Waiting for the Sky to Fall [8/10]
Previous.
* * *
Friday (cont.)
* * *
3:14pm
Spencer sags down but manages to not reflexively go for a stake when he feels an unexpected weight hanging from his shoulders. "Hey, Spence," Cassadee says into his ear, laughing a little. "You're really strong, did you know that? So I hear it's your birthday."
"How did you-"
"I stalked you," she interrupts, sounding unconcerned. "I did a semester as an office aide last year, all that information is in the computer."
Spencer furrows his brow as he bends to let her down, but doesn't ask. He's pretty sure he's seen this on an episode of Veronica Mars. "Well," he says. "Yeah."
"Let me buy you a smoothie! Since you ditched us for lunch, and all. There's this awesome place a few blocks away, they do this kickass banana-cream-pie shake thing, too, you gotta try it."
His parents have downgraded Spencer from "grounded" to "very early curfew" -- they are pretty terrible at sticking to their guns -- but he is meant to be meeting everyone at Bob's when he can get there. "Okay, but quickly," he says.
"Yay!" Cass says, grabbing his wrist to drag him. Spencer would wonder how he got mixed up with someone who actually says "yay," but he's known Brendon a while now.
He manages to tug his hand out of Cassadee's discreetly as they set off - Bob's probably still at the school, and it would just not do for Bob to see Spencer holding hands with a girl, his reaction would be a toss-up between jealousy and hysterical laughter - and it doesn't take long for him to realise where they're going.
"Spencer!" Brendon says, alone and bouncing behind the counter when they arrive at the Smoothie Hut. "I didn't know you were coming in, hi, happy birthday!" It's obvious when he notices Cassadee, his eyes widen and he stutters momentarily. "Uh, hi, I'm, I'm Brendon," and he reaches his arm out over the wide counter to shake hands. Of course he does, Spencer thinks. More of Brendon's upbringing has stayed with him than he likes to admit.
"Hi!" Cassadee chirps, taking his hand but doing some sort of complicated high-five gesture that makes Spencer sigh, but that Brendon gets instinctively.
"This is Cassadee," Spencer says, and then, "Brendon's in my band."
"Awesome!" Cass says. "You guys are good, I thought you looked familiar. Are you playing any shows any time soon?"
Brendon and Spencer exchange a look. "We're pretty busy," Brendon says carefully. "With school, and stuff. Spence, you're going to... study group tonight, right?"
It's all right as a code, but Spencer has to keep from rolling his eyes at how much Brendon fails at subtle. "Yeah, of course," he says. He couldn't really miss slaying research even if he wanted to.
"I'm going to be late, my flaky co-worker is late coming back from his break and absolutely has to leave early again-" Brendon does roll his eyes, so hard it's practically audible "-so let everyone know I'll be there after we close?"
"Yeah, totally," Spencer says. "Look, I think we're going to-" He gestures over to the tables.
"Oh, yeah!" Brendon says. "What do you guys want?"
Cassadee leads Spencer over to one of the far tables when their smoothies are ready. Spencer can see the counter in his peripheral vision, and Brendon waves and makes faces a few times, but Spencer's more interested in the way that the flaky co-worker, finally back, seems to be watching them. He's so busy staring that he almost walks straight into Brendon, catches himself just in time with one hand flailing out. It's probably Cassadee, Spencer figures, she's kind of... attention-getting. With the perky and the hot -- he's taken, not blind -- and the Brendon-like lack of volume control when she gets excited. Probably he shouldn't let her and Brendon hang out too often, it could precipitate the end times. And he's heard so many bad things about apocalypses at this point...
After they leave, Spencer thinks he sees one of the MCR crew shirts on someone standing at the other end of the strip mall. He turns to look, tugging his hand free of Cass' as he does so, feels something bite into his neck, and blacks out.
* * *
7.49pm
Spencer wakes up groggily, uncomfortable and confused. It takes him a couple moments to figure out where he is, which is - sitting on a concrete floor. With his arms behind his back, handcuffed to something, a pole or something. "This is not good," he breathes. Willing himself to alertness, he looks around the room: pretty bare bones, probably a basement or something judging by the exposed beams in the ceiling and the one tiny window high up on the opposite wall. There's nothing within reach - even if Spencer stretched as far as possible and had, like, prehensile toes - but some stuff jumbled in piles on the other side of the room. Nothing at all close to him, except - "Motherfuck," he says, almost certainly too loud.
Cassadee is at his left, handcuffed to some pipes against the wall. She stirs a little bit. "Cass," Spencer says. And then "Cassadee!" in a shout, because he really doesn't want to be alone here, pussy as that may be. Yeah, he has training and stuff, but vampires aren't big on locking people in basements. He and Bob haven't exactly gone over this type of situation, and the only option Spencer can think of is breaking his own hand to squeeze it out of the cuffs.
He'll hold that option in reserve.
"Cass!" he yells again, but she's definitely still out of it. Maybe she got a stronger dose of whatever that shit was, or maybe it's just that she's smaller, or maybe slayer powers include idiosyncratic drug reactions - whatever. Spencer blinks hard, and thinks he feels mostly like himself again.
Since Cassadee's a lost cause, he shifts focus to the stuff stacked messily against the parallel wall, which is - shit. A whole bunch of stuff that screams 'mystical artifact', right down to the ominously curling symbols on the carved wooden boxes three feet from his face. They would get kidnapped by some kind of crazy magic-using klepto with a taste for the dark side. Spencer wonders when he turned into a walking urban fantasy cliché.
He hears a clanking sound to his right, twists to see. "What the hell?" he hears. There's a door, and a redheaded woman in a tight Metallica t-shirt in the doorway.
"What the hell?" Spencer echoes.
The woman frowns. "You shouldn't be awake yet," she says. "That stuff should have knocked you out another hour, at least."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Spencer says, possibly snarkier than he should be to the person who has him handcuffed in a basement, what the fuck.
She shrugs. "Whatever, this place is soundproofed, you can yell all the fuck you like."
Spencer levels his very best glare at her. He imagines it isn't very effective from this position. "Who even - didn't I see you at the concert last night? What are you, like, the sound guy or something?"
She frowns. "I don't know why you were in there before the show, but they can't do anything to help you, okay? I need you and no one's going to fuck it up." And then she kicks him in the stomach, which, ow, fuck. Spencer has a pretty high pain tolerance, but it's way worse when he can't do anything to fight back except sort of flail his legs around awkwardly. He makes contact, but not with nearly enough momentum to have an impact.
"What do you want from me?" he yells when he manages to get his breath back, because why the hell not, right? Yelling won't do any good but it sort of makes him feel better.
The woman, fuck, Spencer doesn't even know her name - she grins, toothily. "You're the bait," she says, and leaves, slamming the door behind her.
Spencer slumps, looks over at Cassadee who's still prone. "Fuck."
* * *
8.19pm
Spencer doesn't show up and doesn't show up and doesn't answer his cell phone, and Bob gets more and more worried. He tries not to show it. He doesn't want to look like the overprotective boyfriend guy - he doesn't want to be that guy either, but he especially doesn't want to look like it after spending so much time and energy trying to convince people (Brian) that Spencer is mature and responsible and doesn't need someone to protect him.
"When do we call it?" Jon asks in a low voice. "What do we do now?" His face looks pinched, and it's probably as much to do with their reactions as it is to Spencer's apparent disappearance - Ryan looks flatter than Bob would have thought possible for a human being, and he knows he's doing a bad job maintaining his own poker face. It's almost four hours past when Spencer was due to be there and Jon's been here for most of that time, his own anxiety feeding off Bob's. Ryan hasn't said a word in the last two hours, not since he showed up and found out what was happening.
Four hours and three minutes after Spencer was supposed to be training, Bob snaps. He's got resources most Watchers wouldn't, and he's damned if he's not going to use them.
Bob turns to Jon and presses his lips together. "What are the odds you could find him?"
