Archive of Our Own

When Philza had first learned about the magical apocalypse that was taking over the world - the fabric between normal reality and the world of magic wearing thin, creatures breaking through, wreaking havoc in every major city - he hadn't expected it to feel so much like working retail.

There were the usual long shifts. Distant management who never got their hands dirty and made up ridiculous rules. Shitty customers- well. Technically, the magical beings weren't really customers, but fighting them was about equivalent to dealing with a customer who refused to admit to being in the wrong, except that in this case, Philza was entirely allowed (and encouraged!) to stab them. Perks of being a magic hunter and all.

Of course, that wasn't to say there weren't downsides to being a hunter for the L'manburg Magical Affairs Organization (or LMAO, as the organization was abbreviated on badges and paperwork and promotional flyers, because standard naming conventions didn't always come up with the best acronyms).

One of those downsides was, as mentioned, distant management. The small council of people who dealt in abstracts, rather than the harsh reality of blood and runes and fucking magic, something that no one really understood, even now. They were the sort of people to see the high burnout rate and higher mortality rate of hunters and say "You know what we need? A recruitment campaign!"

He'd seen one of the posters for said campaign earlier that day. Or- night, technically. Hunting shifts weren't the most consistent thing in the world. Plenty of people were doing research on magical outbreaks, trying to find connections between them in terms of severity or location or the time they occurred, but no one had found a definitive answer, aside from the general consensus that most outbreaks happened when the sun was down. So hunting was a mostly nocturnal thing, though a rotating on-call assignment was also kept to ensure they'd have coverage during the day.

Today had been an especially shitty day as far as that went. It'd started nearly sixteen hours ago, when Philza had woken up from a deep sleep to the sound of the on-call alarm going off. The alarms never gave much detail, but when Philza checked his comm, he learned that it was vampires.

Which also wasn't helpful. Vampires came in all sorts of different varieties, each of which had different powers. There were some that crumbled to dust in the sun and others that didn't. Some that could turn into bats and some that would dissipate into a cloud of bats and yet more that had nothing to do with bats at all. And, of course, some had the ability to thrall, which Philza fucking hated. It was possible to block a thrall, if you took the proper precautions and used the correct combination of protective runes and all that, but he'd found that even an attempted thrall left a weird feeling that would last for hours and hours.

To figure out what kind of vampires these were, he'd had to get to the outbreak location, which was an abandoned cathedral-like structure near the city center. Fairly standard. While outbreaks were pretty unpredictable, they did follow some patterns. First: magic seemed to like people. And second, it was more common in places where large-scale magical outbreaks had already occurred.

No one was sure why that happened, but the theory Philza liked best was that people attracted magic, and that magic breaking through tore a hole in reality that - if it was big enough - didn't close on its own.

Didn't really matter the reason. What mattered was that the former city center, though it had been evacuated back when the apocalypse started, got a disproportionate number of outbreaks. And while various solutions had been suggested, everything from turning the city center into a large space of holy land or just burning down everything outright, the LMAO council had so far opted for damage control.

This was particularly annoying when it came to hunting the magical creatures who materialized during outbreaks. While Philza wasn't sure burning the city down was a good idea, the council had never had to figure out navigating an elaborate construction of climbing lines in a goddamn cathedral (old enough that it was apparently no longer considered holy ground) in order to fully uproot the vampire colony that had apparently been living there for weeks. Because while these vampires didn't have the ability to thrall, they could transform into bats.

Which was how Philza spent nearly ten hours of his day clambering over ceiling beams, silver dagger in hand, trying to track down a good two or three dozen bats without falling or dropping his guard for too long.

He had company sometimes, fellow hunters dropping by to help before responding to other outbreaks, but as usual, there were never quite enough hunters for every call. Especially when night began to fall. The windows of the cathedral were stained glass, and the patterns they cast on the floor would've been captivating if Philza hadn't been so focused on tracking down the last of the bats, a task that was even harder in the failing light.

The oncoming dusk was a disheartening sight, though. Philza still had an entire regular shift ahead of him after the vampire call was finally taken care of.

Not for the first time, he had the thought that they were fighting a losing battle. Always would be, so long as they kept playing catch-up with the magic. Ever since the apocalypse started, humanity had been in a sort of holding pattern. Magic was a gaping wound they kept trying to apply pressure to in an effort to stop the bleeding. Except that stopping the bleeding wasn't enough; they'd have to find an actual solution, bandage it up properly, and then when some new wound appeared - a new facet of magic that they weren't adapted to - they could put resources to fixing the problem instead of desperately scrambling to hold together their sinking ship.

Instead, they'd been scrambling since the beginning. Magical Affairs Organizations were the first solutions to the sudden outpour of magic, groups that gathered volunteers and organized supply lines and mobilized around the outbreaks that had signaled the start of the apocalypse.

