tongue, at the back of its throat. 

The wolf slammed its face into the nearby patch of dirt, rubbing its nose into it, attempting to mask the scent as much as it could. It could feel its nostrils coated in what could only be identified as cigarette ash and compost, but anything was better than whatever the fuck the woman had released. 

—

Nova was accustomed to bad smells—no, not because she lived in the back of her van. Though, yeah, a little bit because she lived in the back of her van. Alchemy came with an assortment of potent fumes, and at least a few of Granny’s potion recipes seemed designed specifically to smell as bad as possible. Nova long suspected that Granny had lacked an ability to smell, or taste, considering the things she kept around her or put in her body. She cooked by dumping every available spice and herb into her meals, calling it seasoning, leaving it one undistinguishable mush that confused the tastebuds so severely that it looped back around to being bland but overly salty. Still, being used to something didn’t mean she liked it. She’d hated Granny’s cooking. 

And she couldn’t stand this thick, burning-rubber-smoke-skunk smell. Nova gagged, pulling her shirt over her nose and mouth. The werewolf seemed to be doing a lot worse but the dirt seemed to be helping. Should she put her face in dirt? No, no, this was good. This was what she wanted! Sorta. “God,” she groaned. “Friendly fire.” At least she wasn’t being eaten, but that didn’t mean the werewolf wouldn’t run off to less stinky pastures and chew on someone else. 

“How do we change you back?” she asked, pulling off her ski mask to hold over her nose. “Is there a ritual? Do you just wait?” Glancing down at her pouches, she wasn’t sure she had any potions that could help. She did have more stinky juice though. She held up another one of the noxious green potions, swirling it. “I’m not afraid to use this!” She shook it. “Help me help you, buddy—how do I get you back into human shape?” Could werewolves even talk? Was this a pointless mission? Should she be running? 

Nova swallowed. That move to dig its nose into the dirt felt so human. Underneath all that fur (and muscles, and those claws, and those very, very pointy teeth) was a person. She held her thumb to the cork, readying her potion. She had a silver coin rattling around somewhere in her pouches; it was useful to keep various metals on her, or it would be, if the magic was acting the way it should. Would that work for anything? Gee! It sure would be helpful if, like, any hunter was more forthcoming. Or the spellcasters, now that she thought about it. Or if she was less stupid… 

—

The wolf continued to rub its nose in the dirt, eager to rid the putrid smell from both its nose and lungs. Though, it seemed that no matter how hard it worked, the smell wouldn’t leave. What a terrible, awful thing to have bestowed upon it. Even when the wolf opened its eyes, it could hardly see a thing, blind to the sting and way its eyes watered in response from the smell. 

Perhaps if it had been around for a little while longer, it would’ve been more equipped to deal with something like this. It could hear the scuttling of footsteps– of words that, regardless of its transformation, it could make out. The wolf let out a low whine, almost puppylike in response to the threat of another stink bomb being released. The hold that it had over Clem was waning, the threat of… whatever vampiric beast long forgotten. It could run, but it couldn’t see. It could devour, but what would be the point of that? It was so sure that whatever the woman would taste like would be overpowered largely by the smell that wrapped around its nose.

Though it could have been confused on both Clem and the wolf’s behalf for the transformation to only take a matter of minutes, it felt excruciatingly long, snapping back together in the smaller frame between the two. It took her awhile, maybe too long (thanks to inexperience and disorientation) to piece together what had happened. 

