Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rey hadn’t seen it coming, and maybe that was the most humiliating thing of all. She’d kept a close eye on Snoke as of late. He’d been watching, waiting, lurking at just about every turn. His death-like stench was bad even for a vampire’s standards, at least in Rey’s opinion, and it’d been cloying the halls for months now. Making her gag at every turn. It was everywhere it seemed, save for her few safe havens; Her rooms, the roof of Palpatine Manor, and anywhere a servant should be and therefore a ‘proper’ vampire wouldn’t be. That didn't last. Even in those places the fowl stench had begun to creep in and stain those last few weeks, leaving her on edge and afraid at all hours. Sleep perhaps wasn't necessary, but rest was, and she was allowed none. 

The last straw, the one right before everything went to shit, or perhaps was the signal that such an event had already occurred, had been when her truest of true safe havens, her bed chamber, was finally breached by that wretched, cloying stench.

She’d screamed at what she saw that night, because of course she would-- retching, heaving, and finally emptying her stomach onto the ancient hardwoods. How could she not have, at the sight of it all?

Everything after that was a complete and utter blur. Pale hands with nail-file claws, crooked teeth, sharp dagger eyes, leathery sackcloth skin, that voice, and again that stench. Always that stench. 

Apparently keeping an eye on Snoke had been the wrong thing to do. The demon in charge never did the dirty work, after all. She’d escaped only barely, and only barely undead for that matter, carving a path through the bodies standing in her way as she went. Palpatine Manor had been her home for 123 years, but even as her mind struggled to do anything more than flap tiny, batty wings in a pathetic bid for survival, she knew it never would be again. Not in the way it had been before anyways. 

It was countless hours later, an eternity to her delirious and fearful perception when Rey’s wings finally gave out. Lungs burning, sandpaper rough and hot like the deserts, she tried her best to glide down into one of the trees so far down below. Everything was bright, far too bright for so late at into the night. Why was it so bright? But in this patch of trees it was nice and dark. She could tell-- here she would find respite. Rest. Sanctuary. Down she flew- and perhaps she fell a little, but no one would have to know. It was in sight, in reach. Rey stretched out and grasped for the branch in front of her, barely grazing it by just a hair before slipping past. Down still. 

'No!'

She rolled into the leafy twigs and branches beyond. Tiny bat fingers grappled for something, anything, as she flailed and tumbled to no avail. She spiraled towards the earth, and then even the leaves were gone. She'd dropped back out of the darker, safer patch of sweet smelling canopy— tangled with a mass of loose debris that'd caught and broke loose with her. Down she fluttered, too tired and weak to try and stop herself, and onto the ground below the Palpatine heiress crumpled.

* * * *

Ben Solo, one of the America’s most prolific Hunstmen, heir to the Old Blood Organa Clan, and personal pain in the ass to Downworld renowned Scholar Luke Skywalker, stumbled down the sidewalk drunk off his ass. Another nest cleared, another town safe, and another night he could finally kick back, relax, and drink till he’d nearly dropped as a reward. Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but neither was his profession. For a night he could pretend to be something other than a man who might not make it to his 40s—like an alcoholic. 

‘Wait...’

Ben stumbled to a halt. That didn’t seem right. Maybe he should pick a new hobby. 

‘I could go to therapy and pretend to be a healthy person for once.’ He snorted to himself and shuffled on. What therapist would take him? “Hello yes— Goblins, ghouls, and devils are real. Wanna hear me tell you all about how I kill them for a living?” 

‘Yea, no.’ And he wasn't about to go to any of the work provided counselors either. He'd heard enough horror stories there. 

Somewhere along Fifth Avenue he turned off from the main, more well lit road he'd been following alongside and wobbled into the park. Sure the ground wasn't as steady, but the air was fresher, and it sat away from the glaring street lights and what few brilliant neon ‘open’ signs were left at this hour. It was better in the park anyways, quieter. Both a beloved and well used short cut, most commonly on these very drunk, very late nights. Or was it morning yet? Ben didn’t know, and he didn’t really care either. He just wanted to get home, shower away the filth and grime without slipping and cracking his skull open, then pass out anywhere between the bathroom and his bed. 

Maybe he should invest in a therapist…

Ben struggled to keep his thoughts from muddling too much, succeeding off and on. Everything was slowly turning to mush, and that shower began to sound far too hazardous a venture. He was still lost in the fog when he stumbled a little too hard. He tripped over something in his path and didn't quite fall flat on his face, but it was close enough to feel it in his pride. It was a wonder he could even get up after that, but he managed, spitting out flecks of dirt and leaves as he did. Behind him on the path a clump of twigs and a leaves sat. Shadows cast it into oblivion unless you were looking for it. He’d tripped over a bunch of twigs.

Ben grumbled and grunted, moving to throw the branches back off the path. His hand closed around the pile, and he may have been drunk, but even drunk people generally knew twigs didn’t have fur. He really knew they didn’t scream. But this one did, and so did Ben, flinging the handful back down again and scrambling back away from it.

‘What the fuck?’

With shaky, fuzzy feeling fingers he pulled his phone out and turned on the light. 

It was a bat. Tangled among the twigs, leaves, and whatever the fuck else there was out here, was a tiny scraggly looking bat.

He shuffled over, crouching down to get a better look.

 ‘It's hurt.’

It was covered in dark brown and red patches, some blood more dried than others. Some cuts he could see clearly through the fur, deep and welling again because of new movement. It ‘eeked’ and squealed, something he’d only ever heard vampires in their bat forms do. This seemed different. Felt different. For half a dozen seconds he just sat there, watching the thing squirm and try to wake up. It looked less aware than him, and he was about to pass out. 

“Poor thing.” The words were quiet, maybe a bit slurred. Without attention, the animal would definitely get picked up by a predator during the night or die. Ben wasn’t sure how it hadn’t yet already. If he left it alone, it would be dead by morning.

His legs were starting to go numb from crouching so long. Ben was drunk. He wasn’t at his top game. He wasn’t even at his middle game. Maybe that’s why at 2:15 at night he picked it up, no gloves or protection whatsoever, and began stumbling back home again. For work purposes he has a few mice at home. Bats ate mice, right? 

‘Or is that snakes?’

It was chilly, mid-August breeze rolling in through Chandrilla nearly every night. So Ben had a light jacket on. It wasn’t anything serious, but it had pockets, and carefully he slipped the Bat down into one. The pitiful creature still squeaked and clicks from time to time, but at some point between the park and home, it quieted down to a low mutter, then nothing. 

'Probably passed out again.... Or died."

The deadbolts on Ben’s front door gave him a run for his money, swerving away from his keys at every attempt. He managed wrangled the things in the end though, and locked them all back again behind himself. His house, totalitarian as it was, still held a few junk drawers and totes here and there. He managed to scrounge up an old shoe box full of scrap material (Emergency bandages), and emptied it out onto his living room floor. He prepped it with some of the older, perhaps less useful scraps in the pile. After that it just needed a few holes poked in the box’s lid and it was 'guest ready.'

Ben was too drunk to try and clean the poor thing up now, near his limit as it was. No one would take his request to help a bat of all things at such an unearthly hour either.  So he pulled the animal gently from his pocket, and settled it down into its new bed. The box could stay on his bedside table tonight. If it survived the night more could be done in the morning. 

‘Until then….’

Ben retrieved a mouse from his stash. He never much liked the things but they came in handy at times. This would be one of those. The animal went in with the bat, scrabbling and shuffling away from the thing as far as it could get. 

Ben didn’t even bother with a shower after that-- Just washed his hands, stripped, and crashed down onto the bedcovers with a low groan.

Chapter Text

Rey fever-dreamed of things she’d long thought forgotten. Things that would leave her weary and confused when she woke again, but old forgotten things nonetheless.

She dreamt of poppy fields, of the great perishes of Niima, her old home. Even of some old man, name lost to history but deeds not. How he’d fed her daily bread when he could, and regaled her with great stories from the Bible, boring and dry told by any other adult, but not him. Never him. She dreamt of honeybees and honeycomb, and how their honey would be blue sometimes. Why was that, again?
There were other things in her dreams too though, far less cherished, more willingly forgotten. Her life, her death, her afterlife. Heirlooms unable to be so much as touched or looked upon because of what she was and what they were. Silver trinkets, her mother's looking-glass, the goblet gifted to her at birth- All left behind in history where she could never reach them again. And Palpatine. So much of Palpatine she wanted to forget, but was suddenly remembering. The two sides swirled in her dreams, good and bad mixing into something bittersweet and confusing. It was the kind of painful her wounds could never contest with.

Somewhere between delirium she smelled it; fresh, quick moving, life giving blood. She doesn’t know what it is or where it’s come from, but Rey manages to lift herself enough to pounce.‘Mouse’ came the answer, groggy and weak. The animal squealed fiercely, writhing all it could to get away. Once Rey’d latched on there was no getting away though.

‘Food.

* * * *

Ben woke up to a brilliant sun washing into the room, wishing he’d never been born.

‘Ow.’ The sun was the first thing to go, quickly hidden away behind dark drapes that would keep his eyes and what little remained of his sanity intact.

After that the goal was food; It took more time than it should’ve to get both breakfast and water down without fear of it coming back up, and by then it was hard not to notice the smell. Whatever he’d done, wherever he’d been, Ben stunk like he’d played with roadkill the night before. A long, hot, thorough shower was in order-- maybe even a toothbrush. It was only afterwords, as he shuffled back into his room in clean sweats and a t-shirt that he finally realized

‘The bat!’

And threw himself over to the nightstand. As uncoordinated as he was the box nearly slipped through his fingers. Ben’s heart nearly stopped when that happened, and quickly set it down onto the bed. He slid the top carefully to one side, afraid that if the animal had recovered enough it might get scared and spring out into the bedroom. No sensible person was keen on having a bat loose in their house, least of all Ben.

The first thing he saw was a mouse— the one left there the night before. It sat stiff in its corner, dead. It was alone and seemingly untouched though. Ben shuffled the lid around so that he could see further to the other side of the box. It was dark, and unmoving, but he could just make out an animal’s little black form nestled between the rags. He moved the lid slowly to the mouse’s side to get a better look. 

In the light of day (and sober, though hungover as he was) the bat looked much better. The cuts and scrapes he’d seen the night before didn’t look as bad, not as deep. Everything had been foggy, but Ben was glad to have been mistaken on that count at least. He must have well and truly been drunk.

‘Maybe I do need that therapist. Or an AA group…’ Oh no... He was starting to sound like his mother.

On the other hand, Drunk Ben had been right about the mouse. Apparently it hadn’t been untouched.

‘Vampire Bat.’ He internally sighed at what was probably the world’s worst joke. A vampire hunter nursing a vampire bat back to health.
In high school he’d done a report on them, stupidly thinking it’d be useful in his career. Where the idea had come from, he had no idea. There was a time when he’d been teased mercilessly for that project. Now most of those people were either dead or missing- the known hazard and usual result of his work. For a brief moment Ben wondered what he wouldn't give to hear that kind of teasing again. 

In the box, his batty new friend began squirming around in the rags as he watched, pulling Ben from the more dangerous places in his mind. The room’s light it seems, despite the dimness, still bothered the thing. It squeaked and moved with its eyes closed towards the other side of the box, towards darkness. Ben carefully replaced the lid with a silent apology. He set the delicate package back onto his nightstand.

Ben flicked off the light switch and was gone, leaving the animal to recover while he figured out how he got himself into this situation in the first place. His phone was dead (‘Thanks again Drunk Me.’) so he plugged it in at the kitchen table and moved to the living room where a beaten, abused, but reliable old laptop sat. He parked himself on the couch and began the tedious ordeal of refreshing his memory on the subject of his new friend.

‘Drinks mainly blood…’

‘About two tablespoons a day…’

‘Also consumes meats, fruits, insects, both pollen and flowers, etc. etc.…’

‘Can’t survive more than two days without blood…’

‘Social creatures…’

‘Dark places…’

Ben wondered how long it’d been since the animal ate a decent meal. The mouse had apparently been a good start, but wouldn’t be enough. How much blood did the rodents even have in them?

“I’m gonna have to feed it, aren’t I?” He finally realized. No one answered, the room was empty, and he found himself scowling into his TV’s reflection in the quiet.

* * * *

Five minutes later Ben was parked back on the couch, a dropper full of lukewarm microwaved blood in one hand and a wiggling bat in the other. A shallow cup of the stuff sat next to them on the coffee table. The second his friend had gotten a whiff things went wild. Despite obvious pain and discomfort it somehow found the strength to struggle like an animal ten times its size. The dropper was barely within reach when it latched on with needle-like teeth. It wasn't going to let go anytime soon either, Ben was sure. 

“Slow down.” He urged softly. “There’s plenty more where that comes from. No need to rush.”

Vampires weren’t the only things attracted to blood. Any good fisherman knew to have the right bait, the best bait, and Ben liked to go solo fishing more often than he’d ever admit to his mother or father. Some people went bowling. Ben went hunting. However this was probably the first and (hopefully) only time he'd had to use in on something non-supernatural or malevolent.

'Strange times are these in which we live.'  Came the thought.

In his hand the bat was finally still, slobbering all over Ben’s hand and the dropper. He couldn't be sure if it was just because of its injuries or because the thing usually lacked any kind of manners in general. Something like a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth— a nearly foreign concept to him these days.

He raised both his hands and the small bat closer to himself. “You’re lucky I am who I am.” He told it. “My employers make sure we’re all pretty much vaxxed, blessed, and enchanted up to our ears with weird stuff. Half of it’s probably illegal in most countries.” His field, despite legend and myth, came with great risk of disease and ailments. It wasn’t always the werewolf that got you. Sometimes it was the rabies or Supernatural Mad Dog Disease that it carried. Ben chucked at his own quip, careful not to stir too much. He only vaguely felt himself cringe at the situation. Reduced to telling lame jokes to a bat.

He leaned back, refilling the empty dropper and curling the bat closer to himself. It shuffled around before settling down again, content enough in his hand. “So this is what I’ve been reduced to…” and yet he still couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Text

Ben needed help.

He had a bag of thawed blood on his kitchen cabinet and a bat curled up in his hands. He’d considered putting the poor creature back in the shoebox for a while. It liked the dark, thrived in the dark, but he also wanted to make sure nothing else happened. What exactly? He had no idea. He’d only fed it blood— The thing it was supposed to be drinking. It wasn’t as if the animal would spontaneously combust upon separation from Ben. 

It would be fine. He knew that, and yet he still couldn’t let the bat out of his sight. Not even out of hand, really.

Maybe Hux. He’d give Ben hell for this, and a stray memory reminded him that Poe would probably be more qualified, but the man wasn’t exactly around anymore either. Something twisted in his gut at the recollection, an old wound healed wrong, scarred badly. ‘Don’t think about it. Don’t think about that.’ He chanted to himself with a huff. How many times had he told himself those words?

A distraction was necessary. Armitage Hux would work just fine…. If Ben’s phone weren’t still dead for some reason.  “Shit.” The charging port had come loose fro the wall at some point. He was suddenly spiraling back into a fowl mood, cursing his past drunk self over and over for everything the night before. With the device jammed back into the wall socket and a familiar chime ringing from his phone, he could be sure it was charging this time. Just to be one the safe side he double and triple checked- Anything to distract him. 

He needed to get away, maybe let the animal rest alone for a while, and he had other things to worry about besides that. Like… getting the bat water before Hux came, feeding the mice or going over his emails. Upper management willing, there might even be a new file ready for him. A new mission. Something to kill. 

‘Or paperwork.’ He internally lamented. A good hunter Ben was, a good reporter he was not. Here and there was a detail he forgot to add or shouldn’t have mentioned in just about every other file.  At one point they’d even sent a recon expert (more commonly known as a Glorified Witness) to corroborate his stories and make sure nothing was intentionally left out. That was years ago now but it always loomed as a very real threat over Ben’s head. 

Then again nobody was perfect. 

Of course, remembering that wasn’t exactly lightening his mood any. Quite the opposite in face. Ben started with the bat, removing the dead mouse, changing out old cloth, and setting a small, shallow terracotta bowl of water in its box. The shriveled plants around his place wouldn’t miss the saucer he wagered. They were too far gone, too neglected. 

‘It’s going to better use this way anyways.’

For the most part his furry friend didn’t squirm around too much. Occasionally rearranging in its sleep, and otherwise still as death and un-complaining. Hopefully it just liked the free ride. Ben found it generally difficult to do everything one handed. It would’ve been far easier to put the bat don for a while while he got everything together and cleaned. He liked the company though, and if the bat in his hand wasn’t complaining, neither would he. He went around doing mundane tasks with it: Feeding the mice, taking care of dirty clothes, and trying to make the bed, albeit poorly. 

It was around the time that he’d picked up the bag of blood (‘Should’ve done this earlier’) to put back in the fridge when he heard his phone go off from the kitchen table. He managed to finagle the bag of B+ into the crook of his arm without disturbing his friend too much. It seemed rather annoyed at the noise but remained quiet and unmoving. Either still in pain or full from its meal earlier, Ben hoped for the latter. 

He picked his phone up off the table and snapped it from the charger cord. The call canceled and the screen went black, displaying all the notifications he’d been missing. 

“Oh fuck.”

Armitage Hux didn’t just call for any old thing. He barely tolerated it when strangers asked about the weather. He called for a reason, and Ben had fifteen missed calls from him.

15 calls and 27 texts from Hux. 23 calls and 7 texts from his mother, 2 calls and a single text from his Dad, and one call from his dentist, probably about his appointment next week. He didn’t bother reading any of the texts, just went straight to redial. 

A never-ending stream of ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit.’ Ran through his head to the tune of the dial-tone. He hoped against hope that whatever he’d missed wasn’t as big as he already knew it would be.

“Fuck you, you stupid piece of shit! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” Was the first thing Ben heard from Hux. 

‘Rest in Peace Benjamin Solo.’

* * * *

Someone was taking care of her. She couldn’t muster up enough willpower to find out who, to look them in the eye or learn their voice’s words. It hurt just to think of it. Hurt to breathe, to be conscious, just to be undead really. 

The wounds would never have this kind of hold on her. whatever this was, it was something else, something more dangerous, more powerful. To whatever old curse or work it  be she begged relief.

‘Release me. Please.’ But none ever came. This was not a merciful curse then. 

And hungry. She was hollow with hunger. What cruelty, to give her but a drop of life when she thirsted for its entire ocean. Her savior had no taste. She smelled nothing from the hand that held her, only the food he put in front of her mouth. Not even pressed against the wall of his chest could she smell anything. No blood. No life giving blood. What was he, this strange creature she rested with? Rey dared not take any bite. To bite the hand that feeds, and one without the smell of red would doom her undoubtably. 

‘Automaton.’

‘Stone man.’

‘Creature of leaves and earth.’

The thoughts were wispy, not of her own mind. They simply came passing through like uninvited guests. She wanted them to stop, to just ‘Be quiet. Please.’ And yet again begging did nothing. But no…He had a heartbeat, strong and quiet. He was flesh and something, even if perhaps not blood, though his pulse had to be carrying some form of life. The deep and steady rhythm helped lull her back into dead sleeps between movement. He was gentle, slow and quiet.

But then he wasn't. 

 ‘What is he doing?’

Her automaton was frantic. Hurrying about and jostling Rey this way and that, rumbling somethings that sounded vaguely like apology in-between. Back in the quiet, soft box she went, back into the dark. A part of her didn’t want to go, wanted to stay with that warm creature, the one with a heartbeat and a pulse but no blood. It was quiet again after that. He'd gone, left her in the box where she would try to sleep. There was no sleep, only slipping into darkness between painful waking moments. 

She rose above the dark once to smell something worth fighting the cloud though. ‘Blood!’ she could smell it again— Spilled and flowing, and close by.

Somehow Rey managed wake up and escape her small prison, insides burning at each movement. Every toe curl, finger twitch, or head tilt sent the world spinning, tunneling at the edges more and more, but it would be worth it if she could just drink. 

Miles away outside her nest, mere inches in reality, sat a dripping, oozing bag of blood. Whatever reason it sat there Rey didn’t care to know, couldn’t bring herself to want to find out. A trail of red dripped and flowed like a lazy river onto the flat plains she traversed. She lapped at it like a cur, following upstream until she could drink from its wellspring directly. It was stale tasting, old and a bit chilled, if warming. Cold blood should never be warming outside the body. 

Had she been more aware, more conscious, her soul would’ve wept.

 ’How far I have fallen.’ it would've grieved with these words.

 As it was she could barely think her own name. So she sat, and drank, and tried her best not to fall back into the black before she could drink her fill. Survival was Rey’s only concern. She just needed to survive. 

Chapter Text

Hux was fuming; Screaming and cursing up a storm that would’ve made Ralphie Parker’s dad from A Christmas Story proud. Ben kept the phone a safe distance away, quickly  re-remembering the hangover that he'd been recovering from. When Hux was mostly through with his verbal raging Ben was able to piece together enough of a story between curses. 

Palpatine Manor, a coup, a new head of house.

‘We're screwed!’

Over the centuries, Sheev Palpatine had earned himself a reputation as a vicious, underhanded, merciless figure. He’d been smart though. Smart enough to know not to cause too much trouble or kill too many humans in one place— that drew suspicion from local authorities. Instead he had humans shipped to him like cattle, paying decent sums for healthy stock that rarely survived him or the manor.

For decades they’d been able to use Palpatine’s intelligence against him. Little pieces of information, dates, names, or locations leaked or slipped past incompetent lips. They’d been able to divert and seize hundreds of shipments— thousands of people. People that otherwise wouldn’t have ever been brought out into the open, who would’ve rot underground somewhere Huntsmen had yet to find. 

Unintentionally Palatine had been a savior of sorts, though it left a bitter taste in anyone’s mouth to say it any other way than to mock him.

Snoke was not so intelligent. Or maybe he just lacked any kind of patience whatsoever. Where Palpatine had been cunning and quick and quiet, Snoke was ferocious. He brought a certain Brashness to the table that his master never had, only rivaled by a steely bold nature that until the night before, always kept him on a short leash. Former master. With Palpatine no longer pulling the strings or holding him back Snoke would likely decimate local populations. His theatrics demanded it. 

Still listening to Hux’s dog-like ravings Ben scrambled around to collect and . He was juggling blood, a bat, and his phone in a frantic and confusing bid to get ready. 

“You first.” He said to the bat. Ben was on mute, loud as his struggling was, so he didn’t have to worry about Hux finding out he wasn’t alone… Or that he was talking to a vampire bat, or that with every stumble he muttered a quiet “Sorry!” to the thing. His new friend went quietly back into the shoebox, still rather subdued and stiff. Ben, in his rush, had a brief thought of actually finding help later, some vet perhaps. 

He didn’t even bother with the blood. It was a waste, but he had bigger things to worry about than a bag of the stuff going bad. He tossed it down onto the bedside table next to the shoebox. After that it was a blur— gathering up his clothes, getting dressed, and running out the door. No time for matching socks or both gloves, and looking for his keys was taking seconds he didn’t have. He’d just have to take a cab and weather the harsh Chandrillan afternoon besides that. 4:45 wasn’t that late right? 

‘It’s only been a few hours!’ It sounded weak even in his own head. It’d been over half a day. He could practically see Hux in his mind’s eye, red faced, the kind that looked tomato colored in contrast to his nearly carrot orange hair. Spit would be flying as he screamed up into Ben’s face. 

With traffic and a hefty tip for speeding Ben managed to be at St. Takodana within 20 minutes. It usually took 30, 45 depending on traffic. The parking lot was already packed when he arrived, sardined in a tin. It was a stark reminder that once again Ben Solo was late to the party, in more ways than one. A sign on one of the cathedral doors expressed that the church was closed for some event or other, he didn’t care which. It was just there to keep everyone else out.  

At the end of the day he should’ve expected not to be able to sneak in. His entrance went anything but unnoticed. The ancient doors gave him ‘announcement via bugle-like creaking’ so that everyone would know to stop whatever they were doing and look over. Ben pulled his shoulders up to his ears, his best attempt at vanishing from the spot. 

The booming “Benjamin Chewbaca Organa Solo!” Did nothing to help. Ben felt himself shrink even more into himself.

“Hi Mom…”  He turned to see the small woman storming his way. Leia Organa-Solo: She looked every bit the General she ever was. That power had never faded in her hands. His father trailed along behind her, exasperated and almost apologetic in his own roguish way. 

“Where the hell have you been?” His mother demanded. A passing thought of Ben's wished he'd grabbed some Aspirin instead of the single glove on his way out. “ We’ve been calling and texting you for hours!”

“Sorry. My phone died and I forgot to plug it in last night.”

She didn’t say anything about it but he knew she knew what’d actually happened. ‘You were out drinking again, weren’t you?’ She probably wanted to say.

Instead she went with (more loudly than she usually would, just out of spite) “We’ve been worried sick! We were afraid you’d gone on one of your solo Rambo missions or something and gotten caught up in it all!  I almost had someone sent to break down your door and check on you!”

Ben felt his usual scowl deepen into something more sour. “You did not.” He grumbled the words reluctantly, knowing it was well within her means and character to do so. 

“She did too.” His father unhelpfully supplied from behind Leia. “I had to talk her out of it. Three times” The man even had the audacity to raise three fingers for emphasis. 

“Wow. Thanks, Dad.”

Han gave him a pointed look. “You’re welcome.”

Ben had barely begun to speak when his mother held up a hand. “Can it, save it, and follow me.” So he did. After having listened to Hux’s tirade, Ben pretended to listen to his mother’s as she droned on about nearly the exact same things as they walked. ‘Responsibility’ this, and ‘duty’ that, and something about when he was in diapers, which Hux hadn’t had in his speech. The whole while Ben refrained only barely from begging her to be more quiet. He was in enough hot water, and all he needed right then was to prove her suspicions right. It would just be one more tally for the "How Ben Solo Fucked up Recently" list, and he really didn't need that. She was being loud on purpose anyways-- most likely punishment or justice for missing such a monumental occurrence in her eyes... Or scaring her. 

They wound through secret doors and down staircases that ‘didn’t exist’ while she verbally tore him a new one. It was only when they filed into her Downstairs Office that she finally circled around to the more important information. The stuff he actually needed. Leia, Han, Ben, and an exhausted looking Uncle Chewie crowded in and found whatever seat they could take.

“Palpatine’s off the table.” Leia said with finality. 

“I’ve heard.”

“Well what you probably haven’t heard is that he had an heir.” 

'Shit!'

Chapter Text

“Rose.”

She was in the Greenhouses. There were three, but he always knew he could find her here, at the Black Eyed Susans. 

“Paige loved them.” She’d told him once. “She couldn’t stand the smell, but she was determined to love them for their name. She found it too funny not to be her favorite.” Rose and Paige Tico. Rose had made it out. Paige hadn’t. Hux had never had any siblings, quite frankly thanked the Lord no one else had ever been damned the way he had been. Heartbreak he knew though, and knew well. 

“Rose,” he murmured again— because she hadn’t noticed him. He was patient, and this was delicate land he tread. “Ms. Tico.” This time a bit louder. She flinched, turning to look over her shoulder at him. 

Something like a smile cracked across her face, only a twitch at the corners of her mouth. “Armie.”

He hated that name, but it wasn’t ‘Mr. Hux’. It bothered him more when refugees used that one, brought back too many bad memories. The number of graves he dug under that name was steep, hard to swallow. 

‘I’m told you haven’t eaten all day.’ He wanted to say. 

“I thought you might be hungry.” Is what he settled on instead. The bowl in his hands was warm, would probably help put life back into the wispy figure before him. “Please have some.” And he offered the dish to her. 

Rose hesitated, maybe processing the meal and him in front of her for a moment. She was like that on days like this. It took her a while to respond sometimes. She thought too much, too fast for anyone to keep up. Or maybe it was the other way around. He’d never asked before. 

After only a few short moments she bobbed her head, reaching out her hand in invitation. He obliged and went to her. 

The soup was still warm, spiced and creamy with something no one had ever gotten out of the cook before. Whatever it was they added, it brought life back into people. It gave perhaps a small spark back to Rose’s eye too, a glint that only good food in the midst of misery could provide. They sat on a nearby gardening bench, quiet. Ms. Tico didn’t much like to talk when she was like this, and Hux didn’t much like to talk at all. It made for companionable silence—Only somewhat awkward at times. 

A light drizzle had started outside. While they waiting for the soup to be gone they watched little drips run down the glass walls around them. Hux watched the water race itself, landing with little ‘plaps’ and ‘pips’ on the panes above their heads before rolling down again.  

They sat together for a long while. Rose wasn’t in any kind of hurry, neither of them were really. By the time she’d finished her soup, licking the bowl with confidence, it was probably cold. She handed the bowl back to Hux with a nod, her silent but understood  “Thank you.” 

Their ritual, their one rule when happy in silence— “Don’t break it.” Hux tilted the dish from side to side a few times. “Do you want more?” It said. 

Rose shook her head, then gave a single nod in his direction. “No, but thank you.” 

Hux dipped his head once, then rose to leave. He waved at the door, and she waved back. 

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Yelling at Ben Solo had been a nice reprieve, a break from this monotony, but it’d also taken too much out of him. He’d been left feeling even more empty before. He wasn’t the only shell at Tokodana though. There were more dishes to fill, more quiet mouths to find and feed. It was one of those days, after all. Perhaps even one of those weeks, one of those months, but Hux didn’t want to think about that. He wandered back towards the kitchen.

‘Another bowl of soup.’ he thought.

* * * *

“Palpatine’s off the table.” Leia said with finality. 

“I’ve heard.”

“Well what you probably haven’t heard is that he had an heir.”

No, he hadn’t heard that. Ben sat stunned for a moment. “You’re kidding.” 

“I’m not.” His mother poured herself and Han a couple glasses of Cornelian Whiskey. Chewie declined one from where his giant frame folded into a tasteful green lounge chair, and she pointedly didn’t offer to pour any for Ben. He chose not to comment. 

“He did.” She said. “We can’t find them, though. Reports from escaped humans and the displaced vampires we’ve caught are pouring in from all over. He had an heir, and now no-one can find them.” Palpatine Manor had been held by the same family now for over two and a half centuries, per records, and the family was even older than that. 

‘Reports from Palpatine Manor.’

Ben swallowed hard and Leia gave him a look. “There’s nothing about Poe yet. I’m sorry.” 

He nodded stiffly, pushing down the spike of disappointment in his gut. “So what do we know about the heir? You keep saying ‘they’. Do we really know that little?” 

“We suspect male, but have nothing concrete. Palpatine isn’t the type to allow anyone, regardless of blood, to take up the mantle. Until this moment we didn't even believe the possibility of an heir feasible. Why he has one we haven't even begun to figure out, but it's probable that we can still assume it less likely to be a woman. He’s old blood, even older superstition. That much remains.”

“Old blood comes with complications and desperation.” Said a voice from the door. Ben whipped around to see a taller willowy woman march in with a stack of papers between her arm—Amilyn Holdo. “He probably can’t be too picky, the old bat.” 

“Well, couldn’t.” Han muttered the correction from his corner. 

Holdo swept past them all to Leia’s desk and dropped the foot tall monstrosity carefully down. Then she turned steely eyes on Ben. “Hello, Benny. So nice of you to finally join us.”

Ben felt his ears heat at both the ridiculous nickname from his youth and the obvious callout. “Hi Amilyn. I like the Orange.” She’d gone for a blazing fire-like shade that, like usual, set her apart in just about any crowd. It wasn’t her usual vibrant lilac but it looked alright. 

“Thank you.” And then with a flicker of her eye it was back to business. Holdo pulled a manila folder from the stack and handed it to Leia, rounding the desk to stand beside her old friend. “Latest report confirms Snoke is clearing house. It’s either join him or get staked.” 

Han snorted into his liquor, sputtering and coughing. Ben wondered how hard it was for the man not to make whatever crass joke he was thinking about. He shared a knowing look with Chewie, who smirked maliciously under his beard first at Ben, then Han. 

‘Probably very hard.’

He tried to ignore his Dad’s “Shut up.” to Chewie’s silence and tune back into the conversation. 

He barely caught the name “Ray Palpatine” as Holdo finished pointing something out in the file to his mother. Ray Palpatine. The heir to the Palpatine Household— On the run from the new era of Snoke’s reign. 

 “Doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of the enemy.” He found himself grousing. Because it didn’t. There was Snoke, and Palpatine, and Dooku, and Maul, and hundreds of others documented before, during, and after their rules. What the hell kind of vampire name was “Ray?”

“Names don’t have to in this field. It’s the actions that are tied to them.” Leia reminded him sternly. Ben barely kept himself from rolling his eyes at the reprimand. He wasn’t some petulant child. “Besides,” she continued, “Now we can more safely assume it’s a son. It’s something to go on.”

Holdo gave a heavy sigh. “Whatever they are, Snoke wants them. It’s unclear if he wants them dead or undead though. Reports vary.”

“Who all knows about the Heir?” Han asked. 

Holdo riffled through the pile and pulled out a single piece of paper. “Well I’ll put it to you this way: We only know about it cause Snoke isn’t exactly subtle.” She handed the paper to Han. “Palpatine kept it very close to the chest. So far only two vampires we have in custody are aware of their existence, and only one of those could give a name.” 

Han passed the paper to Chewie, who looked it over before handing it over to Ben. 

Ben read over the name at the top, written in bold and underlined like they wouldn’t already know how important this was. 

“Ray Palpatine.”

Chapter Text

The blood was all gone now. Rey’d drunk her fill in between passing out and waking back up again. Hopefully it would be enough for now, but there was no clear way to be sure— The bag had been leaking before reaching it, and still was while she lay unconscious. More than once when her weary eyes opened she found herself bathed in warmed B+. After everything was gone from the stream beneath her feet and the pack in front of her face she cleaned her reddened coat. Some places had begun to crust over. Even as low as Rey had fallen, she avoided those patches. She was still hungry though, still trying to heal.

Rey could feel the tissue knitting itself back together in her back, on her sides, beneath the bruises and fur. She could only stay awake for second at a time now. Recovery.

Yet that same powerful oppression still weighed down on her shoulders. Everything felt slower, it shouldn’t be taking as long as it was, and it hurt! Begging had done nothing before, and only slightly more aware this time, she still tried now and again. 

‘Please please please please-’ she would wail. It never did anything, not a hair, not a breathe of relief ever came. Whatever cruelty this was it must not feel any mercy for her, or maybe it was just her kind. 

Usually somewhere along that train of thought is when Rey’s strength left her, awake and struggling to think too long. She would fall back under the veil of exhaustion, only to wake again later and follow the same path all over again. What a wretched sort of merry go round.

* * * *

It came to Ben while his mother, Holdo, and Chewie theorized about the displaced vampires— something about going easier on them in exchange for whatever information they could give. “Refugees.” He sputtered, and suddenly all eyes were on him. 

Han raised a heavy brow “What?” 

“Has anyone asked the Refugees? We’ve got some in the church, right? Let’s ask them! What about Rose?”

His mother’s already stoic face began to harden with every word, and he could see the others stiffening where they stood or sat. “Ben I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She’s still reluctant to talk about that place. They all are.”

“I know that, but wouldn’t it help to know just a few things? We could just ask about the heir, or maybe Snoke? If it helps I can even-“

“Ben.” Leia said softly, and that tone, quiet but wary was all it took to shut him up. “They’re already afraid. They’ve been more afraid than usual all day. They know what happened. They’re not going to talk… Rose included. I’m sorry.”

And if that weren’t sobering, Ben didn’t know what was. They tried to keep the refugees (rescued or escaped humans) from hearing too much about the Downworld goings ons—Rarely pressured them to talk, to remember what’d happened in those dark ugly places. They had specialists on hand, people who could sit, listen, and help, but even then Refugees would usually just close up, shut up, and stay like that- they shut down.

It was rare to get anyone to talk about the serious stuff, even for their own health. Their oldest refuge had been with them for nearly half a decade. They’d never spoken a word one day of that time. Ben doubted they ever would, but he had to hold out hope. “Things like this take time.” those same specialists said anytime the topic came up.  Ben knew this, he did, but it never got any easier to swallow back the childish response of “But why?” Even he knew that was selfish.

Big things like this though, like their past hell-scape getting new management? Well, that could be hard to keep from them. 

Leia must have taken pity on him because after the long, awkward pause that came after putting one’s foot in their mouth, she offered an olive branch. “She probably wouldn’t say no to a visit though. She’s been in the greenhouse all day. I think she could use the company.”

Ben nodded stiffly and swallowed. “I might do that. Thanks.” With everything going on he probably should check on her. 

The meeting didn’t last too much longer after that. Despite the calls, texts, and cussing outs, there wasn’t a lot they knew about anything at the moment. They knew that one of the most influential figure’s of both the Downworld and its underworld was dead. They knew alliances were being forged, enemies made, powerhouses cleaning house. They knew that humans, lower level vampires, and supernatural beings were all three paying the price. It hadn’t reached them yet, but in a single night chaos had spread nearly halfway across the continent like a plague. It would get to them soon.

Things were about to get a lot worse, and no one was truly prepared— Hadn’t even had seen it coming. Ben’s thoughts on the matter were pretty bitter, but summed up into one sentence was simply ’We’re in for a real shit show now.’ Because they were. 

* * * *

Hux offered to drive him home. He was more somber than before, no longer red faced and furious. Ben almost missed that anger. It was better than this version of the man, the recluse. His coat always looked too big for him on these days, ill-fitting and too dark. It turned Hux’s pale skin an even more sickly white.

Ben hated it. 

He promised to take the man up on his offer for both their sake’s. Maybe he’d even invite Hux in for a drink (Nothing alcoholic, nothing alcoholic at times like these). Ben could show him the bat— an attempt to return any kind of color, any kind of fire to the man’s paper thin picture. He could make fun of Ben all he wanted for bringing a vampire bat into his home. “The irony.” He’d probably sneer. 

They were nearly at the front doors when he finally remembered. “Hey wait,” Ben said. “I gotta go talk to Rose first. I wanna check on her.”

The only thing Hux gave in response was a bland, half hearted “No.” As he went on ahead through the doors. 

Ben wasn’t sure whether it was because Hux had already visited the refugees or he was simply still mad at Ben. Knowing what kind of day it was though… It was probably the former. He gave a shrug and moved follow. Hux was not above leaving anyone stranded if he felt he was made to wait "Unnecessarily." In the car Ben once again found himself stunned at how painfully clean it was-- like always. Ben tried not to think of the beat up, fast food containers still in the passenger seat Blazer back at his house. He felt himself cringe at the memory.

'I should probably do something about that.' 

The drive was quiet. It usually was unless Ben made an effort, which he more often than not didn’t. With traffic it took the better part of half an hour to get home. Hux drove like a grandmother, something he made a point never to criticize or make fun of. It was just the way Armitage was. 

When they pulled into Ben’s driveway, no one got out. 

‘Time to make an effort.’

“Come in.” He said quietly. It wasn’t an offer, but it wasn’t a demand either. 

“I have places to be.”

“Come in. I have something that’ll cheer you up. I’ll even let you make fun of me for it.”

“Get out, Ben.”

“Then go back to the Church.” 

“I'm already going. Now get out.” 

There was a scathing “Yes Dear” itching to jump off his tongue, but Ben managed to curb it at the last second. He opened the door and unfolded himself from the passenger seat. 

There wasn’t really anything he could think of to say. He’d never been good at this.  “Be safe.” Is the thing that finally came out his mouth, and it felt so flat. 

Hux only nodded. Ben shut the car door, watching as Hux pulled away and drove off.

Chapter Text

In his house, Ben found only chaos. Clothes everywhere, his keys (which had apparently been under the bed) and probably most disgustingly, a bad of emptied blood. When he’d thrown it down the cap must have come off. It’d leaked all over the bedside table, a small sludgy drying pool, then streamed down the front drawers and onto his usually gray shag carpet. 

There was a line up the stream that’d been smeared, and at the nozzle sat a small, fat, nearly comatose vampire bat. Ben signed hard, mentally gearing up for the cleanup to come. It felt like a pound of bricks were just sat on his shoulders, weighing him down further with every ‘I’m going to have to—‘ he could think of. 

“Well it was gonna go bad anyways. At least someone got some use out of it.” He consoled himself quietly. “Come on.” The animal was cold when he picked it up. Ben felt something like worry curling in his stomach. It should be getting better, not worse. The time was already so late though. No one would be open to help. He’d have to take it in the morning. With bat back in the shoebox he carried it out into his backyard, to a table on the patio. 

He needed to clean. The fresh air outside would be safer for his friend, away from any chemicals he was about to use anyways. Maybe it’d even do it some good. The sun had set a while ago so light wouldn’t be an issue. The night chill setting in was a worry, though. 

Ben didn’t stop to think how stupid it was, just went to the hallway closet and pulled out the heating pad he’d been gifted one horrible sickness nearly five years prior. There were extension cords in the garage, all hung on the wall and organized from left to right by length. Armed with a smaller extension cord, the heating pad, and a quilt to use as a buffer between the pad and the box, he cocooned the shoebox on the table, careful to leave the top and its holes unobstructed. He cracked the lid and put a small garden stone on top to dissuade his friend from making anymore jailbreaks.  As a whole it was a decent setup, and Ben felt confident about both the bat’s comfort and safety.  

* * * *

The cleanup was long, tedious, and smelled as familiarly disgusting as usual. An awful mix of drying blood, hot water, and bleach. Ben had long since gotten used to it. The only thing that made the odor worse was vomit— everyone learned that early on. Ben had taken a little longer for the lesson to sink in. He was a slow learner like that. 20 minutes, a thorough scrubbing, and a full trash bag in the dumpster later the world was right again, if smelling a bit like bleach. This time he’d remembered to leave the windows cracked beforehand. He checked on the bat once, seeing it more loose and relaxed than it had been in its entire stay. 

“I see you’ve discovered the magic of heated blankets.” Ben told the thing quietly. He left the box alone for another half hour. It was probably smart to let the house air out another half hour or so before bringing it back in. 

When Ben came back out for the second time however, the box was open. The lid was slid to the side a few inches— enough for a small animal to escape. His dying porch light was just barely bright enough to illuminate the table, and the beady eyed creature hovering at its edge. It leapt into the air when it saw him, fluttering frantically upwards— only to plummet back down onto the lawn seconds later.  The constant fall rains made the ground softer, spongey enough that Ben wasn’t too horribly worried, but he still needed to get his friend back in its box soon. 

Every attempt to grab it failed though. Trying to scoop up or corral the mess of an animal that it was with his hands ended with it slipping through his fingers time and time again. If it weren’t so annoying, he might have even been impressed by its will to survive and escape. The last straw however was the bite. It definitely wasn’t impressive then. Gloves probably should been a thought when trying to catch a wild animal by hand. That was his first mistake. His second was not thinking— putting his fingers around its face; A known red zone. The awful creature must have had just a bit too much of him by then. Who knew something so small could bite so hard? Flinging the animal across the yard and cursing was merely reflex however- a reaction he immediately regretted post hand-tooth meet-and-greet.

It was still light enough to see where it was fluttering around on the ground a few yards away, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. At this rate he’d accidentally crush the damn thing, get bitten again, or chase it too long— lose it in the coming dark. 

‘This isn’t working.’

“Stay there!” Ben ordered sternly. He rushed back inside and to the freezer in his garage. The blood was still frozen, but it’d still smell strongly enough to get attention. He hoped that the bat hadn’t gorged itself too much. Or that it was just ridiculously insatiable. This was probably the only time in his life he wished for a creature to be greedy for blood. 

Ben rammed his shin on the coffee table trying to run back outside, stumbling and overturning a gray armchair in the process. More curses, more pain, but he managed to get back to the sliding glass door in time to see those sparkling black eyes peeping up from the grass. It must have heard the commotion, or maybe (as if) it was waiting for him to come back, wary or eager, or maybe a mixture of the two. 

It’d gotten closer, was practically at the border between his back patio and the dying turf. He needed to tread lightly here. 

The back door was still open thankfully, so he crouched down and eased outside again, staying low in the hopes that he might not scare it off again. Carefully he uncapped the bag. Sometime between his tumbling and crashing a lot of the top had broken into chunks or powdered. That was something he could use. 

“Come on.” He murmured. “Come back inside.. Please!” The lengths to which Ben was willing to go was quickly becoming absurd. He was desperate. The animal had been in his house for only a few days, but already it held him in the palm of its hand (so to speak). He needed to get them both back inside so he could unpack these feelings in safety. Figure out just how it had such a hold on him.

He just needed to make sure the bat survived first. He wanted it to survive. He squeezed a few crushed up chunks from the bag and into his other hand, clustering into a pile the bat could gnaw or suck on from in his palm. Maybe it liked slushies? 

And just like that, Ben had its attention. It sat for a moment still as the grave, like it was weighing options the likes of which Ben could never understand, then finally moved towards him. He felt like this was showdown from an old western— The worst western ever made.  

It was slow going, excruciating really, and his legs were starting to cramp by the time his bat was close enough to snatch. Still he kept fixed in place, bag of blood held out in silent offer. 

Somewhere off in the distance an owl screeched. Ben’s heart picked up at the sound, but he kept himself from moving too early. Something told him this was his last chance. He couldn’t blow it.

The bat was nuzzling into his hand now, the one covered in melting blood-cubes. With the other he set the bag down. Carefully, slowly, he nudged the animal into his palm. It gladly took the boost and fluttered up. For half a second Ben thought it was trying to get away. His heart skipped a beat that left him breathless, but in the end it only wanted one last hike up into its newly found Bed-and-Breakfast via hand. Things moved fast after that— or maybe he was really just that tired. Ben slowly shuffled backwards into his house and slid the door shut with his foot. The latch clicking into place was finalizing. Just like that it was over. 

“Finally” 

Chapter Text

Rey had never before experienced the pain of attempting to invade a place without invitation- To enter without some form of welcome. That’s what it’d been though, that she couldn’t be more sure of. It’d come to her sometime after the oppression lifted. After her weary bones stopped shaking under such power and she could take a breath without her lungs burning. The very second her box passed over the strange man’s threshold— that’s when the force dissipated into the nothingness around her. Free at last. It was revitalizing and harrowing all at the same time, and it left her numb. 

Rey hoped against hope it would never plague her again, that she wouldn’t ever have to endure such strange agony, such old and powerful magic. 

She’s never feared something quite so untouchable before. Salt, silver and the sun she could all see. Not this. She couldn’t even understand it, and it was completely unknown whether it understood her or not. Such ancient things most likely couldn’t comprehend any word from the newer ages. 

Once the man came out to see her. Above him Rey could make out the night sky— so black here, nothing like Palpatine Manor. There it’d been a blanket of twinkling eyes, all looking down on you, judging you, weighing your soul. Sometimes they were laughing though, either at or with you.  

Here they looked so lost, so far away. It gave Rey an inkling of just how far she’d flown. These weren’t her stars. Maybe they inhabited the same place in the cosmos, but not to her sky from where she sat. They were in the wrong places, the wrong clusters, though few and far between as they may be. These lights looked down at her like she was a stranger. They didn’t recognize her either.

Something heavy settled in her stomach at such a realization. She was lost and alone…

Rey’s following escape attempt was weak at best. Her heart wasn’t really in it, or maybe she was just so exhausted still, at last able to really, truly rest for the first time in what seemed to be decades. Things had just begun to heal again, free to do so unhindered in the cool night air, away from old curses. She didn’t want to risk reversing that by changing back— if she could at all yet. Trying was a last resort, and one she desperately didn’t want it to come to. She would risk the pain and reopening of barely healed wounds to escape the possibility of becoming familiar with that old magic once more. If she could just tire this awful man out and get away! 

Even in such a desperate state though, perhaps biting him had been a bit much. It was a dry bite, but if he didn’t clean it the wound could get infected. A low blow for the Palpatine Heiress, snapping at defenseless humans like a common animal. He was just trying to help, the poor thing. 

In the end it wasn’t a bag of old iced blood that got her to come back. It was the invitation. It was the “Come back inside” and the “Please!’ He’d invited her into his home, this man without a smell or a name. Maybe he didn’t know what she was, but he was offering her refuge, safety and a warm hand to lie in. With his eager assistance and a hearty few wingbeats she accepted that offered hand— and the blood it held. 

* * * *

He was an odd one, this man. Because that’s what he was. She could see it now. Knew it in a way that perplexed and frustrated her to no end. He was a man, a human man. 

She let him carry her around, calm himself now that she wasn’t going anywhere or getting picked up by anything. Minute by minute his heartbeat slowed, and it helped ease her nerves with its steady pace. His smell was still a bothersome topic, and her bite hadn't been deep or long enough to get any kind of grasp of his taste. It'd left her wondering though, curious in a way she rarely was about people, humans. Rey was already at her limit though. Even such a weak escape attempt had added to her otherwise overwhelming exhaustion. 

Despite her weariness her soul still seemed to rejoice. Rey was finally free of the oppression—  allowed to heal properly! At last!  

This wasn't something Rey would take for granted. She planned to fully indulge in such rich opportunity. She nestled back down into the large hands holding her and enjoyed the respite. Sleep called to her like a siren to men. This was probably the first time since that horrible night that she’d rested of her own free will— though her weary bones were very persuasive. Perhaps she’d simply been sold on the idea this time. 

* * * *

The next tine Rey awoke it was to weak slivers of light seeping through the cracks in the curtains. It slipped in at the corners and near the top, distant enough to merely be a dangerous beauty she could admire from where she lay. The drapery and window covers at Palpatine Manor had been completely effective (too effective), overwhelmingly blacking out any natural light during the day. It'd left things dark and cold-- a thriving paradise for some while a miserable existence for others.

This new phenomenon mesmerized her.

They were sat on a couch in what she assumed to be the man’s living room. She was in a hoodie pouch staring out at the room. The man was typing away on a portable computer in his lap. The sound was harmonious, fast and sharp tak’s where his heart kept that slow, deep rhythm of his. A sigh here, a hum there, something like a grumble before he attacked the backspace key like it owed him money.  

In a quiet room it was music. Rey lay there and listened as the day wore on, content in getting lost in such a sweet melody. The symphony lulled her as she watched sunlight waver and bloom above them like waves in the sea. Oh how she missed the sea. 

'Oh how I've missed the sun...'

As Rey rested and listened, she also thought. There was a kind of freedom to remember during the day, once her night. The light promised safety, the man a refuge, and those sounds, his smell, and warmth all anchors. This was a safe-haven. 

Little by little Rey waded through the desolate places of her mind, through the links and empty lines that all once held someone on the other end. More than once she re-surfaced disturbed and distraught. The not-quite-a-human man would calm her each time, pulling her into light that wasn’t painful and holding her close. He sat cooing to her while she did her best to come back to the world, to the room, to him.

She never paid attention to what he said, but she heard the message in his tone. ‘I am here. You are safe. Be still and be calm.’ It would say. Each time she would settle down enough to try again. She would motion with her body like animals do back towards the dark pouch. His hands were warm, but they were also calloused and hard. 

More and more frequently she resurfaced though, and finally allowed a certain honesty with herself. His hands held her better than soft cotton, that hardness bringing with it a certain grounding nature.  The finest silks, cotton, or wool could never hope to compete with such a comfort as that. She didn’t insist on going back the last time, and he didn’t offer.

Without knowing it the man guided her through her own mind, through one last effort before she turned away to lick her wounds and mourn. Rey sifted between loose or bare strings, careful not to get tangled in them as she passed by. They cut her deeply still. ‘So many, so many, so many,’ the thought came and stayed without her bidding, a stone caught between a horse’s shoe that it couldn’t shake. 

The way was familiar but different— Rey nearly got lost again and again, but determination had her pressing on, retracing her steps back to the path when things got turned around. She waded carefully, slowly, until finally she found the one she needed. Had it been gone… No, the thought shouldn’t even be finished. It wasn’t something she could bear. 

Rey latched onto the line, taking hold and pulling it tight like a leash, his leash. ‘Come to me.’ She said to him.

She felt him in the dark; his relief, his pain, his hunger- hunger like desperation. It was all so clear she could nearly see him there beside her. ‘As you will it, so it shall be.’ He promised. 

That was enough. She would retreat for now. Worry about the world and its falling apart later. For now things were safe. They were quiet and warm. She’d never been this kind of warm before. It was a comfort in its foreign nature. Different from the terror and sickness that was a familiarity right now. She embraced it openly, willed it to invite her in closer, more deeply into its home. 

Chapter Text

It’s been two days since she could finally heal in peace, enjoy the man’s company without the obstacles of pain and strenuous recovery. In that time he’s pampered her— Carried her around in his hands or the soft black hoodie pouch, changed the scraps in her shoebox, hand fed her fruits and tried with crickets from his front porch. Tried. Rey rarely said no to a handful of crickets. Bugs, some raw meats, and fruit were a few of the only things a Vampire’s bat allowed them to eat. In life even the very thought would’ve made Rey ill. Her afterlife was a different story. Delicious and addictive as it was, after a while even blood could get old. But in recovery, and with some shred of dignity still in tact, it was best to avoid trash dwellers like household scavengers. It’d confused the man (it shouldn’t have), but he let her be and stuck to fruit and blood afterwords. 

The only other conflict had occurred later that first night. Rey had been rather content (thank you very much) to lounge about and relax in her pouch while he went about his nightly rituals.  So unworried was she that the telltale noises and movements went unnoticed. That is, it did until the man (damn him) pulled her from his pocket. She’d stared at the quarter full sink for a long moment, not quite understanding the suds and bubbles at first. His sink was stopped up. Then it’d hit her.

The following ten minutes were filled with a near fight to the death on her part— a cumbersome flea on the heal on his. The only thing she could make out clearly the entire time was something along the lines of “You’re filthy and you smell and I can’t bring you out if you have anything I’m sorry!” He barely stopped for breath, running his sentences on and on frantically in that way you should never do with an animal because it would scare them. Rey wasn’t an animal, and she wasn’t scared. She was just downright offended. 'Pissed,' as they would say. 

“I am heiress to an empire! I have escaped and survived by my own will and all you can say is ‘you smell??’ How dare you, you stupid bastard!” Of course he heard none of this. It all came out as rattling chirps that she threw at his face like they'd do anything. He only stared dumbly at her struggle, flitting franticly between "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" and "You need this! Fuck!" 

Somewhere towards the end Rey gave up and finally laid back into his care. She rather liked bubble baths, and if she was to endure one at his hands, she might as well enjoy it at his expense. Let him tend to her if he so wished. The downside was that it nearly put her to sleep at times though. It was hazard, had she actually needed to breathe and he not been there to keep her head above water. It left her vexed in a different way when she could muster the energy to be so. 

When she'd finally calmed down so had he, and the man’s long, frantic, run-on sentences gave way to soft explanations and humming. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t bite me this time.” He was gently massaging the webbing between her fingers now. Heavenly.

‘It was beneath me.’

“This way I can finally take you out though. Got this stuff last year when we had to take care of a chupacabra. It had fleas of a supernatural nature so it should take care of just about anything you have.” 

‘I don’t have anything.’ She thought bitterly. It annoyed Rey the way people referred to domestic or non-mythical animals as supernatural ones. Whatever poor dog he’d found the year before probably didn’t appreciate the reference either. 

“You did smell, though.”

‘Fuck you.’

* * * *

Outside the attack on her pride that was the bath offense, Rey found she rather liked the strange man. He was smart in some ways and utterly stupid in others. It was a nice reprieve from the conniving snakes she'd been surrounded by for so long. This man wanted nothing, had no ill-intention with her. He simply did as he saw fit, and was so utterly forthright about his motives that it left her dizzy. She'd missed this, missed humans. She'd missed their sincerity, their devotion. 

It hurt knowing this would come to an end. That it had to, and soon. 

* * * *

Twice now the man let Rey roam freely up his arms or out from the pocket at his stomach. The first time she managed to make it to his shoulder before collapsing. After days of laying about and barely moving, her muscles were tired and shaky. She tried to primarily blame it on that and the stress of her wounds, too wary to even dwell much on that oppressive force from before. The second climb had been much more successful, a true triumph to Rey’s opinion. She’d reached his neck, then his ears and the jungle of hair on his head. The man helped a few times, giving her a nudge here or a finger to grab onto there. It was mostly her though. The end of her journey landed her at the top of his head, nesting down in silky waves of black. If she were being honest with herself, she felt a bit bitter that it was softer than her fur. 

‘Damn the man.’

At night, she would go back into the box again. The dark was nice. The quiet not so much. The first night it’d been nearly unbearable. She’d tossed and turned, trying her best to get some semblance of sleep. At some point there was a loud but distant crash from somewhere outside. A cat falling off the fence probably, maybe some adventurous wild dog overturning a neighbors garbage bin. Rey knew this. Realistically she knew everything was fine. That it was a completely mundane and common occurrence that came with living in suburbia or near the city. 

And yet her mind still whispered sharply to her.  ‘It's them!’ It hissed. 'They’ve found us.’

Rey burrowed into the rags. For the rest of the night she remained frozen like that, shivering not from cold but out of fear. The next morning her limbs ached, and it left her boneless in the balmy presence of her new friend. 

The following night Rey let him put her back in the box, but she didn’t stay there. She waited until his breathing slowed into the telltale rhythm of sleep before pushing the lid back enough to get out. She did her best to stay quiet, only flying enough to hop from the bedside table to the bed.

And then there he lay, peaceful and dreaming, and still. He was rolled over onto his side, face pressed into the pillow he clutched. Rey sat and watched him for a while, feeling his breath ghost over her fur in warm breezes. She wasn’t really sure what to do—just knew she didn’t want to be alone. That didn’t help her decide where to lie down though. Getting crushed in bat form wouldn’t kill her, vampires were far more resilient than that, but it certainly wouldn’t be comfortable or easy to explain away. After a bit of deliberation she settled on the dip between his chin and shoulder. In the end she found herself up against his neck, near the pulse point and caged in by his right arm.  The sheets were cool but his skin was warm, and she pressed closer to him for it. Over the last few days Rey slowly began to pick up hints of the man’s real smell. He had one, but it was dull, diluted by something. The bite she’d given him hadn’t been enough to get any kind of taste. This close it was stronger, it was easier to make out under everything. 

He’d been feeding her enough blood for a real vampire bat. She would watch him measure out the correct measurements before they sat down, so diligent and serious. That wasn’t what she was though. The fruit helped, but she’d been getting hungrier by the day. Healing took time. It also took fuel. 

'Just a taste…’

She was so close. He wouldn’t even notice. Like this he wouldn’t feel a thing, and she could get back to her box before he woke in the morning.

She came back to herself in a sharp moment of clarity, hearing someone else's voice and not her own whisper those same thoughts so long ago. They'd made her gag then. They made her heave now. Those had been her thoughts this time, no other's. It shook her to realize that, to admit it. So she hasn't escaped so unsullied after all... How disappointing. 

Even so Rey wouldn’t stoop to that level-- no longer chained to such a life as that. Her stomach still churned uncomfortably—from growing hunger and guilt both.‘How dare you.’ they accused together. Each hissed for their own reason though.

This man had saved her, was taking care of her.  She’d come to him for safety in the night, comfort in the face of phantoms that haunted her in the dark, not for food. Suddenly the need for such comfort was that much more. Returning to the shoebox was unthinkable now, not even an option. Rey curled into the juncture between his shoulder and his neck quietly. There was that warmth again. She let that balm and his slow, even breathing lull her into a blessedly dreamless sleep. 

Chapter Text

More and more St. Tokodana saw new and old faces alike pouring in. Within a few hours of the Palpatine Manor Massacre they started coming. Ben came and went, but nearly all the rest stayed. Hux felt like he was stuck in a bottle. It was quickly filling to the brim, overflowing and bubbling with people he didn’t want to see. He sat at the bottom, staring up at them all and struggling to breathe. 

It was setting the refugees on edge. It was setting everyone on edge, but especially them, and especially him. He didn’t like crowds on a good day, even less so when it was this one in particular. He felt their eyes, their palpable distain around every corner. Whispers here and a look there. 

He wasn’t even sure if half the community knew who he was. Old-life paranoia was hard to get rid of, harder to kill. Things were starting to look far too familiar. The looks, the people, the refugees. Did they recognize him? Or was he just going crazy? Was it his paranoia, that subtle insanity they’d always talked about that ran in his blood? He wanted someone to come up and tell him, confirm either way if it meant he wasn’t tormented like this anymore. 

Hux was drowning. He was suffocating. 

‘Leave me alone.’

He needed to get out, leave for a while. No one stopped him. No one would. He just needed some air.

* * * *

The following days were lazy, gone too fast. At first Ben passed the time taking care of his new roommate. No new file had come in yet so there was an abundance of time to kill. A quick call to a local vet (whom was known in their field to not ask questions) and a few zoom calls confirmed that things were fine. He was informed to keep an eye of the low temperature and overzealous appetite but otherwise his bat was fine. They’d offered to take it off Ben’s hands, but he’d polity refused. Later that day an order of antibiotics and vitamins were ready for pickup. Nothing fancy, just water soluble tablets that the bat wouldn’t notice. 

‘One less thing to fight me over.’  

For the most part things with the bat went smoothly after that, A feeding here, an attempt to get it to eat crickets there— he’d spent ages trying to catch the stupid things, and in the end all for nothing. His friend was a picky eater it seemed. Between meals and naps he let the animal roam freely, gaining back muscle and energy hour by hour. With his blessing it climbed not on the couch or down to the rug, but on him, and he endured it with little complaint. He watched it carefully while it crawled along his clothes. It was an expert though. It appeared to know what it was doing, and rarely if at all needed any help. It was only when it finally reached Ben’s shoulder that it finally sat back and admitted defeat for the moment. He let it rest there for a time, eyes searching the living room from a new and probably more common hight. Bat’s didn’t often live so low to the ground (He was pretty sure). 

What a strange place the inside of a person’s house must look to it. Ben let it stay for a while longer before returning it to his hoodie’s pouch. It went gladly. The dark was probably more calming anyways.  

Eventually the topic of hygiene had to come up. Ben cringed at the idea. He’d been careful to wash everything he’d worn or let the bat touch even once. There was no telling where it’d been. At some point he knew it made more sense to bathe the animal though. There were still flecks and patches of dried blood sticking to its coat that it didn’t seem in any particular hurry to clean off. Perhaps it just didn’t see it as a problem. He did however. As far as he could tell most of the wounds had closed over and were healing nicely, but as dirty as the thing was, infection might still be a problem. 

After a bit of digging Bean managed to unearth a bottle of Kataal’s Burb and Brush pet shampoo. Kataal didn’t make anything particularly subpar bar one item: supernatural animal care items. You wanted siren scale oil? Bexley’s. Werewolf pain killers? Barker. But Kataal’s pet toothpaste, vitamins, shampoos, and ointment would keep any animal’s breath fresh, coat clean, and body healthy. It was a shame they sucked at making just about everything else. 

For all that it was though, the bat didn’t particularly seem to care for it. He’d filled the sink with warm water, set a warm towel aside, and been careful to introduce it slowly. That didn’t seem to matter. The more he explained things, the more frantic it got. It almost seemed offended really, which was stupid. 

Eventually he seemed to coax it into some semblance of calm though. When it did Ben felt a weight lift from his shoulders and a tension ease in his fingers. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t bite me this time.” He was gently massaging the webbing between its fingers now. With eyes rolled back in its head it have him to impression that he was doing something right.

‘Heavenly.’ It seemed to say. Maybe he should be a bat masseuse. Ben chuckled at the idea.

“This way I can finally take you out though. Got this stuff last year when we had to take care of a chupacabra. It had fleas of a supernatural nature so it should take care of just about anything you have.” It only glared up at him.

“You did smell, though.”

Ben had never known how much a face, without human features or words, could articulate ‘Fuck you’ quite so clearly. He wanted to laugh, but refrained at the thought that it might offend the animal more.

Instead he thought back to the chupacabra, finding peace in the monotony of bat bathing. Hux had gone with him for that one. It was a relocation job. The poor thing wandered too far from its home, probably pushed due to human development or worse, a rival Chupacabra bloodline. They tended not to get along with unfamiliar families, and would slaughter rivals into near extinction. Talk about being one’s own worst enemy. 

Ben picked it up near the boarder of Mexico at one of their stations, and had taken it to a northern part of Arizona where the population was in need of new blood (with outside help of course). If they could introduce the animal safely it would help future generations all across the Americas. The new exchange program was quickly becoming a hit and even Ben, with his usual dislike of the absurdly bipolar animals, was a stanch supporter. It was one of the few times he’d actually reached out himself to take an animal case. It was also one of the only cases in which Hux had agreed to an animal case, regardless of how much begging it took. With all its dirt and grime though, that chupacabra hadn’t stunk half as bad as this awful thing.

Ben sat and ruminated a while, mumbling bits and pieces to the bat whether it was unconscious or not. ‘You know he was actually easier to bathe than you, right?’ His friend was slumped in the water, dead to the world as he worked diligently. ‘Slacker.’ By the end of the bath the water was a near opaque brown. He changed it once and repeated the bath just for good measure. The second time it was only a lighter, clearer fog. Ben was careful when rinsing the animal off and drying it with a fluffy towel. Here there were no more objections though. It like playing with putty, he though— boneless, furry, sleepy putty. 

It’d gone into the shoebox without protest, and was near comatose a good portion of the next day. Ben figured their fight during the bath had either taken too much out of the animal, or it’d simply succumbed to the effects of its first ever spa day. Either way it clung to him more closely that second day. Ben wasn’t exactly complaining, but it did prevent him from going out. He was running low on certain products and foods. He needed to make a trip to the grocery store soon if nothing else. The thought of leaving his bat home alone,  especially after it’d already escaped its box twice, worried him. 

Maybe he’d take it with him? Ben looked down at the pocket of his hoodie, currently occupied, and actually contemplated such an absurd idea as a real option. 

‘Maybe.’

Ben went to bed that night worried that he still hadn’t received a file. Admittedly a portion of his anxiety came from the next day’s possible quest to the supermarket. The animal on his bedside table didn’t seem as concerned though, and that helped for some reason. 

Chapter Text

The next morning Ben woke to fine his friend curled up against his neck. With just about any other animal, that would’ve been a sweet endearment to find. With a vampire bat however, Ben felt much less love, and a lot more suddenly on edge. He was careful to steel himself from immediately jumping out of bed and accidentally throwing the animal across the room in the process. Reflexes saved lives but he was also trying to keep animal cruelty off his personal list of “Crimes Against Humanity and God.”

So instead, and with a great deal of self-discipline, he carefully move the bat from its place at his neck and back to the shoebox. It stirred some, but didn’t wake. 

Ben then crept carefully into the bathroom next door and spent the next 20 minutes doing a thorough body search. He went the whole nine yards— stripped, broke out the hand mirrors and flashlight, and did his best not to think too deeply about how ludicrous he must look at that moment. It certainly  wasn’t the first time he’d woken up next to a bloodsucker by accident, but it was the first time it didn’t happen to be one of a supernatural nature. 

While he went through this routine, Ben went through the five stages of cursing himself and then some. He'd known the bat had been getting out of the box. He’d known the lid hardly did anything without something on top of it, and yet he’d still (stupidly, might he add) left it unsecured. 

‘Fuck!’

But the more he looked, and the more thoroughly and desperately he looked, Ben couldn’t find anything. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense really. Because there had to be something! There just had to be! Anger at himself was quickly becoming a strange mix of confusion, relief, and anxiety. 

Celarsanguin was at the top of its line- a leading blood masking agent that his work had him (and just about any other employee in the field) on mandatorily. 

It kept him from smelling or tasting like a meal ticket to any nearby predators or targets. Supposedly it suppressed and damaged temporarily something in one’s nose that that they couldn’t detect you. Ben wasn’t really sure though. He’d fallen asleep at most of those lectures if he was being perfectly honest, and even in such a situation as this one— he barely regretted it. He did remember the important parts though, the stuff that kept him from getting killed for not knowing. Like the fact that it wasn’t perfect. Top of the line sure, but that could only be so good. It was only as effective as it could be for its time. Eventually any animal or subject would become nose-blind to the stuff if he remained in too close proximity.

Out in the field that would look like a couple weeks, but here? In his home that was drenched in his smell, and pressed up against him for so long? Probably a a day and a half, a few if he were lucky. He still wouldn’t taste good (or so they’d been told), but his scent would’ve bled through. An animal whose main diet consisted of blood should’ve seen him as a potential snack by now. It shouldn’t matter whether it was a regular animal or not.

Maybe he was just lucky, but something felt off about it all. As ben put things away and got dressed again, it wouldn’t leave him alone. Something felt off and he didn’t want to think about what. 

Ben moved quietly back into his bedroom to get his phone, then out to his kitchen. He wanted a file, a reason to get him back into the church. Otherwise he wouldn’t have the strength to talk to his mother if it came to it. After his previous visit— the disaster that it had been, he wasn’t exactly eager to see her again so soon. Hopefully he could avoid her though. Ben just wanted to talk to Hux. Hux knew about this stuff. 

While he sat down with a coffee and debated how to go about everything, Ben went over his emails and the daily news— anything to get his mind to just calm down or settle on a single emotion for a couple of minutes. It was too early to be worried about a vampire bat being weird and whether he should be relieved or not that it hadn’t lunchable’d him.

As far as news went though, there were very few things to take his mind of the situation. After the world shattering disaster that’d been the Palpatine coup only a handful of days prior, that was perhaps even more concerning. 

Even his work email was dangerously lacking in updates. Ben had been both banking on and dreading the inevitable file that would pop up, but nothing ever came. It usually didn’t ever take management more than a day to send one out. You needed time after you got it for prep work, for study. It’d been over three days however, four if you counted the night he’d celebrated the completion of his last assignment. With things the way they were there was a decent list of reasons why management might be late to get paperwork out, but it worried him nonetheless. Ben decided to just call and ask. It couldn’t hurt, and there was always the lingering fear that told him he might be in trouble again. He could ask about the bat as an afterthought, just one of those ‘by the way’ things that wouldn’t get him too chewed out because it wasn’t really the reason he’d called. Hux picked up on the second ring, timely as ever. 

“Ben?”

“Hux, I haven’t gotten a file in forever. What’s the word?”

“It’s been barely over three days, you absolute child.”

“Hux.”

Ben heard a heavy sigh under the phone static, as if he were some sort of nuisance or chore. It irked him.  “You’re not in trouble if that’s what you’re asking.” Hux finally said. Damn him. “You probably should’ve asked yourself ‘will they be sending anyone out after this?’ first. There’s bigger things being taken care of right now than your sorry ass.” Something dropped in Ben’s stomach. 

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. You’re really not that important.” 

“Not about that! Are they not sending anyone out? At all?” This was news. Not the kind he’d been looking or hoping for though. 

“Some… But not you. You’re on their ‘no fly’ list right now. Just about everybody is unless you’re near ground Zero.”

“Who’s not then?”

“Who else? Blue Squadron and Squadron Seven are being sent out to help with security, catch, and release.  Right now Royal is the only one permitted to go out in our area unless something happens. Things are unusually quiet here and they want everyone to be ready when it really hits the fan. Or they find the heir. Fat chance there.”

