Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Champions didn’t celebrate things that weren’t worth celebrating. That’s what the Elders had told Gillion. Feasts were to honor the Gods, festivals to honor the Undersea, and birthdays were unimportant in the face of failure. He could celebrate when he was worthy of being celebrated. The Elders were strict in their rulings and Gillion tried his best to listen to them. Every year, however, when the deep trench waters get just a little bit cooler, and the waves on the surface start growing a little bit larger, Gillion lets himself feel excited.

There’s something very special about Fishmas eve. The night before the longest night. When Luna Deas is at her strongest. There’s days of celebration. Of lights and colored sand and sweets.

Gillion swam through the halls of the palace, faster than he should have, most likely. He passed servants faster than they could bow, nearly knocking into a very expensive vase. When the Elders found out about that they would no doubt be furious, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the rules. It was Fishmas Eve, after all.

His training had been cut short that day but he was still covered in bruises and cuts. He didn’t have time to go to the infirmary if he still wanted to get ready in time. Gillion was a triton with priorities and getting healed surely wasn’t more important than his plans for the evening. The pain in his right knee and the stinging pain in his shoulder told him otherwise but he’d gotten very good at tuning out his injuries.

Gillion’s chambers in the palace were grand and empty. The rooms were decorated with nothing more than a bed, a dresser, and training equipment. There was also a small desk in the corner where he could study his more diplomatic “chosen one” duties. Sitting at this desk was the familiar form of Pretzel, who squeaked at his arrival.

“Pretzel! Hello! Training was cut short.” Gillion quickly explained, brushing past the desk to reach his dresser. “We don’t have much time; we’re set to meet them in just under an hour and I still need to get cleaned up and get the presents ready and dress and–”

Pretzel squeaked more insistently, pointing towards the desk. She was thoroughly ignored. Huffing in annoyance, she swirled her way towards Gillion’s frantically pacing body.

“-- and I couldn’t find any fried honey coral in the kitchens, so it won’t be perfect and I–”

Pretzel pulled on Gillion’s half sleeve and slapped his arm with one of her tentacles, pointing towards the desk with another. Gillion looked towards the desk, populated with its usual notes, scrolls, and half finished doodles of Undersea Titans. A newer addition was a single package wrapped in kelp with a letter set on top of it.

“...is it a bomb?” Gillion asked Pretzel in confusion. Pretzel hit his arm again and settled onto his shoulder. “It’s… surely they would just give me my present at tonight’s dinner…”

The present offered no answer. It only sat at the coral desk, waiting to be unwrapped. Gillion hesitantly approached and reached for the letter on top.

“...‘To Gill.’” Gillion read aloud. “The only… I see.” Pretzel trilled in confusion and Gillion set the letter back down, moving Pretzel to sit back on her desk perch. “We don’t need to get ready for dinner, Pretzel. I’m sorry for rushing you. I’ll have the kitchens bring us dinner soon.”

Gillion sat on his bed for a long while, staring at the package with disappointment. Pretzel eventually got tired of his brooding and picked the letter up with her tentacles. She forced the letter into Gillion’s lap and stared up at him expectantly. Gillion rolled his eyes and picked the letter up.

“I don’t even know why you’re having me read this, I know what it says,” Gillion huffed, opening the letter and pulling out a small note. The stench of Kelp drenched the note and Gillion tried very hard not to cry as he choked his way through the letter. “‘Dear Gillion, Your mother, Eydn, and I will not be able to join you for Fishmas eve dinner in the Trench. Barracuda, your sister’s friend’s uncle has passed and we will need to stay home in support of the Kelpkickers. Your sister has written and left you a gift. Sincerely, Reed Tidestider.’ What did I say?” Gillion tossed the note on his bed and stormed over to the desk. Pretzel followed behind cautiously. “It’s been two years since they bothered to visit and I haven’t seen Edyn since… I can’t even remember! They’re always busy with something. ‘Oh Gillion, the farm needs to be tilled before the warm season returns’ ‘Gillion, we need to repaint the stables before the neighbor’s wedding’ ‘Gillion, some triton you’ve never even fucking heard of just died”

Gillion punched through the desk, causing bits of broken coral to float serenely through the cold, stuffy waters of the chamber. Gillion panted in exhausted anger. Pretzel chirped softly, wrapping around his hand and squeezing. He took a deep breath and settled into his chair.

“I’m sorry, Pretzel, I shouldn’t have… broken the desk, sh– the elder’s aren’t going to be happy about that– and for yelling. I shouldn’t have yelled.” Pretzel only squeezed tighter. Gillion sighed and gently moved her to his shoulder, giving her head a few scratches.

“It’s just… frustrating. I know I have a duty to them– to the entire undersea. They’re counting on me to be… not me. I need to be better at this. Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t think they’d be happy to know I can’t even heal myself.” \

Gillion looked at the package again and, after a moment, drew it closer to himself. It was neatly wrapped, a job clearly done with care. The bow on top was cloth dyed a bright red and painted with small blue fish. He carefully removed the wrapping and tucked the bow in his desk drawer. Another letter was tucked into the lid of the box.

“‘Dear Gillion,

Merry Fishmas! I miss you very much and I hope you are doing okay. I went ahead and made the sand tunnels for Sandy Cod but they’re not as good as when you used to do them.

Speaking of Sandy Cod, he’s left you a gift.

The smaller package is from him and the larger one is from me, mother, and father. He also told me to tell you that you are the bravest, noblest, and kindest triton he’s ever seen. He told me to tell you that he’s so proud of you and that you just need to keep going because you are doing so well and he knows you don’t get told that enough.

Merry Fishmas, Gill.

Just keep going.

I love you a million Gillion,

Your big sister, Edyn’”

Gillion silently opened the box. Two parchment packages. In the brown wrapped parchment was a box of fried honey coral. Sticky, gooey, delicious fried honey coral.

“We used to eat this together. Mother would save up for months and swim for hours to almost every shop during fishmas. She said Grandpeepaw discovered the perfect technique to fry it so the coral wouldn’t go bitter, but she couldn’t make the recipe because we didn’t have the “proper materials”. I don’t really know how it’s made, to tell you the truth. Or what’s in it. We would eat it together though.” Gillion handed a small piece to Pretzel who ate it ferociously, bits sticking into his hair.

While she worked through her treat, Gillion moved to the next gift, from Sandy Cod. Gillion hadn’t been visited by Sandy Cod since he left home, mostly because he couldn’t dig the tunnels in the palace. Gillion at his worst moments, when he spent yet another year doubting the existence of the winter trickster fish, found himself doubting the existence of Sandy Cod. After all, a burrowing cod who knew exactly what you were hoping for in the Fishmas tunnels? How would a cod even know he wanted a…

“Oh my GODS– Pretzel, look!” Pretzel paused in her devouring of coral to look at the small figurine in Gillion’s hand. A carved stone statue of a serpent with whiskers and an imposing glare.

“Pretzel, it’s Dugal– no, that’s not his name– it’s the one I was reading about in the scrolls just last week! The big one! This is a statue though, not a real– It’s perfect!” Gillion explained bounding over to his wardrobe, tail flapping from side to side excitedly. He carefully balanced the figure on top of the intricately carved stone and simply stared up at it, munching on fried honey coral and informing Pretzel of every detail he could remember of undersea titans and the big fish of the oceans.

It wasn’t a perfect Fishmas. It wasn’t even close to a perfect Fishmas. But Gillion had Pretzel and fried honey coral and a letter from his sister. And for Gillion, that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Mark Winters hated Winter. Ironic, considering his name, but also hated anyone who pointed that out. He hadn’t always hated winter, of course. Morning coffee dates before Ashe got up. Walks through the snow. He used to love it. Snowball fights with his wife and Ashe, when Ashe hated touching the snow so he had to help them scoop it into perfectly round balls.

Mark used to love the winter time.

And then his life went to shit.

Lizards (because that’s what he was now, a fucking lizard–) hated the cold. Mark had found he shared this quality, turning half cold blooded. Generating heat was a problem for him. He couldn’t go outside when it was cold or he’d be miserable.

However, Mark was already miserable. He also had bills to pay and a kid to feed. So Mark shoved down the part of him that groaned and hissed at the cold and focused his attention to his work. Maybe if he buried himself in enough of it, he would find some warmth. He kept the house warmer and avoided snow days. He was fine.

Ashe didn’t understand why the house was warmer, at first, and didn’t ask. He didn’t bother telling them, either.

The Prime Defenders were Mark’s greatest enemy. Not because they actually fought each other, Mark had retired from villainy and was now “rehabilitated” into vigilantism. No, the Prime Defenders were his greatest enemy because they were fucking annoying.

He couldn’t even kill them to solve his problem, he was attached. He hated to admit it but those idiot children Tide adopted had grown on him like mold and thoroughly wormed their way into his life. Tide too, now that he mentioned it. They were a fucking plague.

