How to be Badass (2nd Draft)
Chapter Two

Queri wasn’t sure why she had come to this part of town at this time of night. It was unlike her. Queri had always been a good kid, a kid who worked hard, a kid who knew what she wanted and then went after it with a highly detailed plan.

What she had wanted was to make her parents proud.

The key word there was had because her dad had died of cancer when she had been seventeen, and her mom had died in a car crash three months ago.

Why was she in this part of town at this time of night? Because no one knew. Her parents certainly didn’t know. Queri didn’t really have any close friends, now that her mom was dead. There was something terrifying about being able to disappear—willingly or unwillingly—and having no one to know if she never came home tonight. There was something thrilling about it, freeing. Freeing like she was unmoored, rather than like she was uncaged. There was an important difference, because being unmoored was terrifying. Being uncaged was beautiful.

Maybe it didn’t have to be one or the other. Either way, a drunk man walking behind her was yelling and she couldn’t tell what he was saying but it scared her nonetheless, so the next establishment she passed she turned into, hoping desperately that it wasn’t so shady that it would be better to stay outside with the drunk man.

It wasn’t that she had no purpose, Queri thought, as she went up to the bar and ordered a white russian at the bar and breathed the scent of stale beer of the bar and inn into her mouth with shallow breaths. She was in pre-law at Columbian University. She was going to be a lawyer and she was going to be damn good at it. It was just that she didn’t have any motivation. Was that the same thing as having no purpose? Maybe it was.

The bar was shady, but the drunk man passed by the door, still yelling incomprehensibly, and there weren’t many people inside to make Queri feel uncomfortable. The only other person up at the bar, a tall, blond woman, popped a couple pills into her mouth and Queri watched her pupils blow. It was beautiful, in a twisted sort of way. One moment her eyes were light, and the next they were dark.

If Queri thought she felt lost in life, it seemed clear to her that this woman was even more so. She tapped the surface of the bar lightly, soft lips parted slightly, and the bartender served her a shot of Smirnoff’s without a second glance.

“Should you really be giving her that?” Queri asked the young man doubtfully, and he shrugged.

“She’s all the business we have most nights,” he said. “The manager would have my head if I didn’t serve her.”

With a personal sigh that had everything to do with herself and nothing to do with the bartender’s manager’s unethical business choices, Queri took a sip of her drink. She looked at the woman more closely. She looked like a proper wreck. Her clothes were rumpled and unwashed, as was her hair. It had clearly been tugged into a ponytail at some point, but had been there for so long that it was matted that way. She had a strong, straight nose, a wide forehead and cheekbones, and a stubborn chin. Queri wasn’t sure what it was about her, but she felt tugged to her. She looked too strong to be falling out of a chair in some dive.

“How long has she been coming here?”

“Why? Do you have the hots for her or something?”

When Queri answered this only with a look that told the bartender that she was too classy to respond to that, and the man shrugged. “I don’t know. A couple of weeks?”

“And she’s been like this the entire time?” Queri asked, sucking an ice cube into her mouth and chewing on it impatiently.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Queri humphed quietly to herself, and went back to thinking. She looked down into her now empty drink. This woman was not her problem. Queri had her own problems. She had her school work. She had her mom’s stuff. She had her lack of purpose.

She snuck another look at the woman. What was her purpose, going into law, if it wasn’t to help people? To be successful, said the ambitious voice inside of her. To be knowledgeable. To make her parents proud.

With another quiet huff of annoyance, Queri gestured for the bartender to give her another drink. He gave her a resentful look, clearly not happy to now have two nonverbal customers.

This woman needed help, and whether or not she wanted to admit it to herself, Queri needed help.

Queri didn’t do anything that night, but she came back two days later. She had told herself she wouldn’t, but she did, and the woman was there again. A little grimier, a little more fucked, but for the most part looking as if she hadn’t moved in the past two days since Queri had last seen her. Her eyes locked onto Queri when she walked in, and followed her unabashedly when she went to the bar.