Then, not two weeks after things were starting to get back in hand, more creatures came through. The MAOs, groups that were supposed to be a temporary measure, with all their redundancies and messy structures, slowly turned to a permanent fixture. Researchers quietly worked away while reporters said that things would go back to normal eventually.

Three years later, and things sure as hell weren't back to normal, but it felt like everyone just wanted to pretend it was still possible. That if they just stayed still, stagnant, they would turn a corner one day and find everything the same as it had been before the end of the world as they knew it.

Philza tracked down the last bat, stabbed it through the heart with the silver dagger, and let it fall from the ceiling beam it had been cowering on. The creature disintegrated before it hit the ground.

Much as Philza would like to say that was the hardest part of the day (or night), it wasn't. And as much as he'd like to say that the rest of his shift was a blur, it really wasn't.

Yet another way the apocalypse was basically retail: if one thing went wrong, everything went wrong. He didn't have to chase bats through any more ceilings, but he was called to three new outbreaks that night, which had been determined as the tentative upper limit for how many outbreaks could spawn in a single night. One of them was vampires again, these ones with the ability to thrall. There were only a handful of the fuckers - they rarely appeared in large groups; the cathedral had been an outlier in that regard - but they managed to take out a hunter and severely injure two others before they were dead.

And then there were the fae.

Somehow, fae creatures defied categorization even more than vampires. To some extent, this was because of a shitty categorization system: anything that didn't have a known mythology was considered a fae being, which made it a sort of catchall group. Besides that, though, there were shapeshifters and changelings and pixies and the sort of faeries that had a court, and each of them had slightly different rules of engagement.

The fae outbreaks that night had been pretty small in scale, with one being a troupe of pixes and other a fae creature, a silver deer than nearly drew away some of his fellow hunters before someone realized what was going on. Easy enough to take out.

Every time the alert sounded, though, telling Philza that fae had been spotted, his heart would skip a beat and he'd imagine the worst. He fucking hated the fae. Not the pixies or the fae creatures, or any of the other beings that got put in the same category as a fae, but the true fae, with their tricks and their illusions and their goddamn fae realm.

Those types of outbreaks were much less common. There was a theory (or maybe "superstition" was a better word) that said that the more powerful the creature, the longer it took them to gather the strength to come through. And if that were so, it would explain why there were so few true fae in the world.

Still. True fae incursions did happen, even if it was on rare occasion, and the possibility alone was enough to terrify any hunter who'd been around long enough to hear the stories. Philza had seen exactly one true fae incursion, and it was a small miracle that he'd lived to tell the tale.

Others weren't so lucky.

It had been a little over a year since the last incursion, but he knew better than to let his guard down. That was the thing with hunting: you always had to be careful, do all the right things, because experience alone would never be enough to protect against the magical things that haunted humanity.

The sun was just beginning to rise as the hunt for the silver deer came to an end. Fae creatures were a curious group. They were elusive, more so than almost any other magical being, and had a tendency to vanish for minutes at a time before reappearing tantalizingly close. If a hunter happened to get too close, though-

They'd simply disappear. Into the fae realm, which was information the magical organizations were forced to learn the hard way, when one of the hunters who'd vanished like that (one, out of so many) came back, so worn they seemed years older. The fae realm was something that nobody had enough information on, because while getting there wasn't hard, getting back - alive and able to make sense of what you'd seen - was near impossible.

Either way, fae creatures were one of the easier dangers to avoid. They couldn't talk, after all, could only lure an unwary hunter to the wrong place by means of a sort of enchantment. They were hard to catch, but over time the hunters had developed long-range weapons that were effective against fae creatures, and the danger had dropped significantly since then.

This time, the hunt ended at the far side of the city center, which left a long way to go to get back to the LMAO offices. Philza resigned himself to the walk, raising a hand to shade his eyes from the sunlight as it filtered through the city's buildings and only halfheartedly joining the post-shift celebration of the other hunters he'd been working with that night.

It was as he was walking back, sipping on a healing potion to fix the injuries he'd accumulated and feeling the faint buzz of magic in his veins, that he saw the flyer on the wall of one of the abandoned houses.

JOIN NOW, it read in a large white font that had a professional-looking contrast to the deep violet background.

Philza squinted at the flyer, trying to figure out what it was for. He couldn't quite make out the details from where he was standing. Whoever had placed the flyer, though, had done a hilariously bad job of it. Hunters were just about the only people who dared to venture into the city center. Advertising here was largely ineffective.

He walked closer, curiosity momentarily overcoming his tiredness. Upon reaching it, he noticed a few things. The flyer was an LMAO recruitment ad, which made the flyer's placement even more ridiculous. It was also themed; runes decorated the edges of the paper, and the silhouettes of various magical symbols were in the background of the text. All meaningless, of course. Whoever was in charge of PR had no practical hunting experience or - most likely - experience with magic more generally.

