Bloodywine

by Redundantchosen1

Summary:

Rye needs to crash at someone's place for some unexplained reason, and she goes to Hank. He "reluctantly" lets her stay.

And then other stuff happens in chapter 2.

Chapter 1

Rye couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting in place, feeling Hank’s eyes staring blankly at her even through his goggles. It wasn’t the most awkward moment the two had shared, but it was definitely in the top ten. “So, uh, y’know. Be really cool if you let me crash at your place for a bit.”

“And I was the first choice for places to stay at? You didn’t go to Sanford or Deimos?” Hank blinked slowly, as if his brain were rerouting all of its power to why Rye had even gone to him in the first place. Which might be happening.

Rye let out a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of her head, her fluffy, soft looking hair swaying gently with each movement. Hank briefly wondered how it would feel to run his hand through her hair. And as quickly as that thought entered his mind, the sociopath ejected it from his head with the efficiency of a man that had done so a thousand times. “Well, see, I tried to text them, but they’re not answering, so they’re probably busy on a mission or something like that.”

Hank rubbed at his face, trying to think of a reason to deny Rye’s request. “God dammit…” Unable to come up with anything, Hank simply resigns himself to his fate, just like he has so many other times. “Fine. But you get a week at most. Not even a day more than that. Got it?”

Rye’s face lit up, and before Hank could react, she had flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling her face against his neck. “Oh, thanks! I’d say you won’t regret this, but I’m sure you already do.”

Being caught in his first hug in who the fuck even knew how long, Hank just couldn’t bring himself to correct her. “Yeah, whatever. Now get off of me.” Despite his words, the killing machine made no effort to dislodge her from him.

The bartender let out a hum, her grip tightening. “Just a bit longer.”

Hank let out a sigh. For a few seconds, he just stood there. Then, slowly, Hank brought a hand up, and held it against her back, causing the woman to let out a faint coo. Hank closed his eyes, and let himself pretend, for just the tiniest moment, that her hug was more than just a friendly gesture. That she really did feel the same way about him.

---

Hank’s hideout, because it was clear this wasn’t any home to the man, was about as spartan as one could get, with a single couch in the living room, a table with three chairs in the kitchen, and a single bed that was weirdly in the center of his room. Zero decorations, barely anything that wasn't essential. And yet, it was somehow more than what Rye was expecting. She had imagined a literal bunker under miles of dirt, with guns lining the walls and canned foods and MREs piled in a single storage room.

"So, I guess I'm taking the couch-" Rye barely gets the question out before Hanks shuts her down.

"No." It's a single word, and yet, coming from someone like Hank, it's more than enough to stop anything she has to say before the thought can form in her mind.

Rye blinks, confused. "No? So, what? I'm gonna sleep on the floor?" The bartender folds her arms, ready to push Hank back on this. Sure, he may be letting her stay here, but there were limits to what kind of bullshit she was willing to take from him.

When Hank clarifies, Rye's heart may have skipped a beat or two. "No, we're sharing my bed. It's big enough for both of us, and I'm not about to force you on that piece of shit couch."

Rye blinks once, her brain rebooting and processing his words. "Uh, you sure about that? Won't we be a little, y'know... close?" The idea isn't one that she's against. But Rye would like to be a little more prepared to something like that. Maybe even be the one to suggest it. Maybe flash him the puppy eyes and have him stare blankly before reluctantly complying just to get her to shut up about it.

"Yeah. Is that a problem for you?" From the way he asks, it's clear that he doesn't really care what her answer is.

"No, it's just..." Rye can't help the blush rising to her cheeks.

"Just what?"

"I didn't really pack any... sleep clothes."

"Okay, so just sleep in what you're wearing."

Rye lifts up her tinted glasses to rub at her eyes. Sometimes Hank could be adorably stupid, and sometimes he was just fucking stupid. This was one of the times of the latter. "Hank, I'm not going to sleep in a fucking turtle-neck."

"Fine, I'll get you a t-shirt or something, it's not that big of a deal."

---

It turned out that Hank's t-shirts were a little big, just enough for Rye to be comfortable, and slip off of one of her shoulders the tiniest bit, revealing the smooth, flawless skin. Okay that's enough being creepy about that. Hank and Rye had spent the rest of the day watching shitty TV and roasting the fuck out of whoever and whatever they could. It was nice. When it came time for sleep, Hank had slipped out of his usual outfit, and put on a pair of sweats. It was only when he wasn't wearing his usual clothes that Rye realized just how fucked up his body actually was.

Seeing his metal jaw, Rye reaches out to it before she even realizes what she's doing, and gently glides her hand over it. Hank freezes at the touch, not really feeling her hand, rather feeling the smallest touch vibrate through it into his actual skin. The bartender stops as soon as she realizes Hank's stillness. "Sorry. I... does it hurt?" She's not sure why that's the first thing she asks, but it is.

Hank lets out a small breath through his nose. "It did at first, but I got used to it pretty quick. Most of the time I don't even realize it's there." The sociopath can barely remember what his real jaw felt like, but the metal jaw's presence usually reminds him of its existence whenever he needs to eat.

"Sorry." She's not even sure what she's apologizing for, but she feels the need to. Eventually she settles on a reason. "For, touching it, and reminding you."

"It's fine. Let's just sleep."

And so, the two settle into bed, and awkward silence permeating throughout the room. After minutes of silence that feel like hours to the bartender, she shuffles closer to Hank, and gently whispers to him. "Hank? You awake?" She waits a few seconds for an answer, but when all she gets in return is silence, she keeps whispering, not wanting to wake him up. "Y'know, it's funny. Before I met you I kinda hated you. Well, not really "kinda". You were some psycho murderer that killed whoever you wanted, and when you walked into my bar with Deimos and Sanford, I just about had a panic attack. But, after getting to know you, I wonder what life would be like if you hadn't done all the things you did. Would you still be violent, but instead of letting it out you bottle it up until you explode?" Rye shuffled closer, and wrapped an arm around Hank's bandage covered torso. "Whatever would be different, I lo-" Rye closes her mouth as the word gets stuck in her throat. She can't say it, even when Hank's asleep and has no way of hearing any of the rambling bullshit coming out of her mouth. "I like what we have." She eventually settles on those words. It's not what she wants to say, but she's sure she'll get her chance to say it eventually.

Rye closes her eyes, and for a minute there's only the sound of their breathing, and she can barely make out the sound of Hank's heartbeat. But then, Hank's arm moves, and he takes a hold of the hand settled on his stomach, and intertwines his fingers with hers. Rye's eyes snap open in terror. Hank takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. "I like what we have too."

Rye blinks a few times, and nearly yelps when Hank shuffles backward into her embrace. But, after everything is still again, there's a sense of peace coming from Hank that she's never thought he was capable of. And as she closes her eyes again, and nuzzles into his neck, she can't help but thank whatever sort of higher power exists for this moment.

She wouldn't trade it for anything.

Chapter 2

Hank slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his vision. He let out a low yawn, feeling better upon waking up than he had in a long time. In fact, he felt good enough to just lie in bed for a few hours more, basking in the comfort of his bed and the sleeping woman holding him close. WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE. Hank quickly lifted the covers, letting out a sigh of relief seeing that he was still clothed. Okay, crisis averted I guess. With that knee-jerk reaction done with, Hank's mind slowly recalled the previous day.

Rye had brought over some things for her stay with the killing machine, and they had mostly spent the day sort of just hanging around watching TV. Hank let out a hum, wondering if he should get something to pass the time if Deimos or Sanford needed to spend a few days at his house. Maybe he could get a board game or some cards. Hell, even a jigsaw puzzle would be a better way to pass the time than that shitty TV he had.

Hank was brought out of his thoughts as he felt Rye stir behind him, burying her face into his neck, which brought the damp feeling of his bandages to his attention. Bringing a hand up to the damp feeling, Hank shuffled out of Rye's grip. "Ah, what the fuck?!" Hank tumbled out of the bed, startling the woman that had just drooled all over his neck in their sleep to consciousness.

"Huh? Wha..." Rye let out a cute little yawn, rubbing at one of her eyes. "Oh, hey. What happened?"

Hank pinched the bridge of his own, letting out a sigh. "You fucking drooled all over my goddamn neck in your sleep. Now I have to change these bandages." Rye shrunk into the bed a bit, wrapping the cover over her head.

"Sorry..."

Hank had felt like he had physically kicked Rye. Usually people made comparisons to kicking dogs, but Hank found Rye much cuter than some flee ridden mutt. Walking over to the bed, and sitting on the edge, Hank reached over to Rye's form hidden under the cover and pat her head. "It's okay. I'll just have to remember to take them off before I go to sleep. It's not that big of a deal."

Rye slowly emerged from under the blanket, as if she was exposing herself to danger by removing the blanket. "So, uh, how often do you have to change your bandages anyway? Like, once a week or something?"

"I change them often enough." Hank couldn't really give a solid idea of how many times he changed his bandages in a month, but it was usually only when he had taken a bullet or a blade to the gut. Why waste perfectly good bandages when the ones he was wearing still looked fine? Rye let out a hum that he knew from experience meant she wasn't buying his bullshit, but wasn't going to say it to his face. "Well, you do whatever it is you do when you wake up."

"Right. Hey, where's the shower?"

---

After some time, in which Hank had changed his bandages, and put on his usual outfit, Rye had found her way into what passed for a kitchen in Hank's house. Opening the fridge, she found it nearly completely empty, which didn't really surprise her. There was a half empty egg carton, some milk that was getting close to its expiration date, and two oranges. Rye really wasn't sure she had ever seen Hank eat even an apple around her, and she was pretty sure Hank would be the type of person to not bother with peeling an orange and would just bite into it like the psychopath that he was.

Shuddering at the mental image of Hank's metal jaw ripping at orange in half, Rye decided on some basic eggs for breakfast. The bartender had made a plate just as Hank came into the kitchen, looking confused. Rye glanced up from the stove, cracking two more eggs and pouring the insides into the pan. "Hey. I uh, made some breakfast. Hope that's okay with you."

Hank sat down, looking at the plate just sitting there on the table. Pulling down his mask, Hank scooped up a forkful of runny eggs, opened his jaw wide, and dumped the food into his open mouth, and swallowing almost immediately. Rye stared at Hank eat for a good while, only returning her attention to the eggs when the smell of burnt eggs reached her nose. Yelping, Rye quickly killed the flame, and began to frantically scrape at the eggs, hoping to save them by just turning everything to scrambled eggs.

In the end, the eggs came out with noticeable burn marks all around them. Rye set the plate down, and took her seat across from Hank. The killing machine let out a sigh, and slid his eggs over to Rye. "Just have mine. It's not like I can taste most of what I eat anyway."

Rye looked at the burnt eggs, and the eggs that Hank had taken a single bite of. She was about to bite the bullet and slide Hank's plate back to him, but her stomach grumbled, and she felt her cheeks flush. She quietly slid her plate to him, and took a bite from the eggs he had offered to her. "Thanks..." It was a little weird, taking the eggs that she had made for him. Even stranger was the fact that he had willingly handed the meal over to her.

"Eh, don't mention it. Especially not to Deimos. Asshole won't ever let it go." Rye let out a small snicker in agreement. Deimos was cool and all, but he was the kind of guy to milk something until the last drop.

"Yeah, I'm sure he'd say some stupid shit like this being an indirect kiss or something just as dumb." Apparently that wasn't the best thing to say, or maybe she should have waited for Hank to finish swallowing his current mouthful of eggs. Hank inhaled the eggs, unchewed food lodging in his throat, and began to cough violently, just as he did with so many other actions. "Oh shit!" Rye jumped up, knocking her chair over, and quickly rushed over to her friend, and slammed her hand down onto his back.

Hank coughed up the unchewed egg onto the table, and took a few deep breaths. Rye rubbed his back a few times, clearly concerned for her friend(?). "Shit, that's a new one. And it was only a little bit better than what I was expecting."

"Better?! Hank, what the fuck?!"

Hank could only shrug at Rye's vague question, and went right back to eating his eggs. The rest of breakfast had passed in silence, neither wanting a repeat of what had just happened. With both plates cleaned of food, Hank set them into the sink, and plopped himself onto the couch, idly tapping at his thigh. Glancing over to Rye sitting down next to him, the man asked, "So, how long until you're heading out to work?"

Rye glanced around the empty living room, looking for a clock. Finding absolutely nothing on the walls, she shrugged. "Well, I'm not sure. You got the time?"

Hank dug into his clothes, pulling out a communicator that thankfully had a clock on it in the case Hank needed to synchronize his actions with Deimos and Sanford on missions. "Eh, about 7:50. What time do you usu-"

"What?! Its nearly eight?! Fuck! Hank I need a ride to the bar right now, please!"

"Calm down, it's about a five minute drive from here."

"HANK YOU DON'T HAVE A CAR!" All that Rye got in response to her outburst was a blank stare, before walking over to a bare wall, and pushing at a section. The section pushed further into the wall, and a section of the wall lifted up about ten feet away from Hank. Rye stared at the newly made doorway, having more than a few questions. After a few seconds, she decided that it wasn't really worth it.

---

After arriving at the bar, Rye had taken stock of everything, and after an hour, opened for business, with Hank as the first customer of the day. For a few hours, it was business as usual, or about as usual as far as Hank could see. After downing his third glass of whiskey, the killing machine felt a tingling sensation at the back of his head, something he felt whenever things were about to get complicated. "Hey, I'm gonna use the bathroom real quick."

"Uh-huh, don't take too long or I'll charge extra."

Hank simply waved the joke off, and slipped around the corner, pressing himself flat against the wall. It seemed to be just in time as well, as he heard the door open violently from the other end of the bar. Hank patted himself down, and let out a small huff of frustration when he realized he only had a few knives on him. The man grit his teeth, and figured he could probably throw one of them at whoever would be holding a gun. Slowly peeking around the corner, Hank was surprised to see only one man with wild hair, and a lean build. Although he seemed to be trouble, with the way he was grinning, and zeroing in his gaze on Rye. The mystery man was wearing a leather jacket with fur cuffs and collar, leather fingerless gloves, dark blue jeans, and- wait who the fuck wore dress shoes to a bar? Narrowing his eyes, Hank could see surgical scars around the mans fingertips and mouth. Something happened to him, but he couldn't possibly guess what. The man sauntered up to the bar, taking a seat next to Hank's, and leaned against the counter with a lazy grin on his face. Hank wanted to punch this man in the mouth, wipe that grin off of his face.

"Hey, could I get some service here?" The man tapped the counter,  sitting up and holding his chin in an empty hand. "Heard this place was kinda good."

"I'll be with you in a second." The man nodded, tapping a finger against the counter idly. After a few moments, Rye turned to the newcomer, a polite smile on her face. "Alright, so, what can I get for you?"

"Eh, I'll have a rum and coke." Rye nodded along, and set to mixing the drink, quickly setting it in front of the man. "Mm, pretty girls and good service? Man, the guys really weren't fucking with me. Hey, I heard some rumors about a few people that come here often. Think you can confirm them for me? I'm sorta curious."

Hank tensed up, reaching for a knife, when Rye's voice spoke up. "Sorry, can't give out any details."

"Ah, damn. Cause, see, I heard from a few guys that went here a few times that they've seen Ha-" The man was cut off by something muffled in his jacket. The man let out a sigh, took a sip from his drink, and took out a radio. "What, you fucking idiots?" Hank couldn't quite make out the voices coming form the radio, but he could make out a few words. 'Targets' 'approaching', and 'priority'. The man growled. "They don't matter, Hank's the real priority, remember? If he's not here, I'm out. Find yourselves a different dog to sic on the other guys." Before whoever was on the end of the radio could respond, gunshots were heard ringing out from a distance. The man glanced at the direction the gunfire was coming form and let out a small sigh. "Well, looks like the boys found trouble before I could even really do my job." The man took his drink and downed it in a single gulp. "So, since my entire reason for having this job ain't here, I'll head out and make sure those dumbasses don't get killed." The man stood up from his seat, and Hank took the opportunity given to him.

Quickly grabbing the first knife he could, Hank emerged from the corner, and flung it straight at the man, aiming for the man's chest. Unfortunately for Hank, the mystery man had good enough reflexes to realize the danger, and shifted his body, only letting out a grunt as the knife embedded itself to the hilt in his shoulder. Hank let out a huff in frustration, and quickly readied another knife, dashing forward to meet the mystery man.

Mystery-Man let out a chuckled as he yanked the knife out of his shoulder, and tossed it away. "Well, shit! I just had to wait a couple-a seconds!" The man grinned, showing off metallic teeth that glinted in from the bar lights. Hank narrowed his eyes, figuring that accounted for the scars around his mouth. So then what the hell is up with his hands? Hank didn't really want to find out. Rushing at Mystery-Man, Hank swiped at him, only for the man to take a few steps back. "Ah, c'mon, I just wanna have a talk. Sure, the boys probably want you dead, but they can fuck themselves."

Hank hesitated for a split second, before he went in for another two swipes, one to the neck, and another to the stomach. Mystery-Man let out a chuckle, bending back for the first swing, then swinging and blocking Hank's arm from completing his second swing. The killing machine surged forward, shoulder tackling Mystery-Man away.

"Ah, come on! You're not even saying anything! How am I supposed to reveal that I'm betraying the Agency if you don't throw me a bone here?"

That stopped Hank in his tracks. "What?"

Mystery-Man grinned. "See? Just want a talk. But no, you had to be a goddamn psychopath and start swinging at me like some shitty horror movie villain. So, now that I actually have your attention, let's-"

Before Mystery-Man could finish, the door to the bar burst open, and Deimos and Sanford quickly rushed in, with Deimos firing another burst from his rifle before slamming the door closed. "YEAH, FUCK YOU TOO!" The two backed into the bar slowly, and then flipped a couple of tables over as makeshift cover for when the Agents came rushing in. "Hey, Ford, how you lookin'?"

"Well, I ran dry just before we got inside, so y'know. Got anything for me?"

Deimos reach for his back, and pulled out a .44 magnum. "This work?" Sanford nodded, and Deimos tossed it to his partner. "Alright, so as soon as they get in, I'll throw a flashbang, and we waste them."

Sanford checked the cylinder of his revolver, and nodded. "Sounds good."

Hank glanced to Mystery-Man, who fidgeted with his radio. "And what are you doing?"

Mystery-Man let out a scoff. "I'm calling those dipshits off. Now shut up." Hank shrugged, and watched Mystery-Man get in touch with the others from the Agency. "Hey fucknuts, stand down!"

The radio crackled, and a panicked voice responded. "What?! But, we're surrounding the building, we have them right-"

Mystery-Man interrupted the voice. "Hank ain't here, I'll handle them. Pack it in."

For a few seconds, the radio was silent, before the voice responded again with resignation. "Yes sir."

Mystery-Man smiled. "Well, with that dealt with, how 'bout we have a drink? Oh, right, haven't given you my name yet. Well, I'm not just gonna give it to ya, but you need to call me somethin'." The man held out a hand, grinning. "Just call me Fenrir. It's what everyone else at that shithole calls me."

Notes:

Damn I guess I'm gonna be making a whole ass story from a simple one-shot fluff thing.

That's how it be sometimes.

YoU'rE ChEcKiNg oUt RYeYuMi, RiGhT gUyS?

Chapter 3

Rye glared at the man revealing his name as Fenrir. The man had come in and started asking for Hank, and Hank, the dumbass that he was, decided to come out and had tried to kill the man. After a quick scuffle, the Agency employee revealed himself to be a traitor, apparently willing to work with Hank for some reason. And now, after explaining to Deimos and Sanford that the situation they had gone through had resolved itself, the four men were sitting at one of the tables, drinks in hand. There were guns next to their drinks, and Fenrir sipped from his rum and coke. "Alright, so, where do you want me to start? Project members, our purpose, or why I'm betraying their stupid asses?"

Deimos raised a hand, just finishing his current mouthful of beer. "How 'bout you start with who the fuck you are, and whatever it is you're talking about?"

Fenrir rolled his eyes, and scratched at the corner of his mouth. "Well, I'm with a special team within the Agency, and I was given the designation "Fenrir", and my main target is "Odin", and in case that's not clear, that's you Hank. Our entire team is usually referred to as "Ragnarök", cause, well, you guys are the 'gods' that we're going to kill. On the Agency, there's Loki, Fenrir, Surt,  and Jormungand. On your side, there's Odin, Baldur, Thor, and Heimdall. Now, it's not exactly a one to one metaphor, cause whoever decided on who was who is apparently barely literate, but considering it's the Agency, that's not really a surprise to anyone, now is it?"

Deimos raised his hand again. "Alright so I'm not really sure what any of that meant. There's like one of your stupid Agent assholes for each of us, right?"

"Yeah, just about. If there were more of you guys, I'm sure they'd designate the right gods and who kills who. So, Loki's the one that's kinda in charge of the rest of us, although nobody really listens to him, on account of him being a raging asshole. Surt's an okay dude, although he sorta has this tendency to fuck with his implants and usually sets some things on fire. Jormun... Okay I'm gonna be completely honest; I haven't actually seen her hold off violently stabbing something for more than five minutes, tops. She also keeps her blades coated in a really potent venom, so make sure you don't get so much as a cut." Fenrir paused, taking another sip from his drink. "Now, onto what they can actually do. Loki is hard to describe. Most of the time he kinda just vanishes, and I'm not really sure if he somehow has invisibility, or if he's really good at making sure everyone's attention is somewhere else. Either way, you want to keep him in your sights. He may be the worst fighter out of us all, but he's still no slouch, so be careful. Surt, he's got a lot of implants that set things one fire. Like, he basically has a fucking flamethrower implanted in each finger, so uh, yeah. Maybe shoot his hands off first, try to nip that shit in the bud."

Hank narrowed his eyes at Fenrir from behind his goggles. "And what about you? What do you have?"

Fenrir grinned, showing off his metal teeth. "Well, aside from my chompers, I got these." The man held up a hand, and after a few seconds, metal spikes pushed up about an inch from his fingertips, barely smaller than the width of his fingertips. "They're a pretty nice trick to catch someone off guard with. All it takes is a quick thrust to the throat or through their chest, and someone's usually down for the count. Most of the time though I don't really need them. So, y'know."

"And why didn't you use them against me?"

Fenrir let out a snicker. "A few reasons. First off, I wasn't planning on fighting you that seriously to begin with. Second, they wouldn't really give me that much of an edge against to. And third..." Fenrir trailed off, staying silent for a few seconds. "That one's personal."

Sanford looked up from his buffalo wings, swallowing the last bite of the last wing. "Alright, so, what's you're plan?"

Fenrir glanced to Sanford, before doing a double take of Sanford's bone full plate. "I'm sorry, going off track for like a minute. How many wings did you eat?"

Sanford glanced at the plate. "I dunno, like fifteen, maybe twenty. I don't really keep track when I'm hungry."

Fenrir gaped at the man for a second, before shaking his head. "Okay, ignoring that for my own mental health. Alright, so, plan. To be honest, I genuinely thought it would take me a bit longer for you guys to hear me out. So, y'know, this is gonna be barebones as fuck, and probably dogshit all around. But our best bet is to divide and conquer. Loki is going to be the hardest to get alone, and I want him out of the way as fast as possible, because if we give him time to prepare it's not gonna be pretty when we finally get around to him."

Hank tapped his fingers against the table, lost in thought. "So, how are you going to tell us where and when you're getting them alone?"

"Well, this is probably going to take a while, especially after we take the first one out. They're going to be on guard, and likely not going to leave anywhere without either a squad of canon fodder with them, or each other. So, I guess I'll drop by whenever I have news. Well, important enough news anyway." Fenrir glanced to Sanford and Deimos. "Oh, and you two are gonna wanna lay low for a while. Gonna have to spin a tale about how I got at least one of you. Maybe Sir Smokesalot over here."

Deimos coughed up his sip of beer, glaring indignantly at Fenrir. "Fucking excuse me?! I can totally take you! Especially if I have Sanford backing me up!" Sanford nodded along, crossing his arms.

"Well, maybe. Thankfully we won't have to actually find out. And the Agency is stupid enough to believe me on that. Although I might need a little something as proof." Fenrir looked the man over. "Hand over those smokes."

"FUCKING ESCUSE ME?! I'll have you know, these are premium cigarettes that I had to kill multiple people over just to get!"

Sanford let out a snicker. "You got those for like eight bucks at a shitty gas station."

Deimos turned to glare at his partner. "You know, some solidarity would be pretty cool right about now. Not saying I'm expecting it, just that it'd be nice right now."

Fenrir tapped against the table, drawing their attention back to him. "Well, it's either the pack of smokes, or it's gonna be your stupid hat."

Deimos lunged across the table, attempting to grab at Fenrir. "YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!"

Sanford let out a sigh, the plate of bones making a mess on his bare chest. "Deimos, just give him the pack. I'm gonna go get a paper towel. Don't kill each other, please." The man only shook his head as he made his way to the bathroom.

Deimos grit his teeth, glaring at Fenrir. "Fine. I can get another cigarette pack. Fucking bullshit..."

Fenrir rolled his eyes. "Yeah whatever, now don't move." Fenrir grabbed Deimos' hand that was passing the cigarettes over with, and stabbed into it with a finger spike, letting the blood drip onto the pack.

Deimos yanked his hand back, curling around it. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" Deimos grit his teeth, looking at the wound. It wasn't too deep, but it hurt like a bitch at the moment. "Fucking warn me if you're gonna do something like that next time! Shit..."

Fenrir shrugged, smearing the blood around the pack a bit. "Yeah, but it wouldn't be as funny as watching you flip your shit like that." The man pocketed the cigarettes, content with his 'prize'. "So, you got somewhere to lay low?"

Deimos clenched his bleeding hand into a fist a few times, before glancing up to the man. "Yeah, we have a few places in case something happens and we need to regroup. You're not going to find out where it is, so don't even think 'bout asking."

Fenrir chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it." The man knocked back the rest of him drink, rubbing at the spot Hank had managed to sink his knife in when he had surprised the agent turned defector. "Well, you all have fun with whatever it is you do when you're not out slaughtering hundreds at a time." The man waved lazily, before heading out.

Hank, Rye and Deimos all kept their gaze on Fenrir, with Deimos and Rye glaring at his with a fire in their eyes, while Hank watched, almost looking uninterested in anything the defector had said. Deimos looked like he was about to flip the table, only managing to calm himself after slamming a fist against the table a few times. "Fucking..." The hacker growled, and turned his attention to Hank. "Hank, please tell me we're blowing that asshole's head off as soon as we see him again!"

Hank let out a small breath. "No."

Deimos froze, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before letting out an explosive, "What?!" Rubbing at his face, the man gestured to the door Fenrir had exited. "Hank, you can't honestly believe that guy! I mean, this is probably a trap!"

"Maybe. But, worst case scenario, we have to kill one more person than we thought we would. And it's not like he can get the drop on us with the way we are. You're going to keep an eye on him, or at least you're gonna keep reminding us to keep an eye on him."

Deimos let out a sigh. He looked like he wanted to say more, but stopped as he looked up, spotting Sanford returning. "Ford, you know this Fenrir guy's going to try to stab us in the back the first chance he gets, right?"

The shirtless man sat down, and shrugged. "I'm not really sure. He didn't really give us any motivation for why he wanted to betray the Agency, and we can't really verify any of the info he's given us right now. We're gonna have to talk to Doc, see if he's heard anything about any 'Ragnarök'. For now, you keep your head down, and I run some missions by myself, maybe ask Hank or Doc for some support here and there."

Deimos let himself sink into his chair. "Great. Guess I'll be cooped up in a shitty safehouse for a while."

Hank sighed. "Anyway, putting all of that aside for the moment, where were you two yesterday?"

Deimos perked up, raising a brow. "What? We were on a mission. Ry-" The table bumped violently, and hackerman let out a yelp. "Fuck! Sanford why?!"

The demolitions expert ignored his partner. "Yeah, looks like we forgot to tell you two. Rye tried messaging us but we keep our off-time stuff off so it doesn't distract us in the middle of a mission. Only realized she sent something at some point in the night, and I'm pretty sure she was already asleep by then."

Deimos looked at his friend in confusion. "What? Didn't Rye-" His words earned him another kick from under the table from Sanford. "Fuck! Alright, shit. I won't way anything. Christ..."

Hank looked from Deimos to Sanford, and then glanced to Rye, who was conveniently focused on cleaning glasses. "Right..."

Deimos looked between Rye and Hank a few times, confused. "Wait, did something happen?" Hank turned his gaze to the wall, suddenly finding the dark grey color and simple design incredibly interesting, causing Deimos to perk up, grinning. "Ayo? Did you two finally fu-" Deimos pushed himself out of range of Sanford's third kick. "Ha!" Unfortunately for the hacker, Sanford simply walked over to his partner and smacked him upside the head. "Fuck..."

Sanford returned to his seat as if nothing had happened, and looked to Hank. "Any reason you asked?"

Hank sighed, and pulled up his goggles to rub at his eyes. "Eh, not really. Rye just needed a place to stay, and I was the only one available. It's not that big of a deal."

Deimos grinned. "Ah, so you..." Glancing to Sanford, the hacker gulped. "Y'know what? Nevermind. So, how's that going for you so far?"

"Well, she made breakfast today, so that was pretty alright. Last night..." Hank looked at the hand he had used to hold onto Rye's, remembering the words they had exchanged before they had fallen asleep. "Last night was good." If Hank could smile, he was sure he'd have a giant shit-eating grin under his mask.

Deimos gaped at the man that had slaughtered thirty people over a fucking boombox. Hank looked, well he didn't look happy. Deimos was pretty sure that Hank could never look happy, but he sure as hell looked peaceful for once. "Dude, you have it bad."

Hank blinked, shaken out of his reverie. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Deimos scoffed. "Nah, it's better I don't say anything more. I like being able to actually chew my food." Hank narrowed his eyes at hackerman, before he shrugged.

---

The rest of the work day had passed without much incident, only a few drunken patrons needing to be cut off, and those usually sobered quickly when they saw Hank's glare from across the bar. The drive back to Hank's place was quiet, with the only sound filling the silence being shitty old music coming from the radio. During the drive, Hank felt his communicator vibrate slightly from his clothes. Quickly parking the car, Hank pulled out the communicator, seeing that Doc had sent him a message that simply asked, 'Hank, why is Deimos listed as dead in the Agency's database?'

Hank rubbed at his face. Everybody seemed to have forgotten to fill the man in on the situation. Hank quickly typed out a response. 'Some guy calling himself Fenrir showed up, gave us some information that we haven't really verified yet, and took Deimos' pack of cigarettes as "proof" he was dead.'

'Fenrir?'

'Yes. Said he's part of a team called Ragnarök.'

When he didn't get an immediate response, Hank headed inside, seeing Rye already on the couch with the TV on. She perked up, and quickly pat the empty cushion next to her. "C'mon, there's some old reality show that just started."

Hank would have smiled if he could, and instead let out a affectionate huff. As the man settled himself onto the couch, Rye seemed to decide that she would be more comfortable laying down, and settled her head on Hank's lap. The man froze for a second, looking down at his... fuck what even were they at this point? After a few seconds of thinking, he decided he could figure it out later, and instead started running his hand through Rye's hair, causing her to giggle and shift slightly to give him an easier time.

Thinking back to his earlier conversation, Hank let out a content sigh. Yeah, I guess I have it bad.

