Archive of Our Own

Metal clashed and rang off the stones of the arched hallway running through the heart of the empty castle. The sconces along the walls had long guttered out, leaving only the gentle streaks of moonlight to taper in through the shattered windows. Bodies littered the court chamber and hall, fallen where they had been slain. Dead for weeks, their original smell of festering rot had given way to a milder, earthier stench of decay.

Gabriel stepped around the persistent hunter, turning away the edge of the sweeping sword with the back of his gauntlet.

From the raised dais at the head of the room, the dead lord watched the exchange. The front of his armor shone black with old blood, spilled there from when Gabriel had ripped out his throat in front of his simpering court. Gabriel could still hear the way a collective gasp had rippled through the chamber and, for several marvelous moments afterward, how the entire wold had held its breath, paralyzed, while their their lord jerked and sputtered and expired before their very eyes.

By the time the guards had sprung forward, it was already too late. Blood had spilled like wine at a wedding; screams had filled the high arches like a praise chorus; It’d been some of Gabriel’s finest work. A malicious piece of art meant to catch the eye of the Hunter Guild.

They’d only glanced at first, sending hunters after him that were greener than spring. An insult. Gabriel had sent their heads back to the Guild’s doors, taunting the Council to send a more seasoned hunter. One in particular, though Gabriel refused to name him.

After a month of needless bloodshed, his demand was finally met.

“I’m honored,” Gabriel teased as he caught Jack’s sword. The oils coating the blade hissed and the engraved sigils glowed orange, both parts eager to exile Gabriel’s dark essence. A whiff of sulfur wafted between them. Jack’s lips thinned, determined to maintain a professional scowl. Gabriel grinned, the expression lost behind his skull-like mask. “It’s been some years since we last met. I trust you’ve been well?”

Jack spun, pulling a dagger from his waist to thrust at Gabriel’s ribs. The metal sliced through grainy, black smoke as Gabriel dissipated, leaving behind only a trail of holy sparks tapering down like falling stars. He coalesced along the wall behind the lord’s raised dais, crouched on the stone molding anchoring banners of green and gold.

In all the years Gabriel had known Jack, after all the scars they had exchanged, it had never ended in death. Not for lack of opportunity, on Gabriel’s part, especially when Jack had been younger, nothing more than a gangly teenager on his first solo hunt. Gabriel had spared Jack then, not out of mercy or any sort of fondness, but because he’d wanted to be cruel. Death in battle was an honor. Gabriel had turned his back to the boy, dismissing him as inferior, knowing the shame of it would cut deeper than any wound.

A year later, Jack had returned. He’d taken the humiliation of defeat and had learned from it. He’d grown a touch stronger, a little faster, and seemed rather pleased to show this to Gabriel in a re-match. Jack had still lost. Splattered with mud and bleeding profusely from where Gabriel had sunk his claws into his belly, Jack’s blue eyes had burned with determination.

It’d been a matter of curiosity to spare him a second time. A wondering if Jack would return again.

He had.

Again and again, year after year until, one moonless night, Gabriel found himself on his knees, at the mercy of the blade pressed firmly against his throat. Instead of fear, a warmth had expanded through Gabriel. The shadows had sloughed away so he could smile at Jack, proud that his pet hunter had finally grown into a capable man. A handsome man at that, painted in the golds and blues of the days Gabriel had long ago forgotten the splendor of after signing his pact with the night.

“You’re hesitating,” Gabriel had chided. “Have I taught you nothing?”

A fear had sprung to Jack’s eyes, one which Gabriel couldn’t understand even after years of hindsight. Jack hadn’t said a thing. He’d sheathed his sword and left, leaving Gabriel confused and feeling oddly human — a decidedly uncomfortable sensation of humility.

Jack never returned. It sat as a bitter spot in Gabriel’s gut, growing sore and festering as time passed and he realized how fond he’d grown of his mortal companion. Pride kept Gabriel from seeking Jack out. Instead he’d resorted to tugging at the coattails of the Hunter Guild, spurring them into sending hunters after him, spilling their blood until, finally, Jack came.

“I’ve missed you,” Gabriel crooned from his perch. “Did you miss me?”

The dagger whistled through the air. Gabriel ducked and the blade bounced off the stone wall. It clattered to the floor and bounced down the steps of the dais. It spun a curious trail through the layer of dust that had settled over the ornate floor. Gabriel considered it with a faint tilt of his head. “Pray tell, Jack, are you mad at me?”

Jack’s grip tightened on his sword hilt. “Get down here.”

“You are mad — why?”

In reply, Jack swept his sword at the fallen court, the bodies slumped and rotting.

Gabriel clucked his tongue at the mess. “In my defense, I only came for the lord.”

“And?”

“And the others should have run.”

Jack pivoted and pointedly glanced down the wide hall. Several more bodies laid there, spaced out like trail markers leading toward the far doors. Gabriel rolled his wrist in a gesture of dismissal. “Very well, they should have run faster.”

“Gabriel.”

The name — his human name — held no power over him, yet Gabriel’s spine stiffened at the sound of it.

“This isn’t like you,” Jack stated, firmly, while his expression softened in a silent plea.

Gabriel drifted to the floor as smoke and shadows. He pulled together on the steps of the dais, the shadows tightening around him like ribbons, solidifying into bone and flesh, cloth and armor, and the silent, stoic mask. Turning, Gabriel climbed the steps and dethroned the lord, tossing his armored corpse down the steps. The chair itself was a rich brown wood, delicately carved, polished, and cushioned with plush velvet. Gabriel sat. He dug his claws into the thick varnish and — his thoughts safe behind his mask — studied Jack’s rigid stance; the shining sword between them and the roiling storm in his blue eyes.

“And what is it you think you know of me?” Gabriel asked.

Jack’s sword cut through the empty air, agitated. “I don’t have time for these games.”

“Then why are you here — am I to believe you’re actually here to kill me?” The way Jack’s jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a thin line was answer enough for Gabriel. He tutted, “No, not yet anyway, but you do have something to say, don’t you.” Gabriel gestured at the patterned circle near the base of the dais and the lord’s lifeless body. “Speak.”

“Leave,” Jack growled, the words raw behind his gritted teeth. “Begone.”

“Explain yourself.”

Jack cleared the stairs in two strides and sank his sword into the exposed portion of Gabriel’s shoulder. The oiled blade burned, but the pain was secondary to the unspoken warning in Jack’s actions. He was hesitating — again. Gabriel cupped Jack’s chin with gentle claws and forced his troubled gaze to meet the dark slits of his mask. Jack’s blue eyes stormed, rolling with waves of emotions crashing together too violently for Gabriel to decipher a single one.

Words sat heavy on Gabriel’s tongue as he trailed his claws along the vulnerable line of Jack’s throat. Jack pinched his eyes shut while his pulse fluttered like a frightened bird, but he didn’t pull away. Never had whenever Gabriel broke the mold of their quarreling relationship. The misplaced trust Jack gave him was an endless source of fascination. It’d be nothing to tear out Jack’s throat and leave him to rot with the others. And yet…

“I missed you,” Gabriel whispered, wanting the words to be enough.

“Please — “ Jack breathed out. “Go.”

The ache in Gabriel’s chest had nothing to do with the metal embedded in his shoulder. Jack wrenched the sword free and stepped back and down. Gabriel remained seated as his flesh kitted together with strands of shadow. It remained sore and oozing, unable to fully heal. Jack retreated another step, smoke rising from the blackened tip of his sword. It didn’t make any sense. As much as Gabriel twisted it around, he couldn’t puzzle out a cause for the change. Mortals were fickle creatures, always changing their minds, but Jack had always been his.

What had changed?

“Tell me,” Gabriel snarled as he rose, dark rivulets of blood streaking down his shadow-armor.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Just go.”

“If you truly want me gone.” Shadows fanned around Gabriel like wings as he stalked down the stairs. “Then kill me.”

Jack retreated and Gabriel followed, one steady step at a time. He hadn’t slaughtered a whole castle’s worth of people and lingered in the rot infested halls just to be sent away. He was owed answers. Demanded them! Jack slashed the air between them, the blade singing as it cut through the shadows. Another warning Gabriel ignored. One step at a time, Gabriel backed Jack across the court. His shadows flared further, pulling away from his body to expose his human weakness.

Anger flashed in Jack’s eyes and he thrust forward. Instinct screamed for Gabriel to guard himself, but he held the shadows at bay and let the ruse play out. The sword tip pressed against his chest, angled between his ribs guarding his heart. The metal hissed. Gabriel grabbed the blade before Jack could pull it back. It seared against his palm, cut into his fingers, but he held the burning tip in place.