JOIN THE LMAO TODAY! the smaller print proclaimed cheerfully, followed by a list of all the benefits hunters received. Things like free housing and free access to potions, holy water, silver weapons, and other similar magical deterrents. The list of benefits was printed next to a picture of people in hunters' outfits; like every other generic recruitment poster Philza had ever seen, they were all smiling, as if being a hunter was something a person should just pick up on a whim. Like it wasn't the modern-day equivalent of joining the military.

He was about to continue on, but something about the picture was catching his eye. He reached out, tearing the paper away from the wall it had been stuck to so he could study it more easily.

He recognized this picture.

It was old, nearly two years old at this point, and the people in the picture were actually hunters. Or had been, at the time. Philza could pick out a few hunters who had become part of either the burnout statistics or the mortality rate. It was edited, but badly; one side of the picture had been cropped out, and there were definitely some faces missing. The spots where they'd been were filled in, not quite seamlessly enough to escape closer scrutiny.

Of course they'd edit it. The council didn't like talking about hunter mortality, and often tried to avoid all mention of it in their official memos and recruitment campaigns. The most they'd do was hold a memorial service for those who'd fallen in especially bad outbreaks. Even then, the service would be over within a few days, and they'd move on quickly.

Philza realized he was gripping the side of the flyer hard enough to crumple it. He forced himself to release his grip, instead folding the paper into fourths and shoving it into a pocket with more force than was really necessary. He'd burn it when he got home, he told himself, knowing he'd forget by the time he got there.

It was the little bits of rebellion that kept him going. The actions that didn't really matter, didn't have any long-term impact, but were nevertheless a "fuck you" to the council and the PR team and everyone else who kept trying to put the bandaid of hunter teams over the gaping wound of the goddamn apocalypse.

The rest of the walk home was uneventful, aside from Philza angrily ranting in his head to someone who wasn't there. The frustration had dissolved into tiredness by the time he made it to the apartment building that served as LMAO headquarters, with its shitty hand-painted banner draped over the door proclaiming what the building was. Yet another thing that was supposed to be temporary, clinging on long past any point of being useful.

The apartments weren't bad, at least. One bedroom per, plus a decently large kitchen/living room area and a little area leading into the apartment for storing gear and first aid kits and the like. Hunters were supposed to share apartments, partly due to space constraints and partly because they were in teams of two anyway, but Philza had his to himself now.

He swung open his apartment door, almost too tired to catch it before it slammed into the wall, and reached for the light switch, only to realize it was already on. He tried to remember if he'd turned it off before leaving. Came to the conclusion that no, he'd forgotten. Again. Good thing he didn't have to pay the electricity bill.

There were two shelves on the wall directly across from the door, one for the traditional first aid kit and one with two boxes of little potion vials. Philza took two potions of healing from one box, slipping those into the pouch on his belt to replace the potions he'd used during his shift. He nearly grabbed a third, to chase away the last lingering pains, but paused; healing potions were notoriously finicky, and had to be taken within a certain time of the initial injury.

He sighed, taking a vial of regeneration from the other box instead.

Next came putting away all the magical weapons and wards he carried while on shift. Silver daggers, stakes, a revolver with a few silver bullets, holy water, various sachets of herbs. Everything had runes on it, whether engraved into metal or wood or written in blue ink. Protection and unbreaking, mostly. Those were the easy runes.

Finally, Philza finished putting everything where it was supposed to go. He took a deep breath, let it out. Felt some of the tension ease away. Only one last thing to do now: get his usual after-shift treat.

Off-brand Cocoa Puffs weren't his favorite food ever, or even his favorite cereal, but it was a tradition by now, one that he didn't want to break. He was nearly out, though. He hadn't restocked recently enough and there would only be enough left for today. He made a mental note to take some time before his shift tomorrow to get more.

There was a cabinet just below the shelves, which could be sealed with runes and a physical lock. It was meant to hold the really important magical artifacts a hunter might have. Like, for instance, shitty cereal that was basically just sugar.

The cabinet door was never locked, and Philza swung it open, reaching for the cereal-

Only to realize it wasn't there.

He paused, scanning the relatively small space as if the box could somehow have hidden itself. He was sure there'd been some left after his last shift.

Just his luck, though. Yet another thing that went wrong. Fuck.

He slammed the cabinet door with a little more force than was strictly necessary, then walked from the entrance area to the kitchen, downing the regeneration potion and already cataloguing what food he might have in his fridge. He hadn't stocked up in a while, but while the dining hall on the ground floor of the complex was almost certainly open, there would be other hunters there, and he didn't want to talk to them just now.

Tired as he was, distracted by his thoughts, he almost didn't realize there was someone else in the apartment.

He was a hunter, though, and more than three years of training and constant vigilance meant he wasn't ever fully unaware of his surroundings. So although it took him a second, he saw the cloaked figure sitting in the chair across the kitchen table, saw them sit up straighter at his entrance in a way that made it seem like they'd been waiting for him.

"Hey, Phil," said a familiar voice.

