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Chapter Text

 Tearloch

The fresh highland air pulled at the man's long dark hair, and he breathed deeply in the late morning sun. The warmth was a rare pleasure; the sun only made its way into his clan's valley for a few short hours a day. Glancing over at Cow (so what if he didn't have a creative head for names?) he wondered how much longer he could afford to dawdle. It was fairly early still, but the cattle market wouldn't stay open forever. Tearloch heaved a sigh. He'd been lucky to get Cow in payment for some odd jobs, but it was time to trade her if he could. A couple of goats would be easier to care for in the highlands, and they might even breed- something Cow certainly couldn't do by herself.

“You're right lucky Cow, the valleys will nae be so craigy, and you'll be off to wide green pastures before the day is out.”

Cow ignored him.

The Stuart Clan had always been more than generous; taking him in as a wee bairn, feeding him and clothing him, paying him in things he actually needed. Somehow though, he just couldn't feel particularly close to any of them, no matter that he tried, no matter that they were nice enough... no matter that he was lonely... They just felt like acquaintances... And he could always feel his debt to them, no matter how old he got. Never the less, his adopted mother seemed set on him marrying within the Clan, and soon. Every time he visited: Was there a special someone yet? Didn't Alasdair and Amy seem pleased with married life? And doesn't Mary make a fine sight?

No; if he was to marry, it must be someone who took his breath away. Someone strong, kind, and of course stunningly beautiful wouldn't hurt as long as he was dreaming someone up. Tearloch sighed again and kicked a pebble. Cow snorted. As foolish as it sounded (and he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he breathed a word to the clansmen), at times it was almost as though he could feel someone out there. That was the real reason he found his fellows so lack-luster. He knew in his bones that none of them was his true mate, they just didn't quite... fit. A cold mist gusted past his skin, in sharp contrast to the warmth conjured in his soul at the thought that... somewhere... perhaps she could feel him too.

The fresh air was suddenly split by the most piercing, heart-wrenching, bone-chilling scream that Tearloch had ever heard in his life.

“Stay here Cow!” he yelled, and sprang off over the rocks towards the gully the shriek had come from. As he rounded the craig, looking around wildly for a commotion, his eyes came to rest on a broken figure, laying in the soft grass. His heart nearly stopped as he realized the dying woman was dimly throbbing with a pale golden light. This was one of the fae. This was an immortal... dying.

Tearloch slowly approached her, and knelt at her side, “Is there anything I can do to help you, m'lady?” She moaned, and he gently lifted her to rest more comfortably in his arms; being careful not to jostle the leg that was bent at a wrong angle. Her ragged breath brushed his cheek as her mouth continued to move, and she breathed the last words of her untold ages. He brought his head closer, and the curtain of his hair fell beside her face, cocooning them in a private world.

“Mmmmmhh...never forget....hhhmmnnn... please say.... love...hhhhhh.” And she was gone. Tearloch's head swam, then the world itself seemed to swirl. Get a hold on yourself... and Tearloch tried to focus his eyes down on the grass.

Except it wasn't grass.

He was kneeling on a large, square, concrete slab. In a whole row of them, actually. His arms were empty of the Fae woman's body, and a clammer of noise was suddenly attacking him. Huge metal contraptions practically flew past, faster than a horse could run, as Tearloch fought to quell the panic rising in his chest. Alright Tearloch, just take a breath, and make sure Cow isn't lost in this chaos. Keeping an outward calm, he looked around until he saw a familiar sight laying against a nearby building. No matter the strange clothing, if that shaggy head of sandy hair didn't belong to a highlander who'd had a too much drink last night, he wasn't Tearloch of Glengoyne.

Chapter Text

Dylan 

Dylan took stock. He was clearly alive, because the misery of his hangover was weighing on his temples like some kind of industrial brick grinding process. He was probably outside, because his back was damp. There was possibly somebody who wanted to talk to him, because they were jostling his arm and saying something. He pried his eyeballs open, but they didn't enjoy it.

“Have you seen my cow?”

Dylan took stock. Long haired young man, wearing some kind of ancient highlander costume, looking for a cow.

“There some kind of renaissance fair in town then?” Dylan croaked. Dylan wanted some water. Or beer. Or Wine. Preferably wine actually. He looked again at the man in front of him.

He looked like the front of a romance novel. Long dark hair, somehow glinting warmly in the silver light of Glasgow, arms rippling with cords of muscle, piercing blue eyes filled with humor and kindness...and also strength. How did eyeballs even do that?

The man was smiling an impossibly beautiful smile now, “Bit too much drink last night then?” He was also offering Dylan a hand up. That was nice of him, so Dylan took the hand and lurched to his feet.

“I fear I've lost my cow...”