All she knew was that the smell that hung in the air was fucking awful, and she was cold. “Fuck.” Clem rubbed her face, finding nothing but dirt. It was up her nose, too. Great, cool, fantastic! She coughed into her arm, still laying face down. She was exhausted, still not quite piecing together what had happened. The fact that she wasn’t alone was lost on her as she slowly got onto feet, warms covering her torso as best as she could. When she turned around to see the woman that didn’t run, she let out a yelp. “What are you still doing here?!” It came out in a scream, though half-choked out as she made to cover her nose again. “That’s fucking awful, oh God–” 

— 

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re OK. I was— OK, now, you don’t have to be that rude about it.” Nova said, defensive of her stink. She tucked her potion back inside and jogged to the girl’s side. “I mean, it’s not that bad,” she said while she was taking her jacket off. “I mean, it’s basically just like eggs if you think about it.” She draped the jacket over the girl, pulling it in tenderly around her chest the way her mother used to bundle her on a snow day so she could run outside to get pelted by snowballs. “Alright, it sucks.” Nova gestured. “It’s kind of like if you ran over a skunk and then cooked it in an oven, took it out, brought it back to life, fed it eggs, and then cooked it again. And then farted a lot. I don’t know why anyone would, but hypothetically—Sorry. Not the point.” She shook her head and aligned her thoughts. Yeah, it smelled like shit, but here was a naked girl who was also a werewolf. 

The transformation back seemed like it hurt more, bones cracking and popping again and fur receding. She shook out her arm—thankfully not bleeding anymore—her own bones buzzing at the imagining of the girl’s pain. “If I ran, where would you be now?” Nova asked. Really, it was all those times that she actually helped that were reinforcing the bad survival habits—she thought about saying it, but the girl wouldn’t get the joke. Truthfully, Nova didn’t mind. “Do you want my pants too?” Nova pointed at hers. “Honestly, you gotta invest in, like, werewolf emergency kits. Do they have those?” 

The jokes flung out fast and nervously, Nova’s heart was still inside her throat and she didn’t want it to show. The danger was gone, but even if her brain knew it, her body didn’t. She felt like throwing up, she always did in these circumstances—panic loved to make her digestive system cry. That and it really, really smelled terrible. “Hey.” Nova softened. “Want me to walk you home?” 

—

She already had the egg ick, and this wasn’t making things any better. Clem covered her mouth and nose with her left hand as she stabilized herself with her right. “It smells so fucking bad.” There was no world where Clem would feel guilty for telling that to the other woman, either. She felt the jacket drape over her shoulders, and it was warm. Probably because it’d been worn up until this moment. She sank into its warmth, once standing, pulling it tighter around her. As she spoke, she shook her head. “You described it perfectly. Jesus–” She awkwardly covered her nose, ducking her face partially into the jacket. 

On top of being fucking cold, Clem was sore, too. Her whole body hurt. It usually did, after a shift. Especially the kind that wasn’t pulled out of her by the full moon. She wasn’t sure if there was any getting better at that part, but she hoped there was. “Not smelling that,” Clem choked out, nodding towards the canister that’d been opened. Even if the smell had mostly dissipated, it still stuck to her nostrils. Actually, she wasn’t really sure where she’d be. Off somewhere, probably terrorizing somebody else. It was probably good she’d been stinkbomb’d. “Your pants…?” She looked down at her lower half, tugging the jacket down slightly. Thank god she was mostly legs. “No, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” Home wasn’t that far from where they were now, but if she were offered a ride, she’d probably take it. “No, I don’t– what the fuck even was it. A failed science experiment? Old ass leftovers?” 

Okay, so no ride. Cool. Clem ran her tongue along her back teeth, contemplating. It was probably better, and she needed to give her her jacket back. She paused. “What was that thing?” There was no forgetting about it, but it had taken a backseat to the terrible smell that enveloped the two of them. “And what’s your name?” She was starting to walk in the direction of her apartment, not wanting to stick around for much longer than needed, only because she knew how nosy people could be, and they weren’t that far from The Wormhole. 