“Arrogant bastard,” Jack swore and pressed the tip in, ever so slightly, but his bluff had been called. “You’re a damn fool.”

“No more than you.”

He reached for Jack’s face. No claws, no armor; Gabriel’s skin was brown and human aside from the unnatural darkening around his fingertips. The sword burned like acid against his flesh, but Jack’s skin was soft under his touch. He ghosted his fingers along Jack’s jaw, to the back of his neck where his golden hair tapered into his fair skin. The touch dismantled Jack’s defenses more deftly than any attack.

Jack screwed his eyes shut, but otherwise remained ensnared by the caress.

The times Gabriel had touched Jack — skin on skin and outside the boundaries of a fight — happened with such rarity that each time felt like the first trespass. And, every time, Jack caved to it. Gabriel often wondered how isolated Jack kept himself; how young he’d been when the Guild took him into their ranks and trained him to fight and nothing more; how starved of affection Jack was that he sought it out from a monster like him.

Gabriel eased the sword aside and drew Jack into the freed space.

The air buzzed with an invisible, arcane energy. It tasted bitter on Gabriel’s tongue, made his shadows shudder, and carried with it a more dire threat than Jack’s half-hearted attacks. The magic charging the air was true magic, not the alchemical kind Jack used with enchanted potions and oils. It meant only one thing: a witch.

With a snort, Gabriel shoved Jack away while pulling on his shadows, donning his dark armor just as a missle of light streaked down the long hall and stuck his chest. His nerves rippled with pain and he retreated, half a shade, to the foot of the dais. He seethed amid a whirlwind of tattered shadows.

At the far end of the hall, the light dimmed as the witch lowered her gem-topped staff. Beside her stood two men, one bearing the same mix of metal and leather armor Jack wore; his face heavily scarred and his hand curled tightly around the hilt of his oiled blade. The second man was taller, leaner, and dressed richly with only a patch of studded leather over his heart. It was this latter man who stepped forward, flanked closely by the hunter and witch. He raised his arms in a mockery of salutations to them.

“Jack Morrison! That really is you — we saw your horse. I didn’t realize the Guild had sent you on ahead of us.” The man’s smile briefly flickered into a sneer. “Thank the heavens we arrived just in time to save your neck.”

“Derek, I — “ Jack barely got the words out before he was cut off.

“They mentioned you had an unusual connection with the monster,” Derek’s eyes narrowed and Jack went silent. “But I guess I have you to thank for keeping it occupied long enough for us to set up.”

Gabriel remained very still, locked under the witch’s unworldly gaze. Her power probed at him, hindered by the shadowy magic that had created him, but curious to find the core of his being. She was a beautiful creature, unnaturally so, dressed in a slender, plum-colored dress with a simple black half-cloak over her shoulders. She frowned at him, her deceptively young face creasing with puzzlement.

“So this is it?” Derek said as he set his hands against his waist and regarded Gabriel with a raised brow. “With the reports that came in, I expected something — I don’t know, more demonic, I guess.”

“Brave words for a man who employed a witch.” Gabriel bristled but kept his attention honed on the woman. Derek had influence, a flagrant swagger of birthright, but it was the witch who held the true power among the trio. “Tell me, what did you pay her? A witch’s help never comes without a price.”

The woman stepped forward, the gem on her staff pulsating. “I volunteered.”

Gabriel gently clicked his tongue at her. “Even worse — witches aren’t supposed to meddle.”

Her frown sharpened. “I am here to undo Moira’s meddling, creature.”

It was a name he hadn’t heard in almost a century, not since he’d been a mortal man desperate and seeking vengeance. She’d offered him power, power enough to destroy those who had wronged him and, having lost everything he’d ever known and loved, Gabriel hadn’t thought twice about her asking price.

Gabriel shook off her gaze, her power, and tightened his shadows around him as an additional barrier. He laughed, the sound hollowed by his mask. “You seek to give me mercy? How? I cannot be killed.”

“No,” she conceded with narrowed eyes and again Gabriel felt her power trying to pry him apart. “You cannot die, but you can be exiled.”

The gem flared as she lifted her staff. As she brought it back down, Gabriel felt the tendrils of magic tighten around him. It was elaborate, anchored at several points outside the castle, and woven through like a spider’s web. A trap, one Gabriel would have sensed if he hadn’t been distracted — by Jack.

Gabriel whirled, seething against the magic coiling around him like quartering ropes, and directed his ire at Jack.

“You,” he bellowed, but before he could take more than a step, the witch’s spell snapped taut. The pain was — blinding. Gabriel hadn’t lied. He couldn’t die. Although, how he lived beyond death was a conversation he hadn’t thought to have with Moira. At the time he hadn’t cared. All he had wanted was revenge; the rest, and himself, be damned.

The quasi-death was… dark.

He couldn’t move. He felt — nothing. His thoughts drifted and drew thin over the span of time. The last coherent thought, before his existence became too hazed to register the concept of life, was of Jack.

Jack had betrayed him.

Jack woke with a start, adrenaline surging through his veins as he sprang from the bed. His hand found the hilt of his sword hanging from the bedpost and he — groaned and slumped back down onto the thin mattress. The last remnants of his nightmare flared before fading to dim points of recognition. He hadn’t dreamt about him in some years, but it was always the same thing. The screaming; the ear-splitting cries of pain beyond flesh and bone. It paralyzed him, just as it had twenty years ago, rendering him powerless to do anything but watch as Gabriel was ripped apart by magic.

A knock sounded from his door and Jack realized it hadn’t been the dream that had woken him. Was it delivery day already? He could've sworn Mei wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow. Jack squinted at the light streaming through the worn curtains. His head ached, from the dream and from the wine he’d drunk in lieu of dinner the night before.

The knock sounded again, louder, and Jack grunted his annoyance. He fished a shirt from the pile on the floor and pulled it on while shuffling toward the door.

A third, persistent knock caused Jack to pause. It was oddly impatient of Mei — and loud. He glanced back at his sword. The small cabin he lived in was far enough off the beaten path to make visitors a rarity. Another knock jerked his attention back to the door. Wary, but weary, Jack answered the door unarmed and immediately regretted it.

“Go away,” Jack growled at the Guild Hunter standing on his porch.

“Mornin’” the man lipped in a warm, amused drawl.

He was young, like so many hunters. Growing old wasn’t a luxury many of them ever knew. Age tended to slow them down and slow hunters didn’t survive long in a fight. At forty-three, Jack wasn’t old, but he felt it. More so when presented with the fresh face of a twenty-something hunter grinning at him.

Jack leaned over the threshold, searching for others, but only found the man’s horse tied to a tree near the road.

“The name’s Jesse and — “

“Why are you here?” Jack’s narrowed eyes cut to Jesse. “Who sent you?”

Jesse rocked back on his heels and held up his palms. “Hold up now, let’s not get off on the wrong foot or anything. I come bearin’ gifts.”

“Is it money?”

“Ah, no — wait!” Jesse wedged his boot between the door and jamb before Jack could slam it close. He gripped the knob, face tight with pain, but didn’t relent to Jack’s pulling weight. “Now just listen, would ya? I ain’t here for anyone but me. I’m on a hunt and — “

Jack let go of the door, letting it fly open and using the moment of Jesse’s unbalance to shove him clean off the porch. Jesse landed with a whuff, raising a cloud of dust, and Jack snapped the door shut and slid the bolt into place.

“God damn mean ol’ cuss!” Jesse, back on his feet, pounded his fist against the wood. “I ain’t askin’ for anythin’ other than yer advice!”

“Leave the Guild,” Jack ‘advised’ and debated between the crossbow mounted above the fireplace and the wine he kept in the cupboard. The banging on the door reverberated with the ache in his head and he leaned toward the latter option. He crossed the room in three brisk strides. As the door continued to rattle on its hinges, Jack used his teeth to pull the cork from the wine bottle. The noise ceased after Jesse gave the wood a sound kick.

Grunting, Jack spat the cork aside and held the rim of the bottle to his lips, but waited. The porch boards creaked, but Jesse wasn’t leaving. Stubborn. Jack took a quick swig and again considered the crossbow with a glance.

“Listen, jus… “ Jesse sighed. “You familiar with a witch named Moira?”

Ice shot through Jack’s veins and the bottle slipped from his fingers. It knocked against his bare foot and rolled across the floor, spilling out a fair amount of wine before he could manage to save it. He set it on the small table and stared at the mess, his body frozen while his mind raced. He’d only hunted Moira, over a decade, seeking to right a wrong, and only had a lifetime’s worth of regret and body littered with scars to show for his efforts.

“You’re hunting Moira… ?”

Again Jesse heaved a sigh. “In a way, I suppose. It’s — It’s complicated. Can we talk?”