Now that he was standing, Dylan took stock. Again...

One thing was clear, he needed to clean up, and this highlander needed some help. Wait. That was two things.

“There's been no cattle here since Bonnie Prince Charlie was killed,” Dylan began,

“What! Charles is Dead?!” The man took stock. So that's what that looks like from the outside, Dylan thought.

“...I hope it's not too rude to ask but... what year is it?”

Dylan rubbed his face, and decided that in all fairness: stranger things had probably happened somewhere.

“My name is Dylan Sturart, and my friend, I think you should come with me.”

For some reason, the man broke out in an even bigger smile at the mention of Dylan's name. “My name is Tearloch of Glengoyne, and I follow Iain; but I think I could follow you under the circumstances.”

.......

Dylan tried hard to bite back a smile. Tearloch was playing with the faucet. In wonder. Not just fascination, not just enjoyment. Wonder.

Tearloch turned the faucet to cold, back to hot, off, on, hot, off, hot, cold, off.

“Dylan, how is this done? Is there a great barrel on the roof? Who tends the fire to keep it hot at a moment's notice?”

“All tha' is in the basement actually. If you like, I could show you, but it's not much teh look at.

There was a knock at the door.

“Huh. I cannea think who would be visiting...”

Opening the door, Dylan was faced with a young, tall, cranky looking man, with a green tracksuit, a shaved head, and a tattoo on his neck. The sun coming in from the hall window back lit him, giving him a golden aura that was completely incongruous with his appearance, especially the can of beer sticking out of his pocket.

“Do you know how difficult it is, to track down a new fledged fae, after he's gone and fussed with time?” He said flatly.

“Whit?” Dylan was willing to accept a lot today, and this fellow had said something about fussy time, but he also seemed somewhat accusatory, and it wasn't as though it was Dylan's fault that Tearloch was here.

The ned walked in. Of course Dylan was a ned too, one of Glasgow's poor, but he was a right upstanding ned, worked himself through university and everything. Who did this fellow think he was, barging into somebody else's flat?

Surprisingly, Tearloch piped up, and actually bowed. “Please come in and make yourself comfortable my lord! Can I get you some water? We have hot and cold!”

The bald man sighed. Dylan bristled.

“Whit you calling him 'my lord' for? He's just some ned.”

Tearloch gaped, “Please! He did not mean it my lord!” Grabbing Dylan's arm, he whispered urgently into his ear, “He's one of the fair folk! Can you not see him shimmer?!”

“Fair folk? Whit you on about? Like a leprechaun or somethin'?”

“I'm hardly a leprechaun,” the man said dryly, coming in and closing the door. “And thankfully neither are you. My name is Aonghios, and I'm here to get you trained up, so you don't go nabbing Cleopatra, or King Richard III, or whoever out of the past, every time you have a drunken dream.”

“Whit?”

Tearloch was suddenly hugging him, “What an honor! Congratulations my friend!”

“Whit?!”

Aonghios rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. “You're a fairy.”

“Well you're ugly!”

“No Dylan, he means you are one of the fair folk yourself!”

“Whit?! But I had parents and that! I'm perfectly human!”

Aonghios seemed to grow impatient, “And I had beautiful tresses, green raiment, and a silver bower to sweep damsels off to, but the world moves on.”

“Whit, so- I'm a fairy?” Dylan paused to adjust to this thought. This was all coming a little fast. “With wings and all that?”

“If you like. I've got.”

No sooner was it said than there was a tearing sound, and huge, white, feathered, angel wings erupted from Dylan's back, in a rush of tearing cloth and skin. Dylan lost his balance and fell over in a heap of feathers.

“So,” Aonghios pushed himself off the counter. “About that training then...”

Chapter Text

Hostage

The woman took a deep steadying breath of the dusty air and hugged her child closer. Looking around the room, with its sealed industrial window, and its cement floor, she prayed to God that they would be fed that day. The hunger pains somehow radiated out from her abdomen to stiffen her shoulders and sap her strength at the same time, while simultaneously the dryness of her cracked-feeling throat stabbed at her like a knife. That her daughter, Lizzy, was right there with her, was too horrible to think about. They had gone through so much just so she would live through her premature infancy; doctors, money, breathing machines, sleepless nights...

Please God, let it not all be in vain. She tried not to let herself think of survival facts. A grown up could go for 3 days with out water, how long would a five year old last? Please...

Rebecca Eldarman was a normal looking woman, her medium length brown hair was still in the low pony tail it had been in on Friday afternoon when she and her family were... escorted... from their home. Rebecca kept replaying those moments in her mind, wishing that she had done something differently, wishing her husband, John, had done something differently. Wishing they hadn't been too stunned and scared to do anything other than what they were told.