Something fired in the back of Ben’s head and he had to ask. “What about Black Squadron?”

“What about Black Squadron?”

“Hux,” Ben warned. “Where are they?” 

Silence…

“Gone. Organa had all issued equipment and vehicles put under lock and key. It didn’t do a thing.” He almost sounded proud. “No one can get ahold of them. Houses empty, spouses gone, phones off. No one even knows where they are for certain, but I think we can all guess.” 

“Fuck…”

“The Ben I know and despise would’ve been all over this the second it dropped. You’ve been radio silent for days and you’re only just now asking these questions. Is it a funeral, a wedding, or a lay? Who's dead?” 

“You’re certainly crass today.” Now Ben almost regretted calling. “I’ve been busy….” Here it came... Ben steeled himself and took a deep breath. “I found a bat the other night. A cat got ahold of it or something— Been taking care of it.”

A long, awful silence followed, and Ben actually checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. Finally Hux’s voice came over again. “You’re shitting me.” 

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

“You-”

“I said ‘I don’t want to hear it!’” Suddenly talking to Hux about his problem seemed a lot less appealing. 

“This I have to see. I’m coming over.”

Ben huffed. “You will not. If we’re not supposed to be out then neither are you.”

“Please. They’re just being cautious. Nothing’s in Chandrilla yet.”

He closed his eyes to keep from rolling them. He wasn’t really asking when he said “You’re not at the church, are you?” 

The tightness in his friend’s voice was all the answer he needed though. “It got crowded. I got out. So what?” 

“Hux!” Ben wasn’t the brightest person in any room, but at least he knew the dangers of someone like Hux being out right now. He knew Hux wasn’t that stupid either. “Don’t ‘So what?’ Me! You know what!” He could almost physically feel his friend closing off across the line. It did nothing to stop his big mouth however. He'd already started and his temper was flaring red hot. 

“Don’t you dare start. I’ve been hearing enough of that from your mother.” And if that wasn’t too close to ‘You’re just like your mother’ Ben didn’t know what was. The Ass!

“She has a point sometimes. Go back to the church, Hux. You know it’s not safe for you out there.” 

“Bite me.”

The call dropped. Ben was left staring angrily at a black screen in his hand. Hux was going to get himself killed if he wasn’t careful, and they all knew it. He needed help. He needed Leia Organa, a therapist, a cage, anything that’d keep him from being this reckless! 

The text was typed out and sent before he even had time to really think about it. She never ignored him, especially not these days. She wouldn’t now. 

‘The fox is out.’ He was actually tattling to his mother about this… that hurt. Almost immediately three bubbles popped up. They disappeared and came back a few times before he got any kind of solid response. 

‘I know. Nothing we can do. Leave him alone.’ A solid response sure, but not one he had to like…

Ben switched over to his messages with Hux and tried one last time. ‘Hux, go back to St. Tokodana. You’re not safe.’ No response came and he knew it probably wouldn’t. Not for a few hours if at all. It wouldn’t do anything but he couldn’t help himself. 

Tracking him down wouldn’t do anything but make the situation worse. Hux would go back on his own, probably before dark, and things would be fine. He just had to trust that he had protection and wouldn’t be anymore stupid than usual. 

Ben needed out. Cabin fever was real and he had it. There were a few errands he could run while he waited on word from his friend. His anger hadn't abated, but he knew when it did he'd be left cold. Hux was more fragile than anyone liked to think. Ben knew that, knew he had to tread lightly sometimes more than others, and yet he still found himself constantly stumbling over certain lines he didn't mean to cross. 'Shit. Be better, Ben, you fuckup.'

With a fully charged phone (triple checked), and a head full of new information, Ben collected his wallet, keys, and bat and left the house. All suspicions about his new roommate were long forgotten in the face of newly growing fears. 

‘Just don’t do anything else stupid, Hux.’

Chapter Text

Day one. Ground Zero, Palpatine Manor. 

He hadn’t been anywhere near Rey that night. He’d been in the dungeon, attending to business only the heiress knew about and encouraged. Both to him and others it’d seemed to happen all at once. Or at least, he assumed. At the time every face was white, not with the usual lack of circulation and life, but with a palpable fear, a sickening shock that left many petrified and doomed to succumb. Many of them he’d never seen since, but some he knew he never would again.

He’d fought desperately to escape that night. It was all he could do to get out with his own afterlife. Barely a handful of others followed in his wake. Only two of those had had beating hearts, one by the end of it all. It wasn’t fair. 

Near the end of the night the group was separated, lost and damned to be lost on their own. He’d been one of those unlucky few to be completely alone, no partner, no friend, no food source. Cut off in a way that he’d not felt since the first hours of his afterlife. It was hell. 

It was only then, when he found himself solo that he’d thought to worry about the Palpatine Heiress. They’d all felt the shift, the changing of hands from Sheev to Rey. Perhaps a dozen individuals were aware of her existence before that night. After the dust had settled however, even if they didn’t know who or where she was, they knew someone new had taken hold of the mantle, taken hold of them. That someone wasn’t with them. They’d fled like the rest. 

‘Survive.’ A voice said, and they’d all listened, compelled by its hold to reach for another night and beyond. 

Guilt had overcome him soon after that. He’d left her. They’d all left her, even if they didn’t know anything about her. They’d left their head. Wallowing wouldn’t get anyone anywhere though, and os he’d pressed on and did his best to swallow the bitter feeling.

For days he’d wandered, isolated and yet for the first time in years freer than he’d ever been. There weren’t any humans, but it was a wood, and plenty an animal had been spooked away from the manor as he’d been. It wasn’t as rich or sweet by any standard, but it would keep him alive…unalive, anyways. 

Days of being on the edge were followed by harrowing news at last though. It was no secret that the heiress was a target, but suddenly that was the only target. If you were caught, there was no conversion, no conditioning or holding until ties could be transferred. There was ‘join us’ or there was second death.

Snoke knew that wasn’t any real set of options. That awful creature knew there was no choice in following heads. As he hid in the wood and prayed to a God that, with hope, had not abandoned him for his sins, Mr. Black knew he was after-living proof of such truth. He’d never wanted this. He’d wanted life, and killed for it. He still killed for it, even after having died for it so long ago.

If the heiress was found though, all hope would be lost. All choice, all light, and every life and afterlife would be eaten by the void. His prayers grew quieter, the first ones he’d spoken aloud in a lifetime. Because if this was how far they’d fallen, perhaps there really was no God. Or if there was, perhaps it was them that He must beg forgiveness from. 

Still he prayed though, and searched, searched for anyone else. The only bags ‘people— Think people’ he found were empty, dead either by their own hands or drained by another’s. He wondered how many had really escaped that night, and the nights afterwords— if any had made it in the end at all. Despite his failure to find any others, these woods were filled with starving brethren. Few humans ‘people, yes.’ would survive that. 

Once or twice he narrowly escaped a run-in with hunters. Perhaps one had seen him, but not his face. Should they recognize him, one who’d done such unspeakable things for the empire, they would not rest until they’d flayed him in the sun.

He didn’t count the days, too lost in survival and his own mind to even think about that. He did wait though, wait for his heiress, the new Palpatine head to send word. Any word really. That she was still alive (unalive), still safe, still healing, still near her second death. Anything.

And then it finally came. His patience was rewarded with a tug on the line, the dog-leash that’d tied him to Palpatine for so many years. ‘Come to me.’ She whispered.

It was near painful the relief that washed over him, an ocean of cries that said ‘she’s safe!’  He had to find her. He needed to go to her, to obey not only her words but his need. He could almost reach out and touch her, see how weary she’d become in the days past. 

 ‘As you will it, so it shall be.’ He promised. No more waiting. No more hiding. 

* * * *

Now he sat here days later, no longer feeling so alone as he stared across the street at a suburban blue painted house. Plain, in need of a new coat, and with a beat up old truck sitting in the drive, nothing about it looked particularly abnormal by any stretch. An average house by all means, but he knew otherwise. Could smell it in the lingering salt by the truck, the overly familiar scent, or perhaps lack thereof, he wasn’t quit 

He knew what sat in that house. The heiress was also there though. She’d called him here- not to rescue her, he felt that much, but nothing more. There would be no getting into that house anytime soon anyways.  There would be another day. He just needed to stay close, be ready.

‘I am here.’

‘Stay back. Stay close. Stay hidden.’

He would obey.

‘Of course.’ 

* * * *

Rey could feel him. He’d come. He was here. 

She asked him to stay away, but not too far, to remain out of sight. She had to move quickly now. Snoke was after her— she needed to get away. However, even with all that,  she still couldn’t make herself go.

She told herself it was because so far no one had recognized her. That no one would. She was just a bat. They weren’t looking for a bat in some awful man’s care, they were hunting an heir to the Palpatine mantle; A woman ready to take on the dynasty and all its wealth, subjects, and power. That wasn't her.

More and more though the excuse, because that’s really all it was, wasn’t holding water. They would recognize her. Most humans wouldn’t. Some hunters wouldn’t. But if you’d lived for any kind of time with vampires, among them and not killing them, you knew the difference. It was the same difference between a wild looking domestic dog and a real wolf. There was no mistaking. There was no taming. They were wild animals. There existed people out there that knew the difference. People who’d served vampires, who’d been served to vampires. Some could even know by the feel of the air around you she'd heard- Prey that'd developed the ability to know the presence of a nearby predator, a threat, just by listening to their instincts. Palpatine had been fascinated by such a concept, but Rey heard little of it after that first rumor. The bottom line was that, for worse or better, they'd know her. Then there were vampires, kin. Those hid in plain sight less but were far more dangerous. They looked at you and saw a reflection. They’d recognize what she was too. 

This was quickly becoming a dangerous game, but Rey didn’t want to leave. Things were simple as a bat. Nice, plain, and warm. She’d never had that. A hundred bathes were worth the risk to have and hold onto such a thing... Even if she should leave. She was strong enough, getting hungry enough. What he fed her wasn’t sufficient— the other night was proof of that. But she’d known hunger before, it was no great sacrifice to know it again in the face of whatever this was. Was she willing to risk him though? This strange and quite frankly oblivious man? Could she even protect him if things started to go sideways? It'd never been part of her etiquette, not officially. That was the question, though. That was the reality. How selfish was she willing to be to put him in danger? Help was here. It was time to leave. He would be fine. 

Yet still Rey stayed. Continued to debate with herself and negotiate.

It was all because of that awful man. He had some kind of hold over her— something felt so rarely in the afterlife, only barely recognized from life and the before times of death, her survival. He’d caged her with his compassion.

‘Wicked man.’

‘Just another day. One more day.’ Rey wasn’t sure if it was a promise or some sort of bargaining for more time. Frankly she didn’t really care. It was only one day. She would leave the following night, after he’d gone to sleep. Guilt would only spoil the time a little. ‘A little' wasn’t very much in the grand scheme of things… she hoped. 

Chapter Text

Groceries and errands only took about two hours. There wasn’t anything that would go bad if he left it out, and Ben was un-eager to get back home and play the waiting game. It was easier to do that out and about, where he could wander and distract himself with window-shopping and people-watching. More than once Ben caught himself doing a double-take at a familiar head of black hair or a coat he’d seen a thousand times. Hair hadn’t been exclusive to Poe though, and the coat had, at one time, been mass produced.

Ben at one point was forced to admit (if only to himself) that perhaps Hux wasn’t the only one under a lot of stress right now. 

Palpatine Manor had been one of the only leads they had. The coup was a last ditch effort in that avenue, at least for Ben, but so far nothing had come of it. No witnesses, no stray vampires, not even the new refugees were able to give any information on whether or not he’d been there. A once in a lifetime look into an otherwise impenetrable fortress, yet it still gave nothing. Nothing Ben was interested in anyways. 

The more Ben walked around and thought, the more he swore he saw him. In crowds, on sidewalks, in bright out of the way coffee shops that Ben would most definitely hate, but his friend would’ve once loved. His heart skipped a beat every time.

All fleeting glances. All just barely close enough to mistake. Every time he thought it was him,  he’d turn to look again, and every time it wasn’t. It was always a stranger, that too-familiar coat that wasn’t really, or worst of all, nobody at all. 

Poe was everywhere, and at the same time he was nowhere.  

To its credit, the bat seemed content to stay in his hoodie pocket and relax while Ben spiraled. It was a wild animal and probably didn’t like people anyways. All the better to stay out of sight. Maybe he should take it home— it wasn’t good to let it out in public too long. It shouldn’t be desensitized to people. They were similar in a lot of things like that…

Eventually Ben figured he should drop everything off at the house and head to St. Tokodana. There was always something they needed help with there. They’d especially need help right now with everything the way it was. He would worry about having to face his mother there later. His current distraction had worked a little too well— just in the wrong direction. A new one was in order. 

Just as he resolved to turn back towards his truck though, a familiar voice called to him from across the street. “Ben!” It said, and he swung his head around to see the owner of that voice, Finn, J-walking to meet him. 

“Ben! I haven’t seen you around, man. Where’ve you been?” 

 The absolute last thing Ben needed during his sunshine and daisies day before the apocalypse day was having a detective breathing down his neck, least of all this one— the one who never seemed to know just how much he put Ben on edge. Or when to drop a subject for that matter, particularly as of late. There would be no avoiding Finn today it seemed. He’d been found, and they both knew it. 

‘Shit.’ 

Ben did his best to plaster on a smile, probably no better than a weird pained grimace. “Out of town. Work had me in Pennsylvania for the last month or so.” It’d actually been West Virginia. Parsvirpartinia (more commonly known as Moth-people because it didn’t kill you to say that) weren’t having the best year. Stereotypically, they were actually vehemently for more street lights. Some of the more influential families had actually helped over the years fund major highway lighting projects. Great for night-driving safety, not so great for the environment or Parsvirpartinia’s own anonymity. The light had drawn one individual closer to populations in the area than was safe, and they’d developed a taste for human blood. Local moths had helped Ben locate and euthanize her after a thorough investigation. By the end of it all she’d caused 5 deaths, 23 hospitalizations, and the stir-up of Mothman legends and fear all anew. 

Finn didn’t need to know any of that though. He didn’t really seem to question it either, and that was probably for the best. “Yea? That’s cool. You in town for a while?”

Ben shrugged. “A while yea- I think, anyway. They’re really unsure at the moment.”

“Well hey, why don’t I buy you a coffee? Been a while— I’d love to catch up.” 

“Oh, um—no. No, I probably shouldn’t. Thank you, though—” 

Ben tried to wave him off politely and was almost immediately interrupted with a near-stony “Let me buy you a coffee.” It wasn’t a request, hardly even an offer. Then suddenly Finn was gone again, crossing back across the street and heading towards some hipster type cafe down the block. He knew Ben would follow, annoyed and feeling a bit less generous than two minutes before, but he couldn’t blame him. Ben had done his fair share of avoiding the detective for a while now, and Finn probably wasn’t entirely ignorant of that fact. 

The Cafe was just as annoyingly niche as Ben thought it would be. It was full of plain walls, accented by a faux brick one. It had an open ceiling concepts where the pipes showed, and picture frames with either nothing in them or nothing of substance in them hung on just about every wall. Most notably though were the customers—they glanced up at anyone walking in and gave a look— the kind of look that either meant, ‘yea I get you.’ Or ‘Are you lost?’ depending on what stereotype they thought your appearance fell under. He definitely fell under the latter category, though. Ben didn’t really get it. Then again he supposed he didn’t really have to.

Fin didn’t seem to mind, and it wasn’t like they were here for either of their choices. Ben let him order something for the both of them at the counter—Two fraps with chocolate caramel and vanilla, which admittedly didn’t sound awful, and Ben threw in that he wanted one of the overpriced (though he didn’t say that) banana chocolate chip muffins. He’d need it if this conversation was going to go the way he thought it would. 

Once they sat down and got settled with their drinks, Fin seemed to put on his game face— ready to get down to business. “Okay.” He said quietly. “Tell me about Poe.” 

Ben did his best not to squirm under Finn’s eyes and gave a heavy sigh. “Finn, I haven’t heard anything lately. I’m sorry. You have more resources than I do and you know it.”

Finn held his pointer-finger out at Ben like it was a gun. “You know that’s bull, Ben. You know it, and I know it.”

“Finn—“

“No. I’m serious.”

Ben slumped back into his chair and began gnawing on the muffin. This is exactly the way he didn’t want it to go. The way he knew it would too. 

“Look Finn, I don’t—“ and Finn’s dark look stopped him in his tracks. “ I can’t tell anything. If you know anything then you know I can’t.”

“I know Poe used to help you guys. I know he used to turn a blind eye for you— That he thought you were best friends.”

“We are. There’s no ‘were.’” Ben hissed back. “He’s still out there.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“Finn, I’m trying.”

“Are you?”

Ben took a long swig of his coffee, almost glad for the burning it left behind. “I thought I knew a place. New evidence came back and they think it’s probably a bust.”

“Where?”

Ben was sure he gave a look that said ‘really?’ But he couldn’t help it. “I’m not telling you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll go there.”

“And what if I do?”

He’d been doing so well but at that Ben couldn’t help but finally roll his eyes. He wasn’t subtle about it either. “Look. I love Poe but we both know he couldn’t keep a secret from you. I know he told you probably more than you’re letting on. I knew it then, and I know it now. So I know you know there are certain places that we. Just. Don’t. Go. And for good reason.” 

Finn set his jaw like he wanted to fire back. Ben waited until he looked away, sure he wouldn’t interrupt, before continuing. “I thought Poe was in one of those places, but now I’m thinking I was wrong. Something happened there a few days ago and a lot of people got out. We’re asking the ones we can get ahold of. So far no one knows anything about him, though. I’m holding out hope but it’s pretty clear that if he was there at all, ever, then they hid him well, or they moved him early on. He’s not there and I’m back at the drawing board, okay? That’s me being honest. No bullshit. Full disclosure. I don’t know anything, but I wish I did.”
Finn wouldn’t look at him for a while after that. They just sat together and drank their coffee in a painful silence. Ben wanted nothing more than to jump up and run, but stayed. It felt like he should stay. Even if it was killing him. 

“I’m really tired, Ben.” It startled Ben to hear Finn finally speak. And he jumped in his chair a bit. He felt the bat stirring in his hoodie pocket, disturbed and probably hungry. “It feels like he was here just yesterday. I want him back, and I don’t know how to do that.”

Ben refrained from giving the usual ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ spiel. The last time he had, things hadn’t gone well. So he simply stayed quiet. 

“I want in.”

He scoffed. “You don’t. Things are getting worse.”

“Don’t tell me it’s safer not to get involved. That’s all the more reason and you know it.”

“Finn-”

“Ben.”

Ben took a deep breath and downed the rest of his coffee. He needed something stronger but it was all he had. He raised his hands and held them in a praying motion in front of his face. With eyes closed he willed himself to be strong. “Look—”

“Holy fuck!” Ben’s eyes shot open. He looked first to Finn, then to where the man’s gaze was caught. He nearly coughed up a lung choking on his own air. “Ben— what the fuck?!”

Quickly Ben swiped the bat from its place on the table. It’d been going for the muffin. People were looking now. He hoped they didn’t see him shove the animal back into his hoodie pocket and hold it there. He hoped they hadn’t seen it at all, but no one was jumping up yet. Safety measures were quickly becoming necessary. Then again what did he expect with an open ended pouch? ‘Fuck me.’ 

Finn opened his mouth to say something again and Ben held a finger to his own lips meaningfully. Finn’s jaw snapped shut with an audible clack. For the first time the man seemed to realize the kind of attention he’d brought to them, pulling his shoulders up to his ears and almost seeming sheepish. The anger from before was still there though. That conversation wasn’t over, just sidetracked. Quieter this time, Finn leaned across the table and asked almost casually “Ben why do you have a wild animal in your pocket?”

“Job stuff.” Ben immediately lied.

“Ben I’m sure you can bluff your way out of plenty of ‘Job stuff’ situations but I know you. What’s with the bat? You’re gonna get someone sick.”

“No I’m not.” Ben felt indignant. He wasn’t stupid- and he was great at bluffing. “I have some shampoo I got last year for a chupacabra. It’s serious stuff. Kills just about anything but the animal.”

Finn’s eyes blew up like dinner plates. More hushed, and more urgent he hissed “Chupacabras are real?” And Ben could’ve slapped himself. 

“Shit. You didn’t hear that.”

The silence was back, and somehow so much worse as the detective processed these words for what seemed like endless seconds. Then Finn looked around and shook himself. He turned back with steely eyes again, only somewhat dulled by the strange turn of events. ‘Back to business then.’ Ben sighed internally.

“Look. Forget the bat, okay? Just give me something. A lead, a reassurance, a name, anything. I want to help. I deserve the chance to help.”

Something twisted in Ben’s gut. Something that’d been festering for however long it was since Poe’d been gone and they’d all been searching, because no matter what he refused to count the days, the months, the years. He was just gone— They didn’t need to think about for how long, because he’d come back. They’d get him back. 

Seeing Finn sit in front of him though… It was too close to home. Too much of a mirror, and it was too eye opening. You could read the time stamp on his forehead plain as day. Ben looked away so he didn’t have to. This is what he’d been avoiding, even if he didn’t know it. 

Ben felt himself finally crack. “The guy who might have had Poe is dead.” He whispered. “We’re trying to track down his heir. If Pal… If the original captor is gone, and he did have Poe, then the heir will have him now. It’s for a different reason mostly, but just about everyone we can spare is out looking for him.”

“And you?”

“Standby. A lot of us here are on downtime cause they think crap is about to hit the fan. My guess is they’ll work the first wave of hun— employees into the ground until they need to switch to another shift. They don’t like shuffling players when it’s like this. What do I know, though?”

He could see Finn getting invested, curling his spine to hunch closer and listen. “And who’s ‘Pal-something?’ Who’s the heir?” He asked, more of a polite demand really, if there were such a thing.

Ben pulled his hands from his pocket and held them up in mock surrender though. “Finn— I’ve told you all I can for right now. You’re gonna have to respect that. If Poe’s name pops up I’ll text, but you’re gonna have to drop it for now.” He was already in deep shit if anyone found out he’d given this much up. It was time to get out. 

He could see Finn wanted to protest— caught in that awkward place between “No tell me more.” and “Thank you.” Insistence and  gratitude. 

Before he could make up his mind between the two Ben stood up from his chair. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more than that. I’ll see you around, Finn.” He started off but stopped and turned back for the muffin. He motioned with it in his hand to the other man. “Thanks for the coffee, and this.” And then he rushed out the door, hoping Finn wouldn’t follow. Luckily he didn’t. He was still sitting down and staring ahead when Ben looked back. 

He would go to St. Takodana’s tomorrow. Right now he just wanted to go home and wait for Hux to finally text back. It’d be one less friend to worry about. 

Chapter Text

Even hours after escaping that place, Hux can’t really breathe right. It’s dark now. The city’s come to life in a new way, a neon lights, shady dealers, night runners, and party animals kind of way that Hux could almost enjoy. It’s quieter if you know where to be. Loud and focused enough to drown out your thoughts in others— something he especially craves from time to time. 

After years spent in the dark though, he still prefers the light. What comfort the night gives him he never admits to, never expresses or confirms in any way. That would be admitting that it still held him in some way, that piece of him that was supposed to be dead. 

Old comforts. Old habits. Old evils. They all seemed to run hand in hand. 

He hadn’t checked his phone in hours, not since the text Ben sent him. He was right of course. Hux knew that, he wasn’t an idiot and they were both aware, but it wasn’t something he would admit to either. 

Secrets, secrets, secrets.

‘Shut up.’

Besides a clock that he’d seen some time earlier that evening, there was no way to know the time. 11: 42 p.m. it’d read. That was forever ago— hours long gone or so he assumed. He couldn’t know for certain—had stuffed his watch into the pocket of his coat just to be sure he wouldn’t. No phone. No watch. No car. Hux couldn’t even remember where he’d left his car. The keys were still in his pants pocket but they weren’t worth anything if he couldn’t find the damned thing. Not that he wanted to. That would mean going back.

Currently an autumn night outside was far more appealing to one inside at St. Takodana’s. It brought with it comfort. The chill air was a welcome relief to the warmth of too many bodies packed into the same place. It was familiar in a different way, a more terrible way, but a way he was more used to. It wore on his joints and fingers, making them ache. His toes were fine where they say bundled in his shoes— they were still tailored for this weather. Old habits die hard, Hux supposed. If only he’d still kept gloves too…

Going inside any convenience store or gas station risked the light and people. It’s what’d kept him away thus far. As the night wore on and a thirst had started to crawl up his throat though, he finally relented. He wandered passed a few less savory places, too crowded for the hour, too brightly lit, too dirty, until he came across one that stood up to his lowest of low standards. 

They must not have been total heathens because they had a decent variety of Spindrift flavors. Ben always ribbed him for his drink choice, but Hux would always consider it the most decent of common drinks. He grabbed a grapefruit flavored one and a set of ill-fitting but decent feeling black gloves. He threw both on the counter and eyed the wall of cigarettes behind the clerk. 

‘No. Not tonight.’

Old habits die hard but some he wished went faster than others. It was easier these days, though. They were more a reminder than anything, like all the rest. It helped to think "Next time." and not a definitive "No" even if "Next time" never came. Despite his best attempts he still caught a glimpse of a clock on the wall by the cigarettes. 2:47 it read. Hux cursed that he’d ever seen it, ever became aware of how long he’d been wandering. That was the point of walking in the dark. You didn’t know. He paid and snatched his can and gloves from the counter. Back into the cold he went. It was getting harder to overlook how sore his feet were becoming, but Hux was content to ignore it more strongly, more firmly. They were just feet. They’d surely kill him tomorrow— His shoes were built for the cold, not long walks across the city and rougher terrain— but they were just feet. He’d survive. Hux continued to walk, and think, and walk, and try not to think at all. It didn’t really work. He just guessed it was worth a try.  

* * * *

Some indiscernible amount of time later Hux found himself noticing a figure in the distance. It pulled him from his fog and put his brain instantly into business mode. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt his heart start to slow in anticipation. Instinct never lied. Not to him. 

The figure appeared normal enough for someone who would be out at such an unearthly hour, but Hux knew. He knew by the way they were holding onto another man like he was a rag-doll, sagging and only barely clutching at the figure’s wrists and neck now— wouldn’t do them any good. He knew by the shape, the curve of the spine, the feel that the air had taken on. He was watching a hunt. The stranger hadn’t noticed him yet. They were barely tucked into an alleyway off to the side— uncaring about witnesses or bystanders in the early hours. No one was around. Hux could walk away. Would have in another life. Had in another life.

In all honesty it probably would’ve been the smarter thing to do. Hux didn’t carry weapons of nearly any caliber. He wasn’t a good fighter.

He could call? He should call. 

But the figure shifted then before he’d made a decision. Coppery light from a distant streetlamp bloomed across their face in the barest of reliefs. It was enough though. Enough to see a face. To know. Something came over Hux then. Not anger. Not fear. It wasn’t even really a calm, but it was familiar, that same familiar he’d been running from for years now. Slowly, fearlessly, Hux swayed across the street and up to the figures. He didn’t seem to notice. How unlike a vampire. Unprofessional. “Ben’s been looking for you, you know?” He didn’t like how cold it sounded. How like him it was. “Long time no see."

He watched the figure jolt, drop the body with a disgustingly wet pop and then a splat. The man groaned from where he lay sprawled on the ground— probably fine. 

Hux kept his eyes focused on the character in front of him, though. That was his main focus. The light was behind him down the sidewalk, throwing a long heavy shadow that ended at Hux’s shoes. Beady animal eyes peered out at him from a tattered hood. He’d been raiding dumpsters it appeared-- torn clothes, stained or otherwise too big looking despite his already large frame.

It was impossible to miss the leather coat though. There was sweat stained cheap jacket under it, too thin for the weather, and a band shirt he’d obviously stolen off a clothes line somewhere else. The leather coat though… It was like he was compensating for the one he’d left behind... it’d seen better days.

They both knew he didn’t need it for the cold. He didn’t need any of it. “You’ve certainly fallen far.” Hux sniffed the air and caught a whiff of something rancid. “In all senses of the phrase, really.”

Still the figure stayed silent, standing rigid as the grave and piercing him with nearly unreadable glowing specks from beneath the hood. Hux had always hated that. You couldn’t read eye-shine, not like human eyes. It was usually humbling to see evidence that they really were predators, but he’d grown used to it— immune even. It was just annoying now. 

He watched the man come to some sort of decision, turn, and start walking off down the sidewalk again— as if Hux wasn’t even there. 

“Fucker.” He breathed it low like a curse. They’d still hear it, couldn't miss it with those ears. The can from earlier was still in his hand, barely a quarter full and with the tab rattling around inside it. Hux reeled back and chucked it in the man’s direction. It flew harmlessly past his shoulder and landed down the way, spilling what was left on the concrete. The figure stopped and swung his head back towards him, stiffening his shoulders like he was actually offended. 

“What?” Hux growled. “Pick it up.” The figure turned slowly back around to face him properly. On top of everything it looked like he had the audacity to be confused too. “Don’t just stand there like some kind of mongrel pup. Pick. It. Up.” Hux took a few steps forward, stopping just shy of the long trailing shadow again. “If you’re gonna make me clean up your trash, you’d better clean up mine. I don’t do anything for free. You know that.”

“Excuse me?” Hux stayed quiet, refused to answer on principal, really. His words were worth far more than to give response to the likes of ‘Excuse me?’. Unoriginal and just plain— almost downright criminal. 

The figure didn’t seem to think so though, and took a step towards him finally, hard and not at all like the quiet footsteps Hux grew up with. “You really are a cold hearted bastard, you know that?”

He’d heard this a thousand times before in some variation or another, and would hear it a thousand time again the same, of that there was no argument. Still. It’d been old the second time around. “Both sentiments are true. From one cold heart to another though, let me just say ‘that’s rich.’ Now pick up the can like a good boy and I might have them go easy on you. I won’t ask again.”

“You don’t give the orders anymore. I think you’re forgetting that.” His voice had taken on an almost acerbically sweet tone— glad to give the reminder, then. That was something they shared. Hux didn’t exactly hate hearing it either, but in moments like this it was a double edged sword to remember. 

He gave a heavy sigh, anything to get rid of that weight in his chest. Where were those cigarettes now?

“Maybe not on that side of the fence. It’s been a while since you were around though. Things change.” 

“Not that.” No, not that, but he didn’t need to know that. Shouldn’t know it if people did their jobs. 

Still, the response was interesting. “That’s the part you’re going to pick a fight about? Really shows me where your priorities lie.” Hux felt he needed to pick it apart, told himself it was interrogation and not a needless needling. 

“You know I can’t help it.”

 ‘Wrong answer.’ 

“I know you could have.” An offer, a way out. 

“It’s not that eas—” 

‘No!’

“Bullshit. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? I watched countless —what I once thought to be lesser men than you— die to keep their secrets. To keep their allegiance. Hell—Their honor even. Fuck you for saying otherwise.” Bile rose at the back of his throat. 

“That’s enough—”

“I say when it’s enough, you feckless bastard. Do you know what kind of position this puts me in? How am I supposed to look everyone in the eye and tell them what you’ve done? How am I supposed to tell Ben?”

He’d finally seemed to have enough, storming forward and growling over him.“You forget yourself.” He stopped just short of running into Hux, uncomfortably nose to nose and jamming a pointed claw into his chest. “Snoke isn’t here to protect you anymore.”

“Shut up.” Hux didn’t back away, didn’t gag at the familiar stench of blood and alcohol on the other man’s breath, but he felt a chill run up his spine— Felt his heart jump up a beat that wouldn’t go unnoticed too. Still he didn’t back down. 

He should, he knew he should. It didn’t change the fact that he wouldn’t though.

The dull pricks of eye-shine flickered down to his chest then back up again. No, it hadn’t gone unnoticed, and that made Hux’s heart pick up a beat more. He was out of practice. “In fact,” The figure almost slurred the words, “word is he’s put a price on you. I don’t think it’s me who should be keeping my mouth shut, Bloodcoat.” 

Hux spat at his face, determined and suddenly emboldened once more. “I. Will. Say. As. I. Please.”  

He watched him wipe at his cheek and eye, looking almost thoughtfully down at his hand and the saliva it was covered in. “You’re not above me, Hux—” He started to say, but Hux cut him off again.

“Damn right I am! I never let them do to me what you let them! I’d rather be dead than one of you fucks!” 

Something in the other man’s eye-shine flickered brighter, almost sparked. “Let’s put that to the test, shall we?” And then he lunged. 

Chapter Text

Ben had been unable to go to bed. It felt wrong, and he was too restless to even get under the covers. He got home, fed and put the bat back in its box, made dinner, texted his mothers for over half an hour (trying and failing miserably to drag any information about Black Squadron out of her), taken a long hot shower, and brushed his teeth. There was nothing else to do. No file, no Hux to text, no Dad calling him up to come save him and Chewy from some shenanigans gone wrong. Or as the old man always said “It’s not saving, Ben. You’re just cheaper than an Uber.”

Still, Ben would’ve relished in the task, the diversion. He almost wished her went to St. Takodana’s after all, but the crowds would’ve still been too much.

So instead he paced, and paced, and checked his phone, and paced some more. It was miserable, and soon even the adrenaline and nervous energy was starting to fade. Despite that his mind kept moving, speeding through all different forms of ‘What if’s and ‘If only’s that all left him quite frankly ill feeling. 

There wasn’t exactly a lot to do at (Ben checked his watch for what must be the thousandth time tonight) 1:30 a.m.. Last call wasn’t too far off and it probably wasn’t a great idea to get smashed right now anyways. The last time he’d done that he’d come home with a new dependent for tax season. 

‘Right… The bat.’

The animal had acted as a distraction for days now from a lack of file or news. More-so than window-shopping or people watching ever could have. What was he gonna do when it was gone? The thing was getting better. It hadn’t succeeded in flying yet. He’d googled it— they needed something to hang from to fly. No matter how many times he let it hang from his hand or a pencil, and no matter how many times it tried, it still always ended in a slow fluttery fall. It was getting better though, stronger. Ben thought it was possible that by the end of the month it would be healthy enough to return to the wild— to be let go… That kind of hurt to think about, because then what? 

‘A cat’ 

He wasn’t exactly a big fan of cats but they were more portable and lower energy and maintenance than a dog. Probably. Well… Young dogs anyways. He could always get one of those elderly mutts from the pound or something. The ones people drop off and leave for something younger. 

None of these trains of thought really helped. They were all nearly as depressing as his current situation, but at least it was a change of pace.

Ben shook himself from his in-house hiking and wandered to the kitchen. A fresh pot of coffee was in order. It wasn’t a beer sure. In current events however, it would have to do. He couldn’t risk drinking or falling asleep, too afraid of what he’d find after waking up from either— Like last time.

While the coffeemaker got to work he shuffled back into his bedroom. A peak in the shoebox revealed his nocturnal friend to be wide awake and aware. It swiveled its tiny neck around so that beady black eyes faced him head on. ‘What now?’ It seemed to ask. Ben didn’t really know, but it would be better with company whatever it was. Since his nocturnal friend wasn’t exactly feeling the night-time effects of the sandman either, Ben figured that couldn’t hurt. He slipped on a freshly washed hoodie, scooped up the bat, and returned to the kitchen to wait on his coffee. 

Ben would be up for a while yet, and the bat would probably escape again if he weren’t careful anyways. They might as well be nuisances to each other—It’d keep them both from doing something stupid if nothing else. That was pretty big in his book. 

The coffeepot beeped— far too loud for the late and quiet hour— and he moved to get a clean mug from his cabinets. He should probably do the dishes soon. It took a while for one person to build up a load though. He thought it’d be easier to wash by hand but that wasted more water, or so he’d heard all his life. Who really knew? Thoughts bounced like this from one place to the next, never really sticking around for anything longer than a few moments. His mind was somewhat comforted by company and a hot drink. It helped. 

Bat in pocket and coffee in hand, Ben finally collapsed down onto the couch.  There was a long night ahead of them.  

* * * *

Ben woke up to his Dad’s signature phone ring. It was blaring at him from the cushion next to him. How had he fallen asleep? He cursed both his phone and his heart rate, which was suddenly uncomfortably fast. The bright screen or the blinding white numbers didn’t exactly help either. 5:01 it read. He cursed again just for good measure and fumbled to hit ‘answer.’

He nearly dropped the thing three times before getting it up to his ear. “Dad?” 

“Ben where are you?”

“I’m at the house. Why—What’s going on?”

“Are you sitting down?”

Something lodged in the back of Ben’s throat. “Yea. I’m on the couch. What’s going on, Dad?” It was practically a croak— from sleep, he told himself.

There was a heavy, staticky sigh from across the line. “A few things, actually.” Han warned. “First thing’s first. Hux is still alive but he was attacked.” 

Even sitting down Ben could feel his legs turn to nothing. ‘Alive’ was something but it meant he wasn’t exactly okay either. It meant a hundred different possibilities and the word ‘still’ did nothing to help. How long would that be true? He swallowed hard, tasting only ash and sour morning breath. “What else?”

“I’m just gonna have to say it. There’s honestly no way to sugarcoat this.”

‘’Just say it! Fuck!’

“Ben, Poe’s one of them. He attacked Hux. We have him in custody.”

Ben felt the phone fall out of his hand. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even think. No one in his state should ever be driving, everything was a blur, but here he was— barefoot and streaking out the door with keys in hand. 

From the living room floor Han’s voice still spoke, now muffled into the carpet; Asking for Ben, asking if Ben was still there, if Ben was on his way. He knew the answer to all of these questions and more probably. He was Han Solo doggonit, and more importantly he was Ben’s father. 

Eventually he seemed to resign himself to the reality, to what he knew was already going on. “See you soon, Kid.”

* * * *

Ben should’ve been pulled over. He probably only barely missed being pulled over honestly, saved only by luck and the semi-crowded roads that the 5:00 a.m. traffic crowd brings. Streets were already starting to clog, but he managed to weave his way between cars and through back alleys that he most likely picked up a few nails in the tires to take.  In one he accidentally scared a homeless man nearly shitless with his truck blazing by like a madman. Cars weren’t supposed to drive down these alleys— yet here he was. 

Ben wasn’t aware of how fast he managed to get to St. Takodana’s— a record best he would hopefully never have to achieve or beat again. With his profession being what it was, and his friends and family being who they were, that was probably unlikely, but he could always hope. 

‘Dreamers always dream.’ They always say, whoever the hell ‘they’ are. 

In any other situation his parking job would’ve gotten him in a world of trouble. Even then Ben wouldn’t have cared though. Barefoot and in only pajama pants and a thicker hoodie, he threw the truck’s door open and flew up the steps of St. Takodana’s. The morning was bitterly cold, a warning of what was to come, and even in the state he was in Ben recognized his lack of any protection— coat, shoes, knife, gun. Even his phone—which, as he threw his hands in both pants’ pockets just to be sure—was gone! Left at the house in his panic. His mind was flipping from channel to channel, from explicit curses at himself and his stupidity, to explicitly curses at Hux and his stupidity, to what could’ve happened, how bad it was, and WAS. HUX. OKAY?

On and on it went, leaving Ben trailing along to try and pick up the pieces and hold on. He barely stopped at the heavy doors, ramming himself into one and shoving it open with a loud ‘Bang!’ Once again it drew all eyes on him. He didn’t really care this time around, just wanted to be told what room, what floor, anything! He voiced all of this a bit too loudly, too angrily. No doubt he’d have some apologizing to do to later. The refugees didn’t like aggression or raised voices. 

Despite all this they seemed to know at least an inkling of what was going on. Because someone, a taller mute man he never remembered the name of, grabbed him by the arm and gestured for him to follow. Ben did, and suddenly they were racing through the ancient and drafty halls of the church. Again through paintings, tapestries, and old hidden hallways they went. Ben found himself tripping more than once, sometimes on his own feet, others on a faulty step or a tile that stuck out awkwardly because of old age. He was only saved by the patient older man, rail thin but deceptively strong. 

He really needed to remember his name!

Towards the end Ben started to recognize where their path would lead them. He picked up the pace with a more confident step. 

‘Left, straight, two— three— four— right, another right, two—three—four—five, left, straight, there!’

By the end of it Ben had to refrain from booking it down the hallways and dragging the man down with him. It was there though, and he rushed as much as he could to throw the door open to War Room One.  

* * * *

It took over ten minutes to calm Ben down enough for any kind of rational conversation. In that time there was a lot of screaming, yelling, and crying, most of the last being done on his part. A few hours later he would regret the tumbler he’d smashed against a wall, spraying some kind of sweet smelling pink drink across the floor and a wallpaper that should’ve been left in the 30s. He’d also regret the chairs he broke— either by accident when he fell over one, or intention, like the other two and a half he’d ripped apart or smashed with a nearby antique mace. There were probably other things he damaged along the way back to sanity, but that wasn’t exactly where his priorities were. It was besides the point— that was all then and this was now. And right now he was hurting. He was afraid, and angry, and so so confused, but most of all he was just plain hurting. 

His mother, father, and Chewie were all more than patient with him. They’d already gone through this. They’d been the first to get the memo. Chewie had actually been there. 

Why hadn’t somebody told him? They’d been following Hux. They’d had Chewie tailing Hux! It made sense— You didn’t really ever notice Chewie unless he wanted you to, but Ben still started things back up again when he heard. 

He’d been worried sick. He’d been up for hours! Afraid and alone and too anxious to go to bed, and they’d had a tail on Hux the whole time without telling him! Choice words were spoken, yelled really, and Han had to jump in to defend his wife and her decision. 

“Now you hang on a damn minute! That’s your mother! You watch your mouth!

Oh wait!”

Ben whirled on the man. “Don’t you dare.” He ground out through gritted teeth. Han was smirking, though. 

“You can’t!”

Ben raised himself to his full height and pointed a still shaking finger at his father. “I was 15!” he all but screeched. “You can’t expect a 15 year old to keep a secret like that!”

Han stood and mirrored him, yelling back just as passionately, but with that awful flairs of sarcasm and ‘We both know I’m right’ even if they didn’t and he wasn’t. Ben had no idea what he was yelling about, couldn’t even hear his own voice clearly between the two of them. He was just trying his best to drown out whatever overtired argument on the subject his Dad was currently throwing at him. It was working too. 

And then suddenly things got out of Ben’s control. One moment his feet are on the ground. One moment Han’s feet are on the ground. The next, both are in the air, by more than a few inches in fact. Ben looked up from his bare toes and over to where his dad swayed from side to side, hanging from the scruff of the back of his shirt, same as his son.  

Even years after being subjected to this kind of treatment from Chewie, the giant of a man that he was, they would probably never get used to this. No one  ever really did. So it’d become his go-to for breaking up fights, be it small or large. There were few things in the world more confidence-crushing than being picked up like a wet cat or a small toddler— like you weighed nothing— amidst your argument. Ben nearly always felt like he was being coddled when it happened. 

‘Yes, my boy. You’re very brave. Very scary. I bet you win all the fights on the playground.’

He hated it. Han hated it. Everyone hated it— at least they did when it was them. When it was someone else it always seemed funny. Ben wouldn’t really know if he were being truly honest with himself. He’d been the ‘them’ too often, and the ‘not them’ too little. It was always him it felt like, and maybe that said more about him than he felt comfortable thinking about currently. So Chewie stood, and they hung, and everything, for a moment, was frozen. Then his mother spoke. Her stern voice cut through the silence like a knife— uninterrupted and unchallenged amidst their hurt prides. “We have bigger problems than a bicker you two have had since Ben’s late childhood.”  She almost chastised. To Ben she then turned and explained, perhaps a bit more cautiously than before “Ben, we didn’t want any messages you would or wouldn’t send Hux to tip him off. You know he’s too clever for his own good— usually, anyways.” This last part she grumbled. “We didn’t want to take the chance and I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you, but I still think it was the right decision. I hope you can understand that.”

Ben swallowed hard. He wanted to fight her, to argue, but if Chewie’s stunt hadn’t taken it out of him, then the reminder about their current situation did. Instead he tried to turn the conversation, to get some kind of answers, some kind of explanation—Something. Even if he knew they probably didn’t have the ones he wanted. 

“Okay. Putting that aside for now,” he said, “Is Hux gonna be okay?”

* * * *

A lot of thing happened all at once, and Rey didn’t really care for most if any of them.  She’d been woken in the night— it was still dark out and her hours were now more in line with a humans. Curses to whoever phoned the man at such an unearthly hour. 

Then Suddenly she’d been suddenly jostled about while trying to ignore the call. There’d been a car ride in which she’d held on for dear life, feeling the speed and the swerves keenly from inside her pouch. That wasn’t supposed to happen. People weren’t supposed to drive like that! 

Then, of course, the worst of it came. 

It stole her breath, and with it, her voice, small as it had been before. It left her paralyzed in a way the man’s house never had. This was no mere dwelling. Even without ever having felt it she knew— this was a home, a Sanctuary. 

The only thing she could manage was wrapping herself up into a tight ball, making herself as small and unremarkable as possible, though she knew it wouldn’t help. This was older magic, older than the other, if that were possible, and it liked intruders far less than the other too. It curled its lip at her, eyeing not a harmless animal but an uninvited guest, and that was a great offense against not only it but its children, the people that dwelled in this place. She was not welcome.

Rey was tossed from side to side, rolling about until suddenly she was in the open air, and then tumbling down unto an ancient, worn cold stone floor. She lay paralyzed and afraid, in so much pain that thoughts could barely be formed before they were whisked away like wisps of smoke. 

Too much. It was too much. Surely it would kill her— if perhaps a stray foot didn’t first. Rey couldn’t even find the will to open her eyes, to see if she were found and among humans that would notice and crush her. No smell, no sound, no touch but the cold stone, and not a single sight to behold. Rey was left to suffer in the void, alone once again. 

Then like a warm summer breeze in life came the hands. It was a balm despite not being able to feel much else, her eye in the storm. With it came an uneasiness though, another striking fear. These weren’t the calloused hands of a hard working man. Not her stranger’s, who she wished were here so desperately and so suddenly. 

The whisper came next, soft as the lapping tide and like light itself to Rey’s weary bones. “I welcome you to St. Takodana’s, Miss Rey.” It called.

Chapter Text

“Is Hux gonna be okay?”

His mother’s grimace, the telltale twitch of one hand reaching for the other in something like self soothing told him he would’t get any answer he liked. No one seemed ready to look him in the eye suddenly, and it left Ben feeling like they were thrown back to square one again— unwilling or able to let him in on anything. On this Ben wouldn’t be kept in the dark though. He needed those answers even if they wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear. He swallowed hard.

Leia had everyone sit down in the remaining chairs before ‘getting into anything.’ There were still a dozen chairs left sitting askew here and there around the beaten old boardroom-like table. As they got settled Ben became aware of the broken bits scattered about the room, and the beginnings of shame started to creep in. His was not the first rampage it’d seen sure, but that certainly didn’t mean anything for his character or pride. Here and there a smear of blood was swiped across the floor, smudged on the furniture. Ben suddenly remembered his lack of shoes. He would regret his raging later in more than one way then. 

‘Oh well. Repentance.’  

After they were all seated and mentally prepping, there was another long silence. Leia didn’t seem too overly eager to break it, but Ben knew she was just gathering her strength, her will to continue something she never wanted to start in the first place. He watched this, sorry despite his anger at her decision to keep him in the dark. Every few seconds he had to remind himself to pull in another breath of air, to not to rush her, to stay still and not jump up once again. To just have patience. 

He wasn’t good at this…

Finally Leia spoke. When she did Ben felt himself start latching onto every word like the desperate man he was. “We have no way of knowing if he’ll survive at this point. We can assume that if he passes he’ll die. We’ve seen his conviction of that enough to know what he’ll choose. I don’t think he’ll come back, but right now it’s all a matter of chance, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry, Ben.”

“What do you mean chance? It either takes or it doesn’t!”

“You know it’s a despaired choice, Ben. Have a little compassion.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It never takes this long to fully infect though. It shouldn’t take this long. Is this a lasting effect? Something before?” 

Here Han stepped in, clearing his throat. He looked more closed off and suddenly a little more worse for the wear— pale and stone faced. “He’s been carving again.” He said the words quietly, like he’s afraid someone else might hear. “I found the knife in his room. The blade is pure silver.” Here he stopped and gave Ben a more hard eyed look. “We haven’t found anything yet but it’s possible he might also be self medicating again.”

“Oh fuck.” Hux had only ever self medicated with one thing: Aconite, otherwise known as Wolfsbane. Ben had never been told just how high a dosage Hux used, but he was aware he had used it, even if a very diluted version. It’d taken a considerable toll on him back then, constant vomiting and dizzy spells they’d all mistaken for a stoic nature. How the hell had no one noticed something like that this time around? Probably because they’d been assured— Told not to worry. “I thought you said Dr. Kalonia told you he was fine with those stupid teas!” 

His mother scoffed, no doubt refraining from telling him off for his scrutiny of ancient methods, but refrained. His dad seemed less inclined though, and shot back with a sharp “I wonder why he started thinking they weren’t enough in the first place.” 

Ben reeled back like he’d been burned and turned his eyes to the floor— a suddenly much more interesting subject.  “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just wondering how she missed it.” A mostly truth.  

Han grunted skeptically, and Ben looked back up to see the man still staring at him. He could see less of a temper in his eyes, but the conviction still felt heavy in the air. Han always saw right through him. “She thought he was clean. We all did. Have you noticed anything lately? Anything to point to this?” 

Ben swallowed hard, feeling bitter to admit that he hadn’t. “No. It wouldn’t be impossible though. He takes meals to the refugees all the time. I wouldn’t put it past one of them to give him something like that if he asked.” At least half would be happy to see him overdose by accident, just one poor miscalculation is all it’d take. A smaller margin felt indebted to him and would see his desperation. Either side would agree to the request. He probably shouldn’t add that part though. Not yet.

Chewie grunts from his seat and pulls out a flask. Ben can relate to the sentiment— wants to ask for a drink even, but thinks better of it with his mother sitting right across from him. Instead he leans back and looks at the ceiling. So much to do. So little time. “I’ll go take a look at his room after this. I can probably guess a few places he’d stash something. Has anyone checked his clothes?”

“He’s either still in them or the doc has them. I can go check but don’t expect me to strip-search the guy.”

“Dad don’t be gross. He’s got Wolfsbane on him. I’m not risking him getting rid of the evidence if he wakes up before we get to him.”

Leia chuckled at that, low and weak, but quickly sobered again.  “Sweetie he’s not waking up anytime soon. I’ll have your father go look after this though, even if he does have to strip search him.”

Han scoffed. “That’s not in my job description. I’ll bribe a nurse to do it if I have to.” 

Leia hums from her seat, barely an acknowledgment— She’s used to her husband’s antics. They all are, but Ben doesn’t feel ready to slide back into a funny lull, or to join in on ribbing his Dad over the situation. Because his friend is still lying unconscious somewhere, possibly already dead or undead. And there’s still things he needs to know. Even if he doesn’t particularly want to know them.  

“So…” Ben had no desire to say it, to voice anything he was thinking. He felt bile rise to the back of his throat just thinking it, but he needed to know. “Poe wasn’t after blood then.” No one spoke up to appose him. His mouth and lips were suddenly so dry, and there was no moister in the air. It made throwing the pitcher of pink drink at the wall all the more regrettable. He resettles back into his chair just to move something. “Please. Just start from the beginning. Tell me how this happened.” He watches his mother sink back into her chair. This would be a long story then…

* * * *

Hux had left sometime the previous day, and when it started getting close to dark they realized he wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon ( this was where Han had jumped in and unhelpfully added “We could just tell it was one of those days, y’know?”). Ben already knew this. 

Chewie had volunteered for the service of watching him, as he’d apparently done on almost all other occasions. Ben hadn’t known that part. Sure, Hux tended to wander in his early days with them, likening his stay at St. Takodana’s to that of a bird’s in a fancy cage. No one really argued with him at the time because that’s essentially what he was. Willingness to turn himself over or no, Armitage Hux was still a criminal with an offense sheet longer than Ben was tall. And it didn’t exactly help his case— the fact that he still visited his leverage from time to time, or that they were apparently on somewhat good terms despite their circumstances. 

Maybe Ben should’ve guessed that they wouldn’t ever have let up on a watch team though. And yea, Chewie made sense, he was a good choice, but to not tell Ben? This was his uncle! Maybe not by blood, but they were close. Close enough that he’d told him things he never would’ve trusted his dad with. His first crush, his first heartbreak, and coincidentally, his more serious fights with his dad. 

It bothered Ben, finding out this way, and on top of that wondering if that extra layer of security was to protect Hux, or to protect from Hux. He didn’t want to think about any of it, quite frankly it turned his stomach to, and he quickly moved on again with the story. One disaster, one world-shattering revelation at a time. 

Chewie had followed Hux nearly all night long, keeping his distance as much as possible but staying close enough to intervene if necessary. 

Between 3:45 and 4:00 in the morning Chewie had heard a suspicious noise somewhere on a side street not far off. He’d been gone for less than a ten minute span and in that time Hux had done what no one could manage for nearly four years— he’d found Poe Dameron. To top it off he’d done it in dress shoes, ill fitting gloves, and looking like a drunkard by the state of his loose collar, rumpled clothes, and mussed hair. No resources, no backup, no connections. He’d just stumbled upon him wandering the streets of Chandrila— in the middle of the night no less. Of course, to leave it there wouldn’t be anything like Hux. 

Because the man had not only managed to come across Poe, and Poe as a vampire, but also to assumably walk up to him and pick a fight— A fight in which he was obviously no match, he must have known that. Yet he’d still done it anyways. 

Chewie’d only heard the last few words they spoke to each other, but he’d been frozen, a deer in headlights standing just across the street in a cramped  and unused alleyway, out of sight in the swampy dark. Because that was Poe Dameron, the same Poe Dameron they’d been looking for, the same Poe Dameron who’d been a friend, a confidant, and a comrade to so many, and yet he was no longer that man- Dead in nearly all senses of the word.

Things got out of hand pretty fast after that. Chewie could read between the lines and got ahold of himself in time to realize what was about to happen. He’d shot out from the alley in time to see Poe pounce— teeth first. Hux went down like a sack of bricks. He’d barely even screamed. 

Chewie’d had to be the one to pull Poe off of him. Even hearing of it over an hour or two later, Ben could see that just the mention of it rattled Chewie. He reached over to take his hand, squeezing hard and feeling his uncle nearly crush his hand in return. He said nothing and tried to keep from making any noise.  

It’d actually taken a feat of strength to pull Poe away. That was saying something for Chewie More than that was the fact that he’d had to be careful. Simply ripping the once-man off would mean taking a sizable portion of Hux’s neck with him, and Poe’d nearly done just that without Chewie’s help. Poe came away with burns on his face and in his mouth- The first indication of wolfsbane at play.

Afterwords Chewie'd apparently been so mad that he smashed Poe’s head against a brick wall. According to his dad’s commentary, it had definitely left a mark or four. Ben wondered when he could see him, if he’d see the evidence when he did, or if it’d all already be healed, gone like it never happened. Vampires recuperated fast. Ben didn’t want to know, to see that in action on his friend… Former friend. 

From there it was simply a matter of getting them both back to St. Takodana’s. Backup came and took Hux, and Chewie handed Poe over to another group’s custody. He hadn’t put up much of a fight— most likely wasn’t well trained or honed in his skills. If both Hux and Chewie had managed to walk up on him without his notice like they suspected, Han surmised that he was more on the incompetent rather than cautious side. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to hurt Chewie, it’s that he hadn’t known how to. 

At the end of it all, Ben sat in the quiet. There wasn’t really anything anybody could think to say. Somewhere below Ben’s feet, or maybe above, Poe sat. His best friend was now closer than he’d ever been in four years, and he couldn’t even touch the man. “They’re not human. There’s not any human even left in them. Don’t ever mistake that.” Hux had told him once, and Ben still struggled to think like that. A part of him worried that if he saw Poe, if he could connect what he’d done with a face, he finally just might. 

“Ben.” Ben looked up and to his dad. “I really am sorry. I know this is hardest on you. We do know what you’re going through though. Don’t shut us out this time please.” Ben couldn’t bring himself to talk, too afraid his voice wouldn’t work. So he just gave a curt nod and what was probably at best a watery smile. “Come on, Chewie.” The two men rose and made for the door, stepping over debris and wreckage as they went. It pulled Ben out of the mire of darker thoughts enough to remember his own mission. There were things to do still. He couldn’t just sit around. He began to rise but stopped. Han was held back in the doorway, that stupid smirk of his suddenly returned.  “We’ll call the cleanup crew on our way out too.” He said, then they were gone. Ben felt his face and ears flaming again, no doubt redder than a tomato. The same Hux turns when he’s angry.

If his mother thinks to bring up therapy again, she’s considerate enough to hold off this one time. Ben wasn’t about to push his luck. It was time to get out and get to work. “I’d better go too. I’m gonna check Hux’s room and then I need to go see him.”

As he finally stood and aimed for the door Leia called him. “Ben,” she said, and he looked to her. There was a spark in her eye, dull as it may be—Her own brand of that ‘I know I’m right’ that matched his dad’s Cheshire grin. “Go get some clothes on, please. You’ll catch a cold.”

Ben looked down at himself again, finally remembering his lack of shoes or any kind of proper attire. No weapons, no shoes, no phone. The halls were cold enough as it was. His feet would freeze at this rate. They already kind of were— he just hadn’t noticed till now. 

 Of course neither parent could let him leave without having the last word…

‘Sounds about right.’

“Right. I’ll go do that then.”

St. Takodana’s served as both a first and second home to many, Ben included. It never hurt to keep a backpack of fresh clothes and shoes. He carried extra in both his truck and in his locker downstairs. Even freezing feet couldn’t keep the worries away for long though. 

As he dressed in the locker-room Ben thought— a dangerous thing. He’d never said anything explicitly, but Hux had probably picked up on his disinterest in herbal teas, especially of the repellant variety. The man had needed reassurance and encouragement to even try the things, but Ben hadn’t really been persistent in that same cheering on after he finally had. It was sobering to think he might be the cause— even partly— to his friend’s relapse. 

Chapter Text

Rey’s eyes flew open, and suddenly her nose was overwhelmed— It was almost intoxicating, the flurry of sweet smells, the earthy richness of soil that hadn’t been abused or used for the cemetery, the moisture in the air fresh and clean. 

She was off to the side on a sun warmed linen, but in the shade. She was beneath some brightly colored yellow flowers that were no doubt in part the culprit of such beautifully blended aromas. Rey didn’t know flowers, hadn’t had the time or chance to even look at them, let alone study them since her childhood. Despite everything, the weariness of her muscles, the creaking of her bones, and the ache in her core, Rey basked in their sun soft glow. 

She nuzzled back down into the linen, feeling soft earth beneath the cloth. It shifted with every move, fine, cool, and damp. Her senses were nearly devastated by all the rich new and long forgotten sensations. It was almost too much. Even the air tasted sweet. Buried somewhere underneath everything Rey could just make out a once familiar smell. It was practically unrecognizable now, lacking hints of  animal fear, human sweat, and the filth that came with captivity. 

‘Rose’

Rey hadn’t seen the girl since her time at Palpatine manor. She remembered very little of her. Only her name, that she knew of Rey, which was rare, and that she’d had a sister—One who hadn’t made it out alive, or even in a box for that matter. 

Rose was over on the other side of the room, because that was what this was. Beautiful and ancient panes of glass. Green wooden walls which held them steadfast, no doubt just as old and smoothed soft by time. The coats were fresh though. This place was well taken care of and loved. Without having to remember much it wasn’t hard to see Rose was a great contributor to this— at least in the modern time. 

Rey watched the woman for a while, watched her work, watched her love the flowers in a way Rey could never dream to. Flowers needed life, green-ness, and the heart to cherish them. Rey was capable of none of this. In contrast to this Rose floated through her tasks. This was her element: life. There was only a little stiffness to her now, and Rey had a feeling she was the cause of that. It sunk lead weights in her chest, heavy like her sins. Part of her celebrated the fact that, on any other day this poor creature came close to thriving in a place like this. The other shrunk at the reminder that Rey could never have that. 

For a while she couldn’t figure out how to let the woman know she was awake. A flap of the wings, a fluttering, a squeal— it was all associated by those that escaped with what they’d escaped from. Rey didn’t particularly want to be that kind of reminder any more than she already was. 

While she thought, Rey rolled over onto her stomach and enjoyed the quiet while she could. Something she would surely miss once everything was said and done was her lazing about. There would be no rest, no peace or warmth when she left this small and fleeting reality. 

“Ms. Rey?” Rey’s eyes had lulled closed at some point. She opened them again to look over at Rose across the way, hazy and soft looking in the golden afternoon light. She watched a weary smile creep across her round face. It was enough of a sight though that Rey finally noticed the color that’d returned to her skin— the soft bronze it should’ve been. Not the cold paleness from the before. The sunlight had reclaimed her.

Rose didn’t say anything else after that— just went back to her garden work. However now she knew Rey was awake. Was that all she’d wanted to know? Rey wondered if Rose wasn’t underly curious, or if perhaps she was just content in her own self and time. Perhaps it was a little of both. 

They sat together in the silence for a long while after that. Rey closed her eyes again and listened to the bugs and birds chirp outside the panes. She could hear Rose sometimes; shuffling a stone here, clacking a pot onto its saucer there, never the in-between sounds, the noise that was her. She was quiet, this girl. Quiet like she’d been taught to be, probably like she still felt was safest to be after all this time. Rey couldn’t even begin to guess how long it’d been. She never kept track— it all blended together now. 

It took some time, but eventually Rose did seem to become more at ease. She was less careful about her steps and stopped looking over her shoulder quite so much, though did on occasion still, and nobody would fault her for that. 

Without realizing it, this put Rey at peace too. She hadn’t been aware of how tense she was before, how strung up and equally anxious. Rose’s calm put her at ease though, and soon she was loose limbed and boneless on the linen.

Rey felt, perhaps for the first time in her afterlife, that she was the closest she would ever be again to basking in the sun— simply lying just out of reach, but still able to feel its warmth. It was nice, and like all things lately she wished it wouldn’t have to end. 

* * * *

Ben was rummaging around in Hux’s room when he got the call. It was a nice enough space. Despite his particularly gloomy disposition at nearly all times, Hux had requested a smaller corner room high up, somewhere on the fifth floor. He liked the extra light it gave from both sides, Ben assumed. St. Takodana’s was home to towers, spires, and belfries alike (though the last went unused since sometime last century). It was one of the city’s oldest structures, and in many’s opinion, one of its most beautiful and architecturally elegant. Despite that, and despite all its long-time and constant short-term traveling residents, many of its rooms still remained empty. Hux’d been allowed the liberty to pick one after some time, and had so far been left alone with it, being off the beaten path and away from most of the general Takodana public and prying eyes. 

Ben had helped paint it at his Mother’s request (“Something bright, Ben. He needs a change of pace, and a good one.”). It was a soft green that turned golden in the morning and evening light. He would never admit it to the woman’s face, but he had a feeling it helped quite a lot— especially in those first few weeks.

Hux once confided in him that not many green things grew in “those places” and while he couldn’t grow anything for shit, it was nice to have the color there. 

Ben couldn’t help it— he’s reminded again and again of those earlier days, this particular reminder not only for the color on the walls, but of his friend’s skin. Pale white, sallow and gaunt. He’d looked like a walking corpse back then. Ben shuddered to think he was falling back into those old ways. 

He was just moving the mattress off its frame when his phone started going off. He picked up without looking. “This is Ben.” He said, and hoped it was Kalonia, his Dad, anyone who could give him a shred of good news. Instead he heard “Ben.” And instantly regretted ever even having a phone. He finished shoving the mattress onto the floor and stood up again to stretch his back.

“Finn.” Ben tried not to make the name sound like a cringe. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You tell me. I heard a beat up blue blazer nearly ran over a homeless man this morning. What’s up with that?”

“I did not!” Ben did not yell “He got out of the way just fine! I was being careful!” Ben found himself angrily shoving a finger into the chest of some imaginary figure in front of him. He stopped before someone walked in and saw him harassing no one. 

Finn didn’t see though. He was unfazed, asking a pointedly smug/not smug “So that was you?”

‘Shit.’

“I never said that.” 

“What’s going on Ben? Is it Poe?” 

Something sour roiled in Ben’s gut. Despite it being a large part of him job, lying, especially to friends and family, never got any easier. Here he knew there was no other option—he wouldn’t dare tell Finn that truth. Not yet, maybe not ever. Even still, that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Ben steeled himself, gathering everything he could and sitting down on an empty bed frame. 

“All I can say is that an employee was attacked by uh… well something near feral I’m told— last night. He was a friend, but it wasn’t Poe. I still don’t know where Poe is. Sorry.” Not a complete lie. Poe hadn’t been the one attacked last night, he’d been the ‘near feral’ thing that’d been attacking.

He could almost see Finn’s jaw working, trying to figure out if he should call Ben a liar or believe him. He probably didn’t think much of what Ben said was the truth these days. Maybe hadn’t for a while, even before Poe was gone. Poe was a steel trap to the outside world, but inside their circle he was one of the biggest blab-mouths Ben had ever met. Finn had admitted that he was aware of what Ben did, at least to an extent. Ben hadn’t had to ask how he knew, and Finn hadn’t told him. 

Finn stayed on the line a bit longer after that, no doubt trying to see if Ben would slip up anymore than he already had. He was determined not to let that happen again though. Letting the man know the reality concerning any other wild Cryptids, fairytale creatures, or nightmarish figures was the last thing either of them needed. It kept Ben from looking too seriously, but with so many mistakes on his track record lately, it was probably best to give Finn his near full attention. At least until he’d convinced the man there was nothing too earth-shattering going on anyways— which there was, but Finn didn’t need to know that. 

Finally he seemed to resign himself that Ben wasn’t going to slip— for now at least. Ben gave a passing glance at the call time before hanging up. He’d wasted almost 20 minutes that he could’ve been spent searching Hux’s room. Worse, he’d done it to appease and distract Finn.

‘I should’ve just said I was busy and been done with it.’ 

He threw his phone in his back pocket and began searching more earnestly than before. There was a certain determination burning in his ribcage to find the drug— That jittery feeling that keeps you from sitting still, like there’s a live-wire in your nervous system keeping you from thinking unless you move. He put that energy to good use; searching all the nooks and crannies in the walls first, then moving on to the light fixtures, and after all that finally, to the floorboards. He found the stash in an off corner near one of the windows— by the light. It was under a board that only needed a little bit of finagling. In the hollow beneath that were two clear glass bottles filled with small, identical, purple-blue pills barely bigger than a large Pin-head. The vials were little, only a few inches tall and conveniently just sturdy enough to fit inside a coat or pants pocket. They were both full, but there were other bottles, the same kind but empty. However what worried him the most was the absence of one bottle in particular— one that’d been dipped into or used. It wasn’t with the others. He hoped against hope that it wasn’t with Hux. 

He shot a quick text to his dad, something along the lines of “Pay the nurse to strip search him if you have to. I found the stuff in his room.” Before shoving it back in his back pocket and unearthing the vials. He rolled each one in a rag then stuffed them all into a nearby sack. It felt wrong to keep touching them, to have them so close. So he set them off to the side for later— away from him and near the bedroom door to grab on the way out. 

It was all the proof Ben needed to really get to work; Cutting the cushion seats out of chairs, nearly dismantling Hux’s ancient but well taken care of desk, and digging through his mattress. He’d pay for the damage if the church didn’t, and he was careful enough with the desk, just roughing it up enough to check the drawers and frame for secret hide-holes. There would be no stone left unturned. Ben may not have been a born Sherlock, but who really needed to be when you could just gut the place and be absolutely sure. He even pulled up a few more floorboards that brokered no results. Nothing had. By all appearances, Armitage Hux only had one stash, and assumably the last bottle was somewhere either with Dr. Kalonia or on Hux’s person. 

At the end of it all he tried his best to right things. The floorboards, the mattress, and the chair seats he couldn’t replace or correct that day, but Hux wouldn’t exactly be back anytime soon anyways. There was time to deal with all that later. 

Bag full of bottles in hand, Ben phoned his mother with the news. Her own was that Han had found the missing bottle with the doctor, and that it was nearly half empty when they’d found it.

Ben sat on Hux’s stripped and shredded bed for a while after that, wondering what he was supposed to do, how he’d gone wrong… if he really had been the reason his friend relapsed, and worst of all

‘How didn’t I noticed anything?’

Had he really pushed Hux in that direction— just to not notice the signs after the fact? What kind of friend was he? 

‘First Poe, now Hux.’ There were too many friends at his table neglected into loss, into darkness. So far Ben hadn’t been able to stop or even recognize the signs of either man's fall. 

There was a bathroom attached to Hux’s room. Ben had already checked the place and found nothing. It was enough to allow Hux safe refuge if he wanted solitude, small and modest, but with a toilet, sink, and shower. During those days long spans where he holed himself away, fresh water and a cold shower helped. It’d been at his Father’s insistence surprisingly, that Hux have such a luxury— Even with how little he trusted the man back then. Now Ben found himself running into it to throw up. He barely reached the toilet in time.

Chapter Text

Ben sat on the floor of Hux’s bathroom for nearly 20 minutes after throwing up. He wanted a shower. Something to wash away that sick feeling that came with being sick. Realistically that wasn’t in the cards, though. At least not yet. He settled for splashing some cold water on his face and rinsing out his mouth. Everything was gritty and sour tasting even after. He tried not to think about that. There were bigger things to worry about. 

Like the fact that Ben knew he should probably go visit Hux, see him in person, but was almost too scared to. People in his position, people who’d been bitten— they never looked wholly alive. They either died or they didn’t. Too few survived to even consider that an option, even if the wolfsbane would bump up his chances— considerably at that. The possibility of real survival, heart-beat survival, were still low. 

A barbarian method, Wolfsbane use. It’d been used for centuries to prevent vampire hunters specifically from being turned. It more often than not meant an early grave thought, and the practice had been disbanded sometime in the late 1800s. In careful doses it would only slow the heart and maybe cause nausea and or dizziness. If a hunter were unlucky it sped their heart up or killed them. For Hux, it’d apparently got him through years of being around vampires— giving him a near legendary reputation as an unmovable, unflappable, unchanging force. They could hear his heart.

Even outside the vampire community Hux had been a boogyman of sorts. Rumors and legends couldn’t be trusted, most being altogether too grandiose or outright bat-shit crazy. Baby-eater, Vampire—blood drinker, mind reader— all that bloody Mary type crap was always getting around. Even after his defection it’d taken years to clear a lot of those up. Some still remained. The wolfsbane hadn’t been a rumor though, and rumor also said he’d used it to kill his father too. Ben never asked, but once or twice when they’d both been drunk enough he vividly remembers more than he should about their conversations. It was hard to stay drunk when someone told you such sobering things. Brendol Hux was a complete psycho— an absolute bastard—but hearing Hux talk about it like the Sunday paper had been a harrowing experience. 

