#swynphillip

THOMAS: When Annie had left, Tom had stayed sitting at the kitchen table for what felt like hours. It wasn’t actually that long. The dogs eventually got restless, having missed their midafternoon walk. Tom got up when Fly started pawing at his pant leg. Robotically, he’d moved toward the front door, hooked them both up on their leashes and took them into the grey day.

Outside looked the same as it always had. Part of Tom expected this stupid, bullshit magical town to look different for some reason. But no, the rest of the world turned on as it always had. Tom was the only one who was different. He felt lost, even though he’d walked these Swynlake roads so often that they no longer twisted and turned on him. His mind was moving sluggishly as it tried to unstick all the facts from his anxious, disbelieving mind.

Annie was pregnant. It was his. She was keeping it. He was going to be a father.

With every step, he repeated these facts until they felt more solid. Unavoidable.

And then, he started to plan. His job at the fire department didn’t pay extremely well, maybe he’d have to change jobs. Or pick up more shifts. Or get a second job. His mother had sent him a fair bit of his inheritance, but he knew it was all that he would ever see of it. Enough for maybe college? Fuck. He needed to tell John and Phil. This was not just because they were his mates, but because it could become complicated. If it was a boy (he prayed it wasn’t a boy), then the Order would try to come for him, as they had agreed to. Thank God he hadn’t sworn it in blood, the way he’d sworn not to pick up a sword again. John and Phil needed to be told this was coming.

If that was not the case, Tom didn’t think he would tell them right away. He wasn’t eager to share his stupid fucking mistake with them. He was ashamed. He was guilty. He felt like an idiot.

He wanted to call his Ma, but he couldn’t do that. She’d tell the rest of the Order. That didn’t stop him from missing her, from wanting her advice. Instead, he just had John and Phil. Who had just as much of a clue as him about all of this.

Eventually, he took the dogs back home after walking them for an hour or so. Phil and John were home soon, he was sure. Until then—

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he had been doing before the front door turned and Phil and John sauntered in together, done with their classes for the day. Tom was sitting at the dining table on his laptop, which he closed when he saw them, his lips pressed together, his palms sweating.

“Oi,” he said, catching them before they could walk into the rest of the house. He wiped his hands on his trousers and leaned back in his chair. “I, uh—well, I’ve something to tell you both. It’s...not good.” His gaze flicked to John first, then Phil, before dropping to the table.  

PHILLIP: “Well, you sure know how to welcome two blokes home,” said Phillip, sticking out his tongue. All in all, he wasn’t super concerned about this whole interaction — after all, the last time Tommy had pulled them in for something like this, his dog had gotten knocked up and that had been more funny than anything actually concerning. Also, they’d literally just undergone the worst thing that any of them had imagined growing up (getting totally cut off from their family and disowned and disavowed and thrown out like trash), so really, anything else that followed was 

Phillip took a detour to the kitchen, grabbing a can of Red Bull, and then plopped himself in the seat in front of Tommy.

“So… what’s up? Girl troubles? Dog troubles? Both?” 

JOHN: Through all of this mess, showdown, blood pacts, and oh fucks what do we do, John had coped. He had his budgeting spreadsheets out. They were itemized and down to the cent for everything. He had margins for wiggle room but there wasn’t much. They all had to get jobs, which he’d already started at the Deer as a bartender as well as his TA stipend and Tom had always had his firefighting, and Phillip was doing what he did best. Sell himself in whatever he felt fit to do. He didn’t really worry about ole Phil. 

What he did worry about was Tom’s current state waiting for them as he and Phillip walked through those doors. The bloke had been withdrawn and guilty the last couple weeks. Skulking around and just being well, not quite Tom-like. Phillip bounced back despite all the shit he covered up with that plaster of a smile, Tom wasn’t as easily patched. 

It worried him. And it worried him even more now in that ominous sort of tone of his. Numbers, figures and facts comforted John Smith, emotions did not. 

“You never admitted the puppy situation was a horrible, god awful idea so please tell me what I must brace myself for, Thomas.” He crossed his arms, mouth already in a frown and his gaze scrutinizing, looking over his friend as he sat himself down next to Phillip. 

THOMAS: Tom ignored Phil’s quips.

They bounced right off of him. He was too wound tight to let them affect him. It was a good thing too, considering that Phil had come dangerously close to the mark and the thought made him sick. 

It was John’s gaze that made him want to squirm. He did, just a bit. Leaning back so that his chair was on two legs, then plopping back down again, his knee starting to bounce underneath the dining room table. 

How was he supposed to tell them? How was he supposed to disappoint them? Again. He had disappointed them by being the one to throw down his sword first. No matter what they said, he felt there would always be guilt in his heart for that. It had been the right thing to do, but he had ruined both of their lives. 

And now--this.

Tom, always the most emotional. Always the stupidest of the three. For years, it had been John and Phil that protected him from his own stupidity. By the reputation alone, Tom had felt invincible with his name next to his friends but now--

Tom dropped his head into his hands, his elbows on his knees. His forehead nearly knocked into the dining room table. His fingers tugged at his curls. 

“Annie Tremaine came by today. She’s--well, we slept together a few weeks ago. Right after...everything. I dunno. I was drunk and not thinking straight.” Tom wouldn’t usually feel the need to explain a one night stand to them, but--context was important. 

“She told me she’s pregnant,” Tom told the floor. “And that it’s mine.” His voice twisted on the last word, like it was glass in his throat. 

PHILLIP: “What —” Phillip coughed, choking on his sip of Red Bull. He had to thump his chest a bit as he hacked up his lungs, eventually swallowing the sugary sweet taste of the drink mixed with his saliva. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he gave one final cough and flicked his eyes to Tom. “And you’re getting rid of it — right?”

There was no other fucking solution — the Order would swoop in and claim Tom’s kid if it was a boy and Phillip did not want to deal with that. Besides, Annie Tremaine had like five other kids or something and she’d really be doing the world a favor if she just took care of this speedily. 

Then he paused.

“Wait a second — how do you even know the thing’s yours?” He gestured with his can of Red Bull to make a point. 

JOHN: John’s eyes narrowed at the mention of another girl. Women just seemed to cause trouble in their lives, and most importantly, it was women in Thomas’ lives that endangered them every time John could clean up a mess. 

Rose, Marie, Arista, now Annie, some sort of carousel of women that Thomas just rotating and riding and causing each of the poles they were located to skewer John repeatedly in his pockets as well as his sanity in this infinite circle of madness. 

As the news came in, he felt his blood boil and his jaw clench. They didn’t have room for this in their budget. How in the bloody--

Phillip was speaking now and John felt himself relax slightly. Dear, dear, Phillip, John could certainly kiss him at this very moment but that would be very disturbing and quite wrong. Those were the options. Get rid of it, or at least get a paternity test on the thing. Who knew who this Annie Tremaine was or if she would have some sort of fling with Thomas, why couldn’t she have a fling with others.

“Phillip is right. You need to make sure.” He said it offhandedly, already getting up from the couch and heading straight for his bag that held his laptop and schoolwork. He sat himself down on the kitchen table and opened his laptop and opened his color coordinated, macro filled, tabulated spreadsheet and opened a new tab. Baby Budget

He then began typing furiously into it, sighing out deeply every now and then a “Fuckin’ hell.” 

John didn’t look up, he was too busy trying to figure out the damages, his search engines already browsing for average baby budgets. He didn’t look up as he spoke, “Thomas, you know I do love you as I do Phillip. But if I get a bloody ulcer this year... ”

THOMAS: As far as reactions went, this was better than expected, though also exactly what was expected. 

Phil and John were more level-headed than he was. He hadn’t even thought about whether or not the baby was his. Anastasia had said it was...why would he question that? Then again, until recently, he had a Wikipedia page and a net worth of a few million quid. There was every reason for her to lie. He felt embarrassed, not having realized this, and also confused because...well, he’d sat with the news for a few hours now and he had gotten--

Okay with it was a strong statement, but he had accepted it. Mostly. Now, it felt as if another wrench had been thrown at him. Right at his shins. Intent on making him fall to his knees. Instead, he just hung his head, like a child being scolded. That was what he felt like. Stupid. Like a child. Not ready for a child. And like a burden to his friends. 

That was the most prominent feeling. It was Tom who had not been able to carry out their orders. Tom who had thrown down his sword and let them be captured by the enemy. Tom, who, with his stupid mistakes, was putting them all in danger oncee again. 

He swallowed roughly and shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry,” he rasped out, trying his best not to cry, but he was bloody exhausted. And it felt like he had nothing left to do but cry. Which wasn’t manly or brave. Phil and John wouldn’t respect him for it. It would only make all of this worse. So, he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath until he knew his voice would be stronger.

Then, he looked up. “I dunnae kin if it’s mine, but that’s what she told me. That she hasn’t been with anyone else. And that she’s keeping it.” He said most of this to Phil, then glanced at John. “It’s--it’s not your responsibility to budget for. I-I make okay money at the fire station. I’ll get a second job. This isn’t--I’ll handle this. If it is…” my kid. “I’ll handle it.” 

PHILLIP: Phillip felt like someone’d just punched him right in the gut. He regretted what he’d said. He knew he could be callous when it came to these things, if only ‘cuz he couldn’t understand why the hell anyone would want to keep an unwanted pregnancy. But this wasn’t Phillip and his millions of lays and girls whose names he did not remember — this was soft-hearted Tommy, and of course, Tommy would be totally okay with this bird keeping his kid, and of course, Tommy would want to handle it.

His gaze softened. 

“I know you will, Tommy,” he said, slowly. “And you’ll be a great father. I know it. But the point is, you don’t have to handle this alone. We’re here for you, okay? No matter what, till the end. We’ve always got your back. I’m not bad with kids, you know? S’long as they’re not mine.” He chuckled, leaning a bit back in his seat, but the smile faded from his face slightly. “You don’t — if you don’t want us to help, that’s fine. But we will. We always will.” And here, he cast a glance at John. “Right, J?” 

JOHN: John was quiet, his brain was working a mile a minute, he’d been listening but it wasn’t until Phillip said his name that he looked up from the document, suddenly pulled from his disaster preparation and failsafes and he truly looked at his mates. Phillip soft and Thomas on the verge of tears.

“Yes.

He slowly shut his laptop and pushed it forward, standing and walking over to his mates. His bristled panic response died down as he crossed the living room

“Thomas… that reaction was not to say that you’ve burdened us with something, that was me just, well-- it's the only way I know how to help.” He gave a bit of a begrudging smile as he clapped him on the shoulder, “You know I’m no good with caring for children or puppies or anything really that’s alive and has a mind of its own that’s not fully developed.” He exhaled a bit, “But what I can do is help you with what I’m good at. Financials. Responsibilities. And I will always help you, just as Philly said. Because you’re our family, you know. We’re all we have.”

THOMAS: We’re all we have.

John squeezed his shoulder and Tom had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. 

He wanted it to be enough. For Phil to be enough, for John to be enough, for the both of them to be enough. The problem was: they didn’t know shit about raising a baby. None of them did. Tom wanted his sisters. Wanted his mum. Yeah, he was a grown ass man and he had never wanted his mum as badly as he wanted her right now. 

But his mum had turned her back on him. Texts, unanswered. Calls unanswered. She was ashamed of him. She probably hated him. 

Who Tom had was Phil and John. Just as lost as him, though probably better off. He was bloody grateful for them though, because he knew that he couldn’t do this alone. There was no way that he would be able to do so. But maybe, with their help, he could--be a decent father. Maybe not a good one, but a decent one. With their help, he knew that he could keep his child safe. And that meant more to him than anything. 

He nodded, swallowing roughly again. “Aye, thanks. Thank ye, both. I--don’t think I could do this without you.”

There were other things that he wanted to say. Reassure John he’d be a perfect uncle. Joke with Phil that he’d not let his baby alone with him. Tell them both he loved them. But these were things he had never been taught how to say. So, instead, he just sniffled a bit and squared his shoulders.

BELLE: They had won. 

At least, they had won the battle. Belle had dealt with the Order enough at this point that she knew it would not be so simple. There would be more. The only way this felt at all like a victory was the look in those boys’ eyes. The regret and the horror of what they had done. Belle had seen that look before: in Merida. And even in Hades, himself, after Persephone had died. It was a hard thing to fake, the kind of remorse that brought you to your knees. Belle did not trust these men, but she believed them. 

Mercy was a kindness she could afford to show them. That was how she knew that they could use the Princes. If they had not broken. If they had not crumbled beneath the weight of their crimes, perhaps Belle would have not touched Hades’ arm. She would have let them go up in flames. A cruel man was no use to them. A repentant man could be. 

Belle watched silently as Hades and Merida bound them and brought them out of the garden, seating them on the floor in the living room. Toulouse stayed at her side, his hulking form warm against her trembling thigh. She stroked her hand over his head a few times, but otherwise didn’t move. She felt like she might faint if she did. Despite winning, Belle was still terrified. She didn’t even notice that her neck had been cut on Phil’s sword (probably from her own thrashing, because of course, she’d put up at least a bit of a fight), until Hades handed her a wet towel to put against it. 

Having done her duty--calling Howl and telling him it was time--there was nothing left to do but wait. Toulouse stalked around the living room, unable to sit still. Merida had collapsed into a chair, holding her side. Lou had whined at her when she did this, probably worried about the upholstery. (Perhaps worried about Merida.) Hades stood at her side, his hand on her shoulder. She had leaned against him, but only for a moment. This wasn’t a time to seek comfort.