— 

“A potion,” Nova explained, feeling there was no real reason to lie. Hunters thought protecting their precious supernatural secrets was so important but Nova only cared about saving a life. What could it hurt to know the stinky thing in the air was a magical potion the effects of which were… honestly, kind of basic? She was the best at potions that she could also just achieve the same results for if she chucked together regular chemicals without all the magic hoo-ha. The kind of potions that most alchemists didn’t bother with, because of that reason. If you didn’t know anything about alchemy, it was almost impressive sounding. From a distance. Squinting. “Stink potion. I’m working on an official name. Thinking… Skunk-A-Lot.”

Nova started to walk alongside the girl, her eyes raking the horizon, and the dark corners, for anything they might try to pop out next. In Wicked’s Rest, quiet moments were never all that peaceful; calms before storms was the perpetual concern. She shook herself out. While her heart hammered, she was able to wrangle her voice into its usual friendly tones. She tucked her ski mask into her belt. “I call them ugly vampires,” she said. “I’m not the best source for information; I barely know what things are called. You’re a werewolf. I mean, I know that much. I’m a spellcaster, by the way.” It was courteous to offer, considering the circumstances. 

Nova looked up. “Aw, do you live near The Wormhole?” she asked. “That’s cute. I haven’t been there in a while. A lot cheaper, and less dangerous, to just buy your own liquor. I do sorta miss the general ambiance of… grime.” Ah, and now it was time for the dreaded name thing. Obviously, this would be easy. All Nova had to do was give a fake name. She could call herself Stacy, or Jennifer, or— “Nova,” she said. Shit. Well, too late now. What did it matter, anyway? It wasn’t like this girl knew her. “Nova Yang,” she said. OK now, she didn’t need to give her full fucking name. Man, did she wish she had a brain that contained thoughts. “What about you? What’s your name, kid?”

—

A potion! Sure, yeah, that made perfect sense. Clem wasn’t about to ask about magic and how it was real, especially considering she shifted into a wolf during every full moon, and at inopportune moments of panic. Magic had to be real in a town like Wicked’s Rest. There wasn’t really any ignoring it. Clem had lived among it since the moment she was born, hadn’t she? So she didn’t bother asking if it was tied to magic, because of course it had to be. “Uh. You need something way stronger for a name than that. That shit nearly took me out.” Technically hadn’t it, though? It had made her shift back. Which, thank god. The smell of blood was still present, but nearly masked entirely by the stink surrounding them. 

Clem coughed into her shoulder, careful to keep the jacket secure around herself so that it covered her decently. Her feet were fucking freezing, but at least the conversation was a good distraction from the feeling burrowing into her soles. “Yeah, I mean, ugly vampire sounds right.” So she’d been right about those being real, too. Then again, she was totally sure the kid in her 12th grade math class had been one; he had disappeared for awhile, then came back and wasn’t able to stand being around blood. He said it was a phobia, but he hadn’t been that way before. It was very Edward Cullen of him, but now, Clem recognized it as something way more serious than that. “God that’s like, so weird. Having that said outloud, I mean. I say it to myself, I know it, and I’m not like, ashamed of it or whatever, but it’s weird having somebody else say it.” She felt a little proud, too, if she were being honest. Probably not the best thing to be considering she’d nearly made a snack out of the woman next to her. “You don’t go by witch? Wait. Fuck. Is that offensive? Sorry.” 

She wasn’t so new to the supernatural world of Wicked’s Rest that she was afraid of what might exist behind the veil she was slowly pulling up and outward, but she was surprised, and nearly elated to know that she wasn’t the only thing to exist within its confines. Then again, wouldn’t that be a selfish thing to think? Clem shot her a look, rolling her eyes. “I work there. You can talk shit, just leave the owner out of it.” As soon as Nova said her name, Clem stopped in her tracks. How fucking stupid could she be? Obviously Clem had scoured the internet for embarrassing things about Nova and from Nova, but she hadn’t ever come across a picture of her. Was she a fucking idiot? 

