Archive of Our Own

Two months after the accident, Chris quit his job and moved six hours away to San Francisco.

It had taken two weeks to recover physically, four days for the changes to manifest, another week of experimenting to fully map out the extent of them, and the remaining month-and-change to practice making them happen when he wanted and not happen when he didn’t.

It had taken a morning to pack everything he cared about from his shitty little studio apartment into his car, an afternoon to cart the rest to the nearest Goodwill, and the rest of the day to kiss LA traffic goodbye. He’d held up his middle finger out the window for good measure, as the I-5 took him up through Santa Clarita and beyond.

His new place in SF was almost as shitty and almost as expensive, with the added bonus of steep hills, fog, and roommates. His new job was much the same, meaning office buzzwords cobbled together to describe a workday full of answering emails, reading spreadsheets, and coming up with new and creative ways to agree with everyone in meetings while sounding like he was contributing. In his free time, he braved the hills and the fog just to run through San Francisco’s narrow, uneven streets. A few more months of this, and his calves would look like they did back in high school track and field.

By night, his runs took on a different purpose.

He’d settled in… not the best neighborhood, but that was by design. He wasn’t a powerless kid anymore, running and cowering while someone else fought battles for the good of everyone. He was the fighter now, the defender, the one with power and all the responsibilities that came with it.

By moonlight, he patrolled his new home. He had his work cut out for him; the streets were crawling with criminals: muggers and predators lurking in the shadows, waiting to prey on anyone unlucky enough to be caught out at night. It made sense; San Francisco had only two heroes to its name, and they probably had bigger problems, deadlier threats to tackle.

He bloomed with pride the first time he sent a guy running without having to start a fight. It had taken less than a week for the lowlifes in the area to learn to fear him. He hoped, fervently, that Hazard would be proud of him.

When he finally got his chance to find out, it was a complete accident.

He was in line at the bank, because his employer refused to do direct deposit and only gave out physical paychecks. It was well into October, and Chris was not trying to catch the usual fall cold, so he was masked. Thank God he was masked, or he might not have chanced it when it happened.

One moment he was filling out a deposit slip; the next, he was crouching under the table while a man in a balaclava fired a gun at the ceiling. People screamed. The single security guard, well past retirement age, stood frozen at gunpoint while a second masked robber relieved him of his phone and taser.

There were two of them, possibly more outside in whatever getaway vehicle waited for them. They worked quickly, frantically, snarling at tellers to empty cashboxes. Chris waited on bated breath. The robbers were in a hurry. Probably because if they didn’t finish quickly enough—

The bank door opened. The robber guarding the security guard turned toward the figure that stepped through, and had time to do exactly nothing before the figure blasted him across the room with a deafening yell.

Chris watched, wide-eyed, as Howler stepped into the bank, dressed in bright gold and angry red, a cagelike muzzle guarding the lower half of her face. The second robber swung his gun around to aim at her, only for it to misfire in his hands.

It misfired twice more before a series of muted cracks rang out. The robber yelled, face splattered with bright purple paint, before another staccato shout from Howler incapacitated him.

It was all very neat and well-practiced until, from Chris’s vantage point, he spotted one of the kneeling bank customers, hood up with dark sunglasses and a facemask, slip a handgun from his pocket, and take aim at Howler’s back.

The almost-two-months of practice paid off. It had taken almost that long just to stop feeling nauseous at the sensation of bones and cartilage shifting and rearranging in his face. By the time his muzzle was fully formed, he had already snapped it shut around the would-be gunman’s wrist. The gun still went off, but the shot went wide. By the time Howler reached them, the third robber was pinned firmly to the ground by a hulking seven-foot wolfman.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

“Hi!” Chris said brightly, kicking the gun out of reach. “Big fan.”

Howler opened her mouth to reply, before the entrance door opened again, and a masked face in purple and black poked in. Chris’s jaw dropped at the sight of him, which was unfortunate, because his tongue had a way of just kind of flopping out if he didn’t keep his mouth shut in this form.

“Cops are almost here,” Hazard, the fucking Hazard, called out to them. “We should—what the fuck.”

“It’s cool, he’s friendly,” Howler called back. To Chris she muttered. “You better come with. Stay like that until we’re away from the security cameras.”

Howler was inviting him along. Hazard’s partner Howler. Holy shit. Chris was so glad his tail was caught in his pants, because it was desperately trying to wag. 

He’d done it. After all these years, he’d made it. The dream was real.

At the beginning of his freshman year, Chris had tried out for track and field. He’d missed the varsity team by the skin of his teeth, and breezed into it the following year, shaving off his runtimes little by little until he could run circles around anyone else on the team. He loved track, loved running—he had since taking the track and field unit in seventh grade, when he’d taken off on the hundred-meter dash and felt himself fly ahead of his classmates. He’d crossed the finish a solid three seconds before the next-fastest kid, and he’d been chasing that high ever since.

And then, in senior year, varsity track and field got just a little bit shittier.

He was doing warm-up stretches on the blacktop, limbs buzzing with limber energy, when a shadow fell across morning practice. He looked up, swallowing a groan when he saw who it was.

“Oh, great,” Robby muttered. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Joel Durante, the second biggest asshole at Ramsey High, stood at the edge of the track, eyes raking over the whole team with his usual flat, judgmental stare. Coach Whately was making his way over, clipboard in hand, and Chris braced himself for the inevitable fallout when he told Joel to get lost. But instead, Coach said something that Chris didn’t quite catch, marked something on his clipboard, and motioned Joel toward the rest of them.

Joel’s eyes landed on Chris just for a moment, before he dropped into a hamstring stretch noticeably deeper than what Chris could manage even on a good day. Any chance that Coach Whately might realize his mistake and kick Joel off the team was destroyed when Joel came in second on their first run of the day, forcing Chris into a near-panicked sprint just to stay ahead on the last few yards. 