They still all had jobs to do. 

When the knock sounded at the door, Belle moved out of the shelter of Hades’ shadow to open it.

“Hullo,” Belle murmured as she looked up at Howl. She gave him the best smile she could manage before stepping aside to let him in. Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. This needed to be a performance as much as a spell. Belle did not want to let the trio see what they had taken from her.

“Thank you for coming. I trust you have everything prepared?”

HOWL: There was nothing like a little blood magic in the nighttime to really remind one what it felt like to be alive! 

“Of course, darling,” said Howl, with a tip of his head.

Now, of course, Howl felt very terrible about everything that had happened. He slipped Belle a little calming tincture, with a note wrapped around it with instructions on how much to take before bedtime for a dreamless, restful sleep. But he was here to get to work, and he knew Belle would not like it if he fussed over her. So he unclipped his cloak and it drifted towards a nearby chair, and stepped inside the house.

“Now… where are these prisoners?”

In Howl’s time in Swynlake, he’d not really crossed paths with the Order of the Prince. Oh, sure, he knew about them — of course he did, because they seemed determined to destroy Belle and her family, but he’d never actually directly interacted with them (well, as far as he was aware).

He followed Belle up to where the three men were tied up. They were nothing remarkable — each handsome in their own very generic way, which he supposed was probably optimal for covert missions; good-looking enough to be charming, but not enough to stick out. He did recognize two of them, now, from the play, the one with the big blue eyes and the one who was somehow smirking through all of this.

“So how does this thing go?” asked the smirking one, who sounded awfully cheerful for someone tied up. “Slash our palms, say a few words, bound forever, etcetera, etcetera — say, what are our terms and conditions for this?”

“I’m sure that’s up to Belle and Hades,” said Howl, as his vials drifted out of his bag, along with a piece of chalk that started to scribble a circle around the three men, full of intricate runes. “I’m just here to run the show.”

HADES: If it were up to Hades, they would be dead.

If it were up to Hades, he would take every weapon they had. He’d take their hands-- never able to hold a weapon again. He’d take their sight-- so they could never so much as look at his family. He’d take their hearing, their legs. He’d take everything and then some. 

If it were up to Hades, at the very least, he’d banish them from Swynlake. Send them far far away, and every time they even thought of this place, they’d be struck with a headache. If they put his name in their mouth, their tongues would burn.

But it was not up to Hades. 

It was up to Belle, and in the end, the punishment needed to serve the strategy, something they were cobbling together quickly. All three men seemed remorseful (Hades didn’t trust it), which meant that they could potentially be allies and spies in one way or another. The punishment had to be a collar that would control them like dogs, without choking them entirely. A very specific kind of punishment that would, at the very least, entail his family remained safe. 

It wasn’t the satisfying revenge Hades wanted; he’d have to wait to get into the heart of the Order for that. 

“I don’t want them to be able to attack my family. Or think about attacking my family, actually,” said Hades to Howl. It was up to the sorcerer to devise exactly how this could translate. “And-- they should never kill again. Not a mundus, not a magick. Take that away too.” 

PHILLIP: All of those requests seemed rather reasonable to Phillip. He was genuinely surprised that they weren’t being murdered, of course, but that did just reaffirm his decision. 

Hades and Belle and Toulouse and Merida were not monsters. They were people. Whatever the Order had twisted about Magicks and Mundus all these years was a lie. Perhaps it was started with good intention — after all, Phillip’s family was known for killing dragons and certainly a thousand years ago, the devastation that dragons wreaked on small villages was enough for some to raise swords against them. But somewhere along the line, protecting people turned into hunting others.

Or maybe it had always been about hunting. Phillip didn’t know. Phillip didn’t want to know.

“Oh absolutely — no harming all of you and no killing. On the penalty of death,” said Howl. Vials were flying everywhere. Phillip wasn’t sure what it all was, but he followed one particularly shiny one as it uncorked and spilled something silver around them. The sorcerer must’ve  noticed, because the next time Phillip caught his eye, he gave a little wink.

“While that all carries itself out,” Howl waved a hand at all the bottles and what not, “I’ll explain how this works. First of all, this is blood magic, just getting that out of the way, darling.” He looked at Belle when he said this. “I doubt you’ll have any qualms, but it is the disclaimer I make whenever I involve other people in that craft, because people can be so righteous about it. But the way I see it — if everyone’s down, why not have a little fun?”

He turned his brilliant blue gaze to Phil now, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

Phillip gulped.

“Anyway,” continued Howl, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get a little blood from all of them, mix it in a vial, and then after you write the terms of the contract — “ As he said that, a piece of parchment floated towards Belle and Hades. “ — they’ll sign it in their blood, then we burn it in the spell circle, and — well you’ll see, it’s very fun, that part.”

“Sounds sexy,” said Phillip, instinctively. 

“I knew I liked you,” said Howl. “But yes, this only works if all parties are willing, so …” He pulled out a knife from his cloak and held it out. A new vial floated next to him. “Who’s first?”

“I’ll go,” said Phillip. He agreed with everything Hades had said. “I never wanted to even hurt them in the first place. And I’m fine if I never have to kill again — just — I can protect without killing.” He hadn’t been planning on saying that, but as he did, he jut his chin out a little more. 

“Yes, yes,” said Howl lazily. He walked to Phillip, standing over him and using the blade of the knife to turn Phillip’s gaze towards him. The metal pressed into Phillip’s skin, and he let it, without flinching, and felt a trickle of blood down his neck. Howl pulled away the dagger, holding it over the vial, and watched as the blood dripped into it.

“The rest of you can use your palms,” he said, then flicked his gaze to Phillip. “An eye for an eye, darling.” And those bright blue eyes darted to Belle, to the thin line across her own throat, as his lips tightened. “Who’s next?”

THOMAS: This whole scene played out like one of his nightmares.

The only difference was that Tom wasn’t scared. He was full of so much remorse, he felt heavy with it. As if the ropes that bound him were tied to an anchor and he’d been sent to the bottom of the ocean. That was how he heard the conversation above him: as if he was underwater. He heard words, but their meanings escaped him. All he knew was that whatever fate awaited him, he had condemned Phil and John to the same one. 

That was the only part of him that regretted it. The one that would never forgive himself if something happened to John or Phil. His brothers--in arms or anything else. Otherwise, he couldn’t find it in himself. He realized, as soon as he had faced Merida, there was never a moment where he would have been able to go through with what he had been told to do. As always, he had simply followed orders. He had believed in the wrong thing. The wrong people. 

Tom didn’t know what he believed in now. Except perhaps Mercy, who came to them in the form of a beautiful, gentle woman. He was aware enough to see the murderous glare in Hades’ eyes, in the reflection of the wolf’s eyes. Even the sorcerer, when he stepped close enough, had eyes as hard as diamonds, no matter how he smiled and moved like a ripple in the wind. Belle was the only one who looked at them with eyes like water. She was gentle. And Tom realized it had nothing to do with the fact she was a Mundus, or even a mother. She was just--a good person. 

She was the only one Tom could look at without feeling like he wanted to throw up. Not that it mattered, because she was not looking at him. Instead, she stood stiffly, the parchment that the sorcerer had handed her crumpling in her hand. She was milk-pale in the moonlight, from her eyelids to her lips and her white-knuckle grip. He clung to her in his mind, like a child clinging to a mother’s skirts.

Until the sorcerer moved towards them. Tom flinched and then his boots scraped at the floor, his arms jerking, fighting against their binds as the sorcerer lifted the knife to Phil’s throat. “Don’t--” 

The plea was choked off as the blade was drawn away again. Once more, Tom felt nauseated. As if he had suddenly become seasick on the solid land. (Nothing was solid for Tom.) He sucked in a sharp breath when the knife was held out towards him.

“I--I will.” Tom didn’t know if his voice had ever sounded so soft. He was looking at Belle still, desperately as if she could save him, though he did not know from what. He turned his palm over and held it out. The sorcerer sliced the sharp blade across it. This time, Tom stayed perfectly still. After all, he already felt like he was bleeding from every part of him. When the sorcerer got what he needed, Tom curled his hand in a fist. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, still soft. He didn’t know why. 

Finally, for just a moment, Belle’s eyes flickered towards him before they jumped away. She turned and moved toward the kitchen, falling clumsily onto the stool at the island, the first sign he had seen of any toll this night had taken on her. It was then Tom’s gaze fell to the hardwood beneath him, stomach churning with shame, before he turned to watch John, wondering if he should be apologizing to him instead. 

JOHN: John’s eyes were cold, an icy blue. He shut down and put on a brave face, but his eyes were also tired. He was exhausted, but despite being corralled into this room and bound he kept his posture, he kept himself strong. He was so close to breaking but he pulled the pieces together as hard as he could to get through the last of this. 

As the sorcerer spoke, John’s brain wracked through the contract for loopholes, but he was too tired. He was done with this. As the blonde man stepped forward and held a knife to Phillip’s throat, John’s whole body tensed, pulling hard on the restraints that kept him on the ground, his fist clenching at how vulnerable his mate--his brother--was. He ground his teeth down, letting out a slight exhale of irritation and almost a warning though he knew he was no match for this sorcerer in his current state.

He let Tom go ahead of him, his eyes darting around the room to make sure that this wasn’t some kind of falsehood. That they were being bled for some ulterior purpose or something. But the rest of them just looked as tired and hurt as John felt. 

The blonde was willing to end this, though he wasn’t particularly happy about it. For his mates, he did this. He didn’t want to watch them suffer. He sat tall, chest up as he strained as firmly as he could to make himself as big as possible, back absolutely aching as as he stared into the eyes of the all too charming and cool sorcerer who seemingly had a fleeting fancy in all of this. His eyes analyzed his face a moment before he turned out his palm, his arms already burning from the damage Hades had done to him during the first encounter. What was one more cut?

The knife pressed into his palm and sliced through, John’s eyes never left the sorcerer’s face. He didn’t flinch, didn’t grimace, just stared. And once that was over, he wished he was free, shielding Thomas and Phillip from whatever might come their way with this strange blood magic being tampered with, “What next, sorcerer?” 

HADES: As the blood was drawn, Hades and Belle set to work on the contract. It wouldn’t be long. As much as Hades wanted to take so much more from these men, it was unrealistic and would not fit into the broader plans of revenge against the Order-- of taking the Order down.

And so for now, he took his anger and he put it aside. There could be no emotions involved here. This was all strategy, all necessity, though as he murmured low to Belle, there were several things he knew that were non-negotiable and had to remain that way. 

The first one was, as he’d previously said, the Order should not be able to kill anyone, any life, at all. That needed to be locked down in blood. He didn’t care for any unforeseen consequences of this rule; if it meant they all had to convert to veganism, then good. Better for the goddamn environment otherwise. Likewise when it came to their family--  just an added level of protection to ensure that they’d never wield any weapon against them, or plot against them either. The last thing they needed was the Order to contract their murderous plans out.  But the contract also needed to have some flexibility. “In case we need to...add anything, later. Is that possible? Could we leave a door open, somehow?” he murmured to her. If anyone could manage that, it would be Belle. “Anything else?” he asked her, glancing back at the three men before he looked down at the sheet of paper. So far, the contract did not even fill one page, but that was because the script was tight, well-written. Howl was just drawing the last bit of blood, and so soon, it would be signed. 

BELLE: There was nothing Belle had learned in her Contracts class that would help her with this. There was nothing in her criminal justice or torts or wills and trusts classes that would help her write up a contract, signed in blood, sealing someone’s fate.

A part of her didn’t want to. It felt wrong. Belle had had her own fate messed with plenty of times and she knew that helpless feeling that came with it being out of your hands. After all, she remembered how difficult it had been to break Hades’ contract with Yubaba, once upon a time. What it had cost them. Blood magic was not something to take lightly. She supposed, at the least, she could give the Golden Trio that: she would take this seriously, carry it heavily in her own heart. 

Of course, she didn’t owe them anything--not even this small kindness--but she felt as if she did not hold onto it, she would lose a part of herself to this contract. 

She also knew that if she told any of this to Hades, he wouldn’t understand. Belle didn’t blame him for this. He was strong and sure. And he was right. This was what needed to be done. His murmurings made her feel stronger, more sure as she wrote the notes out on a separate piece of paper. They had shown the trio mercy twice now and they had not cared. This would ensure her family’s safety. And that would be all that mattered. 

In the end, this is what the contract read: 

By willingly giving blood to seal this contract, John Francis Fitzwilliam Smith, Phillip Julian Brenton Harris Hubert Knightley, and Thomas Richard Edward Harrington III, hitherto referred to as “the promisors” vow to obey the stipulations set out below by Belle Rose Acheron, Hades Acheron, Toulouse Henri Bonfamille, Merida Elinor DunBroch, and their dependents: Opal Grace Acheron, Aidan Alexander Acheron, and Bellamy Henri Acheron, hitherto referred to as the “the promisees.” 

I. The promisors shall not raise a weapon against the promisees, nor any sentient creature, being, or entity, with the intent to kill. They shall not be indirectly involved in the death of the promisees nor any sentient creature, being, or entity, through nefarious means such as, but not limited to: hiring someone to kill them, giving information that may cause another to harm them, etc.

