#ft. highoctanegem

Sooner or later, Jade was supposed to clock in again. It was a fact of life. As long as undead roamed the town freely, her presence would be needed. There were only so many outings she could make to Eternal Light in hopes of avoiding catching a human-looking vamp, only so many days she could focus on delivering junk food instead of worrying if humans were on somebody’s menu. Only so many nights she could give Regan and their love (this part did hurt the most, no contest needed) before she remembered it came at the cost of both their failures. Or well, perceived failure, apparently. She was still uncomfy claiming that title, though. Even if Regan thought she was a hot flop.

Where was she? Oh, right. Clocking in after a small mini hiatus in Wicked’s Rest for a spin-off pilot in California. (The executives weren’t a fan). More specifically, she was in Eluria Cemetery. Reintroducing her stakes to the monsters lurking amid headstones. And so far, so good. A total of zero moral dilemmas that would keep her up at night had walked up to her, just plain ol’ fanged villains. The cartoon type. 

So Jade got her cardio going, boosted her confidence all the way up. That adrenaline rush was truly unmatched. She had even missed that burn in her throat, from inhaling at the wrong time right after poofing a spawn! For the first time in a long while, Jade felt alive among the walking dead. The hunter camp lessons were also keeping her sharper, less prone to catching unnecessary blows. Hence, she was giving Regan fewer reasons to worry about her.

But vampires were so rude, never giving Jade enough time to feel herself, cause for every spawn she turned to dust, three more came rushing. It was only after culling the whole gang gathering around the mausoleum that Jade was finally allowed to take a beat. Phew! That was fun. She walked around the field, picking up her bolts, reaching for a blade she’d lost at some point. Her spidey sense still tingled, obviously, but not in an imminent danger sorta way. 

Eluria also happened to be the perfect place to meet fellow slayers. And oof, Jade was in need of those, always. (But especially now that Emilio couldn’t be her flamethrower buddy anymore, and Owen was into some weird side hustle). So imagine her delight when she spotted another brave person strolling around the cemetery, all by himself. She didn’t wanna assume, obviously. But Jade was definitely assuming as she put the crossbow back into the carrier and all but skipped towards the very human presence near her.

—

Henri didn’t skip. Ever. But he did pause.

Someone was approaching with the energy of an over-caffeinated golden retriever, which didn’t exactly scream “feral corpse” or “trapped soul,” but still merited a glance. Looking up from the half-crumbling tomb he was cataloguing into his leather notebook, he rose a brow as the woman holstered her crossbow as though she was clocking out of her Clubweigh shift.

“Good evening.” He said, his voice awfully neutral. “Henri O’Dea. Archeology student by day…” He let her do the math on what he did by night. Also known as : right about fucking now. “My thesis advisor loathes me and I may have recently crossed a line by asking for all late returns to the library to be punished with banishment.” Which wasn’t much of an introduction, not if he was more explicit on what he was doing here. 

“I’m verifying reports on… Well, unsure what. Definitely feral and undead. And well, if I’m lucky, I’ll find where one of my throwing knives ended up the other week. My bet is on the trees.” 

Henri considered the way she was beaming now, as though she didn’t have any concerns on her mind, no worries at all. That must have been a nice feeling. 

“You seem enthusiastic,” he observed, dry as dust. “Most people don’t look that thrilled to be in Eluria after dark. Except necromancers. And… that mime. You know which one.” 

He bent, picking something up from the grass. “This yours?” Holding up a bolt between his fingers, the slayer added. “If not, I’m sure this goes into recycling.” 

—

“Hi!” Jade beamed at him, mindful to keep her voice at a decent volume. Read, at a volume she wouldn’t disturb anyone’s peace or draw too much attention from whatever lurked in the shadows. The stranger slash new friend introduced himself as Henri, and Jade tilted her head while he went on to talk about archeology and thesis, and libraries. Huh…Those weren’t exactly topics she discussed on the regular, so the familiarity was odd for a beat, then two, until she traced back online convos and remembered why. “Wait, I’m pretty sure we’ve talked before. Guy with library beef! Henri. I’m Jade. I forgot a book once, I’m sorry” she hung her head in mock shame.