The clock above Hux’s dresser drawers chimes 8:00. It broke Ben out of his thoughts long enough to gather himself and get back to the real topic at hand.  

What he really wanted to do, was almost determined to do more than anything else right then, was go find Poe. However... He also knew it was the absolute last thing he (or anyone for that matter) needed. He knows he’s not the most in control of himself. He’s at least that self aware, and he can see a meeting between the two of them going at best a dozen and a half different ways— none of them good. 

He’d end up screaming, or crying, or killing the man. Except he wasn’t a man anymore, was he? 

‘I’d end up killing him again then.’ 

Ben can see himself demanding answer after answer, not really knowing what it was he actually wanted to know but just desperate to get something out of his friend. To know anything about his disappearance, what he’d been doing for the last nearly four years he’d been missing, and the fact that he’d turned— that he’d switched sides, and let them do to him what thousands before had died to keep from happening.

It was a choice 

Ben looked at his hands— shaking— and decided to stop that train of thought then and there. He wouldn’t be seeing Poe anytime soon. It wouldn’t help to think about the ‘what if’s and ‘why not’s until the world stopped spinning. He needed to think of something else. He needed to do something productive— even barely. He needed to go see Hux. Even if it might make him sick again, he needed to be there for his friend. 

Ben stood, heaving a heavy sigh— and immediately recoiled at the sickly  sweet smell on his breath.

Before anything, before Hux, Poe, or the sky falling, food was in order. Something to wash down the foul tang of acid that burned the back of his throat. Hux kept a small stash of food items near the bedroom door— his so called “Pantry” that was actually just a small cupboard. It was pretty sparse to be called such a thing. The only items Ben found were some dried oats, a few granola bars, an absurd number of those awful sparkling drink things he liked, a half full container of peanut butter, and a jar of craisins— those cranberry raisin things he’d accidentally got Hux hooked on a few years back. He didn’t feel like digging peanut butter out by hand, and he also didn’t feel like going back over everything again just to find that box of utensils somewhere in the room. He settled on a few craisins, a lemon drink, and a granola bar. It wasn’t a lot but it was at least enough to wash down the taste of vomit. He wasn’t really hungry anyways.

Before he left the room for good Ben made sure to collect some things; two sets of clothes, a pair of sneakers, and the bag of wolfsbane and empty bottles. He faltered at the last, but in the end it was something that shouldn’t be left behind. He made sure to lock the door from the outside on his way out. He couldn’t remember where the key came from— either his mother or Hux, but was grateful to have it regardless. It made his skin crawl to think of what’d been in there, and though it was near impossible to have missed any other vial, Ben still worried someone else might come along to drop off a new one. They weren’t sure how Hux was getting the stuff. Just that he had it. 

It took him a while to find the right room after that. As large as it may appear to the outside world, a majority of St. Takodana’s was located underground. How they’d managed to build it all without anyone noticing or remembering Ben had never bothered to learn. It was probably something like drugs, magic, or money, the ‘unholy trinity of forgetting.’ It’d been built during a time of bloodshed and war. So a great many of its rooms and sections were originally intended for healing or hiding. Few spaces were left for weaponry or battle equipment after the rest was secured in the plans, though there were some that’d been left for that specific purpose. Some rooms remained unfound or lost— bricked up for one reason or another over the years. Rumor has it there was still a chamber where old oil meant to be poured boiling from the gargoyles sat ready for use. The stuff had probably dried up by now. 

Both he and Poe as boys had searched endlessly for it, but no hunt ever turned anything up. Nothing they were interested in finding anyways. A sharp pang hit him hard with the memory, and he quickly shook the recollection from his mind. Guilt followed soon after, for a lot of things really, but first and foremost that he was reminiscing about the man who’d mauled one of his best and only remaining friends.

* * * *

Kalonia didn’t bother him much— just warned him not to ‘disturb the patient’ which Ben thought sounded stupid even if it made some sense. Hux liked his alone time but it was never good for him. He needed company, someone to disturb him, even if he didn’t always seem to outwardly or even inwardly appreciate it. Knowing someone was there, beside him in the midst of all the chaos—that might actually help his friend. Not the quiet, not being alone, not any of the reasons that’d gotten him into this situation to begin with. 

So Ben sat, and occasionally he would talk (or more than occasionally)— about anything and everything under the sun really. Hux never seemed to show any signs of hearing him, but it gave Ben something to do. He talked about his Mom and Dad, and Chewie, and how worried they all were, which was a long way to come from being the scum of the earth to them. He regretted saying that last part out loud— apologized even. If he could hear there was no way to know if Hux would think it a joke. At least as things stood currently. ‘Hard to read an unconscious person.’ 

He talked about how bored he’d been, and how he’d been so restless and worried the night before, and even about Finn, who was getting more and more suspicious and nosey. He talked a lot about that; His worries, his fears, his annoyances. There wasn’t really a lot they could do about Finn as it was. It was cause for concern sure, but realistically it wasn’t like they could just tie him up and throw him in a closet somewhere. 

As odd as it was, sometimes Ben wished his personal life was as easy as his work life. You couldn’t re-locate, tranquilize, bribe, or kill people in your personal life. Not ethically at least. 

When that topic ran dry he brought up the night before—how stupid Hux had been to antagonize a vampire, to walk alone at night, to not just call Ben and come hang out at his place. He worked every direction on that train of thought till there was nothing left, moved on for a while, and then circled back to go over everything all over again. 

Through it all he managed to avoid the one subject he was legitimately afraid to voice: Had Ben been neglecting him? Had he been a part of the reason Hux had relapsed? Was Hux okay? There was already an answer to one of those, though. ‘Stupid question.’

Sometime around noon his mother showed up with lunch. She sat with him for a while but by then he’d talked himself ragged and had nothing really to say. The most he could manage was a “Please,” “Thank you,” and the overly pathetic attempt at a compliment that was simply  “Good soup.” She hadn’t stayed long, and soon after she leaves the adrenaline in his system finally starts to wear off. The chair beside Hux’s bed is more comfortably made than any in a hospital, but it’s no bed. Despite that Ben’s body decides it’ll have to do— back and neck pain be damned. He’ll deal with that later. 

* * * *

When Ben wakes up he regrets being the ‘later’ version of himself. It makes him want desperately to throttle ‘Past Ben’ into oblivion, logic be damned. For more than a few moments the only sounds in the room are the cracks and pops from him. As he’s trying to configure back into a human shape one of his vertebrate doesn’t snap back into place— until it does, and then it just plain hurts. 

‘What a shitty symphony.’

It’s impossible to know what time it is if not for the large clock of the wall above the door. It reads 4:30 but everything looks the same. The lights, the chairs, the floors. Nothing ever changes much underground. They dim the lights at 8:00, then again at 10:30, but other than that it always remains the static. With things as they are St. Takodana’s that might change though. Times of danger and conservation are on their way even if it doesn’t feel like it yet. Poe is proof of that—Hux too. Even the new Palpatine heir is proof. 

Sheev has been the head of of Palpatine house since sometime in the 15th century— that they knew of. Few documents of him could be found that far back, but some had suspicions of him being alive longer. He was so synonymous with the name that few referred to him by his full title— only his last. Because he was Palpatine house. The one and only head they’d ever really known. Someone in the middle east had found two papers declaring some figure before him, but it was fragmented and difficult to translate. That’d been sometime back in the late 1800s, and still among scholars it remained to be one of the most widely disputed pieces in history.

Ben began to stretch his limbs a bit more. They were stiff from disuse and a quite frankly awful napping position, but at least he’d gotten some sleep. That counted, and he was grateful to be able to rest at all. Especially after the night he’d just had. Hux was still a point of great anxiety, but at least now he wasn’t out wandering the streets at 2:00 in the morning. No. He was lying right beside Ben— safe even if his life was hanging in the balance. Ben turned to look at the man, feeling another stiff crack in his neck as he did so.

Two beady eyes were staring back at him. Ben’s heart leapt into his throat and he screamed. “Oh fuck!” He tried to scramble out of his chair and ended up on the floor instead— probably looking like a cat on ice the way he was thrashing around. 

Hux was sitting up as best he could— barley holding himself up on his elbows, and he looked down at Ben from the bed with an insultingly bored expression plastered on his pasty face. Or maybe he just felt that exhausted. It was hard to tell with Hux sometimes. 

“I did say ‘hello.’” The man grumbled morosely. 

So that’s what’d woken him. Or who, rather. 

Before Hux was awake, a million different questions and demands had been running through Ben’s head. There was so much he wanted (needed) to know, and yet now that the man was awake and mostly aware looking, Ben’s head felt incredibly empty. It was full of cotton and fluff. 

‘Shit.’

The two stared at each other for a while, Ben scrambling for anything to say, anything to think, and Hux looking for all the world like he’d just come back from the dead. 

‘SHIT.’

That question struck him like a truck, and suddenly Ben had to know. His voice is shaking, and it definitely cracks when he finally manages to ask “Hux, are you alive right now?”

Chapter Text

Dr. Kalonia— frazzled and with six nurses rushing to keep up behind her—came flying down the hall. Something was very wrong, and the screaming they heard as they got closer only proved her worries correct. 

They arrived at the scene, flinging the door open and pouring into the room—  only to find Armitage Hux trying to drag Ben Solo down into the bed with him. For someone as weak and pale as he, the man was doing a fairly decent job of manhandling Organa’s son— the Skywalker giant. 

* * * *

For his part Ben didn’t really know what to do. Hux had started screaming and cursing at him after he’d taken a moment to process Ben’s question. Then his hands had shot out and gripped his shirt collar with a vice-like grip. He’d started yelling at him some more after that. Half the things he screamed Ben couldn’t understand, or maybe he was just too surprised to. The other half was just a bunch of slurs for ‘human' that Hux hadn’t uttered since his early days at the church. That didn’t really help. 

Every attempt to pull away only brought them closer together. And Ben was absolutely, desperately trying— struggling and prying at Hux’s fingers despite nothing seeming to work. Something in his friend’s eyes was burning. Ben couldn’t make himself look away. It was like watching fire. 

One second they were alone, and the next there were other people in the room with them— trying to pull the two apart and Hux back down to the bed. It took four people to manhandle the patient off and away, and another two to make sure Ben put distance between them. Kalonia stepped into Ben’s frame of vision next. She was holding a syringe filled with something dark, and her face was that awful stone mask of professionalism. Despite everything— his confusion, his anger, his utter stupidity— the sight made Ben’s heart and stomach jump. Bile rose in the back of his throat. The feeling was becoming wholly too familiar for his taste. Whatever that was he didn’t want them giving it to Hux. 

“What is that?” Ben demanded. No one answered him and the two nurses on either side of him, a man and a woman, pulled him further back from the hospital bed. He was still so confused and bleary eyed that he couldn’t help but step backwards with them. Kalonia was moving towards Hux, maneuvering between people and flailing limbs. “Harter, what is that?!” 

No one was listening to him. No one was answering him. Except for the two people struggling on either side of him, these people were ignoring him! Dr. Kalonia jabbed something into the his friend’s upper arm— the left one, and within a few seconds things were slowing down. Hux began to calm down. His thrashing became halfhearted. His eyes drooped down, sagging lower with each blink, and then suddenly they closed and didn’t open again at all. 

That wasn’t a comforting sight for Ben Solo. “What did you just give him?!” 

In an instant Dr. Kalonia had materialized in front of him. She wouldn’t explain anything though, just kept saying things like “You need to sit down,” “Everything’s okay,” “Everything’s gonna be fine,” and finally, much more sternly “Ben, I need you to sit back down.” But he didn’t want to! He heard everything she said, sure, but it was like it just didn’t matter. He needed to know what was going on. He needed her to understand!

Almost in a trance he watched another needle appear in her hand. Someone handed it to her. She grabbed his arm and for some reason he didn’t really feel the need to pull away. Ben saw the needle dip into his upper arm, thinking that it looked bizarrely like she was doing it to someone else. Every time he opened his mouth to explain or demand an explanation, the only thing that came out was a static stream of “Wait a minute. Just wait. Give me a minute-” that wouldn’t stop. Things were moving so fast—too fast, and he just wanted them to STOP. He can’t remember much after that— just that they finally helped him sit back down into a chair.

Things don’t exactly go black, they just… go. And then suddenly he’s waking up for the second time— this time alone. The place is different but the same and he can’t help but be completely and utterly confused. By the room. By the time. By the situation. 

He knows it’s another room. Another medical room like the dozens of others that all appear alike. No one else is there, it’s just him. Ben’s alone. For a while after that he doesn’t really know what to do. He cries— a lot actually. There’s no one around to see or stop him, so he lets himself grieve for a while. He doesn’t really know what he’s mourning either. He just does. Everything’s confusing and he hasn’t quite found his good sense yet. 

When his mind finally does find some semblance of stability, Ben lies back down and waits. It’s what they want him to do, he knows. Just like he knows without checking that the door is probably locked. That there’s someone out there making sure he doesn’t get out. He. Just. Knows. 

* * * *

The next time Ben wakes up it’s to the sound of his door’s lock, then its opening. He rolls his head over and rubs at bleary, sand crusted eyes. Everything feels heavy and sluggish, but for the first time in days he feels well rested. 

“There’s room.” Ben offers, and he scoots over as best he can with how heavy everything feels. Hux seems to contemplate this for a long moment— far too seriously for someone as haggard as he looks— before rising once again like it’ll kill him. He falls down beside Ben with his fingers steepled over his ribs. Ben looks down at himself; arms and legs jetted straight like a corpse on a morgue table, as apposed to his friend’s casket position. What a pair they make…

Hux isn’t looking at him but up, so Ben looks up at the ceiling with him. They lie in the quiet like that for a bit, listening to the clock tick on the wall above the doorway. “Yes.” His friend finally says after some time. It startles Ben. “To answer your question earlier. Yes. I am alive.” Then he huffs out another long drawn out sigh.

Ben regrets ever asking that question. He’d just been exhausted, and bleary eyed, and he’d just woken up. Still. It had to have hurt— that question. “I know.” He says quietly. “I know you wouldn’t do it. Not after everything you’ve been through. I just freaked out for a second and asked a stupid question. I’m sorry.” 

Hux hummed. “Yes. They told me. The Doctor said you’d been up nearly all night. That you haven’t been taking the situation well. I’m not sorry that I almost strangled you. I’m glad I couldn’t, but I don’t regret it, and I understand you were having a difficult time.” 

Ben didn’t really know what he should say to that. Hux always said odd things like that, but it was definitely like an acceptance of his apology— in a way— of a kind… So he would take it. “I’m glad you couldn’t strangle me too.” 

They went back to staring at the ceiling for a while. 

“What’s the prognosis?” Ben asks finally. 

“I need to take it easy. Bedrest. No caffein. Nothing spicy. Easy foods. I’m not even supposed to be out of bed right now.” 

Ben hummed his understanding. “It take a lot out of you to get here?”

Hux barked a flat laugh, half hearted and almost painful sounding. “You’re helping me back to that room. Do you understand me? Assuming you don’t fall on me first. They’d have to excavate my body out from under you.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are. I hope you know that.”

“I’m hilarious.” Again with that flat tone — he wasn’t even smiling. Hux’s humor was so dry; You had to be careful or you’d miss his jokes. Ben wondered if that was a holdover of his past life; of his vampire days. Or maybe he’d had a visible sense of humor in his childhood, and it’d simply been beaten out of him. Brendol Hux had been no saint, after all.

Hux the son pulled him from his musings with a quiet “Ben?” It wasn’t enough to startle him this time though. 

“Hm?”

“Why do you smell like bat?”

Ben raised his head and turned to look at his friend. “How can you—?” But he  stopped himself, seeing Hux raise a single finger to tap his nose. Right. Raised around vampires. Ben’s shoulders slumped back down into the bed. “I had the bat out. It’s in my hoodie pocket right now. I fell asleep playing with it last night while I waited for news on you.”

Hux hummed disapprovingly. “You brought a vampire bat to a church full of vampire and monster survivors. Do you realize how sick that is?”

Ben felt himself scoffing. “It wasn’t like I had much of a choice, Hux. I ran over as soon as I got a call!” He gestured down to his feet uselessly, now covered by a decent pair of gray sneakers. “I didn’t even have time to put on shoes or proper clothes! I had to use some of my backups here!”

That shut Hux up. Ben could hear his jaw clacking shut, and it stayed that way for awhile again. When he did speak next it was more reserved, that diplomatic sort of air he got when things were difficult for him. “I really am sorry you had to find out about everything like this.”

“How much do you think I know?”

“They told me enough. You’ve been out for a while. Plenty of time to explain. They didn’t give you much but you must have needed the sleep.” Then, after a pause, and very softly. “I heard you destroyed my room.” 

‘He knows I found it.’

Despite the rest Ben still felt too exhausted to have that conversation yet. It would be a taxing one on the best of days, and this certainly was not the best of days. “We will have words later.” He promised— it felt more like a warning, but he didn't intend to let his friend run away from this. “Right now I’m just glad you’re okay. . .Sorta. I’m also just. . .really, really tired still. I think I need to go home and go back to sleep again. What time is it?” 

Ben raised his head and looked over to the clock, but Hux beat him to it, pulling up his sleeve and reading off “Nine forty-two p.m. on the dot. You’ve been out for around four or five hours I think. Give or take.” 

“Oh shit. My Mom’s gonna think I died and came back to life or something.” 

“I haven’t heard anything on that front. She’ll probably be more upset about the flying disease you’re carrying around with you.”

Ben groaned. “Don’t remind me. And don’t you dare tell her either.”

He felt more than saw Hux filing the bit of blackmail material away for later. The man shrugged, then went back to staring up at the ceiling. “Can I see the thing?” 

“Now you wanna see it?”

“I’m curious by nature. Show me the damn bat, already.”

“I love you too. But fine. Just a warning: It’s been a bit more feisty in  recover. That’s also something you share by the way.”

Hux slapped his arm. “Oh ha-ha. You’re so funny.” He growled. 

Ben gave a small laugh, feeling some semblance of normalcy returning with the venom. At the same time Hux would finally be able to take a look at the animal— put his mind to rest after hours of worry. Then they could sit back and talk some more before one (or both) of them got too tired. He reached into his pocket, feeling around carefully for a fur-ball with wings… and found nothing. He put both hands in the pocket and rummaged around. There was nothing in it. Nothing at all. “Oh.” 

“What?” Ben didn’t answer, and he felt the bed bow down as Hux raised himself up on his elbows. “What, Ben?”

“Okay so—” Ben swallowed, throat suddenly dry like the Sahara. “So bad news…”

Ben didn’t look at him, but he could feel a piercing gaze drilling holes into the side of his head. “Don’t you dare.” He heard. This time the venom was much more present, and much more real.  

“I don’t… I don’t have my bat.”

Hux slapped the mattress hard. “Motherfu— BEN!”  Ben cringed at the volume and tone. He got that enough from his Mom. “Find that thing and Get. It. Out. Or so help me, Ben Solo.”

Ben was already scrambled to get out of the bed. “I know, I know! I’m going! Fuck! Do you think its alright?”

Hux’s eyes were hot coals. “Ben this is a church for refugees! I don’t give a rat's ass about some flying shit show! I don’t care if it ends up to be the lost princess of Atlantis, or the key to immortality. Just get it out of here within the next hour or I’m telling Kalonia, and she’ll tell that mother of yours. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth? I want it out, Ben! FUCK!”

Ben is already ransacking the room, careful of his step at every turn. It had to be around here somewhere. In a flash Hux disappeared out the door. Five minutes and an empty room later (not that there was much to look through to begin with) he’d returned— huffing and looking a little gray around the gills. He probably shouldn’t be moving around so much— or as worked up as he was for that matter

“It’s not in my room and the hallways around here are clear. Ben you let a fucking vampire bat loose in a sanctuary!”

“I know, I know! I’m working on it!” Ben was trying not to panic too much but he had a feeling it was starting to bleed through. A couple hours of extra sleep suddenly felt like nothing. “I’ll text you when I find it. Please just sit back down! You look like you’re about to keel over!” 

Hux complied, which said a lot about how he was feeling, and Ben made sure he wasn’t just laying down only to pass out. He confirmed that Hux was still conscious, grunting or muttering answers when Ben asked. That was enough for him— at least for now. He left a tall glass of water on the nightstand beside the bed and was out the door in three strides.

 His worries are currently in a three way split between his ass, the refugees, and the bat. People who come to St. Takodana’s are more than likely hiding or taking refuge from darker creatures— most commonly the Cemetery Crowds: Dark witches, Liches, Vampires, and mole people, more specifically the Virteroj Family. The dark places they’re trying to escape don’t always come with bats, but they’ve still become synonymous with that kind of darkness. Finding a bat would set just about 80 to 90 percent of the refugees off. He couldn’t risk anyone in that percentage to find it. 

A dizzy spell hit him on the way out but he managed not pass out after kneeling down for a minute. He couldn’t let anything stop him, and he wouldn’t. Suddenly he was maneuvering the night-time halls of St. Takodana’s like his life depended on it. He tried Hux’s bedroom first— throwing everything he’d previous put back in place into chaos all over again. He felt his phone ding every few minutes or so—had stopped checking in the halls below. It was only Hux describing in great detail the hell he was in for if he didn’t find his ‘flying rat’ and get out of the church without traumatizing anyone. 

Hux’s room revealed nothing— this time it’s not a relief. He made sure the door was locked behind him and bolted down to the church’s underbelly once more, this time to the meeting room he’d seen his family in what seemed to be days ago and not just hours. 

‘Nothing!’

It’d been the first place he went upon arriving. The animal wasn’t there though. Corridors, hallways, staircases and hall closets— he checked everything along the route he thinks they took. It drives him up towards the surface, and then towards the main hall. Somewhere along the way someone catches him by the arm. He’s so focused on looking for his bat that he nearly trips over them in the process. 

“Anita.” He says, more than a little bewildered. Not a refugee, but one of the cook’s children he’d grown up babysitting with the other kids. She’s almost 15 now— tall and built like a house from hard kitchen work. She does the heavy lifting and bread baking with her dad. She stares up at him with wide eyes,  face and hair smudged with flour. The girl’s a regular kitchen ghost if he’s ever seen one.

“Rose is looking for you.” Anita says, “She told me she has something of yours.” then she’s gone— marching down the hallway double time; A baker’s work is never done. 

Ben doesn’t linger to see where she goes. He turns right at the next doorway and runs straight towards the outside gardens. Anita hadn’t said where, but no one ever really needed to. Even after dark Rose could usually always be found in her greenhouse— Her sanctuary. Sometimes Ben wondered if she slept there too. 

There’s so much he’s hoping for in that moment. He half hopes she doesn’t have what he thinks she does because this is Rose! On the other hand he’s desperate though.

‘Please, please, please, please.’ But he can’t make himself think anything beyond that. He doesn’t quite know which he’s begging for. He just knows he’s begging. 

Chapter Text

Everything was dark. It was so very dark. As small as he was, the room towered over him— a veritable fortress, but one meant to keep him in rather than out. Tiny silver colored bars separated that emptiness, that hollow cave from him and his fearful self. 

This was a bird cage made for his kind— and made to be a special kind of hell for them too, perhaps. It hung from the ceiling by a pale chain and swayed from side to side freely. It reminded him of his childhood, his Dad’s boat.

The thought was there one moment and then gone the next— deleted. Stolen again.

He felt himself trying to remember whatever he’d just been thinking, but it was already far and away. Above him the chain made a horrid creaking pop that pulled him even farther from the memory. It brought back the fear though, the worry, the confusion and weak anger at something he couldn’t even fully recall. 

There was no escape from this. There was no fulfilling his promises, his wishes, not like this. What awaited his wretched soul stared with white eyes out from the unknown— his fate.

What was this place? Why did he know it? A name flitting through his head, there and gone again before he’d had a chance to catch a glimpse.

‘Why?’

Past lives had never hated him more than now. Now they taunted, hissing and spitting like vipers. 

More than anything he just wanted to go home. Even if he didn’t know where that was, who that was, he just wanted to leave this place and go home. 

‘Please!’

* * * *

Ben feels split; On one hand he hopes Rose has his bat. It would save him a world of trouble and worries. On the other… This is Rose. Rose, who’d been kept in Palpatine Manor specifically and who only barely escaped with her life, and the knowledge that her sister had not. Some days she was barely a shell of a person, and only in recent months had she been making serious progress. He didn’t want to ruin that because of some stupidly harmless animal that brought back a fuck-ton of memories she didn’t need. 

“Fuck!” Ben tried not to be too loud— to walk (definitely not run), to not yell, to breathe as quietly as possible and not appear as if he wanted to break something. If someone saw him rushing around like that in the middle of the night it would set off a whole slew of alarms. 

The greenhouse grow-lights were on. It bathed everything in the outside gardens in a warm purple glow. Ben wasn’t always a fan of them— they threw odd shadows against the Church’s outside walls. In that moment they were a beacon though; a literal light at the end of his tunnel, and hopefully the light he wanted it to be. Ben kept slipping in the mud as he walked— it must’ve rained again while he was out. Twice he nearly fell over onto his backside. Both times he managed to correct himself and move on though. He was on a mission. 

The greenhouse door was always locked this time of night. Ben gave three short knocks that hopefully sounded polite. Then it was just a game of waiting— standing in the cold wishing for the umteenth time that he’d brought a coat, and feeling fall’s chilly wind blow right through him because of its absence. That kind of waiting. It took a while for Rose to come over. She’d heard him, he knew, it just always took her a while to get around to dealing with people. He could see just the shape of her through the fogged panes, unhurried and soft around the edges. Her flowers came first. People nearly always came second. He had to wait and watch as she finished repotting a leafy thing that looked ready for a bigger home. She set it down with a crowd of similarly blurry ferns, dusted herself off, and ‘yes!’ finally made her way over to the greenhouse’s side door where he stood.  

She unlocked and opened the door, stepping aside and pointedly not inviting him in. Ben thanked her and rushed in. She closed and locked the door after looking at him for a long, odd moment. Ben didn’t particularly think anything of it at this point— too used to that behavior from, well, everyone really. No one in this field was truly normal.  

“Thank you.” He said again. Instinctively his feet carried him towards one of the house’s heaters. With palms to the warmth he looked back at her. “Anita said you were looking for me? She said you had something of mine.”

Rose gave a wordless nod and wandered over to a raised garden bed full of little spotty flowers. He couldn’t tell the color. They just looked purple and gray like everything else in the room. She shuffled between the stalks for a bit before pulling a bundled ball of cloth out from among the leaves. She did so carefully but also stiffly, and that made him worry for her. 

Hope and fear writhes and fought together, twisting his heart painfully in two separate directions. She glided through the rows of plant-beds and back to him. “Rose?” He raised his hands, heater forgotten. He cupped them together to accept the bundle she was holding out to him. 

“You dropped her.” Rose said. With a wariness he never liked to see she set the cloth into the cup of his palms and backed away. “She’s asleep now, but she’ll be hungry when she wakes.”

“Rose,” Something hard had lodged in the back of his throat. He struggled for the right words and felt his tongue twisting itself into knots. “Rose, you didn’t have to. You should have come and got me— Or someone. Anyone in the staff would’ve taken it off your hands. You could’ve come found Chewie or my Mom. Even my Dad if you could’ve tracked him down.”

Rose only gave a half hearted shrug, obviously uncomfortable even to his oblivious eye. “She wasn’t too much trouble.” Ben felt himself startle at the word. She’d used it the a few times now, he realized.  

“Wha— she?”

She bobbed her head once. “Yes. She. Have you named her yet?” 

Ben cleared his throat. He wondered what the right answer was. “Uh, no. Did you… did you have something in mind?”

“Rachael.”

Again Ben felt himself startle. “Rachael…Isn’t that a little too…?” But Ben heard himself trail off.  In his mind he finished the thought. ’Human’ a small voice whispered. Rose only stared blankly back at him though. He decided it was better not finishing the sentence and instead went with “No it’s good. Sounds great. I love it!”

Rose gave him another one of those smiles of hers, the one he could never make heads or tails of, and went back to tending some nearby flowers. Ben got the district impression that he was being dismissed. But he still needed answers, so he took a step forward and cleared his throat again. 

“Rose,” he said. She didn’t look up from her work but he caught her eyes flickering to him for a quick second. “It— she— is just a bat…right?”

“Wouldn’t you know?”

Ben felt his cheeks becoming uncomfortably warm—No doubt turning a bright pinkish-red. “Well… I’ve never exactly seen an animal bat to compare the vampire one to before. So no. Not really.” 

“Rachael is a bat.”

Ben felt a great weight lifted off his shoulders suddenly, and his next breath of air was much easier. “Okay.” He breathed, “Great. I feel much better now. Thank you.”

“You’re feeding her too much though.”

“Really? But she always seems so hungry.”

Rose finally turned to look at the bundle in his hands and squinted down at it. “Greedy.” She muttered. “Just don’t let her out at night or she’ll see you as food.” 

“Oh. Okay. Um— thanks. I’ll do that.”

Rose nodded— as if with that piece of advice their business was concluded. Ben felt like this time he should listen. As willing as she had been to help, her stiffness reminded him that she also wasn’t entirely comfortable with it either. 

“I’ll uh— I’ll let you go then. Thanks again, Rose. I owe you one. Really.”

He threw a goodbye over his shoulder on the way out. She waved him off with a quiet “Goodnight, Ben.” She was already becoming consumed by her plant-work again when she did, making the words more distant. He would have to get her something as thanks after this. A nice new plant for the greenhouse, some better gloves, or maybe those weird plant name tags you could stake in the ground by each greenery. 

Out in the cold again he remembered the small bundle in his hands, and it’s already low body temperature. He unwrapped the animal— groggy but overall self-satisfied looking— and slid it ( ‘her’ he reminded himself) into his right pants pocket. The trip wouldn’t be long, and the pocket was big enough that it wouldn’t constrict the poor thing. 

He wondered vaguely where she’d been, where he’d dropped her. He would have to remind himself later to ask Rose about it. At least where she’d found her. Where she’d found ‘Rachael.’

The ride home was quiet. Ben didn’t feel like listening to music. Even with the harsh wind buffering up against his car it didn’t feel quiet enough. Peace is what he craved, peace and quiet. Really he just wanted to go home and crash. He still had to feed the stupid animal first. In his pocket it’d started to get a bit restless. More than once he had to coax it back or dig it out from between the seat and his leg. It squawked in protest each time he put a stop to her conquest. 

He’d start the diet tomorrow. After the ordeal he’d put the poor thing through, it probably deserved some extra pampering. At least for the night, anyways. Maybe even the morning…

His phone kept going off still, but now he was able to properly ignore it. Before he left Ben made sure to send a couple confirmation texts Hux’s way. If he just so happened to omit how, where, and with whom he’d found her though, well…. Hux really didn’t need to know that information. The bat was found, and both he and it were gone from the church without causing city-wide panic. That was all that truly mattered currently. 

Hux would probably find out later, sure, and yea, he would probably throw a fit rivaled by wild apes, but that was Future-Ben’s Problem. Not Present-Ben’s. Really. His friend was far too nosy for his own good sometimes. 

At home he was finally able to relax for the first time since early the day before. It left him jelly legged and noodle armed even if he was loathe to admit it. Even so there were still things to do— namely feed the bat he’d lost for around 16 hours. There were some fresh peaches in the fridge he’d been saving for a special occasion. This definitely counted as ‘special’ but probably for the wrong reasons. Ben gathered two already washed fruits and cut them into slices, then took a slice or two and diced those into smaller cubes. The slices went into a jar and back into the fridge for later. The cubes remained out to warm up a bit while he prepped some blood from the freezer. Ben breathed a heavy sigh. 

‘Responsibilities…’ his soul seemed to lament the word. 

The bat— Rachael— was already getting over eager, more so than even on the trip home. He eventually gave up on trying to keep her in his pocket. She crawled up onto his front looking more determined than an animal smaller than the size of his palm should ever be. He elected to ignore her wanderings, and was rewarded when she took a (literal) flying leap from his chest to the counter. He nearly spilled the small cup he’d warmed up in his surprise. Ben had already cleaned up enough blood lately— thank you very much. Rachael skittered and slid on the slick, black faux marble counter. He knew the feeling— certainly had earlier in that hospital room with Hux. It took a minute but she found some semblance of balance— fluttering her wings occasionally. For the most part she appeared fine. He watched her find her way up to his wrist, climb the thick hoodie sleeve, then follow the length of his hand over to the cup.

It was warm enough, he guessed. She could probably have it. So he stood perfectly still while his bat— Rachael— clutched the cup lip and dipped herself down into it. They both stayed like that for a while. Ben didn’t really feel like startling her, moving too fast and jostling her, and having to spend the remainder of his night and early a.m. hours giving the animal another bath. The first one had been a bad enough experience. He waited till she was done, licking the cup’s insides clean and despite that looking for more after. 

She still managed to get herself covered in the stuff some, but that was a her problem. She could clean herself up later. 

Back into the box she went for a while afterwords. Ben made sure to put a decent sized novel on one end of the lid—something about the mind and learned helplessness, one of those he’d picked up and never read. He was careful to not obstruct too many breathing holes with it. Maybe he should put some on the sides later, just to give her a better view and extra airflow. 

‘At this point just get a bird cage.’ He threw the idea away as soon as it came to him. 

He was still hungry and feeling filthy after the long day. The water hadn’t exactly washed away the grit between his teeth either. A hot shower and a sandwich sounded akin to paradise suddenly. In the end he was too tired to decide which came first, but it wasn’t the first time either. There were a few shelves in his shower, and one just far enough away from the water spray that he usually felt comfortable putting a plastic plate there— never the real ones. The line for things Ben brought into the shower was drawn just after sandwiches and right before breakable kitchenware. 

He waited a bit afterwords to feed Rachael the fruit. When he’d opened the box again after his shower she’d been sluggishly licking the blood from her fur. She was probably full still. 

Ben sat himself down on the couch with a bowl of cereal. He set the cereal box — some chocolate pebbles off brand he’d snatched without looking at the store—on the coffee table in front of him. After everything he’d been through he deserved a late night snack. 

While he ate he checked his messages. There were around 5 separate paragraphs from Hux (which was a lot even for him), one or two from his mother (which was less than her usual overload of messages for the times), and exactly one from his Dad (which was normal). He started with his Dad’s— probably the most relevant or vital. Han didn’t often text for no reason. He did, just not all the time like his mother. 

“They’re bringing Poe to QR-8 tomorrow. It’s at 2:00. Come watch if you want. Chewie and me will be there. See you then— or not.”

Ben decided to put his phone away after he typed out a quick “Thanks.” He leaned back into the sofa and ate his cereal in the quiet for a bit. 

Almost four years, what felt like a lifetime to Ben’s soul, and suddenly the answer to a question they’d all been willing to cut off limbs for was here: QR-8. Poe would be in QR-8. They’d found him, and he was finally here, and tomorrow, he’d be answering other questions— questions Ben was quit frankly afraid to ask himself, but could maybe watch someone else ask. Maybe.

In his lap the cereal had gone soggy. He went to pour it out and start a new bowl over again. 

‘What the hell am I gonna do?’

Chapter Text

The next day (for Ben at least) is a blur. He gets up early to feed and care for Rachael. As per the Botanist’s orders, he starts the diet that morning. Rose hadn’t specified how much to take away, and honestly he’s too afraid to give too little rather than too much, so he barely cuts it down at all. Rachael however (Ben still struggles with the name) still notices, and is quite honestly a pain in the neck about the whole thing. She starts to nip at his hand when she’s done—  only a little, and not enough to draw any blood, but definitely enough to let him know how unhappy she is. 

‘If looks could kill.’ Once again he’s reminded of what swear words he thinks she’d use if she were a person. Even as a bat, she seems the cursing type. The anger seems justified enough so Ben isn’t too harsh in reprimands. He’s still feeling somewhat heavy-souled about forgetting her the previous day. The point of bringing the animal home had been to protect it, to heal its wounds and then release it back into the wild. What kind of inconsiderate hob does that, then forgets it even exists? 

‘She could have been killed— or worse.’ These aren’t healthy thoughts to dwell on though, and Ben does his best to shake them from his mind. 

He barely manages to settle her back into the box after everything is said and done. He’d taken her out, fed her, handled her a while, and let her climb around to get rid of any excess energy. She’s still restless, but he doesn’t dare attempt taking her back St. Takodana’s with him again today. The day before had been an accident and a mistake. Ben had no intention of repeating it. The box would have to satisfy her for the time being. “I know, I know. Its just for a little while though!” He promised. 

Beady black eyes glower up at him from the box as he tries to reassure the animal. It didn’t really work, and he eventually gave up. There were other things troubling him as it was— best not to dwell on the smallest of them. It didn’t help that thinking about her brought up other unpleasant thoughts. For instance that it’d be time to release her soon if her flying stunt the night before had been any indication. As rattled as he’d been lately, that wasn’t really something he wanted to think about much. Right then all he could think about was 2:00, QR-8.

He checked his watch on the way out the door—11:30. There was still time to kill, but Ben was too nervous to think about what he could do to kill it. Lunch was an option, but not one he felt he could stomach. So to the church he headed, nearly three hours early. Even as he drove, he could feel every nerve in his body fraying. Ben wasn’t holding up well and he knew it, but this was something he needed to see— needed to hear. He arrived at St. Takodana’s hours early, where Hux almost immediately drug him back out to “At least grab lunch before shit really hits the fan,” as he so eloquently put it. Despite this, and despite the fact that food still sounded like it’d just make him hurl again, Ben is grateful. 

His friend still looked pale, and according to his own words from the day before shouldn’t even be up and walking, but Ben doesn’t point out any of that. He just sneaks out with the man and they go get traditional American breakfasts at some greasy diner on the other end of town. The conversation was non-existent— Hux was understandably still a bit stiff concerning the bat situation. He takes things like that very seriously, and he’ll probably still be stiff about it the next few days too. Ben didn’t think too much of it, and tried to enjoy the din of the place around them while he could. It did little to calm his nerves, but the presence of a friend, even an angry one, helped. Hux ordered a coffee (which he shouldn’t have been having) with some eggs and hash browns. He worked his way down the pile like the posh snob converted to greasy diner regular that he was. Ben can’t even remember what he orders, just that there’s a lot of it. He managed to eat most of it—partially from Hux’s insistence, and partially because he needs something to do, something for his hands to do.

Ben had to drive them back, easily wrestling the keys from an even more pale looking Hux than before. Usually Hux would only ever let him take the wheel over his own dead body. It’s testament to how terribly the man must feel that he fights so little. A “Just in case” water bottle is shoved into his hand after they buckle up and settle in. Even when they start to drive, Hux didn’t complain. He only sat and sipped from his bottle. Ben side-eyed him every once in a while to make sure he was still conscious. The redness around his bandages, the same redness he’d noticed the day before, seemed to have encroached farther onto Hux’s face and neck. With his shirt buttoned up like it was, Ben couldn’t tell anything about the collarbone. That didn’t mean he couldn’t give an educated guess though. And shaky. He was still shaky when he walked too, swaying a bit from side to side, and Ben had to be careful that he matched the man’s pace when they got out of the car. If Hux keeled over he’d be the only thing between him and the pavement. If the man notices, he doesn’t say anything. The bruising and bags looked even angrier against grayish skin and bloodshot eyes. That last part, Ben noticed, was new.

They somehow managed to get back to the church safely, and mostly unnoticed— if that last part were to mean ‘totally and completely noticed.’ Hux was immediately met at the door and hauled back downstairs the second the two stepped foot on the front stairs. For his part Ben didn’t protest, and his friend quite honestly looked resigned to the fate. That’s the last he saw of him for a while after that, but Ben was honestly too wound up to think about it much anyways. The company and support would have been nice, but he couldn’t be around Hux without worrying he’d fall over if the wind blew wrong either. It was better that he was away and resting. 

After everything was said and done that left the time, gut wrenchingly, at 1:45 exactly. Two-o-clock couldn’t come fast enough in Ben’s opinion. He just wanted it over with, and yet at the same time couldn’t make himself ready to face what was coming. It wasn’t an altogether unfamiliar feeling.

* * * *

Hux isn’t there when he gets to the viewing room. The box beyond them, separated by only a thick one way sheet (not glass, but something else he never bothered to learn about), and walls more well built than some past and present civilizations. No one’s come in yet, and that room sits white and empty because of it. They’ll bring Poe in in a few minutes, either before or after his interrogator. Ben’s not sure which despite being told not ten minutes before when he’d arrived and asked his Dad. Every word had gone in one ear and out the other. Now it’s just a waiting game. 

In the back of his mind he laments that Hux won’t be with them— with him. He could really use a friend right now; Someone who knows what’s going on and can guide him through it. Ben’s already checked out mentally. There’s no begrudging the man his absence though. It’s probably not even by his choice, but his doctor’s. Dr. Kalonia is a force to be reckoned with.

‘Probably especially now, after that coffee. She definitely found out about that.’

Ben has half a mind to guess that his friend is currently handcuffed to a hospital bed rail or otherwise out locked in his room. It wouldn’t be the first time for someone at St. Takodana’s. Individuals in their line of work didn’t really take to bed rest too well. 

Off on his right side his Dad and uncle were mumbling all kinds of things Ben probably wasn’t supposed to hear. He was trying not to pay attention, and all he could really hear were the shape of words, but the noise is still a distraction. It takes effort not to snap at the two. They mean well, he reminded himself, and there’s no good reason to be mad at them about that. Now if only his temper would remember that. . .

The door to his right creeped open a crack. Ben only noticed the movement just barely. Seeing his Uncle Luke was the shock he needed to snap out of his stupor—At least a little. He could tell it was him though; grumbling and shuffling in the other room. He could just make out the shabby coat and salt and pepper hair through the sliver in the door. The urge to call out climbed up his throat but he managed to stop himself. Luke was obviously busy, and if he was here, then so was Plo Koon, the North Carolina Curator. Keeper, Caretaker, Warden; All the titles really ran together for Ben, but they all meant the same thing. And they also all meant he could only be here for one thing: Poe. 

They were here about Poe. They were here to talk to Poe. They were probably here to take Poe. That same confliction came for Ben with a vengeance at that last thought. He shouldn’t want him to stay here, to be kept here… But he did.

They’d just gotten him back. What if…? Ben threw that thought out and refocused as his uncle pushed open the door. 

“Ben!”  

Ben swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Uncle Luke. I didn’t expect you to come.” He struggled for words. “When did you even get here?” Luke swept over and threw his arms around him. The hug was crushing— it squeezed the breath from his lungs, and he half wondered just how much of a work out the man could possibly get around to down in his stuffy little hole in the ground.  

Despite being a much smaller man, his uncle had a sort of large energy to match that strength— A presence that could fill a room. It was overwhelming sometimes, much like now. Ben much preferred the comfort it gave him as a child. Luke pulled back and held him at arm’s length abruptly. 

Finally Luke stopped crushing him and stepped back a pace, though he still held his nephew by the arms. “I don’t really know what’s going on but I came as soon as I came. I got here sometime late last night— or early. Depends how you look at it.” He squeezed Ben’s shoulders gently. “I’m so sorry, Ben.”

There was more unspoken words attached to that  ‘I’m sorry.’  Ben could see it on the tip of Luke’s tongue, and he could tell there was more he wanted to say, but refrained. Luke was a very passionate, if private person— He made plenty of fumbles and scenes, but he did try his best.  No doubt he would bring everything up later, as Luke was often known to do. It would be in private where he could corner Ben, and they could talk things over a bit more. Ben wasn’t particularly looking forward to that, or willing to take the man up on his offer for that matter. However the sentiment, while annoying, was also touching. Luke knew he was also inclined to his privacy, and he wouldn’t push anything with other people around. There’s a prick at the corner of his eyes as thinking of this, and they both pretend there isn’t. Ben said the only thing he could think of to switch tracks. 

“Is Plo Koon here? Is he here to question him?” There was always a certain sparkle to Luke eye, and Ben noticed it dull at the reminder of their situation. 

“Yes…” He said slowly, cautiously. “We thought a delicate hand would be best for a situation such as this. Everyone at St. Takodana’s is a bit too… Emotionally invested.”

From behind them Han finally spoke up. “We still could’ve done our damn jobs, Luke. Stop being coy and just admit you want the attention.” 

Luke chuckled almost fondly, if a bit low, undoubtedly still tired. “You’re just jealous.”

Han came over to slap the man on the back. “You wish.” 

Chewie muttered something in French that Ben didn’t quite catch, too distracted, but it sounded like a ‘thank you’. The fact that the man hadn’t already crushed Luke in a hug of his own told him they’d already reunited earlier. It was just Ben that who was late to the party it seemed.

Amidst all the grumbling and chuckling, there was suddenly a second man at the door— someone Ben didn’t recognize. “We’re ready.” He said, and just like that any sense of calm and reunion gone evaporated. They were plunged once more into a dark silence. Luke nodded to the man wordlessly, who disappeared back through the doorway. The group turned as one to the window. 

* * * *

The room was suddenly deathly, unearthly, uncomfortably quiet. Ben hated everything about this. On the other side of the glass, they watched a door open. A burly bearded, balding, gray headed bear of a man marched into the room with a small metal cat carrier- iron. Another person followed behind him, this time a squat woman with eyes that glared straight through the glass— elliptical like a cat’s.

The door closed behind them, sounding the kind of heavy you kept your fingers away from when it was closing. 

The man set the cat carrier on the table at the center of the room and, after his companion made sure the room’s door was firmly sealed, opened the little wire port. 

It took a minute. A slow, agonizingly long, wretchedly mute minute before Ben saw the tip of a black nose. A bat nose. It huffed and sniffed at the air— afraid. 

Ben knew this part. Had seen it a hundred times or more from kelpies, from witches, from humans. All walks of life, all kinds of monsters. He thinks perhaps vampires have it the worst at this part, even if it is safest for everyone this way. He usually doesn’t mind— not when the vampires they bring in are caught with a kill-count of 73 or upwards. With Poe though, it feels different. He’s painfully aware of that, and he feels his lips start to thin. 

Poe doesn’t look like a vampire bat— not completely. Over the centuries vampires have adapted— slowly developing vampire-bat-form variants that more resemble other species of bats. They’re still vampire bats even if they don’t completely look it, but their diets also adapt— molding to be a little bit more like the kind of bat they resemble— meaning they can substitute more blood for the real animal’s diet. It’s especially handy in times of strife. They can more easily blend in visually and dietarily. Even if they’re not as strong as an original, there are undeniable strengths to them. 

‘Imposter Bats’

Ben’s former friend is an Imposter Bat. His face is longer, his eyes larger, and his fur blacker. Poe Dameron looks like a fruit bat. and Ben hates it. It’s the stupidest thing he’s seen all week, all month, all year. Because had Poe still been with them, with Ben, he would make so much fun of him for it. That he looks like a fucking froo-froo adorable fruit bat and not the malicious night terror that vampires are supposed to be. It’s just so stupid. 

Beside him he hears his Dad sniffle a laugh, hears Chewie growl something in French again— a reprimand or a threat of some kind probably. He doesn’t know for sure because he can’t hear anything. All the blood in his body is rushing through his ears. Because Poe is a fucking fruit bat. The first time he sees him after years, and this is how it happens. 

“This had better be a joke.” Luke puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard, and suddenly he realizes that he said that- that he said it out loud, didn’t just think it. He refuses to take it back though, instead reaching up to clutch at his uncle’s hand.

“Deep breaths,” the words are barely above a whisper. Ben wouldn’t know what they were if he hadn’t heard them a hundred thousand times in his life before this moment. He knows the shape of them, and despite the frustration those words always carry with them, he obeys. 

In the room beyond the men watch as Poe is coaxed out gently, shuffling onto the table with little clicks that the mic picks up just fine. This was one of the updated rooms, Ben remembers. Better mics, better containment, safer glass. 

Once he’s out, the carrier is set back off to the side, and Poe is asked to ‘Adjust.’ He does, looking like an oversized plushie one second, then a man the next. It’s like watching an animal in a sack— growing, stretching, shaping to fill out the oversized skin, pressing up against places and rearranging it all to fit. It’s disturbing but over in an instant. Ben can’t look away— gone before it’s even really over, but no less painful to watch. 

Poe’s eyes, when he appeared human, were wide and wild. He looked more pale than Ben could ever remember, certainly not because of any lack of sun, but of life. Gaunt face, gaunt eyes, gaunt body. The only splotches of color were his dark curly mop of hair and the red burn pocks peppered around his mouth. The wolfsbane had left its mark then— mostly healed now. It was proof that the attack on Hux hadn’t been without consequences. Certainly not painless ones either. 

His former friend was haggard looking, like he hadn’t been able to rest without looking over his shoulder in a while. Ben didn’t recognize the clothes— ratty, unwashed, probably stolen. A faded pink t-shirt that’d most likely once been red, and dark jeans that were being held together by a belt and hopes. If he’d been wearing anything else security would’ve already taken it from him— too dangerous otherwise. So with nothing else, and in such a stark room, he looks lost, small. Poe looks scared. Ben knows that expression, has seen it a hundred times or more growing up. He’s never seen it from the other side though, from the side that Poe was afraid of. He’s definitely never seen it so genuine, so strong. 

The room watches in silence as they ask for his hands— he gives them wordlessly— and handcuff him to the table. The cuffs are iron. Not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to keep him from changing or moving when they don’t want him to. The first officer finished then cuffs both feet to the chair legs. The second officer checked her partner’s work, tugging, testing, affirming that it was all secure, and then suddenly they’re both gone again— out the door and locking it behind themselves. 

Poe sat alone for a few minutes after that, empty eyed and slumped over. Ben found himself hardly able to watch. And yet at the same time he couldn’t look away either. Once during those minutes Luke pated him subtly on the arm with the back of his hand, asking low and soft “Ben, why don’t you go wait outside? We can tell you how it goes afterwords.” 

Ben had swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice from shaking when he declined, not really remembering or knowing what he said at the time, but Luke only gave a subtle nod and pated him on the arm a second time, this time more firmly— as if to reassure himself too. 

“Alright. Just tell me if you need to leave though. There’s no shame in it.”

Ben disagrees of course. He only barely keeps from telling the man outright. Luke, if he noticed, said nothing. 

All their attention was stolen the second the door to QR-8’s opened. Poe whirled back around, trying his very best to see the newcomer while cemented in place. Plo Koon stood in the door briefly, waiting for Poe to get a good look at him before approaching. When he does Ben knows it’ll be with that unintentional menace he often carries. “Hello,” he says calmly, and Ben thinks it sounds like he’s talking to a frightened animal. Maybe he is, in a way. At least his voice isn’t frightening to behold.  “My name is Plo Koon. You might have heard of me, as I’ve heard of you.”

His tone is perhaps the only reassuring characteristic he own in this situation. Plo Koon looked quite the picture if you hadn’t ever seen him before. Poe had seen much stranger over the years, but it was different when you weren’t on friendly terms. Ergo, Ben didn’t even recognize him as he stood just inside the room. He took a measured step to the side— more into their guest’s view and away from the door, which closed with a thunk far too final sounding. He was wearing that weird ring of his— the one that made him look normal to humans and human-like beings, if a bit skewed when you looked at him too long. His face was just a bit too long, and his eyes could never be fully ‘normal’ in appearance. It didn’t help either that he had more than a few inches on everyone— especially you were sitting down. As a child Luke had once measured him in his sleep— six foot two. He might have grown since then though. Luke wasn’t exactly a young man anymore, and rumor had it that seal people grew a few inches each century. 

So in short— In had walked a tall dark stranger, dressed plainly but modestly (and certainly too warmly for the weather, cold as it was) and with a pair of black sunglasses whose frames wrapped around his face so that even at an angle his eyes could never be properly seen.

Perhaps it wasn’t as frightening as what he truly looked like, but it was certainly unnerving to say the least. He looked like some kind of scientist ready to dissect his next victim. Worse, Ben knew that was exactly what was going through Poe’s mind at that very moment.  “May I come in?” Even his voice was too low, soft but inhuman sounding. Reassuring in tone yes, but obviously still a bit warped. Maybe Plo Koon had been a better choice than anyone at St. Takodana’s after all. It would be difficult for anyone here to question Poe. It was quickly becoming clear that this was a bit more unsettling for the man on the other side of the table, though.

The two sat and stood for a long while after that, and everyone in the room beyond did the same. They were here for a reason, and this was just the beginning. Plo knew that. So after that while had passed, second after second ticking by, he asked again, adding “I have had a long journey, and would very much like to sit down, please.” 

This time Poe agreed, nodding stiffly and following him with a hard look as he circled the table. Plo sat carefully before laying a a folder of papers down on the table between them. Ben couldn’t be sure, not with those ridiculous glasses, but he had a feeling the man kept giving the mirror a side eye. Poe was less subtle about it, openly swinging his head from Plo to the room’s reflection and back again. 

“Although you may be aware, I would just like to state that no one here is going to harm you. You are safe here. I’m here today to ask you some questions, but you are under no obligation to answer any of them if you are uncomfortable doing so.” There was a long awkward pause in which Poe said nothing in response, so Plo finally added “Is that alright?” As if he actually expected any kind of answer. Poe nodded stiffly, gaze still flickering from one corner of the room to the other, to Plo, then the mirror, then back again. 

‘A frightened animal indeed.’ Ben’s jaw clenched painfully. 

Plo drew out the papers from their folder and began shuffling and sorting them on the table. With one particular page settled on, he leaned back and began. “Ready?” He asked.

Poe nodded again, and Plo mimicked the move— much more relaxed looking, much less fearfully. “For the record, may I ask what your name is?”

Poe shook his head jerkily. Plo only nodded and continued. “May I ask what year you were born?”

Again Poe shook his head, and Plo continued. That single interaction set the precedent for their entire session. Plo would ask, and Poe would shake his head ‘no.’ They all stood around with baited breath as the questions became less and less general, more specific, closer to what they all wanted to know. Plo most likely hadn’t wanted to ask it all today. It wasn’t like him, and someone in a higher position was probably pressuring them all to get answers fast. So on and on they went, until all at once they were in dangerous water. 

“Can I ask what happened November 14th four years ago?” The question caught Ben off guard despite the fact that they’d all been expecting it. 

It stole his breath, and inside the box he could see it doing almost the same to his former friend. There was suddenly a much harder set to his eyes, and for the first time they all heard him speak. It was low, and hard, and painful sounding. “Shut your damn mouth.” That wasn’t Poe’s voice. 

‘The Wolfsbane.’ Ben winced, wondering just what it would feel like to drink a poison that damaged your throat, your mouth, your voice, in that way. He felt his own throat constricting in some sick form of sympathy. 

Plo, for his part, looked unsurprised by any of it and merely apologized, adding “I understand that this is a difficult time for you.” Inside the viewing room however Ben could feel everyone around him (including himself) internally losing their collective shit.

They went back to the questions and wordless ‘no’s after that, much more stilted on one side. Everyone had just settled down again, fixing into some semblance of calm when Plo asked the question “Did you intend to kill Armitage Hux?” It, much like the previous, comes out of nowhere, or maybe it doesn’t and Ben just thinks it does. Regardless he can see  something flare in Poe’s eyes, and his jaw starts to tick and grind angrily. Plo simply sat there and let him stay that way, patiently waiting for an answer of some kind. 

It finally came in the form of a cold, flat “No,” to which Plo only nods. Not much else comes out of him after that. Maybe a glare here or a raised brow there— nothing they can really use in the long run, Ben supposed. He and the others watched as Plo finally reached the end of his list, or maybe he’d just decided Poe is done with him for the day. The stack of papers between them is a bit scattered by then. Long, thick claw like fingers gathered them up, shuffling and patting the ends until it’s all neat and tidy again. He packed the pile gently back into a folder off to the side and rose. Poe watches all of this with that same cold gaze he’d been wearing almost the entire time— the kind you see on predators. Afraid but hungry. It makes Ben’s skin crawl.

‘That kind of animal then.’

“He’s exactly the same. You know that, right?” The words stop Plo at the door, hand still raised to knock. To be let out. He turned back around again and hums. 

“Armitage Hux?” 

Ben could see Poe start to nod. “Yea, Armitage Hux. Do they not let you call him Mr. Hux anymore?” 

Plo tilted his head and took a step back towards the table. “I was told he feels uncomfortable with its use.”

Poe snorted loudly, curling his hands up to rub at his face. The lines were short, but when he hunched it was doable.“You know why right?”

“Why?”

A darker cloud passed over Poe’s face in the next instant, behind his fingers. He sat wordlessly as they waited, then finally leaned back into his chair pensively, hands moving to sit on the table. “Never-mind.” He muttered. 

The set of of Plo's shoulders shifted at that, even Ben could see that. For a single moment things were quiet, and then he opened his mouth, having decided something. 

“May I… tell you a bit of what’s happened since your departure?” Poe stared  balefully up from his seat, neither shaking his head or nodding. Plo obviously took this as invitation to continue, putting another foot forward— back towards the table— then another. “As I understand it,” He started, “everyone here has been very worried for you. We, Luke and I, and our crew, never receive any message without some kind of update regarding the search for you. Perhaps you already knew this, but no one has ever given up on trying to find you.”

Poe quirked an brow at that, maybe mockingly or in disbelief. Ben can’t be too sure now. Plo had reached his seat again and sank back down into it with a huff. “Magda decided it was time for her to leave, oh… a year or so ago.” He motioned casually to the side as if waving away the years. “She has family in the Philippines and thought it was time to go home. She still writes. I hear she’s started poetry again. Can you believe that?  

Jon spoke his first words here about two years ago— right around Christmas, actually. He asked someone to pass the butter, if that’s any surprise at all. He’s still rather subdued some days, but apparently when he starts no one can get him to shut up. It’s quite wonderful.

Anita works just under her father now. She’ll be head baker before you know it. She threw a surprise party for herself when they realized she was taller than her mother. I’m told Evalyn had mixed feelings about the whole thing.”

Ben listened, recognizing some names and stories but not others. St. Takodana’s was home to many, and refuge to many more. You couldn’t really know everyone even if you tried, and Ben hadn’t tried as much as he should’ve in a long, long time. Maybe three or four years long. They listened to Plo as he went on and on, filling Poe in on the stories and milestones he’d missed while he was away. Sometimes Ben would see the tick of Poe’s jaw harden, or his fists curl into themselves more savagely. Plo didn’t ever let on that he noticed, though they all knew he had. 

“Ben finally took a cooking class. Only a year and half ago. Leia sends me pictures sometimes— ‘proof he can survive on something other than craft Mac-and-cheese, cereal, and hamburger helper’ as she calls it.”

Despite the pounding in his ears Ben can’t help but snort loudly. He turns his head to look over at his Dad. Han is already ready and waiting with a sheepish ‘what are you gonna do?’ look on his face, shrugging awkwardly. The moment is brief, but needed. Almost instantly they turn back to the glass. Ben feels a tad lighter somehow. 

In the room, they watch as Plo actually pulls out a real, printed out, honest-to-goodness photo— assumably of something Ben made while his mother was over, and which she’d snapped while he had his back turned. 

Ben feels both impressed and offended. 

Plo handed the photo to Poe, who stretched his hand best he can it. They watched as he studied the picture, even flipping it over to look at the back. One could just make out the outline of black text up in one corner from inside the viewing room— probably the date, dish, and his own name. Ben felt like a petulant fifth grader. The tired, age old groan of “Mooom,” sat at the tip of his tongue. He only barely held it back. 

In the room Poe held the photo. He was mindlessly playing with it in his hands when he looked back up to Plo. Ben can nearly feel words trying to organize themselves in the man’s mind. His face is screwed up in that way. He wants to say something. 

“You’ll be happy to know he hasn’t set any recipe on fire in a few months. It hardly sounds like the Ben we know, wouldn’t you agree?” Plo adds, and at that Ben does feel genuine offense. It’s been well over a year first of all, and second—

Poe opens his mouth and Ben’s entire world goes blank. Everything shrinks to the size of the room beyond—They’re talking about him. Poe is about to say something about him. He watches the words form, but it takes a few seconds after they’re spoken to finally register. 

“Who’s Ben?” 

‘Who’s Ben’

Ben’s heart stopped—actually stopped.

Chapter Text

Ben’s heart stopped—actually stopped. He was out the room before anyone could say another word or grab him. Out the room, out the church, and off the grounds. On his way out he nearly drove over a shrub that was planted (In his opinion) far too close to the Church’s exit. 

He had no doubt in his mind that Finn would hear all about this drive too. He wasn’t swerving down alleyways, but if the man already had him on the radar that meant he was listening for things out of the ordinary. He’d already made it clear that the time where Ben could avoid and ignore him were gone. That meant at some point later today or tomorrow Ben should have another excuse at the ready— if he even bothers to pick up the phone when Finn calls at least. If he doesn’t there will most likely be a visit to his front door, but that’s a bridge he’ll cross when they get to it. 

For around an hour he drives from one side of the city to the other, then veers off again in another direction, any direction really, circling Chandrila like he’s got time to kill or some nonsense. At some point he was forced to stop and fill up with gas—he doesn’t check his phone or look at any of the magazines while he’s there. Thankfully its a ‘pay at the pump’ optional place. The recent increase of vampire attacks have been rising, and to such a degree that even regular populaces have noticed something going on. Ben doesn’t want to be reminded of any of it. Not Palpatine, not Snoke, not stupid ‘Ray, the heir of the Palpatine House’ that no one had ever even heard of until literal days ago, and certainly not Poe! 

So what if he was ignoring his problems, physically running from them to a degree that was most definitely unhealthy? Everything was going to shit. One more personal issue wouldn’t kill him. Certainly not after Poe—

“Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.” As he repeated the manta over and over again, trying to remind himself to ‘not think about it’ he caught sight of a bystander just across the way from him. A small little old lady was filling up a well cared for blue Ford Taurus. It’s just a glimpse, but he could see the look she was giving him. 

‘This guy’s nuts’ is what she was thinking. Ben can’t exactly disagree. It’s enough to make him shut up— at least until he gets back into his car anyways. Then he was off again. He constantly switched the radio on, blaring whatever rock, pop, or oldies station was on to drown out his thoughts. The sound would eventually become too much, so he’d turn it back off again. That never  seemed to help either though— it plunged the car into an eerily stark quiet that left him too close to thoughts he was trying to ignore. So back on the radio would go, and over and over the cycle continued. 

Over the next few days Ben barely responded to any messages. He wasn’t about to ignore them outright— already in too much hot water over the aftermath he’d missed post what was now being referred to as ‘The Palpatine Manor Massacre,’ but that didn’t mean he had to keep too in touch either. Once or twice he shot off a reply to his Dad, and once to his Mom. It was all generic stuff. ‘I just need a few days’ this, and ‘Everything’s fine’ that. 

He read a few of their updates— well, his mothers’ and Uncle Luke’s. His Dad didn’t bother. The man, at that point in his life, knew to leave the reports to his wife and brother-in-law. They liked paperwork (or at least his Mom did), and he was happy to let them have at it. 

The updates were generic at best. After Ben left, not much else was gotten out of Poe. That hadn’t surprised anyone. A few more times after the first they brought him back in. He was happy to give information of his own volition— slipping in and out of reminiscing. Once or twice he even mentioned Ben in a story about something insignificant. He’d been rambling. The second you asked him a question though? Nothing. Poe closed up as soon as you asked him anything to do with anything. Ben, the Palpatines, Vampires in general, even Ben’s mother and Armitage Hux. The only character he ever bothered talking about was Snoke. In a total of three and a half conversations he’d referenced the vampire (twice when asked about him), and every single time Poe didn’t even bother to hide his obvious hatred for the creature. He spat, hissed, and chewed out his words like he hoped they’d poison Snoke. If they did, no one was the wiser. There was definitely something there— something Poe wasn’t saying, wouldn’t admit to, but something nonetheless. 

The other kind of report she sent were that of attacks— Snoke’s people were moving fast across territories. No one was surprised, but it was certainly disappointment to hear about. Still he read those too. Everyone was counting on each other during this time to stay vigilant, to not ignore the signs and stories. 

The only good piece of new he received, coincidentally, was no news. Specifically— No text, call, or bang on his door from Finn. Ben counted this as his one and only blessing.

He tried not to think about any of it too hard or too much, but it was getting to him. At night when he lay in bed before he fell asleep, it got to him. In the shoebox beside him he would hear Rachael rattling around. She was cranky at after dark now. He half wondered if the diet was too stressful for her. She was still recovering after all. Rose had insister though. She would know better, right?

For about a year about her rescue, while she was still under watch, Rose had spent every waking hour after her recovery (and some before) eating every book at their library she could. They’d even sent her and a chaperone to the local public libraries. Ben wasn’t too sure how much information she’d retained during that time, but on a few subjects he was certain she was expert: Plants, obscure historical facts, vampires, and subsequently vampire bats. He needed to trust Rose. She knew what he was doing more than he did. 

* * * *

Ben hesitated at the door, hand on the knob and door cracked open just barely. He could feel morning light pouring in and warming his face, his wrist. He needed groceries— they running low on cereal and milk (his current crutch), as well as fresh fruits for Rachael. The batch of strawberries he’d bought last time was already moldy. It was stupid, but it was store bought fruit. That happened. The only other goal he had was to drop by an exotic animal pet store off 34th and check out their so called ‘quality insect selection.’ Rachael would probably appreciate the change in pace. Just fruit and blood had to get old fast— what did he know though? 

Despite all that, and despite his hours long drive days before, he’d been reluctant to leave the house afterwords. Every time he had recently, something happened. Usually something not so great either. He was only barely superstitious— everyone in his field was to a degree— but there had to be something going on. And then there was the other part of his reason…

Ben usually didn’t wear any holstered gun around home-base because quite honestly? There was usually no need to. This was Chandrila; A large, loud, but otherwise boring city that most supernatural beings with a record steered clear of. St. Takodana’s wasn’t all show. It still had some remaining teeth— sharp and wet, ready to bite—and people knew that. So aside from the odd troll fighting for a squatter’s turf, or a gargoyle eating a neighbor’s dog, things were fairly safe. Even human criminals seemed able to sense that something wasn’t quite right about the place and moved on in time. 

Now though? After Hux? After Poe? After the reports his mother wouldn’t stop sending him? He was starting to feel differently. Things were heating up— even a fool could see that, and a fool Ben Solo certainly was most days. He wouldn’t be about this though, he was sure. So he closed the front door again, throwing the deadbolt, and wandered back into his bedroom to retrieve one of his more discrete handguns. It wasn’t anything fancy, but silver bullets did the job for a number of creatures should they come looking for trouble. And he hoped, really hoped, that a certain particular kind of creature didn’t come looking for him anytime soon. After Poe he wasn’t sure he could face that… 

Ben took a deep gulp of cold air when he opened the door, hoping it would clear his head a little of such thoughts. It didn’t. ‘Maybe I’ll just leave the thing in the glove box.’ It wouldn’t hurt. He’d still have it close by, and at the same time it wouldn’t be too close. It already felt like it was burning his hand as he carried it (holstered, with safety on, and muzzle down) to his car. Yea— he’d just leave it in the glove box. What’s the worst that could happen? 

In his jacket’s left pocket Rey stirred, eager to keep away from the cold chill of the outside. Ben zipped the thing up— just to be sure she was closer to him, to heat. It wouldn’t do her any good to freeze while they were out getting her food. 

* * * *

There was a flash of red in his periphery, that carrot orange he always caught in crowds just because eight times out of ten at St. Takodana’s, it was him: Hux. As a habit it’d bled into regular life now too, and it just so happened that this time he wasn’t wrong either. Walking down the way, weaving his way in and out of people’s paths, trying and failing to be discrete, and with another one of those awful sparking water cans in his hand, was Hux.

How he’d escaped Dr. Kalonia’s care Ben had no idea. However this time there was no way he was about to let him wander around—alone— until three in the morning. It’d been stupid to do last time, especially with how things were with the Palpatines and Snoke. If he needed to drag the man, kicking and screaming, back to his own house, he would. And he’d do it in a heartbeat too. 

Ben pulled over into an older supermarket’s parking lot, cut the engine, and go out. Why his friend, even after everything, was still wandering around, Ben had no idea. He might as well follow and make sure he didn’t almost get himself killed doing it (again) though. There weren’t any groceries he was worried about going bad— he hadn’t picked up milk yet because the store was out of his usual 2%, and the only other items weren’t cold. Even the caterpillars would be okay, he was sure. 

He was a bit distracted when he finally crossed the street and began scanning the crowds again. He hadn’t realized it, but looking at his phone and seeing the date— yea. A Saturday evening. Great. The sidewalks were pretty packed and upon a second look Ben wondered how he’d even noticed Hux in the first place. Maybe it was just some spider-sense type thing. The man did usually mean trouble… 

It was around ten minutes later when he finally managed to spot the man a few blocks down— browsing the storefront of a record shop. Ben ambled alongside him under the shop’s awning. “How’d you escape?”

Hux gives him a rueful side-eye. “How’d you find me?” 

“Not hard. I kind of think I’m developing a sixth sense for when you’re near. Didn’t even know you were out. Just felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.”

“Hardy har.” Hux muttered, then turned and began walking again  “Fuck off.”Ben followed diligently.

“Dinner?” 

Hux gave him another half glare over his shoulder. “Nothing with coffee. I’m going to be in enough trouble as it is.” They found a more upscale joint— something quiet with brothy bland soups and sourdough breads that wouldn’t  kill Hux. They got their orders and found a darker, more secluded corner to sit in. 

Ben wanted to ask about the Wolfsbane, almost wondered if he should, but he knew it was neither the time nor place. So instead they go over how Hux’s recovery is progressing. He’s doing better obviously. The dizzy spells are fewer and farer between, and that’s good. Dr. Kalonia had forgotten to lock the door after his last checkup, so caught up in their conversation about good health was she. Hux had taken full advantage, and would no doubt be taking taking full responsibility for his actions later too. 

Ben said none of this, but he was sure by the shit eating grin he wore (coupled with his friend’s tight expression) that Ben wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding it. The man was less stiff than the last time they’d talked. A few days had helped cool his temper about the whole bat situation, but Ben refrained from bringing it up just yet. It would still be a sore subject he suspected for quite some time. 

Inevitably of course, the discussion veered away from Hux’s recovery though. There was a slight pause in conversation as they were eating, and the man had taken that opportunity to slide in a comment. “They let me see Poe.” He said.  

Ben choked at that, spitting a bit of water back onto his shirt. Hux handed him a napkin. “Not in the room, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’re not that insane.” 

“The window?”

“The window.” Hux agreed, nodding. “They wanted me to sit in.”

“And?”

He watched Hux open and close his mouth a few times, eyeing a fork he hadn’t had use of with his soup. His brows furrowed strangely. “I think something’s going on. I don’t think he’s himself.”