II. Punishment for killing those outlined in stipulation “I” will result in the death of the promisor who committed the act. Deaths caused by reasonable accident including, but not limited to: vehicular death, medical death, or elsewise, will not result in the promisor’s death. 

III. Additionally, the promisors shall not plot or scheme against the promisees, nor their other family--blood or otherwise--whether with the intention of retribution, punishment, or other malicious intent. They will not give information to others that might insist in causing harm to the promisees. 

IV. Attempts to achieve the stipulations outlined in “III” will result in the promisors becoming incapacited until which point they stop attempting to speak against the promisees. 

V. The promisors swear to follow further instructions laid out by the promisees within reason. This is limited, but not limited to, requests for intelligence on the promisees’ enemies, protection, and other requests that would uphold the spirit of this contract. 

VI. This contract may only be broken by statements made willingly and without coercion by the majority of independent promisees to the promisors.

Belle set down the pen gently on the counter. She curled her hand and tucked it under the table, into the folds of her skirt, to hide its trembling. Taking a deep breath, she nodded to Hades and then reached out for his arm as she got off the stool, to help steady herself. 

“I think they will find this...satisfactory,” Belle told Howl, lifting her chin slightly to make up for the way her voice wavered. 

HOWL:  “And now the fun part.” Howl winked, taking the contract from Belle. It floated in the air, soon joined by the vial of blood and a quill. “I’ll need all of you to sign this in turn — we can start with you, darling.” He smiled at Phillip, who took the quill without hesitation, the red mark on his neck still fresh, and dipped the nib of the feather in the blood and signed his name with a flourish. The other two followed.

Howl took the parchment back, holding it for a moment, before he let it drift towards the spell circle. It hovered for a moment and then burst into flame.

“Oh, I love that part,” sighed Howl. He could get into how it was a reaction of all the reagents that had already formed the binding rune on the floor (plus a little extra help from Calcifer, who’d lent him some demon flame for the occasion). The rune began to glow, also catching fire — except it did not emit heat. Not to Howl or Belle or Hades, at least, but for the three men, it would feel as if their hearts had caught aflame, burning brightly and fiercely and painfully to remind them of their promise and bind them fully to the words written on the page. 

The flame burned orange, before it settled into a red — a deep crimson, like the blood spilled on the page, and then finally, after it reached its hottest, it snuffed out at once, leaving nothing but a whiff of smoke that soon dissipated.

And where the blood was drawn across the three men, there were now faint marks — scars that could be passed off as just a scar, but would mark them forever bound to the Blood Oath.

THOMAS:  The house glowed warm orange through the trees. This side of Swynlake was quiet. All of Swynlake was quiet, but this felt eerily so. It was probably just circumstances, but it made Tom’s blood quicken in his veins nonetheless. He had been on stakeouts before, but this case had always been unique to the Order. They didn’t usually go after multiple targets of different species, most of the creatures they went after kept to themselves or traveled in packs of a similar kind. That was not the case here. It was not a pack, per se. For all intents and purposes: a normal family. Except that they weren’t. A werewolf lurked in their house. And their father was a demon. The woman seemed ordinary enough, but they couldn’t be too sure, especially when she aligned herself with such creatures. Though, she wasn’t the target. And neither were the children. 

For yes, there were children involved. Tom had seen them through the kitchen window, on their mother’s hip, or sitting in their highchairs being fed dinner. They knew this. Had all the details on Opal, Aidan, and Bellamy Acheron. When they’d first arrived the twins hadn’t even existed, and then they’d bided their time due to the possibility of hurting a pregnant woman. And now there were two more children to worry about. 

And, the thing was, this was not the first time they’d come to this house. No, Tom had been here months ago, with Marie. Just dropping a gift off for the little ones. It wasn’t more than enough to get a brief peak at the layout of the downstairs, but it had been something. And they’d been here during the construction. Once or twice. It was easy to dress in blue jeans and plain t-shirts and pass themselves off as a helping hand. But they had not been inside and they had not staked it out long enough to determine a pattern they could work with. 

Tonight, they were pushing their luck. Creeping closer to the treeline, wanting to see if the charms they’d been handed by the Order actually worked. It was risky business, hence Tom’s heart pounding in his ears. The family had long moved away from the kitchen window and dinner time. There was a light on in one of the upstairs windows, one of the children’s rooms, perhaps. Tom watched it until it turned off. 

“I would assume the children are in bed by now,” he said and checked his watch. It was nearing nine in the evening. Darkness having just fully fallen, giving them better cover. They’d been out for a few hours now, trekking the long way around through the forest, so as not to leave a trail. 

“We should stay until they go to sleep.” 

Just as he said this, the back door opened, flooding the garden in front of them with light. 

PHILLIP: Phillip had never been this close to the house.

He’d come by this way, usually under pretense of walking Gilly. He’d scouted out the area casually and from a distance. He whistled and nodded at neighbors. He’d been nothing but Phillip Knightley, insufferable MFA student, walking his best mate’s dog. He watched this house, but had a way of observing that did not seem out of the ordinary. 

But he knew it well — from a distance.

This was different. He watched as the light turned off. They were here to track the patterns and movements of the family, to figure out an optimal time to launch their mission. It was for all intents and purposes, just reconnaissance.

Phillip didn’t know why he was so nervous. Hadn’t he done this before? Hadn’t he waited at the edge of caves for dragons to peek their noses out, watched the side of coursing rivers for kelpies, lurked on the edge of forests for werewolves?

(This was different, a little voice whispered, this was different, this was different, this was — )

The door opened before he could react to Tom and immediately he ducked his head so the light would not hit him. He peeked through the bushes, watching as a tall figure stood in the doorway, silhouette by the light. There was a bark.

“Letting the dog out,” he muttered under his breath.

The dog barked again, and then — well, Phillip didn’t know how this was possible, considering they were wearing concealing amulets, but it looked straight at them, eyes glowing eerily in the dark. He inhaled sharply.

“John, you don’t think…?

JOHN: John had only been near this house under the guise of climbing a tree in the neighboring vicinity, he’d never been on the grounds. They were here to make sure there were no surprises for when the eventually acted and made their move. He wouldn’t charge into the home of the Archeron’s blindly. Additionally, there were children present and although he did not like children, he felt they didn’t deserve to see their parents taken hostage and tortured or whatever means the Order wanted them to extract information from them and achieve their goal. 

Things had been going well. They’d prepared and blocked out their path. The three of them made their way through the surrounding forest and made sure not to near the house until nightfall when they’d be cloaked. The plan was perfect.

Unfortunately, they didn’t entirely account for the dog. 

Bloody christ, why did it have to be a dog of all things.

If you’d been paying attention all this time, you’d know that animals hated John. Literally despised him, and dogs were some of the worst. So despite all their preparation, of course, what else would happen but the dog would sniff out the one person who hated animals. 

“Fucking hell…” He whispered as the dog bounded forward into the brush. “Scatter! We’re going to have to shake it off our trail and confuse it or knock it out.” And with that John leapt up to the nearest tree and hoisted himself up onto a lower hanging bough to begin his ascent because he knew with his luck that he’d be right in the crosshairs. 

HADES:  No, Hades wasn’t just letting the dog out.

It had been a quiet night all-around until about three or four minutes ago, when Shuck had began to tremble, growl, and froth at the mouth, dribbling his (thankfully fire-proof) saliva all over Hades’ recently cleaned floors. At first, he’d thought very little of it. Shuck was more like mortal dogs than some might suspect. There were times when he raised his head and whined at a passing rabbit or got excited when he saw someone approaching. Other times, he reacted to the magic in the air: restless during full and new moons, hyperactive when the veil between worlds shifted. 

Hades expected him to stop, then

Instead, he’d let out a snarl, and then a bark, snapping his teeth at the window as if he saw something there that Hades didn’t. 

And maybe he did. 

The warning about the Order was still on his mind. He did not want to alarm his family yet; after all, it could be a deer or something of that sort, nothing more.

Hades opened the door to let Shuck investigate. 

Shuck instantly headed straight for the wood, beelining with a determined gait. Still could be a deer-- if so, Shuck would lose it and come back, whining and dragging his feet, the miserable wretch. 

If he didn’t though…

Well, then it would be Hades’ turn to enter the wood. 

THOMAS:  The dog headed straight for them, a hulking black mass taking off into the darkness. He was almost impossible to see and Tom only had a second to glance at Phil, who was to his right, and John, who was a cross from him, before they scattered. John hopped up into the tree and Tom drew his sword on instinct, heading deeper into the wood, though he looped close to the treeline.

He was running through the underbrush, hearing Phil’s footsteps beside him for a moment until he split off. Probably trying to confuse the hound into following one of them. He tried to listen for the sound of the beast, but all was silent except for the breaking of twigs from himself and Phil. All of the sudden there was a growl and Tom looked up, sliding to a halt.

The hound was right in front of him, dark eyes glowing in the light. Without that and the growl, he didn’t think he would’ve even seen him until he was right on top of it. 

Tom spread his stance and raised his sword. The hound lunged. 

Ducking to one side, Tom slashed his sword at the hound as it soared through the air. He knew that a mortal weapon would not necessarily kill a hellhound, but he could certainly incapacitate it. There was something off about this hellhound too: it did not snarl fire nor fade into smoke. Instead, his sword caught it in the shoulder. The blade jerked as it hit flesh, slicing the beast open. It gave another snarling yelp as it landed in the brush. 

This time, it didn’t lunge. It snapped at Tom’s heels, making him dance backwards before he got his footing and jabbed again at the hound, this time he missed and stumbled forward slightly, the hound’s giant paw catching him in the calf. He let out a hiss, doing his best not to shout as the pain shot up his leg. Turning, he brandished his sword, catching the beast in the flank and knocking it off its feet.

PHILLIP: If there was one thing Phillip and Tom and John were good at, it was fighting together.

Perhaps this wasn’t a surprise. They’d been trained to do this since they could walk, perhaps before them. The real skill was not that they could fight well, but that they could fight well with each other. It was like a dance: one had to know the movements of one’s partner, know where they would step, know where they would fall, know which side they favored and how to cover their weaknesses. You had to know all of those things and ingrain them so deeply that you did not even think when the time came to perform.

So as Tom stumbled backwards, the hound snapping at his ankles, Phil circled on the other side, driving the dog into a corner, forcing it to angle itself so that Tom could easily slash at it.

The great beast growled, knocked to the ground, and Phillip took this opportunity to raise his sword. He thrust his blade forward, aiming for the dog’s heart, but it was fast and fierce and got to its feet, snarling and frothing at the mouth — Phillip missed the kill, but he did manage to drive his sword deep into the beast’s shoulder. It hissed at him, but he thrust it further, twisting the blade and pinning the monster down. The more it struggled, the deeper the wound would get.

He looked at Tom now, their eyes locking in wordless communication.

THOMAS:  The hellhound looked like any normal hound that Tom had grown up with. He knew it was a monster, a demon, because the Acherons hardly hid it. The court hearing had been private, but the newspaper articles that reported hellhound attacks were not and it was easy to draw the line. And there was a orange glow in the hound’s eyes in the dark. 

But it looked like a family pet, without drooling fire, without howling it’s bone chilling howl. 

Phil managed to pin the beast down and it yelped and struggled like any helpless animal. Tom always hated this part. He preferred quick and easy kills, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Like now. 

So, Tom looked at Phil and nodded his head. His hesitation lasting only a fraction of a second before he moved to the hound’s other side and drove his sword into its heart. 

Without a sound, the hound went still. For a moment the woods were hauntingly quiet. Nothing moved. 

Then, the hound vanished into smoke, leaving no trace of its presence. No blood on their swords. Only the gash on Tom’s calf. He stumbled a step as his sword, which had been embedded in the hound was released. Standing up straight, he looked at Phil, his expression clear, knowing that they shouldn’t speak:

We need to find John. 

JOHN: The third member of this trio had been on the lookout from above as his mates ran out of sight. In the moonlight, he could see the glint of the sword sparkle in the distance. He could tell his mates just by their outlines and their fighting styles, but these woods were thick and dark and concealed much more than it revealed. As much as he wanted to be down there, he was much more dog bait than he was a man of slaying one. Animals just didn’t care for him.

So once they’d disposed of the dog, John looked to the light that was still on. A figure still near the doorway. That figure would notice the absence of the dog and come down this way. He was currently up the tree, cloaked by branches but he had a clear view towards the house. He slowly began his descent, watching for the figure to move. He had to think quickly. Would they fight? Would they engage? Should they engage? Or should they run? Call it a wash? No. They couldn’t. The whole house would be on high alert the following days. Whatever happened, they had to complete what they’d set out to do. 

He continued climbing down lower, slowly, his eyes not wanting to leave the shadow in the doorway and so his hands missed a branch. That cold sinking feeling exploded across his body in panic before his hand immediately scrambled to grab another branch. Always so easy getting up, but getting down? Wasn’t his forte.

He wasn’t going to leave his advantageous position. Not to find Phil or Tom. Not to run to help. They had it handled. He trusted them to do their jobs just as he trusted himself to do his.

John gathered himself as he saw the figure of Hades Archeron step out from the doorway, shadowed in the light from the door. John assumed that since his dog had not returned, it had alerted him. He was coming this way and the blonde only had moments to decide what he would do.