A large part of Jack didn’t want to dredge up the past. He’d grown accustomed to drinking away the unwanted feelings. His stomach clenched around the wine, quivering with distaste, aching for more sustainable food. It churned, threatening to bubble up with Jack’s trembling nerves. He pinched the pain sharpening between his eyes. “I failed to kill her — what good could my advice be?”

The porch creaked as Jesse’s stance shifted. His voice came through the door, low and mumbled. “I know that’s not why you went after her.”

Another queasy wave sloshed through Jack’s stomach. “What do you know?”

“I’d rather do this face-to-face.”

Be it through the door, at a distance, or twenty years from then, Jack didn’t want anything to do with the conversation. Yet the topic beckoned to him. He turned away from it, only to keep glancing back at it. It glinted like treasure at the bottom of a dark lake. If he reached for it, he’d likely drown. Yet he couldn’t shake the urge to dive for it.

Jack found the cork and twisted it into the wine bottle which he then carefully tucked back into the cupboard. The metal bolt rasped as Jack slid it back and opened the door. Jesse looked up from where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and his expression cautious.

“Do you like tea?” Jack asked.

Jesse’s face lit up like a bonfire. “I would be mighty appreciative of a cup.”

“Get some kindling.” Jack motioned to the woodpile and left the door ajar while he scrounged his kitchen for supplies. He wiped the dust out of the kettle, unable to quantify the last time he’d made tea. The kettle wasn’t even his. Ana had brought it, along with the tin of loose tea, but — if the dust was anything to judge by — it’d been a while since she’d last visited.

Jesse came inside and dumped an armful of kindling into the crate beside the stove. He brushed his hands clean on his thighs and eyed the puddles of spilled wine. It caused a thoughtful pause in his actions, but he said nothing before kneeling and coaxing a fire to life. Jack placed the filled kettle on the stove and set a pair of mismatched cups on the table. The uncomfortable tension in the air sent him scrounging his stores for food fit enough to offer his unwanted guest.

“How’d you find me?” Jack asked as he considered a bowl of assorted nuts.

Jesse chuckled as he sat at the table. “Did you kill a wendigo somewhere ‘round here last spring?”

Jack frowned.

“Thought as much,” Jesse brushed back his mop of brown hair. “The townsfolk sent their thanks to the Guild, but the Guild was confused because they hadn’t sent anyone. I reckoned someone might have just been passing through, but I asked around anyway — to sate my own curiosity. Met a nice gal in town and, well, she really didn’t want to give you up, but let’s just say she needs to work on her poker face.”

The Guild had no reason to trouble him, not since his officially recorded ‘retirement’, but it didn’t mean they had buried their strife with him. He was a series of loose ends. He knew too much and it made them uncomfortable. But as long as he stayed out of their business, they left him alone. Jack swept his gaze over Jesse, suspicious. “So if the Guild didn’t send you, why are you here?”

Jesse chewed over his lip, gathering the words in his chest before settling a determined look on Jack. “I’d heard talk around the Guild, ‘bout the reasons surrounding your… expulsion.” Jack’s lips curled into a sneer and Jesse quickly raised a placating hand. “Here, lemme start from the beginnin’, maybe that’ll clear some things up.

“A year or so ago, I was assigned to hunt down a monster that upset a carriage along a road near the Black Forest. The reports were vague and there was only one casualty, but the town took the story and ran with it. I really didn’t know what I was dealing with until I got out there.”

Restless, Jack rose and started putting together the tea before the kettle could interrupt Jesse’s story with its whistling.

“It turned out to be a man. Or, he used to be a man, before a witch’s magic twisted him up. He wasn’t cursed. He told me he’d made a deal that, in exchange for his humanity, he wanted his younger brother saved.” Jesse accepted the cup handed to him. “I know the Guild is very clear on these matters. A monster is a monster, regardless of how they came to be, and it’s not our job to question orders. But, well, this one got me thinking.”

Jack sipped at his tea and made a face, not sure if he’d made it wrong or he was so unfamiliar with the taste of it after years of drinking mostly wine. He set the cup down and considered Jesse’s troubled countenance. “Could have been lying,” Jack said. “Trying to manipulate your feelings into sparing it.”

“I thought that,” Jesse shrugged. “But I checked out his story. His brother had been attacked close to that same forest, by something real nasty. Left him torn to bits. He should have died, that’s for sure, but as his family tells it, a woman came along, proclaiming to be a traveling healer, and in the course of one night — as if by magic — she saved his life. She was gone by mornin’ and so was the older brother.”

Jesse shook his head and stared at the cup he was idling turning about with fingertips. “It just got me thinkin’, was it really right for me to kill him? Shouldn’t I try to free him of his deal instead? Maybe I should be hunting this witch — the source of the problem — instead of those suffering from her meddling.”

The story was starting to take on a familiar tone and Jack’s gaze skirted toward the cupboard as distress coiled in his chest.

“Anyway,” Jesse drank from his cup, made a face, and carefully put it aside. “I started remembering some of the things I heard around the Guild about you. How you’d started to sympathize with monsters, how you tried arguing with the Council about about killing them before knowing their origins, that not all of them needed to be killed.”

Jack arched a brow. “They still talk about that?”

“Shit, you’re their favorite example of how a monster will try and get into your head to save themselves. The Guild has this glorious story of Jack Morrison, illustrious monster hunter, who had been swayed by a silver-tongued demon.” Jesse puffed out a sputtering breath, amused. “It ends with a warning of disloyalty and a reminder to kill and not ask questions.”

Jack went to drink, but recalled the taste and set the cup back down. “The first monster I spared went on to slaughter a lord and his entire court. I think the Guild has it right. Kill it and don’t torment yourself by asking why or by trying to solve a problem you don’t understand.”

“I know that ain’t the whole story, so don’t try and feed me that shit. I know that lord was a tyrant and if your monster hadn’t killed him, someone else was bound to do it, it was either that or there would’ve been war between him and neighbors. A lot more people would’ve died if it hadn’t — ”

“Shut up.”

Jesse’s mouth snapped close.

“I — “ Jack fisted his hands. “He was a monster. He killed innocent people and — and he deserved to die.”

For a long moment, Jesse regarded him with narrowed eyes. The tension roiled through the room like a storm gale. Jack didn’t want to talk about Gabriel. It hurt too much. The wine in the cupboard called to him, offering him an escape. Jack shoved a hand through his hair, almost giving in to the urge to fetch the bottle.

“Maybe he did,” Jesse said. “But I also know you tried hunting down the same witch I’m now after.”

“Then you’ll know it’s useless,” Jack spat.

Jesse sighed then tapped his fingers against the table. “Stay here, I’ve got something you need to see.”

It only took a few moments for Jesse to walk out and return with a wrapped parcel. It was as thin as a reed, no bigger than a dinner plate, and Jesse treated it like glass as he revealed its contents. At first glance, all Jack saw was a dream catcher. He shot Jesse a confused look before drawing it closer.

The loop was made of bone, wrapped in a spiraling strip of leather. The weave itself was sinew, fit enough to string a bow. From the bottom hung hard, blackened bits that crumbled at a touch. The only redeeming detail to the macabre design were the crystals caught like flies among the web of sinew. Clear along the edges, but dark in the middle, they shimmered when Jack prodded at them.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

Jesse nodded toward it. “That there is a soul catcher.”

“Never heard of one.”

“As I understand it, it’s unique to Moira. We tracked her down to a place up north, but when we raided the place she was already gone — left behind a lot of stuff like that.”

Jack considered the catcher, then shrugged at Jesse. “Why bring it to me?”

“Because, well… “ Jesse carefully unraveled the leather, exposing the bone near the top, and tapped at the engravings there. Jack squinted at them, recognizing a few arcane symbols, but little else. When it was clear Jack couldn’t read it, Jesse added, “I had a friend translate it. It says… well, basically it’s a contract, magically binding, and this one here is dated over a hundred years. It’s labeled as ‘Gabriel Reyes’ and — “

Jack shoved away from the table and put as much distance between him and the catcher. His chest felt tight. Too tight. He turned his back to the table. “Why the hell did you bring this to me?”

When Jack glanced back, Jesse had covered the soul catcher. “Maybe it’s just me being presumptuous, but I reckon you and I want the same thing out of all this.”

Jack scoffed, eyes glued to the parcel. “And what’s that?”

“To save our monsters.”

Bile burned on Jack’s tongue and he lurched out the door to upend the pitiful contents of his stomach next to the woodpile. Tremors wracked his arms and, with one hand against the wall of the cabin, Jack sank to the ground. His head hurt, but it was secondary to the screaming in his heart. Years. He’d spent years chasing after Moira, picking up scraps and cleaning the messes her creatures made, all with the vain hope of bringing peace to Gabriel. A true death, or life again, Jack didn’t know because he had never found anything to undo the past. Nothing could change the soul-consuming guilt he felt and losing what, he later realized, had been his only friend.