While she had her eyes cast down, she peeped at his leather notebook and the tomb he had been working on before her timely interruption. She figured this was about his archeology interest, but sometimes slayers were history buffs too. (Her parents loved to collect knick knacks like that) (They probably had an effigy or two (or several) they loved more than her.) Leaving those yucky thoughts behind, Jade perked up when he brought up why he was in Eluria. Something feral and undead. And like, sure spawns were everywhere around them, but the way he said it gave her the impression that it was something especially feral and undead. So, fun.

Regan loved to tell her she was as subtle as a heart attack. There was nothing to leave to imagination, the way she’d carried a crossbow two minutes ago, the bag of stakes making way too much noise, the sheaths scattered and strapped to varied parts of her body. Jade never did care much about concealing what she was when she was at her place of work. Outside? Sure, she’d try a little harder not to approach anyone crossbow first. But there was no point in hiding it from Henri, the lone human conveniently talking about the undead and knives and necromancers just as freely as she was. She nodded, “you mean Shhhhadow? He really does have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen.” A fond smile reached her lips as she thought of the brave mime trying to keep everyone in the cemetery happy. “Oh, and I am enthusiastic, I had to take a little hiatus from all of this, and now I’m back. I do feel like I might be vibrating a little bit,” she brought her index and thumb finger together to demonstrate. 

She extended her hand to retrieve the bolt from him, tossing it inside her bag of stakes. “Well, how much of a team player are you?” In her experience, a lot of slayers (or maybe even hunters in general) did not like sharing their targets. “I want in on this… confirmation of reports you’re doing. Now, I’m not calling dibs or anything, that’s not my vibe, strength in numbers is” really, he could be the one to plunge the stake, all Jade wanted was to come along. 

—

“There aren’t that many people who publicly apologize for library-related sins and also carry a full bolt quiver. So I suppose it’s nice to meet you, Jade. ” Henri scribbled a note in his book—unrelated to her, probably, though the timing was a little suspicious—and then flipped it shut with a muted snap. The way she said “strength in numbers” with such eager conviction made him tilt his head. A little skeptical. A little impressed. Mostly just mentally calculating how much ground he’d have to cover to avoid being accidentally impaled if she vibrated into crossbow range.

“I’m not against cooperation although I draw the line at high fives,” Henri stated without the hint of a smile, crouching to examine the corner of a nearby headstone. He drew his knife to pick up something from the grass. A claw. Huh. Hard to tell since when it was here, hidden from anyone who just passed by. Without warning, he threw the claw her way, toward her hands for her to catch. “What do you think?” He had his own idea on the matter but he wanted to see how instinctive she could get.

He rose to a stand again, gaze sweeping the treeline with methodical precision. Maybe the thing was watching, maybe it was dormant, nesting. Either way, they had to find it and get rid of it. 

Wind shifted. The scent of overturned earth and something sweetish. Rot-sweet.

Henri tapped his pen against his notebook, thinking aloud now. “If it's building a lair, it’s done feeding for the night. If not—”

He cut off. Not dramatically, just precisely, as though that thought was already filed away under to be proven wrong shortly.

“Come on,” he said, turning on his heel. “I’ll take the north quadrant. You can cover east. If you see a mime, do not follow him into the trees” At last, he allowed something resembling closely to a smile, and looked over his shoulder to look at her. “I don’t care who kills that thing as long as the job gets done. Just… Let’s not work alone since … we’re two now?” 

—

One moment, Jade was grinning proudly at Henri, then the next beat, she gaped at him as he scribbled something in his notebook. Right after speaking to her. Um, what was that about? Why did it weirdly feel like being in a therapist’s chair? Or, what she’d imagined sitting on one of those felt like. (It might come out as a shock to everybody, but she’d never tried the whole therapy thing) (Shrinks should be fighting to get a look into her psyche, not the other way around.) But right, back to Henri, she didn’t sign up to be made into an annotation. But okay, whatever… Even if it was a bad thing, it was still super flattering to be enough of a muse to put pen to paper. (She’d know, the love of her life had tomes dedicated to her. Not to flex or anything.) She was gonna have to ask what exactly he wrote down, but things were moving fast between them, and there was obviously the whole hunting for a special undead part of the night to get to.

