The Convergence Creation Week 2017.

Day 3 - Alternatives.

The first glance is quick. Five seconds, at the most, as they pass down the hall amongst a small sea of other university students leaving the cafeteria on the way to lunch. Two pairs of eyes meet, then flutter away; they land on hundreds of others that day as well. Nothing really sticks.

The second is a bit longer, now due to brief recognition. She's attending the basketball team with a friend, and he's on the college team. They've won, the crowd is cheering, and she's in one of the front seats. She flashes a smile, and he returns it broadly. Ten seconds, at the most, this time.

The third is non-mutual. She's in the cafeteria, eating breakfast alone and studying. He's gathering his own food, and watching her from the food line. Just a few glances, short and in spurts; added up, maybe twenty seconds altogether. He doesn't go over though. His brother jogs up behind him and pulls him over to sit with him at the other table before he can even consider it.

There, of course, are fourth times and fifth times and sixth times, and so on. And quite a stretch of time passes, so that in the end it is impossible to give an exact number of how many looks, some mutual, some not, each time longer than the last, that Ben Derek gives Jenna Winters – and vice versa – until they finally are face-to-face with each other at a party. Its Cal Derek's first, and he's dragged his brother into the loud music and small crowds to experience it with him. They meet in the corner where Derek was simply watching his brother, out in the hallway between an empty back parlor and the large dining hall, when she's suddenly in front of him. Whether she'd been watching for a while or just beelined straight towards him, he never finds out. All he knows is that he blinked, and she was there. And they stand in front of each other just a bit, before she gives a playful little smirk – and he'd never realized just how pretty her smile was until now.

"Sorry." Her voice is teasing – at that time, he can't tell whether she's had a few drinks, or is just this friendly-looking all the time (he knows he's had one or two). "Been wanting to do this a while now."

And then, she's kissing him. And, after a few minutes of shock, she pulls away, chewing on her lip but the smirk is still there. She clasps her hands in front of him, and releasing his shirt; which she had grabbed and pulled down on to make that kiss happen. She waits a few minutes, seeming to enjoy his expression, until he finally gets out in a dumbfounded but awestruck way, "Do I get a turn?"

That makes her laugh. It's a beautiful sound and it washes away the too-loud music and too-drunk voices from the other room. She nods, which makes her brunette curls bounce all around her shoulders. She barely gets out an amused "Yeah," before he's gently pushed her back and now she is against the wall, and he's kissing her. Twenty minutes later, the same added sum of those third glances, they are on the couch in that empty parlor. She's on his lap, and her fingers card through his hair; his own fingers grasp around her slim sides, and he's leaning back, eyes closed. At this moment, Cal hasn't walked in on them yet, not cleared his throat and made Jenna pull away with a lifted brow and turned his older brother's face beet red. For now, they have met officially for the first time – though they learned each other's names and many little things about each other quite a while before – and discovered that the other's company is… if anything, enjoyable.

And it all started with one quick glance, taking place during the first 'chapter' of this narration.

This all started with one, quick, glance.

This little story – one in the many it takes to spin a true tale – takes place three months later. This makes it nearly a year since that first glance. He's in his dorm room, rolling a basketball between his knees as he studies – or pretends to study – his criminal justice course, when he hears a knock. It isn't even a knock really, it's a thud. All it does is make his brow furrow as he glances up just briefly, with a slight frown. No other sound follows immediately, so he looks back down, and continues his studying façade.

Another thud soon follows. And then, a shuffling sound; and after that, a knock.

By now, Derek is on his feet. He's watching the door warily, and after a second, calls "whose there?" There's no answer except for the feeble knocking, so he heads over to the door. His first fear that its Cal, and something's wrong – maybe he's gotten a bit too drunk, or is hurt somehow. Or his roommate, with those same negativities ailing him. Derek throws open the door; and his eyes blow wide open as a battered, bloody brunette falls into his arms. "Jenna!" He catches her, pulls her in. His foot accidentally kicks the door shut, and then he's left standing there, the young woman breathing heavily as she blinks and looks around. Blood leaks from a gash in her forehead, and trickles down over one eye.