“Holy shit. No way.” She pointed at herself. “It’s Clem!” A loud, embarrassed laugh pushed between the space they stood from each other now, Clem still standing, feet rooted to the spot. “There’s no fucking way this is happening.” Another laugh, choked off by a cough. Even though they were moving from the spot where the stink had been unleashed, it still made its way down her throat. Eugh. “Fuck. Of course it’s you, and like, of course it’s me, you know? Fuck, this is funny. I’m sorry I almost ate you. Also, fuck you for The Wormhole slander. Are you telling anyone that place is grimy? Asshole.” 

— 

“Well, I call myself a witch. My granny called herself a witch, and my brother likes to go by warlock, like the fucking dork he is, but I think it’s more accurate to go with spellcaster. And The Wormhole is obviously—” Nova froze. She had walked a few paces in front of the girl—no, not just a girl. Clementine (Or just fucking Clem, apparently. Why was she calling her Clementine? Was this because she said “Clem” sounded like “clam”?). She had walked a few paces in front of Clementine when the words launched and stabbed into her back. Nova turned her head slowly; if it could’ve made a sound, it would’ve creaked like a door. Her eyes widened; the flutter of snow around them seemed to still. First of all, The Wormhole was grimy, that was its whole thing; no place with beer that cheap could be anything but grimy. But that wasn’t the point. 

Nova turned around. Clementine (fuck, well, now she couldn’t stop calling her that—she’d been doing it for days on the internet) was nothing but a very annoying kid. Helpful, and a little sweet, but definitely young and dumb and oh god—she knew so many stupid things about Nova. Fuck. She stormed up to her, angry marching stomps across the snow, trudging like a snow plow. She yanked on Clementine’s ear. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing out so late?” she snapped. “Do you know how dangerous it is? I don’t care if you’re a werewolf! I could’ve been a hunter!” Nova released Clementine’s ear. “This isn’t fucking funny! You could’ve died!” 

It was different when you knew the person—that was a basic precept of being human. When you had a name, when you knew what a person liked, when you could fathom the life, it rooted into the heart. Nova tried to think of every person this way—every stranger was a friend—but it still counted when she knew the name, knew that Clementine liked Kirby and facts about history, knew where she worked, knew how old she was, knew that she had a ferret, knew what that ferret was named, knew she lived in a shitty apartment and was, apparently, a fucking werewolf. She couldn’t pretend there wasn’t an extra corner of her heart for the girl who’d helped her with her… Uh. Well, it was probably good not to even name what that situation was. For now, call it the thing with the lying to Constance. 

And so, the thought of Clementine being hurt burned first through her knees, then up her ribs to the inside of her throat where it swelled. This was the caring, irrevocable. “I don’t care about you almost eating me,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Also, The Wormhole is super fucking grimy. I have nothing against the owner, I’m sure he’s great. But c’mon—it’s The Wormhole. No one goes to The Wormhole for how clean it is. And speaking of…” Nova moved beside Clementine and jerked on her arm, tugging her along. “You’re going home right now.” 

—

Clem decided she’d get back to the fact that Nova’s brother called himself a warlock later, because her attention was immediately diverted to the way that Nova looked angry now. What the fuck had she done? Had Constance found out about the conversation they were having? Did she go to Nova with it, incriminating her? Was it something else? She didn’t have time to ask, because Nova grabbed her ear, yanking her head around. “OW!” Her ear was released as soon as it was secured, and she lifted a hand to rub at it, eyebrows furrowed together. “Fuck, man! That hurt.” She could’ve commented on the fact that the likelihood of a hunter being in town was slim. Weren’t they usually out in the woods, hunting deer? Did Nova really think a hunter would try to take on a werewolf? As if. 

“Instead, we got attacked by a fucking ugly vampire, and I wolfed out, protecting you!” She did try to eat Nova soon after, but did that really matter, especially when it was interrupted by the stink bomb? Clem continued to rub her ear, wincing as the pain lingered. God, why was she so strong? Did witches have super strength? Or was that just a personal brand of Nova? 