And honestly, Hank was fine with that. It was a nice change from his usual life constantly filled with missions of slaughter and destruction. For the first time in a long while, Hank felt like he could just sit back and breathe. When he felt the buzz from his communicator, Hank reached for it, before he stopped. Maybe, just maybe, he could think about it later. For right now, he would keep his attention on her. Where he felt it belonged.

Chapter 4

Hank woke with a start, rubbing at his sore neck. Why was his back aching more than if he had slept on the ground? Looking down, he noticed he had at some point fallen asleep on the couch that he really needed to replace, with Rye sleeping on his lap. Seeing her still there, Hank slowly reached down, and gently ran his hand through her hair. It was somewhat addicting, feeling the soft strands between his fingers. Sighing softly, Hank reached for his communicator, and saw that it was only around 4 AM. Unfortunately for him, Doc seemed to magically know that Hank had at that moment checked his communicator. 'Hank, for the last time, answer or I'm going to break into your house and beat you awake.'

'I'm here. What happened?'

'I did some digging on this "Ragnarök", and I've found something interesting. There are four members, and most of their files are completely blacked out. Of course, I had Deimos work his magic, and found out that most of the members are veterans within the Agency, having served at least five years. However, it seems that this Fenrir fellow is still a fresh face, only being under their employ for around six months. And then there's the age difference between him and the rest of the squad.'

'Oh? So, what? He's only 18 or something?'

'No, Hank. He's not the youngest. He's the oldest, at 45 years. Fenrir looks remarkably good for his age, although that can be explained with a great exercise plan and good diet.'

Hank blinked, somewhat surprised. Fenrir had looked pretty good for his mid-forties. Hank idly wondered if he would even hit his thirties. 'Okay, so what makes any of this important?'

'Well, there's a piece of information in the file that I want verified. It's in a lightly guarded facility that's going to be dumping everything inside by the end of the week.'

'I'm guessing you want me to find something inside as soon as I can?'

'Correct. It'll be located in Hall-C, Room 4. Here's the coordinates. -74.1899717, 100.0895366'

Hank let out a quiet hum. The coordinates seemed to lead to a lone building in the middle of fuck-all nowhere. Which was honestly typical for the Agency. Looking down to Rye's still sleeping form, the man let out a small, quiet groan. He really wanted to just sit there and just relax for a few more hours, but Hank knew better than to procrastinate when it came to missions from Doc. 'I'll be heading out in a few minutes.'

'Oh? And what's so important it can't wait until after you're back?'

'None of your goddamn business.' With that, Hank tucked the communicator back into his coat. Running his hand through Rye's hair one last time, he gently lifted her head off of his lap, and slid off of the couch, gently setting her head down. The bartender let out a grumble, shifting slightly. Hank let out a sigh, and gently slid his arms under Rye, picking her up in a bridal carry. The woman stirred a bit, before nuzzling into Hank's chest. Stupid cute Rye...

Hank carried her to his bedroom, and gently set her down onto his bed. Hank slowly, moved his arms away, letting out a sigh of relief that he hadn't woken her up. At least, that's what he thought, until he turned around, and heard her shift on the bed, and let out a soft groan. "Hank...?"

Hank would have bit his tongue if that wouldn't just rip it in half. The man turned, seeing Rye rubbing at her eyes groggily. "Shit. Hey, didn't mean to wake you."

Rye let out a hum, burying her head into a pillow. "What's up...?"

Hank let out a sigh. "I have a mission I need to go do. Just go back to sleep. I'll stop by the bar when I'm done." Rye let out a small hum, too tired to do anything other than go back to sleep. Pausing at the doorway, Hank stared for a few moments, before he forced himself to get moving again. Hank made his way to his car, loading it up with some gear. Binoculars to scout the exterior, a suppressed MP7, Glock 20, Walther PPK, and a machete for the hell of it.

---

The building wasn't as big as Hank had been expecting. There was only two guards per entrance, and no snipers scanning the area from the rooftop. It seemed to not be that important if there was barely anyone keeping this place guarded. The hell could possibly be here that Doc wants? Figuring he'd find out once he got inside, Hank had an easy time sneaking up to the side of the building, quickly dispatching the two guards at the front entrance, putting another bullet in both of their heads out of boredom.

Immediately inside, Hank fired twice into a L33T Agent's chest. The killing machine ducked behind a crate, hearing two shots hit his cover. He waited for a second, before leaping up and firing at the two Agents standing next to each other, spraying lead into their upper bodies. Landing cleanly, Hank glanced around the room. Square, with another door on the opposite wall from the entrance. Bare walls aside from 'motivational' and wanted posters. Just another cookie cutter building from the Agency. Kicking up a 1911 into his off hand, Hank carried on through the door, noticing the room he stepped into was much larger, and with more doors lining the wall next to him. 'Hall-A' up to 'Hall-J' were displayed above the doors. Strolling over to Hall-C, Hank glanced to the other end of the room, raising his newly acquired handgun just in case. With no incident occurring strolled into Hall-C, finding three doors on either wall before a dead-end.

Glancing up above the doors, Hank let out a small huff when he saw that there wasn't any way to tell which one was Room 4. Time for trial and error. Worst case scenario, he called up Doc for clarification on just what the hell he was supposed to find. Heading to the closest room, Hank opened the door and saw a goddamn supply closet. Alright, easy so far. Going to the opposite door, Hank found what looked to be a small morgue. Probably not.

Hank moved up to the next room, finding what looked like an archive room, with boxes full of files, and other dusty trash that nobody even probably remembered. Setting the 1911 down onto a box, Hank scanned for anything that could narrow down what he was supposed to be looking for. After a minute of aimlessly skimming labels, Hank let out a sigh, and pulled out his communicator, typing out a quick message. 'Doc, what am I supposed to be looking for?'

'Should be in locker 2-A. Just tell me the name on the tag.' Hank blinked, glancing around the room for a moment. No lockers whatsoever. Tag...

Hank sighed. Back to the morgue then. Returning to the other room, Hank saw that it had a few gurneys, and other things he figured belonged with whatever happened to bodies once he or the others were done with them. Idly opening the locker Doc had given him, Hank didn't give the corpse much attention. Looking at the tag, Hank memorized the name, before blinking, and leaning in to make sure he was reading the info right. Actually taking a good look at the body, the man stood there for a moment, processing exactly what he was seeing. And once he did, he quickly sent Doc a message. 'Why am I looking at a dead kid Doc'

'Like I told you before, I want something verified. Name.'

Hank breathed in deeply, ignoring the faint smell of rotting flesh. 'Devin Hasting.'

'That lines up. Thank you for this, Hank.'

'Next time warn me about something like this.' Hank didn't bother waiting for Doc's reply before he stuffed it back into his coat. Just as Hank was closing the locker, an alarm began to blare out, causing the man to flinch. "Who the fuck..."

"HANK J WIMBLETONE IS INSIDE THE BUILDING! REPEAT. HANK J WIMBLETON IS INSIDE THE BUILDING!"

If Hank still had his real jaw, he'd be grinding his teeth together in annoyance. Dumbass Agency really decided to alert everyone in the building that they were going to die. Well, it would give him something to do on the way out at the very least. Hank checked the magazine for his MP7, then removed the suppressor. Time for a workout.

Exiting the room, Hank shot thrice into an Agent's head at the end the the hallway, quickly pulling out his Glock, and firing two shots into another Agent chest as they entered the hall. Quickly stepping over the body, Hank glanced out the doorway into the large room, finding makeshift cover scattered around the space. There were around ten regular Agents, half a dozen L33T Agents, a few of A.T.P Engineers, and a Soldat.

Leaping out into the room, Hank unloaded the rest of his MP7 into the group of L33T Agents, taking out all but one. Diving behind the closest piece of cover, Hank tossed the spent SMG away, and unsheathed the machete he had brought along. There was a cacophony of gunfire, most of it hitting Hank's cover ineffectively, while some shots somehow managed to go wide. Rolling his eyes, Hank waited for a lull in the hail, before rushing out from his cover, firing a single shot into the last L33T Agent's head, the body dropping to the floor in a heap. Those that weren't equipped with firearms rushed forward, probably figuring that they would overwhelm Hank with sheer numbers.

Hank leaned back, avoiding a crowbar by inches, before retaliating with a swing from his machete that embedded itself into the side of the Agent's head. The killing machine yanked the blade back, twisting the dead Agent's neck as it came loose. Bringing his machete up to deflect a knife from slamming down onto his head, Hank brought up his Glock to under the Agent's chin, shooting twice and spraying blood and grey matter out into the air.

Taking a step back, Hank stabbed into the next Agent, using his dying body to avoid another four gunshots, the bullets impacting the body and stopping midway through. Yanking his blade out from the Agent, Hank quickly fired two shots, hitting one of the Engineers in the throat, and the Soldat through the eye, yellow blood splattering across the wall. The man rushed forward, weaving between gunshots, slashing another Agent's throat with the machete. The remaining Engineers darted away from each other, aiming to surround Hank, which wouldn't really change their chances all too much.

Hank threw the machete, embedding it into the chest of the Engineer in front of him, as he raised his Glock behind him firing twice. Hearing the body of the other Engineer drop, Hank would have smiled if he still had a full pair of lips. Turning to face the remaining Agents that were only equipped with shitty pipes and knives, the man raised a hand, taunting the group to rush at it.

And like the dumbasses they were, they did. Hank ducked under a heavy swing from a pipe, and slammed the Glock into the attacker's face, firing three times into their chest as they fell backwards. The next Agent stabbed at Hank's neck, the man stepping to the side and firing another two shots into the Agent's stomach, the Agent dropping with a faint whimper. Kicking the dropped knife up into his empty hand, Hank stepped forward, stabbing the blade up into the next Agent's jaw, twisting and snapping the blade from the hilt. Discarding the useless hilt from his hand, Hank fired the last shots of the Glock into the group of Agents, two dropping to the ground. One of the last Agents rushed forward, only to have their throat grabbed, and thrown to the floor, their head then caved in from Hank's boot slamming down onto it.

Then Hank felt a rush of pain blossom from the back of his head. Rubbing at the pained spot at the back of his head, Hank looked at the fresh blood on his hand. Turning around to the last Agent shaking with a pipe in their grip, Hank let out a small sigh. The Agent threw the pipe to the floor, throwing their hands up in surrender. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to spare them from Hank's wrath.

Slowly picking up the pipe that had slammed into the back of his head, Hank walked over to the Agent. Pulling out the Walther PPK, Hank emptied the entire magazine into the Agent's legs. Screaming out in agony, the Agent began to beg for their life, Hank tuning out the words with an ease that came from hearing the same begging a hundred times before. Raising the pipe, Hank swung down onto the Agent's head, quieting poor bastard, but not quite silencing them. So Hank swung again, and again. And again.

And again.

When Hank stopped swinging, the Agent's skull had caved in, looking more like a pile of meat than a person's head. Tossing the pipe that had bent in half at some point aside, Hank rubbed at his face. He really needed a drink.

---

Rye leaned against the bar, idly tapping at the wood. It had been a slow day, with only a few customers to give her a break from the boredom. After another couple of minutes of absolutely nothing happening, the bartender decided to go on break. Taking one of the bottles and grabbing a glass, Rye poured herself a drink, taking small sips, knowing better than to get drunk during work. It had taken a couple times for that particular lesson to drill itself into her head.

Hearing the door open as she was about halfway through her glass, Rye let out a quiet sigh. "Sorry, I'm on break right now. I'll be with you in about ten minutes."

"Damn, no special service for friends? Man, and here I thought I could just walk in and have a drink and wings." Rye jerked her head up, setting her drink down, and turning her attention to Sanford.

"Oh, shit. Sorry Sanford, didn't realize it was you. So what is it you want, I'll get it real quick."

Sanford shook his head, taking a seat and leaning on the table with crossed arms. "Nah, you're on break. I know better than to fuck with someone's break time. Besides, I could use the time to talk."

"Sure. What do you wanna talk about? Random bullshit again?"

Sanford shook his head, a smirk forming on his lips. "Nah, I'm more interested in how 'Operation Hanky-panky' is going."

Rye was thankful that she hadn't been drinking at that moment, as her breath caught in her throat. "Dammit Sanford we agreed that was a terrible name and we weren't going to call it anything."

"Eh, it's funny. And not funny in the way Deimos think stupid bullshit is funny. So, give me details on how it's been going so far. I wanted to get you alone and discuss this yesterday but, well, yesterday was kind of a giant shitshow all around."

Rye let out a groan, flopping her body onto the table. "Don't even remind me. I mean, you guys have down time, right? Like, it's not constant missions and sleeping? I'm not crazy for thinking that, am I?"

"Nah, it was just some real bad luck that the Agency had whatever the hell they were doing yesterday. Bright side, it went about ten times smoother than how it usually does. I mean, Hank didn't even rip off some dude's face that time."

Rye blinked, then poked at an ear, pretty sure that she had heard wrong. "I'm sorry, did you say Hank ripped a man's face off once?"

"Oh no, not even once. It's happened a few times, usually only when he's real pissed. Like, 'thrown across like half a mile and now he has to clear out another building full of Agents' kind of pissed. I haven't seen it happen myself, but considering the way Deimos gets whenever it gets brought up, I'm kinda okay with not seeing it for as long as I'm alive."

Rye shivered, doing her best not to picture Hank grabbing someone's face and- Alright nope, fuck that. Never thinking about that again. "A-anyway, what even happened with you guys? Sounds like the Agency just kinda jumped you outta nowhere."

"Yeah, that's basically what happened. One minute we were just heading over to the bar, next thing I know we're running through buildings to make sure we're not getting overwhelmed. But enough about all that shit, I want details on how you and Hank are doing."

Rye let out a nervous laugh, quickly taking a sip of her drink to buy a few seconds of time to organize her thoughts. "Oh, well, y'know. It's going as well as I could hope. Actually, kinda better than I thought it would go. He's letting use his bed, and he's not constantly telling me not to touch anything. Yesterday we had a pretty alright breakfast. The only real thing that I'd complain about is how empty everything is."

"Maybe you two can go out and find some decorations for his place. Get some posters, maybe a plant or two, spruce the place up."

"Mm, I was thinking about it, but I'm not exactly sure how to ask him. I mean, do I just go up to him and say 'Hey I noticed your place looks abandoned let's go do some shopping to make it not look like shit'?"

"Eh, I'm sure it'll go a lot smoother than you think it will. I mean, he's letting you stay at his place for however long. The worst case scenario is that he tells you his place looks fine. Or he throws you out. One of the two."

"Thanks for the confidence boost Sanford..." Rolling her eyes, Rye stood up from her seat and stretched a bit. "Alright. Time to get back to work. I'm guessing you want the buffalo wings extra spicy?"

Sanford grinned. "C'mon, I get other food whenever I'm here. Like, I dunno, a burger or something. But yeah gimme those wings."

 Rye rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. "Got it. Hey, thanks for coming in and talking. Been a slow day and the boredom was killing me." With renewed energy, the bartender got to work.

At least she would have if Hank didn't barge into the bar, ignoring the greetings from both Sanford and Rye, reach under the counter for a glass, and start pouring in around five different hard liquors. Downing the entire glass in a single gulp, the man slammed his fist against the counter a few times, before he slowly relaxed. Letting out a sigh, Hank glanced to his bewildered friends. "Well, it's definitely been a day."

Chapter 5

Rye stared at Hank in bewilderment. "Okay, so, what exactly happened that made you run in here and start wasting the stock?"

Hank raised a brow, confused. "What? I'm getting drunk faster."

Rye pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mixing drinks like that won't get you drunk faster Hank. It's just gonna fuck your stomach up even more." Hank looked at the bottles he had pulled out as if they had personally betrayed him. "Look, just, stay there and I'll fix something up for you." With a sigh, Rye returned to behind the bar, and began to place the bottles Hank had taken back to their original places.

Thinking for a few seconds, the bartender decided on a drink, and began her mixing. Rum, gin, tequila, vodka, triple sec, some lemon juice, and cola. Throughout the entire mixing process, Rye could feel Hank's eyes watching closely, likely wondering just what she could possibly be making. Once the drink had been mixed, Rye poured the concoction into a glass, placed a single lemon slice at the top, and put in a straw. Hank tilted his head. "That... just looks like tea."

Rye smirked, a bit proud in showing off to her friend. "I would certainly hope so. It's Long Island Iced Tea. Take a sip and let me know how you like it."

Hank took the glass, and pulled down his mask to sip the drink through the straw. The man's eyes widened a bit from behind his goggles. "That's a lot smoother than I was expecting." Taking a few more sips, Hank let out a small hum of approval. "Y'know, despite not really having the whole 'taste' thing, this is actually pretty alright."

Rye beamed, proud that Hank, with his limited taste, could still enjoy something she had mixed. "Alright, well I think I found you're drink. Now lemme go get Sanford his addiction." With that, Rye went to get some wings for the shirtless man.

With the two left on their own, there was a comfortable silence occasionally broken by Hank sipping from his drink. After a minute, Sanford decided to fill the silence. "So, you said that you had a day today. You, uh, you mind elaborating on that, or-"

Hank breathed in deeply, and slowly exhaled. "Well, Doc had me run a mission at some nothing place looking for verification on something. It went fine enough until I found what I was supposed to be looking for." Taking another few sips from his drink, Hank wondered just how to word what he wanted to say. "Alright, so you know how I don't exactly care about kids, right? They're loud, they can't sit still for more than a damn minute, and usually they're covered in dirt or mud or whatever they're playing in. So yeah, kids are a big no from me. But..." Hank let out a sigh. "When a kid gets hurt, all I can think is how pathetic they are. They can barely take a hit, and then they start crying for their mom or some bullshit. So I'm standing there, in a morgue, and I'm wondering why the hell I'm looking at a kid. And the worst part is that I can't even see anything wrong with him, like, what the hell happened to that kid? Why the hell is he in some Agency morgue, and why the hell did Doc need that kid's name?" Hank put the straw in his mouth, and found that his next sip was mostly melted ice and air. "God dammit. Anyway, Doc said it had something to do with Ragnarök, but he didn't really explain. So now I'm wondering if that was one of their kids, or if they were the ones that killed him, or..." Hank slammed his head against the bar, letting out a small groan. "I'm not the one that's supposed to think about this shit. That's literally everyone else's job. I just get pointed to a place, get told what to do, and I do my job."

Sanford sat there, not exactly sure what to say in response to Hank's rant. After a few seconds, Sanford slowly reached out and tried to pat the man on the shoulder, only for Hank to jerk away as soon as he felt the contact. Sanford spoke up in response to Hank's raised brow. "Looked like you could use some kinda reassurance or something like that. I mean, I'm pretty sure we all have some sort of line we can't ever cross. You just found something somewhere over that line."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because if it is, that was dogshit."

"Look, we don't really have breakdowns. Most of the time it's whatever fucked up things you do to those Agents that get us to think about things a bit. Like, what would happen if you, in some alternate reality or some shit, started actually working for them? I'm pretty sure we'd be super fucked, and the only people that can take you down reliably are Tricky and good ol' Jesus, and I really don't want to talk to either of those guys. So, Deimos and I usually try to take our minds off of things like that, shoot the shit, play whatever games we can find, things like that, y'know."

"Yeah, well I don't really want to spend time playing cards or whatever bullshit you guys do on your time. I kinda don't mind not wanting to kill both of you."

"Okay, well, have you, I don't fucking know, tried redecorating your place or something, some small shit like that?"

"Sanford, I'd have to have actually decoration in my place to redecorate. Besides, it's not like anyone besides Rye would actually see it. I'm sure as shit not letting you and Deimos into my place, I like having a working stove."

"Well, then get her to help, I'm sure the place could use a normal person's touch. Besides, you're living together for a while, it would probably help her feel more at home than whatever the fuck you have going on."

Hank breathed in deeply, wishing he still had more alcohol in his glass. "I'll think about it."

After a few more minutes of silence, Rye came back with a plate of hot wings, placing it in front of Sanford, who licked his lips hungrily. "Alright, here's your crack. And, oh geez Hank, I'll get you a refill real quick." Quickly mixing another glass, Rye's concern for Hank shined through clearly. "So, you want to talk about it?"

Hank took a sip from his refilled glass. "Not particularly, no."

"O-okay, well, uh..." Rye was a bit at a loss as to what to do to help Hank feel better. She was pretty sure that drowning him in alcohol wasn't the solution for this one, and she had no idea what sort of hobbies Hank had, if any at all. Did he just clean his gear or sleep whenever he wasn't on a mission? With nothing else coming to mind, Rye slowly reached a hand out, and pat Hank's shoulder. Unlike with Sanford, Hank didn't immediately pull away, instead barely even acknowledging that he was being touched in the first place.

---

The rest of the work day had been mostly the same for Rye, tending to customers, making sure that Hank was doing- well, 'okay' wasn't the word that she would use especially considering Hank hadn't even tried to kill someone when they had spilled their drink all over him. On one hand, no cleaning blood and bodies, but on the other, whatever was on Hank's mind was enough to override his naturally murderous tendencies. It was honestly a little bit unnerving.

Now, after suggesting that they get out of the house and maybe do something else, Hank and Rye were at the nearest general store. Hank simply followed along wherever the bartender went, staring blankly from behind his goggles. Rye had tried to make some suggestions about things to buy to help pass the time, or spruce Hank's place up, and the most she had gotten were quiet affirmations.

Sighing, Rye returned vase from where she had grabbed it, and turned to Hank. "Alright, look, I don't know what happened, and I'm sure it's rough, and you probably don't want to talk about with people just yet, or maybe you think I can't handle it, but whatever it is, you can't just bottle it up like this. You can't just pretend you're not feeling whatever it is that's going on inside your head."

Hank blinked a few times, looking like he had been lost in thought. "Huh? Sorry, I was distracted, did you say something?"

And that was the straw that broke Rye's patience. "God dammit Hank! Fucking talk to me! Tell what just what the hell is bothering you so goddamn much! I'm not made of glass or some other bullshit, I know the kinds of horrible, fucked up shit that you can do! I can handle it! Whatever it was that you saw, or did, just fucking tell me!" At the end of her outburst, Rye was breathing heavily, only just realizing how much Hank's difference in attitude was affecting her.

Hank was taken back a bit from Rye's small rant. During all the time they had known each other, Rye had never confronted him as directly as this. In the back of Hank's mind, his respect for her grew a bit. Meanwhile at the front of his mind, he wasn't really sure how to go about this. It was probably better to just get it out and over with, but he really didn't want to have another conversation about that kid. Sighing, Hank tried to make a small compromise. "Fine I'll tell you. But only once we get home. I have a reputation and I don't want anyone thinking I'm some killer with a heart of gold or something just as stupid."

Rye bit her cheek to keep herself from telling him to quit being a mopey asshole and just tell her. She just needed to be a little patient, get some shopping done, a car ride home, and she'd finally know what the hell was bothering Hank so much. "Alright. Good. Now, just give me a straight answer, not a 'I don't care', or a 'Whatever you think looks good'. This vase," Rye held up a stout brown vase that was less ornate than most of what he had seen so far, then another, taller vase that was definitely more vibrant, and looked like it would liven up wherever it was set. It was purple from the bottom to the neck, and faded to an orange that reminded Hank of the sunset before he had killed the sun.

Looking at the purple-orange vase, Hank glanced up to Rye's face. She was glaring at him, seemingly daring him to give her a noncommittal answer. Sighing, Hank pointed to the taller of the two. "Fine, that one. It looks... nice."

"Alright. Good, progress. Now, let's go see if there's anything else you think looks good to you." Smiling, Rye gently deposited the vase into the shopping cart, and grabbed Hank by his wrist, dragging him along.

---

The shopping trip had improved after Rye's confrontation with Hank, and he seemed to actually be there when she asked him for his input. Once the duo had returned to Hank's abode, they had started putting up the few decorations they had actually gotten. It had all been free, thanks to Hank's terrifying presence and reputation scaring the absolute shit out of the cashier into letting them leave without so much as paying a cent.

Holding the purple vase, Hank glanced around for a place to put it that wouldn't be bumped into and send it crashing against the floor. He could see anywhere in the front room that fit the bill, so he moved to his bedroom, and set it on a nightstand tucked in a corner of the room. Stepping back, Hank looked at it for a bit. It probably wasn't the best place to put it, but he liked it just where it was.

Hank wasn't sure how long he spent looking at the vase when he felt Rye's hand gently nudge at his shoulder. Glancing over, he noticed that Rye had furrowed her brows, something she only really did when she was done with someone's shit. "Alright, you made a promise Hank. It's just us. Tell me."

Moving to the bed in the center of the room, Hank took a deep breath as he sat down, Rye sitting down next to him. "So, Doc had me run that mission earlier, and it was simple data gathering, verify something. It wasn't supposed to be that big of a deal. I take a few people out, and I find what I'm supposed to." Hank was silent for a few seconds, before he let out a slow breath. "He's in the morgue, and all I need is the name. All I have to do is just look at the tag and give Doc the name. But then something about the tag catches my attention, and I see the age. I look at the body, and I see that it's a kid." Hank is gripping at the edge of the bed hard enough to rip through the fabric of the blanket, his tone gaining an edge to it. "And now hours later, I'm just sitting here wondering why the fuck Doc needs that info, why he needed me to go check on some dead kid's body, and I'm sure if I ask, he'll just tell me that it's on a need-to-know basis." Sucking in breath through the remaining teeth he had, Hank slowly loosened his grip on the bed, the tension slowly draining from his body. "Right now, I just want to know who the hell that kid was. Why was he in some Agency building?"

Rye was silent for a few seconds, and eventually scooted closer to Hank, and quietly reached for his hand, grabbing it before she slowly entwined their fingers together. For a bit, the two just sat there, the sound of Hank's breathing slowly returning to it's regular pace being the only thing to fill the silence. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Rye spoke up. "You have Deimos on call y'know? Well, not really, but Sanford probably stays in touch with him, and you can ask him for a favor, get Deimos to look into some stuff, maybe get some answers that you wanna know?"

Hank let out a huff, and flopped backwards onto the bed, Rye following shortly after. "Yeah. That's definitely the smart thing to do. Maybe I can wait until Sanford needs some support on a mission, then I can tag along to ask him the favor. Don't want to accidentally send it to Doc, he might get on my ass for lookin into things that don't really matter."

"Right. Besides, how long can it take for you two to go out and do a mission together? Like a week?"

"Nah, considering Deimos needs to lay low for a while, chances are we'll get paired up in a few days. We aren't constantly out killing Agents, but there's only so much anyone can do on their own. I mean, I'm pretty sure it'd take all of us to get to whoever the hell is at the top of the Agency. And I'm not sure we'd do it without someone biting it halfway through."

Rye shuddered at the thought. "Yeah. Hey, what are you gonna do after the Agency's done with? Go out and do whatever you want?"

"Chances are I'll head out and see who pays the most for whatever they need doing. Who knows, maybe I'll get attached to you, maybe see if I can't end up as the bar's bouncer or something like that. I mean, who's gonna make trouble when I'm around?"

Rye chuckled at the thought. "Yeah, although I might have to report to my boss if you break any property, have it come out of your pay."

That would have put a smile on Hank's face if he was capable. "At that point I'd be working for free." Glancing to Rye, the man let out a hum. "So, think we should get back to decorating?"

"Mm, nope. Let's just destress for a bit. You could use the time." For a few minutes, the two just lied there, just taking in the air, before Rye broke the silence. "Hey, so, uh, feel free to say no, but... Would you maybe be okay with cuddling a bit?"

Hank blinked, before he turned his head to look at Rye, her face flushed. Hank rolled his eyes. "Sure, go ahead."

"Yay!" Rye turned over, and quickly snuggled up to Hank, burying her face into the crook of his neck. "Lo-" The bartender quickly cut herself off, and buried herself even further into Hank.

Hank chuckled, and wrapped his arm around Rye. It's the little things that keep me sane...

Chapter 6

Notes:

I definitely didn't accidentally post this early.

You have no proof.

As it turned out, Hank had nearly been spot on with his guesstimate of how long it would take to accompany Sanford on a mission. It had taken around four days for Doc to pair the two up for a mission. It was a routine Soldat factory sabotage, something the two men had done dozens of times. Bringing along timed explosives, Sanford would be the one taking out the critical machinery while Hank did what came natural.

Looking through a pair of binoculars, Sanford quietly took in the outer security of the building. Two snipers on the rooftop, at least three guards outside each entrance, with three entrances that he could see from where he was crouching from. Probably a loading bay on the other side for supplies. Sanford passed the binoculars to Hank, speaking up. "So, there are a few ways I'm thinking we can do this. Option A: We go in quiet, set the explosives and get out before they realize we're even inside."

"Pass." Hank interrupted, not even bothering to elaborate any further. And considering who he was, Sanford really didn't need any more reasons.

"Alright, option B: We just blitz through as fast as we can, and fuck up everything on the way to where we gotta go."

"I vote for that one."

"Hank, let me finish, please man." Sanford got a grunt from the killer, which most people would interpret as telling them to shut the fuck up or get gutted. But Sanford worked with Hank for long enough to tell it was the type of grunt that meant he would do what was asked of him, with some reluctance. "Thanks. Now, last option: We mix the first two together, where you cause as much hell as you can, and I get to the assembly line while everyone is focused on you, and once I'm done we meet up outside." Sanford waited a few seconds for Hank to weigh in, glancing to the man. Hank had set down the binoculars, and was looking at Sanford with a raised brow. Sighing, the shirtless man dragged his hand down his face. "I'm done now. Opinions?"

"I still like Plan B. But Plan C would probably be the smart choice, considering how much they usually throw at me when they figure out I'm somewhere they really don't want me to be. Give me a five minute head start."

"Yeah, go make a shit ton of noise, make my job easier." Sanford gave Hank a thumbs-up as he went off to go slaughter at least a hundred people.

Sanford kept his eye on Hank as the man made his way to the factory, quickly taking out the guards at the nearest entrance. As soon as Hank made his way inside of the building, Sanford stood up, and began to stretch, figuring he could warm up a bit before heading around the back and picking off anyone on his way to the assembly line of the factory. After sufficiently warming up and wasting enough time for most of the facility to focus nearly all of their attention on the assuredly rampaging Hank, Sanford made his way to the back of the building, finding the loading bay entrance devoid of guards.

Quickly heading inside, Sanford readied his hook. For the first few rooms and corridors Sanford found no resistance in his path, which was pretty nice in his opinion. Although his luck ran out eventually, as Sanford entered another corridor, he nearly literally ran into a small group of Engineers, all of them having their backs to him. Letting out a short breath, the shirtless man rushed forward, swinging his hook into the side of the head of the nearest Engineer, Sanford taking the gun from the dead man's hands. As he ripped the hook out of the Engineer's head, Sanford began firing into the other Engineers, dropping the rest of the group in seconds.

Breathing out again, Sanford dropped the gun he had stolen from the Engineer, and moved to take a shotgun from another Engineer's body. Picking up the firearm, Sanford gave it a quick glance over. Standard magazine fed, semi-automatic. Sanford couldn't name the model off the top of his head like Hank probably could, but he knew enough about it to get his job done.

Sliding his hook into a loop that served as a holster for it at his hip, Sanford picked up his pace, not wanting to see if those shots alerted anyone nearby to him being there. Sanford managed to get through two more rooms uninterrupted, while his entry into the third was noticed by more Agents. Letting out a hiss, the shirtless man fired two shots at the group, three bodies dropping to the floor as Sanford ducked into cover.