“Not a bad first showing, Durante,” Coach said. “Varnham, good save.”

Someone—probably Travis Hui—snickered behind him. Chris’s ears burned with embarrassment. Good save. He’d nearly lost his top spot on the first day of senior year, and everyone knew it. Joel looked up and caught Chris’s eye, a smug smile pasted across his face.

After practice, Chris emerged from the locker room with fresh clothes and damp hair, and gritted his teeth when he found Pearl Watanabe scowling at him from the blacktop. Great, he thought. And there’s the first biggest asshole.

Before he or Pearl could say anything, Joel shouldered past him to join his crony.

“Took your sweet time,” Pearl barked. “I’m sweating like a pig out here, and I’m not even the one running.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on.”

“How’d you do?”

God, how did Joel manage to fit that much cocky asshole into one shrug? “Almost beat Chris on the first run. If you bothered to watch, you would’ve seen it.”

“Call me when you actually kick his ass,” Pearl snorted. Chris saw red, just in time to meet her eyes over Joel’s shoulder. “The fuck are you looking at?”

“Hey, unlike you, I’m actually supposed to be here,” Chris retorted. “You don’t like me looking at you, then go stand somewhere else.”

“Watch it, Varnham,” Joel said, without looking over his shoulder. “She’s with me.”

Chris ground his teeth. Other team members were behind him, either stepping out of the locker room or hanging back to watch. Just like that, on day one, Joel was gunning for him hard. Trying to take his top spot on the team hadn’t been enough; now he was trying to make him look like an idiot in front of his teammates, too.

He hated how small it made him feel.

“Hey, nobody wants you here either, Durante,” Robby snapped, and for a moment Chris’s heart lifted. “I don’t even know why you bothered trying out.”

Pearl lunged forward, teeth bared, but Joel stopped her. “Don’t bother,” Chris heard him mutter. “He’s not worth your time.”

Protective fury rose in Chris’s chest—Robby was his best friend since kindergarten, he was worth ten of Joel and twenty of Pearl put together—but the two of them were already walking away. Chris sighed with relief, cherishing the feeling of triumph.

“Thanks,” he murmured, and Robby simply knocked their shoulders together.

It was a shitty start to the morning, capped off by an even shittier afternoon: halfway through lunch, the lights in the cafeteria went out, the acrid smell of ozone filled the air, and the sound of skittering legs sent students scrambling for the exits.

Chris tripped over a chair while making his own way out, heart in his throat as he heard the scuttling come nearer. Spidertaurs—why did it have to be the fucking spidertaurs again—

Chris wasn’t sure who had coined the term—Eddie Tran got laughed at for calling them "driders" because he played Dungeons and Dragons like a fucking nerd—but someone had, and it had stuck. Spider on the bottom, human on the top. The fangs were the thing to watch out for, but the human parts were always armed.

Like the one currently charging directly at him, a trident gripped in either hand.

Chris had all of two minutes to contemplate his own mortality before the spidertaur’s head jerked back, an arrow sticking out of its eye. Its body collapsed into dust inches away from Chris; one of the tridents ripped through his jacket sleeve before it clattered to the floor.

A blur of purple and black flashed by from behind Chris, close enough for him to feel the air displaced. In an instant his fear vanished, and his heart lifted at the side of a familiar dark purple coat. Hazard was here, and that meant everything was going to be fine.

One of the other spidertaurs rounded on the figure with a snarl, spear raised to throw. Hazard reached it before it had the chance, grabbing the spear just short of the blade and using it to swing around onto the monster’s back. It was dust before Chris could blink, and Hazard was off to deal with the next one.

Chris watched, awestruck. He’d known about heroes before. A lot of major cities had at least one of their own—rumors, first, then mysterious celebrities. Bright and flashy and powerful enough to defend thousands of people from anything from muggers to the things that crawled through the veil.

Ramsey High didn’t have thousands of people. Hazard wasn’t bright or flashy; his costume was an old thrift store coat and cobbled-together sports gear, his arsenal was whatever he could steal off the monsters he fought.

But he got the job done.

Within moments, the spidertaurs were dust. Hazard stood in the empty cafeteria, shoulders heaving as he caught his breath. Chris stepped toward him, only to freeze when Hazard held up a hand.

For a moment, Chris thought the roof was caving in. Dark gray dust, the same that the monsters had been made of, descended from above, throwing shadows over the entire room. The few students who hadn’t fled screamed. Chris found his back pressed against the wall, staring at the formless, shifting entity in mute horror.

It wasn’t every day the Eidolon got pissed enough to show up in person.

“You again,” Countless mouths opened within the gray, flickering orange like the mouths on a jack o’lantern. “This land and its power are mine, insect.”

“Buddy, we’re trying to go to school here,” Hazard said flatly. He fired the crossbow, shooting out one of the mouths.

The Eidolon surged down. “I will take it if I have to rip it bloody from under your corpse.”

Three more shots, and three more mouths went out like candle flames. Hazard met Chris’s eyes from across the room and jerked his head. Chris ran, because what else could he do? But one day.

One day he was going to stand and fight, too.

“Little tame for you, isn’t it?” said Chris. “No offense.”

Talking in this form had taken some getting used to. Considering that his face was in a completely different shape from how it usually was, he was lucky he could talk at all. The tongue got in the way sometimes, or cut itself on his teeth on certain consonants. But it was worth it for the gravely bass that puberty alone had never given him.

The three of them had retreated to the rooftop of an apartment building. Night was falling, and no one had noticed them scaling the fire escapes for some privacy. Howler was on alert, standing watch for anyone and anything that might disturb them. Hazard, on the other hand, sat near Chris on the low outer wall, airgun propped against his shoulder.

“You call armed robbery ‘tame’?” Hazard sounded amused. Friendly. Chris could feel his tail trying to wag again.