His Thursday nights used to be planning crimes and adding modifications to his suit. Now he was retired and watched shitty movies and did other “family activities”. Tide was pushy.

Le Frog had managed to escape prison again and rob the bank again. Ashe was home for winter break and had settled in on coms. Mark had tagged along on this “side quest”, as Vyncent put it, because if he had to do one more fucking puzzle with Tide, he was going to murder someone. Retirement was unfortunately boring.

“Mark!” Dakota shouted as they raced down the street. Mark ignored him with a scowl, trying not to slip on the icy roads. To make matters worse, a gentle snow was starting to drift from the sky. Perfect. Snow. Just what he needed. He fought shivers as his half-lizard body tried to generate at least a little bit of heat.

“MARK–”

“No names in uniform, D.C.–”

“Le Frog already knows our names actually–” William pitched in, materializing beside him. Mark slipped on the road with a curse but quickly regained his footing. He shot William’s ghostly form a glare. The kid was too quiet for his own good, in Mark’s opinion.

“Whisperer, thanks for joining us, you’re late.” Mark spat out, breathing harshly at the cold weather and leaping over the trash bin Le Frog had thrown at him. His slow pace affected his jump, however and he couldn’t get all the way over. He felt something scrape against his leg painfully. An issue for later.

“I got caught up with Tide’s puzzles– Are you okay, by the way, you’re not looking too hot–”

“That’s what I was going to say!” Dakota chirped, popping up from beside him. Mark let out another curse and tried not to trip again. These fucking kids–

“I’m fine– Why the hell aren’t you getting Le Frog?! He’s right fucking there! You’ve lapped him twice–”

“I’ll get him in a second,” Dakota waved off, running backwards in front of Mark, “I just want to know why you’re so slow today! I’ve seen you take down villains twice your size, but Le Frog is making you sweat?”

“Old age.” Vyncent remarked, slicing an incoming car in half.

“Must be.” William agreed, flying in front of Le Frog and ghost shaping a brick wall.

“It’s not– I’m 40! I’m not that old!”

“Old–” Dakota said before getting smashed in the face by a trash can lid.

“Watch out for the trash can, Dakota.” Vyncent said offhandedly as Le Frog ran face first into William’s weird ghost wall. Just when Mark thought he could finally be rid of that spirit world bullshit–

“Thanks Vyncent!” Dakota shouted from ten feet behind. Mark slowed his pace and cuffed Le Frog to the nearest lamp post.

“Names.” Mark sternly reminded him. He tapped the comm on his wrist. “Ashe? Call the cops, we’re going to head home.” “Cool,” Ashe’s voice came through the comms, “Anything to report?”

“All clear, Le Frog was, as per usual, fucking annoying.”

“Le Gasp! How could you say zis to your nemesis– We-lee-am, you are just going to let zis– Je n'en reviens pas!”

“He’s possessed!” Dakota shouted, rearing up to drop kick his head. Mark was all for Dakota killing Le Frog but Tide would not be happy if he let one of his sons become a murderer.

“For the last fucking time, he’s not a demon, he’s french–” Mark scolded (because he scolded now–), pulling Dakota away harshly by his shirt collar and holding him up in the air like a scruffed kitten.

“It’s the same thing, really.” William shrugged, floating back down beside them. A handful of wisps popped up and started forming snowballs from the slush left over from the previous night. William huffed at them and shooed them away.

“Demons can’t pronounce the letter ‘H’” Vyncent added sagely, nodding at Le Frog’s dejected form.

“Not a demon. French.” Mark was getting really tired. In general. He needed a nap. A blanket too, maybe.

Dakota, who had been struggling for the better part of a minute, finally sagged in disappointment.

“Fine. he’s not a demon, he’s just… French.” He spat the word out with disgust. Mark nodded in approval.

“Alright chucklefucks, let’s get a move on. We’ve got to get a move on before…” He suddenly felt the urge to lie down in a small dark hole and sleep for several hours. Or days. Maybe until spring. Bad sign.

“Mark? You good man? You’re getting all… sleepy.” William started moving towards him and he put Dakota down slowly.

“I’m fine.” He said shortly, limping (limping was bad, shit–) back towards the car. He just needed to get to the car so he could get these dumbasses home. Then he could sleep for as long as he wanted to. Just to the car.

“Uhhhh Mark, you’re not– Do you want Will to drive?” Vyncent pushed, coming up beside him much faster than he could comprehend. Everything was moving very fast. Or very slow. He couldn’t really tell. He really wanted a nap.

“No, I’m… fine.”

“Mark, buddy, you’ve got a giant metal rod in your leg.” William pointed out. That explained the aching agony he’d been feeling for the past five minutes. And the limp. It was cold–

“I’ll live.” He was seeing an alarming amount of spots in his vision though. Deep breaths, get to the car, he repeated. Just get to the car.

“Mark–” Dakota said more instantly from behind him. Mark stopped abruptly in his limping and turned on the Prime Defenders furiously.

“I. Am. Fine.” He spat in anger.

He then proceeded to pass out.

Before his vision went completely dark he heard the frantic shouts of Ashe and the merry band of misfits his child had made the poor decision of befriending.

-*-

When he came to, eyes cracking open, he was bundled in blankets on his couch, dressed in his undershirt and pajama pants. The bandages on his leg were secure, meticulous, and almost certainly done by Tide. Shit.

The TV was playing some dumb Hallmark movie, the air smelt of beef stroganoff, and Ashe was laying on top of him– Why was Ashe on top of him?

“...Ashe?” He croaked out. He was still tired. “Wha–”

“Brumation.” Ashe said offhandedly, glancing in his direction. “Some reptiles do it in the winter. Apparently your kind of reptile does it too” They gestured to Mark’s uncovered scales. He sighed heavily and tried to push himself up.

“TIDE! Dad’s trying to escape!” Ashe called. Mark glared at him.

“Snitch.” He tsked, propping himself up with a throw pillow and tossing another at Ashe’s head. He swore he caught a smile as they ducked.

“You’re on bedrest.” Ashe shrugged. Mark rolled his eyes.

“It was a scratch–”

“I had to do a blood transfusion and surgery! You’ve been out for ten hours!” Tide exclaimed, poking his head through the doorway. He was wearing his ‘world’s best mom’ apron. Mark snorted.

“That’s a Wednesday night. Nothing compared to the time you showed up at my door half-naked with a dead fish–”

“WE DON’T– ahem, we don’t need to get into that right now.” Tide coughed.

“Tide, why did you show up half-naked at Mark’s door–” Vyncent asked, balancing four bowls of steaming hot beef stroganoff in his arms as he approached Mark’s stained couch. Tide groaned and buried his face in his hands. Mark grinned, feeling much less tired.

“I should have let you die–”

“It was– what, three years ago? Four? And Tide–”

“Are you telling Tide stories?!” William yelled, phasing through Mark’s good wall, damn him. “Don’t start without me.”

“Doors Will,” Tide reminded before moving over to the couch and settling in next to Mark, acting as another cushion. He was getting too comfortable.

“Yeah, yeah, KOTA! Mark’s telling Tide stories!”

“Coming!” Dakota yelled, racing into the room at top speed and nearly knocking over Vyncent’s tower of Beef Stroganoff.

“Hey!”

“Sorry!”

These fucking children. Tide let out a laugh and started messing with his hair. Okay, now he was just being mean–

Before Mark could mention anything, three more children surrounded him, weighing him down. He was trapped. SHIT.

“Now you’re being stupid, let me up–” He insisted, attempting to lift the four of them off of his swaddled form.

“Bedrest.” Tide said firmly. Dakota was cuddled up next to Tide and William and Vyncent were wrapped in blankets on the other side of the couch. Ashe was still just sprawled out on top of him like a cat.

“I fucking hate all of you.” Mark sighed grumpily as he let himself lean back onto Tide’s chest, relaxing into the weight of blankets and idiot children.

“Love you too, Dad.” Ashe smiled. Mark smiled back.

“Now about that dead fish–”

“Mark!”

Chapter Text

The Winter Solstice was the one day of the year Jay’s family could be persuaded to drop their work. Her sister would come home from the endless voyages and pirate hunts and whatever else she got up to. Her father would set aside “Vice Admiral Ferin” in favor of “Mr. Ferin”, coming home and settling in for a proper family dinner. Jay and her mother would cook an entire feast for their little family and they would spend hours exchanging gifts around the Yule Log and talking and being happy, if only for one night.

It was a day Jay looked forward to every year.

Every year except this one.

This year, there would be no sister. No leaning out of the treehouse on the hill, trying to catch a glimpse of a distant ship. No waiting with anxious excitement on the docks, bouncing on heels. No wrapping Dad’s gift with hushed whispers and giggles.

No Ava Ferin.

