Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hello,” Slam pressed his phone to his ear.

“Matua?” Her tear-laced voice ripped into Slam’s heart, turning his blood to ice and adrenaline pumping. She hiccuped, crying, crying so hard, and the small, trembling voice whispered, “Daddy?” a second time.

Slam sat up with a start, fisting the edge of the sofa, and he gripped his phone a little tighter. “Talia?”

“Um…” she said, and then some shuffling with the phone made it sound as if she tossed him into a fish bowl and stirred.

“Talia,” Slam demanded, and both Lexi and Ace stared at him, uncurling from the sofa to his left as they readied themselves as if for battle.

“Hello? This is officer Tom Miller with the Acmetropolis PD. Is this Slam Tasmanian?”

“Speaking.” He choked on the words, and stood, waving off Ace’s concerned look. He left the living area and stepped into the hall, away from prying ears, though he doubted anything could really keep Lexi from overhearing his conversation.

The man hesitated on the line, when another voice confirmed what he said.

“Right; well, I have a Talia Tasmanian here at the station. We picked her up about an hour ago at a little kegger some kids from the local high school were throwing and she has informed us that you are her father. So, out of courtesy for what you and the other Loonatics have done for the city, I thought I would call you first before we do something rash like book her when really, all I need is a statement from her, but I do legally need her parent or guardian present before that can happen. I can’t seem to reach her mother at this time, and I’m hoping you could spare a moment to come down and pick her up.”

Slam’s mouth went dry and he wiped a hand down his face, glancing first to the left then the right, head spinning. Talia? “Is she all right?”

Someone, he assumed Talia was translating for Officer Miller, she said something on the other end before the officer spoke. “Yes, she’s safe. But we should really discuss this in person.”

“Yes, I’ll be there in just a few minutes. Thank you, officer.”

He swiped his phone off and stared at the device, his heart in his ears.

He hadn’t seen Talia since…

Slam turned and shuffled about, finding his shoes and his jacket, patting his pockets for his keys and wallet, and then remembering he didn’t need keys.

“Slam, buddy? Yous all right?” Ace asked, arms folded over his chest and leaning against the wall. He really should tell him standing like that made him look immediately confrontational and he should find another stance when not intimidating super villains.

“Um… yeah... Just… I got a call… about,” his stomach flipped, “about my daughter. I need to go…”

Ace’s brows rose and his arms dropped.

He hadn’t meant to keep her a secret, but he hadn’t really wanted to expose her to this life, to possible super villains, to the press. If everything that happened with Rev proved anything, villains would take anyone and everyone out if it meant hurting their enemies.

But to not mention her to the team, he felt sick.

“Slam, you all right?” Lexi asked, easing around the corner and joining the discussion.

He nodded, shook his head and rubbed his palms against his thighs. “I… yeah. I’ll be fine. I just need to go.” He pointed over his shoulder and left before the bunnies could say otherwise.

He raced to the hospital, a tornado of speed he tried to keep to a mere annoying rush of wind; but his little girl sat in a police station, and it made it hard to stay rational.

Walking into the busy station, cops of all shapes and sizes walked past, some robotic traffic control, some of the smaller anthros that patrolled the rodent section of the city, while the humans patrolled the majority of medium sized mammals' sections of the city alongside anthros and even an alien or two. Officers bustled past, chatter everywhere around him, and if Officer Tom Miller hadn’t raised his hand to wave at him, he might have gotten lost.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Officer Miller said, shaking his hand with a smile on his clean-shaven face. “This way. I have a room set aside for you away from all the eyes.”

“Um… thank you.” He smiled, feeling far too nervous given the circumstances.

“Sorry about earlier on the phone.” Miller tapped his ear, showing a black translator device looped around his ear. “I didn’t realize you spoke only Maori.”

“English is hard for me, but I can understand it just fine.”