“Cooperation it is,” she nodded, acting as serious as she could, even if the corner of her mouth twitched as she stopped a smile from spreading. “I’m totally gonna sell you on high fives by the end of this,” she threatened jokingly, watching as Henri crouched and retrieved something on the ground. The something ended up flying her way, and thankfully, she caught it just a millisecond before it passed above her shoulder. (Melody would be proud of her response.) It was a claw that looked pretty bony, one that she rolled on her fingers, studying it further. “Well, someone couldn’t afford a fancy manicure, by the looks of it,” she quipped, looking up as Henry scanned the territory.

She didn’t even have to open her undead Pokedex to figure out what creature that claw belonged to. (She pocketed it, for… reasons). Wights were becoming their own separate issue. If they weren’t culled on time, Jade was positive they might end up overtaking spawns in some places around town in the next couple of years. It was not exactly positive news, but hey! At least they could do something about it now. “Or maybe it was feeding, but the victim managed to escape,” she guessed. Maybe in the kerfuffle, they’d managed to give the beast a little trim. When she glanced back at Henri to hear his theories, he was all but gone, striding the opposite way. Okay? Jade retrieved her crossbow again and skipped toward him. “East… east? You can’t just name directions and expect me to know,” of her many skills (yup, that’s right), spatial memory had never been it. “You can just say right or left, you know?” She stated, slightly amused. She was definitely vibing with Henri. He was like, just the right amount of tightly wound without compromising the mission. He didn’t seem to be after the glory, he just wanted stuff done. She kinda wished she’d known him sooner. Which actually…

“How come I haven’t seen you before?” she wondered aloud. By now, Jade was positive she’d met every other undead hunter around. But well… she did make Mistwood Park more of her turf when she first arrived.  And then, of course, there was Eternal Light, for gay reasons. Eluria had been in rotation before her hiatus, but not nearly as much. Maybe that was when this friendly stranger swooped in and kept humans safe. And though her tone remained friendly, she did as instructed, moving further away to inspect… east.    

—

“Directions are relative,” Henri called over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth twitching—just barely—as she jogged after him. “If you’re facing me, my east is your west. Or possibly your diagonal. You seemed like someone who’d enjoy a challenge.” And someone he wouldn’t bring to an escape room. 

He crouched again, hand dragging against a muddy patch of grass. Claw marks. He dug in with the tip of his knife, measuring the depth. 

The question about why she hadn’t seen him before earned a small shrug. “I work outside the usual circles,” Henri said. “Keep my own hours. Keep my own company.” Then, more dryly: “People tend to remember me once I tell them their holy water is shit.”

A faint click sounded to the left—twig under pressure. His knife was out before he was fully upright, expression sharpening. But it was just wind. 

Still, he held the silence for a beat, ears straining. Calculating.

He slid the knife back into its sheath once he was sure it wasn’t time to use it, but his posture stayed alert. Like a guard dog who thought they heard something.

“I was in Eluria three nights ago,” he said finally, quieter now. He started walking again, eyes sweeping the shadows ahead, steps silent despite the thick layer of leaves. “If you’d been there, I imagine I’d have heard you.” A glance sideways. “No offense.”

Then, after a pause he added. “You said you had to take a hiatus.” He wasn’t smiling, but his voice hinted at something like dry amusement. “How come? That’s not usually what we do.”

—

Henri guessed right, Jade was someone who enjoyed a challenge. As long as that challenge didn’t involve cardinal points. (Or maybe she didn’t enjoy a challenge, maybe she just hated being underestimated, hated having to prove herself to someone) (Nah… that couldn’t be it. She really did love a challenge). And okay, maybe she was being a tiny bit dramatic, when wasn’t she? Like, she got paid to follow directions mapped out on a tiny screen, she’d learned a lot from her delivery gig. But that was memory, that still wasn’t like, a natural talent. If they were dropped deep in the forest Fortnite style, she had a really good feeling about who’d get out first.  