“I mean… My cousin went to Ramsey High.” A white lie, but for the best. Chris wasn’t about to tell him the whole truth. Not only would he look like a total fanboy, but if this was some kind of hero team job interview, the last thing he wanted was to reveal just how often he’d had to be saved back then.

Howler sucked in a breath through her teeth. Hazard went still for a moment. “Ah.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about the stuff you fought off back then,” Chris went on. “Pretty cool.”

The tension eased from Hazard’s shoulders, and he grinned. “I had my moments.” Howler elbowed him affectionately.

“LA had some of that stuff, too,” Chris went on, gesturing at himself. “I went for a walk in Griffith Park, and a rift opened up practically underneath me. I’m not sure if the faceful of rift magic did it or the thing that jumped out and bit me, but… honestly I’m not arguing with the results.”

“I’m just glad we fixed the Ramsey rifts for good,” Hazard said.

“He’s not exactly itching to go back,” Howler added.

“You went to Ramsey too?”

“N—nah. Heard enough about it from him, though.” Behind her muzzle, Howler bared her teeth. “That place was full of assholes.”

Joel Durante’s scowling face passed in front of Chris’s eyes, and he grinned back. “Yeah, you’re telling me.” He sat down beside Hazard, squashing his tail to keep it still. “So… I don’t wanna cramp your style, or anything. But San Fran’s pretty big for just two heroes, so if you want an extra set of hands…”

Hazard grinned again. “Paws,” he said. Chris’s fur fluffed up with embarrassment, before Hazard’s smile faded. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking. Whatever you heard, that was years ago. I was a kid taking care of one school. You know what kind of villains it takes to go after one school? Shitty ones.”

Chris forced a laugh. Those shitty heroes had been plenty intimidating back then. But things were different now—he was different. “Sure you’re not selling yourself short?”

“Yeah, maybe a little,” Hazard admitted. “I’m just saying, this isn’t glamorous. It isn’t fun. No one’s gonna thank you. Every time I walk out in costume, I know there’s a good chance I could die.”

“I know.” Chris fought to keep his voice steady. This was starting to sound an awful lot like rejection. “I’m serious about this. I want to help.”

“I’m not sure if—”

“Hey, since when are we so spoiled for help that we can afford to turn people down?” Howler broke in.

Hazard sighed.

“I’m just saying.,” said Howler. “We can’t be everywhere. Weird shit happens every time the fog comes far enough inland. We still don’t know what happened to that hitman that almost killed me. One of these days the De Younge’s gonna put another magic artifact on exhibit. And now we’re hearing those rumors coming out of the Mission District. We need more hands, Haz.”

Chris’s ears pricked forward. He lived near the Mission District. Was he missing something? He’d have to run more patrols.

He couldn’t see Hazard’s eyes behind the mask, but he could feel the hero lock eyes with him. “Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s not as glamorous as it looks in Youtube videos. There’s not much room for a life outside of it. If you do have one, it’ll keep pulling you away from it at the worst times.”

“He means if you have a girlfriend, you’re gonna get dumped before the month is up,” Howler said dryly. “Or boyfriend.”

“I, uh, don’t,” Chris admitted. “My last… well, it didn’t work out. Wasn’t meant to be.”

“Oh.” Hazard’s shoulders slumped a little, and he sounded sympathetic—genuinely, not just vaguely pitying. “Yeah, neither did mine. High school, you know?”

“Glad it’s over,” Chris agreed, and was rewarded by another one of Hazard’s smiles.

He’d been sixteen when Isabelle Giffard moved halfway across the country and wound up at Ramsey High. The moment he saw her standing outside the counselor’s office, class schedule in hand, he was smitten. She was red-haired and freckled, wild curls and a cheerful face. Her nose wrinkled cutely when she was deep in thought, and she was apparently very deep in thought over her classes.

A second later, she had looked up from her schedule and reached out to tap the nearest shoulder, which by her own bad luck just happened to belong to Joel fucking Durante.

Seeing him turn, focus on her, loom over her like a cat to a mouse, Chris had swung into action. Across the hall, Robby and Angela had caught his eye and clocked the impending disaster as well, and moved to intercept.

The coordination was unreal. Angela, fearless and audacious, had inserted herself between Isabelle and Joel, slinging an arm around her shoulder while Robby mean-mugged Joel over the tops of their heads. Once Chris reached them, the three of them had formed a protective wall around Isabelle before guiding her toward her first class, forcing Joel to sneer at them and retreat.

And now, a full year later, Isabelle was a firm and welcome part of Angela’s friend group and lunchtime gathering, and Chris still had the world’s biggest crush.

Isabelle was friendly to him, sure, but she was friendly to everyone. Not even Pearl, who screamed at everyone who so much as looked at her, or Joel, who looked down on everyone like they were dirt, whose presence sucked the joy out of every room he walked into, were exempt from her effortless charm.

“How do you do that?” Chris asked her once, while they did warm-up stretches together on the track. It was rare that they got alone time like this, but Isabelle was planning on doing a charity run with her parents, and Chris had leapt on the chance to help her train. Her stamina wasn’t quite up to varsity standards, but she was fast and her form was beautiful to watch. She ran like a deer. 

“Do what?”

“Just… treat everybody like they’re your friend, even when they don’t deserve it,” said Chris. 

“I think everyone deserves to be treated, you know, kindly,” Isabelle replied. “It’s like basic decency, you know? My grandma says it doesn’t cost you anything to be kind.”

“It might with some people. Don’t get me wrong, loads of people at Ramsey are cool.” Chris hesitated. “But Pearl’s so shitty to everyone, and Joel’s… Joel.”

She laughed as she tied up her hair. “They’re not that bad,” she said. “And if they are… like I said. It doesn’t cost me anything to be kind anyway. Sometimes you just gotta push past the first layer. Joel’s standoffish, sure, but like, that’s not a crime. And Pearl’s all bark.”