Miller grinned, glancing up at him, “Still neat. I never did learn a second language, and I’ve always regretted it.” Miller had such a calming and relaxed energy that Slam finally felt as if he could breathe. Talia had to be alright, otherwise, he would have said something by now. “Here we are.” Miller said, and paused at the door, “She’s fine, but there was an incident at the party and that’s how we learned about the bonfire party with a bunch of underage kids drinking. I was hoping maybe you could convince her to talk?” he asked, and Slam rubbed his sweaty hands against the legs of his pants. He nodded and Miller opened the door and waved Slam in before him. The room felt cold and stark, made of gray walls and metal bolted into everything to keep the table or chairs from being flung around the room.

And there in the middle, Talia sat at the interrogation table, slumped in the seat and staring at the metal table, her hands in her lap. Red eyed and her heavy eyeliner smeared from where she wiped tears away. Slam stared at his little girl for the first time in probably five… or was it six years now? He felt himself choke up at the sight of the young lady she was growing up into.

She looked at them, then jerked her face away, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, her fingers bedecked in rings and faux leather bracelets with trinkets and beads on them, her nails painted black and highlights of purple streaked through her brown hair. Her black clothes with purple and pink accents reminded him a little of Rev’s little brother, except she looked as if she didn’t fit in her own skin yet.

“Now that your father is here, I hope you will be more willing to talk to me about what happened.” Officer Miller said, sitting across from her. She looked down at her hands, spinning a ring on her finger and shrugged a shoulder.

Slam stood there, dumbfounded at the sight of her.

“We just need to know who was driving.”

Talia wiped her nose again, glancing up at him then away. 

“As soon as we know, you can go home. You’re not the one in trouble.”

She frowned at that, her jaw tightening.

Slam eased forward, halting when she seemed to jump at his presence. But when she relaxed her shoulders, he moved closer and sat on the edge of the table, staring down at her and remembering pigtails and braces.

“Talia…” he said, and she grew just as still as he felt. “What happened?”

She blinked rapidly and fidgeted with her rings, her lower lip trembling.

“Just because you tell Officer Miller who was driving, it doesn’t mean you’re betraying your friends. If anything, it could help them.”

“But he was just showing off! They gave him the keys and said he could drive it.” She blurted out and tears welled up, making her nose turn pink and her cheeks puff out as she devolved into full on crying.

“The owner of the car gave him permission?” Officer Miller prompted, and Talia nodded, hiccupping as she wiped at her cheek and smeared more of her eyeliner along her temple.

“And what are their names?”

She cried harder.

Slam eased himself down to his knees in front of her, and he reached for her, gently wiping away a streak of black from under her eye, and then the other, and in that moment, no time at all passed since he last saw her in her little princess dress and fairy wand ordering her ponies to line up and invade the kingdom of Avalar and take back their crown prince from the evil Fuzzby army.

He brushed her tears away and pushed back some of her hair, meeting her eyes and this time she looked at him, hiccupping several times.

“It’s okay.”

She bowed her head and cried, “Stephen Howe and Zander Alvarez. Stephen told Zander he could drive. He dared him to go fast! I swear! Zander is a good driver. He wouldn’t have crashed if something wasn’t wrong with the car.”

Officer Miller scribbled her statement on his notepad, nodding. “Was Zander one of the kids who decided to drink?”

She shook her head, and she truly looked ashamed. “No. His whaea... I mean, his mom… she would have killed him. So, he didn’t want to risk her finding out.”

Miller hummed and wrote that down as well. “Did anyone try to stop him from getting in the car?”

Talia shook her head, a little blush crawling up her nose. “No. We all thought it was so cool that a senior was letting him drive his car.”

“All right. Thank you. That helps us a lot.” Officer Miller offered her a small smile, and Talia dropped her eyes, picking at a chip in her nail polish.

“I’ll give you a minute, but you’re free to go home with your father when you’re ready.”

She sniffled, and Miller silently slid the box of tissues her way before he stood and left, leaving the door open a crack.

Slam pulled a handful of tissues out and offered them to her. She turned away from him, but she took the tissues and mopped at her cheeks.

Slam stayed where he knelt despite the floor making his knees ache. He waited for her to calm down enough to sniffle and tear the tissues apart in her fidgeting before he spoke.