Jade eyed him as he analyzed the claw marks on the soil, a look of amusement on her face. He was way more profesh than Emilio or Owen or she had ever been. Like maybe he was actually taught properly how to do all of this, and he hadn’t been reduced to weapon, or judge or an executioner. Maybe. Maybe he was just a perfectionist nerd (affectionate). She imagined this was similar to how Eve might have worked if she were still actively hunting. (Um, not that she wanted to think of Eve hunting) (Being sorta engaged to an adorable fae and all). His explanation as to why they hadn’t met before made total sense. “Oooh! One of my ranger buddies is like that. Different circle. She’s still like, the best around, though,” maybe that was the secret to being happy and content with doing your part in the never-ending cycle of violence, Jade pondered. Choosing a different schedule from the rest. Yup. That had to be it. 

The snapping sound had both of them spinning toward the source of the disruption. He wielded a knife, while Jade had her crossbow swiftly aimed toward the treeline. But it was only a beat later that they processed the sound for what it was. A silly twig, nothing of danger. Still, they both waited until a potential threat revealed itself before resuming their more relaxed disposition. (Ish) (His posture was still excellent) (He’d probably never heard of an A-, she realized, apropos of nothing). “Those always get me jumping, but good… we’re alert. Won’t get caught slipping,” she commented, proceeding to go along with his idea of sweeping any path he didn’t cover.   

Her laugh made no noise as she laughed at his comment. No offense? Being loud was a badge of honor! It didn’t mean she didn’t know when to bring the decibels down. Case in point now. A cackle would’ve been so out of line, even if her lungs ached for it. Her steps were also cautious. as was her voice when she replied, “thank you for noticing,” with an overtly saccharine tone. She didn’t bat her eyelashes only cause she was busy inspecting the path ahead. She looked above the mausoleums, behind headstones, amid bushes, but nothing. Finally, she converged back to where Henri was, waiting with questions about her hiatus. Right. Of course, that wasn’t what any good slayer would do. And Henri sure looked like the quintessential slayer. It was almost like staring at one of her siblings. Onyx, Ruby. (The other two crazy cats, not so much). But speaking of, “I um… needed to see my family,” she spoke sincerely, instead of using any sort of convoluted lingo about a spin-off or character development or whatever she’d been using to make her heartache more palatable. (To herself). It wasn’t exactly easy to say ‘I went home expecting to get rebrainwashed, but it kinda didn’t work’. It was hard to admit it to Regan, it’d been impossible to discuss it with Emilio yet. “I wanted… to remember why we do what we do,” there. Simple and vague enough for a future friend who also happened to do the same job she did to kinda get the vibes.  

Even before her brain could register a new intrusion, her body had already angled the crossbow toward the metal gate protecting somebody’s mausoleum. Then the snarling sound traveled towards them. A gangly beast rose, flesh barely clinging to his skeleton, feral eyes boring into them. Oh, that thing was starving. It was a shame that neither she nor Henri would be particularly nutritious, should it get a taste. (They were off the menu.) “What’s that, west, south?” And sure, time and place or whatever. (She still wanted to know, for reference.) Her spidey sense intensified, prickling her skin, and before any more witty dialogue could be exchanged between any of the parts, she sent a warning bolt flying in the air, piercing through the beast's shoulder.  

—

Henri tracked the thing’s rise from the shadows like he was watching ice crack open beneath his feet —slow at first, then sudden and violent. His breath didn’t change, his stance barely shifted, but the moment it moved, so did he. Jade’s bolt hit its mark and the creature shrieked, staggering back a step. Good shot. Henri didn’t say it out loud.

He didn’t need to.

His eyes never left the creature as he answered, almost lazily, “North West.” 

The beast was skeletal in that wrong way—its proportions human but stretched, warped by hunger and something older. Strips of hair clung to its scalp. Its fingers were long and twitching, claws crusted with dirt and whatever it had clawed out of the earth to get here. His jaw tensed. They always looked like this, the ones that took too long to die.