“What?” Queri had snapped, when she continued to stare at her.

“Pretty,” the woman mumbled.

Queri sighed. She got a couple drinks, sneaking looks at the woman—who had now fallen asleep on the bar—and then she went home.

Queri blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, trying to decide what she was sensing. “Hold on,” she said to the small Latina woman walking beside her, putting a hand on her arm as they stopped walking. “I swear I’m picking up a nearby possession.”

“Here?” Char said, looking around dubiously. She wasn’t wrong. They were in the middle of nowhere, a piece of the country occupied by rich people who didn’t like other people, and tended to hold them at arms length. Or at least several hundred feet. Queri was there for work, to meet a client. Char was also there for work, though for a different person, and Char had just come to pick Queri up from her own appointment and were walking down the impressively long driveway back to the road where Char had parked their car, outside the gates.

“Yes,” said Queri. “Here. Maybe in a neighbouring house? I don’t know yet. Let me think.”

Queri closed her eyes and waited, poking at the perception. While being able to see souls was something unique to those in level five or six in demonslaying, perceiving a demonic soul was something that came naturally to them. No training necessary. It was just weird that it happen in such a removed and priveleged area. And that Queri was around to sense it. What were the odds?

“This way,” Queri said, getting in the car and sticking her hand out for the keys. Char gave them to her without complaint, allowing Queri to navigate them to a house only a few doors down (which was quite a distance here).

“It’s in here.” Queri was still in business mode from her appointment, and this was still business anyways. It was just her less profitable job. People paid you better for representing you in court than banishing demons from people’s bodies.

It was a grand house, but Queri hardly took it in except for rudimentary things; there was a side door, here are the windows, that’s a lovely colour of peach. In the inside of the front hall was what looked like it had been a small luncheon, and a boy in ill-fitting clothing from which the demonic perception was coming.

Char gave a little sigh, and murmured, “Too late,” as the boy gouged a steak knife into the last living man’s temple, his face instantly going slack.

Queri took out two tiny knives from her boots, and checked the edges before fitting the dull one between her fingers and replacing the other. The demon with the skin of the boy looked up, scenting more pray. She wished she’d gotten here sooner. With all the luncheon attendees dead, it looked like the only person she had a shot at saving was the poor kid who had been possessed. The demon started towards her at a sprint. She eyed his raggy clothes, wondering what had pushed him to make a deal with demons as he got close enough. He swung wildly with the knife in his hand, and Queri out-maneuvered his clumsy momentum easily, ducking around his arm and coming up to bring her shoulders into his stomach.

The impact was fantastic, and Queri had to wonder at it for a second. Even with the demon using the full, uninhibited strength of his body, a young teenager who hadn’t even hit his growth spurts yet shouldn’t have that kind of strength in him.

No matter. She directed her power through the tattoo siphon on her back that killed demons, and brought an arm up to seize his arm as he started to fall forwards over her back. The power jumped through him, and the demonic presence sparked for a second in resistance before it faded. Not a very strong demon, all things considered. The boy fell to the ground.

Allen fell to the ground, but just as quickly scrambled back from the woman who had barged in on the session when she knelt beside him. He cried out as he put weight on his left wrist, collapsing onto the elbow instead. Bloody demon had sprained it.

Allen didn’t think he’d ever been even remotely unhappy to be unpossessed, but this was as close as he’d come. His breath came harsh and fast as he looked at her and the other woman, who looked to be Latina.

“Wh—who are you guys?” Allen asked, eyes darting around them in the way of a caged animal. He didn’t know who they were but he was sure they weren’t allowed to know, he had to escape before—before he got in trouble, before he risked his mother’s life—

“You’ve just been possessed and taken advantage of by a demon,” the woman who had body slammed him said.

“I know,” Allen said automatically, voice bitter. He instantly regretted it when the black woman narrowed her eyes at him. He thought about trying to run, and then remembered the black lady’s easy decapacitation of him in his possessed state. If she could do that while he had the extra strength of being possessed… He didn’t feel optimistic about his chances of escape by brute force or speed.