“You feel ready to head out?”

She nodded, even as more tears welled up in her eyes.

He grunted and stood. He pulled another two fistfuls of tissues out and stuffed them in his pockets as he waited for her to slide out of her seat and wipe her nose on the tissue remains. She paused at the two-way mirror, her mouth dropping in horror, and she wiped at her face, trying to clean herself up from all the tear tracks and eyeliner tracks. When she did what she could, she sulked and followed him out of the room, shuffling in her big black combat boots with pink laces through the station.

He paused on the steps of the police station, rocking back and forth on his heels as she stood beside him, hugging herself tight.

“You want to get something to eat?”

She frowned and shrugged a shoulder, not meeting his eyes.

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets to try and keep himself from fidgeting, and scuffed his foot on the ground. His stomach rumbled and he flushed, sometimes hating his powers in moments like this. But with little else to do, he reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she jerked back, walking down the steps at a quick pace.

He followed, letting her guide him. They ended up at an outdoor Korean barbecue restaurant, and though Slam would prefer to ignore his stomach, he also needed to replenish the calories he used up getting to the police station so fast.

“It’s been a while, kid.” He said, glancing at her after the waiter left with a pale looking expression on his face with an order meant to feed over fifty guests.

She poked at her water glass, and shrugged a shoulder.

“So… how’s school?”

“Fine.”

“And, you still want to go into astrophysics?”

“I guess.”

Slam shifted in his seat, for anything to make this awkwardness end.

“And… how’s your whaea?”

Talia’s mouth thinned and she stabbed her straw into her water glass. “Just fine.” She snapped.

Though he certainly wasn’t a genius, he knew anger when he saw it, and a teenage girl angry at her mother seems logical. “Oh? You two still two peas in a pod?”

“Nope.” She snatched her water glass off the table and took a large drink, her knuckles turning white.

“Ah.” Slam nodded and he tapped his thumb against his plate. “So, if I asked if the reason your whaea didn’t answer the phone tonight was because she’s on a date, then everything would still be all right?”

Talia jerked her eyes up, surprise on her face, then irritation. “How could you let her go? Those guys are so fake and they pretend to care about what I like, but they don’t. Half of them don’t even try to remember my name, and the other half, they’re trying too hard!”

Slam sighed, watching his little girl’s face twist up for the third time that night. “I don’t have a say anymore, kid. She made her choice, and I have to respect that.”

“But why didn’t you try harder?” She whined, looking at him, first with desperation and then anger. “It’s your fault everything is messed up! If you just stayed and not left to be a super hero—”

“That’s not the only reason. You know it too.” Slam said, lowering his voice as he reached out to take her hand. She jerked her hand out of his, and rocked backward in her chair. “I wasn’t a good husband.”

“But you were good at being a matua….” Her voice pitched, desperate.

He smiled, and that did ease maybe just a little of the guilt. “Thanks, kiddo, and I love being your matua.” He whispered. “But sometimes that isn’t enough. I was gone for weeks at a time, trying to… be something I wasn’t good at anymore. I’d came home unhappy from the circuits because I had to be the rudo and lose all the time, and it would take me the entire off season to feel like myself again. Just as things were getting good again, the next season started and I’d be off on tour and I’d have to be the bad guy all over again. It… it gets to a guy. I tried to find ways to stay happy, and you definitely helped, kid.”

She stared at him as if with each word he destroyed her childhood, and in a way, he figured he did exactly that.

“But when I’d be home, I wasn’t fully there for your whaea. I was the rudo on tour, and I’d come home and end up being the rudo there too. It wasn’t your whaea’s fault, I just… I should have quit when I realized how much the circuit was rubbing off on me because I was bringing it home.”