Jay woke up the morning of that year’s Winter Solstice with a forced smile already plastered on her face. It had already been months since the news of Ava’s passing had reached her and her mother. It didn’t make it any easier, of course, but Jay could pretend to be okay for her Mom. Her Dad too. Jay hadn’t seen him since the funeral. He'd been burying himself in his work, hunting Ava’s killers to the ends of the four seas. With how long it was taking him, Jay doubted he’d find them. Not that she’d ever say that to his face.

The smells of rosemary marinade drifted up the stairs and through her open door, pulling Jay from her thoughts. May had already started cooking dinner. Odd, it was only– she glanced at the clock on the wall and nearly fell out of bed. 1 o’clock. How– How did she sleep that long?!

Jay threw herself from bed, tugging her robe on, and raced down the stairs. Her father had most likely already arrived. Gods– she was going to get an earful from him. She’d probably missed the mantle decorating and breakfast and–

The living room was empty. The presents were under the tree, she could see her father’s gifts wrapped with military precision like always but– Her father wasn’t in his usual chair between the fire and the tree. Jay frowned. He was usually there by now. The family would have their morning cup of coffee and start mixing the marinade by 10, after Jayson returned from his morning training. Then Jayson would sit in his chair and teach them how to light the candles on the tree from a distance.

He must be waiting for me in the kitchen. Jay reasoned, walking into the adjacent room and poking her head through the door frame.

Her mother was whistling with the birds and cutting vegetables and herbs. It was an old, mournful tune, something May’s own mother had passed down, along with the ability to whistle with the birds and understand their songs. Jay’s father loved to listen to her mother whistle, yet the kitchen

“Mom?” She asked hesitantly. May startled, quickly turning to face her daughter.

“Jay-Jay!” She chirped with a grin, setting down her knife and coming over to wrap Jay in a hug. Jay hugged back easily but with confusion.

“Mom, where’s Dad? He was supposed to be–”

“What am I, chopped liver? ‘Morning Mom–’ or, afternoon, I suppose.” May let go of Jay to reach for something in a cabinet. She spun quickly around the kitchen, chopping vegetables, crushing spices, and chatting quickly, “I hope you slept well, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Now, I’ve just put the bread in the oven and the marinade’s been going for a few hours, so we can start roasting the pork soon and then–”

“Mom!” Jay interrupted, moving in front of her bustling and busy mother. May paused, looking down at Jay with a confused expression. Jay took a deep breath and tried not to shout. “Mom, where’s Dad?” she repeated.

May’s face fell into guilt and sorrow and Jay’s chest tightened. That look was never a good thing.

Not again, please. Please, not today–

“Your father is… well he’s going to be a little late tonight, that’s all. Got caught up in the office, you know? He’ll be here by dinner.” May explained gently, holding Jay’s shoulders. Jay’s relief was short lived as another thought occurred to her.

“But… he’s going to miss the Yule Log lighting. I built a new rig to keep it burning for longer, I wanted to show him how it worked–”

“He won’t miss dinner. Or presents. I promise you.” May insisted. “Now, chin up! I need you to start on dessert. I was thinking cinnamon rolls this year? I love how you make them.”

Jay forced her smile to brighten just a little bit.

“Cinnamon rolls.” She agreed, rushing to the pantry for the ingredients. She almost missed her mother’s sigh of relief. She pretended she did.

The Yule Log lighting was a bust but she could still have a normal Winter Solstice. She still had dinner and presents.

The next few hours were a blur of cooking, cleaning, and dressing the house in festive greenery and candles. Jay pushed every bit of her energy into keeping up a bright facade, if only to keep her Mom from worrying about her any more than she had to. She suspected May was putting up a similar facade but didn’t comment on it out of politeness.

The Yule Log was lit around 5 o’clock, when all the food had been mostly prepared. Jay and her mother tossed on their usual Winter Solstice dresses. A bright cardinal red for Jay and a soft winter blue for May. May sat and braided Jay’s hair into a crown as Jay rambled on about the mechanics of the oil pump she’d fashioned for the center of the Yule Log to make it burn brighter and longer with the extra fuel. May piped in with the occasional fact about the history of Druidic Yule Logs and how her grandmother had once seen one burn from a branch of the oldest tree in the world. Jay hung onto her every word with rapt attention.

It was around 6 o’clock when Jay finally set the food out on the table. May portioned out the food while Jay sat silent in her seat, staring at the empty chair at the head of the table and the equally empty chair across from her. Only one of them has an excuse Jay thought grimly. She forced another smile at the concerned look on her mother’s face.

Half an hour later, May finally convinced Jay to start eating. The food was amazing, as usual, but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. She ate half and started to clean the table.

Her father had missed dinner.

Presents. He’ll be here for presents.

At 8 o’clock, when the dishes had been properly stored away and the leftover food had been tucked into the ice box, May brought out Jay’s cinnamon rolls.

Jay sat and watched the Yule log burn, the presents she’d gotten her parents sitting off to the side of her place on the couch. May offered her a plate with a cinnamon roll on it. When Jay didn’t move to take it, she placed it down on the side table with a soft ‘clink’. She settled in next to her daughter with a sigh.

“He’ll be here… soon. If not tonight, then tomorrow. It’s just been… difficult for him.”

Something in Jay snapped at that word. Difficult.

“How? How is that an excuse?” Jay asked sharply, turning to face her mother. May’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Jay-jay–”

“No, how? Really. It’s been difficult for him? It’s been difficult for all of us! It’s been difficult for me. And guess what? I’m here! I bothered to show! Where’s he? Where’s his excuse?” Jay ranted, jumping up from the couch and pacing furiously around the living room. The tears she’d been pushing down all day had finally started to flow out of her eyes.

“Months! It’s been months since Ava’s funeral! He stood there for maybe an hour, called her a ‘good soldier’ and then left! He always leaves us! How can you stand it?! How can you just sit there and wait and tell me he’ll be here when we both know he won’t! How can he–”

Jay was cut off by her mother’s sob. She stopped in her pacing and looked at May in shock. May covered her mouth, equally as shocked, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

“Sorry– sorry. I’m– I’m fine, I just–” Her voice came out broken and shaky. She looked away and wiped her face off with the corner of her blue sleeve. Jay stood still, unmoving. She didn’t even dare to breathe, never letting her eyes move from her mother’s sagging form.

“Mom, I–” Jay started, reaching for her. May waved her off, taking a deep breath.

“I’m okay. It’s just… been a lot. I thought your Dad would be here earlier too. I’m just… It’s not been easy. I know you already know that but– Well. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s been like for you. It’s just.. different for… for us.” May spoke softly, spinning her wedding ring around her finger. She didn’t look Jay in the eyes. She only looked towards the window. Waiting. Her mother was always waiting.

“I’m sorry.” Jay whispered. She’d never be able to say it enough times to make this okay. May smiled up at her sadly.

“Oh honey, no. It’s not your fault.” She pulled Jay into a hug that Jay immediately curled into, burying herself into her Mom’s arms. May ran her fingers through Jay's hair gently, rocking her back and forth like she used to do when Jay was a child. She repeated: “It’s not your fault. I’d be pretty pissed off too, don’t worry.” Jay let out a wet laugh.

“I’m not… pissed off. I’m just… disappointed.” May snorted.

“Now you sound like your father. We put you in one of his overly fancy suits and slick back that mane of yours and you’d make a pretty good stand in, yeah?” Jay giggled, lifting her head to look at her mother’s grinning face.

“Mom, be serious–”

“I am being serious! How deep do you think your voice can go? Here, try this: ‘pirates. HMM. Angry, angry, serious.’” Her mother deepened her voice, furrowed her eyebrows, and did an altogether awful impression of her father. Jay cackled somewhat hysterically. She pulled away from her mother and smoothed the stray bits of her hair back, straightening her posture.

“No– no, it’s more like: ‘I must capture the pirates to bring honor to my family.’” Jay imitated, struggling to make it all the way through the phrase without giggling.

May laughed brightly and Jay quickly joined in.

After a while they calmed down and May looked at Jay with a soft smile.

“It’s going to be okay. That I can promise you.” Jay smiled back.

“It’s probably for the best anyways, I got Dad the ugliest sweater I could find–”

“Jay Ferin!” Her mother scolded with another laugh.

“No! No really, look!” Jay said, passing her mother a messily wrapped gift with a shiny red bow on top. May rolled her eyes and ripped away the wrapping paper. She held up the sweater in silence.

The sweater was bright neon green and had a mustard yellow and gold thread sun stitched onto the front. It had cost Jay five gold at the market and it was worth every piece.

“He would have loved this.” May deadpanned.

Jay looked at her mother. Her mother looked at Jay. They both glanced at the sweater.

The cottage was filled with laughter and joy.

Jay found she was happy.

Chapter Text

Shilo had first heard of him from Theo.

After years of ignoring the humans and everything about their culture, Shilo wanted to make an effort to get to know the creatures he drank from. Shilo had learned a lot in his time in LA, but he still knew next to nothing.

