Archive of Our Own

Fabien dropped down the hole after Phyre, landing heavily…in about 8 inches of filthy water. He jerked upward with a noise of disgust, trying to shake the liquid from his sleeve. Ugh, his poor coat, he was never going to hear the end of this one. He managed to get paint on her once, and yowza, who knew a garment could give such a vicious tongue lashing?

A distant splash echoed down the dim tunnels and Fabien stiffened. He took a deep breath and…nope. Still nothing. Nothing but rot and dirt and damp. Just like the other 47 times he'd instinctively tried to catch the scent of those creatures. The thought of them crawling through the pipes, the walls, stalking them, creeping closer and closer, jaws slavering, thirsting for their vitae…

Fabien shuddered.

'Phyre. Those creatures…what, or whoever made them…'

Phyre squared his shoulders, eyes narrowing to furious slits. 'They could be the work of the Sabbat.'

Right. He probably should've expected that. The Detective was opening his mouth before the thought had fully coalesced. 'Not everything has to be the Sabbat.'

After all! To assume is to make an ass out of you and me. And if the last century of Seattle's…Seattle-ness had taught him anything, it was that there was never just one thing boiling beneath her rain soaked streets.

Phyre paused, then slowly turned on his heel and levelled a glare at him. Ah. 'No…But they remind me of a Sabbat myth.' An icy shiver ran down Fabien's spine at Phyre's knife thin pupils. 'I do not believe in coincidences.'

Yep. He may have underestimated the Nomad's hatred for the Sabbat with that one. Good lord it made him curious. The itch to get to the bottom of the why, the what, the how burnt bright in his chest…right next to the animal instinct that told him he was a rabbit under a cats claws.

Much to that instinct's relief, Phyre loosened his posture and crossed his arms. 'Tolly may have dismissed the Sabbat as conspiracy theory, but are you truly so sceptical of this?' The look the Nomad shot him was so flat it could've been slid under a door. 'What is that proverb? Something about glass houses.'

Fabien sighed and raised his hands in surrender.

'Yeah, alright. That's fair.' Fabien adjusted his hat. 'Look I'm not saying that it's not Sabbat. Just that, y'know, it's good to keep an open mind.' Fabien spread his hands, attempting to inject a bit of levity. 'Heh, that's Detectiving 101!'

A faint growl emanated from Phyre's throat and he stalked ahead, making nary a ripple through the filthy water. Well. Seemed like that was that, for now. The detective once again considered the intelligence of prodding the angry bear.

Fabien huffed. Well, he never did have the most robust sense of self preservation.

A crying shame that he'd gotten so fond of the terrifying Elder.

The terrifying Elder with a fondness for a good book and penchant for attempting to befriend stray cats.

Bears were as equally cute and fluffy as they were capable of ripping your head off, after all. Fabien mentally congratulated himself on thinking up such an ironclad metaphor.

Phyre led them on a winding path through the stinking tunnels, seemingly following a trail only he could perceive. It occurred to Fabien that they could make a hell of a crime-solving team if they got out of this whole mess alive. Between the Nomad's keen, clue-identifying senses and the Detective's experienced, puzzle-solving panache, not a stone in the city would be left unturned.

Though, that "If" seemed to growing increasingly large the further down this trail they sloshed.

Traipsing through storm drain and charred ruin alike, the unbirthed were everywhere. Fabien had to trust that Phyre had a better sense of their position, because between the tight spaces and ever present feeling of being hunted, the detective's nerves were about as thin as thread.

Not that trust was particularly difficult in this case, the Elder hadn't ever really given him a reason to distrust. And without the Nomad's company, Fabien had no doubts that he'd be sharing a CoD with the Gangrel.

Which, he could not help but consider, might be exactly what Lou Graham was hoping for. It was on her recommendation, after all, that he was down here. Sure, on paper having the Detective accompany the Sherif to crack the Case of the Eaten Tourists made perfect sense. But, well, Fabien has never been the court's most favourite Kindred. Tolerated, yep. Providing a vital service, absolutely! But there's only so far that "good will" would let him push.

He couldn't remember having done anything irritating enough to warrant Lou's extra-special punishment for problem Kindred…but…

Not remembering doesn't actually mean much, he supposed glumly.

The mental image of an enormous, sharp-toothed Lou dangling him by the ankle over a pit of slavering, eyeless monsters was shattered by the unexpected, and familiar, sound of echoing cracks.

Phyre shot him a surprised look. 'Gunfire?'