Two of the men had knives, one just a broken bottle- John should have held them off, she should have taken Lizzy and ran. Things like that always worked out in movies. Hostages were given bread and water in movies too.

Lizzy wouldn't start school for another two months, and since it was Sunday, she wouldn't be missed from work until tomorrow. The big faceless corporation would probably just fire her instead of filing a missing person report... but maybe Marcie will check up. Rebecca might have hoped that they would be reported missing sooner than next week, if only John hadn't come home early that day, and wasn't now leaning on the pillar just behind her.

Their prison had been some kind of office or utility room of the abandoned warehouse she supposed. It was equipped with a metal folding chair, but it went without saying that the pregnant woman got that spot. Rebecca thought the five of them made a rather pathetic looking bunch: the worn looking mother; the frightened child; the thin father, still in his business cloths; the round mother-to-be; and the blank faced father-to-be. Wasn't there supposed to be a Special Forces under cover agent in here too? Or at least his wife so they would all be rescued when he came for her? The two strangers looked so young, barely old enough to be starting a family. But here they all were. Rebecca supposed her heart would go out to them more if the life of her own child hadn't been in danger.

Mrs. Eldarman looked again around the bare, grey cell why not just call it what it is?. The two pillars and chair gave the only relief her eyes dared cling to. She dared not look at the window; she'd tried, and all she could see was the lack of hinges. She dared not look at the solid security door; she'd tried, and all she could think of was that no food or water were coming though it. The corrugated metal walls were filthy and solid. The younger of the two men had spent his first 20 minutes there by practically attacking every part of their enclosure, until his young wife quietly asked him to stop.

All of them had arrived between Friday afternoon and late Friday night, and none of them had been given anything to eat or drink since they'd been put in the room. They'd begun their imprisonment trying to figure out why they'd been taken, if there were any links between their families, or if there was anything they could do to escape. As another day came to dusk, the silence was palatable. Thick as a dry tongue. Pushed back only occasionally by the whimper of a five year old. A whimper which always left the silence heavier than the thick unfinished ceiling that held it in.

Chapter Text

Tearloch

Tearloch was frankly fascinated. Unlike these modern people, he had grown up knowing that the fae existed, but he'd never seen anything like this before.

“So there are two basic types of glamours,” Aonghios was saying. “There's a Bright Glamour, which anyone looking would be able to see; Cinderella's dress was that. After her Fae Godmother enchanted her, anybody who looked at her saw an impossibly beautiful gown.

“Then there's a Glamour Swirl; so called because you swirl the mind of your target, and make them see something that's not there. Only they can see it, and they'll also be a bit oblivious to anything outside the Swirl. Could be one person, or a small group. What's a good example now.... Well... I can't think of a famous one, but basically they're bewitched and dazed & they see what you want.”

Dylan was raising his hand sheepishly for some reason. Tearloch made a note to ask about that hand gesture.

“Yes Dylan?” Aonghios sighed.

“If everything is an illusion, how did I bring Tearloch here?”

“You and I are of the Trouping Fae, and we are capable of far more than illusion. But before I have you making things out of thin air, or whatever, you're going to have to learn illusion. You need some way to cover up your accidents until you get under control.”

Tearloch watched Dylan for his reaction, it was hard to believe that he was one of the fair folk. Then, in a rush of glory and extra feathers, Dylan's wings burst out of his back. Again. Seven Tearloch thought.

“Bloody things! All I have to do is think about em, and there they are!” Dylan was trying not to be pulled over backwards.

“No, just-” Aonghios ducked as a wing flapped out in his direction, “No. Bend the tips down and then the mid-joint up!” Dylan grabbed at Aonghios' arm in an attempt to not fall over. “Get off me you lummox!”

Tearloch smiled broadly as the two capered around the rooftop; The sight of Dylan's wings was beautiful and glorious, but... Well, I'm sure he'll get the hang of them eventually. Tearloch was really beginning to admire Dylan; he had liked the other man from the start, but seeing him work so diligently at something the man hadn't even thought possible yesterday was endearing and inspiring at the same time.

“No, forward! Bring the mid-joint forward, over your shoulders more... more...” Aonghios was letting go of Dylan now, and backing away slowly. “You'll get it under control eventually, it's the difference between thinking about a thing, and thinking about a thing.”

“So where are your wings?” Dylan asked as he cautiously stood with wings folded along his back. Tearloch couldn't help but admire the site. The more Dylan used magic, the stronger his shimmer became. Even now, with the white light coming off his wings and his sandy, shaggy hair glinted in the sun, he was an inspiring site.

With a glimmer and a glow, iridescent dragonfly wings unfolded and spread out from Aonghios' back. The green in them sort of matched his tracksuit.