“Pearl put Trav in the hospital freshman year,” Chris said bluntly.

Isabelle frowned. “Wait, really?”

“Why do you think everyone avoids her?” Chris stood up, then stooped to re-tie his laces. “It was really bad. And Trav’s a harmless idiot. If she’ll do that to him, she’ll do it to anyone. And Joel…”

“What about Joel?”

“You know his parents let him do anything?” said Chris. “I heard that every time anyone tries to call them about the shit he pulls, they either brush it off or don’t show up?”

It took a moment for Isabelle to answer. She was thinking hard, nose wrinkling, glaring down at the track like it knew all the answers and wasn’t telling her. (God she was cute.) Eventually she said, “Sounds like he has shitty parents.”

“Doesn’t give him the right to take it out on the rest of us.”

“He’s nice to me.” Isabelle smiled cheekily. “Maybe he’s just misunderstood.”

Chris bit the inside of his cheek. Joel wasn’t nice to her; he was just marginally less shitty to her than he was to everyone else. “I almost quit track when he joined the team,” he admitted. “He never misses a chance to try and make me look stupid in front of everyone, especially Coach Whately.” Chris paused. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump on you. You’re a lot nicer to him than he deserves, and I just don’t want him to take advantage of you.”

“You’re sweet,” Isabelle told him, unaware of Chris’s sudden lack of air. “But I can take care of myself. Race you!”

In true Ramsey High whiplash fashion, the day started out great, took a turn for the worse, than swerved straight into even better. 

Isabelle could have qualified for the JV team if she wanted; she was just so naturally fast. Chris actually had to work to beat her at sprints, and the few times he let her win were easy to sneak by. 

They had just started their fourth lap of their mile run when a fissure opened in the grass at the center of the track, and spiders the size of hippos chased the two of them screaming back to the gym building. As he always did, Hazard swooped in at the last minute, armed with a javelin from the track-and-field supplies, and saved the day.

It was terrifying in the moment, but later that night Chris would turn over the experience again and again in his mind, committing every moment to memory. His arm around Isabelle, holding her close, while they watched his hero kick ass against their worst nightmares. He’d been foggy from adrenaline so he hadn’t had the chance, but that night he made up his mind. Life was short. If Hazard could face four giant spiders single-handed, then he could ask out his crush.

The next morning, Isabelle walked into class on Joel Durante’s arm.

He probably could have given Hazard and Howler his real phone number—they were heroes, and he trusted them not to take advantage—but he went out and bought a burner because it seemed like the thing to do when you were a secret superhero.

He spent the rest of the day checking it, giddy and hopeful.

He had Hazard’s number.

The thought was ridiculous, but Chris reveled in it anyway. Hey, anything was possible. This wasn’t high school and he didn’t have to worry about anyone’s judgment. A guy could dream.

A week later, he was up late playing Elden Ring when it finally rang. He flung the controller aside without hesitation, barely noticing his character get obliterated by Metyr, Mother of Fingers. He fumbled with the phone for a moment, paranoid that he’d hang up by accident, before his thumb finally found the Accept Call button.

“You free tonight, Fang?” Hazard asked.

“What do you need?” he asked, wincing at how pathetically eager he sounded, even with his throat shifted just enough to change his voice. And the alias he’d chosen was so stupid and boring. Howler would’ve been perfect for him, but obviously it was taken.

“Break-in at the De Younge.” Luckily, Hazard sounded just as breathless. “How fast can you get here?”

“Traffic laws don’t apply to me, I’m a wolf,” Chris replied. Hazard laughed and it felt like flying.

Racing through streets and over rooftops on all fours felt slightly less like flying, but he still reached Golden Gate Park faster than he would have by driving or, god forbid, catching the muni. As he approached the looming mass of the De Younge Museum, the smell of ozone reached him on the breeze.

He doubled his pace, passing by the injured night security guard cowering at the blown-open entrance. A banner overhead advertised an ongoing gemstone exhibition.

A familiar short bark of a scream rattled the walls as he rose up to run the rest of his way on two feet. An unfamiliar voice cried out, and Hazard’s air gun popped. Chris skidded into the room just in time to hear a glass display case shatter.

Hazard stood near the doorway, air rifle braced against his shoulder. An oddly still and straight-backed Howler stood far enough away to form an almost perfect triangle with the third person across the room: a tall, wiry-looking guy, dressed all in black with a tricornered hat and a long coat and capelet. He was leaning back against the broken display case, holding up a bright green gem the size of the Hope Diamond. It shimmered strangely in the light; Chris could swear he heard it humming.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” the thief said gently, eyes fixed on Howler. “You know me.”

“I know you,” Howler replied, her voice soft and dreamy.

“You love me.”

“I…”

“Howler,” Hazard said tightly. “Howler, look at me.”

“You love me,” the thief said again. “And we protect the ones we love, don’t we?”

Howler did turn to look at Hazard, a split second before she let out a scream that blasted him out of the room. Chris lunged to help, only to watch Hazard tumble through the air and, improbably, land balanced on his feet.

“Good girl,” the thief laughed. “Keep them back for me, will you?”

Howler let out a strangled groan. She lurched toward Chris, her body fighting against itself as it moved toward him.

“Do it,” the thief gritted out, backing away. “Do it for me. I have the emerald heart. You love me.”

“I lo—” Howler began, then doubled over and retched.

Chris charged.

“Stop him!” the thief shouted. Howler choked out a scream; it wasn’t nearly as powerful as her usual blasts, but it still nearly rocked Chris off his feet. Dropping to all fours, he dodged out of the way of another blast and kept going. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, he saw Howler breathing in to scream again, only for a pellet from Hazard’s rifle to hit her in the throat. She choked, and Chris fell upon the thief with a growl.