“Are you hurt?” the second woman asked, kneeling down beside him. He inched back, crawling on his elbows. “Calm down. You’re safe now. We’re not here to hurt you. My name is Char, and this is Queri.”

Char, as she introduced herself, brushed some of his hair from his eyes. It was black from sweat. He started at the touch, his heart rate so fast he thought it might give out entirely.

Queri joined Char on the ground, and started gently poking at him. “What are you doing? Who are you?” Allen asked,

“I’m checking for any injuries,” Queri said, now with two fingers to his wrist. “Your pulse is very quick.”

“I sprained my wrist, but it’s minor, and I’ll probably have a bruise on my thigh,” he said tightly, still thoroughly panicked. The fact that they wouldn’t say who they were wasn’t doing his fear any favours. “I’m fine, and I’m—I really—really need to go.”

Queri raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say. And how do you know all this?”

Had that been the wrong thing to say? Crap. Allen tried to think of a reasonable response and ended up rambling out, “I—I saw it happen? It’s my body.”

Queri stared at him for a moment, lips parted gently. Char said, “You were aware during your possession?”

“I—is that wrong?” He kept stuttering. He cursed himself for it. He cursed himself for this entire bloody situation, back to the first day, when he’d been five years old. He needed to get out of here, needed to leave before they were seen, before they were found, before he missed his ride home. Escape, escape, escape, the word splintered through his mind. He felt like a panicked deer, with no other thought than to evade and survive.

“It’s not wrong,” Queri said, slowly. “But it is unusual. Awareness in possessions usually takes training.”

She sounded accusatory somehow, or maybe that was just Allen’s paranoia speaking. “How do you know that?” he asked weakly, curious enough to stall his plans for escape. If he wasn’t going to be able to force himself out of this situation, he’d have to trick them into letting him go somehow.

“We’re demonslayers,” Queri said. “We exist to help people like you who got themselves into situations they don’t have the power to get out of.”

At the word ‘demonslayer’ Allen’s brain kicked right back into high gear. Oh, if they found out he’d been with demonslayers… He had never heard of such things, but she had definitely gotten rid of the demon in him. He missed almost all of the rest of her explanation as his mind, already in a flurry, really began to balk. Help, help, help, he thought nonsensically. Of course there was no one to help him. His throat closed up and his vision tunnelled, his breathing increasing dramatically.

“He’s having a panic attack,” Char said calmly, though Allen could barely hear her over his increasing panic.

“There’s something very strange going on here,” Queri said. “Focus on your breathing. There’s no need to panic. We’re going to take you with us to make sure you are safe and understood what happened.”

Of course, this did nothing to dispel Allen’s panic. Instead it only worsened, but just before he lost it entirely, he felt a demon slide into control in his body again. By this point Allen was so confused that he wasn’t sure if this made things better or worse.

To his surprise, the demon didn’t proceed to attack the demonslayers. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, as if following Queri’s instructions. “I’m okay,” he said, with real human inflection. He sounded tired, but functional. What—this had to be the weirdest day of Allen’s life. Which was very impressive considering his best friend was a half demon and he spent hours every month being possessed by demons, and the rest of his time playing a saxophone or video games.

“Good,” said Queri. “Can you stand?”

“Yes,” said the demon in Allen’s body, which got up with considerable care to his wrist. Everything about this was backwards and wrong. Demons didn’t care about the human body they inhabited, let alone notice it’s needs and cater to them. Allen considered the possibility that he was dreaming, or had come down with a nasty fever mid-possession and had been hallucinating ever since. Both seemed ultimately more likely than the possibility that this was real.

“The car is just out front.”

Allen watched as the demon piloted his body with shocking grace (after a few steps of unsteadiness) after the two demonslayers, both of which were in front of him. By this point Allen was so shocked that he forgot to be panicked. Or maybe he was so far gone that he had shut down completely, exerting effort only to remain aware. As soon as they were outside, the demon looked around, taking in the forested area, the car, and the wide steps lined with bushes.