Jon shakes his head. "I don't know. He's distinctive, at least, but there's a lot - I really don't know how likely it is." Jon looks sick, and Bob knows he's wishing he had a better answer. Not the for the first time, he entertains a brief and satisfying fantasy of getting some kind of marker to plant on Spencer, maybe hook it up to his phone somehow. He knows magicians, there's got to be a way to do it. ...that doesn't make him seem creepy. Which doesn't help them at all right now, and he forces himself to stop thinking of what he should've done differently and the contingency plans they don't have and concentrate on what they could do.
"Can you get your guys on it too?"
"Probably? They're sort of focused on finding this unicorn, though. I think I can convince them."
"Please," Bob says, and he knows he's losing the battle to try to stay calm. "We need him back."
There's a rattle at the door, and all three of them straighten up as if they've been cattle-prodded. "Spence?" Bob calls, can't help himself. He's kind of hanging on by his fingernails right now, and this, this is exactly why Watchers are never, ever supposed to feel this way about their slayers. Although he wonders how it's any better if the relationship is paternal or even just platonic. The Watcher's council, he thinks, not for the first time, are full of so much shit.
He's still holding his breath as the door slams, tries not to sigh audibly when Jon frowns and then shakes his head, saying "Sorry, it's- Brendon's here."
* * *
8.27pm
Brendon lets himself into Bob's house loudly, letting the door slam behind him. "Spence?" he hears Bob call from the other room.
"No, it's Brendon," he calls back, pulling his shoes off. Jon is anti-shoe, surprisingly vehement about it, and encourages Brendon to go barefoot whenever possible. He tries to encourage Ryan, too, but Ryan actually likes shoes almost as much as Spencer and refuses to go along with it. "Spencer's not here yet?" he asks, going into the living room. "He said he would be."
"You've seen him?" Ryan asks, curled into Jon on the couch opposite where Bob is sitting, with intensely straight posture, in what Brendon knows is the least comfortable chair in the room.
"Yeah, he came in for a smoothie," Brendon says, leaning on Jon's other side. It's pretty easy to do, actually; the couch is kind of fucked and has a distinct lean that Brendon doesn't remember from last time they'd wound up visiting. "He was with some girl, Cass-something."
Bob, impossibly, sits up even straighter. "Small, streaked hair?" he asks.
"That's her."
"She was helping him do research in the library earlier this week." Bob is frowning pretty hard. "I don't trust her."
Brendon opens his mouth to say that she looked pretty harmless to him -- even he could probably take her. Not that he's bad at fighting or anything, just. Physics is generally not on his side. -- and then realises that Jon has gone absolutely rigid against him, pupils huge and he's growling. Ryan's staring as well, distracted from his worry about Spencer, a look of total incomprehension on his face.
"Jon?" Brendon asks, edging away. It's not that he doesn't trust Jon or anything, but it looks like Jon needs to chill the fuck out and it seems like Brendon being all up in his space is not helping.
Jon snarls under his breath and grabs at Brendon, yanking him off balance, nosing at his neck.
"Jon? I don't think this is really the time-" Bob starts, looking seriously pissed, and then he seems to register Jon's actual expression and rocks back on his heels.
"Sorry, sorry," Jon is muttering into Brendon's neck, but his teeth are dragging across Brendon's collar and his nose is kind of cold pressed into his ear and it tickles. His hand is still clamped around Brendon's arm, fingers biting in at the pulse point, and he pulls Brendon's arm up to his mouth, nuzzling at the skin on the inside of his wrist before licking deliberately at his forearm. It's kind of alien -- Jon's a little possessive of them at times, sure, but he's doesn't usually show it, and especially not so overtly.
"Jon?" Ryan chimes in, getting his hands on Brendon as well, peeling Jon's fingers off his arm one by one. Jon doesn't fight him on it at all, just slumps forward, buries his face in Brendon's hair. He's shaking, Brendon realises, and goes cold all over when he realises it's with anger; Jon's eyes are huge and dark and his fingers are twitching.
"I'm sorry," Jon repeats hollowly, "it's just- Brendon, you smell like him, the other wolf, it's really faint, but he had his hands on you," and Jon has to stop for a second, fighting for control, torn between fear and anger.
Brendon's stunned wordless for a minute, and then it starts to fall into place in his head. He went straight to work from school, Jon's never reacted like this to him after school, normally he showers after work, Jon has never finished his own job in time to visit Brendon at the Smoothie Hut, and the only person who'd touched Brendon in the last hour or two was Ed.
"Ed's a werewolf," Brendon says, his own eyes wide, because- shit, that would kind of explain a lot, like why he hates taking out the garbage and why he has a few days off every month and why he turns up late to so many shifts and is kind of an asshole sometimes, and- "Ed's a werewolf, and he was watching Spencer and then he called someone."
"Brendon," Bob says, very, very calmly, and Brendon didn't even see him move, because Bob is fucking looming over the couch now, and Brendon has a sudden visceral appreciation of just what people mean when they talk about masks of rage, because frankly Brendon wouldn't be surprised right now if Bob could kill someone with his brain, "do you know where Ed lives?"
Brendon shakes his head, distantly aware that Jon is, somewhat apologetically, kind of nibbling at his neck again. It doesn't hurt and it's not distracting enough that he can't think so he just rolls with it. "No idea. But we can find out."
He shifts enough to get his keys out of his pocket, and jingles them meaningfully. "I know the combination to get into the manager's office."
Bob practically hits warp speed getting to the door.
* * *
8:54pm
When Cassadee wakes up it's slowly, mumbling and shifting restlessly. "Cass," Spencer says, poking her leg with his toe. "Cassadee, come on, wake up."
"Huh?" she says, and he can see her eyes are open. "What - Spencer? Why are you, where are we?"
"We're." Spencer sighs. He's had a bit of time to get, well, used to it, and he's used to weird shit all around. "We sort of got kidnapped."
"We got - what?" And then Cassadee screams. It's really only to be expected, but Spencer winces, because damn, she is loud.
"That's not going to work," he says resignedly. "I tried it, the place is soundproofed." He thinks magically, he knows it can be done, but it would be nice if they could get out of this with his cover remotely intact.
"I didn't hear you."
"We got drugged. I don't know how long we've been here, I can't - can you read my watch?" He twists his wrist, a little painfully, hoping the watch face is pointed at her.
"Yeah, it's - it's almost nine." Cassadee's voice is trembling.
"Okay." Spencer takes a deep breath, does the mental math. "So it's been about four hours. Someone will have noticed by now -"
"My parents won't notice till the morning," Cassadee says. "And - they won't think it's weird if I'm not there, it'll take them a while, oh god." Her voice rises towards the end. It sounds like she might hyperventilate or something, and it really wouldn't help the situation if she knocked herself out or whatever. Spencer refuses to let himself think about what his parents will be thinking; he's meant to be home in an hour and it doesn't look like that's going to happen. He can't stand to think how they're going to worry. Who they're going to blame. Fuck. No, he needs to stay focused.
"Hey, hey, shh," Spencer says. "I need you to stay calm, okay? It's going to be okay. My friends will have missed me, I know it, and they'll be looking for us."
Cass tilts her head to him and shoots him an are you fucking serious? look. It's actually kind of reassuring, she may not be freaking out as badly as he'd feared. "Okay, unless your friends are like a SWAT team, I think we're pretty much boned."
"You'd be surprised," Spencer says grimly. He wouldn't bet on Ryan or Brendon against even a pretty shitty kidnapper, not alone, but Jon is kind of scarily intuitive and My Chem sound like they've done stuff like this before.
Plus Bob. Spencer would bet on Bob against basically every kidnapper out there.
"Uh-huh, sure," Cassadee says. Her breathing has calmed down a lot.
"Look, you just need to trust me. I'll get us out of this."
Now she looks really skeptical, and more than a little pissed. Spencer would way rather she was pissed than scared.
"What, we get drugged and kidnapped and fucking handcuffed and you think you can get us out of this? Spencer, you're a high school senior, you're not a ninja, you're not a fucking superhero, and just because you're a guy you are not more able to handle this than me. What the fuck."
