How to be Badass (2nd Draft)

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“Just come here.”

“No, you’re going to hit me.”

It was the longest sentence Fay had heard Kidd say up until this point, and it stopped her cold. She stopped, hauled herself out of her own self-absorbed ass, and actually looked at the kid. She was scrawny in the way of someone who had grown too much too fast, and had probably not eaten enough while doing so. And she looked terrified. She fully believed that Fay intended to hit her.

“I’m not going to hit you,” Fay said. “I’m a bitch, but I only hit people who fucking deserve it. You don’t.”

“I don’t?” she said, and her voice was so small and confused that Fay just sat down. She didn’t know how to deal with this shit.

“I just wanted to tuck the tag in on your shirt, Jesus Christ,” she said. “It’s sticking out.”

Kidd went quiet for a while, and then whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She was crying. Goddamn it. She looked even more terrified when the tears started leaking from her eyes, as if they were betraying her.

Fay considered for a moment, swaying back and forth on her spinny chair, before she said, “Look. Look. I know you went through a lot of shit. But—” Christ, where was Sparrow when you needed her, “—but… look, you said to me that I was going to hit you, right?”

Kidd nodded.

“That’s already… That’s already better than you were doing when you first got here, right? Like, you said no, and then you explained why. You’re couldn’t have done that a month ago. And, um, I’m proud of you.”

The words felt heavy and awkward and insincere, even though they were. They were unpractised on her tongue. Nevertheless, Kidd said, “Thanks,” taking deep breaths to steady herself.

“Why did you think I was going to hit you?” Fay asked after a moment of awkward silence. She wasn’t sure exactly why she asked. She was curious. She wanted to make sure she didn’t do it again. She wanted to understand. There were times when she was starkly presented with the sheltered life she had lead, despite her rebellious forrays into the criminal underbelly. It was a chilling reminder that she had always chosen to go, and had always had the promise of a safe home on the other side. This was one of those moments where she knew—she knew what a privelege that had been, to have a safe home. This place felt like home down to her bones, but Kidd’s fear ran so deeply that she couldn’t feel it. Fay wanted her to feel it.

She was beginning to understand that even though the physical evidence of Kidd’s trauma had healed, that didn’t mean the emotional ones did with it. It was like computer programming. That was the only way she knew how to understand it. The trauma had rewritten her code, and she had to find every little place where that had happened and painstakingly rip it out and replace it.

“It was,” Kidd swallowed thickly, and tried again, “It was the only reason my parents ever called me over.”

Well, fuck me, thought Fay. That was heartbreaking. Fay’s parents had never exactly been the cuddly type, but there were memories of hands on shoulders, lips on foreheads, backpacks placed on her back. Food placed in her hand. Even if it wasn’t the only reason Kidd’s parents had ever called her over, it was the reason often enough that it was her first thought of what a parental figure did when they called you over. That was too much.

“No one here will ever hit you,” Fay said quietly. “And if someone does? Fucking hit them right back. You hear me? I will teach you to fuck them up.”

Kidd nodded in wide-eyed silence.

“Aw, shitfuckdamn,” Kidd said. When playing videogames she was even crasser than she usually was, and her cursing was usually extended compounds rather than using any creativity.

It was Wednesday again. There was a permanent, looping countdown in his mind for the day. His dad would have realized his was gone by now. He usually got his instructions in the morning. This fact hovered on the edge of his mind like a storm warning. They’d reached ground zero. He didn’t know what they would do with him gone but he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone involved.

He distracted himself with videogames. Soon, he promised himself. Allen was probably more creative when playing videogames than he was in any other setting, purely because of his swearing. He described in loving detail where the enemy he and Kidd currently faced could shove an object of increasingly disturbing size and shape.

“There aren’t any cacti in this game,” Kidd told Allen, “but it’s the thought that c—fuckingmothershit. Stop just running in like that!”

“But it’s way more fun that way.”

“But you lose that way!” Kidd protested, furiously button mashing. “Does this usually work for you when you’re playing alone?!”