“I thought… you were the hero…”

He smiled, sad, remembering those days. “I used to be. That was when you were real little. I loved it. I’d come home and swing you around,” He saw that look in her eyes, the spark of remembering the good. “And I used to dance with your whaea in the kitchen…” again that hint of memory in her eyes, the look of longing to hold onto those times made her eyes shine. “And those were the years that I got to be the heroic luchador, beating the rudo in combat. I heard the crowd cheer for me…” he paused, exhaling the breath he held. “It felt good to not be seen as a brute, but a good guy. But, when I hurt my shoulder, and I had to stay home for three months, I got back and they had hired a new guy, a técnico, and I was ousted as the main event. It… didn’t hit all at once, but as I moved further and further down the ranks till I was the rudo and I was the one being booed,” he shrugged. “I didn’t come home and feel like dancing with your whaea.

“So, me telling you it isn’t your whaea’s fault, I’m being honest. It isn’t. It’s mostly mine. I could have tried harder, I could have let go of the glory days sooner… I could have taken that job with your koroua when your whaea asked. But I liked wrestling. The lucha libre had been my home away from home and I… I didn’t know what I’d be without it.”

Talia looked down. Slam shifted in his seat, opening his mouth, but the waiter and several others arrived, dragging a secondary table over to pile their meal on. It took several minutes of their coming and going, but when they finished, Talia sat hunched in her seat, embarrassed by the mountain of food surrounding her, and she closed herself off once again.

“What would you like to try first?”

Talia shrugged.

Slam piled her plate high with the sweeter tasting foods, and got to work on his own plate. He shoveled the food into his mouth, eating half of it before she spoke and nearly choked him to death.

“Whaea’s talking about marrying this one.”

He pounded on his chest to get the noodles down. “Oh…” he said, and it stung, but not as much as he expected. He had loved her, but those last few years had spoiled what did remain.

“Don’t you care? This guy is trying to take over and—” she stopped, hunching over her food and stuffing some fried chicken into her mouth.

Slam sighed, and kicked his foot out, tapping her shin. She looked up at him and he smiled, small and sad, but understanding. “Just because he’s testing out the waters in maybe being your step-dad, doesn’t mean he’ll replace your matua.”

“But…” her brows twisted up and she looked so angry all of a sudden.

“For as much as you think I was a good matua, I’m also a lousy matua.” Slam set the bowl of soup down. “I love you, kid. Nothing will ever change that. But I didn’t keep my promises like I said I would. I’m sorry that… that I didn’t call you every night like I said I would.”

The way she curled her shoulder and tore a chunk off her chicken, he hit the nail on the head.

“At first, sometimes, my matches would run late and I couldn’t get away to call you till after you were asleep. Later, as you got older, you’d be doing homework, or out with your astronomy club studying the planets, and, that just seemed more important than telling your matua good night.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her, needing to say this. 

“But I know now that I should have called you, even if I was busy, even if you were busy. I shouldn’t have felt like I wasn’t….” He stopped and clenched his jaw, the words crashing into his throat without an exit. He grabbed the next dish and swallowed it down, eating the feast in no time at all.

Talia nibbled at her food, eating more than he expected, but not finishing it either. She offered her plate to him and he begrudgingly took it, polishing it off. He paid and they walked along the street, veering off into the green acres of the park, the trees sheltering them from the screaming of the city and making him feel as if for one minute he was the good guy as he took her home.

“Will you call me tonight before bed, matua?” her voice sounded so small, like that little girl hiding under her blankets from the monster in her closet.

He nodded, his throat closing up on him. “Yeah…”

She slipped her small hand into his, sniffling.

He squeezed back.