Theo, through much persuasion on Emizel’s part, agreed to sit him down and walk him through basic human American culture.

It was confusing. It made Shilo want to slaw his remaining eye out. It made him want to abandon all semblance of morality and just pretend he’d never even consider that his food had feelings.

“--and that’s what an ‘alpha male’ is.” Theo finished, one cold winter’s evening. Shilo stared down at his notes on the rotted wood of the motel’s desk. The two had been at this for the better part of the night. The words were beginning to swim in his vision.

“So,” He began slowly, attempting to piece together information and memory, “Arthur is an… ‘Alpha Male’?”

Theo let out a pained noise that could have been a laugh.

“He’s– Sure.”

“And Taylor Lautner, he is a ‘beta male’?” This time Theo did laugh. Hysterically. Shilo gave him a concerned look.

“Yes. Exactly. I’m– I’m so happy Emizel convinced me to do this.” Theo wheezed out, wiping tears from his eyes. Shilo felt his chest fill with pride before immediately deflating.

“I must confess I already knew this– Arthur and Taylor Lautner had a confrontation some time ago.” Shilo sighed and glanced down at his notes again. Theo waved him off.

“It’s fine. You’re not quite right about it, but the only people who really use that term are, like, little kids and grown men who don’t shower.”

“So this… slang is separated by a demographic of gender and age?” Shilo asked, jotting down the words into his notebook.

“I guess? Usually you can tell if they use those words or not if they still believe in Santa Claus or something.” Theo shrugged. Shilo paused in his writing and looked up at Theo in complete confusion.

“Santa… Claws?” He repeated slowly, Theo nodded and started to put away his flash cards and Nalgene.

“Yeah, Santa Claus. You know, leaves presents under the tree on Christmas eve to the good kids, coal to the bad ones?” Shilo shook his head in response.

“I am unfamiliar– Christmas is a holiday, that much I know.”

Theo hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and looked at the vampire sitting on the shitty swivel chair of the shitty motel. He kept his expression blank, but couldn’t help the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He had the opportunity to do something very funny here.

“Oh yeah, he’s a pretty big deal. ‘He sees you when you’re sleeping, knows when you’re awake, knows if you’ve been bad or good’? There’s tons of songs and movies about him. I’m surprised you don’t know who he is, I’d think that vampires would keep tabs on a guy like him.”

“Theo… how ancient is this… Santa Claws?”

Theo smiled.

“Hundreds of years, probably.”

He turned and left Shilo in the room, shell shocked.

Shell shocked Shilo was. He opened a new page in his notebook and began to write what he knew.

Santa Claws

Centuries old, according to Theo; Supernatural ability to scry on those asleep (presumably only those asleep, though more information is needed); judges morality; has the ability to “leave presents under the tree” (He delivers gifts? Why does he do this? Why only to children? Are they an easier target?); Existence is questioned meaning he must not be seen regularly (why would he work in secret but let a myth of him exist? What does he stand to gain from not telling anyone of his–

Shilo stopped writing and stood from the desk quickly, pushing back his chair. His nails dug into the wood of the desk as his eye traced the words he’d written down.

A presumably immortal being with supernatural ability who preyed on children and worked in secret.

Vampire.

~*~

Shilo’s realization spawned new fear in the young vampire. He hardly knew anything about this vampire. He only knew that Santa Claws was old; older than most vampires. He had the ability to scry, an Auspex that took years to cultivate and that he knew Arthur had to some degree. He was also beloved– was it artificial? Similar to the kind of control Edward had held LA under? Shilo shuddered at the thought. He read through the information he had, limited as it was and built his theories.

When Greffgor returned with his supper, in a plastic bottle, Shilo grilled him for information. Unsurprisingly, Greffgor knew nothing.

When Emizel returned, grumbling about bloodstains on his jacket and slinking into the adjacent bathroom to wash it clean, Shilo asked him as well.

“Santa Claus? Yeah, I know the guy. Met him at a mall once when I was a kid. Big fat guy, wears a lot of red. Keeps slaves–” Shilo nearly choked on his blood.

“He keeps what–”

“Yeah, elves. Tons of them. Makes them build presents for him to give to snot nosed brats all around the world and they’re ‘happy’ with it.” Emizel said distractedly, furiously scrubbing at a splash of blood that had gotten stuck in the fur of his collar. Shilo sagged back in his chair in an incredibly un-princely way.

Santa Claws, he concluded, was a very powerful vampire.

To blood bond that many– or to make ghouls? A vampire would have to have a large supply of blood, years of experience, and months– no, years. It would be incredibly difficult, a waste of resources.

It just didn’t make sense why this Santa Claws would do any of this.

The question repeated itself over and over in his mind for the days after his lesson on human culture with Theo. Shilo had spent his nights consuming every bit of propaganda Santa Claws had put out into the world. Songs especially. He’d poured over lyrics and texts from the library. If Emizel noticed a shift in Shilo’s interests, he made no mention. Greffgor only stood a solitary guard.

Arthur had been making himself scarce, as of late, his face was… unfortunate now. He did happen to make an appearance just days after Theo’s lesson, while Shilo was painstakingly copying down the lyrics from the song, “I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”

“Prince. What are you doing?” Shilo didn’t look up from his notebook, only rewinding the song and listening carefully to the lyrics. Emizel had lent Shilo his stolen small light box and shown him how to access the “internet”, whatever that was.

“I am researching.”

Arthur let out one of his typical pained sighs.

“Prince, have you eaten? Or slept?” Shilo scoffed.

“Of course I have, I am not so foolish that I would not sleep or eat.”

“Have you left the motel?” Shilo paused his music and looked at Arthur with a guilty smile.

“I have been… researching?” Arthur sighed.

“We are going to go out now.”

“I cannot leave now! Arthur, there is a powerful vampire draining the blood of innocent children!”

“...What.”

“Yes! He breaks into homes– every home and he bribes them with presents to gain their trust, then he–”

A thought came to Shilo’s mind.

Children were inefficient, they didn’t have much blood in them. But children were often protected by adults.

Everything made sense now.

“He knows if you’ve been good or bad”

This vampire scried on innocent children. He built a reputation of someone trustworthy. He was invited into their homes, likely the ones who trusted him the most, the “good” ones.

I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claws.

Mommy wasn’t kissing Santa Claws, Santa Claws was feeding on her.

He used the children to get to the adults. Then, after gorging himself, on Christmas eve, he returned to his lair and fed the excess blood to his ghouls, and then began the cycle anew.

What was stopping him from paying them a visit? From paying Theo or Greffgor’s lover or any other human they consorted with? They didn’t believe in him, surely, they were safe. There were no children around either. But what if? What if they were caught unawares? What if Emizel lost Theo because Shilo wasn’t strong enough? What if it happened again? And again and again?

Humans were more than food. They were his friends. His brother’s friends. They weren’t just blood bags to be dominated and drained. They were more than cattle for this monster. Shilo knew what he had to do.

“Shilo–” Arthur started, moving towards his unmoving form. Shilo held up a hand to silence him.

“We must make preparations.” Shilo said grimly, taking his cloak from the closet. He nodded to Greffgor, who lept from the window, rolling onto the pavement below. He sprinted off into the night. Arthur stared at him in confusion.

“For what?” Shilo put on his cape with a dramatic flare and spun to face his friend.

“The Red Vampire is coming.”

~*~

The following nights were a blur of stakes and trap setting. Arthur moved the twins and Greffgor to his friend Magnus' house. Shilo had argued that it wouldn’t be safe for humans to be nearby if they were to fight the creature known as Santa Claws. Arthur argued it was safer they be near Vampire Hunters. Magnus was skilled with stakes and could be a huge advantage in the fight.

Magnus was hesitant to allow so many vampires into his home, especially with his husband around, but Arthur made a very convincing argument. Or bribed him. Shilo didn’t care to find out.

Shilo had begged Emizel to teach him how to fight. It was surprisingly easy, especially considering how much his brother hated emotion. One quivering lip was all it took.

Shilo trained every night until the dreaded Christmas eve. He had set traps, rigging the fireplace to explode into flame the moment something even came close to touching the chimney. Stakes were stashed in all possible locations around Magnus and Jerome’s Christmas tree, decorated with brightly colored lights and ornaments shaped into the likeness of people from something Jerome called “Smosh”.

It was on the night of Santa Claws’ attack that Shilo felt true fear arise. He was still awful at fighting. He knew how to wield a sword, he’d been trained in fencing since he could walk. But Santa Claws would not fight with honor. No vampire that old or powerful would.

He huddled underneath the coffee table, Emizel crouched on top of a banister like a gargoyle, Arthur blending into the deep shadows of the wall. Jerome was guarded by Greffgor in a bedroom upstairs and Magnus was pretending to be asleep on the sofa.

They waited for hours, occupying themselves with various activities of little movement after the third hour.

There was no sign of Santa Claws.