As the figure neared, John steadied himself on the lower branches he’d climbed down to, waiting for the right moment when Hades was passing just within reach. Hades crossed the mark and John threw himself from the tree and onto the man, arms wrapping around his throat, sending them crashing down into the ground. He jammed his hand into the pressure points that would cause the man under him to pass out, holding onto him with all his strength until the body slumped under him.

HADES: He heard Shuck’s yelp and knew-- something was wrong. 

Hades glanced back at his family. He didn’t want to alarm them but maybe now was the time to be alarmed. Then again, the shadows were long. He could jump into the woods and see what had happened to his hound and then back again in no time. Just a blink. One blink, and if it was just an animal, then he wouldn’t disturb his family’s peace. Everyone was already on high alert from the talks they’d had with Merida and Elinor anyway.

Yes, it was best to handle this quietly. As far as they knew, Shuck was being a pill about comin’ in, and Hades was going to fetch him.

He closed the door and headed into the woods. 

“Shuck?” he called once. His foot cracked a stick on the ground. 

Then, a rustle above him. 

Hades tried to turn, but it only took-- that blink. That one second. Something heavy slammed into his shoulders, and an arm clenched tight around his neck. He gasped, stumbled forward, veered back, as he reached up and grasped at the arm of the stranger. His windpipe was being crushed-- he couldn’t yell out. Oxygen drained from his lungs. But fuck if he was going to go down without fighting. 

His hands erupted in blue fire, searing into the man’s skin, even as Hades’s knees hit the ground and his vision started to go.

TOULOUSE:  Something was wrong. 

The wolf knew it before Lou did. It felt restless in his chest as soon as Hades closed the back door. For a minute, Lou tried to ignore it. Everything was quiet, a blanket of evening falling over the house. Lou was putting dishes in the dishwasher, because they finally had one in the cottage, thank god. Belle was entertaining the children on the floor in the living room. The calm was complete and there was no reason to feel the sense of foreboding in his chest. Shuck was a silly thing, for being a sentient guardian of the Underworld, and often ran after deer and rabbits, forcing Hades to retrieve him. 

But the calm and the stillness stretched on and the feeling in Lou’s chest only grew until he abandoned the dishes and came to hover in the living room, standing near the couch, looking toward the back door. 

“What’s wrong?” Belle asked, looking up at him. Opal looked up at him too, her face a perfect inquisitive mirror of her mother’s. 

“I—“ Lou hesitated, glancing over at her, planning to lie at first, “—don’t know. It’s probably nothing.” 

This reassured Opal who went back to trying to teach the twins how to play patty cake with little to no success. 

Belle kept looking at him. “Is it the wolf?”

Lou nodded without taking his eyes off of where he had turned back to the door. “Maybe—we should start getting the children ready for bed?”

“Yes, let’s do that,” Belle agreed, her expression serious. “Opal, bath time.” 

“Nooooo,” Opal whined and quickly scampered away from Belle, coming to cling to Lou’s leg with a laugh. 

“Opal, go with Maman,” Lou said, his voice anything but playful. She looked up at him with wide eyes, but his gaze hadn’t moved from the door. 

“Opal, come here. Now.” Belle had grabbed up the twins, holding them on either hip. She held out her hand for Opal, who buried her face in Lou’s trousers with a laugh. 

It was only then that Lou looked down, grabbing Opal by the bicep and peeling her away from him, even as she started to whine and go limp. 

“Legs no work!” Opal declared as she hung from Lou’s grip. 

“Opal. I am going to count to three. One—“ Belle started, even if it was a pointless exercise. She wasn’t going to do anything when she got to three except Lou was going to have to scoop her up. But at least it let Opal have the opportunity to make the right decision. 

“Two—“ 

Lou heard something snap outside and his grip on Opal’s arm tightened. She looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“Opal, go with Maman.” Lou said much more firmly, shoving Opal towards Belle, making her stumble slightly, but the toddler listened. “Belle, take the children upstairs.” 

No sooner had he said it than Belle grabbed Opal’s hand and tugged her onto the first step. Lou twisted on his heel, following a few steps behind, keeping an eye on both the front and back doors as best he could. His ears searching for any sound. He hoped it was just Hades. The wolf told him it was not. 

Both doors burst open almost simultaneously and it wasn’t even a thought. Where the man once stood, there was now a wolf, shaking off the remnants of its tattered clothes and making for the stairs. It’s large paws scrambled for purchase on the hardwood, but he managed to make it to the bottom of the stairs before the assailant. 

Lou growled and snapped but launched himself up the stairs just a step behind Belle and the children. He heard Opal squeal, saw her tug out of her mother’s grasp. 

“Tonton!”

“Opal, no!”

Lou half turned on the stairs, the small space making it hard for the wolf to maneuver and easy for the toddler to slip by him but he managed to block her descent. Even though she was coming for him and put a hand in his thick fur. Lou growled at her but she paid him no mind, so instead Lou turned, ears flattened against his head, hackles raised as he snarled at the man in front of them. 

PHILLIP: They couldn’t stop now.

They hadn’t counted on being noticed tonight. This was just supposed to be bloody recon, but Hades had spotted them and John was gasping in pain, and fuck. They had to do it all tonight, didn’t they? There was no choice — Hades would come to if they left him like this and he’d know who they were and this past year or so would be for nothing. 

It was now or never.

It was now, or face failure.

Phil looked to Tom, who had immediately gone to John’s side to help, and he jerked his head in the direction of the house.

It did not take long for them to rally, swords brandished. Normally, Phillip liked a good fight, liked to stalk a rogue monster and corner it and save the day. It always got his blood pumping in the best way.But now, as he stalked towards the darkened house, he couldn’t shake the nasty feeling churning in his gut. His body was on high alert, but not in a good way — in a way that made the shadows across the ground seem longer and darker and every footfall felt like he was sinking deeper into the depths.

It was easy to throw the door open and barge in, and Phillip led the charge towards the second floor. He reached the staircase and there was the wolf, teeth bared and ready to strike. 

Phillip had fought wolves before. This was no different. He had to remember that. He had to remember the monster in front of him, the cursed creature, and not the man barking orders backstage at play rehearsal. 

(He did not notice the girl behind the wolf; he did not see a pair of small eyes staring at him in the darkness). 

“Ah, a stairway,” said Phillip. He leapt onto the stairs, slashing his sword towards the wolf. The narrow space made it difficult to maneuver, but he figured he could back the wolf into a corner of the hallway and between him, John, and Tom, this would finish easily.  “One of my least favorite places to have a fight — so constraining —” He ducked out of the way, catching himself before he fell, and using the momentum to surge forward again. “-- but of course, when used the right way, very beneficial — “

Maybe it was because he was talking his mouth off that he wasn’t paying as close attention to his surroundings as he should. Maybe the reason he was talking his mouth off was because he was nervous. Maybe from the get go, he knew deep in his gut that this mission would go wrong, like he hit the wrong key while playing the piano and he couldn’t make the recovery, and that doomed the whole sonata going forward.

He just had to do this job, just had to kill one stupid wolf, just had to use his years of training to do one damn thing and just get this over with. 

So when something small surged forwards on the stairs, Phillip just leaned into his instinct and knocked the figure to the ground.

But whatever had bumped into him was lighter than he anticipated and it was smaller and it let out a high, girlish shriek as it thumped down the stairs, and Phillip’s blood curled. He whipped his head back, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and saw a small girl on the foot of the stairs, crying in pain.

“Fuck — “ 

TOULOUSE: Metal flashed in the near-darkness of the upstairs. The wolf saw it swing towards him and he snarled, snapping his jaws towards it. He stalked down another stair, trying to get close enough to clamp his teeth around the assailant’s arm or leg. Opal was still clinging to him. He shook out his thick coat, dislodging her grip on him.

This allowed him to push up onto his back paws, thrashing his front ones out, trying to knock the man from the staircase. If he could just get him off the stairs...

Lou didn’t know what the plan was and neither did the wolf. With Opal in the picture, Lou had to adjust every step to make sure that she was protected. It kept him stuck in place. He didn’t want to leave her side, even if drawing them away might work better. Lou didn’t want to risk it.

Where was Hades?

The man fell against the railing and Lou saw his shot. He lunged forward, snapping his teeth.

But, at the same moment, Opal had run forward too, probably trying to get back down the stairs—to go find her father or a place to hide or, maybe, to follow the wolf. It didn’t matter her motivation, because the next few seconds happened very quickly.

The wolf heard, before he saw, Opal tumble down the stairs. He heard a snap and a wail. Then, footsteps: in the hallway above and the living room below.

“Opal!” screamed Belle from behind him. Even Lou looked over his shoulder to see her standing at the top of the steps, gripping a sword. The twins no where in sight. Safely tucked in the office.

“Christ!” another voice, one the wolf recognized.

Thomas Harrington was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking like he was about to reach for Opal.  With a horrible snarl, Lou launched himself down the stairs in one leap, landing right behind Opal, his teeth snapping within inches of Tom’s fingers.

A sword came swinging, but stopped the next second. “Fuck,” said the man, scrambling back against the doorway.

Behind Lou, on the stairs still, he heard the dull clang of metal as swords met.

“Get out!” Belle shouted, her sword smashing against the man on the stairs’ again.

Lou’s teeth grabbed Opal by the shirt and dragged her from the foot of the stairs (the amateur doctor in his head was screaming not to do this, but the wolf didn’t listen). Once she was more out of the way, he crouched low over her with his ears flat against his head.

“Phil!” Tom shouted, taking a step towards the stairs, but Lou swiped at the blood on his leg, trying to get him in the same spot, causing him to stumble and grab the banister. 

PHILLIP: In that moment, Phillip felt like everything froze.

This didn’t happen. This never happened. Usually, Phillip was a trained killing machine — carefully calibrated to be deadly and merciless. But the little girl’s scream made him pause enough to stumble backwards on the stairs, as if through a haze.

It was only a split second of fog. He snapped out of it immediately. But it was there and that was more than had ever happened and it lingered like a bad taste in the back of Phillip’s mouth.

He couldn’t swallow it away.

Tom was fighting off the wolf now. He couldn’t see John in the darkness, but everything in his gut was telling him that this was not worth it. Not now at least. This hadn’t  been planned. This was going wrong. They’d have to get out of town, disappear, recuperate — 

They’d have to face their fathers.

But there was no other way out.

“John!” he shouted, somewhere into the darkness. “We need to go.”

JOHN: John had almost passed out from his own pain. 

He grit his teeth and fought back a scream as the white hot flames seared through his shirt and into his arms, his skin boiling and blistering as Hades slumped down beneath him. 

He was not a fighter, he was a strategist. He didn’t have the swordsmanship and brute strength of Tom or Phil, not when it came down to it. All he had was his brain really. He’d reacted to the situation in a way that he felt was perfect. He had put Hades to sleep at least for a bit before he could rescue his mates and get out of here. No damages. No lethal blows. Just weakening before they would get them to surrender. 

But John knew deep down they’d started this fight and it didn’t sit well with him. They had attacked a family going to bed in their own home. They’d smeared themselves through the life someone else had made like an oil spill in an ocean, trapping innocent creatures in their wake. 

He needed to find his mates. He got up, arms hanging at his sides because it hurt too much to move them, the air stung and his jaw set as he looked out towards the door that had cast the light onto the yard. He had no idea where his mates were, they’d gotten chased around by that dog and it was only until he heard Phil call his name that he knew where they were.

Phil’s voice though. That’s what unsettled him. It was panicked. It wasn’t the Phillip he knew on a mission. Something was wrong. 

Burns be damned, John darted towards the sound of the voice and into the house. Skin on his arms running hotter than anything else and beating along with his heart as he grit his teeth and fought through the pain with only the adrenaline and his drive to find Tom and Phil. 

“Tom? Phil?” He called out as he reached the doorway and then his eyes widened as he saw a wolf continue to swipe at Tom and Phil stood there frozen at the spot and looking like he had no idea what to do.

His muscle memory kicked in and he yelled, both in pain and in hopes of startling the wolf to get its attention off Tom so he could escape, he grabbed the sword from Phillip’s hand and immediately plunged it into the meat of the wolf’s back leg (he had no strength left in him so it wasn’t exactly a deep stab but it was enough). “Get off of him.” 

He grabbed Tom by the arm, his own going numb and his head foggy as he yanked him from the banister and flung him towards the door. “Go! Both of you!” He yelled at his mates before turning back to the wolf as his mates ran. 

As he stared down the now wounded wolf, he couldn’t do it. He had no fight left in him. He turned and ran right after Phil and Tom. 

BELLE: The hounds alerted them from the garden as dusk drew once more over the Acheron cottage. Shuck was on his feet in an instant as snarling sounded from outside. Belle, Merida, and Toulouse, who had been sitting around the table together feeding the children dinner, looked at each other for just a moment. There was a cool stillness that settled, Belle’s blood turning to ice in her veins. She wished, in a feeling as sharp and fast as a lightning strike, that Hades was home. But there wasn’t time to worry about him. It was the children who needed to be protected.

They had a plan, Belle reminded herself in that split second moment. They had several plans, for every possible scenario that they could think of. That was what having all this time had given them. She grasped onto the details tight: no matter what, but especially if Hades was gone (because there was a good chance, they would try to separate him from the rest), Belle was to take the children up to the secret office to hide until someone came to fetch her. Whether that be Hades, Toulouse, or Howl—who were the only ones who knew how to open it. Lou would guard the back door, Merida the front, with hounds at their sides. Shuck would be with Belle, just in case something went wrong, and she couldn’t get to the room in time, or the Order broke through their defenses.