She has a point, or would, if Spencer wasn't actually sort of a superhero. "It's not that, it's just, I really need you to trust me here. This might be my fault and I will get us out of this."
Cassadee glares at him and pushes forward, straining against the cuffs. "Okay, ow," she says, slumping back after a minute. "That really hurts."
Spencer knows, he'd tried it himself, and for a lot longer. He knows his wrists are going to be bruised at the very least. "I don't suppose you could, like, make a lockpick from your bra or something?"
She blinks at him. "Are you retarded?" she asks. "I'm not Nancy Drew, I'm not MacGyver, and I can't reach my bra. You are the worst person I have ever been kidnapped with."
* * *
8.55pm
Brendon had broken them into the office at the Smoothie Hut with the minimum of fuss, booted up the computer and retrieved Ed's address inside of a minute. They'd left Jon outside because he'd started getting seriously twitchy four feet inside the door, and no one wanted him to knock anything over or wind up causing a scene when they were technically trespassing, and only because people who broke and entered didn't usually have the alarm code. Ryan had stayed with him, partly because holding his hand seemed like something actually helpful he could do right then, and also because illegal searches didn't exactly need an entire horde, especially when you knew what you were looking for.
Brendon locks up again behind himself, setting the alarm conscientiously and patting the door after he's checked it's closed properly. Ryan hides a smile at that, and then looks back at Bob, who's wedged in the driver's seat waiting for them all with barely concealed patience.
"Are we sure Spencer's actually missing?" Ryan ventures, when they're halfway to the Eastland Heights address Ed had on file. "Like, he might just be... held up somewhere," he finishes lamely. Out loud, it sounds a lot dumber than it had in his head. Spencer is responsible, Spencer checks in, Spencer checks his phone and also, unlike the rest of them, charges it regularly.
"I'm calling Tom," Jon announces, and starts dialing.
"Are you sure-?" Bob asks, and "Yes," Jon interrupts, definitely. "He's a werewolf, and I'm the only one here who could really slow him down if we don't have Spencer. We need backup." His free hand is still holding Ryan's so tight his fingers are going white.
* * *
9.20pm
It doesn't take Tom and the other guys much time at all to join them once Jon gives them the address and a terse summary of what's going on. They park down the end of the street and huddle around Bob's car to come up with a plan of attack. Looking at the way they move, the coiled menace of so many fit, smart, predators lurking in the dark, Brendon's a little shocked that no one's called the cops yet.
And after all their hurried planning, all of this stress and drama, it's surprisingly anti-climactic and over in less than five minutes.
Brendon volunteers to knock on the door -- if Ed's home, he'll recognise him, and hopefully he won't immediately suspect anything. Brendon's been careful not to get too close to any of the other guys yet, just in case.
He knocks, there's the sound of a TV blaring through the door, and then footsteps. Brendon's stomach knots up, and he can feel his hands shaking; normally when they're in danger they don't get any warning or time to think about it. This is horrible.
Ed opens the door, and gets as far as, "What-" before Bob barrels past him, shoving Ed back into the house and onto the ground, the door swinging open as Brendon steps aside so all the others can get inside from their hiding positions downwind.
"What did you do with Spencer?" Bob asks, cold with rage, his fists clenched in Ed's shirt, and Ed starts to say, "I don't know what you're-" and then he kind of shimmers and bucks, and Bob goes flying, rolling off and into the wall, and Brendon digs his fingernails into his palms, because Ed's changing and it's kind of gross to watch even if you like the person doing it.
He gets all of half a growl out before a seething mass of fur and growl hurtles through the door and onto him. And then another, and then another, and another. A violent fight erupts briefly on the living room floor, bodies rolling around and knocking things over, and Brendon's not certain but he thinks maybe they're all getting in each other's way a bit, too, which could be bad, but then there's about thirty more seconds of nauseatingly cartoon-style wholesale destruction, and then the mess separates out into five naked guys sprawled on the floor panting. Even with changing back, Jon still has one knee planted in the small of Ed's back, his arm twisted up behind him, and Sean, Tom and Al have all backed off a little, although they're still watchful, ready. Ed seems to have given up, bleeding from shallow scratches along his flanks and coughing in a way that sounds wet and strained. Jon doesn't shift an inch.
"Where?" Jon repeats, and Ed's head hangs down, defeated and bitter.
"There's this woman, Savanti, I ran into her the other night-"
"Faster," Bob growls, sitting up against the wall and rubbing his shoulder. Brendon winces sympathetically.
"We established that we had some mutual interests, while out on the town," and there's an ugly curl of pleasure as he says that which makes Brendon damn sure that he doesn't want to know the details; Ed hisses as Jon does something, "and I let her know I might be able to track down a certain young slayer who she was looking for. Maybe give her a bit more of a line on that unicorn that's been hiding out, too. Not sure which part made her happier. You can do some lovely things with unicorn gut, apparently."
"How did you know who he was?" Sean asks, eyes hard.
Ed snorts, and then coughs again, trying to shift under Jon's hands, testing. "Oh, come on. It wasn't difficult. He-" he looks significantly at Brendon, "comes in smelling like wolf all the time, and the scent's all over the cemeteries and other places little slayers like to hang out and play hide and seek. It wasn't hard to put it together."
"Where is he?" Tom repeats, and the atmosphere is suddenly thirty degrees colder. It doesn't seem like they're going to be messing around getting scraps of information much longer.
Ed stares at Tom for a long minute and then seems to break, all the way this time. "I don't know," he says grudgingly, "I called the number she left me," Brendon digs Ed's phone out of the pile of torn clothes on the floor and pockets it. It's not like Ed's going to be in any position to complain or report it as theft. "-and I think she found him leaving the mall. Like I care. I got what I needed out of the deal."
Brendon opens his mouth to ask what that was, but Al's been prowling around the room, picking up item after item, looking more and more disgusted. He uses a pen from the table to pick up an amulet from the shelves, refusing to touch it directly. "I think it's an endurance spell," he says, looking a little confused. "A really, really strong one, Like, keeps you running until it's out of juice and then your heart probably bursts strong."
Ed's smile this time is full of teeth. "Well, yes. She offered me an Eighteenth Century Fascinator charm first, but why would I want to get someone to stand still? All the fun's in when they run..."
Brendon abruptly feels ill as the full meaning of what Ed's saying sinks in, gets a sudden clue to the reasons for the sickened expressions of every person in that room with more-than-human senses.
"You dumped the bodies in the desert," Bob says, and it's not a question.
"It was fun," Ed repeats, and starts to laugh. "A good run, a decent meal," Brendon nearly throws up; it's not like he didn't know werewolves used to- that they could eat people, but- god, "-and a perfect cover, when there's so many other plausible suspects making spectacles of themselves."
"We need to go," Bob says quietly. "I don't think we'll get anything else useful out of him."
Sean nods without taking his eyes off Ed. "We can take care of this from here. There's a procedure for things like this."
He whistles, and Ryan -- who'd been ordered to hang back out of the way with Ryan J. and Max, who'd been the perimeter guard -- trots in with a backpack hanging from his hands. He's got a strap looped over each wrist, and it looks heavy.
"Uh, Bob, can you give us a hand?" Jon asks as Ryan unzips it and a clattering mess of shiny silver chain and cuffs falls out onto the carpet. "We can get it on him, but you'll save us some itching if you and Brendon can do it. He won't move," Jon sounds very sure of that.
Brendon, Ryan and Bob get Ed trussed up securely with the minimum of fuss, and then Sean and Al frogmarch him out to their rental car, after pulling their own clothes back on and throwing a blanket over him to protect any of his neighbours' delicate sensibilities.
"What's-?" Brendon doesn't like to ask.
"He'll go back to Chicago with them," Jon says dully, sitting back and dressing slowly. He's bleeding in a couple places as well, although nothing looks serious. "And there'll be a trial, and then he won't hurt anyone again. Ever."
"Great," Bob says, and he's standing again; pacing actually. "Which just leaves us with one problem. How the fuck do we find Spencer now?"