“Sorry,” Jesse said from where he stood on the porch. “Bringing it to you just felt like the right thing to do and, I guess, I wanted to share my thoughts with someone that might understand where I’m coming from.”

Jack wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You need to be careful.”

“Oh, I know.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t mean just Moira. If the Guild hears about you straying…”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take because some wrongs need righting in this world.”

Jesse sounded level-headed, but his hope shone, brilliant and untarnished, and Jack hated seeing so much of his younger self in those words. What a fool he’d been. Jesse stepped down from the porch and angled toward his horse. “I need to be headin’ back before Genji gets worried. Thanks for the, uh, tea.”

“Wait.” Jack spat the last bit of bitter taste from his mouth before straightening up. “If you’re really going after Moira, find a witch called Mercy, she’ll help — free of cost. Just… don’t tell her about the monster you’re trying to save.”

Jesse’s face brightened with a smile. “Noted and thank you.”

After seeing Jesse off, Jack returned inside, fully intending to get his boots on and distract himself with work needing done around the cabin. The morning light streaked in through the open door and landed squarely on the wrapped catcher Jesse had left behind. Jack froze, his breath stuttering, and his willpower crumbled like a sandcastle to a rising tide.

What was he even supposed to do with it? Hang it up as a constant reminder of his wasted efforts?

Jack marched up to the table, then passed it in favor of crossing to the cupboard and pulling out the wine. His stomach protested the first two swallows but gave up after three.

Jack unwrapped the cloth covering the catcher as he drank. With a dreamcatcher, dreams floated through the webbing. Bad dreams were caught in the crystals, like flies, while the good dreams trickled down through the dangling charms. Jack followed the paths of sinew with the pad of his finger, pausing over one of the three smoky crystals. How did a soul catcher work? What was filtered out and where did the rest go after passing through?

How much of Gabriel’s soul had Moira taken?

How much was even left…

“You said you couldn’t die,” Jack muttered to the catcher. “I believed you.”

The witch, Mercy, had affirmed the notion of Gabriel’s immortality, but there was no arguing that he was gone. Exiled, banished, locked away in some magical prison. Jack didn’t know what had become of him after Mercy had — the screams coming from Gabriel had been soul ripping and, gods, the way his skin had torn apart like tissue, spilling shadows and revealing an essence befitting to the term monster; too many eyes and rows of sharp teeth.

Jack drank deeply from the bottle.

“I tried,” he confessed in a wine-soaked whisper. “I tried to warn you, you bastard. I shouldn’t have, but I did because — because — “ It was unclear when he had first grown fond of the monster that should have killed him. What kind of monster didn’t kill a hunter when given the chance? It puzzled Jack. Vexed him. He’d hated Gabriel, back then, and had hunted him down, again and again, striving to prove himself.

It had changed, slowly, as the fights became friendly spars and scornful remarks were replaced with advice. Jack vividly recalled the first time Gabriel had revealed his human face. The shadows had spread like rippling water to reveal Gabriel’s smirk. It’d been a taunt, but Jack’s thoughts had hinged on how unexpectedly handsome the face had been. Rich brown skin, broad features, and clever topaz eyes. It’d been so shockingly human that Jack had asked after his name.

///

”They call me ‘The Reaper’.”

“But — “ Jack argued as his eyes scrambled over Gabriel’s face.

Amused by Jack’s confusion, Gabriel chuckled as the shadows melted away, revealing his human body. Broad and fit and dressed in a loose white shirt and fitted black trousers. Perfectly human. Almost. His feet and hands were tinged black, darkest at the tips and fading as it progressed. The bemusement must have shown on Jack’s face because Gabriel laughed all that much harder.

“I don’t understand — what are you?” Jack asked.

Gabriel’s eyes glinted with amusement. “You don’t know?”

“The reports were mixed. Some say you’re a demon, others say you’re a vampire, or a shade.”

The shadows wrapped around Gabriel, shifting back into the concealing armor. He crooked a finger at Jack, a grin reflecting in his playful tone, “Find out for yourself.”

Remembering the sword in his hand, Jack adjusted his stance but didn’t press an attack. He frowned at the expressionless mask and asked, “Will you tell me your name?”

///

Gabriel.

He wanted to drown the memories in wine, but the more he drank, the more they buoyed to the surface. “You saved me once,” Jack muttered at the catcher. “You wouldn’t admit it, said you were just ‘passing through’ but — why, Gabriel?”

As the trust built between them in thin, stacking layers, Jack’s feelings gently swayed. When Gabriel had touched his face, the first time, with the barest brush of blackened fingers, it had been the spark that had grown into an unattended flame. From the flame came the fire. It crept through him, as quiet and tireless as a grass fire, and the last of his reservations toward Gabriel had turned to ash.

By the time Jack had bested Gabriel in combat and held the defining moment with the edge of his blade, it was too late. He’d fallen in love, not in one felled swoop, but with small, wading steps. He’d willingly let himself sink deeper and deeper. Hoping, with each encounter, Gabriel would press further on the imposed monster-hunter boundaries between them. Press on them until the levees broke and Jack would have no choice but to swim.

Or drown.

Jack drank.

The sun climbed to its zenith and floated toward the mountains. Jack carried the catcher with him as he wandered with his thoughts and emptying wine bottle. He hung it on the wall for a time and paced the floor in front of it, his eyes never leaving the tight weave of sinew. Keeping it was out of the question. The claws of madness were already curling around the corner of his thoughts.

But what, then?

Jack opened the stove and examined the dark bed of coals. He stirred them, frowning, then started a fresh fire. As he fed kindling to the hungry flame, he drained the last of the wine. The bottle rolled across the floor as Jack exchanged it for the soul catcher. He cradled it between his hands. The fire crackled eagerly.

“I’m sorry.” Firelight danced off the smooth edges of the crystals as Jack extended the catcher toward the reaching flames. “I should have killed you — given you a clean death, not — not whatever she did to you. I looked for you. I did, I — “ the rest of the words caught like razors in his throat. The confession was twenty years too late. Instead of closure, the hollow crag in his chest expanded into a ravine.

Bitterness bit into him and he threw the catcher into the fire. The flames licked at the leather and bone. The sinew twisted and snapped and — Jack’s memories screamed. He saw Gabriel again, being torn apart by magic, screaming and screaming. Jack plunged his hand into the fire and pulled out the catcher — and immediately threw it aside as the heat blistered his skin. The catcher hissed, the bone and sinew writhing. One of the crystals shattered with a dull crack.

Idiot, Jack berated himself as he poured water over his burned hand, then dug out a salve to smear over the wounds. As he searched for a suitable bandaging cloth, his heel caught the sharp edge of the broken crystal. He swore and kicked the catcher across the floor. Even in death, Gabriel found a way to get under his skin. Muttering curses, Jack sat and pulled his foot into his lap, but his fingers were too deadened by wine to pry out the shards. He used a knife instead. It was only when blood dribbled to the floor, and everything stunk of the salve, that Jack realized the extent of his drunkenness.

He put himself to bed before he could do any further harm to himself.

As the sun sank below the horizon, giving way to the dark, the familiar nightmare tormented him. The cabin remained silent while the inside of his head filled with screams. Moonlight crept through the gap in the curtains and crawled along the floor. It dappled itself over the bloodied shards of crystal and whispered to the essence slumbering inside.

The shadows stirred from within the dark, broken crystal. It seeped out onto the rug, struggling to recall the motions of life. Blind and wounded and heeding a beckoning call, it followed the blood, licking the iron from the wood grains. It crawled up the bedpost and draped over Jack. As mindless as a parasite seeking a host, the shadows burrowed into the warmth and began to feed.

Gabriel woke with an awkward jerk of limbs. He spilled out of the bed, unable to work his legs or arms in the correct order of twitching muscles. Every inch of him hurt, inside and out, and he groaned his complaints to the floorboards. A dim light filled the room, hazy and warm, and grew brighter as Gabriel struggled to sort out his limbs.

He crawled on his hands and knees, dragging himself toward the — cupboard. The word and purpose sprang into Gabriel’s mind, a beat different than his own sluggish awareness, but he listened and trusted it all the same. He rooted through the shelves until he found a skin of water. It tasted stale and made his throat seize up in protest, but he greedily swallowed it down like a cracked, desert ground devouring rainfall.