Fabien's mouth pressed into a nervous line. 'Somehow I don't think those creatures can handle a pistol.'

They kept low, said gunfire deafening in the echo-y cavern. A swarm of those moonflowers were charging ahead of them, completely unconcerned by the hail of bullets shredding them apart. The group doing the aforementioned shredding were clad head to toe in black armour, their sartorial choices as intimidating as their extremely large guns. The combat oriented buzz words they were exchanging just confirmed his suspicions.

'Mortals. Military.' Fabien warned, crouched beside Phyre who was leaning out from behind a crumbling wall.

Phyre's lip curled back from his fangs.

'Hunters.'

Carefully peering around the Elder, Fabien tried to get a good look at what the humans were defending. looming large over the group, an enormous, ornately decorated door. And carved upon it-

'There,' Fabien gasped. 'The Mark!'

Phyre gaze locked on the rough carving, his claws carving deep furrows into the brickwork beside him. 'The Gardener lies behind that door. I know it.'

The soldiers began to retreat under the onslaught, heaving open the door to reveal… whoo boy that's alot'a dynamite. Fabien felt Phyre tense beside him, centuries of power coiling tight like a spring and the Malkavian shot him an alarmed look. 'What are you doing?'

Phyre's narrow pupils flitted back and forth. 'They are going to destroy the door!'

Fabien grabbed Phyre's arm, throwing caution, and propriety, to the wind. 'Phyre, those things are everywhere.' His voice tight with worry. Elder or not, he'd be swarmed in seconds, and Fabien really wasn't keen on watching him get torn to pieces tonight.

Though it did not seem to be an opinion that the Elder shared. 'We need to get inside!' Phyre yanked his sleeve free, sending Fabien staggering forward a couple of steps, his heart leaping into his throat. 'Phyre, its not safe!' The Nomad dashed to the door, reaching it just as a wave of fire and force turned it into mass of splinters and rubble.

'Phyre!'

The shock wave sent him reeling back, coughing up the dust he'd managed to aspirate. Phyre? Fabien had seen him get flung, but the air was too thick with debris to see.

But he could smell just fine. Blood. Kindred blood. Phyre's blood.

There. A sprawled form amidst the settling dust. The detective staggered over, veering to avoid a pale, clawed corpse. The Elder was moving as Fabien skidded to a halt and crouched down beside him. Relief flooding though his veins when Phyre pushed himself up, shaking dirt from his hair. Just cuts, superficial. Nine lives on this one. The Detective sighed, settling back on his haunches and shooting a look towards the mess of rocks that used to be a door.

'Now what?'

Phyre opened his mouth to reply but was rudely interrupted by the clattering of stone and an increasingly familiar bestial shriek. Of course. Thankfully Phyre was up and past him immediately, because no part of Fabien wanted to acknowledge the monstrosity behind him.

Hadn't enough happened tonight? Hadn't they earned a break?

Apparently not. Fabien whipped to his feet when the dying gurgles of one creature turned into the scrabbling claws of many. Oh no.

In a tone that brooked no argument, Phyre yelled at him to stay low. You didn't have to tell him twice. And Malkavian's were very good at going unnoticed.

He assisted where he could, but honestly, he didn't think the Elder needed the help. He was a sight to behold. Not just raw power and battle prowess, but the way he moved, weaving like water through the beasts, playing to field to his advantage…it was like a dance. An aria, with Phyre as both performer and conductor.

A flailing, shrieking body slammed past him, and Fabien practically jumped out of his skin. Right. Yes. Really not the time to get distracted.

The clink of metal on stone caught his freshly renewed attention, and there! A few feet off from Phyre's position, a blinking red light and…beeping sound…

Shit.

Phyre hadn't noticed. Why hadn't he- Did he even know what-

The Nomad's claws were ripped from the unbirthed's ribcage as he was unceremoniously tackled sideways, the two kindred rolling clear as the grenade went off.

Bright spot flashed through Fabien's vision, and he heard Phyre hiss at the light. Flashbang. It was quickly followed by the zip of rope and a confident call of 'Blankbodies! Light 'em up!'

In that split second, he found his hand wrapped in Phyre's collar, the Elder's eyes locking onto his.

'Do what you do best, Nomad.' The detective breathed. 'Survive!'

The cavern erupted into chaos. One second Phyre was on top of Fabien, hand pressing him into the dirt, the next; gone. Lost to the fray. The Detective scrambled to his feet, collecting his wayward hat on the way up. Then was immediately sent ducking back down, cursing as ricochets spat sparks up the rock wall behind him. The cavern was a veritable whirlwind of shouts, bullets, growls, and screams. He'd lost sight of Phyre, but he'd just have to trust that he was looking after himself.