“So, we’re going to have to unpack that like, later, because–” She was being yanked again, “Nova, we’re literally already heading there! Let go of me!” Clem wiggled, but didn’t try very hard to get out of Nova’s grip, too concerned with the way the jacket might slip right off of her. She held her free arm to her chest tightly, jogging along behind Nova as they marched forward. “And that bar is like– it’s a staple! People still go to it, even if it’s not clean! That should mean something!” They were going back and forth about nothing important, she realized. If she hadn’t recognized Nova for who she was, and Nova hadn’t recognized her, would they have delved a little deeper into the other stuff? “Also– ow,” Clem hissed as Nova’s fingers dug into where she was still sore from the shift, “what were you doing in a fucking ski mask! Why are you out so late?!” She could and would turn it around on Nova at lightning speed if she had to.

—

“OK, you have a weird idea of what protecting looks like. You wolfed out because you got hungry!” Nova tugged again, walking faster. “Which wouldn’t happen if you were eating complete meals, I bet—protien, fibre… the… other things you’re supposed to eat. I don’t know. Fucking vitamins or something. Are you getting your omega-3s?” She wasn’t sure where that particular gripe was coming from; she had no idea what Clementine’s diet was like. She felt like she might just tell her that she wasn’t eating enough, though. She had the urge to bring her a bowl of fruits that she cut up and peeled for her. “This is so past your bedtime,” she said, finally letting Clementine go. 

She huffed; of course Clementine was turning it around right now. Nova adjusted her toolbelt. She probably looked ridiculous: dressed in all black, wearing protective fighting gear like if Batman was poor. Very normal. This was the thing she was lying the Constance about—the going out. She hoped Clementine wouldn’t connect the obvious dots; it was better for Clementine to think she’d lied because she was lonely, not because she ran around town getting attacked by the various things that wanted to eat her, looking for one person that might need someone’s help. If she could spin it the right way, it sounded noble. Everyone who knew the truth—one man excluded, and Teagan didn’t fucking count—thought it was stupid. They’d told her as much. They’d given her that tilted head, that scrunched brow, that dropped voice she knew so well; like telling someone the depths of her inner muck, like showing someone the truth of her sordid rituals. That you-need-help look. That something-is-wrong-with-you look. She hated it. 

And, probably, Clementine wouldn’t even look at her that way. Worse, she might get a look that told her she thought it was a good idea—Nova knew what she did was important, but it wasn’t a good idea. She tugged on Clementine again. “A woman can’t walk around in a ski-mask with some stinky potions?” she retorted, too snippy to make her joke land lightly. Quick, back to how shitty The Wormhole was! “Like, every surface is sticky,” she said. “At The Wormhole. And I’m pretty sure that stupid slot machine is, like, cursed. And walk faster—it’s too cold for you to be this naked. You’re gonna get frostbite.” 

— 

Okay, so it was Nova’s right to see it the other way around. After all, she had been the one that was attacked. Clem should’ve probably apologized with an edge that didn’t color her tone, or her words, with sarcasm, but she was being berated for not having a healthy diet now, which! She totally did! She ate plenty of spinach, and she loved granola! Sure, the granola had not-so-healthy things in it (like chocolate– she still wasn’t sure if she should be eating chocolate), but did that really matter? No! “I don’t even know what an omega-3 is!” She had half a mind to go into the ABO discourse found on Ao3, but decided against it. Nova probably already knew all about that, considering she was a fic writer, anyway. “Dude, I’m 21! How many times do I have to tell you that? And I’m getting home from work!” Clearly, Nova had created a situation out of nothing, or maybe this was her way of coping after being attacked by two so not human creatures. 

Finally, the grip Nova had on her ear was gone, and Clem reached up, rubbing incessantly at her ear, jutting her lower lip out. It was only a matter of time before she reached out, grabbing her again, wasn’t it? She had half a mind to stand at least three feet away from Nova, that way she could get a headstart on running away if she tried to grab her again. 