“I rage quit a lot,” Allen said. “It’s been better since Dustin’s joined me.”

“No offence to Dustin, but how the hell did someone as victimized by demons as you end up being so close with a half demon?” Kidd asked. She stuck out her tongue just a bit as she shot the enemies surrounding Allen as he furiously hacked at them.

“Um,” said Allen, trying not to die, “I just found him one day and he was nice and had nowhere to stay and I was lonely as shit and so was he.”

“I think I’m a bad influence on your language,” Kidd said.

“Thanks.”

In reference to Dustin she said, “I suppose that makes sense, though.”

Allen did a half shrug and almost died again. “How did you end up… here?” he asked.

Kidd’s lips twisted. “I was in the foster system for most of my life,” she said. “I ended up in an abusive home for about ten years. Mimi was my police escort for the court case. She figured out I was a demonslayer and adopted me after they concluded.”

“Oh.” Allen was not quite sure how to respond to that. “I…” Allen hesitated, unsure.

“I suspect that you were in an abusive situation too,” Kidd said. She was looking stubbornly ahead, her face stoic. He wasn’t really sure if anything his father had done counted as abuse. Well—it was possible that selling the body of your son to demons did. Even if it was to save his mother. Everything in him that had been trained by years of living with it screamed against him as he thought, That doesn’t make it right.

Trying again, Allen said, “Can I show you something?”

“Do we have to pause the game?”

“Yes.”

Kidd did. Allen worried at his lip, heart pounding, and then started to take off his shirt. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kidd said. “I like you and all, but you’re… much younger than me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Allen snapped, already on edge, and turned around.

“Oh,” Kidd said, so softly that it almost startled Allen more than if she’d yelled.

“Do these mean anything to you?” Allen asked.

“They’re demonslaying tattoos,” Kidd said. “It’s… Kind of creepy. They’re supposed to move but these… don’t. Why?”

“These were put on me the first day demons possessed me,” Allen said, putting his shirt back on and tugging it down self-consciously. “I don’t know how they work, but I’m an open door now. I can’t stop demons from possessing me.”

“You don’t have to give permission?” Kidd asked, tugging at her lip, frowning deeply. “That’s really disturbing. I’m sorry. No wonder you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. No wonder you were so pissed at Fay. Wow.”

Guilt roiled in Allen’s gut. He wasn’t sure if he would have if he could. He couldn’t separate anymore what he had convinced himself so he could survive and what he actually believed. It had been too long.

“I think I know how they work,” Kidd said, “but I’m not sure. Is it okay if I tell the others about this? I’ll do it anyways but I’d feel better if you were okay with it too.”

Allen nodded. “I figured as much.”

So Allen folded his shaking hands in his lap as Kidd texted Mimi. After a few minutes she said, “Do you want to keep playing?”

Allen didn’t really, but he did want a distraction from his galloping heart. So they played until Kidd’s phone dinged softly at her and she checked it. “Mimi is going to call another house meeting tonight to discuss it.”

Allen wrung his hands on the controller. “Can I sit it out?” he asked, remembering the last house meeting.

“No,” Kidd said. “It’s about you and your future. You need to be a part of that.”

What she said made sense but Allen was still fearful. He took a deep breath. He’d left. Now he’d shown them the tattoos. It was a double edged sword; he felt both stronger and more like a traitor with every step forward. “Okay.”

“If it’s worth anything, I think you’re being really brave,” Kidd said. It was worth something. “Sparrow would be better at putting it into words but I know it’s hard to leave a situation like the one you’re in. There’s a ton of guilt and fear involved. I didn’t talk for like a month when I got here. That’s why they just call me Kidd now; I never told them my name.”

“Wouldn’t Mimi have known from adopting you?” Allen asked, rubbing his arms self-consciously.

“Technically yeah, but she told me that she wanted me to tell her what to call me,” Kidd said. “Something about personally autonomy I think. Anyways, by the time I got around to it everyone was so used to calling me that and I was so used to being called it that it stuck.”

“What is your real name?”