“Why are yours so light, and mine are all fussy?” Dylan complained as he cautiously shifted his weight.

Aonghios shrugged, “I just woke up with these one morning in Queen Victoria's time. Our images change as people's ideas of us do. What were you thinking of when you first got your wings?”

“Well...” Dylan looked embarrassed, “I was thinking of this magazine I read; it said fairies and aliens and angels were all the same thing.” Dylan concentrated for a bit, and the wings disappeared in a mess of feathers and sparkles. “So how do I change mine around?”

“Sorry,” Aonghios was shaking his head, “Now that you have them, they're what you have. Until people's idea of angels change I suppose.

“Now, back to training- Why don't we practice Swirls first, as we've got a practice target sitting right here. See if you can make Tearloch think his kilt is missing.”

Tearloch stood up in alarm, he knew too many stories of what happened to those bewitched by fairy glamours to volunteer himself. Friends or no, his mind raced to find an excuse that wouldn't offend the beings in front of him. Looking to Dylan, he was relieved to see indignation on his face.

“You'll not be messing about with Tearloch, he's my responsibility, and I'll not have it.” Dylan bristled at Aonghios. Aonghios just rolled his eyes.

“Fine, a Bright Glamour first then.”

Tearloch sat back down, somewhat abashed. Dylan had protected him. Granted he'd have to make sure the young fae knew that he was nobody's property. Even if Dylan had brought him here, that didn't make him Dylan's cattle or something. I hope Cow hasn't wandered into trouble while I've been gone. Tearloch thought absently.

The training session lasted the better part of the afternoon. Tearloch watched as Aonghios gave Dylan a crash course in using glamours, manifestations, transformations and even some attacks and defenses. As Dylan became more fluid and confident, Tearloch couldn't help his sense of awe. Dylan's magic was frankly beautiful, and Dylan wasn't even trying to enamor anyone: the things that manifested from his mind and soul were just... Beautiful. The rusted can became a lush rose; the magical shield glinted with prismatic light; the food he created for their luncheon was succulent and full of rich flavor.

Finally Aonghios called a halt. “Well, that'll do for your first day I suppose. You can pretty well manage without too many mishaps now I should think.”

Tearloch leaned back on the small wall that ran around the edges of the rooftop. And to think the Wing Count only made it t' 12. I was sure he'd break 20.

Dylan made a glass of water and chugged it down before asking, “So that's it then? Just, 'you're a supernatural being, here's how to make miracles' and then goodbye?”

“Oh don't you wish.” Aonghios chuckled. “That's all the training we'll do for today, but now that I'm pretty sure you won't burst your wings out with no warning, or turn the trolly into a fish, it's time to go into the station.”

“Whit? Ye mean like the police station? But I've not done anything wrong!”

Tearloch stood and came to his friend's side, it sounded as though this 'police' was something like the Watch, and Dylan most certainly did not deserve to be detained.

“M'lord, surely there is no reason to have Dylan Stuart punished. If this is about my being brought here, I assure you I'm enjoying myself immensely and do not wish to press for a punishment of any kind!”

Aonghios just sighed and rolled his eyes again. Addressing Dylan, he explained, “Look, when you reached through time, you made a ripple that could be felt for miles. Then you went and dragged the highlander all over the city, putting little bumps in time all over. You don't even want to know how long I was stuck in 11:32am while I was following your trail.

“I have shovels full of paperwork to fill out at the station, and I'm not even an employee of the Caledonia branch of Interpol, I'm a proper Guardian. So yeah: I'm turning you in to the station, I'm filling out my paperwork, and I'm going back to my post.”

Tearloch was a bit uncertain how to take this. Looking at Dylan, he saw the young fairy's shimmer glinting and swirling agitatedly. The keen, stubborn look in Dylan's grey eyes said that he was about to pursue an argument... with the fair one who had literally just taught him only the basics of magic. Tearloch decided it was time to step in for his friend.

“We'd be honored to accompany you m'lord! I'm certainly eager to see more of this time's Glasgow, and would be more than honored to be invited into a company of fair folk!”

Chapter Text

Dylan

Dylan glared distrustfully at the Chief, who sat with one hip up on the desk filled to impossible heights by stacks of paperwork. They were almost as tall as the Chief when he was standing, which was saying something. This was not a normal police station. Fairies or no, what kind of police station was set up in an old library? And he didn't even want to ask what the creature working at the computer to his left was.

The Chief frowned, crossed his arms over his chest, and seemed to make up his mind about something. “The nuts and bolts of it are this: There is an emergency situation outside town, and thanks to this mess with Sebastian, I have no agents available.”

Dylan sniffed, “Wheil I don't know who this Sebastian is, and I don' care. You've no right to hold us here, and we've done naething wrong.”