Afterward, Gabriel slumped against the cupboard and took stock of his surroundings. Unfamiliar and — he squinted at the swath of light angling in from the window above him. Daylight. Awed, Gabriel watched as dust motes floated through the sunlight. He slipped his hand into the beam and marveled at the gentle warmth pressing against his skin — his pale skin. Gabriel scrambled away from the light and examined his hands, flipping them forward and back, and growing more and more horrified by their unnatural hue. One was blistered, smelling of salve, but neither one looked like his hands. He pushed his sleeves back, but the white skin continued.

What happened to him?

There had been — pain. So much pain but — he couldn’t think. His thoughts were fuzzy, wandering, and refused to heed his beck and call. He knew who he was. Was. He’d died, hadn’t he? Gabriel pinched his eyes shut, but trying to remember felt like he was driving a knife through his temple. He ran both hands down his face and paused at the touch of his bare chin. He explored the skin further, puzzled by the absence of his beard, and found the edges of a scar. It ran diagonal across his lips. Another slashed between his brows.

When had he gotten those?

A mirror. Gabriel rose unsteadily to his feet and rummaged the shelves. The closest thing he found to a mirror was a dagger with blood staining the edge. The metal was too dull to cast a reflection. Where was a mirror?

[Mirrors are too dangerous to keep.]

On instinct, Gabriel whirled around, but no one was there. The stray thought faded. Gabriel remained rigid, listening while his eyes raked the room for the source of the voice so unlike his own. The distant clop of hooves brought him to the window. He cautiously widened the gap in the curtains and peered out. Dust caked the outside of the glass, but Gabriel could discern the shape of a horse and wagon drawing closer.

His fingers tightened around the dagger.

A woman drew the wagon broadside to the cabin and dismounted. She seemed harmless, looking positively dwarfish next to the horse she paused to pat and praise with a treat from her pocket. Gabriel withdrew from the window as she came toward the cabin. The porch creaked with her arrival at the door. She knocked, the barest tap of knuckles to the wood. “Mr. Morrison?”

Goosebumps raced down Gabriel’s spine. The memories attached to the name almost surfaced. Gabriel could feel them pressing against his thoughts, but like his limbs that morning, he struggled to make them work. He caught slivers of the thoughts, at the corners, but failed to draw them front and center.

He cracked open the door and peered at the short woman.

“Oh!” She melted back a step, fingers knitting in front of her chest. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry, Mr. Morrison, but I have your delivery and — and — “

“What did you call me?” Gabriel demanded, then paused at the unfamiliar sound of his voice. Rough, like he’d spent the night with his head stuck down a chimney. His throat felt raw enough for it to be true.

“Mr. Morrison… ?” The woman said, her words laced with uncertainty. “Do you — do you want me to call you Jack? Oh dear, I never asked. I’m so sorry.”

“Jack?” His heart skittered while something, a ghostly tendril, slid through his core.

“Is — is that not your name?”

Gabriel tongued the scar on his lower lip as he considered the name. Jack Morrison. It couldn’t be — could it? Gabriel looked toward her wagon. “Do you have a mirror?”

“N-no.” She’d retreated down the porch steps. “You said not to have one when I come here.”

“Why?” He stepped onto the porch. One step, then he retreated back to the threshold and the comforting dark of the cabin’s interior. It was so bright out. It hurt his eyes. He squinted at the line between the porch’s shade and the sun’s creeping light. It wouldn’t kill him, but being in the light had always been uncomfortable, like grinding sand between his teeth or sticking his hand into a spider web. He was a shadow, eternal, but inclined to skirt away from the light.

The woman softly whined, “I don’t — I don’t remember.”

[Mei?]

The whisper passed like a wind through the dry, autumn leaves and Gabriel strained to hear more of it. When nothing more came, he prompted the quiet air. “Mei?”

Instead of the wind, it was the woman who regarded him warily like a kicked puppy. “Yes?”

[What’s… Why can’t I… ]

Gabriel’s chest stirred with a cool burst. It unfurled like petals in sunlight and stretched down his arms. His arm jerked and the dagger dropped from his fingers. Growling, Gabriel gripped his twitching arm with his other hand, shut the door with his foot, and fled into the cabin.

“Mr. Morrison?” Mei called from the porch steps. “Are you alright? Should I get the doctor?”

“No!” He snarled at the door. “Go away!”

“But — oh dear. I will just — yes. I will leave your delivery here if — if that is okay with you, Mr. Morrison?”

“Go.” Gabriel dug his fingers into his arm even though it had stopped twitching. “Before I kill you.”

The ghost inside him swelled with protest. [Don’t.]

Gabriel flashed a feral grin at the empty cabin. “And what are you going to do about it, Jack?”

[I… am I dreaming?]

“Should I kill her to find out?”

[No.]

Jack’s essence spread, frantic, and Gabriel felt it more keenly as it slid through his core. His vision blurred as they tried focusing on different parts of the room. Gabriel mentally shook him off, batting him away like a fly. The wagon outside groaned as it was pulled from its rest. A peek through the curtains showed Mei on her way down the road. A trio of crates had been left on the ground near the porch steps.

[What’s happening? I feel — wrong.]

“You feel wrong?” Gabriel scoffed and made a fist with one pale hand. “At least you still have your own body.”

[I don’t understand.]

“You always were a little slow.”

[Who are you? Why am I — stuck.]

Gabriel flexed his fingers as he puzzled together the details. Moira had said he couldn’t die, at least not by any mortal means. He’d lived through being impaled, burned, and one dizzying moment of having his head severed. But, after cascading into shadows, he’d always come back in his own body.

[Moira?] Jack echoed the thoughts and Gabriel could feel the icy tendrils of his fear. [Who — what are you?]

“You don’t know?” Gabriel purred.

Images surfaced, memories worn by time and an aching fondness, and Gabriel saw himself through Jack’s eyes. Not as a mask and shadows, but as a man painted with the warm colors of a setting sun. Strange, Gabriel thought. He was a creature of darkness, but Jack saw him as —

The images disappeared, tucked away in haste as if he was never meant to glimpse them. Gabriel blinked at the cabin walls. He pried at the edges of the memory, but it wouldn’t come back out. Irked, Gabriel clucked his tongue. “No need to be shy, Jack, not between old friends like us.”

[Why are you here? How are you here?]

“You tell me.”

Jack glanced — no, Gabriel felt the head turn and followed its lead. His eyes lighted on the catcher on the floor. It was singed, dusted with ash, but, even with its broken web of sinew, Gabriel recognized it. He turned it over between his hands and recalled the maddening pain of Moira skinning his arm for the leather, the way her bewitched blade had carved slivers from his ribs without breaking flesh.

[That’s — oh gods that’s — why would you let her do that to you?]

With a frown, Gabriel realized their memories were like glass baubles. When they were lifted up, either one of them could peek in at its contents. Gabriel pushed the memory down, or as far down as it would go, and then refused to acknowledge it. He felt Jack searching for it, running blind fingers over the murky thought of it.

Gabriel picked at the sinew — his sinew. “How did you get this?”

[Jesse gave it to me.]

The answer to his unspoken follow-up question came freely, shoved at him in the form of a memory. Jesse, some young, cock-sure hunter nipping at Moira’s heels. There was more there, things Gabriel picked at, tried to peel back the picture to see what was hidden behind it, but the image of Jesse was thrust to the forefront, blocking his view.

“Alright, then, why did he give it to you?”

The image of Jesse thinned, eaten through by a myriad of interwoven emotions. The strongest to come through was regret, pulling at Gabriel like quicksand. In his mind’s eye he saw himself with Jack’s sword pressed against his throat. It cycled to another moment, when his back had been turned — turned because he trusted Jack. It flitted away, replaced with their last exchange and the acrid smell of Jack’s sword tip burning into his flesh. The pieces of memory were threaded together with a twisted mantra of regret: I should have killed you.

Gabriel’s heart sank before anger buoyed it up. He’d thought Jack had been different. Had thought they had something special, but — he refused to think about it and instead focused on the bubbling anger.

[It would have been better than what was done to you.] In Jack’s memories, Gabriel screamed as the light tore through him. [And for that, I’m sorry.]

The anger Gabriel had been using to build a wall between them crumbled. He shifted his weight and he muttered, “Warning me would have sufficed.”

[I tried.] His horse’s neck damp with lather. Foam flew from her mouth yet he spurred her on, desperate to make it there before Derek. Employing a witch to do a hunter’s job was unheard of — he had to get to Gabriel. Warn him — ask him — to tell him the truth — to —

The memory fractured and fell apart.

[You wouldn’t listen.]

Gabriel glared at the wall. “You told me to go without explaining yourself. Of course I didn’t listen.”

[Would you have gone even if I had told you why?]

After a moment of thought, Gabriel glowered. No, he wouldn’t have left, not when he finally had Jack within reach. He might have gone straight for Derek and his pet witch — [Like an idiot.] — “You owed me an answer!”