Kidd smiled a bit. “Fei Hong,” she said. “But if you call me that, I’ll beat your ass.”

“You don’t like it?” Allen thought it was pretty sounding.

“No.” Her face didn’t invite further inquiry, so Allen didn’t extend it. Rubbing a hand over her buzzed hair, she said, “But hey, now Mimi doesn’t need to check if you’re a demonslayer!”

“I only have the tattoos though,” Allen said, though he was hoping. It sang in his chest, lulling the anxiety. It promised escape, not just from his father but from his own lack of control. Staying here was an act of control. Telling Kidd had been an act of control. That made him feel better. It proved the voice in his mind that told him he was too weak for control wrong. This way he could save mom and the people he’d been killing.

“You can only get the tattoos if you’re a demonslayer to begin with,” Kidd said. “It has something to do with the composition of the ink. There’s half-demon blood in it, so human bodies reject it.”

A demonslayer. Allen was a demonslayer. That meant he could learn to fight them, didn’t it?

“Wow,” he said. “That just seems… so backwards.”

He felt a little bit ashamed as he said it. But it was true—while it felt good to fight back against the demons, it also felt wrong, like a dog biting the hand that trained him.

“It’s right,” Kidd said. “Demons are bad. You fight them.”

It did seem very straight-forward when put that way. But it didn’t seem quite right to him—Dustin was far too good for that. Speaking of which—“Half demon blood?”

“Yeah, just a little bit,” Kidd said. “Otherwise the tattoos don’t work. I don’t know the details, that’s something Char would know.”

Allen’s mind involuntarily supplied him with an image of Dustin being killed so his blood could be used in tattoos. He scowled and shoved it away. He knew most half-demons weren’t like Dustin, but the sentiment remained the same for him.

“Come on, let’s keep playing,” Kidd said. “I want to get through this mission before Mimi gets home.”

When Mimi had been nineteen years old, her family, guild, and life was torn apart by half-demons for the second time.

This time was different. This time it had been expected. At the age of seventeen she was the last survivor of her area guild, and the only known remaining member of her demonslaying line. The reinforcements had taken her back to the Master Guild in New York City.

“You became a level five at sixteen?” Gregory, the leader of the Master Guild of New York City had looked at her across his desk, eyebrows raised and chin lowered.

Mimi had nodded. She didn’t see why it mattered. It hadn’t saved anyone.

“Do you believe that this is the end of the demons plan?”

That question had seemed completely unrelated to Mimi, but since it was such an esteemed person asking her, she tried to think about it before answering. “Sir, I don’t see why not. They’ve wiped out a significant portion of our policing force and coverage.”

Gregory had hummed. “You’re right, but why stop there? Why not take out the Master Guilds, too? Now that half-demons can traverse so easily, why not?”

“Take out—take out the Master Guilds, sir?” Mimi had stuttered, shocked. Mimi didn’t stutter, but what he said hadn’t seemed like a real possibility. The Master Guilds were unshakeable.

This is what she thought about when she saw Allen’s tattoos. It simply didn’t seem real. She reached out to trace the lines lightly, and then shuddered and pulled away. The stillness of them was distinctly creepy. Eerie. Like a bad dream.

“Level three tattoos,” she said dully. Mimi’s eyes categorized the three sections of the tattoos automatically, seeing where they bound to each other in ink. “This is fucking insane.”

Allen shifted uncomfortably under her hand, and Mimi let him go. She was past shock, past denial, and right into fury. That demons would take something so sacred to her people and twist it so that it helped them instead of the people they preyed on—

Her nostrils flared as she tried to contain herself. She failed, and her word shook with rage as she said, “I don’t know how they did this. But I will destroy them.”

The others, gathered uncomfortably around her, shook their heads slightly in shock. They might be her family, and they might be demonslayers, but they hadn’t grown up that way. Mimi was probably the only one in the room that understood how obscene this was. It was disgusting.

Allen had turned around and he looked Mimi with more backbone than he’d seen from him yet when he said, “I would like to know what the fuck they did to me.”