Peeking from his cover, Sanford counted at least five Agents, two L33T Agents, and two more Engineers. Ducking back down to keep his head from being blown to pieces, the man slid his hook out of it's holster, figuring he hook one of them, and yank them over as a human shield. Standing up from cover and firing another two shots at the group, sending two more bodies to the floor, Sanford threw his hook overhead, yanking the wire attached, the force of pulling it back sending it stabbing through a L33T Agent's shoulder, the poor bastard dropping his gun as he screamed out in pain.

Sanford let out a grunt as he tugged at the wire, pulling the Agent closer. Once the Agent was close enough, the shirtless man rested the shotgun over the Agent's unpierced shoulder. "Y'know, I'd say I'm sorry about this, but then I'd have to start apologizing to everyone I do this to, and that's just too much work for how much I'm getting payed. But hey, bright side; You're probably only gonna feel that for like three more seconds."

The Agent looked at Sanford in terrified confusion, his lips trembling. "W-wha-" Unfortunately for him, his 'friends' didn't seem to have much of a problem taking him out if it meant having a better chance against Sanford. As the remaining group fired straight at the human shield, he let out a few screams of pain before his body shut down, nearly dropping to the floor. Sanford, not wanting his shield to go down so fast, grabbed his hook, and held up the body, gritting his teeth as he did so. Man, I really don't wanna know what kinda bullshit Hank's dealing with.

Holding up the body, Sanford fired the rest of the magazine, more bodies dropping as he moved forward. Once the shirtless man heard the dry click from the empty shogun, he heaved the human shield up, and began to charge at the few remaining Agents. In response to seeing Sanford rush at them holding a corpse of one of their own, two of the Agents held their ground, firing the last of their magazines at the man. The last one, the only one that seemed to have any real brains, decided that discretion was the better part of valor, dropping his gun and turning to run.

In a situation where he knew there wasn't anyone left for the Agent to go to, Sanford might have let the man live. Unfortunately for him, the less people that knew Sanford was here, the better. Ripping his hook out of the body's shoulder, Sanford threw the entire corpse at the two Agents firing at him, knocking them over. The shirtless man tossed his hook, yanking back once it was near enough to do what he needed to do.

The hook was thrust deep into the Agent's neck, the man letting out a short, surprised gurgle before he was yanked off of his feet, desperately trying to get the hook out as he lay there one the floor. Leaning down and picking up a pistol, Sanford fired two shots each into the two Agents trying to get to their feet. Getting close to the man with the hook, Sanford fired two shots to the poor bastard's head, ending his misery early.

After a few more empty rooms, Sanford entered the room that served as the assembly line for the Soldats. The Soldats stood on their pedestals, still yet to be activated and sent out to complete any orders given to them. Heading over to the console that sent the signal to activate the Soldats, Sanford armed the explosives and set them on the console. Stepping outside of the room, Sanford took out his communicator, and sent Hank a quick message. "I got the stuff set. We got about three minutes before the assembly line gets put out of commission for a good while."

Hank's response was nearly immediate. "Good, I kinda cleared out most of the place. I'll head back down to you, and we meet up around the back."

"Alright, see you there." With that, Sanford tucked his communicator away, and began making his way back to the loading bay entrance. The shirtless man made his way outside without any interruptions, and with nothing happening for a bit, Sanford pulled up his phone, tapping at some tower defense game that he absolutely refused to get rid of for some stupid bullshit that Deimos wanted him to download. After a bit, the sound of an explosion rocked the building, maybe bringing down a wall or two along with that console.

Hank shortly made his way outside, absolutely drenched in blood. "I liked this plan."

Sanford let out a snort. "Yeah, I'm sure you did, you psycho. C'mon, let's get out of here. I need to get Deimos some cigarettes, and he gave me a specific gas station to get them at. Honestly I'm pretty sure he's just fucking with me cause he's bored as hell not coming out with me for missions."

"Mhm. Hey, speaking of Deimos."

Sanford really didn't like how Hank segued like that. "Uh, yeah? He didn't piss you off somehow, did he? Cause, I like him, but uh, I don't know if I'm ready to die for him just yet."

Hank raised a brow, confused. "What? No. I just want to ask him for a favor, and I really don't want Doc sneaking a look at my messages and finding out."

"Oh. Yeah I can swing by and tell him. What do ya need help with?"

Hank breathed in deeply, trying to collect himself, or maybe find the words he wanted. Sanford wasn't really sure at the moment. "So, you remember that kid I told you about?"

Oh. "Yeah. What about him?"

"His name was Devin Hasting. I wanna know just what the fell happened with him. I-" Hank stopped, and let out a small huff. "It's been bugging me."

Sanford didn't say anything for a few seconds, before nodding. "Yeah, I can get him to look into it a bit more. It'll give him something to do while we're at it, so everyone wins."

Hank let out a small hum. "Thanks."

"Eh, I'm sure you'd help me out if I asked."

"As long as it's not some bullshit Deimos put you up to, I'd think about it."

Sanford let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, that's more than fair."

---

It had been a normal day so far for Rye. Head out to the bar, get things ready, and serve customers. Honestly it was one of the calmer days, and it sort of reminded her of how things were before she had met Deimos and the guys. The bartender stopped in the middle of cleaning a glass as the thought struck her. Part of her wondered where she would be if Deimos hadn't taken his friends out to the bar.

Thankfully, that line of thought was interrupted by the sound of someone tapping against the bar counter. "Sorry, I was thinking abo-" Turning to face the customer, Rye nearly dropped the glass in her hand. Leaning on the counter, with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, was Fenrir. "Oh. You." It wasn't a greeting, it was a simple acknowledgement that the man in front of her was actually there. "Hank's not here. He's out fucking up the Agency."

"Ah, that's too bad. I wouldn't mind sharing a drink with him. Be nice to have a bit of bonding before Ragnarök goes down in flames. Mm, speaking of drinks, Bloody Mary, if you'd please." Fenrir lifted himself off of the counter, giving Rye space to work.

Gritting her teeth, the bartender growled out, "One Bloody Mary, coming up." With that, Rye got to mixing the asshole's drink.

"You know, I'm getting the impression that you don't like me very much."

"Good." The bartender was putting all of her attention on mixing the drink, knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist the urge to throw it all at the man's stupid face.

"Is it because you thought I was trying to kill your boyfriend when we met? Cause I can understand-"

"He is not my boyfriend!" Rye snapped at the man, scowling.

"Mhm, right. Anyway, don't get all worked up about it. Not like I'll even try to take a stab at him while Ragnarök's still around. Nah, I'll wait until that whole shitshow's done with before I start thinking about trying to take him out or not." Rye had taken a glass throughout Fenrir's talking, but that last bit had caused to her tense up enough to shatter the glass in her own hand. The man let out a whistle. "Damn. You need some help with that? I can-"

"What did you just say?"

"Huh?" Fenrir blinked, thinking back a few seconds. "Wait, the part about whether or not I'm gonna actually try to kill him? Oh, yeah. I mean, it's fucking Hank. You really think that the thought isn't tempting? He did a lot of fucked up shit. Killed thirty people in a park for basically no reason. Took a job to kill that dumbass Sheriff. He's the reason Nevada's as fucked as it is right now. Not that that's saying much, it was pretty bad before he broke reality, but still, principle of the thing."

Rye breathed in deeply, looking under the counter. At the bottom, an MP5 was laying there, a light layer of dust coating it. Deimos had given it to her after the first time he had brought Hank over. There were definitely a few times when she had been tempted to make a grab for it, but she had never actually tried to go for it. But right now, she was inching her way to it.

For a few seconds, Rye slowly made her way to the gun. "Oi." She froze when she heard Fenrir's voice, completely devoid of any of the light-heartedness it usually had. "That's not really a good idea. Whatever you're going for, you're gonna need to clear the counter, and then there's the chance you miss me and start hitting customers. I don't even need a gun to kill you. All I need is to get my hands on you, and I can start stabbing."

The bartender grit her teeth, breathing in slowly. "So, what? You team up with Hank, and once you're done with him you tie up loose ends?"

"No. What happens once this is all over is up to him. He won't know it, but that's the only way he'll be honest about things." Fenrir let out a sigh. "I want to know if he's the same bloodthirsty psychopath that killed thirty people over a boombox."

"Why do you care so much?"

Fenrir blinked at Rye's question, then let out a bark of laughter. "See, Hank's killed a lot of people. Brothers, sons, fathers. If they weren't the last living member of that family, someone was left grieving after Hank made his way through a place."

Rye gulped, not wanting to ask her next question. "Yeah? So who did he take from you?"

Fenrir was silent for a few seconds. "I had a younger brother. He was a dumbass, didn't think things through half the time, but he was a decent guy when he needed to be. Took a bodyguard job a while ago for the Sheriff. And, well, we all know how that turned out. He probably didn't even realize what was happening. Just took a bullet to the head, and that's that."

"So why are you even giving Hank a chance to work with you?"

Anger flashed across Fenrir's face for a few seconds. A rage that she had seen only a few times from the guys. "See, Hank didn't really discriminate when it came to killing. But he only ever killed people that could fight back. Sure, they never really had a chance against him, but they could at least throw a punch, or hold a gun, maybe get a lucky shot in, slow Hank down a bit. But the Agency? They don't give even half of a shit about what they do as long as it has a possibility of killing Hank. It's their fucking name after all. Fucked up experiments? Just a Sunday afternoon. Killing their own guys just cause Hank happens to be behind them? Drilled into their heads as soon as they join up." Fenrir let out a growl as the spikes in his fingers pushed out from his skin, digging grooves into the bar counter. "Kill a kid and try to pin it on Hank and the other guys? Easiest thing in the fuckin' world for them. As much as I really don't like working with Hank, I'm willing to give him a chance, see if he's still a prick that only thinks of himself. But the Agency, they crossed too many lines for me to stick with them anymore."

"Oh..."

"Yeah." Breathing in deeply, Fenrir did his best to regain his composure. "Anyway, I have time. An opportunity came up. Just need to talk it over with Hank."

"Right." Hearing the door open, Rye looked up, seeing Hank and Sanford walk in. "Heh, speak of the devil..."

Fenrir perked up, turning back to see the two men. "And he shall appear."

Chapter 7

Fenrir smirked as Hank made his way over to the counter. "You know, I'd say say it's good to see you, but I don't really care for lying all that much." Hank let out a grunt in response, before the man's gaze shifted over to the bartender. Hank tensed for a second, before he turned his attention back to Fenrir.

"The hell did you do?" There was an edge to Hank's voice, and Fenrir knew better than to fuck around with Hank at that moment.

"I didn't do a goddamn thing.  We were having a talk, and all of a sudden the glass just shatters." Leaning over to whisper conspiratorially to Hank. "Y'know, we were talking about you, being on whatever mission you were on. I think she worries about you."

As Sanford moved behind the counter to help Rye with the glass shards littering her palm, Hank glared at Fenrir from behind his goggles. "Uh-huh. Rye? Is that what actually happened?"

Rye looked up from her hand, Sanford carefully pulling out bits of glass. The bartender glanced to Fenrir, a scowl forming on her face. "As much as I want you to snap his neck, he's telling the truth. I got a little too tense."

Hank leaned in close to Fenrir, their faces inches apart. "If I find out you laid even a finger on her, I'm going to rip your dick off."

Fenrir rolled his eyes. "Yeah, got it. Thankfully my package is safe, cause I didn't do a goddamn thing to her."

"Mhm. Now why the hell are you even here?"

"See, I was gonna get a drink or two, but, uh, considering how your girlfriend's doing right now," Fenrir glanced to Sanford lightly wrapping Rye's hand in bandages for emphasis, "Well, I figured you'd probably wanna know about that opportunity I was talking about last week."

"What sort of opportunity? Are we going to be taking them all out, or one of them?"

"One. Loki. The asshole. Look, Surt's fine when he's not being a pyromaniac, Jormun creeps me the fuck out, but I just hate Loki. Guy's a narcissistic asshole with a god complex. Honestly so far up his ass that I'm surprised he's not spewing shit whenever he talks. Being completely real with you, I'm super happy he was dumb enough to agree to head out with me to this shithole we're inspecting." Fenrir chuckled, looking like a man that had found a hundred bucks on the sidewalk. "Well, you got two days to get ready for that. Maybe bring along Sanford. Yeah, definitely bring him. I am sure as shit not letting this chance go to waste." Fenrir reached into a jacket pocket, and pulled out a crumbled scrap of paper, and handed it to Hank. "There's the coordinates for the place we're checking out. We'll probably be there before eight in the morning, and gone within the hour, so don't miss the window."

"So, what're you inspecting this place for? Security? Making sure it's doing its job?"

"We check out any place we think you guys might target in the relatively near future. Like, maybe a month in advance, make sure everything's up to snuff. Usually we just show up, yell at everyone to get off their ass, and head out in time for a nice lunch. And by nice lunch I mean some cheap ass hotdogs that definitely don't have some kind of worm, trust me. But yeah, we're mostly just there for moral support at the end of the day."

"You're really not making your team sound all that dangerous. Well, aside from whatever experimental shit the Agency did to your insides."

"Yeah, it's kinda like we're just doing whatever the fuck until we run into one of our targets." Standing up and stretching a bit, Fenrir gave the trio a lazy wave as he started walking away. "Well, as much as I'd like a drink, I need to get back to HQ before Jormun or Loki realize I'm not doing whatever it is the dumbass said I should be doing before I snuck out. See ya in a bit, Hank. Don't fuck it up."

Heading out, Fenrir let out a small sigh, before pulling out the blood smeared cigarette pack he had taken from Deimos. Opening the pack to see the last cancer-stick, the man pondered for a few seconds before he closed the pack and stuffed it back into his jacket pocket. Maybe once Loki was dead, he could indulge himself a bit.

---

Hank kept his gaze on the door to the bar for a few seconds longer, before he turned his attention back to Rye, his expression softening. "Are you okay?" The man hadn't been lying when he threatened Fenrir.

Rye flexed her bandaged hand a few times, frowning a bit at the pain. "Yeah, I'm good. Just some glass, nothing I can't walk off. Besides, if I can handle you trying to choke me out, I think I could handle whatever he would try to throw at me."

Reminded of their first meeting, the man would have cringed if he was capable of doing so. "Right, yeah. Yeah."

Sanford let out a snort as he made his way back to the other side of the counter. "Real smooth there, Romeo."

The killing machine sent his friend a quick glare. "Don't you have a plate of hot wings you should be ordering?"

"You know what? Just for that, I'm going to order a cheeseburger. You can't stop me."

Hank sent a bemused look at Sanford, then snorted. "Yeah, sure. And I'll stop the Agency with love and the power of friendship."

Sanford let out a dry chuckle. "Ah, but seriously, get me a burger, will you, Rye?"

"You got it." Glancing to Hank, the bartender asked, "Anything for you?"

"Eh, get me some water. Kinda thirsty and I just want something to drink."

"Right. Be back with that water in a second." The bartender went off, leaving the two to their own devices for a bit.

Hank glanced over to Sanford, tapping a finger against the bar. "Still nothing?"

"Nope. Deimos is good, but it's still going to take some time, Hank. Give it a day at least."

Hank let out a sigh. "Right."

"Well, on that topic, we should probably let Doc know that Fenrir's got that opportunity for us. Make sure we're prepped, rested up, all that good shit."

Hank let out a low hum, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I'll probably ask Rye if she can get a day off tomorrow, maybe destress a bit." Sanford let out a small snicker, earning a smack to the back of the head. "Not like that you fucking idiot."

"I know, but c'mon, you know how that sounds."

"It sounds like you're making up for Deimos' lack of present stupidity." Hank let out a sigh. "I was thinking, I dunno, a game of cards or something. Maybe a board game I can shoplift."

"Damn, really pushing the boundaries of what you can do without Jesus personally hunting you down for your sins."

"Shut up. It's not like I can make her help me with gun maintenance and call it a date." Hank set a glare upon realizing that he probably shouldn't have used the word 'date', and that Sanford was given more than enough ammunition for a while when it came to fucking with him. "Look, I just want tomorrow to not be shitty. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Considering you, that's a definite 'maybe'." Sanford shrugged and held his hands up in a placating manner. "Not saying that you don't deserve a break every now and then, just that you haven't had the best track record when it comes to relaxing and things not eventually ending up with you murdering like twelve people over a hot dog or something."

Before Hank could try and fail to counter that point, Rye came back, glass of water in hand. "Alright, here's that water. Your burger will be ready in a bit, San." Setting down Hank's glass, Rye reached under the counter for a straw, and placed it in the liquid. "So, you guys are gonna go out and see if Fenrir's not some spy trying to lure you two into some shitty trap."

Hank pulled down his mask, and took a sip from the straw. "Mhm. I'll probably spend the rest of the day making sure I got everything I need, then I'll take it easy tomorrow to wind down a bit." The man tapped the glass a few times, before he bit the bullet. "Hey, so, what are the chances that you can get a day off tomorrow? As much as I like this place, it's getting a bit stale."

Rye blinked, apparently not expecting something like that. "Oh, uh, I can call my boss, see how it goes. I'm not making any promises, cause I know what it's like when someone cancels last minute on something you really wanted to do. Uh, not that I'm saying I really wanna hang out with you- Wait no, that sounds bad. I-uh, fuck it I'll go make that call."

Sanford let out a small wheezing laugh as Rye quickly walked away, pulling out her phone. "Oh, holy shit you two are idiots."

Hank ignored his friend, opting to take another sip of his water. "So, you know any good places I could take her out for lunch? All I can think of is that hot dog stand that pops up here and there."

"Hm, there's a couple places that Deimos and I hit up when we're in the mood to treat ourselves. There's that one burger place a bit away from here, and then there's that fancy place we go to like once couple months. Honestly I'm surprised we're still allowed in there."

"I'm surprised you're still allowed in here."

"I mean, being real, who's gonna throw us out of here?"

Walking back over, Rye responded to Sanford's rhetorical question with a sigh. "Me. Because if it comes down to keeping this job and you guys, we'll just hang out when I get time off."

Hank took another sip of his water, trying his best to keep his demeaner neutral. "So, how'd that call go?"

"Well, I got the day off. It's not paid time off, so that's a bit of a bitch. So you better damn well treat me to something real nice tomorrow." Rye smirked, fluttering her eyes at Hank, and he was sure he would be blushing if he could.

"Don't worry, I got it covered."

Rye nodded, satisfied with Hank's answer. "Alright, I'm gonna go check to see how that burger's doing. Be back in a bit."

As Rye walked off, Hank turned to Sanford, and grabbed the man by his shoulder. "Sanford, help."

"What? But I-"

"No, I need to make this special. I need to make her feel special. I can't just take her out for a special lunch place, I need to take her out to a fancy restaurant or something, the kinda place that usually only takes reservations unless I point a gun at their heads."

Sanford let out a sigh as he pried Hank's hands off. "Alright, I'll talk to Deimos or Doc, see if they can find a place that does this short notice."

The psychopath let out a short sigh of relief. "Thanks. I appreciate you, Sanford."

The shirtless man let out a chuckle. "High praise."

---

Sanford stretched his arms above his head, letting out a small yawn as he entered the safehouse that he and Deimos had decided to hole up in for the time being. The past few hours honestly felt pretty surreal, helping Hank plan his date with Rye. Sure, that's definitely not the word that they would use, but anyone could see it for what it was. Heading down to the sublevel, the shirtless man knocked on Deimos' door, waiting a few seconds for the smaller man to close any memes or porn before he entered the room.

The room was barebones and small, with barely enough space for a bed and whatever computer setup the hacker had. It kinda varied from safehouse to safehouse, and this one was one of the higher end setups. Deimos glanced over his shoulder, raising a brow. "So, mind letting me know why I'm looking for some date spot, on top of looking through these Ragnarök files for some connection between a dead kid and any of those Agent cucks?"

Sanford briefly pondered saving the surprise for later, before deciding that it was better to spill the beans now than have Deimos pester him about it for however long he could hold out. "Well, Hank and I got some intel from Fenrir today, he's getting the leader of his group alone at someplace the day after tomorrow, and Hank's making all of his preparations tonight. He's gonna be using tomorrow to relax, destress." The larger man grinned, waiting for Deimos to take a drink from whatever energy drink he had at the moment before he revealed the kicker. "And for that, he asked Rye out on a date."

Deimos, to his credit, managed to actually swallow half of his sip before he processed what he just heard, turning and spitting it all over his bed. Letting out a few coughs, the hacker looked at Sanford in disbelief. "I'M SORRY HE WHAT?!"

The bigger man nodded, grinning. "Well, he didn't just say it. But, c'mon, we both know what's really going on there. Told me he's probably gonna take her out for a walk around that park that still around, get some lunch, hit up a movie or two, then head out for someplace really nice. So, y'know, don't fuck it up."

Deimos let out a snort. "Shit, I wouldn't dream of it. Not after finding out I'm helping those two get laid and some of that sexual tension to finally resolve."

Sanford shook his head. "Well, good luck. You're probably gonna need it with how those two keep dancing around it." Seeing Deimos give him a half wave before focusing on the computer, the shirtless man made his way to his own room, looking to get some sleep. After all, he wasn't the one that had a date, so he could spend however long in the morning getting prepared for the mission.

Notes:

Fun Fact: Writer's block is a massive bitch to deal with.

Chapter 8

Summary:

Date.

Rye let out a small sigh as she woke up, part of her just wanting to wrap herself into a little burrito with the blankets, and stay like that for the rest of the day. But Hank apparently had a whole day planned out for them, and as nice as doing nothing in bed sounded, she really didn't feel like making Hank waste his time. He could get a bit moody, for lack of a better word, when his free time didn't go how he wanted it to.

Yawning slightly as she got out of bed, Rye only then noticed the distinct lack of Hank on the other side of the bed. Usually Hank inadvertently woke his bedfellow with how fast and abruptly he left the bed and got started with his morning routine. There had only been a few times when Rye was too tired and deep into her sleep to wake up from Hank's departure from the bed. But it seemed this time, Hank didn't want to wake her.

Well, she'd find out what sort of surprise he had for her after her shower. Heading into the bathroom, Rye looked at the bathtub, before she grinned and shrugged. If Hank was going to make a whole day for them, she figured she could indulge herself in a quick bath. Nothing too fancy, especially since she didn't want to keep Hank waiting too long. Just a nice relaxing soak to start off the day.

Heading to the kitchen, hair still slightly damp, Rye was caught off guard when she smelled food. Usually when Hank tried to cook, it ended with burnt or undercooked messes that usually when down his gullet instead of the trash, because Hank was weirdly mindful of food waste. Entering the room, Rye stopped in shock, seeing actual food on plates. Sure, it was mainly basic food, bacon, omelettes with the fillings peeking out in various places, and assorted fruits. For anyone else, it would look like an ordinary breakfast, but for Rye, who knew about Hank's strange struggles with anything food related that wasn't eating, it was enough to show that this was a special day.

Rye looked to Hank, the man sitting down, tapping a foot against the floor repeatedly. The man breathed in deeply, before letting the breath out slowly. "Hank?"

The man snapped his head to look at the bartender. "Oh, hey. You're up. Good. Uh, look, I know that I'm not exactly a five star chef, but with how much you're usually the one that makes us stuff, I wanted to pay you back for that. It's probably not pretty, hell it might not even be good, but, just humor me."

"Uh, yeah. Of course." Taking a seat next to Hank, looking at the breakfast in front of her. Deciding to pick an omelette that looked mostly intact, bacon that looked less burnt than the others, and some orange slices that Rye was pretty sure Hank had just cut up. Taking a bite from the omelette, Rye found it filled with cheese and bits of bacon, and it was surprisingly decently made. After eating half of her food without any words, the bartender realized that Hank was staring at her. Rye was confused for a second, then figured he would probably like to hear what she actually thought of the food. Swallowing her current mouthful, Rye spoke up. "Yeah, it's kinda good."

Hank let out a breath, and began loading his own plate. "Good. Didn't want to fuck up at the starting line."

The rest of the breakfast was mostly filled with silence, the kind that was there, and it would let things be taken at their own pace. It was a nice change from Rye's usual constant need to worry over something, be it her job, her financial situation, or something else. She really wouldn't mind if more days were like this.

---

The park, which really consisted of an acre of land that had somehow remained untouched during all of the reality breaking shit that had started when the Sheriff had turned on the Improbability Drive, was surprisingly nice to walk through, with a couple of dirt paths and trees scattered around. Hank breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of grass and plant life around him. It wasn't really all that great, but it was better than the dead smell that most of Nevada gave off. The cities and towns were better, with business and whatever else they had, but it wasn't much of an improvement.

As the pair sat down at a bench, the sounds of wind rustling through the grass and leaves, Hank glanced over to Rye, noticing the slight frown on her face. Letting out a sigh, he asked, "What's up? Feeling funny?"

Rye shook her head, still frowning. "Nah. Just wondering. Do you ever think about that day?"

It didn't take a genius to understand what she meant, and Hank let out a small huff. "Sometimes. Mostly I wonder how it looked like from someone just watching that whole thing. I mean, Jesus pulled out an entire cannon."

"Do you think you'd do it again, if you had the chance to change anything?"

It was a question Hank had asked himself a few times. And every time, the answer stayed the same, "Probably. I don't know if I can ever really change myself enough to be a different person. I definitely won't care about random strangers enough to hold back from killing them in a fight." It probably wasn't the answer that Rye wanted to hear, but Hank didn't like lying to her when it came to things like this. It would probably make her think he was a better person than he really could ever hope to be, and he made sure to keep expectations low when it didn't come to killing and breaking things.

Rye made a small humming sound, her expression turning to a more neutral state. "How about taking the job to kill the Sheriff?"

Hank instinctively rubbed the back of his head, remembering the times Jesus had snuck up behind him and fucked him over. Thankfully Doc had been patching him up, even from the early days. "Okay, that one might have been a bit of a mistake. Not because of the whole Improbability Drive, but mostly because I had to take a bullet to the head, and a sword to the back. Fucking prick..."

Rye let out a little giggle, and Hank wished he could tell her to shut it. Well, he could, but he liked hearing her laugh. Standing up, Rye smiled. "Alright, so, what's after this?"

If Hank could give a shit-eating grin, he'd do it with malicious intent.

---

The fancy place that Sanford had told him about actually had terrible service, with nobody coming along to even get them drinks for a solid half hour. And then another half hour of sitting there with finished drinks, nobody even stopping by to ask if they needed refills. At that point, Rye could feel her patience starting to run thin, and she was pretty sure Hank was reaching for some weapon he likely kept in case of this exact situation.

Letting out a sigh, Rye made a suggestion. "Hey, wanna just leave and see if we can't find a hotdog stand or something? This place kinda sucks."

Hank stopped reaching for whatever it was he was going to kill everyone there with, and seemed to think about the offer. "Y'know, I would normally say 'after I kill everyone here', but I just want to get the fuck out of here. Let's go." The man got up, and started walking away.

Normally, Rye would tell him to at least pay for the drinks. But this place had left them just sitting for an hour, and at this point the bartender couldn't really give a shit. "Yep." On the way out the door, Rye could hear someone calling out for her, and her response was to raise her hand, flipping them off with no regret.

After walking for a few minutes, the pair found a hotdog stand, and began eating the cheap food. As the psychopath finished his, he threw the trash over his shoulder, and let out a small sigh. "Look, I'm sorry that the place wasn't really all that good. Sanford suggested it, and I trust his judgment more than Deimos' or my own when it comes to nice places."

Rye gave a shrug. "Eh, sometimes places just have bad days. Granted, I'm not really gonna give them a second chance for at least a month, but maybe once I'm done being bitter about sitting there for an hour with drinks being the only thing they actually managed to get to us, I'll give them another go."

"Damn, that's more generous than what I'd do. Sure, I'd have to make sure they don't know how to link the arson to me, considering I already have a rap sheet long enough for like ten people."

Rye let out a laugh. "Let me know if you ever need help with burning things. I have some decent experience."

Hank chuckled. "I'll make sure to call." Hank pulled out his communicator for a second, noting the time. "Hey, there's that theater like five minutes away. Wanna see if there's anything worth watching?"

"Sure, I could go for some dumb fun right about now."

---

As it turned out, there was exactly one movie that had caught Hank's eye. A horror movie remake that seemed to rely on nostalgia for the original, and focusing much more heavily on the gore and effects than anything else. Perfect for a man whose definition of a good time is beating people to death with various objects. Grabbing a large bag of popcorn that some idiot had left unattended, Hank settled into a seat in the front row, Rye seating herself next to him.

The movie didn't really have that good of a story, with cardboard cutouts as characters that didn't really have any personality aside from one aspect. But Hank was never the kind of guy to care much for any of that. He wanted to see blood and gore, and he wanted it to look as authentic as possible. Twenty minutes into the movie, when things started going wrong for the characters, and the horrible mutant abomination started ripping the idiots to pieces, Hank glanced over to Rye, only just noticing the way she was shaking. The psycho would have frowned, and quietly nudged her, earning a small squeak from his companion. "Damn, Rye are you okay? You need to step out or something?"

Rye let out a shaky laugh, shaking her head. "N-nah, I'm fine. Just not really u-used to seeing movies like this. Usually I just read some trashy book I c-can sit down and-" Rye was interrupted by a loud roaring screech from the mutant leaping out of the shadows onto an unsuspecting victim. The bartender let out another small squeak.

Hank let out a sigh, and wrapped his arm around Rye's shoulders, pulling her close. "Y'know, you could've said something, maybe even say you wanted to watch that romcom."

Rye gave a pout, but made no move to get out of Hank's hold. "But those are terrible. And not even the fun kind of bad that you can make fun of. Like, actually torture level of bad."

Hank raised a brow. "Worse than this?"

Rye smirked, and fluttered her eyes. "You wouldn't hold me like this if we were watching a shitty romcom."

Hank started sputtering, blushing heavily, before settling on a simple, "Shut up."

He still kept her close.

---

After the movie, Hank asked if Rye had any dresses available, something that she would wear to a fancy restaurant that had a dress code. Unsure where the question was leading, the bartender confirmed that, yes, she did in fact have a nice dress that she kept for special occasions. Hank let out a small breath, then nodded a couple of times. "Alright, let's head home and get ready."

That set off alarms bells all throughout Rye's mind. "Ready? Ready for what?! Hank?!" The chuckle that Hank responded with did nothing to calm her fears.

These fears were completely warranted, in the bartender's honest opinion once she saw Hank in a form-fitting suit. The scariest part was the fact that he didn't look all that bad in the suit, although he kept his goggles and mask. "So, I managed to threaten a place to get a reservation, and we have half an hour to get there." That information shirt-circuited Rye's brain, and she could only look at Hank with her mouth agape.

"Huh?" It was honestly the only thing she could articulate.

"Dinner, fancy place. Just the two of us." The way Hank said it, made it seem like it was the part of the day that had been the hardest to manage.

"I-" Rye wasn't sure what she could say at this point, other than a simple, "Okay."

The restaurant that Hank had managed to get reservations to, was a place that had a good reputation. The exact kind of place that people tried their best to pretend that things weren't broken all around them, that things were still normal. The exact kind of place that wouldn't stand a chance in hell if Hank decided to have some fun and slaughter everyone there. As the greeter saw the pair, he gulped, and quickly led them to their table.