Chapter Text

~~~~~Gunshot~~~~~

Yawning into the crook of his elbow and doing his best to hide his canines so those around him didn’t stare, Gunshot shook his head and blinked his blurry eyes and trudged into the hospital just before rush hour traffic hit. The box he carried from the Timonthy’s Stead Sheriff’s Department and addressed to one Tech E. Coyote, sat tucked under one arm.

The long drive out to Timothy’s Stead left him tired and sore in the butt. He glanced down at the box and wrinkled his nose at the items the Sheriff showed him before releasing the contents. He had no idea what the circuit board did or why it attached to a box-shaped screen, but knowing Tech and the joy he took in just building for the sake of building, he brought it back for him.

Passing the cafeteria and spotting the Runner kid stuffed away in a corner table, slouched back in his chair and tapping at his handheld device, Gunshot slowed to a stop and frowned. Scanning the area and not seeing any of the other Loonatics or the kid’s parents, he changed course and side-stepped the hustle and bustle of the hospital as nurses, doctors, patients, and family went about with a destination in mind.

Getting in line, Gunshot wrinkled his nose at most of the food options, suddenly understanding why pop wasn’t eating here. His pop was many things, but the man never skimped when it came to food. The prepackaged sandwiches, the rubbery spaghetti. He shuffled to the counter with two sodas and two pudding cups, and waved his card in front of the reader. With little more than a red face and a tucked tail, he shyly took a seat next to the young man, and ducked his head, trying to remain unnoticed, even as he set his peace offerings in front of him, and set Tech’s box of belongings onto the chair next to him.

Rip stiffened, gazing at him from under his crest, his beak dipped low to his chest. Gunshot saw the ear-buds, and focused on opening his cup of pudding. He remembered a time when pudding cups were a treat, something him and Tech got only after pop made a sale on an old car. Without hesitation he licked the lid, lapping the chocolate up eagerly.

The kid snorted and Gunshot smiled sheepishly at him, his tail wagging. “Whatcha listening too?”

“Music.”

“What genre?”

Rip frowned, sliding a foot from under the table and closer to the leg of his chair. He shrugged, hunching his shoulders and stared at his handheld.

Gunshot stirred his pudding and licked at the spoon, staring at the eggshell white table speckled with blue and red spots used to disguise crumbs and spaghetti splatter. 

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. You looked lonely.” Gunshot glanced his way then back to his pudding covered spoon and licked another swipe off the bottom.

“You eat pudding weird.”

Gunshot blushed, but felt he scored a victory when Rip pulled an ear-bud out. “Makes it easier to enjoy it.”

“Whatever.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, licking another dollop off his spoon. “I take it you’ve been here all week?”

Rip shrugged a shoulder, staring at his handheld, yet, his fingers didn’t move.

Gunshot poked at his pudding, not meeting Rip’s gaze because he knew this type of kid. “It’s not fun when things change.”

Rip snorted and looked away, glaring at the wall.

Smiling, small and sad, Gunshot stared at his pudding and remembered the days before Tech changed.

“Probably feels scary. Like you’re spinning out of control and no one is noticing that you’re not okay. Or maybe, it feels like it’s hard to breathe, because it hits you all at once, but you can’t let anyone know because what would they say if you told them you just need to know things will be normal again. Then you feel guilty because you know they won’t be; plus, you’re not the one hurt. Why should you ask for help?”

Gunshot licked the bottom of his spoon, staring down into the chocolate, but he spied Rip glance his way from the corner of his eye.

“Just sayin’, it is going to be okay, even though everything will change.”

“What do you know?”

Gunshot’s nose twitched and he swiped his tongue over the spoon a second time, sighing before he set his pudding cup down and poked at it.

“When I was eleven, my mom showed up out of the blue. She ran out on us when Tech was a newborn pup, so I didn’t really remember her, and I didn’t know her scent like I do pop’s. Tech got all curious though, because that’s who he is. He’s brave like that, always willing to just try something, do something, go off and be something. But there was something about my mom that scared me. There was this hollow look in her eyes. I wanted to get to know her. Still do, to some extent. But she was hyper focused on Tech, like she knew she wouldn’t be able to convince me to leave with her, but Tech would be easy to lure away. He was more gullible back then. She made promises. Got us some ice cream while we waited for pop to get home from work. Started promising to get Tech things he wanted.” He frowned, stabbing at his pudding, because he still remembered. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