Philza didn't respond at first, just threw the empty potion vial in his hand, half on instinct.

It missed.

"Phil-"

There were more vials on the counter, the remains of all the times Philza had taken a potion after a shift and set it down, telling himself that he'd get to them eventually while knowing they'd just continue to pile up. He reached for the pile blindly, not taking his eyes off the intruder, and threw the first vial he grabbed at them. This time, it bonked them on the shoulder.

"Ow."

"I swear to god, Techno," Philza snapped, feeling the initial rush of adrenaline start to fade. He took a moment to breathe, to calm the shake in his hands and take in the scene. Techno looked much the same as ever; pink hair, gilded earrings (including an emerald stud), clothing that wouldn't have looked out of place a few centuries ago. He was wearing a cloak, now, draped asymmetrically over his right shoulder, and was holding a mug with Minecraft pigs on it.

"Phil, I can explain."

"You'd fucking better."

"I get that you're mad at me-"

Philza laughed humorlessly. "That's one word for it."

"Look- I'm sorry," Techno tried.

"Yeah, I sure hope so. You stole my fucking cereal, mate."

Techno paused, mouth open as if he'd been about to keep apologizing. Philza crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow to show that he was waiting for an explanation, and finally Techno broke the silence.

"That's what you're mad about?"

The disbelief in his tone was clear, and Philza just nodded. "I just got done with a sixteen hour shift, and I was really looking forward to having my cereal." He gestured to the mug Techno was holding. Techno had been in the habit of using mugs instead of bowls for things like soup and cereal, and given that no one else had been in the apartment, the answer to who'd taken the last of his cereal was clear.

Techno blinked at him. "… are you okay?"

"I feel like I should be asking you that, mate," Philza returned, then uncrossed his arms and went over to the sink, picking up the battered kettle on the way to fill it with water. "Tea?"

"Sure," Techno said after a beat. "But Phil-"

"You can explain yourself after I have my tea."

"Right."

The apartment fell silent, save for the click of the stove as Philza turned it on and the gentle sound of the water heating up. The stove and sink were on the side of the counter closest to the entrance, meaning he had to half turn his back on Techno, and that fact was incredibly nerve-wracking. He pushed down the fight or flight instinct for now, just opened one of the kitchen cabinets to pull out the fancy, barely-used tea service from the back of the shelf. It was still wrapped in paper from when he'd moved in, so he started unwrapping the cups and plates, turning so he could face Techno while still seeming to focus on the paper in his hands.

Something was deeply wrong. Philza knew that with the sort of instinct that came with being a hunter, especially one who'd survived all three years of the apocalypse so far despite the dangers of the job.

He ran through his magical defenses in his head; he'd always assumed that nothing could get in his apartment, given that the whole building was on holy land (hastily consecrated soon after the apocalypse started) and every entrance was absolutely covered in wards. He was now beginning to regret that assumption, because it meant that he hadn't prepared for if something did get in.

"So… how's huntin' goin'?"

Philza glanced up, leveling Techno with what he hoped was an intimidating look. It was too early in the morning to be sure. "After the tea, mate."

Techno was holding the mug like a lifeline, and Philza noticed his grip tightening at that. Despite himself, the small motion nearly broke his resolve. He wanted to apologize. Say that he hadn't meant to be so harsh, and pretend things were okay. That everything could be okay.

Instead, he looked away quickly, returning his attention to unwrapping the tea set. It had a loosely floral design, dark ink on a white background, with little crows flitting around amongst the flowers. The set was a little too fancy for ordinary use- but then, what point was there in leaving it on the shelf forever?

Finally, the kettle began to whistle. Philza took it from the stove, flicking off the burner, and returned to the tea cups, pouring hot water in. He took two packets of tea at random out of the holder on the counter. Then, when he'd added those to the teacups, he grabbed two other containers from the counter, adding a pinch of rosemary leaves and a dash of salt to each cup.

It would still have to steep, so he took the tiny silver spoon from the sugar holder of the tea set and opened the jar of sugar on the counter, pouring some into the container before adding a few spoonfuls to each cup and stirring until the sugar and salt were both dissolved.

The rosemary was still floating alongside the teabags, and Philza took a minute to fish out the larger bits with a tea strainer, tapping them into the sink before carrying one of the teacups to the table. He set the stirring spoon against the side before sliding it halfway across the unfinished wood surface and stepping back.

Techno set down the mug he'd been holding and stirred the tea once himself, setting the spoon on the table before picking up the teacup. He took a small sip, grimaced. "What'd you put in this?" he asked after a moment, giving Philza a questioning look.

Philza didn't say anything, just stared back intently.

"Ruinin' perfectly good tea," Techno muttered, but tipped back the teacup for a larger sip. He shuddered this time, the reaction apparently involuntary, and Philza's grip tightened on his own cup, watching for… for something. He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for yet.

But nothing happened. Techno just set the cup back on the table, scrunching up his face at it before looking back at Philza.