Of course, Belle had her own plan: there was no way she was hiding while the rest of her family was fighting to protect them. She could fight now. At least, against the Order. They were simple Mundus, like herself. And if they could do it, so could she. But she kept this to herself after she had been shut down originally. Though her intentions still bubbled inside of her.

And as the chaos crashed into the house, as that single moment of trepidation broke, Belle knew what she had to do.

Lou disappeared in one movement, the wolf bursting from his skin and taking over by the time its paws touched the ground. Merida picked up Bellamy as Belle knelt in front of Opal, whose cast scratched against her collarbone uncomfortably as she climbed onto her mother’s back. With Opal clinging tight, Belle could scoop up Aidan and follow Merida into the hall. Her legs felt like jelly. As if Opal weighed a hundred pounds more than she did. Her heart was beating thready and fast. It felt like it took them centuries to get to the stairs, as if Belle was wading through a swamp.  

When they made it, Merida wordlessly handed Bellamy to her as well. This way, Belle had all three of the children, which was a heavy weight. She looked toward the stairs and braced herself before carefully beginning to climb. It was a good thing that she had spent the last few months in the gym rather frequently with Merida. Not to mention the adrenaline coursing through her.

She heard the front door open and then close, and she realized she was alone in the house. Shuck squeezed behind her on the stairs, his head in the small of her back and she let out a breath, pushing forward. By the time she was in the secret office, she was panting and trembling somewhat. Setting Bellamy and Aidan down in the play pen, she kissed both their foreheads, then Opal’s too. She handed her daughter one of her favourite books.

“Read this to your brothers,” she told her, kissing her daughter’s soft hair. “I love you. Maman will be right back, alright?”

“Okay, Maman. Love you.”

“That’s a brave girl.”

It was time for Belle to be brave too. She reached for her sword which she kept in the office (away from any accidents with the children.) Unsheathing it, she glanced at the hellhound, who sat patiently by the door. “Stay,” she told him. He whined once. “Protect the children.”

With that, she took a breath and then stepped back out into Hades’ bedroom, her grip firm and her eyes darting around the room. From inside the house, she couldn’t hear anything at all. It was horribly quiet. Belle took a few more steps, holding her sword out in front of her. She adjusted her grip a few times. And then, there was a creak on the steps. Belle drew back, her breathing shallow as pressed against a bookshelf. In the long shadows of dusk, her own was hidden from view, but she could see another one on the wall, creeping toward her.

There was a decision to make here. Merida had once told her that fights were made up of a million decisions—like chess, but faster. More instinct than strategy. Which was Belle’s weakness in a fight. She always wanted to hesitate or examine all of the options. In this scenario, there were two: wait, and surprise whoever this was or charge and try to gain the high ground by forcing them back against the stairs.

If she waited, the element of surprise would be sure. If she charged, she had no idea if she had the skill or the strength to fight off whoever it was. To put them on the defense. But, if she stayed here, she would be trapped and forced to fight anyway—

It was too late to make a decision. The assailant was already on top of her. Belle saw the toe of his boot and her body reacted. Her arms jerked up, trying to slash him upwards from below with a shout. Merida had always told her to use her height to her advantage, most men—especially in the Order—weren’t used to fighting someone as petite as she was.

PHILLIP: Phillip did not expect Belle Acheron to come at him with a sword.

The surprise only lasted a fraction of a second, though. He actually laughed a little, easily blocking her weapon with his own, the metal clashing. After that moment of shock passed, he grit his teeth together, pressing forward. He loomed nearly a foot over Belle and even though she’d caught him by surprise with the sword — must’ve been a gift from Merida or something — he had years of experience. He’d been training ever since he could walk, perhaps even before then, the Order sharpening him into a deadly weapon to wield for their own purposes. 

Phillip did not want to do this.

Phillip had to do this.

Phillip had to do this, because as he and John and Thomas stalked closer to the house, all he could think about was losing them. He did not want to do this, but he couldn’t imagine a life without John and Tom at his side. They had to do this, or else Tom’s mum and sisters wouldn’t be safe, or else their little nieces and nephews would be targets, or else John’s father would hurt him even more. Phillip was doing this not because he wanted to cleanse the world of wolves and demons, but because if he didn’t do this, he would lose John and Tom, maybe forever. 

That didn’t make it any easier.

At least this time there were no children to be seen. That would help him focus, at least. Never mind that he actually did quite like Belle and never mind that he’d seen half-finished dinner plates on the dining table.

“Your form’s not bad,” said Phillip. He basically had her cornered now and with a flick of his wrist, dislodged the sword from her hand. It clattered to the floor and he held his own sword up to her neck. “But your strategy needs work. Sort of stuff you can only get with years and years of experience, though.”

He stepped forward, the tip of his sword pointed to the wall, and swept an arm behind Belle so he could grab her arms with his left hand. Sword still pressed against her neck, he coaxed her forward.

“This’ll be over quickly if you all cooperate,” he said, trying to talk to remind himself why the fuck he was here in the first place. He did not want to think about the children, probably somewhere in the house, or the little cat he’d seen once. “My friends work fast.” 

MERIDA:  For the past couple of weeks, she’d practically been living at the Acherons. Whenever Hades wasn’t there, Merida stepped in. She went where Belle did, a loyal hound at her heel, always on alert. As the days wore on though, she knew the attack would be much more thoroughly planned than the last one-- and the last had been impressive as is. 

The Trio was watching. They were learning. They would soon memorize even these new patterns and figure out the most vulnerable time to attack. 

Merida told all of this to Belle, Hades, and Lou, and with each day that passed, the probability spiked. 

So when the snarling and howling began, Merida was ready. 

She jumped into action. Merida gathered little, sweet Bellamy in her arms and sped with Belle toward the stairs. She wished she could go up with her-- had argued this part of the plan, thought that she would be best used as another wall of defense, smarter and stronger than a hellhound. But the goal was to try to keep that extra wall from being necessary. And so as she handed off Bellamy, Merida followed her orders. She could do that for Belle. She was her warrior-- her sword-- her shield. 

And so Merida flung open the door, closed it behind her and drew her sword. 

She wasn’t surprised to see Tom emerge from the wood, fighting off one of the hounds. Merida’s eyes lit and she raced toward him. Attack him on both sides. Sure, her cousin would dispatch the hound, but Merida would make it harder on him. 

“Miss me, Tommy?!” She snarled as she lunged at him with a wild swing of her sword. 

THOMAS: It was time to get this over with, so that Tom could leave and never have to think of this place again.

That was how he felt, because there was no other way to feel. The inevitability of what would happen here had weighed on him for weeks. He would not be able to open in his role as Sky. He would leave behind Arista, Elliot, and his other friends. Swynlake would become another bad dream (it had given him plenty already, hadn’t it?) All it was was a place of misery. There would be nothing good here for him. It was a good thing then, to get this finished. To move on.

Then why did his steps feel so heavy as they marched toward the Acherons’ cottage? He didn’t dignify the question with an answer. Instead, he adjusted his sword in his grip and whistled sharp to get the attention of one of the hellhounds that he knew prowled around the house. There were two. Well, three all together, but one never left Belle’s side and they had figured in case of a fight, that would still be the case. 

He heard John’s answering whistle a few meters away where he was tucked in the trees near the garden. The hellhounds peeled apart, as they had assumed, when they realized the assailants were in two places. 

Next, Phil and Tom made their way to the front. Tom would head off whatever protection was there, while John distracted from the back--and Phil, slippery, cunning Phil, would find Belle. She was the hinge upon which the entire strategy swung. After all, if they could not easily dispatch the two werewolves or Hades somehow got free of the assault they had planned for him (doubtful, but they would not underestimate him again), she would be their bargaining chip to lay their weapons down. She was a Mundus. Harmless. And not their target anyway. She would live. As long as the rest of them complied. 

Tom did not think about that. He had to focus on the hellhound coming towards him. 

Adjusting the bucket of water in his hands, he waited steadily for the hound to lunge--

It was a simple trick, but when the demon met the water, it yelped and steamed, disoriented and weakened. In this state, it would not be able to jump through smoke. At least for a few moments, before it's hellfire evaporated the fire. It gave him just enough time to go at it with the sword. The hound lunged and snapped, but he managed to keep it away, his calf throbbing--not fully healed from its last encounter with a hellhound. 

He managed to make it halfway up the yard before Merida appeared and came at him with her sword. For a moment, Tom hesitated. It took just a flash of bright red hair. Merida’s voice echoing across the field. She was as human as ever: face flushed, eyes ablaze. 

Tom had prepared to meet the teeth of a beast, not the fury of his cousin. 

He didn’t say anything to her. If he could avoid it, he wouldn’t even look at her. 

Their swords meet in a dull clash of metal. She was strong and fast and angry, but Tom was determined and trained. He danced to the side, slashing at her and the hound in one swoop. Then, his sword arched back up to parry her next blow, pushing her back towards the house. He threw his weight behind it, knocking her backwards and then turning on his heel to catch the charging hellhound in the belly as it jumped at him again, barking and snarling, its mouth the pit of hell, sparks flying, setting a dry patch of grass aflame and catching on Tom’s shirt.

He shoved harder, twisting his sword. The demon yelped, sounding like Gilly when he accidentally stepped on her tail, and then dissolved. It gave him just enough time to swing back at Merida as she regained her balance and came at him again. 

Her sword slashed across the top of his shoulder and he grunted before slashing right back at her, doing whatever he could not to meet her gaze. Those DunBroch eyes the same as his own.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse was getting extremely sick of this.

He knew that being a werewolf was dangerous, but he had never thought of it this way. The danger coming to his family. To the children. To people who should not at all be involved in any of it. He had tried to leave. His solution to everything: running. But Hades and Belle had not let him. Guilted him into staying. Into helping protect their family. 

But Toulouse was not good at protecting anyone. He could hardly protect his brother and sister from the cruelty of the world. How was he supposed to protect Belle and Hades and the children from crazy, albeit well-trained, assholes hell bent on destroying them? He had absolutely no confidence that he could.

It was a good thing that the wolf. The wolf sure and confident in its every move. It was the wolf that took over as soon as the hellhounds started braying. 

Out in the garden, the ground was wet from a shower that had fallen earlier in the day. His paws sunk into the earth. A hellhound appeared at his side and John appeared in front of him.

Enemy, supplied the wolf. 

Toulouse growled, his black lips pulling back in a snarl. And he didn’t hesitate to lunge directly at the man, looking to knock him right off his feet and get his jaw around his throat. 

JOHN: This felt wrong. 

His brain wracked through days of trying to find another way. To find some way that they could get out of this and not face the wrath of the Order. But it was too late. They had made their move, albeit not because they had intended to, but they had already started the war with their botched battle. They had to end this.

His burns still itched, it would still be a while until they didn’t. A constant reminder of how stupid he’d been taking on Hades Archeron like that. His long sleeves covered the bandages up his arms but they wrapped around his hands as well. He fought through the discomfort for hours in practice to make sure he could wield a sword for this day.

He had to do this. Despite how much he hated every bit of what Francis had done to him, how he had spoken to his mates. He had to do this. This was the last thing and then he was done. He hadn’t told the lads yet, but he couldn’t do this anymore. He was done doing the Order’s dirty work. He was done doing everything and yet getting nothing in return, being branded some kind of fuck up. He wasn’t going to do this anymore. 

They’d come up with a three pronged plan for the attack. Phil and Tom were executing their sides well. He could already tell by the whistle and the clash of swords. But John had other things to deal with, he wasn’t up for facing the women wielding their swords in this, not with how his hands were. But he could attack the dogs and any other dogs that might come their way.

He and Tom had planned to take the hounds out by splitting them. And as luck would have it, it worked, but John hadn’t expected his rotten luck with animals to also immediately grab the attention of a very large wolf, one that he’d seen before and stabbed at before fleeing in the last bout. Toulouse. 

He dispatched of the hellhound easily enough as it got close to him, water then slash but Lou was right on its heels and John only had a split second to act. The wolf bounded forward and sprang up. Now, John was not strong, sure, by most normal standards he was rather fit but compared to Tom, he was not the muscle of this, but he was the brains. 

As Lou closed the distance, John thrust his sword up, holding it across himself with both hands as the jaws came snapping at him and pushed him down into the dirt. Rather than just be pounced on, he had been falling backwards already, using his momentum and then the added push from the wolf to kick his feet up and throw the wolf back behind him as he rolled to his feet, already panting as his heart raced. That was too close. He could feel the breath from the wolf still on his face.

With that adrenaline, John’s face formed into a wicked smirk he got only when he was on a mission or about to beat someone’s head in for messing with his lads, one that he’d seen come from Francis Smith time and time again. They had to end this. 

“Oh c’mon, Lou. No hard feelings about that lighting incident,  yeah?”

He flipped his sword in his hand and readied his stance for the next attack, but also watching out of the corner of his eyes for any possible routes of escape up into the trees.