 Ben reached for his coffee— just because Hux couldn’t enjoy it didn’t mean he couldn’t. “No shit, Sherlock.” He said around the cup.

The man’s strange look turned to something more annoyed. “Not like that, you ass. I mean I think there’s something else at play here. He hasn’t forgotten everything. He’s referencing your mother. He’s referencing me—”

“He could know about you from rumor, from the others at Palpatine Manor.”

“Then what about you?” Ben felt his lips thin. “Hm? He’s told stories about you two as kids— not a lot, but they’re stories you wouldn’t know as an outside party. He remembers.”

“Good to know he’s pretending he can’t then.”

“Oh fuck off!” 

Ben balled up a napkin and threw it at Hux. He was supposed to be the annoyed party, not Hux. Hux didn’t have the right like he did. “Get to the point. I don’t know vampires like you do.”

“I don’t know what my point is. I don’t think anyone told him to forget though—”

“They can do that?”

“Someone like Palpatine could, yes, or Snoke. The problem with that theory is that no one would. Poe has vital information concerning locations, projects, and people. His head is full of all kinds of useful stuff that Palpatine wouldn’t have wasted. There’s no way they wouldn’t have drug it out of him first thing. And as far as I know? There hasn’t been any surprise attacks, vampires showing up at secret hideouts, or strange characters using secret key codes. We would’ve noticed before. I know it was a fear everyone had. General Organa especially— That they’d taken him for information. The General’s been going over everything again these last few days though— nothing’s touched. She has everyone working overtime to see if there was ever any attempt to use any of his codes that we might’ve mi—”

“People have been watching for that all along. His codes have been dead since he disappeared. I know. I’ve checked.”

“Exactly! We would’ve noticed if someone started trying to use them. None of it makes any sense.” 

“Tell me about it.” Ben took another drink of his coffee. “So what are you thinking then? I know you’ve got some theories. So what are they?"

He watched Hux set his jaw and lean back into his chair. “Yes, I do. I have a few ideas, but I don’t want to say until I’m sure.” What a diplomatic shmuck. 

“Withholding information in my darkest hour. Thanks.” He felt his face screwing up uncomfortably. 

Hux didn’t rise to the jab, didn’t even tell him to ‘Fuck off.’ That worried Ben just a little. Which is probably why he wasn’t all that surprised at what Hux said next. 

“I think I need to talk to Phasma.”

Ben hummed. “You say that like you’re asking my permission.” 

“I’m not.” Hux snapped, then much more quietly “But your support would be appreciated. I know people, mainly high commanding officers, worry when I do. I know your mother does. They don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t think I’m going to put my neck in her mouth or let her loose.”

“I’m not so sure about the former after recent events.”

“Oh shut up. This is serious.”

“So am I.” He bit the words out, much less amused than before— and he hadn’t exactly been all that happy to turn the other cheek then either. There was a long pause that followed— This was thin ice, and Hux knew it. 

“Fuck you.” His friend finally settled on, and Ben felt his hackles start to rise again. Hux put up a hand in easement though. “We’re not having this conversation right now. I’m going to go get you a bowl of cereal from next door. You’re going to sit there, eat it, and listen.”

Ben didn’t argue as Hux got up and left. He wouldn’t say no to dessert. There was a small convenience store a few windows down— it wouldn’t be long. The restaurant probably wasn’t going to appreciate it, but whatever. Hux returned about ten minutes later with a half gallon of milk, a box of something chocolate and sugary, and a bowl he’d gotten from the cashier at the restaurant. Ben poured himself a bowl and hid the box and carton under the table while he ate.

Hux, once Ben seemed content and quiet with his food, continued as if nothing had happened. “I don’t know what I can get out of her, but anything would help at this point. I honestly, really, truly feel like something bigger than we know is going on here. I’d like to know what before it blows up in my face.

Dr. Kalonia says I should be good to leave in a few days, maybe a week if I continue progressing like I have. I’ll still have to come back— they want to keep checkups and monitoring consistent— but I’ll have enough freedom to leave for a few hours, maybe even days.”

“You’re not going to get anything out of her. She made that pretty clear I thought.”

“I’m desperate, Ben. I have to try.”

“So you’ll give it to her?”

Hux’s face screwed up in disgust. “Not that desperate.”

“Good. Did you ever tell my Mom about that?”

“No. I didn’t feel it was pertinent. It would just create another moral dilemma for her to torment herself  with.”

“Also good. Are you wanting me to come?”

Hux seemed to chew on that idea for a while, studying Ben like he was about turn green and float out the front door. “I’ll think about it. I don’t like you two mixing though. She can smell you.”

He felt his face screwing up. “Ew.”

“Be nice.”

Ben scoffed. “She eats people Hux.”

“Ate. She’s also the reason I was able to get away from Snoke. So be nice.”

Ben took another mouthful of cereal before speaking— just to spite the man. “Yea. Okay. Tell her I say hi then. Or don’t.”

“You disgust me.” Hux threw his fork in Ben’s direction. He dodged the thing easily— bad throw that it was. The small, familiar interaction actually made him smile a bit, and he could see Hux trying not to do the same.

There was still that sobering list of worries, but it was lessened with distance and good company. “Just be careful.” He reminded. Not long after that they noticed a disgruntled looking manager side-eyeing the underside of their table. So the two gathered their things, (cereal and milk included, but not the bowl) left a tip, and headed out the side door before he could come over. 

Outside, the sun had set an hour or so ago but people were still wandering the streets— nightlifers and peopled trying to prolong their Saturday high. For a while they just wandered and window-shopped. Ben wasn’t super interested in anything, but it was probably safer than letting Hux wander the city alone till 3:00 again. The chill wasn’t as bad as it had been lately— almost pleasant breeze actually. So they didn’t feel the need to get back inside anytime soon. 

At some point he got a text from his Mom about Hux. Obviously news had spread. He told Hux, then sent off a quick “He’s with me. We’re fine.” Message before putting his phone on silent and back into his back pants pocket. He’d dealt with enough today. At that moment he just wanted to relax and browse shops like a regular person— pretend for a night. 

At around 10:30 people started to head home, but there were still others that remained— drinkers, some rowdy teens, and those same night-lifers from before. Ben doesn’t worry too much. They were two men that knew what went bump in the night. Things might be getting bad, but they weren’t wandering mindlessly. Both knew to be aware of their surroundings. And of course— it didn’t hurt that Ben was strapped. Everything was fine. 

It was closer to 11:30 when the cold front started to roll in. Ben had begun to wonder if they shouldn’t head back. He’d wanted to drive Hux home to St. Takodana’s— make sure the man actually made it. Hux probably wasn’t stupid enough to think he could wander around at night alone— especially so soon after his last escapade. Then again Ben had also found him doing pretty much just that earlier. There was no telling if he’d actually planned on going back before nightfall, but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

Another sharp gust hit Ben in the face. It broke him from his worries long enough to realize how cold his fingers were. 

‘Yea. It’s definitely time to go back home.’

He shoved both hands into his coat pockets— and immediately regretted it. “Ow—Fuck!” He shook his hand out and took a closer look. “Sorry.” He groused. It wasn’t a serious bite— just something he probably deserved for startling the animal. It was still wild, after all. 

“What?” Hux was looking over his shoulder now. Ben felt a deep flush spread across his already cold whipped face. 

“Nothing.” He started walking again— this time in the direction of his car. “Come on. We should be heading home. I’ll drop you off.”

“You’re bleeding. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Hux had started following again, practically sprinting to keep up with Ben. He huffed sharply and reached for Ben’s jacket pocket. “What the fuck is in your pocke—”

Ben snatched the cloth back and suddenly a very telling, very loud squeak escaped from his hand. Ben froze. Hux froze. He stood there open mouthed. He watched him and swallowed. One man’s eyes were glued to the other, and the other’s to Rachael’s pocket— It was a stalemate.

“You’re joking.” Hux finally said. 

“Now Hux.”

“You still have the bat.” It wasn't a question.

“Hux please don’t—”

“And you’ve been carrying it around all afternoon with us. Did you go grocery shopping with a flying health risk?” Despite the tone, the awful glare in the man’s eye, Ben could tell he was having fun with this. That ear to ear serial killer smile didn’t exactly help. He felt a migraine coming on. 

There’s a brief quiet where Ben is praying Hux won’t speak— won’t saying anything else about it and will let him live this down. Then. 

‘Don’t move. He can’t see us if we don’t move.’ came the line, unwanted but almost somehow fitting. 

“Ben?”

“Hm?” 

“Show me the bat already. I’ve been through enough grief over the thing. I believe I’m owed an appearance.”

‘Great…’ Ben didn’t really need Hux anymore. Rose had already answered all his questions. He didn’t need the ridicule that would follow this ordeal for months, possibly years. Still, he felt something was owed to his friend after all he’d put him through. 

Ben pulled Rachael from his pocket, careful not to stir her up too much. This time he’d slipped his hand in more slowly, careful not to startle the animal. The reward was no blood drawn. She’d definitely been more feisty than usual (bite being proof). No doubt it was due to her recovery, which made Ben feel both more relieved and heart-sick. It was proof she was better already. 

Hux stared down at the animal in his hands for a long, drawn out moment that made Ben feel like he was missing something. He watched his eyes screw up like he was looking into the sun. 

“Ben, are you shitting me?”

“What?”

“Ben that’s a vampire.” Hux finally looked up at him again. 

Ben’s heart skipped several beats and his mouth shot back faster than he could think “It is not. Her name is Rachael.” Instantly he knew that was the wrong thing to say. 

Hux spluttered, face turning that same tomato red it always reverted to in his rages. “‘Rachael?’” He spat. “‘Rachael?’ Really? ‘Racheal, perhaps Ray for short?’ as in ‘Ray The Heir of Palpatine house, Ray?’ That one?” 

“I don’t know. Rose named her— If it helps any I asked—she said it wasn’t a vampire.”

“Fucking hell, Ben! No it doesn’t help! You can’t be serious!”

“Rose had her for hours, Hux— the whole day probably! She wouldn’t spend time with a vampire, let alone a whole day, and  then send it home with me— especially not without telling me!” The words gave Ben confidence, enough to slip Rachael back into his jacket pocket and away from Hux’s scrutinizing. 

Hux saw this, set his eyes on Ben, turning hard. He threw a finger out like it was a knife, jabbing at the air and pointing forcefully at where the animal was safely tucked away. “Ben that’s a fucking vampire! I know what they look like. I know what they smell like. I’ve lived with them for nearly two decades, almost my entire life. I grew up around those fuckers.” His voice was rising, grinding painfully against Ben’s ears. “Don’t you dare doubt me now of all times, you overgrown walking piece of shit!”

“Hux, chill. It’s not.” And yet with every word Ben doubted that more and more. Hux would never make this kind of mistake. He knew this stuff, had lived and endured and survived vampires.

Ben knew vampires in a general sense, in the same way a Highschool kid could look at a deer and tell you that’s what it was, he could do the same with monsters and fairies and things that went bump in the night. Vampires weren’t his specialty, though. 

He certainly didn’t know them well enough to distinguish their bat forms from the real thing apparently— had never been that close to the real thing for that matter. The ‘real deal’ didn’t tend to hang around such large and dangerous competition. 

So no, he wouldn’t know, but Rose would— Did know! It had been the whole reason he’d asked. Because. She. Knew.

“Rose said it’s not a vampire.” He said again. “She wouldn’t make a mistake about that. And she wouldn’t trust a vampire— Sure as hell not enough to lie for one.”

Hux took a sharp step in his direction, and Ben took one back in response, cupping a hand over his jacket pocket. “Depends on the vampire.” Hux ground the words out between clenched teeth.

They were so distracted, so far into their own little world that (for at least Ben) is falling apart, that neither man saw an odd pair cross the street to intercept them. They stopped under a light fixture, argument getting louder and louder the longer they stood there. Ben felt himself raising his voice to counter Hux’s, because it couldn’t be like he said it was. Racheal was a bat. 

Yes—He’d been taking care of a bat. A stupid fucking animal he found while   drunk one night. An animal that’d helped distract him while he waited on news from Hux, about Hux, then about Poe. She’d been his companion, keeping him sane while he had nothing else to do. It was just a bat. 

‘She’s just a bat!’

Something grabbed the back of Ben’s neck. The next thing he knows his nose is cracking against a wall. There was a blip between the two events where he knows he was thrown, but it all just happened so fast. He reached for his gun on pure instinct alone— can’t even see because his eyes are watering so much. He tried to blink them away and at the same time came to a harrowing realization: He left his gun in the glovebox. 

That same thing from before grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled hard. Ben got the general sense for where the creep was and did his best to whirl around. He both heard and felt some of his hair tearing out as he did so. With one hand he made like he’s going to punch the guy, and the other he swung around fisted with his thumb out. He saw a flash of pale skin, green/yellow fangs, and then his thumb was driving into an eye socket. 

An unearthly screeching pierced the air around them. It nearly blew Ben’s eardrums out and most likely drove anyone in the area away. People in Chandrila were smart unfortunately— they didn’t go looking to investigate strange sounds in the dark. There were few and far between “Hello? Is anyone there?” Individuals unless they were armed to the teeth. Ben wasn’t about to count on that spark of good luck. 

‘That would make things too easy.’

“Ben!” 

The next thing he knew an arm had reached out from the dark and wrapped itself around his throat. Another clapped itself over his mouth hard enough to rattle his teeth. A pair of bright glowing eyes appeared in front of him. He couldn’t close his eyes fast enough— and before he even registered the words they were already spoken. 

“Sleep.” 

Chapter Text

Mr. Black was gone. Where he was, Rey couldn’t possibly have guessed, but when she’d woken some days previously, her one and only friend was missing— the one she was supposed to go to when she left Ben. The one that knew how the world worked— how to hunt, and scavenge, and blend in. How to hide. 

Rey, who’d spent over a center undead, knew how to do none of this. Rey knew of people. Her afterlife experience however, was more mainly focused on vampires, brutality, and captivity. That was essentially it, and none of that would get her far. So yes, perhaps she’d panicked. Yes, perhaps she’d overstayed her welcome. And yes, perhaps she’d been ignoring certain signs, but this felt like too much. Too much pain. Too much punishment. Ben was no longer just her savior. He was now her only lifeline.She spent her days torn now— half worried out of her mind, half lazing into Ben’s comfort. He made the second part too easy. 

Little did she know how fast things would come (unraveling) crashing down though. And come crashing down they did. 

* * * *

Time could not dull that memory— of what he smelled like, looked like, felt like. The air around him had been alive. A human. A dog selling its dog brothers and sisters to the lions who craved their flesh, their blood. 

The Hux family was infamous, well known and feared within at least a dozen and a half societies. Responsible for the growing of an empire in at least one of those families too— hers. 

Rey knew Armitage Hux, was familiar with the Hux lineage and legacy— the trail of both physical and metaphorical blood that trailed along behind it. That family wore such a reputation like royalty wore robes of fine weave— with pride. And this… this was one of those men. He was the same man who’d tormented and poisoned and killed— perhaps not by his own hands always, but certainly by his words, his commands. He’d followed that legacy, that family tradition, like it was a reward in and of itself.

Hux had gone missing over six years prior. A Red Traitor, he’d been called by some, but Rey thought otherwise. Too cold and heartless was a man like that to change— to repent. Others claimed his demise, a story Rey enjoyed much more. Had hoped for even.

Sitting in Ben’s hands though, looking up at such a man risen from the grave? This man, with cold eyes and that awful scowl—the one that was supposed to be a face. Cold was the norm for vampires, for most corpses really. And yet the term ‘Ice runs through her veins,’ which Rey would often read in books had never felt quite so literal. 

‘What’s Ben doing with this monster?’

The end of her small and simple reality had come for her finally. It’d come before she’d had the chance to accept its hand with any kind of grace. Or perhaps that time had come and gone, and Rey was too foolish to notice. Now she would suffer the consequences, whatever they may be. She was startled then, when Ben shuffled her back into his hoodie pocket, almost protectively. She couldn’t help but hope— it was a desperate endeavor, a last ditch effort to safeguard her peace that would only end badly, but she was weak at heart. 

‘Please…’

There was a lot of yelling after that that Rey tried to ignore. She shivered and shrank more into herself, deeper into the soft cotton of Ben’s pocket. That voice. That voice was so familiar, or perhaps it was only the volume, the violence that it promised. She hadn’t missed it. Had missed its presence as a dark harbinger even less.    

Rey was drawn out of her panic by a great deal of tumbling and crashing, and the words got louder, more like screams and less like speak. She clutched at the soft fabric of the hoodie and closed her eyes until everything stopped shaking. When it did Rey was more shaken than she wanted to admit. She could smell it now. 

‘Blood!’ 

Rey crawled out of her pocket feeling bruised in the same way an apple would (even if she were realistically perfectly fine) to find her human man lying sprawled on a greasy alleyway floor. He wasn’t moving. Neither did he stop her from coming out like he usually would— so worried she’d wander off and get crushed or lost. One of his hands was covered in a thick sappy looking red that she already knew wasn’t his own. 

A pang of real fear shot down her spine then. Two vampires loomed over them. One was lurking closer up towards the street, a lookout, with his back to the alley, and the other sat crouched low over Mr. Hux farther back— shrouded in the dark passage behind them. She watched as the man struggled in the dust— rendered weak under such an oppressive strength. Pale, already shaky hands clawed and pushed at the figure above him. She watched the vampire put a knee down on Mr. Hux’s throat and wrap bony white fingers around one of his lower arms. It was like watching a monkey pull a desperate, flighty bird apart. That Rey had seen once, at one of Palpatine’s after-dinner shows. It still visited her in her sleep at times. She remembered it well. There was no real challenge, and Rey hadn’t been able to pull her eyes away from the scene then. Neither could she now. 

Despite the knee Mr. Hux was screaming valiantly. She watches as his captive arm, more specifically the inner meat of his wrist was raised to thin, chapped lips, cracked and already bleeding from some kind of starvation disease. His screams grew louder, more shrill and animal when those same lips receded—and the yellowing teeth behind them bite down. 

It was horrific. It made Rey’s stomach roil. She felt like retching, and yet at the same time wanted desperately to let it happen. Desired, so deeply, to watch. The Hux family was in no small part responsible for uncountable atrocities. That man’s sins were stacked against him, a list longer than perhaps even the higher bluffs from her childhood were tall. Those crashing waves, strong and powerful as they were, would surely struggle too to wash away his sins. 

The priest she’d remembered so recently had taught many things. Often he spoke of redemption, and of wrath, which only God could rightfully take. She didn’t really know if she believed him. He’d been just as odd as the rest of them, if set apart by his kind heart, but maybe there was merit in not doling out vengeance when it wasn’t yours to take.

‘The pesky man.’

Letting it happen though? Did that count? Couldn’t she just… not do anything? Was this that justice he’d spoken of? A smaller part of her whispered that ‘no,’ it was not, but all the rest of her didn’t feel all that much inclined to listen. It was one less problem in the world— one less stain. 

But of course another thought came to her in that moment of indecision, one that that threw back the scales into a more equal order, tilted her fast over and to the other edge all in one swing —the realization that after these creatures were done with Mr. Hux they’d come for Ben. 

Ben, who was unconscious and probably unarmed in any of the ways it truly mattered. Ben, who was just a man, just a human. Ben, who wasn’t durable or immortal— who would die. Ben, who even in the face of a Hux put her back in his pocket, protected her. Yes…That brought forth a very real fear from inside what was left of Rey’s soul. 

And yet there was very little she could do. Her strength had been whittling down. There was no begrudging Rose for her request, perhaps as cruel as it was, but even before that the food hadn’t been enough. She was malnourished and weaker than what such a situation called for: An immense drain on power might put her right back where she’d started days ago in that park. . . or worse.

Rey needed food, and the only source she could think of was lying under her feet. 

Up until this point she had refrained, had hated herself for even considering it, but now it was the only option they had. And the worst part, the part that made Rey hate herself even more, was that it made her excited. She wanted this— to be exactly the thing she claimed not to be. 

‘It’s for a good reason. It’s not the same!’  And she would have to keep to telling herself that too. 

She crawled down to Ben’s side, where his hand lay palm skyward. 

‘It’s for Ben.’

Her teeth, small and batty, sank into the meat of his wrist— tearing to pull blood faster. Time wasn’t a luxury, and if Ben would awake it would only hurt him more, but this was necessary. 

The taste was bitter, sour like some of the rarer breeds brought into Palpatine Manor— the ones that needed time to age like wine. Rey’d never found out what it was that did it, but she knew what it would do. She needed to work fast. It wouldn’t kill her, but it wouldn’t give her the same kind of nutrients it should either. Vampires couldn’t even digest it properly. The stuff was tainted. She needed to get Ben and get away before it started to affect her. 

The flow began to flow more freely— she was getting bigger, growing more dangerous teeth. Her muzzle moved up the wrist, opening up a trail red as she went. At some point she felt large enough, strong enough. Let tongue— long, flat like a cat’s and unfamiliar— laved at the streak of torn meat on Ben’s arm.  

It began to heal, knitting itself back together right as she felt one of the figure’s attention shift. 

She must have made too much noise. 

‘Get Ben, get out, get help.’ But that’s not how it went. Rey felt like whatever she was, whatever this shape was, she wasn’t completely in control anymore.  

‘Instincts.’ Something whispered, and she knew that’s what she was fighting. Instincts. And fight them she did. Not to save these sick killers, no. But to keep herself from doing the same to Ben. The two that’d ambushed them weren’t much of a fight— wouldn’t even have been of they weren’t ill already. Rey found herself trying her best not to play with them after everything was said and done. Animals did that— they played with dead things. She didn’t want to do that, to be that. ‘Get Ben, get out, and get help!’ She reminded herself again. It felt like talking underwater. 

She tried less hard to not kill Hux. It seemed her instincts were less interested in a pasty creature like him, and more in a real threat she could recognize. Ben was a threat, but apparent not one her animal hindbrain could recognize. To Giant-Bat-Monster-Rey, Ben wasn’t a threat— Had never been, and wouldn’t ever be. He was Ben. And he was in danger. 

Ben was no small man. As a bat he’d been larger than life. Among other men he was a giant. So even as a brown bear sized bat creature,  he was no easy package to carry. Rey hadn’t dealt with humans like this in decades, was terrified of hurting him any more than he already was. 

His features were soft and warm despite their situation— she knew the signs of a compelling when she saw one. Even in sleep he looked brilliant though— much better when she wasn’t the size of a small fruit. She couldn’t tell what else they’d done to him though. Rey hoisted him higher. She tried to arrange him safety without accidentally snapping his neck. How delicate were humans again? Could that happen? As she pulled him up towards herself, a thought struck Rey. She’d admittedly never had the thought of “pretty” come to mind when looking at men, though she had fancied a few. This was different. This—he—was pretty. Even as dire as things may be, she felt enthralled by him. She felt—

A loud groan broke her from those kind of spiraling thoughts. Right. The Hux was still alive— in and out of consciousness, but unfortunately alive. 

Rey shook herself, brushing off imaginary strings and cobwebs that’d started to take residence on her shoulders and around her throat. It was much more of an effort to swallow like she was, perhaps not arduous, but certainly different. It would take some getting used to.

Rey began arranging Ben into her arms— folding knees and arms into something she could comfortably carry. He was like a rag doll, loose limbed and pliable. The sight was not unfamiliar— it was frightening. Carrying someone though— that was new. She’d never carried a bride, but holding him like she was, she could get the sense of how worrisome and awkward the idea was. When he was finally settled in and neatly arranged, she held his legs in one arm and his back in the other. The skin of his face sagged against her fur— an odd but not unwelcome sensation.  Neither was his warm chest, his heartbeat thumping through her bones. For just a second she pretended it was her own heartbeat— that she was still alive, still a young girl, able to marry, have children, and grow old. 

Then that awful Hux groaned again. She heard him start to shuffle again, and suddenly the moment was gone.

Would Ben get in too much trouble if the man died? Was he just babysitting the monster? Or had Mr. Hux somehow managed to convince him that he wasn’t as terrible as the stories said? Did Ben even know that much?

Rey was familiar was punishment. She didn’t want that for him. 

Ben shouldn’t be punished because she left the man to die. Even if it was what Mr. Hux deserved. If it meant the fool came with then so be it. 

Rey looked down and startled, seeing little red pinpricks in Ben’s arm where her claws were set. She hurried to pull back and press back down again, soothing the spots more gently with the pads of her fingers. It was time to go. He needed help. She would just have to take the Hux (Rey tried not to gag on a bit of bile that climbing her throat) and worry about him later.

With one foot she grabbed onto the Mr. Hux’s leg. She kept the other firmly on the ground, limping forward and dragging him with them until her wings got a decent grip on the alleyway wall of a building. She quite enjoyed pulling him through the muck as she did so.

Ben for his part seemed content to sleep in her arms. She wanted to break it, the compelling, but it was probably best he didn’t wake up just yet, There wasn’t a lot of time and even less human mouths to answer any questions he might scream at her. The most she could do was mimic a bit of human speech as she was, but it never sounded quite right. It felt better to avoid that. The fact that she’d never been confident with her abilities of the mind helped little otherwise. Palpatine hadn’t liked her to be strong, to be capable of defending herself from him. To her shame there were probably vampires half or a quarter her age with more skill than her. It’s partly what she suspected set her apart from Snoke in her grandfather’s eyes.

It wasn’t till around halfway up the building when Rey decided it would be wise to get a better grip on Mr. Hux. She rolled her eyes as she did so— a monster, sure, but a delicate one. Her other foot gripped hard around his wrist— the one that was torn open. Her toes had to work his other hand off the wound— it was clutching at it even in his stupor. She wasn’t about to dirty her tongue for his sake. He cried out in pain when she managed to wrap herself around the gaping hole— perhaps waking up a little more. It would keep him alive though. The beast should be grateful. 

The building was high enough at its tallest point that they could take off without much trouble. Chandrilla’s skyline hadn’t looked so wide and wild last time. Now, with Apex Predator’s eyes it looked like a domain— her domain. Animal lungs burned with cool Autumn air— chilly to humans, warm to the undead. 

Carrying so much weight it was probably best to play it safe so she aimed high. Initial takeoff went fine— a little bumpy, but the winds were with them, and Rey wasn’t about to complain. It’d been too long since her wings had been stretched so fully. The pressure, the strain felt good.

The first half of the flight went smoothly aside from coming across some terrified and quite frankly delicious smelling geese. She managed to avoid veering off course too much, but instinct demanded food. A goose was probably cleaner to eat than a Hux, anyways— safer too. Even she knew of those rumors. At around the halfway point the man actually woke up enough to stab her. She’d almost let him fall to his death just for that— even wanted to sit back and watch. She was carrying him for a reason though, and damn it she wouldn’t fail. If she carried him far less carefully the rest of the way though… well that wasn’t against any rules as far as she could see. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was certainly a beggar. 

* * * *

A beacon—that’s what it was. St. Takodana’s main building possessed an ancient, beautifully crafted stain-glass window at its front. No doubt the colors were a rich kaleidoscope when the sun hit it during the day. It was probably almost as old as her, maybe older.

That’s why, even afraid, bleeding, and worried for Ben, Rey felt just the smallest pang of guilt when she flew right through it. There was a loud shattering that hurt her delicate ears as they broke though. She had the sudden feeling she’d not just broken a simple piece of art, but a protection of some kind. 

‘There goes decades of work.’

The inside of the building was both wide and tall. The single room was probably three stories high. It was enough that normally Rey could’ve flown had things not been as they were. With two men swinging about in her owns though, candles and glass working to effectively blind her, and the odd ringing in her ears, she felt herself spiraling down towards the ground.  

She curled herself in, stomach up, and the next thing she knew cold hard ground was slapping against her back hard. She skidded, feeling the grate of spine on cold stone. The second and third things she felt, amidst all that, were two fully grown and quite frankly large men landing on top of her. All in all it wasn’t enough to break anything, but both her body and her pride would be bruised come the following morning. That, and a definite ache that would no doubt make her regret ever waking.

In the next moment she felt hands— rough, hard, big hands, then smaller hands, then hands of all sizes— covering her body. It was an overwhelming sensation that was made worse by the the heavy weight of bodies holding her down, claustrophobic and hot. Rey did her best to try and shuffle into a sitting position with the men in her grasp, careful of both their delicate states even if she still felt a dark hatred towards that red haired menace—Mr. Hux. 

The hands wouldn’t allow it though— wouldn’t allow her to help them, save them. In her near delirium she couldn’t seem to understand why. 

‘They’re afraid! Stop it! They’re just afraid!’ She didn’t stop though, didn’t even hear that small voice that whispered peace and calm. Raw panic had already set in. She thrashed dangerously, tossing Mr. Hux away and into the crowd of shouting. He was the only thing she could think to throw that would get rid of the hands. 

‘My wings!’

They were standing on her wings, rubbing boot heals into the thick but sensitive skin. They crunched and stomped. She couldn’t move— they were keeping her fingers held to the stone, and she could only do so much with her feet. In the face of danger she couldn’t bring herself to let go of Ben. He’d taken care of her, protected her, and she would do the same now. Rey held him close to her chest, cradling his face closer to hers and out of reach for the people around her. She felt them grappling with his clothes, her fur, pulling and ripping away in some vicious attempt to separate them. 

Try as she might, the hands finally did manage to drag him away. He slipped through her fingers, and in her effort to keep hold of him, something soft snagged on the edge of her claws. Something with bone underneath that her nail tips scrapped against. Rey felt herself reel back, pulling her claws off and away from Ben. Just like that he was gone. 

There was no time to mourn though, as much as she worried. Because next came the searing—the scorching, simmering, burning pain. It was a strange experience, feeling the heat yet not smelling it— not singed hair or crisped meat. Rey couldn’t even tell rightly if the hands had freed her and been replaced, or the patchwork of pain had simply joined them. 

All she knew from that moment onward, the only thing she knew, was that it felt like they were skinning her. Raw, hot, and blinding, it finally pulled her under the blanket and into oblivion. 

* * * *

Hux could only really remember things in flashes. After two screwy psychos had jumped them, vampires no less, the disease ridden, flea baggy kind, things got fuzzy fairly quickly. There was a knife he kept in his shoe— a place he quickly realized was probably not the most accessible. He’s never had to use it— certainly not had the time to in most situations that happen fast. So perhaps that’s on him, but he still tries his best, little as that counts for. 

In a blur he saw things— fangs, yellow and flaky, pale hands, thin, bony, and knobby limbs. It all happens before he really knows what’s going on. He catches himself thinking in the blink of a moment that he’s lost his touch. Ben goes down like a sack of bricks. Hux goes down not a second later. At best the struggle appeared to the outside viewer as weak. He wasn’t out of shape by any means. Not with his health and profession habits, both past and present,  and certainly not with the way he had to move around St. Takodana’s. There was no need to find a good place to hike. One only needed to find Hux’s home sanctuary and they’d be set. 

Despite all this however was the simple fact: Hux was but a man. What loomed over him was not— was both less and more at the same time. The difference was sobering. 

Another flash, another blink, and something different, something bigger, darker appeared just beyond their struggling. That something blocked out all the light from the street behind them, towering like a genuine biblical nightmare. The only glow Hux could see were bright, beady, wide-set eyes that glared at them from a flat head, and teeth.  Hundreds upon hundreds of too white teeth that braided together and shuffled— moved. It was not unlike watching spiders. He felt himself go boneless. 

In the next moment the skin of Hux’s wrist was being ripped away— torn to shreds like paper. It was a white hot flare that left Hux voiceless and blind. Sightless wide eyes looked to the sky— black from light pollution. When he could see again, feel again, the oppressive weight and smell that’d hung over him was vanished. He clutched at the loose skin of his arm and did his best to roll over. He managed it with a stifled cry. There, farther on down the alley, shrouded by trash, dark, and the blur of pain Hux was struggling to see through, was the tall figure of a monster.

“Strigoi,” he choked. 

The living vampire

With his heartbeat in his throat and ears, Hux watched in frozen horror. It— that thing was mauling a figure—the vampire who’d been on him just moments before. He just knew. In a haze of flailing limbs, blood spray, and a noise he could only describe as a large terrier who’d gotten ahold of its toy and wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon, it was eating its own kin. Or maybe that’s just what it looked like. It was rending the creature limb from limb with short, muscle corded arms and stomping down with hand like back paws. 

Hux’s eyes were watering, and he suddenly realized that it wasn’t out of fear. That was unlike him anyways. 

No. The pounding he was hearing wasn’t his heart, and the tears in his eyes weren’t because of fear or pain. It was all because of a larger than life set of spindly arms that stretched up into the air above and around them— leather wings that could probably lift the animal and a decently sized cow into the air with it. No wonder it’d blocked out all the light. 

The human form of a vampire was for blending in with humans. The bat form of a vampire was for hiding from humans. This— This form was for slaughtering humans. For slaughtering werewolves, witches, other vampires, enemies of any and all kinds.  

One second he was staring at it’s maned and muscle packed back. The next, at its awful eyes-shine and viscera stained muzzle. Snaggletoothed teeth were braiding themselves in and out of each other— cleaning the hook of each fang. 

Blood-loss had already left him feeling lightheaded and queasy. That, combined with the sight before him— what was left of the vampire in the alleyway beyond and a living eldritch horror standing before it all—was enough to make him vomit into his own mouth. He managed to swallow the sour down after a few tries, too afraid to take his eyes off the creature. 

He watched it take a step forward. It’s claws clicked on the concrete when it did. The sound was enough to snap Hux somewhat out of his stupor. He managed to haul himself up onto his feet in one swift move… and proceeded to immediately regret the action when black spots started to take over his vision. 

“Oh fuck!” He hissed. 

He couldn’t see passed the tunnel that was taking over his sight. His ears still worked perfectly well though— if a bit muddled. He could hear the beast taking more steps forward. That only helped to speed up his heart-rate more as he struggled to not pass out. It was seconds, he would suppose, before he passed out when he finally knelt back down. Only then did the world start coming back into focus, including his mind. 

“Ben!” It came out as a croak that Hux was too worried to notice. Where was Ben? “Ben!” He cried a little louder, turning his eyes from the creature and back around to where he’d last seen his friend.

He was still sprawled in the same place, in the same way. He couldn’t make out anything other than that, too dark and too fuzzy to really see. Things warp a bit after that. There’s a huffing, a shuffling, and a heavy pressure on his arm— the one that now has pieces of meat handing on in flaps. Hux screams again.

The next time he woke up he felt.. bouncy. He was loose limbed and weightless, but he could also feel his inner organs shuffling around inside him. He knew this feeling— had felt it in this context only a few times in his life, but could never possibly forget it; He was flying. Or rather, being flown. He must have passed out after his arm was grabbed— even if he couldn’t remember it. 

His torn arm and respective leg, the right one, were being crushed beneath cold bars. His vision was just cleared enough that when he looked up, he could see that it was the creature’s claws. He didn’t dare look down. Didn’t dare see how far up he was. Instead he turned his eyes farther up, not at the hand-like feet that held him, but towards its arms and pale wings, to its head. It’s face isn’t visible though, too covered by the the mane of its neck, and mass in its claws, the figure Hux thought he could recognize.

“Ben!” The wind took the words from his mouth. Not even he could hear them. Worse, above Ben didn’t stir at all. That frightened Hux. Frightened him more than he wanted to admit, than he could admit at a time like this. So instead he let pure uncontrollable rage take over, the kind that replaced and hid fear. His left hand and leg were free (more like free hanging), and he was finally able to draw out the knife he kept in his shoe. 

He stabbed once between the toes— not thinking— and immediately felt the knife cut into his leg too. The only condolence is that he hears the monster cry out with him. He pulled the knife out and (using his head this time) aimed for the achilles heal tendon. He wasn’t given the chance though. The blade swished through the air, but before it could make contact Hux was thrown into the air. It confused his already scattered thoughts, and the next time the claws snatch him up out of a free fall, he was forced to realize the knife was gone. He’d dropped his one and only weapon. 

It had him by both upper arms now, closer to his shoulders, and Hux was forced to put his worries aside so that he could clamp down in his open wrist again. The creature’s foot had been putting enough pressure on it to slow the bleeding down, but without it, and having suddenly been stressed by his flailing in the air, it was suddenly pouring once more. For a while after that he  felt himself slipping in and out of awareness. He doesn’t quite pass out, but a few times it comes close. All he knows is that the next time he’s fully aware, they’re sprawled on top of their captor, Rachael. He felt his stomach flip as he was raised up and thrown, slamming into bodies like a bowling ball into pins. It knocked all the breath from his lungs, leaving him feeling more shaken than before. Hands appeared all over him, and people were dragging him off—away. It took him a minute, a solid minute of pure panic before he finally realized that these were figures and faces he knew— had known for years now. The smells and architecture were familiar too, even if the colorful glass shards all over the floor weren’t. 

He didn’t know where Ben was. Hadn’t the slightest clue, but he knew they were taking care of him like they were taking care of Hux. They wouldn’t let him look back to be sure, but he was almost positive it wasn’t for the reason of his friend, and more-so of the animal laying on their ancient tiled floor.

The Living Vampire, Rayna Palpatine, the heir to Palpatine house and its empire.

‘I know you!’

Compelled, he’d been compelled. 

“Don’t you dare let that thing get away.” He heard himself hiss the words. Even if he didn’t intend to say them, they were exactly how he felt at that moment. Things were getting fuzzy again. It was harder and harder to think, but he knew it wasn’t the same. He still pressed on, desperate. His feet and lurched forward and away.

“The heir, Rayna, that’s the heir!” He choked. They needed to know. They needed to understand. 

‘I’m better than this.’ He tried to tell himself. ‘Don’t forget! Don’t you dare forget!’

And yet he felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into darkness. Someone had done this to him. Someone had made him forget, was still making him forget. 

‘What else did they do to me?’

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Eventually Ben felt awake and aware enough to ask for the lights. Luke started with the side table lamp on his and Ben’s right— far enough away and with a soft enough glow not to be too harsh. The two sat and chatted for a bit— going over small details of the case so far, Rachael’s condition, and Hux. All Ben really wanted to know about at that minute, that second, was Rachael— how she was, where she was, why she’d done it (any of it). With Luke sitting beside him and the lights back on Ben couldn’t risk it though. As much as he denied it the man was painfully aware of how badly he hid his true feelings. He’d been made aware for that matter since early childhood— where he was nearly always incapable of getting away with or hiding anything. His mother’s keen eye certainly never helped, but it would take a fool greater than Ben not to know just how terribly he wore his heart on his sleeve. 

Ben was desperate to go to her. To try and talk to her, ask the questions that were killing him. Or maybe he just wanted to see her— confirm that what he’d been telling himself wasn’t true actually was. That he’d been lying to himself and being lied to at the same time for a long time. His stomach wouldn’t stop churning over it all. 

Ben needed to steer his thoughts as far from the topic of all things “Palpatine Heiress” as possible. He was getting lost again and his fatigue and shame would only hold up as a (mostly true) cover for so long. He didn’t trust himself. And certainly not around his uncle.

'First thing’s first.’ He had to get rid of Luke— ease his suspicions, move the conversation away from the heiress, and then 

Get. 

Away. 

From. 

Him.  

And— it just so happened that his friend Hux provided the perfect topic to do just that. Apparently this last stunt was to be his last for a while. He was, as Luke and so many other put it “In time out.”

“Armitage is in a world of trouble this time. His last reckless move already had him on thin ice. The only saving grace then was bringing home a powerful and all beloved figure— vampiric as he may be. I double that’ll save him this time. We can’t just let the man wander around until he’s attracted every high-profile vampire big-wig known to man— Which is already what this is shaping up to look like. He’d managed to pull two incredible figures from thin air, one of which we weren’t even aware of the existence of.”

“That’s… Yea that's a lot.”

“Hm. I don’t think Armitage is getting out of this anytime soon.”

“You’re the only one who calls him that. You know that, right?”

Luke shrugged, scribbling something down in his notes absentmindedly. “I knew his father. I prefer not to use the name. Bad memories.” 

Ben only hummed. 'Right.' Downworld scholar, renowned huntsman, and hunted legend among a half dozen other titles— some more absurd an/or true than others. 

“What’s gonna happen to him then?” 

Luke groaned. “Well most likely you won’t be seeing him for a while. I imagine he’s going to be in a small white box alone with his thoughts for quite some time— then the real punishment will be dealt. What that would be I couldn’t say.”

“Maybe they’ll finally send him to ‘Daredevil’s Anonymous.’ His uncle snorted loudly, only barely managing to compose  himself again after and throwing a glare his way. 

“Ben.” Luke scolded. He swatted at his leg. Despite himself Ben felt a small smile carve its way onto his face. His uncle heaved a heavy sigh again, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Not a bad idea.”

* * * *

“Ben I’m not going to ask you why you were stupid enough to be out so late— with a very wanted and possibly suicidal man, without a gun—really any kind of protection for that matter, and without telling anyone what was going on. I’m your uncle and as such I have and always will invoke the right to hand off all nagging, chewing out, and admonishment responsibilities to your parents. I can sit back and know you’ll be thoroughly torn a new one when they allow your parents through that door.”

There’s a shuffling, Luke pointing in the direction of their room’s entrance. Probably locked for the moment.

“That being said… as a consultant on this project, my presence is necessary because of last night’s events. You were involved. Therefore I’m involved. So let’s just ignore, for the time being, everything you did wrong last night and get down to the nitty gritty details shall we?”

Ben gathered himself “I thought I had my gu—”

“Ben” Ben jaw clacked shut. “Unless it’s for the report I’d rather not. I’m tired, and I can only do this bit for so long.” He did his best not to turn his head— not a difficult feat. As it was he already found it hard to look at Luke’s shadow. Ben rolled his head over on the pillow to look back up at the ceiling instead— away from the man. It felt all too familiar. Always in trouble. Always a pain in the ass. 

Luke was the one to break the silence. He was tapping away at his clipboard with his pen— Ben could hear the rhythm to some song he hadn’t listened to in decades. He couldn’t remember the name of it but it stood out from childhood memories. “Why don’t we just focus on what did happen?” Luke asked.  “There’s no sense in talking about what you didn’t do. You’re both relatively safe and unharmed. Hm?”

Ben hummed agreement. Luke stayed quite for a moment more—the tapping gone— and shuffled around with his pad and paper. Ben glanced over to see the man silhouetted by the lamp’s glow. Even as an adult Ben still had to admit that at times his uncle still seemed larger than life. It was hard to live up to something like that— and all too easy to disappoint. 

“I’m sorry Luke. I really messed up.” He felt if there was anywhere to start it was there. Luke had never really got him— barely got other people. He was a genius sure, but with that came being a social whatever-the-opposite-of-a-butterfly was. Still, he felt a hand set itself on his shoulder, squeezing gently and trying to reassure him. It in that strange way of Luke’s that told him despite the anger his uncle was still there, still a pillar to lean on. It was stupid how easy the man always made it feel— to comfort, to care— if only he really really tried. Ben envied that, appreciated it too. Even as awkward as he could be he somehow managed it once in a blue moon.

And yet…Despite that he had to build up the courage to ask his next question—the dangerous, terrible question of  “What really happened? How much do we know?” 

He felt comfortable enough to look at him now, to watch as Luke leaned back in his chair and pulled his hand back. The feeling was cold. “At this time we're not entirely sure-- especially not now that you've upended some original theories."

"Any footage?"

Luke raised a brow. ”You didn’t exactly pick a nice area to get attacked in. One camera— busted six months ago and never fixed. They keep it up still to ‘pretend they have security.’” 

“Yikes.” A spike, something warm like relief settled into Ben's bones. It was quickly followed by confusion. Why was he relieved? He should want to know what'd happened. He should want everyone to know. So why didn't he? Luke, apparently oblivious to his turmoil, simply hummed his agreement. 

Ben began trying to sneak his hand over to at least rub at his bandaged arm— keeping the move off his uncle’s radar best he could. The itch was starting to kill him. “How’d you find them? The other vampires?”

Another sigh, larger, heavier, as he shifted again in his awful chair. He still hadn’t given up on trying to find a comfortable position it seemed. “Oh that’s coming. We didn’t. And we didn’t find the scene where you were attacked either. CCPD did.”

Ben groaned. He felt Luke pat him consolingly on the shoulder again, this time much more flippantly. “Yes. We’re still trying to wrangle it all from them. There’s a particularly aggressive detective that seems hell bent on keeping it all.”

“Don’t tell me--"

“I believe you call him Finn.” Ben groaned again, this time much louder— and instantly regretted it when his voice cracked angrily. 

“Easy.” His uncle reminded. Luke handed over another glass, this one still only half full. Ben vaguely wondered if it was safe to drink this much. How long had be been out? He wanted to know but he didn’t want to change the subject, risk losing even a crumb of detail. When he felt well enough he tried once more. He needed to know what was going on, what he’d missed.

“We have the bodies though, right? You said we did.”

“We do. Or what’s left of them really. They were the first things we were able to recover. Quite frankly I think CCPD was eager to get rid of them.”

“What do you mean? What happened to them?”

“She ate them.” Ben nearly spit out his teeth at that. His uncle let him recompose himself before continuing again. It was yet another small  but appreciated courtesy. “By the time officials arrived there was nothing more than two piles of meat— that’s what I’m told anyways.”  Ben felt himself swallow hard and cleared his throat again, trying his best to not lean over the bed rail and hurl. “We’ve recovered most of it by now. Most of it was with the CCPD. Some of it was missing but it’s come to light between last night and this morning. Whatever she ate came back up with your blood. I have no doubt it’s contaminated beyond study— However orders are orders. ‘Collect everything’ they said.”

Ben was still doing his best to keep from wrenching. The time he and Hux had been out of it must not have been as long as previously thought— he could taste the bitter tang of sugary cereal from the night before and bile at the back of his throat. Or was that just a side effect of being compelled? They said your body pretty much shut down during the process. Maybe that was true. Ben swallowed back the taste two or three times more and mentally swore to buff up on his research later. 

“Fuck, Luke. She ate two people.”

Luke raised a calming hand. “Tried to.” He said— like that was any better. “I don’t think she could’ve digested them in the first place. Vampiric cannibalism is a rare thing. More often than not they can’t handle the dead meat. In my professional opinion I don’t think she even meant to do it.”

Something flew to the forefront of Ben’s mind— a passage, a memory of a passage really. “Right— Carnage, right? That Bat-Shit mode they have?”

Luke pointed into the air.“The more widely used and historically known name is ‘Diavalo’ but yes. Anyway so far she’s shown no side effects of longterm cannibalism. That’s a good thing.”  He set his pen down on the pad of paper, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in a ‘this is getting to be too much’ sort of way that Ben definitely related to. “In her current form its harder to be all there, and it already puts a great strain on mental and physical capacities to use Diavalo when healthy.” Something worse than nausea twisted in Ben’s stomach, something like recognition and bitterness. 

‘Don’t say it.’

“She’s weak and underfed, probably starving.”

‘Stop!’

“In both Plo and my own professional opinions it appears as if she hasn’t eaten properly in some time— weeks perhaps. For what reason though we can’t say for sure. The only possible answer we can come up with is that she’s been recovering from wounds— possibly the same ones sustained on the night of the massacre at Palpatine Manor. We suspect—”

’You did that to her.’

“If so she’s been lying low— maybe even—”

‘You did that to a person.’

“But that’s all merely speculation.”

‘You starved a person.’ Ben could see in the back of his mind all the little things he’d done to her over the weeks, all the things he’d missed. ‘She tried to get away from you.’ 

Beside him, obliviously, Luke continued on— adding the final nail in Ben’s coffin. “Regardless we believe that it was something instinct had her try against her will.”

Ben could barely hear half the words Luke was saying— could register even less. He needed to stop— to think about something else, something that wasn’t what he’d done. 

“Ben?” It was the one word that pulled him out of his spiral, a call, and by the expression on his uncle’s face it hadn’t been the first. He looked worried, searching his face for something. Ben hoped he didn’t find it— whatever it was. 

“Yea, sorry. What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yea just…feel kinda sick I guess.”

‘Understatement of the century.’

Luke moved oddly slow, sounding out words like he was walking on uncertain ground. “You never have had a strong stomach when it came to the subject— cannibalism I mean. Not that I blame you.”

“No. I haven’t.” Ben agreed quietly. 

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” Ben could only nod. He didn’t trust his voice. Luke was right though— they couldn’t be talking about this, not while he was starting to crack. And so obviously too. They both needed a distracted. He couldn’t have one of the biggest names in the Downworld know about any of this. 

‘But why?’

Ben pushed the thoughts and worries to the back of his mind, scrambling to find any topic he could possibly use to get that too-close-to-suspicious glare off his uncle’s face. ‘He’s just worried about you.’ He tried to remind himself of that. Luke was just worried. ‘That’s all.’

Finally a genuine curiosity threw itself to the forefront of his internal ramblings. It came out as a completely unsubtle blurt. "What did she look like?” And inside he cringed.  Luke only hummed though, then flipped to an older page in his notebook. He set the pen in his hand aside and passed the book carefully to Ben. Even just glimpsing it in the exchange took his breathe away. “Whoa…” 

“Yes. I often get that reaction.” 

Ben did his best to throw his uncle a dirty look before turning back to the sketches. The dark, rough graphite depictions of a literal monster.

Beside him he heard the man laugh to himself a little, no doubt amused by the fact that Ben wasn’t. Ben wanted to think something along the usual lines of ‘Strange man.’ But the only thing running through his head was the phrase ‘Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!’ Because for centuries no one had gotten a good look at these things— the last documents depicting or describing them were ancient and widely disputed. And what’s worse— the depictions barely came close to doing the real deal justice if Luke’s drawings were anything to go by.  “You’re shitting me.” 

“I can assure you once again that I am not.” Ben could see a finger pointing confidently to the book out of the corner of his eye. “My skills may not be as refined as others but I pride myself on my accuracy.”

Ben had no heart to jab at the man or his talents. Between his already shaky mental and emotional state, and the fact that he was looking at what’d been staying in his home for weeks… well it was pretty hard to form any coherent thought past the ‘oh shit’ string. He tried anyways— aiming for professionalism. If only he could somehow slide into ‘business mode’ and fly by the seat of his pants out of this encounter unscathed. 

“You gonna submit this?” His mouth already felt dry again. 

“Probably. We’re bringing in both professional artists and photographers though. We haven’t let word get out yet but as far as we can tell this is going to be the most up to date documentation in centuries. Everyone’s going to want a piece of this.”

Those words sent a chill down Ben’s spine— he knew it had nothing to do with being underground. “A piece of this.”

‘He means Rachael. Everyone will want a piece of Rachael.’

“Oh. Good.”

‘Oh no.’

* * * *

For a while after that they talked aimlessly. Ben was eventually able to slip into something of a business-like mode. He used that, refusing to think about anything ‘Rachael’ and only ‘The Palpatine Heiress.’ It helped (He thought) and by the end of the encounter he was pretty sure Luke had only been worried for him, not suspicions. 

He’d even managed to throw in the occasional friendly jab here and there, joking with Luke as best he could. It made him seem less shell-shocked, scared out of his mind— both things he genuinely felt but couldn’t afford to express.

“So how long am I gonna be in this bed? Can I go home?”

“If you feel well enough to get out of bed then you’re well enough to face your parents.”

“I’ll stay in the bed, thanks.”

Luke hummed. “I didn’t think so.”

“Hypothetically though?”

“Give us a few days to get test results back. We just want to make sure you don’t have anything life-threatening. It’s most likely that she bled you then used your blood as fuel to achieve a form change. We can’t be certain until word gets back to us though.” 

It wasn’t an answer he wanted to hear but it was all he had. Maybe he could use that though. ‘Maybe I can—’

Beside him Luke stood. Ben turned to watch him gather his things. “I have an appointment. I may be back tomorrow but I trust you’ll stay out of trouble in my absence? At least a day or so this time please?”

“Don’t be demeaning, Luke. I’ll be fine.”

“‘Yes Uncle Luke. I’ll rest and recuperate until I’m told otherwise, then I’ll go straight home and continue to stay out of trouble. Thank you for being patient with my dumb ass.’”

“Thank you, Uncle Luke. Now go take care of Hux.” 

Luke groaned at the door and rolled his eyes. 

“Love you, Luke!”

“Go back to bed!”

* * * *

Armitage Hux, former Vampire hand and general in the imperial army, one of Areye Snoke’s greatest pawns, and therefore one of the huntsman’s greatest information wells sat in what Luke could only describe as a ‘timeout room.’ It was not unlike the hospital room he’d left his nephew in with three main exceptions: This one had no cell reception, there larger locks on the outside, and it just so happened to have one less door handle on the inside. Luke had heard over the years that the man could be quite the troublemaker. More often then not he was getting into some form of shenanigans that either cost them an arm and a leg or himself lost privileges or his health. Usually it was some combination. However it was universally agreed upon that no matter his cost the man was worth the dangers he posed. 

Luke himself had come to know the man over the years— only once he’d defected. He’d come to understand him as someone who, despite resembling his father and having a somewhat skewed moral compass, meant well for the most part.

“Can you tell me your name and age?” Luke was no therapist. He wasn’t a neurologist either, but when it came to magic and the murky water that was vampires he knew his stuff. 

“Armitage Hux. I’m 33. I’ll be 34 next September.”

“Can you tell me a bit about yourself? Friends? Family?”

“My only friends currently are Ben Solo— ass extraordinaire, your nephew, and a saint for putting up with me, and Gwendolyn Phasma, a vampire I met in my youth. I have no living family. My mother— Gabriela Wendells— was murdered on my father’s orders when I was nine years old and my father — A man working under Snoke called Brendol Hux— died under mysterious circumstances when I was 14.”

“The vampire Phasma— She’s no longer with Snoke. Why is that?”

“She was shanghaied from the Snoke estate.”

Luke hummed. “And your father’s death. What ‘Mysterious circumstances’ are you referring to?”

“My father was a friend to none and an enemy to all. There is no doubt in my mind that he was put down by one of those enemies like the rabid cur he was.”

“Any idea who?”

“Don’t push it, Luke.”

Luke raised a hand briefly in surrender and went back to his notes. Moving on then. “Can you tell me what day it is?”

“The night we were attacked was the 12th. I’m guessing it’s only been a day— the 13th.”

“And could you tell me a little about vampires? Just some general information?” Luke looked up to see the man side eying him, brow raised as if to say ‘Really?’ Luke only waved him on. “Pretend I don’t know anything about them.”

Armitage gave a heavy sigh. He was acting like this was all some great chore he was having to endure. In some ways he was Luke supposed.

“Vampires are undead creatures that feed on blood.” He began softly. He was droning on as if he was reciting information from a book. Maybe he was. “They can digest no other foods or drinks but water, alcohol, some fruits, nuts, bugs, and meats. They cannot survive on anything but blood alone though, and overindulging in anything else often makes them incredibly ill. Sunlight and silver burns them, iron and salt subdues them, and stakes kill them. An unreasonable portion of them have an irritating and quite frankly irrational fear of birds of prey and cats.  There are tiers of power among vampires stemming from the strongest and oldest bloodlines trickling down to drones and cannon fodder that their lackeys have created for them. Poetry makes them horny and garlic is to them what milk is to lactose intolerant but determined idiots. Anything else?”

Luke nearly choked at that last part and had to quickly compose himself again before looking up. When he did Armitage looked only slightly amused. “Just seeing if you were really paying attention.” He shrugged in faux innocence. 

Luke could only roll his eyes and cross out the last section he’d transcribed. 

“Moving on. At what age did you escape Snoke Manor?”

He watched Armitage work his jaw a bit— far less amused in appearance than he’d been just seconds ago. He’d struck close a nerve and they both knew it. “I was 23. I think that’s enough walking down memory lane. I’ve proved I’m fine.”

“One last question.”

“What?” He almost snapped.

“Explain to me about Living Vampires please. Same as the other—as if I knew nothing.” The man was giving him a long, hard look. Luke only held his pen at the ready. Eventually Armitage began to explain— like requested— as if he knew nothing about them. 

“No one is really sure how they got started— just that somehow they were some of ‘the first.’ It’s like the main arteries in a body. They create others who are smaller, weaker, that in turn are capable of creating smaller, weaker versions of themselves. The older they are the more powerful an individual they’ve turned will be— if they’re able to turn them. Their age works against them; Their venom is powerful, nearly always kills the victim. Some think its just that rancid at that age, others too potent. Either way you either survive it— possibly to horrific degrees— or you don’t.”

“Horrific degrees?’ What would you mean by that?”

He watched Armitage grimace and draw into himself a bit more, trying to hide his discomfort behind a halfhearted sneer. “Heirs don’t always come out right. Sometimes they come out… wrong. Deformed.”

“Like Snoke?”

“Like Snoke, yes. Their skin doesn’t stick to their bones right, or maybe their muscles fight with their other meats. Sometimes they do things that aren’t sane, even by vampiric standards. Things you know aren’t right, that others know aren’t right. It can be… unpleasant to be around— to say the least.”

“What can you tell me about the heirs you know of?”

“Just the one: Snoke.”

“What about Ray Palpatine?”

“I’ve never seen him. I didn’t even know he existed until after the massacre at  Palpatine Manor.”

“Have you ever seen a vampire in Diavalo form?” 

Armitage cleared his throat, rubbing briefly at his collarbone and looking away from Luke. He was staring off  into a far corner of the room. There wasn’t anything that interesting there— they both knew, but Luke didn’t push it. He watched the man start to rub at his palms in his lap— soothing something. “Yes. Areye Snoke’s.”

“And you’ve seen no one else’s?”

“No.”

“Can you describe Snoke’s?”

“I didn’t like it.”

“Can you describe it for me though?”

“I-I think I’d like to stop talking about this now—please.”

Luke pulled his pen up from the paper. “Please.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to have upset you.”

“You haven’t.” He snapped, then immediately drew back into himself. “I’m sorry. I just mean I’m fine.”

“Yes of course. There area more questions but they can wait. We’re done talking about Areye anyways. Thank you, Armitage.”

Luke watched his head bob up and down a few times— sharp, mechanical.

They talked only briefly after that. It was a valiant effort on both their parts, Luke trying to leave Armitage with something else to think about, something lighter, and Armitage trying not to outright throw Luke out of the room. 

He had the man explain to him what his nephew was up to these days. Or rather what trouble he’d gotten himself into while Luke was away, and how Leia was handling it all without spontaneously combusting or committing Filicide. Despite leaving the touchy topic alone he still seemed on edge, more wary and withdrawn than before. That behavior doesn’t subside even at the end of Luke’s visit when he bids him goodbye. “I’ll see you again tomorrow. Sleep well, Armitage.” But Armitage had only given a nod in return. The obvious tension made it hard to relax until out of the room. Outside, with the door locked behind him, Luke wondered not for the first time just how effected ‘Hux’ was, and to what extent. 

This was not the first time Areye Snoke had been mentioned and then quickly avoided. Armitage Hux was a wellspring of information pertaining to at least a dozen empires in the supernatural underworld. He was a general, a diplomat if nothing else— or he had been. The one topic he could not (not would not) expand upon was his former employer, or rather ’Master’ Snoke. On the way down the hall Luke cursed himself for pushing the topic again. It’d been years since anyone had tried. He’d thought nearly a decade away was enough.

For being as hard a man as he seemed to be, whatever Snoke had done during Armitage’s time with him had apparently never left. Maybe it wouldn’t ever. 

Chapter Text

The next day went rather well Luke thought— at least better than the day before anyways. His nephew wasn’t as remorseful—less filled with shame for following his idiot of a friend into a dark alley unarmed and expecting the best. Murphy had never been so kind. Maybe that was their fault— his, Leia’s, Han’s, and Chewie’s— for not beating the law into him more as a child. 

Luke had no quarrels with Ben, and he had no intentions of having them either. That was the boy’s parents’ job. His parents— the same ones who were currently trying their best to break down any kind of door necessary to get to Ben. To save or to maim still remained the question, but their passion was unquestionable no matter the reason. Luke was under strict order to “Under no circumstances hand over the floor information or room number.” He wasn’t about to argue with that. 

They hadn’t yet figured out he was on the case. So far it hadn’t become a problem. He feared when they discovered his role though. Perhaps they would be allowed in before that point. And perhaps by that point he also wouldn’t be involved. He’d be far away and out from the middle of such a family mess. A man could only hope…

‘Fools always do dream.’

On that day’s visit Luke managed to coax Ben out of his shell a little more, telling him of ‘Hux’ and how he’d been doing better. He deliberately left out the uncomfortable slip up from the day before and instead focuses more on assuring that the man’s memory, save for the night of the attack, remained undamaged. His friend was and would most likely continue to be fine— he just needed time as rest. 

“Same as you.” To which Ben had turned his nose up, the scoundrel.  Ben didn’t seem to think anything of it, Armitage’s incredibly specific memory loss. Or if he did, it wasn’t to the degree that Luke did. The boy wasn’t an expert in the field though. It was no secret that he was more focused on the rehabilitation of more defenseless creatures these days. He’d grown out of his interest in the aviaries, even more so with their inhabitants. He wasn’t without reputation, hadn’t escaped that unscathed, but at least his involvement these days was safer. Luke couldn’t complain— at least he wasn’t on any killing spree or anything like Black Squadron. 

“Making things worse.” Plo had said only the day before, and Luke hadn’t been one to disagree. Luke knew it, they all knew it, and it was only a matter of time before black squadron knew it too. They’d flown right into the hornets nest— causing mayhem, havoc, and disorder. Most importantly they were scattering strays farther and farther—out to places where people were unaccustomed and unequipped to deal with such apex predators. Because that’s what vampires in the wild were. And all the while the man they were looking for sat pouting in a bird cage somewhere beneath St. Takodana’s feet. 

‘Idiots. Good hearts but no sense.’ But wasn’t that the true for most. 

Luke said nothing of this to Ben either— the rampages, the raids, the scattering of stray starving vampires across boarders they’d hardly ever touched before. The boy could surely tell he was distracted, but he made no comment. They kept to idle chatter: Armitage, a few harmless tidbits on the man Dameron, and only once or twice touched on the topic of the Palpatine Heiress. He seemed less comfortable with that topic however, so they didn’t dwell there too much. 

However in all their talk there was only one question that’d shown Luke a glimpse of the depth beneath his nephew’s supposed calm— his fear. 

“Are the results back yet?”

“No. I’m afraid not. They say they’ll have yours by tonight or tomorrow morning— sooner than expected, but they want to get Armitage’d done before yours.” 

Ben made an odd noise that Luke couldn’t quiet decipher. “Luke?” 

Luke finally looked up. He’d been doodling a troll that looked eerily like his late teacher. 

“How far did they get?” 

There were sparks like hot coals in Ben’s eyes— genuine fear. Luke had never reveled in seeing that look. It didn’t unnerve him so much. Just pulled at something inside that felt with people. Compassion maybe. Luke did his best to sit up and look the part of an uncle-like pillar that oozed confidence. He was sure Ben wanted to see some kind of surety even if Luke may and most likely did fall short. “To be honest I can’t say for sure. I have a feeling they weren’t even able to touch you though. They might not even have been interested in you to begin with— The amount of Celarsanguin in your veins is hard to miss that close up. Quite frankly it’s a miracle that the heiress managed it.”

“So nothing then?”

Luke couldn’t help but shrug, unprofessional as it may be. “I can’t be sure, but that’s what I strongly believe, yes.”

Emotions had never been such a visible, almost physical thing than on his nephew. Ben wore his feelings on his sleeve— and face, and body, and ears. There was hardly a piece of him that didn’t express something of his emotions. He was one of the few people Luke had been able to read in his career without relying on other methods. So to see that kind of (almost) restrained relief hurt. It was as if a weight had been lifted from Ben’s shoulders. He tried not to think too much on it— not personally. He may have been the only qualified scholar available but the case still remained far too close to home. 

'Distance. Get back and keep your distance.’ 

Ben wasn’t his nephew but a patient— one that needed help and assurance in the most professional way possible. Luke needed to remember that. Being on this case hadn’t been his desire or decision, but he would take up the responsibility to the best of his abilities regardless. 

“I’ll put the order in. If they results come in before tomorrow I’ll have them sent here immediately. Does the hour matter?”

“No. Just as soon as they get it please.”

“Of course. I’ll have your things sent down so they can call you. It’s all been tested by now. I imagine they won’t mind handing it over by now.” Ben gave a solemn nod.

By the time Luke left later he thought the boy appeared in better spirits, even if still somewhat troubled.  That glimpse he’d caught rose up once or twice more again, but it never broke the surface. Quite frankly it worried Luke more to see it so suppressed. It didn’t come as any surprise after recent events though. And besides—as long as Ben didn’t question him about topics he shouldn’t be nosing around in, and as long as it helped keep his head above water, Luke had no care for what subject they landed on. 

Before leaving Ben muttered a reminder to call for the results and his belongings. Luke was happy to oblige— they’d all been looked over by that point. No contamination, no evidence that could help the case, etc. etc. etc.. So there was no need to keep them from the poor boy any longer. 

He called both orders out in the hallway before moving on for the day.

Armitage had refused visitors that day so Luke found himself slinking back up a few floors to help work on the Dameron case with Plo Koon. Plo had staunchly refused however— shoving him back out the door to ‘go rest and relax.’ 

Luke wasn’t about to argue and quietly agreed— he probably did need it after the day… the months he’d had. Through aimless wandering and diligent gut feelings he’d followed his feet to one of the tallest spires of St. Takodana’s. The breeze was nice enough— the air cool and cleaner too. Most importantly it was fresher than down in the catacombic maze of the underground. In all the hubbub, shoving, and muttering that’d been done over the last few weeks he’d found little time to relax, to meditate. There were no cushions or matts to sit on but Luke hadn’t always known that luxury. He was used to it really. The stony floor was smooth and easier on his bones than some others. He settled in and coaxed his body, his mind to let go. 

Armitage’s situation certainly wasn’t helping things.  He should’ve guessed. Should’ve refrained the day before. He'd made sure the man’s wishes for solitude were respected sure— if only for a day at least, but that didn’t right the wrong. The slight, he hesitated to think. It wasn’t as if either him or the heiress were going anywhere. He could afford to give the man a day to relax. They had time— to rest, to remember, to heal. 

‘If he can.’

Luke spent the remainder of the evening and some of the night there in meditation. The following day Luke heard nothing of a second refusal though. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Armitage knew two days was pushing it. 

The second thing he heard no news of were the test results. There was talk that they had come in, just not what they were. They weren’t exactly his to receive though. Luke was on the case but he had no access to either of the boy’s medical records. He supposed it was only to natural— patient privacy and all that. 

In light of that news (and no news) he also heard of his apparently missing nephew. And wasn’t that something! According to the labs his and Armitage’s results had come in the night before— just after three in the morning. Going off the grapevine Ben’s results didn’t seem too dire though. Not if he’d up and left. 

True to the rumor Ben’s hospital room was clean and he was gone. The only thing he could turn up were a pair of beat up sneakers— Ben’s no less. He’d probably been half asleep when he left the night before. Even on a good day it sounded like something his nephew would do however. 

“Shouldn’t have been driving.” 

There was no message or missed calls on his phone from him. He sent a quick text out just to be sure. “Shoot me a text when you can. Your results okay?” He probably wouldn’t get a response for a few hours, maybe a few days. That's just how Ben was: Rotten. 

With no Ben to visit or talk to Luke—for the majority of the day— simply worked on the Dameron Case. There were more than a few items that needed his attention there, and this time Plo welcomed the second pair of hands and eyes. 

Together they brainstormed, argued, shuffled around in the trash a little (Plo), and at one point ate six bowls of broccoli cheddar soup and two cans of sardines between them (Mostly Plo). At some point Plo had lightly nudged Luke to hint that they should be allowed access to the heiress again. Despite what he'd spoken of with Ben, neither Luke nor Plo had been allowed near the creature again. 'Safety' some had claimed as the reason. Both men worked day and night with vampires however, and the following claims and excuses were starting to sound like just that-- excuses. Plo was nearing his wits end, ready to storm downstairs and bang on the door until he was let in. Luke admired the sentiment but preferred offering his own wisdom and idea-- a night excursion through the halls when no one would be there. Their talks drug long into the afternoon and evening. The time was nearly 7:30 when Luke finally glanced down at his watch. He’d intended to head over at around 2:00… 

‘Oh well.’

It was already late—Armitage usually didn’t eat dinner he remembered—and when he did of his own volition it was often quite late. It was already past Luke’s own dinnertime. The aviaries were completely self sufficient with no towns for miles— meaning no restaurants, no coffee shops, no Arby’s. Luke went out and grabbed a couple of burgers and three cartons of curly fries for them, then headed back. He made his way down the winding halls to Armitage’s room with a sack full of food and two large Root Beers. 

He looked much better than when they’d last seen each other— more color to his cheeks, less scowl on his face. He held himself more guarded than previously, but he wasn’t going to begrudge the man for it. Last time had been a mistake— a recurring thought Luke was beginning to realize. He shouldn’t have brought up his old master. Maybe not even his father and the mysterious circumstances that surrounded his death. It’d been under the guise of checking his health, and perhaps it could’ve even come from a genuine place of care and concern. Luke was humble enough to admit— at least to himself— that it’d partly been out of sheer curiosity though. It was wrong of him. He shouldn’t have asked and he knew it. Once everything was settled and Armitage felt more well Luke promised himself he would express just that. Forgiveness would come later though. The time now was for health and all good things that came with recovery. 

Luke had a job to do after all. 

They began by picking up and continuing on nearly where they left off— avoiding of course the delicate topic of Alistair Snoke. They’d already gone over the night of the attack, how little Armitage remembered of it. It became blurry right around the time he and Ben began arguing. Over what they’d been arguing over, Armitage couldn’t say, just that they’d had been arguing. There was little to no memory after that.

“Have you remembered anything?”

Armitage shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Can you tell me again about the night you were attacked?”

They’d been over this nearly a dozen times already. Luke was nearly as sick of the topic as Armitage. Nevertheless the man gave a heavy sigh and regaled him once more. 

“Ben found me early in the afternoon or evening. We wandered around for bit, then got dinner at a local place I quite honestly don’t care to recall the name of. Some hole in the wall that’ll probably never let us back in because you nephew had me get him cereal and milk down the lane— Then ate it at our table. I’m sure we have mugshots up on the wall there by now. 

We left and wandered around a bit more after that. It was dark by then-- we hadn't realized how dark it'd gotten really. But I assumed Ben had his gun or something. I wasn’t exactly afraid. Then… It gets fuzzy. I know he said something and… I said something. We fought and the next thing we knew there were a pair of hairy strays hounding us for a meal. Ben went down first. I tried to warn him about another one. It pretty much stops after that. I barely remember them— or Ben for that matter. It’s just glimpses.”

“Is that all?”

Nothing. Luke looked up from his writing to see the man’s face screwed up in concentration.

“Armitage?”

“I… Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Even if you don’t think it’s real— that it might be irrelevant or silly. Every detail counts.”