[You know the answer!]

“Fuck the witch! Fuck you wanting to see me one last time. I don’t care about that, Jack. I wanted to know why you left me. You were — we were — “ Frustrated, Gabriel tore the memory out. The time before the last they’d met; the time when Jack had looked so afraid about having finally bested him; the time when he had left.

Jack seized the memory and twisted it around, granting Gabriel a new perspective. They were destined to kill each other and Jack realized, in that single moment, that he’d never be able to do it. It had nothing to do with Gabriel’s acclaimed immortality and everything to do with the simple fact that Jack didn’t want to kill Gabriel. He loved him.

“That’s — “ Gabriel shook his head, dazed. “That’s not true.”

Another memory was shoved at him. Fingers in his hair, tugging him close, and a mouth so near to his, murmuring sweetly. Jack held a sword, but his grip trembled around the hilt as he silently begged for Gabriel to kiss him. It was neither the time nor the moment for such a thing, yet Jack’s blood sang with desire. Just one kiss. Please. If they were both to die that night, then —

“You really were a fool,” Gabriel whispered.

The memory was plucked from his mind’s eye and packed away behind Jack’s darkening mood. [Don’t mock me.]

“I’m not,” Gabriel argued, but Jack’s presence had already retreated inward. Gabriel could still feel him, like an ache in his bones, but his thoughts were his own. Even so, Gabriel searched the room for a distraction. Without the privacy of his own mind, he didn’t want to think over the insight he’d been given.

An idea floated to him and Gabriel’s attention was gently nudged toward the crates left outside. Gabriel readily accepted the task and made it all the way to the edge of the porch, where the shadow and sunlight met, before he halted. The crates weren’t far. Ten, maybe fifteen feet. Cautiously, Gabriel stuck a hand into the slanting light before quickly snatching it back.

He repeated the action, each time holding his arm out for a second longer. When he didn’t burst into flame, or something equally ridiculous, Gabriel turned his palm up to the warmth. “A long time,” he answered the question hovering in the eaves. Jack’s presence flinched and, again, withdrew.

Gabriel pretended to not notice. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he eased into the sunlight. It prickled against his skin and was somehow brighter once he was standing amid it. The night was gentle and secretive, the soft light given by the stars and the moon like a silk shawl over the land. The sun was loud; akin to a child who’d been given a pack of paints and set loose on the world. Everything was so colorful and bright and busy.

“Reminds me of you,” Gabriel muttered, flashing the images of a young Jack Morrison. Golden hair, skin lightly kissed and freckled by the sun. And his eyes —

Cautiously, Gabriel tilted back his head and squinted up at the sky. Blue upon blue, stretching far past the snow-capped mountains. His gaze tracked downward, taking in the dark evergreens, the textured brown-red of trunks, the winks of pinks and yellows of flowers. Everywhere he looked there were new variants of colors to study.

Gabriel hastened to move the crates inside and shut the door on the overwhelming world of light. He rifled through the contents of each one. Most of it was dried foods for storage. Rice, beans, flour — Gabriel put them away, able to gently feel through the memories where each item belonged on the embarrassingly bare shelves. When Gabriel pulled out a wine bottle, Jack’s presence sank like warm tar, thick and dark with shame. The bottles were placed at the very back of the cupboard and were quickly forgotten in lieu of the bag of apples.

Dappled in streaks of red and yellow, Gabriell pressed one to his nose and inhaled. When was the last time he bothered eating? He hadn’t needed to since he’d been transformed. He’d eaten, out of habit, for some years after his change, but — like the colors so vibrant in the light — Gabriel had forgotten the feeling of hunger, of the simple pleasure of flavors on his tongue.

He bit into the apple and hummed in appreciation of the crisp taste. Yes, he would take those with him.

[Take? Where are you going?]

“You can’t expect me to stay here,” Gabriel admitted since the cat was out of the thought bag. He began gathering supplies for a trip, pulling at the edges of Jack’s memories to know what should go into a pack. As an immortal, Gabriel hadn’t had to worry about surviving things such as starvation and harsh weather for some time.

[You can’t just leave!]

“Why not?”

The horse, for one. Gabriel paused and gazed at the curtains, toward what he assumed was the pen beyond the wall. Good, he had a mode of transportation other than his own two feet. The nearest witch could be miles away for all he knew. Jack’s memories stirred, confirming Gabriel’s suspicions. The nearest magic practitioner was a two days ride away. Not a witch though. A man called — Jack tucked the memory away, outraged.

Gabriel snorted. “A witch did this, a witch is needed to undo it.”

[Not without a price.]

“Would you rather spend the rest of your life stuck like this?”

Expecting Jack to concede to the point, Gabriel was surprised at the confusing warmth and shy withdrawal from the budding argument. The tension loosened from Gabriel’s chest and slipped away like silk through his fingers. In the silence, Gabriel finished gathering what he needed. Food (mostly just apples); coin (what little he found in a pouch high on a shelf); and a warm cloak to see him through the night. The soul catcher was packed last, carefully wrapped in a clean shirt, and set on top of the other supplies.

Lastly, he drew the sword from the sheath hanging from the bedpost. It rang softly to his ears. He pressed his fingers to the metal, curious to see if it would burn, but nothing happened. It smelled like holy oil, turning his nose, but otherwise harmless to him. He belted it around his waist, unable to remember the last time he’d bothered using a blade. He shouldered the pack, drew up the cloak’s hood, and ventured into the light.

The barn was as decrepit as the cabin. The roof sagged and was in dire need of new side planks. Beside it was a coop overrun with weeds; the door hung askew, the top hinge rusted and broken. As Gabriel eyed it, he recalled how Jack had been too drunk to pick himself off the floor and gather up the chickens for the night. The next morning had greeted him with an open pen full of feathers and blood.

It only worsened when Gabriel stepped into the barn, glancing over the empty stalls, knowing Jack had sold his milking cow because she’d gone dry due to his neglect. The memories, ladened with shame, came with a thirst for the wine tucked away in the cupboard. A swallow would do — just to wet his tongue —

“What happened to you?” Gabriel asked, his memory of Jack clashing against the self-image of a drunkard who couldn’t get his shit together long enough to take care of a brood of hens. “The Jack I knew was — “ twenty years younger, as ambitious as he was foolish, and now he was just old and tired.

Gabriel squinted at the empty stalls. “You’re not that old.”

Old for a hunter, Gabriel thought and caught himself running his fingers through his hair, short and thinning and as pale as moonlight. Gabriel snapped his arm down and flexed his fingers, feeling the strength in the body he inhabited. Had it really been that long? The time in between his banishment and the moment he woke up, sharing Jack’s body, spanned no longer than the blink of an eye.

Spotting the bridle hanging on the wall, Gabriel grabbed it and headed into the fenced in field. The horse stood on the far end, head high and ears perked in his direction. Gabriel moved toward it. “It doesn’t matter, Jack.”

Why not? He was just a washed-up hunter who —

Gabriel bared his teeth at the wallowing thoughts. “Why do you think I never killed you?”

[Boredom.]

Instead of arguing, verbally, Gabriel thought of the lanky youth that had come to him, all fire and brimstone. He’d thrown that kid into the mud, bloody and bruised, and thought nothing more of him — until Jack had come back. Again and again with vigor enough to match the sun itself. He grew into such a handsome man too; golden hair and ocean eyes; broad shoulders and strong arms. Gabriel had pretended he was using Jack, a pet of his influence within the halls of the pesky Hunter Guild. In truth, he had looked forward to the smile Jack gave him whenever they met. It enchanted him, like the twilight heralding the dawn. It had filled him with a bit of the warmth he’d forsaken by joining the night. He had wanted to keep Jack. Forever.

“We’re both fools,” Gabriel muttered.

Instead of elation, Jack’s mood sank. Gabriel felt the pull of it on his heart. Making Jack withdraw had not been his intention. It had ended the argument, yet the quiet unnerved him. After Jack’s confession of love, of yearning for a kiss —

[It’s not that. The way you see me — I’m not that man anymore.]

The mare darted away from Gabriel, ears pinned back in a show of distrust. Gabriel glared at her. “It’s no more wrong than how you’ve painted me in your mind. I’m not even human anymore. Stop — “ He snapped the bridle through the air as he felt Jack’s forming protest. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

[I’ll just go — oh wait, I can’t.]

“I didn’t ask for this, Jack — “ [Neither did I!] “— so don’t take an attitude with me.”

It took nearly all the apples before the mare would allow him to slip the bridle over her ears. Gabriel might look like Jack, sound and smell like him, but she knew something was different and didn’t like it. Saddling her was a delicate process that earned him a nipped bicep and a bruised foot. Jack was rather chuffed by the whole affair. A mood which soured when Gabriel mounted and prodded him for directions.