Dylan glanced over at Tearloch. He was closely inspecting a stapler. Poor man. Completely lost in this era. Dylan may have a bit too much drink sometimes, but he knew a responsibility when he saw one, and Tearloch was his highlander. He wasn't about to abandon him to this alleged 'police force,' no matter if there were emergencies with Sabastians, Thomas', or Richards.

“Actually young man,” Chief Benandonner retorted, “Ye've mucked about with time a fair amount, and I do have the right to hold you here until that's sorted out.”

Tearloch was coming over with a concerned look on his face at the mention of holding them there. Dylan decided to take a chance, taking a deep breath and matching the Chief stare for stare, he braced himself, and allowed his wings to unfold in a shower of light and feathers. Alright Dylan, now just feel the balance point, and don't let this excessively tall bastard see you sweat. Dylan curled the spread of his wingspan slightly, not so far forward that he tipped over, but enough so that Tearloch was safely encircled on 3 sides. Nobody is going to try any of those glamours or whatever to spirit him away. Dylan thought petulantly.

“See here, Tearloch is my responsibility. I'll not be turning him over to be filed away with these mounds of paperwork!”

“Dylan,” Tearloch was frowning. “I'm neabody's pet.”

The Chief sighed and rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Listen, this is getting out of hand. Just listen to the situation, there's a lot of people in danger, and I've got nobody left to help them.”

Dylan and Tearloch looked at each other. Dylan felt pretty sure that the sentiment in Tearloch's eyes mirrored his own.

“Whiel, what is it then?” Dylan begrudged.

“Thank you,” The Chief sighed in relief and began leading the way to a door on the side of the room.“A changeling has become part of a human hostage situation. I would normally hold back and observe, as human culprits mean human jurisdiction, but there's a complication.”

Dylan raised his hand to interject, “What is this changeling business? If some kind of shape-shifter got mixed up in a problem, why can't 'ee just trick his way out?” They entered a small conference room with a central table, chairs, and a glass board pushed against the wall.

Tearloch placed his hand on Dylan's shoulder. “Nea Dylan, a changeling is a child. Why do you do it Sir?” Tearloch addressed the Chief, “Why steal children from the homes of families who love them?”

The Chief wheeled the glass board away from the wall and took out a marker.“Except in very special circumstances, we only take children who are dying anyway. The humans babies spend their last days surrounded by love, color, and light. The changelings are orphaned or dispossessed fairy younglings who need homes, so are switched with the dying humans.”

The Chief began drawing a diagram of a building next to the river. “This particular Fae was from a spring that fed the Clyde, and when it was bulldozed over, it was all her parents could do to create her. Fae are usually very difficult to kill, but because the essence of these particular Fae were tied up in the spring, it's destruction would have destroyed them in turn, and they could not escape.

“So her parents combined their power to create a child of their race who could be free from the spring. She lived, but they didn't survive the destruction of their home, as they knew they wouldn't.”

Dylan curled his wings around Tearloch again. He could hardly imagine such a horrible fate, for the girl, or the parents. To be so powerless...

The Chief was filling in some of the interior walls of the building he was drawing. “The girl is naturally a healing spirit, and needs to be acclimated to humans. That is why she was placed in the changeling program, rather than being relocated to Fairy. But due to her youth, we still have to get enough spring water into her to keep her alive daily. She's so young, she may loose control and kill everyone in the building if they aren't rescued before she gets too thirsty.”

“Wait,” Dylan started. “Did you say, 'if they aren't rescued?' We're not going in to rescue the girl from the kidnappers?”

The Chief looked up from his diagram, “This is the Caledonia branch of Interpol Mr. Stuart. We exist to protect humans from the monsters of the Fairy world. Just yesterday two of my detectives had to sober up a Kelpie before he killed the next unfortunate human to get too close to the Clyde.”

Dylan reorganized his brain around this thought, as the Chief finished up his diagram.

“Now normally, I'd send a seasoned officer to the field with you, but you're of the Trouping Fae, and anyway I have nobody available. You just have to get enough pure water down her throat to keep her settled until the human police take the situation in hand. It should be easy enough for you, Aonghios says you're fluent enough in glamours now.”

“M'lord Benandonner,” Tearloch piped up. “Is the Lord Aonghios not to accompany us then?”

Dylan said “Us?!” just as the Chief said, “No.”

“First off,” Dylan said, holding up his hands. “Why wouldn't Aonghios be coming? He said himself he's not an officer, so he can't be tied up in this Stephen business.”

“Sebastian.” The Chief corrected, “And actually he is not only tied up in it, he is also a Guardian of Glasgow, and this incident is happening outside the city limits. It's not as though he can go on holiday for an evening just to bring someone a drink.”