The atmosphere was calming, and put Rye at ease. However, looking at Hank, the bartender could tell that he wasn't exactly in his element at the moment, constantly glancing around at the other customers. Gently tapping against the table, Rye turned Hank's attention to her. "Hey, keep your eyes on me. It's just us tonight. No Agency to barge into the place and ruin everything. No Fenrir coming in to warn you about anything at the last minute. Just us, and the time we're spending together."

Hank took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Yeah, yeah I can do that. Just us. You and me. Yeah." As he spoke, the tension in Hank's body slowly bled out.

Rye smiled, and held out her hand across the table. "That's it. It's our night." The bartender could see that the psychopath was blushing above his mask. Despite his embarrassment, he still reached out and grabbed her hand, grumbling under his breath.

Rye gave a reassuring squeeze to Hank, grinning brightly. "See? Not so bad when you're not paying attention to everyone." The man nodded, looking much more at ease. "So, do you want red or white wine?"

"White. I'll be seeing enough red by tomorrow."

Rye let out a exaggerated gasp of shock. "A joke? My, you're very relaxed when you pay attention to me."

Hank let out a soft snicker. "Only when it's the two of us. I have an image to protect around the others."

The rest of the dinner went well, with Hank only being confused for a few moments whenever the food was presented, the man being so used to shitty hotdogs, comfort food from the bar, and whatever shitty rations the could steal from the Agency. He never really thought that food could look nice in a way other than appetizing. Throughout the dinner, the two made little flirty comments about each other, causing cause faces to go red and tongues to be tied.

At the end, the pair had gone through multiple glasses of wine, resulting in Hank feeling a bit lightheaded as he walked, and Rye to giggle randomly at points. Thankfully it wasn't too long of a walk home, and the two made their way to Hank's room, the man doing his best to carefully remove his clothes, on the chance that he would be able to head out for fancy places with Rye in the future.

Turning to the bed, he found Rye already there, smirking at him. "Hey, Hank, give me your hand real quick."

"Uh, sure, what the-" Bringing his arm out for her, Hank was interrupted when the bartender grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him onto the bed, almost flopping right on top of her. "Rye, what-"

Again, Hank was interrupted, this time by Rye's voice. "Hank~." Looking down at the woman, Hank saw the seductive look on her face, eyes half lidded, and softly biting at her lower lip.

Hank's eyes shot wide open. Oh. Gulping, Hank asked, "Rye, are you sure about this?"

"Hank."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Hank let out a small chuckle. "Yes ma'am..."

Notes:

The sheer amount of joy that runs through my veins when I write pure fluff for these idiots is unlike anything I've ever experienced.

Chapter 9

Hank gave a soft little sigh as he felt consciousness bring him back to the waking world. For the first time in years, the man actually wished he could go back to sleep, and just not have to deal with the world around him. Slowly rolling over, the man felt his chest tighten once he saw Rye's sleeping face. The woman was drooling onto her pillow, something that she could deal with on her own time. Reaching out, Hank ran his hand through her hair. Breathing in deeply, the man pulled himself out from the bed, and began getting dressed in his usual outfit.

Hank heard a small groan come from the bed, and turned to see the bartender sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looked around for a few seconds, then turned her attention to Hank, blushing faintly. "Oh, hey. Heading out?"

The psychopath almost nodded, before the checked the time. Only six in the morning. "Mm, I can probably stick around for half an hour."

Rye smiled. "Cool. I'm gonna go take a shower. Think you can make another breakfast? Nothing too fancy, just something real quick."

"Yeah, take your time."

"Mhm. C'mere a sec." Hank walked over to the bed, and let out a grunt of surprise when Rye pulled him down and gave him a quick kiss. His mask was still covering the lower half of his face, which was honestly better than if Rye had tried to figure out where to kiss him with his whole mouth and jaw situation being what it was.

The psychopath grumbled as he felt a blush creep up his face. The bartender giggled as she set off for the bathroom. Hank wasn't exactly opposed to the surprise kiss, but he would definitely need to get used to it. The man let out a content sigh as he entered the kitchen, looking through the cabinets for anything he could just pop in the microwave. There wasn't really much, aside from a shit ton of oatmeal packets, Hank not having a single idea how long they had been there for.

With a shrug, the man began preparing the bland breakfast. It was a simple process that Hank barely paid any attention to. Sure, he probably could have made something marginally better, but that would take time that he wanted to spend relaxing with his-

The psycho froze for a second, unsure on what exactly he and Rye were to each other after last night. Are we... dating? It was a thought that Hank never thought would feel so important. The man gulped, and quickly got back to making breakfast. For the moment, Hank needed to focus on literally anything else, head out to kill Loki, and when Hank and Rye had some time, maybe have a conversation about exactly what they were.

---

Fenrir appeared to be fast asleep on the helicopter ride to the facility. Of course, he was fully awake and prepared for any sudden situations that would arise. Feeling somebody tap his leg, the man lazily opened one eye and had to remind himself not too glare too much at the person that had disturbed him. The man wore a brown leather duster, a horrible dull yellow shirt, and brown jeans. The man had many gold rings, and a fancy watch that Fenrir would more than happily loot from his corpse.

The man gave a smug little smile to Fenrir as he opened his eyes. "Ah, Fenrir, so glad to see you're a selectively heavy sleeper. We're coming up on the factory soon. Make sure you're prepared on the chance that any interruptions arise."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go and grace these idiots with our holy presence." Fenrir's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Fenrir my good friend, please get these thoughts that you're not leagues above the common rabble out of your mind. You might get the notion to save these worms on the off chance Hank or any of the other dogs that run with him actually show up, and I commend you for that, I truly do. But you must not let your feelings get in the way of what's truly important for us."

Fenrir snorted, shaking his head. "Right." The remainder of the helicopter ride was passed in silence. Thankfully it was short, only a few minutes before the helicopter landed on the top of the building, Agents scattered around the helipad. Hopping out of the vehicle, Fenrir was tempted to pull out the pack of cigarettes he had 'looted from Deimos'. He knew it wasn't exactly the best idea, considering he would probably be attempting to kill his way out alongside Hank in less than an hour, but the craving was there, and he was really thinking about just lighting up real quick. As Loki walked over to the Engineer that seemed to have drawn the short stick and forced to be the leader of the group of Agents, Fenrir shook his head in sympathy.

"Well, you've been graced with our presence for the duration of the hour, so make the tour as quickly as you can, our time is precious."

The Engineer seemed to hold back a sigh, and nodded. "This way, sir." As the group of Agents led the two Ragnarök members throughout the facility, Loki seemed to be disinterested throughout it all, and Fenrir couldn't help but feel a vindictive satisfaction knowing this was the narcissistic asshole's final day. "Here's the assembly line, we tightened security around here to make sure nothing happens to this factory."

"Yes, I'm sure nothing like that will happen to this one." Loki clicked his tongue in obvious disappointment. "Since this has been so very productive, I suggest we take a closer look at security, try to make sure everything is really up to snuff."

As the group of Agents led the two inside the assembly line, Fenrir breathed in deeply. If Hank and Sanford don't break down the front wall in the next five minutes I'm going to start a kill spree myself. The man glanced at the Agents assembled in the large room, counting three Engineers, five L33T Agents, and a single active Soldat. Looking to Loki, the older man figured he could rip out the asshole's throat in two seconds, rush the Soldat and take his rifle, and clear out the rest of the room in under ten seconds.

Shaking his head, Fenrir pulled out a cigarette from the bloody pack, and glanced over to the lead Engineer, "Hey, you got a light?" The Engineer, glanced around, before taking out a mini lighter. The older man leaned in close, inhaling as soon as the cigarette lit. "Thanks. I might decide to save your ass in case anything goes wrong." The Engineer let out a small confused noise, before alarms began to blare. Glancing up, Fenrir let out a small sigh. "Fucking as soon as I decide to light up." Tossing the cig aside, Fenrir looked over to Loki, smiling smugly. "Well, fearless leader, looks like it's our time to shine. Let's get going."

Fenrir was out into the hallway first, the group of Agents following behind, with Loki further behind. Showtime.

---

Sanford fired his shotgun straight into an Engineer's head, mask and skull alike blowing apart. Wiping the viscera from his face, the shirtless man glanced behind him, seeing Hank snap a L33T Agent's neck, before giving a thumbs up. Nodding, Sanford moved up, the door into the next room opening, another group huddled behind cover. Seeing a flimsy folding table with cards scatter around the floor, the shirtless mercenary firing into the makeshift cover, and grinning as he the table bounce up, revealing the body of the Agent stupid enough to use it as cover.

Slipping into the room and ducking behind a large metal container, the man saw hank rush into the room, straight past the container, and over the crate that Sanford had caught a glimpse of. Snickering, the man heard shrieks of fear and shots going off before quickly going silent. Stepping out from his cover, Sanford saw Hank picking up a rifle, checking the magazine. "You think Fenrir was telling the truth? So far we haven't found him or that Loki guy. I mean, we haven't really met anyone that might give us any trouble, so if this is a trap; it's pretty dogshit."

Hank let out a small hum. "We still have the rest of the place to clear. We'll find out eventually."

Shaking his head, Sanford couldn't really say much else. "I guess."

After clearing two more rooms, the two mercenaries finally noticed someone rush in, and Sanford had to pull up his shotgun to keep from blowing Fenrir's chest open. The buckshot went high, ricocheting around to an Agent coming behind the man. Fenrir rushed past the shirtless man, and attempted to tackle Hank, the psychopath stepping to the side, forcing the older man to skid to a halt. The man grinned savagely. "Hey buddy. You ready?"

Hank let out a small huff, and nodded his head almost imperceptibly. "Let's get this over with..."

Sanford let out a snicker, then ducked out of the way of a shot from a pistol. The shirtless man looked at the group of Agents that had followed behind Fenrir. He aimed his shotgun at the group, and cursed silently as he pulled the trigger and a click was all he got in return. Throwing the shotgun like a baseball, the gun embedded itself into an Agents skull. Taking his hook out, the man threw it, yanking it back into an Engineer's arm. Rushing forward as he yanked the wire back, the shirtless man clotheslined the Engineer and ripped the hook from his arm. Grabbing a L33T Agent by the throat, Sanford slammed their head into the wall, the concrete stained with a sudden burst of blood.

The rest of the group scrambled with their weapons to aim at the shirtless man, managing to actually fire off a few shots before Sanford rushed at them, hook glinting under the fluorescent light. Sanford grabbed a rifle from a lone Soldat, and swung his hook up into their skull from the chin. With a sweeping motion, Sanford unloaded the magazine into the group of Agents, a single Engineer being the only one fast enough to duck under the hail of gunfire. Unfortunately for him, the shirtless mercenary knew better than to waste all of the ammo on the group, and popped a few rounds right through the Engineer's mask.

Grinning, Sanford was ready to make a quick quip, before a shot rang out, and grazed the mercenary's shoulder. "Shit!" Dropping the nearly empty rifle, Sanford turned to see a lone man in a really shitty outfit.

The man was grinning, holding a snub-nosed revolver. "Well, well, well, if it isn't good old Thor. It's actually quite fortunate that you and Odin over there decided to come along when you did. Fenrir gets terribly agitated on these outings, and I was afraid for a minute that he would snap and start killing everyone himself."

Sanford narrowed his eyes behind his shades, deciding to play dumb for the moment. "And just who the fuck are you supposed to be?"

The man clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Oh, so my good friend didn't mention anything when he killed yours? I, my good man, am Loki. Usually I would be a gracious host and ask if you would like refreshments or something along those lines, but since you're being terribly rude, I think I'll just kill you." With that, Loki began firing at the mercenary, Sanford weaving between shots and moving towards the posh asshole.

Loki became visibly agitated as the shirtless man ducked past his gunfire, and chucked the gun at Sanford as soon as the cylinder was empty. Sanford let out a small grunt as he shrugged the gun aside, then shoulder tackled Loki through the doorway. Glancing back to see Fenrir and Hank putting on a show in case any more Agents decided to show up, Sanford focused to attention back to Loki. The man was getting to his feet, glaring at the shirtless mercenary. "Y'know, you'd be a lot more threatening if you weren't a pussy."

Loki growled at the taunt, and threw himself at Sanford. The mercenary brushed every sloppy punch that the narcissist threw at him, beginning to feel a little disappointed. Fenrir had said that Loki could hold his own, but this didn't really feel like that. Just as he finished the thought, a feint caught him off-guard and he felt Loki's fist slam into his jaw. The narcissist was grinning, and breathing heavily. "That's just a taste of what's to come."

 Sanford rolled his eyes. "You know how to throw a real punch, good job. Now lemme show you what I can do." With that, the shirtless man lunged at Loki.

---

Hank was breathing heavily, as blood was dripping down a gash on his arm. He and Fenrir had been going at it for a couple of minutes, and they had traded minor injuries that could be patched up easily. As the psychopath readied himself for another trading of blows, Fenrir brought his hands up in a time-out gesture. Hank blinked, then stepped back, focusing on evening his breathing out. 

Fenrir leaned on a wall for a few seconds, before he turned his attention to the door that Sanford has basically thrown Loki through. "Alright, nobody's showing up. Let's go make sure that asshole's dead."

As the two made their way to the door, the sound of someone being hit over and over again became clear once the door opened. There, Sanford was holding Loki by his hair, the man on his knees as the mercenary slammed his fist into his face again and again. Hank let out a small grunt of approval, "Alright, I think you've had enough fun. Time to get going."

Sanford glanced back to the two, frowning. "But I just got started man."

Loki looked past the large man beating his ass, and weakly raised a hand, sputtering out blood. "F-Fenrir...h-help..."

The man being addressed let out a sigh, and scratched at the back of his head. "Yeah, alright." Fenrir walked up and clapped a hand on Sanford's shoulder. "Mind if I do the honors?"

The shirtless man let out a snort. "Honestly I don't really care. This is your vendetta." With that, he let go of Loki, the beaten man slumping over.

Fenrir crouched down, grinning savagely as he looked at the beaten man. "Y'know, this is honestly kinda bittersweet. I mean, sure, I've been really thinking about this moment, but the others aren't going to be nearly as satisfying to bump off."

Loki sputtered out more blood, a small pool forming under his mouth. "Why?"

That didn't seem to be the best question for Fenrir. "WHY?!" The man roared into Loki's face, fury plain to see on his face. "YOU TOOK THE LAST PERSON I GAVE A SHIT ABOUT, AND YOU HAVE THE BALLS  TO ASK WHY?! YOU HONESTLY THOUGHT I WOULDN'T DIG DEEPER?! YOU THOUGHT I'D JUST ACCEPT THAT BULLSHIT EXPLANATION THAT IT WAS HANK'S CREW THAT POISONED DEVIN?! HOW FUCKING STUPID DO YOU THINK I AM?!" Fenrir stood up, and began kicking Loki in the stomach, the blows forcing more blood out from the beaten man's mouth. "YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN'T FIND OUT IT WAS YOU?! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" Fenrir reached down, and grabbed Loki by the throat, blood starting to pour out from where he had grabbed the man. "Rot." The furious man yanked back, ripping half of the flesh off of Loki's neck. The man stared with wide eyes as he quickly bled out. Fenrir glared at the dying man for a few seconds before letting out a shaky sigh.

Hank stood there, not really sure if he should say anything to the seething man just yet. The psycho glanced to Sanford, who seemed to be just as unsure as he was. The shirtless man questioningly pointed his thumb over his shoulder. Hank nodded, and the pair quietly made their way out of the room. Sanford let out a small cough. "Well, that got a bit intense there."

Hank nodded. "Yeah." Devin. The dead kid. Fenrir's dead kid. Why the fuck did Doc need his name? It was a strange question, and it felt like it was going to be a long talk that Hank and Doc would need to have in person. "Maybe we shou-"

Hank's suggestion was cut off by another roar from Fenrir, clearly herd even from the next room. "NOOOOOOOO! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT DON'T YOU DARE DO THIS TO ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I'LL FUCKING FIND YOU, AND ALL THE OTHER SHITS YOU MADE TO BE YOU! FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!"

Hank rushed back into the room, wondering what the hell could have set Fenrir off again. He saw the man stomping at Loki's dead body, clutching a watch in his hand. "What?! What the fuck is wrong?!"

Fenrir turned, snarling. "This piece of shit isn't Loki!"

The psycho blinked, not quite understanding. "What?"

Fenrir crouched down, grabbing at the wrist that Loki had strapped the watch to. Hank stepped closer, looking at the indented flesh. There, clear as day, was a number branded into the flesh. The number four. Hank's eyes widened. "Wait, this was a setup?!"

Fenrir growled, and slammed his fist straight through the dead body's skull. "Maybe. Probably!" Fenrir rubbed at his face, uncaring that he was smearing it with blood.

Hank's mind was going a mile a second, before it screeched to a halt, settling on one person. "Rye."

The other man looked at Hank in confusion. "What?"

Hank didn't elaborate, instead turning on his heel and beginning to haul his ass through the facility. Rye's all alone. It was a thought that the man didn't know could case more fear than Tricky's demon skull form. Feeling his breathing quicken, the psycho needed to get to the bar as fast as he could.

---

Rye blew a raspberry, somewhat bored. After an okay breakfast with Hank, the woman had gotten ready for another day of work. So far it was just another day, nothing interesting happening, no new customers that caught her interest. Just another day. Hearing the door open, the bartender was surprised to see a woman. Usually she served a bunch of guys just wanting a drink for various reasons. Waving, Rye greeted the newcomer, "Hey there! Kinda rare to see another woman around these parts."

The woman wore shorts and a tank top, both in nauseatingly bright pink. From one shoulder to the other was a tattoo of a little cartoony snake, staring blankly. The woman returned Rye's wave. "Hey. Yeah, kinda just passing through, and I remembered that my brother told me about a nice bar in the area. He mentioned it had good drinks and nice service."

Rye smiled. "Well, here's hoping I live up to expectations. So, what can I get ya?"

The woman let out a hum. "You know a Water Moccasin?"

Rye grinned. "Yeah, I can whip it up real quick." As she began mixing the drink, the bartender decided to strike up a conversation. "I didn't get your name. I'm Rye."

The woman smiled. "Oh, all my friends call me Jodi. Not sure how long I'll be around, kinda just here cause of my job for right now."

"Yeah, so what do you do for work?"

Jodi giggled. "I can't really talk about it. Kinda has to be hush-hush. Although I might be able to let you in on a little secret real quick."

"And what's that?" Rye questioned as she finished the drink, handing it to Jodi.

Jodi ran a finger around the rim of the glass, and gave the bartender an apologetic smile. "My family's going to kill your friends real soon."

Rye blinked, suddenly feeling very unsafe. "Huh?"

Jodi knocked back her drink, and tilted her head to the side. "Yeah. Sorry you had to find out like this, but my bro's kinda on thin ice, and he's been here real recently. I'm sure you understand." With that, Jodi reached behind her back, and pulled out a karambit knife, her arm lunging forward to place the blade against the bartender's neck. "I'm sure you're really nice, but I have orders from Dad."

Rye gulped, and glanced over to the MP5. Chances were that she'd end up dead, but considering the alternative, it was likely better to go out fighting. The bartender smiled sweetly, and responded. "Sorry, no crazy bitches allowed in the bar. Boss's words."

Notes:

Are you ready for shit to start going down? I'm not.

Chapter 10

Hank couldn't really focus on much except the vast wasteland in front of him, uncaring of whatever got in his way to the bar. There was a constant ringing in his ears, and the voices of Sanford and Fenrir saying something was too muffled to understand. But he didn't care, all he needed right now was to make sure Rye was okay. She had to be okay.

As time passed, the ringing in his ears began to fade, and Hank could finally understand what the other two were talking about. "For the last time, if I wanted to kill you two, I wouldn't waste my time helping your stupid asses. I'd just put a bullet in your heads!"

"Oh, so you getting Deimos out of the way, and us as far away from Rye as we could, yeah that's all just a big coincidence!"

Fenrir let out a growl. "If you really think I'm trying to kill you, why aren't you just getting rid of me, then?"

Sanford let out a sigh. "Because if you're actually telling the truth, then you're out best chance of making sure she's safe and sound. And as much as I don't like you right now, I'm willing to take that bet, as long as it means Rye's fine by the end of the day."

The only sounds for a few moments was the wind rushing past the trio, and the engine roaring. The turncoat spoke up again, all aggression having drained out of his tone. "You all really care about her, huh?"

"She's the one out of all of us that's just trying to live a normal life. Well, as normal as you can get in this shithole. She doesn't exactly jump with joy at the idea of killing a whole room of idiots that can barely shoot a gun. She's not defenseless, but she sure as shit doesn't love violence. Not like the rest of us. Well, except maybe Doc, he just does what he needs to do." Fenrir let out a hum barely audible over the engine and wind.

---

The rest of the drive was spent in relative silence, Fenrir and Sanford apparently finding an understanding for the moment. The shirtless man's foot kept tapping against the floor of the car, and his hands were clenching and unclenching constantly. Usually he was the perfect picture of calm, even when he went up against reality breaking bullshit like Tricky. But right now, cracks in his demeanor were starting to form, and he wasn't sure how long he could keep his poker face up.

As the buildings zoomed by, the shirtless man felt a pit starting to grow in his stomach, every second closer to the bar making the feeling more intense. Eventually, the car had screeched to a stop in front of the bar, Hank taking a pistol from the glove compartment. The psychopath kicked the door in, gun at the ready for any Agents in the area. Right behind Hank, Sanford could see that the bar had seen better days. Half of the bottles behind the bar were shattered, with clear bullet holes running along most of the walls, tables and bodies littering the floor randomly.

Sanford recognized a few of the bodies as regulars that kept coming even after the gang had started showing up. Dean, an older gentleman, was slumped over by a wall, his chest caved in with a table leg. Jeff, the local drug dealer that knew better than to try to sell anywhere near the bar, seemed to be missing half of his skull, maybe he had been on the wrong end of a shotgun.

After a few seconds of tense silence, the group ready to take out any straggling Agents, Sanford began checking the other bodies, hoping that he didn't find his friend. After searching for a few minutes, the man let out a small sigh of relief, not seeing anything that would suggest Rye's death. Hearing a sudden gasping, Sanford kicked a chair up into his grip, ready to smash it down onto an Agent. However, instead of finding some mook that had decided to show up at the worst time, the shirtless man saw a hand flailing weakly from under a pile of tables.

Motioning to Fenrir, the two got the furniture off of the body, finding a man with only a gunshot wound to his shoulder. He looked pale, and there was a sizable pool of blood, although the wound didn't seem to be gushing out blood at the moment. Sanford kneeled down, shaking the man awake. "Hey, the hell happened?"

The man blinked sluggishly, slowly focusing on Sanford. "There... there was a woman... started a fight, then..." The man took a few heavy breaths, closing his eyes. "Agency stormed in... wanted the bartender... Massacre..." The man stopped talking, passing out. The only thing that showed he was alive were the slow rise and falls of his chest.

Sanford let out a sigh, pushing up his shades and rubbing at his eyes. "Great. Looks like good ol' AAHW wants something from Rye..."

Fenrir began setting up a table, a bottle of the bar's most expensive top shelf bottle, and three shot glasses. "Probably going to interrogate her for anything you guys might have let slip to her. None of you were really all that discrete when it came to casual time off."

Hank pulled up a chair to the table, aiming his pistol at Fenrir. "Yeah? And how do we know you didn't just keep coming by so they knew when to show up?"

Pouring a shot, Fenrir ground his teeth together, a high pitched screeching sound emanating from his mouth. "Because, again, I wouldn't waste time trying to buddy up to you assholes. I'd just kill you and get it over with. Although, there's a chance I wasn't as careful as I thought I was when I made my way down here."

Sanford was next to sit down, rubbing at his face. "Alright. Is there any places you can think of that they'd take her to? Anywhere they're especially prepared for us?"

The turncoat let out a sigh, before he poured two more shots for his companions. "There's a couple that come to mind. And there's one that's probably the place we're going to end up at regardless. The good ol' shithole facility Loki keeps his 'family' holed up in. Middle of fuckall nowhere, heavily fortified with Soldats and a couple MAG Agents, practically a fucking maze unless you've been there a while, and full of experiments that makes us all look like perfectly normal members of society in comparison. Honestly, we're going to need a whole ass arsenal, and the power of Christ on our side if we want to pull off a rescue mission like this." Fenrir held up his shot, seemingly resigned to the suicide mission.

As Sanford picked up his own shot, Hank stared at the small glass. "Think you can get a straw for that?"

"For fucks sake. Fine." Getting up and heading over to the bar counter, Fenrir leaned over, finding and grabbing a small straw for the psychopath. Setting it in the shot glass, Fenrir glowered. "Better?" Hank said nothing in response, only holding up his glass. The three clinked their shots together, with Sanford and Fenrir knocking theirs back in a second, while Hank quickly sipped at the straw. "So, it's definitely been a time in my life that I've known you two."

"Yeah, feeling's kinda mutual."

Hearing the door to the bar open, the trio looked over to see a newcomer. Upon realizing who it was, Sanford's mouth fell open, while Hank pointed his gun, and fired until the magazine was empty, and then threw the gun for good measure. Unfortunately, Jebus simply held out a hand, the bullets stopping midair before they fell harmlessly to the floor. "Really, Hank? That impulsiveness is going to get you killed one day."

"It already did, fuckwit!" Hank spat back, understandably pissed at the sight of one of his nemeses.

The seemingly holy man let out a sigh. "Of course. Luckily for you, I'm not here to put you down for good."

Sanford, knowing when to pick a fight, and when to keep Hank from getting everyone killed, decided to take over speaking privileges. "Alright, so what are you here for?"

Jebus held his hands together behind his back. "I'm here to offer my assistance."

"Bullshit." The trio of men responded in unison.

The holy man sighed. "As understandable as that reaction is, I'm being quite genuine here. See, despite breaking away form the Agency, and wanting to just live my life for a bit, I've been keeping tabs on you Hank, doing my best to keep your destructive tendencies focused on a greater evil. Now, imagine my surprise when I saw you and the woman on an outing together. You two looked almost normal."

Hank clenched his hands into fists, growling. "Get to the fucking point."

Rolling his eyes, Jebus leaned forward, smiling. "You, Hank, seem to be affected by your little girlfriend. She appears to have a bit of a calming effect on you, as minor as it is. Honestly, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actually in love with her. Ah, but I'm getting off topic. She keeps you 'docile', for the lack of a better term. And, as much as I hate to admit it, you're far better off with her than whatever it was you were doing on your own, even if it means the poor girl gets dragged down with you."

Sanford took a step forward, placing a hand on Hank's shoulder, the psychopath visibly shaking with rage. "Alright, you help Hank, and it keeps him from flipping his shit and hurting a whole lot of people that don't need to be hurt. That about sum it up?"

"In as many words, yes. Besides, I don't believe that you have the capacity to actually refuse my assistance. After all, it's as he said," Jebus, gesturing to Fenrir with a smirk on his face, repeated the turncoat's words, "You'll need the power of Christ if you want to rescue your friend."

"Y'know, I was being a sarcastic asshole about it, but I won't complain when literal divine intervention is just dropped in my lap." Fenrir shrugged, on board with the idea.

"Yeah, that's because you didn't have this asshole hounding your ass for years!"

Sanford let out a sigh, patting Hank's shoulder. "Yeah, but is some petty bullshit more important than getting Rye back?"

The psychopath let out a flurry of angry growls, before huffing. "This is the only time I'm willing to do this, got it?"

Jebus chuckled. "Of course."

---

Rye returned to consciousness painfully, opening and immediately shutting her eyes at the harsh light aimed directly at her face. The bartender tried to move her hands to shield herself from the light, finding herself incapable of moving. Slowly squinting down to her hands, she found them strapped down to a chair, the bindings more than tight enough to keep her in place.

Looking up, she couldn't see anything past the harsh light beaming down at her. Fortunately, she could still hear well enough, and the sounds of shuffling made their way to her ears. "Alright assholes, what do you want?"

"Oh? It seems she still has some fight left in her. Jormungand, you really did hold back. I'm quite impressed." A figure stepped in front of the light, and while she couldn't make out any features, the silhouette had an air of superiority over everyone around them. "Usually I would offer refreshments, or a bite to eat, but I'm afraid this isn't the best time for pleasantries. My son, bless his poor, misguided soul, seems to be in the rebellious phase of his life." Rye wasn't exactly sure what the guy was talking about, but it seemed to be whatever the fuck Jodi was saying before that whole shitshow happened. "Now, it all seems to stem from that bar you work at. Of course, there's a perfectly rational explanation for it, such as him being tempted away from the cause."

The bartender blinked in confusion. "What the fuck are you even talking about?"

The figure sighed, apparently disappointed. "Fenrir, I'm sure you've seen him. Metal teeth, unruly hair that he absolutely refuses to keep tidy, general pessimistic attitude."

Rye's eyes widened. "Wait, you think I have something to do with him doing whatever it is he's doing?"

"Well, what else could it be? I took care of the leech sucking the lifeblood at his side, and put his focus where it truly belongs. The people we are quite literally made to kill."

Oh dear god he's an idiot. "Alright, so, let's say for the sake of argument that I'm telling your friend to ditch whatever you guys are doing. Why would he listen to me? What could I possibly tell him that would change his mind?"

The figure tilted his head to his side, inadvertently letting the harsh light beam down straight at Rye's eyes once again. "Seduction, mostly. Or feeding into his paranoia. He keeps thinking we're out to get him, when all we really want is the best for him, like any family should."

"Uh-huh, right. Or, maybe, and I'm kinda just spitballing here; you're all fucking crazy and he doesn't want to be a part of that anymore?"

The man sighed, turning and walking back into the shadows. "Well, it seems that doing this the kind way isn't producing any results. Jormungand, Surt. Do try to keep her alive long enough that we get what we need to bring Fenrir back to his senses. We can't afford to waste any time with petty family squabbles." As the man left, and cart with a tray carrying various tools was wheeled out into the light.

Jodi's voice rang out, giggling. "Oh, I just can't wait to get started! Ooh, Surt, what do you think we should start with? Pulling off her nails, teeth, or something else?"

A gruff voice rumbled out. "I don't care. Let's just hurry up and get what we need. I don't like it when they can't fight back."

"That's because you're thinking of this like it's a fight, silly! This is information extraction, and that means we can do whatever we want! Hm, well, since you're not giving me any ideas, let's go with the car battery first."

Car battery?! Rye began to struggle, trying to get the bindings against her wrists loose, as Jodi stepped forward, holding a pair of jumper cables. "Hey, Jodi, look, no hard feelings, right?"

The crazy woman giggled. "Of course not! You just need to tell us what you did to get big brother to hate us so much."

The bartender gulped, starting to shake in her forced seat. "But I didn't even do anything..."

Notes:

So, uh, this chapter sets up a little bit of what's to come.

Please don't hate me for doing this to wine mom, guys.

Chapter 11

Summary:

GUYS I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T BE MAD

With Fenrir driving, Sanford and Jebus in the back, and Hank riding shotgun, the savior couldn't help but feel like this was the buildup to a climax in a b-list action movie from years ago. Granted, those usually ended with the group losing someone along the way, only for it to be revealed as a fake-out, and the heroes all either drive off into the sunset, or their separate ways. This was likely to end with someone dying, and if it just so happened to be Hank, then there would be very few to miss the man.