Reluctant, but helpless to detour Gabriel from leaving, Jack shared the roads and landmarks leading north to a small village. Baptiste helped the people there — not hurting anyone. He was a good person, even if he wasn’t human and —

“You’re protecting him from the Guild,” Gabriel mused with interest. There were more, others that Jack had turned a blind eye to. Not every monster deserved the end of his blade. When the Guild had caught on to his kindness, however, they had not taken kindly to his lapse in duty.

The memory flinched and tapered away.

“What did they do to you?” Gabriel asked in a soft tone, but it didn’t hide the welling feeling of outrage building in his chest.

[It’s not about what they did to me.]

He’d been taught a lesson through the blood of those he’d spared. A part of him had died with them. The rest of him had carried on, not sure what to do with himself other than wait for death. “Enough,” Gabriel grumbled, hackling against the self-loathing. “You did nothing wrong. The Guild overstepped their bounds.”

As the sun began its descent, Gabriel urged the mare down the road. The passing scenery and myriad of daytime sounds were a welcomed distraction. Gabriel didn’t want to think too much, not when Jack was there, privy to every cynical thought. The day darkened along with their collective mood. Gabriel built a small fire and spent the night huddled in his cloak, stewing over plots of revenge instead of dwelling on his worries of never again having his own body.

Dawn crept upon him. One moment he was staring into the small flames of his fire, wondering over the state of his immortality, the next he was shivering as he woke, his cloak stiff with frost. Seeing no point in starting a fresh fire, Gabriel gathered his things and saddled up the mare. He shared an apple with her and surveyed his resting spot, unable to shake the feeling of having misplaced something.

It wasn’t until the sun broke away from the horizon that Gabriel realized what was wrong.

“Jack?”

No response.

Gabriel closed his eyes and searched himself for the essence he’d felt yesterday, the odd lump on tension in his chest that had stirred with Jack’s feelings and memories. It was smoothed over, barely there, and try as Gabriel did, he couldn’t get his mental grasp around its rounded edges.

“Jack?” He called again as ice trickled down his spine.

A faint stir, little more than a heart murmur, turned over in Gabriel’s chest. It came with the weight of weariness, like a man who couldn’t hold open his eyes long enough to wake. Gabriel exhaled, relieved. “For a moment there, I thought you had found a way to get away from me.”

Tired, the half-thought oozed through before the presence curled in on itself. Gabriel frowned, but left it alone. He brushed back the hood to let the sun fall on his face, hoping with a bit of time and light, Jack would rouse. When the sun reached its peak, Gabriel stopped to let the mare drink from a stream and again prodded at Jack’s despondent essence.

It didn’t stir.

Heart pacing, ready to bolt in fear, Gabriel gathered up the mare’s reins and pushed her into a gallop. He held on to the details in his mind. The winding road north, the crooked white pine blazed to mark the trail, the moss-covered well, the wispy column of smoke drifting from the red brick chimney. Baptiste, Gabriel chanted the name to remind himself of the help he sought. Hope threaded through him and, as night fell and Jack’s presence waned further, it frayed and burned.

Too afraid to sleep and lose Jack completely, Gabriel walked through the night, leading the mare by the reins.

“Don’t you dare leave me stuck in this body alone,” he groused, fingers tight around the leather. He walked as fast as he could without breaking into a run. His heart raced for him. While he hadn’t wanted to be bound, physically, to Jack, the alternative of losing him was terrifying. “We still have so much to argue about.”

The Guild would pay dearly for their transgressions. Gabriel seized on to the anger to fuel his feverish pace. The night blurred around him as he looked inward, listing the grievances he would leave painted in blood down their halls. Revenge had been the cause of his shift from man to monster. It was only fitting he acted upon his dark nature.

When it was light enough, Gabriel mounted and continued at a brisk trot. All the while he held on to the thought of Jack, hoping that — if by simply thinking about him — it would keep him tethered to life. What more could Gabriel do? Would it be kinder to let Jack go?

A wave of goosebumps cascaded over Gabriel’s shoulders, followed by a nauseous chill. I should have killed you, Jack had thought, because death was a mercy. Death was kinder than the miserable alternative.

Gabriel put his heels to the mare’s sides and spurred her faster.

Dawn came and went. When the mare beneath him faltered, lathered and huffing, Gabriel abandoned her to finish the last of his desperate trek on foot.

The house was made of stone and clay, cozy where it sat nestled in the trees. Puffs of smoke drifted from the red brick chimney, spreading into a haze over the small clearing. A pair of sheep baw’d curiously at Gabriel as he approached the heavy set door. Chickens clucked gently around his feet. Gabriel pounded his fist against the door while scanning the homely nook. The air was thick with smells of animals and plants. Bees buzzed lazily through the soft light filtering through the treetops.

Gabriel drew up his hood, uncomfortable amid the content hum of life.

The door opened.

“Jack?” Baptiste’s brows pinched with concern, but his smile was wide and warm with welcoming. “Is everything — ”

The brown eyes that swept over him, flashing with ethereal power, singed along the inseam of Gabriel’s chest. Gabriel recoiled, baring his teeth in an equally inhuman display.

“What are you?” Gabriel snarled.

The glow dimmed from Baptiste’s eyes. “A healer,” he toned, carefully. His gaze trekked more slowly over Gabriel, skating along the edges of his torn soul. Warm and gentle, like a fire’s touch before it burned. “What are you?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel admitted, in no mood to play games. He was a twisted creature of Moira’s design. A blend of man and monster. He called himself darkness and death, but he didn’t know where he fit into the world anymore. “Does it matter?”

“It depends.” The invisible fingers were around the stone in Gabriel’s heart. The smooth, rounded thing that had been Jack’s miserable presence. Gabriel slapped a protective hand over his sternum. The ghostly hand withdrew, but the pinch between Baptiste’s brows deepened. “Why are you here?”

Gabriel’s fingers dug in. “Can you help Jack?”

After a moment of hesitation, Baptiste’s expression softened and he stepped back to wave Gabriel inside. It was as warm and homely inside as it was outside of the small cottage. Herbs hung from the eaves, but the air smelled of fresh bread. A mound of dough sat in a bowl next to the hearth, gently rising from the warmth given off by the small bed of coals. Some monster, Gabriel mused wryly, knowing the dark, bone filled caves people imagined when thinking of a monster’s den.

“Do you have a name?” Baptiste asked, breaking the surreal haze.

“Gabriel.”

It felt wrong to give his name away. It’d been a gift to Jack but — it wasn’t the time for stubborn pride. Jack was fading. Might already be gone, Gabriel thought with a stab of fear. “I don’t know what happened to put me here, but… Jack was fine — but he’s gone or, I don’t know. I don’t know. Can you help?”

Baptiste turned a chair around and motioned for Gabriel to sit. He did, rigid as a rod of iron. Without touching, Baptiste tilted Gabriel’s head up to gaze into his eyes. His eyes flickered with gold and fire and pierced into Gabriel’s soul. It sifted through him, finding where Jack ended and Gabriel began. He pulled at the tendrils webbing between them. Gabriel snarled as pain flared through him, but Baptiste’s expression remained stoic.

“You’ve been feeding on him,” Baptiste said.

“No — “

“Unconsciously,” Baptiste amended. “You’re fractured, seeking to be made whole. Where is — “ His fingers fanned through the air until they met with strings unseen. It thrummed and Gabriel felt where it anchored in his chest. Baptiste pressed on the connection, pulling the strings taut and Gabriel’s attention swung like an obedient puppet’s head. He watched, bewildered, as Baptiste’s fingers followed the strings down. He opened the pack and lifted up the soul catcher, tugging the bindings with it.

“Oh, this.” Baptiste frowned as he picked at the sinew. It resounded in Gabriel’s chest like a plucked guitar string. “I see now.”

“What?” Sweat beaded along Gabriel’s brow. “What do you see?”

Baptiste seized one of the crystals between his fingers and Gabriel felt the pressure of it on his soul. He gripped the edges of the chair under him, his breathes coming in short. Golden light emitted from Baptiste’s fingertips as he —

“No!” Gabriel reached for the catcher, but too late. The crystal cracked and it struck through Gabriel like lighting. His limbs convulsed with pain and he clawed wildly at Baptiste. The chair rattled against the floor as, with nothing more than two glowing fingers pressed to Gabriel’s brow, Baptiste pushed him back down. Power lanced through Gabriel, pinning him like a butterfly to a card.

“Stop,” Gabriel pleaded, his eyes wide and rolling madly to gain a glimpse of the soul catcher. “Don’t — ”

“It is the only way.”