It took Allen a second to see the tendrils of absolutely transparent power that stretched out in front of him, looking more like a trick of the eye than the manifested concept of what Allen had to suppose was a very powerful demon inside of him. It happened, sometimes, when the demon possessing him was particularly powerful. The power was usually bright, though, and obvious. But this was just a glimmer in the air, like dim sun flares in a camera lense.

The power wound its way around the demonslayers in front of him, like snakes, up their torsos and neck. Allen’s fear returned in full force. He wouldn’t hurt them, would he?

Hurting is not what happened. Instead, the demon ran Allen’s body to to the bush and bent over it, saying, “I think I’m going to be sick.” He made some very convincing retching noises, clutching at his stomach. “Oh god—it h-hurts—”

It didn’t hurt. The only pain Allen could feel remained from his wrist and his thigh.

Char ran back to help Allen, putting a hand on his back and pulling hair out of his eyes again. “Maybe a concussion,” she murmured. When Allen retched again, Char’s hand abruptly stopped in it’s gentle strokes. “Queri, there’s blood.”

There was absolutely no blood, but when Queri took a few steps closer, her eyes widened as if she, too, were observing something concerning.

He started taking quicker breaths, and coughed a few times.

“Fuck,” said Queri, not quite distressed, but certainly not as cool as she had been previously. “I think he’s hemorrhaging—Char, call the hospital, I don’t think ambulances service this far out but they should know we’re coming.”

Abruptly Allen collapsed, and that hurt. He fell down a few steps as he did, and Char fumbled for him as he did, kneeling beside him. She put her fingers to his wrist and closed her eyes. “His pulse is getting weaker, Queri,” she said, opening her eyes again and looking at her companion with sadness in her eyes. “We—oh, it’s gone now—I know CPR, help me, keep his head steady.”

Allen was pretty sure CPR wasn’t good for a living person, but to his shock Queri performed the CPR a couple inches into the air.

This was so, so bizarre. Allen had never succumbed to the temptation of alcohol, but he thought he might truly need some after this. If he didn’t just wake up, or die somewhere along the way. He eyed the transparent power. What was it?

This continued for a while, in silence, until Char finally sat back, shaking her head. To Allen’s surprise, there were tears on her face. Queri looked equally put out.

“I’m sorry,” Queri murmured, stepping forwards to put a hand on Char’s shoulder. “He’s gone.”

“Shouldn’t we do something with his body?” Char said, tearful but blunt.

Queri shook her head. “If we take him we’d have to take the others too, and it would implicate us in the crime scene. The only reason for us to be on this crime scene is if we were involved or responsible for it. They might not have enough to convict us, or they might. It’s not worth the risk. We leave while all they have is fingerprints, and neither of ours will be in the system.”

Char sniffed, but nodded, standing up. “He’s just so young,” Char said. “He—he’s about the age my son would be now. I wonder how he ended up like this.”

“He’s only a little younger than you were when you almost did,” Queri said. “There are lots of reasons.”

Allen would bet money they couldn’t figure out his.

When they both left, the transparent power followed after them until they were gone, and then the demonic presence faded out of Allen’s body and he was left alone on the ground.

Something was wrong with Allen.

Dustin was playing a game on Allen’s computer that Allen had bought and then refused to play. Allen wouldn’t say, but Dustin had observed that most of the games this happened to were games that had a lot of killing.

Maybe killing people weekly removed that level of unreality that made it fun for most people.

Allen had just walked in, and he hadn’t said anything. That on its own was interesting, but he was pacing. Generally, Allen wasn’t a hyperactive person. He tended to fidget more with his mind than his body.

“Allen,” Dustin said, eyes flicking from the computer screen to his friend. “What happened today?”

Allen made a strangled sound. Dustin paused his game and turned around. “I was possessed, as usual.”

Dustin turned around in his chair to look at Allen. Allen was still pacing. Dustin’s mind whirred, trying to figure out what could have happened that would put Allen into such a fuss. Dustin surmised that something had disrupted his routine—because whether or not he knew it, Allen hated it when his routine was interrupted. He was a creature of habit, building consistencies around himself like a nest.