“Fine then,” Dylan turned to Tearloch. “Whit do ye mean 'us'? Ye're not going into a dangerous hostage situation.” Dylan couldn't get the thought of the girl's fairy parents out of his head. They had been Fae, as he was; They had even been more experienced than he, and they had been powerless in the end.

“Whiel you're not going in alone, m'good Sir.” Tearloch retorted. “I am a seasoned warrior, and I'll not abandon my friend, all the less when he's to embark on a dangerous quest.”

“Actually,” The Chief interjected, “He's got a fair point: he probably does have more experience with battle and dangerous situations than you. Not to mention he's a human. Right useful to have around: humans.”

“Oche, Aye!” Tearloch agreed, “For example, I can handle iron if she's gone mad already. You can't.”

Dylan looked at his new friend suspiciously, “I don't recall telling ye about my metal allergies.”

“All Fae are allergic to iron.” The Chief stated, “Can't even come near it actually. Now that's settled, on to the matter at hand.”

Fine, these stubborn fools want to put the man in danger, I suppose it's better to keep him near me anyway. Dylan folded up his wings and settled down into one of the rooms plastic chairs. Who knows what they'd do with him if I left him here. I'll protect him, and the girl, and the whole bloody city while I'm at it.

Over the next hour, Dylan and Tearloch listened as the Chief outlined the lay of the land, and the number of kidnappers and hostages. At the end Dylan was given a silver flask of fresh spring water, and the giant, the fairy, and the man, devised a plan.

Chapter Text

Hostage

Lizzy focused on keeping her mouth closed, the dusty and polluted air in the bone dry prison tasted like the death of her first family; dimly remembered from her first moments of life. breath through your nose, breath through your nose, breath though your nose....

Her thickened tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth, her painful lips cracked, and she tried not to lick them. The grime all over every surface seemed to seep into her skin, but at least she couldn't taste it then. breath through your nose, breath through your nose, breath through your....

The people practically sloshed as they moved around her. The wetness of the human bodies was all she could think about. All... that... water... mixed into their blood, into their lymph... into their brains... flowing along their spine... breath through your nose... breath through your nose...

Lizzy, a frail five years old, with essence older than man, clung to a stone pillar to try to keep control of herself. Mother walked up to comfort her, was saying something, but the wet smack of her eyeballs as she blinked was the only thing Lizzy could hear. breath through your nose...

She cowered away, afraid to hurt the only mother she had ever known. Lizzy squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her mothers arms, pumping rhythmically with fluid from her heart, reach towards her. breath through....

A cool mist rose in the room, but the slight moisture in the air only sharpened her thirst. It wasn't enough. This mist would never slake her need. breath...

Her lips parted, and her vision turned red...

Chapter Text

Dylan

The sun had dipped below the horizon, and sky was dark in the east, but there was still enough light from the west to see the lay of the wharf and dockyard. Dylan and Tearloch crouched next to a pier-side rail, taking in the space that separated them from the entrance to the warehouse.

“Whiel, here goes naething.” Dylan said, and reached his awareness into the river. Then, trying to focus as he had been taught, he pulled up a cool mist. As he rolled it past the two of them, and towards the building, he could feel the contrast of the cool wet breeze and Tearloch's warm reassuring body right beside him. He was thankful that Tearloch had insisted on coming; he was still worried for his safety, but he was reassured somehow as well.

As the fog rolled forward, the two men strode quickly behind it, following it's front into the building of concrete and steel, senses alert for any movement. Once they were several paces in, Dylan motioned to Tearloch, and their plan took shape. Just to my right now...there's the door! As Tearloch patrolled the area between the hostages' room and the exit, Dylan laid a Bright Glamour on the door to make it seem closed, then transformed the true door to air. As the fog rolled into the room, he saw the little girl clinging to a pillar, her mother drawing near to comfort her.

Quickly, Dylan whipped up the Swirl he'd been practicing for the other hostages. The human members of the room suddenly got a dazed, flat look on their face, and the mother's arms encircled the air where she thought her daughter was. Relief washed over Dylan as he entered the room, thinking he'd been in time.

It was then he saw the girl's eyes: All black with large red pupils glittering in the fog.

Whiel Christ! Dylan thought as he saw the Girl lunge at her mother, mouth hanging open! Dylan transported her to other side of room before he could think. She crashed into the wall, and turned her gaze towards him. Dylan kept part of his mind on the glamour enthralling the human hostages, and tried to manifest a straightjacket around the girl. As it began to materialize around her, she somehow became...longer, and each of her joints became more pointy. All of a sudden she had crossed the space to him, the straightjacket in tatters, and had a hold of his leg.