The ride to the facility was silent, no jokes to ease the tension, no last minute checks to make sure everyone was prepared. No final speech to rally the morale of the squad, just a silent drive to where they needed to go. Simple. As the building slowly came into view, Fenrir slowed down to a stop, and pointed to the glovebox. "See if there's any binoculars in there." Hank opened the glovebox, and handed Fenrir a rifle scope. "This- Fuck it, it'll work." Looking through the scope, Fenrir listed off the locations and number of guards he could see. "Okay, so, our best chance at getting inside undetected is if we slip around to the east side, take out the guards quick and quiet. Inside, we're going to want to find someone that's just recently been posted here, take the map they got, and find our way to Ragnarök's favorite interrogation room."

Sanford let out a small hum as he looked at the facility. "So, what? They're just gonna let us through the place like we own it?"

"Oh, fuck no. We have, realistically, around ten seconds before alarms starting going off everywhere in there. Ideally, about a minute before anybody recognizes you assholes. No offense." Tossing the scope over to Hank, the turncoat rubbed at his face. "I'm gonna be real, this is going to be a real test of everybody's endurance. We're probably going to being going up against a literal small army before we make it to your bartender friend, if she's even still alive at this point."

"She's alive." Hank and Sanford spoke in unison, tones offering no argument. Hank and Sanford kept their gaze on the facility, clearly tense.

"Right. Hey, holy savior, got anything to corroborate that? Some kinda mystic feeling in your bones or whatever the hell else?"

Jeb let out a snort. "As useful as being omniscient would be, I'm afraid that's not something I have."

Letting out a sigh, Fenrir hunched himself over the steering wheel. "Great. Thanks. Don't know why I even asked. After all, why would the world ever give me a goddamn break?" The high pitched screeching of Fenrir gnashing his teeth together rang out through the car, causing Sanford and Jebus to wince. "Alright. At this point we're just putting it off. Let's rock."

---

Rye breathed in shakily, unsure how long it had been since Jormun and Surt had started their 'interrogation'. An hour? Three? The bartender hadn't passed out from the pain yet, but it was getting harder every time they gave her a break to keep her eyes open. They had cut, stabbed, beaten, shocked, burned, and generally tortured her with a lot of ways, more than Rye could keep track of. It all hurt like hell. Sure, there was the few times Hank had made a point and stabbed or cut her arm a bit, but it was only to make a quick point, and the man had never taken childlike joy in doing it. But Jormungand was something else.

It was almost like she didn't quite understand what she was doing to the bartender, but the things she said turned that theory into dust. 'You're lasting longer than most people.' 'This one's my favorite, it gets in that one special spot that makes people scream so loud.' Just a couple of things the torturer had said that made it clear as day that she knew exactly the kind of pain she was inflicting, and she was taking great glee from the fact.

Surt, on the other hand, was a lot more hesitant and remorseful, constantly reminding Rye that the pain would stop as soon as she started telling them what they wanted to hear. Unfortunately, what they wanted wasn't what she could tell them. Oh yeah, let me just tell you how I threw myself at this random guy I met, and convinced him to turn against you all, yeah that's totally what happened. The thought almost brought a smile to Rye's face.

"Maybe she really doesn't know anything, and this is just a giant waste of time."

"Mmm, no."

"No? The fuck do you mean 'No'?!"

"She's just really good at keeping secrets. Hm, maybe we're going about this the wrong way. We're hurting her, but it's nothing that'll last, really leave a mark on her, y'know?"

"...And? We're gonna, what, start sawing off limbs? Maybe rip out an eye or two?"

"I was thinking we'd start at either fingers or toes. Start with the useless ones, then work our way up."

"You're sick, you know that, right?"

"I like to think of it as me being very enthusiastic about what I do. Besides, Papa wouldn't love me any other way."

The man let out a snort. "Of course."

Rye gulped, hating how their conversation had gone. She hated that she hadn't thought of anything to tell them to delay their torture even more. "C-come on, I'm sure that's not really needed, right?"

Surt let out a sigh. "Unless you have something that would explain why Fenrir decided to turn on us, I'm afraid Jormun here's going to start leaving some lasting scars."

Rye's mind frantically went back to the two times she had even talked to the man, before latching onto something he had said with a rage she hadn't thought he was capable of with how uncaring he usually presented himself as. "T-there might be something..." Rye gulped down a breath, trying to keep her voice steady despite the pain. "He said something about the AAHW killing a kid and trying to blame it on Hank and his friends. I-"

"HE WHAT?!" Rye flinched in her binds as Surt strode to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Did he give you any names?! Anything?!"

Rye shook her head with as much vigor as she could. "No! That's all he told me! If he told me anything important I would have told you!" It was true, if it was Hank or any of the other guys, she'd keep her mouth shut until they found her, or her torturers decided they were bored and finally killed her. But Fenrir? Sure, it sucked that Hank killed his brother, but she didn't trust the guy half as far as she could throw him. Rye wouldn't hesitate to throw him under the bus if she had any real information she could give.

Surt rubbed at his face, turning to Jormungand. "He knows."

Jormungand tilted her head to the side, raising a brow. "Huh? About what?"

"He knows that Loki's the one that poisoned Devin!" Surt started pacing, obscuring the light bearing down on the bartender every other second.

"But how? Papa made sure that nothing led to him."

"I don't know, and I don't want to know. He..." Surt stopped his pacing, tapping a finger against the corner of his mouth. "He's not going to stop until he knows for a fact that we're all dead."

"But that stupid kid just made brother weaker. He couldn't even shoot a gun straight, and it was going to get him killed eventually."

"You don't get it, Jormun. That kid was the last blood family Fenrir had. He-" Surt stopped, and shook his head. "Devin was the only thing keeping Fenrir from turning into a real fucking animal. Now..." Surt shrugged, as if he was already resigned to his fate. "Well, you've never seem him really cut loose."

"Please, how bad can it be?" As soon as Jormungand had finished her question, alarms began blaring.

"CODE BLACK! REPEAT, CODE BLACK! FENRIR HAS BITTEN THE HAND THAT FEEDS! REPEAT, FENRIR HAS-"

The voice cut off almost as soon as it began yelling into the intercom. Then, a familiar voice spoke up in place of the first. "You idiots fucked up. You could have just tried to come after me and the others. But no, you had to take the woman I love. And now you get to pay for it."

The intercom cut out, leaving the room in silence save for the loud blaring. Rye looked up, mouth agape. "Hank?"

Jormungand let out a huff. "'Woman he loves', huh? Alright. Let's see if I can't give her a face only he can love."

Rye flinched, eyes wide. "What?! But I gave you what I could!"

Jormungand scowled, grabbing a scalpel from the pile of torture tools. "Don't care, pissed off." That was all the warning Rye got before she was grabbed by her hair, and her head was yanked backwards, her glasses flying off somewhere. "Keep your eyes open, I want you to see it."

"Wha-" Rye didn't even managed to get the word out before the most excruciating pain she had ever felt in her life assaulted her senses. It took a few seconds before she realized that she couldn't see out of her left eye, thanks to the fact that Jormungand was currently using the scalpel to destroy it. Screaming out in agony, the bartender tried her best to jerk away from the surgical tool, but the psychotic woman's grip was too strong.

After a few more seconds of having her eye ruined beyond any saving, Rye felt Jormungand's grip vanish, and the scalpel was yanked out, causing one last flash of pain. The bartender thought she could feel tears pouring out from her eyes, but she wasn't sure if it was just the blood. Her vision was growing darker by the second, and she would have welcomed the embrace of unconsciousness, but before she could fully go under, a stabbing pain surged from her leg. Looking up, she saw the scalpel embedded into her leg, although it wasn't nearly as deep as it could have gone. Rye's vision was suddenly filled with a hand snapping its fingers. "Hey, stay awake! You're not allowed to pass out!"

The bartender shivered, barely gathering enough strength to whisper, "Please..."

---

Hank emptied the rest of the M16's magazine into a Soldat, turning his head into something looking like a cracked open egg, the yellow blood reminding him of egg yolk. Taking the G36 from the dead Agent, Hank fired a four round burst at an Engineer poking his head from the crate he had been using as cover, the last two rounds nailing him straight in the mask.

From his side, using a table as makeshift cover, Fenrir let out a growl as he blindly aimed over with a SPAS-12, calling out to Hank. "Y'know, we probably could have gotten there by now if you didn't MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT RIGHT IN THE COMM ROOM!"

Hank ignored Fenrir's complaint, instead focusing on the newest wave of Agents pouring in from the other side of the room. From somewhere behind him, Sanford kept up his suppressing fire with an MG42. yelling out to the psychopath. "Yeah, kinda with him on this one, bud!"

As the Agents thinned out, until only a few remained, Hank had only one thought running through his head, over and over. Be okay. Once the roomed had been cleared out, with Fenrir and Sanford letting out small sighs, Hank looked over to the two of them, finally addressing Fenrir's complaint. "I want them to know that they made a terrible mistake. I want them to know I'm coming for them. I want them to die afraid."

Fenrir sighed again, rubbing at the back of his had. "Alright, yeah I get that. But still, at least let us know when you're gonna pull some psychological warfare like that."

"No." Hank knew he wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the moment, but he really couldn't bring himself to care. "Alright, how much longer till we get there?"

Sanford reach into the back pocket of his pants, pulling out a smallish piece of paper, looking at it for a few seconds. "Keeping heading straight for two hallways, then we'll be right next to the armory, we could stock up on ammo and a few weapons. From there, we head out the second door on the west side, and then north for another two rooms. Easy enough."

Fenrir snorted. "Sure, just another walk in the park. Here's hoping nobody brought their boombox."

Hank let out a huff, checking the magazine to his rifle. "Why does everyone keep bringing that up?"

"Because in retrospect it's literally nothing compared to all the other shit you did, and the fact that you killed a dude over a fucking boombox is baffling to a normal person."

"But still."

Jebus let out a small cough, twirling his S&W 500 around his finger. "Can we please get moving? We're wasting much more time than we need to." With that, the group pressed on, clearing the hallways without much resistance, before seeing the door to the armory welded to the floor. The savior looked at it for a few seconds, before raising a hand, and slowly raising a finger at the door. The metal door began to groan, before the floor was ripped upward along with the door.

As soon as the door was flung upward, a hail of gunfire was fired out, Jebus holding out a hand, a faint red glow coming off of it. The bullets stopped midair, collecting until the gunfire stopped. Someone inside the armory spoke up in confusion, "The fuck?" As soon as the words were uttered, Jebus pushed his hand forward, and every bullet shot right back into the armory, shredding through anyone inside.

The savior entered the room first, scanning the room for any survivors of his counterattack. Seeing nobody moving, Jebus motioned for the others to follow. "Well, last stop before we find out if your friend is even here in the first place."

The trio ignored Jebus's pessimism, and scanned the armory for ammo, or a better weapon. Fenrir looked for shotgun shells, before he zeroed in on a box of shells that looked a bit different from what he was used to. "Holy shit... Hey, Hank? Wanna swap?"

The psychopath let out a snort. "Why the hell would I?"

The turncoat held up the box of shells, grinning from ear to ear. "Dragon's breath."

Hank's eyes widened, before he tossed his G36 to the floor, rushing over to Fenrir. "Give."

Fenrir laughed, handing his shotgun and the shells to the psycho. "Have fun with that shit. I know I damn well would." Hank ignored the comment, instead ejecting the regular shells that Fenrir still had, and loading in the incendiary rounds.

Everything burns. With that thought, Hank was ready to kill everything in his path. Looking to see Sanford had traded the nearly empty MG42 for an AK47, the psychopath breathed in deeply. Two more rooms. Hank could feel something in his chest, a kind of emotion he hadn't felt for a long time. He couldn't really remember what exactly it was, but he hated it, and he wanted the feeling to stop.

Taking point, Hank raised the SPAS-12, ready to turn anyone in his way into a charred corpse. And as soon as he exited the armory, Hank ducked under three rounds from a Glock, and fired, turning the offending Agent into a mobile bonfire, the poor man screaming in pain as he was cooked alive. The sight made Hank chuckle, loving the agony the Agent was in. Seeing the burning Agent to be the only one in the room, Hank walked past the burning man, barely hearing a shot ring out and the sound of the Agent falling to the ground. The next room was barren, except for the barricade of crates and whatever else they could cram together on short notice. Hank looked over to Jebus, and gestured over to the makeshift barricade.

With a sigh, Jebus held out a hand, and lifted it up, the barricade disassembling and floating into the air in seconds. The group tensed, ready for another surprise hail of gunfire. After a few seconds of nothing, the floating objects moved to the other side, and the group moved forward, Jebus forming a barricade around the door they had entered from.

As the group entered the penultimate room to their destination, Hank was confused to find a single person leaning against a wall, right next to a door. Everyone save for Fenrir raised their weapons, ready to end him, before Fenrir stepped forward, glaring at the man. "Surt. I thought you'd be out of here by now. Got a reason for sticking around?"

The man, built like a brick shed, reminded Hank of Sanford, with how he seemed calm. Surt nodded his head, fiery auburn hair swinging with the motion. "Jormun's in one of her moods again. She's taking it out on your friend in there."

Fenrir nodded. "Thanks for the heads up."

Surt shook his head. "It's the least I can do after what Loki did to-"

"Shut up. Nobody gets to say his name."

"Not even you?"

"I was supposed to take care of him. Look where that got him."

Surt sighed. "Con-"

Fenrir growled. "No! You all wanted Fenrir! So that's who you're getting."

The man opened his mouth, before he shook his head. "That... Yeah that's fair. Be seeing you, then."

"Get out of here, before I think twice about killing you last."

The man nodded, and began walking away, Sanford speaking up quietly. "So, we're just letting him go?"

Fenrir sighed. "You have bigger things to worry about. Like your bartender friend. Let's see if we can't get the drop on Jormun."

The group split into pairs, stacking up on either side of the door. Fenrir held up a hand, and gave a countdown from three. As the last finger went down, the group rushed into the room, with Hank in the lead. In the middle of the room, a woman was vigorously beating Rye, uncaring of the blood spraying across her face. Hank would have grit his teeth if he still had his lower jaw, instead taking out a knife he had acquired earlier, and rushing forward, stabbing at the woman from the side, aiming to dig the blade dip into her neck.

Unfortunately, the woman noticed the footsteps rushing at her from behind at the last second, and twisted away, the blade only barely grazing her neck. The woman kicked Hank away, with much more strength than she seemed to be capable of possessing. Quickly recovering, Hank threw the knife, and brought up his SPAS-12, ready to cook Jormungand alive. However, the woman simply caught the knife midair, and threw it right back, knocking the shotgun off course, the barrel jerking over to the direction of Rye's motionless body. Hank took a sharp intake of breath, thankful that he had some goddamn trigger discipline.

Jormungand let out a snarl as she reached behind her back with both hands, pulling out a pair of karambit knives. She swung her right arm, and Hank hand to duck down as the arm stretched further than it should have, pieces of flesh pulling apart, revealing a biomechanical horror of segmented limb. "You know, I'd say that I made your little whore of a girlfriend about as pretty as you, but I think I made you look a bit better in comparison, if I'm being entirely honest."

Hank glanced over to Rye, seeing Sanford looking her over. From the way the shirtless man shuddered, it wasn't look good for the bartender. Glaring at Jormungand from behind his goggles. "I'm going to shove this down your throat and burn you from the inside." The woman simply laughed in response, pissing Hank off even further. Rye will be fine. Focus. It was the only thing Hank could think as he rushed forward, sliding under another swung from Jormungand's grotesque arm, and firing at the woman's legs. If the bartender wasn't alive by the time they got out of this shithole, Hank would make the Sheriff's activation of the improbability drive look like a goddamn dropped ice cream cone.

Chapter 12

Sanford had to gulp as he looked over Rye's body. She was in very bad shape, even without the fact that her eye had been practically turned to paste. He needed to get her to Doc as fast as possible, otherwise he was pretty sure she'd be dead within an hour. Pulling out his hook, the shirtless man poked holes into his friend's bindings, before he ripped them apart with his hands. Gritting his teeth, Sanford quickly scooped the woman up over his shoulder, ignoring the low groan she let out as he moved her. Glancing over to the fight between Jormungand and Hank, with Fenrir giving the mercenary covering fire, Sanford figured this was the best time to make an exit. "Hey, Jesus!" The holy man turned to him, raising a brow. "She needs to get medical attention, ASAP. I need you to cover me while those two take the bitch out."

The savior looked at the bartender Sanford was carrying, before nodding. "Hand me the map, and I'll clear out the shortest route to an exit." The shirtless man let quickly pulled the piece of paper, quickly pushing into Christ's open hand. The holy man looked at the paper for a couple of seconds, before nodding and stuffing the paper into a pocket. "Keep your distance, I'll take the brunt of their fire."

Sanford nodded, heading out of the room, ignoring the urge to look back one last time. Shuffling Rye in his arm to a position that wouldn't get her shot if he was unlucky enough to actually take a bullet to the chest, the man took a deep, shuddering breath. Just gotta be extra careful. The two had made it through two empty rooms before they came to a hallway damn near packed with Agents, Sanford did his best to stay behind the holy man.

Jebus held out his hand, the red glow coming back and catching the bullets fired at him. Shaking his head, the man pushed his hand back, drawing his handcannon and blowing away the few Agents with enough brains and good enough reaction time to throw themselves to the floor. It only took a few seconds, and the man had already cleared the hall by himself with only a few shots of his own. Shit like that reminded Sanford why he didn't fuck with people that had supernatural bullshit on their side.

The next room, Sanford had decided after looking around for half a second, was absolute goddamn overkill. Shame that overkill doesn't mean much anymore. What looked to be every remaining Agent alive in the facility had taken up positions throughout the giant room. Jebus let out a small hum, then tossed his gun over his shoulder to Sanford. The man quickly snatched it from the air, confused.

Bringing his hands up, Jebus let out a grunt of exertion as everything not bolted down to the floor was lifted up into the air, dozens of Grunts yelping in confusion and fear. Breathing in deeply, the holy man pushed his arms outwards, and crates, vending machines, and Grunts alike smashing into the far wall, turning the dull grey wall a vibrant red and yellow.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." There wasn't really much else that Sanford could think to say.

"Mm, yes, I tend to have that affect on people." Letting out a heavy breath, Jebus reached over his shoulder, drawing his sword from his back. "Now, if you would be so kind as to not fall behind."

The rest of the exfiltration went about as smooth as it could go with the help of Christ himself. Sure, he left dozens of bodies in his wake, but who didn't at some point in their life? Getting into the nearest vehicle, an AAHW van that seemed to be reinforced at the sides and front, Sanford quickly secured Rye's unconscious body as much as he could, and climbed into the driver's seat. Just as Sanford was about to start the van, Jebus hopped into the back. "Uh, the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Keeping you two alive on the chance they decide to give chase."

Sanford wanted to argue, but Rye's survival was more important at the moment. "Fine." Rummaging through a satchel at his waist, Sanford pulled out his communicator, and tossed it into the back. "Send a message to Deimos, let him know we're on the way, and tell him we're gonna need Doc real fucking quick."

Jebus let out a grumble from the back of the van as he began typing. "You have some medical experience, correct?"

The shirtless man grit his teeth as he started driving, the engine roaring as he slammed on the gas, already knowing where the savior was going with that. "She's not looking good. And we don't exactly have time to get her patched up enough to keep her stable. Her best chance in getting to Doc, where he can work his fuckin' magic." God help us all if he can't...

---

Jormungand let out a small yelp as she ducked under a small barrage of gunfire from Fenrir, then grinned when she heard the sound of her darling brother cursing under his breath as he tossed his gun aside. "Oh, brother dearest, if you would come to your senses and help me with this-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Jormungand pouted at Fenrir's outburst, jumping back to avoid another swing from Hank's shotgun. Oh well, Brother will understand eventually.

The woman swung at Hank, her arm extending at the last second to catch him by surprise. Unfortunately, the man didn't even flinch, leaning further back and slamming the shotgun upward, forcing her arm higher, only scraping the blade on his metal jaw. Jormungand gave another pout, starting to understand why her brother had been the one assigned to deal with him. Just one cut would end it, but she wasn't fast enough to catch him off guard.

As the woman was bringing her arm back, and readying her other arm or another swing, Fenrir barked out, "Boost!" As Jormun blinked in confusion, Hank jumped back, and angled his body sideways as Fenrir jumped upward, while Hank used the weapon in his hands as a platform to throw the other man up even higher. The woman's eyes widened as the two rushed her from different angles.

As Fenrir descended, he lashed out with two kicks aimed right for the Jormungand's head, the woman bringing up her arms to block the first strike, then ducking under and rolling away. Right into the shotgun Hank had swung as soon as he had finished boosting Fenrir into the air. Spitting out the blood that the swing had earned, along with a tooth from somewhere in her top row, the woman swung her knives straight for Hank's throat, only for Fenrir to tackle her from the side, and land three quick blows to the side of her head.

Jormungand kicked him away, and quickly got back to her feet, although she wasn't exactly steady after those hits. As the two men rushed after her, the woman couldn't quite understand why the two were working as well together as they were. Fenrir has been trained and enhanced to be Hank's greatest weakness. Why the hell are they fighting like they've known each other for years?

The answer came to her as the two maneuvered between her knives and arms, Fenrir coming up from low to the ground, his spikes digging up out from his fingertips, and stabbed his hand up into Jormungand's side, while his other hand dug into her shoulder. Fear began creeping up the woman's throat as she slashed at her 'brother', missing by inches. They're both monsters. The same kind of monster.

With her left side practically useless, Jormun was forced to speed up her swings, in exchange for keeping her arm at it's regular length. It was keeping Hank and Fenrir at bay for the moment, but she had no doubt that they'd split off and attack her from both sides and beat her down any time soon. Almost as soon as the thought finished, Fenrir split off from the fight, and began circling around.

Deciding to take a gamble, the woman extended her arm, planning to thrust her knife straight into Hank's chest. Unfortunately for her, the psychopath was more than ready, stepping to the side and grabbing her arm. Before Jormungand had a chance to do anything, the man began swinging the shotgun down repeatedly onto her arm, the metal and flesh bending and tearing respectively.

While Hank was ruining her other arm beyond repair, Fenrir tackled the woman from behind, stabbing into her shoulders. As it all happened, Jormungand's vision began to blur, and she could feel warm tears begin to flow down her face as the realization of what was happening began to hit her with full force. "W-WAIT, FENRIR P-P-PLEASE!"

The man growled, before ripping out his hands from the woman's body, and then kicked her in her side a few times for good measure. "No." The fact that the man barely gave her a second glance sent a chill down her spine. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Hank over here said he had something in mind for you?" Stepping on Jormungand's head and putting his weight on her for a few seconds, Fenrir made his way over to the psychopath. "Something about burning her from the inside?"

Hank breathed in deeply, and reached into a pocket, and pulled out three shells. Loading them into his shotgun, the man trudged over to the woman. He kicked her over onto her back, and slammed the barrel of the gun into Jormungand's face. Her head bounced off of the floor, and she let out a yelp of pain, which Hank took full advantage of as he shoved the barrel into her mouth, and angled the gun to aim straight down her throat.

The woman screamed out in pain as Hank fired the three shells, already feeling her body burning inside. Fortunately for her, her body shut down quickly, and she consciousness faded.

---

As Hank stared at the body, the fire erupting from the inside to consume it entirely, the man let out a sigh. He turned to Fenrir, and without so much as another sound, he punched the other man straight in the nose.

"Ah, fuck! WHY?!"

Hank had to consciously keep himself from throwing another punch. "Rye is hurt. Your old friends are the ones that hurt her. Now, give me one good reason why I should just beat your ass and drag you back for some answers."

"Cause I know exactly the kinda hate your feeling. The kinda rage that won't simmer down till they're all dead. After all, it's not the first time they pulled this sort of bullshit."

Hank breathed in deeply, thinking back to the body back in the morgue. "Right..." As soon as the psycho uttered the word, he felt his communicator vibrate. Fishing it out from his clothes, Hank quickly scanned the message from Sanford.

'Hank, Rye's in stable condition, but there's a real bad problem with her eye.'

'How bad is it?'

'It's beyond saving, so her only options dealing with it, or finding a donor for a replacement.'

'How many donors do you think we have?'

'Deimos and I are more than willing to give up an eye for her, but other than us, there aren't many people. Maybe a couple of her regulars, but then there's the problem of the eye being rejected by her body.'

'Put me on the list.'

'You sure?'

'Yes.'

'Aight, I'll let Doc know. Get here as soon as you can.'

Hank let out a sigh as he pocketed his communicator, feeling it buzz as it received the coordinates. "Well, unless there's anything here you think we should fuck up, let's get out of here."

"No complaints here."

Hank let out a grunt, his mind wandering to the whole eye situation. She'll get that damn eye even if I have to rip it out of some dumb bastard's head.

Chapter 13

Sanford tapped at the floor with his foot rapidly, glancing to the room Rye was staying in, still not awake even after a few hours after reaching stable condition. Hank had shown up a bit ago, and was in the middle of a few tests with Doc for compatibility for eye transplant. Looking over to the door again, the man grit his teeth before he began walking in the opposite direction, needing something to distract him from the whole situation.

In a hallway, Sanford came across a sight he wasn't sure how to react to. Leaning against one wall, Fenrir was smoking a cigarette, seemingly without a care in the world. And right in front of him, Deimos looked about ready to pull a gun and empty it into the older man, growling. "Bullshit! There's no way in hell we're letting you just put your eye in her! For all we know, you have it bugged or some shit!"

Fenrir simply blinked, and blew a cloud of smoke right into the hacker's face. "Your resident medical expert has some tests to run, see if my eye's any good for your friend. Thought you'd be thrilled at the fact I'm losing it."

Sanford could see his friend's hand going for a gun at the back of his pants, and decided it was time to step in. "Dei, cut him some slack. He's the reason we have Rye back."

Deimos whirled to face the shirtless man, while Fenrir simply raised a brow. "WHAT?! HE'S THE FUCKIN' REASON THEY HAD HER IN THE FIRST PLACE!" The hacker whirled back to the turncoat, as if daring him to say anything to the contrary. But instead of any rebuttal, the man simply let out a heavy sigh. That just pissed Deimos off even more. "HE'S NOT EVEN DENYING IT!"

Sanford stepped forward, and put a hand on his friend's shoulder in an effort to calm him down. "Deimos. He helped us fight through a whole ass stronghold to get Rye back. There were so many times he could have just decided to kill us and I'm pretty sure Hank and I wouldn't get out without losing a limb in the process."

"So, what?! You trust him?!"

"I trust that he hates Ragnarök enough to work with us. Enough that he doesn't care how they die, as long as they bite it." Deimos let out a growl as he glared at Fenrir, and proceeded to stomp off. The shirtless man sighed, rubbing at the back of his head. "Sorry about that. He's just..." Sanford wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to say.

However, it seemed Fenrir had another set of words to apply. "Completely justified." Sanford blinked from behind his shades, raising a brow. The turncoat took another drag from his cigarette, and leaned his head back to blow into the ceiling. "From his perspective, I show up outta the blue, force him to go underground, and about a week later, a friend of his shows up with an eye beyond saving."

The shirtless man tilted his head, confused. "So then what was the whole smoke in his face thing about?"

"Just cause I understand where that anger's coming from doesn't mean it doesn't get fucking annoying when it's right in my face."

"Fair." Then something the turncoat had said finally processed through Sanford's brain. "So, you're willing to give your eye to her?"

The man nodded, face solemn. "This is my fuckup, so I'm going to do everything I can to fix it. If I hadn't gone to her to find you guys, chances are that she'd be looked over for a bit longer. And since she wasn't she got turned into bait for me and you guys. So, yeah, an eye probably won't make us even, but it's a start, right?"

---

Consciousness came to the bartender in waves, fading in and out a few times, her body simply wanting more of sleep's sweet embrace. When she realized that she had been awake for more than five seconds, the woman slowly lifted her head up, seeing a small room littered with various medical objects. Bandages, painkillers, empty syringes and a few machines she couldn't even think the use for. Everything was blurry for a few seconds, but blinking a few times made it all clearer.

Looking around, Rye couldn't help feel that something was a little bit off, like she needed to move her a head bit more than usual to see things on her left side. Blinking, Rye furrowed her brow as she realized she couldn't see out of her left eye. Bringing a hand up to rub at it, the bartender felt something covering it. Poking at the piece of cloth, Rye figured that someone had wrapped bandages around her eye.

Letting her hand fall down to the bed, Rye lay there, staring vacantly at whatever was in her line of sight as the memories of only hours ago began to slowly drip back to her mind. There was that woman at the bar, the whole fight between the patrons and the Agency. The thought that not even the very real threat of death was enough to deter them from protecting Rye with all they had put a sad smile on her face, flashes of regulars dying gruesomely playing in her head. They put up a real fight, but there was never a chance with the firepower Jormungand had on her side.

Somebody must have hit her head at some point, because the next thing she remembered was being strapped in that hellhole. Looking down, Rye noticed more bandages under her clothes, and she was thankful that whoever had given her medical aid had thought to look over everywhere. There had been so many places that psychotic woman had torn and ripped and cut and stabbed and-

Taking in a sharp breath, Rye clutched at the bed tightly, desperately wishing that somebody was there to help calm her down. Maybe Deimos would make a shitty joke that they could focus on, or Sanford could just be there, with his weirdly soothing presence. Or maybe Hank could hold me. The thought almost made her laugh. The fact that Hank J Wimbleton, Nevada's most notorious murderer, was someone she wished to be comforted by, was something she would have never even thought of a few short years ago.

Rye wasn't sure how long she lay there, just staring past everything, but eventually someone came in, doing something on the other side of the room. It took a minute, but they eventually moved over to her, and the woman heard a sharp inhale. "Rye."

Turning over slowly, Rye saw 2BDamned, looking at her through his mask. She wasn't really sure what he was thinking, with his features being obscured, and his voice taking on a clinical tone. "Hey..."

"So you've noticed it, then?"

The bartender let out a breath, halfheartedly gesturing to her face. "Kinda hard not to notice after a minute. I mean, yeah I thought it was just my head being kinda fucked after what happened at first, but..." Rye trailed off, unsure what she even wanted to say at the moment.

"Of course. Now, is there any pain that you're feeling?"

"Aside from kinda aching all over? Not really."

"Any nausea, lightheadedness, vertigo? Symptoms of that nature."

"No. I think I'm feeling about as well as I can, considering..."

"Right. Would you be so kind as to let me take your vitals?"

"Go ahead, but don't expect me to really care unless I'm actually dying."

"That..." Doc trailed off, looking away for a few seconds. "That's fair. After what you went through, I'm sure you'd rather be out somewhere with the others, or drinking far too much. Which I still think you should cut back, but that's for a later time." 2BDamned went through the usual checkup, listing off vitals that were within whatever the most medically inclined of the group was expecting. "Everything looks to be as well as we can expect. Would you like the others to know that you're awake, or do you need some time to yourself?"

Rye thought about it for a bit. Sure, it'd be kinda nice just to lay there for a while, not having to force herself to put on a brave face in front of her friends. But at the same time, she wasn't sure she'd be doing anything other than replaying the moments in her head over and over again if she was left alone again. "I..." The bartender gulped, unsure for a few seconds. "I... I haven't seen Deimos in a while, it'd be nice to actually talk to him for a bit. Maybe remind him about that tab. Ha."

"Right. I'll go get him." As 2BDamned opened the door, he turned back to Rye. "You'll get through this. You have friends that care about you to help you with that." With those words, the man walked away to get the hacker.

Rye absolutely knew he was right. They wouldn't have gone through the trouble of getting her back if they didn't care, wouldn't have risked their lives if she wasn't their friend. And yet, somewhere in her mind, in the darkest depths where her worst thoughts crept out, a small voice wondered if they should have even done so in the first place. It was the type of thought that made her reach for the nearest bottle.

The bartender wasn't sure how long she waited for, although she didn't think it could have been any longer than ten minutes. As she heard the door open, there was that faint terrible smell of smoke that meant he had either just gone through a single cigarette in a single drag, or he had snuffed it out and saved it for later. "Yo." Turning to face the hacker, Rye smiled, feeling like she hadn't seen that shit eating grin he wore in years.

"Hey..." It wasn't much of a greeting, but it was the most that she could muster at the moment. "How have you been, all holed up here, or wherever the hell you were?"

Pulling up a chair, Deimos sat a bit away from the bed his friend was confined to. "Well, it was honestly boring as shit, mostly just looking things over, disabling alarm systems in advance for missions, that sorta stuff. The most interesting thing I did was find a nice, fancy place for your date with Hank the other day. How'd that go by the way? Any, uh..." The hacker wiggled his brows, snickering, "Action?"

Rye sputtered a bit, feeling the blush rush to her face. "Dei, that's not any of your business!"

The man snorted. "Yeah, but seriously, did it go okay? Like, he didn't kill a whole restaurant because they didn't give him a sharp enough knife or some shit like that, right? Cause I swear to god if he made me find those places just to put them out of business I'm going to be pissed."

The bartender giggled, thankful that her friend wasn't acknowledging the elephant in the room. "No, he didn't do anything like that. He was actually a gentleman. Sure, there were a few things that didn't really go like we wanted, but he kept his cool surprisingly well. It went about as perfectly as a date with him could go."

"Good to know my backbreaking work wasn't wasted." Smiling, the hacker reached into a pocket, and took out a cigarette, bringing it up to his mouth, flame flickering from his thumb. Just as the man was about to light it, he grimaced, and the flame disappeared. "Shit, right. Doctor's orders..." The man let out a sigh, and began to idly nibble at the butt of the cigarette.

Rye couldn't keep herself from giggling, feeling better already. Maybe after a bit of back and forth with Deimos, the bartender would feel up to talking to the other guys, but right now she just wanted to vibe with her friend.

---

2BDamned let out a sigh as he looked over the results from Hank's compatibility exam. It wasn't at all what he wanted to see, although he knew that the psychopath would look at it very differently. Hearing a knock from his door, the medical expert opened a drawer, and quickly tossed the papers inside. "Come in."

As the door opened, and Fenrir stepped into the office, 2BDamned took in every detail he could, idly theorizing possible weaknesses the turncoat might have. As the man sat down across from the 'doctor', the two stared at each other, silence permeating through the room. After a minute, Fenrir decided to give in. "Alright, so, how's this going to work?"

"I'll be examining your eye, making sure there aren't any surprises the Agency decided to leave behind unbeknownst to you, and checking the compatibility of it to Rye. Of course, I don't expect you to be carrying anything unexpected inside, but we can never be too careful when it comes to this sort of thing. Especially when it comes to people I care about."

"Of course. And if she can take my eye, is that going to be the end of that?"

"Normally, I would consider the best candidate, and how it would affect her in the long term, but with how things are at the moment, I can't afford to put any of my people at a disadvantage at their operations."

"Mm, so if she can barely see out of my eye, and Hank's eye would give her better vision than what she had before, you'll still go with mine, because he's too important to handicap?"

2BDamned was silent for a few seconds, before he let out a sigh. "I don't like thinking of it like that, but yes."

"Of course you don't. So, who're you going with on the chance my eye's no good?"

"I haven't tested everyone willing, but I'll give her what I can."

"Alright then, let's get this over with." With that, the exam began without any further stalling, 2BDamned finding no surprises from the Agency within the eye itself, a relief in itself. After the rest of the test, the 'doctor' looked at the results, surprised to find just how well the turncoat's eye matched for the bartender.

Interesting. Perhaps this will end with all parties satisfied. "Well, it seems that you more than qualify for the transplant. A surprise to be sure, but one that's more than welcome."

Fenrir let out a sigh at the news. "Good. So, how long until she's ready for the operation? A week? Two?"

"I can't give a concrete estimate, so we'll adjust to her situation as it proceeds. But, I'll let her know that you-"

"No." Fenrir cutting 2BDamned off was so sudden that the medical expert didn't quite process it for a second.

"Excuse me? You'd rather she didn't know who she's getting her new eye from?"

"If she finds out it's from me, there might be a chance she doesn't want it, considering I'm part of the reason she's missing an eye in the first place."

The 'doctor' breathed in deeply, before letting out a sigh. "Very well. As far as she'll be concerned, she's getting a new eye from an anonymous donor. This anonymous donor came in for an exam, and had much higher compatibility than her friends. And how, exactly, is she not going to connect the dots when you're suddenly missing the same eye?"

"Jormungand was very dangerous, and she kept those knives of hers coated in a nasty venom, so even a little prick would be enough to ruin my eye for the rest of my life. Sure, it wouldn't kill me once it got treated, but that eye would basically sink in on itself. So, I'm conked out somewhere while recovering from the venom, outta sight, outta mind."

2BDamned stared at the turncoat for a few seconds. "You're really willing to create some story like that to give her your eye."

Fenrir shrugged as he made his way out of the room. "People shouldn't have to pay for my fuckups. That simple." With that, the man left, leaving 2BDamned alone with his thoughts.

Very curious, indeed.

Chapter 14

Time passed much faster during her talk with Deimos, fast enough that Sanford needed to get Deimos for something, leaving Rye alone again. It wasn't as bad as when she first woke up, but it still wasn't great. Sure, she could probably try to get some sleep, but the thought of not being awake and aware of her surroundings wasn't exactly the most appealing idea after the day she had.

Hearing the door open, the bartender let out a sigh, not exactly feeling up to another checkup from Doc. However, as she turned to shoo him away, she instead found one killing machine that made her heart and stomach flutter. "Oh, h-hey." Rye silently cursed the shakiness in her voice, not wanting Hank to see her so beaten. Then again, he kinda saved my ass, so that point's pretty much down the trash.

Hank was silent as he walked to the chair Deimos had sat in a short while ago, and seated himself, reaching out to take Rye's hand in his own. For a few minutes, the two simply sat there, giving comfort to each other as best as they could. Eventually, Hank spoke up. "So, how, uh, how are you holding up? Mentally, I mean."

Rye let out a sigh, squeezing Hank's hand for a moment. "Well, I woke up a while ago and had to realize that I'm missing an eye, so that's been something I'm dealing with. Then there's the whole 'tortured by Ragnarök' thing that's gonna make conversations with Fenrir real awkward." Blinking, the bartender let out a small hum. "Speaking of, he wouldn't have happened to make a heroic sacrifice that led to his death?"

Hank let out a huff, amused. "Nah, he's still around and kicking. Although, he didn't exactly come out with all his parts. Jormungand got a lucky hit on him at the end, and it's only thanks to Doc that he only lost his eye."

Hearing the name of her torturer, Rye began shivering, gripping Hank's hand even harder. "H-hey, maybe, don't mention her for a while, yeah?"

The psychopath nodded, giving his lover's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Of course..."

The two sat in silence for a minute, the bartender's shivering slowing before stopping completely. Looking for a topic to discuss, the woman thought back to the message Hank had sent out on the intercom back in the Agency facility. "So, you love me." It wasn't a question. Not after the man had jumped headfirst into the hellhole just to save her.

Hank didn't say anything for a few moments, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck. When he returned his gaze to Rye, she could see a tenderness in his eyes behind the goggles that she had only seen once. The hand that she wasn't currently holding onto for comfort reached up and found its way to her shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze before it traveled up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. Hank stared straight into her eyes with a fondness Rye didn't think he was capable of expressing, and whispered to her. "With all that's left of my heart."

The bartender felt her cheeks flush, feeling a sheepish smile start to spread across her face. "Hehehe..." She nuzzled into Hank's hand, her mind focusing on the warm fuzzy feeling she got whenever the man let his guard down enough to show affection.

---

The next few days passed by almost identically, where Doc would come in and give Rye a check-up, she would spend time with her friends, and eventually pass out for the rest of the day thanks to the drugs keeping her from feeling all the pain she should be in. It was starting to become a routine, one that Hank wasn't exactly the most opposed to, considering his girlfriend was now being kept in one of the safer places she could possibly be.

As the psychopath walked through the safehouse, clenching and unclenching his hands regularly, he knew that as much as he wanted to stay and keep an eye on Rye, his body was getting antsy, unused to so many days without a mission after the years had beaten any sense of peace out of him. As he walked, he spotted the turncoat, and for a few seconds, the killing machine felt that something was off, but couldn't recognize just what was different. As the other man turned, Hank finally processed the bandages covering about a third of the man's head, his left eye hidden behind the strips of cloth.

The turncoat let out a small huff. "Hank." Less of a greeting, and more of an acknowledgement that the other man was there.

"Fenrir." Hank stared at the bandages for a few more seconds before addressing them. "I thought it was still too early to tell when Rye would be getting the eye?"

"It is, but I'm going fucking crazy being cooped up over on the other side of the hideout, and I need to stretch my legs. So, this way in case your girlfriend get's the same idea, I won't be caught with an eye I'm not supposed to have. Maybe I'll give her a quick visit, see if she's pissed at me." Rolling his head, with faint popping coming from his neck, the man let out a sigh. "Y'know, I never thought I'd be singing the Agency's praises, but at least they knew what pillows were."

"So, you're just walking around? Cause you're bored?"

Fenrir let out a long, drawn out hum of affirmation. "Come on, you make it sound like literally everyone else wouldn't do the exact same thing. Look at Deimos. You look me in the fucking eye and try telling me he'd sit in the same room for a week straight without sneaking out somewhere for a fucking slushy."

Hank breathed in deeply, before letting out a sigh. "I hate how right you are. Alright, have fun wandering around I guess." With the conversation over in his mind, Hank started walking again, on his way to find 2BDamned and maybe get some mission doing literally anything except waiting at the safehouse.

---

Watching Hank walk away, Fenrir breathed in deeply, before slowly exhaling. Every conversation with that man felt like trying to walk through a minefield with a blindfold. Thankfully those same conversations were rarely longer than a few minutes, and he could go back to trying to navigate through the hallways of the building. After wandering for half an hour, the man walked through a door, only to walk straight into somebody, stumbling back a few steps.

Glancing to the person that had the misfortune of bumping into Fenrir, the turncoat grinned, metal teeth glinting from the hallway lights. "Hey, Doc. Great timing, I was just on a walk, trying to find my way around, and I was wondering where Rye was staying. I figured I'd drop by, see how she's holding up."

2BDamned glared at the other man from behind his mask, his bemusement clear even with only the top half of his face visible through the visor. "Fenrir. You're supposed to be resting."

With the focus the medical expert put on the word, it was clear to the turncoat that he really shouldn't be out and about, but considering the fact that he had spent half of a week cooped up inside with nothing to distract him, he couldn't really care that much at the moment. "Yeah well, I sorta got a history with not doing that. I mean, it only took a day for me to start testing out these babies once they got installed." To emphasize his point, Fenrir held up a hand, spikes emerging form his fingers.

2BDamned breathed in deeply, clearly not in the best mood. "I'm sure. Now, if you would get back to your accommodation, and stay in there, I'd greatly appreciate it."

With that, Doc pushed past Fenrir, grumbling under his breath. The turncoat let out a small hum. "What a shame. Anyway..." Fenrir kept walking, letting his feet take him wherever they would go. Eventually, as the man was walking through another door, he noticed that it wasn't yet another hallway that every goddamn building in Nevada seemed to be damn near completely made of. Glancing about the room, he noticed the single occupant of the room, gazing at the ceiling, barely blinking. "So this is where they holed you up."

Rye shot up, immediately glaring at the man. "The fuck are you doing here?!"

Fenrir let out a snicker. "Oh, y'know, I was getting kinda sick of being in the same room for more than a couple days, so I'm just exploring. Honestly a bit surprised I didn't run into you earlier. So, what have you been doing to keep your sanity? I tried getting some cards, but apparently when reality decided to implode on itself, most of the packs went with it." The man glanced around the room again, frowning. "Seriously, did Deimos not sneak you a deck of cards or anything? The hell have you been doing the past few days to stay sane?"

"None of your goddamn business. Now get out!" To emphasize her point, Rye threw the pillow shed had been resting on straight at Fenrir's face. Normally, the man would have either caught it or stepped out of the way without so much as a glance at it, but he was 'recovering'. As such, he took the pillow with a grunt, surprised at the force the soft object had hit him with.

"Jeez, I'd be offended, but you were bait to lure Hank and-"

"I wasn't even bait! They just took me and started torturing me for info I didn't even have in the first place! Do you know what they wanted to know?! They wanted to know how I got you to betray them! They even asked if I seduced you!" Fenrir simply stood in place, mouth agape. "Yeah! As if some murderous asshole would be my type!"

At that, Fenrir crossed his arms and raised a brow. "Really? 'Murderous asshole' is exactly how everyone would describe Hank, your friends included."

The bartender glared. "That's different..."

The turncoat rolled his visible eye. "Sure it is. Look, I'm not here to antagonize you, or remind you of whatever the hell they did to you. I'm kinda here to give the olive branch, or however the saying goes. So if-"

"Fuck your olive branch. Now get-" Before Rye could finish whatever she was about to say, a loud crashing noise interrupted her, causing the two to look around in confusion. "The hell?"

Fenrir glanced around the room again, noticing a barely boarded up window. Sighing, the man walked over, and tugged at one of the boards, the wood giving way and splintering in his hands, much easier than the man expected. "Note for later; replace whatever cheap ass boards these idiots used to barricade the windows." Shaking his head, the man squeezed past the few boards remaining, looking around once he was outside. There were two large dumpsters, and a knocked over metal trash can. As the turncoat moved over to inspect the trash can, he heard rustling coming from one of the dumpsters. Opening the lid, the man peered in, seeing a small face peer right back. The two stared at each other for a few seconds before the man let out a sigh. "Why are you in the trash?"

"...Looking for food." The child slunk back further into the dumpster.

Fenrir stared at the child for a few moments. "And you decided to look through literal garbage for food?" The child said nothing, only giving him a nod. The man groaned quietly. "Alright, get outta there, you're not gonna find anything that hasn't been there for a few days already."

The child didn't move for a few seconds, before slowly climbing out of the dumpster. "You're not mad?"

Fenrir let out a snort as he reached down to hold onto the kid's hand to make sure they didn't take off running. "Nah, everyone gets hungry. Let's go see if Deimos didn't eat all of the toaster strudels."

The child tilted their head to the side, looking up at Fenrir with confusion. "What's a D-moose?"

Notes:

Hey guys I'm back with the milk.

Also who is this mysterious child?

It's Rose. Rose is a part of the story now.

Chapter 15

Watching the kid that Fenrir had found digging through the dumpster dig right through the food rations with a fervor that he had only seen when it came to Sanford and his wings, Deimos glanced around the rest of the group that had assembled around the kid. Doc and Hank were the hardest to read, their faces mostly obscured, but he was pretty sure that neither of them were particularly amused by the current events. Sanford, despite trying his best to keep his stoic face still, was smirking just enough for it to be noticeable to the hacker. Rye, heaving seated herself across from the kid demolishing the rations, seemed to be confused and in slight disbelief. Next to the bartender, Deimos noticed that Fenrir was looking fondly at the child, and that- Is that a tear?

Deimos squinted at the eye Fenrir hadn't bandaged up, unsure if his mind was fucking with him or if the turncoat's eye had leaked out a drop. Blinking a few times, the hacker leaned forward, trying to get a better look. After a few seconds of seeing absolutely nothing, he shook his head and turned his attention back to the kid. "So, uh," Deimos decided to break the silence that had settled in the room, earning a wide-eyed child looking up at him. "Where'd you say you found the kid, again?"

"In the dumpster just outside of Rye's room. Just had to break a board- by the way you're gonna wanna replace whatever boards you used, because man that thing just gave up almost as soon as I pulled on the thing- anyway I squeezed out the window, noticed one of the trash cans just knocked over, went to take a look, then I heard this little gremlin moving around in the dumpster."

The kid looked up from their feast, and tilted their head. "What's a gremlin?"

Fenrir chuckled. "A gremlin's a little thing that makes problems that nobody can explain, like finding out that all the half-eaten food around the place goes missing. It's cause a gremlin got hungry. Although the only problem I can see you making is making us try to be good role models."

Deimos narrowed his eyes at the turncoat. "Why would that be a problem?"

"You smoke like a chimney, I'm on a revenge quest, Sanford doesn't know how to wear a shirt, Hank is Hank, and I'm pretty sure I haven't seen Doc sleep since we got here, and that's coming from someone that runs off of four hours a day. Only person here that could do a good job of looking after the kid is the woman that works with alcohol for a living."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Said bartender turned her attention to Fenrir, glaring at the man.

"I'm saying it's not exactly the best pick for 'bring your kid to work day'. Other than that, you're the best person for the job. But you're not exactly in the best condition to keep watch on the kid."

Looking up from their food again, the kid turned their attention to the bartender. Tilting their head to the side, the kid looked confused. "You and mister Fen have the same things on your face. What is it?"

Everybody's posture stiffened, before Rye decided to bite the bullet. "Well, uh, the thing is, when people get really hurt, they need these so that hurt goes away and they get better."

"What happened?"

The bartender gulped, opening and closing her mouth a few times, before looking around, clearly distressed. "Uh..."

Fenrir let out a sigh, ruffling the kid's head. "Well, long story short, bad people hurt her, and I helped make those bad people stop, but I got hurt too."

"Does it still hurt?"

Fenrir gave the kid a small smile. "Not for me. Rye here is still resting up, so try not to ask too much from her, okay?" The child nodded, smiling. "Good, so, you have a name?"

The kid tilted their head, furrowing their brow. "Well, nobody really gave me one, but the first place I was at kept calling me a bunch of letters and numbers, but all I remember is 'R'. I don't like it, but you can-"

Deimos clapped his hands together, a grin forming on his face as the kid looked over to him. "Alright well, guess we'll just have to come up with something you do like. Maybe something like, uh, quick Sanford think of a name for me."

Shaking his head, the shirtless man looked up at the ceiling, rubbing at his chin. "Hm..." Looking down back at the nameless kid, Sanford thought for a few more seconds. "Lily?" The kid looked up in thought for a few seconds, before shaking their head. "Da-Darn, thought I'd get it first try."

Fenrir let out a chuckle, ruffling the kid's head again. "Better luck next time. How about Crystal?"

"No." The still-nameless child responded with a mouth full of food.

"Jeez, you'd think a kid that was looking through trash ten minutes ago would be less picky..."

"Gruntshredder 10000." Everyone turned their eyes to Hank, the man looking passively at the kid. Noticing everyone's gaze on him, he looked around in confusion. "What? It's a good name."

Rye let out a sigh. "Hank, I know you were very attached to the cat, but it had an owner. You need to move on."

The psychopath let out a huff, crossing his arms. "Still don't see why I couldn't just off the guy and take the cat anyway..."

Rolling her eye, Rye looked at the child, wondering how many names they would refuse. "Maybe... Rose?"

The kid stopped chewing their current mouthful, and swallowed with an audible gulp. "Those... those are the pretty red flowers, right?"

Rye smiled at the kid, a motherly instinct resonating within her. "Yeah, they are. Do you like them?"

The kid looked down at the food, taking a small nibble. "I... I saw them once, somewhere. They were really nice to look at. I made sure to remember them."

"So, you like the name, Rose?" The child nodded again, focusing their attention to the last of the food in their hands. "Alright then. Rose it is." Turning her attention to 2BDamned, the bartender let out a hum. "Hey, Doc, does this place have a shower? The trash smell is starting to get a bit much."

---

Over the next couple of days, everyone started getting used to the small child constantly wandering around the building. Rose had seemingly made a list of the people she liked spending the most time with, with Rye right at the top, Fenrir being a surprising second, and Doc being an even more surprising third, Deimos and Sanford being tied for fourth, and Hank being dead last.

Whenever Rose decided to spend time with the psycho, they had decided to play pretend, with tea parties and the like being the main activity, earning many giggles from Rose seeing the man pretend to sip at a teacup that wasn't there. It was a different experience from anything Hank had ever known, and he couldn't bring himself to hate it.

While the kid was spending time with whoever she decided to however long she wanted, Rye and Fenrir were having a nice, friendly conversation that definitely hadn't devolved into an interrogation from Rye. "Why the hell do they spend so much time with you?! You're the last person they should like! Well, except Hank but... Hank."

The man let out a small laugh. "Hey, I'm great with kids. I basically raised my brother myself, and then..." Fenrir's smile stiffened, and he grabbed at the bottle he had brought along as a token of peace for Rye, and drank a few mouthfuls. "Well, I have a lot of experience raising kids. Sure, I had some help along the way, but who the hell doesn't?"

As the turncoat passed the bottle back to the bartender, she decided to poke a nerve. "Your brother, you mentioned him before. What was he like?"

Fenrir grit his teeth for a second, before slowly relaxing. "I told you, he was a dumbass. He was stubborn as hell, barely listened to anyone if they weren't on his side about something. He could barely take care of himself, always focusing on his next job, next paycheck, whatever was next, it was always more important than him. Guess he had me to blame for that. But for every dumbass flaw he had, there was something good about him. He was loyal, too much for his own damn good sometimes. Didn't half-ass anything he did, which was great when he learned to cook, not so much when it came to a Sunday drive or anything like that." The turncoat was silent for a few moments, before he stood from his seat, stretching. "Hey, you can move around fine, right?"

Rye blinked, slowly nodding. "Uh, yeah, sure. Why?"

"There's something I wanna show you. It's a bit personal, but I think you've earned it. Hell, you can even bring your boyfriend if you think this is some trap."

"Hey! He's..." Rye started to protest, before remembering that she and Hank were actually an item now. "Shut up..."

Fenrir let out a chuckle, finding the bartender's bashfulness when it came to her relationship absolutely adorable. "Yeah, yeah. I won't give you too much shit. Hank's fair game, though. C'mon." Before Rye could even give him any confirmation that she would be tagging along, the man walked out, heading to the place 2BDamned spent almost all of his time.

As the man knocked on the open doorway, he noticed that Doc was engrossed in whatever the fuck he usually did. "Hm?" So engrossed that he didn't even turn to see who was trying to get his attention.

Fenrir rolled his eyes. "Hey, I'm heading out with Rye and Hank, we're taking that dogshit jeep you guys still have lying around."

"Right. Place the keys back where you found them when you return. And try not to antagonize Hank, he might kill you. Speaking of, remind him that he missed his checkup last yesterday." 2BDamned replied, causing Fenrir to raise his brow.

"Uh, Doc, you alright there? Sounding a little, uh, tired."

"I'm fine, just need to finish this and then I'll get some rest." With a sigh, Fenrir walked over to 2BDamned, looking over his shoulder at the laptop he as near-frantically typing on.

Not understanding a single thing he was looking at, the turncoat laid a hand on the medical expert's shoulder, giving a gentle shake. "You can finish this after you get some sleep." Doc simply let out a sharp grunt, slapping Fenrir's hand away. The turncoat felt his eye twitch, annoyance starting to make itself known. "Doc, give me an honest answer. When the hell was the last time you got some sleep?"

"I assure you, I can keep going."

Fenrir was only just barely able to resist the urge to growl. "That wasn't what I asked. Give me a goddamn answer."

"Fine, if it'll get you out of my hair and let me get back to this. A few days before you and the others rescued Rye from the Agency facility." 2BDamned let out a small huff, not even taking his eyes off of the laptop.

The turncoat narrowed his visible eye, glaring at the man. "Alright, time for an intervention."

Without another word, Fenrir grabbed the other man, and began dragging him out of the room. "The hell are you doing?! Get your goddamn hands off of me Fenrir!" Doc tried in vain to struggle out of the turncoat's grasp, only succeeding in tiring himself out. "Dammit! SOMEBODY TALK SOME SENSE INTO THIS MAN!"

Moments later, Deimos rounded a corner, seeing 2BDamned struggling to get out of Fenrir's grasp. "THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" The hacker pulled out a handgun from the back of his pants, aiming for Fenrir's head.

The turncoat let out a huff, adjusting his grip on the quickly tiring man. "Well, Doctor Dumbass right here was doing some work, and said something that worried me. I asked the last time he slept, and apparently it was about a fucking week ago. So now I'm forcing him onto a bed. Now get the hell over here and help me."

Doc growled. "I don't need sleep, I need to get back to my work. Deimos, get him off of me."

The hacker looked at 2BDamned for a few seconds before groaning softly. "Y'know, normally I'd be against whatever the hell with asshole wants, but you need to sleep, Doc. Even Hank gets whatever he can, and I'm pretty sure he's fueled by the blood of everything he kills." Putting the gun back in his pants, Deimos moved over to his friend, and grabbed his legs, lifting them off of the floor and restraining them. "As much as I hate to say this, because San says it to me a lot, this is kinda for your own good."

Eventually, the two managed to get the medical expert into a bed, the masked man grumbling under his breath the entire time. Fenrir let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, let Sanford know what's happening, and make sure this dumbass actually gets some sleep. Fucking hell, he's supposed to be the smart one here."

Deimos hummed, noticing Fenrir moving to leave. "And where the hell are you going?"

The turncoat let out a snort. "Well, the lovebirds and I are going out for a drive. Got something for their eyes." Feeling the glare from the hacker, Fenrir chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna try anything. Just hold down the fort, yeah?"

After a few seconds of silence, Deimos responded grudgingly. "Fine. Just get back here soon, otherwise Rose might get sad her mom's not here or some shit."

The thought forced another snort out of Fenrir. "Don't worry, I'll bring her parents back safe and sound. Pinky promise." Holding out the mentioned finger, Fenrir gave the hacker a shit-eating grin.

Looking at the offered hand, Deimos rolled his eyes before he reached out his hand, the two pinkies wrapping around each other and forming a sacred vow.

Notes:

I said I'd do it.

It only took me like a few months to finally get to it, but "last yesterday" is now a scene.

Chapter 16

For the first hour of the drive, everything was relatively quiet, barely a word uttered between the three. Eventually, the turncoat had had enough of the silence, and decided to try his luck with the radio. After going through a few stations of utter trash, the man let out a growl, wondering if it was even worth it at that point. Flicking through another few stations, Fenrir had to make a conscious effort to keep himself from jerking the steering wheel when Hank basically jumped forward from his seat in the back, pointing at the radio. "Back! Go back! Two channels!"

Not finding anything worthwhile, the turncoat did as he was instructed, going back two stations, and the noise of the song that Hank had fixated on began to play through the car, Fenrir finding the music to be a bit familiar, but not quite able to place it for a minute. When it clicked in his head, the turncoat's mouth fell open. "Wait a goddamn minute, Hank, this..."

"What?" It seemed the psychopath didn't have any idea what was wrong with his choice of music. "It's good."

"Hank, this is the fucking chicken dance."

"No, this is the remix."

"Jesus fucking Christ Hank..."

"What?" Hank was silent for a few seconds, before something dawned on him. "Wait, is it because this is the song that was playing when I killed those guys at the park?"

Fenrir, unable to believe the words he had just heard, slammed on the brakes, forcing the two passengers to brace against the jeep. The man slowly turned to the psychopath in the back, eyes wide with disbelief. "Let me get this straight. You killed thirty people, not only over a boombox-"

"Thirty-two. Jeb brought back two of them as zombies."

The turncoat took a deep, shuddering breath, doing his best to keep himself calm and not try to strangle the man that didn't seem to have any remorse for what he did. "Right. Fuck it. Thirty-two. Fine. All because the goddamn chicken song was playing on some dumbass's boombox. I... I need a few minutes to process this." After a bit of Fenrir having a silent breakdown, the man resumed the drive, doing his best to not think about the stupidest thing he had learned in the past few years.

As the chicken dance played through the radio, on repeat, for another hour, the turncoat had just started blocking it out when his destination came into view, a large cliff jutting up from the earth. He took in a deep breath, gripping the wheel just a bit harder than he really needed to. Coming to a stop near the base, Fenrir quickly shut the radio off, thankful for the silence. From the back, Hank looked up at the cliff. "So, what's up there?"

The turncoat let out a huff as he stepped out of the jeep, stretching his body. "You'll see. It's not too bad of a hike, only like twenty minutes. C'mon, sooner we get this done the sooner you two can get back to whatever Hank can think of as romantic."

"I am offended. I am a very romantic partner."

"Didn't you get a bunch of knives and make a bouquet out of them? And half of them were either covered in blood or rusted to hell?"

"Hey, I cleaned the ones covered on blood. Not much I could do for the rusted ones, though."

Fenrir rolled his eyes as he started the trek up the side of the cliff.

---

Around a half hour later, the three were coming up to the top of the cliff, with Fenrir clenching his hands into fists as he crested the highest point, coming up to a flat area. Behind him, Hank was helping his girlfriend keep up, looking around the place, unsure why the turncoat would bring anyone here. At least, until his eyes found the only structures on the clifftop. Near the edge of the cliff, were two wooden grave markers.

Fenrir walked over to the graves, and sat down, staring at them. Looking over to Rye, Hank raised a brow, unsure why Fenrir would show either of them these graves. However, from the slight widening of his girlfriend's eye, he felt she had a bit of an idea of what they were seeing. "Hey, so, uh, what's with all this? I'm guessing one of those is for his kid, but who's the other one for?"

Rye opened her mouth, but when no words came out, she shut it, and gulped. "That... It's probably better if he tells you. It's..." The bartender ran a hand through her hair, visibly distressed. With a nudge, the two walked over to the turncoat.

For a few seconds, the two weren't really sure what to do, before Fenrir pat at the ground beside him. "Come on. I brought you out here for a reason, sit down." The pair stood for a second, before slowly moving over to the turncoat. Hank sat down next to the man, with Rye taking the space next to Hank, holding his hand. Fenrir kept his gaze on the markers for a few more seconds before he glanced to the couple. "Hank, how much do you know about the whole situation with my family."

"All I know is that Devin was your son."

Fenrir let out a small huff. "Close. He was my nephew." Hank felt his lover squeeze his hand, and he turned his head for a few seconds, seeing the bartender focusing her gaze to the ground in front of her. He gave her hand a soft squeeze, and the could see the tension slowly bleed out from her.

"So, you were his uncle. Guessing something happened to his parents. Some assholes run them off the road or something?"

Fenrir ground his teeth together, the screeching of the metal filling the air. "No. We never found out who the mom was, Devin was just dropped on our doorstep one day. My dumbass little brother, Danny, had no idea what to do. I helped raise him, had a bit of experience with that. For a bit, it was the three of us, a couple of friends helping us out when things got bumpy, but we got by. I took whatever odd jobs I could, usually some kinda home repair, nothing fancy. It wasn't until your first try on the good ol' Sheriff that money started getting tighter than we could really handle with Devin around. But, not long after, guess who had a whole bunch of job openings that needed filling?"

"Oh." The realization hit Hank harder than he was expecting.

"Yep. But don't worry, right now all I want is to kill Loki. At the very least make sure he dies as painfully as possible. Besides, it was years ago, with nothing personal involved. Just two people having two jobs that didn't exactly line up too well."

For the first time since reaching the top, Rye spoke up. "Was he a good dad?"

That got a snort out of the turncoat, a small, sad smile making its way onto his face. "At first, not even remotely. It was mostly me making sure the Devin wasn't off somewhere in the house eating a lightbulb or something. Danny was busy with his job, could barely handle the kid. After a bit, actually spending some time taking care of Devin by himself, he got some confidence that he was starting to know just what the hell he was doing. The early years were rough, not gonna lie, but when it was the three of us, just a few friends to help around sometimes..." The man's smile got bigger, but the corners of his mouth twitched down a few times. "It was easily the best time of my life."

"So, is he actually..." With her free hand, Rye gestured to the graves.

Fenrir shook his head. "Nah, I never got the body back, kinda like how those rat bastards wouldn't let me bury Devin."

"Right. Sorry."

"It's fine. I..." The turncoat took a breath, shuddering a bit. "Y'know, it's kinda funny. I don't really remember why I decided to bring you up here. I'm trying to think, I really am, but the only thing going through my head are a whole bunch of memories of them." Fenrir dug his fingers through the ground, leaving deep grooves in the dirt. "And the worst part? I'm seeing all the great memories, and all I can think of when I see 'em is that Loki took the last good part of my life."

Hank, not exactly sure of what else to do, reached out and place a hand on the man's shoulder. "Who knows, maybe you'll get some sorta closure once we kill him. And then... Actually, what are you planning on doing once this is all over?"

"Honestly, I haven't thought that far ahead. If I'm still alive, I guess I'll stick around with you guys. You don't really have much, but it's better than dealing with the Agency on my own. Besides, Rose would be sad as hell if her favorite uncle disappeared." With that half-assed plan for the future, Fenrir stood up, and stretched his arms above his head. "Alright, any longer and we might come back to Rose crying that her parents disappeared."

"You're the one that found her, doesn't that make her your kid?"

"Nah, I already filled my life quota of finding and raising kids a long time ago. Besides, spending time with her is doing you some good. Instead of threatening Deimos in horrific detail, you just glare at him whenever he says something stupid now."

---

Deimos looked across the table, glaring at his best friend for a few seconds before he threw the cards in his hand down. "I am never playing cards with either of you again..."

Sanford rolled his eyes from behind his shades. "Not our fault you can't guess to save your life. Anyway, Rose, got any threes?"

"Go fish."

"Dang it." The man took a card from the pile, before sighing. "Alright, your turn Rose."

"D-moose, fives?" the young child tilted her head.

Breathing in deeply, the hacker picked his hand back up, before handing the girl two cards. "I hate it here. I'm running away, and you'll all be so sad when you realize I'm never coming back. I swear. I'm packing my things right now." Deimos' lamentations were ignored, and as the game kept going, he found himself unable to hold onto even a pair of cards before either Sanford or Rose zeroed in on him, forcing him to take new hands from the pile again and again. "Man, how long are those idiots going to be gone? It's been like three hours..."

"I wouldn't worry, Hank's there. Besides, Fen's not gonna try anything with Ragnarök still out there kicking." Sanford tried to keep his friend from getting paranoid, to little effect.

The hacker let out a grunt, taking the taking the last card from the pile. "Sanford, you're not counting cards or anything like that, right? Because I'm legit not playing cards with you again if you are."

"Nah, you just have a bad luck streak going. So, got any sevens?"

Deimos let out a groan, giving his last cards to his friend. "Well, since I'm out, I'm gonna go make sure Doc's still napping." With that, the hacker left to check up on the old man. Making his way through the building, he quietly opened the door to the room Doc was forced to sleep in, and found the bed empty. "God fucking dammit..." Powerwalking to Doc's office, he barged in, finding the medical expert looking at something on his laptop. "Doc, how many hours of sleep did you get? Was it even one?"

"Calm down, Deimos. I only woke up ten minutes ago. Before you try to get me to fall asleep again, there's something you might want to hear, concerning our favorite bartender's health." That shut the hacker's mouth up, only letting out a small grumble. "From the looks of things, Rye will be ready for her transplant as soon as tomorrow. When she and the others get back, make sure to let them know. They'll need as much rest as they can get."

"I still don't like that he's the one giving her his eye."

"Yes, well, he doesn't seem to be content with letting others get hurt because of his little revenge quest. It's unexpected, but definitely a welcome surprise."

Deimos let out a sigh. "Right, I'll make sure they know. Whenever they get back..."

Notes:

Hey guys I'm late again.

Anyway, I'm gonna try to do a special non-canon christmas chapter, and get that out either on christmas or the eve. Maybe if I pull that off, Ryeyumi will do a solid and do a funny little drawing of Fenrir. :D

Joking aside, I'll try my best to get that christmas chapter out before the year is over.

Chapter 17: Special Non-Canon Christmas

Notes:

Hey guys Merry Ch- Happy N-

Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhh.

Fuck I'm late...

One week until Christmas, and Fenrir still had no idea what he was going to sneak under the half-dead pine tree sitting in the largest room of the building. Sure, he could probably do the lazy and easy thing of going for the obvious. Instrument of death for Hank, cigarettes for Deimos, some liquor for Rye, some new shades for Sanford, something that involved self-care for Doc, and some candy for Rose. But all of that felt weirdly impersonal, as if he were looking at the most surface-level traits of everybody and calling it a day, and he hated that feeling. The turncoat had gone to them, asked them for help, and it had gotten the bartender hurt, costing her an eye. He owed them. Heaving out a sigh, Fenrir got up, and began making his way to 2BDamned, knowing the old man could keep a secret.

Fen found his target exactly where he expected, his office, toiling away at whatever it was he was currently neglecting his health over. Knocking on the doorway, the turncoat spoke up. "Oi, Doc. I need some help with spreading the season cheer."

2BDamned froze in place for a second, before turning to the other man. "I'm sorry? I don't quite understand what you're coming to me for. Are you going to try to hand out eggnog that's been conveniently spiked with too much alcohol?"

"Nah, that's more of a Deimos idea. Maybe next year. Anyway, I've..." Fenrir rubbed at the back of his neck, looking weirdly hesitant and bashful about his request. "I wanna get everybody something for Christmas, and I want it to be special to them all, y'know? And I want it to be a surprise. They're... Well, they're not good people, but they care about each other a hell of a lot more than anybody I've seen in that shithole agency. Kinda like a family." As Fenrir gave his proposal and reasoning, Doc stared at the man, and Fen had a sneaking suspicion that the man's mouth was slightly agape behind his mask. After a few more seconds of silence, the turncoat let out a huff. "Doc, say literally anything right now, you're starting to worry me."

"This is more work than it'd be worth if you didn't care about us in a way more than a convenient partnership against the Agency."

"Shut up. Look, are you going to help me with this or not? It'd be a bitch with only a week left, but I'm pretty sure I can figure what to get them myself." Fenrir glared at Doc, faintly blushing from the embarrassment of his feelings for the group being called out so openly.

Doc chuckled, a rare thing that Fen heard maybe twice since he had met the man. "Fine, we can think up a few things for everyone."

---

It took a couple of days to actually decide on what exactly to get everyone, and Doc had to put his work on hold to search for places said soon-to-be gifts could be located. Finding a good clothing shop was probably more pain than it should really be worth, but god dammit Rye and Hank were going to get new dating clothes even if it cost Fenrir an arm or a leg.

Walking into the shop, the turncoat was hit with a near arctic gust of chill from the air conditioning. Pulling his jacket tighter around his body, the man made his way over to the more formal section. There were a few good suits that Fen wouldn't mind wearing if they were a bit more on the slender side, but nothing that he could see Hank wearing on a night out with his girlfriend. Well, at least nothing that was much better than his usual outfit. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he handled showers and laundry at the same time like a psychopath. With a sigh, the turncoat wondered if he was looking too close to Hank's normal colors. Maybe it needed to pop out more.

Fenrir walked a bit further into the store, looking at purples that would complement Rye's glasses, or maybe even the dress that Doc was off getting. From the lighter purples that Hank would rather kill multiple people than be caught wearing, to the darker shades that Fen could see the psycho begrudgingly wearing to special nights out. None of it really felt all that right to the turncoat, and that fact burned in his veins.

Just as he was about to say 'to hell with it' and grab the nearest suit and rob the place to vent his frustrations, a very familiar color caught his eye. Red. Like blood.

Feeling a small smirk creep its way onto his face, Fen made his way over to the red suits, idly feeling the material between his fingers, seeing just how flexible it could get. Pretty decent, but still a bit too stiff for any potential fights Hank could get himself into. Sure, it wasn't the purpose of the suit, but the turncoat liked covering as many bases as he could. After a few seconds of assessing the material, he looked over the deeper reds. It only took the man a few seconds to notice a decent maroon suit, silently trying to picture the colors on Hank, and the psycho going out and having a good night with his girlfriend.

The thought of them just being out, having a great time in whatever town they were at brought a smile to Fenrir's face. He hadn't voiced the thought to anyone, and he would likely keep it to his grave, but Fen saw a lot of himself in Hank. The aimless apathy towards everyone he didn't give two shits about, the reactionary attitude towards everything thrown at him, and the fact that he had a terrible time letting people get close emotionally. It felt like looking into a mirror that turned someone twenty years younger, and Fenrir really couldn't figure out the turmoil of feelings in his gut when he finally figured that part out. He honestly still couldn't quite place a few of the things he instinctively felt when he thought about how similar he and Hank were.

Shaking the thoughts out from his head, Fenrir grabbed the suit, and made his way over to the checkout to pay for it. "Hey, just this. I don't want any membership or whatever offer you'll make."

The cashier looked at the suit, then to Fenrir, gulping. "Uh, alright sir, let me just get this scanned..." After scanning the suit, the cashier stared at the register for a few seconds, glancing to the turncoat for a brief moment. "Um, well, that's... that's going to be th-three hundred dollars." As Fen dug into his pockets, and pulled out four crumpled bills that definitely weren't hundreds, the cashier looked at something under the register, then looked back to the turncoat. "U-um, we can, uh, just put it on a tab..."

Taking the suit back, Fenrir reached out and patted the cashier on the shoulder. "Smart." With that, the man made his way out of the store, his prize draped over his arm.

---

Deimos let out a sigh, nibbling at the candy cane hanging from the edge of his mouth. It helped take the edge off, not as much as a smoke break, but he didn't really want Rose getting the wrong idea that smoking was a cool thing to do and sneak one of his packs behind his back. The holiday season usually brought a whole lot of joy to the hacker, but having to stay cooped up inside the safehouse was starting to drain at his psyche. Letting out another sigh, Deimos rubbed at his eyes, wondering if there were any more decorations to hang up.

On his way to the storage room, Deimos passed by Doc, barely noticing the decorated box he was carrying. After a second for his mind to actually register that Doc was carrying around what looked like a Christmas present, the hacker backpedaled to the other man, falling into step next to him. "Hey, Doc! What's that you got there?"

2BDamned let out a sigh. "It's a present for Rye." After a few seconds of silence, the medical expert let out a sigh. "You're not going to go away until i tell you what I got her, are you?"

Deimos grinned around the candy cane. "Nope. C'mon, it's not like she's around to hear your secret gift for her."

"Fine. Since you're so set on it, it's a dress. Really nice. 'Fancy', as you would so eloquently put it."

"Oooh, nice. So, what are you getting the rest of us?"

Doc slowed his pace, breathing in deeply. "What makes you think you're getting anything?"

"Ah, c'mon, I know you care about us enough to get everyone something. Well, except for Fen. Guy's an asshole, and I still don't think he should be the one giving his eye."

"Of course you don't. It's half of your conversation whenever he gets brought up. And the other half is how you still think he's going to hand us over to the Agency. Maybe it's time to give him a chance? After all, tis the season and all that."

Deimos let out a groan. "Yeah, holiday cheer and all that, but come on. It's not like I can suddenly be all buddy-buddy with some Agency asshat." Seeing that Doc was turning to him, probably to tell the hacker to at least try to get along with Fenrir, Deimos preemptively put his hands up. "But, and this is actually hurting me to say this, I can try to keep myself from calling him names. At least until New Year. Promise."

Doc let out a tired sigh. "Well, that's probably the best I can get from you, and I'll take it."

"Cool. So, what are you getting me?"

---

Sanford let out a small yawn, rubbing at his eyes. Only four more days to Christmas, and he could already see a few unmarked gifts under the tree. He wasn't really sure who any of them were for, or if he would get anything more than a card that basically amounted to 'last minute gift so you didn't feel left out'. Dei didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to giving out gifts. The shirtless man shuddered as he remembered the time the hacker had 'accidentally' gifted Hank a clown outfit. Sure, it was funny, at least until the psychopath had set the costume on fire, and tried to throw Deimos into the flames with it.

Not much trust to count on Deimos to escalate things all for a joke that was usually okay at best. Sanford let out another, larger yawn, shifting his position on the couch. He wasn't sure why, but all he wanted to do at the moment was get some rest. As he closed his eyes, ready to sleep away a few hours, he heard someone let out a whispered curse, and the light footsteps moving closer to the tree. Thankful that his shades kept his eyes relatively hidden, the demo expert slowly opened one eye, surprised to find Fenrir quietly setting another present under the tree.

"Who's that for?" Sanford muttered out loud enough to get the turncoat's attention.

Fenrir flinched, whirling around to look at the shirtless man, hand clutching at his chest. "Jesus! Are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack?!"

Sanford smirked, chuckling. "Hey, not my fault you didn't notice me. 'Sides, would you rather that Deimos or Rye caught you? Dei would think you're planting a bomb, and Rye would... Well, I'm not really sure, she doesn't seem to hate you all that much anymore. Anything happen lately for that?"

"Nope. Shut the fuck up. Never mention it again. Anyway, that's Hank's gift. Got him a little something nice, just don't tell him it was from me."

"Yeah, you got it. So, you just getting Mr. Murder-When-I'm-Bored something, or are you gonna be sneaking more presents under the tree?"

"Don't worry about it."

Sanford let out a snort, shifting to get comfortable again. "Alright. Well, have fun with whatever you're gonna be doing. Just make sure you don't get me some awful Christmas socks or a sweater."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

---

Hank let out a sigh. Ever since Rye's abduction and injury, he didn't feel right whenever he wasn't at least in the same building as her. It made missions feel like an absolute chore, and the usual satisfaction of doling out violence against the Agents of the AAHW had diminished greatly. As such, the man's effectiveness in getting missions done in record time had shot through the roof.

Thankfully, his current mission was simple: get in, grab a whole bunch of parts, and bring them back to Doc. Even better was the fact that he had Fenrir to back him up. There was something about the turncoat that complemented the psycho so well during a fight. There were actually a few times where the pair had cleared entire buildings without so much as a word spoken between them. It was as if they could both tell exactly what the other was planning at any given moment.

But right now, Hank wasn't exactly sure what Doc needed, just that they were parts for whatever computer systems the Agency were using. "So, uh, did Doc fill you in on what we're looking for? Because I'm going in half-blind."

"Yeah, he made sure to send me some photos to make sure we bring back the right stuff."

"Right. Any idea what these are going to even be for?"

"Oh, we're going to be gifting them to Dei so he can either upgrade his computer, or build a new one from scratch."

"Wait, that's why this is a mission Doc said needed getting done ASAP?" From behind his goggles, Hank's eyes narrowed into slits. "Why the hell are we basically getting Deimos a new computer?"

"Christmas."

Hank took a sharp breath, wishing he had bothered to remember the holiday. "Right... Oh fuck."

Fen glanced over to his partner, raising a brow. "Hank. If you tell me that you didn't get your girlfriend a Christmas present..."

"Look, it snuck up, and I've never had to think about getting anybody anything before, and I don't know what to get her- I-"

"Woah, Hank, breathe buddy. You still have a few days to get it done. Let's just focus on the mission for now, 'kay?"

"Right."

The mission had gone about as smooth as it could, with barely any hiccups. Sure, Hank took a bullet to the arm, but it wasn't anything he couldn't shrug off. As the pair loaded up the parts into their vehicle, Fenrir let out a whistle. "Alright, if Deimos can't figure out how to upgrade or make something from all this shit, that's on him. Let's get the hell outta here."

As the pair drove, Hank kept wondering just what the hell he could get his bartender girlfriend. Maybe some earrings? Wait, does she even care about jewelry? Ah fuck...

While Hank was having a crisis, Fenrir checked another person off of his mental list. Just three more, and he had a couple ideas of what to get San and Rose.

---

Rye let out a sigh, wondering why Fen had dragged her out of the safehouse into the city. "So, what? We're going clothes shopping?"

The man looked over the bartender for a few seconds. "Well, since it's Christmas time, and Rose probably isn't exactly sure what that means, I wanna make sure she gets something nice. Hey, what's that turtleneck made from? Cotton? Polyester?"

"Uh, I'm not really sure, it doesn't have a tag anymore. Why?"

"Well, Rose has been doing alright with her regular boring clothes, but she's been taking after you a lot. Maybe she'd like to look a bit like her mama."

"Wha- She hasn't been taking after me." Fenrir looked up from the child-sized turtlenecks, raising a brow. "What?! She doesn't!"

The man rolled his visible eye, and shook his head. "Right. And you just so happened to not be there while your kid was getting on Dei's ass about his tab. Actually, how long has he been running that up? A month? Month and a half?"

The bartender let out a snort. "Ha, try the better part of a year. I honestly wouldn't be all that shocked if it hit two."

"I'm sorry, like, a whole ass year? Full 365 days? Fifty-two weeks? Twelve entire months?"

"Yeah, it's pretty bad. Honestly, part of me is pretty alright with not heading back to my job anytime soon just so I don't have to keep reminding him of the tab."

"Ha. Right. So, do you think Rose would like something with a bit of color, or should we just get a mini version of yours? Cause I think she might be able to pull off pink. I know, halfway impossible, but she's still got the babyface for it."

Rye shook her head, a smile on her face. "Y'know, when you walked into the bar for the first time, I thought you were just another asshole out for himself. And, sure, you're using us for help to get revenge, and I get it. But you have these little moments, where there's someone that really cares for people." The bartender wasn't sure what to say for a few moments, and put a hand on the turncoat's shoulder, the man tensing up. "I think it takes a lot more to keep caring, even when you lose people."

Fenrir let out a slow breath. "I have to. If I just stopped, it'd be like spitting on their graves..." After a few seconds of silence, the man turned his attention back to the clothes. "A-Anyway, Rose's present. Pink? Black? C'mon, you're her mom, gimme some feedback."

"Well, since you keep insisting, I think it'd be nice if we kept it simple. Pure black. Maybe we can get her something pink next year."

The man let out a chuckle. "Of course."

---

Christmas Eve, and the half-dead pine tree decorated with lights and baubles had found a myriad of gifts under it, sizes and wrappings varied. The gifts had been marked simply for each person they were meant for. Standing in a doorway, Hank wasn't really sure what to make of it. It was more than anything he ever had in his entire life, which wasn't really a high bar to reach anyway.

Over the course of the last few weeks, everything had been a bit of a roller coaster, higher highs than he could have ever thought possible for him, and lows that had nearly given him heart attacks. Right now, he just needed some time to breathe and take everything in. He was in a relationship with Rye, something that seemed so impossible a month ago. Then, there was the whole Ragnarök thing going on, which was honestly pretty par for the course, except for the fact that Fenrir had defected and taken their side to get revenge.

It honestly took a few minutes of sitting down to really process it all. But right now, Fenrir seemed to be sneaking gifts under the tree over the past few days. The psycho wasn't really all that sure what he was getting anyone, and he really wasn't sure why the turncoat was doing it in the first place. Eh, I'm sure it's nothing all that special. Probably a few guns.

However, the psycho's curiosity was growing, and as he looked around to make sure nobody was around, he silently made his way over to the presents. Hank carefully looked over the boxes, and his gaze latched onto a tag with his name on it. Looking around again, Hank picked the box up, and carefully shook the box next to his ear, and would have frowned in confusion if he still had a functioning pair of lips. There wasn't any thudding of whatever was inside hitting the sides of the box.

Maybe I can- "Whatcha got there, Hank?"

The psycho almost dropped the box, but caught it just as it was about to tumble out of his hands. Turning his head, Hank narrowed his eyes at Deimos, the hacker wearing a shit-eating grin. "You're damn lucky I have my hands full right now."

Deimos let out a snicker, walking over to his friend, and tried to wrap an arm around the psycho's shoulders, the difference in height making it more than awkward. "Of course. Hey, you're not thinking of opening your gift before Christmas, are you? Because I'm pretty sure that's against, like, at least three rules. Also Doc wouldn't pay you for at least five missions."

"What? Why the hell would Doc care if I opened my gift early? Wait, is he the one that's been putting these things under the tree?"

"I mean, probably? Either that or Santa's actually real, and decided we were all nice this year, which honestly is a whole can of worms that I don't want to think about right now."

"Right..." Setting his present back in place, Hank looked over the rest, seeing something a bit peculiar. "Huh. There's something here for everyone, except for Fenrir."

"Okay, and? It's not like he's actually with us. This whole partnership is because it was convenient for him. Bet you fifty bucks that as soon as the rest of Ragnarök are dead, he pisses off to find someone else to kill."

Hank shrugged, stretching his arms above his head. "Eh, you'd be surprised at how sentimental he can be."

The hacker rolled his eyes. "Sure, and I'm the long lost heir to the British throne."

---

Doc let out a sigh, looking over the Christmas feast he and Fenrir had just finished preparing for the whole squad. The only thing left was to wait for everyone to wake up, and be greeted with a Christmas surprise. As the turncoat started rifling through the cabinets, bringing out different mugs, Doc raised a brow from under his mask. "And just what are you doing?"

"Come on, is it really Christmas if there isn't hot chocolate first thing in the morning? I mean, seriously, it's practically a law."

2BDamned let out a sigh. "Of course. How are you even going to make-" He was cut off as Fenrir reached into his jacket and brought out two small boxes of cocoa powder. "Right. Why did I even bother asking..."

"Just make sure we have enough hot water for everybody to get a cup. If there's one rule in this world that must never be broken, it's that everyone is entitled to a cup of hot cocoa on Christmas day."

As the pair readied the mugs for the coming nectar of the gods, Rye and Hank groggily wandered into the kitchen, enticed by the smell of food ready for consumption. Rubbing at her eye, the bartender let out a sleepy groan. "What's this...?"

Doc smiled underneath his mask. "Merry Christmas, lovebirds. Fenrir thought it would be a nice treat to have a little holiday break from our usual work. For today, we're going to have a cozy time inside. Maybe put on some Christmas movies."

"You made sure to get Rudolph, right?"

"Of course, what sort of plebian do you take me for?" 2BDamned shook his head, and noticed the couple glancing between him and Fenrir. "What?"

Rye let out a chuckle. "Oh, nothing. Just, you two seem to be getting along really well."

"Well, it's not hard when he's almost as old as I am."

"Wait, you're older than I am?"

Doc froze, then cursed under his breath. "Not enough that it matters..."

"No, I wanna know." Fenrir leaned against the kitchen counter, grinning. "C'mon, you can't just pull that out and then blueball me."

"I can and I will. You're not getting anything else out of me."

"Pretty please?"

"No. Now get back to making that hot cocoa."

Rolling his eyes, Fenrir let out a small snort. "Alright then, keep your secrets."

2BDamned let out a sigh. He could already tell that the turncoat wasn't going to let the age thing go that easily. When Fenrir wanted answers, he got them, evidenced by the fact he found out that his nephew had been poisoned by his own team leader.

---

As the rest of the gang woke and were lured by the smell of food ready, everyone was given their obligatory hot chocolate. When Rose got her mug full of the liquid greatness, she looked at it for a few seconds, before taking a small sip. "Yummy!" The child began chugging down the hot cocoa, to Rye's worry.

"Ah! Rose, don't drink it so fast! You'll-" The bartender was cut off by her kid going into a coughing fit, dropping her mug. "Oh, Sweetie!" Rye rushed over to her daughter, gently patting the child's back. "Are you okay, Rose?"

"...ow." The child let out a small croak as she regained her regular breathing. She then looked at the spilled cocoa on the floor. "Awww."

"Don't worry, we can get you another cup. Right, Fen?" From the way Rye looked straight into the turncoat's soul with her sickeningly sweet smile, he knew better than to say anything other than an affirmative.

"Yes, ma'am." As the man got to work making another cup of hot chocolate, he glanced over to Hank. "You ever notice how scary your girlfriend can be?"

Hank nodded. "Yeah, she's pretty great..."

---

With the young child given another cup of cocoa, everyone had eaten their meal, and after a few minutes, Deimos decided it was time for everyone to open their presents. "Alright, so, who's going first?"

"Well, considering Rose lost her first cup of hot chocolate, I vote she gets dibs."

"San, that's not how dibs works."

"CLOWN CALLS DIBS!" At the deafeningly loud and scratchy voice suddenly making itself known, the gang whirled around to the source, seeing Tricky standing in the middle of the room as if he belonged there. "HI! HIHIHIHIHIHIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! MERRY CHRISTMAS! BAR LADY, HERE'S A GIFT FROM CLOWN!" With that declaration, the clown pulled out a small box from literally nowhere, and holding it out to the bartender. "TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT!"

Rye looked at the small box, and then to Tricky. "Uh, yeah, sure..." Taking the gift, she raised a brow. "Tricky, not that it's not kinda cool that you're here, but how did you even know I was here?"

"CLOWN KNOWS WHATEVER CLOWN WANTS TO KNOW!"

"Right. Of course. Why not? So, you're not gonna get into any fights while you're here, right?"

"CLOWN BEHAVES HIMSELF ON HOLIDAYS!"

"Uh, okay. So, I guess if everyone else is fine with it, you can stay?" The bartender looked over to everybody else, with Hank looking around for a weapon, and Sanford and Deimos slowly beginning to back away.

Doc let out a sigh. "Alright. As long as he doesn't try to instigate anything with Hank, he can stay."

"What?! He killed me like three times! I'm not spending Christmas with his stupid clown ass!" Rye put a hand on Hank's shoulder, leaning in close and whispering something into his ear. The psychopath froze in place, and the tension leaked out of his body. Hank crossed his arms, letting out a huff. "Fine. But only because you promised to do that thing I like."

"YAY!" With that, Tricky zipped over to the pile of gifts, looking at from from various angles. "WHERE'S CLOWN'S PRESENT?"

2BDamned let out a sigh. "Well, we didn't exactly plan for you to be here. Please forgive us for not preparing something for somebody that would on any other day try to kill us all." Tricky slumped over a bit, but otherwise didn't make any fuss.

Fenrir clapped his hands together. "Alright, with that out of the way, let's get these gifts open. Rose, you're up first."

"Okay!" The girl moved over to the box wrapped with rose themed wrapping, and began to carefully tear away. As she opened the box, she looked inside, and tilted her head. "A sweater?" She took the piece of clothing out, and understanding dawned on her face as the turtleneck was revealed entirely. "It's just like Mama's!" The girl immediately threw the sweater over her head, and after a few seconds she emerged from the turtleneck, a wide smile on her face.

Rye looked at her daughter with a beaming smile filled with affection. "Oh, Rose, you look so nice in that."

"Yay!" The girl ran over and jumped into her mother's arms. Squeezing as hard as her arms would allow, Rose nuzzled close to the bartender.

---

As everyone went through their presents, Fenrir couldn't help but smile. Everything had gone as well as he could have possibly hoped. The surprise on Sanford's face as he was given a voucher for a free year of food from a sports bar a mile or two from the usual bar was something the turncoat would remember for a good while. However, as Deimos started fawning over the parts for his computer, the turncoat noticed there was still one last box under the tree. It was the smallest out of them all, and it had a basic black wrapping. Picking it up from its spot, Fenrir looked at it's sides, and noticed a slapped on white sticker, with his name scrawled on.

Without much thought, the turncoat opened the small box, and pulled out a picture frame. The frame was made from a black wood, with small etchings all around, and it was about the size of his hand. He tilted his head, confused. Who the hell...?

Before Fenrir could think about it any longer, he was suddenly wrapped in multiple pairs of arms, with no room to wriggle out from the grips. "The hell?!" Before he could demand an explanation for the sudden ambush, the turncoat was blinded by a sudden flash. Blinking as his vision soon returned, Fenrir turned his attention to the only person not currently trapping him in a hug-pile. "Wow, Doc. When'd you managed to set this up? A few days ago?"

"Actually it was when you went to use the bathroom when Hank and Rye opened their presents. Everybody was very much on board once I told them this would embarrass you immensely."

The turncoat glared at the other man, baring his metal teeth. "I'll get you back for this."

"I'm sure you will. Well, I'm off to get this printed out for you frame. Have fun." With that, the medical expert walked away.

Looking around, Fenrir let out a huff. "Alright, he got the picture, you can all let me go now."

Rose shook her head, squeezing the turncoat's leg tighter. "No."

The man sighed. "Great."

---

Fenrir had been trapped until 2BDamned had returned with a photo ready for the turncoat's new frame. As he put the picture in, Fenrir got a good look at it. It was a good one, taken when Fenrir had been blushing at the sudden contact. The turncoat smiled. Yep, this one's a keeper.

As he set the frame down, Fenrir walked over to the medical expert. "You know I'm going to pay you back like three times as bad as this, right?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't try. Besides, I find it hard to believe that you can think of something much worse than suddenly being the center of a group hug."

"You'd be surprised what I can come up with." As the pair looked over everyone, seeing Tricky making animal balloons for Rose, Fenrir noticed someone missing. "Where the hell did Deimos go?"

"Surprise!" Well, that answered that. Fenrir turned around, wondering just what Deimos had been doing. "Aw man, it's crazy that we still had this."

The turncoat saw Deimos standing a few feet away from the pair, holding up a stick. "And what the hell are you-" Fenrir stopped mid-sentence, disbelief etching onto his face. "No..."

"Wha-" Doc cut himself off as he followed Fenrir's gaze, seeing at the end of the stick, a string was attached. And at the end of that string, a piece of mistletoe was attached. "No."

Deimos shook the stick a couple times, the mistletoe bouncing in the air. "C'mon. It's literally the rule."

Fenrir let out a heavy sigh. "He won't stop until we do it."

"I know and I hate that you're right. Fine. One. It'll be quick." With that, Doc lifted his mask, and pulled Fenrir in for a quick peck on the lips, then promptly dropped the mask back over his face, the blush on his face not being hidden particularly well. "There. Done."

Deimos left, howling in laughter. The turncoat blinked a couple times. "Alright. That happened. That was real." Fenrir was trying very hard not to think about how surprisingly soft Doc's lips were. And failing. "Right. Uh, Merry Christmas."

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Tricky shouted out from across the room, waving at Fenrir.

---

As the day went on, the excitement from the gift opening and Tricky doing party tricks dying down to a solid contentment, Fenrir went off to set the picture frame in his room. On a shelf that was mostly empty, he set it down, smiling softly. Letting out a soft snort, Fenrir muttered softly. "Christmas miracle..." Reaching into his jacket, Fenrir pulled out a worn picture, and jammed it into the corner of the frame. The man looked at the two pictures for a few moments, feeling his eyes begin to water. Wiping at his eyes, he spoke quietly. "You all would've gotten along pretty damn well. Least I like to think so. Dei would've probably pissed Danny off to no end..."

With a sigh, the turncoat moved to leave, before looking at the worn photo one last time. A photo of Fenrir, minus the scars on his mouth, a toddler that looked at the camera in surprise, and a younger man wrapping at arm around Fenrir's neck with a giant grin on his face. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Fenrir left the room, readying himself to enjoy a marathon of Christmas movies with his newfound family.

Chapter 18

Notes:

We now return to our irregularly scheduled story.

The ride back to the safehouse was quiet, and Rye wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. On one hand, Fenrir had revealed more of his family's past to Hank and herself, and it wasn't exactly the greatest when the turncoat told Hank straight to his face he was the one that killed Fenrir's brother. But still, Fenrir didn't blame him too much. Probably. Hopefully.

Fenrir let out a heavy sigh as the safehouse came into view, and Rye wasn't sure if it was because of the car ride taking too damn long, or the moment they all had had on the cliff. It honestly could go either way with him. Whatever the reason for his apparent tiredness, it seemed to be gone by the time the jeep pulled up to the building, with Hank and Rye getting out first, Fenrir hanging back for a minute.

Whether Fenrir needed a couple of minutes to himself, or whatever other reason, Rye was somewhat grateful that she and Hank were the first ones back into the building. Rose is probably worried sick with how long we were gone. As the bartender made her way through the building, she almost bumped into Sanford, the shirtless man rounding a corner as he stretched his arms above his head. "Oh, hey. San, do you know where Rose is? I don't want her worrying about me."

"She actually just went to sleep. Probably gonna wanna wait a few hours for her to wake up. Although, considering Doc wants to talk to ya, probably a blessing right now." Sanford shrugged.

"Wait, I thought Fen forced him to go to bed? Did I just imagine that?"

"Nah, he got some sleep. Just, y'know, not as much as we'd like. Anyway, he told Dei to tell you to talk to him. Then Dei told me in case I ran into you first. So, yeah, do that when you're ready. It's serious, apparently."

After quickly checking on Rose to make sure she was sleeping peacefully, the bartender went to 2BDamned, wondering what could have come up in the time she had been gone. Knocking on the open doorframe, Rye spoke up, "Doc? You in here? Sanford told me to talk to you."

The man looked up from whatever it was he was doing on his computer. "Hm? I thought I told-" Shaking his head, 2BDamned cut himself off. "Might as well tell you, since you're already here. Come in. You might want to take a seat."

"Alright." Looking around and finding a basic office chair, the bartender pulled it over, planting herself onto the seat. "So, what's up?"

From the way that 2BDamned's eyes wrinkled at the corners, Rye could make a pretty sure guess that the man was smiling behind his mask. "Well, I was checking some results from our usual checkups earlier, and it came to my attention that you would be ready for an eye transplant as early as tomorrow."

Rye's brain stalled a it at hearing the news. "I, uh..." Blinking a few times, the bartender let it sink in for her. "That's great! I can finally get my depth perception back! Do you have any idea how annoying it is to miss a bag of chips by like half a foot? Not to mention it makes me look like an idiot..."

Doc let out a chuckle. "Well, those instances will be little more than memories, either fond or locked away as deep as you can get them. I wouldn't be surprised if you somehow did both."

"I'm sure the booze will make it possible. But yeah, it's gonna be nice to actually be... I don't know, whole ? Again? I'm not really sure how else to put it." The bartender let out a small huff of laughter, rubbing at the back of her head.

"That's actually exactly how many of our operatives that lose a part feel. Usually they're not lucky enough to get a donor for a replacement, and have to make due with prosthetics. Sometimes we get lucky and have time to make something custom for them. But more often than not, it's simple legs or arms that let them get the job done."

"Right. Hey, so, I know that I haven't really asked all that much, and whoever's giving me my eye didn't want me knowing who they are, but what can you tell me about them? I'm kinda curious. I mean, I'm getting their eye after all."

Doc breathed in, and let out a short hum. "Well, since I can't give you much, all I can really say is that they're reliable. The type of person to 'ride or die', as I'm sure Deimos would put it. They aren't really all that comfortable standing around if they can do something about someone's problems, given they care about the person in the first place."

"Huh, sounds like we'd get along."

2BDamned glanced over to the bartender, before turning his attention back to the computer. "It does. Well, if you ever find out who they are, I'm sure you'll get along swimmingly."

Fenrir let out a small huff before looking down and the halfway filled glass in his hand. The last of the rum he'd found and hidden away for himself, because there was only so much of Deimos he could handle, rested in the glass. Giving it a small little shake, the turncoat watched the liquid swirl around for a few seconds before taking a breath, and chugging it down. It was his last day with two perfectly good eyes. As willing as he was to give it away for the bartender, he'd be lying through his teeth like half the people back at the Agency if he said he was happy to part with it.

Hearing a knock at the door forced a curse out of Fenrir's mouth before he spoke louder. "Gimme two seconds." Wrapping a new set of bandages around his head, the turncoat gave himself a quick glance over with a shard of a broken mirror that had been in the room when he had claimed it for his own. He tugged at the bottommost bandage, letting out a grumble. "Alright. Who the hell is it?"

"It's me." Rye's voice was muffled from behind the door, and the turncoat had to take a breath. "Usually I'd go to Sanford or Doc or anyone else, but uh..."

Fenrir let out a sigh, and made his way over to the door, opening it. "What's wrong?"

The bartender was more disheveled than usual, her hair being tangled in places, and her glasses were ever so slightly tilted. "Hey. So, we both lost an eye."

Fenrir felt his expression soften, letting out a small huff of air as he moved away from the door, lazily waving Rye inside. "Yeah..." With the way she had opened the conversation, the turncoat had a decent idea of what was weighing on her mind. "Worried your new one won't work?"

"A bit. But it's something else. This weird feeling at the back of my head. Like, it's going to be a part of me, but at the same time it isn't. " Rye looked around the room, and after a few seconds of gnawing at her lips, headed over to the bed and sat down. Idly, Fenrir realized this was the first time anyone had actually made it inside his room. More often than not they had made their business known from the other side of the door and left almost immediately. "I know I'm probably just worrying over nothing, but it won't go away no matter what I tell myself."

Rubbing at his face, the turncoat sat down next to the bartender. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend to understand what's going on in your head, or that what you're feeling isn't something you should even be worrying about. It might keep nagging you at the back of your mind for the rest of your life, or it might disappear as soon as you start seeing out the eye." Letting out a small huff of breath, Fenrir leaned back until he was laying flat on the bed, legs idly kicking away. "But I know you well enough to know that you're not gonna let it keep you down."

The bartender was silent for a few seconds, and Fen was getting to mentally kick himself before she let out a small breath. "Y'know, it's not what I was expecting, but it sorta helps."

Sitting back up, Fenrir gave Rye a toothy grin. "Good." Then, the turncoat narrowed his visible eye at the bartender. "Now, sit against the edge of the bed. Your hair looks like a rat's nest and it's starting to piss me off."

Rye let out a scoff, looking at the man incredulously. "Since when did you care about hair?"

The turncoat smirked, dramatically flipping his ponytail over a shoulder. "What, you think it just looks this good naturally?"

Rye failed to hold in a snort. "Right. It's definitely not because Rose loves brushing your hair or anything."

"Wait, she told you about that? But I bribed her with peanut butter and chocolate. I even made the chocolate have little smiley faces."

The bartender blew the turncoat a raspberry as she shimmied off the bed and sat down on the floor, leaning against the bedframe. "Yeah, but you can't threaten to ground her if she doesn't tell you the truth. Mom privileges, y'know?"

Fenrir was tempted to lightly tug at his friend's hair, but held himself back. "Right. Guess I'll have to settle for being the uncle to enable her sugar addiction."

"You know I'll actually break your arm if you try to do that, right? It's hard enough getting her to eat all of her meals, I really don't want to know what Rose is like when she's all hopped up on candy."

"Then we should probably keep her away from Hank's Twizzler stash." The man frowned at just how tangled the strands of hair had gotten. Honestly, it was almost as if she had done it on purpose.

"Hank has a Twizzler stash? Ow! Fuck..." Rye had tried to turn to look at Fenrir, but the man's fingers had been locked in a particular tough knot, and had tugged at her scalp rather painfully. "You're not fucking with me right now?"

"It'd be really funny if I was, but not this time." Untangling the bartender's hair was going a bit slower than Fen had expected, but he was determined to get Rye's hair back to its usual messiness. "I saw him coming out of the kitchen once, and he had a whole handful of the things. Pretty sure he didn't even notice me with how fast he was moving."

Rye was silent for a few moments. "Think we can find it if we look?"

"Considering Hank's usual plans for anything are 'kill' and 'stab'? We'd find the damn things in a few minutes." After untangling a couple more knots of hair, Fenrir ran his fingers through the bartender's hair, satisfied. "Alright, there ya go. Next time you're on your own. Or you can go to Rose for help."

"How selfless."

Fen let out a small snort. "That's me, always putting you idiots ahead of myself." After a second, the turncoat's expression turned a bit more serious. "So, your head good and cleared up?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Fenrir. It's nice to know you're actually worth keeping around." The bartender smirked at her little jab.

The turncoat rolled his visible eye. "Yeah, yeah. Now get the hell outta my room. I got plans to make. Need to focus."

Rye stood and stretched. "Alright. See ya." With a wave, the bartender left the room, leaving Fenrir alone with his growing buzz and private thoughts. Breathing in deeply, Fenrir flopped onto the bed again, before he let out a huff. "Fuckin'..." Taking his jacket off, the turncoat covered his head  and blew out a raspberry to nothing in particular.

---

The following morning was tense for most of the gang, the bartender feeling a bit of nervousness despite doing her best to unwind and relax herself the previous evening. As she lay on the table reserved for operations, she let out a small breath she had been holding in. "So, Doc, it's nothing to be worried about, right?"

As the medical expert looked over his tools, he glanced over to his friend. "Usually I'd say that there's always a chance for things to go wrong, but trust me Rye. I'm going to be doing everything within my power to make sure you wake up with two functioning eyes. Of course you'll still have to keep it covered for a day or two to adjust, but other than that, everything's going to go as smoothly as I can make it."

"Right. So, uh, I'm not going to be awake for this, right?"

"Of course not. I have some anesthesia you're going to be breathing in so that you go under. You won't feel a thing, I promise."

"Heh, you don't make a lot of those."

"Only when I know I can keep them." As he spoke, 2BDamned slipped the anesthetic mask over the bartender. "The next time you wake up, you'll have two well functioning eyes."

As the bartender breathed in whatever it was that was quickly pulling her consciousness into the dark, she could have sworn she heard another voice that she recognized, but whoever it could be was too muddled in her mind. Right before everything went black. a stray thought zipped through her head, never to be remembered. If one of those idiots decided to give me their eye, I'm breaking their legs.

Notes:

jesus fucking christ i hate writer's block so much i hate it i hate it

So here's the chapter. Honestly kinda disappointed in myself that this is all I can give you after months of waiting, but after all the time I spent looking at this chapter I really just want the story to get moving again. See y'all when my writing ability decides to start working again.

EDIT: OH FUCK I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT THIS STORY IS OVER A YEARD OLD NOW HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY BLOODYWINE

Chapter 19

Fenrir let out a sigh, staring at the unconscious form of the bartender. Glancing to Doc, the turncoat raised a brow. "You still have some of that stuff for me, right?"

"Unfortunately, she needs to stay under for the rest of the operation. You're going to have to get by with local anesthesia." Raising up a syringe, the medical expert tapped the side of the needle a few times. "Of course, this isn't even remotely what should be used for an operation like this, so it's more than likely going to hurt like hell."

"Anyone ever tell you that your bedside manner sucks ass?" As Fenrir hefted himself up onto the table opposite of Rye, he noticed something a bit disconcerting. "Uh, Doc, why the hell are there straps on this one?"

"Just some extra precautions. Can't have you squirming all over the place while I'm extracting the eye."

"Right. Y'know, it usually takes a couple dates before I'm comfortable enough for bondage, but I guess I'll make an exception for you." Fenrir took a deep breath as he felt 2BDamned strap his hands and feet. Once the needle entered his field of vision, the turncoat tensed up, already hating everything about this operation. After a few quick injections around his eye that were more than likely quick pinches compared to what he was about to go through, Fenrir forced himself to relax a bit.

"Fenrir, I need you to calm down. Can't have you too stressed out otherwise things might go wrong."

"Well damn Doc, sorry if I get some flashbacks to when those assholes ripped all my teeth out and replaced them with two hunks of fuckin' metal!" The turncoat became much more aware of the leather bindings keeping him stuck to the operating table, his mind flashing to an Agency building, where the bastards didn't even have the decency to dull the pain like Doc.

"Fenrir, it's going to be fine. You're in good hands." As 2BDamned did his best to keep Fenrir calm, he clamped the turncoat's eye open. The medical expert then tapped around Fenrir's eye. "Can you feel that?"

"Not really, but maybe give it another minute. Don't really wanna feel the whole getting my eye scooped out or whatever the fuck you're gonna do to get it out." Taking a few deep breaths, Fen could feel the dread building in his stomach.

"As much as I would like to keep this painless, if I don't start operating now there's a non-zero chance that she wakes up in the middle of me connecting your optic nerve to her brain."

Swallowing, Fenrir did his best to bury the fear. "Fine, get to it."

And with that, the turncoat's sense of time began to get a little wonky. He wasn't sure if it had take a minute, ten, or even an hour for 2BDamned to get his eye out and severed from his head. All he would be able to remember would be the disorientating feeling of his eye being removed from the socket, then his optic nerve being severed. But in his mind, the worst part about all of it was that he could still fill all of it. Sure, the pain had been dulled, to the point that it was nothing close to the torture that his operation on his teeth and hands were. But the fact that he could still feel every poke, grab and slice would stay in his mind for as long as he lived.

---

The sensation of waking up from the operation was a strange one for the bartender. It had felt like waking up from any other night of sleep, maybe leaving her feeling a bit more ore less rested than a regular night. Sitting up, Rye looked around, seeing nothing more than an empty room. For a few minutes, she stayed in the bed, unsure if her legs wouldn't give out. As she lay in the bed, she felt around her face, letting out a sigh as she felt the bandages wrapped around her eye. Her new eye, if things went right during the operation. Yet again, Rye's common sense was beaten by her overbearing boredom, and she slowly, carefully made her way out of the room.

She felt a bit sluggish, but stable enough to walk around the building. After a few minutes of walking around, she found Deimos in the kitchen, wolfing down a plate of pizza rolls. "Where the hell did you even find those?"

The hacker looked up from his gluttonous feeding, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh thank god, it's just you." Deimos ate another three pizza rolls before he let out a choking sound, and coughed up bits of food onto the floor. "Wait, when the hell did you wake up?!"

"Uh, like a few minutes ago."

"Okay, cool. That's not too bad. Only like a few minutes. Lemme go get Doc teal quick. He'll know the whole process."

"What? What pro-" Before the bartender could finish her sentence, the hacker was gone. "Fine, ass..."

The bartender sat at the table Deimos had use for his own uses, waiting only a few minutes before Doc came out, looking even more tired than he usually did. "Alright, Deimos said you managed to get here by yourself, so that's a good sign." As Doc began unwinding the bandages around the bartender's eye, Rye tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She forced her eye shut, only slowly opening it when she felt the last of the bandages fall away. "Alright, can you see anything?"

"Uh, kinda? Everything's too blurry to really tell what I'm seeing." The bartender tried not to let the disappointment leak out through her voice.

Unfortunately, she failed. Doc let out a small sigh. "Don't worry, it'd be some kind of miracle if you started seeing everything fine immediately. Give it a few more days, some time to adjust to you."

"Right. Hey, Doc, think you could get me an eyepatch or something? The bandages are getting kinda annoying."

"Ah, yes. The bandages that are helping to keep you from getting an infection from Nevada's natural filth. Quite annoying." As Doc delivered his dry sarcasm, he rebandaged the bartender. "Well, you should be fine to move around, just don't do anything too strenuous."

"What could I possibly do?"

"I'm sure you and Hank could think of a few things..."

Rye felt her face explode into a blush. "DOC!" The bartender grumbled under her breath for a few seconds. "Hey, speaking of, where is he?"

---

Nevada's most infamous psychopath was stuck keeping an eye on Fenrir, the operation taking more out of the turncoat than anyone had expected. The man was stuck in a bed, breathing heavily with his eye screwed shut. Physically, Fenrir was as fine as he could be, but the mental strain of being awake and feeling the operation was taking its toll on him. "Sure you don't need anything? Doc probably won't mind if I go get some pain pills for you."

"No. I'll be fine if I can just get some goddamn sleep..." Fenrir growled out, his hand rubbing at the bandages covering his eye. He wouldn't be getting used to the feeling of his eyelid just sort of hanging there over nothing. The turncoat let out a grumble, realizing he'd need to get some kind of eyepatch. Maybe a mask that had the eye covered.

Before Fenrir could think about too many options, the door opened, and the bartender entered the room, turning her head to bring Hank and the turncoat into her field of vision. "Hank, there you are. What's wrong with him?"

The mercenary let out a huff. "He says it's just some phantom pains, but he's been like this for an hour now."

Fenrir let out a hiss as he sat up to glare at the psychopath. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were an expert when it came to losing your eyes."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help." Hank held his hands up in surrender. The man turned to look at his lover, staring at the bandages around her eye. "So, did it work?"

"I think so. I can't really see much, just kinda blobs of whatever I try to take a peek at with it. Doc says to give it a few days, make sure it's healing right." The bartender glanced to the turncoat, who had went back to lying down in his bed. "Is he gonna be fine, or...?"

Hank shrugged, before crossing his arms. "No idea. Hey, could you keep an eye on him? Make sure he doesn't have a stroke or something? I haven't eaten since before you went in for that operation, and I can feel my stomach start to digest itself." With a quick nod from Rye, the mercenary quickly made his way to the kitchen. After popping in some pizza rolls into a microwave, Hank sat down and took a breath. He had thought that after the operation, the vague uneasy feeling he had been feeling would fade, but if anything, it had only seemed to get a little bit worse.

"Papa?"

The mercenary took a sharp inhale, and turned to see Rose. The girl had managed to sneak up on him somehow, standing behind him a few feet away. "Oh, hey. What's up?"

Rose scurried over to Hank, and clumsily climbed up into his lap, leaning into him. "Is Mama up yet?"

"Yeah, she's looking after Uncle Fen right now."

Hearing this, the child cuddled closer to her adoptive father. "Is..." Rose was quiet for a few seconds. "Is his booboo still hurting?"

Hank let out a small sigh. "Yeah, it's still hurting. Mama's with him now. Lemme get these pizza rolls as we can go check up on him if you want." Rose nodded into Hank's chest, and the man gave a little chuckle. "Alright, gotta get up now." The child let out a small raspberry as she jumped off of Hank's lap to the floor. After retrieving the plate of food, and giving a few to Rose, the pair made their trip to Fenrir's room. "Got another visitor."

The turncoat looked up from his conversation with Rye, and looked confused for a few seconds before looking down and seeing Rose wave at him. "Hey kiddo. Worried about lil' ole me?" Rose gave a small nod, being peculiarly quiet. "Ah, no need. I'm fine. Fit as a fiddle, honestly." Fenrir gave a grin.

"Uncle Fen?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a really bad liar." Fenrir opened his mouth, looking between Rye and Hank.

"Yeah? And how exactly do you know when I'm lying?" The turncoat crossed his arms, raising his visible brow.

"You always lie when you don't want us worrying about you."

"That's..." The turncoat fell silent for a few moments. "You shouldn't be worrying about me anyway. I'll be fine. Always have."

Rose frowned. Without saying anything, she made her way over to the bed, and pulled herself up. "I don't want anything bad happening to you." Before Fenrir could say anything in response, the child wrapped her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as she could. "Just like I don't want anything bad to happen to Mama or Papa. Or Uncle San, or Uncle D-Moose. Or Mr. Doc. I don't want anything bad to happen to anyone. I-" Rose cut herself off, and buried her face into Fenrir's side. For a few seconds, the man was unsure of what was happening, before he felt Rose begin to shake, and she spoke again, stuttering through a few sobs. "I d-don't wanna b-b-be alone a-again..."

Immediately, the adults gathered around the child, and began reassuring her. Fenrir wrapped an arm around the child, hugging her closer. "Hey, hey, hey. You're not gonna be alone, alright? Never again. I promise. Nothing bad is gonna happen to us. And even if it does, we'll get better."

Rye spoke up next, gently stroking Rose's hair. "No matter what happens, we're gonna be here for you. And you'll be loved by all of us."

"E-even Papa?"

Hank's breath audibly hitched in his throat. Letting out a soft cough, the mercenary spoke up to comfort Rose. "Of course. I love you, and Mama. I'm not letting anything happen to either of you. Not as long as I'm alive."

After some more time of reassuring Rose that everything would be fine, the child had fallen asleep, leaving the adults in the room with a sleeping girl that had let out what very well was probably her biggest fear. Fenrir let out a short sigh, looking at Rose's peaceful face, much different than the sobbing mess she had been only half an hour ago. "So, that happened."

Rye was visibly distraught, her head in her hands. "I had no idea... I decided to become her mother and I had no idea she was feeling like this..."

"None of us did. Kid's probably never had a family like this before, and now that she knows what it's like, she's absolutely terrified of it going away. Worst part is that fear isn't exactly irrational." Fenrir gave a pointed look to Hank. "He's died more times than I'm honestly sure about. And the fact that I can say that scares me more than he does."

"Look, we're not exactly the most stable people around, but as long as Rose is here, we're going to be able to hold ourselves together. Right?"

Hank let out a small huff as he moved a few strands of hair away from Rose's face. "We have to. For her."

Notes:

oh hey it only took around a month for this chapter instead of like six

also i don't know where the sad came from it just sorta happened

Chapter 20

The next few days were somehow both too long and too short for Rye. Too short because it felt like she just couldn't get enough time with Rose, and too long because every time she rubbed at the bandages on her face, she couldn't help but think about the next time they would come off. There was a small fear still at the back of her mind that the eye wouldn't adjust properly, and she'd be half blind for the rest of her life. Swallowing the lump in her throat, the bartender focused on the plate of food in front of her, pushing at it with a fork. It felt like she had been waiting for hours when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, Rye came face to face with 2BDamned. The man seemed to be in one of his better moods, softly nodding when the bartender gestured to her bandages.

Taking the bandages off felt like it took years, and for a few seconds, Rye was absolutely terrified of opening her eye. The fear of her new eye being basically useless was hitting a peak that she thought she had hit days ago. Breathing in deeply, the bartender slowly opened her left eye, and for the first time in weeks, she saw fully and clearly. There's no missing vision, no blurred shapes taking up her eyesight. She could see as well as before the whole nightmare scenario had started, or maybe that's just the relief that she won't be spending the rest of her life with an eyepatch or shitty half-vision. Rye couldn't care less. All that mattered to her now was full eyesight.

Overcome with joy and relief, the bartender ignored Doc's questions, and threw herself at him, wrapping him up in her arms. She squeezed with all the energy she had, feeling tears stream down her face. "Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou..." Rye repeated her gratitude over and over again, until Doc gently pulled back from the hug. "Oh, right sorry, you probably need to do some exams or whatever..."

2BDamned let out a small chuckle. "Of course. It'll be quick, trust me."

True to his word, after a few questions, and about twenty minutes of making sure everything was in working order, Doc cleared Rye with a clean bill of health. The bartender felt absolutely bubbling with relief and excitement at the ability to see clearly. Rye held in a giggle, turning to 2BDamned. "Hey, Doc, where's Hank? Haven't seen him for a couple hours."

"He's out on a mission at the moment. Sanford's out getting Deimos more cigarettes, enabling him yet again. Rose is in her room playing with Fenrir's hair when-"

"Wait, Rose is doing Fen's hair right now? I gotta see this." Rye gave Doc another hug, smiling widely. "I need more blackmail on him. See ya."

---

Fenrir sat against the bed frame, his eye closed. Finding out that having his hair fussed over and done up in different ways to be relaxing was a bit embarrassing to the turncoat, but he wouldn't let it show. He let out a small sigh of contentment, feeling Rose begin the process of braiding his hair. It was nice, not having to worry about things for an hour, just letting family take his mind off things. Family? Shit, she wormed her way right into my heart. What about the rest of them? Fenrir thought about the others of the group, letting a small smile make its way onto his face. Yeah. Yeah, they're family. Well, maybe not Hank, but he's more like that in-law that I have to give a shit about or everyone else will bitch at me for it. The turncoat had to resist the urge to let out a snort at his own thought.

"Oh my god this is the best thing I could have ever found."

Fenrir took a deep breath, keeping himself from jumping to his feet and sprinting out of the room. Opening his eye, the turncoat turned his head as much as he could without disrupting Rose's work on his hair. "Rye. Looks like you're eyes are all good now. I think. I'm kinda using my peripherals right now."

The turncoat heard the bartender giggle as she walked over to the bed, sitting next to her daughter. "Yeah, they're all good now. I wanted Hank to see, but, well, when I heard from Doc that Rose was doing your hair, I knew I had to make use of my new eye."

Fenrir let out a snort. "Right. So, what do I have to do to make sure you don't spill this to everyone else? Do I need to go annoy Deimos about his tab? Cause I'll be a little gremlin about it."

Rye let out a small hum, bringing a finger to her chin in faux thought. "I think I'll just hold this over you. Never know when I need to win an argument for free."

Fenrir sighed. "Alright, that's fine." He closed his eye, resigning himself to having this hung over his head by the bartender until the end of time. "So, how're you feeling, now that your eyes are in working order?"

The bartender let out a short sigh, running a hand through the turncoat's hair, brushing it with her fingers to give Rose an easier time with the braiding. "Well, it's a bit weird right now. I spent the past couple weeks getting used to only having one eye, and now I gotta get used to having both of them again. It's...weird."

Fenrir let out a quiet breath, leaning into the hands of both Rose and Rye, his eyelid growing heavy with every movement either mother or daughter made. He let out a soft grunt, forcing his eye to stay open as he relaxed under the care of the two. "Can't imagine what that must be like. I've just been getting used to the one eye, and it's still a bit-" The turncoat bit his tongue, the metal teeth breaking the skin of the appendage, quickly cutting himself off, and forcing a new sentence out of his mouth. "A bit of a chore to get used to." The man quickly swallowed, ignoring the coppery taste of his spit mixed with blood. "Can't tell you how many times I bumped into San or Doc walking around the place. Although, I'm not entirely against bumping up against Doc. He's good company." Shit, I'm getting too comfortable. Fenrir took a breath, feeling his eye drifting closed. "Pretend I didn't say that, Rye."

"Good company, huh? Maybe thinking of inviting him to dinner or a movie?" The turncoat could hear the smirk the bartender was sporting.

"Ha ha. Ha. No, just..." Fenrir blew out a raspberry, smiling at the giggle it got out of Rose. "Nah, he's just the most sensible person here, aside from San. Not that it's a close contest with Hank and Deimos around." The man let out a silent hiss at the sudden sensation of his hair being pulled rather sharply, causing his eye to shoot open. "Oh, come on! You know Hank's not exactly..." He glanced around the mostly empty room, trying to find the right words. "He's not the best at showing restraint, y'know?"

"Hmmm." Rye let out a slow hum as she gently pulled at Fenrir's hair. "I'll give you that."

Fenrir let out a short breath, relief washing over him. "Well, thanks for that, then."

After a few more minutes of silence, Rose finished the braid, and hopped off the bed, getting a small mirror that one of the others had scavenged from an empty building the week prior. "Uncle Fen, it looks really nice!"

The man looked into the mirror, angling his neck to look at the braid. After a few seconds of inspection, he gave a smile to the child. "Yeah, it really does. What do you think, Rye?"

The woman held onto the braid for a few seconds before smiling. "It suits you. It has that 'old man that still wants to party with his kids' kinda vibe."

Fenrir let out a snort as he stood up, ruffling Rose's hair as got to his feet. "Well, this has been pretty nice, but I'm gonna go ahead and see if any of the guys are up for a quick spar."

Rye raised a brow as Fen walked past her. "Already? Shouldn't you be taking it easy a few more days?"

The man let out a snort as he turned around, leaning lazily against the doorframe. "You say that like I haven't been lazing around just as long as you have. Well, uh..." Fenrir scratched at the back of his head, looking at the floor. "I mean..." He took a deep breath before sighing heavily, looking straight into Rye's mismatched eyes. "I need to get back into top shape. Can't ruin Loki's day when I've been resting, right?" The turncoat gave a snort as he exited the room, praying that Rye bought his lie, and that Rose wouldn't snitch on him if she didn't.

---

Deimos leaned against the outside of the safehouse, cigarette in hand as he stared up into the endless abyss that was the sky. The hacker brought the cigarette up to his mouth, and took a long drag as he kept staring at the empty sky, before he heard the entrance door open, and he glanced over, glaring at the man that came out. The hacker threw the half done cig to the ground, glaring at the turncoat. "Fuck are you doing?"

Fenrir let out a sigh as he almost sheepishly walk up to Deimos, rubbing the back of his head. "Look, I need a sparing partner, and Sanford has something to do tomorrow, and I don't wanna fuck with his rhythm. Or whatever the hell he meant by 'funky flow.'" Fenrir held up his hands and made air quotes, rolling his eye, almost immediately recoiling back, putting a hand at his bandaged eye socket. "Fuck! Right, can't really do that anymore. Shit. Look, whatever the hell muscle-man is doing, I need a sparring partner to get back into shape, considering I've been faking an eye being rotted out of my socket."

Deimos pondered the turncoat's words for a few seconds before letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine." Then, with absolutely zero hesitation or warning, Deimos cocked his fist back and swung it straight into Fenrir's cheek, forcing the other man to stagger back a few steps. Fenrir rubbed his face for a second, before a savage grin stretched across his face, a thin sheen of blood coating his metal teeth. The hacker felt a shiver go down his back as the turncoat rushed at him, his eye glinting with a primal joy. I may have fucked up a bit.

Before Deimos could think about the situation he had made, Fenrir was only a few feet in front of him, winding up for a swing, the hacker bringing up his arms to dampen the blow. But just as Deimos' guard was brought up, Fenrir sidestepped the smoker, and slammed his leg into the back of Deimos' knee. The hacker let out a grunt as his leg buckled, landing roughly on his knee. Deimos planted a hand to the ground, stabilizing himself as he shot out a leg, trying to sweep the turncoat off of his feet.

Fenrir hoped over the leg, and lifted one of his own, pivoting on his foot to slam his knee into the hacker's face, immediately knocking him onto his back and holding his face with a groan. "Fuck! Alright, yeah, no. Fuck it, I'm tapping out. Fuck.." Deimos pulled his hands away, letting out a short sigh at the blood covering them.

The turncoat walked over to Deimos, raising a brow. "You good? Thought you'd last longer than that."

The hacker glared up at Fenrir, ignoring the blood oozing from his nose. "Fuck you, I'm rusty! I've been busy trying to find whatever the fuck the Agency is doing in their servers. Haven't really had the time to keep myself sharp." Letting out another sigh, and spitting out the blood that had oozed into his mouth from the bleeding nose, Deimos got to his feet, rubbing his head. Shit, that's gonna be a bitch of a migraine in a few minutes. "Well, I'm gonna go pop a couple pain pills and try to sleep this headache I'm already feeling off." As the smoker headed inside, pinching his nose to stem the bleeding, he slammed a fist into a wall, a feeling of uselessness surging inside him. That shouldn't have been over that fast. Fuck, I should have won. The hacker gnashed his teeth together, mentally making a list of things to do to get back at the turncoat.