“Falling… I feel like I remember the experience of falling. That drop in your stomach. That thing the wind does when you try to breathe. It feels like its breathing for you and suffocating you all at the same time…”

Luke hummed. “Did that happen? Did I fall?”

“I can’t say for certain. Even if I could I believe it’s best for your memory to return on its own— with as little help from me or anyone else as possible.”

He heard him give a harsh scoff turned laugh. “A lot of help you are.”

“Sorry.”

Armitage only waved him off wearily. “No it’s probably for the best anyways. What’s the next question?”

Luke eyed the list dubiously. They’d been over some items multiple times during the last few days. Some he was more tired of hearing the answer to than others. And some he’d left to be asked for a later date when the man might not find it so suspicious. One question in particular jumped out to him. 

“Could you tell me about Strigoi again? This time specifically about the power they may hold over others? Their strengths?”

“‘Strengths’ is a poor word. They’re essentially powerhouses of the vampire race. Take the modern dog versus its ancestor the wolf. There is no comparison between the two. One eats the other. End of story.”

Luke refrained from mentioning any of the wolfhounds or other ‘powerhouse’ dogs.“What of their hierarchy? How do they maintain it?”

“Sheer force. A more modern made or lower class vampire may be able to develop and maintain a Diavalo form but like its human looking counterpart its of a lower class. Again: No comparison.”

“Is there any evidence of mental, influence? Some kind of Vampire on Vampire Compulsion as has been theorized?”

“I’ve seen my fair share of freaks bowing down— given the choice of death or undeath. I can tell you more than a few choose the latter and whatever goes with it. Whether or not I believe that they do everything after the bite unwillingly is still quite frankly none of your business.”

“Yes— you and your non-believer ways.” Luke jotted down the half-truth. Armitage Hux was a staunch believer that there was little to no compulsion at play in the vampire world. He and Luke had spent many a night debating the subject. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny, Luke.” Luke only hummed amusedly— something that earned him a somewhat hard glare. It was nothing of the last glare’s caliber, perhaps too halfhearted. Luke cleared his throat and readjusted in his chair. You weren’t supposed to laugh at your patients. 

“Moving on—We’re familiar with modern vampires and the effect cannibalism has on them. Can you tell me likewise how it affects a Living Vampire? If the signs are the same, or if there’s any consequences at all for that matter?” 

Luke looked up to see a picture rather too close to the one from days before— a pale, stiff, uncomfortable looking Armitage that wasn’t too fond of eye contact— a stark turn from the somewhat playful cold he’d been giving Luke just a moment before, but he seemed to recover rather quickly— somewhat. “There is an effect, yes.” He said a bit more quietly. “I have no idea if they’re different though. I’m not familiar with modern vampire cannibalism.”

‘Oh.’

“You don’t need to tell me what those effects may be, but can you tell me if they’re immediately noticeable? Perhaps out of the ordinary?” 

“Why are you asking?”

“I’m not allowed to say. We need to know though. Is long term cannibalism  obvious?”

“Yes. It um… They start to show signs of hunger sickness, and they lose their color— hair and sometimes eyes. Everything’s just pale.” 

That was more information than Luke had hoped for— the visible evidence they could pick up on. Now they knew— he knew. The Palpatine Heiress wasn’t a man-eater after all.

‘Well… so to speak…’

“Thank you. Now why don’t we move on to something else then? Tell me about your work in the kitchens lately. I hear you’ve been a grand help there.” 

Armitage snorted almost sardonically— still bitterly cold looking and apparently desperate to hide it with his coming criticism. Luke had never been a decent conversationalist. He certainly wasn’t good changing the subject subtly Armitage was no stranger to its play. 

“You’re very compassionate.” He began. “Perhaps as bad as the General. Maybe worse. It’s a flaw you know.”

“Don’t bring my sister into this. She means well.” 

“She’s a pain in my neck.”

“You keep almost getting her son killed. Be grateful it’s only a pain in your neck.”

“Hmmm.” 

“‘Hmm’ indeed.” He finished crossing out the last sentence Hux had recited and moved to the next paragraph. “Now what can you tell me about this kitchen business? Better yet tell me about this Rose. I’m suddenly feeling much less compassionate. I think I’ll harass you some.”

* * * * 

Their conversation ran late— later than most even considering Luke’s postponed arrival. At some point he’d checked his watch to see that it was nearly midnight. The hour was late and they both needed sleep. He’d considered leaving, made to leave really. He was on his feet and cracking his back when Armitage quietly asked him to stay a while longer. 

The poor boy didn’t want to be alone. Luke knew the feeling— maybe that’s why he recognized it. Why he stayed and began debating the fool in earnest about Bat mind manipulation and then later their fear of raptors (The birds, not the dinosaurs). It was right in the midst of that particular heated conversation when it happened. 

The lights in their room suddenly turned a harsh blinding red, and the clear blare of a siren sent Luke flying out of his chair. Everything in his lap spilled into the floor around them, rolling off to disappear into dark corners, crannies, and nooks.

Armitage had tried to climb out of his bed. His wrists jammed hard against the cuff lines — Luke had forgotten they were even there—and he fell back again to thrash around in the blankets. “What’s going on?!” 

Above the siren wail they heard a crackly voice come on over the radio. “This is Admiral Ackbar. The Palpatine Heiress has escaped holding and is now missing. I repeat: The Palpatine Heiress has breached containment and is missing.”

Luke and Armitage looked to each other. “What the hell is going on?!” Luke was suddenly reminded that the man knew next to nothing of that night— or more specifically of the Heiress’ part in it. It was a fleeting thought, and he tried to push the terrified look on the other man’s face to the back of his mind. 

“That can’t be good.”

Chapter Text

Three days prior

Ben felt fine— he was fine. If the only thing keeping him here were a few test results that had yet to come in then so be it. That wasn’t going to stop him from getting answers though. 

The clock on the wall across from him (and wasn’t that a familiar sight these days) read 10:30— well after the sun had set outside. The halls would be dead this time of night aside from the more nocturnal residence, and them Ben knew his way around. Luke had left him to go visit his next patient (Hux in his little time out corner, but Luke refused to admit it), and aside from a quick visit not long after (the good doctor paying her dues) Ben had heard nor seen of anyone since. 

His phone was nowhere in sight and he was told his watch (a gift from Luke six Christmas’s prior) now sported a long hairline crack. Luke himself had broken the news, all the while looking like a kicked puppy. Ben had tried his best to console the poor man and move the subject along to something a little less sensitive. He felt more than a little mentally preoccupied but the distraction and attempt at distraction helped. Even after the small talk and reassurances, all attempts to leave St. Takodana’s were predictably discouraged. According to his uncle: whatever results they needed would be done and ready by morning. Most likely no one would come to his room until then. Ben would just have to go in blind and hope his sense of time could do the work for him while he was out. He didn’t intend to stay out the whole night, but things could happen. So one never really knew. 

Ben had finally (albeit begrudgingly) agreed to stay sure, but his reasons weren’t all entirely wholesome and unselfish. Luke had left, the doctor came and went, and then suddenly it was night— and Ben was alone. 

So he’d gotten out of bed, picked up his coat, and ran. The halls were dark and cold. Dim flickering lights appeared and disappeared with him down each corridor. No other lights ever appeared. Ben commanded himself on that bit of memory work he’d managed to retain. 

‘One of the few things you’ve done right lately.’

Even with that knowledge it still took him a while though— the maze was vast. There were more than a few different cells and chambers built to hold powerful creatures, and Ben only knew of most. For a decent chunk of time he began to worry maybe he didn’t know the place as well as he’d thought. Then he’d found it though. The run down long cold corridors for what must have been an hour or two wouldn’t in vain. Because now, standing in the doorway he finally saw her. She was sitting in the dark and hunched low—sat like an animal.  The cage was dark but he could still see enough. And the cage— it was the room. Even from the well lit doorway Ben couldn’t see the ceiling, so far up and shrouded in the dark these creatures craved. Neither could he make out the far walls. He flipped the light off and stood there long enough to help his eyes adjust. Turning all the lights on would attract unwanted attention— or so he feared. All that was left were the red emergency lights that no one could turn off. It was a hazard to. 

Finally his eyes were beginning to settle in. He stepped forward, shucking off his coat and dropping it in the way of the door so it wouldn’t lock him in. He heard it try to wheel shut behind him but paid it little mind. He only had eyes for the the creature—the living vampire—being held here. 

“Ms. Palpatine.” There was no response. Not even a twitch of the eye that he could see, nothing to acknowledge Ben was even there. He took a step forward again, then two, emboldened by something he couldn’t name but felt he knew well. Some form of bravery or stupidity perhaps. He never could tell the difference. 

The creature chained down in front of him appeared completely different from the one he’d had in his care for weeks now. She was probably as tall or taller than Ben himself if she were allowed the slack to stand on two legs— maybe even mistaken for a bear if not for the wings jutting from her back or the immediately noticeable and unusual build of everything above the neck. Her head was wide and flat, with long lips that started at one side of her head and stretched all the way to the other like a seam. Thin, needle like teeth stared up at him like stitches— holding the top half of her face to the bottom. The sight stirred something uncomfortable in his stomach that he couldn’t name. 

The smiths of St. Takodana had forged a thick metal cage of iron that could blanket the whole of her skull— both helping chain her down to a ring on the floor and keeping that frogish mouth safely clamped shut.

It was hard to tell much more than that. A black muddy sludge— his blood and whatever else of her stomach contents— covered nearly every inch of her. It coated the floor in thick pools and oozed down from her body. It was hard to see by the low lighting by he could just make out the nearby walls— bearing slashes and streaks of the stuff. It was everywhere: the walls, the floor, the chains, her. It leaked in a steady stream from the slit of her mouth. 

Ben knew it wasn’t safe enough to approach and clean anything so they’d settled on a cloying perfume to cover the smell. Yea… that hadn’t worked. It’d just stirred together into an intense, nearly unbearable wall of smell— half sick and half sickly sweet. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling the effects of nausea or dizziness. Or maybe it was a combination of both. Ben was quite frankly getting tired of feeling like he was going to throw up. By the end of the next week he guessed he should be immune to even the notion at his current rate. 

The was just a different brand of cruelty— It was torture.

Ben looked squarely into a pair of dark eyes— black pinpricks in the low light. No, the thing in front of him, the monster, it looked nothing like Rachael. Somehow, someway he knew it was though. Something fundamental about the creature, despite its changes, was still the same. What stood restrained in front of him, their prisoner, was Rachael. His bat Rachael. He knew it. 

He wanted to try it, to try “Rachael,” next— say her name properly. It was the one Rose had known. Most likely it was her real, original name. Rose knew stuff like that. But it felt wrong— Too intimate to call her in that way here where anyone who walked in would hear. He’d been using it with a pet he’d doted on for weeks now. Rachael wasn’t a vampire. She was a vampire bat he’d allowed into his home; She was a confidant. He wasn’t ready for that. And maybe something small and hopeful said she wasn’t either. 

‘No, not Rachael.’ He swallowed hard and wet his lips. “Rey,” he said instead. His voice was shaking. 

The flat head and small pointy ears finally rose up to greet him. Dark, pupil-less eyes he could better see glared harshly, reflecting the red emergency lights behind them in an unnervingly liquid way. So that hadn’t been a trick of the light then. The chains pulling at her neck and face rattled morosely— echoing uncomfortably in what he felt should remain a quiet place. A sanctuary perhaps, even if it did have bars. 

“Rey is what they call you, isn’t it?” No answer—Not that he expected one.  “You can call me Ben.” 

‘But you already knew that.’ He wanted to add. Again though he didn’t. Couldn’t. ’Cameras and mics. Keep your mouth shut.’ And again Rachael said nothing. Not a word, not a grunt, or growl. These things could talk— barely—- but they could talk. 

“Can you tell me what happened the other night? When you found us?”

She perked up at that, looking first more directly at him, then to a camera, then back at him once more. A spark of that bat he’d kept was peaking through. He saw it now. Just barely. She said nothing still, and her face remained unreadable, but he got the feeling his message made it through just fine.

‘I won’t spill my guts if you don’t.’

Why he was making that kind of deal, that kind of promise, Ben couldn’t say. He didn’t even know. Not really.  Sure, he could lie and say it was the consequences. Having a vampire in his custody and not knowing it. Nursing said vampire back to health in secret. Aiding in their escape of the law. Endangering the general public by not only doing so, but also taking the damn thing out into public. Unarmed and with no way to defend himself or others against its powers no less. 

Oh… and bringing it to St. Takodana’s. Forget another list of offenses. That alone would probably add a library’s worth of slights, felonies, and crimes. Under the wrong light it could be a sentence all its own. 

But no. Consequences he could take. Had taken in the past, and would no doubt continue to take all throughout his clumsy and forgetful life. That’s just how things went for Solos. 

A large part, the main reason even was Poe. Ben knew he could use her. Hux’s words kept playing on repeat in his head even now. How he’d wondered if vampires could make somebody forget. “Someone like Palpatine could, yes, or Snoke.” 

‘Or Rachael.’ A hopeful part of Ben added. If Palpatine could do it, so could she— or rather, she could undo it. Undo whatever it was that’d been done to his friend. She could give Poe back to them. Maybe not in body or time, but in mind at least. It would be enough— would have to be enough. She was the key to fixing everything.  

Yes. That was it. Or most of it at least. He wanted his friend back— they all did. 

But it wasn’t everything, not his whole motivation.

Maybe…. Ben had had to come to terms that just maybe a (small, small)  part of his motivation came from a place of warped kinship—some kind of twisted sense of guilt even. He’d rescued what he thought to be an animal at its weakest point— stumbled into his house drunk with her one night and essentially both cared for and tortured her for weeks. 

And she’d simply taken that treatment. Hadn’t killed him in his sleep, or torn him to shreds once strong enough. She’d endured whatever he threw at her with open arms and only a little nipping here and there. She’d drawn blood— not to feed but to spite and defend. Her only attacks had been the size of paper cuts and those mysterious sores one finds but can’t remember the origin of. 

And now— seeing her as she was— chained to a rancid bile covered floor in the dark. Suffering under a cloud of blood, guts, vomit, and sickly-sweet perfumes all mixed together into one singular heady funk. If it made him feel dizzy he shuddered to think what it’d do to such powerful animal-like nose. And worst of all he could just barely make out under the black sludge cover her pale tawny fur— the protrusion of ribs, the rub of a collarbone, hips like mountains, matted fur draping over it all like a delicate cloth. Perhaps there was even a tightness in the face— If he were an expert in these creatures he would’ve known. But then he supposed no one really was. Not for a hundred years or more.

This was proof— irrefutable. He’d starved her. He’d kept her alive only just barely. Maybe she’d assumed he might be a better cover, safer than others, but the matter remained that Ben had let this happen. She was here because of him. Maybe even for him. 

‘She brought you here. You were going to die and she brought you here.’

‘No,’ The thought was abrupt, almost not his own. Even as his heart clenched and his fingers itched to move. ‘Look what she did to you.’ Ben glanced down at his arm— still bandaged and itchy from the wound her teeth tore. No, that couldn’t be it. That wasn’t it. Whatever came next— it was for Poe. His friend. Nothing else.

“How did you find us?” The question was stupid— they both knew the answer— but no one behind the cameras later would. He was just filling the silence at this point. They all thought she’d shown up out of nowhere, that she’d perhaps already been with the vampires and gotten greedy, or even that they, Ben and Hux, had been her prey already for some time. ‘Just staking her claim.’ A stray voice had suggested hours before. 

Others might be more on the mark that she was seeking asylum. And in a way Rachael most likely had been, just not with St. Takodana’s. With Ben. The room had been empty of noise for a while now; still no reply. Ben had been trying to fill the void but she hadn’t— probably felt no need to. She might even be used to the quiet. Ben was too, but this time he didn’t like it. Couldn’t stand it even. So he tried again, not expecting an answer from this one either. 

“Why did you bring us here?” Nothing.

“What are you doing in Chandrila?” Nothing.

“Have you been following us?” Nothing.

“Who invited you into St. Takodana’s?” 

‘There!’

There it was— that look he’d seen as a bat. That ‘If animals could curse’ glare she’d first given him after her bath. 

(And oh fuck! He’d given a vampire a bath!)

They both knew well and good (at least now) that Rose had been the one to welcome Rachael. That Rose had been the one to protect her. And that Rose, knowing full and well what she was, sent her home with Ben that night— instructing him to as good as starve the creature but keep it safe. 

‘Yet another talk to have later.'

Why she’d done it all he could only guess. He needed to speak with her, to ask her, but after everything that’d happened he also didn’t want to draw too much attention to the woman. It was already thin ice they were treading. Eyes and ears were everywhere. 

In the end Rachael didn’t give him anything besides that glare. She said and reacted to nothing else. Like the interrogation with Poe he hadn’t expected it to go anywhere. 

For what he’d later discover to be hours— nearly to sunrise— Ben sat and watched her. He couldn’t be sure, not with the dark or the way her eyes didn’t really have pupils, but he was pretty sure she watched him back too.

When he left he did so not entirely sure why he’d come in the first place.  

* * * *

Ben does his best the next day to keep to himself. To not raise suspicion or let Luke know he’d been anywhere but in his own bed. 

The results apparently still needed some additional time— surprise surprise. Hux’s sample’s were being given precedence over his own in light of the fact that he’d been the one attacked. Well… attacked by a disease ridden fleabag anyways. 

At least his own attacker didn’t appear to have anything at first glance. And as far as he’d seen in the weeks she’d been with him she was probably safe. 

All in all it was an understandable decision…and yet…

‘Probably safe’ did nothing for his pretty much shot nerves. She’d tried to eat two sick clowns after she bit Ben. And for that matter—What did he know? He’d been living with an empire’s heiress everyday for what? A month? Two? And he’d never once put two and two together. Going off his own record; If Ben had some disease he mostly likely wouldn’t know it till he was already at the morgue getting prepped. 

* * * *

He had to see her again. Another day, another night. He was stuck here for one more restless sleep on a creaky bed, and despite having no clue why he’d gone the first time— he felt compelled to do so again. So preoccupied was he that it was over halfway to the cell that he finally realized his shoes were still back in his room. 

This time he didn’t precede with any odd or redundant questions— she wouldn’t answer them anyways. Maybe she couldn’t. He began by sitting down in in front of her— like he had the night before. They watched each other for a while like that— unmoving, unspeaking. Even as Ben’s bones and muscles began to ache with strain, with want to twitch or stretch he didn’t. It was almost as if he were unable.  

And then Ben felt a pull. He rose and approached suddenly, step by step crushing the distance between them. Rachael raised her head, trying the best she could to rear back against the binds. Something, he wasn’t sure what, but something had possessed him—Moving his legs, his hands as if they weren’t his own. He was determined to see it through though, to let it show him what it wanted him to see. 

Ben reached out, holding his pointer finger above the others in front of her mouth. The cage kept her jaws clamped shut, but the teeth themselves curled and fought against each other for space. They were still there— still dangerous. 

Ben pulled in a heavy breath and took one last step forward, shoving his curled fingers into the stitching of teeth. He felt a digit wrap around the palm of his hand, pulling him closer into the swarm. He let it, and felt more than heard her rumble. Rachael was glowering up into his eyes like she didn’t know what game he was playing. Ben only pressed his free hand down onto the flat on her face, above the nose like she were a horse. Perhaps he wasn’t so possessed as to not need some kind of physical support. Beneath him his legs were starting to shake. He watched, mesmerized as her teeth almost seemed to be petting him, threading between the fingers and thumb, scraping against his skin but not breaking— just threatening, telling him she could if she wanted to. 

“You could have hurt me.” The words were hushed, too quiet to be overheard outside their shared space. “You could hurt me.” He tilted his head, trying to better get a view of both eye even as far apart as they were. She only continued to glower back at him— he thought anyways. “Why won’t you hurt me?”

He could feel another louder rumbling under the skin of her face. A growl maybe, or the start of one. 

“I’ll be back.” 

Ben pulled his hand carefully away. She didn’t stop him. 

Word came to him not long after in the form of a text. He was tucked safely away in his room again by that time. The test results were in— he was clean. Ben couldn’t bear to stay even the rest of the night despite the impending adrenaline crash he could feel building. He packed up his things and made a b-line through the halls. He was at ground level and staring down the door to freedom before he knew it. Whatever worries he had about transport were appeased the second he set foot outside to the parking lot. Apparently someone had been kind enough (and had the forethought) to drive his car back to St. Takodana’s sometime within the last few days. 

They’d saved him travel expenses and a long wait Ben supposed. As he shoved himself into the chilled front seat and slid the key in he couldn’t help but wonder though: what’d they done to his groceries? His car was cleared of all the paper bags that’d previously been there. Maybe they were in St. Takodana’s. Ben didn’t really care enough to go back in and find out, but the idea still bugged him— silly little mystery that it was. They could have them if they were there— sugary cereals and all. 

The drive home felt shorter than usual. Perhaps because he’d been on autopilot the entire time and was barely functioning beyond that. 

“I should not be driving.” The words puffed out when he said them— it honestly was starting to feel like a proper Chandrillan fall. Any other time he would’ve been grateful for the realization. Ben didn’t even make it to the bed when he got home. He threw his things down at the door and made a b-line for the couch. He fell onto it face first and was out before he’d pulled both legs up onto the cushions. 

* * * * 

When he awoke the next day it was just after 8:00 in the evening.

‘Must have been some adrenaline crash.’

Almost immediately he began getting ready— chowing down on a quick made sandwich, dragging his things out from the entryway and either throwing them into the laundry or into his room, and trying his best to locate where he’d taken his shoes off the night before. Had he even been wearing them? Were they still back at his room at St. Takodana’s? No matter. He had other shoes. Better shoes (probably, maybe, where were his shoes?). He shuffled around in his bedroom closet until he’d found a decent set of sneakers. Something dark. Something quiet. 

He’d already overslept. It would’ve been better to have woken up hours before to get ready. To prep. He could wait till tomorrow night—it’d give him more time. Would probably be smarter too. Ben wasn’t smarter though. Or in this case he didn’t want to be.

By 9:30 Ben was properly fed, showered, dressed, and ready to go. More than ready really. He drove without the radio on— there was too much noise in his head already and he didn’t feel like adding to it. He made sure to park three blocks from St. Takodana’s and walked the rest of the way— This time with guns firmly fixed to his person. He’d learned his lesson, gotten over his nerves too even if it still left a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.  

He didn’t bother with a side door— those always got watched. He made his way quietly through one of the front doors instead. He wouldn’t set off the alarms. They knew him, remembered him well. At this hour there wasn’t anyone else around to worry about. The nocturnals would be out wandering or locked in by now. Ben was well aware of them though, and like the night before he managed to avoid most of their usual paths.  

He’d spent far too much time underground lately. The halls below St. Takodana’s felt stifling the second he stepped foot into them. Could someone develop claustrophobia? Was that a thing? 

‘This better be quick.’

He was careful to watch for lights up and down the corridors as he went. Once he saw some and quickly shoved himself back against the wall. It’d only been Ms. Eberly though— A more harmless werewolf relative that often had a hankering for peaches close to or during the p.m. hours. She never remembered what happened during the night— had chalked her behavior up to sleepwalking for years before someone found her and recommended a residency at St. Takodana’s. Imagine that kind of surprise…

He waited til long after the lights in her path went out again, then trekked on. 

No other encounter occurred, and he made his way safely to the camera room without trouble. Regular video didn’t pick of vampires— they had that going for them, but inferred could. Crouched in the heart of one of the far off screens was a large cold mass: Rachael. Maybe they could hide their face, their body, but not their temperature.

The room was small and cluttered, empty but for one creature: a cat. Miriam was one of St. Takodana’s many Century cats— felines that could live beyond normal means and who were trained to sound the alarm at the slightest sign of trouble. Strangers, malevolent beings, terrible feeling or poor smelling presences in the air— any of those would set off red alarms immediately. And they would set off alarms. 

The creatures weren’t allowed above ground during public hours considering they (more often than not) had an inclination to sinking their claws into unfamiliar or un-introduced individuals. Sometimes even just people they didn’t particularly like (As some guests had come to find out). Over the course of history they’d become invaluable assets— just not decent hosts.  

Ben was none of these things though. Not a stranger, not a harbinger, not a dark feeling. He was Ben Solo—son of General Organa and her husband: the Serial Cat Snack smuggler. He’d been coming to St. Takodana’s since childhood and was well known by all resident Century Cats. So Miriam simply raised her head to look at him, glanced towards the cameras once or twice, then went back to her nap. 

No one else was present— of course they wouldn’t be at this hour. Why would they need to be with supernatural cats that could naturally understand danger. Besides. St. Takodana’s often procured enough funds yearly to rival some militaries. Most of their technology was state of the art. Just not their electrical systems. Ben made his way passed the video feeds and on to a back wall. There he saw a familiar outlet with a label taped above. The label read in bright red bold letters  ‘DO NOT USE!’  There were two equally angry red lines sliced underneath for emphasis. 

Predictably however there was also something plugged into the top outlet: A fan. 

Sure— most of their technology and funding rivaled a lot of militaries. But just like a lot of those militaries they weren’t above the concept of ‘janky’ or ‘cheap.’ The wiring this far down was bad— had been for years, decades really. So old, and so outdated (and some quite frankly hazardous) that it was easy to overload the system if you weren’t careful. Too many plug ins, too much power— if you ‘weren’t careful' you could shut the whole thing down. A room, an area, a floor. All it would take would be something else to plug in.

Also predictably a coffee pot sat nearby ready and waiting— its cord was set just below the outlet. People down this far often used outlets they weren’t supposed to— just careful enough to walk a tightrope of blowing the system and having themselves both a hot cup of coffee and somewhat decent airflow. 

Sometimes though… Sometimes somebody forgot. It did happen. 

Ben switched the fan of the highest setting, plugged the coffee pot in, checked it, prepped it, and pressed the little red light that said ‘on’. Might as well have a pot ready when it all went dark anyways. 

Miriam made a rather annoyed sounding half grown. She rolled over and staunchly refused to wake up though— very professional of the animal. She was stubborn like that. Or maybe that was just cats. 

If Ben wanted Poe back— if he really wanted Poe back—he was going to have to do this. And he was going to have to do it on his own. 

Chapter Text

Ten minutes later saw Ben waiting outside Rachael’s room. With the lights still on he was essentially standing guard. He stood there frozen, too afraid to move for fear of missing his chance. Somewhere around the 45 minute mark after watching, waiting there was finally telltale flickering— the overhead light flashing brighter a few times, the little white blip dimming, then going dark on the two cameras he could see properly from where he was stationed. 

It hadn’t been as long as expected and Ben was grateful for that if nothing else. It’d been years since either he or Poe had pulled such a stunt, but if memory served the usual wait time was anywhere between one to three hours. It sat somewhere on the short end if you were lucky—which they usually weren’t. More than one occasion had seen them waiting for upwards of four before giving up for the night. It would have made a more superstitious man wonder if this was supposed to happen, if he had some kind of blessing, some fate-endorsed luck perhaps. That was a thought for a different kind of man though. His superstitions were of the idea that things went wrong when they shouldn’t, not the other way around. 

Ben checked the hall one last time before slipping quietly into the room. It was red-lit again— all lights but the emergency would be off. He approached feeling more high-strung than a junkie, ready to run for the hills but forcing himself forward. He pushed past the doorway, then the main floor in a (hopefully) steady march towards his (hopefully not) impending doom.  

At a glance he now saw the other remaining cameras— just as dead as the others. No trouble there. Not that he expected any. He pressed forward with more confidence. 

Ben turned his attention fully to Rachael. It was the same as both days before— she hardly looked up, didn’t even give him a sniff when the door closed. He couldn’t tell if it was because she honestly didn’t care or she’d been expecting him, but something told him it was more the latter. He’d said he would come back after all. Maybe it was him that hadn’t expected her to believe him. 

And she had. 

Ben circled her a few times, just enough to see what he was dealing with.  If her eyes followed him he couldn’t tell. In regular lighting it was already hard enough to see what she was glaring at. In the stark redness of the room now it felt ten times harder somehow. The locks and bind were simple enough in design: there were cables wrapped firmly around each wing to keep them from opening. He spied a set of gleaming cuffs— one for each limb. Under the crimson and pink hues they glared in an almost odd kind of white. Each of the four cuffs were secured firmly to rings on the floor on either side of her— keeping her low, spread like a frog so she couldn’t get her hands together. And then there was the head-cage, the makeshift muzzle they’d fashioned while she was out. Ben felt claustrophobic just looking at the thing.

The whole setup was a lot, but then again so was she. Hunstmen and the upper side of the Downworld hadn’t dealt with something of her caliber in centuries. For St. Takodana itself it was a first. They’d never held such a creature under their roof, though far be it from the most vile or wicked of their finds. St. Takodana’s held its reputation for good reason. Perhaps that was the one and only reason they’d been allowed to keep Rachael for as long as they had in the first place. As far as Ben knew no one had swept in yet to claim her. Or maybe they were just being slow. It wouldn’t be a first. 

Ben finally stopped circling and came back to stand in front of Rachael’s head again. He crouched close like the night before and watched her pull back against the chains. 

“Alright.” He clapped his hands humorlessly, more as something to do, to stall really. He was feeling antsy still. “I’m going to let you out, and you’re going to turn back into a bat. Not whatever the fuck this is—I mean that real looking thing you’ve been parading as. Then you’re getting in my pocket and we’re going ho—” He nearly choked on the words, only barely catching himself. He tried again after a breath. “I’m taking you back to my house.” 

‘Stupid! stupid! stupid!’

“You’re going to answer some questions, and you’re going to help me get my friend back. Don’t you dare think I’m doing this for you. I’m using you like you used me. Do you understand?”

Nothing. Ben didn’t move, didn’t dare be the kind of person to crouch down lower into her face or lean over her like some sort of egotistical giant. He wasn’t here to be the villain and he wasn’t about to start acting like one just to get him some kind of half hearted short term results. Ben Solo intended to use Rachael like she’d used him, but he wasn’t about to terrify her into it. Not any more than he already was, anyways. 

“Nod if you understand what the fuck I’m saying.” 

He watched her give a slow weary bow. A single bob of the head. It was enough for him. “Alright.” Ben rubbed at his palms, mentally prepping for the risk (no, the risks, plural) that he was about to take. 

There were a series of latches and locks one both the muzzle and collar. They both required a lot of maneuver and use a set of keys. The first part only had to do with dexterity. Bats couldn’t turn when they came into contact with any kind of silver like the muzzle and chains she wore. They ran the great risk of destroying themselves. And while Rachael’s paws might just be capable enough, the silver would prevent her from trying to undo it manually. Her claws would burn—spasm or lock up before she could even really try. There wasn’t enough fur to act as a buffer on the toes and fingers. 

The second potentially more difficult part involved keys— keys Ben didn’t have. His work involved more shady skills as he’d come to realize during his career. Some of those skills weren’t as hard as others— lock picking for one. Easy as it was to learn however… it still required practice like any other skill. 

Ben hadn’t picked any locks in months— not since before his last assignment.

It would’ve been nice to practice earlier before he’d come—‘The early bird catching the worm’ and all that, but that hadn’t been happened. No. Ben had been whatever the complete opposite of an early bird was— maybe a 'late rat’ or something just as equally ridiculous. He’d slept for the better part of a night and day and then woken up like a college kid fifteen minutes before his class started— in a classroom thirty minutes across town.  

Ben forgot often whether he was better under pressure or not. He supposed this was one of the times he’d have to figure that out again. Maybe he’d even remember to write the answer down this time. 

‘Doubtful.’

Rachael was still looking at him (He assumed). She hadn’t bitten him the day before. She hadn’t killed him when she had the chance at his house. Not just the one chance— the many. He tried to tell his heart all of this— beating so fast he was afraid it’d beat through his ribcage or stop outright. 

He had to trust that this would go well. He couldn’t leave her here and he couldn’t leave Poe like he was either. “I don’t want to regret this.” He finally settled on.  “Don’t make me regret this.”  She gave no indication that she was capable of comprehending the words, let alone agreeing to them. There wasn’t much choice on his part though. 

Ben forced himself forward one more time— limbs heavy. If he looked down he was sure he’d see lead wights on his arms and feet. He leaned down at her side and pulled everything out of his pocket that he’d need. The headlamp that would’ve probably been a lifesaver was still back at the house thanks to his oversight, so he’d have to make do without. Out of practice and out of light.

‘Great.’

It took him far longer than he would’ve liked— longer in fact than was professional, bordering just on the edge of embarrassing really. He chalked it up to both the low light and his lack of recent practice. Even with that he didn’t make it long however. On the second lock he finally threw down his tools— this was taking too much time— time quite frankly that they didn’t have.

So Ben, the complete and utter professional that he was, set about using his secret weapon. “I’ll be right back.” 

He didn’t know these floors as well as others and it took him two levels to get where he needed to go— a well stocked utility closet. It had every key to just about every lock in the place: Bolt cutters. 

Ben felt a wicked grin split his face. They were a huntsman’s best friend besides a decent gun and a decent bottle of aspirin.

When he returned Rachael seemed far less comfortable with these than his previous tools. He couldn’t really blame her— especially not in light of recent events. Working the latches went a lot faster after that though. So he figured she’d just have to just deal with it. The last latch— the one keeping the muzzle secured to her face— felt like a death knell to break. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest. Pounding like it’d kill him. He just wanted it to be over. 

Ben forced himself to make the final cut and threw the cutters to the side almost instantly after— like they’d burned him. His lungs felt heavy, the air around them too thin. “Okay. Moment of truth. Bite me and I’ll fuck you up like you’ve never been before.” The words felt far too empty. He had an inkling that she thought so too, and was glad of the muzzle’s latch being behind her head. She wouldn’t be able to see his hands shaking as he pulled what was left of the lock apart. He felt a rumbling beneath the metal, almost freezes again but forces his fingers to keep working. 

‘One, two, three!’

The thing slipped out of his grip and before either of them knew anything it  was hitting the floor with a sharp bang. Ben jumped back with a curse and saw her do the same with a growl. 

“Sorry.” The single word slipped out without a second thought. A thick red flush followed— apologizing to his new captive (Hostage? Prisoner?). What a man. If Rachael noticed the slip-up or his instant embarrassment she reacted to neither. Despite his heart rate and the breath still stuck in his lungs— she did nothing. They stared at each other for a good few moment, sizing each other up, before it finally settled into Ben’s bones that he wasn’t on the menu. Not currently at least. He made quick work of pulling off the last of her bonds after that, then swiped it all off to the side to be collected after her. They’ve obviously been tampered with. He’ll have to take it all with them or it’ll look even worse than it already does. 

When he looked back over to Rachael she was staring at him— he thought. Her face was aimed forward but after years of hunting and being hunted he had a pretty good idea of when he was being watched. He couldn’t tell for sure though, and neither could he say what happened to be running through her thick frogish head. It was all a mystery to him— a gamble even. 

Ben rose and reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. It was covered in her vomit now— his blood. After years in the field it was hardly the worst he’d suffered though. “Okay.” He muttered slowly. “Now change. I’m getting you out of here.”

In a blink the hulking, nightmare sized figure before him is gone—only to be replaced by… nothing?

Ben turned his eyes down at the floor and saw only dark sludge at his feet. There was a bubbling near the center, a twitching under the muck. 

‘Oh.’

“Oh!” Ben dropped to his knees one more time and curses. He wasn’t worried about his clothes at this point. They were already ruined. He might not even try to save them— just toss them in an open fire somewhere. 

He dove both hands in and combed through the mess in front of him with his fingers. It was disgusting, made him want to wretch more than the stuff on his clothes, but he was sure Rachael had it even worse. She was swimming in the stuff. He finally managed to pull out a wriggling mad animal— his needle in a haystack. She was completely covered in gunk— more filth than bat. Ben wasn’t at all surprised she’d been unable to fly. It must have weighed her down like an anchor. 

It was everywhere— Even after wiping most of the stuff away there was more sludge than her in his hands. Upwards of at least five to ten minutes were spent just doing his best to get her as clean as possible. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that she’d fit in his pocket as she was, but it’d be a miserable and cruel thing to do. 

‘Good thing she doesn’t need to breathe.’

In the dark and with both the sludge and how small she was Ben couldn't make out what her face looked like. He’d gotten pretty decent at deciphering her mood over the last few weeks. Even without seeing her though he knew how low she felt. It pulled at something in his own chest. 

“I’m sorry.” He said a again, and this time he meant it— thought it before saying it even. “I didn’t think about this stuff when I asked.” She twittered in what was probably meant to be indignation, ferocity, but the bite that it’d held when she was a car sized beast was gone. In its place sat an animal the size of a small fruit and whose roars are nothing more than pitiful squeaks. For her sake Ben did his best to hold back a smile. 

He used his shirt hem to scrub away the rest of what he could. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. They were running out of time.

Once Rachael was secure in his pants’ pocket Ben began gathering the majority of what he could carry. Her bonds were useless to hold her now more or less, but they were damning proof that he’d been in her cell— that someone had been in her cell. The less evidence he left at the scene of their crime though— the better. He thew it all in his bag, wiped the bolt cutters down, and returned them back to their rightful closet. Things were still an eery red down as low as they were. The power wouldn’t come back on till someone noticed later and came to fix it. In that Ben felt a certain kind of comfort— that no one had noticed and come running yet, that the alarms hadn’t started blaring.

The bag was much more of a hassle to get up to ground level than it had been to get it down— the chains and muzzle were weighing him down like nothing else before. It wasn’t like he’d had time to work out or keep in shape lately between either attack or Poe’s discovery. 

“Poe— you son of a bitch. This better work.”

There was an almost scandalized squawk from his front pants pocket and Ben was quick to placate. “Not you, sorry.” A warm flush crept up his neck again. He hadn’t meant for her to hear, hadn’t even meant to say it out loud really. He hoped she at least hadn’t caught the name. Ben cleared his throat and pressed on. “We’re almost there. Just hang on a little longer.” She didn’t respond but he knew she’d heard that too.

Unlike the walk down they encountered no one in their escape— not even dear Ms. Eberly. By now he was sure she’d either found a good place to nap or a decent sized bird to snack on. If it was the latter he only hoped it wasn’t another one of their neighbor’s pets again. 

He made it to ground level, to the main hall, to the front doors— all without encountering anyone. It set his teeth on edge. It shouldn’t have been so easy. Again the thought of destiny, of perhaps even a setup crept to the forefront of his mind, and again he shoved both to the back. Even with his heart in his throat and jet airplanes in his ears he seemed to make it outside and up the street just fine. He’d made it then. They’d made it. Ben threw his bag in the passenger side of his car and climbed into the front after it, careful all the while of the not so delicate delicate parcel in his pocket. When he was safely sat down and had all the doors locked again he finally dug her out. She was crumpled up like a piece of paper— still covered in ooze and undoubtably starving. 

Out of habit he almost set her in his lap— where his hoodie pocket usually was. He didn’t though, instead setting her gently down on the center console. “Hang on.” He said, then they were off.

* * * * 

Back in his driveway they must have spent nearly half an hour just sitting there, locked in the car. Ben wasn’t sure what he was gonna do when they got inside, and quite frankly he didn’t think she did either. Of course, she wasn’t the one holding him hostage, so the decision fell solely on him. He wasn’t very good at this he supposed. 

The cabin had long turned cold by the time he forced himself to move. He threw the door open and set his hand down on the center console for Rachael to climb onto. She shuffled her way onto his palm almost eagerly, if a bit stiff and slow. It was a familiar feeling— one he refused to admit he’d missed.

Ben pulled the bag across the seat to him with his other hand, threw it over his shoulder, and stepped out into the night air. There was that same fall chill from before but now it seems more bitter, more biting. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed it with the fog he’d been in all night. Even knowing she couldn’t feel it Ben curled his other hand over Rachael, cupping her close to his chest till they could get to the door and unlock it. 

With the rush he was in to get out of the wind they practically spilled through and into his home. “Come on in, Rachael.” The words were foreign and yet not, like he’d said them before. He dismissed the feeling before it could fully get ahold of him. Ben dropped the bag at the door and flipped a few light switches on. Just enough to see by, but not enough to worry light’ll get out between the cracks in the blackout curtains. He wasn’t trying to advertise his most current late night adventure. 

Rachael was still clutched to his chest when he finally sat down on the couch. She hadn’t twitched even once in his hand. Back in the car he’d felt her settle in and ever since she’d stayed deathly still. It was a stark difference to her behavior from before. He half wondered if she’d been playing bat all along. Maybe the animals did act like she had. It was hard to say, harder to care at such late hour. 

He pulled his gun out of its holster, gripping it safely in one hand on the couch beside him and Rachael in the other against his ribs. 

He opened up his fingers and looked down at the not-a-bat in his palm. “Okay.” He said with a heavy sigh.  “Now change. You’re filthy and I’m not about to give you another bath. Not after last time and not after everything I know now. You can give yourself a damn bath this time.”

Even as he finished saying this though she remained sitting in his palm— visibly batty and not at all looking like a person who could clean themselves. He watched her rub her thumbs together like it was a nervous habit. He wasn’t about to have any of that though. “Well?”

She still wouldn’t budge, sat there like a figurine as if he wouldn’t notice. 

“Come on. It’s late and I wanna get this over with.” He waved his hand up and down like he was trying to help her fly. He watched her crawl over and cling desperately to his thumb. If she were still a bat it would’ve been adorable. As things were it was only almost half as endearing. “Rachael. We need to talk. I can’t do that with a bat.” She budged only barely. He had to stop so he could hold his hand up and look at her properly— in the eyes as much as you could with an animal. “I don’t speak bat, Rachael. Come on.” Her beady eyes were just as black as ever, just as expressive too. He couldn’t bring himself to make any more threats— he was tired and he’d made enough already. “Please.” He could’ve sworn there was the barest hint of a nod then, a bob of her tiny head, and she let go of his finger just like that. 

‘Finally.’

He lowered his palm to the floor in front of him and she crawled off, leaving a thin trail of black in her wake. He’d have to clean up tomorrow— do laundry too if his pants pocket looked anything like his fingers and his carpet. 

And just like that— where one second there was a bat, the next sat a woman. She was crouched low, every inch of her still covered in a dark layer of muck. Even with that there were three distinctive things he noticed right away— the first being her hair. It was long, longer than any he’d ever seen in his life. It sprawled along the floor around her like a tail or her own personal nest, draping over her back, her arms, her legs. He couldn’t see the color through the film that clung to it, turning strands and sections into a macabre spiderweb— like she was caught again. The second thing he noticed were her eyes. Not the color, not the shape, just the depth, how wide. There was age in those eyes: time, and a story, and fear. He’d met vampires before— mostly a precursor to killing or detaining them, but he’d never seen eyes like these. It was inexplainable though he tried. 

The third and most striking quality that caught his eye—perhaps the one he should’ve noticed first— pretty much stopped all brain activity all together. Not even the filth on her could hide it from him. It was certainly the most heart stopping, breath catching thing about her yet: She was naked. 

Ben felt himself choking on air. “Oh shit—I didn’t mean like that!” The words were out before he could stop them. He felt himself jump back into the couch as if he had anywhere else to go. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE CLOTHES ON WHEN YOU CHANGED BACK!”

Ben did his best to both avert his eyes and keep watch on her— for his own safety and health as well as hers. 

“Fuck!” 

She was scrambling for one of the blankets off the back end of the couch, but that meant coming right by him. He sat between her and safety once more apparently. Her teeth were bared, though in a wicked or frightened manner it was hard to say— he was trying not to look. “I’m sorry.” She muttered. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t exactly shift under the best of circumstances last time.”

Ben threw his arm back behind himself and grabbed a handful of blanket. He pulled it forward and without meaning to chucked the entire pile at her. She barely managed to catch it before crumpling back down to the floor. At least it’d covered her somewhat. “That’s like the most basic thing you guys learn!”

“I was under a lot of stress!”

“Stress? You're an heiress! The fu—”

Her face, still curtained by hair and dirty, whirled back to stare up at him from around the mountain of furs— eyes blazing.“Don’t.” Ben’s mouth snapped shut. He wasn’t sure if he’d been compelled or not— it just happened. “Don’t." she said again, this time with less bite. Her expression had softened, but the severe glint  didn’t look like it was about to go anywhere. She was scowling at him, wrapping herself up like a greek goddess in one of his nicest throws. He swallowed a groan at the thought of what it was going take to clean the thing. All of them really, but then he also supposed they had bigger problems to deal with. Like a naked woman. An angry, filthy, terribly confusing naked woman.

“I sort of panicked when I left the manor,” He had to strain to hear the words, didn’t dare ask her to repeat herself. “And I haven’t exactly had time to get new clothes. So just let. It. Go.” Her eyes, still blazing, had taken on a particularly telling glassy sheen. He could see just at the corners where tears were gathering. Ben already felt like he was in over his head— had been since probably weeks ago, but this was too much. She was too much. 

That well of fear, of confusion and hope he’d been pulling from these last few days was gone in the blink of an eye— evaporated in the face of whatever the hell this was. Ben swallowed hard and bobbed his head up and down once. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t appear concerned with keeping him in her sights. Her entire head fell forward like it was too heavy, a burden to her, and the curtain of hair obscured anything he could’ve seen of her face. They sat like that for a while, probably too long before Ben decided it’d have to be him that made the first move. 

“Can I… get you something? Maybe to eat?”

A suspicious eye peek out at him from between the veil. “Is that a joke or are you actually offering?”

“Do you know me to be the joking sort?”

“I’m honestly too tired to think. I really wouldn’t know.” 

That was fair. “I’m actually offering then.”

There was an awkward silence that followed. He half wondered if he should ask again, maybe just go get the stuff himself. When she spoke next it startled him enough to jolt back a bit “Could I have a bath first?” The words were quiet still, voice a bit rough around the edges, maybe from disuse, maybe from being sick. “I think if I ate anything like this I’d probably just end up throwing it back up.”

‘Ah. Right.’

“Of course. Come on. I’ll show you where the towels are.” Ben rose from the sofa, only then noticing the gun still in his hand. Rachael gave it a once over but didn’t seem particularly interested in the thing— or afraid for that matter. Ben looked at her, then it, then back at her a last time. He holstered it and moved for the hallway.

“Ben—”

When he glanced back she was still on the floor, still hiding in her mountain of furs. “Hm?”

“Can I call you Ben?” 

“Uh, sure.” It wasn’t like they didn’t know each other. Well, sorta…maybe… Rachael nodded a few times— he thought more to herself than him. 

“Could you help me?” He half wondered if he’d misheard her.

“Pardon?”

“I know it’s silly. Please don’t make me ask again. I feel like I can hardly stand.”

‘Oh.’

“Of course.” Ben wound back around the couch again and bent down to her level. 

“I just need a hand. Thank you.”

She did not ‘just need a hand’. For most of the journey to the bathroom Rachael hung from his right arm. If she’d needed lungs he was sure she would’ve been out of breath by the time they made it to the tub. And then there was that particular hurdle.

“Do you..? Should I stay? Are you gonna be okay?” As close as they were it was hard to make her expressions out— it was all shrouded in gunk and hair. He was pretty sure she actually smiled up at him though. Something in his chest leapt at that. Maybe the fear of having her so close. His gun still sat in its holster, but if she wanted to Rachael would be on him before he could get at it. He felt his heart start to tick faster, then faster still with embarrassment. She could probably hear it, did hear it. 

Her words pulled him out of his spiral, and when he looked back down at her again he swore her smile was wider, more chilling even. “I’ll be fine. I just needed help getting here. Thank you.” Ben nodded, then lowered her down to sit on the toilet while he started the water. “Am I allowed to bathe alone?”

“Of course!” The promise came out high and cracked. He whirled back around to see her smiling still. She hunched in on herself, rather pleased looking. Had that been a joke? Ben wasn’t exactly sure but he also didn’t want to stick around just to find out. 

He rose, washed his hands, and pulled a fresh towel from the linen closet. All the while he wanted nothing more than to run. “You can use this. It’s clean. When you’re done I’ll have a pack ready to eat.”

“Thank you.”  

Ben was out the door then back again— still unsure exactly what was going on. He felt like this was a dream. A really weird, really freaky dream. “Do you have a preference?”

“No. Thank you though. I think I could eat a horse at this point.”

Again Ben was left overly unsure. Was she was joking again? Did she joke? Ben gave a nod that felt a little too unsteady. “I’ll um.” He ran a hand through his hair— too late wondering if there was any remaining black on his arm’s sleeve. There definitely was. “I’ll see you in a bit then.” He made sure to pull the door closed behind himself. 

Back in the kitchen Ben grabbed a pack of blood from the freezer. He set it off to the side to thaw and then leaned back against one of the cabinet. “Okay.”

‘What now?’

Chapter Text

She’d been in there a while— nearly two hours by the time he decided it was past time to knock on the door. While she’d showered he washed up a bit in the sink, changed into something warmer, and threw everything he’d previously been wearing at St. Takodana’s into a trash bag. There was no saving them. Even his sneakers went in—running out of shoes fast it seemed. Maybe he should make a trip back just to get his other pair from Luke, the one he’d left behind.  

Even after all that he still felt the dark chill that’d set in under the church’s halls. He’d sat down for a hot cup of coffee, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be going to bed anytime soon, and curled up at the kitchen table. He didn’t dare look out into the living room— could almost feel the carpet and spots of the couch glaring at him expectantly. When the clock rolled around to close to two in the morning though… That started to worry him.

Realistically he knew there was nowhere she could go. There were no windows in the bathroom and he hadn’t heard the door once. Besides— there was the occasional clatter or thumping noise that told him she was still there. So she certainly hadn’t gone anywhere, but he also supposed that didn’t mean she couldn’t be up to anything. Even if Racheal had come to his home willingly enough it didn’t mean she wanted to be here— or planned to stay for that matter. 

Ben finished up his coffee— sure they’d both be back for more— and made his way down the hall to the bathroom. He wrapped his knuckles against the wood so gently he worried she might not have heard him. ‘She’s not human though.’ He was quick to remind himself. He cleared his throat and knocked again when there was no answer. 

“Hey— what’d going on? You’ve been in there forever.”

There was a loud crashing through the door followed by what he thought was a slew of muttering. He couldn’t be sure over the sound of the shower though. And that was certainly another thing. After the nearly two hours she’d been in there he wondered— no, worried— what his water bill the following month would be. He wasn’t a castle with infinite recourses and riches like he was sure she was accustomed to. After all that it went silent once more though—enough that it brought on an uneasiness in him— more so than before too. 

He gave harder knock—a third and final warning. “What are you doing? I’m coming in.” 

“Wait no!” Ben stopped with the knob half turned. “I’m just having some trouble. I… I can’t get it all out.” 

“What out? That black stuff? Where?” There was a long pause— something he’d been getting more and more tired of lately. Lack of answers, lack of response, lack of results. He’d gotten it out after a good scrubbing, but surely it shouldn’t be taking more than an hour or two… Right? It was all the same and it was getting on his nerves. He huffed against the door. “Rachael?”

“My hair…” she said, and he half wondered if he’d misheard. 

“Your…” But then he remembered. “Oh.”

Now it was him who wasn’t talking. What was one supposed to say? Did he offer help? Did he give her more time, privacy? Did he call her bluff and open the door anyways? Maybe she really was trying to escape. That seemed the most unlikely option though. He’d seen her, seen how her legs shook and nearly buckled. There was little faking that— the hunger, the exhaustion, that bone weary ache. It’d been palpable. And there was no faking the miles of hair covered in black filth either. He should’ve guessed. Ben let go of the knob and stepped back feeling rather stupid. There wasn’t any kind of follow up and Ben had the sneaking suspicion that he was expected to say something— something probably very specific that he only had the barest hints of an idea about. 

“Do you…? Do you need help?”

Ben held his breath, cringed, and waited, chanting out a mental mantra of ‘Say no, say no, say no, say no!’

The answer— timid and a bit sooner than he would’ve like to have heard— came back through the door to him clear as day. There was no mistaking her words, much steadier sounding than he felt. “Would you mind?”

“Do you want me to?” ‘Say no, damn you!’ Ben was barely able to stand. The coffee was only going to last so long and he did NOT feel like playing hairdresser. 

“Only if it wouldn’t be any trouble. I think I just need an extra pair of hands is all.” 

‘“Is all” she says.’ Ben closed his eyes hard and braced himself. He’d offered. There was no turning back now.  “Are you decent?”

Rachael actually laughed at that. Laughed! “I’m getting in the robe now. It’s rather soft— thank you.” He found himself grinding his teeth and had to actively stop himself. Bad habit to start now. Finally from behind the door he heard a soft clinking, then “Come in.” 

He wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard it. She may not be human but he was. He could feign shit hearing if he really wanted to—go back down the hall for another cup of coffee and pretend he hadn’t heard. Coward? Yes. Asshole? Also yes. At least he wouldn’t be in his current position though. Maybe he really could just walk away.

Instead Ben grabbed the knob like he trying to strangle it and slowly, painstakingly opened the door. The smell was wretched, but he’d expected that. It was mixed now with the woodsy blend of shampoos and body washes. He wasn’t sure if that helped or made the whole experience worse. 

Rachael was sitting down on a footstool by the tub, head hung over the side with her hair draping down out of view. His drain would pay hell for this. As promised she was already in his fuzzy beige guest robe— this wasn’t the first time someone needed an emergency bath. It wouldn’t be the last in his line of work either. 

It was a shock to see her though. Vampires didn’t get sun— couldn’t— but still. She’d seemed like the warm sort of individual in their more non-life threatening, non-aggressive interactions, even as a bat. To see skin so close to white was striking. He never got used to seeing it. Supposedly they could mask it if they were decent enough, but she either didn’t have that talent or didn’t care to utilize it right now. He’d seen redheads more tan than her. It certainly put the emphasis back into view: This wasn’t a human and she hadn’t been in a long, long time. 

She was looking at him already, waiting for him, and Ben felt a stab of embarrassed shame that he’d almost run away— that he still wanted to even, was currently considering it. His instincts had him two seconds from flying back out into the hall when (of all things) she smiled at him. He didn’t know what kind of smile— happy, diplomatic, uneasy— just that it was a small, thin lipped thing that sent his head into a tailspin. 

“Hello.” 

Ben raised a hand and waved at her.  “Hi.”

Her smile grew just a little wider, revealing small dimples and little crinkle lines around her nose. 

“Umm… How can I help?”

“I’m not really sure. I just know it’s sort of gotten out of hand. Sorry.”

Ben swallowed and stepped closer, sitting of the tub’s edge and peering down into its bowl. “Oh.”

“Yea. I’ve never had to deal with it on my own like this. I’m a bit out of my depth I’m afraid.”

“Any chance you’d let me cut it?”

Knowing what she was didn’t stop him from being surprised at how fast she could whirl around. Her head snapped in his direction and there was the closest thing to fear he thought that she’d shown so far. “No. I’m rather fond of it. Is ‘no’ an option or was that rhetorical?”

“An option” Ben assured with a wave. “No cutting then.”

“Thank you.”

Ben only hummed, staring down into the bowl and wondering how the hell they were going to clean a veritable horse’s tail. It was pooled at the bottom, still sticky and black looking despite the grueling effort she must have put in before he came in. There were just the barest hints of browns and oranges popping out now— only enough to show him how much work they had in store. “Are you sure about the scissors?”

“Is that the only option?”

Ben heaved a sigh and began rolling his shirt sleeves up. He’d put on a more comfortable red flannel— something to chase the cold away. Now he regretted it. The steam was already getting to him. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to change first? This could get messy.”

“Oh— right.”

Right— messy like all the clothes now in the trash bag sitting by the front door. That kind of messy. Ben breathed a heavy sigh again. He unbuttoned the uppermost of his shirt, pulled it up over his head, and threw it over onto the bathroom cabinet opposite them. The shirt underneath was just some old garage tee he’d gotten from a summer job a decade or so back. He wasn’t overly attached to the thing.

Beside him Rachael was wide eyed— she looked like she was about to choke and he wondered if the smell was finally getting to her. “You alright?”

She laughed a little— even that sounded choked— and turned back to her hair. “Yes.” She muttered quietly. Ben half wondered if vampires sometimes forgot you didn’t need to breathe. He was human. He had to deal with the awful stench. She wasn’t, but he held back from saying as much. It was already thin ice they tread. No need to start anything.

They fell into a semi-easy routine, working from the ends of her hair and up towards the scalp. Together they tried to work steadily upwards— starting at the base her hair and cleaning their way back to the scalp. She’d done her best but it was quite honestly just too much for one person. Ben felt a stab sympathy for what she’d managed alone. There was no clock in the bathroom—Ben felt thankful for the absence of his uncle’s watch. It would’ve been helpful to know how long they were taking though. Just from the droning, awkward silence and hard work alone it felt like hours passed. Maybe it had.

She helped guide him to the more difficult places and assured him that he wasn’t hurting her when he pulled at the mess it’d become. Slowly, surely, Ben felt himself thawing from the stiff set his body had defaulted to. It was hard enough— his usual interactions with vampires were rarely friendly— to some degree even mythically. It wasn’t a simply affair then to get comfortable around one so legendary. 

Somehow though (oddly even) she almost made it easy. There was little hostility that she displayed— none that he could pick up on anyways. And though she acted in a guarded way, it wasn’t in a way he found difficult to understand. She was wary of him in much the same way he was wary of her. 

And then of course came the difficult decision— they’d reacher her scalp. If the conversation before (or lack thereof) had been stilted and awkward, this was ten times worse. Ben made the suggestion that Racheal lean her head back over the tub and he’d do his best to get the rest. She couldn’t see what to do and quite frankly he just wanted it over with as soon as humanly (or not) possible. 

She was hesitant at first but agreed quick enough. It wasn’t like they had a lot of options. Ben pulled out a clean hand towel and set it over the tub’s lip for her neck. Thick skin sure, but that didn’t mean she had to be uncomfortable. She laid back in a rigid sort of way and let him work. He wasn’t really sure who was more stiff about the whole thing though: her or him. Despite the warm water her skin never seemed to warm. It felt like he was working with ice. What progress they’d made towards normalcy felt suddenly absent. All that work for nothing. 

The hotter temperatures seemed to have a better effect diluting and washing away the black sticky blood. It was a strange contrast to his hands he didn’t particularly enjoy, but neither did he feel like commenting on it. And of course there was the other thing… Being so close he couldn’t help it. Once again Ben had to remind himself not to think of it as his blood. There was enough of a mess to clean up as it was.

* * * *

Eventually Ben worked enough of the stuff out to start adding shampoo. Hot water and scrubbing could only do so much. It took at least four separate applications before Ben felt any kind of hope again. Beneath the suds, bubbles, and white turned black soap appeared actual hair. That rinse had been a balm— something to ease his weary fingers, cracking skin, and desperate soul.

“Okay.” Ben breathed. “Fifth and final— hopefully.”

“Finally.” 

He looked down at her, just as weary looking as he felt. “Still hanging in there?”

“I won’t lie— you make it easy. This almost feels as good as when I was a bat.”

Ben couldn’t help a groan at that. “Don’t bring that up please.”

He tried not to look at her, tried even harder not to listen to her laugh. “Why not?” She said between breaths, “Would it damage your reputation if I started telling people what good bathes you give?”

Ben stopped scrapping at her scalp and leaned his head between his arms— still wet and soap covered despite his best efforts. “There is so much wrong with what you just said.”

Rachael chuckled again. She rolled her head over to better look at him. He couldn’t see it, but he knew, could feel her eyes. “Would it help if I told you it wasn’t a lie? It was really rather relaxing once I got past the immorality of it all.”

“In my defense I totally thought you were an animal.”

“Is that the hint of apology I detect?”

“No— I am sorry though. I swear I had no idea what you were.”

Her smile turned softer, maybe a little somber at that. Something squeezed painfully in his chest. “I think I can believe that.” She said quietly. “You made it pretty evident at every turn.”

Ben said nothing. He settled back down again and started working the (hopefully) last batch of shampoo into her hair. She moved her head back into place without him having to ask. He wanted to scoff her comment away, bring some level of levity back into the room. Such oppressiveness at such an early hour was an uncomfortable feeling— too little sleep and not nearly enough coffee to properly bear it. “Don’t remind me of that either. Tell me something different. Like what I can actually call you. Is Rachael your real name?” 

Rachael hummed. “It is— everyone I enjoy the company of calls me Rey though.”

Ben’s hand stilled, not long, not even for a second, but it was enough that he knew she’d noticed. The obvious question of ‘Do I count?’ Went unsaid even if he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be her friend, her ‘enjoyable company’. He wondered to himself why he even wanted to ask then. Maybe just a side effect of his wretched curiosity. Rachael flickered her eyes over to him with he mentally berated himself though, confirming his thought that she’d noticed. 

“Are you wondering which to call me?”

“Which would you prefer?”

“I think we’re a bit passed ‘Rachael’ if I’m being completely honest. You’ve given me a bath for goodness sake.”

Ben grimaced again. “Please stop saying that.”

Rachael tried to hide a chuckle again, but it sounded more sober than before, almost bitter. “I’ll do as I please as much as I’m able, Ben.” She said, then turned her eyes back up to the ceiling. “I don’t know though. I’m not sure if we’re quite to ‘Rey’ yet.”

“‘Ms. Palpatine?’”

Rachael’s nose scrunched up like there was something foul in the air… more than there already was he guessed. “Not that. It’s not a name I’m fond of.”

“It was your grandfather’s.”

“He wasn’t. I’d rather not talk about it, please.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” 

Rachael was quiet for a few moments too long. Ben got the distinct impression she wasn’t completely with him. “Thank you.” She finally said with a sigh. It made him jump after so long a silence, and he watched her cross her hands over her stomach. Somehow her words helped. She hadn’t accepted any of his apologies so far— Ben wasn’t that blind— but she also didn’t give him the impression that there was bitterness or resentment in her words. It smoothed the edges of his anxieties even if he didn’t know why. Once more they slowly eased back into a quiet lull. This time it didn’t feel so stiff. Ben did his best to work the last lather in extra well. That cup of coffee didn’t seem to be holding out as long as previously hoped and he was desperate to get back for another one. If they could finish this and be done with it he would probably jump for joy. His fingers, his hands, even parts of his arms felt scrubbed raw from weaving through fine threads of hair. No doubt in the morning there would be marks to show for it— red rawness and blotchy spots. Or maybe he was just tired and being dramatic. He wasn’t really sure but he also didn’t particularly care. 

The last lather stayed white and Ben felt himself hold his breath when he pulled the shower head down to rinse it all away. True to his semi-promise the water ran clear. He felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders. 

“What’s the verdict?”

“You’re clean.”

Rachael heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh— finally!”

She started to lean forward and Ben set an arm in her way to keep her down. “Give me a minute you’re not done yet.”

“Bugger. Can’t you go any faster?”

“I’m being thorough. I don’t want to be in here any more than you do. I Also don’t want to have to come back either. I’m just rinsing out the soap. Be still.” He felt her lay back down and looked over to see a scowl— almost a pout— plastered across her face. If he weren’t so tired he might have laughed, maybe even smiled. It was such a familiarly batty look. As it was he was barely able to manage a soft huff, a half chuckle. 

When he was done Ben pulled her towel from the bathroom cabinet across from them and helped wrangle everything out from the tub. It weighed enough on its own to be an animal he thought but didn’t say. Rachael thanked him as he rose to leave, reaching over and snatching his flannel for him. He’d almost forgotten. 

“Thanks.” He said. She dropped it into his open palm and smiled at him. He watched her for a moment— studying the way she padded at the rope of hair in her lap. He wondered how old she had to be to have such long hair— if it’d been like that when she turned. Maybe it was a cultural thing, something lost to history. It wouldn’t be the first. Certainly it wouldn’t be the last either. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

“I’ll be out in a minute. Does the offer of a meal still stand?”

“Course. It’ll be ready for you when you come out.”

“Thank you.”

Ben hummed and wandered back down the hallway. The blood he’d originally gotten out for her would be bad by now— if not it was too iffy to risk. She’d only just gotten over being sick. He wouldn’t subject her to the chance of a bad batch just to be resourceful. That batch went back into its container, sealed well, and into the trash. Ben pulled another from his garage freezer. 

While that heated up properly he poured himself another heaping cup of coffee— now cold. He threw it into the microwave and leaned back against the counter for the second time that night.

‘Deja Vu.’

What was he doing? 

Chapter Text

Hello Everyone I hope this actually works! Today I am feeling my very young old years. I know nothing of technology and it shows lol. I still wanted to show these though since A: I did say I would last time I updated and B: I really think they're cool and would like to showcase the artist who helped me kind of get an idea of what I wanted monster-wise. 

She really enjoys coming up with and designing monsters and she just got a professional account on instagram where she's putting all her art (monster-related and otherwise!!)! I'll put her link at the end of this 'chapter' lol. Again so thankful to have such cool art pieces I can claim as part of this story. Even if most of it isn't what we ended up with it helped give me a great idea of what I wanted in the end! I think that's awesome!

^ I really like the bear like body in this one. It's what I imagined it would look like as a well built predator. Bears are insane!

^Bear body again! I love it! 

^ This one with the start of the 'teeth finger' idea I ended up with. Not exactly what I imagine but it was what helped me get to the vision I wanted!

She goes by orange_rabbitarts and word is she's about to drop some really cool Inktober content this next month! Please go give her a like or follow if you think these designs are cool. Or don't lol. I'm not the cops!😂

https://instagram.com/orange_rabbitarts?igshid=MWZjMTM2ODFkZg==q

Thank you again and be safe out there! Sorry for all the chaos this update! 

Chapter Text

Ben was already slumped over in a kitchen chair when she came out from the hall. There were better ways to heat up blood— ways that made it tastier (or so he’d heard). At what he’d minutes earlier seen to be 4:30 in the morning though that wasn’t exactly his highest priority. It wasn’t even in the ‘top 20’ list. All he wanted at that exact moment was to be in bed and as good as dead to the world. Oh what a dream that was. He didn’t have the luxury of being un-dead. He actually needed sleep. The brief power nap earlier apparently hadn’t done anything— it certainly felt like it. Or at the very least it didn’t even come close to being enough. 

So microwaved blood it was. 

It was a while more after that before Rachael padded into sight. She was wearing a pair of overlarge socks which he definitely didn’t remember giving her. He also didn’t particularly feel up to asking her about it either. He was barely three sips into his (still too hot) coffee and that was a question for at least half a cup down.

“Microwave.” He gestured in the general direction and she following him with her eyes— striking and orange in the dim light. He’d turned a few more of the lights off while he waited. The only one that gave them any light now was the one in the hall. It felt easier on his weary eyes. In that low light though it was so easy to see such a familiar hunger, bright as her gaze was. There wasn’t any white left to her eyes when she floated away, and she came back with a tall soup mug cupped carefully in her hands. She was gripping it like she thought it might warm her. In reality it probably had more to do with resource guarding. He’d seen it in animals, dogs and Jersey Devil’s in particular. That was just a guess though.

Rachael sat down beside him, Ben at one corner and her just on the other side. It was too close, too dangerous he thought but didn’t say. Ben pulled his own mug a little closer. He lifted it higher towards his face to mask the growing stench of warm blood. He was already tired and achy. No need to add queasy to the mix. It wasn’t a pleasant smell to begin with and he did his best not to visibly grimace.

Rachael didn’t appear to notice any of this. Or if she didn’t she didn’t show it. He watched her nurse the cup carefully, hesitantly— Either for safety (‘What did he put in it?’ She would think) or to test her already uneasy stomach. Ben didn’t know which it was and he didn’t really care to know. Not really. He had other things to think about. If it be the latter he’d show her where the 409 and paper towels were and be done with it. Ben himself had done enough cleaning for one night— for one lifetime actually. 

They sat together for a few minutes like that— Ben trying desperately to not pass out and Rachael easing her way into the first proper meal she’d had in probably weeks. He figured after everything she was owed at least a moment to herself. She seemed to know it too— flicking bright eyes to him everyone so often but otherwise seemingly unbothered by his presence. When the cup finally clacked down onto the kitchen table for the first time Ben felt his eyes pulled to her— then away. In the glow of her face he could just make out the dark sheen that’d stained her lips. It was an unpleasant reminder like the smell. 

“So how does this work?” Rachael began when he didn’t. “I’ve never really been interrogated like this before.” 

“In a kitchen?”

“By a human.” She said almost shyly, and he saw just the barest hint of an upturn to oner corner of her lips. “I supposed that too though. Do you treat all your captives this well?”

Ben didn’t like the term ‘captive’ but then he supposed it wasn’t up for him to say. “Not often, no.”

“I wonder how you treat your guests then.”

“You are my guest.”

Racheal hummed and he watched her eyes dart to the open archway, looking out beyond the living room to the back door. There was something faraway about that look. “I just can’t leave.”

A stone the size of a small continent dropped hard into the pit of his stomach. He swallowed down a scorching gulp of coffee. “No.” He agreed, and his mouth felt like it was filled with ash as he did— maybe from the burns. He took another hearty sip despite the pain. He was almost glad for it actually. It felt akin to punishment even if he struggled to wonder if he really deserved such a thing. Ben sat back again and wracked his brain. How was best to broach the topic? Where did he start even?

Ben Solo was a worlds renowned monsters slayer, beast wrangler and one of exactly 16 human members to be accepted as ‘not completely terrible’ by the lochness dryad grove. He’d just broken one of the Downword’s most feared coven family’s new heiress out of his own Church’s underbelly, would no doubt be facing some of the highest charges if caught, and currently found himself sitting beside said heiress. And at the end of that list there was one thing Ben was wretchedly loathe to admit, but he did anyway: He was also more than a little unsure how to tread next. He’d come so far and yet now— after everything— was when his nerves decided to kick in at long last. 

Rachael (apparently taking pity on his poor exhausted mind) started for him once more. She cleared her throat, took a long pull from her drink, and set her mug down— still careful not to take her hands off it he noticed. “You said I’m supposed to help you with your friend?” She asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

Ben felt an instant split in his soul at that question though— he needed to tell her, but he so completely and utterly didn’t want to. She was the key to fixing Poe— to helping him, but also most likely one of his friend’s most prevalent dangers. A vampire heir or heiress probably never boded well for a low ranking pawn. The phrase ‘canon fodder’ came to mind painfully fast. Again— despite how quickly he’d decided to take this mission upon himself he was just as quickly beginning to second guess it all. 

Rachael could be Poe’s savior.

Rachael could also be his next oppressor. His jailor. 

“We’ll get to that” he finally found himself saying. 

‘Yes’ he found himself thinking. ‘So so much later. A “Let me think about all of this” kind of later.’

Rachael gave a curt nod and took another drink from her mug while she waited. When he still didn’t seem to have anything to say after some terribly long, terribly quiet minutes though (because really, really he didn’t. Ben was spiraling and even he was painfully aware of the fact) she took the lead again. 

“Ben you’re supposed to be the one with all the questions. Ask me, please.” Ben’s answer was to swallow hard against the lump in his throat and squeeze his eyes shut— like everything around him might disappear and leave him alone for a few hours to sleep (he knew it wouldn’t). He wanted this to be over with. He wanted to be in bed. He wanted to be anywhere, any place but here with her. 