There's silence, as they all look glum and try not to catch each other's eyes. "At least we know she needs Spencer for something?" Brendon says. It's rather cold comfort.
* * *
10.13pm
The basement door creaks open, and Spencer takes a deep breath to try screaming again, just in case, but the woman -- and fuck, why can't Spencer remember her name, he's sure someone said it -- just says, "No, really, just try it," mockingly and he sags back in the cuffs, glaring.
"What do you think you're doing?" Cassadee asks, filled with what's probably false bravado, but it makes Spencer proud all the same.
"You'll find out later," she promises with a nasty grin, and then throws a bottle of water to each of them. It bounces off Spencer's knee and nearly rolls away.
"I think you've forgotten something," Spencer says drily, rolling his shoulders so the cuffs jingle behind his back. Their kidnapper kicks it the bottle back towards him, and then narrows her eyes, looking between him and Cass, considering.
"Well, I don't have time to baby you," she says, "and I'm certainly not letting you move." She taps her fingers on one of the boxes thoughtfully for a couple of seconds, and then moves closer. To Cassadee.
"I'm going to loosen this," she yanks on the chain that Cassadee's cuffs are attached to, "so you can reach your boyfriend there. Don't try anything funny. You'll regret it." She works quickly, leaving another two feet of slack in the chain, and since Cass' hands are in front of her -- Spencer is pretty jealous, sometimes not being entirely underestimated sucks -- she can pick up the water bottles. Cass gives him a quick look, and Spencer shakes his head almost imperceptibly. They can't do anything right now, not with a witness, but maybe later.
"Drink up," the woman says, digging the toe of her boot into Cass' shin for punctuation, and completely ignoring the twin glares that little trick gains her. Spencer has very rarely wanted to hit someone so badly in his life. "Don't want you two getting dehydrated, here. Need you in one piece," she adds.
She stalks out again, and Cassadee looks at Spencer, the bottle in her hand. "Do you think it's safe to drink?" she asks hesitantly, and Spencer looks at his own, is aware all over again of how his throat is dry and scratchy, and his mouth feels like a herd of dust bunnies crawled in to take up residence with their cousins the lint-balls.
"I... I think so," he says, none too sure himself. "I do believe her when she said she needed us alive and healthy. Let me try it first, and then you, okay?" Besides, if he's weak from dehydration, he'll have even less of a chance to get them out of this. With one more dubious look at the bottle, Cass pulls the lid off, drops it and watches as it promptly rolls well out of reach. "Don't worry," he says, and then closes his eyes as she tips the open bottle carefully into his open mouth. There's only a few mouthfuls at first, and then when it tastes normal, Cassadee helps him drink half the bottle. She watches him carefully, and when nothing happens after about ten more minutes, she drains her own bottle.
"What do you think she meant, 'boyfriend'?" Cass asks, and Spencer had been wondering that himself. It's probably good if she doesn't realise that he's with Bob, or just what their connection to MCR is. It's good because- because- he can't actually seem to get his brain working right to work out just why that's a good thing.
It seems, Spencer reflects muzzily, when the world goes grey around the corners and the floor tries to rush up and meet him, as if maybe there's some kind of drug or potion that takes a little bit longer than that to kick in. Fuck. This is going to hurt later-
* * *
11.13pm
Sean and the rest of the pack take off to get Ed secured before they can take him back with them. They'd stopped back into the house to assure Bob that they'd still be sticking around for the festival still -- apparently they 'knew people' who could babysit sociopathic werewolves for a few hours -- and they'd be in town until they found Spencer as well. And that he should let them know if they needed more help.
Bob had thanked them distractedly, told Jon to meet them all back at his place once they'd dealt with Ed -- they figured safety in numbers for the transfers to and from the car would be important, at least -- and then gone back to rubbing his face tiredly, his beard untidy and the circles under his eyes horribly dark.
Bob goes straight to his books as soon as they get back to his place, jumping from journal to scroll to the dusty tomes at the bottom of boxes he hasn't gotten around to unpacking yet, before slumping onto the couch in near defeat. Planning out loud, almost talking to himself. "We need to see if we can turn up anything with other methods, but I feel like we're missing something. Maybe track down some of the information Ed did share, about the unicorn and the magical artifacts this woman is strewing around the place. There has to be something they all have in common."
Ryan straightens up suddenly, looking illuminated. "The unicorn. He said that this Savanti was trying to hunt the unicorn, too. So maybe if we can find the unicorn, then we can find Spencer!"
Bob looks slightly dubious. "I... maybe? I think they can communicate, so maybe we can ask for help-?" Bob nods to himself. "Everything in the Watcher Diaries suggests that they're sentient and capable of speech, just. Uh. There's one other problem with that plan, providing we can find it."
He bites his lip and looks kind of embarrassed. Ryan and Brendon just exchange confused looks; seriously, it's not fucking fair when everyone around them is all "I grew up playing with sand djinns and breaking ancient curses for fun" or being actual living breathing Animorphs.
"All those myths about only virgins being able to touch unicorns? They're apparently true. Or, at least only the pure can approach as close as we'll need to if we're going to be asking it to help us out."
Ryan looks outraged. "We might have a plan that's going to be impossible to carry out because some overgrown horse with delusions of grandeur is stuck in Victorian England when it comes to sexual morality? What the actual fuck."
Bob's grimace is frustrated. "I do the research, I don't make the rules."
It's Brendon's turn to snap his fingers, then. "The rules! Um, Bob, do you know what exactly constitutes virginity in that case? Because, uh. That might help." This is without a doubt one of the most ridiculous conversations Brendon's ever been a part of. If Spencer wasn't missing and likely in horrible danger, it might even be funny as well as awkward.
Bob frowns, chewing on his lip while he thinks. "I... I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I think penetrative sex is the definitive marker from the particular epoch they started showing up in." He makes a face. "I'm... pretty definitely disqualified." He brightens up. "Although, Spencer is, too. That might help."
Ryan makes a choked noise.
Jon limps in then, waving off Brendon's concerned noise. "He tried to get away, it didn't work. I'm fine. What's the latest?"
Bob gives him a precis of what they've been able to come up with so far, complete with the depressing possible-plan that they can't actually carry out.
There's a pregnant pause while Jon stares at him, and then, unbelievably, starts to laugh. "Oh god, it's just- wow, how wrong are you guys?"
Bob bristles. Ryan and Brendon aren't much better. Jon speaks very deliberately, as if he's making sure they can't misunderstand him. "The unicorn likes to be in places where there's a lot of activity. Uh. Sexual activity, hormones, all that kind of thing. Lover's lanes, around strip clubs, places people go to park up, anywhere that there's a lot of passion and energy in the air. They're not attracted to virgins, precisely, they're- kind of fascinated by them, but more in the intellectual curiosity sense. If we can find it, there shouldn't be any difficulty for you guys to talk to it." Jon shrugs. "It probably won't be quite so keen on a werewolf, especially after what Ed's been up to around here, but, yeah, you guys? Not a problem."
Despite himself, Brendon can feel the beginning threads of hope starting to knit together, can actually take a deep breath and think they might be able to all get out of this okay. And then he thinks a little bit more carefully about what Jon's implying and can't help a snicker -- it's been a long and stressful day so far, he's totally allowed to be immature.
"What?" Ryan asks, and Brendon just grins and says "None of you will thank me for saying what I'm thinking right now," and ducks the swat Ryan aims at the back of his head.
"Okay," Bob says, "we... kind of have a plan. I hate to say it, but I think we could all do with a couple hours sleep before we go out on a unicorn hunt."
"We should start around the golf course Spence found its hoofprints at," Jon suggests, and then yawns.
"Yeah, exactly," Bob says, stern, "I don't want to lose any of you guys to the water hazard or whatever, so... you guys take the spare room, you should all fit, and I'll set alarms so we can be up and start searching again at three." Brendon hates the idea of stopping, of taking the time for something as pedestrian and selfish as sleep, but Bob has a point -- they're all worn out now, and it won't help anyone if they can't get themselves into slightly better shape fast.