At midnight, however, a knock came at the door.

Shilo paused in his game of “rock, paper, scissors, gun” with Emizel. He turned his head towards Arthur’s shadowy form. Arthur hissed softly and Void materialized from his coat, silently padding her way to the door. Emizel followed close behind in slow, crawling movements, stake clutched in his hand and raised just below his chin. Arthur moved towards the door and clutched the handle.

The knock repeated, louder this time.

Shilo felt his heart sink.

Scrying.

He knew they were waiting for him.

Before Shilo could shout at Arthur to not open the door, the elder vampire did just that.

And Theo stood with one hand raised in a fist. His phone was lit up in his other and he had a red bag thrown over his shoulder.

“Theo!” Shilo whisper shouted, racing to the doorway to pull him inside and shutting the door just as quickly. He turned on him instantly with wild, panicked eyes and clutched his shoulders with vigor. Theo raised an eyebrow.

“Um, yeah. Hi? I followed the ‘find my friend’ to get Emizel his Christmas present–” Shilo narrowed his eyes and released Theo, stepping away.

“Why?” He asked suspiciously. Emizel pulled Theo away and into a half hug.

“It’s tradition! I don’t really celebrate Christmas and Theo doesn’t either, but we always like to get each other gifts anyways. I didn’t think you remembered to do it this year!” Emizel grinned at his friend and Shilo scowled.

“No, Santa Claws gets people gifts. As a way to drain the blood of the people he controls.” Theo snorted.

“Yeah, sure man.”

“Shilo, you’re a little old to believe in Santa, you know he’s not real, right?” Emizel laughed, Theo joining in. Shilo’s scowl deepened. He caught Arthur frowning from the corner of his eye.

“He is real, why else would we be doing all of this.” He gestured widely to the heavily booby trapped living room. Theo looked around with wide eyes.

“Oooooh shit– Shilo, I– um. Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair anxiously. Shilo crossed his arms expectantly. Theo took a deep breath. “Shilo, I was messing with you. Santa Claus isn’t real and he isn’t a vampire.” Shilo’s arms dropped in shock.

“What– but he’s– He– You’re just saying that– no–”

“Shilo, I’m so sorry–” Theo said placatingly, “it’s okay, Santa's not real.”

Shilo collapsed into an armchair, disbelief coloring his face.

“Wait, we were going to fight Santa?” Emizel asked incredulously. Arthur looked at him sharply, now fully out of his shadow.

“Who did you think we were fighting?” Emizel shrugged.

“I don’t know, I was just excited to fight– hey! Why didn’t you say anything to Shilo!”

“Because he’s right?”

Theo, Emizel, and Magnus, who was now fully awake and glaring, just looked at him.

“Arthur… Buddy,” Magnus started, carefully making his way towards Arthur.

“No– wait, no, Santa Claus is real– I just didn’t consider he was a vampire–”

“He’s not a vampire, Arthur. He’s– um. He’s an… uhhhh…” Magnus looked around the room for a sign and his eyes landed on the tree, lighting a bulb in his brain instantly. He looked back at Arthur with glee. “He’s an angel.”

Arthur considered this momentarily. Shilo nodded along slowly.

“That does make more sense… but what about his slaves?”

“His… slaves… oh you mean the elves– yeah those are… cherubs.” Magnus said, glaring at Theo and Emizel. The two nodded along furiously.

“That’s right, cherubs!” Theo agreed.

“Cute little fuckers–” Emizel remarked.

Shilo processed this information and looked at the carefully rigged room with guilt.

“I’m sorry I've caused a… panic.”

“It’s fine, kid.” Magnus sighed. “It was just a misunderstanding, happens to the best of us.”

Shilo nodded again.

“I haven’t eaten in a few days, so I should probably–”

“Misunderstanding doesn’t mean you get to leave my living room a shit pit, brooms and bags are in the closet, clean it up.” Magnus scolded sharply. Shilo shrunk slightly, a guilty smile on his face.

“Well I should probably go–” Theo started, before Magnus cut him off, twice as sharp:

“You’re helping.” Theo sighed heavily and Arthur didn’t even bother arguing before getting brooms from the closet.

Magnus sighed.

“I’m going to bed–”

As he left he caught the final ends of the conversation of vampires in his living room.

“Hey, Shilo, it’s okay, you know about the Tooth Fairy?”

Arthur’s sigh was loud and exhausted.

Chapter Text

The warehouse was dimly lit by the setting sun. The wooden floors were rotted and crumbling and the seaside air created a damp, musty smell. It was probably mold. Despite these imperfections, it was a home. A home to two young boys, living in a shoddily thrown together tent with ratty blankets piled on the floor. A softly crackling fire was all that combated the cold air.

“Run me through it one more time.” Reuben ordered Chip, who was finishing braiding his hair back into a plait. Chip rolled his eyes.

“Again? Come on, Rue, I’ve got this shit memorized–”

“Again. We can’t afford to fuck this up.” Reuben snapped. Chip sighed, finishing the braid and Reuben’s hair with a black scrap of fabric.

“We’re hitting the Dalgleish house, 3rd down from the top of the hill. The window on the second floor is locked, but leads directly into the hallway. Behind the 4th portrait by the door, there’s a small safe. The lock on that is standard an can be picked by any amateur fucking thief, can we please go now?’ Chip repeated back what Reuben had been planning for days and crossed his arms petulantly.

“Aw, Chip! You listened for once!” Reuben let out a loud, wheezing laugh, and reached out to ruffle Chip’s hair. Chip ducked out of the way with a scowl.

“You just don’t shut up.” Chip muttered, digging through the blankets for his heist bag. Really it was several scraps of fabric sewn together in something roughly resembling a sack, but it was useful for… carrying things. Like a bag. Chip decided he was going to use the score from the evening to get a new bag. And food. And maybe some blankets.

“Hey,” Reuben snapped his fingers in front of Chip’s face, “No salivating, you– and I cannot stress this enough Chip– you cannot fuck this one up. Lock the fuck in or get locked the fuck out.” Chip glanced at his glaring older brother nervously.

“Rue, chill, you know I don’t mess around on heists–” Reuben scoffed.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. Now hurry up, we’re running behind.” He stood up and started walking towards the entrance of the warehouse, new boots tapping along the shitty floors. Chip scrambled up to follow after him, cloth sack thrown over one shoulder.

During the winter solstice festival, wannabe thieves tried to shoot their shot at the nicer houses on the opposite side of skull slice. They almost always got caught, choosing to strike late in the night when they thought the guards would be tuckered out from a day of festivities.

Reuben and Chip had learned from others’ failures and knew the perfect time to hit a house was just after sundown. The guards would be resting so they could be alert during the later hours when the “real” crimes were happening. No one would question two kids running around during the winter solstice festival.

Chip chased after Reuben as he dashed through the festival crowds, laughing like the other children and street rams that danced around the food carts, flashing copper coins for sweets and fried fish.

Chip tried to keep his eyes from wandering along the carts, stomach rumbling. He tried to imagine their score and how much they would be able to afford once they just finished this one job. If they got lucky, they wouldn’t have to steal until the spring!

“Hey kid! Want a hot dog?” A vendor shouted at him as sprinted along. Chip paused to look at the smiling man holding out a tray of hot dogs. His stomach screamed at him and his mouth watered at the sight of fluffy white bread buns and salted meat. What the hell, why not?

“Sure–” He started before a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Chipper! Keep up! Mom and Dad wanted us home before sundown for dinner!” Reuben scolded, voiced pitched to make him sound younger. Chip glanced at the vendor and then back at Reuben.

“We can keep them waiting a little longer right?” He tried, shifting slightly towards the vendor. Reuben glared at him before rolling his eyes and shoving his shoulder in a way that looked playful but still hurt just enough that Chip winced.

“Sure, but Mom won’t let us try the roast before Dad gets back.” Reuben’s left eye twitched slighting in a code Chip took to mean ‘hurry the fuck up before I actually murder you’. Chip sniffed in a code he knew Reuben would take to mean, ‘Fine, but I get to talk us out of this one’. He turned to the vendor and pretended to look thoughtfully at the hot dogs.

“I do love Mom’s roast… fine. But I get your dessert tonight!” Chip forced his eyes to go wide and sparkle in that adorable kid way. Reuben barely covered uo the look of disdain on his face but the vendor let out a hearty laugh.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil your dinner… How about you take some of the small ones to go? My treat!” He tossed Chip a small paper bag of mini hotdogs. Chip made a show of fumbling the bag before grinning widely at the man.

“Thanks mister!”

“Chipper!” Reuben called, already running towards the edge of the market.

“Coming!” Chip called back, waving goodbye to the vendor and shoving the mini hotdogs into his cloth sack.

Once the boys were a decent distance away, Reuben turned to glare at Chip.

“Fuckin’ ‘Thanks Mister’?! Are you shitting me?”

