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Crowley tells Nikki there are worse places to be a Slayer than New York City, and for what it’s worth, she usually believes him. For all its faults, she does love this place, the constant thrum of noise and people and life, even as she spends her nights among the undead and the dead and the dying. There’s a certain comfort in knowing that no matter how unbearably shitty her night gets, the city won’t change.
Whether she kills the big bad or they get away, the subway still runs. Whether she saves the poor bastard who bought a cursed amulet or puts him down, the tourists still flock here no matter how much the locals despise ‘em. (Her included, for the record. How people haven’t learned to just keep fuckin’ walking rather than stop still in the middle of the sidewalk to gawk at an ad in Times Square is beyond her.) Whether she gets away easily or by the skin of her teeth, she’s just another of the faceless masses when she’s in the middle of a crowd.
That isn’t to say she lets her guard down. If she’s able to hide amongst people, vamps can do the same. She knows that. God, it’s not like she could forget, not after that time on the subway where this girl wearing something Nikki’d have sworn was a flapper dress grinned at her and tore out the throat of the man sitting next to her. She’d been able to put her down in the ensuing chaos without anyone noticing. Or commenting, at least. New Yorkers mind their own business, and it’s not like Nikki would’ve spoken up if she saw a girl turn into dust without knowing about the whole creatures of the night thing.
In the present moment, Nikki’s on another train. The B to the L stop which will take her close enough to Crowley’s house that she can make her way right there without worrying about some monster following her. They struggle a bit with the subways sometimes, except those that were born and turned here. It’s part of why she rides it so much. That and the fact she’s not hauling ass across the city if she can avoid it.
Especially not after a night like tonight. It feels like everything that could have gone wrong did. A few disappearances that Crowley had noticed but the cops hadn’t, given their usual policy of ignoring people who actually need help unless they can make it worse, and some ritual that relies on the fresh blood of many had been enough for Nikki to hope she might actually save someone.
She’d been too late. There must have been dozens of bodies, all contorted and diaphoretic like something had happened to them even before being drained dry, their eyes blank and unseeing, the copper tang on the air strong enough to make Nikki gag. The monster this latest cult had tried to summon was as fast as a truck and hit as hard as one. She’d had to tear off its horn and stab it with it, her stakes useless against its scales. It’s not even dead, really, just retreated back to whatever pit of hell it came from to be summoned again.
The cultists had told her as much with the kind of zealous fervor that means they really believe it, and given they'd summoned the thing in the first place, their information can't be that off. She tries not to go after people if she can avoid it, even the evil ones, but she’d hoped a blow to the head might make ‘em act strange enough for someone to notice something was up and maybe trace the same trail she had. They hadn’t been so inclined to play nonlethal, and she’d barely knocked out two before she’d had to get away.
So. Shitty night all-around. Part of her is itching to go find some terrible dive where she can drag someone else having the worst of times into the bathroom and they can forget it with each other, even for a bit, but she knows there’s something more important than that. More important than being the Slayer, too.
Part of her even believes that's the reason she's calling it quits for the night. Wouldn't it be nice if it was just more selflessness, if she wasn't just so goddamned tired?
When she reaches Crowley’s door, she knocks in a very specific pattern. He won’t open the door if she doesn’t — doppelgangers are tricky business, or so he tells her — and while she used to find that caution grating, she appreciates it now. After he disarms the numerous traps on his front door, he gives her a warm smile, though there’s still tiredness at the corner of his eyes. “How did it go?”
Nikki doesn’t respond, which is answer enough. His face falls, and she hates to see that, hates to disappoint him. “How is he?” she says before he can try to reassure her. It wouldn’t help, anyway.
“He’s fine,” Crowley says. “Sleeping well.”
She traipses over the latest mess her son has made to see him resting in his crib, dreaming peacefully like he’s not in a world where so many things want to tear him to shreds. She sighs, relieved. “Thanks for watching him.”
“Of course,” Crowley says, almost offended. “Always. The guest room is made up for you, you look like you need it.”
If she says anything, she’ll start crying. So she doesn’t, just gives him a nod and heads towards the guest room without a word. She didn’t want to have to go back to her apartment with Robin tonight, having to keep her eyes peeled for threats and keep him alive at the same time. Nikki’s done it before, and she’s sure she’ll do it again, but God, she doesn’t mind getting a break from it. Maybe she can’t stay away from the life of a Slayer, but even just a brief moment of respite…
They’ve done this enough that she has a fair amount of her things here. A toothbrush, a satin bonnet, some other miscellany that she’s too exhausted to deal with now. She’s out almost the moment her head hits the pillow.