‘Time out. Give me eight hours and a proper pot of coffee tomorrow’ he wanted to say. That wasn’t an option though. Well… it was… It was just a stupid one. That wasn’t going to happen though and they both knew it. 

Ben shook himself back to the present, to that moment between him and Rachael. He looked her in the eye as best he could— it was hard to focus on anything too long at thing point, but for some reason especially those awful glowing pinpricks. In the low light that the hall light provided they were set as eery orange tinged beacons. He steeled himself for what was coming. “How long have you been the heiress then? Let’s start with that one.”

Rachael seemed ready— like she’d expected such an answer, and maybe she had. “It’ll be 99 years later this winter. I was 25 when it happened.”

‘Fuck.’ Ben felt his stomach twisting. They’d managed to keep Rachael a secret for almost a century. No one had known who she was, what part she played. How was that even possible?

“Who all knows you exist?”

Rachael almost smiled shyly at that, a strange small thing like she thought something funny. “My predecessor doesn’t count I don’t suppose. He’s not exactly around to have a say in the matter anymore anyways.’ 

‘Oh.’

“As far as I’m aware the only remaining individuals with knowledge of my existence boils down to Snoke, a handful of my most loyal followers, and— oh!” An almost Cheshire-cat grin split her face then— it replaced the soft shyness and instantly reminded Ben of her more animalistic, more monstrous form. It made him want to squirm but he shut the feeling down quick. “You of course. How could I almost forget?”

“I see.” 

Rachael’s eyes flickered down and Ben followed her line of sight to his hands— it was easy with they way they shined. He looked back up to her. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing this down? Recording it perhaps?”

Ben felt the weight of responsibility, of having to get up and do work again settle upon his shoulders quite harshly— almost smugly even. Ew. “Yea,” he agreed far less heartily. “Yea I probably should.”

Ben rose with creaking bones and moved about the room while she sat and sipped at her…drink. He collected a few pens, a thick pad of paper, and one ancient recorder he kept in his kitchen junk drawer for emergencies (not quite like the one he found himself in— but close). With everything stacked carefully together he shuffled back over to his coffee cup (for what he hoped was the last time) and collapsed back into his chair. It screeched angrily against the tile, just moving an inch or so with the force of his fall, but the noise was deafening in the awkward stillness of the room. Red flushed to his cheeks— not for any reason he could name. 

Ben’d rarely been on this side of an interrogation. Most of his work was in killing, catching, or rehabilitating— not this. Yet here he was— sitting down for an interview with a vampire. 

“Okay,” he huffed, clicking the recorder on and readying the pen “To what extent are you involved in the Palpatine affairs?”

“As of the death of my predecessor I have a right to take over complete control of any and all assets and individuals. You should know all that by now I’d think.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Before my predecessor’s death I was both unfortunately and fortunately much uninvolved in the Palpatine empire’s affairs.”

“Is there any proof to corroborate that claim?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Proof.”

“Why would I need proof? Why reason have I to lie?”

“You’re queen to an empire of darkness— a corrupt and powerful house responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands, if not more.”

Her eyes were a glower, somehow brighter and more cutting than they’d been just seconds before. “I am now. I wasn’t before. You know me.”

“I don’t. I know a bat I’ve been taking care of for weeks. Not you.” Maybe that last part shouldn’t have come out so biting…. He watched Rachael’s face darken, brimming red with a thinly veiled but quick anger. 

“That was me.”

“But not the real you. Was it?” Now Ben was the one glowering. Rachael held his eyes for one hard, long moment then turned to look down at the wall beside her. That same hurt from before was startling to bubble to the surface despite his best efforts. He blamed the lack of sleep. He blamed the late hour. He blamed her. 

“I don’t think I like the way this is going.” She said finally. The way she pushed back from the table set him on edge and her bright, near literal burning gaze only made that instinctual gut-clenching worse— both for the normal reasons and others he couldn’t name. “Last time I checked you were the one holding me hostage for those weeks. I tried to escape— to get away. You held me against my will, starved me, and kept me in a second hand shoebox. I could’ve killed you— at least seriously hurt or maimed— at nearly any point during that time and yet. I. didn’t. Quite frankly I think after all that I’m owed some shred of respect.”

Ben felt his jaw clench against her words, her near demands. “You did what you could to survive. End of story.” He bit back. 

“And what I did for you in that alley? How does that fit into your ‘end of story?’” 

Ben paused, pulling his cup just a little closer and taking a sip— still blessedly scalding somehow. He felt himself deflating fast— having burned through what rage he could muster at such a low point for his weak system. But also because she’d reminded him. And he wanted so dearly to know. Had to know.  “What..?” He slid the pad and paper carefully aside. ‘Off the record.’ “What did happen? That night I mean.” He felt himself deflating more and more with each word.

Rachael seemed caught off guard by that question more than the previous few— not without good reason he supposed. For a good few minutes (loud ticks on the clock above them) neither said a word. Ben found patience in this subject more than the ones before though, and so he waited quietly. 

“Please.” He said after probably five minutes of quiet had gone by. He wasn’t above begging it seemed. He watched her, studied her every move, few as they were. The only thing that’d moved in those five minutes were her eyes— harsh, burning eyes that were flickering across every inch of his face now. And then suddenly—so suddenly that it made the room spin around him— Rachael collapse like he had all at once. Her voice was too quiet, too timid from what it’d been before. He watched her try to smile. 

“I don’t really know a whole lot. I was in your pocket one second, out the next— there was that awful man Mr. Hux there— and then you threw me back into your pocket again. The next time I came out I felt a bit bruised, like an apple actually, and you were out cold on the ground. There were a couple of sick underlings egging for Hux’s blood right in front of me. No surprise there. I think I would’ve let them had I not known they’d come after you next.”  

‘Why did I make the difference?’ But Ben didn’t feel brave enough to ask that. Not even with as little sleep as he had and as much stupid bravery as that fact gave him. 

“I had to bite you— I think you know why. I’m sorry I did but I’ve been starving. I couldn’t make the leap without a boost so to speak. I don’t recall everything after that. I’m not very proficient at such a change, apparently ev en less than I’d previously though, but I had enough wherewithal to grab you and that other man, then head for your sanctuary. Everything else is a bit of a blur I’m afraid.” She paused then, screwing her face into something like polite disgust if that were possible. “If it helps you taste awful.”

Ben heard a laugh— low and quiet but still the loudest thing in the room by far— and realized with a start it was him. He was laughing. And he was laughing at her, Rachael. Or maybe just the notion. “Okay.” He said once he’d managed to rein himself in. The word was grating in a way he didn’t have enough wherewithal to really wonder about. “Thank you. I’m sorry.” There were more questions he wanted to ask— probably more he needed to— but those like most others could come later. Preferably when his brain began cooperating and generating said questions. 

Rachael had said nothing in response to him. Ben let the silence settle for a cold while after that— maybe seconds, maybe minutes— while he let the story sink in. It might be a lie— everything made up to paint a better light. As stressed as he’d been about it all though Ben would take it. He’d believe it even if just for a night.

‘What a mess.’ But he thought it with the start of what felt to be a genuine smile.  ‘What a relief.’

In the end Ben did his best to pull his wits back together again, sliding the pad of paper with his notes back over in a move he hoped seemed casual, unbothered. He scanned the words (also starting to blur together) until a reasonable enough question popped out at him— One that could help them move back into safer more professional waters. Ben felt desperate for safer waters— calm though murky as they were. 

“‘Unfortunately and fortunately,’ please explain.”

“I’m sorry?” Her words were still cold, contrasting oddly with the way her nose was screwing up.

“You expressed that you were 'both unfortunately and fortunately’ uninvolved with the Palpatine family’s affairs. Could you elaborate on that please?”

Something flared in her eyes for a barely there instant—- an unsubtle act in the dark—and she turned them down to into her cup. She swirled its contents around a bit— an act Ben tried hard not to gag at. “I was not seen much as his heiress. I was a backup.” She finally said. 

“To who? Snoke?” Ben raised his pen carefully but was stopped—Rachael was barking a harsh laugh at that.

She set an overly pale hand over her mouth, still giggling a bit as she said “Goodness no. The only thing Sheev hated more than a woman was a cripple.” 

And then there was that. Ben’s pen froze. 

“You know what happened to him? Can you tell me about his handicap?”

Again there was that odd flickering in her eyes. No. She was either a really good actress or she’d never been taken under Palpatine’s wing. “To a degree. Doesn’t everybody?”

“Palpatine was very private with his affairs and affiliations. You of all people should know that.” He tried to keep his words quiet, even. 

“Well yes— but you have that awful man, don’t you? Mr. Hux?”

“Answer the question please.” 

He watched something tick hard in the set of her jaw— Gone in a flash but it’d been there. “You’re finally taking command of the questions at least. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what he’s really like though. I tried my best to stay as far from that brute as possible. He was mean. Cruel.”

Ben bit back a comment about her own family’s cruelty, the truckloads of humans shipped to their manor very month alone, or the blanket of fear they’d held over communities and kinds for centuries. He wasn’t here to make enemies— though he’d certainly done a decent job of offending her so far. He was here to help Poe, to find answers— to fix things. 

“Tell me what you know anyways please. Anything you can.”

He watched the skin between her eyes crinkle oddly at that, skin too pale and smooth.again ‘Confused.’ Ben suddenly realized. That always meant she was confused, maybe even uncomfortable. He wondered if she’d been telling the truth before then— if her tells were so blatant. Politics never went well for your side when people could tell what you were thinking. 

“I’ve told you what I know.”

“You’ve told me nothing. You said he’s mean. Start with that please.”

There was a long pause where Ben almost wondered if he’d been too harsh, but eventually Rachael resettled herself into her chair and spoke. “He is mean. Even to other vampires. It’s not unheard of to have a certain lack of respect for underlings…” There was a quietness to her voice that Ben didn’t like. “but to him it was like they were playthings. He’s always been like that I think. That’s what I’m told anyways. I’ve very rarely stuck around in his presence long enough to witness anything that he’s done— but I don’t think I’d like to ever do so again. He’s foul.”

Ben was doing his best to scribble every word out as fast as he could— not quite entirely trusting the recorder that’d been ready to jump ship since sometime around half a decade prior. 

“What would you say his treatment is akin to?”

“I said already— dolls. Playthings. It’s like he thinks they’re not real. I’ve seen more consideration for pave-stones in the courtyard than vampires.”

“And the humans?”

Rachael paused to consider— it gave Ben enough time to catch up while she did.“Worse.” 

He nodded up to her, glancing briefly to check that she was still where he’d left her (exactly right next to him). She was so he turned back to the paper, dabbing away a loose glob of ink that’d gotten stuck on his pen’s tip. 

“You say you did witness some of these events though? Events where he was cruel?”

“Yes.”

“How often would you say?”

“Not often. I did my best to stay as far from any area of the manor that he might be inhabiting.”

“In what ways would you say he was cruel in these encounters— and in the ones where you weren’t present? Was he violent? Subdued? Can you describe them to me?” Finally he could see the skeleton of a frame coming together. By morning he’d have something to go off of, something to look over for questions when he could properly think. 

“Do I have to?” 

Ben looked up, all at once aware of just how small her voice had become. She was drawn into herself, pale and weak in appearance more than ever— all despite the vast empire and powerhouse he knew she sat on top of. She wasn’t looking at him but just beyond. “No,” he said finally. “No you don’t.”

Rachael only nodded her thanks, turning again to the cup in her hands. Ben noticed finally a slight shake to them— her arms, her hands. He wondered if Hux wasn’t the only one so effected by Snoke then. The thought wasn’t one he wanted to think about— not with Rachael in the room. Not with Poe where he was. Not with so little stopping him from spiraling more than ever. 

Ben did the best he could to pull another question out of his ass—preferably one that lead away from their current topic. “You said he’s always been like he is.” He settled on at last. “Why do you say that?”

“Rumors I think.” Her voice is still low, still timid but there’s a more confident lilt where there wasn’t before— braver now that dangerous waters are beside and not in front of them. “They say he’s been like he is since he died— that that’s what did it to him.”

“You think it drove him mad?”

“In a way. It can do that.”

“We’ve heard rumors there’s physical evidence of his madness, that the venom deformed his mind and body. Can you confirm or deny this?”

“I have no evidence but if it’s my word you’re looking for you have it. Yes I can confirm.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He’s… I really don’t know where to start quite honestly. He looks like an Edward Munch.”

Ben pulled back from his paper. “You know art?” He could see just the barest hint of a smile, a hesitant, shaky upturn to the corners of her lips. 

“I haven’t had time to study much else. It’s perhaps one of the only pastimes appropriate for a woman of my station. Is that surprising?”

Ben felt that same dangerous pull working at his mouth. He liked the way this was pulling her from such an obviously dark headspace. “Only because it’s such a cliche. A vampire who knows her art? A bit of a stereotype wouldn’t you say?”

Something twinkled in Rachael’s lowered gaze— something that made for a moment Ben remember her age, her years. “You’re supposed to be interrogating me, Ben. Not critiquing my rather unoriginal lifestyle choices.”

‘Unoriginal?’ Ben couldn’t help but disagree, but she didn’t have to know that. Something warm and uncomfortable crept up veins of his neck. There was a flicker of orange— Rachael narrowing her eyes into slits in the dark. He cleared his throat as nonchalantly as he could— noticing her quickly do the same— and turned back down to his notes. 

“What about him reminded you of Munch?” Ben began again He didn’t try to fight the smile this time. “Can you maybe describe some of the obvious characteristics of his deformities?”

She was still watching him when he looked back up— studying him almost. “Pale I suppose.” She finally settled on with a hum. 

“He’s a vampire.” 

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t. No one will tell us.”

Rachael came as close to rolling her eyes as he’d ever seen, huffing a heavy breath. It was so suddenly domestic that it threw him off. “Not pale as in white. Pale sickly. He’s yellow like old paper gets. His skin looks like paper. Stretched thin and clinging to the bones. Not even Sheev— old as he was— looked so grotesque. It’s obvious just by looking at him that he’s not alive. He’s never been able to pass I don’t think.”

“Any other defining features?”

“Scars. He looks like he’s been burned— particularly around the face and hands though I’ve never seen much beyond that.”

“They’ve never gone away?”

“Death scars, remember? He got them changing. It doesn’t matter what happens to the skin. It’ll always heal back just as terribly.” They lapsed into a less than pleasant silence, only broken by the scraping of pen on paper. Another question jumped to the forefront of Ben’s mind— one everyone had been desperate to know ever since it’d come up. He looked up from the paper— Snoke all but forgotten. “Can you explain what happened the night of the Palpatine Manor Massacre?”

“I’d really rather not.”

“Anything will help.”

“Ben please.” She said with another weak huff. “I had no love for my maker or that place but what happened that night is not a pleasant memory. At least not tonight please..”

Ben swallowed, feeling small and somewhat chastised despite her pleading tone. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He looked down to the list again— wracking his brain to make sense of all the jumbled up letters. They were starting to mix together worse than ever in an annoying sort of way that only served to remind him of his awful predicament.

“Is that all for tonight?” Ben looked up. Rachael was watching him in a strange way— one he wasn’t conscious enough to really think about. 

“One more question. Then yes.”

He watched her drain the last of her cup— lips stained dark and wet. He felt something acidic crawling up the back of his throat.  

“Powerful vampires are capable of putting humans and other lesser vampires under a thrall, correct?”

She gave a single curt nod. “Correct.”

“Can other vampires of equal standing undo those thralls? Or does it have to be the one who cast it?”

“I…” she tilted her head in a way that on anyone else would’ve looked human. Why do you ask?”

“Please answer the question.”

“You’ve asked me lots of questions now Ben. Can’t I have this one?”

“I’m asking them because I’m interrogating you. We’re not really taking turns.”

“Ben.”

“What?”

Rachael paused, flickering her eyes from one side of his face to the other over and over. Finally she settled, muttering a quiet. “Nothing.” Before looking away and turning back to her empty drink. “What you prepose may be possible but I can guarantee nothing.”

“I don’t need guarantees. I just need a chance. That’s all.”

He wasn’t really sure for how long after that, but for a while they just existed there together— Rachael licking the edges of her mug and Ben zoning in and out of thought— and consciousness if he were truly being honest. It was Rachael that broke the silence though. 

“Ben.” She almost whispered his name. It set the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He only hummed. “Can I ask you something?” Ben didn’t answer in any way this time— too tired to, but he did turn in his seat to face more towards her. She seemed to take that as invitation enough. “Is this about that friend of yours? You said I was going to help you help your friend, didn’t you?”

Ben wasn’t sure still if he trusted her enough, if he should trust her enough to even answer that kind of question. Before he could think about it however, give it any real thought at all— his mouth was opening and the words were tumbling out on their own. 

“My friend Poe Dameron. You have him.” And if the name didn’t startle something in her, the sudden jump in his heart-rate certainly did. He watched with heavy dry eyes (in exhaustion muted horror) as she pulled back in her seat. She sat a little straighter, taller even. The coffee in his stomach lurch angrily—in protest with his system and mind and heart no doubt.

There was that odd little crinkle between her eyes again that didn’t help to alleviate such a painful queasiness. His heart was beating too fast— pushing sharply against his ribs.  

“Did you say Poe?”

‘Fuck me.’

Chapter Text

Things moved pretty fast after that— at least to Ben’s groggy perception that seemed the case anyways. For all he knew it could’ve been a hour, a day— there could’ve been a man dressed in purple and painted green standing in the corner behind him. He probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“You know Poe?” He felt his (most likely very obviously) bloodshot eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. Rachael scoffed (actually scoffed!), and reeled back with a face twisted into something that struct a nerve. He half wondered if that meant she was miffed at such question— maybe even offended. “You know Poe?” He asked it again, this time much less reserved in his surprise—or was  it something closer to bewilderment? Or even horror? With everything spinning all around them it was too difficult to pinpoint. He just knew it wasn’t hidden well, and he wasn’t about to bother trying after the last few (…hours?… Days?) he’d been through.

“Of course I know him.” She huffed again and crossed her arms sharply. She could’ve been a schoolteacher with the way she stared up at him— made him feel small as if he wasn’t a head above her even while they sat. The air of authority suddenly wafting from her—somewhat forced as it may have been— didn’t do anything to assuage him. It set the hairs on the back of his neck bristling— much like his growing annoyance. “He works for me.”

Ben felt the table creek hard under his weight as he nearly jumped out of his chair and leaned into it. “For you?!” Her eyes flickered over into the distance, catching the light oddly as she carried on. It was too stiff to be nonchalant but it was an effort at least.  

Her voice was low, hard with a petulant edge to it. “Well technically everyone should now, but yes.”

“How do you know about Poe? Did you—?”

“No.” She growled over his words, stopping him short— and it was a growl. Just like that, and just as fast as before her eyes were back on him, little pinpricks of light that cut through the dark, cut through him. “I haven’t ever done that sort of thing and I certainly never intend to.”

“Then…?”

He watched her falter, wading through the quiet with her as if he were being generous and not about to fall over. She didn’t even try to hide it as she sorted through what she should or shouldn’t tell him. Even with the soft glow it was easy to read— and for Ben to think so probably said a lot— maybe even too much. Her eyes flickered from one corner of the table to the other while she fought with herself, sometimes a swath of gold and others just a blip— gone one second, and then there but distant the next. For at least three minutes she stared unblinking down into her empty coffee cup— something humans didn’t normally do. He wanted to ring the information out of her but stilled his hands, forcing patience as much as he was able. During quiet nights he wondered sometimes whether it was his mother or his father that’d cursed him with such a quick firing temper. He wasn’t sure— one had seemingly turned to politics in order to outlet their aggression (A theory Ben only half thought to be a joke) and the other to a life of smuggling wears, scamming crime lords for fun, and escaping any and all danger (most of which was self inflicted) by the skin of his or Chewie’s teeth. 

Ben stifled a heavy yawn that cracked something in his jaw. They were starting to sneak up on him faster now, less subtle. A light blaring from his periphery drew his eyes back to Rachael. She was staring at him, maybe waiting— maybe she had been for a while now. “He was a particularly hot commodity when he arrived—” she began, and Ben had to strain to hear the words. He forced his muscles to move—strung tight like piano wires— and made himself ease back down into the chair. “No one could stop talking about him. Everyone knew about him, went to see him. It was like an animal in a zoo… Over the years bigger and better things have come along though— he’s faded from the limelight in that time.” Ben did his best to brush any and every possible meaning of those words off for the moment. They sent something cold and heavy down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. The urge to swing just for hearing them was almost too overwhelming. He was glad to be sitting again. His legs felt boneless. 

“But do you actually know him?”

“Well I know him. He doesn’t…. He um—he works for me but I don’t think he knows it. If it’s the thrall I’m thinking you’re thinking of then I think I’m the one who put it on him.”

That was a lot of ‘thinking,’ (enough to make Ben’s head spin with fresh fervor) but through the jumble of words he scraped together enough meaning— just enough to feel more than hear a record scratch in his brain. “You what?”

“What thrall are you talking about exactly?”

“What do you mean? You put a thrall of Poe?”

“For his and your safety I assure you.” 

Ben shot forward again, choking on his own tongue in a mad dash to say a dozen different things at once. He stumbled loudly through at least three different half sentences that included maybe four or more jargon words that didn’t even exist before finally managing to spit out something coherent. Rachael let him. “What do I have to do with this?!” She flinched at the volume, ears probably too used to cautious and soft words. He watched her raise both hands into something placating, but she didn’t rise like he wanted to. Didn’t jump up or lunge across the table.

‘Give me a reason.’ He wanted to say.  

“Not like that!” The words were fast and low, still too quiet to hear without straining— as if she were afraid someone might overhear. “I mean your organization! You, your people, the huntsmen.’”

“Then—”

“I put a memory thrall on him.” 

“How? When?” The words were clipped— he didn’t even bother trying to curb the hard edge.

Rachael gave a noncommittal shrug— something that Ben couldn’t help immediately bristling more at. “Right after he came pretty much. Years ago now. It wasn’t hard— no one remembers me after they see me and it wasn’t exactly like his room was difficult to get into in the first place.”

Ben tried to wrap his brain around the idea— of its meaning. Even as slow as he felt currently he knew the implications of that statement, of that claim. 

“You kept his secrets from Palpatine.” It wasn’t a question. Skepticism could take a back seat til morning. He wasn’t about to buy what she was selling just yet. Not as tired and angry as he felt. 

“I did.”

“Why?”

A familiar hard flicker peaked out from her eye again. “I have my own reasons. I don’t exactly approve of the way people have been treated by my predecessor or Snoke.” Her shoulders stiffened back, regal in appearance and only slightly too stiff. He’d seen more relaxed porcelain dolls. “You could say we shared and still do share a common enemy.”

That part Ben didn’t need puzzle pieces to fit together. “Snoke.” He said it harsh under his breath, and she said it back the same way. 

“Snoke.”

Ben tried his best to catch up on everything with his pen— wholly neglected until only a few seconds before. His hand was starting to cramp the way he’d been white knuckling the thing. It was too late for all this, too dark and quiet. When he was done they sat together in that same staticky quiet, waiting, listening. There weren’t many more private questions to go through but Ben felt them weighing too heavily. Maybe they could be held back till morning. They should wait till morning the way things were going. With his temper still simmering, with his eyes blurring in and out of focus and lids feeling like steel doors wanting to slam shut. He gave up somewhere on the last few written lines and tossed the pen down, shaking out his hand to try and stave off an oncoming cramp. He needed a break. He needed to sleep. To stop, get up and just walk off without a word so he could fall into sweet oblivion in his warm bed. 

Rachael said nothing while he thought these things, didn’t even bother to look at him. Ultimately Ben decided against the idea of course. He opted to simply sit and reset his brain for a moment, just a quick break and then they’d get back on it.  

When his ears first started ringing in their shared only mostly-awkward silence he rose and filled his mug once more— not empty enough to warrant it but he needed something to do. Even the steady reliable tik-tok of his clocks wasn’t enough to drown out the utter nothingness they were both swimming in. He leaned against the counter for a moment for a fresh sip while he thought. “Is there anyone else?” Rachael didn’t startle at the words like he would’ve. She was still, watching him the same way she’d been doing this entire time, statuesque and perhaps a bit predatory in the way her gaze bore into him. ‘Human body. Inhuman eyes.’ 

“Enemies I mean. Common or otherwise.”

“Few in charge don’t make that list.” She finally declared. The nod she gave was so final, sharp, and yet so child-like at the same time. 

He was transported for a second to his youth, to watching Poe bobbing his head the same right before some plan of theirs went horribly horribly wrong. Ben choked so hard he felt fresh scalding coffee come back up and out his nose— not a pleasant feeling. He couldn’t help laughing though. It was unexpected, funny. She was funny. Whether she meant to be or not. 

Or maybe he was just tired. 

Or both...

When he’d recovered and wiped the dribble from his chin Ben tried to steer the conversation back to the important stuff one more time. He could still feel his hackles up but that moment had helped, had humanized Rachael just a bit. As he moved to sit back down beside her he caught the barest upturn of her lip, easy to miss if he hadn’t been looking for it. The glow of her eyes was still working against her it seemed. 

“Poe.” He said, and had only just opened his mouth to say something else when his phone screamed at him from the tabletop. That time they both jumped, Ben in his chair and Rachael almost out of hers. A fleeting thought had him asking himself; if she jumped high enough would she stick to the ceiling like others? Or just smash her head and fall back down again? Her skills seamed all over the place— a patchwork of mastery and novice moments from what she’d displayed so far. 

Ben turned back to the phone, still bright and blaring. He didn’t even remember having it in the room but there it sat between them. His Mother’s picture— a more up to date one his dad had taken a few years ago of her by the water at the family lake-house— glared up at him, glowing more ominously than the gaze of his Vampire companion ever could. Or perhaps— like he’d just thought moments before— it was just the late hour. 

Ben felt his shoulders sag even lower than before, and turned tired eyes to look at Rachael. She’d gone stiff again, jaw tight and lips thin. He wondered what was going through his head. He didn’t bother asking though. 

‘One damage control disaster at a time.’ 

The phone felt heavy in his hands— not necessarily because if the responsibility. He was almost too tired to care or feel the anxiety making its way through his veins. No. It was just late, and he’d forgotten how unbearable a phone could feel so—not even late, because they’d passed that already. Now it was just plain unreasonably early.

“Ben Sol-”

“You’re out.”

“Yes.”

“Are you at home?”

“Maybe. Depends who’s asking.”

“Ben.”

“Yes, Mom. I’m at home. It’s—” He pulled his phone away and squinted into the glare. “After 5:00. Ca—”

“Stay there.”

“What?”

“I said— Stay. There. The heiress broke out. Someone will be out later to pick you up. I want you to come in for a few hours but I don’t want you staying. It’s not safe here anymore.”

It felt like a vein might burst when he heard those words. “It’s Takodana, Mom.” This wasn’t the local mall they were talking about. It wasn’t even the white house. It was safer than the white house. 

“Yes.” She said just as sharply.  “Takodana— where the head of Palpatine house has just managed to escape from— She remains currently unfound. St. Takodana is no longer the stronghold we’ve been raised to believe.”

“Mom— it’s a Palpatine Monarch. We should’ve seen this coming.” Ben stiffed a yawn and rubbed at his forehead, irked but unsure for what reason exactly. The list was too long and at parts too vague. Beside him Rachael was stiffer than ice still, leaning so far forward they were practically nose-to-nose. It seemed unnecessary— she could probably hear the conversation clear as day from halfway across the house or more if she’d wanted to. It was stifling, suffocating how close she was. He leaned back and away slightly. Her eyes flickered from the phone at his ear to his own, and he gave a quick shrug in apology. 

“—Ben?”

Shit— his mom was still on the phone. Ben turned his gaze away from Rachael, from distraction. “Sorry what? I didn’t catch that last part.”

There was a staticky sounding sigh from over the line. “Lock down your house. Do the works. Check everything. Then go back to bed. Someone will be over to pick you up around 1:00. Can you be ready by then?”

“Yea, sure. I’m gonna go back to bed now. That okay?”

“Yes. Just be careful.”

“Of course Mom. You too.”

“And Ben?”

Ben hummed. Even his mouth was beginning to feel too heavy, too strained under the weight of the hour. 

“I love you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about this whole Hux disaster though. I want answers.”

“I love you too, Mom. Tell Dad and Chewie I say hi.”

“I will when I find them. They’ve run off somewhere.”

Ben forced a chuckle. That sounded too much like them. He hung up the phone feeling somewhat as if he were in a dream, adrift, and set the thing back on the table between him and Rachael. It still felt too heavy. The only good news he’d just gotten was that his parents wouldn’t be interrogating him anytime soon. They were too busy, pulled every which way by questions, higher ups, leads, and loose ends. 

“Getting you out’s bought us time. No one knows how you found Hux and I the other night. Right now that works in our favor. Once she gets ahold of my story she’s gonna tear it to shreds though.” 

Rachael gave a single curt nod, still obviously ill at ease. Despite everything Ben felt a certain sort of guilt towards parts of her situation. Namely her starvation and capture— which were both done in his name either directly or indirectly. He looked again to her lips, stained in the shadowy dark of her glow. Something itched at the back of his mind, incessant. He shook it away before it could form. 

“So Poe.” He began again.

Rachael smiled, but it was a plaster cast of one— not the shy glimpse of real mirth from earlier. Despite not knowing her, and despite his anger towards her, Ben missed it instantly. “Poe.” She replied in the same dry way— teasing him almost like before. He didn’t bother hiding a raised brow but said nothing. He gathered what little courage he had left for the night. 

“How long has he…” And yet that was where his bravery seemed to fizzle out, in the middle of a sentence and not a word further. Without finishing Rachael apparently knew what he was asking though— and he was grateful for the way she looked at him, seemed to pity him enough with another one of her marble smiles— so plastic and diplomatic he’d only ever seen it on shelves or politicians.  

“He’s only been dead for about three years. Maybe three and a half. I don’t think it’d be proper to go into detail about what happened before or after that point, but it wasn’t pleasant.” Rachael caught herself on the next words before they were uttered, probably thinking better of it. She gave a small, sharp shake of her head and turned back to look at him. “Your friend has been through hell.” She uttered the words like he spoke a different language, like she needed him to understand. “I would hope you can forgive him for whatever choices he made to survive… so to speak.”

Ben felt himself swallow hard. Even if she’d been willing and forthcoming with the information he didn’t really think he wanted to know. He could guess and that was bad enough as things stood. 

“Alright. Thank you.” 

Rachael nodded sharply again, turning back to her cup like he’d satisfied her in some way. It was still empty but he was no stranger to distractions, to objects you could hide away with. 

“Tell me what exactly you did and if you can reverse it. Please.”

Rachael scraped her mug across the tabletop and pulled it below— down to settle it in her lap. “It’s not uncommon for vampires to forget things when they die.”

‘I know that already.’ He kept the grousing to himself. 

“—Sometimes everything really. I’ve heard of cases so bad they even forget their mother tongue.”

Now that part he hadn’t known. “Have you ever met one?” He watched her face turn a bit sour at that. Maybe that he’d cut in he thought.

“One what?” 

“Vampire.” Wasn’t he supposed to be the confused one right now? Tired, running on fumes, and in the dark? Jeez. Her face only got more twisted though, nose scrunched up like before and eyes low. 

“Are you going to let me finish?”

“Oh— yes. Please continue.” Ben waved her on feeling somewhat chastised— but not enough to let it show beyond the heat in his face she could probably taste more than see. There was still something burning hotter in his chest that kept the bulk of shame at bay. Still. 

‘A question for another time.’

“Poe was none of these but it was easy enough to make it appear as if he was. No one knows I exist so no one would suspect me. Even if they did it’d be hard to prove unless my predecessor got involved— and no one would’ve wanted that.”

“Yes. I’ve heard his attention is not wanted much by anyone— even for good reason.”

Rachael bowed her head, lips thin. A few strands of loose hair slipped from their place to dip through her glow. Ben watched, shifting back in his seat. A fleeting part of him wondered if she’d noticed. “Then you’ve heard correctly. I couldn’t make him remember me all the time. Sheev was not particularly fond of anyone remembering me, but I could at least get Poe’s attention— his knowing of me— when I called. I’m sorry though— I couldn’t tell you where he is. He was supposed to come get me from you weeks ago but he's not-”

“We have him.”

Ben watched Rachael’s own record scratch moment in real time. He wondered if he’d looked quite so ‘deer in the headlights’—ish. “What?”

“I said we have him. He’s in our custody. He attacked Hux and exposed himself.”

He watched her eyes flicker to all corners of the table, settling vaguely on a scratch at its center. Her nose was scrunched again. “I’ll be honest,” she said, soft and a bit flat, “That doesn’t actually surprise me. It really does sound so much like him.”

Ben didn’t know anything about ‘Vampire Poe,’ but once upon a time he’d known just about everything there was to know about him— Back when he was just ‘Poe.’ It was a punch to the gut now to know that there was a dividing line, a time before and after, a ‘Human Poe,’ and ‘Not Human Poe.’ Without saying any of this though he knew— knew  Rachael was right. For whatever reason it seemed in every form his friend remained the same. Loyal to a fault, passionate, and so it seemed— hotheaded. Even in death the man was taking bait and picking fights. Or trying his very best to finish them. 

“Anyways,” Rachael finally began again, and it pulled Ben from his spiraling.

“I should be able to undo everything, yes.”

“Should be?”

“It’s compulsion, not science, Ben. Realistically I should be able to break it, but I don’t want you to think it’s a done deal.”

“Why wouldn’t it work?”

“It will.”

“You just said it wouldn’t.”

“I said it ‘might not.’ It should work.”

“Fine. What do you want then?”

“What do you mean?”

Ben gestured to himself. “I get Poe back,” and flipped his hand to wave in the same way towards Rachael “What do you get out of this?”

Her face screwed up again. She stared at him with an odd twist to her mouth.  “Didn’t you… Isn’t that why you let me out? I thought escape from that dungeon was your end of the deal.”

Ben sat back a little, brain still too foggy to really do much thinking beyond his very few goals. “Just tell me what you want.”

She barely hesitated. “Can I just stay with you for a bit?”

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t that enough? I can’t really survive on my own right now I don’t think. Not with everyone under the sun— and moon for that matter— out for my blood. I know you’re safe.”

Ben felt himself reel at the notion that he was somehow ‘safe.’  He wasn’t sure if that should be an insult or a compliment, and if so then to who. He filed the thought away for another time. “Look, you’re gonna be here for a while. I’m not letting you out of my sight regardless. Take a while to think up a real demand. In the meantime.” He felt his bones creak and pop as he stood— wobbling only a little from a combination of quick fading coffee buzz and dehydration. “I need sleep. I have your word you won’t try anything?”

“I’d be stupid if I did.” 

She gave him another tired barely there smiles, and Ben nodded in return— either his agreement or thanks. Even he wasn’t entirely sure. When it hit him a last time he didn’t bother hiding his yawn. “You can take the couch if you need to rest.” 

“Thank you.”

He was too beyond exhaustion to worry about any escape she might try. His home’s walls and ground were littered with a garden of traps and enchantments all its own. Not even he was aware of the full extent. Just that it was safe for friendlies, and not so safe for anything else. His bedroom walls were geared with the same stuff— probably more— and he had the barest hint of intelligence left to activate a few dormant ones held off for special occasions and check on two or three others. If he woke up later and she was gone, Ben would deal with the consequences. If he didn’t wake up at all… well then his problems were over he supposed, and it’d finally be a chance to sleep in for once. 

“Goodnight Ben.”

“Goodnight Ms. Rachael.”

Chapter Text

Rey wanted to correct him as he was walking away. She’d half turned to do so, lips parted to speak but nothing would come out. He faded into the dark hall— still visible to her keen animal eye, then turned the corner into his bedroom and disappeared beyond. She could hear him shuffling around, pulling back the sheets and covers and falling like a tree into his bed. Even with as tired as he was it’d probably be a while before sleep came. It was nearly palpable, she could near sense it gnawing at him the same way it did her.  She stood there with her feet planted on the hard floor, still frozen and wondering what would happen if she followed after him.

‘No.’

It was best he left, that he was gone for the night. And it was best she didn’t correct him— It was near impossible to wonder how she would in the first place. How she could. 

She wasn’t Ms. Palpatine. Palpatine was her maker, a being she was not even remotely fond of— not in any way, shape, or form. She felt no inclination to share anything with him, name or otherwise. In a way she was even glad for her eviction of Palpatine Manor. It’d gotten her out of a cage she otherwise would’ve been too fearful to escape from herself. It wouldn’t have happened of her own volition. Rey knew that now. She was ashamed to admit such a weakness, such a true flaw, yes, but she at least could now.

And yet… 

She wasn’t Rachael. Rachael had been a young naive woman— one who’d been alive and died what felt like a millennium ago, and at the same time only days prior. Rachael existed as a dead woman— left without even the dignity of a pauper’s grave. There’d been no body to bury; it was still walking around and rotting from the inside out. Even if there had been a resting place her surname was long since lost as well. No body. No name. No papers. She hadn’t even really lived. To history she hadn’t. 

And Rey?

She wasn’t Rey either. Rey was a friend, a comrade, a woman in charge of lives and subsistences— one who never took that responsibility lightly. She was also a coward though. She was a creature who’d been operating in the shadow of a near literal plague of humanity for the entirety of her short lived career. And it had been short lived in the scheme of things. What little voice she’d found was too quiet even to hear unless you strained, and unrefined in the ways of her peers and predecessors. Worse yet there existed no evidence, no witnesses, and no friend to vouch for her unless it happened to be at her explicit summons. And it would be worthless if such a thing should happen at her, the Palpatine Heiress’ beck and call. 

She wasn’t any of these people to Ben. To him she’d been an animal until only a few day ago. A dependent— and that role hadn’t changed by much. She wasn’t his enemy— or not intentionally if she was—but certainly wasn’t his friend by any means either. 

She supposed, after a while, that the name of a ghost was as good as any. At least for the moment anyways.

* * * *

Rey tried. She really truly did. 

Her body was exhausted, as pink skinned as a corpse possibly could be from scrubbing black ink away for hours, raw with a dull thudding pain that’d never really gone away, and still desperately, savagely hungry. Her mind was equally strained, dragging against the rough inside of her skull like sandpaper and weighed down by the day like boots in heavy mud. Even as oblivion called to her however, it evaded every her. Every attempt, every lunge at its throat was like grasping at smoke— impossible. At some point Rey had settled down— sitting rigid on the couch Ben had offered, eyes sagging under the weight of the hour and plight. That same darkness, the core of rest sat on the cuisine beside her— just out of reach. The clocks around her ticked away the hour mercilessly, oblivious of her struggle—or perhaps aware and simply content to mock her from their walls. She strained to keep her gaze from wandering to closely toward their faces, too afraid of what might be staring back at her.

Finally though— after an untellable, agonizing time— she admitted defeat. Rey rose, soundless even in the near dead quiet that swallowed her host’s home. Ben had long since fallen asleep. After he’d tipped over into his bed he hadn’t moved since— not even as he lay and stewed in his own mind. The door to his room was closed but the unmistakable hum of sawing wood floated down the hall to remind the house it was still lived in, still owned and loved.

Rey rose. She padded back around the couch with one of his soft fur blankets draped like a shawl over her shoulders, hesitating only long enough to glance about the room, wonder if perhaps someone or some thing might be waiting to jump out at her. 

‘Aha!’ They would yell. ‘I knew it!’

Her grand plan wasn’t to slink like a wolf down the hall so she could finish the man off though— not in his bed and not at all. No. She was just tired. Maybe a bit frightened— she was humble enough to admit that as well, yes. It would be foolish if such a thing didn’t fill her, crawling in her veins as she crept down the way. She hoisted the blanket tighter around herself to raise it safely from the floor. It bothered her to hear such a thing drag in the dust and gloom of her tread, collecting dust and dirt in its wake. And. Ultimately. She couldn’t stand the likeness…

The door to Ben’s room was loud as ever, but the man didn’t stir once. Rey stood with her fingers set hard on the knob, waiting for him to wake finally— perhaps even just delayed in his reflexes by the hour. The hold stood as a brace between her and the floor, and that was something she needed desperately. With the door gone Ben’s snores blanketed the space in a soft buzz— truly owning the very air. It was a familiar lull now— one she’d missed in that place so far down below the earth’s surface. Thoughts of that prison flooded her mind as if summoned, eager and ready to haunt her, and she shoved them back away just as quickly as she had every time before. 

‘Heartbeat.’

‘Breath.’

Rey focused on the sounds of her host’s sleep. She pulled herself forward— both in spirit and body. Her fingered slipped from the doorknob, setting it free as she padded a few careful steps into the room— completely unimpeded and yet weighed down by the world in her soul. Again she’d expected something; A dark figure jumping out at her from the corner, an axe swinging down to sink its teeth into the thin of her neck, a light made familiar striking out from the closet, maybe even a charm, a beaming ring of light that might trap her or warn her to stay away, keep her claws and teeth away from their master where they belonged —something! Some trap! Anything!

‘And yet—’

There was nothing. The room stayed a pitchy black to human eyes, quiet. Ben’s huckupy snore punctuated that last thought—Rey corrected herself with an uncertain sort of mirth, unable to curb a stray smile though she tried.

‘Quiet—ish.’

Rey stood just inside the doorway, glaring around at her options. Her eyes settled first on a familiar nightstand, what’d been her home for some weeks now— a short lifetime. Her body was too dull, too bruised and numb to change. She was still weak from… well from everything— and quite frankly everything that came after everything. She wasn’t going to fit in her shoebox. Not tonight. Certainly not as a person.

She wasn’t about to slip into any man’s bed either though, least of all a hunter’s. As a bat Ben hadn’t noticed her. As a human he might— even with as dead to the world as he appeared. And he did so appear dead but for his noises. Those soft whispers that slipped from his lungs, the shift of loose hair on his pillow, the steady thump thump, thump thump of his heart behind its heavy cage. 

Rey stood there focusing on these things until the balls of her feet began to ache. Here it was harder to tell time. Here she could stand and swim in the noises that he made till dawn if caution wasn’t exercised. 

Finally her body moved— not quite of her own mind’s decision but its own— leaning so far forward that her foot had to jump out and catch the rest of her or she’d fall, then the next, and then the next after that. Until she’d reached his bed she felt herself fall and stumble. There was no other way it felt. 

She was a ghost, looming over the man in his sleep. Ben was easy to watch. He made it easy. Dangerous but pretty, like a beast.

Rey folded herself carefully down onto her knees, then laid her aching bones onto the floor that hugged the bed’s overhanging blankets. The fur throw Rey had brought made a fine nest, soft and coaxing her with a warmth that couldn’t have ever come from her own body. She curled hard into it, feeling like a child but not caring quite strongly enough to do anything much about it. She stayed like that, frozen, stiff, and soundless. Ben made enough noise for the both of them.

Not for the first time she let the man lull her to sleep with those sounds— his heart, his breath, that horrible little snore which hiccuped every so often. She’d missed them though. She even missed the box. Her box. It was all rather annoying put together, but they was safe, and they made it easy to forget. To thaw into something akin to what she’d once known as— and had come to know once again here at his side as— sleep. 

Chapter Text

Luke whirled around the room, mind gunning a mile a minute and at the same time going absolutely positively nowhere all at once. The resulting experience was confusing, dizzying, and more than a little distressing in the way it ran circles around him, bouncing off the walls like a rubber ball thrown too hard. It was the kind that would hurt when it hit you, knock over and break something as it swiped past in a blur of color.

‘Escaped. She’s escaped.’

“What the fuck is going on?!”

Armitage was off in the corner, still retrained in his bed but moving it inch by inch because he was thrashing around so much. It screeched and whirred as if the man was torturing it to death. Everything— the sirens, the intercom, the yelling, the scape of metal on stone, the squeaking of old abused mattress springs— it all worked together to twist Luke’s ears and mind even more into a thick foggy confusion. It’d been years since he’d been in the true fray— out in the open, up against problems so up there they rocked on the precipice of completely insane! And yet suddenly he was 20 again, staring down the barrel of a gun and doing the best he possibly could to swallow down a heart shaped lump scraping against the back of his throat. This gun just happened to have fangs, hair, wings.

Armitage’s shrieks tore at his ears more harshly. He was raising his voice impossibly over the cacophony—something that would be considered impressive were it not such an absolute annoyance. Luke didn’t bother paying attention to the words, could tell by instinct alone how they were more noise for noise’s sake than anything else. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he was a terrified, confused mess of a person. His eyes were blown wide— the whites turned an eery dark pinkish in the low blaring light, and his jaw clenched so tightly that Luke’s own ached in sympathy. If not for all the clamor they’d probably be listening to his teeth grinding like metal on metal. Armitage was panicking— a deadly affliction which oftentimes in their field proved fatal. 

Luke rushed to the door, vaguely tuning out a desperate cry of “Don’t leave me!” Biting at his heels. He pounded hard with his fist against thick metal and knew the next day there would be a mottling of bruises all up and down the length of his hand. He waited, holding a desperate breath the best he was able— he had to try hard if he was going hear anything over there noise. And even doing so there was no denying it was an absurd effort. There was nothing— and nothing happened. 

No one knocked back. 

No one opened for him. 

No one came.

‘And no one’s coming.’

There were two bolts on the door that could be unlocked by a key from the outside. One was fixed at the top of the door near the frame, and the other sat likewise at the bottom. Luke threw both into position with effort— stiff with disuse as they were— and took one careful, calculated step back. If the heiress was on the loose. If she truly wanted Hux. If she wanted Luke—all she needed were the keys—he hoped anyways. Maybe not. Maybe she’d just break the door down like she’d shattered one of history’s and Takodana’s most beloved and powerful Fiervitrons. From what he’d been able to gather the pieces had been carefully collected and swept up. It’d be months however, years for all anyone knew before it pulled itself back together. No residents were allowed within the wing it was kept to. Its distress was contagious, its anguish palpable. Even as high as it sat— high and bathed in the sunlight its kind craved— an unseen cover seemed to have settled in the sky above and the earth below, tainted everything in a anxious woeful cloud.

Luke had wondered about that part though, because strong as a Diavalo was they shouldn’t be capable of such things. Such magically, extraordinarily, impossibly unfeasible things. Not without help anyways. ‘Help. Did she have help?’ The question had been bouncing around in the back of his skull for days now. Her escape now wasn’t exactly harming that theory though, and—

Behind him Armitage’s screams were getting louder still— more grating than ever before if such a thing were even possible. “Armitage!” He whirled around to look at the man, wild eyed and with hair plastered with sweat to his clammy white face. “Calm yourself. We’re safe here.”

“We’re trapped.” Armitage spat the words back, and pink spit flew at Luke as if to punctuate the venom. Was it just the lights or had he bitten himself?

“We’re fine!” He tried again, and this time he moved closer, pushing the other man down into the mattress to keep him from thrashing around anymore. It wasn’t helpful— he knew deep down it wasn’t, but he just wanted everything under control— quiet, where no one could hear them, smell their panic and follow. “We’re Fine! She’s probably trying to get out of here, not clip you. She brought you both here alive.”

“Ben! What about Ben?”

Luke wanted to roll his eyes but refrained— only just. “Home! He was discharged some time ago. He’s not even here. He’s probably safer than we are.”

“Call him.” Luke huffed at a particular strong lurch Armitage made to rise. He tried his best to grunt out an answer between glancing at his friend’s wrists— too quick and wild to get a good look in the off and on lighting. The cuffs were padded, but would that be enough?

“Phones don’t work down here. We’re not going anywhere, and we’re not going to panic. We’re going to sit and wait for someone to come let us out when its safe enough!” He felt a tooth crack under the pressure he was grinding it under— hopefully not a real split, only the feel of one.

All at once the bucking stopped, and Luke was so unprepared he found himself falling head first into his friend’s stomach. Armitage let out a heavy wheeze and shoved him back off. Luke stumbled but found his footing fast, barely managing to keep a sturdy grip on one wrist and the fabric of Armitage’s medical gown. Luke swung his line of sight upwards and saw how the man’s lips were thin, his gaze screwed up in that ‘plotting’ sort of way as Leia always called it— so rarely with any hint of fondness that it could be referred to as ‘mythical.’ He followed the man’s eyes as they flickered around the room, past Luke in a dozen different directions and then back again— over and over and over.

He only noticed it then—the lights were steady, the noise muffled. Still jarringly red and disorienting— but to Luke it almost felt like home. Beneath his hands Armitage lay frozen. Just as fast as the glare had shifted he had too it appeared— eerily still and calm in the face of their predicament. Even his heart under Luke’s palms was changed. There was a steady thud thud, thud thud where before it’d been an angry pound, a racehorse scared and on the loose somewhere down the track. “Let me up. Get these things off me.” He uttered the words almost in a blasé sort of way that startled Luke. He did his best not to let it show how much both the tone and flip of character set the hair on his arms and neck bristling. 

“I don’t have the key.”

Armitage didn’t hesitate, not even letting him finish the sentence before cutting in. “Don’t give me that. The key, no. Yours. Give me yours. I know you have it.”

Luke was never one to not be prepared. The man in front of him knew this, had come to know it early on in fact. It was times like this where he found himself reminded; Armitage might know him almost as well as he knew Armitage. They stayed like that for a few (but not that many according to Luke) tense moments, listening to the siren become a lower and lower whir, easier to tune out by the minute, and Luke did the best he possibly could to think over his options. Their options.

“One,” he said at last, and Armitage jerked forward at the word, chomping at the bit. “I’m leaving one on. And then we’re going to have a little chat.”

“You’re going to answer some questions.” It was a statement, not a request, and one said more like a threat than anything else. Luke let the tone roll off him like water. He bobbed his head once, careful not to startle or rile up his companion any more than he clearly already was.

“I’m going to answer some questions.” He promised quietly. “And you’re going to stay calm. And if you do… ” he paused, mouth open so he knew he’d have to finsih, but lost, unsure whether he could “then I’ll take the other off.”

Armitage gave a single curt nod, and instantly Luke felt further at ease and displaced. It was that same ‘business as usual’ character that’d been so prevalent in the early days of coming to St. Takodana’s, the one that’d been peaking out from behind the curtains for a few minutes now, maybe days. The same too that sparked recognition in Luke’s mind of a man not so different in many ways from Armitage. Luke had known Brendol Hux— not nearly as closely or amicably as his son, but surely enough to notice certain mannerisms and behaviors. 

He pulled the two images apart enough— like two magnets covered in sticky stringy goop— to drag his hands away too, to slip his personal key out of a tear in the stitching of his left coat cuff. Armitage watched him like a hawk— unmoving but for his beady cold eyes as he slipped every padded binder off but one— the far one on his left arm that might keep him sat in the bed. Even with the padding his wrists and ankles seemed pink in the dark lighting. He wondered if it were from struggling or the days previously, where no doubt he’d been testing them in his overabundance of spare time. 

Luke pulled the chair from beside the bed— sliding it out and farther towards the door, just till it was out of Armitage’s reach. Armitage stayed quiet, unmoving, smart enough to know what was going on and not be offended. The second Luke was sat down the words were spilling out of his friend’s mouth— fast and sharp like icy river-water.

Fast and sharp like it yes— wild too—but not as elegant, and certainly not as breathtaking. Then again the man had never been one to pursue study in any of these things. “What the fuck is going on?” He snapped it in the same way you’d snap to bite, snap to catch a stray finger that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Again Luke watched spit fly— pink in the eery red lighting. He didn’t have to wonder this time. Armitage was licking his lips like they bothered him, and the way he was baring his gums showed a black stain settling in between the teeth. He’d bitten himself after all. Luke pushed the thought away feeling wholly unsatisfied. He was compelled by their deal though, and Armitage was still staring him down like a lion to its lunch. 

“When you were attacked the other night you had a rescuer: The Palpatine Heiress. Rey Palpatine ate your would be killers, flew you here through the Fiervitron, then threw them up again. We’ve had her in custody from that moment until—” He glanced quick down to his wristwatch, pulling the sleeve just enough to see it properly. “Seven and a half minutes ago. Most likely longer.”

Armitage’s face had twisted into something inscrutable. His mouth bobbed steadily open and closed like a fish’s, and his gaze— far off— was pinched and nearly gone, hidden so far below his brows. There existed a wealth of emotions flashing in front of Luke at that moment, but for as long as he’d known the man he couldn’t hardly name one before it was gone and replaced by another.

“That’s not possible.” 

“It is.”

“That’s not possible.” Armitage hissed the words. “I don’t believe you.”

Luke tried not to think it was childish, tried to sympathize. “It is and you do.”

A hard fist slammed hard with a ring onto the rail of his bed, undoubtably  doing more damage to the hand than the metal by the sound of it. Armitage didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t!” Pink spit flew again, landing close to but not on Luke’s left shoe. “ I would— I would know about something like this. I would’ve remembered.”

“You experienced a physically and emotionally traumatic—”

“Horse-shit!”

Luke snapped his jaw shut. He could see his friend’s mind working things out, oiling the gears and opening doors he’d forgotten to check in his searches before. He was glaring intently into his lap, eyes moving like a bullet train but not really looking— never settling on anything.

‘He’s getting it.’

“Don’t you tell me what this is. I know when I’ve been compelled. I know the feeling.” The words were low, muttered in a way that sounded painful.

Yet again that’d been an argument of theirs for years now; that Armitage gave himself far too much credit when it came to the mind and inner workings of vampires— At least in Luke’s professional opinion anyways. Armitage believed himself wholly in control of his mind and body— always aware and attuned in a way quite honestly humanly impossible. And yet that’d been his view for years now, perhaps since young teenhood or before. Long since had everyone ceased attempting to explain the absurdity, even after having done their best to remove any and all effects, afflictions, compulsions when he’d first arrived at St. Takodana’s. Every creature needed its shots, its warm bath and wellness check when coming out from the cold, and humans were no exception.

But he’d claimed to know about all those too— ‘the afflictions of Snoke’ he’d called them— never bothering to stop for a moment and just listen.

“AAGH!” Luke was pulled violently from his thoughts by a scream, not a curbed thing—one of genuine unfiltered agony that was cut off just as soon as it’d begun. He shot up from his seat, only stopped by a sharp “Don’t!” That left him more worried than before. Armitage was clutching his forehead, leaning forward and to the left so he could use both hands. His breath was shaky, harsh, and Luke noticed a trickle of something seeping out from beneath one of the man’s nails— imbedded into the skin. 

“Armitage?”

“I can feel it.” The words were barely a whisper but Luke heard them easily, He said nothing, took no step forward. “It’s there. In the back. I can feel it. It doesn’t want me to remember. I can’t.” One black eye shifted to look out from under the cave of his right hand— meeting Luke’s. “He did this to me. Snoke.”

“Armitage you can’t know that. We’ve never definitively been able to verify distinctions betwee—”

“Don’t you tell me—!” Luke took a step back without meaning to, tripping over the legs of his chair. There was a solid scraping, a deafening crash when it hit the floor. He felt the breath in his throat hitching at the noise, at the mess he was making of his friend and the situation. A cold hand clasping around the ring of his wrist drew all attention back to Armitage— to the man in front of him— still wild looking but in a much different and fearful light. Luke didn’t remember stepping forward again. He must’ve jumped back into reach when his chair fell. He didn’t bother pulling his hand away— so far from afraid for himself.

“I’m sorry.” Armitage said the words and swallowed, panting heavy like he’d just been in a race— and sweating like it too. “That wasn’t me. I’m just… I thought we’d gotten him out.” Luke watched a particularly thick bead of water roll down his face, catching just on the cliff of his chin before dropping. It made a dark spot of the covers. 

“We did.”

“We didn’t. Luke we have to get him out.” He watched Armitage swallow again, turning his eyes away and screwing up his face like he was suffering, like it took effort to exist, to draw air into his lungs. He shook his head. “I’ll kill myself if we can’t.”

After everything Luke had witnessed and seen of Armitage over the years— this he believed most certainly. And if Armitage Hux put his mind to something— more often than not it was achieved in the end. 

Luke swallowed, feeling a lump of his own grating hard against the insides of his throat, scratching his insides. 

“Armitage we did. He’s out.”

Armitage didn’t answer at first, and he couldn’t get him to make eye contact anymore.  

“I’ll kill myself.”

Chapter Text

Ben woke groggy and with the sleep-drunk notion that something under his skin felt slimy. Everything was too puffy his mind decided, overly loud and harsh against his eyes, nose, and cheeks. There was a ringing in his ears and a foul sour  sort of taste at the back of his throat that generally meant he’d slept either hard and long or not nearly enough. The feeling wasn’t a particularly unfamiliar one— certainly not with his history and work ethic. Even his sheets felt like sandpaper, and at the same time hot and sticky where he’d sweat too much during the night. It must’ve warmed up— one of their rare bearable autumn days. It wasn’t exactly pleasant if you’d already thrown on extra bed layers though. He didn’t bother with the clock on his nightstand, too wary of the bright neon light he just knew would sting his eyes. He turned his gaze up instead, focused on counting the blurry dark spots that floated across his vision.

He swung his legs slowly to the side of the bed and over, careful not to get tangled in the covers and fall over in the process like he had so many times before—an embarrassing amount he refused to admit was large. He was gentle, slipping his feet out into the room’s cool air and down to the floor. The solidness below him always helped, always grounded him in a way that a mattress never could. His mind was working overtime to catch up with the time as he made the final shift to better adjust— and completely stalled when his toes grazed something cold and hairy— not the floor. 

Soft fur, thick and pliant under the balls of his feet. He pulled himself back up onto the bed so fast he nearly rolled off onto the hardwood on the other side of the room. His eyes didn’t really work properly yet, and there was a nest of unkept hair tangled in his face— tickling his cheeks, getting pulled into his mouth and sticking to his lips while he did the best he could to catch his breath. It would be an absolute pain to comb out later. Ben swiped everything with a hand up over his forehead and strained to see through the dark. There was an heavy rhythmic thumping that kept him from listening for anything else but its own grating staccato— his heartbeat in his ears vying for attention. Again, not an unfamiliar experience, but certainly one that irked him in the moment. He couldn’t hear a thing over it.

Finally his eyes began to adjust though— to the pitch black, to being awake, to his familiar safe surroundings. Just over the edge of his bed— where his feet should’ve hit the ground— was an odd dark blob he didn’t remember seeing before crashing the night before. And he’d been sure to check the room, brief as that effort was. It moved as he thought this, and just like that things started floating back to him a little more willingly. 

‘Rachael.’

It was a person sized lump— bundled in one of the thick wooly blankets he kept for particularly cold nights, evenings in on the couch, or— and here Ben had laughed to himself more than once— to share with a special woman who might someday be staying over. That dream had died a slow and agonizing death some time in the past, long ago enough that he refused to think it even. A shift under the blanket drew his eyes and attention back to Rachael—At one end he could see a thick tail sneaking out— her hair. It was draped in piles over the floor surrounding her form, cocooning what must have been her head. She was laying on it like a pillow and snuffling deeper into the bird-like nest it created. 

Why hadn’t she brought one of the cushions from the couch?

Why hadn’t she stayed on the couch?

Why sleep on the floor at all?

Ben carefully slid down to the foot of his bed and slipped over the baseboard. He was extra careful to watch for anymore unknown figures he might step on, but the way was clear everywhere but where Rachael lay. He did his best— still on wobbly legs, and still from groggy from sleep— to tiptoe quietly out the room without waking her. For a brief second Ben considered closing the door after himself— it was loud as anything and in need of a good oiling though. So he left it open and did his best to keep to the not-so-creaky floorboards.

He hadn’t been forced to go about his routine so quietly in some time. It only took a few minutes to slip back into it, throwing him back into a bizarre, almost dizzying bout of deja vu from his days still at home. 

The first order of business after checking all the charms, locks, and out and about weapons— not to mention throwing the sizable pile of black crusty goo covered clothes into the wash—was breakfast. His stomach hadn’t started growling yet but he knew it probably had more to do with literally nothing being fully awake yet. The predeceasing pangs might not have been what woke him but they were an angry accomplice. A greasy breakfast burrito stuffed to bursting sounded like heaven— but leaving, going out and driving to go get one, dealing with people sounded like a far more vengeful hell. 

And of course he couldn’t leave Rachael alone. Not asleep, and not in his home by herself without explanation. 

Scrambled eggs and toast it was. 

A pan of seven eggs and three slightly blackened pieces of toast later Ben sat himself down on the couch. He laid a hot-pad down on his lap and set a glass of water between the cushions beside him. There was no one around to judge him for eating straight from the pan here— for not wasting another dish when it wasn’t even remotely necessary. He used the bread as a spoon for most of it and the spatula for the rest— scooping up mouthfuls of warm, cheesy, tabasco-y goodness. He hadn’t realized how hungry he really was until the first bite. It felt as if food had been a distant memory for days now, maybe even longer. Adrenaline perhaps. 

While he ate Ben scrolled through his messages. There wasn’t anything particularly surprising that popped out at him. He skimmed a few recaps or updates from his mother that were lengthy and diplomatic but as a whole said nothing new, listened to a single voicemail from his dad about some new scheme him and Chewie were thinking about getting involved in— and a subsequent warning to keep Ben’s car in decent condition ‘just in case’ they needed a getaway driver. There was still that same message from Luke he’d never responded to and probably should.

‘I’ll do it later.’

All in all it wasn’t much out of the ordinary considering the circumstances. Right around the time he tossed his phone down to finish his breakfast there was a loud, eery creak from down the hall— his bedroom door. He whipped his head around out of instinct alone, already knowing who it was and already feeling ‘over’ the affects of being wary of her— even if he knew he shouldn’t be. Rachael (swathed in his fur throw still) was peaking her head just past the doorjamb to look at him. It was an odd sight— like those scenes in kids movies where a spy pops their head around a corner in the most nonsensical (but to a kid comical) way. Ben felt something like amusement bubbling in his ribcage at the unsure shy way she moved

“Morn’in.” He said after swallowing a forgotten mouthful.

“Good morning. Did you rest well?”

“Like the dead.”

“I doubt that. I’ve seen corpses more lively than you last night.”

It didn’t in the slightest occur to Ben that it might be an insult— just that it delighted him in a strangely normal way. She was funny. The hour was early and his temper had fizzled out sometime during his (for all intents and purpose) sleep of the dead only just the night before. There was too little gas in the chamber so to speak to muster any for her anyways. The day was only just beginning after all. 

* * * *

He had to warm more blood for Rachael so they moved to the kitchen. She said nothing about his eating habits as he worked his microwave magic on a half bag of A Positive. She sat patiently with his food at the table until he brought it over to her, thanking him and visibly curbing herself from snatching the mug too forcefully. He himself was fighting his own demons— his nose was trying its darnedest to not curl up at the metal noxious tang of her breakfast. He plopped down into the same chair as the night before and jumped it forward into the table— and maybe just a few inches farther from Rachael and that mug. He tried to focus on his own food, and she did the same for a while. It was near amicable silence. Not having to think, to talk was nice.

Until she broke it. 

“So what’s the plan?”

Ben had barely given her a glance, only turning long enough for her to see that his mouth was too full to answer before turning back to his feast again. He choked two or three more bites in and washed it down with a few heavy gulps of orange juice. It was sour enough to lock his jaw— fresh like the first sip always is. He rose with his ‘plate’  and set it back on the stovetop, pulling pulp from his teeth with his tongue while snagging two more eggs to throw into a now spotless and heating pan— mopped clean with a final two bites of toast. A last minute thought had him pulling some breakfast sausage from the freezer too. 

“Someone’s gonna pick me up later. You’re probably gonna have to come with us.”

Even without looking her way he could practically feel the way her brow rose at that. “Back to the place you just broke me out of?” 

The pan sizzled angrily at him, and though he probably didn’t need to with her he felt his voice rising above the hiss to be heard. “Back to the safest place in the city. With a person no one will suspect you to be hiding with.”

She didn’t respond until he was done cooking— till he’d tossed a hot-pad onto the table at his place and slip back into his chair. “So as a bat then?”

Ben stabbed three sausages with his fort. One of them split when he tried to add a fourth. Three was good enough for a first bite. “I would hope. No one would recognize you looking like a person— hell, no one knew you existed before this all began— but I’d rather draw as little attention as possible. Is that gonna be a problem?”

Her lips pursed, pink from the vile stuff in her cup. “I suppose not. Why can’t I just stay here though?”

Ben rose to grab more orange juice. He didn’t bother putting the carton back in the fridge— starving and ravenous as unclean spirits. He flipped the coffee maker on as he passed it. “If you’re with me I can supervise you. You can feel safe. And we’ll both know where the other is. It’s a win-win-win situation. I don’t see any downsides.”

“Like them finding us out?”

Ben gave her a look. “Which won’t happen.”

“You’re friend found it out.”

He felt himself jerk at the reminder, splashing a few drops of OJ onto the table. He mopped it up with his shirt's front. It needed a wash anyways.  “Yea well… I didn’t know… What you were. I won’t be showing you off to anyone else after that. Let’s just keep our secret between us three.”

“If you mean Mr. Hux he won’t remember me.”

“He might. My uncle said it was only temporary.”

She folded her hands neatly below her chin and leaned forward. “It’s not amnesia, or stress. That’s compulsion.”

Ben felt something in his brain misfire. He felt his left eye start to twitch under the skin and wondered if Rachael noticed it, if it was as visible as it felt.“We’re not talking about this right now.” He said quietly, and his word on the matter was final. His eye must have been obvious enough for Rachael to notice because she didn’t follow the claim up with anything, didn’t even try to argue on the matter. It’d set her jaw in a hard line though— mischievous or slighted. Ben couldn’t tell which. 

“Fine. Then tell me more about Poe.” 

“We’re not talking about him anymore either.”

“Then what can we talk about?” There was something just a little too close to venom in those word’s for Ben’s liking. He felt a shot of his own from the night before rise to meet it— finally awake enough. He set the carton down and settled back into his chair again. 

“How about Rose? You two seem fairly knowee-knowee for heiress to one of the underworld’s leading Monarchies and a so called common meal ticket.” His gums prickled uncomfortably at the words, and instantly Ben wished he could pull them back in, unsay them. Despite the lack of too much talking before the room suddenly felt so much more quiet. Too quiet. 

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” He said. 

Rachael gave a soft bob of her head but kept to her mug for the rest of breakfast. 

* * * *

Ben stood with Rachael at the front door. They were waiting, perched on the edge of their figurative seats for a driver they expected to show up any second now. 

“How can I trust you?” Ben more felt obligated to say the words than anything, and he knew she could tell by the way she looked at him— brow cocked and nose scrunched up. It was a half smiling sort of face that made him think she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or ask if he were serious. For whatever reason she humored him though. 

“You can’t. Not for certain, but you know me.”

“Do I?”

“You know I wouldn’t hurt you. I had that chance.”

“You could’ve targeted me?” Now he was just being antagonistic, pulling at straws for the sake of straws and he was painfully aware of it. That same look of hers let him know she was just as aware. 

“I think we’re far past thinking such things.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve never lied to you.”

“No?”

“No.” She said softly, so sure he almost believed her by the tone alone. “It’s not in my nature.”

Ben said nothing— there was a old tune knocking out at the door that saved him from having to; Shave and a haircut, two bits. He peered through the peephole to see the familiar gray face of Chewie. Beside him Rachael shifted with a flutter— one second a woman and the next a bat. She landed in his open ready palm and he slipped her into his hoodie pocket with practiced ease— falling back into a routine he hadn’t realized he’d missed— and missed so much for that matter. A claw settled around his heart and squeezed. Feelings, facts, truths. It felt like they were all working against him in some confusingly wretched choir piece, pressing in from every angle. He pulled the door open and tried his best not to seem too desperate for the fresh air, the open space. 

“Hi.” He said— and even to his own ears it seemed somewhat out of breath. In his pocket Rey stirred in a familiarly frantic way. Ben curbed a calming hand, staring his uncle in the eye like there wasn’t an escaped fugitive sitting  between them.

Chewie gave him a look of his own, deadpan with a slow blink to punctuate, but said nothing. He gave a low grunt in hello and motioned with his head to the car. Ben was quick with the door, locking it and testing it with a good shove before following. In his seat and buckled, Ben was finally able to get a good look at his uncle— and it was startling. There were heavy bags under his eyes, dark and garish— painful to observe even from the short distance their seats afforded, and the scruff of his beard (Normally so well-maintained, and more finely than even some royal gardens Ben was sure) had a patchy scraggly sort of appearance to it now. He hadn’t been sleeping, hadn’t been shaving— Ben wondered if he’d at least been eating. His uncle’s appetite was voracious, insatiable to most human comprehension. If his diet ever happened to be suffering it would mean things were really, truly, very bad. 

As he thought this though his uncle asked quietly for a bag of jerky he’d stashed in the glove compartment, and Ben quickly obliged. It was actually three bags, and only during their short drive’s duration the man managed to clean two and a half of those three. When they hopped out of the car Ben watched him roll the bag up and stuff it into his coat pocket. It settled something in his chest to see. Some things were still right with the world after all then. 

At the entrance Chewie swung a great door open as if it were nothing— not the weighty chunk of tree it actually was. Ben walked through the open door, thanking his uncle as he passed, and was immediately hit with a wall of olfactory heaven. It slapped him across the face practically, leaving his cheek stinging in a strange way only great dishes could manage. His mouth began to water instantly, and looking up to his Uncle showed he’d noticed too, though his reaction seemed more reserved. He wanted to ask if they could take a detour on the way (as if it were on the way), but then he knew it was also inappropriate to come for a meeting on their national level disaster and ask for a bowl of whatever they had brewing on the stove. 

He swallowed, careful not to drool openly as he waved to the path in front of them and said “Lead the way.” Chewie obliged him wordlessly, lumbering off at a pace even Ben struggled to match at times. The wonderful smell followed them, haunting them as they wound their way deeper into St. Takodana’s. 

He knew vampires didn’t eat much human food, but he wondered if they could still appreciate the smell. Did it remind them of home? Of life? He wondered if Rachael was craving whatever they could all smell. Would she want a bowl too?

Ben pushed the thought aside as his uncle slipped behind a tapestry in rather uninteresting corner of the hall. He followed him through, and then down a set of winding, familiar, achingly worn steps— back down into St. Takodana’s depths. In his pocket Rachael stirred, fluttering against his stomach. Chewie wasn’t watching now so he slipped a hand in to try and comfort her. She was shaking. He tried to think again of the soup, of whether she might enjoy some or not, but the idea had turned sour now. Tiny, batty claws gripped tight to his thumb. Ben felt the line of his mouth thin— too careful to say anything but knowing he wanted to. He curled his fingers carefully around her instead, hoping she understood.

Chapter Text

Farther, deeper into the dark Ben and Uncle dug their feet. Despite it being a different path from before he knew where they were going— this way more familiar than others. Chewie was aware of this— he often watched and listened, pinning thing down in his mind like a mental grocery list for each person he knew. The things he could remember, had remembered quite frankly stunned his family. Sometimes even at his best Ben struggled to remember what day of the week it was. Then again his lifetime would be a short one, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.  