“Tech fell for it too. He asked for a microscope. Something pop couldn’t afford. She promised to get it for him, asked him if he wanted to go with her to the store and pick it out. Luckily, pop got home then, and… I ain’t ever seen pop so furious. He actually snarled and refused to let him go.

“Tech was pissed, even cried about it. Mom tried to argue that he was her son and if she wanted to see him, she could; but pop stepped in again…” he remembered the show of fangs, remembered the way pop held Tech behind him, and him whispering to her something that made her tense up.

“So instead, she promised to bring him the microscope, but Tech threw a tantrum because all nine-year-olds have no idea what life is, and he went to our room and slammed the door shut. Mom and pop argued…” he swallowed hard, remembering the way she snapped her teeth in pop’s face; remembered the horrible lies she accused him of; reminded pop that Gunshot wasn’t even his, because he never satisfied her so she had to get it somewhere else.

She threatened him with the police, because, she said, ‘they’ll side with me, the mother, and they’ll take the boys from you.’ He still remembered the way pop held firm, his posture changing till he stared her down and his voice so quiet it reverberated into his bones. “You aren’t takin’ my sons. If’n you try, I’ll bury you. In court or in the dirt, whichever comes easier.” She stormed off with her tail between her legs.

Gunshot had nightmares for years about the police showing up to take him away.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, shaking the memory away. “I heard them fight. So, when mom left town that night and didn’t bother telling Tech goodbye, I think that was the first time he began to question people.”

Rip peeked at him from under his fall of feathers, his brows knotted together and the silent question in his eyes as to what the hell this story had to do with anything.

“I had to crawl into bed the next night knowing Tech was confused because she didn’t show up. He waited by the door, fixing an old radio or something; but she didn’t show up that day either, or the night after that. I had to watch my brother suffer because someone who was supposed to be there for him in his life didn’t bother sticking around. He cried for a couple nights, and there wasn’t anything I could do. I felt helpless, like, I failed him somehow. I didn’t even know how to make him feel better, because even if I made him smile, the other person who made him cry would never be back to fix what she did. The only thing I could do was be there for him. It sucked though. I just wanted him to go back to believing people would keep their promises.”

Gunshot licked at another spoonful of pudding and frowned.

“Thing is, I couldn’t fix it. There wasn’t anything I could say or do to fix anything. Nothing was ever the same because he had changed from the experience. He didn’t trust as easily. He used his intellect as a way to build a wall between himself and others. So, when Tech does trust someone, it means more to him than the average person. I’m sure it has protected him. But all I remember is hearing that nine-year-old boy crying.”

Rip swallowed hard, looking at him, away, then back, the flesh around his beak and eyes turning red.

Gunshot looked at him then, staring him down till the kid shifted in his seat and took a shaky breath.  “Point is kid, I don’t know what it’s like seeing my brother in a wheelchair. I can’t imagine how terrifying that is. And it makes it even more scary because you can’t do anything about it. That’s just a fact. But what you can do, is be there and make him smile, even if it doesn’t change anything. And it’s okay to feel scared, and it’s okay to ask for help, because this isn’t just happening to one person, it’s happening to everyone in the family.”

The kid looked away then, his eyes reddening and blinking fast.

Gunshot scraped the sides of his pudding cup, lapped up the chocolate and savored the last of it before leaning back in his chair, and letting the two of them sit in silence for some time, giving the kid time to digest and adjust.

With a hum that made the kid’s shoulders grow stiff, Gunshot smiled at him. Sighing and planting his hands on the table to heave himself up, Gunshot grinned. “Come on. I think Tech and your brother have talked enough about science for the day. I think a game of poker is in order.” He gathered up the box from Timothy’s Stead, and tossed his trash on the way.

Rip didn’t move right away, his throat bobbing a few times. But as Gunshot turned to leave, he heard Rip’s chair scrape on the floor and he listened to the kid shuffle after him. He held the elevator door for him, and simply stood back and let Rip press the floor button with a shrug and a quick swipe across his beak with the back of his hand, his jacket pockets bulging where he stuffed the soda and pudding.

The elevator pinged with each floor. Climbing upward with a heaviness to the air. Gunshot reached over, and ruffled the kid’s crest, offering a grin to the kid as he in turn glared at him, shoulders hunched up and pulling out of his reach as he grumbled and smoothed his crest back down and into place.

“You’re such a loser.”

“You’re okay, kid.”

Chapter Text