“Hey!” Chip protested, pulling out the paper bag to show Reuben, “I got us dinner! And we didn’t even have to steal it!” Reuben scoffed, snatching the bag from his hands and peeking inside it with a frown.

“Whatever, Chip, just stop getting distracted by stupid shit.” Chip chose not to protest that comment and settled for rolling his eyes.

It was a little while longer before they finally reached the street their mark was on. The street was lined with pretty painted houses and gardens decorated with sweet smelling flowers. It was also completely dead, the inhabitants of the street partying the night away down by the docks. It would be another hour, at least, before anyone of the wealthier skullslice citizens returned to their homes.

The Dalgleish house was dingier, compared to the other houses. Its paint was a peeling light green and the flowers in the front garden were wilted. The grow boxes on the windows were weed filled and the gutters were clogged. It was clear that the house wasn’t looked after well.

“You said you heard about this mark from who?” Chip whispered to Reuben skeptically as they snuck around the side of the house. Reuben shot him a glare, crouching below the window on the second floor and springing up to reach the grow box of questionable structural integrity. He balanced himself on the window ledge and held out his hand to Chip expectantly.

Chip obediently handed him their only lock picks and shrugged.

“I mean, you’re the boss, if you think it’s a good score–”

“Chip, shut the fuck up.” Reuben grunted, picking the lock open with practiced ease and slipping into the house. Chip sighed before scaling the side of the house as well, silently creeping into the window.

The house was completely dark. Chip squinted for a moment, trying to get his baringings. The hallway was lined with paintings like Reuben said it would be. He didn’t mention that they would be so creepy. Why did those portrait eyes follow him like that?

“Chip.” Reuben whispered, annoyance coloring his voice. Chip flinched at the sudden sound, eyes shooting to Reuben, just three portraits down from the creepy one of the guy with the glasses and the lizard and the weird eyes.

“Sorry.” He whispered back, glancing back at the portrait. Reuben shuffled for a moment before a click rang out in the hallway like lightning. The two winced at the noise and waited for a moment in silence. Nothing happened.

“I’m going to– fuck– okay, I’m going to crack this open, you go downstairs and look for something good.” Reuben crouched in front of the lock on the safe. Chip stood still for a moment, uncertain.

“Something… good?” Reuben didn’t bother answering and Chip shrunk. He hurried down the stairs the soft sounds of metal scraping metal following him all the way.

The inside of the house was just as shabby as the outside, in Chip’s opinion. Sure, he was a kid who would have been impressed by a bed and a bathtub, but he had some standards.

The wallpaper was peeling and the floors were covered in papers and wrappers from the food carts in the market. Chip swore he heard a mouse squeaking from somewhere. It was a, to put it lightly, nasty ass house.

“Can’t believe this is the tip Reuben decided to go on.” Chip muttered to himself, walking quietly into the living room. It was certainly living with how much mold and fungus was growing on the couches. This place was definitely abandoned, Chip realized. That… actually made a lot of sense.

Nevermind, this is a good house. Chip felt a smile creep up onto his face as he began to rifle through the papers and couch cushions. He found two copper coins in between the seats and two silver coins stashed in some falling apart coat pockets crawling with bugs.

It was enough to get them through the next few days on food from the inn. Chip started calculating how he would spend his findings. He was interrupted in his musings by a loud snap and the pained scream of Rueben. His heart sank.

“Reuben!” Chip yelled, running up the stairs as fast as he could. As he approached the top of the stairs he heard Reuben curse harshly as a window smashed open. “Reuben!”

Reuben wasn’t in the hallway anymore. The safe was left open, empty of its valuables, if there were any there to begin with. The window was open, cold sea air blowing harshly through his thin tunic and cotton pants. Chip shivered and pulled his bag closer to himself.

Reuben must have gone out through the window, Chip reassured himself, running up to the opening. He winced as his hands dug into the shards on broken glass on the windowsill and housed himself out, balancing on the grow box.

Grow boxes are not stable climbing holds and Chip usually considered himself smart enough to remember that. Not that time, however.

He crashed through the rotting wood, landing on the hard grass below the window with a muffled yelp of pain. He felt something in his ankle strain and crack and when he stood up, he found that it hurt like a motherfucker.

“Shit. shit, shit, shitshitshitshitshi–” Chip repeated, limping his way back down the hill as quickly and as quietly as he could. Reuben was nowhere to be seen. Chip felt his eyes fill with tears and he furiously wiped them away and tried to concentrate on making it to the warehouse. That’s where they met up if they got separated.

Just get home.

Chip, by some small miracle, made it home. His ankle was either sprained or broken and he wouldn’t be able to do jack-shit for the next week which Reuben wouldn’t be happy about and he didn’t even find anything that good.

The warehouse was still as cold and empty as always when Chip finally entered through the doorway. A gentle snow had started to fall, making him dread the following night even more.

“...Reuben?” Chip called out hesitantly. There was no response. He resolved to wrapping himself in blankets and going to look for him in the morning. Worst case scenario, he got caught up with some guards. He always talked himself out of those interactions anyways so there was no real reason to worry. Of course, Chip worried anyway.

Two hours passed with Chip sitting in complete silence, starting a fire with whatever wood they had left and just trying to ignore the fact that his brother was missing.

“Chip!” Reuben yelled, feet stomping on the wood floors of the warehouse. Chip bolted upright, racing towards the voice.

“Reuben!” Chip cried back, crashing into his older brother full force. “Where were you?! You were gone and I didn’t know– I thought you got caught!” Rueben pushed him away slightly to look at Chip’s tear stained face with a wrinkled expression.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous Chip, I was getting you… these!” Reuben pulled a paper bag from behind his back with a magician’s flare and a grin. Chip wiped his eyes off and peered at the bag.

“Are those… Did you go to the bakery?” Chip asked incredulously. Reuben nodded smugly, opening the bag and pulling out two raspberry tarts.

“Yup! Your favorite!” Chip forced a smile onto his face and hugged his brother tighter.

“Aw! Rue! Thanks–”

“It was no problem. Now, Chip, you gotta hear me out on this one. This was a fine score, I guess, but what if I told you I made some friends? We could be scoring a lot bigger. Little brother, I see a shit ton more raspberry tarts in your future.” Reuben put on his best showman’s smile and Chip nodded along with false excitement.

He listened to Reuben talk for hours of his grand plans, chewing slowly on his raspberry tart. If he ignored the pain in his ankle from the fall and didn’t question where Reuben had gone that he didn’t think to tell Chip about, then Chip could pretend that this was actually the perfect evening. So Chip did just that.

Tarts with his older brother around a fire while snow fell in the background.

A perfect Winter Solstice.

Chapter Text

War.

A battle of wits. Of brute strength. And for Dakota Cole, snow.

A snow storm had hit the mountain cabin of Mark Winters hard, blocking off roads and killing any chance the Prime Defenders had of returning to Rockfall and Harttawa Island before New Years Eve. It wasn’t exactly upsetting news for any of them, they’d been thoroughly enjoying their Christmas holiday at the Winters’ cabin.

Vyncent had introduced Ashe to a handful of video games he received for Christmas, William had been popping in and out of the spirit world, Tide and Mark had been doing… something, it was a little unclear. Dakota had just been enjoying his family and their company.

The week they spent at the cabin was bliss. However, it had been over a week. And Dakota could only run laps in the snow so many times before he got bored.

He’d run 897 before he decided he was bored.

So Dakota decided to quell his boredom by doing one of his favorite activities: annoying Mark.

“Do you wear wigs?” Mark startled, nearly slicing his hand off with a knife. He spun around to face Dakota, who was starting up at him with wide eyes.

“Fuck! Dakota– you little–”

“Wigs. Do you wear them?” Dakota repeated. Mark sighed with the experience of parenthood.

“No.” He answered shortly, turning back to cutting the vegetables for his stir-fry. Beef stroganoff was good until you’d had it every single night for dinner for almost an entire week.

Dakota pulled himself up onto the tiny kitchen counter, ducking his head to avoid hitting them on the cabinets. He kicked his feet idly. After about five seconds of silence, he turned towards Mark again.

“Fight me.” He demanded.

“No.” Mark replied, not sparing him a glance.

“There’s like, forty feet–”

“Two, at most–”

“Of snow outside. You should fight me.” Dakota crossed his arms menacingly. Or it would be menacing if he wasn’t struggling to fit on a counter that did not fit him. Mark rolled his eyes and set down the knife to fully turn and face the angry red child.

“First of all, I don’t do well in the cold, remember?” Mark started, pointing at the unwrapped scales that took up half of his face. “Lizard. Snow? Bad fuckin’ idea. Secondly, you wouldn’t survive a snowball fight with me.”

Dakota scoffed, jumping off the counter.

“I would beat your ass in a snowball fight and you’re a coward for refusing.”