A low growl sounded from behind him. Fabien swallowed. He had his own neck to worry about right now. He spun round, and just managed to dive out of the way, enormous claws shredding the air he'd just been occupying. He ended up back down in the dirt, heart going at a panicked mile-a-minute to get vitae where is needed to be. He cast around desperately, he needed- he needed a- Aha!

Fabien lunged forward, hand closing around the length of rebar just as the scrabbling resumed, closing terrifyingly fast. He flipped onto his back just in time for the unbirthed to launch itself at him. Fabien flinched back into the gravel, eyes closing, length of rebar held out like a shield.

A heavy impact. Warm liquid running down his hands. The weight above him spasmed once, before going still.

Slowly, shakily, Fabien peaked open one eye. He was met with a sagging, fanged maw, hanging only inches away. He heaved the whole staked mess off of him, rolling onto his hands and knees, taking a moment to just breathe. The laugh he let out was slightly unhinged, even by his standards. Even covered in that monster's gore, he still couldn't scent any of it.

He carefully got his legs back under him. Phyre, he just needed to find-

A click sounded to his left. Fabien's stomach dropped through the floor and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of a barrel. There was a spark of light, and his entire world erupted into agony.

An animal shriek of pain echoed off the cavern's high walls and Phyre whipped his head round, a chunk of unfortunate IAO soldier's throat going with him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, his gaze narrowing to the bright lick of flame.

The Nomad was across the room in the space of a heart beat. The flame thrower sputtered out as it's wielder was tackled by a furious ball of claws and teeth. She let out her own scream that was choked to a gurgle under Phyre's rage. She died quickly and he wasted no time, ripping off his coat to dowse the last of the flames. He flinched and hissed as a stray tongue burned his forearm, gritting his teeth he wrangled his screaming beast back into submission. There was no time to indulge it's panic.

Discarding the garment, he hesitated, his hands hovering, trembling, over his friend's crumpled form. He could not recall the last time he had felt such fear over an other's well being, it sat cold and sharp in his chest.

'Fabien…?' he breathed, taking on the damage with wide eyes. And it was extensive. His coat was in blackened tatters, all up his left side, the smell of burnt kindred flesh heavy in the air around him. Phyre's dead heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest. Was he…? He couldn't remember the last time he had prayed to a higher power, but he found himself taking a breath and holding it when he slipped his hand beneath Fabien's neck and gently turned him onto his back.

A thin whine emanated from from the Detective's throat, his hand twitched, weakly clawing at the floor. Alive. Phyre's breath shuddered out, but the fear did not abate. He still was injured. Terribly so. He needed blood, and it only took a moment of consideration to set his course.

Phyre's fangs pierced the inside of his wrist. Red smeared the unconscious kindred's lips, still for a second before his beast drove him forward.

Phyre's eyes fluttered closed at the sting, then blooming warmth. It took considerable effort to pry them back open. His other hand still cradled the back of Fabien's neck, his thumb smoothing circles into his warm skin, far warmer than it should be, fever hot.

Pleasure dispersed through his system, like ink in water. Not as strong as it would be if bitten elsewhere but…he…Phyre shook his head sharply, tearing his gaze from the feeding kindred, trying to surface from the liquid dizzy warmth that suffused his being. He could not afford to be distracted. They were not safe, mortals and unbirthed alike lay scattered, broken amidst the rubble.

They needed to get out of here.

He slumped back over Fabien, who had weakly reached up to grasp Phyre's arm. The skin he could see along his left was still raw and red, stretching down his face and neck to disappear beneath the remains of his coat, but the wounds were no longer open and weeping. It would have to do. Firming his grip on Fabien's scruff, he pulled. The Detective made an unhappy sound, some where between furious tiger and kicked street dog. Phyre quickly brought his wrist to his own mouth to stem the bleeding, straining all the while to restrain Fabien's squirming.

His beast was strong. But the Elder was stronger.

Phyre's eyes flashed, glow igniting in the iris. The Detective jerked, before going lax, head lolling back in his grip. Phyre licked his teeth. Hunger gnawed at his veins, but it would have to wait. Moving quickly, the Nomad gathered his discarded coat, stopping to retrieve Fabien's fire damaged hat on an afterthought. Using the coat as an improvised blanket, he scooped up his injured ally and rose smoothly to his feet.

Haven. Then, when Fabien was secure, he would hunt.