That was fair. If the tattoo was descecration, then his body was the temple. “Kidd got it right.” Gesturing at her, Mimi said, “Why don’t you explain it?”

Kidd’s eyes burned into Allen as she said, “Demonslaying tattoos have positions in their regular movements where they allow possession without permission from the demonslayer. It looks like they found a way to put yours on still, and in a position that allows that.”

Mimi nodded. That was the gist of it.

She put her hands on Allen’s shoulders. Like with Kidd, and Char, and Sparrow, she discovered she had quite a knack for taking young broken things under her wing. “Do you want to train? I have to admit, I’m not sure how well your tattoos are going to work as they are. They’re meant to move.”

Allen scowled. Mimi agreed. She was still furious, and it was clear he was, too. He had far more experience to use as tinder and had far more time to stoke the flames. She hated to disappoint him, but she couldn’t imagine that such a drastic change to the tattoos would have no affect. Maybe she could find something in the library in the demonslaying portion of the house that could help her figure it out. She looked to Char. “Is there any way to… fix them?”

Char’s mouth twisted into something despairing that told Mimi everything she needed to know. “Demonslaying tattoos are not a reversable ritual,” she said. “The bond they create with the power inside of the slayer they’re enscribed upon is permanent.”

Well, there went that possibility. That left only how they could make the ones he had work.

“I’ll do some research on it. Char, will you help me?” Mimi asked. Char nodded her affirmation. Looking back at Allen she said, “We will beat them. And you will be able to help.”

Allen’s eyebrows were low over his eyes and his lips tightened into a line. He nodded, but didn’t say anything. She felt frustration at him as well as the demons that made him this way.

“I need to know more about how this happened,” Mimi said. “Even with tattoos like that, the amount of possession you’ve had to deal with would break most people’s minds or bodies far before now.”

Allen shrugged. “You think they kept me in the loop on how they made me?” he said.

“No,” Mimi snapped. “But I expect you to tell me what you know so that I can do my damned best to kick their asses.” So maybe Mimi wasn’t being very polite but she was too pissed off to care at this point.

Allen’s eyebrows lowered further and he said, “Dad took me to a doctor’s office, and then they sedated me, gave me the tattoos, and shoved me in a… a white room. I think I was in there for a day or two. I was possessed a lot during that time period. I think they were… breaking me in or something.”

Well, that and the fact that he was a demonslayer explained why he hadn’t gone mad. The amount of planning that had gone into the experiment that had turned out Allen was staggering. Mimi couldn’t piece together how they had managed it.

“Mimi,” Sparrow said sharply. “That’s enough.”

Mimi supposed this was hard for him to talk about. She forced herself to concede to this point. She was like that with the attacks on the guilds as well. “Can you tell us where the office is?” Mimi asked. Allen nodded. “We should check it out. Maybe they’re still using it as a base for operations.

“In the meantime,” Mimi clapped her hands together, “We’re going to get you an amulet. They were made to ward against possession during those fractions of seconds demonslayers were vulnerable. They have limited power, since needed so rarely, and I’m not sure how well they will hold up to your situation, but it’s better than nothing.”

Queri went to go get an amulet. Mimi fought to keep herself from interrogating the kid. He was looking edgy, and he’d done good so far, even if he’d been snotty about it.

“Is anyone feeling up for making dinner?” Char asked softly. Some people said no out loud, others shook their head, but the general consensus was that no one wanted to cook dinner. “Let’s go out, then. I think we all deserve it. Especially Allen.”

Mimi knew from experience that food was how Char comforted people, so she let her. She shrugged. “Why not?”

They went to get pizza, which Allen was very appreciative of. Pizza was his favourite comfort food, and the place they went had broccoli. It felt like a reward for opening up about what had happened to him. He traced his fingers over the amulet as he ordered. The shape of it reminded him of his tattoos. Graceful, hinting at a million different shapes and yet becoming none of them. Small enough to be comfortable shoved under a shirt.

Another bonus of ordering broccoli pizza: You don’t have to share with anyone else.