His uncle didn’t talk much as they spiraled downward, and Ben didn’t exactly feel too inclined to fill the quiet either, so they marched on to the sound of shoes clacking against hard stone. The echoes could make one dizzy if they weren’t careful— Ben tried his best not to listen too closely to the noise. Finally they hit their floor and straightened out. It was a relief to get escape the wind of so many stairwells— even if there were more halls and doors to traverse— at least they’d be in a mostly grid-like maze of straight lines. 

* * * *

It was getting harder and harder to ignore the quiet. The walk felt longer too, more trudging and time consuming than it should be. Ben half wondered if they’d taken a wrong turn, slipped off the path and were wandering down endless ways— but he knew the area too well, recognized familiar artifacts and paintings that should’ve been allowed rest years ago, but were instead still pinned up and displaying their old misery. 

He almost skipped like a kid again when he noticed they’d made it to the last few halls he’d spent his early childhood imprisoned in. “Don’t wander far Ben— manhunts are expensive.” His mother had said the words often enough for it to be considered a catchphrase. Beside him he could feel his Uncle’s energy— sparking in the same way, ready to finally be done with the journey. Perhaps he’d been feeling the affects of the quiet too then. He didn’t often say anything against a lack of noise— more often than not standing off in a corner somewhere standing with his father, whispering or staring about like the rest of the room was their personal entertainment. 

The last corner came and went, and suddenly they were both staring down the last stretch to a familiar dark wooded door. It looked not unlike older depictions of drawbridges— sturdy, thick, and mean looking with a curled vine-like knob. As they made their way closer Ben caught a glimpse of the gnarled, twisting handle fidget, then dip. He watched as a tall haggard looking man slipped out through his mother’s office door. He pulled it shut with a soft ‘click,’ looking more lost in thought and ashen faced than was comfortable to view— especially on such a familiar face.

“Uncle Luke?” Luke snapped his gaze up, catching Ben’s and shifting through at least three different expressions too fast to make out. Ben felt his steps stuttering in the dusty path. “What’s going on?”

Luke gave no answer. He shook his head, eyeing Ben as if he weren’t supposed to ask, then scurried off without a word. Ben watched him go, feeling something tightening in his stomach as the dark swallowed his uncle whole. The lights that followed people down here never activated, leaving them in an eery fog. That wasn’t normal tunnel behavior.  

He turned back to Chewie, question burning on the tip of his tongue, but the expression on his uncle’s face was just as stoney. He was shoved aside and before he knew it— was alone in the hall. The man had slipped in through his mother’s office door within the span of a word. When Ben tried the door it wouldn’t budge— locked from the inside. 

He was forced to wait out in the hall, standing in the quiet and wondering what exactly he’d gotten himself and Rachael (because he had to remind himself she was there too) into. At once point he made an effort to check his watch, but couldn’t remember the time when Chewie’d disappeared, so he had no idea how long the wait actually was. It was another five minutes after that though when he came back. Just as quickly as he’d disappeared his uncle was back again, tall and towering and still with that unsettlingly odd expression on his face. Ben received nothing but a pat on the shoulder— not even a look, a glance— before the man wandered off in the same direction they’d only just come. “Chewie?” 

Ben felt himself lean a single step toward with him, a want to chase after pounding hard in his chest, but he couldn’t. The sooner he got things done the sooner they could leave. He stayed frozen like that until Chewie turned a corner and his echoes slipped away with him. And just like that— Ben was standing by himself once more with that eeriness he’d felt before.

There were a million things he wanted to do— would beg to do— instead of knocking on his mother’s office door, but just below that was the desire to stay by himself in the corridor.

What the hell was going on?

He knocked once, twice, and was greeted by a soft wood muffled “Come in!” That was unmistakably Leia Organa. He made himself grip the doorknob hard and push into the room beyond, an act that took a considerable amount of willpower. His mother was already looking up at him from between towering piles of paperwork and thick yellow envelopes. She rose from her place at the desk— careful of the precarious stacks, and circled around it. With wide, open arms she met him by the door, practically floating in that way only she could manage. It hadn’t been a trait passed down.

“Ben.”

“Hi, Mom.” Ben said the name on the end of a heavy breath— as overly (and hopefully convincingly) casual as he thought possible to manage. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders from the side and bent low to plant a quick kiss to her temple. She shoved him, but not hard enough to get him off. 

“Don’t you try to butter me up.” She groused, and Ben knew it was working. 

“I wouldn’t possibly dream of it. You’re too sharp for that.”

He felt a hard pinch in his ribs (not an unexpected one) and jumped back, trying his very best to hide a (Ben was positive) less than innocent smile. His mother was doing her best to cover a smirk of her own. She was a politician though, a general, and so it only just showed at the corners of her eye. Ben had spent his whole life studying her, trying his best to be able to pick just that one small thing out. He counted it a success. She must not be too upset with him as things went. Tragedy and danger usually brought out her sweet side they’d all found over the years. It was always most difficult for her then to keep and hold grudges against all three her son, husband, and brother. Chewie— in a remarkable feat only accomplishable by such a mysterious creature as he— had never faced her wrath or anger. If he ever wrote a book about the topic it’d surely make him a fortune— and not an insignificant one either.

“So what’s the news?” 

And there again his mother’s shoulders seemed to sag with the weight of the world. Something flickered in her eyes— something he couldn’t possibly name. Probably unease. A seed of guilt settled into Ben’s chest. He tried thinking of something else— like how close they might be to finding him out. Like Poe sitting in the dark, in some musty cell below the soles of Ben’s shoes. Like how close they were to getting Poe back. Like the kitchens—from which a heavenly smell wafted. Even as far down as they were it was just barely seeping in through the walls, settling on the polished stone and worn tapestries. 

“It’s not good, and its not public.” Leia muttered, and all at once Ben was back in her office, being led to the chair beside her’s at the desk. The papers were stacked too high to see each other over. “It’s pretty obvious we’re looking at an inside job.”

Ben’s veins ran cold, an even more sobering effect than guilt— fear. “Are you sure?”

“Fairly. But no one needs to know.”

“How do you know?”

His mother hesitated, pinning him with eyes he’d never fully be able to read despite being her son. “I can’t say yet. It’s there, though.”

“Who all knows?”

“It’s best if you assume no one for the time being. I’d like you to fly under the radar with this one for a while.”

“So Dad, Chewie, and probably Uncle Luke then?”

He watched her startle at that, apparently trying to say something at first but in the end only laughing. “Ben— You are your father’s son.”

Ben didn’t feel nearly as amused. “What’s going on Mom?”

“Things.”

“Mom,” Ben felt like a surly teenager again, wining to his mother about sports or hunts or that shirt she would inevitably make him wear for thanksgiving because it was ‘cute’ on him. 

“Ben there’s certain things I can’t tell you right now. You know that.”

“I do— but—”

“Ben.” He snapped his jaw closed with a clack, feeling the ache of it in his teeth. “I think you should go and head back home.”

He held a very unprofessional scoff back, choking on it as he sputtered out proper words instead. “Mom, I just got here. I thought you wanted to talk?”

“I do. But we can talk later. I’ll walk you up.”

Ben wanted to protest, to wine like he were a kid again that he’d been asked to come, and that that was the only reason he was here in the first place— that he wanted to at least get something out of such an apparently useless trip. Any somewhat decent tidbit of information that would help them. 

“What about the Heiress? What are we going to do about her?”

“We’re not going to worry about her.”

“We’re not going to worry abou- Mom?”

Had his mother lost her mind?

“Ben?” She said the word back in the same tone he’d used— mocking him in that way only parents could. 

“What’s going on? This is the Palpatine Heiress we’re talking about. I thought you’d be all over this! She’s out there! She could be-!” There was really no fathomable reason he could think of as to why he was advocating for that capture of his current companion— sitting in his hoodie pocket and listening in with inhumanly good ears, but the whole thing just felt so surreal to him. Not worry about her? Somewhere in the midst of his tirade Leia broke in though, and Ben had to rein his tongue back in before they started shouting over each other. 

“Ben,” she said, because only a chastising mother could say your name so many times in a single conversation, “Wherever she is, the Palpatine Heiress, she needs to stay there. Wherever she is, you’re not interesting in finding out. You’d better not find out. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“No. No, Mom, I don’t. What’s…?” But where did you even begin? Did she know? Was she telling him they knew it’d been him? That he’d broken her out? Or was she telling him to stay out of things? To not stick his nose into places it didn’t belong? Neither warning would be the first time he’d heard either from her. He watched her begin sifting through some papers on the bottom of a tower— deft hands slipping page after page out without toppling the whole thing. 

“Some Roke representatives from upper management arrived early yesterday morning. We were in meetings all day and most of today. They want her.”

That sparked a bit of confusion, but not much. “That’s good, isn’t it? I mean, I guess she escaped here so we’re not really the best anymore. I can understand that.”

“Ben. Yesterday. Before the escape.”

“Oh.” He was feeling more stupid by the second. Why couldn’t she just spell it out for him? “Why then?”

“They won’t say.” He watched her take a heavy breath, huffing like she was fighting to get the air in and out. “Have you been listening to the rumor mill at all lately?”

“No. I have’t been around anyone enough to hear anything.” They’d kept him in a box till he left, and since then he’d only come back with the express wish of seeing as few individuals as possible. “Mom just tell me what’s going on please. I don’t want to read between the lines.”

His mother only smiled though, that diplomatic thing he’d learned to hate while growing up. The distain had grown with him into adulthood despite his best efforts. “Never-mind then. Just don’t go chasing the Heiress, dear. We have our own searches underway.”

Ben felt more confused than ever, but when she rose he did as well. 

* * * *

He held his tongue for the rest of the trip up, biting down on it hard enough to hurt and following after his mother wordlessly. She knew him well enough to know everything he’d want to say anyways. 

This journey was even more painfully quiet than the one with Chewie. They spoke of nothing— or if they did it was nothing of importance. It wouldn’t be with how out in the open they were. The tunnels echoed, and with word of an inside job already General Organa wouldn’t risk anything. 

Ben felt himself sulking like a sullen child as he watched her back. For such a small woman his mother was fast— enough so that he always had to pick up the pace when she was around. She slowed for few, and neither her son or husband were not among those. 

* * * *

The trudge they made to the surface, if even possible, was more quiet than the one he and Chewie’d made. Soon enough couldn’t have come too soon, and quite frankly it didn’t. It took its sweet time getting them to the ground floors. Ben already knew it’d be a weight off his chest when they made it, when the yellow fiery glow of lanterns became mixed with slices of real sunlight that filtered in from time to time. The relief wasn’t as grand as he’d expected, as he’d wanted, but it was something. 

The noises helped, little scuffs and the low hum of quiet conversations. So did the sights— real people, open air and the existence of daylight. Time lost a lot— if most or all— meaning down below. And of course the smells pulled a pound or three off his shoulders. Even in the main cathedral the tang of blended spices and sat heavy in the air. It was more tantalizing than gold, than riches. 

“If we can find Chewie I’ll have him take you home.” Leia pulled him from his thoughts. 

He tried to wave her away. “No that’s okay. I think I’ll just call a cab. He already brought me here. I don’t want to take up anymore of—”

“Nonsense. Cabs are out of the question. Not under my watch.”

“Mom I’m armed.”

“Cabs,” she said again, and he could hear the grate of her teeth. “Are out of the question. No one’s going anywhere with a stranger while things are this hot.”

As she said this Ben happened to glance over and catch a glimpse of his dad and uncle. They were skirting the edges of the room, sticking to shadows and hugging familiar white porcelain bowls to their chest like thieves in the night— two a piece. 

“Han!”

Han didn’t exactly jump, but he didn’t not jump either. Still the bowls remained steady in his hands. Ben watched as the man’s shaggy head whipped around to stare at them— even from a distance it was easy to make out the whites of his eyes. 

“Those are for the residents! Everyone in the kitchen has been working night and day trying to keep things together and you’re over here smoofing dishes left and right!”

Ben was glad his mother’s attention wasn’t on himself. He knew his grin was most definitely of the shit eating variety— and based on the affronted split second glare Han threw in his direction he also knew his dad didn’t appreciate it either.

“Han!” 

He watched the two speed up — slinking lower to the ground as if that would somehow help. They slunk out into a dark hallway and out of sight. It was impressive with what was probably a totaled of four full to the brim bowls of soup.

Ben only just managed to wipe the by then painful smile from his face before Leia whirled her attention back to him. And then her eyes flitted past his shoulder and she was shouting again.

“Luke!”

That did wipe the smile from his face. He spun around to look for the man— still curious about their odd encounter earlier in the tunnels. Luke was just about to slip away down a corridor similar to his father, but he’d stopped, frozen like a statue in the act of some great crime. The sentence? His sister, the General. 

Ben watched him turn towards them and begin making his way— oh so painfully slowly. “Leia!” He tried to pur the word as if they hadn’t seen him and vise versa. And then Ben saw it. It was the first time Ben had seen the familiar face of his uncle’s greatest companion— a carpetbag Luke had refused to let go of or put down for over three decades now (Or so Ben was told). Probably older than even Luke’s own father, maybe even his father’s father— Artoo was one of the Skywalker family’s most beloved magic relics. It swung like a ball and chain at his side as he made his way over, deceptively heavy looking. He remembers carrying it around like it was nothing though, even when he was small. 

Just looking at the thing brought back a slew of rose-tinted memories. Ben— a boy more often than not in trouble— could be lacking in play partners. As a very young child and even into teen-hood Artoo had made a good companion and fill for that empty space. A bottomless carpetbag was more entertaining than tv, than comic books, or any kind of movies. It’d probably swallowed more rocks, sticks, and snakes than made up St. Takodana’s walls and even now Ben felt a certain love for the creature. It’d staved off boredom and loneliness at the expense of its raggedy skin and collection of zippers. From what he heard even as recently as only a year ago Luke had pulled one of his giant beetle surprise from its depths— a great startling discovery that apparently made him scream and throw the thing across the room. To be fair it wasn’t every day that you reach into a bag for your research material and come out instead with a live animal.

Ben wondered sometimes how many more holdover creatures from his youth were left to scare the man. 

By now his mother and Luke were in the midst of a heavy conversation— one that wasn’t really important or about anything of interest. Not in the least. Ben glanced up to his uncle’s face from Artoo and caught his eye— not looking at his mother, but at him. His gaze was hard, uncomfortable. Ben wondered if he’d been staring at him the whole time. He hadn’t even noticed. Luke didn’t seem bothered that he’d been caught though, didn’t pretend at all like he wasn’t glaring a hole through is nephews head. 

“Something wrong Luke?” Luke startled at the sound of his name. He shifted, rolling his shoulders and folding his arms behind his back— looking all the more like the monk he was, and finally his gaze averted.

“Nothing.” He said, but that glint in his eye only hardened. Ben felt something stirring in the pit of his stomach— something like nerves or fear. He had an idea that if she weren’t so afraid Rachael would be rolling around in her pocket too. He was glad for her staying quiet and still though— glad she wasn’t drawing any more attention to themselves than what he’d apparently already garnered. 

On a good day Luke’s proverbs and wisdoms were best thought to be avoided. Ben wished that were the greatest of their troubles. Not whatever else was going on. 

His mother seemed oblivious to her brother’s antics though. She and Luke finished their conversation with him promising to track Chewie down and send him Ben’s way. They parted ways quickly and without too much else after that. None of them were too fond of unnecessary words.

* * * * 

Twenty minutes later Chewie found him alone in the cathedral. His mother was far too busy to stick around and wait with him. The drive back was tense, and despite Ben trying his best to start a conversation— any conversation— nothing really stuck. Before they knew it he was home.

There was a brief, tense goodbye where Chewie walked him to his front door and Ben tried to coax him in with a hot cup of coffee. His uncle declined though, leaving a pit of unease to his already growing valley of them. He gave his nephew an odd look, patting the meat of his shoulder in leu of of what was usually deemed a proper goodbye hug, and then he was making his way back down the path. This, to Ben, seemed much more unnerving than even Luke’s behavior at St. Takodana’s. Chewie almost never let a hug— bone crushing and quite literally and physically breathtaking— go un-dealt.Ben wondered just what his parents and uncles were keeping from him. What did they know that they weren’t saying? What had his uncle so shaken? Had he and Rachael been found out? Did they know something he didn’t? About Poe? About Snoke? About Black Squadron? 

‘What’s going on?’

Ben tried to put the worry from his mind. There was a lot on everyone’s plate. Rachael Palpatine was new uncharted territory. And her escape had meant a panic and stress level higher than most likely any Ben had seen in his lifetime. But still. Chewie hadn’t even reacted so coldly even when Snoke was first taking over power— and that had seemed enough by itself like the end of the world. He’d seen things few men ever would over the course of his lifetime and would probably continue to do so even after even Ben’s death.  

* * * *

Behind the door Ben waited. There was the sound of a car door— a solid screechy sort of thud— followed by that abused, decrepit ignition roaring to life. Why Chewie or his Dad hadn’t ever gotten a new ‘company’ (or heist) car he’d never know. He waited, standing there until the rumbling was distant, till he could hardly make it out without serious effort before even considering the thought of moving.

Rachael was less plagued, crawling her way out of his pocket and flitting off, deeper into the room. Then she was beside him again— human looking and uncomfortably close. 

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

Rachael opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else. Ben felt himself bristling, ready for not quite a fight but something like it. After a few seconds of just standing there Rachael seemed to think better of it. 

“What’s the plan now?” She asked instead, and Ben was grateful for the subject change. 

“We need to get in and talk to Poe. Alone.”

“You want to go back down there? To that awful place?”

“It’s the only way to get to him safely. I’m not about to bring a dangerous amnesiac Poe back up to ground level just for our comfort.” He watched her swallow, looking up at him with those big eagle eyes. “We’ll find a way. I’ll keep you safe too. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“What happens when I give him his memories back?”

“What do you mean?”

“To him? How are we supposed to explain this situation? That they just magically came back?”

Ben stood for a moment— knowing exactly what the answer might be but unsure whether or not to say it. Or if so— how much. He pursed his lips, thinking a moment, then spoke. “Let me worry about that. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Please Ben. I’d like some answers here. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not—” The words came out in a rush he didn’t expect— or understand. Ben reeled back and collected himself a moment before he spoke again. “I’m not lying. I’m just not sure how or if I can tell you what I’m thinking.”

“Is it bad?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Ben huffed a heavy sigh— too tired to fight. It didn’t do anything to lift whatever was sitting in his lungs, that hot heaviness which was settling in like a fire. “Maybe.”

Chapter Text

Their trip to St. Takodana’s weighed on Ben for the remainder of the day. He felt like a ghost wandering his own home, and Rey was right there behind him, following like a lost puppy everywhere he stepped foot. Where her path led so did hers, and while he hadn’t been alone intentionally in some time— he could feel the need forming fast, a tumor itching under the surface of his skin— because of this shadowing.

He needed some space— the rooms were too small for both their little parade and his growing anxiety. That crawling just beneath his skin was incessant, impossible to ignore. He was happy for Rachael, glad she’d been returned to his routine and life, that she was safe with him again, but that didn’t mean he was without his need for privacy either. Especially with everything going on. He needed time to sit, to think by himself and to himself. So— not wanting to be a cruel host, and (if he were being honest) less than eager to disappoint or upset Rachael, he settled for a nice distraction that could get her out of his hair for a few hours. 

Apparently what literature she’d been allowed was somewhat outdated, perhaps even barbaric in some areas. Sure, Sheev had wanted her well educated and versed in etiquette, however he hadn’t been much interested in her knowledge of much else. She knew English, some skewed (and very biased) history, a bit of science, gardening, table manners, and a few other “This and that”s of which they didn’t bother getting into. That was around where it ended though— the useful stuff anyways. So— like any good host he’d whipped out his laptop computer and introduced his home’s newest addition to the internet. For around two hours they surfed together— she was a fast learner but the online world was a dangerous place. They explored safer websites and articles expanding on more recent historical events (he didn’t quite trust Palpatine’s perspective), then moved on to more rounded bits and pieces she would find interesting or useful concerning the modern world. Animal planet, Betty Crocker, Snoop Dog, Wheel of Fortune, Forest Gump, cellular phones (which she’d scoffed at and informed him she already knew about ‘and how to use them too.’ He’d doubted that last part somewhat but said nothing). And when she’d seemed a bit too confused about certain references to recent history he’d pulled out actual books on his shelf— one going over the women’s march, another on conspiracy theories in the modern day and age (which included vampires), and a few others on the Civil Rights Movement, which apparently she knew more about for some reason. 

“Vampires really don’t hold any distinction or preference on color except for redheads. They’re pretty popular, but they’re also decently cautious of blood-folk.” She’d explained, and Ben half wondered if that’d made things easier or more difficult for the Hux family. He didn’t bother asking. 

At the end of his virtual tour (finally!) Ben left her to her newest favorite YouTube channel: How it Was Made. By the time he wandered off she was glued to the screen, listening as an older, educated sounding man’s voice narrated the history and origin of Jaw-Breakers. It wasn’t the most interesting subject, but for Rachael it seemed to be the holy grail. He reminded her to keep her face from pressing too close to the screen of his laptop. It was unclear whether she heard and chose to ignore him or her vampire super-hearing had short circuited in the face of something so awe-inspiring as the many layers of a delicious English candy. Ben chose to believe the latter.

For the remainder of the afternoon and evening he mulled over their situation. 

There were so, so many moving parts and he had no idea where to start. What little plan he’d had felt like it was unraveling faster than he could think to wondering about the pieces. There was no time to pick them up, to put them together again or wonder where they went.  

Security was getting tighter by the minute.

His family was either suspicious or just occupied with the end of the world.

Hux was manic.

Rachael seemed willing to help, but was obviously afraid and may even kill him in his sleep— though that part was beginning to seem less and less likely. 

Everyone wanted Rachael— they were acting as if she were the next antichrist or something. 

And Poe had no idea who anyone was— including himself.

Oh, and then there was—

As If on cue he heard the dreaded ping of a personalized text alert. Finn.

He didn’t bother looking at it, too afraid to see what he was up to. Quite frankly he’d forgotten the man existed for a few blissful days. Now it seemed Finn had sensed things becoming what he would call “Too quiet” or more accurately “Not shitty enough” and felt it to be his calling. Wretched man.

Ben shoved his phone into his back pocket and B-lined for the front door, snagging a jacket off the coat rack as he went. “I’m going for a quick walk. I’ll be right back.”

From the couch Rachael said nothing, did nothing to acknowledge he even existed. “Rachael?” He called, this time a little louder. She didn’t look up from her place but he could see her head twitch, almost shifting toward him and away from the screen but opting out at the last second. “I said I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

She waved him off like he was bothering her.

‘The nerve.’

Regardless— the walk helped, and the run that came afterwords even more. He even warmed up enough to slip the jacket off and tie it around his waist. Ben was used to being outside, to stretching his legs and wandering the world. He hadn’t been given any assignment since Rachael though (few had), and that pent up energy was burning a pair of matching holes into the soles of his best running shoes. Well— second best after the one’s he’d lost retrieving a certain (vampire) vampire bat. 

A smile snuck its way onto his face at the thought, fighting for space between heavy puffs of cool fall air. Man he’d missed this.

Did Rachael run? Had she ever been allowed the liberty? It seemed ridiculous to think of a race track anywhere near Palpatine Manor. Ben struggled to think anyone did any jogging at that place.

Maybe he could ask if she’d like to try, show her around town for a few days while things with security cooled down. Would she like that?

‘I should ask.’

* * * *

“Can I help?” He tried to say the words around a mouthful of cream cheese bagel and immediately regretted it. 

‘Swallow first next time, genius.’

It was later in the afternoon, not quite after sunset but close. He’d glimpsed the thumbnail of fire crawling on the horizon just a minute before before slipping into the hallway. He watched Rachael huff, staring at him leaning in the doorway through the mirror— not that they could see her— and lift her lips into one of those tired but polite smiles. Maybe at the offer, maybe in disgust at his eating habits. “Would you please?”

“Of course.” Ben shoved the last bite into his mouth and clapped his hands a few times to rid himself of stray crumbs. Rachael handed the brush to him over her shoulder. He picked up the tail end of her mane and started there. 

“I don’t brush my hair myself too often.” She said the words softly, turning her head to give him a better angle. 

“Did you have servants?”

“I did.” 

“How does that work?”

“What do you mean?” 

Ben gave a shrug but didn’t look up from the tangle he was coaxing. “I mean— human? vampire?”

He moved the slack with her when she tilted her head from side to side. “Human, mostly.” She said, “No vampire was supposed to know about me, remember? It would’ve made things too difficult when they walked out the room and forgot I existed. Would’ve made errands rather challenging. ” Ben tried to hide a unattractive snort of laughter. “Humans tended to try their best to remain invisible at the manor. They couldn’t talk to anyone about it per compulsion. And who would’ve believed them, anyways?”

Ben set the most tangled sections over her right shoulder to worry about after he’d finished the rest of her ends. “Is that how you know Rose?”

There was a long pause, not exactly awkward but certainly not comfortable either. He cleared his throat and tried to push in a gentler way. “You don’t have to answer. I’m just curious.”

“Her sister was, yes.”

The brush stuttered in its run. He picked the pace back up and hoped she hadn’t noticed— she definitely had. “You knew Paige?”

“I did. Humans generally tended to come and go, but she stayed with me. Compulsion didn’t seem to afflict her in the same way as others—some are like that. She was easy to talk to. I could go over things out loud and she’d just sit and listen.”

“What was she like?”

She threw a shoulder up in a half shrug and dislodged a few strands set aside. “Sorry.” She said the words soft and brisk. Ben was just as quick to right the sections again. She waited till he carry on brushing to continue speaking. “She was scared. Small. Not unlike most of the others except she was young. Both her and Rose were. That was unusual for servants.”

“Do you know why?”

She gave something of a tight laugh at that, more a bark than anything. “I wasn’t involved in the picking of my help. I couldn’t tell you what went into the decision making or its process.” 

“Did she talk much? Can I ask about that?”

“You may. She was… quiet, but then again there were few who survived and weren’t. I know she liked flowers, and before everything she’d wanted to open an apothecary to support herself and her younger sister.”

“Was she anything like Rose?”

“That I couldn’t tell you.” Rachael’s voice took on a flatness that grated on Ben’s nerves. “I only know the glimpses of Rose that I’ve seen, and even Paige I didn’t know well. I knew her character in captivity, much like she knew—” he watched the dip of her throat as he went to set another finished section over the left of her, a hard swallow as she cut herself off. “No. I didn’t know either of them well at all.”

Ben wanted to ask more, was desperate to bring up the night he’d knew one sister escaped— and in other’s case only tried. Had Rachael known? Did she only find out afterwords? Was she aware of anything of that happened? But already he could see the way her shoulders were stiffening despite the lull of brushing.

Instead he pulled the seam of his lips tight, determined not to embarrass or upset her again after all his recent faults. He put his efforts into sectioning and working through her hair bit by bit— a feat all its own, and when that was done she turned over her shoulder and sheepishly asked him to braid it for her too. Ben had the thought that— if she’d had blood in her— Rachael would’ve been red in the cheeks. Alive, it was no assumption or idea that she’d appeared even more beautiful. There was no doubt in his mind. He obliged her request wordlessly and with a smile, weaving something simple but hardy that could survive the night.

Ben lamented the lack of reflection on her part more than once while he worked. Often he would look up from the ropes tangled around his fingers to see his hands empty and the stool in front of him unnervingly person-less. There was no way to know if her eyes were watching. He supposed they probably were though— simply by the way the hair on the back of his neck stood up on end so often. 

By the time he’d finished her hair was glossy and soft, twisted into two fine twin tails that ran the length of her back. He’d changed his mind half way though the process of a a single plain brain and began again. French, he’d heard, was the best form to sleep in. Once or twice he’d asked her opinion, forgetting completely that she couldn’t see a thing he was doing. Rachael humored him regardless, feeling up the length of her hair with the tips of her fingers, testing the weave. Each time she would drop her hands and say simply “it feels nice.”

At the end Ben felt the sting of his stupidity— offering a hand mirror to see the back of her head. The look on her face did nothing to appease him either, blank like a cold slate and slack jawed. He excused himself in a rush as he slipped back out the bathroom door, slinking away like a coward. 

* * * *

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

Ben had been going over the lore book he’d pulled out for Rachael earlier, trying his damndest to chase away the sting of embarrassment. He was studying the section on the Lizard Man of Scape Ore Swamp in South Carolina (Better known as Virginia Olge Barbarrah, Gin to friends) diligently. Rachael was standing over him and wringing her hands like a child. Ben slid a piece of scrap paper into the book to hold his place and set it aside. “Yea? What’s up?”

“May I… May I sleep with you tonight?  In the bed? I won’t take up much room, I promise.”

There wasn’t just a whole lot Ben thought he could say to that. The more logical side of his brain tried to take over, spare him the work of thinking past those words. “I have a guest bed if the couch is too stiff— it’s bound to be better than the floor.”

“That’s not it.” She muttered the words like they might be overheard “I’m used to not being alone when I sleep. It helps.”

And really, how was he supposed to say no? After everything he’d heard and seen, after everything he’d done? The look on her face, sallow with sunken eyes that were more likely from stress than being dead, and the low slant of her shoulders was too much. 

Ben swallowed thickly. “Of course. As long as you’re comfortable I don’t mind. Just promise no late night snacks.”

She gave him another polite smile, lips thin. “I promise.” 

* * * *

Ben’s bedtime ritual over the last few weeks had taken a drastic turn. 

At one time it’d just been him. Floss, brush teeth, shower, check locks, make sure the stove wasn’t on, set the alarm.

Then he’d found a bat while stumbling home one night, and suddenly that took over everything. Not in a bad way, but more in a ‘He’d never realized how much his routine was s distinctly alone until it wasn’t’ kind of way. And that’d been nice. Except he hadn’t noticed how much so until it was gone.

And then just as fast she was back again, but this time as a person. 

And now it was everything else— the brushing teeth, the flossing, the shower, the locks, the stove—but it was also tea for him and a cup of AB+ for Rachael before bed so they could talk, so she wouldn’t get hungry during the night. Now it was helping her with her hair— all monstrous mile after mile of it. It was making sure she was comfortable, and as of today making sure she wasn’t scarring herself on the great wide world web. 

And after all that— now it was apparently getting into bed by himself like he had since childhood, since he’d learned to put himself to bed instead of his parents, and waiting for her to slip under the covers on the other side too.

He didn’t think it should feel like such a monumental thing, seeing her roll carefully onto her side and stare at him across the expanse of covers, but it did. They watched each other for a while— Ben thought the glow of her eyes reminded him of a nightlight he’d had as a boy, soft and warm— even if it made it more difficult to relax under their scrutiny. Years of training had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end still. Maybe that hadn’t stopped since he helped with her hair hours before though. He just hadn’t noticed. 

Finally Ben forced himself to close his eyes, hoping she’d follow soon after and let him rest. It took some time, but it felt familiar, easy somehow, and after a while she must’ve looked away and let him sink into oblivion.

* * * *

Ben dreamed strange dreams that night— uncomfortable, confusing, very inappropriate dreams. His visions, dark and blurry were of Rachael. Most of them he couldn’t recall, couldn’t even grasp the shape of. One though… One stood out from the mess of feelings and color and noise. 

She was straddling his lap, a pale, cool leg set on either side of him on the couch. She was starring almost downwards at him, so near he could feel the ghost of her nose against his— This was closest they’d been, and the closest they’d gotten to being at eye level too. The smell of her was sweet, ungraspable in that manner dreams made things, but he knew.

Her mouth opened, she spoke, but what she said was garbled. He’d heard old degraded phonographs warp voices in a similar way. There were words, short, and there was a tone, soft and soothing, but what they formed he couldn’t comprehend. He strained his ears, peeved at himself for not being able to understand. He leaned in closer, willed himself to hear it— just one sentence, one word. 

And then his vision went white. Everything was hot, too bright and his head spun like he’d just gotten off one of those nausea inducing spinning rides at the carnival. Her lips were soft, pillowy, moulding under the weight of his. They were meant for him.

She leaned back again, pulling the skin of her lips from his teeth. Something in his chest sparked hard, jumpstarting his arms to grab her by the small of her back before he could even think to make the move. He held her close, staring firmly into the glow of her eyes— not quite half-lidded but close. She relented against the soft pressure, allowing herself fall back against the warmth of him. Her arms braced herself, one on each shoulder and then sliding forward to curl around the skin of his neck. 

Her forehead bumped against his.

“Ben?”

Ben hummed, too drunk off the smell of her to do much else. 

“Ben please—Can I have another taste?”

The world was black again. It felt like an oven in summer. Ben was awake, frozen in place and staring out into the bleak darkness of nothing. The breath in his lungs burned, scraping in and out of him like cold fire. Slowly everything came into focus, the sights, the feelings, the sounds. He was on his side, apparently unmoved since falling asleep. He was still facing the door,  and more importantly where his guest lay. Rachael was still there— still carefully set on the edge of the bed, far away and untouchable. He could just make out the shape of her in the low light. She probably hadn’t moved since they’d gone to sleep— and luckily she seemed asleep even after he’d jerked into wakefulness.

Because Ben had problems. Physical, mental, and emotional problems.

A shower sat high on that list of fixes, was actually quite mandatory in his mind. Everything was slick with sweat, uncomfortably tight, and what deodorant he’d put on before bed had apparently been burned through in the night. Rachael didn’t even stir when he rose, as statuesque as ever. Even still he kept a carful angle and hand between her and the embarrassing situation in the front of his sleep-pants. The last thing he needed was her opening her eyes to get an eyeful of pervert. He felt something like relief that he’d opted for them and not his usual sleep-shorts.

The shower was cold, long— nearly a half hour— and even after he’d stepped out he felt too riled up to go back to bed immediately. The sweat shadow left behind probably hadn’t finished drying anyway. Ben felt his lips curl back and down at the thought. He risked padding through the room and towards the back door instead. Fresh air to clear his head (and conscience) couldn’t hurt.

* * * *

Ben rubbed at the skin of his arm for what must have been the thousandths time, only barely stopping himself from doing the same to his neck for the millionth. It was quickly forming into a habit, and not one he took any pride in. He cringed to think of Rachael seeing him like this.

The thought of her sent a jolt of electricity down his spine, pulling his mind back to the very problem that’d brought him outside. 

That dream.

That damn dream.

Somehow he knew dream Rachael hadn’t been asking about anything usual— not his skin or spit or anything more (wildly) inappropriate. She hadn’t been talking about any of that. It was the same way you instinctively just knew things in dreams you’d never realistically have the wherewithal to understand. 

And yet… Some part of him—small but adamant— had recoiled at that version of Rachael. Despite knowing what she was and what she’d done in the past he knew she wouldn’t ask that of him. It went against her nature. That only compounded the already crushing guilt that came after his pleasure. It'd been wrong. He'd been wrong, and still was in wakefulness.

Regardless, the dream had left him… unsteady, disoriented even. Everything felt skewed—tilted just enough that the world at large was dizzying to look at.

He tried to pull in another cold breath of air, hoping it would chase these things— the worries, the dreams, the troubles— away when he pushed it back out into the night. It didn’t work, and neither did the next or the next or the one after that. He puffed clouds of air into the sky and watched them disappear into the dark. 

Chapter Text

“Dad? What’s—?” Chewie shoved past Ben and into the living-room behind him. The front door hit the wall beside him with a loud BANG as he did so. Ben had only half turned, stumbling slightly, to try and ask (again) just what exactly was going on— and was (again) interrupted. This time by his father and what looked to be (in the quick glimpse he managed) a clear glass lemonade pitcher— one of those fancy ones with a grand swooping handle you see at Sunday Dinner when there’s guests coming. It was filled to the brim and sloshing over with water. 

“DAD—!” Ben sputtered and reeled back away from the front door— slamming his spine and shoulders sharp into the wall. He’d be feeling that tomorrow. He was soaked and blind, waving his arms around to try and regain something like composure—quickly realizing at the same time it hasn’t exactly been plain old H2O. Holy water may not burn humans in the traditional demonic sense like everyone thought. It also didn’t not burn humans in the traditional non-demonic sense either though. Ultimately it just burned in the “Holy water is made up of water and salt and hurts like hell when you get it into your eyes” sense. There was a hearty heavy thunk— glass clicking against the concrete of his front porch— and then Ben felt Han brush past him to follow after Chewie. “Dad what the hell—” 

He’d only been answering the door. It was late in the morning, an easy start to the day he and Rachael had spent relaxing with hot drinks and heavy breakfasts. And then there’d been a knock at the door and— in Ben’s infinite wisdom— he’d gone to investigate. Far be it from him to have expected any kind of assault when he noticed his uncle and dad through the peephole, muttering to themselves and stern faced as always. That was the usual after all. Up until he had been assaulted and by extension ah-salt-ed that is. 

“Where is she?”

Ben was still rubbing at his eyes to try and clear away the sting— it was only making things worse. He blinked rapidly to try and dispel some of it on his own, sweeping his gaze around the room to find his father and uncle again. Han was overturning pillows on the couch and crouching down to peer under the blue armchair he’d been gifted when he first moved in— just after his 19th birthday oh so many years ago. It all felt too surreal, but then what had’t lately? “Dad?” 

“The heiress— Where is she?”

Ben was doing his best to wipe the water from his face still, but nothing was working. He rushed to the coffee table where a stray glass of water sat. It wasn’t much but if it were that or nothing he’d take a day old cup to flush his eyes out with. While he poured it out over his forehead and brows— careful not to snort any up his nose— Ben tried to defend himself. It wasn’t easy, sputtering through the flow of water, but he managed a few words. “She’s not— I don’t know what you’re talking abou-” 

“Cut the crap, Ben.” The glass was suddenly gone, disappeared from his hand like a magician’s worst nightmare. Han held it out of reach and away from Ben, all but empty. It didn’t matter that he was an inch shorter, older, and lower in weight class. This was his Dad— he didn’t dare try to wrestle it back. Most of its contents were either on Ben or carpet anyways. He still wanted that last bit though, could still feel a lingering bite at the corners of his eyes. “Chewie could smell her from a mile away. We know she’s here. We know you were the idiot who helped her escape too. Don’t think we didn’t recognize your little handiwork in the camera room.” Han stomped over and shoved a pointed finger into his own chest, then Ben’s, declaring. “I remember your youth better than you do.”

“I don’t—”

But Han was already storming off, dropping the glass lazily back onto the coffee table without so much as setting a coaster down first— Ben would let it slide considering the circumstances. “You’re not compelled. We know that. We’ve seen that. So what’s going on?”

Ben felt helpless. He swept his arms into a wide open arc, trying his best to convey his lack of anything to hide when they all knew there were probably at least five items in the living room alone he kept under lock and key. However his dad probably wasn’t all that interested in illegally imported cheeses or martian artifacts from the 16th Solar Dynasty. “Nothing. Dad—”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

“Dad!” Ben’s cheeks and the tips of his ears were suddenly bursting with supernova levels of heat, no doubt a bright, happy fire-engine red. “No one’s here!”

“Oh—Is that what the extra coffee cup is all about then?” He watched Chewie raise Rachael’s mug to his nose and then Han’s, both curling their lips up at the contents, even more likely its smell. “Feeling a little low on iron? ‘No one here’ my ass. Get her out here Ben, before I do something drastic.”

Ben felt his throat starting to close. He could’ve sworn it felt like hands pressing down, squeezing him so hard it hurt to pull anything into his lungs. And then there was a hand of his upper arm— suddenly and all at once. It was stiff, iron like, and he looked up, and up, and up into his uncle’s eyes as he glared back down at him. Ben was transported. Sent back in time. He was a boy of maybe 11 and his dad had just found out it wasn’t the cat who’d broke his grandmother’s 16th century Spanish vase. A bead of sweat itched its way down his face and drip off the edge of his chin. 

“Ben.”

He felt the muscles in his neck snap sharply in her direction, to last bedroom on the right. The rest of him froze hearing the way she spoke his name caught in whiplash at the soft puff of air it floated in on. Chewie’s hand dug more sharply into the meat of his arm. He barely felt it. Then the weight was gone, and so was his uncle, fading back into the nothing behind Ben where his father stood. 

She came out slowly, quietly, padding down the hardwoods barefoot but without any slapping or shuffling of feet. It was disconcerting the way she never made sounds which humans almost always made— sounds you expected, strained to hear when they weren’t there even. 

The dark of the hall made her eyes stand out terribly, soft and warm in their yellow glow, but also most noticeably that of an animal, of a vampire. They were sharp and cutting in the shift between the two guests and her host. There was a look in those eyes when she turned them on him. One he didn’t quite know the shape of entirely. Couldn’t make out in full, but he could thought it might be one of those ‘later’ kind of expressions. Later ‘what’ he didn’t know, just that it would be ‘later’, that they’d have a ‘later’, and right that moment ‘later' counted for a whole lot. 

The dark also made the robe— soft and familiar and very obviously his— pop out at them like high-beams in the night. He cursed low in his throat, swallowing the rest and hoping neither his uncle or father had noticed— even knowing they most definitely already had.

From his periphery he noticed Han stepping back, setting the more capable Chewie closer to standing between himself and the woman floating in the dark, glowing like a specter. That was his cue.

Ben marched to the hall and stood at its end, turning just enough to put most of his back to Rachael, and his body in the same way Han had put his uncle— rigid like a sentinel, his post separating them from her. 

He waved to each person with a sweeping (and completely steady, not shaking at all) arm, doing his best to pull what etiquette he’d retained from his youth out of his ass. “Rachael, this is my dad, Han and my uncle, Chewie. Dad, Uncle Chewie, this is Rachael. She’s been staying with me for a few weeks now.” He wasn’t entirely sure for who’s benefit he was most enduring the introductions for. 

His dad didn’t exactly seemed pleased to hear that last part, and at a second sweeping glance neither did his uncle, but he could also see a spark of something in both of them— a filing away of important information perhaps. He worried most that they didn’t look all that surprised either. Had they really known? How long?

And worse—

‘Rachael. You told them her name is Rachael.’ He wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing or not— or if it was, how bad. When he looked to Rachael though she seemed cold, indifferent. Had that been a mistake? He tried to swallow the thought but— despite the excess of water thrown and dumped on his face during the last ten minutes— his throat felt sandpapery and dry. 

A shuffling pulled him back to the more pressing issue (even if he could still hear the blood rushing in his ears), and to Han who was stepping forward. He slid around the stone wall of Chewie, smooth in each move he made, and extended a single hand, his right. “It’s nice to meet you Ms. Palpatine.” Rachael took the hand hesitantly, less fluid than Ben knew her to be. She barely moved at all beyond what was necessary, and it was haltingly, hesitant, like she expected a strike of some kind. It wasn’t exactly out of the realm of possibility either. 

“Just Rachael is fine.” Her voice was just as small, with a little shake to the edge he didn’t enjoy hearing. “It’s nice to meet you as well— officially that is. I’ve seen you a few times already, and I suppose you’ve seen me as well.”

“When they allowed it, yes. Us lower clearance folk have to sneak in most of the time.” Han’s smile was the cat who’d eaten the canary— one which Ben had grown up seeing utilized to charm said birds out of the trees. It wasn’t one he’d passed fully down to his son, and Ben doubted he’d ever perfect it himself. No. He’d been stuck with his nose instead. The next words only added insult to injury, sugary sweetness and all flattery. “I must say—“ Han oozed the words out, and the smile seemed to inch up his face a little more, a near impossible feat for how crocodilian it already appeared to his son. “You certainly looked the park of an empire head down there. Still do.” 

Rachael’s own smile was mostly in her cheeks, in the small upturn at the corners of her mouth as she looked down and away. It was genuine though, at least it seemed that way to Ben, and that made for a telling contrast from his father’s. At the same time Ben felt something hot and indignant sparking at her look. Alive— would she have been blushing?

Their talk was all nothing and fluff, little words that would buffer the time away. Ben couldn’t really bring himself to pay too much attention to it— though he tried at first. He focused more on Rachael instead, the way she nodded along to his father’s tale or eccentric, grand sweeping— but meaningless— gestures as he told them. 

Her eyes flickered to him from time to time, maybe to make sure he was still there, maybe to check and see if he’d changed his tune, but for the most part her attention seemed locked fully onto his dad. Ben felt something sharp ticking in his chest that he didn’t like.

What he’d endured was a process spanning days (and which had taken weeks before as well) in order for him and Rachael to come to something of an understanding, to somewhat (dare he say) like each other. It’d been agony. An arduous journey of nips at his skin. Of blood matted fur that stunk. Of periodic feeding, research, patience. And yet… In five minutes his dad had burst in the door and harassed them. And after all that— Rachael actually seemed strangely (if hesitantly) fond of the man already. Even despite the circumstances.

Ben might not have been the brightest. No. He wasn’t so stupid as to miss the fact that his family’s charm— both from his mother and father— had very plainly skipped a generation with him though. Yea. In a clinical sense he understood that. This however… This was turning out to be a new low. It was a bitter reminder. One that stung when he thought about it too deeply— and he knew he would later. He tried to shove the thought away for now though. Tried to focus more wholly on the ‘now’ part of ‘here and now.’

As they spoke Ben’s eyes wandered a little— not very far from Rachael, but some. Behind Han he saw as Chewie gave her a soft, polite nod, and she returned it in kind, but neither approached the other. If anything Rachael took a tiny, imperceptible step back and continued to listen as Han buttered her up from every angle humanly possible. It was quickly becoming a very one sided conversation, Ben realized. He didn’t really hate that. And after a minute or two of watching her a little closer, he realized she might not either. Not really. 

She didn’t buy it, Ben decided (or thought he did, hoped he was right in doing so), but maybe she enjoyed being set aside from the spotlight, even if somewhat. Han could take the mic for a bit, Ben decided, and give them both a break.

He tuned in right after this thought. Right in time to hear quite possibly the worst set of words constructed together since his mother had told him at 16 that Santa Clause WAS in fact real. 

“I’ve heard very little but you seem like a decent enough girl to swoop my son off his feet.” Ben was broken out of his misery by those words. And immediately thrown head first into a worse one. One of familial shame. One of eternal embarrassment. He felt a hot flare of red shoot up his neck and to the tips of his ears. He opened his mouth but nothing came out, and when his dad looked at him his follow up only made it so much worse. “Told you she was pretty, son.”

  “Dad!"

* * * *

It took a decent while before they’d all settled in to something that— if one squinted just right— appeared somewhat comfortable and unforced. Ben and Rachael sat on the couch while Chewie took the armchair Han had been sniffing under earlier. Han, for his part, constantly jumped between sauntering back and forth in front of the fireplace across from them and sitting on the black stony edge of its hearth. They were all still on edge, each wound up tight enough to explode if they’d been toys with springs and not people. Neither his uncle or dad commented on the closeness with which the heiress and Ben sat. Not when Rachael had lowered herself down like royalty, then seemed to think for a hard moment before scooting toward him. Not when they were nearly touching arm-to-arm. Not when Ben had watched all of this play out and said nothing in protest. She was forced to lean away from him slightly because the cushion was dipping more deeply where he sat, pulling her weight slightly more into his space. 

Ben knew what they thought was going on, knew they just as probably thought it’d been going on for a while, and that he was far more involved than he actually was. They said nothing still though. 

And Ben was oh so thankful for it.

Because that wasn’t true. Not even slightly. Not even remotely. They weren’t together— at least in that way. He hadn’t known her until after her escape. He hadn’t even known what she was, or that he was involved in any way until only few nights ago. It was absurd, and stupid, and untrue, but there was no way to prove any of that, or convince either men of that— so he didn’t even try. He just sat there— and was glad. 

Glad they kept their mouths shut for now so he could think of any way to clear both their names while this mess played out. It was like watching a house fire. 

At the pit Han fell back into the hearth for the third time in five minutes and finally spoke— thankfully once again not about what he so obviously thought was going on— and it popped Ben’s fragile bubble of concentration concerning what their story should be. That they needed a story in the first place. In truth—He wasn’t even sure what that was. 

“Chewie smelled her on you.” Han explained, and in an instant Ben felt even more stupid— because of course he would. He was Chewie! “We weren’t sure if that was just a holdover from the other night till Luke tipped us off. He confirmed it without us having to ask actually— said he didn’t think you were under any compulsions but ‘just in case.’” Han motioned rough air quotes. “So here we are. And we’re warning you. You need to leave.”

Was he being… grounded?

No. That couldn’t be it.

“What about everything here? What about Mom? Snoke?”

“You’re mother can’t claim any knowledge of what’s going on here, but if she did know she’d be agreeing with me. Kid— people are smart. They’re gonna figure things out and soon. You need to be gone by then.”

No. He wasn’t grounded. This was worse. He was in the epicenter a cover up job. He was the reason for a cover up job! He wanted to rise, to defend himself standing. Yet he couldn’t, his body refused. Rachael was leaning more heavily into his side, pulled down by the sinking cushion when her fight to pull away suddenly ceased. She was fully squished against him now. “Dad that’s not fair! I know what you think this is but it’s not! There’s more going on than you know and we could help! What if we just came forward? You know I’m not under any kind of control! You know you can trust me! You’ve met the heiress! What if we bring her in civilly, talk to her. This could change everything! She could bring back Poe! She could make treaties! Anything!”

Han looked to Ben, then Rachael and shook his head as if it were a lost cause. As if they were kids or something. And boy did Ben feel like one when he turned caught that look full force. “You’re not being punished Ben.” Chewie said the words from his corner, speaking for perhaps the first time, and it startled him. It startled Rachael too— he felt her jump closer at the noise. 

When he turned to him more plainly his uncle was stone faced. “There’s more going on with the huntsmen than we know. We can’t tell you what’s going on, but we can’t regain custody of the heiress again. No matter what.”

“What?”

“What do you mean?” Ben had to pull away slightly so he didn’t nose the top of Rachael’s head when he turned to her. Her eyes weren’t on him. But his father, his uncle, sweeping from one to the other almost accusingly. 

Han gave a heavy, “Lord give me strength” sigh that made Ben bristle. He watched the older man shrug almost helplessly. “I can’t say. None of us can yet. What we can say however—“ and here his look was too pointed, too meaningful even if Ben felt clueless as to what that meaning was “Is that you need to go. And we cannot catch you at any cost. Do you understand?”

“‘Catch us?” Dad what—Are you going to chase us?”

“Do. You. Understand?”

Ben bit hard on the inside of his cheek. Focused on the sting. Focused on “Yes.”

Han’s eyes were hard, infuriatingly unreadable to Ben. “Don’t ask questions and don’t worry. Just let us help you get ready and then GO.”

Ben’s eyes flickered to Rachael. She wouldn’t look at him. For all her lack of blood and pale allure she seemed suddenly paper white and equally paper thin. The only color to her pallor was a speck of red sitting at the left corner of her mouth that he hadn’t noticed earlier. It dropped something in his stomach. Something between hunger and nausea.  

* * * *

It was a whirlwind from there. Han and Chewie helped them pack, and for the better half of an hour they spent their time throwing things around his house like thieves looting. Everything either went into a bag (if they’d need it), onto the floor, or back in its  respective drawer (if they didn’t). Rachael for her part remained quiet and tucked out of the way— looking small on the couch in his living room, turned and sitting with her back to the armrest while she watched them work. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do, and a good portion of what they were handling which wasn’t clothing might hurt her. So she sat curled in on herself as they worked, following them with bright eyes and an unreadable expression. 

At one point it hit Ben that she might want to feel useful, that she might want something to distract her a bit. “Rachel,” he said, and she looked to him with the armload of useful junk. “There’s a cooler in the garage. It’s on the left with some old fishing stuff. Could you grab it?”

She gave a single nod and slipped passed him without so much as a sound—out through the kitchen door and into the dark beyond. He supposed she wouldn’t need a light switch. When he glanced away and back to his work again he caught his dad staring his way. The look was of a sharp, unpleasant sort that Ben didn’t exactly appreciate. 

“What?”

Han’s smile said the conversation wasn’t even begun, and neither was Ben ever going to live any of this down, but (thankfully, blessedly with Rachael still so painfully within earshot) his dad kept his big smug mouth shut. The man shook his head and went back to his own packing. Ben did the same with a heavy huff as lead weights dropped from his shoulders to his gut. 

When Rachael came back in with the cooler, newly dusted off and slightly less grimy looking, he tried to ask her to fill it with her blood types of choice. She’d refused. Outright, she’d refused the request and breezed by him. He watched her glide back over to the couch and plop herself back down in her spot, glaring his way. The entire time he filled it himself he could feel pinpricks on the back of his head, standing the hairs on his neck on end as if lighting crackled in the air. 

The only other time he spoke with Rachael was when she wandered into his room as he was raiding his closet. He didn’t trust either his dad or uncle to pick out anything decent. 

“Are you going to tell me about your ‘maybe a bad idea’ idea now?” She’d asked. 

Ben continued to shove more clothes into the duffel he was working on, reaching for a favorite travel knife put away for special occasions— set on a particularly high shelf in his closet. Even for him it was a reach. “It doesn’t matter now. It won’t for a while.” He threw the word over his shoulder— probably a bit more distracted than he intended. 

“Okay.” The word was soft, final, and then she was gone again. He’d expected a fight like before, and like before she’d… not disappointed him per say, but maybe left him a little surprised. 

It was probably another forty five minutes after that when Ben heard a message alert from his dad’s phone. He was in the living room now. Even from across the room it blared— on the loudest setting possible for whatever reason. That was normal for Han Solo though. The look that crossed his face though— the determined swipe with which he pulled the phone out of his pocket and glared down at it? That wasn’t  normal by any means. Ben stopped what he was doing. When his dad looked over at him, he tried to ask. Han beat him to it though. “Time to go,” He said. “Leave the rest. We’ll be back tomorrow.” 

Ben tried to finish loading the bag he was arm deep in— one for ammo— and was abruptly hauled by the scruff of his shirt’s neck towards the bedroom instead. “No. Grab the bags. Leave that one.” 

His feet hit the floor again in his doorway, and he turned in time to see Han zipping up the bag he’d just been loading— half filled. There was still a pile ready to go and waiting beside it. He guessed it was— as Han had put it ‘Time to go,’ however. He jumped into action and began swiping the bags from his room, all piled carefully on the bed. He ran with two or three at a time to his car in the drive. Chewie joined him, and together they cleared it out in less than five minutes. 

Rachael watched them from behind a corner in the front hall where the sunlight wouldn’t burn her. She stared carefully, cutting out the path from the bedroom to the front door, then beyond with her bright eyes. 

Bags done, Ben slipped back in to grab his wallet and keys. The metal of his fob was still cold in his palm when is dad slapped the straps of a beige tote—type bag into his hands. It rattled with the telltale ‘shuff’ of pill bottles clacking together. “Just in case.” Han said breezily. 

Ben didn’t bother checking the contents— he already knew what kind of precautions it was stuffed to bursting with, had dealt with them a thousand times over and would deal with them a thousand times more still. What frightened him was the amount though. The zipper was straining to hold itself together against the push of its load, and even the corners were looking a little too rounded. Just how long were they supposed to be on the road? Was this for when they arrived too? Was their safe house lacking in supplies? 

“Grilled cheese when I get back?” The words were absentminded, halfhearted at best. 

“No. I don’t need the calories. Get me some of that pink bubblegum while you’re out though. The classic ones— Less sugar.”

“Gum Dad? Really? Are you sure.”

“You heard me. Now git’.”

He supposed there was no more putting it off. Rachael was still sat peaking out from behind a corner in the hallway. She was eyeing them. Not in an altogether friendly way, but not entirely an unfriendly one either. “Are you feeling up to being a bat?” He asked, and her gaze flitted to him uncertainly. 

“Do I have to?”

Not exactly the answer he’d wanted to hear. “No but it’d make things a lot easier.”

“Can I later? I’m still trying to stretch my limbs back out again. I’ve been a bat for weeks.”

Ben looked to his dad and uncle, then back to Rachael, lips pursed like she knew he’d say no. “Fine. We’ll have to figure out travel though.”

“There’s room in the back.” His father said helpfully— in his own way. 

Ben tried not to turn too fiercely on him. “In the trunk?”

“Why not?”

There were a thousand ‘That’s why not’ reasons flying through Ben’s mind at that moment, and a single glance at his uncle confirmed the same for him. 

Then he turned to his vampiric companion though, and he felt himself sag. “Yes, Why not?”

Maybe there’d been another reason they’d gotten along after all…

Ben tried to keep from listing off the top of his head how many ways such a stupid idea could get him sent to prison faster than a fish finds water. He reeled in his tongue with the strength of ten men, and another quick look at Chewie revealed a not so appreciated smirk. Ben spoke before his uncle could third the question simply out of spite, or mischief, or just plain being mean. 

“We’ll throw the stuff in the back seat into the trunk. Rachael can take the floor in the back and we’ll put a blanket over her. 

There was the distinct noise of his father grumbling under his breath, but when Ben B-lined for the door he heard both him and Chewie following. They made quick work of the luggage shift, and the finishing touch was a soft wooly his uncle brought out and handed to Ben to cushion the grimy floor. A nice touch in his opinion. The two stood back and admired the work for a moment, and then it was back to work. The last piece of luggage as it were still stood in his front hall.

She was still there waiting for him when he stepped back through the threshold. It would probably be the last time for a while. “Are you sure about this? It’d be easier for you the other way too.”

She was adamant though, steely eyed and thin lipped. He could already tell there was no talking her out of it before the words slipped from her tongue. “I’m sure.” She said it without hesitation, nodding like a knife swings down to cut.  

Ben couldn’t help but throw the playful jab, the classic quote “As you wish,” that’d plagued his childhood anytime his mother was being particularly stubborn but his father put up with it. He thanked his lucky stars her passion had lay in human and creature rights and not in anything more psychotic (though it did come with its own list of dangers). They probably wouldn’t have survived had she been an exotic creature smuggler like his father in his youth. No doubt they’d all be grumbling about it from heaven by now.

“I don’t want a lot of chit chat until we’re out of the city. There’s no telling what or who is listening. Understand?” Her eyes didn’t exactly inspire him to think he had too much of her attention, but her nod was answer enough. It’d have to do at least. “Alright then. Let’s get going."

Ben wrapped Rachael up in the fur she’d claimed two nights before, rolling her like a burrito so no light would filter in through the soft weight of it. He hoisted her up into his arms— bridal style—and puffed a breathe while trying to balance both her and a backpack. He nearly toppled over backwards at the lack of counterweight. She was lighter than she looked— another side-effect of being dead he remembered suddenly. The reminder brought with it a cold shiver down his spine. 

  “You good in there?” 

There was a muffled noise which sounded close enough to confirmation. Ben took it as such and B-lined for the side of the driveway, cutting through grass that probably should’ve been mowed one last time before it turned yellow and prickly. He slid Rachael into the floorboards of the back seat like a log— head behind the driver’s. He made sure one last time the blanket was secure— asking a quiet “You still good?” as he crouched over her— below the window line. He hoped it was low enough that if the neighbors were watching they wouldn’t hear or see them. They’d witnessed enough in the past as it was. He heard a muffled hum, a 'Yes, thank you,' and patted the back of her neck before peeling himself back away. He crawled backwards out of the cab and circled around to the driver’s side door.

Han and Chewie were watching from the front porch, hands in their pockets. They barely spared a lazy wave, and Ben did his best to return it like he wasn’t still in state of mental whiplash. 

He hadn’t bothered locking the house up. His dad and uncle would do it for him, would probably be back to feed the mice and creepy crawlies lurking in their pens too. Maybe even to confirm their son and nephew was gone for good— at least for the time being.

And then, he supposed, the hunt would be on. 

Chapter Text

Luke couldn’t be sure exactly what was going on with his nephew— why he was harboring a fugitive, why he’d probably allowed or aided in her escape even, why he’d said nothing of any of this to anyone. What he did know however— and with every fiber of his very being— were three vitally important details:

One: That his nephew had broken the Palpatine heiress out of St. Takodana’s.

Two: That his nephew was harboring said fugitive. 

And Three— which was also the most crucial factor of the group: That the boy wasn’t being compelled.

Because that was —if nothing else in the world, if nothing else to the future—a game changer. 

His mannerisms, behavior, and speech all remained completely unchanged to what Luke remembered of him all throughout his childhood and early adulthood. Even his awkwardness, his proclivity to wander off, and whatever  affliction caused him to laugh at things he wasn’t supposed to had been left devastatingly intact. That was a difficult feat for any vampire, let alone one who’d find it necessary to compel to such a large degree a person’s very personhood away. It wasn’t in his nephew’s character to aid and abet criminals unless he saw good cause. Perhaps such an accomplishment couldn’t be called impossible, but it surely wouldn’t be easy if not. Identity is what they’d have to change, to control. If Ben were a vampire the possibility would be plausible, probable even, but as things lay (Human, in other words), Luke found the whole idea of compulsion an unlikely one— at least in this instance. 

But— in the name of safety and precaution he’d tracked down, warned, and sent on their way two of St. Takodana’s best hunters. If they couldn’t sniff any ill will out then Ben might have genuine reason for his actions, and Luke did suspect he very well might— at least in that thick head of his. 

Luke held few complaints in this regard for now. If it gave him the distraction they required, and if it kept the heiress safe and away then all the better for it. He hesitated to say (if only for the principal of the matter) that it actually brought a sort of comfort to him. 

His meeting with Leia earlier had not been one to inspire any kind of confidence— quite the opposite actually. They were working against a clock more now than ever he’d been dismayed to discover. Circles were closing in, working like mad in the head sheep to weave a wool noose for themselves and anyone they touched, and they didn’t have a clue. It was shaping up to be a rat king, reeking of piss and fear and shit. Already his sister was making quiet arrangements for the Dameron boy to be sent back with Plo to the sanctuary. Luke had no objections in that direction, but he was dismayed to hear she had little care for what happened to the rest of the stray vampires in her care. The small but growing faction of stragglers they’d been collecting since before this whole mess began. He’d fought, arguing and begging her to send them away as well, but in the end they’d both been forced to agree such a thing was too ‘in the open.’ You didn’t move an army overnight and expect not a soul to notice. He’d procured only vague words of comfort by the end of that particular conversation— something about moving them little by little so as to avoid suspicion. Luke said nothing of his doubt in her abilities, nothing of his own growing fear. He could tell by the look on her face— not quite as Gard as his even in the epicenter of the storm; She knew already. 

He trusted his sister, he really did, but he worried how much longer she could stay before others finally began noticing her was move pieces they wanted to sink their beaks into. It wouldn’t be long now, and there were a lot of pieces left to move. A devastating number in fact.

There was no doubt in either of their minds she would be caught eventually— sooner rather than later as well. When that happened— because it inevitably would— he wasn’t sure she’d be able to slink underground and lie low like she had in the past. Their luck was running out. Things were changing too rapidly. Too savagely. He could taste it in the air, feel it like electricity arcing between his fingertips.

Something ticked in his jaw when a memory struck him from behind, of being young, foolish, and in the midst of everything far too reminiscent of his life now but for the creaks in his knees and his aching back. He wondered if Leia, if Han or even Chewie felt the same— and if they wished it their first war too. At least it’d only been vampires last time.

* * * *

Hux knew nothing— only that for a while Luke sat frozen, reminding Hux of a not entirely inaccurate portrayal of The Thinker. He’d seen it once while traveling, but that’d been a lifetime ago, a different time and person. The two men simply stewed together in an awkward silence while he did his best not to thrash the man— poke and prod at him for answers. He knew better. Barely. Finally though, after some duration of wretched (nearly physically) painful waiting the man must have decided to put Hux out of his misery. “You want out.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Who wouldn’t?” He cringed at how much like a snarl that sounded. 

Luke quirked a brow— the only sign he was in the present and not his head still.“You won’t manage it alone, you know.”

“Are you offering or taunting?” Hux hadn’t meant for those words to sound so cutting either. He felt pushed. Again however Luke didn’t comment. He only pursed his lips and scratched that mangy vagabond beard of his.

“If by offering you mean ‘offering to break you out’ then no. I am however willing to offer my time as a chaperone.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

His friend’s gaze hung heavy in as close to a roll of the eyes as he was capable. Any more and Hux worried it might border on a spitting image of his nephew. How ghastly an image. “Do you really think I’m so naive? You aren’t the most difficult person to figure out, Armitage.”

Hux felt his face and the skin of his neck heating at the chastisement. It was uncalled for, mean, and worst of all completely and utterly untrue. He held his tongue though, opting instead to chase his budding curiosity. Escape the current direction. “What is your offer then?”

“Simply as I said. If you let me chaperone I’m willing to allow this trip you have in mind.”

“And if I don’t let you chaperone?”

“We stay exactly where we are. Exactly as we’ve been.”

Hux sat back at that, thinking hard. Beside him there was a metallic clicking where his wrist fidgeted in the cuff against the bed’s rail, reminding him of his situation all over again. Of his need for help. Would it be worth it to have Luke tag along? Could he really even stop the man if he tried? Would that be worth it? An effort which at best might possibly work and at worst might land him exactly back here, in the shackles of dingy hospital room dungeon tucked away three or nine stories below the earth’s cold muddy crust? 

He’d known Luke for years now, had heard of and studied him for even longer— back when he believed him the great legend and not the strange, crazed albeit geniusly intelligent hermit who wandered dusty halls and haunted sunlit corridors. 

No.

Luke Skywalker was a man out of his mind, a lune in the sunset years of his life. His peak had come and was at the better part of ‘gone’, slow as that  encroach may crawl. And yet. He was no fool. And there was no hiding, no running from him if he so wished to have you in his presence. 

And. Of course. Hux’s running years were far beyond over. More so than Luke’s fighting ones. He was an abused animal who’s instincts still left him fidgety and flighty, but he’d slipped eagerly into the lazy routine of a house pet. His killer was gone or happily slothful. There was no doubt in his mind of that.

So again. No. 

There was no point in running. In trying to ditch or double-cross the man. 

He set his eyes on Luke again, tried gauging him once more and knew it was a useless effort. 

“They won’t like it.”

“They won’t know till we’re gone— maybe even finished.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t a jailbreak.”

“It’s not.” 

“Then…?”

Luke stood perfectly stoic, eyebrow cocked and mouth thin. Hux wondered just how much the man had figured out— about him, his mind, his history— that the rest of their worlds hadn’t. It bothered him how little he actually knew about Luke. For as awkward and eccentric as he could be it was entirely too difficult to remember just how much brain was stuffed into that skull of his. How accomplished he was even. What’d put him on the map was only the surface of his wide and wild range of done deeds.

“So how do we get out then? I don’t suppose you have a room for me in that psychedelic carpetbag you call a companion?”

Luke chuckled low in his throat and rose. He wandered over, closer to Hux than was perhaps comfortable given the circumstances. He tried not to lean away from the man. “Not something so dramatic no.” And then he was spinning to walk back again— gliding with an ease that set Hux’s teeth on edge to the creature sitting across the room. He unclipped at least half a dozen snaps and buckles. When the maw opened he swore a plume of dust puffed up out into the air. It smelled stale when it hit him moments later, earthy like an old shut away lake house. He felt his lips curl back at first that, then his friend dipping a hand nearly to the shoulder into the depths of it— an unnervingly absurd sight all things considered. The suit Luke pulled out was outdated by at least a decade and most likely two sizes too small. The collar was wide and tall, like it had something to prove, and so were the cuffs. Worst, most offensive of all— it was a bright creamy white. The kind you saw on old furniture, vintage wedding dresses, and on-the-market homes looking to hide every inch of personality. Hux felt aghast staring at such a crime against nature.

“Where the hell did you get such a beast?” The words left him pitiably, like air leaving a balloon. He tried not to be offended by his own voice’s betrayal. 

“It was Ben’s.”

“From when? It looks like it couldn’t even fit his leg.” Luke only shrugged. “We’re stopping at my place to change before we leave town.”

“No stops.”

Hux didn’t even bother trying to argue— the look in Luke’s eye was hard, unshakable. He looked around the room, desperate for anything bthe suit. Would the hospitable gown really be so bad? But there was nothing in sight to save him. No mercy. Not even a jacket or hat. Hux gave a heavy, all but defeated sigh.

“You couldn’t have grabbed my stuff from whatever box they have it rotting in?”

Luke tossed the clothes at him, shrugging apologetically in the most un-apologetic fashion Hux had seen in quite some time— only rivaled by an offense committed by the same exact man. “No such luck. Get dressed.” He pulled out his key and undid the last cuff before he could be asked. 

“Does it at least come with a coat? Maybe a tie?” The look on Luke’s face told him all he needed to know. He huffed, bitting down hard on his tongue not to scold or curse the other man, his friend he reminded himself. 

‘When it’s convenient for him anyways.’ 

The clothes were stiff with disuse and maybe even too much detergent, but they did the job. They weren’t as tight as he thought they may be— only in the  hips and upper thighs. At least he wasn’t in cheap loony clothes anymore. He tried to spell that thought like a mantra in his mind. Luke conjured up a belt for the waist— too large for him. And then the look was complete. He didn’t dare request a mirror. Already in Hux’s mind the phrase “Colonel Sanders from Hell” had taken root, shoveling out room for itself where what few shreds  of his pride once remained.

Luke, for his part, seemed all too pleased with himself. At one point he’d opened his mouth to make a remark, probably about the style— because he would think it looked good. The look Hux threw his way however, like liquid fire and burning his own sockets even, stopped the other man in his tracks. He’d spun around on his heels and gone to cajole something from his unnatural carpetbag again.  

Once Hux was sure he wouldn’t strangle him, he carefully wandered over to his side. He kept his gaze firmly set forward. “So— now how do we get out?”

A sharp white caught his eye, and he shifted to see the man just barely from his peripheral. Then he jumped, only a little, but a jump nonetheless. The smirk— because that’s exactly what it was— that Luke was throwing his way inspired nothing but a genuine burgeoning fear of what lay before them. The suit couldn’t only be the start, could it? 

“Luke?”

* * * *

Luke stopped on his way out at the kitchens. No one bothered him really— either too used to seeing the strange hermit wandering their halls by his lonesome at this point or perhaps too afraid of being caught up in a conversation about his research on vampirism. No resident was much inclined to be involved in such a matter here. On his way — guided by the euphorically sweet smell blooming in the air— he spotted a familiar face he more knew by reputation and name than anything else: Rose Tico. She was a lovely young girl— both in nature and looks. He’d heard Ben more than a few times harassing Armitage over the poor thing— asking about ‘first dates’ and ‘crushes’ like they were 12 again and not already in their early thirties. Luke himself had been resolute to avoid the topic altogether during most visits and letters, but even if it were only platonic— there was no mistaking the soft looks which Armitage often threw her way. 

She watched him much in the same way he watched her as they passed each other by— not in a malicious way, but somehow not without calculation either. Luke wondered as he swept through the next hall if anyone realized just how much probably went on in that head of hers. Probably not. 