~~~~~Slick~~~~~  

He stared at his phone, alone in the dark, and tapped his finger against the side of the screen. Slick wiped a hand down his face, tugging on some of the whiskers on his chin. His little work lamp on the table illuminated the mess he made earlier; a pulled apart fur-drier that Lexi asked him if he would fix for her; and it created a little island of white light at midnight on the coffee table.   

“Come on now, Pepquannakek,” he grumbled. The pressure behind his eyes grew and moved up from the back of his head to his brow. “Just call me back already.”   

The clock ticked and Slick waited, closing his eyes against the migraine spreading down into his shoulders.   

The front door hissed open and Slick jumped from the chair as quick as a rattler strike, and rounded the corner, only to meet Harriet’s tired and dragging form. They both stopped, staring at one another. Her chest fluttered with a shaky breath, and that damn clock counted every heartbeat. Slick wished the thing would shut up.   

Tears made her eyes glisten, catching what little light echoed through the apartment, and with the silence the cloak of night settled around them. And that damn clock. Slick closed his eyes and bowed his head, his claws digging into the palm of his hand.   

Why did history feel the need to repeat itself?  

“I tried to talk to him, but… Rev was inconsolable. They had to sedate him…”  

“Is this what you lot do?” Slick’s tongue grew heavy, his ragged ear twitching in memory. “Because it ain’t right… makin’ us love you and then tearin’ it away.” His voice fell, a whisper that thickened the air and tighten his chest as his head hurt all the more.   

He flinched at Harriet’s touch to his elbow, he opened his eyes, meeting her searching gaze, and he turned away, stuffing his hands in his pockets and bowing his head.   

Everything was far too similar to not experience the phantom agonies of that night.    

“It’s not fair.” She said, and somehow that simple acknowledgment summed it up.   

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Slick pulled it out, answering it without looking at the screen. “How’s yer brother?” he forced out past a tight throat.   

“Plastered. I’m downstairs. Could use your help getting him inside.”  

“I’ll be right down.” He said and clicked it off, moving past Harriet without another word or look, and stabbed the elevator button. He heard Harriet more than saw her, standing by the door, and it was his turn to get in the elevator and leave.   

He met Gunshot in the lobby, Tech draped over his brother’s back as though getting a piggie-back ride like a pup all those years ago.   

“There’s a box in the front seat if you’ll bring that in.” Gunshot offered, tired and drawn—but nowhere near as haggard and wrung out as Tech looked on the verge of passing out, lost in his head alongside drowning in the alcohol sloshing through his system.   

“Did you even try and get him ta slow down?” Slick asked, pulling the squeaky door of his truck open and sliding the Timothy’s Stead Sheriff’s Station box from the bucket seat and closing it with a kick.   

“Tried is the key word. He wasn’t going to stop till he dropped, and after a while, I just had to let him. I think his regeneration is the only thing keeping him from having alcohol poisoning.” Gunshot grumbled and hiked Tech up further, getting his lanky legs over his hips so he could hook his arms under his knees.  

“Yeah, well, wouldn’t expect less, honestly.” Slick said, holding the elevator doors open for Gunshot. They rode up in silence, and Slick glanced to his youngest, taking in his puffy eyelids, the drawn look to his features, and the vacant expression that only the moisture in the corner of his eyes said he still remained awake.   

Tech began to whine, shifting about on Gunshot’s back, pressing his forehead against his shoulder and a low, keening moan rose, all heartbreak and loss as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.   

“Get him to his room. Boy’s gonna have it rough for the next few weeks.” He said, and paused, allowing Gunshot through the door first and past Harriet where she held it open for the trio. Her feathers slicked tight, a hand pressed to her mouth, and wide gaze locked on Tech.   