As he waited for the pizza his thoughts fell onto a less pleasant train of thought. As soon as the demons realized they weren’t going to be getting Allen back, they’d pull the plug on his mom. They had to find her before that happened. He thought—he hoped he was a valuable enough asset that they wouldn’t do it after he had just missed today. He kicked at the ground. Dustin nudged him casually. “They’re betting on how many pieces everyone can eat.”

Char bet Allen could eat six. Sparrow bet Dustin could eat three. After some cajoling, Allen bet that Fay would eat eight. She smirked at him, and it was a vicious thing. Allen, both exhausted and bolstered by the day’s events, returned her gaze evenly for a few seconds before flicking his eyes away.

“What are you going to bet? You don’t have money,” Queri said. “Goods or services my boy.”

Allen tried vainly to think of something. “Ah… how about a sax performance?”

Queri had smiled broadly at that. “Fay,” she said, “I want you to do your damnedest to not let the kid win.”

“My pleasure,” Fay had said. Allen sighed and turned away.

The pizza was fantastic. Allen had been eating his way through his third piece when the talk in the shop peetered out as people turned to look at a newcomer.

Allen had known, theoretically, that there were less human looking half-demons, but it was still a shock to observe it. His nerves lit up like fireworks, adrenaline fizzing down them. She looked like she was made of stone. Where her eyes should have been were only slight indents, and when her tongue flicked out it was long and forked.

“God,” Sparrow whispered. She shoved Dustin underneath the table casually. “What a cliche motherfucker.”

How did they find us? was all Allen could think as Queri got up and called for the civillians to evacuate the shop. As if a spell over them had been broken, one started running towards the kitchen and presumable a back entrance, and everyone hastened after the first in an avalanche of steps. The half-demon let them go. They weren’t his target—Allen was. She turned her head towards them, as the only remaining patrons.

“Give us back the child,” the demon said, mangling the words around her predatory teeth and too-long tongue. It was strangely pink. The contrast against her dark skin was slightly shocking.

Mimi grinned. It was unnerving. “What a troll,” she muttered, pulling a whip out from behind her jacket and flicking it to unravel it. “Say, do you happen to know who created this?” Mimi waved her hand vaguely at Allen, and his breath caught in his throat.

The demon grinned. Or, rather, grimaced, but it was probably supposed to be a grin. “I know who I answer to. And it’s not you.”

“God, demons just don’t know to be afraid of us anymore,” Mimi complained. “It’s irritating.”

Something whipped past Mimi’s face, her hair swishing as whatever it was passed, and when it buried itself in the demon’s left shoulder, where it stuck, warbling only a half inch inch in, Allen realized it was a knife.

Sparrow had her head tilted, arm outstretched. The demon didn’t seem to be in pain, or in any way otherwise affected. She said, “Stone based? Mountain, maybe.”

And that was, as far as Allen was concerned, when things really went to hell. The ground exploded from under them, the stone base of the building cracking and rumbling upwards. Thrown by the floor under him, Allen fell onto Dustin, who had been still under the table.

Avalanche, Allen thought. Immediately, Allen grabbed Dustin by the wrist and, crawling, started dragging him out of the building. It was chaotic, on the ground. Unable to see what was going on above him, the world became a mess of dust, movement, and varying noises of pain coming from the fight.

Making it to the door under the cover of said chaos, Allen reached up and pushed it open, tumbling both him and Dustin into the streets. As he did so, a boom resounded from the building, sending both him and Dustin flying once again as the already discombobulated ground was thrown upwards.

Landing awkwardly on his shoulder, he scrambled back to his feet as debris rained down around him. He started as a particularly large piece hurtled down beside him, narrowly missing his right foot. The world dissolved into muffled screams and dust, as thick in the air as mist as the buildings around them crumbled. The demon had wrecked the foundation of every building on the street. He stumbled forwards, looking for Dustin amidst the piles of bricks, concrete, and earth.