Was it? Gabriel struggled to remain coherent over the frenzied rush of fight or flight. There was no time to seek an alternative. Jack was nearly gone. That thought, accompanied by the icy grip of fear, was enough to settle the primitive need to self-preserve. Immortality had never been Gabriel’s desire. He’d only wanted his revenge. When he’d gone knocking on Moira’s door, his daughter’s blood had still been fresh on his clothes. He’d been desperate to tear apart those that had slaughtered his family like cattle.

Yet, after satiating his anger with bloodshed, living on afterward had become an unwanted fate. Perhaps Jack was right — he should have been killed. It would have been a kindness. A quiet end. Somehow, the idea of ‘peace at last’ was a terrifying aspect. He didn’t want to die, but —

“This will save Jack?” he asked, afraid.

The pause was no more than a half-second, long enough for Baptiste’s expression to soften with pity. “It will save Jack, yes.”

“What will — “ Damn the quaver in his voice.

“I don’t know.” Baptiste rolled the last crystal between his fingers. “This magic is… unusual. I do not know what will become of you once the connection is broken.”

Gabriel exhaled as pain rippled through him. He might return to Moira, bound as he was to her magic. Another horrifying conclusion. The crystal cracked and Gabriel’s breathing stuttered. It had to be done. There was no way around it. Gabriel wet his trembling lips. “Tell Jack — “ Words failed to encompass all the regrets he held in that single moment.

Defeated, Gabriel closed his eyes. “Tell him to get his shit together.”

What a fool.

Jack.

Him.

The last crystal shattered.

The hellhound’s head spun through the air, spraying tarry blood over the snow. It rolled to a stop next to the body of its slain kin. Five in all. Jack held still, blade poised and softly hissing, and he listened to the quiet of the woods. The trees stood solemn and silent, yet Jack couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

When nothing emerged, he lowered his sword and kicked the corpse over. A yearling and not quite a hellhound, but instead some mutated variant of it. Something that had found a way to breed and had graduated from ravaging cattle herds to stealing small children from homes. Jack had yet to find the pack’s mother, but had hoped the dying cries of her whelps would draw her out.

Steps sounded, crunching unhurriedly through the snow. Jack twirled his blade, flinging blood from the oiled metal, and tracked the sound to the path he’d made through the trees; blazed by the blood of his hunt. He tilted his ear up, listening to the patterned walk of a biped. Another hunter, perhaps. The point of Jack’s sword lowered as the figure emerged from a break in the trees.

“How does the Guild feel about you still hunting?” Gabriel asked as he paused, frowning down at the headless hound beside him.

Jack blinked, unable to fully comprehend the sight before him. It’d been a year since he’d heard Gabriel’s voice, but it had been decades since he’d actually seen him beyond the fading details of his memories. Even so, Gabriel looked exactly like he had all those years ago. Except, instead of shadowy-black armor and a mask, he stood before Jack, dressed in simple leathers over winter clothes, some alf-high boots, and a woolen, black cloak over his shoulders.

“As long as I’m not paid, they don’t care.” Jack, too, frowned at the hound. It was more blackened skin than fur and smelled worse with its rotten blood spreading through the snow. Was it poisonous? Jack checked the gash bleeding just above his vambrace. It didn’t look poisoned. Was it the fumes, causing him to hallucinate? Jack raked his eyes over Gabriel, searching for the tell-tale flaw.

Gabriel hummed, his breath wafting away as mist in the cold air instead of sooty tendrils. “It’s an awful lot of work to be doing without any pay.”

“Someone has to do it,” Jack’s voice scratched with the emotion he was vying to hold back.

Gabriel smiled and Jack felt weak in the knees. It had to be poison. His head was spinning and his heart was galloping. Gabriel drew closer. Jack kept a wary eye on the approach while maintaining a tight grip on his sword hilt. He knew several monsters that could imitate loved ones just long enough to gain an advantage.

“As duty-bound as ever,” Gabriel teased.

Jack swung and Gabriel ducked the blow, deflecting it with the back of his gauntlet as he spun away, once again at a distance. He examined the nicked leather of his glove before grinning at Jack. “I’ll be honest. I was expecting a more… tender reunion.”

“What are you?” Jack leveled his sword tip with Gabriel’s heart.

Amusement danced through Gabriel’s gold-flecked eyes. “Human, apparently.”

Jack shook his head.

“You want proof?” Gabriel slowly raised his arm and removed one gauntlet then the other. He dropped them into the snow and splayed his fingers. Brown skin, not blackened like they’d been dipped in tar. Gabriel showed him his open palms, the back of his hands, then brushed his knuckles along the flat of Jack’s quivering blade. The holy oils didn’t hiss, neither did the engraved sigils burn.

Gabriel stepped forward, brushing the sword aside.

“How?” Jack whispered, unable to rationalize the illusion before him. The two warm hands cupping the sides of his face felt so real. The sword slipped from Jack’s fingers. He blinked rapidly to fight off the sting blurring his vision. His voice trembled as he struggled to find enough air to whisper his disbelief, “Gabriel?”

“Did you miss me?”

Jack pressed a shaking hand to the side of Gabriel’s face, his beard soft against his palm. It was so real. Gabriel drew him closer and Jack caved, no longer caring if he was about to be devoured. He closed his eyes. If it was a lie, he didn’t want to know the truth. Gabriel’s thumbs smoothed along his cheekbones.

“You got old, Jack.”

Jack sputtered with a choking sob of laughter, then covered his scarred, pale face.

“You look more like the moon and the stars than the sun now.” Gabriel pulled him into a tight embrace and gently kissed his temple, whispering. “Silver and blue. I’ve always preferred the night over the day.”

Forty-four years old and Jack’s stomach still somersaulted from Gabriel’s compliments. His touches, too, were just as he remembered them: slipping past his defenses with ease.

“I missed you,” Jack confessed, needlessly, and pulled Gabriel into a kiss.

It started as a hesitant press of lips, but erupted as Gabriel dove into it, kissing him with years of longing. Jack dug his fingers into Gabriel’s dark hair, angry at the fates that had pitted them against each other, for all the time that had been stolen from them. It wasn’t fair.

Gabriel broke the kiss, panting.

Apprehension kept Jack’s eyes screwed shut. He held on to Gabriel, feeling the shape of the man under his hands and tasting the iron of human blood in his mouth. He didn’t want to open his eyes and face the possibility that it’d all been a cruel lie.

“How?” he whispered, pleading for it to be real.

“I never thought nephilim were real,” Gabriel mused.

Jack’s eyes shot open, finding Gabriel still whole and human before him. “Baptiste did this?”

“Apparently he owed you a debt and he has ‘family’ that’s good with handling souls, but not so great with the concept of time. He sends his apologies in regards to the delay.”

Several more questions crowded Jack’s tongue, but he did little but stare, transfixed by Gabriel. Real. Alive. Human. He pressed both hands to the sides of Gabriel’s face. His chest was fit to burst and his eyes stung from the effort of holding it all back.

The moment broke at the sound of horses; the warm snort, the creak of saddles, and the familiar crunch of hooves breaking through snow. Jack pushed away from Gabriel to face the approaching men.

Two men, four horses — one of them being Jack’s mare. Livid, Jack’s gaze cut to the man in the lead, ready to unleash hellfire, but found himself balking in surprise as he recognized the young man. “Jesse?”

“I recognized him from your memory,” Gabriel said as wiped the blood from his lip and paused to stare at it, perplexed, then his attention shifted to scowl at the mounted men. “And that’s Genji. They helped me track you down and I distinctly recall telling them to stay back.”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” Jesse said, not sorry at all. “But, Jack, you’re hunting that rogue hellhound, yeah?”

As if the bloodied snow and headless corpses weren’t an obvious clue, Jack nodded.

Jesse gestured westward. “Saw the bitch running along the river, headed toward town.”

Without thinking, Jack snatched his sword from the snow. Jesse tossed him the mare’s reins and Jack was already in the saddle by the time he registered Gabriel’s affronted: “Jack.”

Standing where he’d been ditched, Gabriel spread his hands out to the sides with equal amounts of confusion and annoyance. Jack grinned and jerked his chin at Gabriel’s belted sword. “You know how to use that thing?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, but a smile quirked beneath the glare. “Are you forgetting who taught you?”

Questions hung in the air between them, too many to field in one night. Jack wanted to talk, to know everything, but it had to wait. They had time. Finally. Perhaps their roads were always destined to be intertwined. A matter Jack intended to explore, thoroughly, more so when he wasn’t wrapped in layers of wool and leather and stinking of hellhound blood.

Heart impossibly light in his chest, Jack’s eyes flashed with challenge as he teased Gabriel with a coquettish tilt of his head. “Remind me.”