Dustin folded his hands in his lap inside the sleeves of his over-large sweater. He continued to observe Allen as he paced back and forth, frowning slightly. Allen’s breath was harsh. His eyebrows were very far down.

“Allen,” Dustin said again, grabbing his wrist when his pacing brought him past Dustin. Allen made another incoherent sound, tugging briefly before stopping. After a moment, Allen kneeled and leaned his head forwards onto Dustin’s stomach, and Dustin stroked a hand through his hair.

Allen sighed shakily, and said, “I can’t tell if today was a dream or not.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow. Allen couldn’t see this.

“Are demonslayers a thing?” Allen asked.

“They used to be,” Dustin said. “From what I understand though they died out before I was born.”

“I think some of them didn’t die properly.”

“Did demonslayers barge in on your session today?” Dustin was half-joking, incredulous. He viewed demonslayers as most humans viewed demon; impossible, fantastical things that had caused his kind harm. He had considerably more sympathy for the kind of trouble demons caused humans than demonslayers caused demons.

“Yes.”

Dustin paused for a beat to process this. No wonder Allen was distressed. “Did they hurt you?”

“No,” said Allen. “They checked that I was okay and tried to take me with them and then a demon possessed me and it acted human and got me out of there by tricking them into thinking I was dead.”

“Oh,” Dustin said. “Well.”

Allen gave a derisive laugh at his tone. “Yeah.”

Dustin didn’t know much about his father’s operations, as he’d fallen out of favour far before climbing the ranks enough, but he did know demons were generally very bad at this. Half demons, on the other hand…

“Maybe a half demon possessed you,” said Dustin. “They tend to be better at being human.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Maybe the gang that’s using you saw what was happening and did it to get you out.” This was unlikely and Dustin knew it. Half demons were incredibly rare, and the likelihood that whatever gang had ahold of Allen kept one hanging around just in case was not high.

Allen knew this as well, and made a noncommital noise against Dustin’s stomach. The vibrations tickled just a bit.

Allen turned his head, exhaling softly. “Theoretically,” he said slowly. “Theoretically, I could have gone with them.”

“Theoretically,” said Dustin, “yes.”

“I’m an awful person,” Allen said. “I do awful things.”

“I’m not saying you don’t do awful things, but you also don’t have a choice,” Dustin said. He hated himself even as he said it. Most of the time he tried not to think about Allen’s predicament, because if he did he got too angry to think at all. There was a choice, maybe not for Allen, but Dustin, if he decided to, could maybe do something—the guilt compounded in his chest and he shoved it down, quite apt at ignoring his own feelings. He made himself deaf to the righteously outraged voice inside of him that squawked that he at least could do something.

The only thing Allen could feasibly do to stop doing what he did was die.

And while logically Allen’s life wasn’t worth more than any of the other people he killed, had been killing, for years and years—

Dustin’s hands tightened around the boy in front of him, unable to finish the thought. Allen shouldn’t have to die for this.

“Are you okay?” Dustin asked him again.

Allen made another noncommital noise, and then said, “Are you okay?”

Dustin made a noncommital noise of his own, but smiled gently when Allen pulled back to look at Dustin, a hand on either of his knees. “Do you want to go to the park?”

“Yes.”

So they went to the park. Allen’s dad was at work, so there was no fear of bumping into him on their way down the narrow staircase and out the door. The walk seemed to calm Allen down; it was one they’d done countless times. But the park was beautiful, enormous and full of ponds and fountains and trees and sky.

“I wish it would start raining,” Allen said.

Dustin shivered. “Sounds cold.”

Allen rolled his eyes, but his eyebrows were still worryingly low. Eventually, he said, “I just feel like there should be a right answer. Something that will save mom and not have to kill so many poeple…”

“Life doesn’t seem to have right answers in the situations that need them most.”

“I’m going to go fighting tonight,” said Allen.