Abruptly, Allen’s foot was quite stuck, causing him to fall forwards, arms flailing and mind bright with the pain in his shoulder and now his foot as whatever debris that had caught his foot didn’t let go, causing it to twist unpleasantly. He landed on something soft... and... and wet. He knew this feeling.

Allen stopped moving.

Allen stopped breathing.

He was on a dead body.

Looking down in panic, Allen tried to scramble back, his vision blurring, crying out as his foot still didn’t come free. This was his fault, all over again. He had caused all this death, all this destruction, because he had left. He should never have left...

His insides felt as if they were made of acid, each breath labored and feeling as if it wasn’t nearly enough, never enough. The person he was stuck on top of would never breathe again. A sob choked it’s way up his throat.

“Allen!” someone yelled distantly, piercing through the mental fog that had descended upon him. “Allen! Oh my god.”

The voice was closer now, and unmistakably Dustin. He proceeded to swear in that gentle voice of his, kneeling down beside Allen. “Hey, it’s okay. Stop struggling. I’m going to get your foot free.”

Allen realized with more than a little shame that their were tears on his face. He stopped moving, his breath still shallow and quick as whatever his foot was wedged under was lifted.

Instantly, Allen rolled off the body and then there were hands on him, helping him to his feet and holding him tightly. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dustin said, over and over, holding him securely in his arms. “Let’s get out of here.”

Allen’s thoughts jumped at that. No! He needed to... to what? He needed to stop what was happening. He needed to go back. He needed to fight. What could he possibly fight with? He might be able to beat other humans, but this half-demon was supernatural and Allen was helpless.

There was another explosion, and Allen started, pulling out of Dustin’s hold. Dustin, seeing Allen’s blank, panicked expression, took his hand and led him to the edge of the disaster, taking some sort of cover under a mostly still erect wall. Allen immediately fell into a crouch, hiding his face in his knees as he finally let go and allowed all that was within him to come out. Dustin sat nearby, occasionally rubbing his back lightly. Allen wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse for him being there.

Allen didn’t move from his position, spine bowed over his legs and breathing erratically dragging itself from his lungs. He rocked slightly, his thoughts catching and tumbling, eyes squeezed shut tightly. This couldn’t be happening. All this destruction couldn’t have been his fault. He let out a pained whine, tears cooling on his cheeks. Somewhere between all the pain at the pain that he caused was the shame he felt about not doing anything about it, at the fact that he didn’t know what he could do about it. He was small, and he was afraid, and he wasn’t sure what in the world he could do about it.

Mimi stalked across the rubble, angrily climbing over a concrete chunk from something. What a mess. She hated it when there was this much collateral damage. It pissed her off. It pissed her off more than bad cheesecake. Thinking about that was making her even more pissed off, and she scowled heavily as she stepped over another piece of rubble. She heard a sound and whipped around, ready to shred whatever had made it with her whip, before noticing it was Allen. Dustin sat beside him, looking concerned and a little lost.

“There you are, you little shit,” Mimi said, walking towards him, and then narrowing her eyes as she took in his state. He wasn’t looking good.

Allen didn’t move. His arms and clothing were streaked with blood, which was old enough to be drying on the surface into an unpleasant, dull colour. The colour of dried blood also pissed Mimi off. It was so ugly. All and all she was just really pissed off after this development. She’d just wanted some damn pizza. She had already been angry enough, hadn’t she? This hadn’t been necessary.

Well, at least they knew that the demons had their scent now. How had they found them? It hardly mattered now. They knew Allen was in the area. They knew there were demonslayers in the area. The thought sent a delicious shiver up her spine. Let them know there was something to oppose them here. It wouldn’t be as easy as they thought.

“Let’s go home,” she said, stashing her whip and glaring at the horizon as if daring it to present her with another threat.

Allen’s posture tightened, curling impossibly further in on himself, as if he thought he would be saved the humility of living if he could present as little of himself to the world as possible.

“Dude,” Sparrow yelled. “Are you being insensitive again?”

“No,” Mimi yelled defiantly, and then a couple seconds later, “Maybe.”