The jewel skittered across the floor, bounced off a fallen chunk of glass, and ricocheted straight to Hazard, who reached down and snatched it up.

Howler had bitten her lip until it bled. Her face contorted into a blood-streaked snarl. She breathed through clenched teeth. Hazard gripped her shoulder with his free hand.

“I can’t risk talking to her while I’m holding this,” he called over to Chris. “The police should be here soon—we can hand these off to them and regroup.”

Both the jewel and the zip-tied thief were delivered to the shaken security guard. Chris only looked away briefly at the sound of approaching sirens, but when he looked back, Howler was nowhere to be seen. He barely caught the muffled, frustrated noise from Hazard before the police sirens drowned everything out.

“Go after her,” Chris told him. "I’ll keep an eye on things.”

“Meet me by the Dutch Windmill,” Hazard murmured back, and vanished before his eyes.

After taking a split second to wonder—was that his own power or, considering that Howler could do it too, something they would teach him eventually?—Chris raced around the side of the building just as patrol cars rolled in, lights flashing. Changing back, he threw on his spare hoodie and slip-ons, and left the museum behind.

It was only once the lights were out of sight and the sirens out of earshot that he slipped back out of his shoes and transformed again. The windmill loomed tall and dark against the night sky, and Chris crept up beneath it and waited.

After a few minutes, the circular platform above him creaked with the landing of feet. “Up here,” said Hazard.

Chris backed away from the windmill, far enough to see Hazard looking down at him over the railing. “How’d you get up there?”

“Trade secret.” That was Howler’s voice, though Chris couldn’t see her from this angle. A running jump got him up to the walkway alongside them.

“Ramsey High was a nexus point of magical channels,” Hazard explained. “Turns out you can use them to get around, if you’re careful not to get lost.”

“Damn,” said Chris. “Can you teach me to do that?”

The two heroes exchanged a glance. “Soon, I think,” Hazard said softly.

“Thanks,” Howler grunted. “For knocking the jewel out of that guy’s hand.”

“What was it doing to you?” Chris asked. “It looked a little like mind control, but…”

Howler scowled. “Something like that,” said Hazard.

“No, you might as well say it,” Howler snapped. “Fuckin’ thing has a love spell in it. You hold it and talk to someone, they go stupid at you. Thank God it only works on one person at a time, or we’d have been fucked.”

Chris growled. “That was fucked,” he said. “What he did to you. Fucking with your emotions like that. It’s low.”

“Yeah,” Howler rasped out after a moment. “It sucked.”

“Knew a guy like that back in high school,” Chris went on, swallowing a snarl. “Bastard didn’t have a love-spell amulet, but that didn’t stop him from playing a friend of mine. Proudest moment of my life was getting her the hell away from him.” He shook his head. “Trust me, it’s a privilege getting to take down another scumbag like that.”

“Heh, yeah, I think we’ve all met our share of teenage scumbags,” Howler laughed.

"Did anyone see you on the way out?” Hazard asked.

“Of course not, what do you take me for?” Chris assured them. “...What about that amulet? Is it safe to leave it in the museum?”

“Not in the long run,” Hazard admitted. “But for now, it’s out of the Highwayman’s hands. There are people I can call.”

He still stood on the outside, Chris realized. He had Hazard’s phone number, sure. But between the secret magic pathways and mysterious resources, there was a lot that Hazard just hadn’t revealed to him yet.

“Let me know if I can help,” he said firmly.

“We will,” Hazard replied. “And… stay safe, okay? Something’s stalking the Mission District, and we’re still not sure who or what. Watch your back on the way home.”

“I always do,” Chris assured him. “You stay safe too, alright?”

He leapt over the railing and landed lightly in the grass, then set off for home. Satisfaction settled around him like a comforting blanket; he’d done good work today. It reminded him of the old, nostalgic triumphs in school. The scale was so much bigger, but the feelings at the heart were the same.

Fired up, he took the long way home just to patrol the streets for a few hours, all senses alert for the unseen monster lurking in the dark.

He wished he could go back in time to his younger self, all fired up with frustration and righteous fury, and let him know that he was going to be a hero. 

That he always had been, deep down.

Someone, probably Robby, reached out and patted the back of his head. Chris kept his face stubbornly mashed into his arms, until the hand stopped petting and swatted him instead.

“C’mon, man,” Robby said, clearly holding back laughter. “You’re being pathetic right now.”

Sighing loudly, Chris finally turned his head to glare at him, keeping his head down all the while. “I’m not being pathetic.”

“Be nice to him.” God, even Travis was laughing at him. “Can’t you see he’s mourning right now?”

“Oh fuck off.” Chris finally sat up, grabbed the remains of his lunch, and shoved it back into his backpack. He tried not to look, but the table was right in his line of vision, and once he caught sight of it, he couldn’t stop.

It was impossible to miss Isabelle’s red hair, especially when she wore green to make it pop. It made Joel stand out in all the worst ways: dark where she was bright, slouched and sloppy where she was neat and put together. His hoodie was threadbare and stained.

They sat hip to hip, their thighs pressed together. On Joel’s other side, Pearl had her usual nasty smirk on her face. She caught Chris’s eye briefly, and flipped him off before returning to whatever conversation they were having.

“God, look at him,” Chris muttered. “She looks like that and he’s dressed like he’s homeless. No effort whatsoever.”

“Yeah, I know the type,” Angela muttered. “Bet Izzy plans all the dates.”

“How much is she blinking?” Travis asked. “She could be calling for help in Morse code.”

It was a joke, but it still made Chris’s stomach turn. He glanced at Isabelle’s arms and wrists, checking for bruises. Joel had rough, callused hands, exactly the kind of hands for getting rough and grabby with girls.

“Speaking of calling for help, I almost got lured into the woods on the way to class today,” Angela announced. “I’m okay, thanks for asking.”