MERIDA: The plan had included the wolf, but Merida would not depend on her-- not unless she really needed it in the end. It was a matter of pride for her to look at Tom with her own eyes, to meet his sword with her own. She wanted to prove something to him-- to all the Order. Perhaps they’d not win today, but if they could beat them back, he wanted Tom to carry with him a story about Merida, not the beast. That she was wild, but graceful, that she was strong and controlled. That she fought with a clear style, a style that was the Order’s own.

She was one of them and she was not. She was not a monster. But the Order had made her and they had to live with that. 

She’d force Tommy, then, to face her. As she attacked, he tried not to-- she noticed that. He alternated between blocking her blows and fighting back Baskerville, until he bested the beast with an expert stab to the chest. Baskerville evaporated with a long howl. Merida did not let it distract her. 

He came at her with hard, fast swings now that he had no one else to worry about. Merida blocked each one, grit her jaw. She’d let him get into a rhythm, lower his guard--

And then she planted her feet and let out a wild shout, lunging forward to force Tommy back. She caught his shoulder, though the blade did not sink its teeth in, only drew blood in a glancing blow. Course Tommy was too skilled to let it throw him, but she saw something change in his eyes. 

“That’s right!” she grinned wolfishly. “Your cousin’s all grown up, Tommy. Ye want to keep playin’?” 

And she lunged again. 

THOMAS: Tom had been expecting to face a wolf, not a girl. 

A beast. Not his cousin. Who was just the same as she had been the last time he saw her properly, years ago now, hair disheveled as she removed her helmet from the tourney—gaze defiant, jaw set. 

She had that same look now and it threw him off, causing him to misstep. Letting her get a cut at him. The wound bit him immediately, the pain radiating down his arm. He didn’t let it phase him. He let it wake him up. To focus on that pain and the fight as their swords clashed. 

Merida had a wild sort of fury to her style, but she was controlled as well. He recognized her moves and matched them with their countermoves fluidly. This was not like fighting an enemy. It was like sparring with one of his mates. The only difference was the flashes of long red hair. 

Despite this, she wasn’t matched in his skill. He had been holding a sword since he was a tot, since his arms had been able to keep it upright. And he trained hard—both as a knight and as a firefighter, so he had a brute force to his every slash and cut that Merida simply didn’t. He had never been as prepared as John or clever as Phil. Once, he hadn’t even been strong: he’d been a small boy. He knew what it feel pushed around. 

He tried not to think of that now. 

His strikes came harder. He wasn’t, necessarily trying to kill her, even though he should be. He drove her back towards John. Tom had every faith that his mate could best a hellhound and a werewolf and then help him dispatch Merida. The fight grew more frantic as the both of them tired. Sword fighting wasn’t meant to be a long term engagement, but he pushed her and pushed her. Sweat dropped into his eyes and he let them burn as they crashed through the low garden fence—tearing through vegetables and flowers, lovingly tended and thriving. It was almost over. With every scrambling step and snarl in the distance, they grew closer to the goal. 

They were the Order’s finest princes and they had come to end this war. 

Tom deafened his ears to any of Merida’s taunts. He couldn’t stand the sound of her voice. It widened the pit in his gut that made him feel dizzy, unsteady. She was a girl. A girl with freckles on her arm, who used to beg him to show her how to hold a sword. And he used to laugh, along with all their other cousins. But, he had learned since then that maybe women should learn how to use a sword. To protect themselves from evil men. 

Like him. 

His blade slashed towards her, twisting at the last second and slicing along her thigh. It was all adrenaline and the scramble of a battle. She went down on one knee with a cry and Tom’s training took over, finding the weak spot in your opponent and—

Tom’s sword slid easily into the joint between Merida’s thigh and hip, stabbing her through the side. 

MERIDA: Merida knew she might not win. The Golden Trio they were called, and they were called that for a reason. They had natural talent, but more importantly they had skill and experience that Merida didn’t. The wolf gave her advantage enough to keep her sword from dipping, to empower her with an endurance that would hopefully tire the likes of Tom out. But it was all a gamble, and so Merida’s main objective was not to win.

She was here to keep Tom busy. 

If she stalled him long enough, Belle would be safe; priority one. If she stalled him long enough, Hades would arrive. He’d already been alerted. It had been only a minute since the attack began-- maybe less, maybe more, Merida didn’t know. But he’d be here soon, either way. And once he was, this peaceful garden would transform into something else-- a graveyard of ghosts and hellfire. She told Hades they inevitably had charms against his magic, but Hades was too powerful to be completely neutralized. Unlike last time, when they surprised him, he knew what he’d be coming into.

So she had to keep holding on. 

Merida let him force her back-- away from the front door. That’s all that mattered. She retreated, but always made sure he was following her. But as the fight wore on, her original plan faded and her anger at the Order grew.  Her desire to win flared, hot and dangerous.

She wanted to win for Belle. She wanted to kill her cousin. Maybe he didn’t-- but she did. She wanted to kill him the way she knew most of the Order wanted to kill her. 

She wanted to win for her, to show that she could.

And so she let out a wild shout and threw force into her movements. Their swords clashed with more fury, almost hard enough to create sparks. Her eyes grew wild. The wolf inside her snarled. But the harder Merida hit, the more reckless she became. 

She failed to guard just once. Just once. But that was always enough. Tom’s sword found its mark, tore into her flesh and she cried out, stumbling down. Before she could even call for the wolf, Tom stabbed her a second time. Merida gasped in pain, and dropped her sword. As soon as he pulled his sword out, her hand went to block the gaping wound. He’d avoided any major organs-- something that she recognized now as pity. Merida’s gaze snapped up and she glared at him with a dirty, sweaty brow, wild pieces of curls escaping from her band. 

“What, Tommy? Is it too hard to slay a beast when it looks like me?” she taunted him. “Go on.” 

PHILLIP: This shouldn’t be so easy. 

Phillip wondered if that ever crossed the minds of the rest of the Order. As they sliced their blades through flesh, as they stabbed through muscle, as they held a sword up to a woman’s delicate throat, did they ever think about how taking a life should not come so easily? It wasn’t hard. Just a slash, just pressing a little harder, and Belle would crumple in his arms, a necklace of scarlet slashed across her neck.

The shadows on the walls seemed longer than they should be. Phillip walked forward and he did not say anything. All he did was listen to the beat of his heart, which he felt sounded louder than it should, in some sick, twisted Edgar Allen Poe sort of way.

At least there were no children here. At least if they did what they came here to do, at least if everything went according to plan, Belle could go free with the little ones and that was, at least, something. 

It should not be so easy to think of the slaughter of three as something going right. And yet, and yet, this was the outcome Phillip hoped for, because it was the best one, because the alternative was slaughtering Belle and the children as well. 

(He could not think of the third option; he did not allow himself, because that third option meant losing John and Tom, and while there were many things Phillip could bear, this was not one of them). 

He heard noise — he knew he needed to go there, but the noise was not the howl of a wolf, but the shout of a woman. Of Merida, he realized. Of Merida, who he’d known as a girl. His grip on Belle’s arms tightened, though he took care no to press his sword any closer to her throat.

He stepped out of the doorway, lingering a bit as he looked on the scene in the garden.

“Back off,” he growled, to the wolf who John was fighting and also at — well, at Merida, who had a dark stain on her side that he tried his best not to look at. “Back off or I’ll kill her.” 

HADES: The ghosts came howling for him.  

As expected, the Order went the route of cowards. For an organization that built its empires on the backs of slain magicks, they had no spine in them to deal with the likes of Hades. Instead, they waited until his family was vulnerable. That’s what they were doing: attacking a family, who had been sitting down for dinner after a long day of simple, mundane things. Babysitting, colouring sheets, trips to the library. That’s what the Order sought to stop: not Hades, but the joy that Hades had cultivated in his wife, his partner, his children. 

He’d give them this: they did their research. Hades tried to shadow jump from the town hall to home, to be there in a blink and light them all on fire like kindling. But his powers halted. With a vicious snarl, he realized they must have come in earlier, put salt in the corners of every room of the fucking building. 

And so Hades had to run-- had to speed his way down the rickety town hall stairs and out onto the streets of Swynlake, so he could finally use his magic. It delayed him two minutes. 

Two minutes were apparently all they needed. 

He appeared in the shadows of the garden and his hands exploded with fire. He stepped out and lifted a hand to take Tom’s sword and turn it against him. But that was when Phillip came out with his wife in his clutches. 

Hades froze. The fire did not go out though. It flickered, alive, up his arms. His eyes narrowed. 

He wasn’t going to lose Belle-- but he wasn’t going to let himself be toyed with like this either.

“You’ll kill a mundus? You’ll kill a mother?” he taunted. And then: “If you kill her, I’ll light every one of your friends on fire. You’ll watch them burn, and I’ll still save my wife. I’ve got a direct fucking line to the Underworld, you Order prick. Who the hell do you think I am?”

A bluff, but sometimes you had to bluff in a game of chess. 

THOMAS: Hades appeared, just as they expected him to. 

Everything had been going to plan until then. Or--well, mostly. John and Tom were supposed to have killed the wolves so that there was only Hades to deal with. The three of them at once would be able to take him, the trio reasoned. They were not under the same impression that Phoebus had been. This was a demon, but one who loved his wife and his spawn. Who may have tried to live as a human, but who was not made for this world. It was a weakness, as much as it was for any mortal. He would bend to them easily. Especially with his pretty little wife as their captive. 

But now, the chaotic scene paused and it wasn’t a demon who appeared--but a man. Not much older or younger than any of them. Tom could see the fear flickering in his eyes. The anger. And he knew with a warrior’s instinct that he meant every threat. 

The word mother struck Tom square in the chest. That was what Belle was. A mother. He had seen her with her children. Had seen her with Merida, laughing--unafraid of a wolf. Had seen her patiently helping others find books or studying in the university library, just like his friends. She was just a girl. A woman. Sweet and gentle. She had tamed impossible monsters and stood now with her lip trembling but eyes hard. Braver than him.

In that moment: Tom knew that they had already lost. He was not the strategic one, but he had a heart and people he loved. If they killed Belle, Hades would send this entire house up in flames and take all of them with him. They would turn him into a bomb. Even if Tom killed Merida and moved to help Phil, there was nothing stopping Hades from setting him aflame. Or if John killed Toulouse, he would burn too. And Tom couldn’t let that happen.

Maybe there was a way to win. Maybe John knew it. 

Tom didn’t care. He stared down at Merida--her proud chin jutted out, but her fingers were trembling and he knew she was scared. Just like they were all scared. 

What were they doing? 

Suddenly, Tom’s vision blurred and he blinked rapidly, clearing it again. He took a shuddering breath and stepped away from where he had been looming over Merida’s prone form. His sword clattered to the ground, as if it had burned him. 

It wasn’t Hades he looked to. But Merida first. “I-I’m sorry,” he told her. 

His gaze snapped to Phil’s, to John’s. “I’m sorry. I can't do it.” 

PHILLIP: This would all be over soon. 

This would all be over soon.

This would all be over soon.

Phillip kept repeating the phrase to himself. This would all be over soon. This would all be over soon. They’d  kill the wolves and they’d force Hades to his knees. He didn’t know how, but they’d do it because they were the Golden Trio and that is what they did. This would all be over soon. This would all be over soon. Hades cursed at them and he threatened them, but Phillip did not falter, because he had John and Tom at his side and if there was anyone who could figure a way out of a demon’s trap it was the three of them.

This would all be over soon. 

Hades’ words didn’t even register to Phillip. Let me die, he thought, let us die together, because that’s better than failure. That was better than admitting he couldn’t do this, better than turning his back on Tom and John. Phillip would rather die than betray them, would rather kill his own spirit than turn against his best friends.

This would all be over soon.

He held the blade to Belle’s throat and he glanced at John then to Tom and he knew one of them just had to do it — had to strike, and the rest of them would, and then maybe Hades would burn them to the ground, but for the first time in over ten years, Phillip welcomed the flames.

In that moment, Phillip made up his mind, because he felt there was no alternative. Either he betrayed Tom and John, or the three of them burned together. 

This would all be over soon.

He grit his teeth, hardening his resolve when —

Tom’s sword clattered to the ground. He looked from Phillip to John, the tears on his face illuminated by the moonlight, his mouth twisted and his hands shaking.

And in that moment, Phillip changed his mind. 

He threw his own sword to the ground, shoving Belle forward slightly towards her husband, then ran towards Thomas, grabbing him roughly to his own chest and collapsing to the floor.

“It’s all right,” said Phillip. “It’s all right.”

JOHN: John had done his best against Lou, but his heart had never intended to slaughter him, no matter how many times his sword lined up perfectly, he fought defensively, a rip or scratch here and there as Lou passed him by and he was growing tired. He knew if something hadn’t changed the tides, he’d have to act in desperation and leave himself open in striking out and beyond that it was a 50/50 shot that he would be able to fell a werewolf on his own. 

But he needed to make sure that Phil and Tom were alright, so he kept the wolf at bay, inching his way as he struck out towards his mates, hearing the clashing of swords stop and the shouting of voices. He looked back to Phil now, has he threatened, his sword at a woman’s throat. It all felt wrong. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to do any of this. His father was wrong. He saw that. But this was their way out. He could be free of it. This was his last mission, he was sure of it. They’d do their own thing soon enough. 

Or so he thought.

As soon as Hades came through, John had the feeling they wouldn’t be able to finish this. There were only three of them and too many powers. He knew this, he’d gone over the strategy but to admit weakness to the Order would just complicate things further. They had to prove themselves. But just as John had planned and thought, they were outmatched. 