“She is,” Dustin piped up helpfully. Mimi eyed him distrustfully. Maybe he had tipped them off. Though if he had, she didn’t know why he hadn’t helped him out in battle. Another half-demon would really have shifted the tides.

“I will come help,” Sparrow said, and proceeded to hop over, on pieces of larger debris, rather than actually walking on the ground. The others trickled after her, with much less grace.

Sparrow approached Allen and crouched beside him. “Hey,” she said, “It’s okay to be scared and to not know what to do. And this isn’t your fault.”

For whatever reason, this released a burst of emotion within him and a small sob curled out of him, and he cried harder.

“That didn’t help,” Mimi said grumpily, and Sparrow glared at her.

“Just because he’s crying harder doesn’t mean it’s worse,” Sparrow sniped.

“You never make any sense.”

“I know,” Sparrow said, and then turned back to Allen, touching his shoulder gently. He hunched them further, but he had pretty much reached max-curl potential and couldn’t really avoid the touch. “We’re going to go home and have some tea, okay? Sometimes things have to get worse before you can fix them. Like surgery. You have to cut some stuff on the outside to fix the stuff on the inside.”

“Man, you and your rotten analogies,” Fay huffed, following after everyone else. She stalked over the ground like a mother bear; slow, bouldering, and definitely dangerous.

“I should go back,” Allen said into his knees, not looking up, “before this happens again.”

“Tea,” Sparrow said firmly, and when Allen still didn’t move, Sparrow sighed and said, “Queri? Can you help? You’re better with this whole greater good thing than I am.”

Queri took on the mantle graciously and said, “This happened because you came with us, right? And because of that you blame yourself, just as we could easily blame ourselves. But we’re demonslayers, and we’re doing our job, and you as a human are doing your job to try to protect others and protect yourself. So you stayed with us. We can help, but you had to leave for that to happen. If you hadn’t left, you would have carried on killing all those people for ages, but as it is, this might be the last bad thing that ever happens. Isn’t that better?”

Allen’s breathing was still harsh, but he nodded unsteadily and Mimi sighed with relief a little bit. At least they wouldn’t be carrying him out this time. He had to learn that in this line of business there were casualties, and you had to trust that your involvement made it better, and that just because you were witnessing it didn’t mean you were responsible. You had to understand that there wasn’t always a right answer. Just a better one.

Nodding again, Allen lifted his head up and looked away from everyone as he wiped the different liquids from his face with the collar of his shirt. Gross. Tears and snot. His eyes were swollen to hell, and his face was red as he stood up. He leaned discreetly on the wall, breathing deeply. Mimi shifted impatiently. They had to get out of there before responders showed up to the scene.

“That’s it,” Sparrow said gently. “Do you like chai tea? Dustin, you can have some too.”

Dustin nodded mutely, eyes still fixated on Allen in concern. He really did seem concerned. Mimi frowned and looked away. Something about his expression looked far too personal for her.

“I’ve-” Allen started, and then broke off to clear his throat, “I don’t remember if I’ve ever had it.”

“It’s comforting,” Sparrow promised. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Fay sat back in her office, chewing her lip in aggravation. She’d been searching all the hospital records in an ever-expanding radius around Allen’s address and she couldn’t fine anything. She didn’t care about finding the brat’s mom, but she prided herself on being good at what she did. She sat in the dark of the room, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, the light of three monitors reflecting off her pale skin.

Everyone else had crashed on the couches. It was something that often happened after a tough battle; they wanted to be close to one another. She’d left Char on top of Mimi, Queri curled into them, Sparrow with her arms around Kidd and Kidd with her face buried in Sparrow’s collarbone. Kidd had really gotten too big for that, being several inches taller than Sparrow now, but no one seemed to mind.

Fay had more of a herding instinct than a closeness instinct. She felt like a wolf in border collie clothing. Dangerous, but only if you threatened her family—and something just had.

So now she had her own motivations for helping out with the Allen Problem.

Leaning forwards again, she opened a different set of files, a possibility forming in her mind. She wouldn’t tell anyone unless her suspicions were correct. She had found a way forward.