“Wait, what?” Chris blurted out, turning his attention fully on her. “Are you—what happened?”

“Ugh, you know that guy with the antlers that stands in the trees just far away enough that you can’t make out the details of his face?”

“Heh, you said make out,” Travis broke in. Robby shoved him off the bench.

“Yeah, so he’s been promising me my heart’s desire for like a month,” Angela went on. “And this morning I was super sleep-deprived because I forgot about that paper that was due today, so I guess I just kinda believed him this time.”

“Holy shit,” said Robby, who was keeping Travis on the floor with one foot. “What did he do?”

“Nothing, Hazard showed up and shot him in the face with a crossbow.” Angela grinned, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “He walked me the rest of the way. He didn’t say much, but he was a real gentleman.”

Relieved, Chris found his mind wandering back to Isabelle and Joel. He glanced at them, and his stomach turned with dread. Joel had his arm around her, tight and possessive, trapping her there.

“Did he get a kiss for rescuing you?” Travis asked, lazily kicking Robby’s shin.

“I mean… he might have,” Angela said coyly. “If he’d stuck around long enough. Maybe next time.”

Dread turned to resolve. Chris forced himself to look away and think. Hazard was a hero, plain and simple. He’d been protecting every single student and teacher at Ramsey High from magical threats since freshman year, and if he could do all that, then Chris could protect his friend from the likes of Joel Durante. And Chris couldn’t fight or shoot like Hazard—that wouldn’t help Isabelle even if he could—but there were other ways to get his hooks out of Isabelle.

He just had to show everyone who Joel really was.

The Mission District had been quiet for weeks.

There was something out there. Hazard and Howler were sure of it. Chris was sure of it, too. There was an energy in the air like a coiled spring, twisted until it screamed with tension. But whatever the source, it was either too clever or too cowardly to allow him to spot it. No new scents floated on the breeze, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

As if on cue, the acrid burn of cigarette smoke reached him on the breeze. Chris followed the scent, keeping well away from street lamps as it led him to the park on Dolores street. The grass muffled his footsteps as he drew close enough to see the source: a man in a scruffy coat stood smoking under a tree. Watching. Waiting.

One hand never left his pocket.

Chris went still, crouching in the shadows. Rumors still lingered of Something stalking the streets of the Mission District. People were scared—enough to stay inside after dark. Chris had patrolled every street corner and alley, and had found no living soul outside except for this one man, lurking in the park with one hand in his pocket, dripping quiet menace from every pore.

His heart lifted as he moved in. This could be it. In moments, he might be eliminating the threat to his turf. Proving himself to Hazard and Howler. Earning a real spot on the team.

He was very surprised when, mid-pounce, the man whipped around to meet him head-on without a trace of surprise on his face. His hand came out of his pocket, holding a live taser.

Chris had never taken a live taser point blank to the gut before, in either form. He would hope that his wolf form would lessen the effects; if it did, he didn’t want to think about what it would have felt like if he’d been human. He might have blacked out for a few seconds.

“Piece of shit,” the man was whining when Chris could hear again. “This is for Sal, you—you fuckin’ monster—”

Pushing through the pain, Chris lunged forward and snapped, catching the man’s arm between his jaws. His teeth sank deep, and the taste of blood sent numbing adrenaline coursing through Chris’s body. He shook his head fiercely, and was rewarded by a snap and scream.

In the silence that followed, Chris heard the hiss of an airgun, before a pellet struck him full in the throat. The blow forced his mouth open as he choked, releasing the man to crawl away on three limbs. Furious, he caught the man by the leg and looked around to see who had shot him.

The next pellet struck him in the forehead, sending brightly colored spots exploding through his vision. By the time he came to his senses, a familiar figure stood between him and his quarry.

“You,” Hazard said quietly, staring down the barrel of his rifle. “This whole time, the thing prowling around Mission was you. What the fuck are you doing, Fang?”

“Patrolling!” The anger was gone, replaced by helpless confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Stopping you from mauling somebody!” Hazard shot back. “Are you seriously the one who put Sal in the hospital?”

“No! Who the fuck is Sal?!”

“You did!” the injured man snarled, curling around his useless arm. “I saw you! You almost killed him!”

“Jay, don’t—” Hazard nearly stepped toward him, but stayed where he was, focused on Chris. “Howler, get him to the hospital.”

Chris hadn’t noticed Howler approach until she was already picking the guy up off the ground, muttering, “Come on, Jay, car’s this way.”

“You didn’t tell me you knew that guy,” was all Chris could think to say.

“Why would I need to?” Hazard demanded. “How was I supposed to know you were gonna maul someone for standing on a street corner doing nothing?”

“He wasn’t doing nothing!” Chris shouted back. “He was—you didn’t see him, he was being fucking suspicious. How do you even know he’s trustworthy? He had a taser on him!”

“He had a taser because you’ve been terrorizing homeless people for weeks,” Hazard hissed.

“I’ve been keeping these streets safe,” Chris argued hotly. “Like you do.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” Hazard stepped back, lowering the rifle. 

“I do!” Panic welled up in Chris. He’d fucked up—he’d been fucking up. Hazard didn’t trust him. Hazard was walking away. Hazard thought he didn’t get it. 

He made a decision.

It was easier to pick himself up in human form—less heavy and unwieldy, easier to balance on his feet. His throat and head still ached from the pellet shots, but hopefully he wasn’t so badly bruised as to be unrecognizable.

“It’s me,” said Chris. “Do you—do you remember me? We were classmates. I do know you—I saw the same dangers you did, every day.” His voice caught for a moment. “You saved me so many times. I wanted to be like you—I tried to be like you, all the time!”

He paused for breath. Hazard was staring at him, frozen and silent.