There were a million questions Philza wanted to ask and a million questions he shouldn't.

Instead, he took a breath in, let it out. Took a sip of the tea in his hand - bitter and a little salty, with hints of pine and citrus - and tried not to let his face show the internal conflict he was feeling.

He almost - almost - wanted to believe this was real. That Techno was alive, and here, and none of the magical wards he'd been trying were effective because this Techno wasn't a magical being, and was just human, like he'd always been.

But then, there were so many illusions in the world. So many beings that could pretend to be anyone they wanted.

And Techno had been dead for over a year now.

Killed by the fae, too, the beings most known for shapeshifting, illusions, and tricks. So no, he couldn't trust this, Philza reminded himself sharply. Instead, what he had to do was figure out the precise nature of the thing sitting at his kitchen table.

He'd already managed to narrow down some of the possibilities. Not an incorporeal being, ghost or otherwise, he'd confirmed that several times over; rosemary didn't have an effect, which would rule out most types of fae. Likely not a vampire, either, since it had gotten into his apartment without permission.

Two things were bothering him, though: the silver and the salt. Nearly all magical creatures had an aversion to silver, and usually would suffer some level of physical injury just by coming into contact with the metal, but Techno had used the fancy stirring spoon with no problem and without the slightest hesitation. And salt was a near-universal ward against all things magic. Putting it in tea had been a little unorthodox, sure, but he would've expected it to have some effect.

… but then, magic was unpredictable like that, and sometimes new types of creatures emerged with different strengths and weaknesses and god why did magic have to be so complicated-

"You doin' alright?" Techno asked hesitantly, and Philza bit back the urge to laugh hysterically, because why the fuck was Techno asking him that?

"Why are you here, mate?" He said instead of answering.

Techno shrugged, the motion lopsided and a little stilted. He'd been moving weirdly, Philza noted. Almost as if he were a puppet, or something not quite used to taking human form- though perhaps it was just his imagination. "Thought you deserved the truth."

"The truth?" Philza echoed.

"About the fae incursion."

Philza felt the teacup start to fall from his hands and cursed, grabbing for it hastily. He caught it before it fell more than a few inches. The tea splashed over the edge, though, and he nearly dropped the cup again as the hot liquid hit his hands. "Shit-"

He hurriedly set the cup down on the counter, shaking his hands to get the tea off and looking around to find a towel. There was one hanging on the oven - a little dirty, he really needed to do laundry more often - and grabbed it, using it to dry the leftover tea from his hands. On a quick inspection, the skin where the tea had hit was a little red, but didn't seem too badly burnt.

"Are you sure you're doin' alright?"

"Oh my god." Philza turned to face the thing pretending to be Techno, only barely resisting the urge to grab the nearest knife and stab the creature right there. Not that it would do anything; magical beings were resistant to usual weapons. "Of course I'm not fucking alright, mate. You died. We held a goddamn memorial for you-" he broke off, tears of anger starting to well up.

"Phil-"

"That wasn't you, though," Philza interrupted, the words coming out with more cold certainty than he felt, because he had to know. "You're not him. You're not Techno."

For a brief second, he thought - hoped - that Techno would deny it.

"I thought it would help," Techno said after a long moment, sounding small, and that was definitely not a denial. "Like- if I weren't here, you'd quit bein' a hunter, and it'd be better for you."

Philza huffed, not bothering to dignify that with a response. Being a hunter was the better option. Techno knew that. Or, at least, should know that.

"I'm serious, Phil. You were burnin' out, and- this is gonna sound stupid, but I thought the best way to get you to quit would be fakin' my death. You wouldn't have a reason to stay, an' the council couldn't force you to-"

"Fake your death?" Philza echoed. "You mean, that thing where the fae pulled you off to the fae realm and left your corpse for us to find? How the fuck is that something you could fake?"

Techno sighed. "I made a deal with the fae, alright?"

"Sure you did."

"Look-" Techno paused, giving Philza a searching look. "Knowin' you, you've been testin' me since you got here. You know I'm not a fae. Can you just trust me and listen for two seconds? Please?"

"You don't get to say you know me, mate," Philza snapped back. "There's no fucking way you thought faking your death would actually convince me to quit." Quite the opposite, actually; he'd seen Techno die that day and decided to keep being a hunter in honor of his memory. (Though perhaps the choice had been less than noble, just the vengeful desire to see the fae suffer for their actions.)

Techno hesitated. Started to say something. Then his gaze skittered away, and he waved a hand in a so what? sort of way. "Yeah, well, maybe I wanted out too. You can't tell me you never thought about leavin', livin' your life as a normal guy. Not havin' to worry about any of this."

Philza considered that for a moment, letting the idea roll around in his mind. Techno was right; he had thought about it before, the concept of quitting the hunters and going back to living life as normal. And yet, the thought always came up empty. A vague fantasy that wouldn't settle into anything definite enough to be a real alternative.