The rest of his journey— the wandering through halls, collecting bobbles here and bibbins there— went rather smoothly. Much like in the kitchens no one felt too inclined to bother him. In some cases he was even wholly avoided. He watched a woman in blue slip into the hall ahead once, and upon looking down to see him waving ‘hello’ she promptly turned and disappeared back the way she’d come. 

However after a great deal of shuffling about and musing he felt it was at last time to leave. He hoisted his bag with one final puff, switching hands to give his right a break, and strolled out a side door by the gardens. He felt a twitch from Artoo as they passed, jerking towards the earthy flavors and greenness of it all. He blamed Ben, from which his bag had never quite recovered. Last Luke checked he’d found a thriving colony (an ecosystem dare he think) existing in the pit of his poor carpetbag. They always escaped his grasp whenever an attempt to help them escape was made, but occasionally they felt the outside, reached for it if only briefly. Even then they never left. He’d had to throw in a mountain of soil, rocks, water, sticks, and leaves to make whatever was living in his companion feel more at home.

Luke felt his eyes rolling hard back into the core of his skull. He didn’t bother stopping himself either— no one was around to judge him for his laments. 

‘Damn that boy.’

Chapter Text

Hux didn’t really know what was going on, where he was, or what’d happened to him exactly. There was a general idea, a simmering anger, but it all got a bit fuzzy after that. Fuzzy and black. That’s how everything was. His mind, this space, his body. And yet at the same time it somehow wasn’t. He could see the general shape of things, almost make them out in their various shades of confusing, their dark outlines against even darker backdrops. A hand here, a leaf there, or a box (A brick? a book? A block?) somewhere just to his left. Was it left? Where was left?

How odd. 

How confusing.

How maddening. 

‘LUKE.’

* * * *

Luke didn’t bother letting Armitage out until they were roughly fifty miles from St. Takodana’s. He was too busy enjoying the quiet anyways. The windows were cracked just barely, enough to let in an icy wind. It was refreshing. Life-giving, and perhaps a nice change of pace from the usual heat of his scorching home. He didn’t always enjoy the cold, but some days, like these, it was a welcome companion. 

He would’ve been found out by now. They both would have. It was hardly the first time either had been a fugitive though. Certainly not Luke.  The reminder made his bones ache terribly, but the pain was warm around the edges. Nostalgic. 

As the plan stood they had another half day to drive until they’d reached their destination. It wasn’t exactly home-sweet-home but it’d do, and for the purposes of research, of figuring out just what exactly was going on with the world, it would have to. His nephew, his sister, the Huntsmen, and the vampires— he had no idea what was going on with any one them. Not a one. There were no answers or leads, and any questions he’d asked simply went ignored and unanswered. Luke was a curious man by nature, and an even more insufferably curious man by trade. He needed this almost as much as his friend— bless the ridiculous man’s heart.

Eventually however Armitage became too restless for Artoo’s care and comfort. Luke could hear the poor creature rattling around in the back trying to contain his occupant. He dutifully unbuckled the poor thing from its place in the front passenger seat beside him and hefted it up and into the back. As if from some deep tunnel there was at first a low hum, then the louder gravel of a snarl, and then eventually after that the telltale syllables and nouns that often came with curse words. Luke didn’t need to look back to know his friend was crawling like an angry animal out of his carpetbag. His cursing grew the loudest, the most vicious when his head finally managed to poke out, and Luke both heard and felt as the other man slapped around to find leverage.

“Luke I’ll kill you!” He screeched. Every word was slurred with vitriol. “I’ll really kill you this time! There’s things in here! They’re alive! OR AT LEAST THEY ACT LIKE IT!”

Luke, with both his, Artoo’s, and Armitage’s safety in mind, veered off onto the side of the road. He tried to keep from coughing too much when a great plume of dust rose up around them. He rolled his windows up the rest of the way.

The road wasn’t a well traveled one, a long stretch of grassy hills-country stitched with a patch-job highway road that’d probably seen at least one world war. Maybe even two. No one would be coming along to harass or recognized a couple of fugitives. Out here they were simply two men bickering. And if no one came along they wouldn’t even be that. They’d be gone again soon, ceasing to exist in the eyes of skeleton trees and asphalt. 

 “Get up here. We’ve still got a ways to go. Break time is over.”

“Break ti-!” Luke had to think hard— pinching his brows together in order to decipher the snarls coming from the back seat floorboards.

‘Devil..hard—something… ugly son of— something, haggard, something, something, something—‘ In the end he stopped trying to make any sense out of it. 

Finally a hand shot out into his periphery, wet and clawing at the passenger seat like an animal. Then a face emerged with it, red as a pepper. Blue-green veins throbbed in his temple, terribly visible even under the mop of scraggly looking orange hair. He looked crazed. He looked—

‘Scary.’ Luke concluded mildly. 

“Was there no other possible way for you to get me out without hauling me off like common luggage?”

“Would you have wanted to wait that long?”

“Perhaps if I’d known just what awaited me— yes!”

“I’ll make no attempts at petty apologies then. I’m not sorry and neither are you—”

“Oh I’m not, am I?” Spit flew through Armitage’s gnashing, bared teeth. He wasn’t so far from the vampires he abhorred in moments like these, though Luke would never tell him that. Never reveal that his time around the creatures had rubbed off on him in more ways than one.

Luke waited patiently, and they stewed in the silence again until he was sure the other man could sit quietly without interrupting. “I know you’re rather eager to get your questions answered.” He started very carefully, nodding to the open road ahead of them. There was no need to bother looking at the man in his passenger seat— now sitting like a human, but a very petulant one, with his arms crossed in front of himself like child. He knew him well enough to see the vision in his mind’s eye— red faced and fang-toothed. Still, there was no interruption. “I think you’ve gathered that I am as well. I have a few questions of my own, and quite frankly I might be just as interested in yours as yourself.” There was a sharp grunt, and Luke tried to correct himself. “Almost as, that is.”

“Oh?”

“There are things happening that need explanation. If you’re how I get those explanations— some of them at least— then I’ll stuff you in a hundred magic carpetbags. Hell, I’ll stuff you in a hundred regular carpetbags and haul you across the country by hand. But I want those answers. And I want them fast. I know you do too.”

When he chanced a sly look over Armitage was resolutely staring out the window. All he could see was the hard set of his shoulders and his hair— still wild and all over the place. “I know you’re just as scared as I am. Maybe more. We’re going to figure this out though. She’ll have answers.”

“Do you really think?” He muttered quietly. Luke strained to hear him over the beating of highway winds against the car.

“I know. Have you so little confidence?”

“No. I’m just,” Luke waited the pause out again. He wasn’t exactly feeling very patient but he could certainly fake it for a bit. “A little un-eager to pay the price is all.”

“I’m sorry.” And for that, truly he was. 

Armitage’s words were hard when he spoke next, jarring Luke from the quiet purr they’d been soaking in a moment before. “Don’t be. It’s always been like this.” He folded his arms in a very business-like manner again. He watched the man from the corner of his eye— watched him settle in for the long haul and become still like a statue. Luke had marble and wood more loose than Armitage. He’d made it clear then that the conversation was over. For now. 

So Luke leaned forward and switched through a few stations on the radio, settling in on a nice old jazz song he recognized from his youth. It was bouncy and light, full of soul— Much unlike the current atmosphere in his front seat. From his seat he could just make out Artoo rustling in the back, perhaps settling in for a long nap to avoid the situation altogether. 

* * * *

“Won’t they try to stop us when we arrive?”

Luke hummed— an admittedly rather self satisfied sort of hum. “Your people run things one way, and mine run them another.”

“They won’t care that we’re fugitives?”

“I suppose you weren’t on this side during the last war.” Luke chanced a look his way and was rewarded with a dull shake of the head. “Well we don’t exactly hold ourselves to the quite frankly frighteningly standards that Huntsmen do. We find compassion and mercy to be our leading drivers. We’ll find shelter and sanctuary where we’re headed.”

“You make Huntsmen sound barbaric. Haven’t you followed along with your nephew’s little adventures? The chupacabra relocating? The Mothman diplomacy acts? The whole nine yards?”

“I’ll be the first to admit that huntsman have come a ways from their darker days. Modern advancements have allowed them to step out of their role as judge, jury, and executioner. Some remember the old ways however. Remember the brutality.”

“You?”

“No. I don’t mean a remembrance in caution. I mean High command. There’s a certain bloodlust clinging to some of their coats if you look close enough. I’d expect you to have sniffed it out by now.”

Armitage scoffed. “If you consider their work brutality perhaps we share different definitions. High command may be sticklers, and they may throw me back in a cell for the next month or two on occasion, but they don’t lust after violence like real monsters.”

“Like vampires?”

“Like vampires.” He agreed with a stiff nod.

Luke felt his lip curl without his consent and did his best to pull it back down. “A lack of compassion indeed.”

It wasn’t until the evening began to drag— and the sun on the horizon with it— that they began to speak again after that last conversation. Both men knew the risk of saying anything further, of rising to baits laid out. By that time they’d pulled a couple of pairs of sunglasses from the glove box. It was a unanimous attempt to pretend either pair did anything against the harsh sunset glare. “What all do you have in there anyways?” Armitage held a hand studiously above his brow to curb the day-star’s assault.

“Just some knick-knacks here and there, a swamp’s worth of frogs, slugs, and toads curtesy of one young Benjamin, maybe an old fox, and uhh….”

“Uhh?” Armitage was imitating him in a very unflattering and in-accurate way. Luke flicked his eyes in a round of all three mirrors— both side and the rearview above him. It was most definitely not him rolling his eyes. 

“A few… hmperes.” The last of his sentence fizzled out, easily lost in the rumble of their wheels against the pavement and the wind batting at the car. This fast, and out this far, a car could be loud on its own. 

“I’m sorry?”

Luke muttered the word again, even less intelligibly this time. Armitage leaned across the seat to listen better, even if it was so very overly obvious that the man didn’t want him to hear. Luke’s eyes shifted to his companion’s for only a split second, then flew right back to the road ahead— so fast he hoped it wasn’t noticeable. 

“Vampires.” He finally spit the word out solidly, a cough more than anything. 

For a long, unbearable number of minutes the two men sat in silence. The road under them continued to grind on as a constant reminder that noise— that wonderful invention older than any of them— did in fact exist. Somehow that made it worse. 

It was Luke who broke first. “You’re not going to yell?”

Armitage’s voice was soft, disconcertingly casual despite the bomb that’d been tossed into his lap. “It’d be in character wouldn’t it?” Luke only hummed. “Quite honestly I think I’m just confused. And tired. I’d like to kick up a fuss and yell, tell you how stupid I think it is to transport— how many?”

“37.”

“37—” And oh, there was the familiar grate, the growl Luke had come to know so intimately from the man. “Vampires. Yes. 37 vampires across the country. I think I’m also just too baffled though. This— all of it, the whole thing— is just so absurd, Luke. We were fugitives before you picked up Takodana’s strays, and if we weren’t then we absolutely are now.”

Again Luke only hummed. Armitage muttered on, working through their predicament, the basis of their friendship, vampire politics, his view on etiquette of human-vampire hostage relationships, and on and on and on. Luke for his part only sat back in his seat, sinking further and further in the hopes he might disappear into the well kept leather altogether. His hands were a bone white on the steering wheel, gripped so tightly it hurt. He forced himself to endure however— listening to Armitage talk himself through a bout of stress— in no small part brought on by Luke himself. He supposed it was his punishment in a way. Once that was over they got down to the nitty gritty of it all— at Armitage’s own request unsurprisingly.

“What’ll you do with them?” And that question Luke could handle. 

“The same as all the rest.”

“Do you even have the room anymore?”

Luke Skywalker did not scoff, but to that question he came frightfully close. “‘Do I have room?’” He tried not to sound too offended, too mocking. 

His companion held no such compunction however. His sneering was lighthearted though, tame in comparison to the beast it’d been at a darker time in his life. “Oh yes. I forget sometimes the magnitude of your little project,” the words oozed, “Your aviaries. What’s the headcount now?”

“Don’t bother yourself about the numbers.”

“I’d love to actually. You’ll never give me the time of day though. Too afraid I’ll jeopardize that bleeding heart homestead of yours.”

“No.” Luke said smoothly. “Only that you’ll harm it’s inhabitants with your distain.”

“My ‘distain’ is well founded thank you very much.”

Luke had to work hard to keep his mouth shut at those words, feeling much like he had earlier. It wasn’t worth the fight that would follow though. So they lapsed into another silence all over again — this one much shorter than before. Armitage seemed hellbent on answers today it appeared. Or maybe just an argument. He watched as the other man twisted in his seat to glance back at their third, less-human companion snoozing in the seat. 

“Is it actually alive then? The bag?” He asked, and blessedly this time there wasn’t any heat behind the question. Only a flatness, a genuine wonder. 

“In all the ways that count— yes.”

“And they can’t get out on their own? Your new ‘pets?’”

Luke brushed the comment off with a shrug like the one before it. He was quick becoming more used to sting of them— more than he cared to admit. It was this way every time. The ease of letting his friend’s venom slide came and went with the subject he’d found. “Not unless they know what he is and how he works— which I highly doubt. Artoo is rather unique in his design. It took Ben months to find the exit.”

“Is that why he’s so strange?”

Despite himself Luke gave a dry laugh. It bubbled up and out even as he tried his best to hold it in. So Armitage’s sense of humor was still somewhat left in tact then. “Months of playing with Artoo.” He corrected lightly. “He was fascinated by the creature as a boy. Would sneak off with him into the tunnels and halls where he thought no one would see. I don’t know if he thought I never knew, but he’s always been rather secretive.” He reached down for a canteen in the center console. There was still a ways to go before their journey’s end. They may need to stop for gas before then, stock up on water and snacks, maybe grab a greasy gas station meal while they were at it. 

“No.” He muttered after a few careful swigs— there was only so much left after all. He could feel it. “Ben is strange I think for an entirely different set reasons all his own.”

* * * *

They arrived at their destination almost 17 hours later. Along the way the two encountered very few adventures, and even fewer outside the confines of their car. For that they were more than a little grateful. The only thing they could truly boast about was a snide remark here or an unfortunate animal on the side of the road there. 

Once or twice Luke let Armitage take the wheel with very specific instructions while he slept in the back seat. There would be no stopping at any B&B’s or cheap motels. That had been a unanimous decision fairly early on. No place was safe, and Luke was more than aware of how exposed they already were. So— he’d been forced to trust his passenger just a tad more than was probably safe or sane. 

“Artoo’s watching you.” He’d warned before dozing off. Already he was sprawled across the ancient but well cared for leather, coat held in a ready stand over his eyes. “If he suspects even an iota of mischief I’ll shove you back into him without a second’s hesitation.”

“That is a harrowing prospect. I think I’d rather steer us into a tree.”

“You know I mean it.”

The look he’d been thrown of course was chilling— a very “don’t you dare” expression halfway between a glare and a grimace. 

* * * *

Tatooine was a desolate state— nothing but hot dirt, sand, and stone. Occasionally you’d find crops of large rock formations towered over the expanse of otherwise vast nothingness. However nice national geographic photos of that landscape may be, that was about it. It was pretty from a distance but few felt any real pull to remain in such a place. Little grew. Even cacti were sparse here, opting for cooler more temperate climates—Oh the irony. And though the skies were pretty in the mornings and evenings, it very rarely outweighed the harsh climate and unfriendly wildlife. 

Despite all this Luke never felt particularly bothered by the place. Not the heat, or the nothingness, or even the snappy neighbors (human or otherwise). Not anymore anyway. He’d grown up here, in these lands. It was, to him, the first of what he considered to be his garden of homes. While it’d felt stifling in childhood, in his older age he saw it as an eternally constant in the maelstrom of change. 

The village they arrived at— because really that was all it could be called— was small and cramped despite the yawning landscape it hunched on. There was no worry for space out here, and yet whoever’d put this place together must have thought so. It boasted maybe two dozen short mud colored buildings—scattered about in an order neither man could figure. Only thin alleyways separated each from the next, and there were a few with ground level tunnels connecting one to its neighboring unit. They appeared to be victims of the famous “Modern Look” design boom that the early to later 60’s was well known for. Bulky, bold, and what had probably once been sharp cornered when they’d been built. Sand was a powerful animal though, and it’d smoothed many jagged edges. 

Beside him Armitage whispered, as if afraid they’d be overheard. “What the hell is this place?”

“Bestine, Tatooine.”

“I knew you people shuffled produc—”

“Armitage.”

There was a beat of tense quiet. “I knew you moved a lot. I just didn’t expect you to put anything in shit-holes like this.”

“They enjoy the cool.”

“The cool?”

Luke didn’t offer anything further, nor did his passenger push.

They drove around for a short while, maneuvering through the maze at a snail’s pace. And then— Luke saw it. A figure waving in the distance. He was tall crooked faced man, and he motioned them closer, most enthusiastically when they finally turned in his direction. The building he’d appeared from which was almost identical to the rest, if perhaps the second to last smallest. He was standing outside, just on the edge of his doorway’s pooling light. The yellow glow gave him an eery alien silhouette. 

‘Spooky.’ Luke thought. 

When they were close enough Luke slowed to a crawl, then a careful stop as their new friend wandered up to meet them, stepping away from the safety of the light. He leaned down to speak with Luke through a crack in his window. “Someone will take your car for you.” He enunciated every word carefully— as if Luke couldn’t hear well. “Grab your things and come with me. It’s not safe out here.”

Luke gave a single curt nod and cut the engine. He learned around his seat and into the back to grab Artoo, then swung back to look at Armitage. His friend was pale and thin lipped. He appeared much less eager to leave the safety of the car he’d seemed in the past to somewhat despise. It wasn’t anything like the newer, more sleek beast he drove. Luke urged him out though, and Armitage followed obediently. 

In the balmy light of the room they finally managed a good look at their host. He was dressed in typical aviary garb— dark cargo pants loaded in each pocket to bursting, and cloaked in an off-white robe that was frayed at the edges and cuffs. Luke could just make out the ghost of past stains that hadn’t ever been fully removed, brown and yellowy-beige. Blood. Well funded they may be, but they were a frugal bunch too. Ones who didn’t waste a thing if it could be helped. 

“Hello,” The man said, and he didn’t look at all like he hadn’t expected them. “My name is Nick. You must be Professor Skywalker.”

Luke reached for the man’s hand and they shook like old friends. “I am. This is my companion Armitage.”

“And the others?” He could feel Armitage’s baleful eyes boring into the side of his head. 

“I have them tucked safely away. I’ve brought them with me as well.”

“What a relief. We’ve been worried. Director Meeko is waiting for you in his office. He’s been expecting the both of.”

“Oh?”

“He was quite adamant that you’d be arriving soon. Your and your ward’s rooms are ready.”

Despite the late hour and his burning muscles— aching like no tomorrow from  enduring hours crammed into a moving vehicle— he felt a spark of warmth creep into the space between his ribs. Beside him Armitage appeared much too tired to argue with being burdened with the term ‘ward,’ perhaps even to notice it. 

The room around them wasn’t much to look at. Just about everything was covered in a fine layer of sand. A couch, coffee table, one picture on the wall of a leafy green lakeside, two doors to their left, and an ancient looking chest in the far corner that was perhaps a little too weathered at some edges. 

They were led over to the couch, where Nick gestured for them to remain where they stood. They obeyed, and together they shifted awkwardly— on wobbly legs— while he moved a tattered rug from the center of the room. The floor was made up of colossal stone tiles— each as large as one of  Luke’s arms was long. They probably weighed a ton, and were of an uncomfortable size to handle. Nick swept the dust from a crack between two stones, then pulled a key from beneath his shirt collar. It was held fastly by a thread thin thread tied around his neck. He slotted it between the stones and twisted. Luke heard no click, no twirl of cogs or mechanics. Whatever he’d done seemed to work though, because the stone lifted with a single touch of the man’s hand— effortless. 

He gestured them over, and they followed him down into a stone well. They descended a thankfully much more modern looking ladder for minutes at a time, gradually feeling the chill of the underground seep into their bones and old wounds. 

“‘They enjoy the cool.’” Luke heard Armitage sneer the words at one point. And he tried not to smile too smugly. 

Chapter Text

“Stay quiet” he’d said. Ben regretted saying that now though. Regretted telling her to keep her mouth shut till they were out of the city. Sure it was the smart thing to do, but not even two minutes down the first stretch of achingly dull road he was itching for her conversation. That’s how fast it’d struck him, and it’d struck hard too. His tongue kept slipping along the skin of his lips, desperate for something to say—Anything at this point. It apparently hadn’t gotten the hush-hush memo. Just like the rest of his body unfortunately. His veins and skin were buzzing like a live-wire. The feeling made his shirt collar too scratchy, his shoes too tight. It was hell. And with every single red light they hit— which was, infuriatingly, almost all of them he soon came to realize— his body and mind grew more excruciating jittery. Some forms of torture he could recall from his past had been less unbearable than this. Less agonizing. Some had even been perplexing and fun— like that time an awoken 15th century satyr (Harry) had attempted to use a young Justin Bieber’s “Baby” on him, misunderstanding the army of internet memes about it’s use in human torment. Even now he felt a certain fondness for the song.  And maybe even a few others the fellow may or may not have tried after that one— to both their confusion and only Ben’s amusement. 

Rachael, for her part, remained perfectly quiet— still as a mouse in the back seat, and Ben, for his part, continued to hate each and every second of it. Already he’d switched through probably two dozen radio stations. He’d finally given up, huffing and jamming the power button when he realized how frustrated the whole ordeal was making him. He didn’t want the oldies station, new age, alternative, pop, or rock. He was equally disinterested in hearing radio talk show hosts talk to mushy or cantankerous caller’s about their love lives, or commercials for road side assistance or drinks he’d never even dream of trying. Working himself into a frenzy flipping from nuisance to nuisance station wouldn’t help, and he’d rather be agitated in silence anyways. At least then the only annoying voice would be the one in his own head.  

It was another 45 minutes before he nearly broke, puffing an angry breath. He clawed for his phone in the center console like it would run from him. Knowing the week they’d had it just might. The passcode was second nature, not even a thought. There was no need to even look at the lock screen, and he navigated without his eyes to the contacts app. His thumb hovered over the call button on his dad’s profile. His Favorites list was short, perhaps four or five numbers including his parents and uncles. The moment felt frozen in time, and his finger shook just a little, twitching forward a centimeter only to pull back again just as quick. 

There was exactly one person left in the world he could have a truly honest conversation with. Poe’d been out of the question for years. Even returned that still remained the case. He wasn’t nearly close enough with Luke to have this kind of chat. Chewie was practically attached at the hip with his dad, and although he was more than decent to speak with in person, his uncle happened to be absolute shit over the phone. A lot of his communication skills had always remained nonverbal— pats, grunts, judgmental brow raises, and the barest of lip twitches. It was hard to read, but if you’d grown up with it it felt like second nature. And Hux? Well Hux was still in ‘timeout.’ There was no way he’d be available for another few days to weeks depending on how livid his keeper’s were. 

Ben hadn’t reached out properly to talk to anyone in months now, maybe just because they were all so busy, or he’d been avoiding it, or whatever other excuse he could think to throw out there. Now he wanted that more than anything in the world though, and the only person left was off limits. He didn’t want to make it look like his dad was anymore involved than he already was. 

‘Maybe just a few minutes. Just to say hi.’ He thought, edging his thumb closer to the screen. There were days of travel ahead, long stretches of road that already he knew would feed a growing pit in his stomach. Ben was desperate for any kind of conversation, anything, but in the end he thought better of it. He growled and threw the thing over into the passenger seat, too frustrated to have it in his eye-line. 

The rub of his tires on the road sounded like a harsh laugh, one he held no eagerness to listen to. He was almost tempted to turn the radio back on. Almost. Ben noticed for the first time his teeth grit hard only because they’d suddenly rubbed together in a particularly rough way. He felt the sickening ‘pop’ even in the back of his skull. He carefully maneuvered his jaw open and shifted it from side to side, stretching it around until it felt a somewhat relieved. The ache remained, and he tried to keep from re-biting. 

“Are you okay?”

Ben’s heart leapt into his throat. It choked him, half caught between a cough and a swallow— and that coupled with the voice was certainly more than enough to send his system into a raging fit. There was a pair of tiger eyes staring up at him from his right. How’d he missed that? What was wrong with him? Rachael’s head sat nestled just between the driver and passenger seat, too suddenly there for his shot nerves. 

“Fuck!” 

The laughing he’d been listening to from the tires was replaced by an angry hiss, a screech as they swerved one way, then the other to correct, then back again to overcorrect. 

“Rachael!”

“I’m sorry!”

They drove for a moment in suspended silence as Ben made sure they weren’t about to crash. When he chanced a second to look her way she’d retreated, not wholly into the back again, but enough so that he could only make out the shape of her form behind him if he strained. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.” She said again, hushed like she was afraid she’d startle him a second time. “I spoke before but you didn’t answer. I guess you were…” He didn’t dare look back at her this time, too afraid of the way she’d be staring even if the curiosity was close to killing him. Her last word was quieter than before (a feat), more a low whisper, a breath. “distracted.”

He tried to breathe a little easier, slow his heart-rate. He was all too aware how she could hear it, was probably still listening to the way it raced and pitter-pattered like an prey animal’s. The comparison made his stomach lurch all over again, but he shoved the feeling down, tried to shove the last vestiges of panic down too.  He’d long since learned the calming techniques after all. He just had to utilize them. To stop freaking out. To stop letting her scare him. A spark of something white hot licked at the back of his neck. It crept like a fire up into the pink of his cheeks. ‘Get it together.’ He had to. It was necessary if he was ever going to gain control in their situation again. Because at this point he was starting to think he had no control. None whatsoever. 

“What did you need?” He tried his best to push an air of authority into his voice and internally cringed when it came out an octave too low, too obvious. ‘Way to go robo-cop.’

“I just wanted to know if I can come out now. I want to watch.” 

“Watch?” He felt his head begin panning to the side slightly and curbed the attempt, setting his sights more determinedly on the road ahead once more. Her voice was light and airy when she spoke up barely a second after him. She was still quiet, but the bounce was palpable. 

“We’re in a car, Ben. I’ve never been in a car. I want to watch— please.” 

“Never been— Do you mean the road?” He tried and failed to hide his surprise, his confusion. “The stuff along us here?” He gestured over to the scraggly trees on either side of them, dotted here and there like moles on the hillsides.

“Can I? It’s so exciting. I’ve never watched from inside a window like this before.” There was a shuffling. Like she was getting up from her nest of blankets again. Ben listened to her grunt as she misplaced a hand or foot and toppled over. He told himself it wasn’t funny. He swallowed, trying to push down the lump in his throat, then tried again. It felt like a baseball in his esophagus. And the situation itself just felt plain beyond him.  

“Sure.” He finally said. “Just stay to the right side of the car. Sun won’t get you there.”

“Oh right. Thank you.” The words felt genuine in a gentle sort of way, as if she’d forgotten that very vital aspect of her existence. Ben decided to keep his lips pressed together. There weren’t any comments he felt necessary or called for. 

Despite the fact that fall had set in and the few scraggly trees around them were brightly colored, he felt a sort of dip in his gut. The grass along the road was a chalky yellow green, the kind you could tell just by looking at would be needle sharp to unsuspecting feet. Even the sky was dull, muted and murky. He wished her first time in human form could’ve been better. More vibrant. More alive. 

Rachael seemed to be enjoying herself though, so he said nothing still, pressing his lips harder together till they sat under the crush of his teeth. 

This time the silence they lapsed into was more comfortable. It didn’t feel quite as heavy as before. Even so Ben wished she’d wanted to keep talking. He didn’t like being alone with his thoughts as things were. It was at least decently easy to think of other things that needed his attention, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. Deadlines, alibis, backup plans, dinner. Oh and sleep too. That one didn’t seem quite as vital though. They might have to just sleep in the car— pull over once they found a thick enough grove and turn out all the lights. Problem solves. 

‘Kinda.’

* * * *

“Ben?” She finally spoke up another (only mostly agonizing) half hour later. He hummed in answer, trying his best not to let his eagerness show. “I don’t feel so well.” Except— Those words dowsed his craving somewhat.

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel…” her voice petered out and Ben felt himself quirk a brow. 

“Rachael?”

The telltale, terrifyingly familiar noise she made in response was unmistakable from any other on the planet: A wretch. Ben veered over onto the median so quick he felt himself getting whiplash. Everything not tied down in the middle launched forward between the seats and into the front beside him. A metal thermos barely grazed the hair by his ear before it cracked into the windshield. There was a heavy thud and the passenger seat bobbed forward. “Oof.”

 “Rachael?!”  

There was no one on the road for miles ahead or behind. There hadn’t been for hours now. Ben threw his door open and ran around to the back seat. He ripped that door open too. He almost worried the dang thing would come off its hinges. Rachael melted out from the back like a liquid, hissing in the light. Ben’s hands shot out instinctively to catch her and shove her back into the dark. She folded like an accordion in on herself, groaning all the way. The blanket she’d been wrapped up in earlier sat crumbled on the floor behind her— Ben grabbed one end of it and pulled it out, upending her more when an unseen corner was swept out from under her backside, upending her even more. “Sorry.” He threw it over himself and the door, maneuvering it till the thing sat like a tent over the both of them. Between the door of the car and his legs there was that same unmistakable retching sound. Ben only had the one free hand but he did his best to pull back the majority of her stray hairs before he heard something wet hit the asphalt. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d smelled, but it certainly wasn’t the best— warm, half digested blood.

“Hey you okay?”

“What is this?” The words were slurred between bouts of vomit. Ben tried to get a better grip on her fly aways and braid. It was hard to make out in the semi dark. “Everything’s spinning.”

“I don’t know. Are you—” Ben hesitated to say, but it was the first thing coming to mind, and the first thing that would make some semblance of sense.  “Are you car sick?”

“What’s—?” Another splat just barely missed his shoes, followed by more coughing. Ben didn’t dare pull away for fear of light exposure. He had spares he could put on later. Besides—the blanket was only so big. “What’s ‘car sick?’””

“Fuck.” 

‘What’s car sick, Ben?’

What were you supposed to say to that?

Ben just focused on keeping her hair out of the way while she wretched. She didn’t ask again. 

It took a while before she apparently felt comfortable enough to slip back into the floor. She slumped like a sack of potatoes out of his grip. Ben let her, feeling the way her hairs ticked the skin of his arm. She waved him off in a very ‘I’m fine’ sort of way— a notion Ben had his reasonable doubts about. He fetched a water bottle that’d been thrown into the front passenger seat for her to wash her mouth out. She looked flushed if that were possible, rosy cheeked in a way that— while it made her look more alive— probably meant she wasn’t doing too hot. 

“What’s car sick?” She asked the question between gurgles, spitting a stream of pink water out between his feet. Ben didn’t mind. He’d be using that bottle after her to rinse the vomit splash-back off sneakers. A little more water wasn’t going to hurt. She wiped strings of spiderweb strand drool away from with a coat lying across the seat beside her— his coat. He said nothing though. 

“We’re gonna have to redo your hair.” Were the words that came out his mouth instead of any real answer, and he cringed. Rachael was staring up at him all of a sudden with a pair of murky, drooping yellow eyes. She looked utterly defeated. It made him five inches tall to see it. “I’ll help you with it later. It looks fine. Umm…” 

‘Way to go, jackass.’

“Have you ever been flown or driven?”

“I’ve flown. Not very often though.”

“Has anyone else ever flown for you? In a plane maybe?”

“No. Why? Is there a difference? What’s wrong with me, Ben?”

“Yea. I think you may have something called ‘motion sickness.’ It’s when you’re being moved but your body gets confused cause it’s not the one doing the moving. I think. I’ve never looked it up. I just knew a kid who had it once.”

“But… We’ve never… But then I suppose I’ve never been driven this long have I?”

“I guess not. It mostly happens when you can see out the car. I think.”

“So… So if we keep driving… I’m going to get sick again?”

“Maybe?” He hated how he’d made it sound like a question, but he really didn’t know. 

“How do we stop it? Is it bad?”

“No, not super bad. You’re just gonna feel like that till we stop moving, and I… Don’t know. There’s pills we can try at a gas station. I’ve never heard of a vampire getting motion-sick though. I don’t know if they’ll work for you.”

He watched the gears work in her mind for a moment, flying through options he couldn’t see. “Fine. Let’s try it. When’s the next gas station?”

Ben grabbed the hand sanitizer and his phone from the front of the car, both thankfully still in their places. He lathered up before pulling up maps. Rachael must have immediately noticed something in his demeanor. All at once her brows were crinkled low, and her lips drew tight into a distinctive looking pout he’d never seen in human form yet, but still recognized.

“What?” 

“It’s gonna be awhile. Sorry.”

“A while?”

“An hour and a fifteen minutes?” 

* * * *

Exactly one hour later they arrived at the Stop-n-Get, a little hodunk gas station in the middle of nowhere. Highway stretched out in either direction for miles and miles, disappearing off into infinity beyond ether horizon. They would’ve arrived sooner with Ben speeding— there weren’t many cops out this way— but they had to pull over twice more for Rachael. The first time it’d happened again she refused the blood he handed over to her. “I won’t be able to keep it down till I get those pills.” Her hand batted the offering away. She rose on unsteady limbs “Let’s just get going. The sooner the better.” 

“Would it be easier as a bat do you think?”

She waved a limp hand in his direction, a weak wave attempt at a one armed shrug. “If I wasn’t feeling well enough to try earlier, I certainly don’t now. Please. Let’s just go.” 

Ben felt a pang in his gut. He’d been stupid not to think of something as trivial as motion-sickness. And now he was useless. He was desperate for these things to work. They pulled into a space on the far side of the building, just by a tree that provided his car— and more importantly Rachael— with ample enough shade. It was an old elm older than him and bigger than his arms could fit around. She wouldn’t need to huddle down as much with it standing between her and sunlight. It was, if nothing, a reprieve he could provide.  

She insisted on remaining in the car while Ben went in. He didn’t exactly feel like arguing with her. Especially not with the sun and other people around. He collected two packs of motion-sick tablets, some cheap fruit cups (he picked the ones with grapes and apple slices, both safe choices he hoped), a bag of unseasoned jerky, and another flat of of bottled water— they were running low after using so much to wash out Rachael’s mouth each stop. He paid, declined a bag, and hauled his wares out the door. It was easy to make out just the shape of a head peaking over the back window. She was droopy eyed and paler than usual, almost as white as Hux. When he hopped in the car he threw everything but the tablets into the passenger seat beside him. He tore the box open and slid the foil packaging out. 

“Oh Ben— I really hope this works. I feel like I’m dying.”

He tried not to think of the irony of that statement. 

“Me too. I’m sorry.” Ben tried to sympathize and read the instructions at the same time, probably muttering a repeat of one word or another as he did. Finally he popped a single pill out of its foil, and snatched a bottle from the new flat— too focused to bother looking for one of the older ones rolling around on the floor somewhere— and climbed into the back with Rachael. It was a tight squeeze.

“Rachael,” he said, and she grumbled at him when he tried to pull her around by a shoulder. “Here. Come on, take this.”

“Just the one?” 

“For a start. I don’t know what it’s gonna do.”

Glassy eyes turned only barely toward the package he’d left in the front. “At this point I’m ready to eat the whole thing and see what happens.”

“We’re not doing that.” Ben said flatly. He held the bottle and pill out, and watched her take one, then the other. She popped the little white circle into her mouth and chased it down with a couple of hurried gulps of water. 

There was a loud, desperate smack when her lips separated from the bottle. He didn’t miss the look in her eye— the hunger, like she wanted to go back for more, but Ben took it from her hand before she could make any kind of choice. She didn’t stop him, but her gaze followed his hand pointedly. “What’s the worst that could happen?” She asked the question lowly. “It’s not like it’d kill me.”

Ben grimaced, unsure how to respond. Out of reflex he just repeated what he’d told her before. “We’re not doing that.” Silently he begged her to drop the subject, and was relieved when she did. Or at least— she didn’t say anything further on the matter. 

‘Thank you.’

They sat there in the back for about half an hour. Ben took one window seat and faced Rachael where she sat at the other. It was cramped, and in order to keep from invading her space he had to hold one knee at an odd upwards angle that pressed painfully into his ribs. The other wasn’t much better. He was sure he probably looked like one of those fat zoo tigers trying to fit into a cardboard box. He was certainly glad for the lack of photographer though. And it helped that Rachael didn’t much look at him either. Well… At him or anything else for that matter. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, even breathes despite the fact that it being unnecessary.  She didn’t need them. Not really. Maybe it helped though. Kept the churning of her stomach at bay and the world from spinning.  He hoped that was true. 

* * * *

“How’re you feeling?”

Ben was starting to get a cramp where the tight angle of his right calf sat jammed beside the front passenger seat. Rachael was draped over his back seat, legs on the floorboard hidden under a mess of blankets and bags. She looked like a child’s well loved stuffed animal, all loosed limbed and haphazardly strewn about. He scolded himself for envying the room she took up so effortlessly.  “Better.” She mumbled, and the word was muffled where she spoke against the seat’s back. Her head bobbed up and down a few times. 

“Yea?”

“Yea. I think… Things aren’t spinning as much anymore.”

So Motion-sickness tablets worked on Vampires. ‘Noted.’ Ben wondered if Luke knew that. If anyone knew that. Or if he and Rachael had just made a strange, phenomenal discovery together. He’d have to ask the next time he saw his uncle. Rachael smacked her lips loudly— probably tired of the acidic taste of bile lingering on her tongue and at the back of her throat. With slow, careful movements she drug herself back into the middle with him. She sat properly with her rear in the seat, and when she plunked down it was perhaps closer to him than it should’ve been. He only had so much room left.

“Thank you Ben.” She slurred the words a little. He could see it in her face and movements too. She was exhausted from the ordeal she’d been enduring for hours now. He watched a pale, delicate hand set gently on the mountaintop of his knee where it stood between them. She left it there, looking like she expected him to say something.

“Yea. Anytime.” 

Her smile was weak, but it was there. 

Chapter Text

The tunnels below the little nowhere nameless town were vast and serpentine. On occasion they’d pass by a crossroads where an intersecting tunnel ran straight, and the lights that followed down it made both directions seem endless— eternal. It swooped something low in Luke’s stomach. As if he were driving and hit the bottom of a hill too fast.

The tunnels here were not unlike St. Takodana’s. They were annoyingly complex, the air was stale (if a bit dryer here in the desert), and the walls appeared to have been carved out of the earth centuries before. By stepping down into this place they’d stepped through a door and been dropped somewhere long ago— into the annals of time. The only real differences he noted were the stones— yellows and browns and oranges, where St. Takodana’s were the telltale gray rock of the wood their city laid claim to and built itself upon. And of course the other main difference happened to be the lights, which in every tunnel always remained on. No matter their use or the time of day. Whether they were well traveled or currently occupied it didn’t matter. When Armitage asked, Nick’s answer was short and sweet. “Solar magic out here isn’t a problem.” 

Armitage didn’t exactly seem too thrilled by this new information. But then he was the jealous sort. The tunnels he most often frequented were always dark and dingy. Only remaining on long enough to get from point A to B. That was the problem with cities like Chandrilla. Too much cloud cover. Good weather had its faults Luke supposed. 

Luke didn’t particularly keep track of how long they walked. Walking came with the territory of his profession, and even after such a drive, and with his bones and muscles aching, it was nothing new.  For a time Luke filled the dull otherwise silence with Nick. They chatted and bemoaned the difficulties of moister farming this far out— a treacherous but worthwhile livelihood to the folk in the hills and under the rocks. Occasionally they would lapse into silence when a topic had run its course, and then they’d have to think of something else to bring up. Usually Luke felt rather up to the challenge. He enjoyed the sound of his own voice— it was a decent one he’d been told— as well as the perspectives of others he may meet along the journey of his life. It was during one of these bouts of quiet that Armitage spoke up at last— perhaps finally pushing his envy of the lights aside for the time being. They were hauling themselves down one of the endless passages when the man leaned over towards Luke and whispered low. Nick had wandered in his trek a yard or two ahead of them— probably still in earshot, but he pretended not to hear. 

 “Who the hell is Meeko?” Armitage asked. 

“An old friend. Much like yourself.”

“You and your cryptic ass. I don’t want to know what you mean by that exactly.” 

“It’s just as I said, Armitage. An old friend like yourself. Nothing more. Nothing less.” The man seemed just as un-amused by this answer as the last. Luke tried not to laugh too loudly. It ended up coming out as a deep chuckle, perhaps a little sinister sounding, and Armitage again whipped around to look at him, eyes wide and brow low set.

Luke refused to elaborate even then. He’d faced worse than this spindly orange haired twig of a man. 

* * * *

The office they were led to was large and dome shaped, with smooth sand colored walls— much like all the other rooms would be in a place like this. It gave one the impression of being an ant in an anthill. Luke had admittedly missed the feeling quite a bit.

The space was spartan, devoid of most anything that would give it too much character. There was one set of shelves winding around the walls to the left of the door with masks, two or three knick knacks, some old texts in glass cases, and a striking black metal box which stuck out from the dusty walls in both shape and color. The space between each item was bare and long. Almost begging to be filled in Luke’s humble opinion, but then this wasn’t his office.   

To the right of the door sat an identical section of shelves— this one stuffed full to bursting with books, both new and old. All covering topics of the field no doubt, and just as confusingly advanced or specific in both. No normal man would find much help or interest here. These were the only two things that stuck out to Luke. The rest of the room felt empty, gaping in a vertigo-inducing openness. 

They were led to a set of weathered leather chairs, well kept and polished recently. Aside from one other chair and a desk no other furniture. Just a desk, three chairs, and a stack of mostly barren shelves. Luke could tell each piece was a relic of the last century or before, but just by their care alone you wouldn’t know it. Armitage sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk— a thick slab made of stone that probably weighed more than ten men. He crumpled like a sack of potatoes. Nick remained by the door, standing dutifully like a sentinel and following the both of them with his eyes in a disinterested but not impolite sort of manner. Luke ignored his own offered chair, instead wandering over toward the shelves sparsely peppered with trinkets and this-and-thats. Despite his weary legs he’d had enough sitting for a lifetime. And if he did sit— he knew it’d be a too decent chunk of time before he was able to rise again. 

* * * *

“Luke— Put that down.” Luke was currently handling the little black box— not quite shaking it but certainly turning it this way and that enough to listen for any rattling that may indicate what was inside. Armitage still sat, but he was watching the man like a hawk— and acting as if Luke were a child. 

“I’m not hurting it. I’m just curious.”

“It’s not yours.”

“What’s the harm?”

“The point of putting it down is because we don’t know the harm! It could be cursed!”

“It’s not cursed.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I just do.”

“Luke!” 

“Nosy as always I see.” Luke turned to the new voice, to the man standing in the doorway beside Nick and smiling widely, but with hesitation. The first thing noticeable about him was his hair. It was dark, grown longer than the last time Luke had seen him. As always he’d made sure it was was well kept, but now it also looked scruffier, more casual than the spick-and-span style it’d been in for most likely years. Maybe all his life. He was at last growing out of his training and more comfortably into his skin it seemed. Luke had hoped. It seemed that hope was now a reality. 

Luke realized he was smiling wide enough to hurt— unabashedly goofy looking in appearance no doubt. Armitage would give him hell for it later. “Del.” 

Del’s smile grew just a bit more, perhaps banishing some of his hesitancy. Luke marched over and swept the man into a tight hug— box forgotten and left on the shelf again, perhaps a bit askew but safe. Del’s laughter was loud up so close and in a room so barren it echoed— it was a welcome change to the drabness Luke had known for weeks now. “This is a surprise indeed. But a happy one.”  Luke pulled away and looked the man over more, noting changes and breaks in painful programming here and there. A shirt less tucked than standard, something between a five-o-clock shadow and a thin beard, and dirty boots. “It’s good to see you my old friend.”

“Likewise. It’d hoped you would come here. Knew it sure, but I also hoped.”

“I hadn’t known this place would be under your care but I’m glad it is. We must talk. I’m curious how all this change in you has come about.”

“Nosy.”

“Curious.” Luke corrected. Del didn’t bother hiding the roll of his eyes, but there was no real heat behind the gesture. Luke hummed to punctuate his point. Behind him there was a scoff though, and although he hadn’t forgotten his other friend’s presence, it’d perhaps for only a moment slipped his mind. 

“Ah,” he said. “Please, come meet my friend.” Del raised up on his toes to see over Luke’s shoulder, then followed when he spun around. They wandered over to the chair where Armitage had posted himself up in. He’d stood by now, but hadn’t bothered stepping a foot towards them or the door. There was a sort of blankness to his face that Luke knew well. “Del, this is Armitage Hux. Armitage, Del Meeko.” 

Armitage raised a hand first, brisk and decisive. “It’s a pleasure.” Del took the man’s hand without hesitation or any obvious ire, and Luke could see Armitage side-eyeing him from his periphery. 

“Likewise. We’re happy to have you both at Bestine.” 

For a short time they chatted and exchanged the usual pleasantries one does at such a meeting. It felt necessary and unlike a chore with a person such as Del. Finally though— it was Del himself that set called a motion for more serious talk. 

“Nick, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Hux to the kitchen and then his room?” He asked, and Luke felt himself turn to see Armitage flickering his gaze from one person to the other, alternating between them like Christmas lights change colors. When it landed on Luke at some point he gave a discreet nod. It only seemed to harden his expression, but he did rise, and both Del and himself watched as the man allowed himself to be quietly led away. 

When he was gone Del gave a nod not unlike Luke’s only a few moments before. They stepped together over to the desk and sat in the twin chairs in front of it. Luke felt himself swell with something like gratefulness. He spoke too often with people from across the country of papers, pens, and mahogany. It was nice for a change to see the person he’d come to beg assistance ease his seat to better face him. To better hear and speak like friends and not businessmen. He’d missed this. 

When they were both settled Del motioned for his guest to speak first, raising a hand palm up as if to expect Luke’s own. He felt another spark. Oh how far they’d come. “We’ve come to speak with one of your residents if it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Del raised a brow, but it was only too obvious he was in no way surprised. “Oh?”

“Gwendolyn Phasma. I’m sure you have at least a passing familiarity with the name.” Again the man nodded, throwing out a smile that seemed to say “oh ye of little faith.’ “Armitage seems confident she’ll have some answers for us.” 

“Ah.” It only took a moment, perhaps a second or two for Del to purse his lips, then make up his mind. He gave a final bow of his head, this one much sharper, more conclusive. As if he’d just had a conversation in his head and was show Luke the tail end of it. “Then by all means let me see what I can do. Anything to help with this wretched situation of ours.”

“Thank you for your help, Del.”

“But of course. When can we start?”

“As soon as you will allow.”

Del's smile was meek, but for a moment it grew. “Then gather yourself, old friend. Let us begin.” 

* * * *

In the halls again, as they were being ushered towards their beds Armitage turned to him finally. He'd been quite far too long-- there was bound to be a few things rattling around in that head of his. “I forget sometimes how many people you have tucked away in your back pocket.” he muttered quietly. Luke watched him eye ahead to their guide, careful of his volume in the dangerously echo prone halls. 

Amusing as the words were however, Luke felt something like sandpaper grating at the particular wording that'd been used. “I have very few people ‘in my back pocket,’ Armitage. I just have a very long list of good friends. It is the way of my people.” Armitage pulled away from him far enough to scoff before closing the distance again. 

“If you asked them all for five dollars each you’d probably have a million bucks.”

Luke tried to cover a chuckle with a well timed cough. “What an interesting concept.” He laughed. “Your mind works in fascinating ways. It keeps me on my toes.”

Armitage appeared unfazed, just as unamused as ever. “So when can we see her?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why not now?”

“Probably because you and I look like we’re about to keel over. If we’re doing this we’d better do it right and in our right minds. Do you have all the questions you need?" Armitage’s lips were a thin line. He didn’t answer, and finally he stepped away to put some distance between them as they walked. It was, conveniently, right about then that their guide arrived and offered Luke his room. Luke stood just inside and gave a last wave and thanks. He turned to Armitage before he could be led off again though. “I’ll see you in the morning my friend. Goodnight and rest well.”

The other man gave a lazy, halfhearted wave before wandering after their companion. “Goodnight Luke.”

* * * *

Exactly nine hours later Hux sat himself down in hell, and he did so willingly.

“Hux.”

“Phasma.”

“Gwendolyn.”

“Luke.”

Hux half wondered if this was a game of musical chairs he’d been dropped into— quite possibly the worst game ever invented. All it took was one look at Luke though, and blessedly the man seemed to understand. He breathed a stiff sigh, for a rare moment glad to be so easily read. “I’ll leave you two to it.” Luke rose from his chair with a groan— a telling sign of his aging disposition, and drug the chair toward the door behind him. Both Hux and Phasma followed with their eyes, glued like they were watching a man with a gun. With the door inches from shutting them in alone, and at the last second Luke turned his gaze back again. The weathered tips of his thin fingers peaked out from behind the dark metal. “Just holler if you need anything. Any help. Paper. pens.” Hux only gave a curt nod. His voice didn’t feel strong enough to utter the words needed. And then Luke was gone, and they really were alone.

Hux turned back to his companion once more. She hadn’t moved yet— attention still intent on one of the only two exits available. Perhaps a bit forlorn, envying the escape Luke so easily managed. “Phasma.” He said the name low, and though she didn’t startle, he could tell the interruption wasn’t appreciated.  Steely yellow eyes cut to him the same way a lighthouse’s spotlight swings around to hunt in dark waters.

“I have questions.”

Her face was impassive, a pale, porcelain mask that even after years he struggled to read. “You know my currency.”

“No changes then? Nothing else? Revenge? Freedom?” The slight artificial pink of her lip curled back into a snarl— or something like it. Hux knew it to be her version of disgust. 

“Don’t be cheap.”

“Fine.” It was a feat on his part not to spit the word like a curse. 

The bag felt heavy even out of his hands. It stared balefully back up at him from its place on the table. Daring him to take it back. To take the offer back. To take his word back. Perhaps only once in his life had he ever been so tempted. Except… That other time involved taking the leap and not stopping it. This time he was just setting it up. Letting someone else run past while he tried not to stop them. When he at last managed to wrench his gaze away, turning it instead on the vampire sitting ramrod straight on the other side of the table from him he felt no alleviation. Instead there was only an uncomfortable wave of perplexion. 

Where he expected elation, joy, yes perhaps even triumph there was none. Phasma’s eyes didn’t hold the spark he’d seen only a handful of times during his lifetime. There was no twitch at the corner of her mouth to badly conceal a smirk, no jerk of her finger, no glint in the way she swept her animal gaze from him, to the bag, and back to him again. If anything she looked… 

“I’m disappointed,” She said, as if she’d read his mind. The words were so flat. So toneless that it hurt. She took a needless breath— purely for dramatic affect he was sure, because there wasn’t any necessity in air. “In you. I never thought you’d do it.”

Her hand, more a claw, stretched out over the surface of the table, leaving a long almost draconic shadow to follow behind it. Hux swallowed hard. He balled his hands into fists at his side to keep from striking out. The offer had been made. There was no taking it back. And wasn’t he curious? Wasn’t he a little peeved to have not understood whatever inside joke his companion was playing at here? He was. And that helped him stay his hand. If only just. 

The shadow of her palm hovered like a vulture over the bag, his blood, pausing long enough for him know she wanted his eyes on hers. She was waiting for him to look at her. He refused, staring resolutely at the bird-like claws floating in the air above his life. “Is it truly so bad?” She asked.

“You know it is. Shut up and take it before I change my mind.”

Her wrist moved like water downwards, gliding so that the rest of her followed. It was mesmerizing, intentional, practiced, and the grace of it betrayed if only for a moment her true age. He watched her pinch the bag with sharp pointed nails like a raptor swooping low to grab its lunch. She slid it back across the table towards herself with a grip that said she half expected him to make a grab for it. He didn’t though. He made sure he didn’t.  The sound was cold, grating against his ears. 

For a while they sat like that in the quiet. Hux wasn’t sure how to begin, and he only felt so strong. Certainly not enough to question her true intentions. Her game, whatever it may be. With the bag held close to her face, obscuring her lips and the jut of her nose, Phasma spoke again at last, saving Hux the pain of trying himself. “I’ve missed you, you know.” She muttered.  Her eyes flickered to him over the blot of red. He was struggling to pull his gaze away from it. The whole of the sight was ghastly. It made his stomach churn. It felt like a pot of stew boiling over, hot and with no where else to go. It took a feat of Huculean strength to keep from breaking, to keep from letting it show— and maybe he failed just a little. If anyone were to know it would be the beast sitting three feet in front of him. The one that looked only vaguely like a person and acted even less so like one. When Hux didn’t respond she kept on. “You don’t come to visit me so often anymore. I suppose they probably don’t let you though. Too afraid you’ll become seduced once again?”

Hux swallowed and wet the skin of his lips. “Something like that.”

“Well thank you for coming then. I get lonely for familiar faces— yours is the only one I can find bearable these days.”

And in that he could almost agree. Despite the circumstances. Despite the price she held in her hands. Despite the times and people and places and every little thing that’d led up to this point— Armitage could admit that he’d been plagued in much the same way. That he’d suffered for wanting the same thing. He didn’t dare try to say as much though. It was bad enough to think she might already suspect him of such weakness. 

“Tell me about the Heir of Palpatine.”

Chapter Text

“Tell me about the Heir of Palpatine.”

Hux watched closely as the right corner of her mouth curled faintly upward. Not in happiness or her usual ‘I know something you don’t know’ way. It was the expression from before. Something much closer to—

Disgust.

“I can’t tell you much.” The way the words left her mouth— Hux thought it was a warning of some kind— quick and to the point. As if someone may stop her if she hesitated too long. Or maybe it was the other kind of warning. And he was starting to feel in his gut that it was. Perhaps it was the sort you gave knowing you were getting the better end of a bargain. The sort you felt the need to apologize for beforehand. Perhaps that idea might be close, but Phasma wasn’t one to apologize. Hadn’t ever been, in all the years he’d known her and known her well. It was most likely the closest he’d ever get to hearing something like it if so— and he hoped it wasn’t. Such a courtesy was frightening sketched so finely onto the face of someone so cold. 

Then it hit him that the room was quiet, and had been for a short time. She was probably waiting for an answer of some kind. While his mind whirled the world spun on. 

“I’ll take anything you can give me.” His voice sounded gummed up. He cringed at the sound of it. As discreetly as he could he cleared his throat and gave a low, surprised cough when something actually dislodged. He hoped the warmth in his cheeks didn’t show when he tried again— voice embarrassingly no stronger than before. “I fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now it’s your turn.”

He watched her eyes thin, nailing the bag in place. They were slits, sharp like the fangs she hid in her sickly pale gums. “Indeed.” He tried not to shudder, but it’d been so long since he’d been in this game, and damn if it didn’t show.

He watched her take a breath— indeed and almost offensive for that very reason. “Here’s what I do know then,” She began, gesturing delicately like a governess of old— a rare profession these days, but at one time a commonality. One of the spinning, wild parts of his mind wondered if she’d been one once, and found himself disgustingly unsurprised by the idea. “There are two heirs of Palpatine. Rather, there is an heir, and an heiress. One is Snoke.” Her lips curled a little at the name, but he wasn’t sure if that was in a sick, shared sort of comradely or something more mocking. “You know him.”

He didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. It was a blatant understatement. A bait. She didn’t give him enough time to take it though, and he asked himself if it’d been only a simple jab after all. “The other is Rachael. Where Snoke is the bastard son for what he is, Rachael is the redheaded stepchild for being a woman— a position you yourself are surely familiar with.” This slight he was used to. It was easier to brush off. Comforting almost. 

“Why change her at all then? Why attempt?”

“Before Snoke Palpatine, there was was Patrir Verdugon. He was perhaps not quite as corroded a thing as the one you and I know, but he was close.”

“Hard to believe but I’ll take your word for it.” Pharma only hummed, and the skin near her eye twitched a little. He wondered sometimes if she even remembered how to smile, or if she had to try a few times before she’d gotten it. When she began again he tried to shove his thoughts aside for the time being.

“Before there was Rachael Palpatine, there was Raelene Palpatine,” And suddenly it was much easier to let his mind go blank. “sister to Isaac, Owen, and Zacharius Palpatine, and daughter to Dathan and Miramir Palpatine. They were the last of the line, and most likely the only remaining humans at the time or since capable of enduring the change. Rachael was never meant to last. She was a means to an end. A pawn that, if she survived the change, could lead the Palpatine you remember to her brothers. I think he hoped that as she changed he would get a glimpse into her head. I don’t honestly believe she was meant to survive.”

“Good God.” If he’d been cold before, now he was positively sub-zero. Tundra frigid.

“Frightening, isn’t it?”

It took him an embarrassingly long time to gather enough spit to talk again. “Then there are more.”

“Were.” She purred the word quietly, as if it were a great secret in this room full of no one but them.“There were three others. Her parents died protecting their children. One son died from illness long before any of them. Unrelated in nature I think. The oldest took his life to avoid whatever fate Rachael endured. We came skin and hair close— as I understand it—to procuring him soon before this. Perhaps even by minutes. The last we did acquire very much alive. Palpatine was overzealous though. He assumed that since the daughter survived, her brothers stood the same— most likely even better— odds. He did not, and he was later laid to rest with the others. Palpatine had them buried in the family cemetery not far from his manor. Which one I couldn’t tell you. He’s had over half a dozen over the last few centuries. The ones I know of anyways.”  

“How do you know all this?” 

“You knew it too. Once or twice or a dozen different times even.”

“I…”

He caught a hint of her fang, just a flash of white, and felt the words stale in his throat. Instead he gaped, feeling not unlike a fish. “That’s what you really want to ask, isn’t it? Why you came? ‘Why don’t I know these things, Phasma? What’s happened to me?’”

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s been a while since you and I had this conversation. It’s different too—all things considered. Tell me,” He watched her lean in, unable to pull away or jump back from her even if he’d wanted to. He was frozen. His bones like lead weights anchoring him to the earth and this unreasonably rickety, rust eaten chair. “Have you wondered when it happened yet? When they modified you? How many other memories are missing or tampered with? Or have they started trickling back already? In your sleep is when you always said they came. Just a few at first, then the rest like a flood. Sometimes it made you sick. An overload of sorts.” 

“We’ve… had this conversation before.” The words were more to mollify the animal in him. If he said it first she couldn’t. Maybe it would soften the blow.

“Many times, yes.” She agreed, and even if he’d breathed them just a moment before it still struck him in the chest, winding him like a physical blow never could. 

“I keep forgetting.” Now again. Appease. Predict. Calm. Except whatever he was trying to do by saying these things— it wasn’t working. Or if it did it was piss poor in comparison of what he wanted. What he needed. The second time she confirmed his suspicions was no better. No less painful than the first.

“You keep forgetting.” She said. He wanted to scream but his lungs felt tight. Spent of air. 

“He’s still in there then.”

“No.” His throat, already tight like a hand had wrapped around it, suddenly popped open all at once. Too quick to be without a sting. It sent another equally unforgiving shock through the whole of his body. Hux’s eyes— leaden and hot and stinging like they’d been stuck with needles— shot up to meet Phasma’s. When had he closed them? For how long?

“Don’t play with me.”

Her look was not one of pity. Even if he couldn’t read the hardness, the twitch at her crow’s feet (which had not grown in the many years he’d known her), he knew that little. “You are beneath me.” She uttered these words as if it were common knowledge. To her perhaps it was. “I don’t need to play or cheat. If I wanted to break you I’d tell you one of a dozen truths, not petty lies.”

“Then explain it to me. How?”

“Call it a taste of our suffering. You can’t be around something like him for so long without it having some sort of lasting effect. Some kind of infection. You’re susceptible to him just like the rest of us are.”

“I’m not like you.”

“No. You’re not. You can come and go as you please. Disappear and reappear at the drop of a hat. Your distance has even broken some chains I suspect.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous. That you want out now.”

Phasma scoffed, suddenly throwing him a vapid heatless glare. “Not on your life.”

“Excuse me for thinking captivity a dull affair by your account. You certainly complain about it enough. It’s nearly all you’ll talk about when I visit.” Some of the spark in his chest crackled to life the more he spoke. Perhaps his fire was emboldened by a foothold in the world. One he knew and could use. Could lash out with.

“Can you blame me?”

“When you refuse to leave? Yes. Not exactly a prison when you’re the one begging to stay.” He’d scoped this place out himself. Knew Phasma well enough to understand she could’ve escape at least a five different times when she first arrived. Perhaps more since then— if the chances presented themselves as often as they had back then. It’d been dismal. Embarrassing to know this was the sort of place his ‘sanctuary’ providers deemed fit to hold such dangerous creatures. Her eyes cut a line right through him at the reminder though. This they’d argued on more than once. He was reminded quite infuriatingly of Luke, and he shook the thought of the man’s likeness from his mind.

“It’s different. You know it is.” The words were short. Clipped. 

“I don’t.”

“In here I have a choice.”

Now it was Hux’s turn to scoff. He didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Hard. Obvious. And very intentional. “Don’t start with that.” He waved toward the door. “I’m not one of those monks you can bat your lashes at while you blame your sire for every little sin you’ve ever committed. I’m an ass and a monster but at least I can admit I did it of my own volition.” He was being mean and he knew it. Maybe that’s why she said what she said next, and why it hit him like it did.

“Yes. You did, didn’t you?”

Hux’s mouth was half open, ready to spit another volley her way when the words registered. Her eyes held an unusual glint. One he liked as much as he did those words. That question which wasn’t really a question. 

“That’s not what I meant. And you know it.” His previous burst of courage suddenly shrunk back some, curbed by the lick of venom in her smile. By the accusation too. 

“But it’s true. You said it yourself.”

“I did what I did and I’m paying for it.”

“Like us.”“Like a man. Not like a sniveling dog.” He swatted at the table, the air around them to gesture at the unforgiving walls and hard floor. “Hiding in its kennel.”

He listened to her hum, almost appearing genuinely amused if not for that awful flickering at the edge of her glare. The twitch pulling her smile down into an awkward half attempt to remain cool. And then nothing. A blank sheet. Just like that she’d been wiped clean, and this more than anything made him feel like he was spinning. He felt a heady mix of confusion and whiplash. 

“Hux.” She said softly. Like he wasn’t listening to her despite sitting right across the table from her. Despite hanging onto every word. Every insult and jab for the sake of knowledge. Of information. Damn her. Damn it all. 

“What?” He tried and failed to pretend he wasn’t growling the words through gritted teeth. He watched her raise her face, looking down at him even though they were both sitting. There was a scar just under her chin that he noticed perhaps for the first time ever when she did. 

“We both did as we were asked, but only one of us had a real choice in the matter. I think that’s why you don’t want to believe us.” The words brought him back from the brink again, but only barely.  

“What?”

“Deep down you know we never had that choice.” She said this slowly, quietly, as if he were a child. As if he were dumb. She had to have been a governess in life. Had to have been. “Not since the first one. You did, and you have. And at every turn where we couldn’t say no, you simply didn’t bother to. Didn’t want to. Were too afraid to. How many years of your life did you dedicate so willingly to the Palpatines? Waste away your soul serving them like a dog—as you say?”

“Are you quite done? Do you think I give two shits what you think? How you’ll try to justify your choices? Again I’ll say it— it doesn’t seem to be getting through that thick corpse skull of yours,” Phasma pursed her lips in mock hurt. “I did things I’m not proud of. I’ll never be able to undo or wipe myself clean of them. I’ll take accountability for my part though. That’s something not one single imbred undead sea-monkey can do. Not you. Not the others. No one.”

“Not one?”

“None.”

“Funny how that works.” 

Hux turned to stare at the wall to his left, suddenly struck by the notion that the sight of her was utterly unbearable. “Shut up. I’m done.”

“It’s almost like—“

“Like what?” Against his better judgement his head had already whipped back already. He felt his eyes, hot and blurred with anger, lock onto her hungrily waiting ones. Despite their color they held no warmth. In fact they held a certain glacial quality to them. One he knew and recalled well. 

‘Cold.’ 

“We’re all telling the truth.” Hux felt a snap in his jaw, pulled back into the conversation by her low, infuriatingly flat timbre. He watched an eyebrow twitch, the corner of her mouth snake up for only an instant, just long enough to see. “Seems a fairly large lie to keep up for so many centuries. With so much corroboration and cross-reference of agreement.”

“You’re a liar, Phasma. You always have been.”

“If you thought so you wouldn’t be here.”

He was done. He’d had enough. Phasma must’ve sensed it too. The bag reappeared over the edge of the table suddenly, a sharp red glare in the soft earthy tones that surrounded them— perhaps intentionally left that way to calm he now realized. Hux watched her set it gently down and slide it towards him across the metal. It made a dry papery noise— one that sent a shiver down his spine. He’d already handed it over. It was in her possession. Something rebelled in Hux’s stomach— he didn’t want the stuff near him. When she appeared satisfied by its closeness— too close in his opinion— Phasma pulled her hand back and tucked it beneath the table once more. 

It sat there like a snake. Ready to strike. To bite. 

“Take it.” She urged. It startled him so much he jumped a little. The chair under him scraped angrily at the movement. Armitage Hux jumping at a vampire. Startled. Hux cringed, feeling so much like a child. Any hope that Phasma hadn’t seen were crushed instantly. She wore her trademark smirk. The one that said she’d just filed something away to use against someone later. Still— at least she said nothing. He tried to push down his utter embarrassment, salvage the moment of grace she’d gifted to him— a lack of instant mockery. The effort was in vain, but he could shove it aside for a few minutes. At least until he’d escaped.  

“What?”

“Take. It.” She said again. This time much slower, like he was dumb. Hux felt dumb. But there wasn’t any other emotion he felt capable of producing but complete and utter befuddlement. And that was the word. 

“The thought of your brand is a little too macabre for my taste.” She gave a sarcastic grimace. All show. “Besides. I don’t even know where you’ve been. What they’ve been feeding you.” 

A spark, barely an inkling of half-formed realization. “You never wanted my blood, did you?”

“The thought has always been admittedly unappealing, yes.”

“You just.” He hesitated to say. “Wanted to see how desperate I’d be.”

She wasn’t smiling, but he could feel the satisfaction flowing off of her in waves. Seeping out of her pores. “I did.” 

Hux’s mind was drawing a complete blank. It was almost pure radio static. A droning, drowning silence. He couldn’t even describe what he was feeling— if it was rage, elation, relief, absolute and utter perplexion. Maybe it was a combination. An amalgamation. Perhaps it was everything and more or none at all. He couldn’t even begin to know. Not yet. Not so soon. His mouth started to speak without his mind’s say-so. “Phasma….” He began, and even he hadn’t any idea where the words would go.  “Pharma it’s been years. You could’ve helped me years ago. Answered these questions— questions we didn’t even know we had— years ago. That I had.”

“Yes.”

“Why? What's wrong with you?”

“I get bored here. You should know something about that. They keep you caged just like the rest of us.”

“Fuck you.” Hux rose so fast he almost fell over— too fast. His eyesight instantly blurred, blackening slightly at the edges. The chair scraped under him once again, screeching angrily just like before, indignant at its blatant mistreatment by his hand. He didn’t care. Low blood sugar was a bitch. Getting older was a bitch. Phasma was a bitch. Without a second look he B-lined for the door. Phasma didn’t offer any kind of goodbye and neither did he. Goodbyes felt cheap with her. They always had.

* * * * 

Armitage had made it clear that privacy was in order. Luke stood behind the safety of one-way glass and watched as the somewhat unhappy reunion crashed and burned. Unfortunately quite predictably so. It’d been a long shot to begin with after all. He couldn’t say for sure just what General Gwendolyn Phasma had up her sleeve until that moment, but it’d quickly become clear. And as had always been suspected, it was most definitely and irrefutably in the nature of ‘Just messing with you.” Of which Armitage himself didn’t fully appear to grasp. 

Perhaps it was here then, that the summit of his prejudice lead him to a wall. One where he couldn’t quite understand the notion of being wanted. Being missed. Gwendolyn Phasma without a doubt had missed the man— In her mind an old friend. And even if Armitage didn’t realize it, he’d missed her too. 

* * * *

Luke tended to the recording equipment slowly and with care. So often these tapes could be abused, but he understood their service, and appreciated their soft dedication to documenting history the way they so diligently did. He cleaned the recorder, titled, sorted, and tucked away the small but sweet  treasure into one of his more secure coat pockets. 

And then he was struck with a compulsion of his own. Room tidied and equipment cleaned and put away properly, Luke wandered off in search of an old friend of his own— one he’d missed very much in fact. Armitage would certainly be craving time alone, and even if eyes followed him wherever he went here, Luke felt a kind of obligation to afford some semblance of privacy from at least himself. 

It was a good excuse to get away for both of them. 

* * * * 

“How have you been?” Del wasn’t a hard man to find. Even broken free from his chains, his conditioning, he still stuck to a stable routine all these years later. Luke was thankful for the moment of reprieve it afforded him. Armitage was a decent man and a good friend, but he’d been craving a conversation alone with Del for hours. He wasn’t about to let it escape his grasp now that the chance was in reach.

He watched Del breathe a heavy, long sigh. The kind you need when you’re not really sure, or perhaps you’re about to lie. “Good.” He said, and it was a lie, Luke knew.

“Good?”

“I think so, yes.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Del’s smile was tired, making him look far older than he really was. Far older than Luke felt even. 

“It’s been hard.” He admitted at last. “These last few weeks have put a strain on the residents. Everyone’s on edge, and with the Huntsmen making demands we’ve had to start making cuts.”

“We’re the same way.” Luke admitted quietly, and he felt a sort of kinship in the look his friend sent his way. 

“Yes. You’ve just been burning bridges and stealing prisoners while you’re at it I hear.”

Luke scoffed good-naturedly. “What? No. I’ve just been moving some things around. Helping a few friends here and there.”

“Uh-Huh. Sure.” Del’s smile was more genuine, splitting the space between his chin and nose like a river the way it lit him up. “Well thank you for bringing them anyways.”

Luke felt something pull tight in his chest. “Anytime. I couldn’t leave them. Not like that. With them.”

“I know you couldn’t. I know they’re grateful too— even if they can’t voice it. So thank you from me and mine. You saved them from an unspeakable fate.”

Knowing that didn’t make the hurt go away any less. The melancholy. There would be no returning after what he’d done, and while he didn’t regret it, he did regret leaving everyone behind and running. Because that’s what it felt like. Running. Hiding. Abandoning the rest of his flock to the oncoming pack.

He hoped whatever came of this— it would give him answers, solutions. Something. 

‘Please.’

Without voicing any of this, one look at his friend told Luke he understood. He knew. Perhaps he’d lived it a few times just as Luke had. They’d both lived it more than enough to know it never grew easier though. They sat like that in silence for a time, wordlessly, but in a kind of solidarity few could understand or know. 

Luke was thankful, if for nothing else, then this.