“Sure, Dakota, if that makes you feel better. Now can you stop being a little shit and go get your Fish Dad? He should be in the bedroom–”

“I’m going to go challenge Ashe.” Dakota informed Mark. Mark went quiet and just looked at him for a long moment.

“Dakota Cole. I can and will fuck up you and your shitty hero team.”

“But you won’t though.” Dakota refuted smugly.

“Get your fucking coat.” Mark snapped, storming out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. Dakota could hear the muffled voice of Tide and the slightly louder muffled voice of Mark. He grinned and rushed to the porch where William was writing in a notebook and Ashe and Vyncent were building a snowman that vaguely resembled Tide.

“We’re fighting Mark!” He announced, slamming the door open.

“We’re what–” William shouted, jumping to his feet instantly, shifting into his ghost form and materializing a gun in hands with wisps.

“Alright.” Vyncent shrugged, pulling a knife from his back pocket. Ashe rolled their eyes, tugging down on their beanie.

“Is this optional?” Ashe groaned. “We’re almost finished with the Snow-Tide.”

“Dakota, what the fuck did you do–” William was starting to float and Dakota rolled his eyes.

“Calm down Wiwi– ha! Down– I challenged him to a fight.”

“What the hell–”

“Sick!” Vyncent cheered. Ashe sighed and looked mournfully at the Snow-Tide.

“We can finish him later.” They agreed. William started to float down slowly.

“When are we fighting him?” He asked hesitantly.

“Right now.” Mark’s voice rang out from the doorway to the house. He was wearing his Wavelength suit in full and was armed with what looked like a t-shirt launcher.

“In ten minutes!” Tide clarified, coming up from behind him, wearing a bright blue sweater and holding a whistle in one hand.

“Uhhhhh, Tide? Wait– Dakota, is this a friendly fight or a ‘Mark’s gone crazy and needs to be taken down’ fight?” William backed away slowly from the cabin.

“It’s a snowball fight!” Dakota clarified, racing behind a nearby tree.

“And I’m the referee in case it does turn into a ‘Mark’s gone crazy and needs to be taken down’ fight!” Tide chimed in, blowing the whistle loudly. Vyncent winced and covered his ears, which flattened to the side of his head. “Oh! Sorry! I just like blowing the whistle.”

Silence fell across the front yard of the mountain cabin.

“Tide–” William started before sighing. “Nevermind. Let’s just get this over with. Don’t pull your back, Mark.”

Mark just stared at him with bright red eyes and cocked the t-shirt launcher looking gun.

“...okay–”

“You have ten minutes to prepare a strategy,” Tide explained, “When I give the signal, you all will fight. No maiming or killing. All’s fair, Ten start’s now!”

Mark walked away, slowly and deliberately. The deep snow didn’t deter him from wherever he was going.

“Oh cool, he’s leaving.” Vyncent said noncommittally, turning back to the Snow-Tide. “Tide, we made you out of snow because we love you.”

Tide began to weep.

The next ten minutes were mostly just waiting around for Mark to come back. William attempted to form some sort of game plan but Ashe was enjoying their music and Tide was enjoying the snowman portrayal of himself with stick hair and a lumpy body, so he pretty much gave up immediately. Dakota busied himself rolling out snowballs and doing pushups.

Eleven minutes passed and Mark didn’t return.

Then twelve.

Then fifteen.

The Prime Defenders looked at each other in confusion.

“Guess he really was too cowardly to fight us and lose again” Dakota remarked, poking his head out from the pile of snowballs he’d made around himself.

“Yeah, guess he did–” Vyncent was cut off by a large chunk of snow and ice landing on his head and knocking him unconscious.

“VYNCENT–” William yelled, before he too was smashed in the face by snowballs. They came at a rapid pace, from all locations around the woods. William ducked behind Dakota’s fortress of ammunition.

“He’s on the roof!” Vyncent yelled! Dakota and William glanced at Vyncent’s unconscious body and then up to the roof. It was empty.

“Gottacha.” Mark’s voice said hauntingly from behind them. They turned to see Mark two inches from their faces.

William let out a high pitched scream and disappeared. Dakota shoved snow into Mark’s face with a terrified aggression. Mark caught his fist just before it hit his face.

“What was it you said earlier, Dakota?” Mark asked, grabbing Dakota’s neck faster than he could dodge. Dakota squirmed as he was pulled closer to the unfeeling red eyes.

“Mark, you bastard–”

“‘I would beat your ass in a snowball fight–’” Dakota’s own voice parroted back at him from Mark’s mask. Dakota let out a choked scream of frustration, kicking his leg’s into the suit’s armor, denting it slightly, but not enough. “Is that what this is? I think it’s the other way aroun–”

A bucket of snow landed on top of Mark’s head, making him drop Dakota into the snow. Mark looked around quickly.

“Who the– William–”

All of Dakota’s pre-made ammunition began to float behind William’s floating figure. His eyes were glowing a bright blue and his hair was stark white and standing straight up.

“Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”

All of the snowballs began to fire directly at Mark, nailing into his armor and knocking pieces off. Mark grunted at the sudden barrage of snow and pulled his t-shirt launcher– which Dakota was starting to get the feeling was not a t-shirt launcher– from his back and cranking a lever on the side.

Pure concentrated snow blasted William into the house, leaving dents in the wall and William unconscious on the porch.

“William down,” Tide announced, dragging William’s body into the cabin.

Ashe still hadn’t taken off their headphones, content to watch the chaos unfold.

“William!” Dakota yelled. He ducked under Mark’s approaching arm, scooping up snow and shoving it into a kink just below Mark’s armpit.

“Shit!” Mark cursed, ripping off the bit of armor with snow on the inside. Mark glared at Dakota and reloaded his snow launcher, cranking it back once more. Dakota shot off a few snowballs in Mark’s direction, but they did almost nothing to the behemoth of a man.

Mark took aim at Dakota and fired.

Dakota ducked.

Snow-Tide couldn’t duck.

The twig locks and pebble eyes scatter across the snow, leaving only a crater. The grass was visible.

Dakota gaped at the spot that was once occupied by the most beloved member of the Prime Defenders. Vyncent roused to consciousness momentarily to see his creation’s demise and promptly fainted once more. Ashe took off their headphones in abject horror. Mark lowered the launcher slowly, turning to face Tide.

Tide was expressionless, staring at Mark.

Mark cleared his throat and started to sweat.

“Tide– I’m so– uh… Fuck– don’t be mad–”

“I’m not mad.” Tide said calmly. The snow around the cabin began to lift and swirl around Tide as he slowly approached Mark. Mark dropped his launcher and began to back away. His back met a wall of snow and he jumped.

“Tide, buddy– lover, even–”

“I’m not mad.” Tide repeated, eyes darkening. “I’m disappointed.”

Mark swallowed audibly.

Snowball fights, snowball wars, and general forms of snow based conflict were henceforth banned in the Prime Defenders when Tide was present by suggestion of Dakota and firm agreement of Ashe.

Mark would have agreed if he was conscious when the rule was made.

Snow-Tide’s funeral procession consisted of Beef stroganoff poured into a shallow grave.

Chapter Text

Arthur’s family, every year for as long as they had been alive, had taken a family photo. They hired the best photographer they could afford. The photo was taken in front of the tree they’d decorated. It was the only time of year Arthur could be persuaded to cease his pranks (not including the year where he’d paid Mikey a full dollar to sneak itching powder into their Great Uncle’s pants because of the snide remarks he’d been making about Emily’s attire; he’d had his hand halfway up his ass in the final picture and Arthur was grounded for two months).

Arthur greatly valued the family photo.

After the death of his family, however, he’d been too– guilt-ridden, frightened, lonely– To continue the tradition.

A family photo when you didn’t have a family was just a photo.

So Arthur never brought up the tradition of Christmas photos.

Well, almost never.

Mary had found out when he’d burst into bloody tears upon being asked to stand in a photo with her in 1923. Conveniently, also the night she taught him how to command the minds of living mortals.

Deacon had found out in 1946, when he’d taken Arthur to a bar post world war two. Arthur was a heavy drinker at that point and refused to feed on most humans. That combined with PTSD and the usual struggles of being a vampire led to a shouting match between him and Deacon and almost led to a frenzy in the middle of Manhattan. In a crowded bar. Deacon refused to talk to him for a decade after that.

Magnus found out when he was 12 sometime in the 1990s. Arthur really couldn’t remember. The decade was a blur of investigations, attempted reconnections with his ex, and some weird shit in Louisiana that Arthur thoroughly blocked from his mind. Magnus had paid for their milkshakes with their gas money and Arthur had to ditch a stunning 1964 Cadillac Deville Convertible in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere in 30 degree weather so he could walk to the nearest gas station, dominate the half-asleep cashier for free gas, walk back, and then make it to the trunk of the car before the sun came up. And of course Magnus had slept his happy ass all the way through the night and get them pulled over by the cops because he’d decided to drive–

Maybe Arthur remembered that decade better than he thought.