Tech inhaled sharp and deep, his ears pricking forward, and his head sloshed to the side, toward Harriet as he passed her. She wiped her eyes, staring up at him, and the momentary hope in the small wag of his tail fell, and his son’s face twisted and he whined, grabbing fistfuls of Gunshot’s shirt, and he wriggled, getting a leg free and sliding down. Gunshot grunted and stooped, letting his brother drop to his feet, and Tech staggered, small youthful yips escaping him even as he tried to gasp for air.  

He swayed dangerously on his feet, a determined stagger in Harriet’s direction, while the bourbon clung to his breath thick as a skunk. “Rev… you gotta tell h’m I’m s’rry.” He reached out to her. “Tell h’m to change his mind.” He slurred and she caught him, stumbling a little under his weight. She sank to the floor with him, and he pawed at her shoulder, inhaling her scent, and his face twisted, eyes blurry.   

Harriet closed her eyes and stroked his ears back, shushing him even as she cradled his tears in the palms of her hands. “I’m so sorry…” she whispered.   

“Please… please…” Tech whined, all watery and lost in the depths.   

Slick dropped the box and moved to his side, scruffing the back of Tech’s neck. “Breathe, boy.” He barked, and Tech sank into him, leaning heavily against him, and Slick wrapped his arms around him, hugging his head to his chest with an arm around his chest, and his boy choked on his next breath and sobbed.   

It took them twenty minutes to move him to his bedroom, and during that time Slick hammered in a blanket to the overhang portion of his bed, creating essentially a den for him to hide in, and he listened to his son lay on his bed, palms against his brows, whimpering.   

He set a bottle of water and four pain killers beside his bed, before patting his knee. “Get some sleep.”  

“I don’t know what happened.” He whispered.   

Slick frowned and sat on the edge, leaning forward on his knees and staring down at the ground. “Rev’s probably scared, thinks he’s broken and a burden on ya, and that you deserve more.” He saw her from the corner of his eye, leaning against the door frame near Gunshot’s shoulder.   

“He’s not. I don’t…. He’s enough. He’ll always be enough.”   

“I know that. He don’t though.”  

“It hurts so much.” Tech whispered.   

Slick nodded, fingers linking and he tapped his thumbs together. “Yeah, it does; and it’ll hurt somethin’ fierce for a while yet.”   

“Why didn’t he want me?”  

He sighed, that headache spreading up between his ears. “I’m thinkin’ he does, but he don’t know how to want himself for you.”  

Tech shook, gasping for breath, sounding wet and twisted up. “It hurts without him.”  

Slick nodded, and he glanced up, looking past Gunshot, and perhaps even looking through Harriet, remembering those first few days in the hospital, his injuries nothing compared to the ugly gash in his soul. “Yeah… losing a mate feels like that.”  

Tech rolled over, turning his back to him and he quaked, trying so hard not to sob all over again.   

Slick stood, not bothering to say anything, and he motioned Gunshot out, the silence once more engulfing the tower.   

“Do you want me to stay up?” Gunshot asked, motioning toward Tech’s room.   

“Nah, you get some sleep. I can take the first watch. Once he’s out, hopefully he’ll be out the rest of the night. Thanks for bringin’ yer brother back safe.”  

His boy nodded, but the gesture looked tired. “Don’t stay up too late.”   

Slick shrugged, waving him off. “I’m a chronic insomniac, I was born for this, boy.” He smirked, and it wrung a smile out of Gunshot. Slick then reached for him, scruffing his over-sized son and met his eyes. “You did good.”  

Gunshot’s shoulders relaxed and he inhaled slow and deep, the tension draining from him. He sent him off to bed, and Slick stood there, hands in his pockets, and Harriet just over his shoulder, leaning against the wall.   

“I didn’t know he and Rev…”  

“What, loved each other?” He glanced at her, tail stiff and jaw tight.   

She shot him a narrowed eyed glare before she sighed, rubbing her shoulder. “Mates. It happened so quickly.”  

“Sometimes, when ya know, ya know.” He turned away from her and headed back to the main living area, keeping his good ear listening out for his pining son, and his busted-up ear listening to the past in a long-ago hospital room as she said goodbye in the dark.