Dylan could somehow feel the liquid being drawing out of him, as his mouth started to go dry. He began to panic and flung out a magical defense, his glistening rainbow shield bursting out from him like a prismatic sound wave. Just then one of the humans moaned, and began to raise a hand to his head. Dylan quickly reinforced the Glamour Swirl, and then bent his shielding around convexly to encircle the girl where she had fallen.

Just as he got the girl entirely contained, Dylan heard Tearloch yell from the other side of the door. Turning away from the girl in terror for his friend's life, he saw the highlander deck one of the kidnappers, and turn to face three more. Tearloch is surrounded! He reached his consciousness out through the door to aid his friend, but three magical works were too many. The girl escaped, and lashed out at him with talons that had appeared in place of her cute little fingers.

It was all Dylan could handle; he simultaneously fought to control the changeling child and keep up the glamour so her fellow hostages (especially the mother) thought Lizzy was curled up in her mother's arms. Dylan was desperate, he could see Tearloch fighting and was terrified he'd be hurt. Dylan tried catching the girl in a bubble of his shielding again, but she dashed to the side and charged him. Transporting her to the ceiling, and letting her fall to the cement floor, Dylan stole another glance at Tearloch while he reinforced the Glamour Swirl again. He's down to just one other man now!

As Dylan paused to admire the skill of his companion, Lizzy sprang towards him claws first. In the blink of an eye, Dylan wrapped her in a sphere of the glittering shielding.

“Alright, tha's about enough from you.” Dylan muttered. He carefully shrank the shield to closely envelope her, pinning her arms to her sides. Then, opening a hole in magic imprisoning her so that her mouth and nose were free, he unstoppered the spring water and held it to her lips. As the girl drank greedily, Dylan thought There must have been an easier way to do this.

As she drank and drank, Dylan realized the flask wasn't growing empty. That's handy. Slowly Lizzy shrank, and softened, and regained a human eye color. Dylan marveled at how quickly the creepy little monster that had just tried to kill him became an adorable little girl. He gently set her feet down on the floor and released the shield holding her.

“Fank you Mister Angel.” The little girl said quietly as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

“Uh... ye're welcome munchkin.” Dylan saw the girl eyeing the silver flask. “Why don't you just hold on to this deary?”

“Fank you!”

“Run along and hop into your mother's arms now, I've got to get going.”

As the little girl ran to take the place of herself in the illusion, Dylan mind jolted to the fight happening out in the main room. Tearloch!

Dylan turned from the scene in a rush to see what had happened to Tearloch, all thoughts of the Glamour Swirl forgotten. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding to see Tearloch standing tall over the Kidnapper's bodies. That sigh quickly turned to a gasp of horror as he saw the blood staining Tearloch's left side.

Chapter Text

Tearloch

The fighting fury was still raging in his blood when Tearloch cracked the jaw of the last man standing, (“Standing” here to mean: “trying to rise after being knocked down twice.”) and spun around to find his next target. Surprised to find he had no more enemies left, Tearloch scanned the room to be sure. No, they were all down. That one might actually be dead. Wait... no, still breathing. Next time he got sucked through time, he should try to remember a sword.

He focused to calm his breath as the fury subsided, and looked through the door to the room where Dylan had been fighting the fae child. Looked like she was back to normal, and Dylan was giving her that flask. Good. We've done it then, and Dylan is safe.

As relief washed over him, Tearloch was surprised to realize that his hip and leg were wet. Looking down, he saw blood pouring from a wound in his side. Stunned, he touched the wound with his fingers, and starred at the dark red dripping from his hand. It didn't even hurt. Tearloch looked up to see Dylan soaring towards him on those bright, beautiful wings, and finally could feel. Sensation rushed into the emptiness, as well as the realization that this was goodbye. His ears rushed and the room blurred as Tearloch began to fall. The world went gray, and Tearloch panicked as he realized he somehow couldn't hear whatever Dylan was yelling as he flew towards him... He was dying, he would never see those beautiful wings again in this life, and he couldn't even hear what Dylan was saying.

...

Tearloch was mildly surprised to realize he was warm and comfortable. That didn't seem right somehow.

Tearloch took stock. He was clearly alive, because he could feel the rush of air moving through his nose and lungs. He was probably outside, because that air was cool and misty feeling. Opening his eyes, Tearloch found that the warmth he felt was due to being cradled in Dylan's arms, the bright white angle wings curved around them, shielding them from the world.

“Dylan,” Tearloch began, but the other man cut him off gently.

“Don't try to move or speak yet.” the look of concern on Dylan's face, and the gentle firmness with which he supported his body, sufficed to quiet the questions Tearloch had been about to ask. Dylan concentrated with one arm wrapped around Tearloch's back, and one hand pressed to his side. Tearloch suddenly remembered the fight, and the wound in that side... which was no longer there. Tearloch breathed deeply as he felt a warm wave of comfort sweep through his body. His shoulders relaxed and he rested his head back on Dylan's chest.