“Look, I’m sorry about this,” he went on. “Maybe I’m not as ready for this as I thought—I don’t have your instincts. But—my whole life, I’ve wanted—I’ve tried to fight for people, to protect people, to take down assholes who deserve it. Please, just… don’t go? I can do better. I promise. I’ve done better before.”

Hazard walked away.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel real, you know?” said Chris. “It’s almost over. In just a few weeks we won’t be kids anymore. We’ll be on to the next stage of our lives.”

“Chris, if you don’t shut up and study, you’ll get to enjoy this stage for a little longer,” Robby said flatly, then ducked the pencil Chris threw at him. He threw it back, only for Chris to catch it.

Isabelle laughed, shifting to lay her head on a softer part of Chris’s thigh. The southeast hallway past the computer labs was carpeted, but the carpet was thin, and Chris was happy to be a cushion for his girlfriend. “You’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ve seen your grades. You’re good enough that you could probably just not show up for finals and still graduate.”

“I’m not gonna push my luck.” Chris twirled his pencil in one of Isabelle’s fiery curls. “What about you?”

“What about me? It’s lunch and I’m taking a break! Breaks are important for studying.” She pouted cutely up at him. “Besides, I’m too pretty to get an F.”

“Got that right,” a familiar voice blared out. Isabelle’s face fell as Pearl stalked past, sneering scornfully at them. “Two-faced bitches always know how to get ahead, don’t they, Izzy?”

“Pearl.” Beside her, Joel barely glanced at them. In the brief moment he did, it was like staring into the glassy eyes of a dead fish. “She’s not worth it. None of them are.”

Once the pair were safely past and out of earshot, Robby muttered after them, “Yeah, you better walk away, you fuckin’ pussies.”

Isabelle sat up with a quiet huff and reached for her biology textbook. “Don’t listen to her,” said Chris. “She’s just mad you took her down a peg when she turned on you after you dumped Joel.”

“If anyone’s a two-faced bitch, it’s her,” Robby added.

Isabelle smiled tightly. “Yeah, I know. All the more reason to prove her wrong, you know?”

“You’ve got nothing to prove, girl,” Robby told her. “You got into an Ivy League, Izzie. I bet you anything Pearl barely pulled a community college.”

“Yeah, probably.” Isabelle hesitated. “Joel’s probably going somewhere good, though. He qualified for a bunch of scholarships before we…” Her voice trailed off.

Robby shrugged. “So? I’ll bet you anything he loses them when somebody finds actual blow in his dorm room or something.”

Isabelle’s face fell, and Chris glared at Robby for bringing it up. Robby shrugged, unapologetic.

“God, I can’t believe I actually dated a guy who kept fake drugs in his locker,” Isabelle sighed, putting her hands over her face. “Like, seriously. Who even does that? It’s such loser behavior. And he was gonna drag me down with him!”

“Probably passing it off as real to sell it,” Chris said lightly. “You know, wannabe mafia shit. I can’t believe he still has scholarships after that.”

“Well, the world ain’t always fair,” Robbie said with a shrug. “But hey, there’s no chance he’s going to the same school as any of us—if he is going and he wasn’t lying about scholarships to impress you. Once we graduate, we never have to think about him again.”

Chris’s mind was already turning. “I mean…”

“Uh-oh,” Robbie sighed. “What’s that look?”

“That doesn’t have to be all we do,” Chris went on, a grin stealing across his face.

“I’m texting Angie,” Isabelle announced, already on her phone. “Whatever it is, she’s gonna want in.”

“I’m just saying,” said Chris. “Joel’s been making our lives hell since freshman year. He basically ruined our last year of track. Pearl’s been his loyal flunky the whole time. Why don’t we cap off our last year of high school with a prank?”

Within a minute, Angie was racing down the hallway toward him. “I came as soon as I heard,” she said breathlessly, dropping down to sit by Isabelle. “I want in.”

“You don’t even know what we’re doing,” said Robbie. “Hell, I don’t even know what we’re doing.”

There were only five minutes left of lunch, but five minutes was all Chris would need. “Like I said,” he went on. “Joel’s got a fat ego, and he’s spent four years running his mouth and letting Pearl back him up. Why don’t we send him off with a taste of the real world?”

Chris spent a few days feeling humiliated and sorry for himself before finally clawing together the courage to pick up Hazard’s phone.

It was his phone, technically. He’d bought it and set it up. But he’d gotten it for Hazard, for the express purpose of being able to contact each other without blowing their identities. And, well, Chris had kind of blown his on a wild hope.

He’d hoped that Hazard would understand, if he knew who Chris was. Taking initiative had backfired hard, because there was too much Chris didn’t know, too much Hazard hadn’t told him. The world had deadly magical forces battering at the gates at all times. The stakes were high, and maybe if Hazard knew that Chris had already seen it firsthand, he’d stop holding Chris at arm’s length.

But instead, Chris had scared his hero off. He hadn’t consciously known anything could scare Hazard, but apparently his prospective new partner breaking rule number one of being a superhero was it.

As he held the burner phone in his hand, another whim came over him, like it had the night he’d dropped his transformation and pleaded with Hazard to understand. Again, Chris rode the wave before fear could stop him.

The call rang once before going to voicemail. Chris’s heart dropped to his stomach. He called again. One ring, then voicemail. This time, he found it in himself to leave a message.

“Hey, uh, Hazard? It’s Fang—it’s Chris. Listen, I’m sorry about what happened that night, okay? I know that was weird, and—and probably a bad idea. I want to talk. I still want to help. I’ve always just, just wanted to help. Call me when you get this.”

He didn’t know why he bothered. Multiple rings before voicemail meant he’d missed the call. No rings meant his phone was off.

One ring meant he was blocked.

Chris continued to leave messages throughout the day. When evening rolled around with nothing to show for it, he put it aside and set out into the night.

Hazard hadn’t told him much before cutting him off, but he did know that they liked to patrol during dusk and dawn. Something about liminal hours—the explanation had gone over Chris’s head.