Arthur didn’t like to talk about his family photo.

But apparently, that mattered to no one in his weird little gaggle of people he’d collected over the years.

He was awoken by a loud banging on his motel closet door. He dropped from the clothing rod with a thud, startled and stumbled out into the adjoining room to see complete chaos.

Emizel was strangling Shilo with a tie, Deacon was looking as though he was about to duel Magnus, Greffgor was talking to Mary in the mirror, attempting to help her apply lipstick, and Pickles was shitting on the bed.

“What the fuck are you all doing?!” Arthur shouted. Shilo let out a choked yelp and Mary smeared lipstick over her chin with a curse. Magnus and Deacon kept their glares on each other and Pickles was still shitting on the bed.

“My Boy! You have risen!” Greffgor shouted back, excitedly. Emizel scoffed and let Shilo go.

“‘Bout time. We’re already late.”

“We’re late because you refuse to dress–” Shilo gasped out, only for Emizel to smack him in the face with the same red tie he’d been using to strangle him with moments before. Shilo let out an offended squawk.

“I am not wearing that bullshit tie. I’ve already fucking told you–”

“You refused to wear the broach of our family crest, you refused to wear a simple cravat, and now you refused to wear a modern necktie! You and your stubbornness will be the ruin of the Bathory name–”

“I’m fuckin estranged, you upitty bitch–”

“I can’t hear you over my status as the favored son–”

“I can’t hear you over our dead parents–”

“BOYS!” Arthur shouted again. Emizel and Shilo stopped their bickering to look at eachother. Arthur sighed heavily and went back into the closet.

“Uhhh, Arthur, not to rush you, but our reservation at this place is in like, 30 minutes and it takes 20 to get there, so if you could just–” Deacon started, adjusting the brim of his hat to cover one eye in the most dramatic way possible. Magnus rolled his eyes and glanced at the mirror Mary who shrugged.

“Give him time, Deacon, it took him nearly thirty years to come out the first time.” Mary remarked, reapplying her lipstick with Greffgor assisting her in adjusting it when necessary.

Arthur screamed louding inside the closet.

A moment later, he returned, deadpan expression and turned to look Magnus directly in his eyes. Magnus winced.

“Sorry, you’re still really fucking ugly–”

“Where.” Arthur growled. It would have been very scary if his hair wasn’t askew from sleeping upside down and then crashing onto the carpet. A gum wrapper was stuck onto the side of his head.

“The mall, 25 minutes, we really are running late and they prefer we be there 5 minutes beforehand, so we should probably go.” Magnus explained nonchalantly, glancing at his watch. Arthur sighed sharply, rubbing his temples with gloved hands.

“What a pain.” He muttered before looking up at Deacon. “Do I want to know why you all are gathered here or why we’re going to the mall?”

“We are having our portrait done.” Shilo informed primly, straightening his caravat in the mirror and smoothing out the wrinkles made by his fight with Emizel.

“Our what.” Arthur looked sharply at Magnus who help his hands in mock surrender.

“It wasn’t my idea, just putting that out there. Also, the cowboy is right, we are running late and Jerome is already there with some kid who keeps trying to convince him Smosh isn’t actually that good. We have maybe ten minutes before it gets violent.”

“I really don’t want–”

“I will stake you.”

“Into the car then.”

The drive to the mall was… loud. Deacon had come on Sunshine, who was more than happy to see Arthur, and Magnus had brought the white van. The white van. The one that made it look like he either had a meth lab or kidnapped children. Arthur tried to fight the growing headache from Emizel and Shilo’s bickering, Deacon and Magnus’ death threats, and the actually fairly pleasant conversation between Mary and Greffgor. Hilariously, it was the fucking pheasant who was behaving, Pickles making almost no noise and curling into his side.

It was hellish and they showed up to the mall nearly ten minutes late. Though, it didn’t really matter; It was all but dead in the mall at 9 o'clock in the evening.

Emizel all but dragged him to the small popup where families had taken their photos, Shilo following quickly just behind, holding Pickles in his arm. He’d tied a small green bow around her neck that perfectly matched his suit. Arthur had to admit it was adorable.

The front desk of the popup was managed by an exhausted looking, acne ridden teenager who sipped on a cup of coffee and looked like he was praying for death.

Deacon shot Arthur a look like he might try and give it to the teen, eyebrows raised expectantly. Arthur shook his head minutely with slightly narrowed eyes peeking over the top of his glasses. Deacon rolled his eyes and let out a huff, honest to God pouting.

“Welcome to happy holiday photography, how may I– OH MY GOD!” The scream that the teen let out was ear piercing and made Arthur wince in pain. He’d forgotten to dial down his senses when he woke up. It explained the headaches, at least. The teen looked frantically at the group and pointed at Arthur in horror. “What the fuck is that thing–”

“Hey!” Emizel shouted over him, grasping Arthur’s arm almost protectively, “Our gay Uncle has a goddamn condition! You can’t fucking say that shit!”

“Was the gay part really necessary, boy–”

“I should have your tongue! Repeat such an offense and I will have you tortured and then killed when you are so delirious from the pain you won’t even know that the strike that killed you was the last one.” Shilo spat, glaring. Despite being shorter, he seemed to tower over the human. Emizel shot him a look and Shilo responded with a different look. Their silent conversation was over in less than three seconds and Shilo huffed, remedying, “I will have words with your superior.”

The teen looked faint and looked at Deacon and Magnus for help. Deacon flashed his badge and Magnus merely showed the gun on the inside of his jacket. He turned green and shot a look to Greffgor who, in full armor and holding Mary’s mirror, stared at him intensely, looking as though he might tear the teen to shreds. Mary just smiled.

The teen nodded frantically, on the verge of tears.

“So so so so sorry sirs and ma’am, I didn’t mean– I’ll get your– You’re here for the Family Photo session under ‘Bennett’?” Deacon snorted and mutter to Arthur:

“Folded so quickly– Humans used to be made of tougher stuff.” Arthur decidedly ignored him and nodded kindly at the terrified teen.

“Yes. It would appear so. I believe the other two members of my family will be here soon. Has anyone by the name of Theo or Jerome arrived?” Arthur asked slowly, trying not to scare the teen anymore. It didn’t seem to have the intended effect.

“Uh– Yeah– yep. Yes. They’re already waiting in the backdrop room, it’s down the hall and to the right–”

“Thank you.” Arthur cut him off swiftly and turned to walk down the hall, pulling Deacon along with him.

“Can I drain him after this?” Deacon murmured.

“No, you may not.” Arthur replied.

Shilo, Emizel, Magnus, and Greffgor holding Mary’s mirror all followed behind them quickly, meeting them in a blinding room decorated to the nines with tack christmas trees, lights, and fake presents. Jerome and Theo were in a heated argument by the classiest looking background.

Arthur’s chest tightened at the sight of it. The painted tree in the background was glowing with thousands of tiny lights in a high ceiling parlor of red velvet furniture. It looked so much like his old home and it killed Arthur to notice that.

“You… You all did this… for me?” The bickering quieted as Arthur’s family looked at him with confusion.

“Well, yeah, what the fuck else were we going to get you for Chirstmas?” Emizel remarked, dapping Theo up. Shilo rolled his eyes.

“We wanted to get you something personal, so we interrogated Deacon and got nothing, interrogated Magnus and nearly got killed, and then we asked Mary and she suggested we take a family photo.” Shilo explained simply, petting Pickles who honked in agreement.

“Then they bullied me into spending my Thursday night with your fucked up sucker family and miss the Smosh–” Magnus added on before he was cut off by Arthur pulling the whole group into a tight hug. Greffgor pressed Mary’s mirror into the pile helpfully.

“I am… so undeserving of this.” Arthur muttered.

“Probably.” Deacon agreed with a grin, “But you know, you only live twice.”

“Let’s take this stupid photo.” Arthur huffed, arranging his family around the fake background. Void curled into his arms, Shilo (holding Pickles) and Emizel on either side of himself, Theo next to Emizel, Greffor and Mary next to Shilo, and Deacon, Jerome, and Magnus in a line behind him with Deacon’s hand resting on his shoulder. The terrified teen slunk into the room a few moments after they had got themselves situated and shakily held the camera.

“Everyone say Happy Holidays–”

“We’re not doing that.”

The final picture was a loving family with a horrific eldritch being in a mirror, two gang members, a vampire hunter and his human husband, a vampire cop flashing his fangs… a shadowy blob of darkness with two sets of red, glowing eyes peeking through and… fancy floating clothes holding a fancy floating bow.

Vampires and photography, as it turns out, don’t mix that well.

But it was all the people who he loved and still lived, in their strange way of non-living. An eternity of loneliness and he had found people who made him feel less alone.

Arthur considered it a fairly decent family photo.

Until he noticed Jerome scratching his behind and the bottle of itching powder just peeking out from Theo’s pocket.