Dustin nodded. “Okay.”

On the way back home Char couldn’t stop thinking about the dead boy who had been possessed.

When Char had been sixteen, she’d made a deal with demons. Char closed her eyes briefly as she saw again what she had seen when she’d been brought out of her possession; her, a knife in her hand, and Mimi between her and her baby. Her own baby.

A lot of time had passed since then and she was no longer a child, but that boy had brought her right back to the moment she’d left her baby and the boy she loved to live with the demonslayers.

He had been so young.

It wasn’t that the demonslayers never dealt with children, it was just that it happened less often. While children were naive, they were also naturally less corruptable. They tended to have a natural instinct to not make any deals with demons that adults seemed to lack.

“There was something off about that boy,” Queri said as she drove, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “He was aware during the possession, and he didn’t seem to belong in the area… Did you see his clothing?”

It was definitely strange. Char nodded in agreement, eyes remembering the mottled scar over his cheek bone. It had looked like a gouge. A tear. This was a rich area- it was unlikely there was anyone running around in faded and baggy clothing with badly healed scars on their faces.

“We should tell Mimi about i…” she trailed off mid-word, frowning. The frown deepened further. “Hey… Do you… remember what happened? Precisely, I mean. As if we were going to tell Mimi.”

Char thought about it. The details were fuzzy.

Throughout the car ride Queri’s frown deepened further, and details started to come back to Char, but they didn’t match up with the outcome. There had been no blood, no vomit, no lack of a pulse. It grated against her mind. It felt like reverse deja-vu.

“He didn’t die,” Char said suddenly.

“No,” agreed Queri.

“This has something to do with those weekly attacks.”

“Yes.”

It followed the same pattern of unnerving intelligence and planning that had never before been seen in demonic activity.

“We could turn around and go back,” Char suggested quietly, although she knew what the answer would be already. She felt that it had to be said. The possibility had to be cleared.

“No,” Queri said with a sigh. “By now it’s possible that the scene has been discovered and is now under investigation. We can’t go back.”

Char nodded. Leaning forwards, she called Mimi, putting her on speaker phone on the phone in a stand attached to the dashboard. While the phone rang she surmised two things: that another demon had possessed the boy in order to alter their perception of reality, and that the demon that had possessed the boy had actually been a half demon. Otherwise, Queri would have sensed it. Besides, demons had never been known to be able to act sensibly while possessing a vessel.

Mimi picked up. “We have something on the regular demon possessions,” Queri said without skipping a beat.

“Or rather, we did, if we consider that he got away,” Char added.

Queri scowled deeply. “Don’t remind me, or I may be tempted to speed.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” said Char.

“A truly horrifying possibility,” Mimi agreed.

“Not the most important thing right now!” Queri said, voiced raised.

“No, it’s not,” Mimi agreed, and the line between Queri’s eyes relaxed a little. “Report.”

They did. At the end of what was truly a bizarre tale, Mimi was silent for a second as she processed the information. “If the boy is still alive, we should try to replace him. He’s our best lead.”

“Yeah, and we have no information on him,” Queri said. “How are we supposed to replace someone based on their appearance alone?”

“I’ll get you with a sketch artist and we can see what we can do to look through the records of schools in the area,” Mimi said. “If he was in his early teens he should be in school still, or he may have health insurance, and we can widen the net if we don’t replace anything in a reasonable time frame.”

“And I suppose Fay will be the one shifting through school and insurance records?”

“She’s the only one who can access the systems, so yes,” Mimi said, with a hint of sarcasm.

It flew right over Queri’s head, who nodded, face serious. “I’m getting more angry about this the more I think about it,” she muttered. “He was right there and he got away.”

“On the contrary,” Mimi said, “this is still the best- and only- lead we’ve ever had on this operation.”

“I suppose so. I still want a drink when I get home, though.”

“I will drink too, I think,” Char said. “Mimi, do we have any gin?”

“Probably, since you’re the only one who drinks it,” said Mimi.

“It tastes like flowers,” said Char. “I like it.”