"Ben." Her voice is as wavering as her breaths, barely above a whisper. "Ben, where's… where's Max…?"

Derek look over at his door, as if his roommate will walk in right then and there. When he doesn't, he looks back down at her, eyes incredulously wide as he stares down at her. Holds her tight. "Jenna? He's, he's not here right now. He'll be back soon – Christ, why didn't you get to the office?" He shifts, to take her there. Get her help, preferably to a hospital. She seems to sense his intentions; but rather letting him carry them out, she jerks as if to straighten, gasping. "We gotta, gotta get outta here…"

"I know. I know. Ya need a hospital. Fuck, Jen, what'd you do to yourself…"

"No! No, n-no hospital. Just get me out, out before Max gets back."

"You need a doctor, you're bleedin' everywhere, holy shit..."

"Ben!" At this point, her voice gains momentum. More firm. More desperate. "Not a hospital. No one else. Just you. Just you, Ben." She's losing strength, and leans against him more heavily; limp-ish once more. "Please. Please, just…" Her voice fades, far too quickly to mean anything good. Her head falls against his shoulder, and she gives a weak whimper. Her fingers curl into her shirt, and give a little tug, to emphasize her plea.

Later, Derek will not be able to tell why he agreed to her terms; why he didn't do what a sensible person would do, and take her to a hospital, step back, and wait to hear official from reports and others what the real story was with Jenna Winters. It made sense to do that, after all, and hadn't he always been the sensible one?

Though around her, he runs into bookshelves or doors, or gets hit in the head with his own basketball. When it's her, he'll stare for hours, or make out with someone he'd never said more than a sentence to. And apparently, with her, he will go against every whisper of common sense, and take a bloodied and panicked young woman into his truck, tuck her into the passenger with a first aid kit, blankets, and anything else he can fumble for before Max returns to their building, and drive off down the road with no destination in mind.

She's his one great exception.

They end up in a field. He's left tire tracks that are barely noticeable in the tall, overgrown grass. Jenna has been moved to a makeshift little 'nest' in the truck bed, surrounded by two pillows, a jacket, and a few blankets. Her gaze is a bit more clear now, still exhausted, watching as he uses a cloth and a water bottle to clean her up. He's already used alcohol and gauze from the kit to take care of the worst of her lacerations. Now, he very carefully makes his way around bruises and sore spots, to wipe away the blood and dirt and sweat stuck to her skin. He's silent, mind still racing as he takes in the leaves stuck to her, the mud on her boots, the dust over her jeans. There's cobwebs in her hair as well.

After a few minutes, she purses her lips into a tight, thin line, and stops his hand with her own. She's careful, but quick, placing slender fingers over the hand wiping at her arm, and he freezes. Gaze, uncertain, confused, asking for answers, looks up, and she swallows.

"Thank you," she whispers. That needs to be said first, he needs to know. She can see he wasn't expecting it; his brow furrows slightly.

He leans back so he's balanced on his heels, crouched next to her. He wipes the back of one hand over his forehead, brushing dark locks back that had fallen forward; a smudge, just of smudge, of mud appears where the action took place. After a few minutes, he sighs, and tosses the rag aside. She's as clean as she is going to get, for now. "What's goin' on?" he asks quietly, when he finally does speak. His gaze is firm on her, and she can see expectancy in his eyes. Even now, for some reason, it seems he believes she'll explain all and be honest about it. She isn't sure how that makes her feel, not currently.

Instead of answering right away, she looks over to the right side. The field stretches out and then, in the distance, one can see the largest hall of the campus in the distance, lights twinkling through a thin spread of trees. His repeated, "Jenna," is the only thing that draws her sad, quiet gaze back to him. She's trying to think of an excuse. It certainly isn't the first time; but lacerations are so much harder to explain away than bruises or a broken bone. She's also lost quite a bit of blood. The Gatorade is helping a bit, but her head is foggy. She can't think. All she can do is look at him, her expression apologetic, her eyes sad and scared, and everything hurting and tired.

He needs to repeat his question one more time, before she finally manages, "Was attacked."