“Wight.” Henri confirmed under his breath. More to himself than Jade.

He slid a knife from his belt with a practiced flick, then another from a holster strapped to his thigh. Both glinted in the moonlight. One was for throwing. One was for finishing.

He heard her earlier words in the back of his mind—I wanted to remember why we do what we do. He hadn't taken the time to respond. Maybe he did not want to go there, but maybe this thing here was his answer. 

The wight lunged forward. Erratic. Faster than its appearance should allow. Henri didn’t flinch. He stepped wide, drawing it away from Jade’s path, and flung the first knife—buried it right beneath the collarbone. It shrieked, stumbled again. Not enough. “You mentioned a partner of yours. I doubt you’d want them alone in front of that thing?” He could say the same about his best friend. It was for the best that she was unaware of all these things, and he wanted to keep it that way. Many like her deserved to live their life without trouble. 

—

Jade had been so locked in on the wight ahead, that she was confused for a beat as to why Henri would randomly bring up Kanye’s kids in the middle of a cemetery. Had she somehow stumbled onto another culturally aware slayer? Wasn’t that just… the cherry on top? But wait, right! She’d asked for directions. The undead was located North West. (And maybe next time, she could pretend she wanted nothing to do with cardinal points cause of her distaste for that man and his family. Yup. Sounded super legit.) “Uh huh, noted.” She nodded, short and quick, her focus moving back to the creature. 

Henri had his knives out in the blink of an eye, and Jade slipped into her recurrent position as backup. (She had been trained to be a top of the league support player, at least it was guaranteed she would deliver a performance.) Plus, this was Henri’s baby for realsies. She didn’t wanna claim it. It was way more important for her to end the night with a new hunter ally and one less monster roaming the cemetery. Everybody won that way, which was… not how things have been going for her recently, so.   

The wight surged forward, cause of course, he couldn’t tell his potential meals wouldn’t be a tasty snack. All he could feel was the desperation for survival, and all he could feel was his hunger. There were absolutely no icky feelings stirring in her belly at the thought whatsoever. Not one mental image of a certain bestie who’d recently dabbled in unlife. Things were so fine. Cause this was different (?). This wight would terrorize innocent people indiscriminately, for even stepping close to his turf, he would not back down until his needs were met. He had way more exposure and way more opportunities to hurt and kill and… Yup. This was actually different from being a fury. Not that she was randomly thinking about furies, cause they were dealing with a wight.  

The sound of Henri’s knife striking the wight’s chest and the shriek that followed, pulled her out of her thoughts. When he stumbled backward, Jade shot another bolt, right to the beast’s ankle, destabilizing him. He tumbled forward now, bracing with his skeletal hands. That should make Henri’s job way easier. But her crossbow was still raised, her aim set on the creature’s knee, should they need another shot. Henri moved further away, not before bringing up something she’d mentioned before. Why was he talking about her partner… Oh. Cause she needed to be reminded of why she did this in the first place. Cause she’d gone back to her siblings, expecting to be fixed. To be righted. But she kept folding, she kept bending. Her D was limp, yadda yadda, it had been established extensively before. 

It really sounded so simple in theory, didn’t it? Henri was right, she would never want her partner to be anywhere close to a wight. Or a spawn, or even a humanoid vampire. It should’ve sounded simple, except what reached her ears wasn’t an old-timey classic. It was one of those bangers that aged poorly. Could she tell Henri that her partner didn’t agree with harming beings, regardless of their threat to humanity? Could she tell Henri that Regan didn’t exactly believe in the very creatures Jade was raised to keep at bay and might actually shrug her safety concerns off? Could she tell him that it made her feel even worse about herself, like she was chasing fairytales instead of actual real problems? Could she tell him that her best friend was actually not too different from this wight, but she hadn’t once thought of raising a knife at him (mercy kill notwithstanding)? And could she tell him that seeing the humanity in Emilio despite, despite… struck a more dissonant chord in her heart than seeing him as the undead creature he was meant to be?

Prolly not.