* * *
Next.
* * *
Friday (cont.)
* * *
3:14pm
Spencer sags down but manages to not reflexively go for a stake when he feels an unexpected weight hanging from his shoulders. "Hey, Spence," Cassadee says into his ear, laughing a little. "You're really strong, did you know that? So I hear it's your birthday."
"How did you-"
"I stalked you," she interrupts, sounding unconcerned. "I did a semester as an office aide last year, all that information is in the computer."
Spencer furrows his brow as he bends to let her down, but doesn't ask. He's pretty sure he's seen this on an episode of Veronica Mars. "Well," he says. "Yeah."
"Let me buy you a smoothie! Since you ditched us for lunch, and all. There's this awesome place a few blocks away, they do this kickass banana-cream-pie shake thing, too, you gotta try it."
His parents have downgraded Spencer from "grounded" to "very early curfew" -- they are pretty terrible at sticking to their guns -- but he is meant to be meeting everyone at Bob's when he can get there. "Okay, but quickly," he says.
"Yay!" Cass says, grabbing his wrist to drag him. Spencer would wonder how he got mixed up with someone who actually says "yay," but he's known Brendon a while now.
He manages to tug his hand out of Cassadee's discreetly as they set off - Bob's probably still at the school, and it would just not do for Bob to see Spencer holding hands with a girl, his reaction would be a toss-up between jealousy and hysterical laughter - and it doesn't take long for him to realise where they're going.
"Spencer!" Brendon says, alone and bouncing behind the counter when they arrive at the Smoothie Hut. "I didn't know you were coming in, hi, happy birthday!" It's obvious when he notices Cassadee, his eyes widen and he stutters momentarily. "Uh, hi, I'm, I'm Brendon," and he reaches his arm out over the wide counter to shake hands. Of course he does, Spencer thinks. More of Brendon's upbringing has stayed with him than he likes to admit.
"Hi!" Cassadee chirps, taking his hand but doing some sort of complicated high-five gesture that makes Spencer sigh, but that Brendon gets instinctively.
"This is Cassadee," Spencer says, and then, "Brendon's in my band."
"Awesome!" Cass says. "You guys are good, I thought you looked familiar. Are you playing any shows any time soon?"
Brendon and Spencer exchange a look. "We're pretty busy," Brendon says carefully. "With school, and stuff. Spence, you're going to... study group tonight, right?"
It's all right as a code, but Spencer has to keep from rolling his eyes at how much Brendon fails at subtle. "Yeah, of course," he says. He couldn't really miss slaying research even if he wanted to.
"I'm going to be late, my flaky co-worker is late coming back from his break and absolutely has to leave early again-" Brendon does roll his eyes, so hard it's practically audible "-so let everyone know I'll be there after we close?"
"Yeah, totally," Spencer says. "Look, I think we're going to-" He gestures over to the tables.
"Oh, yeah!" Brendon says. "What do you guys want?"
Cassadee leads Spencer over to one of the far tables when their smoothies are ready. Spencer can see the counter in his peripheral vision, and Brendon waves and makes faces a few times, but Spencer's more interested in the way that the flaky co-worker, finally back, seems to be watching them. He's so busy staring that he almost walks straight into Brendon, catches himself just in time with one hand flailing out. It's probably Cassadee, Spencer figures, she's kind of... attention-getting. With the perky and the hot -- he's taken, not blind -- and the Brendon-like lack of volume control when she gets excited. Probably he shouldn't let her and Brendon hang out too often, it could precipitate the end times. And he's heard so many bad things about apocalypses at this point...
After they leave, Spencer thinks he sees one of the MCR crew shirts on someone standing at the other end of the strip mall. He turns to look, tugging his hand free of Cass' as he does so, feels something bite into his neck, and blacks out.
* * *
7.49pm
Spencer wakes up groggily, uncomfortable and confused. It takes him a couple moments to figure out where he is, which is - sitting on a concrete floor. With his arms behind his back, handcuffed to something, a pole or something. "This is not good," he breathes. Willing himself to alertness, he looks around the room: pretty bare bones, probably a basement or something judging by the exposed beams in the ceiling and the one tiny window high up on the opposite wall. There's nothing within reach - even if Spencer stretched as far as possible and had, like, prehensile toes - but some stuff jumbled in piles on the other side of the room. Nothing at all close to him, except - "Motherfuck," he says, almost certainly too loud.
Cassadee is at his left, handcuffed to some pipes against the wall. She stirs a little bit. "Cass," Spencer says. And then "Cassadee!" in a shout, because he really doesn't want to be alone here, pussy as that may be. Yeah, he has training and stuff, but vampires aren't big on locking people in basements. He and Bob haven't exactly gone over this type of situation, and the only option Spencer can think of is breaking his own hand to squeeze it out of the cuffs.
He'll hold that option in reserve.
"Cass!" he yells again, but she's definitely still out of it. Maybe she got a stronger dose of whatever that shit was, or maybe it's just that she's smaller, or maybe slayer powers include idiosyncratic drug reactions - whatever. Spencer blinks hard, and thinks he feels mostly like himself again.
Since Cassadee's a lost cause, he shifts focus to the stuff stacked messily against the parallel wall, which is - shit. A whole bunch of stuff that screams 'mystical artifact', right down to the ominously curling symbols on the carved wooden boxes three feet from his face. They would get kidnapped by some kind of crazy magic-using klepto with a taste for the dark side. Spencer wonders when he turned into a walking urban fantasy cliché.
He hears a clanking sound to his right, twists to see. "What the hell?" he hears. There's a door, and a redheaded woman in a tight Metallica t-shirt in the doorway.
"What the hell?" Spencer echoes.
The woman frowns. "You shouldn't be awake yet," she says. "That stuff should have knocked you out another hour, at least."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Spencer says, possibly snarkier than he should be to the person who has him handcuffed in a basement, what the fuck.
She shrugs. "Whatever, this place is soundproofed, you can yell all the fuck you like."
Spencer levels his very best glare at her. He imagines it isn't very effective from this position. "Who even - didn't I see you at the concert last night? What are you, like, the sound guy or something?"
She frowns. "I don't know why you were in there before the show, but they can't do anything to help you, okay? I need you and no one's going to fuck it up." And then she kicks him in the stomach, which, ow, fuck. Spencer has a pretty high pain tolerance, but it's way worse when he can't do anything to fight back except sort of flail his legs around awkwardly. He makes contact, but not with nearly enough momentum to have an impact.
"What do you want from me?" he yells when he manages to get his breath back, because why the hell not, right? Yelling won't do any good but it sort of makes him feel better.
The woman, fuck, Spencer doesn't even know her name - she grins, toothily. "You're the bait," she says, and leaves, slamming the door behind her.
Spencer slumps, looks over at Cassadee who's still prone. "Fuck."
* * *
8.19pm
Spencer doesn't show up and doesn't show up and doesn't answer his cell phone, and Bob gets more and more worried. He tries not to show it. He doesn't want to look like the overprotective boyfriend guy - he doesn't want to be that guy either, but he especially doesn't want to look like it after spending so much time and energy trying to convince people (Brian) that Spencer is mature and responsible and doesn't need someone to protect him.
"When do we call it?" Jon asks in a low voice. "What do we do now?" His face looks pinched, and it's probably as much to do with their reactions as it is to Spencer's apparent disappearance - Ryan looks flatter than Bob would have thought possible for a human being, and he knows he's doing a bad job maintaining his own poker face. It's almost four hours past when Spencer was due to be there and Jon's been here for most of that time, his own anxiety feeding off Bob's. Ryan hasn't said a word in the last two hours, not since he showed up and found out what was happening.
Four hours and three minutes after Spencer was supposed to be training, Bob snaps. He's got resources most Watchers wouldn't, and he's damned if he's not going to use them.
Bob turns to Jon and presses his lips together. "What are the odds you could find him?"