Obviously. The unhelpful answer doesn't take away any of the anger that flickers in his gaze – such an instantaneous reaction that she's taken off guard, feels a chill run down her spine. He's frowning heavily at her, and each line on his face stands for something different – indignation, fury, concern. "By who?" he demands, looking down at her body. Probably trying to see what sort of knife or weapon could possibly damage the body as hers is. She knows he won't be able to think of one; even with his major in criminal justice. So she tries an excuse, tries, "I can't tell you." But that only seems to multiply everything on his face He demands to know who; she denies him again.

That's when he threatens to call the police. And she's so weak, she's so afraid – and not only for herself but that somehow, this will end up with him in this condition as well – that she finally just whispers hoarsely, "I have a secret." And his expression returns to concern. To wariness. As he watches her closely, traightens a bit, and then leans back against the edge of the truck bed.

"What is it?"

And here we come to the second pit-stop of this journey, accompanying the first glance if it were written all down in a table of contents. The day the secret is first mentioned. It's the first night that Ben Derek ever learns of ghosts in a manner that is not a campfire story or eccentric fixation of that one weird kid in class. Ghosts are the first of many things he will learn of in the years to come.

Of course, he doesn't understand at first. He's bewildered, and stunned. Isn't sure at all what to make of her, because when she explains secret, it all feels more like lies. She's a firestorm disguised as a calm ray of sun; a hunter in the shoes of a student.

Most of the night is spent in the truck. He patches her up, gives her his t-shirt and simply wears his hoodie, and cleans the blood up as best he can. She wears his hat, to cover up the gash on her forehead; just before dawn they drive and get breakfast from a drive-thru, get rid of the trash. Talking is scarce at this point. While in town, as he rather-numbly pulls out breakfast sandwiches from a paper bag, she turns on the radio. Flicks through different stations, before an urgent local news buzzer goes off and causes her to pause. She seems to feel something he doesn't; she straightens, and her eyes go heard. She's focusing, and he doesn't understand that look (not yet at least); doesn't see how she's trying to see if her recent failure will cost someone life.

The address mentioned is familiar, and doesn't just bring a reaction from her. Derek's head snaps up and they both just stare at the radio a minute; without looking at him, she can feel his question, burning through his mind even as he suddenly tosses their food aside, and throws the car into drive.

"I thought you chased it away for the night."

She feels the regret, shame, panic, all simmer up through her throat. It tastes foul. "I thought I had."

Oh, I thought I had.

But she hadn't.

And yes, it's been only a short amount of time since the last, but here shall be placed the next chapter. Not only for Derek and Jenna, in fact, but for all the students and lives at their university; the faces left that are white and shocked, as noted when the pair drive back to the campus. There's some smoke in the air, and there are sirens – they'd thought they'd been going across town. Obviously not. As soon as he jumps out of the truck at the office, demanding to know what happens, someone is rushing over. Max. His black hair is tangled, his tanned skin pale. He's out of breath, he's talking all too fast… the next two hours sine that exact moment dive into pure, unhindered panic.

The reason we've put this next chapter here becomes even more clear a few days later, in a graveyard filled with black umbrellas and somber faces; where Jenna stands with a stricken, guilt-ridden expression that comes out more unimpeded than ever before, and where Derek now buries his brother. The ghost really had been chased away for now, and for this week, they had bothered to leave it that way. This night, as she sits with him in the dark, attempting to comfort, but not sure where boundaries now lay, he suggests that this situation now change.

"Teach me how to kill it."

It's the first real, verbal confirmation she's received that he believes her. The first person she's met to do that. And maybe that's a part of the reason why she doesn't stop him, or talk him out of it. Insist he's riddled with grief like she was, ask him not to make the same mistakes she had (grief and heartbreak and insecurities are such dangerous things). It's also confirmation that yes, he will keep her secret; and he's one of the very few to ever do that as well.

Whatever the reason, she finds herself saying, "Yes."

Yes.

We'll call that a chapter as well.

There are many events that follow through the next few years that we could call chapters. The one we'll focus on, though, to wrap up this short story – remember this is just one of many in this whole tale – is five years later. It's a ridiculous hour of the morning, when the sun is still sleeping but midnight is long past. The house they are in is in poor condition but livable; or at least, it was. