all i loved (i loved alone)

by shy_one

Summary:

“Oh yeah?” America raises a brow. “Does that explain how you guys ended up in the lair of forgotten nightmares just now?”
“We’re demon-hunters.” Tommy replies cheerfully around a mouthful of pancakes. “But we’re real bad at it.”
“Really, really, bad.” Billy mumbles mournfully.

-- or, the Twins have finally been reunited but Billy might've accidentally unleashed a demon or two in the process. And as if that's not already alot for a young witch to handle, he's failing calculus. Awesome.

Chapter 1: CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

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Death’s home is unsettling in its starkness.

It’s obvious that Rio hasn’t thought further than having the house in the first place: the walls are freshly painted, but the air smells faintly of plaster and emptiness. No furniture, no clutter—just a wide, bare living room, illuminated by a single overhead bulb that casts harsh shadows into the corners.

The only thing breaking the monotony of the wooden floorboards is the glowing iron-red circle carved into the center, runes etched with agonizing precision. At its heart crouches a squirming little creature no larger than a child, though its twisted proportions—short, stubby arms, hunched back, and fingers that ends in claws—destroys any semblance of innocence.

Agatha hovers beside it, her arms crossed, her figure cutting a severe silhouette against the bare walls. Her silver hair gleams under the light, as her piercing eyes bore deeper into the creature.

Billy watches it throw Agatha a grotesque sneer. Behind him, Tommy gags. “What the hell is that?”

“I’ll ask again,” Agatha says, her voice like the snap of a whip. “Why were you skulking around Green Park Correctional Facility? And choose your answer carefully. I’m not feeling patient tonight.”

The imp spits—though the spittle evaporated mid-air, sizzling as it hit the boundary of the iron circle. It grins, jagged teeth gleaming. “A͠L͏W͠A͠YS ͞Q̵U̵E̶SŢIONS̶ ̷N̶EV͘ER ̶D͏E͞AL̷S. S͏W̸E҉ET̕ TAL̴Ḱ ̕GA̧T͘HER̕S ̧S͞WEE̢T ANS͡W҉E҉RS̵.”

Agatha’s eyes narrow. She makes a sharp gesture, and the circle flared brighter, sending a pulse of energy through the imp’s body. It screeches, smoke rising where the magic burns its skin.

“Oh god, that smells even worse.” Tommy complains, drawing the ghost’s gaze.

“Honey,” she says in warning. “I thought I told you not to bring the kids into this.”

Rio shrugs, passing Agatha’s spectral form with a brief kiss to her cheek as she inspects the little gremlin-like imp. “I got sick of watching you poke at this thing.”

Billy frowns at them both disapprovingly. “Did you know she was taking in Tommy?”

Considering she tried to kill them less than a month ago, it feels like a mistake to hand over his recently re-acquired brother to Death herself. Even if she was currently masquerading as Special Agent Rio Vidal of the FBI.

But Agatha waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, Teen. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“Which fish?” Tommy grimaces, peering at the jittery imp. “I don’t even know what species that thing is.”

“It’s an imp.” Billy says grimly. “But what was it doing at Green Park?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Cooling her voice considerably, Agatha turns back to the demon with a glare that could curdle milk. “You’ve got one chance to make yourself useful or I’ll bind you into a paperweight for the rest of eternity.”

The imp growls, but its bravado cracks. Its clawed hands rub compulsively at its burned arms. “A͜SK͏ ҉A̵ND ̸AN͡SW͘ER ̡T̡H͟E͞N͝ W҉I̴TCH̵.”

“Start with Green Park,” Agatha steps closer, her ghostly form pulsing with power. “What were you doing there?”

“S̴N͡IF̀F́I͏NG̢.”

“At what?” Agatha snaps her fingers again and the circle shrinks a few inches.

The imp shrieks and the next voice it echoes is not its own: “WARDS ARE DOWN. WE HAVE TO GO NOW.”

Tommy looks unnerved. “What was that?”

“Imps repeat things they here.” Billy murmurs to him, sceptical of the creature’s honesty. “But they’re not usually this helpful.”

“What wards?” Agatha demands.

The imp hisses up at her. “D̢O͜WN ͘COMES͠ ̷T͜HE ̀CI̸RCL̨E͜ ͡THE͟N ̨TH̴ROU̵GH THE I͜RON. ͝RUN B͡RO̕TH̵E̷R͡S͞ ͘RU͝Ǹ!͘”

Another flick of Agatha’s hand, and the circle blazes brighter. The imp yelps, writhing as if it were being roasted alive. “Enough games,” Agatha snarls. “Speak.”

Panting, the imp glared at her, its smile gone. “DOWN COM͡E̵S̕ ͝T͡H̡E ̸CIR͝C̨L̕E͢ THEN͠ ͘TH̨ROUG͝H͢ TH̴E͞ ̡I̛R͏ON!͘ ̷H͡E DI͏D̢ ̢I̛T̵ H͜E ̡D̀I̛D IT ́H̕E͘ B̛RI͡NGS̴ ̷DO͟W͞N ̷TH́É ̸C̸ĮRC̕L͡E҉-”

The temperature in the room seems to drop. Agatha stares at the imp, her expression unreadable. For a moment, the only sound is the faint crackle of the magic circle.

Then, with a snap of her fingers, the imp’s horrid, scratchy voice is cut off.

“What is it talking about, Agatha?” Billy questions. He doesn’t like the way the imp studies him even now, beady little yellow eyes following his movement to and fro. “What wards?”

Agatha looks troubled which is not usually a good sign but so does Rio and that’s an even worse sign. “I was worried this might be the case.”

“That what’s the case?” Tommy persists, then glances around and glowers at Rio. “What’re you, allergic to furniture? Where are we meant to sit in this place?”

Rio, who has somehow found herself a beer in this otherwise empty shell of a house, shrugs. “Floor’s good enough for me.”

Agatha sighs, rubbing her temples. “Teen, tell me what you remember about turning off the lockdown.”

Billy can’t help but flinch slightly. “What? Why?”

“Indulge me.”

He shuffles awkwardly, not altogether comfortable with the memories of that day. “It was so loud, I couldn’t think. I just lost control, just for a second. And when I came back, it was quiet. Why does it matter?”

“That’s it?” Agatha probes. “It was quiet?”

“All the doors were open.” Everyone looks to Tommy in unison, who shrugs. “What? It was weird. Every single door was open.”

Agatha nods like she was expecting that. “You unlocked everything, and I mean, everything that day, kid. Including a few things that were meant to stay shut.”

“Like what?” Billy glares at the imp, suddenly desperate for answers. “What does it mean, he did it? What did I do?”

His ghost-witch mentor hesitates and then lifts her silencing curse with a wave of her hand.

The imp is still chanting: “DOW̡Ǹ C͞OM҉E̸S͝ TH͝E͏ ̢C͠IR̨C͜LE,͜ ̸THĘN TH́RO͡UGH TH̀E̕ ͡I͏R̵ON͞, ̧RUN̕ ̡BR̡O͏TH͡E͞RS͝ ̕RU̵N͜!̷ ͠DOW͠N COMES ̢THE C͝I͘R͠CLE͘-”

“What circle?” Billy demands, stepping closer to the trap over Tommy’s groan of protest. His gaze lingers on the imp, a strange mixture of curiosity and dread in his expression.

“T̨HE͝ TŖA͏PS̴.” It yowls like an angry feline. “TH͡E̴ TR͡AṔS ̷T҉H̵Ę T̶R̛AP̶S ̨TH̢E ҉T̕R̷A̴P̨S̴-”

Billy’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “What traps?”

“Billy, don’t listen to it,” Agatha interrupts, her tone firm but laced with unease. She turns back to the imp. “You’re stalling. I can tell.”

“What did I do?” Billy whispers, his voice cracking. “Did I—”

“Billy, don’t—” Agatha snaps, but it’s too late.

Before Agatha can tighten her grip on the binding spell, Billy steps just a fraction too close to the circle, hands trembling, as he searches for some kind of answer in the imp’s taunting gaze.

The moment the protective boundary is punctured, the imp’s eyes blaze like twin suns. With a triumphant screech, it explodes into a plume of smoke, filling the room with the acrid stench of sulphur.

“Well, that’s just great!” Agatha sneers, waving a hand to clear the smoke.

Billy stumbles back, coughing, his face pale. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Damn it, Billy!” Agatha whirls on him, her voice sharp and furious. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

“I was just trying to—” Billy starts, but his words falter under Agatha’s glare.

“You let it escape!” she says impatiently. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that thing is? How much it knows? We could’ve used it to figure out what’s going on, but now—”

“Now what?” Tommy cuts in, his tone defensive. He steps between Agatha and his brother, his arms crossed. “You were the one keeping that thing in here. If it’s that dangerous, maybe you should’ve locked it up better.”

Agatha’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, it looked like she might turn Tommy into the desexed kitten she keeps threatening him with. But Rio sighs exasperated and steps toward her wife, her calm, even voice cutting through the tension.

“Enough,” Her tone leaves no room for argument. “The imp’s gone. Yelling at each other won’t bring it back.”

Agatha exhales sharply, her anger simmering but contained. She turns back to the smouldering remains of the circle, her mind already spinning with contingencies. “The circle, the iron, the traps. Damn it, what did you get us into here, Teen?”

“What is with this damn circle?” Tommy interrupts bluntly. “Or the iron, for that matter? Does anyone wanna clue in the not-witch?”

“Witch’s circles can be used to cast spells,” Agatha finally explains begrudgingly. “But they can also be used to trap demonic entities. And if your brother opened all the locks in Green Park that day, it stands to reason-”

“That I opened the traps too.” Billy concludes.

Agatha looks pained to admit it herself. “There was an iron protection circle surrounding the whole prison. It’s why I couldn’t get in.”

“Well…that’s good right?” Tommy looks between them expectantly. “If you couldn’t get in after Billy pulled his little firework show, doesn’t that mean these demon things wouldn’t get out?”

“Down comes the circle, then through the iron.” Billy recites bitterly. “I might not have brought down the protection circle but I think whatever was trapped in there might have broken through it anyway.”

“Run, brothers, run.” Rio finishes with a mirthless smirk. “Congratulations, pipsqueak. You may have unleashed a few demons on the world.”

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Notes:

Welcome to the third and final installment! I'm posting the first chapter here but just be aware, I do have to work on Real World Responsibilities for a while so no new chapters for a hot minute.

That said, if you're coming from part one and two of this series, WELCOME MY FRIENDS AND THANKS FOR STICKING AROUND ;) Leave a comment to let me know what you want to see next <3

Chapter 2: CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

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The air inside Eastview High smells faintly of cleaning solution and cheap floor polish, the kind that tries too hard to mask the sweat and chaos of teenagers crammed into narrow halls. Locker doors slam in rhythmic cacophony, laughter and shouts echoing off the walls.

Billy stands by his locker, staring into its open depths like it holds some grand revelation.

His books sit in a neat stack, untouched. He’s been in this same spot for three minutes, trying to summon the will to grab the right one and get to class. Instead, it feels like there’s a crack in the world, and it’s his handprint pressed into the break.

“Dude, you’re gonna be late.”

His brother leans against the locker next to him, one sneaker braced casually against the metal. As always, Tommy looks effortlessly put together: the exact kind of kid who can get away with skirting dress codes and showing up to class five minutes late, charming his way out of any trouble.

Billy exhales, forcing a small smile. “I know. Just… thinking.”

Tommy arches a brow. “What’s on the Self-Flagellation Agenda today?”

“How can you use the word ‘flagellation’ like that and still be getting a C in English?” Billy deflects moodily.

“I’m talented.” Tommy shrugs effortlessly. “Besides, it’s barely the start of semester. I got plenty of time to pull that down to an F. So? What’re you beating yourself up over now?”

Billy’s stomach twists, and the guilt must be written all over his face because Tommy sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Okay, so yeah, maybe you accidentally let a few hellspawn into the world. Big deal.” He grins, the sharp, irreverent kind that’s so distinctly Tommy. “We’ll figure it out. Agatha’s got those sick demon-eating powers for a reason, right?”

Billy doesn’t share the grin. Instead, his voice drops to a murmur, barely audible over the din of the hallway. “But what if it’s not enough? You heard her—demons make everything worse. What if someone gets hurt because of me?”

Tommy hesitates, his usual bravado faltering. For a moment, he looks like he might deflect with another joke, but then he claps a hand on Billy’s shoulder, his grip firm. “Hey. We’ve already defied Death and covert ops. A few rogue demons? That’s just Tuesday for us. We’ll fix it. Together.”

The corner of Billy’s mouth twitches. It’s not a full smile, but it’s something. “Thanks, Tommy.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you out of that big brain of yours.”

Before Tommy can launch into another motivational speech—or possibly an anecdote about his latest hatred for chemistry—they’re interrupted by the sharp click of heels on tile. Both boys turn as a teacher approaches, her blazer buttoned so tightly it looks like it might snap.

“Mr. Shepherd?” she says, addressing Tommy expectantly.

Tommy exchanges a look with Billy, who shrugs. “Uh, yeah?”

The teacher steps aside, revealing a spindly boy lingering just behind her. He’s tall but slight, his dark hair a mess of unruly curls that look like they’ve never met a brush. His shoulders hunch like he’s trying to make himself smaller, and his gaze flickers nervously between the twins.

“This is Jon Gallo,” the teacher announces. “He’s new here, just like you, so I thought you might show him around. Help him settle in.”

Tommy blinks. “Oh. Uh, sure, I guess.”

The teacher smiles, sharp and efficient, then turns on her heel and strides away, leaving the three of them standing awkwardly in the middle of the hall.

“Hey,” Billy says, stepping forward with a polite nod. “I’m Billy. This is Tommy.”

Jon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. “Hi,” he says quietly.

“How’re you finding Eastview High so far?” Billy asks, his voice warm and polite.

Jon hesitates, glancing around the pristine hallway. His lips twitch into something that’s almost a smile. “It’s… nice,” he says, though the word sounds foreign in his mouth. “I’ve never been to a school without metal detectors before.”

Tommy barks out a laugh. “Same. My last school should’ve come with a bio-warning. Eastview feels straight out of a Stepford Wives reboot.”

Jon looks startled for a moment, but then his lips quirk into a small, genuine smile. “So it’s not just me? It is a little podperson-ish, right?”

“It’s just the smell of the upper-middle class, man, you get used to it. Just wait until you see the cafeteria,” Tommy says, slinging an arm around Jon’s shoulders like they’ve been friends forever. “They’ve got this whole salad bar thing that looks like it’s for show, but the pizza’s not half bad. I’ll give you the tour.”

The bell rings, sharp and piercing, cutting through the noise of the hallway. Billy grabs his books, Tommy steers Jon toward their next class, and the trio melts into the stream of students flooding the halls.

Billy lingers a moment longer, watching his brother chatter away animatedly with Jon. But try as he might, he can’t shake the feeling that whatever’s on the horizon is about to bring everything to a griding halt.

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C:\Users\WKaplan\Desktop\Witch101\Recordings\witch101_sept_05.mp3
0:04:06  |                            00:50:46

“Looks like we’re skipping ahead in the Harkness Magic curriculum today, kid. Welcome to Everything You Need To Know About Demons.”

“Great.”

“Hey, don’t wanna learn about demons? Don’t summon any.”

“I didn’t summon them-”

“Unleash them, unbind them, set ‘em free, whatever. So first thing you gotta know is this asshole.”

“Mephisto? What is that? It sounds like a laundry detergent.”

“Self-proclaimed ruler of the dimension referred to as Hell, puppet master to the evils of the world, head honcho of the legions of the demonic.”

“So…Satan?”

“Eh, according to some folks, sure. He certainly does enough messing around in the mortal realm, stealing souls, causing havoc. I’ve seen plenty of witches try to barter with him for a little extra power and not one has ever managed to outsmart him.”

“…so, I unleashed Satan. Cool.”

“Oh, you would know if you unleashed Mephisto, kid. Believe me, he makes an entrance. No, more likely you set loose a few of his agents, though it’s too soon to tell what fun and exciting psychos they might turn out to be.”

“Agents? Didn’t Jen say something like that once?”

“All demons are agents of Mephisto but not all agents are demons. That’s one to keep in mind.”

“Right. Okay. So how do I send them back where they came from?”

“With great and painful difficulty, I’m afraid. And the next thing you need to do is wipe that look off your face.”

“What look?”

“The one like you just kicked your own puppy. Guilt isn’t gonna help you here, Teen. It’ll just make it easier for Mephisto’s minions to manipulate and eventually kill you.”

“What do you mean? What would my being guilty have to do with them?”

“Demons feed on the emotions of mortals, especially those that cause anguish. It’s how they get in your head, urge you to act on your impulses. So the best thing you can do for yourself is get over whatever you’re feeling and channel it into hunting these things down.”

“I…they’re still people, aren’t they? I mean, sure, they’re possessed but underneath that, they’re human.”

“Teen, it’s not like playing host to a ghost. Having a demon rifling through your head, making you act on the very darkest parts of your soul… it’s not the kind of thing you come back from.”

“I can’t kill people, Agatha.”

“Look, we’re miles away from that call. For now, we have to get you ready to defend yourself in case these things sense your blue and decide to come investigate further- well, hey there, good looking.”

“…Rio.”

“Pipsqueak. Agatha, I need to speak with you.”

“We’re in the middle of something.”

“Oh, don’t hold grudges, Teen, it’s bad for your digestion. Give me a minute here, my love and I’ll come find you.”

“Don’t take too long.”

“For you? Never.”

“Ugh, you two are bad for my digestion.”

“Here, practise adding these to your chalk circle.”

“What are they?”

“Demonic runes, they can shield you from or trap a demon inside it.”

“Do I really need to know this stuff? Why would they come after me?”

“You practically fluoresce with magic, kid. Practise these and don’t call for me until they’re perfect, understood?

“…I understand.”

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Rio 💀 
+253 0110-010

When are we gonna discuss
the criminal lack of furniture
in your house?

What do I need furniture for?

Ummm maybe the at-risk teenager
you stole from the State?

I’m still using a sleeping bag man

So? Get creative.

I’m not your babysitter.

You are literally my guardian.

You want something, go get it.

I’m taking this as permission
to steal your credit card

Wait is this even real? Does
Death get paid?

The average federal agent earns between
$48k and $123k a year.

Typing…

Oh my god

Do you collect a salary??
FROM THE FBI???

Why shouldn’t I be compensated
for my services? I’m performing a
duty.

Oh I’m not judging

Defraud the govt as much as you want

Go off queen

Well, now that I have your permission.

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The cafeteria at Eastview High is a strange blend of institutional sterility and bland attempts at school spirit. Wood tables stretch out in neat rows, undersides etched with years of boredom and teenage angst. The smell of vaguely warm food hangs in the air—pizza grease, wilted salad, and something that might be meatloaf.

Billy and Eddie sit at their usual spot by the windows, where the sunlight filters in through slightly smudged glass. Eddie is pushing peas around his tray with the back of his fork, his gaze fixed on the table like it might hold the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.

Billy watches him, chewing the inside of his cheek. Eddie hasn’t quite been the same since everything went down at Green Park but then again, life hasn’t really been the same, has it? It’s not every day you survive a magically induced prison riot that nearly kills you, your boyfriend and your boyfriend’s father.

“You okay?” Billy asks, keeping his tone light.

Eddie startles a little, as if he’s been pulled from a distant thought. “What?”

“You’ve barely touched your food. And you’ve been staring at your peas for like ten minutes. They’re not going to hatch, you know.”

That earns him the faintest smile, but it doesn’t reach Eddie’s eyes. He shrugs. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Billy doesn’t buy it for a second. “Eddie.”

Eddie sighs and sets down his fork, his hand lingering on the edge of the tray. “I’m really fine, babe. Just some stuff on my mind.”

Billy opens his mouth to press further, but before he can, Tommy drops into the seat next to him with all the subtlety of a freight train.

“You guys are not gonna believe this,” Tommy announces, dumping a slightly crumpled folder onto the table between them.

Billy frowns, glancing at the folder. “What is that?”

“Info from Green Park,” Tommy says, his grin wide and mischievous. “Turns out, our friendly neighbourhood crypt keeper’s FBI credentials are real. Like, actually legit. So I called the prison pretending to be her—”

“You what?” Billy sputters.

“Relax, I didn’t commit treason or anything. They sent over the files on the kids who escaped during the riot. Names, visitor logs, all the boring bureaucratic stuff.” Tommy gestures to the folder, as if it’s self-explanatory.

Billy stares at him. “How do you even know how to do that?”

Tommy shrugs. “Internet’s free. Now, here’s the kicker.” He flips open the folder, pulling out a handful of hastily printed documents. “Three of the guys who escaped had the same visitor. Multiple times. A woman named…Margali Szardos.”

The name hangs in the air between them, strange and unfamiliar. Eddie perks up a little, curiosity flickering in his eyes despite whatever was weighing on him a moment ago.

“Who’s Margali Szardos?” Billy asks, already reaching for the papers.

“No idea,” Tommy says, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “But she lives in the next town over, runs an antiques place. I already Googled it.”

Billy’s eyes widen. “You found her? You know where she is?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says casually, like this is all just another Tuesday for him. “I mean, it’s not like she’s hiding or anything. The shop even has a Facebook page.”

Billy is practically vibrating with nervous energy now, the guilt from the last few weeks bubbling up into a determined need to act. Agatha was right, he has to channel it into something productive. It might as well be investigating this Margali woman. “We have to check it out. After school.”

“Obviously,” Tommy rolls his eyes. “What do you think I brought this to you for? Moral support?”

Billy glances at Eddie, who has gone quiet again, though there’s a thoughtful look on his face. “Eddie, you’ll come with us, right?”

Eddie hesitates, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table. “I mean… yeah. Sure. I can drive. You two don’t exactly scream ‘subtle.’”

Billy beams at him, the heaviness of earlier momentarily forgotten. “You’re seriously the perfect boyfriend, you know that?”

Eddie’s cheeks flush a little, but he doesn’t argue.

Tommy makes a gagging noise. “Gross. Can you two not?”

Billy ignores him, shoving the papers back into the folder and standing with renewed purpose. “We’ll meet by the parking lot after the last bell. Tommy, bring anything else you’ve got.”

Eddie smiles faintly, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “Got it.”

Tommy rolls his eyes but grins anyway, already on his feet and halfway out of the cafeteria before Billy can remind him to slow down.

Chapter 3: CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

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PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @holimoli_44
Updated: 08/09/2026    16:21:56 EST
See previous messages

tshep: Any updates from your online true crime buff bffs?

holimoli_44: not yet but I posted it less than an hour ago. Most of them won’t even be online til tonight.

tshep: Is internet crimefighting is a nocturnal activity?

holimoli_44: sure is. Looking for criminals during the day is cheating obvi

tshep: jokes aside, thanks for asking.

holimoli_44: are you kidding? They love this kind of thing. Last week they were so bored they started trying to solve the kennedy assassination

holimoli_44: as if we don’t have concrete evidence it was the winter soldier

tshep: I know we don’t have much to go on.

holimoli_44: the less the better for these guys. One of them specialises in hacking public surveillance cameras to look for perps so he might be able to track ur escapees from the prison to wherever they end up

tshep: Look at you, using ‘perp’ like a real detective.

holimoli_44: I mean, it’s only about half-legal but sure.

holimoli_44: detective molinari reporting for duty. I’ll let you know when they find something!!

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The road to Morristown is a dull stretch of grey and yellow, the lines on the highway blending into a haze as Eddie’s Subaru hums along. In the backseat, Tommy fidgets, his knee bouncing up and down like he’s got an invisible drumline to keep time with.

Billy sits shotgun, staring out the window, his stomach doing little flips every time he thinks about what lies ahead. Eddie, ever composed, taps his fingers against the steering wheel, his eyes flicking between the road and the rear-view mirror.

“So… this Margali Szardos,” he says, breaking the silence. “What’s the plan? We just waltz in and ask her if she’s got any demons in stock?”

“She’s not a Walmart greeter,” Tommy snarks. “And yes, basically. Except with less ‘waltz’ and more ‘subtle probing.’”

Billy snorts. “Because you’re so good at subtle.”

Tommy leans forward between the seats. “Hey, subtlety is just honesty with a fake moustache.”

Billy glances at him in the mirror. “Please don’t talk when we’re in there.”

“You sure this place is legit?” Eddie wonders aloud.

“It’s real,” Tommy says, his tone breezy. “I told you, I Googled it. She’s got a Yelp page and everything. Five stars. One guy even said her ‘haunted lamp’ cured his back pain.”

All too soon, the GPS dings, announcing their arrival. The shop is tucked into the corner of a weather-beaten building, its facade a patchwork of faded bricks and peeling paint. The storefront is cramped, its single window cluttered with an assortment of mismatched items—crystal balls, tarnished candlesticks, an ominous-looking doll that Billy swears turns its head as they pass.

Above the door, a sign swings gently despite the absence of a breeze: Szardos Antiques.

Tommy peers inside. “It looks… haunted. Like, definitely haunted.”

“Perfect,” Billy mutters as he pushes open the door. “So are we.”

Inside, the shop is a labyrinth of narrow aisles, every surface piled high with strange, mismatched items. The air within is heavy, rich with the scent of old wood, dust, and something sharper—like ozone after a storm.

Shelves packed to the point of collapse line every available space, filled with strange and disparate objects: chipped porcelain figures, rusted tools, tattered books whose spines seem to hum faintly when Billy brushes too close. The light is dim, filtering in weakly through dusty windows, and the place feels larger than it should, like the aisles stretch out endlessly into shadowed corners.

Billy’s breath catches. He can feel it—a hum of magic that thrums in his chest like a second heartbeat.

“Whoa,” Tommy murmurs, his voice unusually reverent. “This place is weird.”

“Weird is putting it lightly,” Eddie says, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to lunge out from the shadows.

Billy tries to focus, his attention caught by something on a nearby shelf.

It’s small, unassuming—a carved icon in dark, polished wood. Its shape is strikingly familiar: a delicate crown with pointed tips, almost like flames. Billy’s stomach twists, memories surfacing unbidden of Wanda in the Scarlet Witch’s full regalia.

Before he can think too much about it, a voice snaps through the air, sharp and tinged with a faint French accent.

“Put that down, garçon.”

Billy startles, spinning around to see Tommy halfway through picking up what looks like a brass compass.

Standing a few feet away is a woman—tall and imposing, with thick, curly mostly-grey hair that frames her face like a lion’s mane. Her skin is dark and slightly wrinkled, but her golden eyes remain sharp and unblinking as she watches them.

“Uh… sorry?” Tommy says, his grin sheepish as he sets the compass back down. “Didn’t know it was off-limits.”

“Everything in this store is off-limits to wandering hands,” the woman says, stepping closer. Her gaze shifts to Billy, and he feels as though she’s peeling back layers with just a look.

“Are you Margali Szardos?” Billy asks, his voice steadier than he feels.

The woman raises an eyebrow. “And you are…?”

Eddie, ever the diplomat, steps in. “We’re just looking for a gift for an aunt. Something unique, you know?”

The lie is so painfully transparent that Billy winces. Margali doesn’t even bother to pretend she believes it. Instead, she tilts her head, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

“Tea,” she says abruptly. “Kitchen. Now.”

Eddie shoots Billy a helpless look, but Margali’s tone brooks no argument.

They follow her through the maze of the shop, ducking under low-hanging shelves and stepping around precarious piles of dusty old crap. The kitchen is small and cluttered, with jars of herbs and strange powders crammed onto every surface.

Margali moves with purpose, setting a kettle on the stove and arranging delicate porcelain cups on a tray. Once they’re seated around a tiny, wobbly table, Margali leans back in her chair, studying them.

“Now,” she says, her voice like silk over steel, “why is a young witch poking around my store?”

Billy glances at Tommy, who gives him a subtle nod. Taking a deep breath, Billy speaks. “You heard about the riot, at Green Park Correctional last month?”

Margali does not move an inch. “I heard a rumour.”

“Well, I…I think I may have done something. During it, I mean.” He grits his teeth and forces the words out: “I think I set something loose.”

Margali’s expression hardens. “The traps. You broke them.”

Tommy leans forward. “Wait, so you’re the one who set them?”

“I did, at great personal cost.” She snaps at him, eyes flashing. “And now you tell me, they have been broken by some silly little-”

Billy doesn’t know the French word she uses to describe him but he’d bet it’s not super polite.

“It wasn’t on purpose.” Billy insists. “Please, I didn’t know.”

“Of course, you didn’t know,” Margali interrupts. “No one was meant to know. Those traps were designed to hold creatures of chaos. Do you have any idea what you’ve freed?”

The confirmation of everything he feared is harder to swallow than he thought it would. But he fights to keep his voice steady. “Please. I want to fix it. That’s why we’re here.”

For a moment, Margali says nothing, her gaze distant. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, laced with an old, aching pain. “My family had lived here for many years when they came for us. We followed the Winding Way—a path of balance, not darkness. But the agents of Mephisto do not care for balance. They came for us. They slaughtered my children, my sisters. My whole coven, gone in a single night. They took everything from me.”

Billy’s chest tightens. “I’m so sorry.”

Margali waves him off, eyes hardening. “Save your pity, boy. I survived. I fought for my vengeance. I couldn’t destroy them—that is not the way of the Winding Way – but I could imprison them. I set my traps, and for a time, the world was safer.”

Eddie’s voice is sombre. “But now they’re loose again.”

“Yes,” Margali says, her voice grim. “And if you don’t stop them, they will sow destruction on a scale you cannot imagine.”

Billy hesitates, then looks Margali in the eye. “Will you help us?”

Margali studies him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she exhales, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I will help you. But only because the alternative is unthinkable.”

Tommy takes that as his cue, fishing the print out files out of his backpack. “These are the inmates who escaped that day. We’re trying to figure out which ones were possessed.”

Margali inspects each page quietly, carefully. “Belial,” she says finally, tapping one page. “I remember it well. It laughed as it ripped my daughter from my arms.”

Billy feels lightheaded. That’s what he’s unleashed on the world. A monster that kills children and laughs about it.

She looks through another page. “Astaroth, this one is called. It took nine days to capture it, its power was so vile. But this one…” Margali pauses over the image of a young boy, his dark eyes enormous in his face. “This one was different.”

“Different how?” Eddie asks hesitantly.

“A powerful shapeshifter.” Margali hums, flitting her gaze to meet Billy’s. “And devious, far wilier than the others. It called itself a prince among demons.”

“Does Hell have royalty?” Tommy mutters to Eddie who shrugs back helplessly.

“It can take the form of anyone it so chooses.” Margali says simply. “Anyone, anywhere.”

The most awkward tea party ever winds down quickly after that. Tommy and Eddie gather their things to leave, including the files but Margali stops Billy at the door with a narrow-eyed look. “Wait.”

The boys pause, glancing back but she waves them. “Just him.”

Margali studies Billy’s face a moment and then relaxes faintly. “You are new to the craft. I can tell.”

“I guess.” He mumbles, feeling unbearably humble in her presence. “It’s been a wild few months.”

“Such power in one so new is rare,” her accent thickens around the words. “But I wonder if you have learned control yet.”

He forces a weak smile. “It’s a work in progress.”

“The Winding Way is more than a craft,” the ancient witch says abruptly. “It is a philosophy, a path through which its practitioners find peace in the unknowable balance of the world.”

“I think I’ve had enough of paths.” He says despite himself. The thought alone brings memories of the Road flooding right to the surface where they can sting more easily at his conscience.

“Perhaps,” Margali murmurs back thoughtfully. “But I don’t believe they have had enough of you, Billy Maximoff.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Notes:

remember how i said i was NOT gonna hyperfixate on this fic yeah well im a lying liar who lies enjoy my friends <3

Chapter 4: CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

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C:\Users\WKaplan\Desktop\Witch101\Recordings\witch101_sept_10.mp3
0:01:18   |                            00:30:46

“-so I was looking into more of the mythology and I mean, it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s fake on the internet these days-”

“Teen.”

“-but I found all this stuff about Astaroth being something like a duke, in hell? Which makes no sense, but hey, I guess maybe there is a royal family in the underworld-”

“Teen.”

“-and then I found something call the Book of Dukes and I thought that might have some kind of clue as to where it might go-”

“Billy.”

“…what?”

“Sit down, kid. We need to talk.”

“Talk about what? I thought we were going to keep working on demon stuff today?”

“There’s been some changes to the situation.”

“What situation?”

“It looks like whatever got loose that day at Green Park has been sparking up smaller infestations up and down the coast. Rio’s been dealing with them on her end but nothing upsets the balance like an incursion of demonic forces in the mortal world so I’ve been helping her out here and there.”

“Whoa. Okay, I mean, I can help. It’s my fault, I should be the one to fix it-”

“Kid, much as I appreciate the offer, one of us has the ability to siphon demonic energy and she’s not the one who’s been wearing the same sweatshirt for three days.”

“I washed this last week!”

“What I’m saying is, even Rio overcame her gigantic ego to ask me to help out with this and it’s gonna take some time. So until I’m back, I gotta put a kibosh on our lessons.”

“Wait, what?”

“Just for a few months, until we can get some of these incursions under control.”

“But that’s- you said we’d fix it! How am I meant to do that if you’re gone?!”

“Look, I won’t be gone gone, I just…you know…won’t be around so much.”

“I can’t believe this. You’re leaving? Now?”

“Teen, it’s not forever. But let’s face it, I’m uniquely qualified to be tackling demons right now and my wife asked for favour. I’m not about to turn her down.”

“She’s Death. Surely she can handle this herself!”

“Her ability to interfere in the mortal realm is limited, Teen. You know that. And look, I’m not saying this is your fault, but it is your mess. And as your mentor, that makes it my mess.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Neither’s life. Or death, as it turns out. But the truth is, it’s time to you move up a level.”

“What level?”

“Witch Lessons 102: Trial and Error.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The dull murmur of his history class drones on, but Billy’s mind is far away, lost in a whirlpool of thoughts. His notebook sits open, pages blank except for a half-hearted doodle in the corner. His pen hovers over the paper, forgotten. He should be listening to Mrs. Glasser’s impassioned lecture on the Treaty of Versailles, but all he can think about is Agatha’s warning from this morning.

A poke in the ribs jolts him out of his reverie. He glances sideways to see Eddie watching him, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“You okay?” Eddie mouths silently.

Billy nods, though it’s never been more of a lie.

Eddie’s lips press into a thin line like he knows Billy’s lying, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he tilts his head toward the classroom door and mouths again, “We need to talk.”

Billy opens his mouth to respond, but the bell rings before he can say anything.

Around them, the room erupts into the usual chaos of students grabbing their bags and shuffling toward the door. Billy is about to follow Eddie out when Tommy appears in the doorway, his silver hair catching the fluorescent light.

“Hey, losers,” Tommy announces, earning a pointed glare from Mrs. Glasser, who’s busy erasing the board.

Billy frowns. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?”

“Yeah, well, this seemed more important,” Tommy says conspiratorially. “We’ve got a lead.”

That catches Billy’s attention. He grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and gestures for Eddie to follow them into the hallway.

“What kind of lead?” Billy asks as they weave through the crowd of students.

“Lisa came through for us,” Tommy shows him the chat on his phone. “She put the word out to her little online crime club about the Green Park escapees. Someone just posted that they saw a kid in a green jumpsuit wandering near Mount Clarity Reserve.”

Billy stops in his tracks. “Mount Clarity? That’s, like, forty minutes from here.”

“Twenty if we use my speed,” Tommy says excitedly.

“Hold up,” Eddie interjects, his tone cautious. “Shouldn’t we tell Agatha about this? Or at least wait until after school?”

Billy shakes his head, his heart pounding with a mix of urgency and defiance. “Every second we wait is another second this thing could hurt someone. We need to go now.”

“Skipping class?” Eddie frowns at him. “Come on, man, is that smart? Besides, if we tell Agatha-”

“We’re not telling Agatha.” Billy snaps, then softens when he sees Eddie’s frown. “Look, I get it. But this is my mess. I can’t just sit here and wait for someone else to clean it up.”

Eddie hesitates, glancing at Tommy, who shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I’m just here to keep Billy from getting himself killed.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Billy mutters.

After a long moment, Eddie sighs. “Fine. I’ll cover for you guys. But if this goes sideways, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

Grateful, Billy kisses him briefly but he’s already pulling Tommy toward the nearest exit. “Noted. Let’s go.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

The world blurs into a streak of green and gray as Tommy carries them at superspeed toward the reserve. Billy’s not proud of the way he clings to his brother’s shoulder for dear life but it’s only marginally less embarrassing than letting him carry him bridal style.

When they finally stop, the sudden stillness is disorienting. Billy stumbles, his legs wobbling beneath him, but he catches himself before he falls. The air here is cool and crisp, the scent of pine and damp earth filling his lungs.

“This is it,” Billy says, looking around. The entrance to the reserve is marked by a wooden sign, its edges worn and splintered. Beyond it, a dirt path winds into the dense forest.

Tommy glances warily at the trees. “So, what’s the plan? We just wander around and hope we bump into him?”

Billy grabs his brother’s phone, opening the photo Lisa had sent of the online tip. “The post said they saw him near the southern edge, close to the old fire lookout. That’s where we start.”

Tommy nods, already heading down the path. “Let’s move, then. I’m not trying to spend all day hiking.”

They walk in tense silence, the only sounds the crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the distant rustle of branches in the wind. Billy’s heart is pounding, but it’s not just from the exertion. The air here feels… heavy. Charged, almost.

Billy glances toward Tommy with a frown. “It feels weird up here.”

Tommy snorts. “Great. Just what we needed—more weird vibes.”

As they move deeper into the forest, the path narrows, and the trees grow closer together, their twisted branches forming a canopy that blocks out most of the sunlight. Billy’s grip tightens on his phone, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Tommy asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” Billy admits. “But it’s the only idea we’ve got.”

Ahead, the path forks, one side leading up a steep incline toward the fire lookout, the other descending into a dense thicket. Tommy pauses, looking back at Billy. “Which way?”

Billy hesitates, his gut pulling him toward the thicket. “Down there,” he says, pointing.

Tommy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue.

But as they step into the shadows of the thicket, the air grows colder, and the feeling of magic intensifies. Billy’s skin prickles, and he swears he hears faint whispers carried on the wind.

“Really starting to wish we had a ghost or two right now…” Tommy mumbles.

Before Billy can answer, a low growl echoes through the trees, freezing them in their tracks. His pulse quickens as he scans the darkness ahead. Whatever they’re looking for, they’re not alone.

The twisted trees, their bark mottled and blackened like diseased skin, form a claustrophobic corridor that reeks of decay. Each step squelches in the damp, foul-smelling earth, and the air grows thick with a sulphurous stench that makes Billy gag.  Overhead, the canopy is so dense it snuffs out what little light filters through the late afternoon sky. The shadows here are alive, writhing and shifting like something is breathing deep within the forest.

Tommy’s pace slows, his usual bravado shrinking with every step. “This is starting to look less like a hiking path and more like the set of The Blair Witch Project.”

Billy doesn’t answer. His magic is thrumming beneath his skin like a warning siren, every nerve screaming that something unnatural is nearby. He clutches his hands to steady them, trying to ignore the faint nausea curling in his stomach.

And then they see it.

The trees around them change suddenly, their trunks gnarled and oozing a viscous black sap. The forest floor ahead is littered with twisted roots, all of them converging on a grotesque clearing.

Billy freezes, and Tommy bumps into his shoulder, cursing under his breath.

“What the hell…” Tommy trails off, eyes wide.

In the centre of the clearing is a mound of grey, organic pus, pulsating faintly like a diseased heart. Around it, dozens of translucent egg sacs hang from the dying trees, their surfaces glistening with a thick slime. Inside each sac, dark, insectoid shapes twitch and shift, as if eager to escape their gelatinous prisons.

Billy’s stomach seems like it wants to flip inside out. The clearing itself seems to be breathing.

He swallows hard, his voice barely a whisper. “Tommy…I think…I think this is a nest.”

Tommy’s eyes dart from the sacs to the surrounding trees, his posture tense. “A nest for what?”

A low, guttural laugh echoes from above, freezing them both in place. Billy’s head snaps up, and his heart lurches as he spots it: a figure crouched high in the canopy, its outline barely discernible against the shadows.

What was once a boy called Kyle Roberts is now something…monstrous.

Its limbs are elongated and gnarled, its hands ending in talons that glint faintly in the dim light. Its flesh is a patchwork of scabs and boils, leaking yellow ichor that drips onto the branches below. Its eyes are sunken and black and Billy has no words for the terror inside them.

He thought imps were disgusting but this…this is a real demon.

“WEL͝CO̷M̢E͟,” the creature rasps, its voice a wet, slithering sound that makes his skin crawl. “Y͞OU’R҉E͜ JUS҉T IN̵ T͝IM̢E ͝F͟OR͞ ͟T̷HE F̷ÉAS̛T.”

Billy recovers first, fists clenching at his sides. “Yeah, not today, buddy,” he snaps. “Why don’t you climb back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of?”

The demon shifts, its movements unnervingly fluid, like a spider descending its web. “S͢O̵ ÇL̷EVER.҉ ̵Y̶O͟U MO̴R̶T̡A͝L͝S͞ A̴R͠E͜ ̢ALWAYS̵ ͏ŞO C̨L͘E̶VER̸ B͝E͢F҉ORE̴ Y͏ÓU DI̢E.” Its gaze locks onto Billy, and its smile widens, revealing rows of jagged, broken teeth.

Billy is suddenly painfully aware of the half-digested skeletons curled around the clearing, clad in the rags of what might have once been hiking gear. This thing has been hard at work since escaping Green Park, obviously.

“Billy…” Tommy mutters in warning. “I think Eddie might’ve had a point.”

But Billy can only stiffen, panic coursing through his veins as thick as magic, as the demon’s nostrils flare.

“WÌT͘CH͟LI͟N̨G,” it hisses, the word dripping with venom. “I̵ H̕AVEN’̴T́ ̴F̡EAST̀ED ÓŃ ҉YOUR ͢KI͘ND I͏N S͢O̴M̷Ȩ ͟TIM͟È…I̢ ̧W̨ON͡D̛ER I͡F ̶Y̷OU ͏S̷CR̀EA̵M̡ ͝T͏H̢E SAM͏E?̛”

Since Margali Szardos. Since this thing slaughtered her entire coven.

That simple thought is enough to prompt his body to move, his hands flooding with crackling arches of blue magic.

"Belial, right?" Billy spits the name, his anger hardening into something powerful, something dangerous in his chest. “Yeah, you’re not taking anyone else."

“SO̕ S̛ÀY̡S҉ T͟H̷E WIT̵C͝H͠L͘I͟N͞G͏ …” The demon snarls, launching itself from the tree in a blur of diseased flesh and claws.

Billy barely has time to throw up a shield before it slams into the magical barrier, the force of the impact sending him staggering backward.

Tommy reacts instantly, darting forward in a blur of motion. He slams into Belial’s side, knocking the demon off balance and away from Billy.

“Move!” Tommy yells, ducking as one of the demon’s claws swipes toward his head.

Billy doesn’t need to be told twice. He fires off a blast of energy, aiming for the creature’s chest, but Belial moves too quickly, its lithe form twisting unnaturally to avoid the attack.

The demon retaliates with a spray of venom from its gaping maw, the toxic liquid sizzling as it hits Billy’s shield. The barrier holds, but the venom’s corrosive magic seeps through, sending a sharp jolt of pain through Billy’s hands. His concentration falters, and-

The shield shatters.

“Billy!” Tommy’s shout is distant, muffled by the ringing in Billy’s ears. He feels the venom hit his arm, a searing pain that spreads like wildfire.

His magic fizzles out, leaving him defenceless.

Beside him, Tommy hesitates for just a second too long and Belial strikes with a powerful swing, throwing him like a ragdoll into the cluster of egg sacs where their slimy tendrils latch hungrily onto his legs.

He struggles, his speed useless as the sticky substance clings to his skin, burning through his shoes and jeans.

“A little help here!” he yells, his voice tinged with panic.

But Belial is eagerly looming over Billy, its rotting face splitting into a grin. “Y̵O̧U͟ ̡ŚHO͜ULD͘ BE HON̨O͝U̴R̴ĘD̕,” it purrs, raising a claw.

"Oh, feel free to dishonour me." Billy mutters, leaning as far from its stench as possible. 

“YOU̢R BĹOƠD WIL͜L̢ MA̧K͠E̛ Ą FINE ́OFFERI̵ŅG̛ T̡Ơ ̶M̧Y MÁST͟ER —”

Billy braces himself for whatever comes next-

But even he is dazzled by the flash of blinding silver light that explodes through the clearing.

The force of it sends Belial hurtling backward, body convulsing as the light tears through it like a blade. The demon lets out a final, agonized shriek before it collapses, its grotesque form split in two.

Billy blinks through the spots in his vision, his heart racing.

The light begins to coalesce, forming the shape of a witch’s star—a glowing, otherworldly portal. And then, as abruptly as it appeared, the light flickers and dims, revealing a figure collapsed in the centre of the clearing.

“Ay, maldita…” she groans, rolling on to her back. Billy can’t follow the string of what is surely cuss words that comes next but when she looks around, he recognises the bewilderment in her expression.

“Uh…this isn’t the New York Sanctum, is it?”

Billy stares at her, slack-jawed, but Tommy isn’t quite so struck, snarling: “Nope! And if anyone can spare a hand to remove the literal demon spawn from my leg, that’d be just swell!”

Chapter 5: CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The descent from the mountain is even slower than it should be, the adrenaline of the fight fading and leaving behind an awkward silence. The demon’s nest is a distant shadow now, and the sharp, sulphurous stench of it gives way to pine needles and wet earth.

Tommy walks with a faint limp, betraying the damage done to his leg but it’s already starting to heal on its own. To be honest, Billy looks more shaken up. The way he keeps rubbing his hands together makes Tommy wonder if he still hasn’t got the feeling of his magic back.

And the girl who slayed an actual damn demon? Well, she’s kicking at loose stones on the path with an absentminded frown, looking like this might just happen every day.

But Tommy’s never met a silence he didn’t want to break. “So, America, right? Is that a codename, or did your parents just really like maps?”

America doesn’t look up, her hands shoved into the pockets of her scuffed denim jacket. “Real name.” she mutters back.

“Cool, cool,” Tommy says, nodding as if that settles everything. “And saving us back there—that was, what, your good deed of the week?”

Her stride falters, just for a second. “Yeah,” she says, too quickly. “Totally planned it. Saw you two about to get demon chow and thought, hey, why not lend a hand?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. And that portal of yours—it just happened to pop out exactly where we were?”

America scowls, kicking a rock harder than she probably needs to. It skitters off with unexpected speed into the trees, ricocheting noisily.

“Fine,” she snaps. “I was aiming for New York, okay? I overshot the landing. Big deal.”

Billy can't hide his smirk. “So you didn’t mean to save us. You just suck at navigation.”

America glares at him, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and grudging amusement. “I’m still getting the hang of it,” she says, crossing her arms defensively. “Portal-jumping isn’t exactly something you learn from a manual.”

Tommy can’t help it—he laughs, loud and unrestrained. “Damn girl, you just slew a demon on accident. That’s bad ass.”

Billy's smirk widens into something close to a smile. “I’m Billy,” he says after a pause, deciding to steer things back on track. He gestures toward Tommy. “The prematurely white haired dumbass is Tommy.”

America looks wary for the time since she exited the portal; her gaze flickers between them, sharp and observant. “Oh yeah? You guys brothers or something?”

Tommy doesn’t even need to look at Billy to know the answer to that one. “Nope,” he interrupts, his voice a little too loud. “Not related. Not even a little.”

It’s a little too soon to be sharing all the family skeletons with a complete stranger, even one who can tear demons apart with portals.

America shrugs, though there’s a flicker of doubt in her expression. “Whatever you say.”

The dirt trail gives way to asphalt as they approach a weathered sign that reads Mount Clarity Diner: Home of the Triple Stack Pancakes and Jesus fucking wept, Tommy has never heard a food sound so appetising. His stomach growls audibly as they enter.

The diner is a postcard from another era: cracked red vinyl seats, chrome accents, and a jukebox in the corner playing faint, crackly eighties music. The waitress behind the counter looks up briefly, then returns to her crossword puzzle as they slide into a booth near the back.

Tommy grabs a menu and immediately starts flipping through it like a man possessed. He’s still in possession of Rio’s credit card and intends to abuse it as long as she lets him.

“I’m getting a burger, fries, triple stack pancakes, and maybe a milkshake or two. How about you guys?”

America raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment as she picks up her own menu. Billy just sighs, sinking into the booth.

When the waitress comes over, Tommy rattles off his order with enthusiasm, and America surprises him by matching his appetite, throwing in a side of onion rings for good measure.

Billy orders a sandwich because he has a criminal need to be the most boring person in any room.

As the waitress leaves, Billy turns his focus to America. “So you want to explain how you ripped a demon in half back there?”

America leans back in her seat, stretching out like she’s settling in for a long story. “Long story short? I’ve been training with the sorcerers at Kamar-Taj for the past year or so to figure out this portal schtick of mine. Lots of meditation, finding your inner peace, blah blah blah.”

Tommy hides a smirk. “Sounds peaceful.”

“It’s not,” America admits, rolling her eyes. “I mean, it was fine at first. But after months of sleeping on bamboo and being told to be ‘humble’ and ‘patient’, I kind of hit my limit. So now I’m on a… sabbatical, I guess.”

Billy frowns, sceptically. “A sabbatical? ”

“Yeah,” she says, drumming her fingers on the table. “Taking some time to figure things out. Test my limits. Maybe find somewhere that doesn’t reek of incense and moral superiority.”

Tommy raises his milkshake like a toast. “Sounds like a great plan to me. Though, what’s in New York?”

America sighs heavily, like the weight of the question is too much. “Somebody else who’ll probably tell me what to do,” she mutters moodily.

Billy purses his lips, curious. “So when you say portals…”

With a deadpan expression, America pounds her fist on the table and a crackling star-shaped portal rips open, sending her fork toppling through. In the same instance, a matching tear appears overhead and as if on cue, the fork falls right out of the sky, landing in her hand.

Another thump and both portals seal shut.

“Huh.” Billy blinks. “Neat.”

“Yeah, well, that’s about the extent of it.” She blows out a raspberry, looking unimpressed. “Twelve months and that’s about all I can control it to do. Of course, if unplanned screw ups are your thing, I’m your girl.”

Tommy lets out a bark of laughter. “Then you’re in the right place after all. Billy and I are masters of the art of the fuck up.”

“Oh yeah?” America raises a brow. “Does that explain how you guys ended up in the lair of forgotten nightmares just now?”

He glances toward Billy who simply rolls his eyes. Oh fine, tell her, what do I care?

“We’re demon-hunters.” Tommy cheerfully says. “But we’re real bad at it.”

“Really, really, bad.” Billy mumbles mournfully.

America looks sympathetic. “Yeah, I’ve had a tango or two with a demon. Not great.”

Tommy watches his brother’s mood perk up like a puppy teased with a leash. “Really? Wait, what kind of demons? Do you know how to stop them!?”

America winces. “I mean, I know how to run from them pretty good?”

“My kind of girl,” Tommy says approvingly. “I like this one, Billy.” And it’s true, in an incredibly platonic, she-just-tore-a-demon-in-half-what-the-fuck kind of way.

She tries to hide it but there’s a faint smile on her lips, like she’s pleased with the praise. “Well, get used to me because until I figure out my next move, I think I’d better stick around and make sure you don’t get eaten.”

Tommy leans back in his seat, satisfied. “You can crash at my place, if you want? Not like Rio doesn’t have room.”

“You sure about that?” Billy says dryly. “Is there space between all the coffins?”

America frowns, bewildered by the comment. But Tommy only waves a hand. “Please, you know how empty that place is. It practically echoes.”

Billy groans, rubbing his temples. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Probably,” Tommy agrees, popping an onion ring into his mouth. “But terrible ideas are kind of our specialty at this point.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @holimoli_44
Updated: 11/09/2026    19:01:39 EST
See previous messages

holimoli_44: eddie said you went searching in the mountains by yourselves???

holimoli_44: if I don’t hear from your dumbass in three hours, I’m calling the damn rangers

tshep: All good! We just got back to Eastview, had to take the bus home and it took forever.

holimoli_44: why not just run?

tshep: Well…I might be

tshep: just the teensiest tiniest

tshep: bit injured

holimoli_44: I KNEW IT

tshep: Seriously, it’s fine. We found the lair, wrestled with a demon, got our asses saved by a girl who killed the demon and now we’re adopting her!

holimoli_44: Im not even sure where to start

holimoli_44: actually yes I do

holimoli_44: HOW HURT??!

tshep: So minor, it’s already scabbed over. I kind of stepped in a patch of demon eggs and gross story short, that stuff is toxic as hell.

holimoli_44: ew

holimoli_44: ew ew EW

holimoli_44: okay, next question: what girl??

tshep: her name’s America. She’s cool, she makes portals she can’t control and runs from demons.

tshep: I told you, we adopted her

holimoli_44: I wouldn’t trust you two with a pot plant, let alone a person. Where’d she come from?

tshep: did you know there’s such a thing as sorcerers?

holimoli_44: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: <is video calling you? Accept?>

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Boyf
+416 2242-044

You missed a call from
+416 2242-044 on 11/09/2026
at 6:35 PM. No message was left.

You have a new voicemail from +416 2242-044.
Message was left on 11/09/2026 at
7:55 PM. Call 101 to listen.

Hey, sorry, there’s no
reception up in the mountains

Found the lair, killed the demon
but we had to take the bus home

Sorry if I worried you!

Oh, that’s good

I was kind of freaking out

Sorry.

Again.

So you killed a demon, huh?

Well. We were there when it
died. Does that count?

…yes?

Then yes, we killed a demon.

You were right though.

We should’ve waited for Agatha.

I’m gonna need you to record you
saying that and send it to me, I’m gonna
make it your new ringtone

Har har. I just wanted to
say I’m sorry for how I was today.

I’m just going through some stuff with
Agatha and I took it out on you and it
wasn’t fair

Boyf is typing…

It’s okay. The past few weeks have been
a special kind of crazy, you know?

But can we talk tomorrow?

Maybe after school?

I’m actually grounded for the foreseeable future.

The school called my mom when I didn’t
show for last period.

She’s not super thrilled

I’ll bet

During lunch then?

Sure, I’ll see you then.

Thanks for today, Eddie.

I love you.

I love you too.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

“Well, look at that smile,” Agatha sneers when he walks into his bedroom, phone still in his hand. “What a shame I’m about to wipe it off.”

Billy sighs. He knew this was coming. “Okay, let me have it.”

“Let you have what? The satisfaction of knowing you royally screwed up?” Agatha ponders, mock-thoughtfully. “Or the certainty that you could have had your marrow sucked out by a spider demon today?”

She’s in fine form, spectral form bristling with energy as she floats across his bedroom floors, as if pacing.

“Either. Both.” He sighs again, this time impatient for the lecture he can feel coming. “I know I messed up. I just…I had to do something, Agatha. That thing killed an entire coven of witches-”

“So have I.” she shoots back coolly. “So have you, practically. Do you have even the slightest clue how lucky you were today? The way I hear it, I was about half a second away from having to peel you out of a damn cocoon.”

“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not your problem anymore.” Billy mutters moodily.

He’s not prepared to be pelted with the tennis balls he’s used to practise shielding with.

“Ow! God, Agatha, would you- just- stop it!” he splutters, trying and failing to shield himself from the onslaught of neon green felted rubber.

“I’m just getting started, you little shit!” she snarls back, looking genuinely pissed off for the first time in a long time. Next comes the figurines he keeps on his shelves, pelting him with their sharp plastic edges. “You have lost your goddess damned mind if you think you’re getting rid of me that easily!”

“Agatha! Enough!” Billy swats one of them away with a flicker of blue but she’s not finished.

Agatha looms over him like the dark spectre of death she is, glowering at him with cold fury. “You are my protégé, Billy Kaplan.” She hisses. “You will always be my problem.”

“Okay!” He holds his hands up in surrender, plaintive and not the least bit nervous. “Okay, I get it!”

“Do you?” she insists. “Do you think I haven’t had witches beg me to teach them in the past? Do you know what they used to bring me as offerings? And I said no, to all of them!”

Billy takes a deep breath and forces himself to bow his head, to humble himself. “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened.”

There’s a pause and then Agatha slowly withdraws, returning to her regularly scheduled ghost menace mode. She still looks pretty annoyed though so Billy keeps his palms open in supplication. “I just want to help fix this, Agatha. I…I can’t handle not helping.”

She’s quiet for a moment and then gives an aggravated sigh. “Coven two, Billy boy. Your mistakes are my mistakes, mine are yours. Which means if I’m out there with Rio, you are helping.”

Billy can live with that, he guesses. “So you’re really leaving?”

Agatha purses her lips. “It’s not like I’m far away. I just won’t be checking in so often. Think of it as an excuse to suck face with your boytoy more often.”

Billy grimaces. “Do you have to say it like that?”

“Yes.” She replies silkily, then tips his chin up to face her properly. “Listen to me. Do not get yourself killed while I’m gone. I’m not done teaching you. Understood?”

His smile is faint but genuine. “I understand.”

“And for goddess’ sake, kid,” she adds with a despairing glower. “If you’re gonna play hooky from school, cast a damn glamour to take your place at least. Getting yourself grounded is embarrassing for the both of us.”

Chapter 6: CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

*          *          *          *          *
 *         *          *          *

Tommy wakes to the feeling of being watched.

The air in his room is too still, too quiet, and when he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of Rio sitting on the edge of his desk, twirling her knife in one hand. The blade catches the faint morning light filtering through the blinds, gleaming as it spins in slow, practiced circles.

“Jesus!” Tommy bolts upright from the bed he had express-delivered two days ago, his heart pounding. “What the hell is wrong with you? Normal people knock—or I don’t know, don’t sit there playing with murder weapons while staring at someone sleeping.”

Rio tilts her head, unconcerned. “Knocking implies I need your permission to enter.”

“That’s not the point.” He rubs at his face, glaring at her. “Do you have to be this creepy all the time, or is this just a fun hobby of yours?”

Rio doesn’t answer, just flips the knife one last time before sliding it back into its sheath with a soft, deliberate click.

“I see you’ve made a new friend,” she says casually, like she’s commenting on the weather.

Tommy groans, slumping back onto his pillow. “If you’re talking about America, she’s just crashing here for a bit. She saved my ass yesterday, in case you missed that.”

“Hmm.” Rio crosses her arms, her gaze as sharp as the knife. “Are you planning to make a habit of letting teenage abominations invade my house?”

Tommy sits up again, propping himself on his elbows. “Oh, you mean in your fake house? The one you bought as my fake guardian to go with your fake FBI persona?” He spreads his hands. “Sure. Let’s have a whole argument about this fake house.”

Rio raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push back. But she does lean forward slightly, her voice dropping. “I’m not going to be here for a while. Agatha needs me to help clean up the mess this latest incursion left behind. That means you’re on your own for now.”

Tommy shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Cool. I’ve been looking out for myself since I was, like, eight. This isn’t exactly new territory for me.”

Rio watches him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then she stands, smoothing her jacket with one hand. “Don’t get cocky.”

“No promises,” Tommy shoots back, flashing her a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

She leaves without another word, and the tension in the room dissipates like smoke.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

BILLY 🪄
+416 3928-223

Hey where are you?

I hit up the cafeteria but
Eddie said you just left

Busy

Busy with what?

Stuff

Are you okay?

I’m picking up a vibe

I’m just busy Tommy

Yeah. You said.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Wednesdays are the rare days that he and Billy don’t have some kind of crossover in their classes. It’s not until his last period that he finds a spare second walking to his locker to fire off another text to Billy, asking what’s going on with him. The litany of one-word replies stare back at him.

He studies the screen for a moment, debating whether to push further, but the bell rings, cutting his thoughts short. Sliding his phone into his pocket, he makes his way toward chemistry, dodging clusters of students loitering in the hallway.

“Hey, Tommy.”

He glances over his shoulder to see Jon Gallo jogging to catch up. Jon’s wearing the same slightly rumpled plaid button up he seems to live in, and his backpack looks like it’s carrying at least half the library.

“Hey Jon,” Tommy says as the boy falls into step beside him. “You leave any books for the rest of us?”

Jon sighs wearily. “Ms. Han’s already assigned, like, three chapters of homework, and it’s only Wednesday.”

Tommy groans in agreement. “I think I’m losing my ability to read as we speak. What are we even supposed to do with that much knowledge?”

“Cry about it?” Jon suggests with a small smile. “Sue?”

Tommy laughs, the sound surprising him with how genuine it feels. “Tempting. Honestly, I kind of miss the days when nobody expected anything from me. Just skip class, screw around, no one cares.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t be here,” Jon points out, nudging him lightly. “And chemistry’s not that bad when you actually show up.”

Tommy smirks. “Big words for a guy who flinches every time there’s a pop quiz.”

Jon shrugs, unbothered. “I’m a coward, not an idiot.”

He chews on his lip as they settle in for an hour of chemistry, his phone burning a hole in his pocket. It’s not as though he’s Billy’s keeper. He’s allowed to have stuff that doesn’t involve Tommy, of course he is.

But he can’t shake the thought that something is bothering his brother and it’s like an itch he just can’t scratch.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Boyf
+416 2242-044

Billy come on.

You can’t ignore me forever.

Typing…

Typing…

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Typing…

I love you.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy pushes open the door to his room, half-expecting silence and emptiness, but instead, he’s greeted by the sight of America sprawled across his bed, a thick, leather-bound spellbook open in her hands.

“Didn’t realize you were such a nerd.” she says without looking up.

Tommy closes the door behind him, tossing his backpack onto the floor. “I’m not. Those are Billy’s.”

America flips a page, squinting at the dense handwriting and strange symbols. “Your brother’s into witchcraft?”

“Yeah, well, witchcraft is kind of his thing.” Tommy plops down in his desk chair, spinning it lazily to face her. “What, you thought all magic was the same?”

“I didn’t think it’d be this different.” She sits up, holding up the book to show a diagram of a ritual circle filled with intricate sigils. “This stuff looks like it takes hours. Sorcery’s way more… I dunno, punchy.”

Tommy snorts. “Punchy, huh? Like that star-shaped thing you do?”

“Exactly.” She grins briefly before her expression dims. “Witchcraft seems slower. More about preparation and, like, intention or whatever. Guess I never really had the patience for that kind of thing.”

Tommy tilts his head, watching her. “So, what were you expecting?”

America shrugs, dropping the book onto the bed. “I don’t know. Not this. Most witches I’ve met were trying to kill me.”

Tommy winces, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, I can relate. My roommate—well, guardian—kind of tried to eat my soul last summer.”

America raises an eyebrow. “That’s intense.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Tommy lets out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “But not all witches are like that. My mom—” He stops himself, hesitating. “When I was a kid, she used to do these little spells. Nothing big. Just charms to make us feel safe. Or she’d tell us stories about magic, like it was this beautiful thing, you know?”

His voice softens, the words tinged with something bittersweet. “It wasn’t about power or fighting or any of that. It was just… comfort. Like a blanket you could wrap around yourself when the world got too scary.”

America watches him quietly, her usual bravado stripped away for a moment. “She sounds like she was pretty great.”

“Yeah,” Tommy murmurs, his gaze distant. “She was.”

The silence stretches for a beat before America clears her throat. “That’s kind of why I was at Kamar-Taj, actually. To learn to control my abilities. So I could, you know, maybe find my moms again.”

Tommy looks up sharply. “Your moms?”

“Yeah.” She leans back on her hands, her expression guarded but open enough to continue. “When I was a kid, I opened a portal. By accident. They got pulled through and I haven’t seen them since.”

Tommy doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s heavy, and awkward, and he’s never been great at this kind of emotional stuff. But he knows what it’s like to lose people, to feel like you’re carrying the weight of the world because of something you can’t undo.

“That’s rough,” he finally says, voice low. “Like, really rough.”

America shrugs, but there’s a tightness to it. “Yeah, well. I’m not giving up. I’ll find them. Eventually.”

“I mean, you’ve got the whole multiverse to work with,” Tommy points out, a small smirk creeping onto his face. “Odds aren’t that bad, right?”

She snorts. “Yeah, sure. Just gotta search infinity. No big deal.”

Tommy grins, and for a moment, the heaviness lifts.

“You know,” he says after a beat, “You’re not what I expected either.”

America raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just… you seem like you’ve got your shit together. But you’re as much of a mess as the rest of us.”

She laughs, the sound sharp but genuine. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’m still way cooler than you.”

“Obviously,” Tommy deadpans. “But we’re both still cooler than Billy and that’s really all that counts.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Billy slams the front door harder than necessary, the sound echoing through the quiet house. He doesn’t even stop to untie his sneakers, just stomps past the kitchen, where he can hear his mom washing dishes.

“Billy?” Rebecca calls, her voice tentative.

“Not now, Mom!” he snaps, his backpack swinging over his shoulder as he makes a beeline for the stairs.

“Billy?” she tries again, louder this time, but he’s already halfway up. “Honey, I let-”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, and Billy doesn’t give her the chance. He throws open his bedroom door and freezes.

Eddie is sitting on his bed.

Billy’s stomach drops, and the anger he’s been clinging to all day wavers, replaced by something far more fragile. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice tight.

Eddie looks up at him, his expression caught somewhere between nervous and determined. “Your mom let me in.”

Billy curses under his breath and slams the door behind him, leaning against it like he can physically block out the rest of the world. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Eddie stands, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Billy says immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. He feels cornered, the walls of his room suddenly too close.

“Tough,” Eddie replies, his voice soft but steady. “Because I’m not leaving until we do.”

Billy clenches his jaw, staring at the floor. He doesn’t trust himself to look at Eddie. Not right now. Not when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

Eddie takes a step closer, careful, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Billy, come on. You can’t just shut me out like this.”

Billy’s head snaps up, anger flaring again. “What do you want me to say, Eddie? That I’m fine with you leaving? That it doesn’t matter?” His voice cracks on the last word, and he hates himself for it.

Eddie’s expression softens, and he reaches out, but Billy steps back, shaking his head.

“Look, I didn’t want to tell you at lunch like that, but I couldn’t just not say anything anymore,” Eddie says quietly.  “This isn’t what I wanted. I swear, if I could stop it, I would.”

“I know,” Billy sighs, arms dropping to his sides. “I know it’s not your fault. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything. The only sound is the faint hum of the ceiling fan, a reminder of how small and quiet the house feels.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Eddie finally says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Billy swallows hard, his throat tight. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Billy looks at him then, really looks at him, and sees the same fear and sadness reflected back at him. “You’ve been the only good thing in my life these past few months,” he admits, his voice shaking. “The only person who made me feel… normal. Like I wasn’t completely insane. Or alone.”

Eddie takes another step closer, close enough to touch. “You’re not alone, Billy. You never were.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Billy bites his lip, the tears he’s been holding back finally welling in his eyes.

“My dad’s already in California, setting up the house. My mom and I are meant to join him in like, a week.” Eddie swallows, looking so damn defeated.

Billy nods. “We could…I mean, we could try right?”

“Long distance?” Eddie’s smile is completely empty of joy. “God, I can’t think of anything worse. I think it’ll just make me miss you more.”

They stand there for a moment, caught in the weight of everything unsaid. Then Eddie steps forward and pulls Billy into a hug, holding him tightly like he’s afraid to let go.

Billy clings to him, his face buried in Eddie’s shoulder. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice muffled but raw.

“I love you too,” Eddie replies, his voice breaking.

They stay like that for a long time, neither of them wanting to be the first to let go. But eventually, they pull back, their eyes red and swollen but determined.

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you,” Eddie says, his hands still resting on Billy’s shoulders. “It never will. We’re still friends, right?”

Billy nods, wiping at his face. “Of course we are. You think you can get rid of me by moving across the country? Doubtful.”

Eddie takes a shaky breath and steps back, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket as though he doesn’t trust himself not to reach out again. “I should go,” he says softly, though he doesn’t move.

Billy looks at him, his chest aching. He doesn’t want Eddie to leave. Not yet. Not ever. But he knows dragging this out will only make it harder. “Yeah.” he whispers, his voice hollow.

Eddie hesitates for a moment longer, then nods, forcing a small, bittersweet smile. With his hand on the doorknob, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. “If you ever need me… you know where to find me.”

Billy nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Same.”

Eddie gives him one last look, filled with all the things they can’t say, and then he’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

And Billy stands there for a long time, staring at the empty space where Eddie had been.

Chapter 7: CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Ithaca Daily Journal
NEWS                         POLITICS                   LIVE               EDITORIALS

CRIME WATCH: Family Found Slain in Cayuga Lake Cabin
Joaquim Pierce, Senior Correspondent
Published 5:21 p.m. EST    Sept 26, 2026

Ithaca, NY— The quiet waters of Cayuga Lake became the backdrop for a grisly discovery yesterday evening, as authorities confirmed the deaths of four members of a visiting family from Syracuse.

The bodies of Marcus and Lydia D’Angelo and their two children were discovered by the property’s caretaker after they failed to check out of their lakeside rental cabin.

“It was…like something out of a nightmare,” said Officer Robert Felton of the Tompkins County Sheriff’s Department, visibly shaken. “The scene was violent, and there’s no clear explanation yet.”

Police reports indicate no signs of forced entry, though there were signs of a struggle inside. Authorities remain tight-lipped about the weapon used or any potential suspects.

Friends of the family have described Marcus D’Angelo as a devoted father and Lydia as a well-loved nurse at St. Joseph’s Hospital. A GoFundMe page has been set up to support their extended family.

The sheriff’s office urges the public to remain calm, describing the event as “isolated and unusual.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The cafeteria hums with the usual chaos of Eastview High at lunch hour—clanging trays, the low roar of chatter, the occasional sharp burst of laughter. Tommy slouches in his chair, poking at the sandwich he’s not sure he even wants.

Beside him, Billy stares down at his half-eaten apple like it personally offended him.

It’s been a week since Eddie left for San Francisco. Tommy’s counted. Seven days of Billy dragging himself through the motions, face pale and drawn, eyes rimmed red more often than not.

“Hey.” Tommy elbows his brother lightly. “Eat your apple or I’ll tell your mom you’re wasting food again.”

Billy shoots him a half-hearted glare, but the fire’s not there. He bites into the apple just to shut Tommy up. Small victories.

Across the table, Jon shifts uncomfortably, his tray balanced on the edge of the table like he’s not sure he’s invited to stay. He’s got a pile of fries in front of him, and he’s been eating them one at a time, methodical, like he’s counting every grain of salt.

Tommy sighs. “Jon, relax. It’s lunch, not a job interview.”

Jon blinks at him, startled, then mumbles, “Yeah. Sorry.” He pops another fry in his mouth, chewing with unnecessary intensity.

Billy glances up at him, a flicker of interest breaking through his haze of melancholy. “You’re new, right? This year?”

Jon nods, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Yeah. Moved here in August to live with my Uncle Daniel. My parents are kind of paranoid that New York is a magnet for trouble.”

Tommy snorts. “Big mistake. Eastview is a cesspit of PTA-Mom-on-Mom violence and upper middle-class repression. Tell him to move you back as soon as possible. Save yourself while you can.”

Jon’s lips twitch in what might be the beginning of a smile. “I’ll let him know.”

Billy surprises them both by chuckling softly. It’s barely a sound, but it’s there, and Tommy latches onto it like a lifeline.

“So, what do you think of Eastview High so far?” Billy asks, his voice quieter than usual but at least not completely dead.

Jon shrugs. “It’s fine, I guess. Better than my old school. Fewer fights, anyway.”

“Oh, you’re a scrapper, huh?” Tommy leans forward, grinning. “I knew you had that energy.”

Jon’s eyes widen. “No! I mean—no, I wasn’t in the fights. I just… saw a lot of them. From a distance. Safely. Definitely not participating.”

Billy’s laugh this time is louder, more genuine, and Tommy can’t help grinning. “Okay, noted. Jon Gallo: professional fight spectator, amateur fry eater.”

“For a not-interview, I’m feeling extremely judged.” Jon mutters, but there’s a faint flush in his cheeks, like maybe he’s not hating this as much as he pretends to.

The conversation stumbles forward from there, halting and awkward at first but slowly finding its rhythm. Tommy and Jon expand on their conspiracy theories about the underground syndicate of criminal activity that takes place amongst the picket fences of Eastview. Billy chimes in occasionally which Tommy takes as a win.

He takes a small satisfaction in the way Billy’s shoulders start to relax, the crease in his forehead smoothing out as the minutes tick by.

It’s not perfect. There’s still a shadow in Billy’s eyes that Tommy knows will take more than a half-decent lunch to banish. But it’s something.

As the bell rings and they gather their trays, Jon offers a shy smile. “Thanks for letting me sit with you guys. It was… nice.”

Tommy claps him on the back, nearly knocking the poor guy off balance. “Anytime, Jonny boy. Welcome to the table of misfit toys.”

Jon stumbles, muttering something that sounds like “never call me that again,” but there’s a faint smile on his face as he heads off to his next class.

Tommy glances at Billy as they leave the cafeteria together. “See? A little company never killed anyone.”

Billy huffs out a breath, not quite a laugh but close. “Yeah. Thanks, I guess.”

Tommy slings an arm around his brother’s shoulders, steering him down the hall. “No problem. Just doing my part to keep you from turning into a moody recluse."

Billy rolls his eyes, but Tommy catches the corner of his mouth twitching upward, and for now, that’s enough.

*          *          *          *          *
 *         *          *          *

PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @holimoli_44
Updated: 27/09/2026    13:09:23 EST
See previous messages

tshep: Quick question: how do you fix heartbreak?

holimoli_44: …do we need to have a conversation?

tshep: Billy’s in a funk. Eddie’s dad got a job in SF and the whole family moved coasts. He’s really bummed about it.

holimoli_44: Ohhhh I wondered if they’d broken up

tshep: You wondered?

holimoli_44: Well yeah

holimoli_44: Eddie and I text obvi

tshep: ….Obvi.

holimoli_44: hey dating a resurrected magic twin is a very niche experience. We’re trauma bonded.

holimoli_44: But yeah, he mentioned it a while back. he was really sad about it, didnt know how to tell Billy. Ugh that sucks, they were such a cute couple

tshep: Well now I’m stuck comforting Billy the Bummer and I’m so unqualified for this

tshep: What do I even do?? I can’t trash talk Eddie, he’s great!

holimoli_44: true, eddie is pretty gr8

holimoli_44: I mean it sucks but the only thing that works is time

tshep: That is some fortune cookie nonsense

tshep: I want a cure damn it. Whose funding this research?

holimoli_44: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: America says to ask if Billy’s tried making out with someone else

holimoli_44: For the record, I do not endorse that plan

tshep: <is typing…>

tshep: I’m sorry

tshep: AMERICA says what???

holimoli_44: Chill out, she found your laptop and messaged me

holimoli_44: she’s hilarious, we’re gonna grab coffee when she comes to visit ny

tshep: How’d she even get in to my computer?

holimoli_44: She says to tell you that “Sp33d” is not a secure password

tshep: Critique of my cyber security practises aside, I guess it’s good you guys are hitting it off

holimoli_44: I mean, there was a brief awkward moment when she hit on me

holimoli_44: and I had to explain that I was not only dating her roommate but that I am tragically attracted to men.

tshep: tragically, huh?

holimoli_44: don’t even try it, my sweet bisexual disaster boy

tshep: <is typing…>

tshep: …wait, you know?

holimoli_44: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: oh SHIT

holimoli_44: I FORGOT

holimoli_44: did I just out you???? FUCK im so sorry tommy

tshep: I mean apparently, I’m already out

holimoli_44: no no no TOMMY was out, old Tommy

holimoli_44: MY tommy

holimoli_44: not that you aren’t ALSO my tommy

holimoli_44: gdi im making a mess of this

holimoli_44: <is video calling you. Accept?>

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

The best pizza in town according to Google is an artisanal stone-fired pizzeria that is desperately pretending it’s the kind of grimy hole-in-the-wall joint that’s been here forever. Tommy thinks it might have a better shot if the menu didn’t say ‘established 2024’.

Besides the smell of baked dough and garlic hanging thick in the air, the place is just a little too clean, a little too family-friendly. All that aside, they do have free refills on the soda and Tommy is fully planning to abuse that privilege tonight.

Squashed against the other side of the booth, Billy looks less enthused. “I could be home right now, doing literally anything else.”

Tommy wags a finger. “Nope. You’re here, because I care about you deeply and because Rebecca said I’m not allowed to let you stew in self-pity any longer.” He raises a hand dramatically. “Her exact words, I believe, were: ‘You drag that boy out of the house and feed him something other than existential despair.’”

Billy snorts despite himself, and Tommy grins. “See? My methods are already working.”

America is crammed in beside Billy, looking less like the demon-slaying dimension-hopping powerhouse Tommy’s come to know and more like a cat stuck on a hot tin roof. She fiddles with a straw wrapper, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces until there’s basically confetti all over the table.

“Are you gonna eat that straw, or should I order us an appetizer?” Tommy asks, quirking an eyebrow.

America narrows her eyes. “I’m not nervous. You’re nervous.”

Tommy snorts and flags down the server before America can argue to order a pair of large cheese pizzas with every veggie topping they have, loaded garlic bread, and enough soda to drown a small country.

“You really don’t have to go through all this trouble,” Billy says, his tone edging on guilt-ridden.

“It’s not trouble to stuff my face, man.” Tommy shrugs breezily. “Besides, this has been certified and sanctioned by your mother, who is scarier than both of us combined.”

Billy shakes his head, but Tommy catches the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Progress.

The food arrives quickly and within minutes, their table is a disaster zone of gooey, cheese-laden goodness. Tommy grabs the first slice like it’s a sacred ritual.

“So,” he says, mouth half-full. “You gonna tell us why you look like someone who ran over a basket of rescued puppies?”

America glares at him but doesn’t reply immediately.

Billy glances between them, confused, before the pieces click into place. “Wait. Did something happen?”

Tommy leans forward, his grin turning wicked. “Oh, something happened, alright.” He points a grease-covered finger at America. “Our demon-slayer tried shooting her shot with my girlfriend.”

Billy nearly chokes on his soda. “What?”

“It’s fine.” Tommy waves a hand dismissively. “Lisa let her down easy, they’re besties now or something. Very wholesome.”

America groans, burying her face in her hands. “Can we not do this? I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t realize you two were—”

“Dating, yes,” Tommy finishes for her, but waves a dismissive hand. “But honestly? The wild part was realising Lisa already knew I was bi.”

Billy looks startled. “She did? You are? Wait, what?”

Tommy’s not one to over-share his personal business but his brother clearly needs a distraction and America is looking more and more like she’d like to summon a portal to swallow her whole, which is fun to watch.

“Apparently, I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.” Tommy shrugs, clearly unbothered. Realising he has more in common with the original Tommy Shepherd (OG Shepherd, if you will) than he thought is weird and kind of invasive and also sort of reassuring. He feels like they could’ve been friends, if they’d met under literally any other circumstances.

America gives a tiny wince, almost imperceptible. “So…you’re not mad at me?”

Tommy feels a little bad for the very real note of worry in her voice. “Why would I be? Lisa’s awesome, I’d be madder if you didn’t hit on her.” He nudges her foot under the table, so she knows he’s kidding.

Billy shakes his head, torn between exasperation and amusement. “You’re out of your mind, you know that?”

But by the time they’re finishing off the last of the garlic bread, Billy looks almost relaxed, leaning back in his seat with the kind of slouch that only comes when you’ve eaten yourself into a food coma.

Tommy nudges him with his foot under the table. “Feeling better?”

Billy shrugs, but there’s no missing the gratitude in his eyes. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”

America snorts, shaking her head. “You guys are kind of sappy, huh?”

“Better than being a homewrecker.” Billy deadpans.

She makes a whiny little noise and sinks further under the table while Tommy snorts with laughter. “How was I meant to know? Besides, Lisa’s way too cool for you.”

“Oh, believe me, he knows.” Billy adds with a smirk.

Tommy is entirely unbothered by this unequivocable truth, toasting with his freshly refilled soda. “What can I say? It’s my lot in life to be surrounded by incredibly awesome women. Woe is me.”

Notes:

Fun fact: Johnathon Gallo is ALSO from the Marvel Comics! He's kind of a variation of Spiderman who uses hyper-agility to leap between buildings, going by the codename, Ricochet! Try as I might there was no where to incorporate a Peter Parker cameo in this fic ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Chapter 8: CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

From: Jennifer Kale <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: Everything You Have On Demons
Date: 30 September 2026 at 7:13:39 pm EST
To: Billy Kaplan <[email protected]>

Teen, I am going to need a lot more information from you before I give you literally anything on demonic magicks. Starting with an explanation about why the hell you’re sticking your nose in demonic magicks.

Jen

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

From: Billy Kaplan <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: RE: Everything You Have On Demons
Date: 30 September 2026 at 8:37:11 pm EST
To: Jennifer Kale <[email protected]>

I don’t suppose you’d accept ‘out of curiosity’ as an excuse?

PS. Oh and anything you know about neutralising demonic attacks please!

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

From: Jennifer Kale <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: Everything You Have On Demons
Date: 30 September 2026 at 8:44:39 pm EST
To: Billy Kaplan <[email protected]>

You’re out of your damn mind kid. Whatever Agatha’s teaching you, drop it immediately.

For your own sake.

Jen

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Billy frowns at his phone, rereading last night’s emails from Jen with a sinking feeling in his chest.

How is he meant to explain his sudden interest in demons without also confessing that he may have accidentally set a few loose? Besides, is it really that unusual for a young witch to be curious about the detection, prevention and exorcism of possessed souls?!

He pulls his jacket tighter around him as he steps onto the front porch, the weight of his school bag dragging at his shoulder. But he comes to screeching halt at the sight of his dad crouched next to their silver sedan, a steaming travel mug balanced precariously on the hood.

Jeff Kaplan is fiddling with something under the hood, his brow furrowed in that particular way that says he’s trying to solve a problem and refusing to admit he’s out of his depth. He’s dressed for work—button-up shirt, tie hanging loosely around his neck, dark slacks—but there’s already a smudge of grease on his sleeve.

Billy hesitates. His first instinct is to turn around, walk back inside, and wait until his dad is gone before leaving for school. But then Jeff straightens up and spots him, offering a small, hesitant smile that makes escape impossible.

“Morning, kiddo.”

“Morning,” Billy replies, voice tight. He forces himself down the steps, one deliberate movement at a time. His pulse picks up as he edges past the car, half-expecting Jeff to call him over, to start talking, to say—

“So, uh,” Jeff says, and Billy’s stomach flips. “You walking today?”

Billy nods, fumbling to adjust his bag. “Yep."

Jeff hums, leaning against the car and crossing his arms. “That’s good. Gets the blood moving. And how’s the semester starting?”

Billy blinks. Is that a trap? It doesn’t sound like one, but his dad’s tone is… off. Like he’s testing the waters.

“It’s fine,” Billy says cautiously. “Same as last year I guess.”

Jeff nods again, looking past Billy toward the street. “And you? You doing okay?”

Billy’s chest tightens. He grips the strap of his bag until his knuckles ache. “I’m fine.”

Jeff shifts, his arms falling to his sides. He looks uncomfortable, almost as much as Billy feels. “I, uh… I know things have been a little rough lately. With Eddie leaving and all. Your mom and I… we just want you to know we’re here for you. If you ever want to talk.”

Billy’s throat feels too tight to reply. He glances down at his sneakers, scuffed and worn, suddenly fascinated by the cracks in the pavement. He hasn’t talked to his dad by himself in over a month and he’s surprised by how desperately he misses it.

“And not just about Eddie,” Jeff adds, his voice soft. “Anything. You can tell us anything, Billy.”

Billy’s head snaps up at that, heart hammering in his chest. “I don’t—” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jeff doesn't say anything for a moment, just searching Billy’s face. “You know it’s not every day you survive a prison riot. I mean, I know I’m still processing. It’d be okay if you were too.”

“I’m fine.” He says for what feels like the millionth time. “Really, I’m dealing or whatever. I’m not about to have some giant freak meltdown over it, if that’s what you’re worried about.

“Hey.” Jeff’s voice is firm, enough to pull Billy’s gaze back to him. There’s no anger in his expression, only a kind of quiet determination. “You’re not a freak. You’re my son.”

The words hit Billy harder than he expects. He looks away quickly, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’m just saying,” Jeff says gently. “You don’t have to talk to me right now. Or ever, if you don’t want to. But if you change your mind… I’m here.”

Billy nods stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. The silence between them feels heavy but not unbearable, a fragile kind of truce.

Jeff steps back, clearing his throat and nodding toward the street. “You better get going, or you’ll be late.”

Billy doesn’t argue. He shifts his bag on his shoulder, turning toward the sidewalk. But before he steps off the curb, he glances back.

“Thanks, Dad.” he says quietly.

Jeff smiles, small and tentative. “Anytime, kiddo.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Eddie
+416 2242-044

The hills here are wild

I swear its like a cardio work out every
day getting to school

Yikes

What about the takeout scene?

Any good?

Lots of fusion places I guess

Everyone is very ~experimental~ you know

You love it I can tell

I mean

It’s not awful

I kind of wish it was though

Me too.

But I’m glad it’s not.

*          *          *          *          *
 *         *          *          * 

Billy spends most of his morning classes zoning in and out, eyes flicking to the phone tucked into the side pocket of his bag.

He’s tried not to barrage Eddie with messages. This is hard enough without Billy whining to him every five seconds but this morning’s interaction with his dad has him aching for the one person he used to trust with the nitty gritty details of his fucked-up existence.

After a quick glance to make sure the teacher isn’t looking, Billy gives in, pulls out his phone and taps out another message.

Hope your new school doesn’t suck.

He stares at the screen for a long moment before hitting send, then stuffs the phone back into his bag like it’s burning him.

The seconds crawl by. He tries to focus on the teacher’s lecture, on the scribbled notes appearing on the whiteboard, but his thoughts keep circling back to Eddie. Eddie, who could always tell when something was wrong without Billy even having to say it. Eddie, who would sit with him for hours and listen, really listen, even when Billy couldn’t put his feelings into words.

Tommy’s relentless attempts to drag him out of his funk have been equal parts annoying and endearing, and Billy appreciates it more than he lets on. But it’s not the same. It’s not Eddie.

The buzz of his phone startles him, the vibrations muted but insistent. Billy freezes, his hand halfway to his notebook. But the buzzing doesn’t stop. It keeps going, one vibration after another, like a swarm of bees trapped in his bag.

“Mr. Kaplan,” Mr Dobrovski suddenly interrupts sharply, and Billy snaps his head up.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, fumbling to silence his phone. He shoves it deeper into his bag, but his heart is racing now, unease prickling at the back of his neck.

The moment the teacher turns back to the board, Billy sneaks his phone out again, angling the screen away from prying eyes. His notifications are exploding—texts, missed calls, a flood of group chat messages he hasn’t had time to read. But none of them are Eddie.

OMG is it true?

Hey, you hang around that Shepherd kid right?

Whoa, did you know!?!??

Billy’s stomach drops. His fingers fumble as he opens the group chat, scrolling through a blur of messages until one word catches his eye:

juvie

The teacher’s voice fades into the background, the classroom blurring around him. He can sense eyes on him, can hear murmured whispers back and forth across the desks as other students read through the same notifications.

He clicks on the most recent email from some anonymous throwaway account that looks as though it’s been forwarded to every student email in the school registry. It’s a link, and his thumb hovers over it for a fraction of a second before he taps it.

The browser loads slowly, as if mocking him. And when the page finally appears, it feels like the ground has been yanked out from under him.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

From: Anonymous <[email protected]>
Subject: You’ll NEVER Guess Who’s Going To School With YOUR Kids
Date: 1 October 2026 at 10:45:12 am EST
To: _EHSStudentDirectory, _EHSParentDirectory
Attached: shepherd_juvenilerecords.pdf

Think you know everyone at Eastview High? Think again.

What if I told you someone sitting next to your kid in class has a criminal record?

You have a right to know the truth!!!!!

See for yourself: [CLICK TO VIEW RECORDS!]

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

The cafeteria feels heavier than usual, like the air itself is weighted with unspoken words and darting eyes. The noise—constant hums of laughter, clanging trays, and voices—has changed, somehow sharper.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure it’s because of Tommy.

Billy watches his brother hunch over his lunch tray, shoulders stiff and coiled like a spring. He’s not eating, just tearing a napkin into increasingly smaller shreds, his jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

The rumour mill is alive and screaming around them—students whispering behind hands, pretending not to stare when Tommy catches them. He catches everyone, like his senses are on high alert, ready for any slight.

Jon, sitting loyally across the table, is shovelling food into his mouth with deliberate nonchalance, like he hasn’t noticed a thing. But Billy sees the twitch of Jon’s eye every time someone passes too close or mutters something that’s obviously about Tommy.

“You want a picture?” Tommy mutters, low but furious, when he catches someone’s gaze lingering. “I’ll be signing autographs after school, ten bucks each.”

The girl blinks, startled, and quickly looks away.

Billy frowns, not sure how to fix this scowl on his easy-going brother’s face. “Tommy, I-”

Tommy’s napkin destruction intensifies. “Don’t, Billy. Just—don’t.”

Billy glances at his phone for something to distract himself, but a new message from his mom appears at the top of the screen.

“Hey.” Billy keeps his voice light, cautious. “Mom says you can stay at our place for a bit. Apparently Rio told her she was going to be away in the field for a while so she says you’re more than welcome to crash. You know, if you want.”

“You’re kidding.” Tommy digs out his phone and flicks through to the email itself, letting out a hollow, sharp laugh. “Well, that’s just great. This thing got sent to parents too, huh?”

Billy shrugs, trying for casual. “It’s not like mine didn’t know already. Besides, it's a good excuse for you to come stay over until, you know, until this blows over.”

“Blows over? Are you kidding?” He pitches his voice higher, mocking. “Oh, don’t worry, Tommy, people will forget you’re a criminal any day now.”

Billy opens his mouth to argue, but Tommy’s on a roll now, voice rising despite himself. “You know the worst part? I don’t even remember doing half the stuff they’re whispering about. The fights, the petty theft. Not that it matters because now everyone has a front row seat to my personal life.” He slams his palm flat on the table, making Billy’s water bottle jump. “Perfect.”

Across the table, Jon clears his throat awkwardly, eyes fixed on his tray. “It’s—uh, it’s not everyone. I mean, not everyone’s…” He trails off when Tommy glares daggers at him.

“Right.” Tommy’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Thanks, Jon. That helps. A lot.”

“Hey, come on,” Billy nudges him under the table with a warning look. “Jon’s not wrong. They'll find something else to gossip about by next period."

If it is doesn't happen naturally, Billy is fully prepared to make Mr Dobrovski strip naked and do the chicken dance on top of his desk or something.

But Tommy's voice quieter now, bitter but no less sharp. “And when they do, guess who’ll still be the kid with a juvie record? It doesn’t go away, Billy. It doesn’t ever go away.”

Billy doesn’t know what to say to that. Because Tommy’s not wrong.

They sit there in a tense, brittle silence for a moment, broken only when a pair of seniors, looking far too self-satisfied for Billy’s liking muster up the courage to approach the table.

“Hey, Tommy.” The taller one tries for casual, hands stuffed into his pockets. “So, is it true? About the, you know, record?”

Tommy’s head snaps up slowly, his dark eyes lit with a dangerous gleam. “You mean the highly classified information about my delinquent past that someone decided to share with the entire school? That record?” He leans back in his chair, an edge of theatricality to his snark now.

The second guy shifts awkwardly but pushes on. “We just… I mean, we heard about the fights and stuff. It’s kinda wild. Did you really—?”

“What do you want?” Tommy interrupts, his voice saccharine. “A live demonstration? Maybe I should go punch a locker for you, huh? Get my hands dirty? Or I can steal your lunch money if you want the full experience.”

The first guy opens his mouth, but Tommy’s already standing, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Great talk, gentlemen. Real enlightening.”

And then he’s gone, storming out of the cafeteria without so much as a glance back. The whole room feels like it’s holding its breath, watching him leave.

Billy whips his head around, glaring daggers at the two guys still lingering awkwardly by the table. “Are you kidding me? Fuck off. Both of you.”

Jon mutters something under his breath, shaking his head as the two finally scuttle away. He looks over at Billy. “Should we… I mean, do you wanna go after him?”

Billy sighs, slumping back in his chair. “No. He’s not gonna listen to me right now.”

Jon nods slowly, pushing a lone fry around his plate. “Yeah. Fair.”

Billy stares at the doors Tommy disappeared through, his stomach churning. He doesn’t blame him for snapping, not even a little. But he can't help hating the way Tommy stalks away from him, as if he's aware there's nothing Billy can do to help him either.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @holimoli_44
Updated: 01/10/2026    14:21:56 EST
See previous messages

tshep: Considering setting fire to this podperson uncanny valley hellhole school. Thoughts?

holimoli_44: I’d call it performance art, charge attendance and make enough to cover my lawyer costs.

holimoli_44: Why are you burning the school down?

tshep: Some asshole sent my juvie record to everyone in school plus their parents.

holimoli_44: yikes

tshep: I swear to god, if I catch one more person trying to pretend they aren’t staring at me, I’m reaching the kerosene

holimoli_44: cool it there Fahrenheit 451

holimoli_44: this might be a little bit of an overreaction no?

tshep: Are you serious right now?

holimoli_44: I’m just saying, what does it matter? Do u really care what some yuppy student body thinks of you?

tshep: it’s not what they THINK of me it’s how the LOOK at me like I’m about to go nuts and break their faces

holimoli_44: You’re the one contemplating arson rn

holimoli_44: your record is like, a few stupid fights and some property destruction

holimoli_44: it’s pretty tame by most standards

tshep: I just can’t believe this is going to be my life now. Like, I’m going to have this conversation over and over and over, every time someone finds out and the worst part is, it’s not even MY record

tshep: I’m just saddled with this sack of bricks breaking my fucking back

holimoli_44: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: I mean

holimoli_44: ouch but whatevr

tshep: what do you mean ouch?

holimoli_44: you know I’m part of that sack of bricks right?

tshep: come on you know I didn’t mean it like that

holimoli_44: then don’t say it like that. like the history we have is some kind of burden you’re forced to deal with

holimoli_44: you’re right you don’t know half of the reasons why tommy got in those fights. You don’t know the things people said to him when he came out or his mom’s dumbass boyfriends that used to beat the shit out of him in places you cant see the bruises and then cry assault when he fought back

holimoli_44: and if you don’t like it maybe you should’ve picked a different body to snatch

tshep: <is typing…>

tshep: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: fuck

holimoli_44: im sorry

holimoli_44: i shouldnt have said it like that tommy

holimoli_44: tommy?

tshep: <has logged off>

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

 

Potsdamn Gazette
LOCAL NEWS | COMMUNITY

Tragedy in Potsdam: Local Teacher Found Slain in School Parking Lot
By Miriam Hayes, Staff Reporter
Published 7:48 A.m. ET    October 2, 2026

Potsdam, VT—Residents of this small Vermont town are reeling after the shocking discovery of a beloved teacher’s body in the Maple Ridge High School parking lot early Sunday morning.

Authorities confirmed the victim as Hannah Caldwell, 34, an English teacher well-known for her dedication to her students. Police were called to the scene around 6:45 a.m. by a janitor arriving for his morning shift. Caldwell’s body showed signs of severe blunt force trauma, though authorities declined to comment further.

“There’s no immediate evidence of robbery or personal dispute,” said Detective Laura Kline of the Vermont State Police. “We’re exploring all possibilities, but this is an isolated incident.”

Parents and students gathered in shock outside the school Sunday evening for a candlelight vigil, leaving flowers and handwritten notes in Caldwell’s parking spot.

“She cared about all of us. It’s just unreal,” said Jennifer Mills, a senior at Maple Ridge High.

Police have asked anyone with information to contact their anonymous tip line.

Chapter 9: CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The train rattles along the tracks, windows blurring the world outside into streaks of colour.

Inside, the three of them—Billy, Tommy, and America—are crammed into a booth that feels too small, like they’re passengers in some 80s movie about teenage misfits on a Very Important Journey™.

Only it’s not a movie. And none of them are saying much.

Tommy is slouched low, hood up, sneakers pressed against the base of the opposite seat. He’s been quiet all morning—quiet in the way Tommy never is. His knee bounces like it’s powered by some hidden spring, the only outward sign of his perpetual restlessness. Billy’s sitting beside him, watching Tommy’s foot tap as if it’s Morse code for I’m fine, I’m fine but I’m also really, really not.

America, by contrast, is sprawled out across the booth like she owns it. Elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand, she’s staring out the window, unfazed by Tommy’s brooding or Billy’s nervous energy. She’s been unusually mellow today, though Billy suspects she’s just saving up her energy for her plans.

They each have their own missions for the day. Tommy hasn’t talked about Lisa in hours, but Billy knows he’s been stewing over it. He can feel the words, unsaid and simmering, like heat off an engine. Meanwhile, America said she better swing by the Sanctum to visit her pseudo-guardian in this ‘verse, Doctor Strange. She also promised to check out their magical library for anything on the detection and banishment of demons so that’s something to look forward.

Billy himself has been trying to mentally rehearse how he’s going to ask Jen for help.

She will probably laugh in his face. Or worse, yell at him. Or worse than that, be disappointed in him. He turns the phrasing over in his mind, looking for a balance between “I need your help” and “Yes, I screwed up.”

The hum of the train fills the silence until America, seemingly out of nowhere, asks:

“So… do you have to pay for food in this New York?”

Billy blinks, pulled abruptly out of his own head. “What?”

“In this New York,” she repeats, like it’s obvious. “Do you have to pay for food? Or can you just take it? I wasn’t there for long last time I visited.”

Tommy’s knee stops bouncing. He tips his head up just enough for the shadow of his hood to slip back, revealing his raised eyebrows. “Uh, yeah, you have to pay for food. It’s New York City, not Mad Max.”

America shrugs, unconcerned. “I’m just asking. In some universes, food is free. People can take what they need.”

Billy narrows his eyes at her. “Wait, so in your New York—”

“Not mine.” She waves a hand dismissively. “But there’s a universe I’ve been to where they’ve got this whole no-money thing going on. Food’s free. Water’s free. Housing’s free.”

Tommy snorts. “That sounds fake.”

“It’s real,” America says, grinning now. “Not every universe is as obsessed with capitalism as this one.”

“Yeah, well,” Tommy mutters, sinking back into his slouch, “I’d settle for a universe where people mind their own business.”

The words hang there for a second, heavy, and Billy watches America glance Tommy’s way, frowning slightly. She doesn’t push, though—doesn’t ask about the obvious subtext. Instead, she leans back and stretches her arms over her head.

“Anyway,” she says, cracking her knuckles, “this universe does have one thing going for it.”

“A two-party political system that screws over its constituents?” Tommy deadpans.

“A global climate crisis?” Billy suggests dryly.

America rolls her eyes. “You two are such killjoys. I’m talking about the portion sizes, man! Even a Big Mac here is worth like, two burgers back home.”

“Glad to know the obesity epidemic is a selling point for someone.” Tommy mutters but his lips are twitching slightly with amusement.

Billy allows himself a small smile too, though he still feels the tension in the air. He risks a glance at Tommy, who’s looking out the window again, jaw set like he’s bracing himself for whatever’s waiting for him in the city. Billy doesn’t know exactly what happened between him and Lisa, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it’s been eating Tommy alive.

“What about the rest of them?” America’s voice cuts in again, casual but curious. “The other yous?”

Billy blinks at her. “What do you mean?”

“You know.” She gestures vaguely between them. “Other versions of you. Other universes. Are they magic too?”

Billy shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t like thinking about alternate Billys in alternate worlds. It makes his skin itch. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I don’t really think about it.”

America tilts her head, examining him in that unnerving way she does sometimes, like she’s seeing right through him. “Well, do you dream about doing magic?”

“Why? What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy asks, seemingly unable to help himself.

America shrugs. “Dreams are windows to the multiverse.”

Billy feels his jaw literally drop slightly. “When were you going to mention that?”

Her brow furrows slightly. “I’m sure I did.”

“Uh, no.” Tommy looks equally bamboozled. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered that.”

“I mean, maybe there are exceptions,” America allows graciously. “But for the most part, you dream of your life in other universes.”

Billy…well, he doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything.

“Why?” Tommy cuts in abruptly. “What’s the point? It’s not like knowing another version of yourself changes anything here.”

“Maybe,” America replies easily, “but it might help you figure out who you want to be here.”

Tommy scoffs under his breath, but Billy notices the way he frowns at his reflection in the window.

The train slows as they approach the city, skyscrapers coming into view on the horizon. America grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder with practiced ease.

“Try not to burn the city down while I’m gone.” she says over her shoulder, disappearing through the sliding train doors.

Tommy mutters something Billy can’t hear and pulls his hood back over his head, clearly not ready to talk yet. Billy doesn’t press him. Instead, he settles back into his seat, staring at the skyscrapers towering over them.

Today, he thinks, is going to be a long day.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

The bell above the door chimes softly as Billy steps into Kale Kare’s newest branch in Brooklyn.

It’s like walking into an Instagram influencer’s fever dream—smooth wood countertops, spotless glass shelves lined with creams and serums in minimalist packaging, and delicate plants hanging from the ceiling in hand-woven macramé holders. The faint scent of eucalyptus and lavender hits him immediately, soothing and overwhelming all at once.

Jen’s voice carries through the space, warm and bright. “—it’s infused with my custom rose quartz essence. It helps realign your energy flow and smooth fine lines.”

Billy spots her near the register, where she’s handing a tiny, tastefully frosted jar to a customer—an older woman wearing yoga gear that probably costs more than everything Billy owns.

Jen is poised as always: her makeup is flawless, rings glinting on her fingers as she gestures with practiced elegance. She looks like someone who has a twelve-step morning routine and loves it.

“Use it twice daily, morning and night,” Jen says as the customer swipes her platinum card. “And remember to charge it under a full moon. It’ll make the results sing.”

The woman nods earnestly, as though this is perfectly normal skincare advice. Billy watches as she takes her change and drifts out the door, clutching the jar like it’s made of spun gold.

“Should I come back when you’re done fleecing your clientele?” Billy asks, leaning against the counter.

Jen turns with a smirk, unimpressed. “Teen Kaplan,” she says, as though this explains everything. Her voice is a smooth alto, even when she’s being condescending. “Shouldn’t you be in school? Or did you finally decide to drop out and embrace your inner dirtbag?”

“It’s the weekend, Jen.” Billy replies dryly, stepping forward.

“What do I know about teenage scholastics?” she waves a dismissive hand then pauses, her eyes narrowing as she looks him over. “You look like hell, kid. Agatha letting you slack on your beauty sleep?”

Billy sighs. “Agatha’s not around right now.”

At that, Jen’s teasing expression falters slightly. She folds her arms across her chest. “Where is she?”

“She’s running damage control with her knife-happy wife.” Billy lowers his voice slightly sheepish. “Trying to get a handle on the increased demon activity going on at the moment.”

“Yeah, I read the news. That’s unusually charitable of Agatha though.” Jen says suspiciously.

“Well, she’s kind of cleaning up my mess,” Billy adopts an expression of innocence, palms raised in surrender. “Since I…let a few out last summer?”

Jen’s face goes blank. “Excuse me?”

Billy can’t contain his wince. “It was an accident, if that helps?”

“Teen.” Jen’s tone is sharp enough to cut glass. “You—a literal baby witch—let demons out. Actual demons. And Agatha let you live long enough to tell me about it?”

Billy scowls, impatiently. “First of all, I’m not a baby. And second of all, Agatha doesn’t let me do anything.”

Jen rolls her eyes and turns away, striding toward the back shelves with a swish of her perfectly tailored high-waisted trousers. “This is exactly why I don’t do dark magic. All it ever does is bite you in the ass.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Billy mutters, following her. “Look, that’s why I was hoping-”

Jen spins around, holding up a perfectly manicured finger. “Don’t even think about dragging me into this, Kaplan. I don’t mess with that stuff.”

Billy exhales sharply, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not asking you to. I just need help identifying the demons. Any information you have—books, scrolls, notes scribbled on napkins—I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Jen gives him a long, appraising look, her dark eyes searching his face. Billy tries not to squirm under the scrutiny. He knows he looks desperate—he is desperate—but he can tell Jen is about two seconds away from saying no and sending him back out the door.

“Please,” he says softly. “I don’t know where else to go.”

For a moment, the only sound in the store is the soft trickle of water from some artisanal fountain in the corner.

Then Jen clicks her tongue in irritation, spinning back toward the shelves. “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for sad little strays like you.”

Billy feels a flicker of relief as Jen starts pulling down books—thick, leather-bound ones that look wildly out of place in her pristine store. “Thank you,” he says earnestly.

“Don’t thank me,” Jen replies sharply, stacking the books onto the counter with a thud. “Thank the goddess that I’m feeling charitable today. And don’t come crying to me when you get yourself possessed. I’m not exorcising your demons.”

Billy steps up to the counter as she flips through one of the books, muttering to herself about kids these days. He doesn’t bother arguing back. Jen’s grudging help is still help, and right now, he’ll take what he can get.

Jen slides the book across to him and starts pulling out another one. “Here. Start with these. I’ll mark a few others for you to look at. But Teen, I mean it—don’t go messing around with things you can’t control. Agatha might be reckless, but she’s been at this a while, she knows her shit. You? You’re not there yet.”

Billy’s quiet for a moment, staring down at the books. “I know.”

Jen softens, just a little. “Good.” She finishes stacking the rest of the books and pushes them toward him. “Take these. Study them. And for the love of all things holy, try not to make it worse.”

“I’ll do my best.” Billy nods, hefting the heavy stack into his arms and then pauses, lingering by the door. “Jen? Do you know anything about the Winding Way?”

Jen pauses mid-motion, one brow arching sharply. “Where’d you hear about that?”

“Agatha mentioned it once,” Billy lies. “I think it’s connected to a witch called Margali Szardos?”

Jen snorts softly, turning to face him fully. “The Szardos are probably one of the last covens stubborn enough to still practice that old-school stuff.”

Billy frowns. “So, you do know about it?”

“A little,” Jen admits, shrugging. “It’s niche, even by witchcraft standards, comes from a really old European tradition. Super mystical, super philosophical. It’s less about what you can do and more about where you fit.” She taps a ringed finger to her temple for emphasis. “The Winding Way teaches that everyone has a role to play, eventually—whether you realize it or not. It’s all about patience and perspective.”

Billy shifts the books in his arms, intrigued. “So, what? They’re like magical Buddhists?”

“Kind of,” Jen says, leaning against the counter. “They consider life as one long, winding path, and you never know who’s going to matter later on down the line. Someone you hate today could save your life tomorrow. Someone you dismiss might hold the key to your future. That’s why they don’t kill, ever.” She points at him, her expression serious. “To them, death is a cheat. If you end someone’s story, you lose any chance they had of being part of yours.”

Billy absorbs that, rolling it over in his mind. The concept feels oddly resonant. “So, they’re pacifists.”

“By principle, yeah,” Jen says with a slight shrug. “The Winding Way tends to preach caution, you know? Waiting, watching, playing the long game.” Jen’s mouth curls into a wry smile. “Not my vibe, personally, but hey, it works for some.”

Billy nods slowly, the weight of the books in his arms feeling secondary now to the weight of the idea. “And you think it’s real? The whole ‘roles to play’ thing?”

Jen shrugs again, though there’s something softer in her expression this time. “Does it matter? It’s not about believing it’s real. It’s about living like it could be. You never know when something—or someone—will matter. That’s the whole point.”

Billy stares at her for a moment before murmuring, “Huh.”

Jen eyes him critically. “Don’t ‘huh’ at me like you’re gonna do something reckless with that knowledge.”

“I’m not,” Billy says quickly. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, keep that curiosity under control, Teen,” Jen replies, straightening up. “Demons are trouble enough without you getting philosophical about fate.”

Billy manages a faint smile, adjusting the books again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do,” Jen says, waving him off. “Now get out of here. I have actual paying customers to deal with.”

Billy turns and steps back out onto the busy Brooklyn street, his mind buzzing with the idea of the Winding Way. He doesn’t know if he believes it—if he could live with that kind of patience, that kind of trust—but he can’t help but feel like the words will stick with him.

Everyone has a role to play eventually. He just wishes he knew what his was.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Unknown Number
+523 2304-246

You missed a call from
+523 2304-246 on 03/10/2026
at 11:13 AM. No message was left.

You have a new voicemail from +523 2304-246.
Message was left on 03/10/2026 at
11:22 AM. Call 101 to listen.

You missed a call from
+523 2304-246 on 04/10/2026
at 02:55 PM. No message was left.

You have a new voicemail from +523 2304-246.
Message was left on 05/10/2026 at
01:13 PM. Call 101 to listen.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy declines yet another call from yet another unknown number with a scowl.

It’s been nonstop calls since his juvie files leaked and he’s stopped bothering to tell them to shove it. His high school peers are nosy but they’ll get bored eventually. Until then, Tommy doesn’t plan to waste time on them.

Instead, he takes a deep breath as he stares at the peeling number “3B” on Lisa’s apartment door. It’s not the first time he’s been here—he suspects he could find his way to her place in his sleep—but today feels different. The argument from earlier in the week plays on loop in his head, his words and hers cutting deeper now that the heat of anger has faded.

He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates, then finally raps on the door three times. The hallway smells like old takeout and cheap air freshener, the dim light buzzing overhead. For a moment, he thinks she might not answer, and his chest tightens with the thought of turning around and walking away.

But then the door creaks open, and there she is. Lisa, standing in the doorway in an oversized hoodie and leggings, her dark curls pulled into a loose bun. She looks at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then she steps aside, gesturing for him to come in without a word.

“Hey,” Tommy says as he steps inside, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. Her aunt’s apartment is as small and cluttered as ever, but it feels warm, lived-in. There’s a pile of books on the coffee table, a half-finished cup of tea on the counter.

“Hey,” Lisa replies, closing the door behind him. She leans against it, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on him. “So I guess we should talk about it, huh? Since you came all this way.”

“Well, I thought we could stare in silence a little longer first but sure.” Tommy tries to tease but it falls flat.

She nods slowly, then walks past him, sinking onto the couch. She gestures for him to sit, and he does, perched awkwardly on the edge of the cushion.

For a few moments, neither of them speaks. The silence is heavy, but not unbearable. Finally, Tommy clears his throat.

“Look,” he begins, his eyes fixed on the coffee table. “I’m sorry. For what I said. For how angry I got, I just…It’s been harder than I thought it would be.”

Lisa doesn’t say anything, but her expression softens, her arms relaxing from their defensive position.

“It’s Eastview,” Tommy continues, his words coming faster now that he’s started. “I just don’t fit there, Lisa. Not like Billy does. People stare. They whisper. They make these little comments, and it’s like… it’s like they can just tell I’m different. I stick out like a sore thumb and when that email went out, I just- it’s like it confirmed what everyone already thought of me.”

Lisa tilts her head, studying him. “You think I don’t know what that feels like?”

Tommy glances at her, startled by the quiet intensity in her voice.

Lisa leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Tommy, I'm a trans teenage girl. I know exactly what it’s like to feel like a freak in a room full of people. To know that no matter how much you try to blend in, there’s always gonna be someone who looks at you like you don’t belong. And I know what it’s like to have to explain yourself over and over again, to have the same damn conversation about yourself with every new person you meet, never knowing how they’ll react.”

Her words hang in the air, and Tommy feels a pang of guilt twisting in his chest.

“But,” she continues, her voice softening, “The thing about Tommy, old Tommy at least, is how sure of himself he was. And when he stood by someone, he had their back. He made them feel like they can be confident in themselves too. I see that in you too, you know? It’s why it hit me so hard, hearing you talk about it like that.”

Tommy looks at her, his throat tightening. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods, his gaze dropping to his hands.

Lisa reaches out, placing her hand over his. “I’m sorry for what I said, too,” she says gently. “I was frustrated. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were wrong for feeling like that.”

He swallows hard, then finally looks up at her. “So…I’m still your Tommy?”

Her own smile is sad. “Of course, you are. You’re my best friend, Shepherd. Before anything else. That’s all that matters.”

Tommy can feel his chest clenching tight with feeling, so he pushes back the hint of tears and forces a smile. “You’re my best friend too, Lis.”

They sit like that for a moment, the weight between them easing.

“So,” Lisa says, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, “You wanna stay for dinner? The options are take-out Thai or a frozen pizza that’s probably been in my freezer for a year.”

Tommy snorts, the tension breaking. “Yeah, sure. I’ll take my chances.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

America
+394 3455-506

This Stephen is kind of grumpy
when he’s worried apparently

He said he’s not mad I ditched KTaj
but that I should’ve told someone

And he didn’t accept “I’m telling
you now” as a reasonable answer

Not Mad Just Disappointed
is the worst kind of mad

He also has a few demon books that
he’s gonna let me borrow for research
purposes

Did you tell him about us?

Me and Tommy I mean?

Nah, I figure itll just stress him out more

Where are you guys?

Lisa’s poisoning us with expired pizza

Come join us?

Sure but meet me at 31^st and Fifth? I need help carrying
these dumb books, they weigh a damn tonne

Your packhorse is on his way

Notes:

Fun fact, Margali Szardos and the Winding Way are original Marvel characters/concepts from the comics!

 

Update: it's occured to me that some people joining us here in the third act might not be aware that Lisa Molinari is a trans woman in this fic so here's your friendly reminder

Chapter 10: INTERLUDE

INTERLUDE

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

August 31^st, 2026

He’s alone in his cell for once in the moments before the alarms start to scream.

That, in itself, is strange. All the inmates at Green Park Correctional live in each other’s pockets. Privacy is an irrelevant concept when you spend every second of your existence crammed together in the cafeteria or the showers or the cellblocks or the yard.

But before the lockdown starts, he's alone in his cell for the first time in weeks which makes it all the more startling when the infirmary doctor and a prison guard he knows as Officer Lyman suddenly unlock his door with matched scowls.

He frowns back, instantly suspicious. “What’s going on?”

“Stay where you are,” Lyman barks.

“I was...planning on it?” He replies, bewildered and increasingly wary.

The doctor raises a handheld radio. “Command, this is Agents Barkley and Pell, Subject 4B is secured, awaiting extraction, over.”

He rises from his cot and immediately Lyman (or is it Pell?) tenses, baton at the ready. “What did I say, Altman? Stay where you are.”

But he can’t help but notice the baton isn’t the regular clubs used by the guards. This one has electrical prods at each end and the sight is enough to fill him with a fresh flood of panic because that’s not the kind of weapon you subdue prisoners.

But if you wanted to abduct a Skrull-in-hiding, it’s not a bad choice.

It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t been able to shift in months, not since the mess that landed him in here in the first place. They’ve figured him out. And now, like the bogeyman his mother used to warn him about, they’ve come to bring him to their scientists and laboratories where they can rip him apart inch by inch.

“What do you want?” Teddy demands, hands tightening into fists. “Who are you?”

Dr Franklin (or Barkley) seems to sense his anxiety. “It’s alright, Mr Altman, just relax.”

The doc’s bedside manner is about as comforting as a rattlesnake. Just as he's trying to decide whether he should make a run for it, the deafening wail of the prison alarms cut through the air.

“Lockdown initiated,” a mechanical voice drones over the intercom. “All personnel to designated stations. Lockdown in effect in thirteen seconds.”

Lyman frowns at his partner. “What’s this? That wasn’t in the extraction plans.”

Dr Whoever reaches for the radio. “Command, lockdown protocols have been activated, please advise. Over.”

He can feel his window of escape shrinking with every passing second: once that cell door locks, it’s game over. His muscles coil instinctively, and before Lyman can react, the prisoner bolts.

Lyman lunges forward, baton crackling with a hiss of blue electricity, but he pivots at the last second, slamming a shoulder into the guard’s midsection and shoving him backward. The narrow space of the cell works to his advantage—Lyman stumbles into the doctor, and the two collapse in a heap of tangled limbs.

“Altman!” Trent snarls, but he doesn’t stop to look back.

He sprints down the hallway as fast as he can but he only makes it a few feet before the world shifts.

The air ripples. A wave of incandescent blue energy sweeps through the corridor like an unnatural tide, setting his nerves ablaze. He braces himself for impact but it washes over him, harmless.

The alarms cut off mid-wail.  An eerie silence falls, and then, one by one, the cell doors hiss open.

The prisoners in his block step out of their cells, tentative at first. Confusion blooms on their faces, quickly replaced by understanding. Then the frenzy begins.

A bellow of triumph comes from somewhere behind him as an inmate shoves a guard into the wall. Another punches a fellow prisoner with a furious howl of curses. The tension breaks, chaos cascading like an avalanche.

He ducks past a scuffles breaking out and into the next wing, trying to get as far away from the chaos as possible. But the air in this part of the prison is heavier, charged with a strange wrongness.

His instincts scream at him to turn around, but the path ahead is his only option. He rounds the corner and stops dead.

In the center of the corridor, a teenage boy—maybe a year or two older—stands surrounded by guards. Except there is something deeply wrong with him. His eyes burn with a hellish crimson light, and his lips pull back to reveal teeth far too sharp for any human.

He moves with an animalistic grace, his muscles coiling like a predator ready to pounce.

One of the guards lifts a radio to his mouth. “Command, this is Agent—”

The boy—thing—doesn’t let him finish. It leaps, slamming into the guard with terrifying speed and force. The man barely has time to scream before he crumples to the floor. Blood spatters across the walls as the boy moves to the next guard, laughing—a high, unhinged sound that doesn’t belong in this world.

His breath catches in his throat. He takes a step back, then another, his instincts screaming at him to run. The boy’s head snaps toward him, and for one horrifying moment, he thinks he’s been seen.

But then a crash from the far end of the corridor draws the boy’s attention. The predator’s grin widens, and with a blur of movement, he vanishes toward the source of the sound.

He exhales shakily. Whatever that thing is, he wants no part of it. He turns to flee and immediately crashes into someone.

“Hey, watch it!” a voice growls, shoving him backward.

He stumbles, looking up to find three inmates blocking his path. The leader is a bull of a teenager, easily a foot taller with biceps like tree trunks.

“Where you runnin’ off to, pretty boy?” the leader sneers, cracking his knuckles. “You’re in my way.”

He glances over his shoulder, his pulse pounding. “You don’t want to be here,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “There’s something—someone—coming. You need to get out of the way.”

In a way, he’s lucky he’s been stuck in this form since the night of his arrest. It’s the one he’s most comfortable in: the blonde, tall, average Teddy Altman who has a mom he loves and a school he hates and friends he lies to. But in Green Park, his height and muscularity have worked well to keep the other inmates off his back. No one wants to pick on a guy that looks like he could snap them in half, after all.

This guy doesn’t seem to share those concerns. He laughs, a deep, guttural sound. “Oh, we’ll get out of the way. After we’re done with you.”

The others close in, cutting off any chance of escape.

Teddy’s fists clench at his sides. “Fine,” he mutters. “Your funeral.”

The first punch comes fast, but Teddy is faster. He ducks under the swing and drives his elbow into the man’s ribs, hard enough to hear the air leave his lungs. Another inmate grabs for him, but Teddy twists free and plants a fist squarely in his jaw.

It’s over in seconds. The three of them lie groaning on the floor, and Teddy stands over them, fists still raised. His heart pounds in his chest, but it’s not from exertion.

The fight stirs something deep in him, a memory he’s tried to bury. His mother’s face, pale and determined, as the monsters tore through their home, as they cut her down like she was nothing. The truth is, he doesn’t even remember snapping. One moment, he was frozen in terror; the next, he was standing over their bodies, shaking with an unnatural power he didn’t know he possessed, his hands slick with blood.

He feels it again now, coursing through his hands but he doesn’t have time to ponder the terrifying, strange strength flooding through his muscles. Around him, the riot is building.

And behind him, there’s something that used to be a teenage boy now devouring grown ass men.

Teddy takes one last look at the fallen inmates before he bolts down the hall, the faint echoes of the past chasing him with every step. The air is filled with screams, shouts, and the clanging of metal against metal.

He cuts a path through the frenzy, unable to totally quell his shaking hands.

God, he wishes he could shift. If he looked like one of the prison guards, he could walk right out of this place, and no one would stop him. Of course, without the tech-fabric that allows him to shift his clothing, he’d be a prison guard in a blood-splattered khaki jumpsuit, but he’d rather have to explain that than be stuck here one more minute.

But every time he tries, all Teddy can see is Sa’ara’s face staring blankly at him from the floor of their apartment: bloodied and pale and dead. So here he is, eighteen months into his sentence and trapped in the once-familiar body of Teddy Altman, the boy who murdered his own mother.

He tells himself to focus. His goal is clear: if he can reach the loading bay, he might have a chance at opening the heavy metal gates with this whacko super strength of his. But it’s harder than he expected to find his way around this place; in his panic, every hallway suddenly looks too much the same.

The chaos in the main wings grows faint behind him, replaced by the eerie, unexpected silence of the western block. No guards, no prisoners—just the sound of his ragged breathing and the distant hum of fluorescent lights. But at the sound of footsteps ahead, Teddy freezes.

There, walking toward him down the corridor, is a boy.

Lanky, maybe his age or a little older, with a messy crop of dark hair and an eerie focus in his expression. He isn’t wearing the dull khaki jumpsuit of the prisoners, nor the heavy armour of the guards. His clothes—jeans and a dark hoodie, leather cuffs on each wrist—look out of place here, casual but purposeful, as though he doesn’t belong and doesn’t care to pretend otherwise.

What catches Teddy’s attention most, though, is the faint blue light curling off the boy’s body. It moves like smoke but glows like embers, a strange, shifting aura that seems to pulse in rhythm with his steps.

It’s mesmerizing. Awe-inspiring. Terrifying.

Teddy can only stare, frozen in place, as the boy stops a few feet away. The blue light reflects in his sharp, intelligent eyes as he tilts his head slightly, taking in the sight of Teddy: blood-splattered jumpsuit, wide-eyed panic, fists still clenched like he’s ready for another fight.

“Hey, you okay?” the boy asks, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

The question catches Teddy off guard. Of all the things he expected, concern wasn’t one of them. He tries to form words, to explain himself, but all he manages is a tight nod.

The boy frowns slightly, as though debating whether to push for more. Then he sighs. “You should find somewhere to hide until this is over. It’s not safe out here.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he moves past Teddy with deliberate ease, his focus already moving on elsewhere. The faint glow of his power trails behind him, leaving the air tingling in his wake.

Teddy remains rooted to the spot, staring after him. He doesn’t know who the boy is or how he came to be here, but one thing is clear: this boy isn’t like anyone else in Green Park.

For a brief, irrational moment, Teddy considers following him. But then the distant echo of boots from behind him cuts into the thought, sharp and urgent.

“You! Stay where you are, hands in the air!”

He hesitates, then slowly complies. When he glances over his shoulder, he recognises Officer Lyman amongst the team of what looks to be SWAT operatives.

Lyman scowls at him. “4B. Barkley says this one might be an unregistered. He wants him unharmed for testing.”

The leader nods curtly and then eyes Teddy carefully. “Alright, son, no sudden moves. Nice and easy, keep those hands up-”

But Lyman’s said the magic words. No one’s going to kill him today. They want him alive so they can stick him with needles and poke at him to see how he bleeds.

He forces his breathing to steady, arms still raised as he glances quickly between the operatives. There are five of them, including Lyman. They’re all armed—batons, tasers, and sidearms that look heavier than standard issue. Maybe something worse than SWAT after all.

Their leader keeps his distance, a hand hovering near his holster, while two more fan out to flank him.

Teddy shifts his weight subtly, muscles coiled like springs. His mother’s voice echoes in his memory, composed and relentless.

“Don’t let them box you in. Keep moving. Use their strength against them. And if you can’t win, make sure they don’t forget you were there.”

“Hands where we can see them,” the leader barks again, his tone clipped. “Step forward. Slowly.”

Teddy complies—or pretends to. He takes one careful step, then another, his eyes darting to the operative closest to him on the left. His posture is slightly lazy, baton lowered just a fraction too much.

That’s the weak link.

Teddy lunges.

The move is so sudden the operative barely reacts before Teddy’s shoulder slams into his chest with the force of a freight train. The man crashes into the wall with a sickening thud, his baton clattering to the floor as he crumples.

“4B’s engaging!” Lyman yells, already reaching for his weapon.

But Teddy doesn’t stop. He twists, grabbing the fallen baton and swinging it in a wide arc toward the next operative. It connects with a sharp crack against the man’s forearm, forcing him to drop his taser. Teddy follows up with a kick to the chest that sends the second man sprawling.

“Don’t let him escape!” the leader roars, drawing his firearm.

Teddy barely has time to duck as a shot rings out, the rubber bullet ricocheting against the metal wall behind him. Adrenaline floods his system, sharpening his focus. He rolls, coming up just as Lyman charges him with the electrified baton raised high.

“You little green fucker-” Lyman snarls, swinging the weapon down in a vicious arc.

Teddy sidesteps, narrowly avoiding the crackling prongs. He retaliates with a sharp jab to Lyman’s gut, then twists the man’s arm, forcing the baton from his grip.

“Back off!” Teddy growls, shoving Lyman into the wall. The officer stumbles but recovers quickly, drawing a knife from his belt.

“Big mistake, kid.” Lyman hisses, slashing wildly.

Teddy dodges the blade, backing up toward the edge of the corridor. His heart races as he glances over his shoulder, realizing he’s running out of space. With a burst of desperate strength, he ducks under Lyman’s next swing and drives his shoulder into the man’s midsection, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the floor.

Lyman groans, winded but still conscious. Teddy doesn’t wait for him to recover.

The leader fires another shot, and Teddy feels the white-hot pain of the rubber bullet graze his arm. But the wound only fuels him further as he grabs the baton from the floor and hurls it at the shooter. The blunt end strikes the man’s wrist, forcing him to drop the gun with a curse.

“Fall back!” one of the remaining operatives shouts, clearly rattled.

Teddy isn’t interested in sticking around. He darts past the dazed and fallen operatives, sprinting toward the next wing.

Behind him, the leader yells, “Cover the exits! Don’t let him—”

The rest of the command is lost as Teddy rounds the corner, feet pounding against the concrete floor. His arm throbs where the bullet grazed him, and his chest heaves with exertion, but he doesn’t stop, not until-

His foot slips.

Before he can steady himself, Teddy takes a nosedive right into the concrete, his skull cracking against the unforgiving floor. With a groan, he rises to his elbows, looking around for the source of his disruption but nothing can prepare him for the carnage that fills the corridor before him.

Crimson smears cover every wall, bodies strewn throughout the space with haphazard abandon.

The stench of blood and viscera is thick in the air and Teddy realises with a sickening jolt that he must’ve slipped in a puddle of blood emanating from a nearby guard, the dead man’s eyes still open and wide with terror.

And then he sees him. A boy, barely twelve, standing at the end of the corridor, in the middle of the carnage. He’s small, almost fragile-looking, with bright, glassy eyes and a serene smile.

But from the chin down, he’s dripping with blood.

The boy turns his head slowly, locking eyes with Teddy. For a moment, neither of them moves. Then he smiles wider, tilting his head like he’s considering something.

“You’re not like the others,” the boy says, his voice soft but weighted with an eerie certainty. “I can smell it. Something different in you.”

 

Teddy’s breath hitches, his pulse hammering in his ears. Every nerve in his body screams at him to run, but his legs are rooted to the blood-slicked floor.

The boy takes a step forward, his bare feet squelching in the gore. “You’re special,” he continues, his tone almost sing-song, as though tasting the words. “Aren’t you? I bet you don’t even know how special yet.”

“Stay back,” Teddy’s voice trembles despite his attempt at sounding firm. He clenches his fists, his body tense, ready to react, though he has no idea how he’ll fight something like this.

The boy stops, tilting his head again, his glassy eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You’re scared.” He laughs softly, the sound childlike but with an edge that chills Teddy to his core. “That’s good. Fear keeps things interesting.”

Behind him, the echo of boots and distant shouts grows louder, the SWAT team closing in.

Teddy’s eyes dart between the approaching danger and the boy in front of him, calculating his odds.

“Run, or fight. Either way, you’ll bleed,” the boy says, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They all do.”

And then, with a sharp, inhuman grin, the boy lunges.

Teddy reacts on instinct, throwing himself to the side as the boy’s clawed hand slices through the air where his throat had been. He scrambles to his feet, his back pressing against the cold concrete wall.

The boy moves like a predator, each step calculated, each motion unnervingly smooth. He seems to glide over the blood-slick floor, closing the distance with terrifying ease.

Teddy’s heart pounds as he scans the corridor for something—anything—he can use as a weapon. His hand lands on a discarded baton, slick with blood but still intact. He grips it tightly, holding it between himself and the advancing boy.

“Stay away!” Teddy shouts, his voice breaking.

The boy stops, just out of reach, and cocks his head. “You think that can stop me?” He laughs again, the sound high and unhinged.

When he lunges again, Teddy swings the baton with all his strength. It connects with a sickening thud, sending the boy stumbling back. But instead of crying out in pain, the boy only laughs harder, the sound echoing unnaturally through the corridor.

Teddy doesn’t wait for him to recover. He bolts, his sneakers slipping on the blood-slick floor as he sprints down the hall. The boy’s laughter follows him, growing fainter as he puts as much distance as possible between them.

The SWAT team’s voices grow louder as he rounds another corner, and Teddy skids to a halt. He’s trapped between two dangers: the psychotic blood-soaked child behind him and the heavily armed operatives closing in ahead.

His chest heaves, his mind racing for an escape. And then, like a prayer answered, he spots it: a maintenance hatch halfway down the corridor, its lock hanging loose.

Teddy doesn’t think—he just moves. He sprints to the hatch, yanks it open, and dives inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

The space is cramped and dark, the air stale and heavy with dust. Teddy presses himself against the cold metal, his heart pounding as he listens to the chaos outside.

“Where did he go?” one of the SWAT team members shouts.

“Check the west wing! He can’t have gone far!” Lyman’s voice barks in response, followed by the heavy thud of boots fading into the distance.

Teddy abandons the plan to reach the loading bay, heading instead for the intake desk and main entrance. He doesn't care about being seen or getting caught this time, not with that thing waiting behind him. He’ll even take his damn chances with whoever Lyman’s working for before he goes back.

He’s not entirely certain how he manages to break through the side emergency exit and into his first taste of freedom in a year and a half. His mind is still fixated on that deranged little kid, if that’s even what that was.

But however he does it, Teddy forces himself to put one foot in front of the other, to keep his head down. Whatever is going on here is way beyond his comprehension and he’d very much like to keep it that way. All he knows is that he needs to get as far away from Green Park—and that terrifying thing—as possible.

Chapter 11: CHAPTER ELEVEN

Notes:

Mild TW: there's a racial slur used in this chapter to refer to America as a 'b*an*r', used by a character that is just an already asshole. Just a heads up.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Unknown Number
+523 2304-246

You missed a call from
+523 2304-246 on 19/10/2026
at 08:22 AM. No message was left.

You have a new voicemail from +523 2304-246.
Message was left on 20/10/2026 at
12:45 AM. Call 101 to listen.

You missed a call from
+523 2304-246 on 21/10/2026
at 01:59 PM. No message was left.

You have a new voicemail from +523 2304-246.
Message was left on 21/10/2026 at
05:35 PM. Call 101 to listen.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy doesn’t even look at his phone to decline the calls these days.

Most of the gossip has died down in the past three weeks since The Email, but he still gets texts and calls from unknown numbers. Billy wishes he could do more to help but his brother seems to have made his peace with it, though they’ve never been able to work out who sent it in the first place.

And in the meantime, there’s been demons to research.

Sitting on the floor of Rio’s undecorated living room, Billy balances an open book on his knees, another splayed out in front of him. They’ve been making their way through the assembled spellbooks, grimoires, ancient scrolls and treatises on demons at an excruciatingly slow pace but it can’t be helped. For one thing, most of the books aren’t even in English.

America, for her part, leans back against the couch, looking through a much older tome she snagged from the Sanctum that seems to be written in some kind of language that changes every time you flip the page.

Meanwhile, Tommy sprawls out on the couch above her with his sneakers still on, stares at the files of the prisoner escapees, occasionally grumbling under his breath as he reads. A half-eaten bag of potato chips sits forgotten on the coffee table between them.

“Alright,” Billy says, tapping the edge of his book to get their attention. “Let’s go over what we know so far.”

“About 10% less than the last time you asked, man.” Tommy replies flatly.

“Come on,” Billy insists, grabbing his notebook. “Let’s compare notes. America? Any mention of Astaroth in that thing?”

America flips a page, then looks up. “As far as I can see, it’s more of the same, Billy. Duke of Hell, die-hard fan of Mephisto. Some say he’s a fallen angel who sided with Lucifer in the rebellion.”

“Great résumé,” Tommy mutters without looking up. “How does that help us find him?”

Billy ignores him, leaning forward to skim a passage he’s already read twice. “He’s got connections to a lot of different mythologies. In some accounts, he’s a manipulator—tempting humans with knowledge and power. In others, he’s more hands-on: corrupting leaders, inciting chaos, and feeding on despair.”

“Manipulator, corruptor, why aren’t we looking for him at City Hall?” America says, her tone dry, then pauses: “Wait, do you guys have-?”

“Yes.” Billy and Tommy chime in absently.

She shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not really anything new, you know? It seems like this thing could set up shop pretty much anywhere, like one of those mutant mega-rats that can grow new adaptations to suit their environment. Wait, do you guys have-?”

“No.” Billy and Tommy reply in unison again.

America closes her book with a decisive thud. “Let’s change it up. What do we do if we do actually manage to find it? Containment? Banishment?”

Billy considers the question for a moment, studying the cluttered pile of books around them. Tommy had bought a few piece of furniture for the house since Rio left with Agatha but mostly seems content with picking junk off the curb which means that he has not one, but three different half-broken coffee tables shoved together to create their workspace. Not that you can see them under the sea of books, notes, pens, scrolls, and sticky-notes.

“I don’t know.” He finally admits hesitantly. “Containment would be safer, but banishment would get rid of him for good. Problem is, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to banish him. And containment spells are kind of complicated.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” America says, picking up another of the spell books she grabbed from the Sanctum. She flips to a page filled with dense diagrams and Latin inscriptions. “This one’s got a binding ritual that looks like it needs half a dozen rare herbs, a moonlit night, and a sacrificial chicken.”

“No chickens,” Tommy says firmly. “I draw the line at ritual poultry.”

“Noted,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “But we need something. Agatha would probably know what to do, but she’s still out of contact.”

“What about Margali?” Tommy wonders. “Could she tell us how she found it last time?”

“I tried calling the antique store.” Billy replies with a wince. “The line’s disconnected. Even her Facebook page is shut down. Looks like she packed up shop and skipped town.”

America leans forward, her expression thoughtful. “What about Astaroth’s weaknesses? Maybe we can use that to our advantage.”

Billy flips through his own spell-book from Jen, scanning the text. “There’s not much here. Some sources say he’s vulnerable to sacred objects, but others claim he can manipulate them. Oh, and get this: in certain medieval grimoires, it’s said he rides a dragon.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Cool. How does that help?”

“Wait,” America interrupts, craning her neck over to look at Billy’s notes. “You translated that wrong.”

“Okay, my Old High German isn’t great, sue me.” Billy shoots back.

But she’s not even paying attention, too busy scanning the words. “This says he can only traverse by dragon-back.”

“So he has standards for his Ubers,” Billy replies. “So what?”

“Well, there’s not exactly a huge market for dragons around New Jersey, is there?” America points out impatiently. “And if doesn’t have one-”

“Then he can’t traverse. Or travel, I guess.” Billy finishes.

“How’d he leave the prison then?” Tommy says doubtfully.

America chews her lip thoughtfully. “Traversing isn’t the same as like, walking. It’s about journeying, travelling distances, exploring. I think this means he’s stuck.”

“Stuck,” Tommy echoes, sounding slightly more intrigued. “Like stuck in Springfield, stuck?”

“Maybe.” America shrugs. “Lisa said she was keeping an eye on the crime wave in New York, right? Has she said anything about shit going down in Jersey?”

Tommy already has his phone out. “She says she’ll look into official reports and ask her online guys if they’ve noticed anything weird. I’ll message Stoner Dave, see if he’s still around town.”

“If Astaroth is in Springfield, we know his MO. He’s stirring the pot, manipulating people into acting out their worst impulses.” America looks between the boys expectantly. “We should go investigate, try tracking him down.”

“It couldn’t hurt.” Tommy glances at his brother.

“Tomorrow then,” Billy says decisively. “After school, we’ll go check it out.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

BILLY 🪄
+416 3928-223

So we’re not checking out Springfield
tomorrow. At least I’m not.

What? Why?

Because Mrs Glendall is a snitch.

Apparently, I’m failing calculus.

It’s barely mid-October, man

What does that even mean???

She called my mom with “concerns”

tldr; I’m stuck with tutoring after school
tomorrow afternoon. twice a week until
i can pull my grade up

Daaaaaamn

Rebecca isn’t fooling around

She’s worried I’m skipping classes

I mean

She’s not wrong

I’m not chain smoking under the bleachers ffs

I’m hunting a damn DEMON

….you know what might help?

Don’t say it

If you told your parents that

Ugh

I told you I cant

I know you told me you don’t want to

That’s not the same as ‘can’t’

When the hell is calculus gonna be
useful to me anyway?

Wow, smooth change of topic

I’m serious! It’s not like I’m failing
something important

Yeah, in Demons 101, you’re
an A+ student

This is so dumb

I cant believe I’m gonna be wasting time
in tutoring while there are people out there
getting hurt because of me

Billy come on

We talked about this

I know, I know. “Guilt is unproductive”
blah blah blah

I cant help how I feel

You’re doing what you can, man

Look, me and America will check out
Springfield tomorrow, okay? Just take
a look around, see what we find and then
we’ll all sit around and share information
with you like nerds

BILLY 🪄 is typing…

Just be careful.

If we see a dragon, we’ll run

Promise.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy adjusts the strap of his backpack as he and America step off the bus into Springfield’s all-too-familiar sprawl. It’s late afternoon, and the light filters through the skeletal remains of autumn trees. The air smells faintly of asphalt and regret, and it takes Tommy no time at all to remember why he hated this town.

“Charming.” America quips, glancing around the nearly empty streets with a raised brow.

“It’s a dump,” Tommy mutters, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Don’t let the trees fool you. Everything under them is rotten.”

They walk for a few blocks in relative silence, weaving through streets that Tommy knows like muscle memory. It’s weird being back, like stepping into a fuzzy old photograph—everything frozen in time, but just slightly off-kilter.

Eventually, they turn onto a street where a scruffy teenager with shaggy hair and a hoodie leans against a parked car, puffing lazily on a cigarette.

“Hey Dave,” Tommy greets with a weak smile. “Thanks for meeting us, man.”

“Tommy,” Stoner Dave drawls with a grin, smoke curling lazily around his teeth. “Thought you were long gone, dude. Back for nostalgia or what?"

“More like research,” Tommy replies vaguely. “Been hearing stuff about fights. Downtown. Anything you know?”

Dave shrugs, taking another drag.  “Nah man. Not really my scene.”

America’s smile is forced. “What about stuff happening that is your scene?”

At the sight of a cute girl, Dave perks up predictably, red-rimmed eyes widening. “I mean, I got the heart of a lover, not a fighter, baby. Tommy, who’s your friend?”

“America Chavez.” She introduces briskly. “We’re doing a report for the local newspaper up in Eastview.”

“Oh yeah,” Dave glances back at Tommy, appraisingly. “I heard you were rubbing elbows with the elite now, didn’t think it could be true.”

“So we hear there’s been a bit of a crime wave happening, huh?” America deflects, drawing him back to the topic at hand.

Dave eventually shrugs. “I mean, it’s been weird, dude. People snapping for no reason. Like, full-on postal. Couple weeks ago, that kook Harlan took a swing at a barista for spelling his name wrong on a cup.” He chuckles.

“Where can we talk to the kook?” America presses.

“Harlan? I mean, right now you could probably peel him off a bar stool downtown.” Dave answers, then adds hopefully: “If you need a tour guide, I’d be happy to show you.”

Her smile is only slightly condescending. “I think Tommy’s got this one, thanks.”

Dave nabs Tommy’s sleeve. “Hey, man, what’s with the hottie? What’s she in to?” he asks in a low, conspiratorial voice.

Tommy suppresses a smirk. “Girls, my guy.”

They hit up a string of dive bars on the main strip of Southside Springfield, each one grimier and more hazardous than the last. Tommy does his best to sweet talk his way inside in the hopes of speaking with the bar staff but more often than not, they barely get through the door before the bartender gives them the side-eye and growls, “Out. No kids.”

By the time they’re shooed out of the third bar, Tommy is scowling, hands shoved back into his pockets.

“Well, this sucks,” he says, glaring at the cracked pavement as they walk. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

America rolls her eyes. “You expected people to just hand us clues? That’s cute.”

“I expected a hint, maybe. This is a waste of—”

“The hell you doing here, Shepherd?”

The man leaning casually against the brick wall of the alley beside the bar is lean and rangy, like he subsists entirely off cigarettes and liquor. His grin is wolfish, the kind that’s all teeth and no warmth.

Tommy recognises him instantly. “Wayne.”

Wayne sneers back. “Long time, no see. Thought you’d gotten too big for this town. Guess not.”

Tommy’s fists clench at his sides. “What do you want?”

“Just saying hi,” Wayne says, pushing off the wall and taking a lazy step toward them. His eyes flick to America, sizing her up, before settling back on Tommy with a smirk. “Heard you’ve been busy. Bet your new friends don’t know what a little shit-stain you are, huh? Oh wait –of course they do. Email today, ain’t it something?”

Tommy stiffens. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. “You—”

Wayne’s grin widens. “Figured you needed a reminder of where you belong. Don’t forget, kid—you’re trash, just like your whore of a mother.”

Tommy takes a step forward, the anger bubbling hot and fast in his chest. He can feel it rising, almost alive, like something clawing at his insides, begging to be let out. But before he can move, America grabs his arm.

“Don’t,” she says firmly, her voice low. “He’s trying to bait you.”

“Let him.” He snarls but she refuses to budge.

“It’s not just him, Tommy. Something’s messing with him. And you. Can’t you feel it?”

Tommy’s breath comes hard and fast, but he forces himself to focus. Wayne is still grinning, but there’s something wild in his eyes, something unhinged. America’s right—the rage suddenly tearing up his chest feels unexpected, out of place. It burns too hot, too fast.

“What’s the matter, Tommy?” Wayne taunts, stepping closer. “Come on you little bastard, you had plenty to say to me last time we did this-”

The words hit like a slap, and before Tommy can stop himself, he moves. But Wayne moves first, swinging a meaty fist at Tommy’s face.

Tommy’s reflexes kick in before he’s even really aware of what he’s doing: he ducks and grabs Wayne’s wrist, twisting it hard enough to make him yelp.

Wayne stumbles back, and for a second, it looks like it might be over—until he turns on America.

“What about your beaner girlfriend, Tommy? She gonna fight your battles for you?” Wayne snarls, lunging.

America doesn’t even flinch. She sidesteps him easily, grabs his arm, and judo-flips him onto the pavement with a single, fluid motion.

Wayne groans, stunned, but America doesn’t let go. “Stay down before you hurt yourself, asshole.” she snaps, her voice cold.

But the commotion has drawn attention. The bar’s manager appears at the door, phone already in hand, and moments later, the tell-tale wail of sirens fills the air.

“Great,” Tommy mutters as the flashing lights pull up. “Just what we need.”

“Better than a body count,” America replies, releasing Wayne as the cops step out of their car. “Just play it cool, Shepherd. Last thing we need is Billy is bailing us both out of jail."

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Billy slouches in his chair, staring at the calculus problem on the board like it personally insulted him. Numbers and symbols blur together into a jumble of indecipherable hieroglyphs. He’s never been good at math, but tutoring after school feels like an extra layer of torture.

The fluorescent lights hum faintly, and the smell of dry-erase markers clogs the air, mingling with the faint scent of despair from everyone in the room.

To his left, Jon Gallo is hunched over his notebook, his pencil tapping an irregular rhythm on the desk. His notebook is open to a page filled with equations, most of them scratched out. He doesn’t look much happier than Billy. Jon is one of the few bright spots in this ordeal; at least he’s struggling alongside him.

“Okay, time’s up,” the tutor announces, clapping her hands as if she’s done them all a favour. “We’ll pick up with derivatives next session. Don’t forget to review chapter five.”

Billy groans softly and stuffs his notebook into his bag. “Chapter five,” he mutters under his breath. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

Jon chuckles as they walk out of the classroom together. “Could be worse,” he says. “At least we’re not in organic chemistry.”

“Small mercies,” Billy replies. “I don’t think I have the mental bandwidth for one more class trying to murder me.”

They make their way down the hallway and out into the late fall air, the hum of activity from football practice drifting faintly on the breeze in a spiral of shouted commands and the dull thud of cleats against turf.

“How’d you get stuck with tutoring anyway?” Billy asks idly. “I mean, Glendall ratted me out to my parents. Aren’t yours still in New York?”

“Yeah, but my Uncle figures the more time I spend in school, the less trouble I’ll get in to.” He says self-consciously.

Billy cracks a smirk. “Were you much of a troublemaker back home? I thought you were a professional fight spectator.”

Jon’s tall but he’s constantly ducking his shoulders like he’s trying to shrink his presence. Besides, the guy’s shy and sort of nerdy; Billy can’t picture him getting into a fight with anyone.

“It’s complicated,” he finally admits. “My parents got pretty paranoid when all the Spiderman drama was kicking off a few years ago in Queens, especially since I was, well, kind of a fan.”

“A fan, huh?” Billy says slyly. “You big into superheroes?”

Jon shrugs, his cheeks flushed slightly. “Maybe a little. Not that it matters out here. It’s why parents sent me. A lot less chance of me getting flattened by a supervillain in the ‘burbs, you know?” He chuckles softly but doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

Billy thinks about the anomaly in Westview and the showdown with Rio and thinks maybe the chances aren’t so great after all.

“Hey, uh,” Jon suddenly says, glancing at Billy. “I never said this before, but… sorry about you and Eddie. I mean, your breakup. That must’ve sucked.”

Billy shrugs, trying to keep his expression neutral. “It’s fine. Eddie and I are still friends.”

They try not to message too often, aiming for a clean break that doesn’t make every day feel like pulling teeth, but it seems like he’s settling into his new school well enough. They have a half-decent basketball team at least and he made friends with a neighbour of his who seems to be something of a tech genius.

“Still,” Jon says, his tone tentative. “It’s cool that you’re, you know, out. Back at my old school, it wasn’t exactly easy to be different.”

Billy blinks, caught off guard by the change in topic. “Wow, that’s…I mean, that sucks, man.”

Jon shrugs. “Eastview’s not perfect, but it’s way more chill about that stuff than Mount Connors. Probably the best part of moving here, honestly.”

Billy glances at him, surprised but pleased by the sentiment. “Yeah, Eastview’s not bad,” he says.

“Actually, I wondered if-”

“Heads up!” someone yells, but the warning comes too late.

A football rockets toward Billy, spiralling with alarming speed and on a direct path for the back of his head. Before Billy can even react, Jon’s hand snaps up, catching the ball mid-air with reflexes so quick it’s almost unnatural.

“Whoa,” Billy lets out a low whistle. “Nice catch.”

Jon shrugs, spinning the football in his hands like it’s no big deal. “Just good timing, I guess.” He throws it back to the players with ease.

Billy is about to ask if he’s planning on joining the team with reflexes like that but his phone buzzes in his pocket, interrupting the moment. He fishes it out and glances at the screen.

“It’s Tommy,” he says, frowning as he answers. “Hey, what’s up?”

His brother’s voice comes through in a rush. “...so I might need you to come to Springfield.”

“What? Springfield? Why? What happened?”

“Long story short,” Tommy says, sounding both exasperated and slightly amused, “America and I might’ve gotten into a little, uh, altercation. With a cop. Or two. We’re fine, but we’re kind of stuck at the station. Can you help?”

Billy’s stomach clenches. “What do you mean the cops are involved? Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Tommy says quickly. “It’s just—can you get here? Please?”

Billy looks at Jon, his mind racing. His car’s in the shop and the buses only come every other hour and it’s not like he can ask his parents for a lift to bail out his brother.

“I—I don’t even know how to—”

“I’ll drive,” Jon interrupts, his voice calm and steady.

Billy blinks at him. “What?”

“I’ll drive us to Springfield,” Jon says, already pulling his car keys from his pocket. “My uncle works late; he won’t even notice if I’m home late. And you clearly need the help.”

Billy hesitates, torn between gratitude and the nagging sense that this is asking too much. “You sure?”

Jon smiles faintly. “Sure. I owe Tommy one anyway.”

Billy exhales, nodding. “Yeah. Thanks, Gallo. You’re a lifesaver.”

Jon smirks as they head toward the parking lot. “You can pay me back by figuring out chapter five.”

Billy groans. “Is it too late to leave Tommy to rot?”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Tommy hangs up the landline phone at the Springfield Township Police Department with a sigh, before he follows a uniformed officer back to the interview rooms. Not to be confused with the interrogation rooms, he’s been assured.

America is still sitting opposite a familiar face: Detective Harriet Daniels, the cop who interviewed him about Greg’s video. That day feels like a million years ago right now.

Daniels glances up at him, her expression carefully neutral but polite. “Someone coming to pick you guys up?”

“Someone.” Tommy agrees, vaguely. “So are we done here or what?”

“Just about, Tommy.” Daniels says, gesturing for him to take a seat. She’s young for a detective; her braided hair is fixed in a no-nonsense bun, her dark skin unwrinkled and un-made up like she’s trying hard to be taken seriously.

“Look, I know Mr Delfino threw the first punch, you’re not on the hook for that. But that still doesn’t explain why you and your friend are trying to get into bars you are obviously too young to be frequenting.”

America frowns slightly at her. “Wait, what’s the drinking age here?”

Daniels clearly can’t quite decide whether America is being serious or not. To be honest, neither can Tommy.

Regardless, he shrugs into the seat next to her and sighs. “Look, we were just looking into something. Not like we were trying to get hammered.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Daniels says dryly. “What exactly were you looking into? From the sounds of it, you’ve got a good thing going up in Eastview, Tommy.”

“Yeah, it’s a real rags-to-riches story.” He mumbles stubbornly.

America leans forward, a certain curious gleam in her gaze. “Actually, we’re writing an article for the local paper. Crime wave sweeps the county. Care to comment, detective?”

Daniels raises a single brow. “Crime wave is a little extreme.”

“Is it?” America probes. “We heard there’s been a rise in assaults, general violence. Do you have any leads?”

“Leads into what exactly?” Daniels shoots back calmly.

“You share your source, we’ll share ours.” America offers gamely.

But Daniels simply sits back in her chair, faintly amused. “Enough games, Miss Chavez. Either you tell me the truth about what you’re looking for, or you can wait for your ride in holding.”

There’s a certain calm confidence about her that Tommy remembers well. He bounces his leg idly and then decides to risk it. “We think there’s something going on in town, making people act like this.”

And even though she doesn’t so much as twitch, Tommy detects a hint of startle in her expression. “Act like what?”

“Aggressive. Violent, impulsive.” Tommy holds her gaze, playing to his hunch. “Like they’re the worst versions of themselves.”

Daniels’ gaze betrays her, flitting to toward the double-sided mirror at the end of the room.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Tommy presses.

“I can’t comment on active investigations, Tommy.” Daniels replies evenly.

“Investigations, plural?” America perks up.

“What do you know about it?” Daniels says slowly.

“You tell us first.” He insists.

“That’s not how this works.” The officer replies instantly. “Tommy-”

“There’s something going on around here.” He interrupts. “We both know it.”

Daniels hesitates but just as she looks like she might answer, a knock on the door interrupts. A short, portly detective sticks his head in with a pointed look. “Daniels, a word.”

“Yes, sir.” She packs up her file instantly, exiting the room without a second look.

As soon as the door closes, America fixes Tommy with an eager look. “It’s gotta be here, right? Astaroth?”

“Looks like,” Tommy agrees grimly. “If we could just get an idea of where the incidents are happening, we could probably figure out where it’s holed up-”

But before they can talk more, the door swings open again and the other detective waves them up. “Come on. You two can wait in reception until your ride gets here.”

“What about Detective Daniels?” America asks with a frown.

“You’re no longer being held as persons of interest.” He says flatly. “Now move it, we need this room to solve actual crimes.”

*          *          *          *          * 
*          *          *          *

BILLY 🪄
+416 3928-223

You know bailing your brother out
of custody is a weird place for a first date

It wasn’t a date

And you could be a little more appreciative

Oh I am

Very appreciative

I am a certified Jon fan, I assure you

Har har

He’s a good friend

Suuuuuure

Whatever

Did you at least find anything useful?

Meet me before school tomorrow,
I’ll go through it all then.

Right now, I just wanna stuff my face
with leftovers and crash you know?

You back at your place yet?

Nearly at the door now

*          *          *          *          * 
*          *          *          * 

Nearly home from the walk from the Kaplan’s, Tommy trudges up the driveway, his steps heavy with exhaustion as he quickly sends a reply. The night air is cool, biting against his cheeks as he shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice the figure sitting on the porch steps until he’s a few feet away.

“Tommy?”

The voice is deep, rough around the edges, like gravel grinding under tires. Tommy freezes, his gaze snapping to the man sitting there. He’s dressed casually—a battered jacket, dark jeans—but there’s something about the way he’s leaning back, as if he owns the space, that puts Tommy on edge.

“Who’s asking?” Tommy asks, his voice wary.

The man stands, moving slowly, deliberately, as if he’s sizing Tommy up. Under the porch light, his features come into focus: a strong jaw, salt-and-pepper stubble, and eyes that seem too familiar in a way that makes Tommy’s stomach twist.

“I know it’s been a while, kid,” the man says, sticking his hands into his jacket pockets. “But you don’t recognise your old man?”

Tommy stares at him, the words not quite registering at first. Then his brain catches up, and his gut twists harder. “What?”

“Tommy, come on,” he sighs, as though he’s been expecting this reaction. “I’ve been trying to call you for a month, can we…can we just talk?”

Tommy barks out a laugh, short and sharp. “No offense, but I’m not buying whatever you’re selling, man.”

Randall’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt? Frustration? Tommy doesn’t care enough to figure it out.

“I don’t expect you to roll out the red carpet, kid,” Randall says, leaning against the porch railing. “I know I wasn’t around. But I’m here now-”

“And I don’t care.” Tommy says honestly. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve had a really long day.”

He brushes past Randall, his shoulder knocking into the man’s arm as he heads for the front door. He doesn’t look back, even as he hears Randall call out to him one last time.

“I’m staying at the motel on Elm Street. If you change your mind.”

Tommy slams the door behind him, leaning against it as his heart pounds in his chest. His hands are shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s from anger, fear, or something else entirely. That’s not his father out there, he tells himself.

The little he knows of Randall Shepherd paints him as a liar and a deadbeat. The fact that he’s here now means even less when Tommy considers his real father, the Vision. A genius, a hero.

That isn’t his father. Even if his body seems to feel differently.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Fall River Herald-News
BREAKING NEWS | LOCAL

‘Horrific’ Crime Scene Discovered in Abandoned Factory
By Carlos Mendes, Crime Reporter
Published 6:58 a.m. EST, October 23, 2026

Fall River, MA—An abandoned textile factory on Quarry Street became the centre of a grisly investigation Sunday morning after police responded to reports of smoke and a foul odour coming from the premises.

Upon entry, Fall River Police discovered the body of an unidentified male, believed to be in his late 40s, surrounded by what officers describe as “disturbing ritualistic elements.” Sources close to the investigation claim symbols were found burned into the concrete floor.

“This was not random,” Police Chief Samuel Shaw said. “It’s a very specific, deliberate scene. We’re working to identify both the victim and whoever may be responsible.”

Local historian Harold Grieves noted that the factory has long been associated with ghost stories and urban legends dating back to its closure in the 1970s.

Fall River PD has increased patrols in the area and urged residents to remain vigilant.

Chapter 12: CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Rio 💀 
+253 0110-010

Hey so I think we might have a problem

My dad showed up

I mean not MY dad

Tommy’s dad

Look I could really use my court-appointed
FBI agent guardian for this one.

Call me when you can

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Billy waits by the bleachers, backpack slung over one shoulder, bouncing lightly on his toes to shake off the early morning chill.  The football field is empty, dew still clinging to the grass, but the faint hum of life in Eastview High grows louder with every passing minute.

Tommy turns up about fifteen minutes before the first bell, still wearing the hoodie from last night, the shadow of exhaustion etched into his face.

“Hey, jailbird.” Billy calls tentatively.

“Please,” Tommy rolls his eyes, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket as he slouches into the space beside Billy. “That was the cushiest four hours I’ve ever spent in custody.”

“Well? What’d you find?” Billy asks as they head inside, out of earshot of the early arrivals milling around the parking lot. “And how’d you wind up with the cops?”

Tommy explains what he and America discovered in blunt terms: the tip from Stoner Dave, the bar altercation with Wayne, the alien feeling of a sudden rage, the uptick of violence alluded to by Detective Daniels.

Billy’s eyes light up, a spark of excitement catching in his voice. “This is great!”

“You could sound a little less excited.” Tommy snorts with no small amusement.

“I mean, that sounds like Astaroth’s MO, right? Stirring up chaos, feeding off the negativity. It’s classic demon behaviour.”

Tommy raises a brow. “You say that like there’s a handbook for this kind of thing.”

“There is,” Billy says dismissively. “I read it last month. Well, most of it. The boring parts, not so much.”

Tommy sighs. “Of course, you did. But hey, if you’re so jazzed about this, why don’t we go back to Springfield tonight? You could even bring your demon handbook. Make it a real party.”

Billy’s smile falters, his brow furrowing. “I don’t know if we’re ready. I’m still trying to find some spell that can trap it let alone kill it, you know?”

“Maybe America can find something.” Tommy says bitterly. “Since she’s the only one not trapped here for the day.”

Billy watches him for a beat, then shifts the topic, sensing the need to tread lightly. “You okay, man? You just…you seem kind of on edge.”

Tommy stiffens, his smirk vanishing. “Yeah, well, I had a visitor waiting for me last night. Tommy’s dad’s back in town.”

Billy tilts his head, curious. “As in your biological dad?”

Tommy snorts, shaking his head. “Yep. Popped up on my porch last night like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Wants to talk or something.”

“And?” Billy says cautiously. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Tommy repeats, his voice sharp. “I think the guy split before Tommy hit high school. What am I supposed to do? Hug him? Thank him for the years of absolute nothing?”

Billy hesitates, then speaks cautiously. “I mean, it doesn’t sound like a bad thing to have athe guy around. Maybe he’s trying to make up for lost time?”

Tommy’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. “He’s even not my dad, Billy.”

“I know,” Billy flusters. “But, you know, he’s…well, he’s sort of your dad, right?”

“I already have a father, Billy.” Tommy snaps. “I don’t need or want another one. Especially not some loser who ran off to Miami with his damn secretary.”

Billy frowns, unsure how to respond. “Okay, I get it. But… what if he’s changed? What if he’s—”

“Stop,” Tommy cuts him off, his voice low and firm. “Just stop. You don’t get it.”

Billy shifts uncomfortably, guilt flickering across his face. “Maybe I don’t,” he admits quietly. “I mean, I was lucky. The Kaplans… they’re amazing.”

“Yeah. And they’re yours. But Wanda and Vision, those are my real parents,” Tommy snaps, his voice rising before he reins it in. “They’re the only ones who ever gave a damn about me. And then they were gone, and I got stuck with her.”

Billy winces at the venom in Tommy’s voice, knowing he’s referring to Mary Shepherd. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Tommy mutters, cutting him off again. His shoulders sag, the anger bleeding out of him. “I just… I don’t want to deal with him, okay? I’ve got enough crap to worry about without adding ‘deadbeat dad reunion’ to the list.”

Billy studies him, the weight of Tommy’s words settling over them. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Okay, sure. Whatever you say.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Deadbeat
+523 2304-246

Hey Tommy, I just had another talk with your mom.

She mentioned she signed some paperwork for your
new guardian but she doesn’t have a copy of it for me to
look at.

If you have a chance, can you send my number on to
your FBI guardian?

Why bother?

Because like it or not, I’m your father, kid.

What, you gonna fight for custody now?

Maybe.

Would that be so bad?

You belong with family, Tommy.

That doesn’t mean you

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

The cafeteria buzzes with the usual lunchtime chaos: laughter, shouted conversations, and the clatter of trays. Billy sits across from Tommy, picking at his salad while Jon Gallo balances a pile of meatballs and spaghetti on his tray as he joins them.

“So…” Jon says, casually twirling his fork. “How exactly does someone end up in custody in Springfield on a school night?”

Tommy freezes mid-bite, his sandwich hovering in front of his mouth. “Long story,” he mutters.

Billy, ever the diplomat, tries to smooth it over. “It’s not really what it sounds like. It was just… a misunderstanding.”

Jon raises an eyebrow, his curiosity clearly piqued. “A misunderstanding that involved the cops?”

Tommy shrugs, swallowing his bite with a dramatic lack of care. “Yeah, well, Springfield’s cops are kind of trigger-happy, you know? One wrong look, and suddenly you’re in the back of a squad car. It’s a thing.”

Jon doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it drop, reaching for another meatball. “If you say so.”

Billy shoots Tommy a look, silently begging him to stop being so Tommy about it, but his brother is already pulling out his phone, scrolling through his messages with the speed of someone who doesn’t want to be part of the conversation anymore.

That’s when Tommy’s face darkens, his jaw tightening as he reads something on the screen.

“What is it?” Billy asks, concerned.

“Nothing,” Tommy snaps, shoving the phone into his pocket.

Billy doesn’t buy it. “Is it about your dad?”

Tommy slams his hand on the table, rattling Jon’s fries and earning a few curious glances from nearby students.

“He’s not my dad,” Tommy says, his voice low but laced with venom. “And I’m not going to say it again, Billy. Just because you’ve got your picture-perfect family doesn’t mean—”

“Hey,” Jon cuts in, his tone cautious but firm, “not to interrupt your… whatever this is…but isn’t that America at the door?”

Both brothers turn to see America leaning casually against the cafeteria doorway, her arms crossed and her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. She makes eye contact with Tommy, then waves both arms in an exaggerated motion to get his attention.

Before either of them can react, Tommy’s phone buzzes again. He pulls it out, reads the message, and groans.

“What is it now?” Billy mutters.

Tommy tosses the phone onto the table so Billy can see the screen. The message from America reads: Your hot scary FBI mom is back in town. She’s signing you out for last period. Good luck surviving that conversation.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Your what now?”

“Longer story,” Tommy mutters, standing up and grabbing his tray. “Guess I’m out for the day. See you around.”

Jon looks at Billy, confused. “FBI mom?”

Billy sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. Tommy’s complicated.”

And ain’t that the damn truth.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Tommy enters the school administration office in a huff, his mood souring with every passing second.

He spots Rio immediately: rigid, arms crossed, expression hovering somewhere between detached irritation and murderous intent. In front of her, an unfamiliar woman—bright-eyed and oblivious—rattles on with painful enthusiasm.

“…and really, with your skills—I mean, FBI and all—you’d be perfect for organizing the Fall Bake Sale security! It’s just cupcakes and brownies, but you never know these days. You could really elevate the whole thing!”

If he wasn’t so goddamn annoyed, Tommy could’ve laughed out loud at the absurdity of Death being roped into PTA nonsense. But as the air around Rio seems to actually chill, Tommy decides to intervene before someone ends up skinned alive.

“Hey,” he calls, loudly enough to startle the PTA mom. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Rio’s eyes flick to him, unreadable as ever. She turns back to the PTA mom, her tone clipped and final. “Excuse me. Family emergency.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabs Tommy by the arm and marches him down the hall, her heels clicking sharply against the tile. She steers him into a nearby empty office and shuts the door behind them with a decisive snap.

“Okay,” Tommy says, leaning against a desk and crossing his arms. “What’s the emergency?”

Rio doesn’t waste time. “Why am I getting calls that Randall Shepherd wants to fight for custody of you?”

Tommy blinks, then snorts. “What? That’s insane. He can’t—he wouldn’t—” He straightens up, his voice rising. “The guy hasn’t been in Tommy’s life for, like, ever.”

Rio gives him a pointed look. “Apparently, he thinks otherwise. And you need to handle it. Fast.”

“Handle it?” Tommy echoes, incredulous. “What do you think I’m gonna do? Tell him to take a hike? He doesn’t care what I say!”

“Then make him care,” Rio says flatly, her dark eyes locking onto his. “Do whatever it takes. What you don’t do is let him drag you to Miami.”

Tommy stiffens. “Is that what this is about? He wants me to move to Miami?”

“Yes,” Rio replies, her tone clipped. “And in case it isn’t obvious, Miami is not near Billy.”

Tommy stares at her, thrown by the sharp edge of concern buried in her words. “Why do you care if I’m near Billy? You barely like either of us most of the time.”

Rio arches an eyebrow, deadpan as ever. “You’re part of something much bigger than your teenage melodrama, Shepherd. My job is to maintain the balance of life, not cater to your feelings.”

Tommy smirks, unable to resist teasing. “Oh, I get it. You just don’t want to be stuck in that creepy empty house of yours.”

Rio’s lips twitch—almost a smile, but not quite. “Cute. But no. If I wanted companionship, I’d get a puppy. You, however, are tied to something much more important, and your proximity to Billy matters.”

Her tone shifts, steel-hard again. “Handle Randall. Quickly. I won’t tell you again.”

Before Tommy can respond, she vanishes, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of rain and the lingering tension of her presence.

Tommy sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Cool. No pressure,” he mutters, stepping out of the office.

As he heads down the hall toward the exit, America catches up to him, falling into step with her usual casual ease.

“So,” she says, glancing at him, “how’d it go with your terrifying FBI mom?”

“Not my mom,” Tommy replies dryly. “And don’t think I’m forgetting you called her hot.”

“I have eyes, dude.” America retorts pointedly. “Anyway, what’d she want? She came back to the house out of nowhere, scared the hell out of me and then announced she was coming to get you.”

“She told me I need to take care of Randall before she decides to do it herself.”

America raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, clearly sensing his mood. “Ominous. Fine, then I’m heading to Billy’s place this afternoon. Figured I’d dig into more of the Astaroth stuff, maybe connect a few dots on the Springfield mess.”

Tommy nods, distracted. “Yeah, good idea. Let me know if you find anything.”

“What about you?” America asks.

“I’ve got a deadbeat to take care of,” Tommy says vaguely. He glances at her and offers a quick grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave him in one piece.”

America doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it slide, giving him a mock salute as they part ways outside.

Tommy watches her go and then opens his phone, scrolling to the slew of messages from Randall himself.

Meet me at the coffee shop on Main Street. One hour.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

C:\Users\WKaplan\Desktop\Witch101\Recordings\witch102_oct_24.mp3
0:40:22  |                            01:59:13

“- with runes? I mean, aren’t they kind of a waste of time?”

“Spoken like a sorcerer. Runes are archaic, powerful binding agents. You can do more with a rune than you could with those ridiculous little rings.”

“You mean the slingies?”

“Is that what they call them these days? Goddess, how insufferable.”

“…what is going on here?”

“Oh, hey Billy. Agatha and I were just talking about the differences between witchcraft and sorcery. Turns out there’s more to it than I thought.”

“Honestly Teen, I leave you alone for a few weeks and you slip into sorcery? Pathetic, this is not how I raised you.”

“Okay, I think I hate the two of you talking but we’ll get to that. Agatha, are you back?”

“Not for long, kid. But Rio and I were in the area, we figured we’d check in. Especially about the trouble this Randall guy is stirring up.”

“Yeah, Tommy’s kind of going through it.”

“Oh? Is he the only one?”

“What do you mean?”

“America gave you up, kid. I know about boytoy moving.”

“America!”

“I’m sorry, I thought she knew already! She’s, like, your mentor, isn’t she?”

“When she deigns to come visit me, sure.”

“Don’t be a sourpuss. I told you, this is important. Rio and I cleared out a nest in Connecticut two days ago that was infesting half the town.”

“I mean, that’s good, I guess. So where’s Tommy?”

“I dunno. He took off when Rio signed him out of school, said he had a deadbeat to take care of.”

“He’s not answering his phone.”

“Leave the kid alone, Teen. Come sit by your Auntie Agatha and explain what the hell you’re doing with half the world’s sources on demons under your bed?”

“Why were you snooping under my bed?”

“I’m a naturally inquisitive soul, what can I say? Now spill.”

“We’ve been working on it, for the past few months. Me, America, Tommy.”

“Yes, this new little weirdo you adopted mentioned. Good catch, kid. She’s got an aura the size of Texas and it dazzles like a Vegas showgirl.”

“Umm…thanks?”

“So what have you and that brother of yours been sticking your nose into this time?”

“Wait, brother? I thought you guys were just friends?”

“We are. Agatha just calls us that sometimes.”

“…sure I do. So?”

“So what?”

“So what, he asks. So, where have you gotten to in the search? Impress me, Teen.”

“Well, we figured out that one of the demons can’t travel without a dragon so he’s pretty much stuck in Springfield.”

“Now that is its own kind of torture. But it’s a good start. Tell me everything.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

The coffee shop is too quaint for Tommy’s mood, all mismatched chairs and fairy lights strung haphazardly around the walls. It smells like burnt espresso and cinnamon, and the low hum of indie music playing over the speakers makes his skin itch.

He slouches in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glares at the man sitting across from him.

Randall Shepherd is trying too hard. He’s clean-shaven and dressed in a button-down shirt that looks suspiciously new, but there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead that the shop’s weak air conditioning won’t explain away.

He looks like a man who hasn’t been able to decide if he’s here to apologize or sell something.

“So,” Randall starts, stirring his coffee with one of those wooden sticks. “How’s school?”

Tommy blinks. “Seriously? School?”

Randall chuckles awkwardly, but it comes out as more of a cough. “Yeah, I mean. You’re what, a junior? That’s a big deal, right? College, SATs, all that stuff.”

Tommy stares at him. “I asked you so we could discuss what this is really about.”

Randall hesitates, his gaze darting to the table. He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that grates on Tommy’s nerves. “Look, son, I just—”

“Don’t call me that,” Tommy snaps.

Randall flinches but recovers quickly, raising his hands as though to placate him. “Alright. Fine. Tommy. I just…wanted to see you. You’re my kid. It’s been a long time, and I thought maybe we could, I don’t know, catch up?”

Tommy narrows his eyes, trying to get a read on him. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had Billy’s mind-reading powers. Is this guy for real? Does he actually want to spend time with him, or is this some elaborate con?

And if he’s genuine, Tommy thinks grimly, what the hell is he supposed to say? How does he explain that he’s not the Tommy Shepherd this guy remembers? That he’s a reincarnated soul who stole someone else’s life, someone else’s body, someone else’s parents?

His stomach churns as the guilt creeps in, sharp and bitter. He’s taken everything from the original Tommy Shepherd. His friends, his life, his family. Who’s to say the real Tommy wouldn’t be happy to see this man? Maybe he’d be glad to have a father back in his life.

But even as the thought crosses his mind, it’s drowned out by a flood of memories. His memories. His real parents: Wanda and Vision. Wanda’s soft voice as she read to him at night, Vision’s patient, steady hand at his back. They loved him. Cherished him. Protected him. His father was a hero in every sense of the word, and Tommy can’t fathom replacing him. Not like Billy did.

“Tommy?” Randall’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

“What?” Tommy mutters, glaring at the table.

“I was saying,” Randall continues, carefully, “that this guardian of yours—the FBI agent lady—she seems to have taken a real shine to you.”

Tommy tenses, instantly suspicious. “What about her?”

Randall leans back in his chair, his smile tight. “Well, if she’s interested in making the guardianship permanent, I might be willing to, you know, sign over my parental rights. Make it official.”

Tommy’s blood runs cold. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Randall says, and now his voice has that slick, practiced edge that sets off every alarm bell in Tommy’s head, “if she’s serious about keeping you, I’m sure we could work something out. A little…compensation, maybe? For my trouble?”

Tommy stares at him, disbelief crashing into fury so fast it makes his head spin. “Are you—are you serious right now?”

Randall doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. “Hey, I’m just saying, it’d be better for everyone. She clearly cares about you, right? And I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Tommy growls, his voice low and dangerous.

Randall raises his hands again, palms out. “Okay, okay. No need to get worked up.”

Tommy shoves his chair back with a screech, the sound cutting through the coffee shop’s mellow ambiance like a knife. “You’re unbelievable,” he spits, grabbing his bag.

“Tommy, wait,” Randall starts, but Tommy’s already storming toward the door.

“Don’t bother,” Tommy snaps over his shoulder. “I don’t need you. I already have a dad, and he’s ten times the man you could ever be.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, slamming the door behind him as he steps out into the brisk afternoon air. His hands are shaking, his chest tight with rage, disgust, and something he doesn’t want to name.

He pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he texts Billy he’s on his way. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he gets there, but one thing’s for sure: he’s done with Randall Shepherd.

Rio can gut him for all his cares.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

BILLY 🪄
+416 3928-223

God, this guy is SUCH an asshole

I’m coming over

If I have to spend one more second
looking at his face I might break it

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

You have one (1) missed call from Tommy.
You have one (1) new voicemail, received October 24 at 5:34 pm.

“Hey, it’s Billy. Just hang up and text me.”

“I’m serious man, I just- ugh this guy! Like, why the hell do you even become a parent if all you’re gonna do is torture your kid? Him and Mary deserve each other, they both suck. Whatever, I’m coming over, I’ll be there soon.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy doesn’t bother knocking as he stomps into the Kaplan house, slamming the front door behind him loud enough to rattle the windows. He can only be glad neither Rebecca nor Jeffrey are actually home because he likes them and he wouldn’t want to disappoint them by being a total raging dick in front them.

But his temper is wound into a storm as he storms upstairs, throwing open the door to Billy’s room. Billy, America, and Agatha look up from where they’re sprawled in various positions; Billy has notepaper out and seems to be explaining the Springfield crime wave to his mentor.

“Randall Shepherd,” Tommy announces, his voice sharp and furious, “is officially the worst human being on the planet.”

Agatha raises an eyebrow. “A bold claim.”

Billy frowns, pushing himself up from his slouched position. “What happened?”

Tommy doesn’t slow down, pacing across the room and throwing his hands up. “What happened? Oh, nothing much, except that that deadbeat son of a—” He cuts himself off, his face darkening. “—thinks he can just stroll into Tommy’s life after six years and sell me off to Rio like I’m some piece of property.”

“What does that mean?” Billy frowns.

“Apparently he’s fine signing over parental rights as long as there’s cash involved.” Tommy’s voice is dripping with venom, and he stops pacing to glare at Billy. “And this is the guy you think I should give a chance to?”

Billy holds his hands up in defence. “I didn’t say you had to—”

“I don’t care what you said!” Tommy snaps, his voice rising. “This isn’t some happy Hallmark family reunion, Billy! I don’t want him in my life, and I don’t need him! I already had a dad—someone who actually gave a damn about me!”

“Technically,” Agatha interjects, unfazed, “Your real father wasn’t a man. He was a synthezoid. A robot, if we’re being crude.”

America sits up straighter, blinking. “Wait, what? What do you mean, a robot?”

“Not now,” Billy says quickly, shooting Agatha a warning look. He turns back to Tommy, his expression softening. “Look, I get that you’re upset, and you don’t have to welcome him back—”

“Don’t patronize me, Billy!” Tommy shouts, his hands clenched into fists. “You don’t get it! You don’t get what it was like thinking all you have for family is Mary and Randall! You had the Kaplans—parents who actually loved you, who actually wanted you! Meanwhile, I got stuck with two selfish, shitty people who never should’ve had a kid in the first place!”

Billy flinches, visibly hurt, but before he can respond, Agatha sighs dramatically. “Alright, that’s enough, scarlet-spawn.”

Before Tommy can tell her to shove it, a tiny hitch of breath cuts him off.

America is suddenly staring at Tommy and Billy like they’re ticking time bombs.

“You’re Billy and Tommy.”

Billy throws Tommy a bewildered side eye. “Um…yes?”

“No, I mean, you’re…you’re her Billy and Tommy.” America shakes her head, her gaze locking onto Tommy like he’s grown a second head. “I can’t…why didn’t you tell me?”

Tommy stops mid-rant, blinking. “What the hell are you talking about? Tell you what?”

“You’re Wanda’s kids.” She spits the word like it stings her lips to say it.

Billy frowns, caught off guard. “America, how do you know about—”

America doesn’t let him finish. Her voice is grim, her expression etched with dread. “Because Wanda Maximoff is the witch who tried to kill me.”

Notes:

WOOP THERE IT IS

Chapter 13: CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

“That’s not true.”

“Tommy-”

“It’s not true.” He says firmly, staring at America like she’s suddenly become a stranger.

“I’m not a liar.” She argues back angrily. “Wanda got her hands on the Darkhold and it twisted her mind until she was ready to do whatever she had to get what she wanted.”

Tommy’s jaw tightens, but America doesn’t slow down. “She went looking for you—her kids—in the multiverse. She wanted to take them, even if they weren’t you anymore. And to do that, she needed my powers. Powers she could only get by killing me.”

Billy’s breath catches in his throat. “She was looking for us?”

America laughs sharply, her arms crossed. “Not in the way you’re thinking. She wasn’t looking to bake you cookies or knit you sweaters. She tore apart universes and didn’t care who got hurt in the process. She nearly killed me, Billy. She would’ve succeeded if Stephen hadn’t helped me stop her.”

“Stopped her how?” Tommy’s voice is low, dangerous, his fists clenching at his sides.

America hesitates, her expression darkening. “We fought her. Strange and I. In the end…she destroyed herself. Or maybe the Darkhold destroyed her. I don’t know. All I know is that she’s gone. Dead. And not a moment too soon.”

“That’s not true,” Tommy snaps, stepping forward. His voice shakes, but his eyes blaze with anger. “She wouldn’t do that. My mom would never do that.”

America turns on him, her own anger flaring. “Are you kidding me?”

“She loved us!” Tommy yells, his voice breaking. “She would never hurt anyone like that, let alone murder someone for their power! That’s not who she was!”

“She had me on a slab ready to murder me, Tommy!” America shouts back, her own agony in her voice. “Do you know how long it took me to stop picturing that when I closed my eyes? Your mom was a monster! She was twisted by her own damn grief and power, and she didn’t care who she destroyed to get what she wanted!”

“Stop it!” Billy’s voice cuts through their argument, sharp and desperate. He looks pale, his hands trembling as he grips the edge of his desk. “Just…stop.”

Tommy rounds on him, his face twisted with disbelief. “You’re going to believe her? After everything Mom did for us?”

Billy shakes his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was looking for us, Tommy. She thought we were dead. And…and I was hidden from her. I didn’t even give her a chance to find me.”

“That’s not the point!” Tommy’s voice cracks, and he presses his palms to his temples as though trying to block out the conversation. “She’s wrong. This is all wrong.”

“Why?” America sneers, uncharacteristically vicious in this moment as her own anguish comes roaring to the surface. “Because she was an Avenger? Because she was a hero-?”

“BECAUSE I CAN’T HAVE TWO SHITTY MOMS, OKAY!?”

The silence that falls after those words is deafening.

And before anyone can respond, Tommy disappears in a blur of silver, the gust of wind from his departure rattling the papers on the floor.

America stares at the empty space where he stood, her fists clenched at her sides. “I’m not a liar,” she says, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “I’m not.”

“I know you’re not,” Billy says quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. “He just…he can’t handle it right now.”

“Yeah, well, neither can I.” America’s voice hardens, and she takes a step back, her hands glowing faintly with star-shaped energy.

“America, come on-”

“No.” she looks back at him with a disgusted look. “No, I never should’ve trusted a witch.”

Billy flinches at the words, but before he can say anything, America vanishes into a star-shaped portal that snaps shut behind her.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @holimoli_44
Updated: 24/10/2026    18:21:56 EST
See previous messages

billiam.k: Hey have you heard from tommy?

holimoli_44: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: no

holimoli_44: why

holimoli_44: is he okay??

billiam.k: not even a little bit

billiam.k: I think he just needs some time to cool off but can you call me if you hear from him?

holimoli_44: you’re worrying me. should I be worrying?

billiam.k: please Lisa?

holimoli_44: ofc I will. Can you message me if you hear from him too?

billiam.k: as soon as I do I promise.

holimoli_44: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: is it bad?

billiam.k: idk

billiam.k: but its not good

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy doesn’t stop running until the world feels like a blur of sound and motion, the wind whipping at his face as he pushes himself further and faster. He doesn’t know where he’s going—he only knows that he has to get away.

Away from Billy, from America, from every single word that seems to have embedded itself under his skin like shards of glass.

By the time he finally skids to a stop, his lungs are burning and his legs ache, a sensation he barely remembers how to feel. He’s standing on a rocky cliff, the Atlantic Ocean roaring below, the air salty and sharp. The horizon is endless, gray skies bleeding into darker waters.

For a moment, he just stares, the weight in his chest crushing, suffocating. Then the scream tears out of him, raw and guttural, splitting the air.

It doesn’t help.

He screams again, louder this time, his hands clenched into fists so tight his nails bite into his palms.

He hates them. All of them. He hates America for telling him the truth. He hates his mom—his real mom—for ruining everything he thought he knew about her. For proving that even she could be broken, monstrous.

And Billy—Billy with his perfect Kaplan parents and perfect life—he hates him, too. For pulling Tommy into a life where his so-called parents are selfish and cruel. For never understanding how much it hurts to lose the only parents who ever really loved him.

But most of all, Tommy hates himself. For caring. For feeling anything at all. For wishing even now that he had just one parent who loved him.

The wind howls around him, matching the fury that churns in his chest. He sinks to his knees on the jagged rocks, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.

“You done screaming yet?”

The voice is familiar—low, calm, and annoyingly deadpan. Tommy jerks his head up to see Rio standing a few feet away, her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She doesn’t look particularly concerned, but then, she never does.

“What do you want?” Tommy snaps, his voice hoarse from yelling.

Rio shrugs. “To make sure you don’t throw yourself into the ocean. It’d be annoying to have to fish you out.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, more of a scoff. “Don’t worry. I’m not suicidal.”

“Good.” Rio takes a step closer, studying him with her unnervingly sharp eyes. “Let it all out. Better here than somewhere you’ll regret later.”

Tommy looks away, staring at the waves crashing against the rocks. “You don’t get it.”

“I do, actually,” she says, her tone as matter-of-fact as ever. “Better than you’d think.”

He glares at her, his voice sharp. “Oh, really? You understand what it’s like to find out your mom was a monster? That everything you thought you knew about her was a lie?”

Rio’s expression doesn’t change. If the words sting, she doesn’t show it. “I know what it’s like to lose someone to the Darkhold, Tommy Shepherd.”

Tommy hesitates, thrown off by her bluntness.

She sits down on a nearby rock, folding her legs beneath her. “The power in that book makes monsters, Tommy. It corrupts, twists. It’s not an excuse—it’s a fact. But even without it, mothers…” She pauses, her gaze distant. “Mothers will do horrifying things for their children. I’ve seen it before. Lived it before.”

Tommy snorts bitterly. “What, you and Agatha?”

She won’t confirm or deny it, simply says, “Let’s just say this isn’t my first rodeo.”

For a while, neither of them speaks. The ocean fills the silence, endless and indifferent.

“I miss her,” Tommy admits finally, his voice barely audible over the wind. “Wanda, I…I miss her so much it feels like I’m empty on the inside.”

Rio doesn’t move, doesn’t offer empty platitudes. She just sits there, her presence solid and steady.

“But right now, I hate her,” Tommy continues, his voice trembling. “And I hate myself for hating her. I…I don’t know what to do with all of this.”

“You grieve,” Rio says simply. “For the mother you had, and the one you didn’t. It doesn’t have to make sense. It doesn’t have to be easy. It just is.”

Tommy buries his face in his hands, tears he doesn’t want slipping through his fingers. Rio doesn’t reach out, doesn’t offer comfort in the way most people would. But she doesn’t leave, either.

Her presence isn’t warm, isn’t gentle, but it’s there. It’s enough.

When Tommy finally looks up, his face streaked with tears, she meets his gaze evenly. “Feel better?”

“No,” he mutters. But there’s a weight that feels just a little lighter in his chest.

Rio stands, brushing off her jacket. “Good enough. Now get up. We’ve got work to do.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Eddie
+416 2242-044

I really screwed up.

 

I doubt that somehow

What happened?

It’s complicated

We found some stuff out
about our mom

Our other mom I mean

Tommy isn’t handling it well

…bad stuff?

Yeah

And how’re you handling it?

Typing…

I don’t know

I

I thought I got her, you know?

And now I just

You just what?

I’m wondering if I ever knew her at all

 

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

BILLY 🪄
+416 3928-223

Tommy please

Just send me a text or something so
I know you’re alive??

It’s been two days, man

I can’t lose you all over again

Tommy, please.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The three days since Tommy’s abrupt departure feel like an eternity.

School passes in a fog of monotony, each bell signalling the start or end of something he’s only half aware of. He goes through the motions—sitting in class, taking notes, answering the occasional question when called on—but his mind is elsewhere, tangled in a web of guilt, regret, and unanswered questions.

Tommy hasn’t been to school since the blow up with America. Billy isn’t surprised, but that doesn’t make it any easier. There’s a gaping hole in the space beside him where Tommy used to hover and without him, Billy feels off-balance, out-of-sync with the rest of the world.

Jon notices. Of course, he notices.

They’ve become better friends through the shared torment of after-school tutoring and they sit side by side in most classes. Jon doesn’t say anything outright, but he doesn’t have to. Billy can feel his eyes on him every so often, quiet but searching. He knows Jon is worried for Tommy—has been for days—but Billy hasn’t found the words to explain. He isn’t sure he even knows how.

The guilt is the worst part. It digs deep, relentless, whispering that this is his fault. That he should have seen Tommy’s pain earlier, should have done more. Should have been better. Because the truth is, he did know better. From the start, he knew that night on the Road, that he was sending his brother into a life that wouldn’t care for him, to people who didn’t love him like he deserved.

From what Tommy has said, Mary Shepherd was neglectful at best and cruel at worst, introducing a string of shitty boyfriends who took out their frustrations on Tommy whenever they felt like it. And Randall…well, Randall is something else entirely.

Then there was Billy, reincarnated into a life he didn’t remember but had stumbled into, luckier than he could have imagined. The Kaplans had taken him in without question, had loved him, supported him, protected him, even when they didn’t understand. Especially when they didn’t understand.

Even though he’s only had them four years, he loves them as if he’s had them forever. But that love comes with complications. Wanda and Vision were his parents first, and yet, he’s always felt reluctant to claim them. It feels like a betrayal somehow—as though claiming Wanda means rejecting Rebecca. He can’t bear to hold them both in his heart at the same time so he avoided the comparison entirely including the memories that might have resurfaced if he tried too hard to connect with the past.

That reluctance has blinded him to Tommy’s reality. Where Billy found a second chance with the Kaplans, Tommy had been shoved into a life of disappointment and heartbreak. It isn’t fair.

The weight of it sits heavy on his chest, made heavier by the truth America had revealed to him.

The woman America described sounded nothing like the mother Billy had once known—or the one Tommy still idolized. The Wanda he knew was brave and tenacious and fierce and so, so gentle. She had a smile that could lift every pain out of his chest at once and she utterly cherished him and Tommy, like they were the sole reason for her very being.

But the Scarlet Witch was a hero to Billy and a nightmare to America and both of these things are somehow true.

Billy finds himself thinking back to those last desperate days hunting for Tommy, that guttural pain he felt when it seemed as though his brother might be lost to him. He knew that grief for months. Wanda had suffered through it for years and all alone too.

If Billy had just looked for her sooner, would it have made a difference? Could he have saved her? Could he have spared America from the nightmare Wanda had unleashed? If he’d tried to break his sigil, could she have found him? Could she have brought Tommy back without subjecting him to the Shepherds?

The final bell rings, snapping Billy out of his thoughts. He gathers his books and heads to after-school tutoring, where Jon is waiting.

The session is quiet, their conversation limited to calculus problems and the occasional joke from Jon to lighten the mood. But by the end, as they’re packing up, Jon finally speaks.

“You’ve been off these last few days,” he says, his voice careful. “Is everything okay?”

Billy hesitates, his hands stilling on the zipper of his backpack. He could brush it off, make an excuse, but the concern in Jon’s voice feels genuine.

“I…” Billy starts, then falters. “It’s complicated.”

Jon doesn’t push, just nods. “Okay. Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m around.”

The words are simple, but they’re enough to make Billy pause. He glances at Jon, who’s watching him with an expression that’s equal parts curiosity and patience.

“Do you…” Billy says slowly, the words awkward on his tongue. “Do you want to come to family movie night at my place? Tonight, I mean.”

It’s the one day of the week that Tommy is guaranteed to spend at his house. Rebecca insists on it. But he won’t be there tonight and Billy doesn’t want to sit on the couch with his perfect mom and incredible dad and a void where is brother should be.

Jon blinks, surprised, but his smile is immediate. “Yeah, sure. That sounds fun.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

REBECCA
+412 9824-638

Did you know Billy invited someone over?

No! I just came home and they were
sitting at the dining table

Huh

And?

And…they seem very comfortable
with each other.

You think this might be a

what do the kids call it

A soft launch?

I don’t care what it’s called

I haven’t seen him so relaxed since Rio
signed Tommy out of school to see that
custody specialist

I wish she would’ve asked me

I could’ve helped

I’m sure the bureau has their own counsel
Jeff don’t worry about it

Still. He’s doing so well with Rio

I don’t want his routine disrupted
by this Randall

Well I expect him back for next week’s
movie night. No excuses

You rule with an iron fist, my dear

Someone has to.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The Kaplan living room is warm and cosy, dimly lit by the glow of the TV screen. A large bowl of popcorn sits on the coffee table, next to an array of snacks Rebecca Kaplan prepared with her usual flair—neatly cut carrot sticks, hummus, and some chocolate-covered pretzels that are already half gone.

Jon is sitting on the couch beside Billy, leaning back in the cushions with an easy smile. He looks relaxed, comfortable, even as Billy can feel his parents’ quiet curiosity radiating from their seats across the room.

Rebecca had been all smiles when Billy introduced Jon. Warm, welcoming, and just nosy enough to make Billy want to crawl under the nearest piece of furniture.

“Jon! It’s so nice to finally meet one of Billy’s friends from school,” she’d said, giving her son a pointed look.

Billy had flushed a deep red, stammering something about calculus tutoring. Jon, mercifully, had just smiled and been polite, thanking Rebecca and Jeffrey for letting him crash their movie night.

Now, Billy sits stiffly on the couch, trying not to dwell on how Rebecca’s eyebrows had shot up in quiet amusement during the introductions. He focuses on the screen instead, though he barely registers what’s happening in the movie.

Next to him, Jon seems to be enjoying himself, laughing softly at the jokes and even grabbing a handful of popcorn at one point. Billy sneaks a glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

He’s glad Jon came, though he’s not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s the fact that Jon had noticed something was wrong and offered to listen. Maybe it’s the fact that, for once, Billy doesn’t feel so alone in all of this.

But halfway through the movie, the front door creaks open.

Billy tenses immediately. He knows who it is before he even hears the familiar rush of footsteps in the hallway.

Tommy appears in the doorway a moment later, his expression unreadable. He hesitates for a beat, taking in the scene—the Kaplans on the couch, Jon sitting beside Billy, the movie still playing in the background.

Then, without a word, Tommy crosses the room and sits down next to Billy on the couch.

Billy’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to risk breaking whatever fragile truce Tommy has extended by showing up here. But his heart feels like it might burst.

Tommy doesn’t look at him. He just sits there, staring straight ahead at the screen, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. But he’s here. He came back.

Billy shifts slightly, the movement subtle enough not to draw attention from anyone else in the room. Slowly, carefully, he nudges the popcorn bowl closer to Tommy, a small, silent offering.

Tommy glances at it out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, Billy thinks he might ignore it entirely. But then, without a word, Tommy reaches out and grabs a handful of popcorn, stuffing it into his mouth like nothing ever happened.

Billy swallows the lump in his throat and turns his attention back to the screen. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. For now, this is enough.

From across the room, Rebecca and Jeffrey exchange a quiet glance, and Billy knows they’ve noticed Tommy’s return. But they don’t say anything either, choosing instead to let the moment settle.

Jon, meanwhile, looks over at Tommy, then back at Billy. His expression is curious but kind, and when Billy finally dares to meet his eyes, Jon just smiles and pops another piece of popcorn into his mouth.

Billy exhales slowly. For the first time in days, he feels like he can breathe again.

Chapter 14: CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Burlington County Times
NEWS                         SPORTS                      ENTERTAINMENT               OPINIONS

Breaking News: Officer slain by local man, still at large
Alma Parrish, SouthJersey.com
Published 09:45 a.m. EST    Oct 29, 2026

Springfield, NJ— Springfield police are in mourning today after the shocking death of Detective Harriet Daniels, who was tragically shot and killed while attempting to arrest a wanted suspect in a violent altercation late yesterday afternoon.

Detective Daniels was pursuing local 43-year-old man, Wayne Delfino, when the fatal confrontation occurred. Delfino, who had been linked to a series of recent assaults in the area, was the subject of an arrest warrant issued earlier that day. According to police sources, Daniels was attempting to serve the warrant at the residence of Delfino’s girlfriend near downtown Springfield when Delfino opened fire, striking her before fleeing the scene.

“The loss of Detective Daniels is a devastating blow to our department and the community,” said Police Chief Paul Sellers in a statement. “She was a dedicated officer who gave her life in the line of duty, working tirelessly to protect the people of Springfield. Our thoughts are with her family, friends, and colleagues.”

The murder has sent shockwaves through Springfield, which has already been reeling from a recent spike in violent crime. Detective Daniels had been actively involved in investigating these crimes, including a disturbing wave of assaults and property damage that has plagued the city in recent weeks. A memorial fund has been established to support Detective Daniels’ family, and her colleagues in law enforcement are honouring her memory as an officer who was committed to justice and the safety of the community.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The Sanctum Sanctorum looms before them in an imposing, ornate gothic sprawl, the sharp lines of its architecture cutting through the overcast New York sky.

All Billy can focus on is the pit in his stomach that’s done nothing but grow heavier over the past few days. Tommy, on the other hand, walks ahead, his jaw set with the kind of stubbornness Billy has learned to recognize as the precursor to a storm.

They stand in front of the massive wooden doors for a long moment, each of them rugged up against the brisk cold of the oncoming east-coast winter. Billy can’t help but wonder if they’re doing the right thing. America deserves more than a half-hearted attempt to make up for everything that’s gone wrong.

Tommy knocks once, twice. No answer.

“Are you sure Agatha said this was the place?” he mutters to Billy who shrugs back.

“I mean, it looks like a wizard’s bachelor pad, doesn’t it?” he squints as he looks up, inspecting the architecture.

Tommy reaches out to knock again but the doors swing open before he can reach.

But the man on the other side is not America Chavez.

The sorcerer studies them closely. “I wondered if it was true.”

“Mr Strange,” Tommy says stiffly, despite knowing full well it’s ‘doctor’.

He’s still prickly where Strange is concerned; the man is responsible for the demise of their mother after all, whose only desire was to reunite with her children. Children that Strange refused to believe even existed.

Maybe Billy’s a little prickly too.

“Mr Maximoff.” His sharp-eyed gaze flits toward Billy and widens at the magic curling off the latter twin. “Well, that’s…unexpected.”

Billy forces his teeth to unclench. “We’re here to see America. Please.”

Strange ignores the request, still studying them both. “These aren’t your bodies. How are these not your bodies?” he murmurs, half to himself.

Tommy rolls his eyes impatiently and breezes past him, ignoring Strange’s cape as it flutters in warning. “We’re not here for you, wizard boy. America! Where are you?”

“By all means, come on in.” Strange says dryly. “Make yourselves at home.”

“Oh, cram it, Capes McGee.” Tommy mutters defiantly.

“Hey. You can’t talk to him like that.”

America stands at the top of the staircase, arms crossed like she’s holding herself back from smacking them both.

Billy steps around Strange to join his brother. “America, come on. We want to apologise, just give us five minutes-”

“Get bent.” America snaps and there’s a faint crackle of silvery light around her fist in warning. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Billy sighs dramatically. “Look, I didn’t want to break these out so soon but…”

The smell of garlic and melted cheese catches her attention instantly. “Are those…?”

“I worked in a pizzeria for like, half a month.” Tommy shrugs, holding up the plastic container filled with round dough crusts covered in marinara sauce, doused in melted cheese and studded with tiny pepperoni slices. “Reverse-engineering spherical pizza balls might be my finest and most meaningful contribution to humanity.”

Billy spies the corner of her mouth twitch, but she quickly schools her expression into a scowl. “One minute. That’s it.”

“You can use the parlour,” Strange chimes in, still looking equal parts unnerved and intrigued by the twins. “I have a few things to look up in the library anyway.”

Billy exhales a long, apprehensive sigh, exchanging a meaningful look with Tommy as they follow America into an adjacent study, piled high with all manner of curiosities and cursed objects. On any other day, he’d love to poke around but his attention remains fixed to the girl before them, to their friend who they’ve hurt.

The three of them take a seat at the large round table etched with archaic pattern in the middle of the room.

America picks at the pizza balls, not quite ready to drop her guard. “So? Start talking.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Tommy says, breaking the silence first. His voice is low, painfully sincere. “I was out of line, calling you a liar like that. For acting like you didn’t have every right to be angry.”

“Damn straight,” America mumbles around her third pizza ball.

“I was going through some stuff about my mom anyway and…” he sighs, weary. “You didn’t deserve to catch the brunt of it. It’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

“We’re sorry we didn’t tell you about us, too.” Billy adds, feeling more ashamed of himself with every word. “At first, we were just being cautious but you’re our friend and you deserved the truth.”

“Am I?” America studies them both carefully. “Because where I’m from, friends don’t lie to each other’s faces.”

“Yeah, that was a dick move.” Tommy agrees. “Especially when you’ve done nothing but help us.”

America ponders this for a moment, silently finishing another pizza ball. When she finishes the whole batch, she sets the plastic down on the table.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s okay what happened. But Wanda…in the end, I saw her. The real her, the mom who was trying to get to her kids no matter what. I know what that’s like, a little. I’d do anything to see my moms again.”

Billy chews his lip at first and then, tentatively: “What was she like? At the end?”

America winces. “I mean, it wasn’t a pretty picture. The Darkhold really messed her up good. But she destroyed it before it could destroy everything else. And she loved you guys. All of you, in every universe.” She adds, gentling her tone.

Unable to bear it, Tommy looks away for a moment with a quiet sniff.

“I’m sorry,” he says again simply. “For everything.”

Billy looks at America, his heart in his throat. “Do you forgive us?”

She hesitates, then nods, the tension between them easing just a little. “Sure. Once you slay a demon together, you’re kind of trauma-bonded, right?”

Billy lets out a breath, the tightness in his chest loosening ever so slightly. Maybe things aren’t perfect. Maybe they’ll never be. But this is something.

America stands up, pushing her chair back, and looks down at them. “I’m gonna stay here for a while,” she says, her voice firm, but there’s a trace of something softer beneath it. “It was always the plan, you know? I have to figure out how to control my powers. I’ve been putting it off for too long. The library here… I think it’ll help.”

“Are you sure?” Tommy asks, half-hopeful, half-teasing. “My place comes with a hot scary FBI lady who stares at you until you wake up.”

America’s smile is small but genuine. “You mean Death? Yeah, Agatha let that panda-weasel out of the bag already.” Her head cocks suddenly. “Wait, do you guys have-?”

“No.” The brothers reply forcefully in unison.

Her smile grows. “You’re missing out on that one.”

“So now what?” Tommy wonders aloud after a moment. “You still on Team Demonslayer?”

“Please,” America rolls her eyes. “I am Team Demonslayer. You’d be lost without me, let’s face it.”

“Oh, no argument there,” Billy says immediately, palms raised in surrender. “If we’re hunting Astaroth, I’m not doing it without you.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to second that.” Tommy adds emphatically. “You’re the only one with a demonic kill count, Chavez.”

America looks surprised and pleased by the words and it occurs to Billy that she’s been alone a lot longer than either him or Tommy. That maybe she’s been looking for somewhere to fit in too.

“Well, it’s good motivation to get my portals under control.” She says cheerfully as they stand to leave. “Someone has to save your skins; it might as well be me.”

They head back to the large, open foyer with its enormous circular glass window overhead and Billy marvels at the ambient magic brewing in the place, like a thunderstorm housed in a teacup. He knows Agatha doesn’t think much of sorcery and in his heart, he’ll always be a witch but there’s something about this place that draws his attention all the same.

Strange catches them on the front steps as they’re about to leave.

Tommy’s smile immediately drops. “What do you want, Glitter-fingers?”

The sorcerer’s brow twitches at the taunt, but he graciously chooses to ignore it. “One day, I’d like to know more about how you came to be here.” he says instead, his voice calm and mostly sincere. “But for now, I want you to know that if I had any notion that you were alive in this universe, I would have tried to help bring you back to your mother. I hope you can believe that.”

“You can’t understand how little that means to me, doctor dork.” Tommy deadpans and then heads down the walk-up stairs to the street below.

Billy watches him go with a small smirk he can’t quite suppress. “You wouldn’t have found me.” he tells Strange honestly. “No one could have.”

There’s a faint, arrogant gleam in Strange’s eye that suggests he disagrees with that statement. But if Billy had to put money on Stephen Strange versus Lilia’s sigil, he’d bet on Lilia every single time.

But Strange surprises him, producing a sheet of parchment seemingly out of nowhere. Etched on it is a list of dates, names, times, places and sorcery diagrams. “America told me about the demonic activity. I’ve been keeping an eye on the spread too.” He admits grimly. “It looks as though some force is cultivating nests throughout the north-east. I’ve had reports in Vermont, New Hampshire, as far south as Atlantic City.”

Billy warily accepts the parchment. “We’re working on it.”

“Take care, Billy Maximoff.” Strange says firmly. “This isn’t the work of a few middling monsters. I believe something is spearheading this attack in an effort to conceal a larger ploy.”

“Like what?”

Strange inclines his head. “We’ve had reports of a shapeshifter appearing throughout the area. Powerful, clever and exceptionally vicious.”

A powerful shapeshifter. Margali’s voice floats through his mind. And devious, far wilier than the others. It called itself a prince among demons.

Billy can feel that knot of dread in his stomach beginning to swell again. “Do you have any leads on what kind of demon it is at least?”

“We’ve only heard it referred to by a single name, nothing known in the old legends.” Strange hesitates and then gestures to the page where a word has been etched at the bottom of the parchment. “The Blackheart.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

ENCRYPTED STATUS UPDATE - TRANSMISSION

ORIGIN: Agent S. Digby, Sanctum Surveillance Team
TO: Division 12 – Super Surveillance Oversight, Director [REDACTED]
CC: Agent R. Fallon, S.W.O.R.D. Tactical Command
SENT 14:46:52     29/10/2026    [security code #### confirmed]

> Two (2) unknown adolescent males observed arriving at the New York Sanctum Sanctorum (Site_STRANGE2) at approximately 1100 hours. Unknown subjects engaged in verbal exchange with Strange at entrance, appearing agitated.

> Strange visibly perturbed by encounter. Subjects gained entry into the building and were inside for approximately thirty (30) minutes. At 1130 hours, subjects exited with a third unidentified individual observed on previous occasions (female, adolescent, Hispanic in appearance).

> No hostile actions observed. Individuals not seen engaging in any overtly suspicious behaviour at the time of observation. Strange did not exhibit any signs of distress after initial contact but appeared to exchange materials (details unclear, see attached photographs).

> Continued observation recommended for Site_STRANGE2; further investigation of adolescent subjects required.

END TRANSMISSION

Chapter 15: CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

In a spare moment between classes, Billy leans against the wall near his locker, flipping through his notebook while Tommy, perched precariously on the edge of the bench across from him, is scrolling on his phone with exaggerated disinterest.

“So, Saturday,” Tommy starts, not looking up, “America’s still down to go, right?”

Billy nods, his gaze fixed on his notes. “Yeah, as long as we don’t piss her off again before then.”

Tommy snorts. “Speak for yourself. She thinks I’m hilarious.”

Billy arches an eyebrow but doesn’t dignify the comment with a response.

“I reached out to Stoner Dave again, see if he can give us anything more useful this time.” Tommy adds, flicking his phone off and tucking it into his pocket. “The alternative is trying to contact Officer Daniels but she plays it pretty close to the vest.”

Billy closes his notebook and sighs. “I’m more worried about these binding spells. I should’ve asked Agatha to look them over again before she and Rio took off.”

“So she could expressly forbid you from hunting Astaroth?” Tommy deadpans. “Yeah, I don’t know how that would’ve gone down, bud.”

He chews on his lip anxiously. “Maybe we should postpone until they get back. If we’re not ready, I could get us killed.”

“Excuse you,” Tommy says cheerfully. “I can get myself killed, thank you very much.”

Before Billy can respond to that charming thought, a voice cuts in. “Uh, Billy?”

Both boys look up. Jon is standing a few feet away, shifting awkwardly on his feet, his expression caught somewhere between nervous and determined.

Billy straightens. “Oh, hey, Jon. What’s up?”

Jon glances at Tommy, then back at Billy. “Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you. Alone.”

Tommy smirks, catching the shift in Jon’s tone immediately. “Oho, someone’s got secrets,” he teases, standing and throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just go over there and eavesdrop like a normal person.”

“Tommy.” Billy warns, his face heating up.

Tommy holds his hands up in mock surrender, sauntering off but not far enough to completely disappear from view.

Billy turns back to Jon, his brow furrowed slightly. “What’s going on?”

Jon scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable but pushing through it. “I, uh… I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out this weekend? Like, on a date?”

Billy blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Of all the things he expected Jon to say, that was not on the list.

Jon misinterprets the silence and quickly adds, “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just thought—never mind, this was stupid—”

“No, no,” Billy interrupts, holding up a hand. “It’s not stupid. I’m just… surprised. That’s all.”

Jon looks at him cautiously. “But not… opposed?”

Billy smiles faintly. “Not opposed. Not in the slightest.”

He’d be lying if said he hadn’t thought about it once or twice. Jon is cute in a kind of rumpled, shy sort of way and frankly, he’s been a better friend to him and Tommy than either of them really deserved, always around to help no matter how weird it gets.

Jon chuckles, his posture relaxing slightly. “I mean, that’s a start huh?”

Billy hesitates, and then: “Jon, I…just so you know, I’m kind of still getting over my breakup with Eddie. It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just complicated. I don’t want to break your heart you know.”

Jon nods with a surprising confidence. “My heart’s pretty tough. I can handle ‘complicated.’”

Billy smiles again, this time more sincerely. “Okay. Then… yeah. Let’s go out.”

Jon grins, relief washing over his face. “Cool. Uh, I’ll text you later about where and when?”

“Sounds good,” Billy says, then freezes. “Wait, not, er, Saturday!”

“Oh?” Jon laughs, flashing an unexpectedly charming smile Billy finds exceedingly attractive. “Another hot date on the roster?”

“Tommy and I have a thing in Springfield.” He says awkwardly. “It might take up the day. But Sunday is cool, if that works for you?”

 “Sure. If you need someone to bail you out of custody, give me a call.” He gives him a small wave before heading off to class, and Billy turns back toward the bench just in time to see Tommy reappear, his grin so wide it’s practically splitting his face in two.

“Wow,” Tommy says, drawing the word out as he flops back onto the bench. “Billy Kaplan: heartthrob of Eastview High. Who’d have guessed?”

Billy groans, covering his face with his hands. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Tommy leans back, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m just saying, first Eddie, now Jon? What’s next, a line of admirers waiting outside your locker with flowers and chocolates?”

“Tommy.”

“America and I will have to devise some sort of feat of bravery to test the mettle of your suitors. I mean, you’re clearly a hot commodity—”

Billy glares at him, but his cheeks are flushed pink, and Tommy knows he’s won.

“You’re an ass.” Billy mutters, grabbing his bag and walking away.

Tommy hops up, following close behind. “You didn’t say no!”

Billy doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t push Tommy away, either.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @dave_diggity
Updated: 30/10/2026    11:04:58 EST
See previous messages

dave_diggity: Let’s hang out when you’re in town, properly this time.

tshep: Yeah, for sure.

dave_diggity: Also, I heard about your mom’s boyfriend. That’s tough.

tshep: Wait what?

tshep: What happened?

dave_diggity: You haven’t heard? It’s been all over the news.

tshep: What has???

dave_diggity: <sent you a link. Open?>

dave_diggity: That Wayne guy went nuts, killed a lady cop at your mom’s place.

tshep: <is typing…>

tshep: I had no idea. I didn’t hear any of this.

dave_diggity: Tough break, man. I heard they caught him a few days ago, he’s in lock up now. I thought your mom would’ve reached out.

tshep: No. She didn’t.

dave_diggity: Sorry to be the one to break the news.

tshep: It’s fine. Thanks, I’ll see you Saturday

dave_diggity: Sure, sounds good.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Halloween night drapes Eastview in a crisp chill, the muffled laughter of trick-or-treaters occasionally drifting in through the cracked window of his bedroom.

Billy barely notices. His desk is covered in open spell books, diagrams, and hastily scribbled notes, all illuminated by the flickering glow of a single candle. The parchment Stephen Strange gave him lies spread out across his desk, the ink lines and symbols sharp and precise.

Billy traces a finger over the runes, muttering under his breath. “Okay, so if this rune corresponds to a tracking sigil… and this one amplifies reach…” He flips to another page in his notebook, then another, his brow furrowed. “This should work. Yeah, it’ll work. Probably.”

He’s about to try his hand at mixing witchcraft and sorcery but with their upcoming trip to Springfield, Billy’s ready to take a chance or two to prepare himself.

He glances over his shoulder. The door to his room is firmly shut, though the faint hum of the TV downstairs reminds him that his parents are still awake. He takes a steadying breath and focuses.

The timing feels right. All Hallows’ Eve, a night where the barriers between worlds are thinner, where magic feels just a little more tangible. If there’s ever a chance to track Astaroth, it’s now.

Billy crouches on the floor, carefully redrawing the sigils with white chalk, the circle closing around him like a protective shell. He sets the candle at the circle’s centre, its flame flickering faintly, and places his hands palm-up on either side of it.

“Okay,” he whispers to himself. “Just focus. Take your time, Billy and just…focus…”

He begins chanting, his voice soft but growing steadier with each repetition of the spell.

The candle’s flame flickers wildly, then steadies, growing taller and brighter as the air in the room grows heavy, charged with unseen energy. Blue wisps of magic begin to dance around his form, bright and vivid as the heart of a flame but when Billy tries to expand his reach, to send these pulses of magic outward, nothing happens.

He repeats the chanting, applying more pressure steadily. He’s careful with the power he wields; he’s not trying to lift the sun, he just wants to trace the darkness plaguing the nearby town.

And then – unexpectedly – a dark ripple pulses through the room, and the candle’s flame twists unnaturally, glowing an eerie black.

“Astaroth…” Billy murmurs, his heart beating faster with excitement. “Show me Astaroth…”

But the vision that floods his mind isn’t a location or a clue, it’s just…shadows. Thick, clouded shadows of endless darkness.

And then they begin to speak.

“Well, well,” the deep, resonant voice purrs, cold and oily as it slithers into his mind. “This is unexpected.”

Billy freezes, his breath hitching. The voice isn’t Astaroth’s. It’s… something else. Something worse.

“Who—”

“You know who I am, little witch,” The laugh that follows is mocking, rich with malice. “My, you have careless, haven’t you?”

He imagines a cage forming around his mind, beating back the shadows as they attempt to infiltrate his thoughts. “I wasn’t looking for you. Leave. Now.”

“But you found me nonetheless,” it taunts, voice dripping with amusement. “And now, here we are.”

Billy clenches his fists, trying to summon his focus. “Get out of my head, asshole.”

The laughter deepens, reverberating inside Billy’s skull. “How rude, witchling. You opened the door. I’m only curious about what lies inside.”

Billy grits his teeth, his magic flaring instinctively as he tries to push the creature out. “I said, get out.”

He can feel his control on his power slipping as the presence grows heavier, inciting a deep-seated terror at the very core of his chest.

“Such guilt you carry,” it purrs. “Such a burden to bear. Never fear, Billy, I’m closer at hand than you think. In fact…”

Out of nowhere, he can suddenly feel a wet, slimy tongue running from his jaw to his temple.

“…I’m looking forward to getting much, much closer very soon.”

That’s the final straw. His magic, unstable and wild, lashes out in a violent wave, exploding outward; the demon is forcefully and violently ejected from his mind with a final, distant cackle as every pane of glass in his room shatters in a deafening crash, the runes on the floor scorching black into the wood.

Billy barely has time to process what’s happened before the door bursts open.

“Billy?!” Rebecca’s voice is sharp with panic as she rushes in, his father on her heels.

Billy scrambles to his feet, his heart still racing. His mother’s gaze darts around the room, taking in the shattered windows, the scorch marks, and the blue shimmer of magic still crackling around his body.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Jeffrey demands, his voice tight.

Billy struggles for an answer, his mind still reeling. “I— I’m fine. I just…” He looks at his parents, their confusion and concern etched plainly on their faces. There’s no hiding this now.

Rebecca’s eyes narrow as they land on the burned runes. “Billy… what is this?”

Billy opens his mouth to respond, but the words won’t come. The truth feels too heavy, too impossible to explain.

“I…” He looks at his parents again, his throat dry.

He has to explain it anyway.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

BILLY 🪄
+416 3928-223

SOS I FUCKED UP

MY PARENTS KNOW

THEY SAW ME USING MAGIC

TOMMY

PLEASE IM SO SCREWED PLS PLS

I NEED YOU

You missed a call from
+416 3928-223 on 31/10/2026
at 8:35 PM. No message was left.

You missed a call from
+416 3928-223 on 31/10/2026
at 8:41 PM. No message was left.

You missed a call from
+416 3928-223 on 31/10/2026
at 8:43 PM. No message was left.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy is sprawled on his bed, one leg dangling off the side, his phone pressed against his ear. He’s been staring at the ceiling for ten minutes, fiddling with the drawstring of his hoodie as Lisa’s familiar voice filters through the line.

“It’s just…how did I not know? Wayne’s been arrested, he murdered someone!” Tommy says, trying to keep his tone casual, though his words are anxious and sharp. “I mean, Dave said it happened at my mom’s house. So, was she caught up in it somehow too? I know we’re not on great terms but is she even okay-”

Lisa exhales loudly, and Tommy can practically see her rolling her eyes on the other end of the call. “Tommy, contrary to what you might think, I have a life that doesn’t revolve around updating you with every single arrest that happens in Springfield. Wayne’s always been shady, you know that.”

“Fair point,” Tommy mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry. I just thought maybe…”

Lisa cuts him off, her voice softening slightly. “Look, I get it. You’re stressed. But I’m not exactly trawling through case files for fun right now.”

Tommy’s quiet for a moment, caught off guard by her unusually curt tone. “Everything okay?”

There’s a pause on the other end, then Lisa sighs. “Yeah, I’m just… I don’t know. Uptight, I guess.”

“Why?” Tommy asks, sitting up a little straighter.

Lisa hesitates, then blurts it out: “Because this guy I met sort of through my Young Detectives Program asked me out, and I actually—God, this is so stupid—I actually wanted to say yes.”

Tommy freezes. For a split second, the world feels like it’s tilting under him. “Oh,” he says finally, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Yeah,” Lisa says, her voice quieter now. “And before you say anything, it’s not like I’m running off with him or whatever. It just… it made me think. About us.”

Tommy’s heart lurches. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages another, “Oh.”

Lisa keeps talking, her words spilling out like she’s afraid to stop. “Like… why are we even dating? Is it because we really want to, or because we love each other so much as friends that it just happened?”

Tommy’s stomach twists. He grips the phone tighter, searching for the right thing to say. “I mean… we’re good, right?” he tries, though his voice cracks on the last word.

“Are we?” Lisa asks, her tone gentle but painfully honest. “Because sometimes I think… maybe we’re just scared to mess up what we have.”

“I’m not scared,” Tommy says reflexively, but the words sound hollow even to him.

“Really?” Lisa asks, and there’s a quiver in her voice now, one that Tommy knows all too well. “Because I am. Tommy, you’re my best friend. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you. Not over this.”

“You won’t,” Tommy says, his voice low but firm. “Lis, you’re my person. You always will be.”

Lisa takes a shaky breath. “So… does that mean…?”

Tommy closes his eyes, the words clawing at his throat. “Maybe we should… I don’t know… hit pause? Just be us again. Like before.”

Lisa is silent for so long that Tommy’s heart pounds in his ears. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. “Do you really mean that? Because I don’t want this to be just a cop-out.”

“It’s not,” Tommy says quickly, the words tumbling out. “I mean it, Lis. I’d rather have you as my best friend than risk messing everything up.”

Lisa exhales slowly, her voice steadier now. “So, we’re okay? Like, really okay?”

Tommy swallows hard. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

There’s a pause, and the only sound is the vibration of his phone as Billy texts him about something that will definitely wait until he’s done breaking up with his best friend.

And then Lisa lets out a small, bittersweet laugh. “You’re the worst boyfriend ever, you know that?”

Tommy manages a wry grin. “Yeah, well, you’re the worst girlfriend ever. Guess we’re even.”

Lisa laughs again, and this time it’s genuine. “So does this mean Billy’s officially the twin getting all the action?”

Tommy groans, flopping back onto his bed. “Don’t remind me. He’s all flustered and weird about his date with Jon, I can’t even make fun of him for it.”

Lisa snorts. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well, you dated me.” Tommy fires back, playfully. “I think that says more about you than me.”

Lisa hesitates, her tone turning hesitant again. “Do you… do you want to know who asked me out? Or would that be too weird now?”

Tommy hesitates, his chest tightening. Then he forces himself to smile, even though she can’t see it. “Of course, I do. How else am I meant to judge him from afar?”

“His name’s Benji Hartley,” Lisa says shyly. “But he mostly goes by his initials.”

Tommy frowns. “What, does he think he’s James Bond or something?”

Lisa laughs, the sound warm and familiar. “You’d like him, though. He’s a total nerd.”

“Well, he’d better treat you like the queen you are,” Tommy says, his voice soft but sincere.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Lisa says quietly.

“Anytime,” Tommy replies. They talk for a little longer but eventually, Tommy can hear his voice straining with false cheer.

He tosses his phone onto the bed after they hang up, and stares at the ceiling for a while, trying to figure out how he feels. But the truth is, anything that keeps Lisa in his life and him in hers is the priority. No matter what shape that takes.

Truthfully, for the first time in a long while, Tommy feels like he’s let go of something he’s been clinging to so tightly, only to have it come flying back toward him.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Billy sits on the edge of his bed, his knees bouncing, hands wringing together like he can crush the weight of the truth into his palms.

Shattered glass crunches faintly under his parents’ shoes as Rebecca and Jeff step carefully into the room, their faces a portrait of shock and concern. The cold night air seeps through the gaping, jagged hole where the window used to be, but none of them seems to notice.

“William Kaplan,” Rebecca says, using the full name only reserved for the gravest of situations. Her voice trembles, somewhere between anger and worry. “Explain. Now.”

Billy doesn’t even flinch. He deserves this. “I…” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with the part where our son just turned our house into a wind tunnel?” Jeffrey says, his attempt at a stern tone betraying the faint edge of bewildered fear. “What was that, Billy? Some sort of…bomb? Are you in trouble?”

Billy winces. “No! I mean, not like that.” He takes a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it rush out in a sigh. “I didn’t mean to. I was casting a spell—”

“A spell?” Rebecca interjects, her eyes widening further.

“Yes, a spell,” Billy says, his voice gaining a frustrated edge, though not at her. At himself. “With magic. My magic.”

“Magic…magic, like card tricks?” Jeff says helplessly, taking a step closer.

“No, Dad.” He says miserably. “Not card tricks.”

“Okay, I am going to need a lot more context here.” Rebecca tries to draw near to him, and Billy can’t hide it, the way he flinches away from her touch.

This is it. The moment he’s been dreading since the day he came home from the hospital. This is the moment he loses them forever.

God, he’s not ready.

“It’s a long story,” he says haltingly. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. And tonight, there was this spell and I figured… I didn’t mean to—well, I didn’t mean to blow up half the house, anyway. But that’s kind of only half the story.”

Jeffrey looks like he’s trying to form words but can’t quite get them out. Rebecca’s lips are pressed into a thin line.

“And the other part of the story?” Rebecca asks, her voice lower now, but sharp as a blade.

Billy takes another shaky breath. “The part where I’m not actually your Billy.”

That lands like a grenade. Rebecca visibly reels, her hand going to the dresser for balance, while Jeffrey’s expression contorts in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Jeffrey says, his voice rising. “Of course, you’re our Billy! You’re sitting right here—”

“I’m not,” Billy says, his voice trembling now. “I look like him. I…feel like him sometimes but I’m not him. I’m not the boy you lost in the car accident four years ago.”

Silence falls, thick and suffocating. Rebecca stares at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Jeffrey rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head like he’s trying to wake up from a bad dream.

“That day,” Jeffrey says suddenly, his voice uneven. “At Green Park. I saw you.”

Billy nods warily. “I’m sorry. I thought, when you didn’t say anything…I hoped maybe you forgot.”

“I thought—I thought I was losing my mind.” Jeff murmurs half to himself. “Oy vey, kid.”

Billy feels the weight of guilt settle deeper on his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to lie. I really didn’t, I just didn’t want to lose you.” He hesitates, then plunges ahead, the words spilling out in a rush. “I’m not from here. I mean, I am now, but I wasn’t originally. I’m—” He falters, his chest tight with shame. “I don’t even know how to explain this in a way that makes sense.”

“Sweetheart-” Rebecca reaches for him but he can’t let her touch him, can’t let her comfort the creature that’s wearing her dead son’s face

“My name’s Billy Maximoff.” He forces out each word, ignoring the bitter taste of them. “My mom, she…she made this whole world for my brother and I but when it crumbled, there was nowhere for me to go. And then, suddenly I was in the back of that car, with you guys and…I’m so, so sorry, mom. I didn’t mean to lie, I was trying to protect you. From all of this. I didn’t want to put you through—”

“That’s not your job,” Rebecca cuts in sharply, her voice breaking as she steps closer. “That’s our job. As your parents.”

Billy looks up at her, his face crumpling. “But I’m not your son,” he says, his voice cracking. “Not really. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for lying to you, for taking his place—”

“Stop,” Rebecca says firmly. She kneels down in front of him, placing her hands on his knees, her touch warm and grounding. “I don’t care where you came from or how you got here. I know you. I know the boy who stays up all night rewatching the same terrible horror movies because it makes him laugh. I know the boy who checks on me when I’m sick and brings me over-steeped tea in bed and who loves peanut butter so much he’ll eat it right out of the jar.”

“You don’t understand,” Billy insists, his eyes filled with tears. “I’m not him. I…I took his place. You lost him and you got stuck with me.”

 “Billy,” Rebecca says, her tone gentler now. “Baby, I understand. I know you’re saying that we lost something that day but that doesn’t change what we have. And what we have is you.”

Billy looks at her, his breath hitching. “But I don’t even remember growing up with you. I’m… I’m just pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“You think I don’t know my kid?” Rebecca says, her voice wet and raw with tears. “Of course, I know you, Billy. Of course, I know you.”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Jeffrey says, his voice quieter but steady. “You’re still ours. Powers or no powers. Magic or no magic. However you got here, you’re here now. And you’re ours. That doesn’t change. That can never change, Billy.”

Billy’s vision blurs as tears spill over, unbidden. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers. “Either of you.”

“Too bad,” Rebecca says, smiling through her own tears as she pulls him into a tight hug. “You’re stuck with us.”

Jeffrey joins the embrace, his hand resting on Billy’s back. “We’ll figure this out together,” he says. “We’re a family. That’s what we do.”

The moment is so overwhelming, Billy doesn’t hear the door slam open until Tommy’s voice cuts through the room.

“Okay, what the hell did I just walk into?”

Billy pulls back, wiping his face, while Rebecca turns with a wry smile. “Family meeting,” she says. “And as an honorary Kaplan, you’re not exempt. Get over here.”

Tommy hesitates for a moment before sighing dramatically and stepping into the group hug. “Fine,” he mutters. “But if anyone asks, I was forced into this.”

Rebecca chuckles, pulling him in tighter. “Please. You’re not going anywhere, Tommy.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Eddie
+416 2242-044

I told them.

My parents, I mean. About me.

Eddie is typing…

Wow.

Okay.

How do you feel?

Like I cried 90% of my fluids out

I genuinely think I’m dehydrated

But they didn’t hate me like
I was worried they would

Of course they didn’t.

I’m proud of you man

This is huge.

Yeah. I think I might actually be okay

Wild I know

Not at all

You’re a tough one Kaplan.

Notes:

In this house, we stan (1) one supportive Kaplan family.

Just a heads up, friends, this might be the last update for a week or so; the holiday season really is kicking my ass this year but I wanted to leave you on a happy note <3 Happy holidays to those who celebrate and for everyone else, have an excellent last month of the year!!

Chapter 16: CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The bus rattles along the highway, its wheels clattering over potholes as Springfield inches closer.

Billy sits by the window, his cheek pressed against the cool glass. The late afternoon sunlight pours in, painting everything in a pale golden hue, but it does little to distract him from everything he’s been processing since that night.

He glances to his right. America sits across the aisle, leaning back in her seat with her arms crossed, headphones plugged in to an old iPod that Billy hasn’t used in years.

Tommy sprawls in the seat behind her, his sneakers propped up on the back of America’s seat. She swats at his feet occasionally, but the two seem to have settled into a rhythm of half-hearted bickering, a sort of détente that lets Billy stew in silence.

America catches him staring, pulls out one earbud, and leans over. “You good, brujo?” she asks quietly.

Billy hesitates, glancing back out the window. “Yeah. I mean, no. I don’t know.”

America tilts her head. “It’s about your parents, isn’t it?”

Billy exhales sharply, his breath fogging the glass. “I just… I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like… everything all at once. I mean, they didn’t freak out as much as I thought they would. But I feel like I took something from them that they can never get back.” He presses his fingers against the glass, watching the scenery blur past. “But at the same time… I’m just really glad they didn’t throw me out or hate me. They still love me.”

America nods slowly, her eyes softening. “That’s a lot to feel at once.”

“Yeah,” Billy mutters. “Tell me about it.”

She lets the silence linger for a moment before speaking again, her voice gentle. “Do you think they understand? What it means? Everything you told them?”

Billy shakes his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think anyone could. Not fully.”

America reaches out and lightly taps his knee. “Hey. Give them time. They clearly care about you, Billy. They’ll figure it out.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “I know. I guess I’m just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That they’ll realize they lost more than they gained. And that they’ll stop looking at me the way they do now.”

America leans back, her gaze thoughtful. “I don’t think they will,” she says finally. “From what I’ve seen, they seem like the real deal. Like, unconditional love and all that sappy stuff.”

Before Billy can respond, Tommy leans over the seat, his chin resting on the headrest. “Are we doing therapy hour up here, or are we talking strategy? ‘Cause if we’re not, I’m taking a nap.”

America rolls her eyes. “You’re such a brat.”

Tommy smirks. “Hey, I am the unrefuted brains of Team Demonslayer.”

“Please,” Billy scoffs. “You’re like, the pinky toe.”

America chimes in, “Or the second stomach.”

“Second stomach?” Tommy echoed dubiously.

She frowns. “Wait, do you guys not have-?”

“No.” He pouts back. “And now I’m mad. Somewhere there’s a me eating twice as much.”

Billy sighs, grateful for the distraction. “Okay, Team Demonslayer, let’s just focus on getting out of this in one piece.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Eddie
+416 2242-044

Can I ask you something?

Always

What’s up?

Does your dad know anything about
Snap property restoration laws?

Not what I was expecting

But I’ll ask

Can I ask why?

A friend of mine introduced me to
this activist community that tries to
help people impacted

 

Did you know nearly a quarter of ppl
who were Snapped in San Fran
are still homeless today?

Seriously?

Wow that’s messed up

Right?

Idk it just made me think you know

Like what rights do they actually have?

If someone moved into their house
in those 5 years, what are they meant to do?

I’ll send anything he’s got to
your email

Sounds like a good group though

Yeah, it’s not bad

Not home yet but you know

Not bad

I’m glad

Anyway

What’re you up to?

Typing…

Oh you know

The usual

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By the time they reach Springfield, the sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows over the town. They skip their usual pit stop at Stoner Dave’s and head straight for the Springfield Police Department.

The building looms ahead, all gray concrete and glass, its windows reflecting the orange hues of the setting sun. Inside, the air smells faintly of bleach and stale coffee. They approach the front desk, where a tired-looking officer barely glances up from his paperwork.

“We’re here to see Wayne Delfino,” Tommy says, his voice steady. “I’m his stepson. Kind of. I should be on the list?”

The officer’s gaze darkens at the mention of his name and Billy can read his thoughts in an instant: cop killer.

He eyes them suspiciously but signs them in. “Visiting hours are almost over. You’ve got ten minutes.”

Tommy nods, and they’re led down a narrow hallway to the holding cells.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and the sound of distant voices echoes off the walls. Wayne Delfino sits slumped on a metal bench in one of the cells, his hands resting limply in his lap. He looks up as they approach, his eyes bloodshot and darting around the room like he’s expecting something to jump out at him. His unkempt hair and jittery movements make him look like a man on the edge.

“Well, if it isn’t my least favourite shithead,” Wayne drawls, his voice dripping with disdain. “And you brought the little beaner bitch too, huh?”

Tommy crosses his arms, his expression unflinching. “Nice to see you too, Wayne.”

Wayne snorts. “What do you want, Shepherd? Come to gloat?”

“We’re here to ask you some questions,” Tommy says sharply. “About Detective Daniels. And about whatever’s got you acting like this.”

Wayne’s eyes skitter away, fixating on something in the corner of his cell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Billy, man, you’re up.” Tommy mutters, looking disdainfully at the man who used to beat the snot out of him.

His brother takes a deep breath and reaches out carefully with his magic, probing gently at the edges of Wayne’s tattered psyche. “Whoa.”

It’s worse than he could’ve imagined; there something wrapped around his mind, pulsing like live magma and every time Billy tries to inspect it, it tightens around Wayne’s soul with crushing force.

If he wasn’t such an abominable asswipe, Billy might even feel sorry for the man.

“Oh, he’s under some sort of influence, all right.” He murmurs, exchanging a heavy look with America.

Tommy leans down, kneeling so he can catch Wayne’s gaze. “Come on, Wayne. I know you know it’s got you. Just tell us where it found you and maybe we can get rid of it.”

“Rid of it,” Wayne laughs dizzily to himself. “Rid of it he says. He’ll never be rid of it.”

“Did it tell you to kill Detective Daniels?” Tommy presses. “She was looking into it, wasn’t she? Did she get too close?”

Wayne suddenly lunges forward, face pressed between the bars with a furious grin. “Little bitch had it coming,” he snarls, spittle foaming at his lips. “Sniffing around, asking questions, she didn’t know, she didn’t know.”

America swallows a shaky breath. “Guys. His eyes.”

Billy can see it with both his magic and his own vision: the way the whites of Wayne’s eyes are suddenly flecked with writhing, scribbled black veins.

Tommy refuses to budge, staring down his pseudo-stepfather. “Come on, Wayne. Tell me where it is, hm? Where’s Astaroth?”

Wayne hisses at the name, pressing his face even closer until it bulges between the bars of the cell. The voice that tears out of him next is not human: “Y̴OU SM͏EL͡L͡ L̛I͝ḰE MA̛G̢I̴C ̵BOỲ.”

“Oh yeah?” Tommy goads. “You smell like a loser. What kind of demon gets himself stuck in Springfield, huh?”

“I̧ ҉DOŃT̨ ͜E̡V͞EN ̶N̨EE͜D TO ṔUS͞H͘ T̢H҉I҉S ̕ÓNE ̸TO̡ ̢K͡ĮĹL Y̷O͢U,” Wayne snarls. “OH THE ̛T̷HIN̕G͝S ͜H͢E͠ ̴WAN͟T̷S̀ TO D͏O̸ ̧TO ͢YO͝U͡,̵ ̛…”

“I’m right here.” Tommy taunts, using that smarmy, smug tone that gets right under the skin. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

Wayne lunges for him but Tommy is just an inch too far out of reach. He doesn’t even flinch. “See, I don’t think you’ve got the juice.”

America shifts her weight uneasily. “Tommy…”

“IM̶ GO̷I̴N̵G ́TO ̨E҉NJ̸OY̢ ́YǪU͠R S҉C͜RE̵AMS.”

“Tell me where you are, Astaroth,” his brother challenges bluntly. “See if you can enjoy them yourself, huh?”

“IL̶Ļ ̵S̴WA̕L͝L҉OW͢ YOUR͡ ̷S̵O̢U̧L T҉O̷MM̡Y ̕M͝A̶X͏I̵MǪF̕F͜!” Wayne roars and then, before anyone can stop him, he hurls himself backwards into the wall.

“Santa mierda-” America yelps as he throws his back into the brick wall, over and over and over until a red smear begins to form.

“GUARDS!” Billy hollers when he shows no sign of stopping.

The police officers move swiftly; one of them grabs Tommy’s arm and begins to corral the three of them away forcefully from the scene while two more officers unlock the cell, struggling to subdue the writhing, deranged man.

“Jesus Christ, not again…” the officer mumbles, half to himself. “Look, kid, visit’s over. Get lost and don’t come back.”

Tommy clenches his fists, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t argue. He turns on his heel and stalks out through the doors, America and Billy following close behind.

As they step out into the cool early evening air, Billy glances back at the police station, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

“What the hell was that?” America demands, glaring at Tommy.

He avoids her gaze stubbornly. “I was trying to get a lead on where it was hiding, so sue me.”

“And?” she snaps. “Did it work? Or did we just watch a guy brain himself half to death for no reason?”

“Tommy, come on, man,” Billy says warily. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“It was just an act, okay?”

“No! Not okay!” America insists.

Tommy looks furious. “What, are you feeling sorry for him? That guy was an ass well before Astaroth started yanking his chain.”

“I’m not worried about Wayne, you moron, I’m worried about you!” she shoves him, hard enough that Tommy staggers back, nearly toppling to the ground. “You think goading a fucking demon is a smart move? Ay, idiota!”

Billy is ready for this to escalate into an all-out screaming match but surprisingly, all the fight leaves Tommy’s body in a rush. “I know, okay? I know, it was dumb, I just…I guess I wasn’t prepared for how much I wanted to hurt him.”

America’s anger softens slightly. “You know that’s what they do, Tommy. Come on, use your damn head.”

“I…” he takes another shuddering breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was a dumb idea anyway, it’s not like he told us anything.”

“Maybe not.” Billy says slowly, his nose catching up to his brain. “Did you smell that? When it was Astaroth talking?”

“You mean the stench of garbage?” America’s nose wrinkles. “Yeah, hard to miss. Isn’t that a demon thing?”

“There was a story about Astaroth,” Billy says, digging through his notebook of spells. “It called him the lord of filth.”

“Wow, what a moniker.” Tommy deadpans. “He should copyright that, stat.”

“Is there a sewer depot somewhere in town?” Billy asks expectantly. “Or a trash facility or a-”

“Dump.” Tommy finishes, suddenly catching up. “Yeah. Just outside of town, actually.”

“Then I think I know where Astaroth has set up shop.” Billy says grimly.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The stench is the first thing they notice. A foul, suffocating cocktail of rot and burning flesh clogs their noses, making America gag and Tommy pull his hoodie tighter over his mouth.

The old Springfield dump sprawls before them, a mountain of trash shrouded in mist and shadow, the air thick with buzzing flies. As they approach, a guttural growl rolls through the air, vibrating in their chests.

Billy grips the banishing potion in his hand, its dark liquid swirling as if alive. “Okay, you both know the plan, right?”

“Distract the demon, don’t die, and give you enough time to banish it,” Tommy recites, his voice edged with mockery but tight with nerves.

“In a nutshell.” Billy mutters dryly. “Emphasis on the don’t die part.”

America rolls her shoulders, cracking her knuckles. “Just be ready. I’m not babysitting you two if this goes south.”

Billy nods, clutching the potion like a lifeline. “Let’s do this.”

They approach cautiously, weaving through rusted appliances and broken furniture until they reach the summit of the trash heap. And there it is.

Astaroth towers over them, its once mortal form grotesque and shifting. A pulsating mass of blackened flesh and writhing tendrils, its body glimmers with an oily sheen under the flickering orange light of a nearby dumpster fire. Its face is a mockery of humanity, stretched and twisted, with burning coals for eyes and jagged teeth dripping with ichor.

It speaks, its voice a thunderclap wrapped in silk. “A҉H̀ T̷H̸E ͞M̛A͢GG͡O͟T͞S ͜HA̢V͠É COM̴E ŢO P̵LA̶Y̡.”

Tommy steps forward, his fists clenched, even as he trembles slightly. “Yeah, well, someone has to take out the trash.”

Astaroth’s laughter rumbles like a distant earthquake. “B̨R̸A͝VE.̷ ̕STU̡PI͠D ҉BUT̴ B̢R̕A͟VE͠..”

Before anyone can react, Astaroth’s arm lashes out—a massive, sinewy tendril snapping through the air. Tommy just barely manages to dodge, his enhanced speed keeping him a hair’s breadth ahead.

 The tendril slams into the ground where he was standing, sending up an explosion of trash and dirt.

“Move!” Billy shouts, breaking into a run, the potion vial clutched tightly in his hand.

America charges forward, her fists glowing with energy. “Keep him busy!” she yells over her shoulder.

She leaps into the air, a force of nature, throwing a star-shaped portal ahead of her. She vanishes into it and reappears behind Astaroth, slamming her fist into the demon’s back.

The impact sends a ripple through the mass of his body, and Astaroth growls, twisting with unnatural speed. A clawed hand slashes out, catching America mid-air. She blocks just in time, but the force sends her careening into a rusted refrigerator

“America!” Billy shouts, skidding to a halt.

“I’m fine!” she snaps, rolling to her feet and spitting dirt. “Focus!”

Tommy darts in next, zigzagging through the trash to confuse the demon’s aim. He pelts Astaroth with bits of debris—broken bottles, rusty pipes, anything he can find.

“Come on, asshole!” he taunts. “What happened to swallowing my soul, huh?”

Astaroth snarls, his tendrils lashing out wildly. One catches Tommy’s sleeve, ripping it and nearly pulling him off balance. He stumbles, and for a heart-stopping moment, another tendril snakes toward him, poised to impale.

“Get down!” America shouts, opening a portal directly in front of Tommy. The tendril shoots through the portal and reappears yards away, stabbing uselessly into the ground.

Tommy throws her a grateful look. “Nice save!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she snaps, already back on her feet. “Billy, what’s taking so long?”

The vial in his hands trembles as Billy mutters the incantation, but the oppressive aura radiating from Astaroth presses down on him like a weight, making it hard to breathe. The demon turns its glowing gaze on him, and the words falter on his tongue.

“I ͜S̛EE Y͘OU ̴WIT̶C̴H̴LI͏N͢G̸.̨.̶.̨,” Astaroth hisses, his voice slithering into Billy’s mind like poison. “I͏ SE̴E ̢Y͜OU̵R͘ ́F͟E̕A̶R̢..͢.́HE SÉES͠ ̛I͜T T҉O̧O͝.͜..”

The black, writhing shadows begin to creep amongst his vision as though boring outward from the inside of his skull.

“Billy!” America’s voice cuts through the haze. She throws herself between him and Astaroth, taking another hit from a tendril that sends her flying back.

But it’s too late; the potion slips from Billy’s grasp, shattering against the ground. The glowing liquid spills onto the ground, hissing as it mixes with the filth.

Astaroth lets out a guttural laugh, the sound shaking the ground beneath their feet. “T͘HAT͢'͠S͡ ̛I̸T M͢A͝GG̶O̢T̵S̷...D̶ESP̢AIR҉...IT ͞MA͘K͞ES YO͘UR̀ ̕SOU҉L̡S̢ AL͞L̴ THE̸ ́S͜WEÈT̷E̵Ŕ.͜..͞.”

“Crap,” Tommy mutters, skidding to a stop beside his brother. “What now, magic man?”

Billy shakes his head, his hands shaking as the pressure in his mind eases. “Plan B. I’m going to try something else.”

“Plan B better not get us killed,” Tommy snaps, grabbing his arm. “Just—focus. We’ll buy you time.”

America charges again, this time aiming for the demon’s legs. She ducks under a swinging tendril, slamming her fist into what passes for Astaroth’s knee. The demon stumbles, his form shifting as he howls in fury.

“Tommy, get him moving!” she yells, dodging another tendril.

Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He grabs a piece of jagged metal and hurls it at Astaroth’s face. “Hey, dirtbag! Over here!”

Astaroth roars, lunging after him, his massive bulk tearing through the trash heap like a freight train. Tommy sprints, leading the demon in a wide arc away from Billy. He vaults over piles of garbage, using his speed to keep just ahead of the tendrils snapping at his heels.

“Anytime now, Billy!” Tommy shouts, his voice strained.

Billy takes a steadying breath, his magic building to a crescendo. He opens his eyes, now glowing with a fierce blue light, and raises his hands. He abandons the Latin verses and ancient incantations, he speaks in his own tongue and every word is his spell:

“Astaroth, I hold you. I bind you. I banish you.”

Astaroth suddenly stops chasing Tommy, turning back toward Billy.

“EŅOU͢GH,” he bellows, slamming his massive fists into the ground. The shockwave knocks all three of them off their feet.

Astaroth rears back, his form swelling with dark energy. The ground beneath them trembles, and the air grows thick with a choking miasma. “Y̕ǪU ̡ḨA̴V̛E͟ NO ͘H̶OPÈ,” the demon gloats. “YOU҉ WÌL͝L͡ ͡D͟IE H̷E͞RE ̸I̴N T͏HE̴ ͜F̵ILT͞H̵…”

“Not today we don’t.” America growls as she throws punch after glowing punch, her energy blasts lighting up the battlefield.

“I hold you!” Billy channels everything he has into the circle forming around the demon’s feat, the runes that glow like stars bound to the earth.

“I…bind…you!” he roars. The giant witch’s circle begins to solidify; white-blue chains of pure light materialize around the demon, coiling tightly around its form.

Astaroth thrashes, its roar deafening as it struggles against the bindings. But the chains hold.

“I BANISH YOU.” One last brilliant beam of pure electric blue erupts from his hands, striking Astaroth square in the chest. The demon howls as the light engulfs him.

“T̡H͡IS ͟IS̢ ONLY ͡THÈ BE͡G҉I͢ŅNI̧NG W̕I͞T͘CH̷L̸I̶N̛G” Astaroth snarls, its voice disembodied as it fades. “TH͘E ̧B̕LAC͠K͘ḨEART͡ ͠SE͡E̡S ̢Y̨ÒU̶.”

The ground beneath them quakes as a swirling portal opens, sucking the remnants of Astaroth into the void.

And then, silence.

America is the first to speak, her voice hoarse. “We really need to stop fighting demons in their own lairs.”

Tommy laughs weakly, wiping blood from his lip. “Yeah. Next time, let’s aim for a nice park or something.”

“Oh yeah,” Billy waves a hand wearily. “Sure, next time. Let’s make this an annual thing. Team Demonslayer Reunion Day.”

“Woo.” America deadpans, panting with exhaustion.

But as America and Tommy regain their breath, Billy suddenly finds himself drawn to the place where the earth swallowed Astaroth, his gaze suddenly fixed to an emaciated young body. A teenage boy.

“Guys!” Billy shouts, kneeling beside the boy. He can’t be much older than they are but his body is barely more than skin and bones and his eyes…god, Billy can’t look directly at him right away. There’s so much anguish. “Guys, help!”

“Whoa,” he hears America breathe behind him as she approaches. “Is he…?”

Before Billy can answer, the teenager’s claw-like hands grab for him, weak as a kitten. “It’s gone. It’s gone, it’s gone.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, it’s gone, you’re free now. Just…just hold on, okay? We’ll get you some help.”

But the boy only shakes all over, eyes locked to Billy’s with something that looks like gratitude. “No more…no more, it’s gone…”

And then, as if those words were the last thing holding him together, his body goes still and silent, slowly but surely fading into ash before Billy’s eyes.

Within seconds, there is truly nothing left.

Billy, Tommy and America stand together, silent and fixed to the spot.

“He was…” Billy swallows, his mouth dry. “He was right there.”

“Billy,” Tommy rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder in comfort. “There’s nothing more you could do for him man.”

“How do you know that?” Billy murmurs, unable to hold back the tears clogging his throat. “I could’ve helped him.”

“You did, Billy.” America adds, kneeling beside him. Her eyes are as gentle as the hand she places against his own. “He died as himself. Maybe that’s all you could do.”

Billy isn’t sure what he can say to that but before he has a chance, the breeze suddenly kicks up and a new scent drifts through the pungent stench of filth and garbage. Burned roses.

He’s smelled it before. On Halloween night, right before-

Wayne. Or, at least, it looks like Wayne, stepping from the shadows themselves. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, his skin pale and slick with sweat. His hands twitch and jerk in unnatural rhythms, like he’s being puppeteered by some invisible force.

“Wayne?” Tommy asks warily, moving to shield Billy from him.

But then Wayne shudders as if something is fighting to break free from within him; his mouth opens impossibly wide, letting out a horrifying screech.

His body begins to change. Bones crack, muscles warp and stretch in grotesque ways as the figure before them warps into something new, something wrong. Wayne’s face elongates, skin tearing as black veins streak across his skin. The transformation is quick—too quick—and in the blink of an eye, the creature is no longer Wayne.

The demon before them now wears a different face entirely. Rebecca.

The familiar features peer back at them with her gentle, kind eyes but her lips have curled into an uncharacteristically cruel, unsettling smile.

“Oh, Billy,” the demon sings, its voice dripping with mockery. “Come to mama, sweetheart.”

“Who are you?” America interrupts, blocking both the boys from view. She knows Rebecca the least but even she cannot be unaffected by the familiar face.

Billy stares at the creature—at the face of his mother, distorted and perverted—his face pale, eyes wide with the terror of recognition.

“You asshole,” his voice is low, trembling. “Take off her face. Now.”

“This old thing? I don’t know, I think it suits me.” the demon holds its arms out, as though showing off Rebecca’s form with a flourish. Then it tilts its head, studying Billy. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, Billy? And here I thought we shared such a memorable All Hallows’ Eve.”

“Billy,” Tommy snaps, his voice thick with anxiety. “What the hell is it talking about?”

“I made contact with something on Halloween.” Billy’s voice is grim, hollow. “The shapeshifter Margali warned us about. The Blackheart.”

The demon lets out a low, mocking laugh, savouring the confession. “See?” Rebecca purrs. “You do remember your dear mother.”

“You,” Billy’s voice shakes with the force of the words. “Are not my mother.”

“I’m as good as, witchling.” She shoots back playfully. “I can even scream just like she will. Want to listen?”

Billy loosens a bolt of wild blue magic before he can think but the demon deflects it with ease, swatting it away.

“I’m gonna really enjoy stuffing you back in the smallest trap I can find.” he snarls, furiously.

“Promises, promises, Billy.” it winks back.

Tommy’s fists clench at his sides, his jaw tightening. He’s barely holding it together. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

The demon’s expression shifts, as if considering, before it slowly, deliberately looks down at Astaroth’s remains. “As of now?” it says, its voice suddenly tinged with a sense of cold amusement. “Not a thing. You’ve wrapped up this little mess nicely for me.”

America scowls. “What does that mean?”

The Blackheart laughs again, Rebecca’s voice dripping with venom. “Such helpful little pests, aren’t you? Astaroth’s mind was shattered after all that time in captivity. He couldn’t follow through with the plans I had in motion. But now he’s all taken care of. Gone, all thanks to you.”

Billy steps forward, his breath shallow, shaking. “What plans? Come on, don’t stop the shitty villain monologue now.”

The demon gives him a sly smile, its eyes narrowing. “I can’t spoil the surprise just yet. But I’m working on something special for you. Something that will really…wow.”

Tommy takes a step forward, the instinct to protect his brother overwhelming him. “Stop hiding behind her face. Show yourself!”

The Blackheart tilts its head, as if amused. “Oh, Tommy. You don’t want to see the real me. Not yet, at least.”

America looks like the last shreds of her patience are running thin; around her fists, the air crackles with silver light but before anyone can react, the Blackheart vanishes with a final, hollow laugh. The scent of burned roses fills the air—sickly sweet, almost cloying—and then the demon is just…gone.

Billy staggers back, his heart hammering. “What… what just happened?”

Tommy clenches his jaw, his eyes scanning the empty space, muscles coiled tight, ready for the next attack. “I think you got another admirer, Billy.” he mutters grimly. “And not the fun kind.”

Notes:

🖤

Chapter 17: CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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He barely makes it to the door before his dad. Barely.

“Oh my god, no.” Billy hisses frantically, slapping Jeff’s hand away. “What’re you doing?”

“What?” Jeff complains. “I can’t interrogate the boy taking my son out? What is the world coming to these days?”

“You’ve already met Jon.” Billy points out, shooing him away. “Just…go! And tell mom not to look through the kitchen window!”

Jeff rolls his eyes, but retreats and Billy takes a second to calm himself before opening the door.

Jon is dressed much the same as he always is: plaid button down shirt and jeans, with the addition of a scuffed bomber jacket. It makes Billy feel better about his own dressed-down look and much much better about not taking Tommy’s advice to wear as little as possible.

“Hey,” Jon greets him with a small, pleased smile. “Ready to go?”

“Sure,” Billy doesn’t open the door any wider, lest his nosy parents take the invitation to snoop; he blindly grapples for his jacket on the hook by the door and closes it behind him.

Jon opens the passenger side door for Billy, making a show of it like he’s some kind of gentleman. Billy rolls his eyes but the gesture’s cute.

“I know I didn’t give you much to go on.” Jon admits quietly. “I wanted it to be a surprise, you know?”

Billy tactfully doesn’t mention that surprises are usually wasted on him because of the whole, you know, telepathy thing. But Jon’s mind is relatively quiet, kind of an easy-going background hum that he doesn’t have to focus on much.

“I don’t mind. Is this okay?” Billy checks, glancing down at his jeans and sweater.

Jon’s smile is slow and appreciative. “Perfect. You look great.”

They only drive for fifteen minutes before they’re pulling into the carpark of a vegetarian place Billy knows pretty well.

“I didn’t know you were vegetarian.” He admits, surprised as they head inside.

“I’m not,” Jon shrugs. “But you are. Besides, I know the owner. He’ll give us a discount. Kirk!”

“Jonny!” the man behind the counter greets him cheerfully. “Takeaway order, right? I got it right here, ready for you.”

Billy frowns slightly. “We’re not staying?”

“Nope.” Jon’s got a certain swagger to his step tonight, like he’s genuinely enjoying having Billy at his mercy. “Dinner on the go. Come on, Kaplan, keep up.”

“Hey, tell your Uncle I have that parcel he wanted,” Kirk calls out as they make to leave. “He can pick it up next Wednesday.”

Jon waves him off, holding the door so Billy can pass through under his arm. It brings their bodies close enough together that he catches a faint whiff of cologne. The thought of Jon going to so much trouble (ordering their dinner ahead of time, wearing cologne) just for him is kind of…Well, it’s pretty flattering.

“So how does your uncle know Kirk?” Billy asks idly as they hit the road again.

“Damien owns a few properties around town.” Jon demurs. “Restaurants, clothing shops, drycleaners. It gets him a lot of discounts.”

Billy laughs. “Right. That explains all the plaid. Bulk discount huh?”

“What do you mean?” Jon looks down at himself with a small, teasing pout. “I like these shirts.”

“Yeah, they’re very lumberjack chic.” Billy teases right back. “It’s hot.”

They keep the banter going for most the car ride up into the hills, though as the surrounds outside grow ever darker, Billy grows more curious. He watches the streetlights blink by, then the scenery turning from buildings to open fields and winding roads. He promised himself he wouldn’t read Jon’s mind (not on purpose, at least) but it’s seeming less likely that they’re going to a movie or a restaurant or something simple.

His thoughts wander to all the horror movies he’s seen, but he shakes the thought off with a chuckle.

“You know…” Billy hums idly. “This would be a pretty great time to axe-murder me. No one to hear me scream.”

And of course, it backfires spectacularly. Jon’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he glances over at Billy, his expression briefly faltering.

“I…I mean, I don’t want you to feel unsafe.” His voice is tight, the words slipping out a little too fast.

Billy winces, immediately regretting the comment. “Sorry! Bad joke. I’m a horror buff, it’s warped my sense of humour beyond recognition.”

Jon’s face softens, and he shoots Billy a tight-lipped smile. “I just don’t want you to think I’m up to something shady, you know? If you wanna head back, just say the word, I don’t mind.”

“No!” Billy near shouts, feeling like the most deeply stupid gay to ever live. “No, I swear. It’s fine. It was just a really bad joke.”

“I think you’ll like it,” Jon offers shyly. “If that helps?”

“I’m sure I will.” For good measure, he takes a massive bite of his veggie burger, so he doesn’t have an opportunity to stick his foot further in his mouth instead.

They drive for a good while longer, the air growing cooler as they move further away from town. Finally, Jon slows the car and makes a sharp turn, driving down a narrow, unpaved road that leads deeper into the hills.

“This is it,” Jon says, his voice suddenly quiet. “Ready?”

Billy leans forward, squinting at the landscape ahead. It’s dark, only the moonlight illuminating the terrain as they pull into a small clearing. Tall, shadowy trees surround them, their branches creaking in the breeze.

The sudden peace of the place is both oddly disorienting and gently soothing after the chaos of the past few days.

Jon parks the car and gets out, already walking around to the trunk. Billy’s confusion only deepens, but when Jon pulls out a thick, plaid blanket, and a thermos, the pieces click together.

“We’re stargazing?” Billy says, surprised but undoubtedly excited. “Really? You brought me all the way out here to stargaze?”

Jon’s grin returns, a hint of that earlier charm. “I know it’s not what you expected. But I thought you’d like the surprise.”

Billy can’t help but feel touched, despite the weirdness of the situation. Jon’s never really struck him as a particularly sentimental guy, but this effort—bringing him all the way out here for something quiet and peaceful—feels sincere.

They lay the blanket out on the soft ground, the chill in the air making Billy pull the blanket tighter around him. Jon pours the cocoa into two mugs, passing one to Billy, his fingers brushing against Billy’s.

Billy takes a sip, the warmth of the cocoa grounding him, calming the tightness in his chest. He looks up at the stars, the vast expanse of the sky stretching out above them, and for a moment, the weight of everything—the demons, the supernatural nonsense—seems far away.

“It’s perfect,” Billy murmurs, his voice soft, touched by the effort Jon’s made. “Thanks.”

Jon shifts beside him, looking at the sky but his eyes flicking toward Billy every so often, like he’s trying to gauge his reaction. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And he means it.

He stares up at a spray of white diamonds and he can’t help but feel lighter. He’s spent months feeling trapped in his own skull, weighed down by his guilt and his grief and his sadness about all the things he’s lost or fumbled or undone.

But this…it’s a little like the time Agatha showed him the fabric of creation, how everything pulses and connects together in a dazzling, golden weave. He feels like his magic is soaking up every inch of starlight, basking in it.

“My mom used to take me stargazing sometimes.” Jon says quietly after a long moment. “We’d camp for a night or two and just spend the whole night staring up at the sky.”

“Not many stars in Brooklyn, I take it?” Billy teases, after a long moment.

Jon’s smile is bittersweet. “No. We’d have to go way outside the city for it.”

“Do you miss it? Home?” Billy wonders.

“All the time. And none of the time. I think I miss feeling like I was home, you know?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I get that.”

They don’t stay out for hours and hours, even though Billy is tempted to break his curfew and ask forgiveness. Jon seems determined to end things properly so when the cocoa is empty and the early November chill begins to set in, they pack up the car and head back into town.

And the whole time Billy does his best, his absolute best, not to dwell on the spike of anxiety slowly gathering his chest. Because it really has been a perfect night and there’s not a single part of him that wants to ruin it by letting his paranoia gets the best of him.

But after Jon pulls into his driveway, he parks the car and smiles shyly. “I’m glad you liked it. I was hoping for something to wow you, you know?”

And Billy knows he only has one option available to him.

“Hey,” he hears himself say. “Do you wanna come hang out in my room for a little bit? I have an hour before my curfew, technically.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

You have two (2) missed calls from Mary.
You have three (3) new voicemails. Latest received November 3 at 9:45 pm.

“You reached Tommy. Don’t bother leaving a message, I’m not gonna listen to it.”

“Thomas, it’s your mother again. I just got off the phone with the hospital and it looks like Wayne is going to pull through, thank God, no thanks to you! What were you thinking Tommy, visiting him when he’s in such a vulnerable state! You just had to provoke him, didn’t you? Well, I hope you’re happy, the doctors are suggesting he might have permanent brain damage when he wakes up and it’s entirely you’re fault.”

*          *          *          *          *
 *         *          *          *

America winces, unable to not overhear the sound of Mary Shepherd berating her son. “Why are you torturing yourself like this?” she asks.

She’s staying over the night at Tommy’s place, ostensibly because she’s still exhausted from their demonslaying yesterday but mainly because the Sanctum is too quiet.

“She’s just upset.” Tommy says quietly, deleting the voicemail. “There’s no one else she can talk to about it, I guess.”

“You know it’s bullshit, right?” America checks warily. “Blaming you for what happened to Wayne? The guy had a demon rattling around his skull, that’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe.” He sighs, setting his phone down and pressing his palms into his eyes wearily. “I don’t know. I can’t shake it, you know? She’s not even my mother and I still can’t shake this feeling like I’m being a bad son.”

“You’re not a bad son, Tommy.” America replies instantly, then hesitates: “And your mom…you real mom, she knew that. She loved you.”

“You know what’s sad?” Tommy’s smile is humourless. “Sometimes I can’t remember what she looks like. I have to go online and scroll through all these dumb fan-sites to find a picture of my own mother to remember her.”

America chews her lip and then crosses over to his bed, kicking his shin so he budges up to make room for her. “I couldn’t remember what my moms look like.” She confessed bluntly. “I mean, I remember them. But when Stephen and I were travelling through Earth 838-”

“838?” Tommy echoes, bewildered.

America ignores it. “There was this machine thing that, like, showed you your memories. And I realised, when I was watching it, that I look like my Mama Amalia. I’d forgotten that, you know. It had been so long since I saw her face.”

“Any luck looking for them?” Tommy wonders.

But she only shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t even know where to start. The multiverse is…Huge doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

He nudges her shoulder with his. “You know, when this demon shtick is over, we’ll find them. We’ll put Billy’s big brain to work and make him come up with some brilliant plan to find them.”

America’s smile trembles. “Yeah. Okay.”

“When he’s not catering to his many admirers, of course.” Tommy adds, to lighten the mood.

She snickers. “Of course. We can’t take Heart Throb Billy away from them. It’s just too cruel.”

“Perish the thought.” He drawls.

“By the way, how’s your admirer?” she adds, conversationally. “You know, the one I’m planning to steal away at the first opportunity?”

“Good.” He shrugs. “We broke up. She’s dating a new guy.”

America’s jaw drops and she lets out a whine of complaint. “Ugh, Tommy, you can’t let me put my foot in my mouth like that!”

He can’t hold in his laughter. “It’s just too easy.”

“You suck. I see why she dumped you.” She scowls, but there’s a real note of concern in her voice.

“We kind of mutually dumped each other.” He sighs. “At the end of the day, she’s my person, you know? I’d rather have her as my best friend than anything else in the world.”

“Aw, how incredibly emotionally healthy of you both.” America coos mockingly. “So who’s this new man I have to work to steal her from?”

Tommy snorts. “You’ll love this. He’s an artist.”

“Fancy.” She deadpans. “Go on.”

“Apparently, he has murals all over the city tagged BH, like he’s goddamn Banksy or something.” Tommy laughs but America goes stiff beside him. “Hey, you cool?”

“BH?” she says warily. “You don’t think it’s like…you know, BH for Black Heart?”

Tommy’s laughter dies in his throat. “No way. Why would it go after Lisa like that? What would be the point?”

“I don’t know.” America’s voice is grim. “But that demon called you by your name, right? Your real name?”

IL̶Ļ ̵S̴WA̕L͝L҉OW͢ YOUR͡ ̷S̵O̢U̧L T҉O̷MM̡Y ̕M͝A̶X͏I̵MǪF̕F͜.

“It already knows Billy.” she keeps going. “Maybe this is a way to get close to you too.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Jon leans against Billy’s bookshelf, casually flipping through a well-worn paperback of Salem’s Lot.

He glances up at the paper leaves strung across one side of the room and tilts his head. “Huh. These are cool.”

“Thanks,” Billy replies, his voice light, though his pulse is anything but. He moves as nonchalantly as he can, inching toward the small scorch marks on the floor that form the intricate witch’s circle he’d painstakingly etched weeks ago. “I made them myself, ages ago.”

Jon nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Got that artsy vibe, huh?” He sets the book back on the shelf and scans the room, his gaze landing on the cardboard temporarily covering Billy’s window. “What happened there?”

“Uh, an incident with a bird,” Billy says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. He keeps his tone casual, but his fingers are already brushing the edge of the circle, charging it with a whisper of intent.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “A bird? Really? Did it, like, body-slam the glass or something?”

“Something like that,” Billy mutters, watching Jon as he wanders over to the posters that cover spare inch of wall space.

Jon chuckles, stepping closer to a The Thing poster. “You weren’t kidding. You’re a real horror fan, huh? Pretty sure I saw half these movies in my uncle’s basement when I was way too young.”

His heartbeat is thundering in his ears, and it has nothing to do with the cute boy he’s brought back to his room.

There are just too many clues to ignore. The way Jon’s Uncle Daniel becomes an Uncle Damien, the way his parents live in Queens, no wait, Brooklyn, no wait Manhattan. And then when he’d said the thing about wanting to wow him…

Billy’s hoping to every goddess Agatha knows that he’s wrong but all he can hear are those same words from the Blackheart last night, and its creepy talk of getting closer to Billy than he thinks.

And if this is the Blackheart, this might be his only chance to trap it. But Billy wants to give Jon one last chance.

“Which uncle was that?” Billy asks casually, his fingers twitching as the circle flares faintly beneath his feet.

Jon doesn’t seem to notice. “Uncle Damien,” he says without missing a beat. “He has a huge VHS collection.”

Billy freezes. His heart thunders in his chest, his fingers clenching at his sides.

“Right,” Billy says slowly, his voice carefully neutral. “Except I think you told me his name was Daniel the first time we talked about him.”

Jon blinks, glancing over his shoulder. “Did I?” He chuckles, brushing it off with an easy shrug. “Must’ve slipped my mind. You’re really keeping track, huh?”

“I’ve been paying attention,” Billy replies flatly. “And you’ve been slipping up. A lot.”

Jon’s grin falters for a split second, but he recovers quickly, tilting his head with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Billy doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps forward, his body tense, and gestures vaguely toward Jon. “First it’s your uncle’s name, then it’s your parents living in Queens, Brooklyn, Manhattan. You can’t seem to keep your story straight.”

Jon’s laugh is quieter this time, a little forced. “Okay, wow, you’re really grilling me. What, is this some kind of test? Because if it is, I’m flunking, huh?”

“Maybe you are,” Billy says, voice sharp, his hand twitching at his side. “Maybe you’ve been lying all night.”

“I’m not lying, Billy,” Jon protests, his smile growing strained. “Look, maybe I just got stuff mixed up. It happens, you know? You don’t have to freak out about it.”

“Perhaps,” Billy concedes, his voice cold. “Let’s find out.”

Before Jon can respond, Billy slams his palm against the edge of the witch’s circle, muttering an incantation under his breath. The symbols scorched into the floorboards ignite in a pale blue light, throwing shadows across the room. The air grows heavy, crackling with power, and Jon jerks back instinctively, his eyes wide.

“Billy, what the hell—” Jon starts, but his words are cut off as the spell takes hold. The light envelops him, wrapping around his body like a shimmering cocoon. He stumbles, clutching his head as his form begins to shift.

“Forma revelare…” Billy recites, his voice firm, his heart pounding. “No more lies.”

Jon’s body begins to change, his features warping and twisting in ways that defy logic. He grows taller, his frame stretching impossibly, muscles rippling beneath his skin. His eyes glow briefly, an otherworldly golden light that seems to pierce through Billy’s soul.

His hair lightens, turning a pale, shiny blonde, but it is his skin that gives Billy pause as it shifts to a faint…green?

Billy stumbles back, his breath catching in his throat. “What the—”

Before he can finish, a portal rips open behind him, a swirling vortex of energy that deposits Tommy and America directly into the room. They both land with a thud, their expressions frantic.

“Billy, we have to talk about Lis-” Tommy’s eyes suddenly land on Jon—or whatever Jon has become. His jaw drops. “What the hell is that?!”

America is already in a fighting stance, even though she exhausted her powers in yesterday’s dumpster dive. “Billy, what did you let in here?!”

Jon—if that’s even his name—raises his hands in surrender, his voice calm but tinged with exasperation. “Can everyone just chill for a second?”

“Chill?” America snaps. “There’s a giant green alien in your room, Kaplan, and it want us to chill?”

“Alien?” Tommy exclaims, sounding strangled. “Are we sure that’s not a demon?”

“I’m not a demon,” Jon insists, indignantly. His form shifts again, this time shrinking, his features softening into a more human appearance.  He looks up at them, now a muscular blonde teenager with sharp features, and lets out a heavy sigh. “There. Happy?”

Tommy stares, his face pale. “No freaking way,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s… that’s Theodore Altman.”

Billy blinks, glancing between Tommy and Jon—Theodore?—his mind racing. “Wait. What?”

Tommy’s expression hardens, his hands balling into fists. “He’s one of the escapees from Green Park. The one no one’s been able to find.”

Billy’s stomach drops. He turns back to Jon—Theodore—and his voice trembles as he asks, “Is that true?”

Theodore hesitates for a moment, his gaze flicking to the floor before he meets Billy’s eyes. “Yeah,” he admits softly. “But it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, it never is,” America says dryly, her fists still glowing. “You’ve got two seconds to start explaining or you’re getting your ass kicked through a portal.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Fine. But you’re not gonna like it.”

Notes:

merry chrysler!

Chapter 18: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The silence in the room is deafening.

Billy exchanges heavy glances with Tommy and America, while the newly revealed Theodore (“Just call me Teddy.”) Altman, Wanted Fugitive stares at the ground like he’d like to be swallowed whole.

Tommy, predictably, is the first to break the tension.

“Well?” he demands, stepping forward with his arms crossed. “You gonna explain, or are we just supposed to pretend this-” He gestures wildly at Teddy’s whole form. “-isn’t batshit insane?”

Teddy winces, running a hand through his now-blonde hair. “Okay, look,” he starts, his voice low but steady. “I get it. This is a lot. But I promise, I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“Exactly what someone who’s here to hurt us would say.” Tommy says flatly.

“Tommy, chill,” America says, though her eyes never leave Teddy, sharp and calculating. “Let him talk.”

Teddy takes a deep breath, his gaze settling on Billy. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”

Billy crosses his arms, his face carefully blank. “That’d be nice.”

Teddy nods, taking a cautious step back to lean against the edge of the desk. “Okay. So… I’m not human. Obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” Tommy repeats, dripping in sarcasm.

America elbows him sharply to be quiet.

“I’m a Skrull.” Teddy confessed quietly.  “We’re… well, we were an alien species. Shapeshifters.”

“And you ended up here, how?” Billy presses, his tone sceptical.

Teddy’s expression darkens. “Because we’re practically extinct. We’ve been at war with an empire called the Kree for centuries. They’ve been trying to wipe us out for just as long and they’ve mostly succeeded. Those of us who survived had to scatter across the galaxy. I came here when I was three. I don’t remember anything before Earth.”

He pauses, his voice softening. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

Billy’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. America, on the other hand, tilts her head, her expression unreadable.

Teddy continues. “The only person I had was Sa’ara. She wasn’t my mom, not really, but she’d lost everything too. I guess we must’ve landed together because she looked out for me, taught me everything I needed to survive. How to blend in, how to shift, how to keep my head down so humans wouldn’t notice me. So the Kree wouldn’t find us.”

“But they did.” Billy says. It’s not a question.

Teddy nods, his jaw tightening. “Two years ago. They came in the middle of the night. A hunting party. They looked human at first, you know? I didn’t…My mom—she fought them off as best she could. She was amazing. But there were too many of them.”

His voice cracks, and he looks away, his hands clenching into fists. “She died. Right in front of me. And I—” He breaks off, swallowing hard. “Something happened. I don’t know what. I just lost it, killed all of them. When the police showed up, they saw the bodies and put two and two together.”

The room is silent for a moment. Even Tommy doesn’t interrupt this time.

“I was fourteen,” Teddy says finally, his voice hollow. “They had enough evidence to convict me for murder and they sent me to Green Park. I couldn’t even shift anymore—I was so messed up from what happened. I just stayed human. Stayed quiet. Tried to survive.”

“And then?” America asks, her voice sharp.

Teddy grimaces. “There was a doctor at the prison infirmary who started taking an interest in me. My medical files. They were figuring out I wasn’t normal. I don’t know what they would’ve done if the breakout hadn’t happened.”

“So you ran.” Tommy says, his voice still cold.

“Of course, I ran!” Teddy snaps, then takes a breath to steady himself. “I wasn’t going to stick around and let them figure out what I was. And I couldn’t stay in there, not with those…things.”

“What things?” Billy asks, hesitantly.

“I can’t explain them.” Teddy gives a slightly helpless shrug. “But they weren’t human. The way they just attacked the guards, I…I’d never seen so much blood, not even when my mom died.”

“Astaroth,” America surmises grimly. “Belial.”

“And the Blackheart.” Billy finishes in a low tone.

Teddy shrugs helplessly “I didn’t even have anywhere to go—I just ran. I found this guy, a Skrull my mom used to mention once or twice who could set you up with a whole new identity. I got lucky, you know? I don’t know why Dasreel took pity on me, maybe I was so pathetic he couldn’t say no.” Teddy’s laugh is bitter. “But he did. It took time but he helped me figure out how to shift again. He set me up as Jon Gallo, said to call him my uncle if anyone asked and he'd smooth over any questions. I was meant to go to New York, blend in, start over.”

Tommy narrows his eyes. “So why are you here instead?”

Teddy hesitates, glancing at Billy. “Because we met, during the lockdown at Green Park.” He eventually confesses. “I’d never seen anyone like you. And when I saw that…that thing, I…I mean, it killed the guards like it was nothing. And you—” He looks directly at Billy now. “I didn’t know who you were, but I thought you might be stronger.”

Billy stares at him, his expression unreadable. “You tracked me down because you thought I could save you?”

Teddy shakes his head. “Kind of, I mean, I tracked you down because I thought you could stop it. And because I—” He stops, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I wanted to get to know you.”

“Why?” Billy presses, suspiciously. “You had to figure I’d found out eventually?”

Teddy shifts awkwardly, looking anywhere but at Billy. “Yeah, but…”

“But what?” Billy insists.

“Ay, por el amor de Dios…” America pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Give the poor boy a break, Billy. You never did anything dumb for a crush before?”

Billy blinks, his face going bright red. “What?”

Tommy groans. “Oh, for crying out loud, this is not the time for flirting!”

America sighs impatiently. “Okay, look. I’ve heard of the Kree-Skrull war before. Most universes have some version of it, though the details vary. I didn’t know there were Skrulls on this Earth, but if you’ve been hiding this long, I guess it makes sense.”

Teddy looks at her, surprised. “You’ve seen the Kree?”

“More than I’d like to,” America replies grimly. “But that’s not the point. If they’re after you, you’ve got bigger problems than just hiding.”

Billy lowers his hands, his expression still conflicted. “And if you’re lying about any of this…”

“I’m not,” Teddy says firmly, meeting his gaze. “I swear.”

The room falls silent again, the weight of everything pressing down on them. Finally, Billy exhales and nods.

“Okay,” he says. “I guess…welcome to Team Demonslayer?”

Teddy looks at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks.”

Tommy groans. “Great. An alien and witches. This is gonna be so much fun to explain to your parents.”

*          *          *          *          *
 *         *          *          *

Teddy
+663 4359-405

I didn’t really say it

But I’m sorry for outing
you like that

I mean, I was lying to you first

In a weird way I’m glad

It was harder than I thought,
lying to you both.

So…

We really met that day?

At Green Park?

We really did.

I was covered in blood.

You were glowing.

You make kind of an impression
on a guy you know?

Huh.

That’s

Huh.

Eloquent.

I’m processing, give
me a break.

Sorry, sorry.

You know

Up until the part I accused
you of being a demon trying
to kill me

This was a pretty great first date

Teddy is typing…

Yeah?

Yeah.

8/10, would recommend to
a friend. Not opposed to a repeat

Not opposed, huh?

I’ll take it.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Mount Washington Observer
| COMMUNITY & OUTDOORS |

Solo Hiker Found Dead Near Summit Trail
By Sarah Caldwell, Reporter
Published 3:00 p.m. EST, Nov 5, 2026

Mount Washington, NH—The search for a missing hiker came to a tragic end early Monday morning when a rescue team discovered the body of Jacob Keller, 26, on the Summit Trail.

Keller, a frequent climber and outdoors enthusiast, was last seen departing the visitor centre parking lot Saturday afternoon. When he failed to return, friends alerted the Appalachian Mountain Club, sparking a 12-hour overnight search effort.

“His body was located just off the trail, about a mile from the summit,” said Search and Rescue Captain Dale Carter. “There are no immediate signs of foul play, but the circumstances remain unusual.”

Officials declined to elaborate, though sources indicate Keller’s body was found with strange markings on his exposed skin. Mount Washington’s weather is notoriously unpredictable, but Keller was experienced and well-prepared, raising questions among search teams.

“It doesn’t add up,” said Sarah Thompson, a fellow hiker. “Jacob knew that trail like the back of his hand.”

The Medical Examiner’s Office is conducting an autopsy to determine the exact cause of death.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The factory district smells like rust and rain, the air damp enough to cling to the skin. What’s left of Fall River’s once-bustling textile mills has fallen into ruin—crumbling brick, shattered windows, the whole place aching with decades of abandonment.

Special Agent Rio Vidal strides through the mud, expensive shoes be damned, while Agatha drifts alongside her, spectral form little more than a shadow against the grey.

“Charming place,” Rio murmurs, her sunglasses glinting even in the dim light. She pushes aside a tattered old strip of yellow crime scene tape that’s fluttering like a dead thing in the breeze.

“Please,” Agatha says, her voice dry as bone dust. “This is practically homey compared to some of the places we’ve been. Remember the crypt in Albany?”

Rio makes a face as she steps into the hollowed-out factory.

The inside is no better. Dust hangs thick in the air. Jagged beams of dull sunlight pierce through broken windows, illuminating the scene of the crime in exquisite, gruesome detail. Old blood stains the cracked concrete, dark as spilled ink, an ominous spatter that spreads like some grotesque art installation.

Agatha’s eyes darken as she examines the space, flickering into sharper visibility, her ghostly robes rippling despite the absence of wind.

“Four limbs torn off,” Rio recites from memory, crouching to examine the bloodied floor. “No weapon found. No defensive wounds. No sign of a struggle. Guy practically exploded.”

“Exploded isn’t the right word.” Agatha’s voice hums with something deeper now, that otherworldly resonance that comes when she’s attuned to the space. She glances down at the congealed blood, hands ghosting over the stains like she can read them.

“This wasn’t violence for violence’s sake. He was used for something.”

Rio straightens up, a hard edge to her jaw. “Worse than the usual demonic fallout?”

“Much worse.” Agatha tilts her head like she’s listening for something beyond the mortal spectrum. The faintest whiff of sulphur teases her senses.

Rio notices. “You’ve got something.”

“Maybe. Let’s hope I’m wrong.” She turns to leave, her form rippling like smoke.

*

The weather-beaten house at the edge of town is listed as a witness address in the local police files Rio took from the police station. The local PD are out of their depths with this one and they know it but there were more than a few bristling looks at their case being stolen by a young female FBI agent. Oh, if only they knew.

The man who answers the door is as run-down as his home: George Davenport, seventy-two, former mill worker. He eyes Rio suspiciously at first, until her FBI credentials smooth things over. He doesn’t seem to see Agatha at all.

“Terrible what happened down at the factory,” he mutters, inviting Rio into his claustrophobic sitting room. Agatha slips in like a wisp of smoke, silent and unseen.

“What do you know about it?” Rio asks, notebook in hand, though she doesn’t write a thing—she’s more focused on George’s twitchy demeanour.

“Not much,” George admits. “But I heard things. Before the cops showed up. You ever hear a man scream, Agent?”

Rio doesn’t answer.

“What I heard that night didn’t even sound like a person.” George swallows hard. “I was taking out the trash late. Thought I saw someone lurking by the mill.”

“What did they look like?” Rio presses.

George squints at the wall like he’s trying to conjure the image. “That’s the thing. One second it looked like a big man in a trench coat. Then I swear—swear on my mama’s grave—it turned into a woman. Blonde hair, red dress. Like someone stepping out of one of those old Hollywood movies.”

Agatha arches a brow, unseen. They’ve had a few sightings of a shapeshifter roaming the northeast, but no one can give them much of a description.

“And then?” Rio prompts.

“And then it looked at me.” George’s expression is grim. “And ma’am, I ran like hell.”

*

The next encounter is on the corner of a busy intersection, where a street preacher shouts scripture through a handheld speaker. He’s tall and skeletal, wearing a coat that looks older than Agatha.

“The Devil walks among us!” he bellows as Rio and Agatha approach. “He wears your face! My face! He will consume your flesh and steal your soul!”

Rio lifts her sunglasses, unimpressed. “Subtle.”

The preacher flinches back like she burned him, his wild eyes darting to her. “He sees you! He sees us all!” he hisses as he staggers away.

Their last stop is a certain tourist attraction, but Rio and Agatha know the old house for different reasons. Inside, the air smells of lemon polish and old wood. The wallpaper is florals and restraint, but Agatha moves through the space like she owns it, trailing fingers along the banister with a fond smile.

“Did you plan this?” Rio mutters as they step through the door.

Agatha doesn’t answer—her smile says yes.

The cheerful tour guide appears moments later, a woman in her fifties with a face too chipper for this place. “Welcome to the Borden House! Are you here for the tour?”

“I suppose we are,” Agatha says, and before the guide can blink, Agatha’s form shivers and melts into smoke—rushing forward into the woman’s body like a current through water.

The guide freezes mid-step, eyes fluttering shut. When they reopen, her posture is different—slightly crooked, one shoulder raised with Agatha’s familiar arrogance.

She inhales deeply, stretching the borrowed body like a cat unfurling in a sunbeam.

“Oh,” Agatha purrs through the woman’s lips, “It’s different being able to really feel you know?”

Rio arches a brow. “You’re getting better at that.”

Agatha-as-the-guide smiles slyly, twirling a strand of dyed red hair around one borrowed finger. “Practice makes perfect. I’m getting the hang of sending them off to sleep too. She’ll wake up in an hour and think this was all her.”

“Then we’d best give her some good dreams to contemplate, hmm?” Rio murmurs suggestively.

They move through the house at a leisurely pace—or rather, Agatha does, fully in possession of her host, while Rio prowls behind her.

Agatha’s fingers trail along the banister, her borrowed feet deliberately quiet on the stairs. Her gaze lingers on the second-floor landing, where the wallpaper remains unchanged after all these years. In fact, she stands in the precise spot where she’d vanquished every trace of their affair from Lizzie’s mind.

“She deserved better than this house,” Agatha murmurs. “Than those parents, this town.”

Rio’s expression doesn’t change. “She was hardly innocent.”

“Neither were they.” Agatha’s lips curve faintly upward. “Do you remember the look on her face, when she felt all that magic for the first time? So much wonder.”

“I remember your face,” Rio replies quietly, recalling the memory as if it were yesterday. “Your lips swollen from her kisses.”

“Were you jealous, my love?” Agatha teases, pressing a kiss to Rio’s temple as they return to the lounge downstairs. “I thought you were there to kill me.”

“Not then.” Rio shrugs. “I didn’t come for Lizzie until years later.”

“Why were you there, then?” Agatha asks. “I always wondered.”

“Sometimes I get pulled toward deaths just before they happen.”

Agatha glances at her slyly. “Come on. You were a little jealous, weren’t you? Me, all powered up with a pretty young thing fawning over me?”

Rio lets out a sharp breath, muttering something under her breath that Agatha doesn’t quite catch. Possessiveness doesn’t suit Rio Vidal, but Agatha’s enjoying it far more than she’ll admit.

“What did I have to be jealous of?” she finally says silkily. “You came with me in the end, didn’t you?”

“I always do.” Agatha fondly replies.

A silence stretches between them—fragile, lingering. The air in the room feels heavier, dust motes drifting like tiny stars through slanted light.

Unexpectedly, Rio extends a hand, wry smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “Come on, mi vida. We haven’t danced in years.”

With a look, an old gramophone in the corner of the room twitches and begins to crackle out a slow, old fashioned croon of music.

Agatha hesitates, something soft flickering in her stolen eyes, and then she takes Rio’s hand. The guide’s body moves fluidly under Agatha’s control as Rio pulls her into a slow, easy rhythm—a dance that belongs to another century.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the creak of the floorboards, the rustle of fabric, and the faint memory of a waltz they’ve danced before.

Rio’s hand rests warm against Agatha’s stolen waist, her other palm clasped with Agatha’s own. “What do you remember? About that day?” Rio asks softly, her gaze fixed on the woman before her.

Agatha’s smile is still hers, even on the guide’s lips. “I remember that you were already in love with me.”

Rio’s mouth quirks, though the answer is already there in her silence.

“I remember thinking I loved you too,” Agatha goes on, more solemnly. “I remember wondering if that was a kindness.”

“I’ve needed your kindness.” Rio says simply. “I’ve only ever wanted your heart.”

“And you have it.” Agatha murmurs as they come to a gradual, gentle halt.

Agatha steps back, releasing the guide’s body with a shiver of magic. The woman blinks, dazed, before shaking her head, looking flustered at her proximity to Rio.

“Thanks for the tour.” Rio winks, enjoying the way the guide goes pink as she exits the Borden House for the last time.

*

Night falls by the time they return to the factory.

Rio stares at the bloodstain still etched into the ground, her brow furrowed. Agatha drifts beside her, fully visible now.

“It’s definitely the shapeshifter,” Rio says finally. “And you’re right—it’s stronger.”

“Stronger, and more deliberate,” Agatha agrees. “The death wasn’t random. The blood, the suffering… it’s intentional.”

Rio presses her lips into a thin line, then turns to face Agatha fully. “What’s the intention then?”

Agatha doesn’t answer right away. But when she does, her voice is tinged with the faintest hint of concern. “I don’t know. And that should worry everyone.”

Notes:

if you've been along for the ride since she kindly stopped for me, you know how deeply obsessed I am with the notion that Agatha and Lizzie Borden had a fling <3

Chapter 19: CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Tommy knocks twice on Lisa’s apartment door, quick and sharp. He’s already vibrating with impatience.

“Cool it,” America mutters, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. She’s got her usual unflappable air about her, but even she looks mildly uncomfortable about the whole situation.

Tommy throws her an exasperated look. “You’re the one who said this guy might be a demon. Forgive me for wanting to make sure Lisa’s not dating Satan’s intern.”

“I said it could be,” America corrects, dry as sandpaper. “And you’re the one who decided to play neighbourhood ex-boyfriend and do a wellness check. I’m just here to stop you from screwing it up.”

They’ve played out this conversation back and forth for hours while they travelled up to the city, Tommy obsessively scrolling through this so-called BH’s Instagram feed for clues. No photos of himself, mostly graffiti murals strewn throughout the city, his tagged initials clearly on display.

Tommy doesn’t want to be this person but the thought of the thing from the dumpster manipulating his best friend has him wired in a whole new and fun way.

Finally, finally, the door opens halfway, and Lisa is there—flushed, dishevelled, and clearly not expecting company. Her expression flips from surprise to irritation in a blink.

“Tommy?” she says, eyes narrowing. “And America. What are you guys doing here?”

Tommy doesn’t even give her a chance to slam the door. He pushes it open with a bright, plastic grin. “Hey, Lisa! We need to talk.”

“Now’s really not—”

Sitting on Lisa’s sagging thrift-store couch is a teenage boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He’s has an effortless, hot-but-like-he-didn’t-try-at-all-vibe, dressed in a hoodie like he didn’t expect to be meeting his girlfriend’s wildly suspicious friends today. He’s also very clearly caught mid-makeout, lips swollen, face slightly guilty.

“Oh,” Tommy says, blinking. “So this is the guy.”

Even America looks uncomfortable.

The possible unholy demonic monster looks between them, brows raised. “Uh. Hi?”

Lisa, face flaming, steps fully into the doorway like she’s trying to physically block them out. “Seriously? What is wrong with you two? You’re barging into my apartment like—like—”

“Like good friends concerned about your well-being?” Tommy finishes helpfully, slipping past her before she can throw him out. “Hi. I’m Tommy, this is America.”

Lisa looks like she might combust on the spot. “Tommy, you can’t just—”

Tommy turns to BH, ignoring her completely. “So, BH. Great name by the way. Quick question. You a demon? Yes or no.”

America sighs like her soul is leaving her body.

“What?” he says, blinking.

Lisa groans loudly, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh my god. I am going to kill you, Tommy. I swear to—”

“Lisa,” Tommy says, holding up a finger, “give us a second here. This is important.” He turns back to the other boy. “Listen, it’s a simple question. Should be a no-brainer.”

BH stares at him, mouth slightly open. “You… think I’m a demon?”

“I mean, are you?” Tommy presses, squinting at him like he can spot something sinister under the hoodie.

“Tommy!” Lisa shouts.

“What?” Tommy protests. “I’m just being thorough!”

BH, to his credit, does not look horrified or offended. “Uh, no. Not a demon. Just a guy. And BH is a nickname, you know? Just call me Benji.”

America, who’s been watching with quiet intensity, finally tilts her head and steps forward. “So…Benji… how’d you two meet?”

Lisa crosses her arms, glaring daggers at them both. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been trying to intern with Alias Investigations. You know—the PI agency in Hell’s Kitchen I told you about.”

Benji shrugs, throwing Lisa a fond smile. “My cousin runs it. She was pestering Mal for a job or an internship or whatever, and I happened to be there one day. We hit it off.”

America gives Tommy a look. “Alias Investigations, huh? Sounds reasonable.”

Lisa, meanwhile, is practically vibrating with rage. “Are you done now? Can you please leave?” She yanks on his sleeve, bodily pushing backward toward the door.

Out of earshot, Tommy holds up his hands. “Lisa—wait. We’re just trying to look out for you.”

“Look out for me?” Lisa repeats, voice sharp. “Is that what this is? Or are you just mad because I’ve moved on?”

Tommy freezes. “What?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Come on, Tommy. You think I don’t see what this is about? You’ve been acting all cool about us breaking up, but now that I’m dating someone else, you’re pulling this paranoid, jealous ex crap?”

“That’s not—” Tommy starts, then falters. He glances at America, who offers him absolutely zero help. “That’s not what this is about.”

Lisa’s arms tighten over her chest. “Oh, sure. You’re just randomly worried that my boyfriend is a demon. Totally normal.”

Tommy takes a breath, softening. “Lisa… there’s a lot of messed-up stuff happening right now. You know that. I just… I don’t want you getting caught up in it again.”

Something in his voice makes Lisa pause. Her anger cracks, just a little, as she searches his face. “This is serious?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says quietly. “It’s serious. Dead serious.”

Lisa exhales slowly, looking away. The tension in her shoulders loosens, but she still doesn’t look happy. “Jesus, Tommy. Fine. Are you satisfied then?”

Tommy chews his lip, eying the newcomer carefully and then sighs. “I guess. If you start feeling like you want to stab someone for no reason though, grab some holy water and hit me up.”

“Oh, I want to stab someone alright, but I have plenty of reasons.” She grinds out.

Behind them, Benji clears his throat, standing up from the couch. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the concern. Kind of sweet, in a weird, insane way.”

“Thanks, man,” Tommy says, then narrows his eyes. “Still watching you, though.”

Benji laughs again, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

Lisa glares at all of them, then opens the door pointedly. “Out. Now.”

America grabs Tommy by the arm and starts hauling him out before he can protest. “We’re going. We’re going.”

“Nice to meet you, Benji!” Tommy calls over his shoulder.

“Same, dude!” Benji calls back, still amused.

The door slams shut behind them.

Outside in the hall, America lets go of Tommy. “You’re lucky he wasn’t a demon. She’d actually kill you.”

Tommy exhales, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not jealous, by the way. Just for the record.”

America shrugs. “I’d be jealous. You fumbled a winner, man.”

“I didn’t fumble.” Tommy rolls his eyes. “She’s my best friend. That doesn’t change.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You know, I could use a little solidarity from Team Demonslayer.” Tommy complains.

“Oh, alright,” she loops an arm around his neck in an over-friendly sort of way, tugging him toward the building exit. “Let’s go eat away your sorrows, my guy.”

Tommy has to hand it to her; America has a knack for finding the best food cart vendors in any given mile radius.

Once they are suitably equipped with pretzels larger than their own heads, Tommy takes a second to study his friend. “You cool? You seem kind of…I don’t know. Frownier than usual.”

She doesn’t reply at first, just munches on her pretzel as her gaze goes distant. “This part of town looks familiar.”

“How familiar?” Tommy cranes his neck curiously, wondering which parts are the same across the multiverse.

“Too familiar.” She grumbles back.

He hesitates for a moment and then gamely nudges her side. “You know Team Demonslayer solidarity works both ways.”

She sighs with frustration. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Give it a whirl,” he replies dryly. “I’m smarter than the average middle schooler, I’m sure I’ll get it if you repeat it a few times-” Suddenly it clicks. “Wait a second.”

“Ay, dios.”

“This isn’t ordinary trouble,” his grin begins to lengthen. “This is girl trouble, isn’t it?”

America raises a single brow. “I regret saving your life sometimes.”

But Tommy ignores the quip. “Go on, spill your guts. You’ve already watched me fumble the best girlfriend ever, I’m uniquely qualified to sympathise.”

“I didn’t fumble shit.” America corrects swiftly. “I just…she’s in another universe, for starters.”

“So?” he shrugs. “Isn’t that what interdimensional hopping powers are for?”

“Yeah, if I could control them.” America points out sourly. “I’m just getting the hang of how to travel through space in this universe, let alone others.”

“So she’s literally out of your league.” Tommy hums sympathetically. “What’s her name?”

America looks like she’s genuinely considering portalling in front of a bus. But even she relents. “Kate. Her name is Kate.”

“Wait,” Tommy frowns. “I thought there were variants of people all over the multiverse?”

“There are.”

“So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go look up this Earth’s Kate!”

But America remains unusually sombre. “I did. A few months ago, actually.”

“…and?”

“And she’s different here. Older. Even prettier than I remember.” America’s laugh is sharp and humourless. “Put together. She has a whole life that doesn’t involve me.”

“Yet.” Tommy points out. “And speaking as someone who has experienced life with and without Ms America Chavez, I can enthusiastically state the former is superior.”

America rolls her eyes but her lips twitch slightly. “It wouldn’t be right, just barging in on her, wrecking her whole world. And I can’t go back to my Kate. So, I guess I’m just…stuck, you know?”

Tommy can’t help but frown stubbornly. “Have you tried talking to her? Maybe-”

“Tommy. Let it go.” America insists sharply. “It’s just not meant to be, okay?”

He studies her for a long moment and then swallows the last of his pretzel, carefully wiping his fingers and throwing away the napkin in a nearby trash can.

“Okay, you’re gonna hate this.” He warns her. “But trust me, it is necessary.”

“Hate what-?”

She cuts herself off as Tommy tugs her into a hug, the kind of embrace Billy has for him whenever he’s mad or sad or anxious. The one that reminds him of his mother’s magic, like a spell that could keep out every evil and sorrow of the world.

He can feel her stiffen like a garden gnome for a solid thirty seconds and then, slowly, relax. Her arms even loop around his back awkwardly, like she’s not sure where to put them.

“We’ll be stuck together then, okay?” he tells her, hoping it’s as much of a comfort as it is to him.

And the way she nods ever so slightly into his shoulder tells him it is.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

You have one (1) missed calls from Mary.
You have one (1) new voicemail received November 10 at 1:22 pm.

“You reached Tommy. Don’t bother leaving a message, I’m not gonna listen to it.”

“Tommy, it’s mom. I…look, I don’t know if you’re even getting these but if you do, could you just call me? I’d like to talk to you, if you’re open to that. Love you.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

C:\Users\WKaplan\Desktop\Witch101\Recordings\witch102_nov_12.mp3
0:00:02  |                            00:43:10

“HEEEEEEERE’S AGATHA- Oh. Well, that’s inconvenient. Teenager? Are you here?”

“…I’m afraid Billy’s not back for a few hours. After-school tutoring.”

“Well, hello. Mrs Kaplan, I presume?”

“And you must be Agatha. I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“Hm. You don’t seem too surprised to see me.”

“I suppose not. I’ve been telling my husband for some time that this house has a ghost. I guess it is nice to put a face to the ghoul, so to speak.”

“Well, well, well. Billy spilled the beans, I see.”

“He did, eventually. But you can’t have a witch for a son and not wonder who taught him all his tricks.”

“I think you might be over-estimating my influence. Your son is self-taught in chaos.”

“A family trait, I’d say. But then, I’ve only had a week or two to adjust. I expect you’ve been handling this for a while longer.”

“Not so long as you might think. I see he’s been busy in my absence.”

“It seems so. He’s remarkably tight-lipped about whatever all this is.”

“Yes, your son has a talent for keeping his woes to himself.”

“Really? I find him quite an open book.”

“A mother always knows.”

“Yes. We do, don’t we?”

“Well. Since the little miscreant isn’t here, I’ll just-”

“Oh, please. You’re a guest. And besides, we have so much to talk about.”

“Do we now?”

“You’re his teacher, aren’t you? I attend parent-teacher conferences with all of Billy’s teachers. Come on, I’m sure there’s an apple or two in the kitchen you might enjoy while we talk.”

“Huh. You know, I’m starting to see where he gets it from.”

"Now that's a compliment."

Chapter 20: CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

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*          *          *          * 

Agatha and Rio stand on one side of the once-empty living room.

Team Demonslayer sits on the couch opposite, waiting for the scolding they know is coming.

“So let me get this straight,” Rio says finally. “You three geniuses decided to take on Astaroth by yourselves.”

“Yep,” Tommy shrugs. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”

“And here I thought,” Agatha fixes Billy with a sharp look. Her cape swishes like an irritated cat. “I told you to stay out of demonic business.”

Tommy and Billy at least have the decency to look a little sheepish.

America simply shrugs. “What? I didn’t promise anything.”

Agatha narrows her eyes, her lips twitching like she’s deciding between scolding him and congratulating him. Finally, she lets out a dramatic sigh and mutters, “You’re as bad as I was.”

“Noted,” Billy replies, though he’s clearly pleased with himself.

“Anything else I should know about?”

Tommy raises his hand politely. “Billy’s dating an alien.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Tommy called the Sorcerer Supreme Capes McGee.”

“More sorcery?” Agatha looks more upset about this detail than anything else. “I raised you better than that.”

Rio crosses her arms, studying each of them thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose you’re not dead. Yet.”

“Seems like it.” America says, though the sarcasm drips off her words.

Tommy grins, twirling a loose thread from his shirt. “Nah, she’s impressed. I can tell.”

Rio raises an eyebrow but doesn’t correct him. Instead, she shifts her attention, her posture sharpening at Billy’s words.

“That’s when the other one turned up,” Billy is saying. “It’s not the same as the others. It’s different, stronger. The way it changed forms-”

“A shapeshifter?” Rio presses, her tone sharpening.

“Yeah,” Billy replies grimly. “One second it was Wayne, the next it was my mom.”

“Total creep.” Tommy mutters darkly.

“But at least we got a name,” America adds, crossing her arms. “Blackheart.”

The word hits the room like a stone dropped into deep water—rippling outward, heavy and unsettling. Agatha stills mid-pace. Rio goes carefully, perfectly neutral. But their eyes meet across the room, something unspoken passing between them.

Tommy notices immediately. He sits up straighter, his relaxed bravado replaced by suspicion. “Okay, what was that look? Do you two know something?”

“Who said anything about knowing something?” Agatha replies, voice smooth, evasive.

“Uh, you did, with that spooky little eye conversation you just had.” Billy points between them accusingly.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Rio says flatly.

“Oh, come on,” Billy complains. “We just told you everything we’ve figured out, you can’t just keep us in the dar-”

He cuts himself off, his body freezing in place.

Tommy’s head snaps toward him, eyes narrowing as he senses the shift a half-second before it happens.

“Billy-?”

His brother’s shoulders jerk. His hands tremble. A flicker of blue light sparks between his fingertips, uncontrollable and frantic, and then—

Magic explodes out of him in a torrent of blue light.

It erupts across the room like a shockwave, throwing everyone like ragdolls throughout the room. Even Agatha is blown backwards, her spectral form rippling with the wave of power. Rio goes flying, right through the glass of the window with a crash!

America barely manages to shield her face, but Tommy grabs her, does his best to soften their fall with what little time his reflexes offer.

“Billy!” Agatha shouts, but the witchling can’t hear her.

He can’t hear anything.

*          *          *          *          *
 *         *          *          *

hello billy

i told you i was closer than you thought

you

get out

get out of my head

what’s yours is mine billy

get THE FUCK OUT

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Billy stands at the centre of the room, unseeing, his eyes glowing an eerie, unnatural blue. His magic ripples outward in chaotic pulses, cracking furniture and sending papers spiralling into the air like a cyclone.

Tommy scrambles to his feet, ducking under a blast that singes the wall behind him. “What the hell is happening?!”

“Something’s got him,” Agatha yells, already moving to position herself but her form is flickering wildly, a candle caught in the wind. “His magic’s surging!”

“Fix it!” Tommy shouts back.

Easier said than done.

Another wave of magic explodes outwards, and America dives to the side, narrowly avoiding it. She lands hard, sliding across the floor, planting herself between Billy and the others.

“I’ll try to hold him,” America shouts, energy sparking in her fists. “Just—figure something out!”

“Don’t hurt him,” Tommy warns.

“I’m not an idiot!”

Billy’s magic lashes out again, and America slams her glowing fists together, creating a shimmering star-shaped barrier that absorbs the blast. The force rattles her, though, and her boots skid across the floor as she grunts from the effort.

Tommy zips in close, trying to grab Billy’s shoulder, but another pulse of energy flings him backwards like a ragdoll.

“Billy, come on, man!” Tommy shouts, coughing as he hits the ground hard. “Billy, snap out of it!”

Agatha is chanting, her hands weaving through the air, sigils forming in shimmering violet light around her.

 She ducks under a wild arc of blue magic and plants herself firmly. “Keep him still!” she commands.

America grits her teeth, forcing herself closer. “Then hurry up!”

*          *          *          *          *
 *         *          *          *

my my

i thought this power had been
vanquished along with your mother

how interesting

get out get out get out GET OUT

come on billy

lets take it for a spin

see what that blue of yours can really do

you have no idea what i can do asshole

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Agatha’s spell flares to life. Her magic wraps around Billy in bands of violet, constraining the surging energy like iron chains around a fire.

Billy jerks, his glowing eyes flickering as though caught between worlds.

Spectral purple energy wrestles with the violent blue, slowly swallowing it, inch by inch.

Rio steps back through the shattered window, heedless of the jagged glass clinging to the frame; with one hand, she reaches forward, pinning Billy’s shaking form in place as Agatha continues to subdue his wild magic until finally-

Billy’s body goes slack. The room falls deathly silent. All magic fades and sputters.

For a moment, no one moves—just the faint sound of debris settling around them. Agatha straightens slowly, her eyes fixed on Billy as his legs give out and he crumples to the floor.

America catches him just in time, easing him down as gently as she can.

Tommy rushes to his side, wincing from the bruises already forming from being tossed around in his brother’s storms. “Is he—?”

“He’s alive,” America says, her voice soft but steady.

Agatha kneels beside Billy. With unusual tenderness, she brushes a lock of hair away from his pale face. Her expression is unreadable. “But that wasn’t Billy.”

“Then what was it?” Tommy demands, voice tense with concern.

America hesitates and then reaches over, slowly tugging Billy’s eyelid up. “Dios…”

The whites of his eyes are riddled with tiny black tendrils.

Rio hisses, the sound near silent. “Possession.”

“The Blackheart.” America confirms grimly. “Billy said he spoke to it, on Halloween night. Maybe it wasn’t finished with their conversation.”

“Oh, you stupid boy,” Agatha snarls, half to herself and then visibly summons her patience. “Right. Lay him down and grab the chalk.”

“You think you can get rid of it?” Tommy looks up at her, hopefully.

But there’s nothing optimistic in her face. “No. But a witch’s circle will give us a chance to figure out a solution without blowing the damn roof off.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

C:\Users\WKaplan\Desktop\Witch101\Recordings\witch102_nov_13.mp3
0:00:02  |                            00:21:40

“Ow.”

“Well, hello there, sunshine.”

“…Agatha? Am I…is this real?”

“Sure is, kiddo. See? That phone of yours is recording already.”

“Yeah, I…Jen helped me with it. It auto-records when it senses a ghost.”

“Handy.”

“Is it…did I hurt anyone?”

“Smashed a few windows, blitzed some furniture. Other than that, no. We’re all made of tougher stuff.”

“Good. That’s good. So, is it…gone?”

“Does it feel gone?”

“No. No, I can…there’s something there but it’s like, muted or something.”

“Good. That means those cuffs are working.”

“Wait, these are Alice’s.”

“Sure are. I asked Jen to do the detailing. She says she told you not to get possessed.”

“I’m not possessed though, am I? I don’t feel possessed.”

“Well, you’re also made of tougher stuff than the average host, Teen. Blackheart had its work cut out for it getting through that blue of yours, it’s just bad luck we didn’t notice it sooner.”

“Can it do that again? Take control like that?”

“The binding runes on those cuffs should keep it out for now. Downside is, it’ll also keep you from accessing your power.”

“Good.”

“Teen…”

“I’m serious. If I can’t control it, I shouldn’t have it.”

“Well, that’s mighty altruistic of you but it’s not a permanent solution. The less you practice, the less ability you’ll have to throw that thing out next time it decides to play pinochle with you brain.”

“Then what? I just wait until it comes back for round two? Until it uses me to kill someone?”

“We’re working on a few solutions. This is the whole point of having a coven, you know. And you got some tenacious assholes in your corner.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy doesn’t really want to leave the Kaplans’ house, but Billy is adamant that he’s not going to go nuts twice in one day and shoos away his audience.

America heads back to the Sanctum with a scowl that means Dr Glitterhands is about to have a lot of pointed questions about possession to answer. Meanwhile, Tommy piles into Rio’s plain white sedan (it’s still wild to him that Death drives a Hyundai) to go home.

He leans his forehead against the passenger window, head turned toward the blur of houses and streetlamps as Rio drives. Her hands rest casually on the wheel, unbothered, as if nothing has changed despite the chaos that unfolded in her absence.

Tommy isn’t buying it. “So.”

“So.” Rio replies, her tone flat and uninterested as ever.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Around.”

“Come on,” Tommy presses, trying to make it sound casual. “Billy blows up the living room, demons are running wild, and you’re out gallivanting in the great unknown.”

“Gallivanting,” Rio repeats, as if tasting the word and deciding it doesn’t suit her.

“Yeah,” Tommy says, leaning back in his seat. “That’s the vibe.”

Rio doesn’t respond immediately, but he catches the flick of her eyes in his direction—calculated, assessing—before they slide back to the road.

He tries again. “Heard anything more from Randall? He hasn’t really texted me since the coffee shop but-”

“I took care of Randall.”

“Took care of him?”

“You heard me.”

The implication drops like a stone into a still pond, ripples spreading in Tommy’s brain. He adjusts in his seat, suddenly restless. “You’re not gonna clarify that at all, are you?”

“Nope.”

Tommy snorts softly, a corner of his mouth twitching into a grin despite himself. “God, you’re so ominous.”

“That’s the vibe.” Rio says, as deadpan as ever.

They lapse into silence again, the sound of the car filling the space between them. Finally, Tommy speaks, his voice quieter this time. “So… uh. You know. Demon hunting. That’s been happening.”

“I heard.”

“Cool, cool. And you’re really not mad?”

Rio shrugs. “What’s the point? You’re still alive.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Thanks. I feel so validated.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Rio says then adds: “Personally, I didn’t think you’d make it this long.”

Tommy freezes, turning to look at her. “Wait, seriously?”

Rio glances at him again, her expression as blank as ever, but there’s something teasing in the way she lets the silence hang. “Keep it up.” she says finally.

Tommy blinks. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, okay then, guardian.”

“Don’t push it.”

By the time they pull into the driveway, Tommy feels like he’s gotten at least half of his footing back—enough that he can joke. But in a perverse parody of Randall Shepherd’s re-appearance, there’s a woman waiting for them that cuts through any humour he has left after today.

Tommy freezes as he exits the car. His chest tightens like he’s been punched in the sternum.

“Hi, Tommy.”

Her voice is quiet, careful—like she’s not sure she has permission to speak it aloud. She looks rougher than the last time he saw her: older around the eyes, thinner in a way that’s not entirely physical. But her shoulders are straight, her chin lifted as though holding herself together by force of will.

“Agent Vidal.” Mary Shepherd adds more warily.

Rio says nothing, simply heads inside the house. Tommy kind of wishes she’d stay but the message is clear: this is his mess to work through.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks after a long moment.

“I tried calling you.” Mary says quietly. “I wasn’t sure if you got my messages.”

His hands clench reflexively. “I got them. All of them.”

Mary flinches. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you and Wayne. That wasn’t fair and they weren’t true.”

“I know.” He says simply. “Wasn’t sure you knew though.”

“I do now.” she swallows hard. “I’ve, uh, been seeing someone. A therapist, I mean. In rehab.”

Tommy’s not sure what he was expecting but this display of white knuckled contrition isn’t it. “That’s good, mom.”

“I’m a week sober actually.” She adds. “I thought you should know.”

He’s doesn’t know what to do with this information. He doesn’t know what to do with her.

“Do you…wanna come in?” he offers awkwardly, really hoping she says no.

Part of him is still disappointed when she shakes her head. “No, I should really get back to the clinic.”

There’s a car parked just up the street that Tommy hasn’t noticed until now; the driver is a middle-aged woman with keen eyes who watches them carefully. A nurse maybe, making sure Mary isn’t here to score.

“Right.” He says flatly. “So.”

“There’s a lot I want to say, Tommy.” Mary blurts out, holding his gaze meaningfully. “But I…there’s some work I have to do before I’m strong enough to tell you the things you deserve to hear. Do you think…I know I don’t have much right to ask but would you wait for me to get there?”

Tommy is nodding before he can really think it through, as if his body is genetically predisposed to accepting whatever scraps of hope Mary Shepherd offers him. “Sure. Yeah, I can wait.”

Her eyes are wet with tears, her lips tremble. He thought he looked most like Randall and maybe that’s true, but he thinks he has his mother’s smile. He wonders how he didn’t notice that before.

Mary brushes one hand against his cheek, ever so lightly and then retreats, like she’s not sure she still gets to touch him after everything that’s happened. “Good. That’s real good. I’ll be back, okay?”

“Sure, mom.” Tommy watches her leave and wishes every step didn’t feel like a kick to the gut.

Chapter 21: CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Billy grips the steering wheel tightly as they wind their way down a sleepy Newark street. The late afternoon sunlight bleeds through the windshield, fading fast as the fall season gives way to winter.

He flicks his eyes toward the passenger seat, where Teddy slouches uncomfortably. Teddy’s face, at the moment, is not his face. Jon Gallo stares out the window: familiar but ill-fitting, now that Billy’s seen the real Teddy.

“You know you don’t have to stay like that, right?” Billy says casually, keeping his tone light. “I mean, we’re out of school right now. No one’s gonna recognise you.”

Teddy’s shoulders hunch tighter. “I know.”

Billy waits, letting the silence stretch for a beat. “Okay, but you’re still sitting there like a gargoyle in jeans.”

Finally, Teddy sighs, and there’s a soft ripple across his features, like heat shimmering off pavement. Jon’s scruffy brown hair gives way to sandy blond curls. The gentle lines of the stolen face straighten into something stronger, something him.

The dark brown of his eyes remains the same at least as they shift to Billy, wary but relieved. “Better?”

“Way better,” Billy replies, flashing a grin. “You’re much prettier as you.”

Teddy snorts, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“Seriously, though,” Billy presses, turning his attention back to the road. “You don’t have to hide around me.”

There’s a pause, long enough that Billy thinks the conversation’s over, but then Teddy says softly, “I’ve been hiding so long, it doesn’t feel safe not to.”

The admission hangs heavy between them.

Billy swallows, his throat tight. “Well, it’s allowed,” he says, hoping it sounds reassuring. “Baby steps.”

Teddy doesn’t answer, but when Billy glances sideways again, he’s sitting up straighter, less like he’s bracing for an attack. Baby steps, indeed.

It’s been a rough week to say the least. Since discovering he has an accidental and deeply disturbing psychic connection to a psychotic demon, Billy hasn’t removed the leather cuffs binding his abilities once, not for any reason.

Agatha and Jen are still texting, working to figure out how to close the void in his mind without turning his brain into Swiss cheese; Rio is mostly absent and when she does grace their conversations, she sits around making dry, unhelpful comments about the Blackheart’s many murder sprees that they’ve been investigating.

Tommy and America do their best to lighten his spirits but it’s not the kind of situation he can take any peace from. Billy hadn’t noticed how integral his magic had become to him, how fundamental. Without it, he has a newfound respect for Jen; it’s like walking around with a gaping chest wound that no one else can see.

But despite this nightmarish horrorfest that Billy finds himself in, Teddy hasn’t run screaming yet, even when he had to explain that he’s had the thing from Green Park rattling inside his skull recently, playing puppet-master with his magic.

In fact, when Billy mentioned he was visiting an old friend who might be able to help after tutoring, Teddy didn’t even hesitate before offering to come with him.

The antique shop is exactly as Billy remembers it and nowhere where he last found it.

It took some time to track it down but nestled on a crooked corner of an otherwise normal block, the shop looks like it’s been dropped straight into place, transplanted from Morristown to Newark with its every detail intact: the dust-choked windows, the chipped red door, the faded sign above it, Szardos Antiques, that sways despite the absence of a breeze.

“Ooh, creepy and kitschy,” Teddy comments lightly as they climb out of the car. “This place looks fun.”

The door creaks open on its ancient hinges. A bell chimes—soft, deliberate, like it knows who they are. The interior of the shop is just as he remembers: shelves crammed with dusty artifacts, glass jars filled with things he doesn’t want to name, and that faint, indescribable smell of old wood and forgotten magic.

There’s even the familiar pointed crown he spied last time, the one that reminded him of Wanda.

Teddy’s eyes dart warily around the room. “Are those eyeballs in that jar?” he whispers.

Billy doesn’t look. “Probably.”

Margali is exactly where she should be, seated behind the counter like she’s been waiting for them. She rests her chin on her hand, watching them approach with an amused glint in her sharp eyes.

“Billy Maximoff,” she drawls with her French accent. “Back again so soon? And with new company this time.”

Billy hesitates, glancing back at Teddy, who nods respectfully despite his obvious wariness. “Ma’am.”

Whoever raised this alien, raised him with manners.

“This is Teddy,” Billy introduces simply.

Margali’s eyes gleam. “Yet another handsome boy, I see,” She smirks, studying Teddy with a predatory curiosity that makes him shift uncomfortably. “And such an admirer of yours, too. I can see it plain as day.”

Teddy coughs, cheeks turning pink. “I—uh—what?”

Margali chuckles, her gaze returning to Billy. “I take it you’re not here for pleasantries, then. Come along then. Tea first, sorrows second.”

This time, he follows without hesitation to the small round table tucked in the corner, where three mismatched chairs sit around a surface cluttered with strange cards and golden trinkets.

Billy pulls out a chair and sits; Teddy follows suit, looking vaguely concerned about what might be hiding under the table.

“How goes your work?” she asks casually as she bustles about, fixing tea with an iron kettle.

“We caught two of them.” Billy says slowly. “But the last one is…different.”

“I did warn you,” Margali hums wistfully. “It is a creature without equal, I am afraid. But you know this already.”

“How did you catch it, the first time?” Billy finds himself blurting out, though he had intended on approaching it a little more tactfully. His desperation loosens his tongue. “How did you trap it at Green Park when it’s so…”

He can’t find the words. With a glance to Teddy, it’s obvious that neither can he.

Margali is quiet for a moment, pouring out three cups. “Drink up.” She waves at them briskly.

Obediently. Billy takes a sip of the pungent black tea and gags a little at the overpowering taste of it, the tea leaves still swirling around in the cup.

“The whole cup, witchling.” Margali cackles faintly, gesturing for him to down the liquid. “Else it will tell me nothing.”

When he sets the empty cup down, she accepts it with a languid hand, twirling and tipping the tea leaves back and forth to study them. “I see you made the same error as I.”

“What error?” Billy asks.

Margali glances up at him from beneath her lashes, her sharp gold eyes unusually sombre. “I can see where it has touched your mind.”

He can suddenly feel the side of his face with uncanny detail, recalling the long, wet lick Blackheart had given him the night of Halloween. 

“I was trying to find Astaroth,” Billy admits quietly toying with Alice’s leather cuffs, the ones that now bind his powers. “And I must’ve reached for the Bl-”

Margali suddenly slams the cup down with a clang! “Not here.” she hisses, expression taunt with agitation. “Do not mention its name to me!”

Billy holds his palms aloft instantly but it’s Teddy’s gentle voice that intervenes. “We don’t mean to upset you, ma’am. Billy told me what you went through. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Margali holds her strain for a moment and then it eases from her body like a deflating balloon. “Good manners too.” She sniffs with some amusement. “You have a fine suitor here, young man.”

Billy desperately tries not to look at Teddy, knowing his cheeks have flustered bright red. “Margali, please. How did you trap it?”

“I trusted the Way.” she says simply.

“The Way,” he echoes dubiously. “I mean, I was really hoping for a spell of some kind. Maybe a potion?”

“I did not need these things,” Margali explains cryptically. “The Way provides to those who trust in its path. I faced that creature, knowing it might be my end, ready to join my sisters, my children. But I believed that their loss could be balanced, that I was spared for a reason. Only when I absolved myself of control was I able to control myself.”

Billy feels like he’s listening to some kind of new-age Instagram yogi mantra. “I’m not really following.”

Even Margali’s cackling laughter is accented.  “And yet following is the Way.”

Billy summons his patience as he tries to piece together what she has told him. “Magic is will plus power.” He says slowly. “It needs to be controlled. If I don’t control it, people get hurt, I’ve seen it.”

Margali sets her own teacup down and leans forward, her eyes sharp and unyielding. “The Winding Way is not about control. It is about trust. You must learn to see the whole picture, Billy Maximoff, not just the parts you wish to change.”

Billy clenches his fists on his lap. “But what if the picture is broken? What if it’s my fault?”

He can’t shake the image of Astaroth’s emaciated host body, hardly any older than him, as he withered away before his eyes.

Margali tilts her head, her expression softening just a fraction as if she can read his thoughts. Maybe she can. “There is no fault in the Way. There are only pieces of ourselves we don’t yet understand.” 

Teddy’s voice cuts gently through the silence. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” he says quietly. “It’s like…everything that happens is meant to happen. It all comes good in the end.”

Margali’s smile is knowing, a little smug. “It seems your admirer has more wisdom than I expected.”

Billy flushes, adding in Teddy’s defence: “Hey, he’s plenty wise—”

“No, no.” Teddy grins. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Margali rises, brushing her hands off. “Return when you are ready to stop seeking control.”

Billy feels Teddy’s hand brush against his arm, grounding him. As they leave the shop, the bell chimes again, and Billy glances back just once.

Margali’s silhouette is still at the counter, watching them with a faint, unreadable smile.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

AMERICA ⭐
+394 3455-506

Stephen found some stuff on BH

The demon, not Lisa’s tagger bf

I gathered.

What’s he got?

[Link attached: BLACKHEART.pdf]

Is this meant to be English?

It’s ancient Aramaic. Apparently
that’s the last time someone managed
to trap this psycho

Well, that bodes well

Does Doctor Dork have
a translated copy?

Knock it off

Stephen’s a friend

He’s a grown man who
wears a cape, America

The cloak of levitation is a chill guy!

Great poker player

I’m not even gonna ask

Does he have the translation or not?

[Link attached:
BLACKHEART4DUMMIES.pdf]

Har har

…Whoa.

Yeah, it’s not looking so great

I’ll say

Anything on how the Mariachi
managed to kill this thing?

Arameans and they didn’t kill it

They trapped it but even that
wiped out a lot of people

Well, we better come up with
something else then

Because I’m not real keen on letting
this fucker rattle around in Billy for
any longer than absolutely necessary

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Billy doesn’t argue when Teddy offers to drive them back to Eastview.

He’s too distracted anyway. So much so that he doesn’t really notice they’re gaining altitude until the amber glow of sunset begins to flicker between the trees.

“Wait,” Billy cranes his neck around with a frown. “What’re we doing here?”

“I have an idea.” Teddy says cryptically. When he glances over at Billy, there’s a tiny spark of challenge in his eyes. “Trust me?”

“Apparently.” Billy drawls, mildly curious at least.

Studying Teddy makes for a better distraction from his thoughts than Margali: he’s been wracking his brain trying to remember meeting him at Green Park but to be honest, nothing really springs to mind. Which is weird because now that Billy’s seen Teddy close up, he can’t imagine not remembering him.

It’s obvious why he’s not as comfortable in his Jon Gallo form; Jon is narrow and spindly, round-faced and boyishly charming, but there’s just not enough of him to contain Teddy and the quiet strength he radiates. Billy has eyes after all: he’s not blind to the exceptional muscles Teddy’s working with or the sharp, handsome lines of his features. But it’s more than that. There’s something in this alien boy that draws attention, that hints at something more lurking beneath his skin.

Teddy’s lips twitch under Billy’s inspection. “You know, I have a mug shot if you want a picture.”

“Oh, I know, I have copies.” Billy quips back, completely shameless for once. “I’m just wondering how the plaid looks better on you now.”

“Ancient Skrull sartorial secret.” Teddy deadpans. “Can’t tell you, then I’d have to kill you.”

“Ah, shucks.” Billy finds himself smiling for the first time in a while.

Teddy indicates left and takes the next exit, pulling onto a dirt road that is strangely, vaguely familiar. The trees open into a wide, grassy space, the ground golden under a setting sun. The same clearing they came to stargaze on their first date. A hazy warmth rushes through Billy at the memory, despite himself—Teddy’s arm slung over his shoulders, both of them lying on an old blanket while stars pricked through the sky like pinholes.

“Not quite where I was expecting us to end up.” Billy murmurs, half to himself.

Teddy shuts off the car and tilts his head toward him. “I figured it’s far enough from town no one’s gonna call in a fugitive or a teen witch throwing sparks. Come on.”

Billy doesn’t move at first. He just stares out at the clearing, hands pressed together in his lap, thumbs worrying the leather cuffs on his wrists.

Teddy, perceptive as ever, lingers by the car. “Hey,” he says softly, catching Billy’s eye. “Still trust me?”

This time Billy takes a moment to answer. And then nods slowly.

The clearing smells faintly of pine and warm earth. Teddy drops onto the grass cross-legged and after a moment, Billy joins him.

“I know it’s not the same,” Teddy begins carefully, breaking the silence. “But I used to feel kind of out of control too.”

Billy glances up, warily. “Used to?”

“When my mom-” he pauses. “When Sa’ara died, it felt like there was something else inside me was calling the shots. I still don’t really remember attacking those Kree. I definitely don’t remember killing them.”

“They attacked first.” Billy argues, surprising himself with the vehemence in his tone.

Teddy’s smile is faint, but he continues: “It felt like my body wasn’t mine. I didn’t trust it to do what I wanted, it felt disconnected from my mind. And when my body didn’t feel like it was mine, I stopped being able to shift it. I was stuck like this; in this form I didn’t trust anymore and no way out.”

“What did you do?” Billy asks, curious despite himself.

Teddy exhales and leans back on his palms, staring up at the sky for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. “When I got to Dasriel, he told me I had to learn to work through it. Teddy Altman was a fugitive, his face was plastered everywhere. I couldn’t stay like that if I wanted a life. So he brought me somewhere kind of like this and he told me I wasn’t leaving until we figured it out.”

Billy raises a brow. “So, I’m a hostage here now. Great.”

Teddy chuckles softly. “That’s pretty much what I said at first. I told him I couldn’t do it. Every time I tried, I just kept seeing my mom’s face and the Kree and my body would feel less and less like mine. Which is about when the asshole just started laughing.”

“Wow. He’s starting to sound like Agatha.” Billy says dryly.

But Teddy sits up straighter, still smiling slightly. “Dasriel still follows the Dard’van Sect. It’s like old school Skrull theology, the ‘one true faith’ supposedly. And it teaches that Skrulls don’t have forms the way most corporeal species do. They are their ability to shift. Dasriel said my body didn’t feel like mine because it wasn’t mine. What I am is my power. Trying to control it just made it harder to control.”

“Now you sound like Margali.”

Teddy rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m not sure how much of it I buy in to. I know I’m more than my power, I know this form feels the most like myself. But it helped me change my perspective, you know? Sometimes it’s not enough to be in control, you have to be willing to not be in control.”

Billy chews his lip thoughtfully, but he’d be lying if he said the words didn’t spark some memory within him. Back during the riot, when he was literally pulling the sun from the horizon, he’d felt a certain power in abandoning control.

But the thought of trying that now, with Blackheart still lurking out of sight, waiting for him to slip up and let it back in, is too horrifying to contemplate.

“You think it’ll work?” Billy says hesitantly.

Teddy holds his gaze. “I think you should try. I think…” He pauses. “I think your magic is you. The more you try to control it, the more you end up being the one controlled.”

Billy exhales shakily, then nods. “Okay. What do I do?”

As far as meditation goes, the clearing is pretty perfect. The wind whistles gently through the trees as Billy settles himself. He breathes in, then out, focusing on the space around him. He reaches for the faint edges of that connection—feels his own power brushing the edges of his consciousness like a tide just out of reach—but every time he comes close to the barrier created by Jen’s binding runes, his heart stutters with panic.

“Billy?” Teddy murmurs. “You okay?”

Billy snaps his eyes open, chest heaving. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

Teddy’s watching him carefully. He hesitates, then reaches out, fingers grazing the leather cuffs on Billy’s wrists. “Maybe these are the problem.”

Billy jerks back instinctively. “No. I can’t. What if it gets in again? There’s no one else here-”

“Exactly.” Teddy says firmly. “You might spook a few birds but you’re not going to hurt anyone up here, Billy.”

“You’re up here.” He shoots back testily. “You weren’t there when I was turning Rio’s house into a damn tornado, I could kill you, Teddy.”

Teddy doesn’t try to deny it, simply shrugs. “I’ll take my chances.”

“You’re insane.” Billy complains, fidgeting with the cuffs again. “Why am I surrounded by cute insane boys willing to throw themselves into danger?”

“Some guys just have all the luck.” Teddy sighs dramatically, but his lips are quirked, clearly a little smug at the praise. “Come on. I promise, I’m more durable than I look. Would it help if I resumed alien mode?”

Within the blink of an eye, Teddy’s skin has shifted to a luminous green, his ears pointy and studded with a series of gleaming silver rings.

“You look like a goth Christmas elf.” Billy snarks back but he has to admit, it does reassure him slightly.

Teddy’s smirk lengthens. “Oh, I’m not the one in eyeliner and leather cuffs, Criss Angel. Come on, show me what you got.”

Billy’s humour fades slightly. “What if Blackheart—”

“I’m here,” Teddy says simply. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Finally, with trembling hands, Billy allows Teddy to unfasten the cuffs. The leather drops into the grass like a dead weight. For a long moment, nothing happens. The silence buzzes like static.

Then Billy closes his eyes again. This time, he doesn’t try to force it. He imagines his mind as vast and endless as the mountains around him. He trusts.

And slowly, like sunlight breaking through clouds, he feels it.

The magic pours back, not in an explosion, but a gentle wave, warm and steady, filling the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty. It belongs to him. It always has.

But with it comes a slippery, faint presence, already easing in through the crevices of his mind.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

hello billy

ready for our next dance?

ill tapdance on your grave you dick

tsk tsk

so much anger billy

you know your mother had anger too

oh the things she did with hers…

oh yeah

wait til you see what i do with mine

ours billy

i'm in your head now

all this rage is ours to play with

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

“Steady,” he can hear Teddy murmur as the hair rises on the back of his arms. “Just breathe, Billy. You got this. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s here.” Billy mutters back in a growl. “It’s in my head, my magic, I can feel it-”

“No, it’s not.” Teddy surprises him with the simplicity of the statement. “Your magic is you and only you. Let it purge everything else.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

how darling

is this a new beau billy?

i wonder how his blood will taste on our tongue

you’re not tasting anything

oh no?

There’s no we

You aren’t me

And I am not you

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Billy lets go of the reigns and his mind overflows with a tidal wave of pure ultramarine, a rush of power that sweeps through every corner of his soul in an unrelenting flood. It moves with a swooping, effortless grace, like a flock of birds wheeling in perfection formation through the clouds, like flames chewing greedily through fresh kindling.

Releasing control over his power reveals how integral it really is to him. It responds to his whim, it bends and soars, it burns out any foreign trace, any hint of Blackheart’s poison.

When Billy finally opens his eyes, for a second, it’s as if the fabric of creation has been superimposed across his vision: the weave of veins and threads connect between everything from the evening sky to the swaying pines, to every blade of grass as it pulses in time with the beat of his heart. And at the centre of all of it, is Teddy.

His alien grins, and the relief in his face is obvious. “See? You’re you.”

With every blink of his eyes, the patterns of the universe fade away until eventually, he is indeed himself once more.

Billy swallows, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Teddy laughs softly, reaching over to squeeze Billy’s hand. “Welcome back.”

His chest feels light, almost hollow, like he’s just exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding for days. It’s exhilarating—this feeling of wholeness.

He can’t help himself.

He surges forward, closing the small distance between them. Teddy doesn’t even have time to react before Billy’s hands are in that awful plaid shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

The first brush of their lips is tentative, hesitant—like Billy’s still waiting for the universe to yank this moment away from him. But then Teddy makes a sound—something small and surprised—and Billy feels the tension melt right out of his shoulders.

He kisses Teddy again, deeper this time, and warmth floods through him like another tidal wave. He doesn’t have to look to know that the leaves are dancing in a phantom breeze again.

Teddy’s lips are soft, his mouth gentle but sure, and when he finally moves, it’s to cup Billy’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing just below his cheekbones. It’s reverent, the way Teddy touches him—like he can’t quite believe Billy is real.

The kiss lingers, slow and unhurried, a quiet storm building between them as the world falls away. For the first time in longer than he can remember, Billy isn’t thinking about anything else—not Blackheart, not the weight of his magic pulling at the edges of his mind. There’s just Teddy.

When they finally part, Billy’s breathing harder than he probably should be, forehead resting lightly against Teddy’s as he tries to collect himself. A wide, lopsided smile tugs at his lips, and when he opens his eyes, he finds Teddy staring at him, stunned and delighted all at once.

“That was unexpected,” Teddy murmurs, voice low and almost teasing. His hands slip from Billy’s face to rest against his shoulders, though he doesn’t let go.

Billy grins, breathless. “You’re not opposed?”

“Definitely not opposed,” Teddy corrects quickly, laughing softly as he shakes his head. “Are you okay?”

“Are you kidding? I feel amazing,” Billy says, and it’s the truth. He feels like he could pull the sun from the sky all over again if he needed to.

He lets his hands slide down Teddy’s chest before leaning back just enough to really see him. Teddy’s still rocking the gothic Christmas elf alien look, his cheeks flushed green in a way that’s impossibly endearing.

“You look pretty amazing too,” Billy adds, a little shy now that the adrenaline is ebbing.

Teddy opens his mouth to respond, but then his head tilts, expression sharpening as his dark eyes dart toward the treeline.

“What?” Billy asks, heart skipping a beat at the sudden shift in energy.

Teddy holds up a hand to shush him, brow furrowing. “Do you hear that?”

Billy strains to listen, but all he hears is the faint whisper of wind through the pines. “Hear what?”

“A radio frequency. High-pitched…” Teddy’s voice trails off, jaw tightening. His eyes narrow at the trees, shoulders squaring as though he’s readying himself for something. Something bad.

And then, everything happens at once.

A sharp, metallic pop-pop-pop echoes through the clearing—like fireworks or, Billy realizes with dawning horror, the release of smoke grenades. Within seconds, the air is thick with swirling grey clouds that sting Billy’s eyes and nose, cutting off the world beyond a few feet.

Billy jerks back, coughing, his hands instinctively sparking blue as his magic flares to life.

“Billy!” Teddy shouts, grabbing his arm just as familiar dark shapes begin to emerge through the smoke.

“Oh, not these assholes again…” Billy mutters, flexing his hands. His magic clears a dome of fresh air around the pair of them, revealing armoured agents stalking from the tree line, weapons drawn.

“Down on the ground!” A voice shouts, amplified through some kind of speaker system. “No sudden movements!”

“You know your timing sucks.” Billy snaps angrily, tensing his fingers in a fluid motion that expands the protective dome even further.

“Stay close.” Teddy murmurs in a low, tense voice, his body slowly swelling to impossible dimensions; larger and more imposing than the Teddy he’s come to know.

But before Billy can respond, a figure steps forward through the smoke to the very edges of his dome, flanked by two armed agents in matching combat gear. He doesn’t recognise him but from the way Teddy inhales sharply, he’s not a friend.

“Well, well,” the newcomer says, a smug smile curling across his lips. His gaze sweeps over Teddy first, then lands on Billy, sharp as a blade. “Didn’t expect to find both of you here. Lucky me.”

“Officer Lyman.” Teddy grinds out warily. “What do you want?”

“Not Lyman.” The man corrects simply. “Agent Martin Pell, with the Sentient Weapon Observation and Response Division.”

S.W.O.R.D. Billy steps closer to Teddy almost on instinct.

Pell’s smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. “We’ve been looking for you, Altman. You’re coming with us—both of you.”

Billy’s magic snarls back in a crackling arch of lightning that makes several of his agents flinch. “Yeah? You and what army?”

Pell’s eyes glint. “This one.”

As if on cue, another dozen agents close in from all sides, weapons raised. Billy glances around wildly, his heart hammering in his chest as he realizes just how badly they’re outnumbered.

“Come on, Altman.” Pell says casually. “Either you surrender peacefully or  you keep it up with this little green Hulk act and I have to drag you and your boyfriend in unconscious.”

“We can get out of this.” Billy murmurs to Teddy, maybe a little unrealistic but still hopeful. If he can figure out how to alert Tommy, America might be able to portal and help them escape.

But Teddy looks between the agents silently, taking in their odds with a more pragmatic eye. Eventually he glances back to Billy with a grimace.

“Whatever happens, don’t let them separate us.” He says quietly but firmly as his form begins to shrink.

Billy hesitates, then nods. “Not a chance. I swear.” And then he allows the dome to fall.

Notes:

HAPPY NEW YEAR <3

Chapter 22: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Billy loses track of time.

At first, all he’s aware of is the ground beneath his knees—hard, uneven—and the shackles biting into his wrists. His magic, which had only just felt like his again, is gone now, smothered beneath the weight of whatever arcane tech S.W.O.R.D. slapped on him.

He can still sense Teddy nearby, though. Even blindfolded, even powerless, it’s like his mind knows where Teddy is—close enough to touch, close enough to feel the heat of his presence in the space between them.

The black-out hood over his head is heavy and claustrophobic, and with every jolt and sway of their transport, it presses against his mouth like a gag. He focuses on breathing evenly, matching the rhythm of Teddy’s presence. Inhale. Exhale. Still there. Still safe.

Safe being a relative term, of course.

The transport lurches to a halt. Metal doors slide open, voices murmur orders, and rough hands haul Billy upright. He doesn’t resist but his heart slams against his ribs when he hears a grunt from Teddy, muffled and strained.

They’re marched forward, their footsteps echoing through hollow spaces that feel too vast, too still. Billy feels the walls around him, the unsettling absence of his power as it brushes against… something. The arcane quality of it hums at the edge of his perception, like a distant thrum he can’t quite place, muffled through cotton wool. Whatever this place is, it’s shielded against his telepathy.

Then they stop.

With a rustle of clothing, the black-out hood is ripped away. Billy winces at the sudden glare of artificial light. He blinks hard, forcing his eyes to adjust, and immediately scans for Teddy.

Teddy’s there, sitting opposite him at a bare steel table, hunched and glowering under the fluorescent bulbs. His own hood is gone, though his wrists are cuffed just like Billy’s. The expression he shoots Billy is equal parts relief and reassurance: are you okay? I’m so sorry, are you okay?

The door creaks open.

The agent strides in like she owns the room. Dark hair swept back into a ponytail, her suit clean and pressed with military precision. A faint scar splits the light brown skin of her temple, the only rough edge in an otherwise carefully polished demeanour.

She sets a pair of slim folders on the table and takes the seat opposite them, one ankle crossing neatly over the other. When she speaks again, her voice carries a distinct, clipped Indian accent, polite but firm.

“William Kaplan,” she greets coolly, flattening her hands against the folders. “And Theodore Altman. My name is Agent Radha Fallon.  It’s nice to finally meet you both under more formal circumstances.”

Billy’s lip curls. “Is that what we’re calling kidnapping someone at gunpoint these days?”

Fallon raises an eyebrow. “You’re here because S.W.O.R.D. has questions. You’re going to answer them.”

“And if we don’t?” Teddy asks flatly.

Fallon’s gaze flicks to him. “Then you’ll just make this harder on yourselves. I’d recommend you cooperate.”

“Hard pass.” Billy snaps.

Fallon leans back, unfazed. “Suit yourself. Let’s start simple, then.” She opens the file, flipping through papers as though she doesn’t already know every word by heart. “Do either of you want to explain the recent fluctuations in magical activity we’ve been registering? Specifically in the northeast?”

Billy stares at her, silent.

Fallon taps the page in front of her. “Massive spikes in energy, isolated to towns where—coincidentally, I’m sure—there have been multiple reports of violence, assaults, and several distinct murders that appear rather ritualistic in nature.”

Billy refuses to look down at the photographs. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you, Kaplan. Or is it Maximoff?” Her voice sharpens, and it’s there, a flicker of venom in her otherwise measured tone. “It seems your family has a habit of involving themselves in acts of magical violence.”

Billy stiffens. “Oh, you mean the time your agency sent a bunch of armoured thugs to storm my home and attack my family? Yeah, that’s a real high ground you’re standing on.”

It doesn’t matter how they’ve put together his connection to Wanda and Vision. All that matters is this narrative they’ve rewritten to paint themselves as the heroes.

Fallon’s lips thin, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. “What happened in Westview was unfortunate. But you know better than most what your mother was capable of.”

Billy’s magic flares—tries to, anyway—and the shackles dig painfully into his skin in response. “Don’t,” he growls lowly. “Talk about my mother.”

Teddy shifts in his seat, eying Fallon like a loaded gun pointed at Billy.

“Fine. Let’s discuss your brother.” she says simply, turning the page to a covert surveillance photograph of Tommy and America wandering around New York together, pretzels in hand. And another, Tommy and Lisa through a window frame, hugging.

“We know he’s been in contact with this girl, whose origins and abilities remain unknown. Not to mention Ms Molinari, who we suspect of being involved in an online illegal hacker group that has compromised the security of several major intelligence bureaus. Are you telling me you’re not familiar with your brother’s activity, William?”

“That would be the same brother you tried to abduct for illegal human testing?” he shoots back dryly.

“At the time, Thomas Shepherd was accused of murdering a man in cold blood,” she replies, unflinchingly. “His abilities posed an unknown threat to the community.”

“And now?”

Her lip twitches. “Now, we have him accused of much, much more.”

But Billy watches her closely, scans the photographs with a carefully neutral expression. He’s gotten better at reading people since he started learning from Agatha. And he doesn’t need telepathy to know that if this is the extent of SWORD’s covert surveillance, Agent Fallon is full of shit.

So Billy leans back with a deadpan look. “Spare me. This is a shakedown; you have nothing on Tommy or me or any of us.”

Fallon exhales slowly, refocusing. “Fine. Let’s move on to you, Mr Altman.” She turns to Teddy, her gaze sharp. “An illegal alien, in every sense.”

“Excuse me?” Billy snaps, even more infuriated.

Fallon doesn’t look away from Teddy. “SWORD has spent years handling generous arrangements for a discrete population of Skrull refugees. Only recently, we’ve been aware of an extraneous covert population that doesn’t seem to want to play by those regulations. Individuals like you and your mother, Mr Altman.”

Billy bristles. “He’s a refugee. That’s the word you’re looking for, lady. What happened to ‘give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free’? Or does that only apply to humans?”

Fallon’s expression doesn’t waver. “Earth’s governments didn’t consent to harbouring entire alien populations.”

“Earth didn’t ask to be invaded by Thanos either,” Billy mutters. “But you didn’t seem to have a problem when aliens were dying for us, right?”

Fallon ignores him. “I’ll be honest with you, Theodore. We have protocols for handling illegal unregistered Skrull inhabitants. I’m more concerned with what turned up in your last medical consultation at Green Park.” She flips open the second file, twisting the papers around so Teddy can see for himself. “Care to explain why your genetic profile is half-Kree?”

Teddy’s mouth opens, then closes. He’s frozen, like Fallon just yanked the floor out from under him.

“Lay off him.” Billy warns, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“It isn’t true.” Teddy finally says, looking as though one sharp shove might knock him right out of his seat. “It’s not true. It can’t be. Skrull and Kree don’t…they can’t…”

“That’s what our research says too,” Fallon agrees idly. “Which leads me to question whether you represent the first forays into an illegal biological experiment that intends to merge Skrull and Kree attributes.”

“For what purpose?” Teddy stares at her, genuinely bewildered by the thought. “They hate us.”

“Exactly.” She says coolly. “Perhaps this is the next attempt at eradication: creating a hybrid species to use as a weapon against either side.”

“I- no, that’s not-” Teddy’s whole body is shaking with shock, with denial, with pure terror. “This isn’t right. Your doctors, they’re wrong-”

“Like I said,” Fallon interjects over his words, as if he hasn’t even spoken. “We have protocols for unregistered aliens, Theodore. What concerns us is that when your existence becomes known, Earth becomes a target. You become a target. And neither side will care about the safety of this planet when it becomes the new battlefield.”

The room falls silent.

Billy stares at Teddy, whose expression is a carefully blank mask now—too blank, like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

Billy’s voice is soft when he speaks. “Teddy…”

But Teddy doesn’t look at him. His eyes are fixed on the table, his thoughts a million miles away.

Fallon sits back, satisfied. “So, now that everything is out in the open, let’s try this again. Are you ready to start cooperating?”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

From: DAYWATCH <[email protected]>
Subject: FW: URGENT: Unverified Enhanced Activity – Downtown Manhattan
Date: 21 November 2026, 17:56 EST
To: L Molinari <[email protected]>

Hey Molinari, I think your boys have been scooped.

Might want to go get them before someone throws away the key.

-daywatch

SEE ATTACHMENT HERE:

FLAGGED ACTIVITY PER USER-DEFINED FACE ID PARAMETERS.
INCIDENT TIMESTAMP: 21/11/2026 17:16 EST
LOCATION: 614 VESTRY STREET, WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, MANHATTAN NY

TWO IDENTIFIED INDIVIDUALS – W. KAPLAN AND T. ALTMAN – REMOVED FROM UNMARKED TRANSPORT BY ARMED PERSONNEL.

VISUAL MATCH = 92.8% CONFIDENCE (KAPLAN), 89.5% (ALTMAN).
AFFILIATIONS FLAGGED: S.W.O.R.D. (UNVERIFIED, TACTICAL PROFILE MATCH).
ACCESS THE FLAGGED FOOTAGE VIA SECURE RELAY: 🔗 View Clip – VX7-KAPLAN-1121-DT

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @holimoli_44
Updated: 21/11/2026    18:01:16 EST
See previous messages

holimoli_44: HOLY SHIT

holimoli_44: SOS

holimoli_44: EMERGENCY

ms.america: whoa where’s the fire?

holimoli_44: WHERE’S TOMMY????

ms.america: right here, his phone died earlier while we were hanging out

ms.america: Lisa, what’s going on?

holimoli_44: THEY’VE GOT BILLY

ms.america: wait what? Who’s got Billy??

holimoli_44: fuck fuck fuck ok

holimoli_44: I just heard from one of the guys in that online conspiracy forum I sometimes post in

holimoli_44: the one that helped find the surveillance of the escapee in the Mount Clarity reserve???

holimoli_44: He monitors traffic cams with this weirdo old SHIELD algorithm from the data leak a few years ago that looks for specific faces and I asked him to keep an eye out for Team Demonslayer, you know??! I didn’t even mean anything by it, it was just supposed to be a joke but

holimoli_44: he just sent me a message. His algorithm clocked Billy and Teddy being yanked out of a van and into a warehouse somewhere downtown

holimoli_44: i watched the video and the people who took them have GUNS America

ms.america: shit

ms.america: okay okay don’t panic

ms.america: send the footage he sent you to my phone along with the address and anything else he’s got

holimoli_44: did you miss the part about the GUNS??!???!

ms.america: one crisis at a time! Just send the info to my phone and keep checking to see if there are any more updates from them

holimoli_44: what about tommy? Is he there is he okay?

ms.america: oh he’s fine

ms.america: but whoever touched his brother isn’t gonna be for long

*          *          *          *          *
 *         *          *          * 

“Come on, Theodore.” Fallon is still pressing relentlessly, even though Teddy hasn’t even lifted his gaze in almost two hours. “Think back. This woman who raised you, Sara-”

“Sa’ara.” Teddy mutters but it’s absentminded, more reflex than complaint.

Billy can only watch as he withdraws further inside himself.

“What did she say about those years before Earth?” Fallon insists, one hand on the back of his chair, the other on a photograph from the crime scene. Related or not, Sa’ara looked a lot like Teddy’s human form. In the crime scene photos, her sandy blonde curls are matted with blood.

“Would you stop?” Billy snaps for the umpteenth time, desperate to end this torture. “He doesn’t remember, what part of that don’t you get?”

Fallon ignores the comment. “Think, Theodore. You said you were three when you came to Earth, what happened in those three years-”

The door opens with a hiss. Two agents enter, dressed in customary S.W.O.R.D black tactical gear, with two more in white lab coats on their heels. The way they leer at Teddy makes Billy’s skin crawl.

“Agent Fallon, I have the sign off from Director Anders.” The lab-coat says eagerly. “You’ve had him long enough.”

“These people want to take you, Thedore,” Fallon murmurs darkly in Teddy’s ear, looming over him. “They want to test you and poke you and figure out what makes you tick. Now I can help you, I can save you from all of that, but you have got to tell me what you remember…”

“Agent Fallon!” Lab Coat complains, stepping forward.

“No,” Billy interrupts, rising to his feet, heedless of the way the tactical officers tense. “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

Fallon sighs impatiently, then begins to gather the files into her arms. “Theodore will be taken to our research division for further analysis. You’ll remain here for now, William.”

Billy’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, shackles clinking against the table’s edge. “You can’t do this!” His voice pitches higher, angrier, the words vibrating like the edge of something dangerous.

Teddy looks over, finally meeting Billy’s eyes, and there’s panic there—softened only by the wordless plea to keep his cool.

“Billy,” Teddy says quietly. “It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay!”

“Take him,” Fallon instructs the agents.

The agents step forward, reaching for Teddy’s arms, and something snaps inside Billy.

“I said don’t touch him!”

The pain is sharp—sharp enough to tear the breath from his lungs—but he doesn’t care. He yanks against the metal biting into his wrists, twisting, grinding, until the skin gives and something snaps in the shackle’s joint. There’s just enough give.

He wrenches his hand free, gasping at the sudden rush of magic sparking to life in his fingertips. A flicker of blue that ignites like a wildfire.

The agents flinch back, reaching for weapons that explode in their holsters within seconds, the impact sending both men toppling backward out of the room. The lab coats look appropriately terrified without their security escort as the air shudders as arcs of energy pulse outward, rattling the table and the chairs, blowing out the bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Fallon takes a step back, shouting something as another pulse—sharper, more dangerous—rips through the room. Billy doesn’t even notice the door fly open again until someone else steps inside, dragging the weight of the world with him.

“Enough.”

The single word doesn’t boom, doesn’t shout—but it quiets the room in an instant, slicing through the chaos like a scalpel.

Billy glances over his shoulder, his magic sputtering and fading at the sight of Stephen Strange standing in the doorway, crimson cloak spilling around him.

Teddy’s still staring, wide-eyed and frozen, but he’s safe. For now.

“Doctor Strange,” Fallon says, recovering quickly. Her voice sharpens as her composure snaps back into place. “This is a secured operation. You can’t—”

“Ah, but I can,” Strange interjects smoothly, stepping into the room. He scans the scene—the agents frozen mid-action, Fallon’s glare sharpening, Billy’s cuff dangling from one wrist—and sighs, long-suffering. “Honestly. A little restraint would’ve gone a long way here, Agent Fallon.”

Fallon’s jaw tightens. “They are our jurisdiction. Theodore Altman is an illegal—”

“Theodore Altman,” Strange says pointedly, cutting her off, “is not your immediate problem. And as for William…” He turns, offering Billy a raised eyebrow and a very parental sort of glare. “I’ll be handling him myself.”

Billy straightens slightly, blinking. “Wait, what?”

Fallon plants her hands on her hips, visibly fed up. “You can’t. We have protocols—”

“Protocols which don’t extend to him.” Strange gestures toward Billy with a flick of his hand, and a faint ripple of magic follows. “William Kaplan—magic incarnate, practitioner in training, and let’s not forget the son of the Scarlet Witch—falls outside your neatly organized little jurisdiction. So, I suggest you let him go before this gets uglier than it needs to.”

“I’m not leaving without Teddy.” Billy insists.

Strange shrugs. “You heard the kid. I’ll take the alien to go.”

“Neither of these suspects are going anywhere.” Fallon’s gaze darkens. “They are both potential threats.”

“And I am a definitive threat,” Strange replies dryly. “If you lay a single finger on either of those children, Agent Fallon, you’ll have to answer to me.”

For a moment, the tension is unbearable. Fallon looks ready to argue, her glare icy, her authority pressing back against Strange’s sheer presence. The agents in the room hover just on the edge of fight-or-flight, hands twitching toward their weapons.

Billy braces his feet, holding his breath. He knows how fast this can spiral.

And then—

“That’s enough.”

The voice cuts through everything, sharp and commanding.

Everyone turns as a figure strides into the room—tall, composed, ID badge clipped neatly to his jacket. He wears authority like armour, and there’s something in the way he moves that makes everyone else seem smaller.

“Director Anders,” Fallon says, surprised.

The senior director—Anders, apparently—levels Fallon with a cool, unreadable look. “Agent Fallon. Release the Skrull.”

“What?” Fallon stiffens. “With all due respect, Director, Theodore Altman is an undocumented—”

“An undocumented protected entity,” Anders interrupts, each word delivered with clinical precision. “Surely, if there was any case deserving of exceptional status, it would be a half-Skrull, half-Kree hybrid. Until further determinations can be made, he is not to be detained.”

Fallon looks genuinely stunned, her lips parting to argue.

“Are you questioning my orders?” Anders adds, icily.

Fallon swallows hard. “…No, Director.”

“Good.” Anders turns to Teddy and Billy. “You’re free to go, boys.”

Billy doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, until the agents step back. Fallon’s glare burns holes through him as the shackles are removed from Teddy’s wrists, but she says nothing. Teddy immediately pushes to his feet and moves to Billy’s side, gripping his shoulder briefly—just to remind him he’s there.

Billy’s still watching Director Anders, though.

Something doesn’t fit.

It’s the wink that gives it away.

A quick, sly little thing—blink and you’d miss it. But Billy doesn’t. His eyes widen, and his stomach flips as realization slams into him like a freight train.

“Agatha?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

Anders—Agatha, wearing Anders like a costume—scowls angrily. “You deaf, boy? I said you’re free to go, scarlet spawn. Get your ass outta here before I change my mind.”

“You heard him. Time to go,” Strange says sharply, nodding toward the door. Clearly, he’s in on the ploy too which is mind-boggling because last Billy checked, witches and sorcerers would rather eat their own heads than work together.

As they step out into the hall, Teddy keeps his hand firmly on Billy’s back, grounding him.

“What just happened?” Teddy mutters under his breath.

“I’m not so sure,” Billy says slowly. “But I think hell might be freezing over.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The Sanctum Sanctorum, in all its chaotic, mystical glory, is a much-needed reprieve.

Billy doesn’t realize how hard he’s been breathing until his boots hit the marble floors, the scent of old books and incense replacing the sterile, metallic bite of S.W.O.R.D.’s interrogation chamber. His shoulders sag with the relief of it, and the tension around his ribs eases like a rubber band snapping loose.

Tommy is already there, pacing—because of course he is—but the second he spots them coming through Strange’s spinning orange portal, he skids to a halt, turning wide, frantic eyes toward Billy.

Before Billy can say anything, Tommy crosses the room in a blur of motion, faster than a heartbeat, and wraps his arms around Billy with the kind of force that knocks the breath right out of him.

“Holy crap, don’t do that!” Tommy says into his ear, his voice shaking just enough that Billy feels it. “I thought—” He cuts himself off, but his grip stays firm, as though he’s afraid Billy might disappear again.

“I’m fine,” Billy mutters, albeit muffled against Tommy’s shoulder. “Teddy’s fine.”

Tommy doesn’t let go, just tightens his hold. “You look ‘not fine’. You look ‘almost died’. Which is the opposite of fine, by the way.”

America hovers over his shoulder, looking only slightly less concerned than Tommy. She gives Billy a quick nod and a sharp, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Billy says again, gentler this time. “Thanks. I assume this unholy team up was your idea?”

Strange clears his throat pointedly, the movement of his cloak sweeping into the room as he raises an eyebrow. “Consider us even, Chavez. I’m not going to make a habit of bailing your friends out of incarceration.”

“We’ll see.” America waves a dismissive hand.

Strange’s lips purse like a cranky school Marm. “We will not see-”

Tommy—still clinging to Billy but now with one arm—snaps his head around at Strange, his eyes flashing. “This is literally the least you could do, Glitter-fingers,” he says bluntly. “Considering you vanquished our mom and all.”

Strange exhales sharply, a sound teetering between annoyance and exhaustion. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again,” Tommy shoots back, bristling with energy.

Before either of them can escalate further, the air in the room shifts—a ripple of something ancient and spectral unfurling like a sigh through the Sanctum. The flickering shadows along the walls twitch, coalescing into a single spot before pulling themselves into the shape of her.

Agatha Harkness materializes with a shudder, her ghostly form solidifying into something near-tangible as she rolls her shoulders like she’s trying to shake out a cramp.

“Ahhh, much better,” she says with a huff. “Cramming yourself into someone else’s skin—not the most comfortable ride.”

Stephen’s face darkens. “Which is why possession of bodies is forbidden in the mystic arts, Harkness.”

Agatha stretches her arms above her head, unbothered by Strange’s scolding as a sly smile tugs at her lips. “Oh, lighten up. Yeesh, you sorcerers, so uptight.”

His eyes flit heavenward for a minute as if questioning whether some divine intervention might strike her down for him. “Witches,” he mutters back. “You have no respect for the sacred laws, no discipline.”

“Please,” She waves a dismissive hand at him. “Cauldron-kind have been brewing and cursing since before you little mystic-minded elitist prisses deigned to summon your first spark.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns her sharp gaze on Billy, a wicked little gleam in her eye as she scans him from head to toe. “Well, well. Would you look at you.”

Billy straightens under her scrutiny, bracing for it. “What?”

Agatha crosses the room, inspecting him like she’s searching for flaws in a piece of fine china. “No binding spell cuffs. No Blackheart whispering in your ear. And from what I hear, you were ready to throw down with a shadowy government combat agency at a moment’s notice.” Her lips twitch upward, pleased. “Attaboy, Kaplan.”

“What can I say? I’m allergic to authority figures,” Billy says dryly, but he can’t deny the way the praise lingers in his chest.

“Evidently.” Agatha tilts her head, that hint of a smirk curling at the corner of her mouth.

Stephen, still unimpressed, clears his throat. “Can we get back to the part where possession is an unacceptable violation of—”

Agatha groans. “Oh, would you let it go? You’re like a broken record, Strange.”

“I still say we should’ve crashed the place.” Tommy mutters, cutting Strange sharp defiant looks out of the corner of his eye. “Lisa was the one who found the address and everything.”

“That would have been a good way to get yourself shot, Shepherd.” America interrupts bluntly. “Besides, what’s the point of having an Avenger on speed dial if you don’t phone a friend once in a while?”

Teddy, standing silently this whole time, finally lets out a breath that sounds like the first one he’s taken since leaving S.W.O.R.D. “Avenger?” he mutters weakly.

“Oh,” Billy suddenly winces. “Yeah, I forgot we didn’t explain this part.”

Tommy has no such qualms, looping his arm around Teddy’s shoulders like he had on the first day they met, though Teddy is almost a foot taller than Jon Gallo. “So, it’s like this, my guy: one day, a witch and a synthezoid loved each other very much…”

“Seriously,” America says in a low voice as Tommy recounts the complete history of their conception, death and resurrection to an increasingly shocked Teddy. “I’m glad you’re alright. Tommy really was ready to storm the castle, you know?”

“Thanks for not letting him.” Billy murmurs back, appreciatively. “I swear, it’s a full-time job keeping him killing from himself.”

“You’re telling me.” America sighs, then glances toward Teddy. “Is he okay?”

Billy hesitates, not sure he wants to be the one to spill the secrets of Teddy’s ancestry to the world. He can’t help remembering Fallon’s words. When your existence becomes known, Earth becomes a target. You become a target.

“He will be.” He says eventually. “Team Demonslayer looks out for its own, right?”

“Right.” America confirms, then sighs impatiently. “Ay dios, Agatha’s winding Stephen up again.”

“Eh, let her.” Billy shrugs. Tommy was right: it really is the least he can do.

Chapter 23: CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

THE HEART OF EVIL:
Ancient Cultural Representations of the
 Judeo-Christian Devil Explored in Anthropological Surveys

Published by Dr. Muhammed Psar Al-Abbir, Oxford University
(Dept of Ancient Anthropology and Religion Studies)
2025

Abstract: This paper examines the cultural and artistic representations of the Judeo-Christian Devil (referred to in texts as ‘the heart of evil’) through anthropological surveys of ancient ruins in modern Syria. Drawing on recent excavations and iconographic analyses, the study explores depictions of Blackheart as a localized manifestation of the Devil within early Levantine communities. By situating these representations within the broader context of Judeo-Christian eschatology and regional folklore, the research reveals how notions of evil were visualized, ritualized, and adapted to reflect shifting religious, social, and political landscapes.

Figure 1. Papyrus fragment discovered amongst
a kingly tomb, featuring the characteristic black
shadowy ‘heart of evil’ entity popularised
in the 5^th century CE.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

“Well.” Tommy finally says, managing to sound only the slightest bit strangled. “That’s definitely…”

“I know I’m the one who suggested putting it all up there like that,” America adds faintly. “I regret that now.”

Billy says nothing, simply staggers back and flops down on his bed, still looking at what Eddie used to call his psycho killer Pinterest board which now contains everything they know about the Blackheart.

Somehow, it’s made it sound even worse.

Billy’s eyes follow the red string looped between each pin in the timeline: from its first appearance amongst the ancient tribes of the Middle East, its resurrection by greedy warlords and unready mystics who paid with the blood of their people, to legend after legend pleading with the generations to come to be wary of this creature, to leave it trapped in those rare instances they manage to do so.

It goes dormant for stretches at a time. But no one ever listens. There is always a mystic, a witch, a sorcerer, a priest ready to unlock the beast for their own agenda. There are entire cities wiped off the map because of this thing as it moved from place to place, continent to continent, spreading havoc and hatred and pure, unadulterated evil.

And that’s just where it appears in mortal histories.

“So I guess it is kind of a prince, huh?” Tommy adds warily. “If Mephisto is its…can demons be fathers? Parents? Spawn-makers?”

Billy rubs his eyes wearily. “Mentor, maybe.”

The same way he is Agatha’s, the Blackheart is Mephisto’s protégé, a creature he has shaped in his image. There is even one legend that suggested the Blackheart was Mephisto’s attempt at mastering chaos magic.

The thought of his mother’s scarlet power anywhere near this thing makes him queasy.

“Hey guys, what’s the- whoa.” Teddy pauses, catching sight of the murder board instantly. “Wow, that’s a lot.”

“I’m redecorating.” Billy deadpans, but he can’t put his heart into it. “Hopeless demonslayer is very in right now I hear. Did my mom let you in?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, she said it’s fine.” Teddy hums, inspecting the board closer. “So this is the thing at the prison, huh?”

“Meet the Blackheart,” America says with a flourish. “Prince of the Hell dimension, wandering plague on humanity, all around dick.”

“And now our problem to deal with.” Tommy mutters. “Woo-hoo.”

“Weird,” Teddy murmurs. “It was just a kid when I saw it. But this looks more like what I imagined.” He waves a hand at a particularly gruesome depiction: a black anthropomorphic shadow with a glowing red heart and a tail.

“Yeah, it’s definitely not winning the Miss Demonic bikini competition.” Tommy says flatly.

“Why choose a kid?” Billy wonders out loud. “I mean, it must’ve had better forms it could take, more useful forms.”

“There’s a lot of power in being underestimated.” Teddy says wisely.

“I think I read that in a fortune cookie once.” Tommy replies.

Teddy rolls his eyes. “I know shapeshifters, Tommy. A kid can get close, you know? People want to help kids, they want to protect them. In prison, that’s not a bad tactic.”

“Why would that,” Tommy thwaps a finger against the creepy illustration. “Need protection?”

“Because it doesn’t have powers.” Billy suddenly blurts out, blinking at the board as if seeing it for the first time. “I mean, beyond shape shifting.”

“Are we looking at the same murder board right now?” America checks dubiously.

“No, I’m serious.” Billy stands, inspecting the different bits of evidence closer. “All of these records, they all talk about hubris as their downfall, people getting arrogant, prideful. The Blackheart is violent and manipulative and powerful but it doesn’t attack anyone with magic. I think it’s because it doesn’t actually have any of its own.”

Tommy frowns slightly. “That would explain why it came sniffing around you. I mean, Agatha’s always going on about you being a magnet for things that wanna eat you.”

“That’s me,” Billy mutters dryly. “Billy the Bait.”

“But if it doesn’t have any magic of its own, why does everyone treat it like such a threat?” America asks, eying one particular account from the Ottoman Empire. “Like it’s the end of days?”

“Because it’s clever.” Billy says resentfully. “It knows that being feared is better than being powerful. I bet that’s the only reason these pictures even exist. Because it wanted to be seen. It likes the attention, the glory.”

“But to what end?” America pushes. “It doesn’t seem to have any motive beyond fucking up everyone’s day.”

Teddy gamely raises a hand. “Is that not what demons usually want?”

“Not this one.” Billy frustrates. “This one has plans, it told us so when we banished Astaroth. It was glad to see it go, remember?”

“Because it didn’t want to share the attention.” Tommy pipes up, gaze fixated on the board. “It wants all the glory to itself.”

“What glory though?” Teddy wonders aloud. “It doesn’t have any magic. What’s it gonna do, just keep making messes until-?”

“Until Daddy notices.” America finishes slowly, tracing a path up to the single image of a red horned devil with the word MEPHISTO scrawled across it.

“For crying out loud,” Tommy groans. “If this is all because little baby Blackheart didn’t get enough hugs as a child, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Whatever this it’s planning,” Billy murmurs grimly. “Blackheart’s doing it for its maker.”

“Which puts us right back at square one.” America sighs and throws her pen down. “Look, I need a break, or my brain is going to start leaking out of my ears.”

“It’s getting late.” Tommy adds reluctantly. “Let’s call it a night and we’ll pick up tomorrow before school.”

Billy chews on his lip persistently. “You guys can sleep here if you want, I’m gonna keep going with this for a while-”

America coughs pointedly. “Or you can address the besotted alien who came over to see you?”

Tommy snickers into his fist, giving his brother a pat on the shoulder in commiseration. “Your lack of game brings shame to the whole family, bud.”

“I changed my mind,” Billy rolls his eyes. “Get out of my house.”

America summons a portal straight into Tommy’s bedroom and the pair of them make obnoxious kissing faces right up until the second it seals behind them.

Teddy watches the portal close, amusement flickering in his eyes, but when he turns back to Billy, the grin softens into something gentler, warmer. Billy, still staring at the messy, chaotic web of red string on his wall, doesn’t immediately notice.

Teddy lets out a small, affectionate sigh as he steps closer.

“Hey.” Teddy’s voice is quiet, coaxing Billy’s attention away from the board. “You heard America—brain leaks are bad. Even for magical wunderkinds.”

Billy huffs a tired laugh but doesn’t look at him yet. “I just…” His hands twitch at his sides, restless with half-formed thoughts. “I feel like we’re so close to understanding what it’s doing…”

Billy groans softly into his hands and thuds back onto his bed. Teddy takes that as progress. Carefully, he sits down next to him, leaving a polite inch or two of space between them.

“Listen.” Teddy nudges his knee against Billy’s. “I’m not exactly a magical expert, but I’ve seen enough to know you can’t solve everything in one night.”

“You sound like America.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” Teddy quips back.

Billy exhales a breathy laugh and ducks his head, his shoulder brushing against Teddy’s. It sends a shiver through him, a fluttery, awkward thing that makes him straighten up too fast, like he wasn’t just leaning into it.

 He clears his throat. “I just… I feel like I have to figure this out, you know? If I don’t, someone’s going to get hurt again, and it’ll be my fault.”

“It wouldn’t be.” Teddy’s voice is immediate, his brow furrowing. “You can’t put that on yourself.” Almost unconsciously, his hand reaches for Billy’s in comfort.

Billy looks down at their joined hands, the steady press of Teddy’s fingers wrapped around his. Slowly, he squeezes back, grounding himself in the warmth and solidness of Teddy beside him.

For a moment, the room is quiet—just the faint sounds of the tree outside Billy’s window scratching at the glass and the faint hum of the witch’s circle near their feet.

“Alright. Just a little break.”

“Excellent,” Teddy’s smile softens. “So can we put away the evil pin board of doom because it’s really killing the mood having those things stare at me like that.”

“Oh, there’s a mood, huh?” Billy teases, mostly so he can enjoy the way Teddy’s cheeks go slightly pink.

“A relaxed mood.” Teddy maintains sternly. “A break-positive mood.”

“Alright then.” With a flick of his wrist, the murder board flips to face the other direction. “What do you suggest we do instead?”

Teddy hesitates, suddenly very aware of the way Billy’s looking at him. His mouth goes dry. “Uh. Well…”

“Because you’re the one who decided I needed a break,” Billy adds, grinning now. “So you get to figure out what the break is.”

“Oh. Great.” Teddy laughs, awkward but not uncomfortable. “No pressure or anything.”

Billy huffs another laugh, and before he can stop himself, Teddy says, “We could, um… watch a movie? Or, you know, just—hang out. Talk. Or not talk.”

Billy tilts his head, amused. “Talking or not talking. That’s quite the range.”

Teddy laughs again, embarrassed now. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re not doing so bad.” Billy says it softly, the humour still there, but underneath it is something else—something warmer.

Teddy freezes for half a second, blinking at him, before smiling back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Billy sighs, then pushes himself back up to the head of the bed so they can watch his laptop easier. “Okay, stupid or creepy?”

“I’ve had enough creepy for several lifetimes.” Teddy says honestly. “Besides, you’re talking to a guy who once sat through Sharknado 3 unironically. Stupid all the way.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

You have one (1) missed calls from Mary.
You have one (1) new voicemail received November 27 at 1:22 pm.

“You reached Tommy. Don’t bother leaving a message, I’m not gonna listen to it.”

“Hi Tommy, it’s Mom. I just wanted to make sure you still feel comfortable meeting me tomorrow. It’s important to me, you know, that you don’t feel like you have to. I understand either way. Okay. Love you.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy arrives at the little corner café ten minutes early. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because he wanted to prove—to himself, to the universe—that he wasn’t nervous. It doesn’t work. He’s been drumming his fingers against the table and staring at the cheap plastic menu for so long that he knows every price on it by heart.

He checks his phone. Two minutes to go.

The door chimes, and Tommy looks up instinctively. Mary stands in the doorway, squinting against the sunlight behind her, scanning the room for him. Her shoulders are a little less straight today, her gaze just a little less guarded—but she looks sober. Not in a distant, glazed-over way, not like she’s barely holding on. Just tired.

Tommy sits back in his chair, crossing his arms loosely to cover up how stiff he suddenly feels.

Mary spots him, smiles faintly, and heads over. “Hi, Tommy.”

“Hey.” Tommy’s voice is even, neutral. He doesn’t stand up or wave her over; he just watches as she pulls out the chair across from him and sits down.

Up close, he sees how much better she looks than she did a week ago, fresh off a detox. There’s colour in her face. Her hands don’t tremble. He doesn’t feel like she’s a gust of wind away from shattering into pieces.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she admits softly, looking down as she fiddles with the paper napkin in front of her. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

Tommy shrugs one shoulder. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.” She smiles faintly, like it’s the first time she’s allowed herself to believe it. “You are.”

A waitress interrupts them to take their orders. Tommy gets a black coffee—he doesn’t trust himself to eat anything. Mary orders herbal tea, which feels weirdly on-brand for someone in recovery. The waitress disappears, and silence settles back over the table.

Mary is the first to break it. “Two weeks.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been sober for two weeks now,” she clarifies, her tone light but deliberate. “Not a big milestone, I know. But…” She shrugs, almost sheepish. “It’s a start.”

“That’s good.” Tommy says it automatically, because it feels like the right thing to say. Then, with a faint edge of scepticism, he adds, “Still at the clinic?”

Mary nods. “Yeah. Still there. Still going to meetings. I have this, uh, sponsor now. Her name’s Helen. She’s a hard-ass.”

Tommy snorts before he can stop himself. “Sounds like what you need.”

“Yeah,” Mary agrees, smiling for real this time. It’s small, but genuine, and Tommy realizes with a start that it’s been a long time since he’s seen his mother smile like that. Not brittle. Not masking anything. Just…there.

He doesn’t know what to do with that.

“I saw that friend of yours the other day,” Mary says, conversationally. “He came to visit me, actually. The one who always smells like he took a cannabis bath.”

“Stoner Dave.” Tommy can’t help but wonder at Dave’s presence in a rehab clinic. Maybe he’s been hitting something harder than marijuana these days. Does that make him a bad friend, abandoning him right when he might need more help?

Mary draws a breath, bracing herself. “So the last time I saw you, I said I wanted to be strong enough to tell you the things you deserved to hear. I don’t know if I’m there yet, but…” Her voice falters, and she looks at him—really looks at him. Her eyes are glassy, but she doesn’t let them spill over.

“I was a bad mom, Tommy.”

Tommy freezes. He feels the words like a punch to the gut, low and deep and unexpected. He’s not sure what to say, so he says nothing.

Mary doesn’t stop. “I wasn’t just neglectful, or distracted, or… whatever I tried to tell myself I was. I was cruel sometimes. I know that. I know I hurt you.”

Tommy’s throat is tight. He grips his coffee cup like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the table.

“I’d get high, and I’d look at you and Wayne, and I’d—” She stops, swallows hard, shakes her head. “It’s not an excuse. There is no excuse. But when I was high, the world didn’t feel so sharp, you know? It was like I could breathe again. I thought if I stayed there, in that numbness, it would stop me from seeing how much I’d already messed everything up.”

Tommy looks away. He can’t meet her eyes anymore. He hates this. Hates that the very bones of him ache, like every part of Tommy Shepherd’s body has been waiting to hear this for so long.

“And the more I pulled away, the worse I got. And the worse I got, the more I pulled away.” Mary exhales shakily. “I don’t know how to undo that. I don’t think I can. But I want you to know that it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t because of anything you did, or said, or were. It was me. It was all me.”

Tommy keeps his face carefully blank, but his voice comes out rough around the edges. “What do you want me to say to that?”

Mary flinches, but nods. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t expect you to forgive me, Tommy. Not now. Maybe not ever. I just…” She falters, like she’s searching for the right words. “I want to earn the right to be in your life again.”

A thousand thoughts run through his head, too fast even for him to grab hold of: he doesn’t need a mother, he has a mother, he’s angry with her, he’s angry with himself, he can’t believe how much he misses her, he doesn’t know what to do with all this love he seems to have inherited along with Tommy’s life.

“I don’t know if you can,” he admits finally. His voice is small, but honest. “Earn it, I mean.”

Mary nods again, blinking back tears. “I know.”

The waitress returns and sets their drinks down, oblivious to the weight in the air. Mary wraps her hands around the tea mug, cradling it like it’s the only warm thing in the room.

Tommy watches her carefully and then blurts out: “I’ll try though.”

Mary looks up, startled. “You will?”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” he adds quickly, because he feels like he has to set that boundary. “But I’ll try to…meet you halfway. Or something.”

Mary’s lips tremble, and for a second, Tommy thinks she might fall apart right here in the middle of the café. But she doesn’t. She just smiles that small, real smile again, and nods. “Half way’s a good place to start.”

Tommy takes a sip of his coffee, more for something to do than because he wants it. “Yeah. Guess it is.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Billy spots him leaning against the front entrance to school just before the bell rings; earbuds in, staring at nothing, his foot tapping frenetically at a pace that means his brain is running at a mile a minute.

“Hey,” Billy calls, approaching with his backpack slung over one shoulder. “You’re early for once.”

Tommy glances up, his white hair catching the early morning light. He pulls out one earbud and smirks faintly. “Gotta keep the fans guessing.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “And the fans would be…?”

“Hi Mr Dobrovski,” Tommy says cheerfully as the teacher bustles his way inside, ignoring Tommy’s shit eating grin.

“What did you do?” Billy wonders suspiciously.

Tommy shrugs. “Literally nothing. But he’ll be thinking about the possibilities all day now.”

“Psychological warfare,” Billy says appreciatively. “So how was it?”

“Wow, cutting right to the play-by-play.” Tommy’s voice is dry.

Billy falters. “I mean… I don’t need the play-by-play. But…”

“I’m kidding,” Tommy sighs. “It’s not like I’m not thinking about it too.”

“So?”

“So, it was weird.” Tommy admits finally. “I mean, she’s sober, she seems like she’s sticking to her program.” He shrugs. “I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to feel about any of it.”

Billy frowns sympathetically. “That’s fair.”

“Like, part of me wants to keep the door shut, y’know? Just slam it shut and lock it forever. I have a mom, she’s gone, I don’t need another one.” Tommy’s jaw clenches briefly before he continues. “But then I sat there and realized how much I’d missed her. It’s like my body never got the memo.”

Billy watches his brother carefully. “So what are you going to do?”

Tommy shoves his hands into his pockets, a little defensive, like he’s not sure Billy won’t judge him. “Meet her halfway. For now.”

Billy nods, thoughtful. “That’s…actually really brave, Tommy.”

Tommy snorts. “Yeah, well, tell that to the little voice in my head that says I’m being a total idiot.” He glances at Billy, and there’s something softer there, something hesitant. “I guess I just thought, like, what if it was Wanda? Reaching out, trying to make amends. Could you forgive her?” he suddenly asks.

“For the Darkhold?”

“For everything.” Tommy looks away, scuffing his sneaker against the pavement. “She made us in a world we couldn’t exist in. And when she went looking for us, she went looking for…other us. Multiverse versions.”

Billy swallows hard. “Yeah. Yeah, she did.”

“Could you forgive her?” Tommy presses. “For not looking for you harder?”

And Billy knows the sigil was too strong, he knows Lilia cast it to save him from his fate, he knows Wanda could not have found him and he knows if she had, all tormented by the Darkhold’s power, there’s no telling what she might’ve done to the Kaplans who had dared to raise her boy…

“I don’t know.” He says weakly. “I guess I’d ask her if she could forgive me too.”

For a moment, the two of them stand in silence, neither saying more. Then Tommy shakes himself off, clearing his throat. “Jesus, what a miserable start to the day. Come on, Kaplan, what about you? Cheer my spirits with tales of your epic romance.”

Billy flushes immediately, which is exactly the response Tommy was hoping for.

“What? Epic romance? It’s not—it’s just—”

“Uh-huh,” Tommy interrupts, grinning. “Is Teddy coming to Kaplan Family Movie Night again this week, or are you giving him a break from parental interrogation?”

“First of all, my parents like him,” Billy defends, flustered. “And yes, he’s coming.” He mutters the last part like it’s a secret.

Tommy aww’s at that. “Jeez, you got a good one. Guy’s clearly smitten.”

Billy groans, shoving Tommy’s shoulder. “Cut it out!”

Tommy laughs, but there’s a brief pause before he adds, “Seriously though, I’m glad you had him with you. When SWORD grabbed you? I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

Billy freezes, startled by Tommy’s sudden sincerity. “Tommy…”

Tommy looks at him directly, uncharacteristically serious. “I mean it, Billy. The only thing that kept me from going totally ballistic was knowing you weren’t alone. But if they hadn’t let you go…” He hesitates, voice lowering. “I would’ve come for you. You know that, right? I don’t care how deep I’d have to dig into SWORD headquarters. No one keeps us apart anymore.”

Billy stares at him. It’s not like Tommy hasn’t said similar things before, but there’s something about the weight of his voice now that hits Billy harder than he expected.

“…Thanks, man.” Billy’s voice is soft, but genuine. “That means a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go testing out my newfound commitment to saving your ass.” Tommy punches him lightly on the arm to deflect the moment, but his smile is softer now.

Billy doesn’t get a chance to respond because, at that exact moment, the first bell rings. Students start streaming toward the building, the morning energy picking up around them.

Tommy turns to follow the crowd, wriggling his eyebrows. “Bet Teddy’s waiting for you at your locker with Jon-heart-shaped eyes already.”

Billy opens his mouth to retort, but suddenly freezes mid-step. His heart drops into his stomach. “Halfway.”

Tommy notices the shift immediately. “Billy? What’s wrong?”

Billy swallows hard, his voice coming out hoarse. “I—I think I know what Blackheart’s plan is.”

Tommy frowns. “What? How?”

Billy looks at him, eyes wide, the colour drained from his face. “Meeting halfway. The Hell dimension and the mortal dimension. It’s trying to bring them together.”

“Whoa, where is this coming from?” Tommy checks around quickly for prying ears and tugs his brother to one side of the busy corridor. “What do you mean, bring them together?”

“When it was in my head, it was talking about mom.” Billy explains tersely. “About what she did with her anger, about what it wanted to do with mine. She tore down worlds, she went looking for her children so they could be together no matter who it hurt.”

“Okay…” Tommy says slowly. “But why wouldn’t it just go visit Hell itself? Why try to bring Mephisto up when it could just go down?”

“Because it can’t.” Billy insists. “It can’t move between dimensions. And all of the legends we found, they always trap it somehow, right? Not banish, trap. We thought it’s because it was too powerful but maybe that’s the problem. It can’t go down to the Hell dimension, so the only option is-”

“To bring the Hell dimension up.” Tommy finishes, grimly.

“That’s how it wants to reunite with Mephisto. It’ll tear down the barriers between realms, so they exist in the same space.”

Tommy stares at him, his own expression shifting from realisation to dawning horror. “You’re saying it’s gonna—”

“Merge the two dimensions,” Billy finishes, the words feeling like acid on his tongue. “And if it succeeds, it’ll destroy everything.”

Chapter 24: CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The Sanctum Sanctorum seems to hold its breath. Light filters through its stained-glass windows, slanting in at odd, distorted angles as if the house itself disapproves of the gathering.

Sorcerers occupy one side of the grand space, stiff-backed and orderly, robes catching in unseen drafts. Amongst them in his crimson cloak, Stephen Strange speaks in quiet, hushed tones.

On the other side, Billy’s coven has taken up its place, an unruly patchwork of witches, ghosts, and other anomalies. Team Demonslayer, reporting for duty. Agatha perches in a chair to his left, spectral and smug. Rio lounges next to her, clearly enjoying the tension, while Teddy—who has dressed like he’s sitting for a particularly stressful job interview—stays close at Billy’s right, alongside Lisa, who is doing her absolute best to appear as though she isn’t the only mortal in the room. Behind them, Tommy paces, crackling with restless energy as he glares daggers across the room.

“Well,” Jen says dryly as she approaches Billy. “This is some party.”

“Yeah, all we’re lacking is a spiked punch bowl.” Billy mumbles back but his heart isn’t in it.

It took three days to get the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj (and God only knows where else) to agree to meet, and another two days to persuade the witches to meet at the Sanctum. Neither side is pleased to be here but then, neither is Billy.

He’s kept the Kaplans out of the demon-slaying stuff so far but they’re not blind; his parents have seen how grim he’s become in the past week since he first theorised the Blackheart’s plans but every piece of evidence seems to support his conclusion, no matter how much he wishes he was wrong.

Even Rio agreed with him, which is why she’s deigned to join this little meeting despite her disdain for sorcery and its practitioners. For their part, the sorcerers eye them like they’ve invited a pack of wolves into a monastery.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Tommy mutters under his breath, not for the first time.

“It’s not the place,” Billy says grimly. “It’s the company.”

America slides into the chair nearest to Teddy with a grin, dressed in her official sorcerer trainee robes. “Ready for your keynote, Billy?”

Billy snorts slightly, grateful for her presence, but Doctor Strange is quick to raise a pointed brow in her direction.

“America.” His voice holds familiar note of disapproval.

She rolls her eyes and kicks her chair back with dramatic flair. “Fine,” she mutters, trudging toward the sorcerers and plopping herself down next to an imposing Asian sorcerer who had been introduced as simply Wong. “But I’m not happy about it.”

“Noted,” Strange replies dryly, before turning his attention back to a pair of sorcerers who seem especially resentful of Agatha’s presence.

Billy tries not to shrink under the weight of the sorcerers’ collective gazes, but it’s hard not to feel scrutinized when their robes, wards, and spells hummed faintly with layered magic. There are at least a dozen of them—more than Billy had expected—and their expressions range from impassive to outright hostile.

Billy has money on Tommy being the first to speak but Agatha beats him to it, her hands folding delicately over her ghostly lap.

“You know, Stephen, when I said I’d consider a meeting of minds, I didn’t realize you meant this measly gathering of mystics.”

Several sorcerers bristle visibly at her taunt. Strange looks like he wants to roll his eyes hard enough to see his own brain but restrains himself.

“No one summoned you, Agatha,” he replies coolly instead. “I invited your protégé.”

“And yet here I am.” Her smile sharpens. “You’re welcome.”

A ripple of distaste runs through the sorcerers. One of them—a younger man with a faintly French accent—murmurs, “It’s an affront. Spirits have no place meddling in the mortal world like this.”

Tommy halts mid-step, narrowing his eyes. “You want to say that again?”

The man opens his mouth, but Rio cuts in smoothly. “Easy, Sparky. He’s just bitter we’re better at bending the rules than they are.”

“Rules,” another sorcerer scoffs. She’s older, draped in deep indigo robes, her tone cold as frostbite. “Witches warp the fabric of reality. Sorcerers preserve it.”

Billy inhales sharply. This is already spiralling. “Can we focus, please?”

Strange spreads his hands. “We’re here today to discuss the possibility—however remote—that Blackheart has found a way to force an incursion between the Hell dimension and our own.”

A murmur sweeps through the room. Some of the sorcerers share incredulous glances. One woman mutters, “Impossible.”

 “It’s not impossible,” Billy’s voice comes out steadier than he expected, but his palms are clammy. “If you’ll let me explain—”

“Let me stop you right there,” interrupts a middle-aged man in crimson robes. “If an incursion of that magnitude were imminent, there would be obvious signs. Energy disruptions. Spatial anomalies. Things we would have noticed.”

“Would you, though?”

Every head turns toward Lisa who seems to be holding back her flinch through pure will.

“What does a mortal have to add to these proceedings?” the French sorcerer says dubiously.

Tommy looks ready to cram his own robes down the guy’s throat, but Lisa simply carries on as if she hasn’t even heard. “This being has been covering its tracks. It’s been orchestrating chaos—crime sprees, abject violence, destruction—so no one would think to look for a pattern. It’s misdirection, white noise. Would you have noticed one demon amongst an infestation?”

Strange, at least, looks thoughtful. “She raises a fair point.”

One of the sorcerers scoffs. “Stephen, what does a mortal know of demonic infestation? If you seriously believe this threat exists, why bring her to this table?”

“Not to mention whatever that is,” added another, with a pointed glance toward Teddy.

“Careful,” Jen chimes in with a silky tone. “You’re outnumbered here, mystic.”

“Witches,” he scoffs right back. “You’re all the same. You’ll meddle with mortals, demons and anything in between if you thought it might bolster even an inch of your power.”

“You know nothing about my power,” Jen replies, her voice cooling. “But I guarantee you, it doesn’t come from a glorified fidget spinner.”

The younger French sorcerer looks annoyed. “You have no respect for the magic you wield.”

“I have no respect for the magic you wield.” Jen shoots back in a bored tone.

“Enough.” Stephen waves a hand dismissively. “We’re getting off topic. Look, we’ve all noticed the influx of demonic activity over the past few months. The reason we gathered you here is to discuss what it means, not whether it’s significant. People are dying, it’s already our problem.”

“You say this creature has no magic of its own,” the indigo-robed sorceress says slowly, addressing Billy. “How does it plan to raise the Hell dimension without it?”

Billy hesitates, because this is the tricky part. “I think…it wants to use me.”

Silence falls across the two sides, but Billy is suddenly, painfully, aware that every sorcerer is covertly studying his magical aura to discern what he means. More than one of them rears back in shock.

“Chaos magic.” the Frenchman sneers. “An aberration.”

Beside Billy, Teddy glowers at the word.

Tommy, meanwhile, visibly rolls his eyes. “Not this again.”

“You told us her offspring were no longer, Stephen.” The man in crimson robes says urgently. “When the Scarlet Witch was subdued-”

“You mean, killed.” Tommy interrupts sharply.

“Neutralised.” America chimes in, eyes narrowed in warning. “She attacked Kamar-Taj, Tommy. People died.”

“You know, not too long ago her coven would have been free to avenge her death.” Agatha sounds intrigued by the possibility. “Especially if it meant knocking a few mystics off their high-horses.”

“Wanda didn’t have a coven.” Stephen cuts in. “And the last I checked, you were the one who gave her the Darkhold that corrupted her, so I’d be careful who you point the finger at there, Harkness.”

“Gave?” Agatha repeats with a sharp cackle. “I spent three years trapped in her little nightmare hex after she stole the Book of Sins from me.”

“And yet now you train her son in the craft,” the sorceress says sceptically. “Some might say you’ve stolen the greater prize.”

“My brother’s not a prize.” Tommy bristles.

“Ouch.” Billy mutters, unable to help himself.

Tommy rolls his eyes but continues: “He’s the one trying to save your asses before the Blackheart wrecks your shit. And you can listen to him or-”

“Or what?” The Frenchman grumbles. “You have even less standing here than the mortal, the lesser son of the Witch-”

“Hey.” America rises to her feet, glowering at her fellow sorcerer. “If you can’t mind your mouth, I’ll mind it for you.”

Billy feels the room tilt. Tension coils like a spring. This is getting out of control.

A knock at the Sanctum’s door cracks through the room like a bolt of thunder.

Billy has a heady sensation of feeling as every magic-user in the room suddenly scans for the unexpected newcomer, a vibrant wash of magical senses that sweeps through him.

With a nod from Wong, one of the trainee sorcerers rises to answer the door. When she returns, Billy’s jaw drops at the sight of Agent Fallon on his heels.

“What the hell is she doing here?” America growls, already half-rising from her seat.

Fallon stands tall, her gaze sweeping across the assembled witches and sorcerers with practiced cool. “Charming reception,” she deadpans.

Teddy’s hands clench at his sides, his eyes darting instinctively to Billy.

“Stand down,” Strange says firmly, though even he seemed to acknowledge the rising tension. “I invited her.”

“You what?” Tommy blurts out.

America and Teddy exchange disbelieving glances, but Strange presses on. “If Blackheart’s plan is real, and an incursion is coming, SWORD needs to be involved. We can’t afford to ignore the mortal cost.”

“You’re damn right you can’t.” Fallon replies, stepping further into the room. Her eyes flick to Teddy and tighten but she says nothing, simply address Billy with a flat look. “Go on then, Mr Maximoff.”

Billy looks back at his coven, at Teddy, Tommy, Agatha, all of them.

He takes a deep breath. “Alright. Here’s what we know.”

*          *          *          *          *
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The meeting goes…well, it goes just about as well as can be expected.

Some of the sorcerers withdraw, claiming they aren’t involving themselves in the conundrums of witches. Others offer conditional support to search their own archives for spells and traps to contain the Blackheart.

In a disturbing turn of events, Agent Fallon turns out to be one of their biggest supporters.

“We’ve been tracking these anomalies for months and it’s only worsening.” She’d said grimly as she left to update her S.W.O.R.D superiors. “There are too many bodies piling up for us to do nothing.”

Tommy isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but neither is he particularly jazzed about the way Fallon eyes Teddy throughout the meeting, like he holds some kind of puzzle she’s trying to unscramble with her glare.

He can tell Teddy isn’t thrilled with it either but he’s not about to complain. Not when Billy is spiralling into the case files Fallon supplied them with, trying to figure out a pattern amongst Blackheart’s murder spree that might give them a lead.

America portals them back to the Kaplan’s house with a meaningful look to Stephen. Doctor Dork, for his part, looks appropriately impressed by America’s growing control over her portals. It’s about the only thing Strange has done today that hasn’t made Tommy want to smack him.

America catches him by the sleeve before they join the others in Billy’s room. “You know, you were kind of an ass today.”

“What else is new?” he retorts sourly.

“I’m serious.” America insists. “Stephen tried to help Wanda. He gave her as many outs as he could, and she still chose violence.”

And it sucks because Tommy knows she’s right. He listened in to the sorcerers discussing the last time they met like this, when they faced the threat his mother posed. He heard them speak of those students who were lost in the ensuing battles. Even when it came down to it, Strange didn’t kill his mother in cold blood; she made the choice herself to bring down the demonic temple devoted to her at Mount Wungalore, to eradicate every copy of the Darkhold with her last act.

It doesn’t change the fact that Strange was the last person to see his mother in this world.

“Look, I’ll stay out of his way, okay?” Tommy offers as a compromise.

America looks like she’s considering knocking some sense into him literally but eventually sighs begrudgingly. “Fine. Come on then. Demons aren’t gonna slay themselves.”

But in Billy’s room, the vibes are somehow just as tense as the Sanctum. Agatha and Rio are exchanging heavy looks while Billy narrows his eyes at them, clearly trying to read their well-shielded minds.

Teddy, at least, looks relieved to see them. “They stopped talking out loud a minute ago.” He confides.

America snorts and claps her hands sharply. “Hey. Vocalise for the non-witches, thanks.”

“Teen here has made a discovery.” Agatha eventually says slowly, gesturing to the murder pin board behind him where Billy has tacked up a large map of the northeast, littered with tiny red pushpins denoting the sites of demonic murders identified by S.W.O.R.D. But between five pins, Billy has looped red string, revealing a familiar shape.

“Is that…” America murmurs, half to herself. “A star?”

“A pentagram.” Billy corrects grimly. “I only found it when I started mapping the most distinct murders, the ones with ritual elements.”

“Cheery,” Tommy mutters, inspecting the board more closely. “Hiker, Mount Washington. Teacher in Potsdam. Lake Cabin, Ithaca. Fall River Murder.” Tommy’s eyes fall on the final pin planted in Springfield and Detective Daniels springs to mind. “These are all Blackheart?”

“All the bodies were found with strange markings and an unusual degree of violence.” Billy says, reading out the report from S.W.O.R.D. “Different jurisdictions, no connection between the victims. No one put it together that they were-”

“Sacrifices.” Strangely Rio is the one to speak up, her gaze studying each of the pins as though trying to recall the circumstances of each death. “I didn’t collect these souls. They were stolen for something else.”

“Sacrifices? For Mephisto?” Teddy wonders, the strange word clearly uncomfortable in his mouth.

“Or whatever ritual Blackheart is preparing for.” Agatha adds. “But whatever it’s planning, we know where ground zero is.”

In the centre of the pentagram lies the city of Albany, New York.

“This is…good, right?” Tommy looks between the others warily. “We know where it’s going to hit. This is a good thing. Why doesn’t anyone look glad?”

Almost magnetically, Agatha and Rio’s gazes connect.

Billy scowls outright. “Okay, that’s it! What’s going on? What’re you not saying?”

“Watch your tone, pipsqueak.” Rio cautions but her heart’s not in it.

“Agatha?” Billy looks at her expectantly.

His mentor sighs begrudgingly. “We came across a crypt in Albany a few weeks back. Underground, magically protected, crawling with lesser demons and demonic runes. Perfect place to summon the Hell dimension if you had a mind for that sort of thing.”

“Let’s assume Blackheart does,” America says warily. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is we still don’t have a way to trap this thing, let along banish it.” Agatha’s voice betrays her frustration. “Unless, of course, we use our secret demon-eating weapon.”

Billy looks like he’d be less surprised if she’d stripped naked and done the can-can. “Are you insane? You really want to try siphoning from that thing?”

“I’m not really seeing a lot of options here, kid.” Agatha mutters, rubbing her brow.

“I will make some.” he growls back stubbornly.

“It’s a moot point for now,” Rio adds, sounding begrudgingly on Billy’s side for once. “You couldn’t get into the crypt without a host body, and you can’t use your magic while you’re possessing someone.”

America frowns, “Why not? Is it against the rules or something?”

“I eat rules for breakfast.” Agatha says dismissively. “No, this just seems to be a pesky little quirk-”

“The last time she tried, she burned through the mortal she was possessing and nearly obliterated herself too.” Rio cuts in bluntly. “Seems like ghost magic and mortal bodies are mutually destructive concepts.”

“Not yet.” Agatha argues, petulantly. “I’ll get the hang of it eventually, just watch me.”

Tommy exhales noisily. “Okay, well, that makes for a Plan B. What about a Plan A?”

Teddy frowns at the map thoughtfully. “What if you tried upsetting the pentagram? Would that throw off its ritual?”

America looks intrigued by the possibility. “Upset it how?”

“I don’t know, I’m the least qualified ideas man you could get.” Teddy shrugs, completely unashamed of being wildly out of his depth. Tommy can relate. “But Springfield’s the closest. Might be worth checking it out?”

Tommy sighs awkwardly. He wasn’t going to say anything but… “I was gonna visit my mom at the rehab clinic tomorrow anyway. I can swing by my old house, see if there’s anything lingering from when Wayne killed Detective Daniels.”

“See?” Billy mutters with an annoyed look toward Agatha. “That’s the kind of rational thinking we need. Not siphoning off a monster and hoping for the best.”

“Overlooking the fact that you just called Tommy rational,” America interrupts expectantly. “What else have we got? We’re better off attacking this from multiple fronts.”

They loosely plan to divide and conquer: America says she’ll make a plan to check in with Capes McGee about any record of a crypt in Albany while Agatha practises her siphoning (just in case). Billy doesn’t really explain what he’s planning but Tommy has learned to treat the furrow in his brother’s brow as an early warning sign that Billy’s cooking up something extremely dangerous.

He’ll deal with that later, he decides. First, he has a crime scene to disrupt.

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The clearing is quiet, caught somewhere between the golden edge of the day and the cool hush of twilight. Winter has started in earnest now; the trees around them loom, their branches stretching like skeletal arms against the pale violet skies.

Billy has had mixed experiences in this place (stargazing with Teddy, being arrested with Teddy, thinking Teddy was a demon, kissing Teddy) but his magic feels settled here, like a cat curling up in a particularly languid sunspot.

“Walk me through this again?” Teddy calls out, grabbing the camping blanket from the back seat of his car. “And feel free to dumb it down for the unmagical alien please.”

Billy rolls his eyes, knowing full well how bright Teddy is. “I have this idea about how Margali caught Blackheart last time, but I don’t want to risk exploding every window in my house.” Again, he mentally adds.

Teddy settles the blanket for them to sit on, then eyes Billy curiously. “And I’m here because…?”

“Because I trust you.” Billy says simply, surprising himself with how earnest he sounds. “If something goes wrong, I trust you to make sure I don’t hurt anyone.”

“Including yourself.” Teddy adds pointedly, waiting until Billy nods (albeit while rolling his eyes) to continue: “Alright then. What do I do?”

“Just keep an eye out.” Billy says, preparing his focus. “And if I look like I’m about to ritually murder someone, you know, maybe think about stopping me.”

Teddy stares at him for a beat before nodding resolutely. “Okay. You do your thing. I’ve got your back.”

Billy gives him a grateful look, then closes his eyes. The air feels different almost immediately—a humming undercurrent that raises the hairs on Teddy’s arms. The wind whispers through the clearing, low and melodic, as if the forest itself is holding its breath.

The Winding Way is not about control. It is about trust.

Billy trusts his friends. He trusts Teddy. He trusts his parents, Agatha. He trusts Tommy. But he doesn’t trust himself. Not entirely, not since his power materialised on the Road in the aftermath of Alice’s death.

Magic equals power plus will, Agatha has told him. And it’s true, to an extent. But Billy is starting to see that willpower is not the same as control.

You must learn to see the whole picture, not just the parts you wish to change.

His breath evens out, his heart eases into a low, slow thud. His mind expands beyond the shape of his body, a feeling reminiscent of the day at Green Park when he had clawed the sun itself back from the horizon. He’d been a meteor then, an explosion, a force of nature.

Billy can still feel that part of him lingering in his chest but as he slips between the planes of his own magic, he feels less like a spark and more like the shimmer of heat on desert sands, like a mirage-

He opens his eyes to find himself surrounded.

Silver walls hurtle up around him, higher than his eye can see with only a thin ribbon of blue sky high overhead. He doesn’t feel lost. He’s still in his body. But at the same time, he walks through the gleaming silver maze, each surface glimmering faintly with strange visions.

Some are familiar (the front porch of their old house in Westview, Tommy in his prison jumpsuit, Alice wielding her magic on the Road, his parents in the car driving home that night with him in the backseat), others less so (a purple-clad figure wielding a bow, a dark red glow pulsing beneath a mountainous ruin, Eddie laughing with an unfamiliar girl dressed in some kind of strange armour).

One of them ripples when he draws near, reflecting an image of Teddy watching him in the clearing as he meditates. Billy is so captivated by Teddy’s smile that he doesn’t notice her at first.

“Hello, Billy.”

She’s precisely as he remembers her. Curls of soft, strawberry blonde hair, wide green eyes and a smile that warms every inch of him from the inside out.

“…Mom?”

Wanda’s smile widens.

But Billy can only take an instinctive step back. “You’re not real.” He accuses instantly, reaching for his magic only to find it terrifyingly absent. “This is a trick, this is Blackheart-”

“Sweetheart,” Wanda laughs gently. “The Blackheart couldn’t find this place if you led him here yourself.”

“What place?” Billy asks warily. “What are you then?”

Wanda’s expression shifts, something sorrowful in her gaze. “All parents leave parts of themselves in their children. As for this place, well, you called for the Winding Way. It answered.”

Billy stares at her, cautious, his chest tight. “Why would it show me you?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” she replies, tilting her head. “I’m part of your path. The beginning of your path. You have to understand me to understand yourself.”

Billy crosses his arms, masking his unease. “I didn’t ask about me. I wanted to know-”

“I know what you wanted.” Wanda says simply. “But the Way isn’t about control, it’s about trust. Trusting that your own power has the answer you need, even if it’s not the one you want.”

“Then what answer do I need?” he challenges, curious despite himself.

“The only one I can give you.”

Wanda waves him to join her and Billy, cautiously, walks at her side through the maze. The way she moves is unrushed, unhurried. She seems perfectly calm, so unlike the passionate woman he remembers. Or maybe just less burdened.

With a flick of her wrist, she summons a tiny red spark to her palm. It glows ruby-like but flickering like a dying ember. “Here is the truth. Chaos magic doesn’t bend reality, Billy. It is reality, in a different form. Fluid, untethered, malleable. As soon as you try to exert control over it, to give it a fixed shape-”

The spark sputters and dies.

“It ceases to be.” She finishes.

“Then how does anyone use it?” Billy wonders, mystified. “How did you use it?”

Wanda considers the question, thoughtfully. “Margali would say to treat yourself as a vessel through which the Winding Way can use it for you, to trust in a greater plan. I’m sure Agatha would insist that mastery comes from trusting yourself and yourself alone.”

“And you?” his voice is wary. “What would you say?”

“I would say,” she pauses, regarding him with a small, proud smile. “That you’re stronger than I ever was. You haven’t yet broken under its weight.”

“I’ve come close.” Billy’s defences falter slightly with the words. “Once or twice.”

“Maybe. But you’re still here.” Wanda’s hand brushes oh so gently against his cheek. For a moment, the lines of her face soften. “You remind me of myself before… before I lost you and your brother.”

Around them, the walls of the Way flicker: scenes from his childhood, his bedroom with Tommy, their old, lost lives.

His breath hitches. “We’re not here to talk about that.”

“I know.” She looks down at her hands, as if she can still feel the sins she’s carried. “But I want you to know that everything I did—everything I became—came from love. You and your brother were the best parts of me.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No,” she agrees. “But maybe it helps you understand. And maybe it can help you forgive yourself when you stumble.”

Billy blinks, startled. “Forgive myself?”

“You’re afraid, Billy. Afraid that your power will consume you the way mine consumed me. That if you fail, you’ll lose yourself—and everyone you love.” She lifts her hand, palm up, and that dying ember is reignited, burning crimson like the heart of a comet. “But you are not me. And your magic—our magic—is not your burden. It’s your inheritance.”

Billy gasps sharply, his eyes snapping open as he’s jolted back into his body.

For a moment, the clearing feels like another planet.

Teddy is there instantly, steadying him with strong hands on his shoulders. “Billy? Hey, are you okay? Talk to me.”

Billy’s gaze is unfocused at first, but then he looks at Teddy—really looks at him—and a calm determination settles over his face.

“I saw her,” Billy says softly.

“Who?”

“…My mom.” He swallows hard, his voice clear despite the emotions swirling beneath the surface. “And I think she told me what to do.”

*          *          *          *          *
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His old house on Birch Street still looks the same: slouching like a tired drunk, paint peeling, a faint odour of mildew rising off the porch.

Tommy stands on the front steps, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the chipped number nailed crooked above the door. The streets around him are quiet, a stark contrast to the memories that hum in his chest—yelling, slammed doors, the scrape of furniture being shoved across linoleum.

His heart thuds heavily. Teddy’s suggestion was straightforward enough: disrupt the pentagram before the Blackheart can unleash whatever it’s planning to use to bring the Hell dimension crashing into their world.

But now that he’s here, the memories roll over him like smoke, choking out the fresh air.

This is where Detective Daniels died, he thinks to himself. He’s read the police report. She died on this front porch after Wayne reached for a gun his kept concealed by the front door. Billy seems sure that her death is one of the five sacrifices Blackheart is using for its own ends but in his heart, Tommy can only blame Wayne.

Tommy crouches, flipping up the threadbare mat. The spare key is still there, dirty with grime.

A familiar bitterness wells up in his throat as he straightens, gripping the key tightly. He hasn’t been back here since Mary kicked him out. Admittedly, two days later he’d been arrested on suspicion of murder but even when asked if he wanted to collect his things, Tommy would have rather walked hot coals barefoot than set foot in this place again.

But it’s empty now. Wayne is in hospital, his brain minced to hell. Mary is in rehab, waiting for him to visit.

He reminds himself of this as he fits the key into the door, hearing the tumblers give with that same groaning protest they’ve always made. Inside, the air smells like sour sweat and burnt coffee, underlaid by something faintly metallic.

The living room looks worse than he remembers. The shag carpet is stained dark near the couch; Wayne’s favourite recliner is overturned. A half-empty beer can sweats rings onto the coffee table, surrounded by piles of junk mail and ashtrays.

Tommy’s fists clench. This room always feels like Wayne, even when he’s not in it. Like stale cigarettes and violence.

But that’s not what gives him pause.

The television’s on—some old sitcom laugh track blaring too loud in the cramped space. It sets him on edge but there’s a possibility Mary left it on before she checked herself into the clinic, or that she gave a key to a neighbour to look after. Hell, maybe she’s home herself. Maybe she’s given up after three weeks of sobriety and Tommy is going to find her slumped in bed, high as a kite.

“Mom?” he calls softly.

No answer. His stomach twists.

He moves toward the kitchen, and that’s when he sees her.

Mary Shepherd is on the floor, slumped against the cabinets, a sticky pool of blood spreading beneath her. Her chest rises and falls in ragged, shallow breaths, her shirt soaked and torn. There’s a gaping wound gushing blood from her side.

“Mom!” Tommy’s voice cracks.

His body moves before his brain can catch up, crashing to his knees beside her. He grabs her shoulders carefully, pressing his hand to her cheek. Her skin is too pale, too cold.

“Mom, can you hear me? Stay with me, okay? I’m here. I’m right here—”

Her eyes flutter, unfocused, lips moving soundlessly. Tommy’s hands are shaking. His mind scrambles for what to do. Call for help. Get her out of here. He tries to scoop her up so he can carry her, but the blood makes her slippery and what if he makes her injury worse-

That’s when he feels it. The prickle of someone watching.

“Hey, Tommy. It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”

Young, tall and scruffy-haired. Stoner Dave—except it’s not Dave. Not really.

His clothes are wrinkled, stained, his grin too wide, too wrong. He’s holding the knife, its edge slick with red.

Tommy’s breath catches. “What—”

“Surprise,” Dave winks. “I told you I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, didn’t I?”

Tommy stares, uncomprehending, before the realization slams into him like a freight train.

The Blackheart tilts Dave’s head, amusement lighting up its dark, hungry eyes. “I’m so glad I kept it a secret! Oh, this is just what I was hoping for, you know? You should see your face, kid. Almost makes me wish I’d let you figure it out sooner. But where’s the fun in that?”

The blood drains from Tommy’s face. “You did this.”

“Her?” It gestures toward Mary’s slumped body with a mocking shrug. “Well, sure. You know I visited her in rehab in this little teenage dirtbag number while she was going through her detox? Withdrawal really is a bitch but the taste is…divine.”

“Where’s Dave?” Tommy demands shakily. “What did you do to him?”

The Blackheart licks at the blood on the knife like it’s nothing more than strawberry syrup as it ponders the question. “Oh, your stoner buddy has been gone a while now. There couldn’t be two of us wandering around town, now could there? That’d be weird.”

“You son of a—”

Tommy lunges without thinking, but Blackheart’s already moving, matching his speed effortlessly.

The knife flashes, catching the dim yellow light of the kitchen. Tommy twists instinctively, narrowly avoiding the blade as it carves through the air near his face.

He hits the floor hard, scrambling back on his hands as Blackheart advances.

“Come on Tommy,” Blackheart croons, stepping closer, “Don’t you want to play with me?”

“You think this is a game?” Tommy spits, teeth bared, his voice cracking with grief and fury. He shifts his body just slightly, preparing to bolt or fight—whatever it takes.

Blackheart tilts its head, eyes glittering. “Everything’s a game, Tommy. You just haven’t been playing very well.”

The sound of Mary’s weak, rattling breath behind him keeps Tommy rooted. He can’t run away. He can’t leave her. He won’t.

Tommy’s mind races as Blackheart looms over him, knife still dripping. The grin hasn’t left its face, and Tommy realizes—with a sharp stab of horror—that this monster isn’t going to kill him yet.

It’s going to savour it first.

Notes:

This chapter was such terrific fun to write: sorcerer vs witch, I put all my money on the Coven of Chaos

Also, hope you enjoyed the Wanda cameo ;) Two chapters left before we wrap <3

Chapter 25: CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

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PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @holimoli_44
Updated: 05/12/2026    19:28:56 EST
See previous messages

holimoli_44: hey is tommy with you? We had a call scheduled about an hour ago but he didn’t answer

ms.america: he was headed to springfield to see his mom last time I saw him

ms.america: he probably just lost track of time

holimoli_44: yeah but the visiting hours at the clinic end at like 5pm

ms.america: huh

ms.america: ok yeah that’s weird

ms.america: oh wait, he said he was going to check out his old house

ms.america: teddy had this idea to disrupt that creeptastic pentagram billy found

holimoli_44: and you let him go….alone….?

ms.america: ….well when you say it out loud, yeah it doesn’t sound great

holimoli_44: jfc America! What if he’s hurt??? It’s been four and a half hours!

ms.america: okay okay! I’ll just portal over, see if he needs a hand

holimoli_44: yes please! And text me when you hear from him okay?

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AMERICA ⭐
+394 3455-506

Billy

You need to get your ass to Springfield.

Right now.

Teddy and I are just driving back to my place now.

What’s going on?

Tell Teddy to step on the fucking gas

There’s a portal open in your bedroom

America?

What’s going on????

Where are you in Springfield???

I’m standing in Tommy’s kitchen

There’s a lot of blood

Mary’s not okay

Where’s tommy?

America???

Sorry sorry I had to get Agatha
through the portal, let her know what’s going on

America where is my brother

[Link attached:
message.jpg]

It has him billy

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Dusk has painted the outskirts of Albany in shades of grey and charcoal, a shadow land briefly ignited by the burning silver light of America’s portal.

America, Billy, and Teddy step out onto the wet grass of Prospect Hill Cemetery but there’s no fresh air waiting for them. Whatever peace this place once held has been broken. Billy feels it immediately. Demonic magic coils through the cemetery like invisible smoke, slithering between gravestones and curling around the mausoleums.

He swallows hard as it crawls across his skin, sinking claws into his spine. He can sense it gathering—building—waiting.

“You don’t have to do this.” he turns, searching their faces. “Either of you.”

But even as he speaks the words, he knows his answer.

Teddy snorts, rolling his shoulders. Even now, at the edge of something terrifying, there’s a calm steadiness to him. “You mean, let you go in alone? Not happening.”

America tilts her chin, sharp and defiant. “Team Demonslayer solidarity, brujo. We go in together, we come out together and that’s it.”

Billy meets her eyes for a long second, unable to speak around the bone-deep panic currently chewing through his very marrow. Tommy is here somewhere. There’s no telling how much of him is even left.

They find the entrance at the heart of the cemetery, nestled beneath a cracked marble monument draped in ivy. The stone steps descend into darkness, framed by a weathered arch. It should be unassuming—another forgotten crypt in a forgotten graveyard—but it isn’t.

Billy can see the magic here, black and viscous, oozing down the stone like old blood. Not to mention the guardians that are waiting for them: two massive, hunched demons block the arch, grotesque creatures with slick, leathery skin and hands tipped with claws like scythes.

He steps forward, magic already sparking at his fingertips, ready to turn them into ash.

But the creatures do nothing to defend themselves. In fact, they bow at his approach, low and deliberate; their clawed hands scrape the stone as they move aside, revealing the yawning mouth of the crypt beyond.

America narrows her eyes. “Okay. That’s…creepy.”

Teddy grimaces. “Yeah, nothing says ‘bad sign’ like demons being polite.”

Billy’s chest feels tight. “They know we’re supposed to be here.”

“Or they think it doesn’t matter that we’re here.” America mutters, but she doesn’t hesitate as she heads into the crypt, boots echoing off the stone.

Teddy follows her, his body slowly swelling in the gloom: greener, taller, larger. Billy lingers for a second longer, watching the demons, before plunging into the dark.

The descent feels endless.

The staircase spirals down and down and down, deeper than it should go—past roots and crumbling stone, past any logical understanding of depth. The walls sweat with moisture, and the air grows colder with every step, heavy with the smell of sulphur and rot. The sound of their footsteps bounces off the curved walls, too loud in the pressing silence.

At last, the tunnel opens. They step into a cavernous subterranean chamber the size of a football field, its walls covered in glowing demonic runes that burn with an unholy black light. The ground is slick and uneven, littered with bones, blood, and things that twitch in the corners.

Dozens of demons await them: twisted, monstrous shapes that crowd the chamber like a nightmares given form. Eyes and claws and fangs gleam in the gloom; some gnash their teeth, some chitter and hiss, but no one tries to stop their approach.

America tenses. “What the hell is this?”

Teddy swallows. “In a word? A trap.”

Billy doesn’t answer. Even if it is a trap (and it absolutely is), there’s no turning back.

His gaze is locked on the figure at the far end of the chamber, standing inside an enormous, perverse witch’s circle, etched with runes that glows like a furnace.

The Blackheart wears a vaguely familiar face but there’s nothing human about it: not in the stillness of its stolen form, the way its smile creases just a little far at the corners, the blood dripping from its hands. And at its feet—

“Tommy.”

Billy’s voice cracks. His brother is slumped against the wall behind Blackheart, his white hair matted with blood. His wrists are chained to the stone but his chest rises and falls in shallow, painful movements.

The demon’s voice rolls through the chamber like a thunderclap. “Ah. The guests of honour have arrived.”

Billy’s magic flares, tendrils of blue rising off him like curls of steam. “Let him go.”

America is already moving to Tommy’s side. A lesser demon about the height of a mastiff steps into her path, snapping its jaws. She wastes not an ounce of hesitation: her fist crackles with pale silver light as she tears right through it, leaving behind a wet burst of melted fat and screams.

Blackheart watches with something like amusement, waving the rest of its legion to back off.

America drops to her knees beside Tommy, checking his pulse. “He’s alive,” she says, more to herself than anyone else. “Tommy? Come on, Tommy. Wake up.”

“’Merica? That you?”

“Yes, idiota, now get your ass up, come on.”

The weak strains of Tommy’s voice are enough to confirm he lives but Billy doesn’t take his eyes off Blackheart. The hatred in his chest feels like it might burn him alive.

“Well?” he says flatly. “I’m here.”

Blackheart smiles; the corners of its mouth bleed from the over-wide stretch. “You are indeed. I’ve waited a long time for you, Billy Maximoff. You have no idea how long I have wandered, waiting for-”

“Spare me the rant about how Daddy never loved you,” Billy’s voice shakes with the force of his rage. “And skip to the part where I get to cram you into the darkest pit of nothing I can find.”

Around him, the demons hiss and howl with laughter.

Blackheart tilts its head, the glow in its eyes deepening. “Is that what you think? That I seek Mephisto’s approval?” Its voice drops lower, colder. “My maker cast me out because he knew, one day, I would come for his throne. I thought my chance had passed when your mother perished at Wungalore. But then I found you, Billy. With your power, I will finally take what is mine.”

Billy stiffens. “And if I refuse?”

It gestures lazily at Tommy’s bloodied form. “I think I’ve made myself clear on the terms. You stay, he goes.”

Oh, the terms were clear alright. In those first, horrific seconds after he saw the message painted in blood in Tommy’s kitchen, Billy had felt every ounce of rational thinking leave his body as he was overcome with a single, unyielding purpose: Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, get Tommy, save Tommy.

“Make your choice. Allow me to raise the Hell Dimension and take your chances.” Blackheart tilts his head. “Or fight—and lose him forever.”

“Billy…” Teddy murmurs and there’s no telling whether its pleading or apology or concern in his voice.

But there’s only one choice for him here.

“Get him out of here.” Billy says flatly. “I’ve got this.”

When he steps forward, crossing the boundary into the circle, the sigils carved into the stone pulse bright like a furnace, sealing him inside. A thunderous cheer rises from the legion, roaring for their master. Their cries mingle into a single, guttural vibration that rattles the very ground.

Tommy watches, weak and pale where he’s still chained to the wall, blood soaking through his torn shirt. His voice comes out hoarse, nearly lost to the howling chaos. “Billy—don’t—”

“Come now, witchling. You were made for this moment.” Blackheart pauses and then grins. “You were made for me.”

A force like molten iron slams into his chest without a hint of warning as Blackheart’s hands clutch on to Billy’s shoulders, its claws sinking into his very essence.

Billy gasps as pale blue light—his light—begins to pour out of him in thin, curling streams.

Blackheart drinks in the magic like wine, his shadow growing darker, taller, sharper. The cavern trembles violently, shaking dust loose from the crypt’s walls in great clouds. Boulders topple from above, crushing demons under its weight. The legions don’t care. Their cheers only grow louder, almost frenzied.

“Billy-” Tommy thrashes at his chains, as Teddy struggles to free him from the iron.

America wrenches at the chains with all her strength, crackling with streaks of silver electricity. “I am so. Sick. Of this. Demon. Mierda!” On the last word, she finally rips the steel anchor from the wall.

“What are you two doing?” Tommy howls, his voice cracking with anguish as he tries to push them away. “Help him! Jesus, Billy! Billy, stop it!” His fingers twitch, blood-slick and trembling, trying to reach for his brother even from the altar.

Billy hears Tommy’s voice, faintly over the roar of the cavern collapsing around them. His focus slips for a moment, just long enough for the siphon to wrench more magic from him, leaving him reeling. His vision blurs.

Above them, the roof of the cavern begins to split. A massive crack races through the ceiling, opening like the jaws of an ancient mega-predator. At the same time, shards of granite and onyx erupt upward from the ground, jagged and monolithic, carved with demonic sigils that glow like smouldering coals. The shards pierce the earth as though they’ve grown from it, tearing apart the crypt’s floor in massive splinters.

Blackheart throws his head back, as the power surges into him. “Yes!” he bellows, voice booming. “Yes! Rise! ҉R͏I̸̛S̡̕E̡!͜”

A low rumble builds beneath them, deep and endless. The cavern lurches violently—upward.

Billy can feel it: the whole structure is tearing itself from the ground, rising toward the surface like something vast and unspeakable is slowly breaking through the surface of the world.

Demons scramble over one another, scattering in all directions to save themselves as the onyx spires continue to punch through the floor, up through the collapsing walls.

The cavern finally shatters completely, bursting into the open air with a deafening roar. Stone and dust erupt skyward, debris crashing back down to earth in an apocalyptic rain. And then they’re outside, the broken crypt like a wound in the centre of the earth, framed beneath the night sky.

But it isn’t just earth anymore.

Where the cavern once was, the Hell dimension has begun to bleed through— towers of molten rock burst from around the cemetery, stretching toward the heavens like jagged teeth. The sky itself ripples as if one wrong move might shatter it entirely.

Billy sways on his feet, still standing in the circle. He can feel his magic pouring out of him, siphoning into Blackheart in greedy waves of pure, unrelenting blue. His head throbs, his knees buckling under the weight of his own fading strength.

Blackheart looks down at Billy with a grin of pure, cruel victory. “That’s it, Billy. This is what that power of yours was meant for.”

Billy’s eyes flicker upward, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. He tries to speak—to say something—but his voice is gone. His power is leaving him. His light is going out.

“Move!” America’s shout breaks through the chaos. Teddy has managed to bend open the cuffs on Tommy’s wrists through pure, sheer strength alone and is pulling the speedster away from the scene as quickly as he can, even while Tommy thrashes, struggling to return to his brother’s side.

But Blackheart steps forward, towering over him as the Hell dimension continues to pour through the wound in the earth, splintering from the broken crack in the centre of reality itself.

“I told you, Billy,” Blackheart purrs. “This is what you were made to do.”

And for a moment, it seems he’s right. Billy’s body trembles, light flickering weakly through his veins. The world begins to blur at the edges-

Until Billy’s hands reach for Blackheart, clutching at his face and bringing them nose to nose as Billy bares his teeth in a furious, menacing grin.

“And I told you,” he snarls, his voice reverberating like a dozen voices speaking at once. “You have no idea what I can do.”

The moment Blackheart’s grin twists into confusion, Billy’s hands tighten against its skull as he lifts them both into the air, higher and higher until they’re floating a league above the crater.

Up here, it’s easy to feel all the chaos magic the demon has siphoned, all the power that floods its veins. Even now, as it circulates inside Blackheart’s stolen form, Billy’s magic is still his. You cannot divide an ocean from itself.

The Blackheart couldn’t find this place if you led him here yourself.

Billy is about to test that theory.

Without hesitation, he lets go, allowing himself to drop through space in a perfect, uncontrolled free fall – and the chaos magic in Blackheart follows him obediently, dragging the demon along with it.

They don’t land amidst the craterous ruins below. Instead, they tumble into a space between dimensions where, impossibly, something else has begun to unfurl.

Walls forged of pure light that stretch upward forever, twisting in jagged, impossible angles. Corridors coil in and out of themselves like serpents, lined with doorways that lead to nowhere. The air is thick with electric blue mists and whispering voices that slither into the ears of the unwelcome. Stairs spiral infinitely, leading both up and down, neither direction promising escape. There is no up, no down, no horizon—only a shifting, seething labyrinth.

“This is the Winding Way,” Billy says, and his voice is an anthem, ringing off every surface. “My Winding Way. Good luck finding your way out.”

He floats at its centre, his tattered hoodie replaced with the full regalia he has only managed to summon once. Red cloak gently billowing around him, Billy is untouchable: the master of the uncanny world he’s just produced.

Below him, Blackheart whirls, form flickering with uncertainty as its stolen magic seeps away, like a tide receding from shore. Angrily, it slams a fist against a nearby wall, but the labyrinth resists the blow, ripples of magic snapping back like elastic.

“You think this will hold me?” Blackheart hisses, trying to mask unease with venom. “You think your childish tricks will work against me?”

Billy tilts his head. “Oh, I don’t think,” he says calmly. “I know. You’re not going anywhere.”

He lifts one hand, and the labyrinth responds. The walls groan and shift like living things, closing in on Blackheart’s position. Shadows deepen, growing razor-sharp teeth as they surge forward like tides of ink, hunting him with hunger and purpose.

Blackheart stumbles backward, claws flashing defensively as it fends off the crawling, hungry void. “This changes nothing!” it roars. “I’ll rip your power from your corpse if I have to—”

“You’ve been in my head for weeks,” Billy’s voice is soft, but it echoes throughout the Way, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. “But I’ve been in yours too. So I know that the more you try to control this place-”

His hand clenches into a fist and the labyrinth shrinks inch by inch.

“-the more it will control you.”

The Blackheart looks small from up here, he thinks, as the demon bellows in rage, shadows writhing futilely as the magic coils tighter.

Billy's grin widens, sharper now, his teeth bared like a predator.

“You forgot who you’re dealing with. My name is Billy Kaplan. I manifested the Witches’ Road. My mother was the Scarlet Witch. I’m the protégé of Agatha Harkness.” Billy’s tone drops to something colder, laced with steel. “And you’re in my house now, asshole.”

A pulse of magic explodes outward like a bomb detonating. The walls ripple like water with the force of the Blackheart’s screams—a sound that’s part rage, part disbelief, and part pure, unfiltered terror—as the labyrinth swallows it whole, extinguishing the demon from existence once and for all.

Battered and bloodied and victorious, Billy floats alone; below him, the Winding Way is revealed to him in all its unending glory. It’s been waiting for him, he thinks distantly. And there’s still so much more to come. He could study it in this moment. Perhaps this glimpse might reveal something of his future.

But Billy closes his eyes to its secrets.

He can wait. He can trust. Everything that comes next will happen as it is meant to. He knows that now.

Billy reaches instead for the magic that dances inside his chest. And when he opens his eyes, the Winding Way has vanished, retreated into the spaces between worlds.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Tommy’s pulse is a raging drumbeat in his ears.

Somewhere behind him, America shouts a string of vicious curse words with every blow. Teddy growls like a man whose limits have just been obliterated. They’re at his back, fighting to haul him out of here, but Tommy’s not having it.

They’re leaving Billy. Billy.

“Let go of me!” Tommy shouts, twisting in Teddy’s iron grip like a wildcat.

Teddy grunts, locking an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and pulling him along even as America lashes out with a crackling punch that splinters a demon’s jaw.

“This isn’t the time, man!” Teddy barks through clenched teeth. “You’re making it harder for us to save you.”

“Save me?” Tommy snarls, his voice raw. His body is already healing, cuts sealing, bruises fading. The damage hasn’t caught up with the adrenaline yet. “Did you miss the part where my brother just fell out of the sky with a demon? We’re not leaving him!”

“TOMMY!” America shouts, darting ahead of them. “Would you just, for once in your life, listen? Billy planned this!”

Tommy stumbles, nearly tripping over the uneven, blasted earth. “Planned to die?”

America spins, eyes blazing. Her knuckles drip black blood from the harpy she’s just flattened, her breath ragged.

“Planned to end it, genius. He needed Blackheart to gorge on enough of his magic to drag him into that labyrinth thing he pulled out of his soul.” She shakes her head. “You saw what he did. You really think he’s just gone?”

Tommy falters, anger sputtering like a doused flame. He had seen it—Billy, hanging in the air like a star just out of reach, shimmering with a mirage of pure power as he reached for Blackheart.

Teddy takes advantage of Tommy’s hesitation, hauling him roughly toward the edge of the crater.

“It’s not like we’re abandoning him,” Teddy mutters, though his voice is strained. “We’re getting you out because he asked us to. Billy knew you’d pull this crap, by the way.”

Tommy is about to argue but a shadow slices across their path, swift as a blade.

“Above!” America yells.

Tommy barely has time to look up before two harpy-like demons plummet toward them, screeching like something feral and ancient. Their wings are broad, leather-black with razored edges that slice the air. Clawed hands stretch forward, aiming for America as she spins to fight them off.

Too slow, Tommy’s brain screams.

The moment is a blur. Tommy’s legs kick into action before his mind can keep up—he darts forward in a blink, seizing America’s arm and wrenching her aside just as talons slam into the ground where she’d been standing.

He pivots mid-step, swinging back to rake a jab into the nearest demon’s side. Its leathery flesh crunches under his blow, and it snarls, wingbeats frenzied as it stumbles back.

“Fuck off, chicken-head!” Tommy snaps, breath heaving.

America flashes him a grin—quick, sharp—before she grabs the demon’s outstretched wing and tears it in half like a wet piece of paper. It shrieks, collapsing into itself.

The second harpy dives for Teddy, claws outstretched but the alien catches it mid-air with a deafening roar. His enormous green fists close around its midsection, and the sickening crack echoes louder than the chaos around them.

More shadows rise—demons swarming in the distance—but Teddy is already pulling them toward the crater’s edge. “We’re out of time!”

Tommy skids to a halt as they crest the rim, his chest rising and falling. America follows, swiping blood from her brow. Together, they pause—just long enough to look back.

What they see stops all three of them cold.

The crater is no longer spewing flames or brimstone. It’s worse.

In its depths, amidst the jagged shards of onyx and granite, a black void pulses, inky and endless. Its surface ripples like an oil slick, an unnatural pull dragging everything toward it: pieces of Hell, pieces of demons, pieces of earth. Everything tumbles inside and simply disappears like a black hole.

Tommy swallows. “What the hell is that?”

America’s face pales, her bravado cracking. “It’s a portal. But I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s like it’s…”

“Feeding,” Teddy mutters darkly, shifting back into his human form. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and suggest it’s probably not leading anywhere good.”

“The Hell dimension.” Tommy whispers. He can’t tear his eyes away. The pull is almost hypnotic. A creeping wrongness, like a tear in the fabric of the world.

The void quivers—and something moves beneath its surface. Something big.

“Billy!” America’s voice breaks like a whip, jolting Tommy from his trance. A streak of light cuts through the chaos, and then Billy is there, landing at Tommy’s side with a rush of wind and rippling magic.

Tommy’s throat tightens at the sight of him—he looks exhausted, like he’s been wrung dry, but he’s alive. He’s whole.

“You’re back,” Tommy breathes.

Billy only spares him a brief glance, his eyes already scanning the crater. “What the hell is that?”

“Bad news.” Teddy mutters grimly.

America swallows hard, her expression grim. “I think Mephisto’s taking advantage of Blackheart’s incursion. If he can’t raise Hell up, he’s dragging Earth down.”

For a long, quiet moment, no one speaks. The black hole pulses like a heartbeat.

America is the first to break the silence. She wipes her bleeding knuckles on her jeans and squares her shoulders. “I can close it. If I get close enough.”

“No,” Billy says immediately.

“Billy—”

“No!” Billy snaps, spinning to face her. “I’m the one who let Blackheart take my power. It’s my fault, my plan. I’m the one who’ll close it.”

Tommy steps forward. “And what, we’re just supposed to fight our way back down there with demons crawling over us? Newsflash, nerd, that’s a suicide run. You’re gonna need—”

“Me,” Teddy interjects firmly. “I can keep them off your back long enough.”

“I was going to say me. I can get you down there quick enough.” Tommy finishes flatly.

Billy looks between them, stunned. “You guys don’t understand what—”

“We understand enough,” America says fiercely. “Team Demonslayer solidarity, right? We go in together, we come out together and that’s it.”

The four of them stare at each other. There’s no need for lengthy, heroic monologues. They know what’s at stake, and they know what they have to do.

Tommy clenches his fists, readying himself. “Fine. But we’re not dying. Not today.”

Billy exhales, lips twitching into a grim smile. “Deal.”

They start to step forward—to descend back into the heart of the crater—when a voice interrupts them.

A slow, drawling, and thoroughly unimpressed voice: “Always so dramatic.”

Tommy and Billy turn reflexively, unprepared for the figure that greets them.

“Mom?”

Notes:

u don't understand i LIVE for badass billy kaplan lines

Chapter 26: CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

It’s her and it’s not her.

He knows that face. But he also knows that smirk.

Mary Shepherd’s body is pale and frail and smeared with crimson. Blood still ticks sluggishly from the wound in her side, but she does not appear to be in any pain. And yet the way she holds herself—the sharpness in her eyes, the measured authority in every step—there’s no mistaking who is inside. Agatha Harkness.

Billy freezes beside Tommy, his mouth opening to speak but no sound coming out.

Agatha smiles at them both playfully. “Hey, kid. What’ve you gotten us into this time?”

From the heart of the crater, the portal begins to wail as it widens even further, swallowing up those fragments remaining of the Hell dimension incursion. Mary doesn’t even flinch.

Tommy can’t breathe. “What—what the hell are you doing? Get out of her, now.”

Agatha raises a brow. “No can do, scarlet spawn. I got a job to do.”

“What? No! I’ll—” He falters, helpless. “I’ll fix it. We’ll fix it.”

“Only way to fix it is to let the demon-eating ghost handle it. Only way to let me handle it,” Agatha sighs. “Is to let her handle it.”

“But you can’t siphon while you’re possessing a mortal form,” Billy whispers. “It’ll kill you. It’ll kill both of you.”

“She’s already dead, Teen.” Agatha-as-Mary smiles faintly. “She knew it too. And as for me, well, I’ve borrowed enough time, don’t you think?”

“Get out of my mom!” Tommy snarls, furiously.

But Agatha-as-Mary turns toward him, and her expression shifts—softening in a way that feels so achingly real it almost breaks him. It’s not just Agatha anymore. Mary is there, too.

“Tommy,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Tommy shakes his head wildly, tears streaking hot and angry down his face. “No. No, you don’t get to do this—this isn’t happening. This isn’t—”

She steps forward, one shaking hand rising to cradle his face. Her palm is cold. “I’m so proud of you, Tommy. That’s the part I really wanted to tell you. That I’m so proud of who you became even without my help.” Her voice breaks, and for the briefest of moments, her expression is wholly hers—Mary Shepherd, the woman who loved her son even through her pain, her failures, her mistakes.

Tommy can’t hold back the sob that tears through him. “Mom, please—”

She presses a trembling kiss to his forehead, tears streaking her own blood-stained cheeks. “I love you.”

Her hand falls away as she turns to Billy. He’s crying, too— silent, stunned tears that spill down his face as he stares at her.

Agatha looks at him through Mary’s eyes, a faint, wry smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, Teen.” she murmurs, and the weight of her words lands like a final benediction.

Billy’s voice cracks, low and broken. “Don’t—don’t say it like it’s the last time. Please.”

Agatha reaches out and touches his face, her hand steady even as the wind lashes around them. “Clever boy. It is the last time.”

“No. No.”

“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t know you’d be fine without me.” Agatha says softly.

“I can’t,” Billy insists, voice wet with tears. “I can’t do it without you, please, we’re not done. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Time to graduate to Witch Lessons 103, Billy.” Agatha murmurs. “Realising that no one knows what they’re doing. Knowing you’ll survive it anyway.”

“Agatha-”

“You’ve made me proud to be a witch,” she cuts in, voice raw with unapologetic honesty as though the words aren’t tearing him apart. “My finest protégé. Give ‘em hell.”

And then she turns away, toward the black, void of a portal. The burning firelight around them casts an ashy haze of shadows across Mary Shepherd’s face.

Teddy lurches forward suddenly, shouting, “You don’t have to do this. There has to be another way—”

“And miss out on my second moment of heroic sacrifice?” Agatha glances over her shoulder with a wink. “I don’t think so.”

With Mary’s cold, dying hands raised high, Agatha reaches out to the portal with a flood of electric purple magic so bright that it blinds Billy to everything but her shadow.

The portal howls louder, the earth buckling beneath her feet, but she is as inevitable as the sun, as the rain, as air itself. The power it has been soaking up leeches from it, absorbed into Agatha’s violet magic in unending waves, even as Mary’s skin begins to flake and peel, to burn under the extreme pure energy flooding her body.

“AGATHA!” Billy screams again, his voice cracking with raw desperation.

Teddy and America hold him back as he fights to reach her. Tommy is so, so still beside him: he only stares helplessly, watching his mother’s body glow with fire as Agatha burns away inside her.

The portal begins to shrink, folding in on itself. The ground shakes dangerously as it collapses and crushes under its own weight. Agatha trembles, her arms still raised as Mary’s body is reduced to ash.

And then, with little more than a faint hiss, it closes. The wind dies. The earth stills.

The silence that follows is deafening, ringing in their ears like an aftershock.

Billy kneels a few feet away, staring at the scorched earth where Agatha Harkness made her last stand. Tommy has not moved since his mother kissed him goodbye.

Somewhere, a rising sun breaks through the clouds, casting the light of a faint winter dawn on the ruins of the battlefield.

But there’s no warmth in its light. Not when Agatha Harkness is gone and here they stand, left to pick up the pieces.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

You have two (2) missed calls from Jen K.
You have one (1) new voicemail, received December 7 at 3:12 pm.

“Hey, it’s Billy. Just hang up and text me.”

“Teen, it’s me. Your parents reached out about what happened. I’m… Look, Agatha and I had our issues but the one thing we agreed on was you. She was a hell of a witch, I…I’m sorry.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

You have one (1) missed calls from Eastview High School Reception.
You have one (1) new voicemail, received December 8 at 10:12 am.

“You’ve reached Jeffrey Kaplan. Please leave your name and message and I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Hello Mr Kaplan, this is Mary Kate calling from Eastview High School. Just calling to confirm we received your email regarding the situation with Tommy Shepherd’s custody arrangement. While we don’t typically advise parents to withdraw their children early before the Christmas break, I understand this is a delicate matter and the boys’ teachers have advised me they can send catch-up materials via email later today. Please convey our most sincere condolences to Mr Shepherd for the loss of his mother. It’s a terrible burden at any age.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

You have one (1) missed call from Eddie.
You have one (1) new voicemail, received December 9 at 7:34 pm.

“Hey, it’s Billy. Just hang up and text me.”

“So, this is the second time you’ve sent me to voicemail and that’s fine, I’m not taking it personal, I just…I want to make sure you know you’re not alone. And even if you don’t want to talk to me about it, I really hope you can talk to someone. I still care about you, Billy. We all do.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

You have six (6) missed calls from AMERICA ⭐ .
You have five (5) new voicemails. Latest received December 10 at 11:16 am.

“Hey, it’s Billy. Just hang up and text me.”

“I am standing outside your door again and I swear on every deity in the Multiverse, if you don’t let me in this time, I’m gonna break it down myself-”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @holimoli_44
Updated: 11/12/2026    12:01:03 EST
See previous messages

holimoli_44: any luck?

ms.america: Nope. Door won’t budge and he’s set some kind of ward on his room. I can’t even portal inside.

holimoli_44: god. ok. And tommy?

ms.america: can’t get more than two words out of him.

holimoli_44: they can’t keep going like this. We have to do something.

ms.america: there’s not much more to do, Lisa.

holimoli_44: Don’t say that. Look, why don’t I come up again before the funeral? I’ll camp on his damn floor if I have to.

ms.america: Teddy says you can have the couch, he’ll take the floor.

holimoli_44: he’s still there huh?

ms.america: perks of being an emancipated alien orphan I guess. No parents, no curfew.

holimoli_44: speaking of parents…

ms.america: The Kaplans are my new favourites on this earth. I explained what happened in the vaguest possible terms and I could tell they didn’t really understand and they STILL told us to stay over as long as we like.

ms.america: I’m serious, you’ve all been demoted.

holimoli_44: that seems fair.

holimoli_44: how’re you doing with everything?

ms.america: fine

holimoli_44: oh, well, now im convinced.

ms.america: I mean

ms.america: i got a front row seat to literal hell, im still exhausted from overextending my powers, and my best friends are mourning and I cant do shit about it

ms.america: but other than that, im fine

holimoli_44: You need to rest

holimoli_44: I’ll talk to my aunt and come up on the train tonight.

ms.america: So we can both stare at Billy’s door together? That seems like a waste of time

holimoli_44: it’s not a waste

holimoli_44: it’s called being a friend

ms.america: <is typing…>

ms.america: sounds dumb. Yes please.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The room is dark except for the pulsing glow of candlelight.

Dak red wax drips steadily amongst the witch’s circle carved into his floorboards, pooling like spilled blood into the scorched runes. Books lie open and scattered around him, their pages smudged with ash and sweat.

The air is stuffy and charged with restless energy, like the moments before a thunderstorm.

Billy doesn’t notice. Or rather, he doesn’t care. He hasn’t cared about much in the last week. Not the ache in his stomach from days without eating. Not the persistent, throbbing headache from lack of sleep. Not even the increasingly pleading knocks at his door from Teddy or America or his parents. Or even Tommy, who had quietly slipped a letter under the door two days ago. Billy hasn’t opened it.

Instead, he pours everything into the haphazardly scrawled spell he’s slapped together this time. His hands tremble as he chants under his breath, his voice hoarse from overuse. Each syllable tears at his throat, but he doesn’t stop until-

The spell fizzles out again, a spark of light snapping harmlessly into the air before guttering.

Billy lets out a frustrated growl, slamming his fist into the floorboards. A single candle tips and rolls, wax spilling across the surface.

“Come on,” he mutters, his breath hitching. “Come on, Agatha, where are you? You can’t just be gone like this. Just come back, please.”

He’s grown used to going without an answer to those pleas.

This time he gets one. Just not the one he wants.

“Really? This is what you’ve been doing?”

Rio’s usual smirk is absent, her dark eyes unreadable as they sweep over the chaos of the room. The disarray, the sigils, the candles. Billy himself, hollow-eyed and gaunt.

“This is more pathetic than usual.” She observes lightly, nudging over a pile of books with the toe of her boot. She wears none of her usual special FBI agent uniform today, only a long green cloak embroidered with shifting, dark patterns he doesn’t recognise.

Billy scowls, turning back to the altar. “Spare me the lecture. I’m working.”

“You’re doing something, alright.” Rio inspects his last few discarded spell attempts. “I wouldn’t call it ‘working’.”

“I’m not interested in listening to you wax on about the balance or the natural order or the inevitability of death.” Billy snaps, his voice rising with irritability. “This is your fault, you know.”

“Oh?” she murmurs thoughtfully. “Do tell.”

“You shouldn’t have let her come that night.” Billy continues, his anger getting the better of him: the newly replaced window glass rattles ominously. “You knew she couldn't enter the crypt without a human host and you knew she couldn’t perform magic in a human host. You should've stopped her, you should've-"

“There are very few creatures that have ever let Agatha do anything.” Rio cuts in coolly. “Most of them are dead now.”

“I bet you’re loving this.” Billy scoffs bitterly. “You’ve got her all to yourself now, don’t you? No more training the aberration, no more distractions.”

“Ah,” Rio suddenly lets out a small hum. “So that’s what this little melodrama is about. You want to know if she’s with me.”

And trust Rio fucking Vidal to cut to the heart of his fear, right down to the core. Because the fear that siphoning all that demonic energy had corrupted Agatha’s spirit, that maybe she’s been sucked into the depths of the Hell dimension, that perhaps she’s trapped in some kind of torture…

Well, let’s just say there’s a reason Billy hasn’t been sleeping.

“Well?” He demands stubbornly. “Is she?”

She doesn’t answer for a long moment, only studies him with an inscrutable expression. Finally, she speaks: “Energy cannot be destroyed, only displaced.”

“What does that mean?” Billy snaps, fed up with the cryptics and the riddles and the way his heart physically tears whenever he remembers Agatha isn’t going to materialise from the shadows to spook him every again.

There is a strange rueful twist to Rio’s lips. “It means that as we speak, Agatha’s soul is attempting to sneak out of her own afterlife and break in to another’s.”

“Another’s?” Billy echoes with a frown. “Whose?”

“Who do you think?” Rio raises a brow with faint exasperation.

“I thought…” his mouth goes dry. “She said she wasn’t ready to face him.”

“That was then.” Rio shrugs. “Since then, she’s forged a coven, raised a witch, suppressed a demon uprising and saved the world. Perhaps now she feels differently. Perhaps she thinks she’s earned the right to stand before her son without shame.”

Billy presses his palms into his eyes hard enough that he sees stars, unable to process what Rio is telling him. “So she’s…safe?”

“As safe as Agatha can be.” Rio’s eyes go slightly distant for a moment, as if studying something invisible in the distance. “Though she’s only been in the afterlife a week and is already making a fucking mess of it.”

“I was so worried,” Billy admits, half to himself. “I thought she was gone. Really gone. I thought she’d died for me. Again.”

“Oh, make no mistake, pipsqueak.” Rio’s gaze goes sharp once more, fixed to him with a hawk-like focus. “That twice you’ve allowed the love of my life to sacrifice herself for you. I’m keeping score, you know.”

“I didn’t want her to.” Billy says miserably. His shoulders slump, the frenetic energy that’s been keeping him going the past week abandoning him in a rush. “I could’ve figured out another way. There had to be another way.”

“Maybe.” Rio allows quietly. “But Agatha has always done things her way.”

He finds himself staring up at her, helplessly. “I don’t know how to do this without her.”

“The same way we all do.” Rio says simply and for the first time, there is the faintest hint of sympathy in her gaze. “By focusing on the parts of her that are still here.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Mary Shepherd is laid to rest on a Tuesday in mid-December.

The air is chilly, the ground muddy, the clouds grey. Appropriately gloomy. Tommy approves.

Teddy, Lisa, America, the Kaplans. His little haphazard family of misfits all stand beside him as he receives soft condolences from a small cluster of strangers whose faces are unfamiliar and whose sympathy grates on his nerves. He twitches in his suit at every apologetic smile, the collar and necktie unbearably tight around his throat.

But when Rebecca offered him the old suit of Billy’s with a small, sad smile this morning, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse it. The Kaplans have been a godsend throughout this whole thing: they handled the paperwork, the arrangements, the custody issues. All while he hides out in his old guest bedroom, pretending to sleep when Lawyer Jeff comes to check in on him.

So it seemed like the least he could do, to wear the suit and accept the apologies for his loss and stare at Mary’s headstone as if the words might make more sense the longer he reads it.

MARY SHEPHERD
1985 – 2026
Beloved

Was she? Tommy keeps wondering. Who loved Mary Shepherd, really? Her asshole ex-husband? Her abusive ex-boyfriend? Her ungrateful son?

He’s not sure how else to define the ache in his chest except to call it love. Is that even fair? He’s not the son she knew. He’s the kid wearing her son’s body. Does he have a right to love her like his own?

When the mourners finally leave, Jeff pats his back with a gentle hand. “You need a moment, Tommy?”

“I’ll stay.” Lisa insists, eying the others like they might try to pry her loose by force. She’s been his shadow the past two days, since she came up from the city and honestly, he doesn’t know if he’d have been able to come today without her there.

When he said so, Lisa simply shrugged. She’s his person. She goes where he goes.

But he thinks he needs a minute alone for what comes next.

America and Teddy look like they’d like to stay too but he flashes them a weak smile and the Kaplans gently herd them all away.

Which leaves Tommy alone with yet another dead mother.

Tommy isn’t sure how long he spends staring at the freshly turned earth, itching in his monkey suit. Long enough that when Billy steps into place beside him (as always), his neck is stiff when he turned to address his brother.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

Billy’s shoes squelch in the wet grass. “Me neither. I should’ve come sooner. I’m sorry.”

Tommy doesn’t have much to say to that. Seems they both have things they should’ve done different. “You don’t have to stay.”

Billy hesitates. “Neither do you.”

Tommy lets out a sharp huff. “Someone has to. Might as well be me.”

“Tommy-”

“She was trying, you know.” He cuts in bitterly. “She wasn’t great but she was- She was trying. For me.”

Billy’s hand interlaces with his, tentative as if he’s expecting Tommy to recoil. It would serve him right. This is the first time Tommy’s seen his brother since they came home from that fucking awful crypt in Albany. Billy recoiled first, burying himself in his pain and his grief behind an impenetrable door.

But Tommy has missed Billy more than he’s annoyed with him.

So he lets him take his hand.

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” Billy murmurs earnestly. “I really am. I didn’t know her, not like you did. But I do know what it’s like to lose someone who—” He falters, searching for the right words. “Who you weren’t done figuring out.”

“I wish they hadn’t done it.” Tommy says flatly. He’s had that last moment with Mary on replay in his head every hour of every day and every day he thinks of what he should’ve done differently.

He can feel Billy’s shudder. “I know.”

“It just makes it harder. Knowing they thought we were worth it.”

Billy lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no heat behind it. “No accounting for taste, right?”

For a moment, they stand in silence, long enough that the clouds finally spill forth a fine, light mist of rain.

“I’m sorry about Agatha.” Tommy finally murmurs.

Billy squeezes his brother’s hand. “I’m sorry about Mary. And for pushing you out this week. It wasn’t fair, acting like I was the only one who lost something.”

Tommy can’t really think of what to say to that, except to squeeze Billy’s hand right back wordlessly.

The mist soaks through his suit, flattens the curls of wild white-blonde hair. But for the first time in days, Tommy doesn’t feel like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

Which is probably what gives him the courage to clear his throat. “Can you do me a favour?”

“Probably. Is it legal?”

“Probably.” Tommy shrugs and leads them to the back of the granite headstone. “I mean, I’m pretty sure family gets to decide what goes on the headstone, right?”

“You want to change it?” Billy frowns. “To what?”

“Not change. Add.” He nods toward the back of the headstone. “What about, Agatha Harkness, Pain In The Ass Since 1675?”

Billy’s lips twitch at the corners. “Agatha Harkness, Baddest Bitch Of Them All?”

“Agatha Harkness,” comes an unexpected voice from behind as Lisa joins them, Teddy and America following beside her. “Responsible for Most Natural Disasters of the Twentieth Century.”

“A little lengthy,” Teddy quips, unable to contain the relief in his face at seeing Billy out of his room. “Might not fit on the stone.”

Billy smiles warmly back at him. “Yeah, and I charge by the letter, you know.”

“What about, Here lies the Chaos Goblin known as Agatha Harkness.” America deadpans, nudging Tommy as she joins them.

“We were her coven.” Lisa points out, her lips wrapping around the unfamiliar term smoothly. “Doesn’t that make us chaos goblins by association?”

But Billy only studies the headstone quietly for a moment and then gently, carefully waves his hand; in a flash of rippling blue light, the words appear on the back side of the headstone, a perfect mirror to the front

AGATHA HARKNESS
1675 – 2026
Beloved

The five of them stand silently together for a moment, each of them studying the memorial with heavy hearts until America clears her throat. “You know those dates are going to confuse a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Billy replies but there is just the faintest hint of relief in his chest at the sight of the words. “But she would’ve liked that.”

Notes:

**ducks for cover**

Chapter 27: CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

            *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

r/OffTheDocket
posted 6 hours ago by @daywatch

[INVESTIGATION] Why Is a “Space Agency” Funding a Juvenile Detention Centre? And What Happened to the Missing 73?

Let’s talk about S.W.O.R.D.
Officially, it’s the Sentient Weapon Observation and Response Division—a small, federally funded agency tasked with “space-based threats and extraterrestrial monitoring.”
Unofficially, it’s operating well beyond its mandate.

PART I: The Green Park Anomaly
Green Park Juvenile Centre, New Jersey, was shuttered in early 2026 citing “internal mismanagement.” But public records raise several flags:

• Between 2022 and 2024, Green Park received $14.7 million in supplementary federal funding
• At least 72% of that came via holding companies linked to S.W.O.R.D. contractors
• Six staff members (at least) previously held roles in aerospace medicine, security R&D, or risk management.
• Redacted architectural filings reference a "Level 3 containment zone" at a youth corrections facility.

tldr, a federal space agency was bankrolling a juvie and staffing it with blacksite med-techs for some reason.

PART II: The Missing 73

Between 2015 and 2024, 73 individuals were detained in 11 states under vague or sealed circumstances. Most were immigrants, minors, or persons without fixed citizenship.
In each case:

• No formal charges were filed
• No court appearances were recorded
• No official release was logged

What was recorded: a consistent metadata routing tag embedded in each digital arrest file—SEA-17B/SA. This matches internal S.W.O.R.D. system architecture used for inter-agency transfer approvals.
This raises immediate questions about jurisdiction and accountability. If S.W.O.R.D. is detaining civilians, on what legal basis?

PART III: The Pattern

This isn’t about one facility or a few lost cases. The pattern is broader:

• Why is a space-focused agency embedded in juvenile justice infrastructure?
• Why are federal satellite assets being used to track low-risk individuals?
• Why does S.W.O.R.D. hold a classified file detailing the re-entry of a so-called “meteor” in 2019—confirmed by independent tracking stations, but listed as disintegrated—despite internal S.W.O.R.D. logs flagging a landing?

None of this is conclusive on its own. But together, the pattern is clear:
S.W.O.R.D. is operating with extraordinary authority, limited oversight, and a growing interest in terrestrial targets.
Whatever they’re watching? It’s not just the stars.

---

🔗 Share | 💬 Comment | ⬆️ 4.2K | 📌 Mod Approved

423 Comments

Top Comment: @spacerich99·3 hours ago
Okay, tinfoil hat on. Are you saying aliens?

@daywatch · 3 hours ago
↳ I’m saying whatever shady shit this agency is doing is a lot closer to home than outerspace.

@pwner3398927 · 2 hours ago
Why Green Park? Why kids?

@daywatch · 1 hour ago
↳ Maybe because they're easier to write out of existence.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

The first day back after Christmas break feels so normal that it makes the last two weeks feel like an unrecoverable fever dream.

Or it would if news of Mary Shepherd’s death hadn’t spread like wildfire over the break.

The stares start immediately. Whispers, too. Billy keeps his chin up, ignores it as much as possible but he’s not really the one they’re focusing on. After all, Tommy’s the kid who lost his mother to the freak sinkhole that swallowed most of Prospect Hill cemetery, or so the rumours go.

Even the teachers are buying into the tragedy of it all. Billy watches during his free period as Mr Dubrovski catches his brother in the corridor with a lengthy speech about how if Tommy ever needs to talk, he’s here. Always here.

For his part, Tommy looks like he wants to launch himself (or maybe Dubrovski) through the window.

He catches Billy’s eye meaningfully over the math teacher’s shoulder but Billy lets him sweat for a few minutes, checking his nails and his phone and yawning for effect.

When Tommy’s foot starts to bounce so quickly it blurs, he takes that as his cue.

“Mr Dubrovski,” Billy says, gently but firmly, like he’s coaxing a bear out of a trash can. “Coach Thomsen is looking for you. Something about her new parking spot?”

Mr Dubrovski frowns immediately. “Ah, well. Chin up, Shepherd. You’ll get through this.”

After he’s out of earshot, Tommy lets out a lengthy groan. “Took your damn time.”

Billy shrugs. “Should’ve thought of that before you used my towel this morning.”

Tommy scowls. “How am I meant to know? They all look the same.”

“I hang mine up so it dries.” Billy points out in a deliberately slow voice. “And yours is permanently damp from leaving it on the floor like a heathen.”

Tommy looks like he’s thinking of arguing but a pair of seniors pass them and go suddenly silent, a telltale sign of what they’re were gossiping about.

Billy watches his brother take a long inhale as if summoning every ounce of his patience. “This is worse than that damn email with my juvie records.” Tommy mutters darkly. “At least then they were just curious. Now they look at me like a kicked puppy.”

“They’ll move on,” Billy reassures him. “Plenty of gossip kicks off over the break. There’ll be something new to whisper about by tomorrow.”

Tommy snorts, attention caught by something behind them. “Yeah, I bet they’ll forget poor orphan Tommy real fast when they see the new guy.”

Billy follows his gaze as the principal advances on them, flanked by a six-foot-two alien who has shed his Jon disguise and looks damn good for it, with his broad shoulders and a smile that could cause a blackout.

“Billy,” says the principal, glancing between the twins. “This is Teddy, he’ll be joining our student body this semester. Could I ask you to show him around? You did such a great job with Mr Gallo. Shame he had to move on so suddenly.”

Billy manages not to laugh. Tommy, however, can’t resist the opportunity.

“Oh, I think Billy would love to show him around the student body,” Tommy says, eyes glinting. “Every part of it. He’s very thorough that way.”

The principal blinks. Then decides, wisely, to pretend he didn’t hear that.

Billy elbows his brother hard in the ribs and reaches a hand out, politely. “Welcome to Eastview, Teddy.”

His boyfriend grins back easily, not a hint of shy, unassuming Jon Gallo remaining. “Thanks. Billy, right?”

God, he’s such a little shit.

Billy bites back his laughter. “That’s right.”

The principal leaves them to it, clearly uninterested in decoding whatever the joke is between them.

When he’s out of earshot, Tommy lets out a snort. “How’s your second orientation going Ted?”

Teddy shrugs. “They spent longer promoting the football team this time.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Tommy says, pointedly eyeing his biceps.

Billy elbows him again. “Stop leering at my boyfriend.”

“He’s the one who picked that body!” Tommy defends himself.

Teddy laughs and the warmth that spreads in Billy’s chest at the sound is so excessive and he so, so doesn’t care.

Sensing the pair are about to get even more revolting, Tommy peels off toward his locker with a muttered, “Get a room.”

Billy ignores him, leans against the lockers, eyes still on Teddy. There’s a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “It suits you.”

Teddy raises an eyebrow. “What does?”

“Being a free man.” Billy replies. “Conviction vacated, record expunged. It’s a good look.”

Teddy shrugs with faux modesty. “I mean, your dad did say I clean up well on paper.”

“He said you were a logistical nightmare and he’d never seen so many blatant violations of due process in criminal proceedings before.” Billy points out dryly. “Your file gave him heartburn.”

“You know, Dr Strange said something similar.” Teddy muses. “It was nice of him to run interference with S.W.O.R.D.”

“It’s the least he could do.” Billy mutters under his breath. He’s still not convinced the Blackheart would have risen so quickly if the sorcerers had caught on quicker. And if they had, maybe Agatha wouldn’t have-

“So how long until I can ask how you’re doing?” Teddy asks casually, disrupting the thought.

Billy checks his phone. “You still have a few hours until your quota resets. I meant it when I said once a day.”

“Billy…”

“I’m fine.” The witch replies firmly, with a confidence he doesn’t quite feel. “I mean, I’m not fine fine, but I’m…it’s good to be back here. Back to normal, I guess.”

But it doesn’t feel normal. Nothing feels normal, not really. There’s this enormous vacancy in his world where a spectral pain in the ass witch used to be and it hasn’t stopped hurting since they laid Mary Shepherd to rest and carved a tribute to Agatha on the back of her headstone.

He thinks about her constantly. He wonders what havoc she’s wreaking in the afterlife. The headaches she’s giving Rio. The son she might be reuniting with right now. He wants to know when his magic will stop reaching for her only to find absence.

Teddy doesn’t look convinced. But he’s spent the past month learning to read Billy’s grief. He knows when to push and when to take him at his word.

So instead, he leans in a little, voice dropping. “How many red flags would it raise if I started making out with my tour guide on the first day of school?”

Billy cracks a smile. “You could always try it and find out.”

“Hmm,” Teddy hums, a faint gleam in his eye. “Better not. Don’t want to get a reputation, you know.”

“Perish the thought.” Billy drawls. “So no more Jon Gallo.”

“Just me,” Teddy agrees. “Unless you preferred the mop of tragic curls and awkward eye contact.”

“I liked the tragic curls,” Billy admits. “They made you look like a haunted Victorian stableboy. Very brooding.”

Teddy pretends to consider it. “I could bring back the flannel.”

Billy’s smile lengthens. “You know, I did hear that lumberjack core is trending.”

With a faint huff of laughter, Teddy tilts his head back against the lockers. Billy is only half-distracted by how handsome his profile is.

“I thought it would feel better,” he admits eventually in a low voice. “Being me again.”

“…but?”

“But,” he sighs. “What am I exactly? What if S.W.O.R.D was right? What if I’m some kind of biology experiment or a weapon or—”

“You lost me at ‘what if S.W.O.R.D was right’.” Billy interrupts. “When have they been right about literally anything?”

Teddy chews his lip, thinking hard. “Should I have taken them up on that offer?” he finally says quietly. “Was it a mistake to say no?”

Billy feels his hands clench at the mention of the S.W.O.R.D agents who turned up at his parents’ house two weeks ago to speak with Teddy, under the guise of some bullshit offer share information about his genetic code in exchange for his cooperation with their ongoing testing.

“The mistake was not saying no with a fist.” Billy replies dryly.

Teddy looks disapproving. “In front of your mom? Come on, she thinks I’m a nice boy, I’d like to keep it that way.”

Billy doesn’t point out that Rebecca probably would’ve cheered him on. “You don’t need those assholes. You have me, Tommy, America, Lisa—”

“A witch, a speedster, a dimension-hopper and an aspiring private detective walk into a bar, asking about an illegal alien who’s half monster.” Teddy tries to tease but his voice is a little too grim to convey humour. “Sounds like the set up to a bad joke.”

“You’re not a monster.” Billy’s voice is sharp, but he means it. Teddy is generous and calm and gentle, even though he’s the size of a linebacker and that’s when he’s in his human form. There’s nothing monstrous about him.

Teddy’s smile is faint but warm. “You ever wonder what it’d be like if none of it had happened? If we were just… normal?”

Billy eyes him, unreadable. “No magic. No shapeshifting. Just after school algebra and acne?”

“Maybe some awkward hand-holding behind the gym.”

“It’s not 1954,” Billy deadpans. “We can at least make out in the car park.”

“You promise?” Teddy teases.

“Hey, you’re the one worried about your reputation.” Billy snorts.

The bell clangs before Teddy can respond. His smile turns wistful. “Normal sounds pretty boring anyway.”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees. “Come on. Let’s go be disruptive freaks together instead.”

They fall into step together, heading down the hall. Teddy’s hand brushes against his as they walk, deliberate and steady. And for the first time all morning, that emptiness in his chest feels like it might not suffocate him.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

PRIVATE CHAT WITH: @daywatch
Updated: 05/01/2027    15:22:59 EST
See previous messages

daywatch: Stop it.

holimoli_44: ???

daywatch: Don’t give me that. Stop trying to back hack me, it won’t work.

holimoli_44: idek what you mean

holimoli_44: what’s a backhack

daywatch: It’s what you’re failing to accomplish with that half-baked crypto spyware Phil gave you.

holimoli_44: who’s phil?

daywatch: You know him as @pwner3398927.

holimoli_44: damn it phil

daywatch: Why so curious about me all of a sudden?

holimoli_44: what can I say? Im a naturally curious person.

holimoli_44: especially about ppl who spy on shady govt agencies allegedly responsible for incarcerating teenagers

holimoli_44: and then post about it on subreddits at the precise time they know I’ll be online

holimoli_44: almost like bait

daywatch: That’s an interesting theory.

holimoli_44: You’re an interesting person

holimoli_44: ….David.

daywatch: <is typing…>

holimoli_44: That’s your name, right? David?

holimoli_44: Seems like phil’s “half baked spyware” is good for something after all, hmm?

daywatch: <has logged off.>

holimoli_44: Spoilsport.

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          * 

Teddy stays behind after class.

Not because he wants to, really, but because the admin staff at Eastview High are inefficient at the best of times and apparently incapable of registering a new student without reprinting the same forms in triplicate. He remembers this song and dance from his first orientation as Jon Gallo and it’s just as tedious the second time.

But there’s no reason the twins should suffer with him. Tommy especially has been visibly twitching under the scrutiny of their classmates all day.

So, when the final bell rang, Teddy waved him and Billy off with a reassuring nod and a “I’ll catch up.”

It takes almost an hour before the office administration is satisfied. He hands the last of the paperwork back to the secretary, thanks her for the fifth time, and exits into the corridor. Around him, the halls have gone quiet, with only the distant noise of after school programs to keep him company.

It feels weird to walk these halls as himself. Not Jon Gallo, transfer student with a half-dozen lies on file and a vague backstory. He’s just regular Teddy now. Whoever that is, exactly.

He pushes open the side door and steps out into the weak afternoon light. The sky has gone slate-grey, and the chilly January wind bites through his jacket but the cold doesn’t bother him, not really. It never has. Sa’ara used to tease him he must be made of sterner stuff than other kids, but now he wonders if there’s some other explanation buried in his half-Kree, half-Skrull genetic code.

Honestly, Teddy has been doing his best to ignore the earth-shattering revelation since S.W.O.R.D dropped it on him weeks ago. Thankfully, he’s had a lot of new things to distract him: friends who are still grieving, a lawyer determined to vacate his conviction, the realisation that he’s a literal alien and still not the strangest one in their little demon-slaying troupe.

But every now and then, when he finds himself alone and staring at his ceiling, the thoughts creep in. He’s half-Kree. Whatever Billy says, he shares half of his genetic code with the monsters who slaughtered the only mother he’s ever known. He’s even more of a freak than he could ever have imagined, a potential bioengineered time bomb, if S.W.O.R.D. is to be believed.

“Hey! You brooding, or just zoning out?”

America’s voice cuts across the parking lot, catching him off guard like a deer in headlights.  She’s lounging against a lamp post, a paper bag of chips in hand, booted foot up against the concrete base.

“Bit of both.” he admits, smiling despite himself. “But what else is new?”

He likes America. They’ve spent the past few weeks in solidarity, watching their friends process their grief while feeling pretty useless as a result. And if anyone understands what it feels like to be out of place, it’s the girl who traipses through parallel dimensions.

She’s also the only one who has met the Kree before, which makes her the only one able to understand how horrifying Teddy finds his new parentage.

That thought distracts him a moment: does he even have parents? Maybe he was born in a test tube. Engineered, not conceived.

“Cut it out.” America tosses him a chip at his head in warning.

He catches it in his mouth. “Fine, fine. What’re you doing here?”

She shrugs. “Thought you could use some company. How was your second first day?”

“Turns out the orientation tour is just as boring the second time.”

“You could’ve said no.” she points out. “It’s not like you don’t know your way around.”

“It seemed rude to refuse.” he says with a shrug.

She keeps going, “Besides, I’m pretty sure your entire high school career is gonna involve you and Billy sharing heart eyes across every shared period.”

“We’re not that bad,” Teddy mutters, flushing. “…are we?”

“Worse,” she says, gleeful. “Tommy and I are keeping a tally.”

“You two need a hobby.” He rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the way the thought of Billy makes him smile. Whatever they have is new and complicated but it’s different than anything he’s felt before. Billy makes him feel more like himself, even though he’s not quite sure who that is these days.

“Ugh, gross.” America snorts but her tone is fond. “You’re doing it again and he’s not even here.”

Teddy is about to reply when the black SUV glides around the corner like it owns the asphalt, halting abruptly across their path.

Teddy stops short. America tenses beside him.

“Mr Altman. Miss Chavez.” Agent Fallon steps out, the scar in her brow twitching faintly.

“You’re stalking highschoolers now?” America crosses her arms. “Don’t they warn kids about accepting rides from strangers in this dimension?”

Fallon smiles with the kind of pleasant menace only a lifetime bureaucrat can manage.

“Let’s not play games. You’ll find this easier if we maintain some degree of civility. I’m offering a ride. Nothing more.”

Teddy glances at America warily. They could portal out of there in a heartbeat but he’s not sure he’s ready to piss of a federal agency bent on kidnapping him. Again.

But America looks back at him and there’s no doubt in his mind she’s not about to leave him alone with these people.

They get in.

The car is too clean. Too quiet.

“Congratulations,” Fallon says after a moment, tone bone-dry. “Your record’s been vacated. Quite the accomplishment.”

Teddy doesn’t answer.

“Of course,” she continues, “We’d initially hoped you’d be willing to reciprocate. The offer still stands. Full cooperation with our testing and in exchange, you’ll have full immunity and S.W.O.R.D. protection.”

America snorts. “Translation: be your guinea pig and get poked for science. Hard pass.”

“I’d rather be a fugitive than a lab rat.” he mutters.

His hands are clenched in his lap, tight enough to ache. He hates that he can’t look Fallon in the eye, that America has to defend him because this woman and all she represents fills him with an unadulterated panic that he has lived with all his life.

“You have an opportunity with S.W.O.R.D, Mr Altman, to get real answers.” Agent Fallon warns. “I suggest you think long and hard about rejecting that offer, especially since we’ll be soon seeing a lot of one another.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” America scowls.

Fallon watches him closely. “The case on Sarah Altman’s murder is being reopened.”

Teddy can’t control his reaction: his throat tightens, his heartbeat goes crazy and all he can think about is green blood, shattered walls, his mother crumpling to the floor, the roar in his ears, waking up to find broken bodies and his fists bloody.

“You have no jurisdiction,” America argues, clearly sensing Teddy’s distress. “Sa’ara was killed by the Kree—”

“S.W.O.R.D is responsible for monitoring and investigating extra-terrestrial activity on Earth.” Fallon cuts in coolly. “This is exactly our jurisdiction, Miss Chavez.”

“Stephen won’t let you do this.”

“Dr Strange is aware of our involvement.” She shoots back. “And frankly, he has gladly acquiesced to our expertise in this matter. Mr Altman is not a sorcerer. He is an illegal alien with blood on his hands who poses a clear and imminent threat to the safety of this planet.”

“It’s my planet too.” Teddy interrupts quietly but firmly. “Earth is my home. I won’t do anything to jeopardise it.”

“Be that is it may,” Agent Fallon replies, clearly unmoved by the sentiment. “Your record might be gone, but make no mistake, you’re not being forgotten, Mr Altman.”

Teddy says nothing. But America’s hand finds his and squeezes hard and for a second he thinks she’s just going to portal them out of there, diplomacy be damned—

But then the car stops with abrupt and unnatural force, sending them jolting.

Fallon frowns. “What—”

The SUV’s doors vibrate and then peel open, floating clean off their hinges into the air, like scrap metal in zero-G.

Billy stands outside, at the end of his driveway, his hands glowing and his expression black with thunder.

“Get. Out.”

Fallon sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “Must we do this every time?”

“If you come near him again,” Billy says, voice low and cold, “I will hex your teeth into alphabetical order.”

America bursts out laughing.

Relieved, Teddy climbs out, America swift on his heels. Fallon doesn’t stop them.

“This isn’t over, Mr Altman.” she says in warning. “Our offer stands. You can make things a lot easier on yourself if you cooperate.”

But Tommy appears at Teddy’s side in a blur of silver with that insouciant expression that sets people’s teeth on edge. “And miss out on the opportunity to make your life harder? I think not. Now get lost.”

The S.W.O.R.D agents stare down their little pack of misfit teenagers for just long enough that Teddy starts to wonder if they’re going to have a brawl on their hands, right here in the Kaplans’ driveway.

Then, Fallon sits back in her seat, nods to her driver and they leave, door-less and frustrated.

There’s a moment of silence as they watch her go. And then Teddy lets loose a shaky sigh.

“Well. That was only marginally terrifying.”

“You know,” Tommy muses, eying the car as it vanishes around the corner. “I was kind of hoping she’d give me an excuse to spin her SUV into a scrapyard.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Teddy offers, managing a faint smile.

Billy steps forward, reaching for his hand. “You okay?”

Teddy squeezes back. “I’m not fine fine,” he parrots back Billy’s words from this morning. “But who is?”

America nudges them as she heads inside. “Cool. Now that we’ve confirmed we’re all neurotic and damaged, let’s go before someone calls the cops on our floating car doors.”

Tommy shrugs, joining her. “Too late, the neighbour across the street is definitely filming.”

But Billy doesn’t look away from Teddy. “Let them.” he says simply. “We’re not hiding anymore.”

*          *          *          *          *
*          *          *          *

Notes:

Huzzah! Welcome friends, we have reached the end together at long last.

I come to you now as a shell of the woman I once was BUT ALSO as a fully submitted PhD candidate!

Also, credit to those who figured out @daywatch's identity when he made an appearance back in Ch22!! I couldn't resist sprinkling in a little mention of my boy David Alleyne, especially if it hints towards future installments (which are not on the horizon for me....yet.)

Thank you to everyone who commented, kudos'd and read this story. I have been so delighted to get to speak with you all with each update and I hope you've enjoyed the ride. All my love, Shy.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of our two souls therefore, which are one