Jon shakes his head. "I don't know. He's distinctive, at least, but there's a lot - I really don't know how likely it is." Jon looks sick, and Bob knows he's wishing he had a better answer. Not the for the first time, he entertains a brief and satisfying fantasy of getting some kind of marker to plant on Spencer, maybe hook it up to his phone somehow. He knows magicians, there's got to be a way to do it. ...that doesn't make him seem creepy. Which doesn't help them at all right now, and he forces himself to stop thinking of what he should've done differently and the contingency plans they don't have and concentrate on what they could do.
"Can you get your guys on it too?"
"Probably? They're sort of focused on finding this unicorn, though. I think I can convince them."
"Please," Bob says, and he knows he's losing the battle to try to stay calm. "We need him back."
There's a rattle at the door, and all three of them straighten up as if they've been cattle-prodded. "Spence?" Bob calls, can't help himself. He's kind of hanging on by his fingernails right now, and this, this is exactly why Watchers are never, ever supposed to feel this way about their slayers. Although he wonders how it's any better if the relationship is paternal or even just platonic. The Watcher's council, he thinks, not for the first time, are full of so much shit.
He's still holding his breath as the door slams, tries not to sigh audibly when Jon frowns and then shakes his head, saying "Sorry, it's- Brendon's here."
* * *
8.27pm
Brendon lets himself into Bob's house loudly, letting the door slam behind him. "Spence?" he hears Bob call from the other room.
"No, it's Brendon," he calls back, pulling his shoes off. Jon is anti-shoe, surprisingly vehement about it, and encourages Brendon to go barefoot whenever possible. He tries to encourage Ryan, too, but Ryan actually likes shoes almost as much as Spencer and refuses to go along with it. "Spencer's not here yet?" he asks, going into the living room. "He said he would be."
"You've seen him?" Ryan asks, curled into Jon on the couch opposite where Bob is sitting, with intensely straight posture, in what Brendon knows is the least comfortable chair in the room.
"Yeah, he came in for a smoothie," Brendon says, leaning on Jon's other side. It's pretty easy to do, actually; the couch is kind of fucked and has a distinct lean that Brendon doesn't remember from last time they'd wound up visiting. "He was with some girl, Cass-something."
Bob, impossibly, sits up even straighter. "Small, streaked hair?" he asks.
"That's her."
"She was helping him do research in the library earlier this week." Bob is frowning pretty hard. "I don't trust her."
Brendon opens his mouth to say that she looked pretty harmless to him -- even he could probably take her. Not that he's bad at fighting or anything, just. Physics is generally not on his side. -- and then realises that Jon has gone absolutely rigid against him, pupils huge and he's growling. Ryan's staring as well, distracted from his worry about Spencer, a look of total incomprehension on his face.
"Jon?" Brendon asks, edging away. It's not that he doesn't trust Jon or anything, but it looks like Jon needs to chill the fuck out and it seems like Brendon being all up in his space is not helping.
Jon snarls under his breath and grabs at Brendon, yanking him off balance, nosing at his neck.
"Jon? I don't think this is really the time-" Bob starts, looking seriously pissed, and then he seems to register Jon's actual expression and rocks back on his heels.
"Sorry, sorry," Jon is muttering into Brendon's neck, but his teeth are dragging across Brendon's collar and his nose is kind of cold pressed into his ear and it tickles. His hand is still clamped around Brendon's arm, fingers biting in at the pulse point, and he pulls Brendon's arm up to his mouth, nuzzling at the skin on the inside of his wrist before licking deliberately at his forearm. It's kind of alien -- Jon's a little possessive of them at times, sure, but he's doesn't usually show it, and especially not so overtly.
"Jon?" Ryan chimes in, getting his hands on Brendon as well, peeling Jon's fingers off his arm one by one. Jon doesn't fight him on it at all, just slumps forward, buries his face in Brendon's hair. He's shaking, Brendon realises, and goes cold all over when he realises it's with anger; Jon's eyes are huge and dark and his fingers are twitching.
"I'm sorry," Jon repeats hollowly, "it's just- Brendon, you smell like him, the other wolf, it's really faint, but he had his hands on you," and Jon has to stop for a second, fighting for control, torn between fear and anger.
Brendon's stunned wordless for a minute, and then it starts to fall into place in his head. He went straight to work from school, Jon's never reacted like this to him after school, normally he showers after work, Jon has never finished his own job in time to visit Brendon at the Smoothie Hut, and the only person who'd touched Brendon in the last hour or two was Ed.
"Ed's a werewolf," Brendon says, his own eyes wide, because- shit, that would kind of explain a lot, like why he hates taking out the garbage and why he has a few days off every month and why he turns up late to so many shifts and is kind of an asshole sometimes, and- "Ed's a werewolf, and he was watching Spencer and then he called someone."
"Brendon," Bob says, very, very calmly, and Brendon didn't even see him move, because Bob is fucking looming over the couch now, and Brendon has a sudden visceral appreciation of just what people mean when they talk about masks of rage, because frankly Brendon wouldn't be surprised right now if Bob could kill someone with his brain, "do you know where Ed lives?"
Brendon shakes his head, distantly aware that Jon is, somewhat apologetically, kind of nibbling at his neck again. It doesn't hurt and it's not distracting enough that he can't think so he just rolls with it. "No idea. But we can find out."
He shifts enough to get his keys out of his pocket, and jingles them meaningfully. "I know the combination to get into the manager's office."
Bob practically hits warp speed getting to the door.
* * *
8:54pm
When Cassadee wakes up it's slowly, mumbling and shifting restlessly. "Cass," Spencer says, poking her leg with his toe. "Cassadee, come on, wake up."
"Huh?" she says, and he can see her eyes are open. "What - Spencer? Why are you, where are we?"
"We're." Spencer sighs. He's had a bit of time to get, well, used to it, and he's used to weird shit all around. "We sort of got kidnapped."
"We got - what?" And then Cassadee screams. It's really only to be expected, but Spencer winces, because damn, she is loud.
"That's not going to work," he says resignedly. "I tried it, the place is soundproofed." He thinks magically, he knows it can be done, but it would be nice if they could get out of this with his cover remotely intact.
"I didn't hear you."
"We got drugged. I don't know how long we've been here, I can't - can you read my watch?" He twists his wrist, a little painfully, hoping the watch face is pointed at her.
"Yeah, it's - it's almost nine." Cassadee's voice is trembling.
"Okay." Spencer takes a deep breath, does the mental math. "So it's been about four hours. Someone will have noticed by now -"
"My parents won't notice till the morning," Cassadee says. "And - they won't think it's weird if I'm not there, it'll take them a while, oh god." Her voice rises towards the end. It sounds like she might hyperventilate or something, and it really wouldn't help the situation if she knocked herself out or whatever. Spencer refuses to let himself think about what his parents will be thinking; he's meant to be home in an hour and it doesn't look like that's going to happen. He can't stand to think how they're going to worry. Who they're going to blame. Fuck. No, he needs to stay focused.
"Hey, hey, shh," Spencer says. "I need you to stay calm, okay? It's going to be okay. My friends will have missed me, I know it, and they'll be looking for us."
Cass tilts her head to him and shoots him an are you fucking serious? look. It's actually kind of reassuring, she may not be freaking out as badly as he'd feared. "Okay, unless your friends are like a SWAT team, I think we're pretty much boned."
"You'd be surprised," Spencer says grimly. He wouldn't bet on Ryan or Brendon against even a pretty shitty kidnapper, not alone, but Jon is kind of scarily intuitive and My Chem sound like they've done stuff like this before.
Plus Bob. Spencer would bet on Bob against basically every kidnapper out there.
"Uh-huh, sure," Cassadee says. Her breathing has calmed down a lot.
"Look, you just need to trust me. I'll get us out of this."
Now she looks really skeptical, and more than a little pissed. Spencer would way rather she was pissed than scared.
"What, we get drugged and kidnapped and fucking handcuffed and you think you can get us out of this? Spencer, you're a high school senior, you're not a ninja, you're not a fucking superhero, and just because you're a guy you are not more able to handle this than me. What the fuck."