With Dylan's head bowed in concentration, Tearloch could feel the other man's breath against his own throat. As he lay in the circle of arms and wings, Tearloch became aware of the soft touch of Dylan's cheek on his forehead; the comfort of knowing he was not alone; the rightness of being wrapped in those arms.

Tearloch breathed in, and tilted his head up to look at Dylan's face. Just as his nose would have brushed his jaw, Dylan adjusted his head so they could see each other. Looking into his eyes, Tearloch realized he had found him: the mate of his soul.

“Dylan,” he began again, but Dylan's hand was gently stroking the hair back from his temple. Their faces so close, Tearloch could feel the warmth of their proximity on his lips.

“Let me bring us someplace safe.” Dylan said gently. The hand on Tearloch's temple brushed down his face, his neck, his chest, and encircled his waist. There was a lurch of the world, and they were suddenly laying on cool sheets. Dylan's arms were still wrapped around him, and his own arms had somehow become encircled around Dylan's waist.

“Are you alright?” Dylan breathed into his ear.

“Aye, Dylan.”

Tearloch tilted his head, and let his lips brush the hollow of Dylan's neck...

Chapter Text

Epilogue

The next morning, as Dylan led the way down the stairs from his flat, and out into Glasgow, he couldn't stop looking over at the beautiful man striding along beside him. They should probably have reported into the station right away, but that had been the furthest thing from his mind when he had transported the two of them. He honestly didn't know exactly what he had been thinking, but he was glad he hadn't stopped to question things. All in all there were still a number of things he was afraid to ask. Afraid that brining them up would somehow shatter this perfect world they had stepped into.

As he led the healed Tearloch back to the station to check in with the Chief, Dylan shivered to think of how close he had come to loosing Tearloch forever. It dawned on Dylan then; the full scope his feelings. He didn't just want to protect Tearloch, or give him every pleasure and comfort under then sky: he never wanted to lose him. Wanted to watch the warm glow of sun off his dark hair forever. He was more than madly in love; he had found something he had stopped believing in years ago- His soulmate.

...

John Elderman got up from where he had been kneeling in the small side chapel of the church. As long as he lived, he hoped he would never experience something as horrible as that imprisonment; but he knew he would never see anything as beautiful as their rescue. Their silent, hopeless, daze had been broken by the sudden existence of an Angel soaring out through the doorway that no longer had a door in it. Creeping out of the room, they had seen their kidnappers strewn across the floor in unconscious heaps, and the Angel kneeling in the center of their limp bodies, wings folded forward as if shielding something. Just as he had worked up the courage to step out towards the servant of God, the space where the Angel knelt... it bent, somehow... and he had been gone.

John paused as he came to the door of the church. I promise your gift will not be in vain, Lord. I'll be a better man... He paused again at the bottom of the church steps to let a happy looking man in a track suit & a man with long dark hair and a kilt pass by. Don't see many great-kilts walking around these days. I wonder if there's a renaissance fair in town? With a light feeling in his heart, Mr. John Elderman stepped out into Glasgow, and headed towards his family.

...

“Are you certain?” Chief Benandonner sighed as he addressed the Trouping Fae before him.

Aonghios took the beer can from his pocket and cracked the tab, “Absolutely. I could see the whole fight from my post. Dylan's not just some fae, he's a full Guardian like me.” If a bit pretentious. Who manifests angel wings within 3 seconds of learning they're fae? Aonghios took a pull of beer. I wonder if the real Angels will laugh at him?

The Chief's face darkened, “Begging the question- Which of the other Guardians has died? We have an unguarded post someplace in the city now.”

Aonghios' attention snapped back to the matter at hand, “Not to mention, how they died, or when.” He took another pull of his Irn-Bru, “Guardians don't just kick the bucket, so who could have killed a full Guardian? Let alone so quietly that we had no idea one was gone until his replacement showed up?”

“For now the only lead we have on somebody who can kill the fae is Sebastian. I'm about to go meet my detectives at the scene of the latest murder.”

Aonghios looked down at the floor shamefacedly, at the mention of Sebastian “Yes well, fair enough. If Dylan doesn't show up at the station soon, I'll go out and find him. We need to get him to his post as soon as possible.”

“Good then. I have to head out, see you later.” And the giant Benandonner left the station.

Aonghios leaned against the Chief's desk, fiddling with the tab of his beer can. They don't have to know about Sebastian. It's still just a theory that it's him anyway; if he were truly making a move, he'd have called in that favor I owe him....