At Hades’ words, John didn’t doubt that the fire would consume him and his mates. His burns prickled on his arms, like just being close enough to the source of what had caused them made it burn all over again. Like a burn near too much heat.

He paused, Lou had also paused at the threat of Belle, but he looked to the wolf and he looked to his mates. Looked to the man and his wife. Tom had thrown in the towel, crumbling in a way that made it hard for John to watch, unable to finish Merida. Phil too had crumbled, grabbing onto Thomas. He would be strong for both of them, he would help them out of this. He would use every last breath in his body to save his mates. 

John walked forward, trying to catch his breath and staring down the face of the man they’d just tried to take everything from like a man who didn’t fear death.  Because he didn’t. He feared the death of who he held closest. And right now, that was not his family. It was his brothers, his mates. 

He stood in front of his mates, sword in his hands, bringing it up, twisting it and then swiftly shoving it into the ground beneath him, he would do what he was good for in this group, he would talk and strategize his way through this, “We surrender and through surrendering we effectively defect from the Order. We never wanted this. Not for a moment. The Order taught us that this would somehow save our own families, but that certainly doesn’t excuse the pain we’ve brought to yours. What are your terms, Hades?”

HADES:  A surrender? 

Hades’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t buy it, even as Belle came stumbling toward him. He let his fire die so the night no longer flickered with their eerie, dangerous blue, but he still felt the teeth of the flame in his skin, how much it longed to bite and consume. And he wanted to feed it. Make no mistake. If anything-- now was the perfect chance to show no mercy and send them up into flames anyway.

He didn’t care about their families. He didn’t care about their tears. He didn’t care about repentance. He didn’t believe in second chances. 

Behind him, Lou growled, and he knew his partner felt the same way.

Belle’s hand on his arm, more than anything else, stilled him-- reminded him of the greater mission. It was not a hand of mercy-- at least, that wasn’t how Hades interpreted it, even though his wife had a soft and kind heart. To him, the hand communicated one thing: wait. 

This was part of the plan too. Not to murder them outright-- to capture them and use them as their pawns to get to the King. To the heart of the Order. And destroy it once and for all. 

So no, he didn’t fucking trust any of them, but he’d listen to his wife. After all, it was the Queen who held the most power in the game of chess. 

“My terms? Very fucking simple. You do whatever the hell I say now, and you never-- never-- raise a weapon against me or my family again. And you will swear it by magic.” 

He raised his hands and John’s hands were jerked up in front of them, pressed together as if Hades had handcuffed him. He might as well have; there was no point in struggling against them. 

“Tie them up-- Belle, call Howl.” 

PHILLIP: Elinor Dunbroch was in town and for some reason, that struck Phillip as odd.

For the most part, the Order was quite clear about communicating who would be coming into Swynlake and for how long and if Phil and John and Tom even needed to concern themselves with the matter. They’d gotten a long report when Henry joined the team and when the Ainsworths had waltzed through town a few months ago, just on a quiet stop as they made their way down to the coast for a sea monster, there’d been an email just alerting them of the possible interactions.

But there had been no word on Elinor Dunbroch, which was odd considering the whole reason that John and Tom and Phil were in Swynlake was because of her daughter.

After a brief text to their group chat, it became clear to Phillip that no one else knew this information either. 

“This is weird, right?” asked Phillip that night as they crowded around the dining table. John had a deep crease in his brow, which meant he was concerned, which made Phil feel a little validated for being as concerned as he was. “I’m not making this up, this is weird? God — do you think this is their way of telling us we gotta get our shit together? We’ve been sitting on our asses for… a while.”

Phillip felt guilty admitting that, because he’d grown very comfortable with his life as a grad student — throwing parties, living with his best mates, stirring up drama on Twitter. Some days, the mission was the furthest thing from his mind.

“I guess we should… get on that actually.”

JOHN: John was indeed concerned, which not only was evidenced by the crease on his brow but by the fact that he hadn’t attempted to make his two mates eat something healthy yet again. No, he went right  to the cheesy sauced ready made macaroni that Phillip insisted on keeping in the cupboard and dumped it into a pot before shoving bowls in front of his mates. No time to cook when they had a situation on their hands.

He pushed around the macaroni left on his plate as Phillip continued just talking. Constant talking. And really nothing of substance, just things that they already knew. Elinor was here. Elinor, the woman who was his ‘almost mommy’ as Elizabeth so eloquently put it, was in town. And she was either here to send a message or here to get something done herself. Either way, it looked poorly on them that a woman was on their tails. 

At Phillip telling him they were sitting on their asses, John gripped his fork a bit tighter. “We’ve not been sitting on our asses.” He snarked out and sighed sitting back in his chair, letting the fork clatter to his plate. “There’s a certain amount of reconnaissance necessary to accurately carry out this mission. I’ve been communicating with the higher ups regularly and not once have they threatened to intervene.” He grumbled to himself, crossing his arms, “Unless they’ve been trying to sweep this mission out from under us or they’ve been making us a diversion this whole bloody time and sending us out so they can take the credit, this just doesn’t fit. Why Elinor of all people? Why not one of the other Princes. To send Elinor would be a direct message of disappointment and would send an underhanded message of emasculation which I doubt is their tone with us..”

God if his father knew that Elinor of all people was sent for them? He’d never come back from that.

THOMAS:  Aunt Elinor was in town. Yes, his aunt. And yes, it was very odd. She may only be an aunt by marriage, but she was as much a part of Tom’s family as anyone blood related to him. Even though Uncle Fergus and Tom’s mother, his sister Marigold, weren’t that close, he remembered perfectly Aunt Elinor coming to visit after his father had died. She stayed a long time, helping look after things while his mother rested. He had many fond memories sitting in the kitchen with her, or going out riding. (She was an excellent horsewoman.)

But, that just made this all the stranger, because Tom knew Aunt Elinor as the perfect Order woman. The pinnacle to which many strove. Although her husband was more or less considered a laughingstock, she was almost untouchable. Even her own daughter’s failings, which in the Order would be a reflection of poor mothering, had only been able to marginally tarnish her reputation. 

So, no. It didn’t make sense why she would be here and not seek them out. The Order did not send their women, their mothers, their aunts, into dangerous situations. 

Tom wondered if this was not—the Order’s plan. 

He shook his head at John’s words. He’d been more or less content to let Phil and John go back and forth. In truth, he didn’t want to say much, especially as his theory started solidifying because he knew what it meant: Aunt Elinor was now the enemy. He knew he had to speak up. That it was his duty to put forward any ideas he might have, no matter how sour they sat in his gut. 

“I don’t think it’s the Order. I think it’s Au—Elinor,” he said now, reluctantly. If only to soothe John’s pride. “I think she’s here for Merida.” 

PHILLIP: Oh. Oh. 

That changed everything. If Elinor was here for Merida, that meant that Elinor was now the enemy. That meant that she was probably telling Merida that they were here and thus, Merida and Lou Bonfamile and Belle and Hades Acheron would now know who the hell they were. Christ — and here the three of them were working on the play with Lou. 

He clenched his jaw, rapping his knuckles onto the table.

“We’re gonna need to act sooner than later,” he said. He didn’t want to say that, but it was becoming obvious that they could not draw this situation out any longer. “The more we dawdle, the longer they’ll have to prepare. We’ve lost the element of surprise.”

He paused, his fingers curling into a fist.

“Fuck.” 

JOHN: If there was one thing John disliked, it was people forcing his hand. This threw a complication into their plans of waiting things out for the opportune moment when their targets were most vulnerable. They didn’t have nearly enough information, which is probably why the Order hadn’t been forcing them to act yet. 

But Elinor had fucked it, hadn’t she. 

He gripped the fork in his hand again, this time, his knuckles growing white as he spoke through what he was thinking despite his frustration with the utter stupidity that was occuring, “We have to strike soon. But I refuse to do so recklessly. We’ll need one last bit of gathering information, pertinent information to the plan we devise. We have to specialize and focus our efforts on one area now that Elinor is possibly alerting Merida of at least the Order’s presence, if nothing else.”

They couldn’t let her blow their cover before they could act. They’d have to do so swiftly. 

THOMAS:  They didn’t argue with him, which meant that his theory made the most sense. Was the most plausible. And was also the worst possible outcome. Not only because Elinor had, most likely, blown their cover, but it meant she would be caught in the crossfire. Tom was already having to hunt his cousin. He didn’t want to add his aunt into the mix. Even if she wasn’t blood. He had known her since he was a small child. 

Still, he knew his duty. 

“The house,” he said, reluctantly. “It’s out of the way, without neighbors. We can take them through the forest to the castle, if necessary and…take care of everything there.”

Away from the children, he thought to himself. His stomach turned over and he found he was merely pushing his food around his plate. Not eating it. He needed to shake off this reluctance. He had a job to do. Swynlake was never supposed to be permanent. Even though he enjoyed his life here. He thought of the friends he had made—Kristoff and Elliot…Arista. 

“If we take just one, the rest will come.” If there was one thing they learned, it was that the unit was tight and loyal. It made it easy, like killing a herd of elephants or, he supposed, more accurately, a pack of wolves. 

PHILLIP: Phillip nodded along. 

“We should figure out the best time to strike,” he said. “Do some recon — we have that amulet from ol’ Phoebus, yeah? Cloak us as we stake out.” He tried to focus on the factual details here: the old cottage on the edge of town, the hour of day they should strike, the weapons they should bring, the path they should take.

He tried not to think about families and children and Merida and Elinor and all these complicated webs that they’d found themselves tangled into.

It wasn’t their choice. It never had been. Since they were born, Phillip, John, and Tom were tools — tools to be molded and hammered into just the right shape so that they could be wielded effectively. They did what they were told, just as legions of Order men had done before them. 

It was supposed to be an honor.

It was an honor.

Phillip swallowed, then looked at John. 

JOHN: John couldn’t fuck this up. He took point on this mission. He’d been updating the Order the whole way through. If this got cocked up, it was on him. The fucking field day Francis would have if his only son had ruined a months long recon, despite it actually being of no fault of his own.

“Yes, we can’t let this push cloud our mission and make us panic. We’ll just strategize to get around it. That amulet will most certainly help.” He looked to Phillip and then to Tom. “I’ll pull out some aerial photos and some maps we drew from our notes. We’ll plot a course the long way around, plan for a day and into night where we can have zero distractions, phones silent, no rehearsals, no office hours.” 

He sighed out pushing himself away from his chair, he needed to stand before the pressure mounting on his shoulders shoved his face into his bowl of pasta. The family would get in the way. But the Order adapted. They planned but the true mark of a Prince was to thrive under fire and under pressure. He aimed to show it. 

Rather than show that he was anxious about the whole thing and was ready to pace the length of the dining room to blow off steam, he played it off as if he were going right to work on this.

PHILLIP: Phillip did not want to be in London. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in London, but Phillip had never really liked the city. Oh, sure, he could wax poetic about it, but truth be told, he always felt claustrophobic in London, like it was breathing down his neck. It didn’t help that most of the time he found himself in London, it was for Order business, and he was dressed all fancy in a stuffy ballroom wearing a painted smile. 

And yet, here they were in London. They, meaning Phillip, John, and Tom, who had immediately vacated Swynlake after the encounter at the Acheron house. They’d been in touch with their superiors directly and now they were waiting in the living room of the suite that Phillip’s family kept on reserve in one of the fancy hotels in the area.

Phillip’s father was behind the closed door that led to the study. So was John’s. They kept a third chair in there still, empty, out of respect for Tom’s dead father.

This was the sort of fancy place that many Order families kept for business purposes — quiet and soundproof and designed for business over pleasure. That did not mean it lacked luxuries. The carpet was thick, the view panoramic, the furniture mahogany and expensive. The whiskey in the icebox was the finest money could buy and the paintings on the walls were rare. There was a distinctly masculine touch to it all, from the broad and imposing shelves to the animal heads mounted on the wall.

Women did not usually find their way into these rooms. 

It was a fact Phillip accepted long ago. 

He bounced his leg anxiously, glancing between John and Tom, wondering if he should help himself to a drink or if it would be better to be sober for this, when the door opened. There stood Phillip’s father, Hubert, a man who was not particularly tall but carried himself like he was, with his broad shoulders and deep brow.

“Inside,” said Hubert.

Phillip peaked into the study, noticing they’d set out three more chairs, in almost a mirror-like position from where the older men sat across the long table. He took a seat opposite the one he knew to be his father’s, towards the edge.

The door closed. Hubert sat down.

“This is unacceptable,” he said, without hesitation. “Explain yourselves.”

Phillip opened his mouth, but meeting his fathers eyes, felt the words dissipate on his tongue. It felt like he’d bitten into an Ibuprofen after sucking away at the candy-coated layer for too long. He immediately darted his eyes towards John and Tom. 

THOMAS:  Now that the adrenaline had drained from him, Tom could feel his calf throbbing. When they had arrived at the hotel, Tom had gone into the bathroom and done his best to clean himself up. His hands were trembling as he sopped up the blood. The last time his hands had been covered in blood he’d just killed a man. This time, he hadn’t done that, but it felt almost as badly. Every time he shut his eyes he pictured that little girl. 