“I would just have a rose water if I wanted to taste flowers. Give me vodka if I’m having a drink,” said Mimi dismissively. “Anyways, I’ll be on call tonight so I’m afraid I won’t be joining you.”

Queri’s frown deepened again. “Oh,” she said, sounding distinctly disappointed.

“It’s okay, I’ll stick around if you want to cuddle,” Mimi said. Char snorted. Queri did get snuggly when she was tipsy, a fact which surprised most people.

Queri seemed to struggle between scowling at this and smiling. In the end she just said, “Good for you,” and hung up.

Char said, “Smooth.”

Queri said, “Shut up.”

Char considered trying to call Queri out on her and Mimi’s unspoken feelings for each other and decided not to. She doubted it would accomplish anything at this point, but that didn’t mean she was letting them off the hook permanently.

It was nine by the time they got home, and Queri got tipsy and Mimi got called into work, and Queri ended up snuggling with Sparrow instead when Char retired to her room to get started on the design for the tattoo she’d just had the consultation for. It was a cover up for a truly awful tattoo her client had gotten many years earlier. Luckily, it was mainly line work that she should be able to mosty disguise with a more intricate design.

She sat back in her chair in the candle and art room, unable to focus. She hadn’t once asked for visitation for her child since leaving all those years ago. Her eyes unfocused, gazing into a candle that flickered on a nearby three legged table. It was decorated by cherubs who appeared to be flipping Char off. Kidd had probably bought it.

Would her child even want to meet her anymore? She had basically abandoned him, and his father. She gnawed at her lip in indecision. She had pushed that part of her past away for so long, but she had grown since then. Surely she was strong enough now. Surely.

She had been sending them money anonymously ever since she’d started making a pay check, so she knew where to replace them. She only had to take that step.

Unable to make a decision, Char was unimaginably restless.

At midnight, she grabbed her hand wraps, sent a text to Sparrow so that someone would know where she was, and went to go replace somewhere to fight.

Dustin had made it clear long ago that if Allen insisted on fighting that he would be coming along, and Allen was so enamoured with the fact that anyone cared enough to insist upon such a thing that he didn’t argue.

Plus, he just liked having Dustin around. Period.

At a little past midnight, Allen grabbed his hand wraps, already in a muscle tee and a pair of harem pants he liked for fighting. Fighting was the only time he didn’t feel self-conscious about his scars- he had quite the collection. In the ring it meant he was tough. In the ring it was a good thing to be branded as a troubled case.

At one in the morning, Allen and Dustin stepped into the Dancing Bear, an establishment well known for its fighting matches, cheap drinks, and willingness to let minors participate in both. At a similar time, Char stepped into the Boot In A Snake, a similar establishment that had originally let her fight as bait and had since learned that it was smarter to bet on her.

Since she wasn’t a real demonslayer, Char had worked twice as hard to be useful. She wrapped her hands, flexing them experimentally when she finished. Pride was still one of her vices; Char knew she was good, and never backed down from a challenge. She fought to win; she won to prove her strength to herself, and the rest of the world. Look at me, she thought, as she put her opponent down in front of her. Watch me. Look what I can do.

Allen fought to lose. He didn’t leave until he did. Some nights this took longer than others; he didn’t just let himself get beat on. He relished each controlled swing of his fists, the knowledge that he was in control and strong, and he relished each blow to his body, the way the pain shocked him into now now now. He relished being beaten, the feeling of his violence being forced into submission.

The cage was empty when Allen got there, but when he got put in the ring it didn’t take long for a senior from Allen’s school to join him, baring his teeth in a way that Allen couldn’t tell was a grin or a snarl in the odd lighting. The noise of the club around them made him a silent, arrogant predator.

The night often started this way; someone who recognized him as the skinny freshman and thought they’d beat him up for kicks, and make some money doing it. It meant he didn’t get bothered at school all that much, when he attended.