But even if deep, painful convos weren’t on the horizon for them yet, she liked that Henri was firm in his belief. She liked that he was prepared, and how that immediately boosted her confidence. She liked that his goal was protecting people. She liked that someone in this town finally got it. That was all Jade had ever wanted. She smiled in a way that didn’t feel like herself exactly, but also felt more like herself than it had in years. (What a weird feeling.) “You’re right,” she said, which… everyone who knew her understood how rare that was for her to admit. So maybe she couldn’t exactly unpack all of her emotional baggage in the middle of the cemetery, but things did feel lighter having Henri with her, it felt easier to step back into the box of a good slayer. She was super glad to have stumbled upon him when she needed it most. She nudged her head toward the mausoleum. “Go get ‘em, I got your six.”

—

Henri caught the tone before the words. Something softened in it, like gravel settling after a storm and petrichor fading out. It wasn’t sarcastic. Which meant it mattered. 

He didn’t look back at her. Didn’t nod. Didn’t smile. But he felt it. That small recalibration of trust, and the way it removed a weight in his chest. 

The wight hissed and dragged itself upright, ankle bolt still embedded, knees trembling. And Henri couldn’t help but think there was a human in there once—there always was. But it had rotted out from the inside and disappeared behind hunger. Whatever it had been before didn’t matter. Whatever it might’ve been now could not be saved.

Henri moved.

The grass whispered under his boots as he darted forward, sidestepping the broken claw that swiped for his chest. His second blade caught moonlight again. Older. Silver coated. A family heirloom passed down like the O’Dea family name. The sort adequate for putting an end to something.

He didn’t hesitate. Slayers weren’t surgeons. They didn’t get the luxury of pondering when the cut should fall. Just where.

Henri sank the knife into the base of the wight’s skull, ready to cut through bone and decayed muscle. But the thing was fighting back, clinging into this world with a strong set of claws that now dug into the young man’s arm. The claws dug deep, and felt like fire into his flesh, but Henri didn’t flinch. Reflex and years of muscle memory kicked in. His free hand gripped the wight’s wrist with an iron hold—bone cracking faintly beneath the pressure.

Pain was a language Henri spoke on a weekly basis. It was a signal, a tool. Never a reason to hesitate. He twisted sharply, wrenching the claw away just enough to drive the knife deeper. But if the creature was letting go, Henri felt a sharp sting in his arm as it did, and then something warm, thick, familiar, running down in a thin line down his forearm, and coloring fabric crimson red. 

—

Henri was in action, and Jade marveled at it a little bit. In a total non-jealous wish that were me sorta way. (Or, well… mostly non-jealous) (Or like, 40 percent jealous… but what was 40 percent? Nothing, it was nothing). It was always nice to be reminded of what competence looked like, by someone who wasn’t gonna turn around and berate her cause her leg was bent at 60 degrees and not 62 or whatever. This was a nice and uncomplicated watch the pros do what pros do. Kill, in this case. Henri dodged the wight’s helpless attempts at seizing him, with athletic grace, and then turned ruthless as his blade sank with the intent of decapitation to dispatch it. Jade followed their movements, crossbow still cocked just in case.

It came in handy when the monster got a tiny bit of an upper hand (or a final effort at survival, maybe), by clawing at Henri’s arm. Ouch, that was gonna sting so bad later. Jade flinched, but shot another bolt at their opp, ripping through barely there flesh on his healthy thigh. It resulted in the thing loosening its grasp on Henri, briefly, but just enough for them to turn the tables again. A dub almost secured. She dropped the crossbow and searched in her bag for the Bowie knife, then sprinted toward them. 

Ideally, they would not extend anyone’s suffering here. Jade had never been too big a fan of the whole butcher personality. Her bolts caused awful pain, for sure, but it was always been done in a tactical way, to destabilize the enemy. Getting all up and close and slashing someone’s body just to slash and get some weird high was not among her favorite parts of the job by any standards. Plus, she had one particularly nasty memory she didn’t want flashbacks of, thank you very much, so the quicker they were off with the wight’s head, the better. Henri’s knife sank deeper into the creature’s neck as it toppled to the ground with both legs now injured. But it didn’t go without some screeching and snarling, sounds of someone who still had some fight in them despite being tag-teamed imminent to defeat. She plunged her blade too, cause two were better than one, and cause even if Henri didn’t even flinch with his injury, he would probably exert himself trying to restrain and cut at the same time. 