Once he had gotten most of the wound cleaned as best he could with soap and water, he rinsed his hands and had grabbed the porcelain countertop, cool beneath his fingers. He splashed water on his face, took a deep breath, and walked back out to meet his mates and their punishment. 

His leg was beginning to bleed again and he missed his mum and sisters. They’d be able to patch him up properly. Sew the gash shut, dose it in iodine, and wrap it in clean cloth. They had none of that here. This was not a place to dress wounds and the men only knew the basics of such things anyway. Still, he wished his mother was here and felt like a child for wishing it. 

Tom felt sick to his stomach as he sank into the middle chair, facing the ghost of his father on the other side. He glanced at Phil and John, who both looked as tired and shaken as he felt. John had a stubborn jut to his jaw, though, and a fire in his eyes that had leaked from Phil’s and Tom’s own. 

When Uncle Hubert spoke, Tom dragged his gaze towards the older man. He looked first at Phil, deferring to the son. Then, he glanced at Uncle Francis, finally settling again on John, who looked like he was about to start spitting. 

Tom didn’t want to defend himself. Something sat wrong and uncomfortable in his gut, as if he had swallowed a stone. He blinked and saw Opal lying on the ground again. He wanted to tell them to fuck their mission, a child had been hurt. 

“It was—we were ambushed. The bloody hellhound came after us. All we were doing was a bit of retcon. We had our amulets and it shouldn’t have been possible—this whole mission has been impossible from the start, they have families!” His voice raised despite himself, though he shrank back into his seat the next second. 

JOHN: John didn’t want to be here. He had other obligations. He had end of summer term papers to grade. He had files to reorganize and update with all the new information they’d learned. Hell, he’d spent the whole trip up here writing an e-mail of an apology out to Jane for his departure and lack of professionalism and told her he’d grade all the e-mail submissions within the week or at least have notes on them.

Most of all. He didn’t want to be here. Not under the icy stare of Francis Smith. 

John looked disheveled. Which was very unusual. It was also unusual that he slumped in front of his father or showed any indication of petulence or indignance. His arms crossed over himself, his jaw set as he stared down the two older men. 

“A necessary sacrifice, Thomas.” Francis replied, the look of disappointment clear on his face. He sighed, pacing back and forth (to the observant bystander, they’d realize it was the same pace John had when he was stressed or peeved). “Have you boys learned nothing? Even the most evil, vile creature can have a family. Having a family doesn’t mean that you’re worthy of living.” 

John smirked at that, a wicked sort of smirk, it curled up into his face as his anger was just ice. It was dry ice so cold that if you touched it with a bare hand it would give you third degree burns. “You’ve certainly proved that haven’t you, dad.” He spat out, staring down his father who actually for once in his life looked shocked by what his son had said.

“Watch it, John Francis Fitzwilliam. I’ll not stand for insubordination, you know that.” Francis’ own jaw set, his eyes and expression going dark, knowing he couldn’t very well unleash the full brunt of his anger in front of company, but behind closed doors? A debt might be collected. 

“We did our jobs. We did everything by the bloody book. Elinor threw a bloody spanner in the works for us and we had to act. We were saving the mission she fucked.” His hands went to his chair, sitting back and gripping at the arms so hard his knuckles turned white. “I’m so tired of everyone breathing down our necks.”

“I didn’t realize I raised three daughters.” Francis snorted, “Your mission went sideways and you ended up uprooting the foundation we’d set for years in Swynlake because Elinor forced you to go to the Acheron house? I don’t believe she’s ever been so persuasive.” He made the flippant comment with a shake of his head, “I think you’d all better take responsibility for your part in this mess you’ve created.” Francis’ mouth did a sort of odd twitching thing when he said Elinor’s name, like he hadn’t in quite some time and was remembering something from long ago. 

PHILLIP: “There was a child there,” snapped Phillip. He felt immediately defensive of John, who’d done nothing wrong. He’d been the one to set the plan in motion, faced off against Hades himself. If anything, Phillip was the one who’d really fucked everything up, balking the moment the little girl had entered the picture.

He could not get the moment she shrieked in pain out of his head. It played on a loop, like a broken cassette tape. 

“That thing is hardly a child,” spat Hubert. His lip curled up. Phillip snapped his gaze to his father, brows furrowing. “It’s an unholy demon. Killing it would be a mercy —”

“She is a little girl,” snapped Phillip. “Doesn’t matter that her father’s some creature of the night or whatever the hell — she didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Just by existing, it defies the laws of nature. The Antichrist is born of spirit and flesh, and who is to say that you just let the Harbinger of our Destruction go?” 

At that, Phillip let out a barking laugh. He leaned back into his seat. He felt his heart hammer so wildly in his chest, so erratically, so strongly it felt like it was going to leap out onto the table and he’d have to stab it with a dagger to get it to behave. He felt so angry, angry in a way he’d never felt before, angry at his father for raving on like some bloody lunatic about the Antichrist, about the end of the world. It was incredibly stupid to listen to, incredibly insane that this was how Hubert Knightley thought the world worked, hell how everyone in the fucking Order thought the world worked — 

“What the devil is so funny?”

“Listen to yourself, father — you sound mad.” And the humor dropped from his voice as he leaned forward. “We’re supposed to help the helpless. Shouldn’t we be getting that girl out from that house? She’s just a child!”

“You have no idea what you’re messing with, boy.” Hubert stood up. “All of you — I’ve never seen a more embarrassing failure. Outwitted by a fallen woman. Outfought by a bloody dog of all things. You are not to return to our noble houses until you succeed, do you hear?”

He cut his sharp glare across the room, to Tom, to John, and then finally to Phillip. 

Phillip did not say anything. He did not look away either. 

THOMAS: Having a family doesn’t mean you’re worthy of living. 

Did it not? The Order prized and valued children as much as they prized and valued strength and cunning. Without children, the Order’s work could not continue. Had not John, Phil, and Tom all been told that it was their duty to protect their families, but also have children of their own? Sons that would be raised to carry the torch when they were too old to do so. Or when they died. 

He heard a rushing in his ears, feeling his throat tighten. His breath was slow and steady, but he felt like every inhale was glass in his lungs. 

Phil was laughing next to him and John was so still Tom might’ve thought he was a statue.

His own eyes darted between the two men in front of him, conveniently skipping over the empty chair in the middle of them. 

“I understand Hades. I understand Toulouse. I even understand Merida.” And he might understand Elinor too, if she continued to be a problem. His gaze was on his Uncle Hubert first, then Uncle Francis. “But, I don’t understand Opal.” 

“Opal?” gruffed one of them.

“Yes, Opal. Hades and Belle’s daughter. And their sons? Aidan and Bellamy.” Tom didn’t know when he’d learned their names. Through the grapevine probably. Plenty of people in town knew the Acherons. They were respected. Maybe a little feared. Sometimes even liked. Belle had smiled at him before, when he’d come into Chapter Three to buy a book for Phil for his birthday. 

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand,” said Uncle Francis. “You have your orders. Take out the werewolves and the demon. No matter the cost.”

Tom’s nostrils flared slightly and he opened his mouth to argue back.

“Would you rather hesitate?” Uncle Hubert added. “Those monsters know who you are now. And if Elinor is working with them, they will know your family. Where they live. They could be next. These creatures don’t have morals. They’ll kill you first and not lose a night’s sleep. They’ll kill your sisters, your nieces and nephews.”

Tom hadn’t thought that. His stomach curled in on itself, his hand curled into a fist. His expression darkened, the lines around his lips hardening. But, he didn’t say anything. He knew that his uncles were right. They had put their families in danger by failing this mission. There was no choice.

JOHN: If he was capable of ripping the wooden arms off of this chair right now, he would’ve done so. He clenched his jaw and at one point bit his cheek so hard he tasted blood. 

Francis had more to say to his son though, he’d shoved the knife in and watched his son squirm and bite back but he wasn’t done, “Furthermore, John, you had possibly the most opportune moment to take out quite possibly Satan incarnate and you mucked that right up. You didn’t finish the job. Instead, you left him on the ground, alive.”

“To kill him was to declare war, father.” John explained, staring his father in the face, gritting his teeth.

“They declared long ago, boy. The war has been raging, you could have pulled the trigger on their general. You had him in your grasp with a point blank shot and instead you left him alive. I bet your sister would have finished the job.”

John’s burns on his arms itched as they discussed his encounter with Hades. They were carefully bandaged by Tom and he wore long sleeves to cover them up so he didn’t have to keep explaining how he had ‘lit himself on fire on accident’. “It would jeopardize the entirety of our cover in Swynlake. The whole town would be on high alert. We’d be driven out. It was a strategic move. And don’t fucking compare me to Georgiana that’s of no concern.” His father always liked to drive home a sore spot. 

“Honestly, all I have to say is thank God she’ll be influencing Phillip far more than you--”

“That’s enough!” The blonde pushed himself from his seat. He’d done it so quickly that the pain from his burns made him light headed as he, for the first time in his life, stood up face to face to his father, “Fuck. You.” He turned so he could look between both his father and his Uncle Hubert, “And fuck that fucking marriage--” John couldn’t get the rest out before he found himself on the ground, jaw and the rest of his head pounding.

Francis shook out his hand, flexing his knuckles, “You’ll not disrespect myself or Mr. Knightley, John Francis Fitzwilliam. Apologize. Now.”

John just looked up at his father, eyes unfocused from the floor and said absolutely nothing.

PHILLIP: Phillip leapt up in his seat. There was a split second where he could’ve jumped across the table and decked Francis in the face. But he didn’t. Immediately, he dropped to the floor, kneeling down next to John.

“What the hell was that?” Phillip spat. He couldn’t bring himself to meet his father’s eyes, but the anger was directed to the men leering above them. 

“A reminder,” said Hubert. “And you’d do well to avoid a similar fate, Phillip. Listen to us — they will send armies of demons and wolves after your mothers and your sisters and your nieces and nephews.” 

Phillip tore his gaze from John to his own father, feeling his heart pound. Somewhere along the line — he didn’t know when — his hand had curled into the fabric of John’s shirt. It was both to comfort John and himself, clinging to each other in whatever storm they’d found themselves swept into. Tom was still seated, but Phillip wished they were together, presenting as a united front against their fathers.

But what Hubert said was true. With Elinor in the mix, Hades and Toulouse knew about their families. Their mothers. Their sisters. Their nieces and nephews.

He swallowed.

“Don’t let Rosie’s death be in vain,” said Hubert now, fixing his gaze on Phillip. “Finish this job and we won’t have to worry about their retaliation ever again. We must cut the infection off before it can spread and then we can return to peace. All of us.”

He sounded tired. There were lines under his eyes, dark circles. Phillip wondered if his father liked this life. If he ever tired of the blood and the death and the danger. If this was a plea, a silent plea to just end it all for the lot of them. Phillip wanted it to be over. He wanted to never have to pick up a bloody sword for the rest of his life. This realization hit him like a slap and his grip on John’s shirt tightened. He looked briefly at Tom as he held John’s shoulder tightly. 

He wondered how much they’d resent him if he just slipped away the night before the job and left.

No, he could not do that. He would have to see this through. If not for his father, for Tom and John. He owed them that much. He would be by their sides as long as they needed him. 

“Fine,” he said, after a moment of silence. “Fine, we’ll finish this bloody job.”

THOMAS: When Francis’ fist connected with John’s jaw, Tom felt it in his own chest. He didn’t move, though. There was only the shadow of his own father’s fist in his mind’s eye. His father hadn’t been afraid to throw his weight around when Tom wasn’t cooperating. Thomas II had never punched his son, but he’d smacked him around a fair bit. Growing up, Tom had always seen this as the way father’s treated their sons, but now—watching Francis hitting his grown son, Tom could only see the children in them all. John, Phil, himself. Opal.

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. He was prepared to fight, but his blood was cold. In that moment, he couldn’t tell what he was more afraid of: the two men before him, or the two men he’d left back in Swynlake.

Your family, they said, they’ll kill your family.

And then it was Melody he saw, bleeding and terrified last Christmas. Olivia, hollowed out by the loss of her husband. Eloise, somewhere with Phil’s brother. Their children.

John was bleeding on the ground in front of him, but those were the faces he was thinking of. He felt sick and dizzy. Too heavy to move from the chair. His gaze found Phil’s, both their blue eyes dark and disturbed. At least, Tom thought, he saw the same confusion and reluctance. This was a necessary evil. After it was over, they could rest.

As much as Tom wanted to argue, he only nodded his head—once—keeping his eyes on Phil and John.

JOHN: Normally, Francis didn’t like to show his true colors in public, he’d wait until they got home or drag John around a corner, but John had never spoken back to him like that before. Certainly since he was a child. John inherited his violent tendencies and temper from the man he modeled himself after for years, but he knew deep down, he’d never hit his future son. 

John was about to continue to fight back with his words, even as he tasted blood in his mouth. But Phillip spoke instead and it was evident that Hubert’s words had gotten to him. To be fair, Rosie’s death had taken a toll on all of them so it sobered him just a little from his blinding rage as he sat himself on the floor, staring up at the only two father figures he had like a child.

He would do this. He never gave up on a task, but after this he was done. Things would have to change. He couldn’t keep doing this, not as he looked between his two best mates. The only two brothers he had and saw their devastation, hurt and confusion. He would stick it out for them but he was done with his father and done with this whole thing. All he’d ever wanted to be was good enough and it was the one thing he’d failed at time and time again.