Allen’s eyes flicked from his opponent to look for Dustin. He was far too pleased that this seemed to tick off the older boy. He let his chin tilt arrogantly, and a smile touch his lips when he spotted Dustin. Dustin lifted a single finger in salute from where he sat at the bar with his arms crossed.

Allen often felt like a different person when he was fighting.

When Char stepped in, she let the noise wash over her like an ocean wave; heavy, dangerous, and exciting all at once. She could feel the beat of the bass in her bones. She wondered if she’d get to punch anyone to it.

When she stepped up to the bar and asked for a shot of gin, the bartender grinned at her. “Look who’s back!” he yelled over the noise.

“I always come back,” Char said, knocking back the drink. “I want in that ring. Now.”

“Still bossy,” the bartender remarked.

“If you don’t like me being bossy, come in with me and fight.”

The bartender laughed. “Oh no, you might have your pride to cater to, but I have my balls to preserve thank you very much.”

Char grinned. “At least one of us has got our priorities straight.”

Char’s first fight of the night was usually a new-comer that didn’t know her reputation. They were also usually someone who had no qualms about fighting a (small) girl, either from a lack of discrimination or a desire for an easy fight. The first tended to be more challenging, the second more satisfying.

Tonight it was the second.

The man who stepped into the ring leered at her in a way that made Char distinctly want to smash his face in.

It often unnerved people how still Char was while fighting. She moved only when necessary, her footwork was efficient but not fancy. When the man came in swinging, over confident, Char easily stepped inside his swing and brought her fist up in a swift uppercut that smashed into his jaw. She relished the feeling of impact, the way it jarred through her, body working in tandem to distribute it. Before he had a chance to recover from his shock, she swiftly kicked around, using her momentum to bring his much higher center of gravity crashing towards the floor. She punched him once and felt his nose give way beneath her fist. Perfect. She punched again, the beat of the music and her fist singing inside of her and the man screamed. He patted the floor. Char backed up.

While Char was an efficient fighter, Allen was vicious. He was strong, fast, and unpredictable. He was an instinctive fighter, and didn’t do much thinking in the cage. He had also never been taught how, in any formal sense of the word. “Come on,” he said, taunting the senior. He was much bigger than Allen. “Hit me.”

The boy swung. Allen ducked and punched him twice in the stomach. The boy bowed over just enough that Allen knew he’d felt it. “Fucking hit me,” Allen said, and the boy swung again. This time he flattened out in a kick directed at his kneecaps, and then grabbed his arm to twist it around. The boy cried out in shock, and Allen brought his knee directly into the boy’s spine once, grabbed his other arm to keep him from twisting away, and then again. He crumpled.

Allen let go of him, pacing in front of him as the senior stood on his hands and knees. “I said HIT ME,” Allen said, yelling now. He breathed out hard, nostrils flaring, and his legs were yanked out from under him by the boy. That’s more like it, Allen thought as he landed hard on his back, the breath knocked out of him. The boy climbed on top of him and hit Allen in the face once, twice, the pain wonderful and real before Allen caught one of his fists and bucked the boy off of him in the moment of struggle. He wrestled him to the ground, putting his knees on his arms so that he couldn’t move and hit the boy three times, just to one up him. The fourth time he felt his nose break, and Allen stopped, breathing hard.

“Are you done?” Allen asked, sitting back. The boy still couldn’t get his arms out from under Allen’s knees. Blood ran from Allen’s lip into a bead along his jaw. After ten seconds, Allen was hauled off the boy and the boy was hauled out of the cage. While the Dancing Bear didn’t follow strict counts until you were out, usually by ten seconds people were bored.

The night proceeded as expected; Allen fought until he lost, ending up with two black eyes, popped lips, and too many bruises to count. His abdominal region was throbbing.

Feeling significantly better, Allen and Char walked home, minds quieted for the time being, feelings all vented out in the form of beatings. Dustin made Allen put some frozen bread on his face, and Sparrow had left some homemade herb paste out for Char for any injuries she might have sustained.

Allen fell asleep with bread on his face and bruises on his ribs, and Dustin beside him on the bed.