It wasn’t hard, going through decayed flesh. 

The monster’s head rolled to the side with a thud, and Jade didn’t give it a second glance, despite the desperate gurgling noises still echoing in her head seconds after the fact. She didn’t wanna picture other undead with their heads chopped off. (Unknown reasons). Her gaze instead darted toward the hero of the night, Henri, and her hands hovered over his muscly arm. She scrunched up her nose at the blood soaking up his shirt. “Crap. Do you carry a first aid kit? Cause I do,” more importantly, she worried that Henri was one of those proud hunters who liked licking their wounds in solitude, or that he’d be embarrassed of getting hurt. (Like sure, fast healing or whatever, but there was no point in inviting infections or stuff like that). Either way, he was in the presence of a certified girl failure and in her unbiased opinion, everything he’d done tonight was by the book. 

—

Henri barely registered the final gurgle. He felt it in his shoulder joint, the way the resistance in the wight's grip slackened all at once, but his focus stayed narrowed like a thread pulled taut. It wasn’t until Jade’s blade joined his that the tension snapped—body falling limp beneath them, rot and memory splitting apart with a quiet, unceremonious end.

He let go. Let the weight fall. Let the silence catch up.

His breathing came out sharp and loud through his mouth, from no longer having to be on high alert, from no longer feeling that tiggle underneath his skin. His hand still curled tight around his blade, knuckles white. The other flexed open with a wet sound, uncoiling from the shattered wrist of a thing that had once been a man.

Jade’s voice cut through the stillness, and he turned toward her—eyes sharp but not cold. Just thankful, present, and yet. Still assessing. The mess on his arm looked worse than it was, probably, but adrenaline and years of not letting minor injuries slow him down meant he couldn’t always tell the difference. Henri finally gave her the briefest nod. A thank you, maybe. Or a silent acknowledgment of teamwork. Her support had been clean. Sharp. Reliable. Just the way he liked it. And now she was offering patch-up help, and he didn’t bristle or flinch or shrug her off. Didn’t make a joke or a protest.

Instead, he knelt beside the corpse and retrieved his knife, wiping it clean on what was left of the wight’s tattered coat. It was more ritual than necessity. Something about closing the kill properly. Making sure nothing lingered. “Mine’s in my bag, if you don’t mind.” 

Henri pushed himself back to standing, pressing the flat of his hand to the wound for now. His voice didn’t waver, but his jaw was clenched tight. “It’s deep. I’ll need stitches if it doesn’t seal by morning.” A pause. “Are you going to help me with that or do you draw the line at sewing up dumbasses who get clawed by the undead?” A rare spark of dry wit. Softer than sarcasm. Almost familiar.

His eyes met hers for just a second. And for the first time tonight, Henri O’Dea smiled. Just a little.

—

Jade let the silence hang between them for a few beats, and it was probably the biggest indicator that the hunter switch was still on (despite her spidey sense shutting off as soon as that head rolled). But her turnaround was usually speedier than most, her bouncing back abilities all sorts of legendary (and probably slightly concerning for the people who cared about mental health or whatevs), so she had already checked out when Henri set his eyes on her. Oh, yup. He still had that juice flowing through him, but he wasn’t exactly on edge, cause nothing about him gave Jade the impression that he ever allowed himself to get like that. Alert, would be a better term. Yup, he was still alert. Until his mind and body fired signals that the show was over. They’d finished their job.

She smiled at his nod, a gesture she reciprocated with a little more (or a lot more) energy. She was almost tempted to do one of those super serious salutes, but in a teasing sorta way. Jade held off though, still calibrating the right amount of messing with him she could get away with. There was definitely a higher threshold than with Owen, at least. That she clocked right away. She mimicked the whole knife cleaning, just cause she figured it made her look just as profesh and serious, then put it back in the sheath. Her eyebrows shot up all kinds of surprised when he let her know he also carried a first aid kit. And well, this had to be some kinda record, actually. (Highest hunter to first aid kit ratio ever reported). She huffed out a laugh, walking over to retrieve his bag for him. “Wow, and no duct tape? I really am dealing with a pro, but same. I mean, totally the same.”  