It didn’t matter the distance, though. Nova was tugging her along again, but this time it wasn’t her arm. “I mean, you do you, but like you’re acting like I’m the only one not supposed to be out this late!” Worm Row wasn’t a place you necessarily went out around past midnight, even Clem knew that, and she had lived in the neighborhood her entire life, but did that really matter? She was trying to win the argument right now. “You don’t think I don’t know it’s sticky?!” Clem let out a low groan as she hurried behind Nova. “We’re almost there, chill out!” 

They were only a street from her apartment building now, and she could see the one broken streetlamp that marked the turn. “And the machine? Totally cursed. Don’t use it.” 

— 

“You should know what omega-3 is! It’s in fish!” Nova grumbled. Probably the omega-3 wasn’t important, probably all of the things she was shouting about weren’t—but they buzzed around her head like flies and wasn’t she supposed to swat them? Maybe it was a question of magnitude: easier to scold the girl for being outside late than it was to find her half-eaten body in the middle of the road. The work Nova did at night was last resort work—the real heroics started here. No need to drag someone away from a vampire if they weren’t going out in the first place. Clementine had to see that: Wicked’s Rest was hungry, it’d already transformed her. 

“I’m the elder here,” she argued—an argument that annoyed her ruthlessly when she was Clementine’s age. What kind of authority was age? But she could feel it like hot boils blistering over her skin. This was a kid. Twenty-one or not, this was a kid. She wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her—be more careful! Don’t you know that people worry about you? Nova sighed. “I know. I lost a hundred dollars on it and was only saved because a fucking guinea pig wanted his turn.” Nova glanced back at Clementine. She opened her mouth, and shut it again. It was the same worries, lobbed her way, about a million times: be more careful, stay home, didn’t she know that people were worried about her? Nova stuffed her hands in her pockets and walked on. 

“You could’ve died,” she said, grimacing at the steady weight of her voice, laced with seriousness. It was serious, but she found that serious left a bitter taste on her tongue. All her life she had danced around serious, left serious waiting at the door, drowned serious with substances of varying redeeming qualities and copious side-effects. Nova didn’t get along well with her own reality. “Don’t go out so late,” she said. “Don’t go alone,” she said. “Don’t…” Nova looked at her, under the broken streetlamp. “Don’t you get it? If things were just a little different, you’d be…” Nova shook her head. “Go home, Clementine.”

—

She ate plenty of sushi, so that should totally count for something. Clem opened her mouth to speak, and was immediately being put in her place on account of age. She wanted to bring up the whole motherly thing she’d joked about online, especially when it showed even more present in their current conversation, but really, what good would it do? Probably nothing more than another lecture and the biggest side-eye felt since she had been in high school. Instead, she wrinkled her nose, pressing her lips together. The back and forth, however, was making a good distraction for the bitter cold that burrowed beneath her skin. 

Clem couldn’t tell if because of their online conversation and what they had learned about one another was Nova reacting the way she was, or if she was just… sort of like that. Something told her it was the latter, but it was nice, even if for only a moment, to pretend that she might be cared about in the capacity that Nova was exhibiting. It was hard to find the line between what might be a common occurrence from somebody, to what might be genuinely about her. “The guinea pig, I can’t really explain that.” 

“But I don’t have to, because it’s not like–” Inhaling sharply, she rubbed her eyes, careful not to drag the jacket up too high. “You could have, too.” What would’ve happened to Nova had she not wolfed out? Clem had to wonder what other things she was capable of, as a spellcaster. Maybe she could’ve held her own without Clem’s interference, but she liked the idea that as a wolf, she could help, too. That she wasn’t only teeth and bloodshed. Nearly, just nearly, she had turned Nova into a snack, though. It was important to remember that part, too. But then it shattered– wanting the concern from Nova, of wondering if she could’ve been the deciding factor for Nova to not get eaten by a ugly vampire.