"Not really, mate. Can't imagine it would be any better than this," he responded simply.

There were a few beats of silence.

"D'you still have a first aid kit?"

Philza blinked, caught off-guard at the sudden change in subject. "… yeah?"

"Can you go get it?"

Techno didn't elaborate any further, and Philza wasn't quite sure he wanted to ask why a first aid kit was needed. He just nodded and took the excuse to walk back to the entrance room, out of sight of whatever was in his kitchen.

… well.

He took the first aid kit from the top of the two shelves, but paused before leaving the relative shelter of the entry. He knew this couldn't be real, that this couldn't actually be Techno- but then, he'd tried nearly every trick he could, and none of them had worked against Techno, and at this point it felt a little like insanity to keep insisting that Techno was dead when he was literally sitting at the kitchen table.

And if it wasn't, if somehow the Techno in the kitchen really was some magical creature after all…

Philza found that the thought didn't stir the same fear and fury it had less than fifteen minutes ago. The inherent fucked-up horror of something stealing the face of his best friend had kind of lost its force. Instead, the feeling now was more of a weary acceptance.

Like if something bad did happen, it wouldn't be the worst thing ever.

He'd been hesitating for a little too long, fidgeting with the handle of the first aid kit's carrying case and putting off the inevitable for just a little longer. Finally, he grit his teeth and re-entered the kitchen, ready to ask more about the fae deal Techno had supposedly made.

"So," he started, then froze again, the scene once again catching him by surprise. "Holy shit, you're bleeding."

"Yeah, I noticed," Techno deadpanned. He'd taken off the cloak, and Philza could now see that it had been covering up a mess of torn, bloodstained cloth and what looked like little silver darts. He added, belatedly, "Don't freak out again, I promise I'm not magic, it's- it's a long story."

Of course it was a long story. Everything was a long story.

"Do you need stitches, or will regular bandages work?" Philza asked, tossing the kit on the table. He hadn't used the thing in forever; technically, first aid kits were supposed to be used for any injury that wasn't bad enough require immediate attention, but he'd gotten in the habit of taking potions instead, regardless of how little was actually know about the long-term effects. They were just simpler.

Back in the day, though, he'd used the first aid kit a lot, so it was nearly second nature to unseal the case and flip it open. Everything was exactly where he'd left it.

He looked back up to assess the damage again, once again noted the amount of blood. "I've got plenty of potions, too," he added. "You sure you don't want one of those?"

"Potions don't really work on me. Not sure why, but I'm guessin' it's related to the silver allergy."

"… silver allergy?"

"I swear I'm not magic. It's just- side effect of makin' a fae deal, I guess."

Philza exhaled slowly, but he'd already made his decision to help, and it was too early in the morning for him to care anymore. "You have to tell me more about the fae thing, mate."

"We're also gonna need rubbing alcohol," Techno added, in a way that was probably intended to get him back on track rather than avoid the question forever. "No idea how bad it is. I don't really know what I got hit with, either, but they like to bite, so be careful."

There was a small bottle of rubbing alcohol in the first aid kit, along with some sterile gauze, disposable gloves, and a set of shears. Philza took those out of the case, setting them on the table and moving around to get a closer look at Techno's arm. The fancy shirt and its concerning amount of bloodstains weren't helping with an accurate assessment.

At a first glance, he noted that the injuries were caused by about a half-dozen spidery silver burrs. They looked wickedly sharp, and he puzzled over them for a minute. "What were these from?"

"Some sort of trap. Might be a prototype, I haven't seen anything like them before."

Philza nodded, snapping on the gloves before picking up the shears from the table. Aside from hunting, the LMAO had branches to focus on research, classification, civilian protection, and weapons development, among other things. He didn't really pay attention to what they were working on. Those branches, though less public-facing, had actual staff and consistent schedules, and frankly, he didn't care to see firsthand how much better they were doing than him.

"Alright, I'm gonna cut away this mess-"

"Aw, but this is my favorite shirt."

"It's already covered in blood, mate."

Techno shrugged with his good arm, grinning. "I dunno, I think I can still salvage it."

Philza snorted a laugh, but went back to cutting away the fabric anyway, carefully snipping along the arm and eventually just removing the whole sleeve. There was a hole torn in the main body of the shirt, and he could see a glint of silver through it. One step at a time though.

He realized, a little late, that he probably should've gotten tweezers or something to get the barbs out. He didn't quite trust the disposable gloves to protect him from an accidental cut. Still, he decided to give it a shot, using one hand to hold Techno's arm steady and the other to carefully reach to one of the barbs.

And it fucking moved.

The spidery limbs twitched when he got close, snapping at his fingers with terrifying speed. He startled and fell back. The thing went still again, though it looked so much more ominous now, like something lying in wait rather than an inanimate object.

"What the fuck."

"Told you. They like to bite," Techno said.

"Yeah, I see that now," Philza returned, a little shakily. Tweezers it was.