And sure, maybe the kit in her motorcycle had possibly been hidden by Regan at some point in time (who was to say?), but that didn’t mean Jade subscribed to Emilio’s ‘duct tape fixes all’ motto. Nuh uh. Before that, she used to just… cover herself with whatever piece of cloth she had at hand, and then get home to take care of it. (Genius, right?) (In a shocking turn of events, the first aid kit proved to be way more useful). Not that it mattered now, cause she and Henri were on the same page. First aid kits totally helped in emergencies. (Something no one had figured out ever before). While picking up Henri’s things, she also took a moment to holster her crossbow, before returning to him. She figured whatever wound dressing they might do, it would be done somewhere with less of a dust cloud, so she better pack up. It had been all around the most successful night she’d had in a while. She felt weirdly floaty about it. And was that thanks to Henri’s doing, maybe? 

He was like the strangest of beacons right now. (But maybe it was the fact that he was pale and blonde) (The moonlight just made him shinier, probably). Like, for almost two years, people had questioned her duty, her reasoning, her methods. So sure, right now she could concede that she might have been holding onto those beliefs like babies held onto people’s hair (with a power grip, in case you didn’t know babies). She conceded that maybe she hadn’t let herself wonder or question other realities about the world before. Cause she used to know her lines, and the costumes fit, so why wouldn’t she play her part the way it was written? That had happened, yup. (Almost two seasons of it, the material was endless.) But she’d never ended up settling in a comfy spot after all that questioning. She still saw some of her talking points as valid. She still could pinpoint with unmatched precision the flaws of having a more lenient hunting approach. She still wasn’t sure where she was supposed to slot in with all of these conflicting views and tunes in her mind. 

And then Emilio died. Which could’ve happened any time, obviously. She was trying to leave all those I should’ve been around thoughts untouched for now. She knew it was nothing she could’ve controlled from across the country. Life was whimsical that way. But she'd be lying if that whole thing wasn't making her question everything in the other direction now. Cause it was Emilio, but it could’ve been anybody. It could’ve been any innocent passersby walking around that bar that same night. It could’ve been Regan, or Xo, or Van, or even some other hunter buddy. And shouldn’t she be fighting harder for those people to never face those threats? Cause maybe killing undead wasn’t this beautiful, merciful act she’d grown up believing, but it was an action. It did something. It kept others safe. Wasn’t that the whole point? Maybe she just had to be more honest about carrying the actual, true burden of her actions, instead of embellishing the reality with some sorta heroic, altruistic narrative. Maybe deluding herself into thinking this was some sorta higher calling, that they were operating towards some unachievable utopia, was what had been causing all those bellyaches. Why couldn’t she just work with what she had right in front of her eyes instead? (It definitely sounded a little less daunting, at least). 

She handed Henri the bag, noticing the tension in his jaw as he assessed his wound. She, on the other hand, felt a certain tension in her head. (Oh, those were called headaches.) (She was dating a doctor, she knew that kinda thing). She scoffed at his self-deprecating remark, but she did add to his wit. “Stop that, if I had to speak about all the times I got clawed while tussling, we’d be here all night,” Like, buddy, don’t recite the ancient texts on mistakes to her, she was there when they were written. “And I totally know how to get you sewn up,” and by totally she meant she knew by watching. And by that, she meant she’d watched Regan do stitches on her a whole lot. (But also, watching Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice, and The Pitt, and Scrubs, and…) She could pick the right needle and the right thread and all the other… medical thingies. For sure. And Henri obviously seemed prepared on the matter, so…it would be more like assisting. She’d be like Nurse Bokhee to his Derek Shepherd (hopefully without all of the happenings). So it was perfectly fine not to be fully honest about her skills. She was trying to help! Pft, what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. (And if that sounded a little hypocritical, umm, no it didn’t).