#o: l.halstead

Lis hadn't been at her place, and he gambled on the idea that she hasn't step foot in the Halstead Manor, since the last time. Reid isn't keen to visit old ghosts that despise him, for all that he is and has become. There's already enough voices in his head, reminding him through whispers of a cursed chest that he is, and will always be a monster. No matter how wide or blunted the smile, or how he thinks he can raise a small boy from the backend of a witch's trauma. There's a reason his family expect nothing from him, anymore. Rose will never forgive him, and he can't ask her to.

Earshot's his last ditch attempt to let a baby sister know that he's back, for a while. Just to make sure there's nothing emerging from the snow that'll kill some of the only things he endures for. He's heard there's something clawing out of the whitewashed horizon, and he'll be damned if he lets it bleed any of his own.

Last Lis and he talked, she'd been in rehab, or something. Getting straight after going off the deep end in clubs. He thinks if he opened all the emotions that he's locked away, for survival, there's supposed to be some form of guilt for letting that happen. Acknowledgement that he didn't notice, or that he didn't care enough to stop the spiral and descent of a kid sister who thought her only option to live, was to sit on the edge of a death sentence that came powdered up her nose.

Reid's a perfect example of what the fates could do to them, when pissed off.

She's behind the counter when he enters. Stacks of vinyl, and 45s being sifted through by students looking for Arctic Monkeys and LP's of Bowie. Reid surveys the place, but it's not new; he's seen it before; it's his town, and he's got enough copies of The Maine in a bedroom in a Manor he won't dare touch.

Lis looks different. Reid can't place it, but she's vibrant. Soft smile, and focused eyes as she stickers new prices over shrink-wrapped slipcases. She's not as washed out as he remembers, even if he's still kicking melted snow off boots, and ruffling hair out of his hoodie. He's the scruff, parading in to see her put together, in her own way. Her style's still outlandish, but that's always been Lis.

She's got plenty reasons to kick him out the store too; more than just putting a bullet in her leg, once upon a time. He's bad news, and he recognises it, even if he doesn't want to be that. He's got a sickening amount of time on the earth, but they don't. So, he won't squander it. Reid props himself against the counter beside where she stands, "You got any copies of—" He glances a band splayed on a poster behind her head, "—Dirty Honey?"

Baby Halstead. There she is. Taking on a beast twice her size. A snarling, threatened wolf that’s scouring its exits as a hunter circles. She draws a crescent in the leaves. Reid’s watching overhead — he’s picked a fun vantage point, in amongst the trees, laid himself lazily on a mid hanging branch. One knee kicked up, as dark eyes point down towards the battleground that is below the moon. It’s not full; he and Lis know this is a monster cursed from birth. It must be a vendetta because he’s learned his siblings are softer. They don’t war for the cause, Lis does it in recklessness.

He hasn’t been interested enough to listen to know if she’s alone. But there’s only the sound of her pounding heart ricocheting in his ears. So any brotherhood she might have with her are too far out to come play rescue. Lis has a patience he has to smirk at, deciding the best timing to strike before the wolf does.

Timing, is everything. She messes that up, that bite is even deadlier than his.

Reid follows the moment the wolf lunges, and Lis rolls, skimming under the claws that graze her arms. She’s quick to stand, but blood already floods the air. And the wolf is faster than her, padding around to her side with a speed she is almost too late to intervene. There’s a gun in her hand, a knife in the other.

Slash. Bang.

A howl.

And a scream.

Oh, Lis. A bullet strikes a wayward tree, burying deep into the bark. A wolf’s face is marred by blood but it’s bleeding on top of her. Reid watches his sister drive a knife upwards, attempting to slam a beast’s jaw shut as it breaks through the jawbone.

Maybe that’s his cue.

Reid drops from the tree. A blur of movement in the dark as he watches Lis struggle — he crouches, where the wolf has evidently noticed his appearance as it growls through the pain of the blade. He’s undeterred by the threat.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says with a smile, the glint of his teeth are pointed towards Annalise. Amusement, as the wolf attempts to shunt out of Lis’s blade — snaps a jaw above her face: “You need an assist little sister?”

If he knows anything about her, it’s that she’d fight to the end to avoid the intervention — and he’s tempted to let her.