The burrs didn't seem to care about the tweezers, thankfully, and came out with only a little force, though Philza did find himself apologizing repeatedly whenever he pulled one out. He'd decided that the most important thing for now was to get the burrs out; he could worry about bandaging things up when that was done.

When he'd gotten the last one out, Techno had the rubbing alcohol ready, and Philza took that, pouring a little of the alcohol on a bit of gauze before using it to gently swab the punctures. While he was at it, he cleaned up some of the dried blood on the surrounding skin. The used gauze would normally have gone on the table, because he hadn't thought ahead enough to have somewhere to throw it away, but the table space was already taken up by the tea and cereal mugs from earlier, the first aid kit, and a small pile of the silver barbs of death (which had been carefully quarantined). After a second's consideration, he set the gauze next to the barbs, just far enough away that they wouldn't snap at him.

"Seems like a shitty trap design," he mused aloud, breaking the silence that had fallen. "Like- those things just attack everybody, not just magical beings. They're not easy to get rid of, either. And I can't imagine they'd be lethal enough to be worthwhile. Fuckin' annoying, at best."

Techno hummed. "They're not supposed to be lethal. At least, not for humans. Weapons development has to worry about keepin' humans safe, but they're also tryin' to deal as much damage to magic creatures as possible. Which is why they're made of silver."

"Oh?"

"Silver's, like…" Techno hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words. "Magic bein's usually have an upgraded healin' factor, and silver counteracts magic. Meanin' that injuries from silver weapons don't actually heal. It's like if the silver was poison, right? You can't just treat the wound normally, you also have to use somethin' to counteract the effects and hope it doesn't spread too fast. So the goal with those things-" a gesture to the spiky pile of death, "-is to cause as many injuries as possible for the highest chance of silver poisonin'."

Philza blinked, pausing in the middle of bandaging the last mark to process the information. "… that's really fucked up. But- wait, so that only affects magical things, right? You'll be fine?"

Techno made a so-so motion with his free hand. "Sort of. I'm not a fae or anything, but I got a better healin' factor as part of the fae deal, so silver still stops me from healin'. The rubbin' alcohol should counteract it, though."

"You really have to explain more about that fae deal, mate."

The last injury on Techno's arm was dealt with, so Philza grabbed the shears again to cut away the side of the shirt. It fell away to reveal two things: one, another silver burr, buried deep in his side. And two, a long, nasty-looking scar that stretched across the lower part of Techno's ribcage. It looked like it had only recently healed.

"Holy shit," he muttered, momentarily distracted from the barb by the sight of the scar. "What happened to you?"

"Got stabbed. Didn't know about the silver thing, so I tried stitchin' it up normally, and… y'know."

Philza did not, in fact, know. As far as explanations went, though, it was about what he expected from Techno, and it served to drive home the point about silver poisoning. Definitely not a good thing.

"… right." He got another set of disposable gloves, took the tweezers from the table again, and had to debate internally if that would be enough to dislodge the thing. It was the best he had, in any case. "This is gonna hurt," he warned. Techno nodded, turning his head to look as far away as possible.

It took two tries for Philza to get a good grip on the burr, and the thing clung on tighter than it had any right to. Techno actually flinched as he pulled it out, and Philza apologized again, cursing to himself as blood started to flow from the now-open wound.

He set the burr in the pile with the others, tearing off his gloves as well and turning them inside out as he did, so as to avoid getting blood on the table. By that time, Techno had gotten another piece of gauze, soaked it in rubbing alcohol, and pressed that to the injury. He'd gone pale, but was alive and conscious, at least.

"So… fae deal," Techno started, sounding somewhat out of breath. Probably because of blood loss. Philza considered telling him to wait, recover for a bit before explaining, but it seemed like Techno was distracting himself by talking, so he let it slide. "I was plannin' to fake my death for a few weeks before decidin' on how it was gonna work. Figured the fae were my best bet, 'cause they have to keep their word, so I just found one of them durin' a regular shift and made the deal."

"You planned out the terms beforehand, right?"

Techno nodded. "I got permanent fae immunity and a convincin' fake death, they got immunity from hunters for the duration of the fake death and a guarantee that I'd never be a hunter again. I'd say I got the better end of the deal, but apparently I had enough of a reputation that my resignation was strong bargainin' power. You have a reputation, too," he added. "I try not to be in the fae realm too much, but it's safer than bein' around here, and I hear a lot of interestin' stuff."

Philza had been getting a bandage ready, and now traded Techno for the used gauze, placing it in the little pile on the table. He was still sort of reeling from the whole idea of purposely making a fae deal, but then there was the way Techno had so casually mentioned going to the fae realm, as if it were the sort of place a person would go on a fun little day trip-

"So you've just been hanging out in the fae realm for the past year?"

"It's been a year?"