The air was tense as he made his way through the neighborhood. People were hurrying to get home before dark. No one wanted to be out at night.

He had a better handle on his powers these days; it was easy enough to isolate the shift to his nose. He walked up and down the streets, gradually widening the radius. With a little luck, Hazard was keeping an eye on this area, making sure Chris wasn’t still patrolling.

Once a full twenty minutes had passed without Chris seeing another person, he shifted the rest of the way and headed for the old armory building on Mission and 14th. Once there, a few careful leaps got him up to the roof without damaging a ledge or breaking any windows. Perching on one of the corner turrets, Chris turned his head to the sky and howled.

Hazard did not keep him waiting long.

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Robbie asked. “We’re not even allowed in the teachers’ offices without a pass.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” said Angie. “We can’t be there without a pass, so if they see us there, they’ll assume we have one.”

“It’s all about confidence,” Chris added. “Ready?”

“Hell yeah, let’s knock that asshole down.”

“What do you want,” Hazard asked flatly. Chris hadn’t heard him climb up.

“Oh, thank God, I thought you weren’t coming,” Chris sighed with relief. “Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Hazard was quiet for a moment. “For what.”

“I dunno, freaking you out, I guess,” Chris said with a shrug. “I overdid it with the patrols, and I know I shouldn’t have spilled about my secret identity, it was a dumb move. I’m still new at this whole superhero thing. Uh, if that wasn’t obvious.”

He paused, hoping for an answer. Some kind of feedback, at least. But Hazard remained silent and still.

“But I’m learning,” Chris pressed on. “I know there’s so much you haven’t shared, and I’m not asking you to. But if you give me another chance, I can prove you can trust me with stuff like how you get around the city—which is cool as hell, by the way. Really pulled a Batman on me, haha.”

Hazard waited for Chris’s thin trickle of laughter to die away. “I don’t hand power over to bullies.”

“What?” Chris blurted out. “The fuck do you mean, bullies?”

“You were terrorizing poor people!” Hazard shouted suddenly. “You were terrorizing everyone—people were afraid to go outside at night!”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Chris demanded. “The people who are actually dangerous are too scared to start shit, and the people who aren’t are safe from people stupid or crazy enough to try tangling with a werewolf! Jesus, Hazard, that’s not bullying, that’s keeping people safe! You know, the thing we’re supposed to be doing?”

“You put innocent people in the hospital,” Hazard gritted out.

Chris thought back; there were only a few that Hazard could possibly be talking about. “They weren’t innocent, they were thugs lurking on street corners at night, trust me, look into them and you’ll find plenty they did to deserve it—”

“Like Joel deserved it?” Hazard shot back.

Chris froze.

They found the stack on Mr. Nguyen’s desk, still ungraded. Joel’s was in the middle, and the shredder was three steps away. It was nice when justice came easy.

“You made—you made his life hell,” Hazard snarled. “From the day you met him, you couldn’t just leave him the fuck alone—”

“Hey—wait a minute!” Chris started forward. “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you heard, but I wasn’t the bully, he was!”

“He was the bully?!” Hazard barked out a laugh. “Are you fucking serious? Oh my God. Tell me how he bullied you, I have to hear this.”

“He acted like he was better than everyone!” Old anger welled up in Chris, and the claws on his feet dug into the roof beneath him. “Him and that bitch Pearl—every day they shoved their fucking egos in everyone’s faces! He never missed a chance to make me look stupid!”

“What did he do, Chris,” Hazard said flatly. “I’m still waiting for a fuckin’ verb.”

“You wanna talk about putting innocent people in hospitals?” Chris snarled. “Pearl did that to one of my friends!”

“Oh yeah,” Hazard remarked. “Travis Hui, right? The guy that kept flipping girls’ skirts in crowded hallways”

“He didn’t deserve getting his arm broken for it!”

“Yeah?” said Hazard. “And what’d Joel do to deserve what you did to him?”

They cheered together on graduation day, when Joel’s name was never called.

“He had a plan, you know,” said Hazard, shaking and seething. “His home life was what nightmares were made of. Graduation was his way out. He and Pearl scraped together enough to afford rent in another city. And then you shredded his fucking final, and he was stuck in that house for another six months, and Pearl didn’t have enough on her own to get out, either. They fucking suffered because of you, and for what? ‘Cause he was almost as fast as you in track? ‘Cause he didn’t kiss your ass in the hallway? ‘Cause your crush liked him first and you had to go to the trouble of hiding fake drugs in his locker so she’d dump him?”

“Why do you care so much?” Chris demanded. “You’re Hazard! You’re a hero! You were fighting monsters from beyond the veil in high school! He was just some asshole nobody headed for boot camp or jail, why do you waste your time even thinking about him?”

“Because I should’ve said this years ago,” Hazard gritted out. “I should’ve stood up to you. I am a hero, but I was a shit one back then because the one person I didn’t protect was—him.”

“He didn’t need to be protected,” said Chris. “He deserved it. Whatever you think you know about him, he deserved it. Nothing I did—he would’ve done it anyway. Drugs, fucking over his future—if I hadn’t done that, he would’ve done it to himself eventually. That’s just the kind of person he was.”

Hazard was silent for a minute. Chris waited, praying that his words would get through.

“You seem pretty unhappy at your job,” said Hazard. “And your apartment.”

“What?” Chris said, caught off guard. “I, uh. I guess? They’re whatever, I’m not super attached or an—”

“Good, then you won’t be too broken up about leaving.”

“...What?”

“Get out, Chris,” said Hazard. “You have a month to get out and find somewhere else to be. If you’re still here by then, we’ll be happy to help you.”

He was gone before Chris could even get out a “But—”

“But,” he said anyway, to the darkness and the empty rooftop. “I’m—I’m a hero. I came here to be a hero.”

There was no answer.