She has a point, or would, if Spencer wasn't actually sort of a superhero. "It's not that, it's just, I really need you to trust me here. This might be my fault and I will get us out of this."
Cassadee glares at him and pushes forward, straining against the cuffs. "Okay, ow," she says, slumping back after a minute. "That really hurts."
Spencer knows, he'd tried it himself, and for a lot longer. He knows his wrists are going to be bruised at the very least. "I don't suppose you could, like, make a lockpick from your bra or something?"
She blinks at him. "Are you retarded?" she asks. "I'm not Nancy Drew, I'm not MacGyver, and I can't reach my bra. You are the worst person I have ever been kidnapped with."
* * *
8.55pm
Brendon had broken them into the office at the Smoothie Hut with the minimum of fuss, booted up the computer and retrieved Ed's address inside of a minute. They'd left Jon outside because he'd started getting seriously twitchy four feet inside the door, and no one wanted him to knock anything over or wind up causing a scene when they were technically trespassing, and only because people who broke and entered didn't usually have the alarm code. Ryan had stayed with him, partly because holding his hand seemed like something actually helpful he could do right then, and also because illegal searches didn't exactly need an entire horde, especially when you knew what you were looking for.
Brendon locks up again behind himself, setting the alarm conscientiously and patting the door after he's checked it's closed properly. Ryan hides a smile at that, and then looks back at Bob, who's wedged in the driver's seat waiting for them all with barely concealed patience.
"Are we sure Spencer's actually missing?" Ryan ventures, when they're halfway to the Eastland Heights address Ed had on file. "Like, he might just be... held up somewhere," he finishes lamely. Out loud, it sounds a lot dumber than it had in his head. Spencer is responsible, Spencer checks in, Spencer checks his phone and also, unlike the rest of them, charges it regularly.
"I'm calling Tom," Jon announces, and starts dialing.
"Are you sure-?" Bob asks, and "Yes," Jon interrupts, definitely. "He's a werewolf, and I'm the only one here who could really slow him down if we don't have Spencer. We need backup." His free hand is still holding Ryan's so tight his fingers are going white.
* * *
9.20pm
It doesn't take Tom and the other guys much time at all to join them once Jon gives them the address and a terse summary of what's going on. They park down the end of the street and huddle around Bob's car to come up with a plan of attack. Looking at the way they move, the coiled menace of so many fit, smart, predators lurking in the dark, Brendon's a little shocked that no one's called the cops yet.
And after all their hurried planning, all of this stress and drama, it's surprisingly anti-climactic and over in less than five minutes.
Brendon volunteers to knock on the door -- if Ed's home, he'll recognise him, and hopefully he won't immediately suspect anything. Brendon's been careful not to get too close to any of the other guys yet, just in case.
He knocks, there's the sound of a TV blaring through the door, and then footsteps. Brendon's stomach knots up, and he can feel his hands shaking; normally when they're in danger they don't get any warning or time to think about it. This is horrible.
Ed opens the door, and gets as far as, "What-" before Bob barrels past him, shoving Ed back into the house and onto the ground, the door swinging open as Brendon steps aside so all the others can get inside from their hiding positions downwind.
"What did you do with Spencer?" Bob asks, cold with rage, his fists clenched in Ed's shirt, and Ed starts to say, "I don't know what you're-" and then he kind of shimmers and bucks, and Bob goes flying, rolling off and into the wall, and Brendon digs his fingernails into his palms, because Ed's changing and it's kind of gross to watch even if you like the person doing it.
He gets all of half a growl out before a seething mass of fur and growl hurtles through the door and onto him. And then another, and then another, and another. A violent fight erupts briefly on the living room floor, bodies rolling around and knocking things over, and Brendon's not certain but he thinks maybe they're all getting in each other's way a bit, too, which could be bad, but then there's about thirty more seconds of nauseatingly cartoon-style wholesale destruction, and then the mess separates out into five naked guys sprawled on the floor panting. Even with changing back, Jon still has one knee planted in the small of Ed's back, his arm twisted up behind him, and Sean, Tom and Al have all backed off a little, although they're still watchful, ready. Ed seems to have given up, bleeding from shallow scratches along his flanks and coughing in a way that sounds wet and strained. Jon doesn't shift an inch.
"Where?" Jon repeats, and Ed's head hangs down, defeated and bitter.
"There's this woman, Savanti, I ran into her the other night-"
"Faster," Bob growls, sitting up against the wall and rubbing his shoulder. Brendon winces sympathetically.
"We established that we had some mutual interests, while out on the town," and there's an ugly curl of pleasure as he says that which makes Brendon damn sure that he doesn't want to know the details; Ed hisses as Jon does something, "and I let her know I might be able to track down a certain young slayer who she was looking for. Maybe give her a bit more of a line on that unicorn that's been hiding out, too. Not sure which part made her happier. You can do some lovely things with unicorn gut, apparently."
"How did you know who he was?" Sean asks, eyes hard.
Ed snorts, and then coughs again, trying to shift under Jon's hands, testing. "Oh, come on. It wasn't difficult. He-" he looks significantly at Brendon, "comes in smelling like wolf all the time, and the scent's all over the cemeteries and other places little slayers like to hang out and play hide and seek. It wasn't hard to put it together."
"Where is he?" Tom repeats, and the atmosphere is suddenly thirty degrees colder. It doesn't seem like they're going to be messing around getting scraps of information much longer.
Ed stares at Tom for a long minute and then seems to break, all the way this time. "I don't know," he says grudgingly, "I called the number she left me," Brendon digs Ed's phone out of the pile of torn clothes on the floor and pockets it. It's not like Ed's going to be in any position to complain or report it as theft. "-and I think she found him leaving the mall. Like I care. I got what I needed out of the deal."
Brendon opens his mouth to ask what that was, but Al's been prowling around the room, picking up item after item, looking more and more disgusted. He uses a pen from the table to pick up an amulet from the shelves, refusing to touch it directly. "I think it's an endurance spell," he says, looking a little confused. "A really, really strong one, Like, keeps you running until it's out of juice and then your heart probably bursts strong."
Ed's smile this time is full of teeth. "Well, yes. She offered me an Eighteenth Century Fascinator charm first, but why would I want to get someone to stand still? All the fun's in when they run..."
Brendon abruptly feels ill as the full meaning of what Ed's saying sinks in, gets a sudden clue to the reasons for the sickened expressions of every person in that room with more-than-human senses.
"You dumped the bodies in the desert," Bob says, and it's not a question.
"It was fun," Ed repeats, and starts to laugh. "A good run, a decent meal," Brendon nearly throws up; it's not like he didn't know werewolves used to- that they could eat people, but- god, "-and a perfect cover, when there's so many other plausible suspects making spectacles of themselves."
"We need to go," Bob says quietly. "I don't think we'll get anything else useful out of him."
Sean nods without taking his eyes off Ed. "We can take care of this from here. There's a procedure for things like this."
He whistles, and Ryan -- who'd been ordered to hang back out of the way with Ryan J. and Max, who'd been the perimeter guard -- trots in with a backpack hanging from his hands. He's got a strap looped over each wrist, and it looks heavy.
"Uh, Bob, can you give us a hand?" Jon asks as Ryan unzips it and a clattering mess of shiny silver chain and cuffs falls out onto the carpet. "We can get it on him, but you'll save us some itching if you and Brendon can do it. He won't move," Jon sounds very sure of that.
Brendon, Ryan and Bob get Ed trussed up securely with the minimum of fuss, and then Sean and Al frogmarch him out to their rental car, after pulling their own clothes back on and throwing a blanket over him to protect any of his neighbours' delicate sensibilities.
"What's-?" Brendon doesn't like to ask.
"He'll go back to Chicago with them," Jon says dully, sitting back and dressing slowly. He's bleeding in a couple places as well, although nothing looks serious. "And there'll be a trial, and then he won't hurt anyone again. Ever."
"Great," Bob says, and he's standing again; pacing actually. "Which just leaves us with one problem. How the fuck do we find Spencer now?"