Philza nodded slowly, suspicion starting to build again. The anniversary had passed a mere few weeks ago; he didn't remember much about the day itself, only that it had happened, and he'd woken up the next morning with a splitting headache and the return of the deep sense of loss that he thought had gone away. Surely Techno would have kept track, as well. "Do you not remember?"

Techno sighed, apparently picking up on the hint of accusation in his tone. "Time works differently in the fae realm. That's why I try not to stay there often. Also, I've literally always been bad at time, you know this."

… that was true. The suspicion faded, and with it, the last of the adrenaline that Philza had been running on. Tiredness came crashing back in quite abruptly.

"Were you planning on staying here tonight?" He asked, stifling a yawn.

"Guess so, yeah."

"I can probably take the floor, then, if you want the couch." Philza gave the apartment a cursory scan; it was small, but technically big enough for two people. The couch was already lined with blankets and a few pillows, so it wouldn't be much effort to borrow some of those for the floor. His back would hate him for it, but this was a temporary solution anyway.

Techno hummed, standing slowly from the table. He seemed a little unsteady and still looked a mess. "That sure is a plan."

Philza assumed that meant he was fine with said plan and nodded, then started to clean up the table. The apartment's little garbage can was nearly full, but he figured there was enough space for the gauze and the silver spider burrs. The burrs did present a bit of a problem. He eventually decided on using the tweezers to push the whole pile off the edge of the table and into the trash, then tied off the bag and removed it, setting it near the entrance to take out the next time he left.

As he did so, he heard the sound of a door unlocking behind him.

The apartment had one other room. It'd been closed off for months now, and Philza had fully expected to never open it again- but then he turned, saw Techno push the door open, because of course he still had a key, and of course he wouldn't think twice before going into the room.

"Wait," Philza said, the warning just in time to be worthless.

There were a few long moments of silence.

"Did you just throw all my stuff in a room?" Techno deadpanned. It sounded teasing, but Philza was pretty sure he could hear concern in the tone. That sort of unwarranted concern was exactly the reason he didn't want people poking around in his apartment.

"… no," he answered defensively. The real answer was a little more complicated than that. "Just close the door, don't worry about it."

"I was gonna get a new shirt. And you don't have to sleep on the floor, there's literally a bed right here. Have you been sleepin' on the couch this whole time-?"

"Don't worry about it," Philza repeated, more forcefully. Because- yeah, okay, maybe it was a shitty idea and an overreaction to lock off an entire room of the apartment. But the first month after Techno's disappearance had been… hell. To put it nicely. He'd barely been able to function, couldn't go a day without seeing something and mentally shutting down in order to not think about it. And now, he barely remembered that month at all. The whole time was just a blur.

He'd hit a breaking point, one day, and methodically gone through the apartment, picking out everything that reminded him of Techno. Everything he could afford to get rid of, at least. All of it went in the apartment's bedroom. Then he'd locked the door, decided to pretend nothing was wrong, and moved on with his life.

Instead of closing the door, though, Techno flicked on the light switch, and Philza watched as the room's light turned on for the first time in a long time. One of the ceiling light's two bulbs immediately blew, the pop faintly audible, causing the other bulb to cast the room's contents in starker shadow.

It looked pretty much like he'd thought it would. Most of Techno's belongings had been there already, as were most of Philza's, because they'd used to trade out sleeping on the couch and it was easier to keep everything stored in one place. The visible floor space was somewhat debris-scattered, despite that, and the nightstand by the door was covered in dozens of little trinkets.

Techno reached for one of the trinkets now. Picked up a necklace, a gold chain with an emerald pendant, and Philza felt suddenly guilty for locking that particular item in the room.

"It was a rough couple of weeks," he started quietly, without really meaning to. "After you…" died wasn't really the right term anymore, was it? "… disappeared. Lost motivation for pretty much everything. Didn't have much reason to keep going, honestly. I thought it would help, having everything out of sight."

Techno didn't say anything for what felt like the longest seconds of Philza's life. Then-

"Did you try antidepressants?"

"What?" Philza blinked, unsure if he'd heard properly. "I'm not depressed, mate."

Even as he said it, though, something sort of clicked. The idea that it wasn't normal to be living life like this. He remembered, albeit a little dimly, life before the apocalypse. Before Techno's death, even. When life had been more than getting through one more day.

Techno didn't press further, just let the silence sit for another almost painfully long pause before turning back to the room. "I'm takin' the bed. You can have the couch."

"Sounds good, mate. Sleep well."

"G'night."

The door closed again, and Philza was left alone, still standing by the entrance.

He didn't move for a long while. Just looked around the apartment, really taking it in for the first time in forever. Noting everything from the small pile of dishes in the sink to the dirty towel on the stove to the thin layer of dust that had settled on every bit of the counter he didn't normally use. All the tasks that he'd been putting off until now, when fixing everything seemed like too much work to bother.

He picked up one of the empty potion vials from the counter. Turned it over in his hand. And went back to the entrance room to get the vial disposal box.