There's silence, as they all look glum and try not to catch each other's eyes. "At least we know she needs Spencer for something?" Brendon says. It's rather cold comfort.
* * *
10.13pm
The basement door creaks open, and Spencer takes a deep breath to try screaming again, just in case, but the woman -- and fuck, why can't Spencer remember her name, he's sure someone said it -- just says, "No, really, just try it," mockingly and he sags back in the cuffs, glaring.
"What do you think you're doing?" Cassadee asks, filled with what's probably false bravado, but it makes Spencer proud all the same.
"You'll find out later," she promises with a nasty grin, and then throws a bottle of water to each of them. It bounces off Spencer's knee and nearly rolls away.
"I think you've forgotten something," Spencer says drily, rolling his shoulders so the cuffs jingle behind his back. Their kidnapper kicks it the bottle back towards him, and then narrows her eyes, looking between him and Cass, considering.
"Well, I don't have time to baby you," she says, "and I'm certainly not letting you move." She taps her fingers on one of the boxes thoughtfully for a couple of seconds, and then moves closer. To Cassadee.
"I'm going to loosen this," she yanks on the chain that Cassadee's cuffs are attached to, "so you can reach your boyfriend there. Don't try anything funny. You'll regret it." She works quickly, leaving another two feet of slack in the chain, and since Cass' hands are in front of her -- Spencer is pretty jealous, sometimes not being entirely underestimated sucks -- she can pick up the water bottles. Cass gives him a quick look, and Spencer shakes his head almost imperceptibly. They can't do anything right now, not with a witness, but maybe later.
"Drink up," the woman says, digging the toe of her boot into Cass' shin for punctuation, and completely ignoring the twin glares that little trick gains her. Spencer has very rarely wanted to hit someone so badly in his life. "Don't want you two getting dehydrated, here. Need you in one piece," she adds.
She stalks out again, and Cassadee looks at Spencer, the bottle in her hand. "Do you think it's safe to drink?" she asks hesitantly, and Spencer looks at his own, is aware all over again of how his throat is dry and scratchy, and his mouth feels like a herd of dust bunnies crawled in to take up residence with their cousins the lint-balls.
"I... I think so," he says, none too sure himself. "I do believe her when she said she needed us alive and healthy. Let me try it first, and then you, okay?" Besides, if he's weak from dehydration, he'll have even less of a chance to get them out of this. With one more dubious look at the bottle, Cass pulls the lid off, drops it and watches as it promptly rolls well out of reach. "Don't worry," he says, and then closes his eyes as she tips the open bottle carefully into his open mouth. There's only a few mouthfuls at first, and then when it tastes normal, Cassadee helps him drink half the bottle. She watches him carefully, and when nothing happens after about ten more minutes, she drains her own bottle.
"What do you think she meant, 'boyfriend'?" Cass asks, and Spencer had been wondering that himself. It's probably good if she doesn't realise that he's with Bob, or just what their connection to MCR is. It's good because- because- he can't actually seem to get his brain working right to work out just why that's a good thing.
It seems, Spencer reflects muzzily, when the world goes grey around the corners and the floor tries to rush up and meet him, as if maybe there's some kind of drug or potion that takes a little bit longer than that to kick in. Fuck. This is going to hurt later-
* * *
11.13pm
Sean and the rest of the pack take off to get Ed secured before they can take him back with them. They'd stopped back into the house to assure Bob that they'd still be sticking around for the festival still -- apparently they 'knew people' who could babysit sociopathic werewolves for a few hours -- and they'd be in town until they found Spencer as well. And that he should let them know if they needed more help.
Bob had thanked them distractedly, told Jon to meet them all back at his place once they'd dealt with Ed -- they figured safety in numbers for the transfers to and from the car would be important, at least -- and then gone back to rubbing his face tiredly, his beard untidy and the circles under his eyes horribly dark.
Bob goes straight to his books as soon as they get back to his place, jumping from journal to scroll to the dusty tomes at the bottom of boxes he hasn't gotten around to unpacking yet, before slumping onto the couch in near defeat. Planning out loud, almost talking to himself. "We need to see if we can turn up anything with other methods, but I feel like we're missing something. Maybe track down some of the information Ed did share, about the unicorn and the magical artifacts this woman is strewing around the place. There has to be something they all have in common."
Ryan straightens up suddenly, looking illuminated. "The unicorn. He said that this Savanti was trying to hunt the unicorn, too. So maybe if we can find the unicorn, then we can find Spencer!"
Bob looks slightly dubious. "I... maybe? I think they can communicate, so maybe we can ask for help-?" Bob nods to himself. "Everything in the Watcher Diaries suggests that they're sentient and capable of speech, just. Uh. There's one other problem with that plan, providing we can find it."
He bites his lip and looks kind of embarrassed. Ryan and Brendon just exchange confused looks; seriously, it's not fucking fair when everyone around them is all "I grew up playing with sand djinns and breaking ancient curses for fun" or being actual living breathing Animorphs.
"All those myths about only virgins being able to touch unicorns? They're apparently true. Or, at least only the pure can approach as close as we'll need to if we're going to be asking it to help us out."
Ryan looks outraged. "We might have a plan that's going to be impossible to carry out because some overgrown horse with delusions of grandeur is stuck in Victorian England when it comes to sexual morality? What the actual fuck."
Bob's grimace is frustrated. "I do the research, I don't make the rules."
It's Brendon's turn to snap his fingers, then. "The rules! Um, Bob, do you know what exactly constitutes virginity in that case? Because, uh. That might help." This is without a doubt one of the most ridiculous conversations Brendon's ever been a part of. If Spencer wasn't missing and likely in horrible danger, it might even be funny as well as awkward.
Bob frowns, chewing on his lip while he thinks. "I... I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I think penetrative sex is the definitive marker from the particular epoch they started showing up in." He makes a face. "I'm... pretty definitely disqualified." He brightens up. "Although, Spencer is, too. That might help."
Ryan makes a choked noise.
Jon limps in then, waving off Brendon's concerned noise. "He tried to get away, it didn't work. I'm fine. What's the latest?"
Bob gives him a precis of what they've been able to come up with so far, complete with the depressing possible-plan that they can't actually carry out.
There's a pregnant pause while Jon stares at him, and then, unbelievably, starts to laugh. "Oh god, it's just- wow, how wrong are you guys?"
Bob bristles. Ryan and Brendon aren't much better. Jon speaks very deliberately, as if he's making sure they can't misunderstand him. "The unicorn likes to be in places where there's a lot of activity. Uh. Sexual activity, hormones, all that kind of thing. Lover's lanes, around strip clubs, places people go to park up, anywhere that there's a lot of passion and energy in the air. They're not attracted to virgins, precisely, they're- kind of fascinated by them, but more in the intellectual curiosity sense. If we can find it, there shouldn't be any difficulty for you guys to talk to it." Jon shrugs. "It probably won't be quite so keen on a werewolf, especially after what Ed's been up to around here, but, yeah, you guys? Not a problem."
Despite himself, Brendon can feel the beginning threads of hope starting to knit together, can actually take a deep breath and think they might be able to all get out of this okay. And then he thinks a little bit more carefully about what Jon's implying and can't help a snicker -- it's been a long and stressful day so far, he's totally allowed to be immature.
"What?" Ryan asks, and Brendon just grins and says "None of you will thank me for saying what I'm thinking right now," and ducks the swat Ryan aims at the back of his head.
"Okay," Bob says, "we... kind of have a plan. I hate to say it, but I think we could all do with a couple hours sleep before we go out on a unicorn hunt."
"We should start around the golf course Spence found its hoofprints at," Jon suggests, and then yawns.
"Yeah, exactly," Bob says, stern, "I don't want to lose any of you guys to the water hazard or whatever, so... you guys take the spare room, you should all fit, and I'll set alarms so we can be up and start searching again at three." Brendon hates the idea of stopping, of taking the time for something as pedestrian and selfish as sleep, but Bob has a point -- they're all worn out now, and it won't help anyone if they can't get themselves into slightly better shape fast.
* * *
Next.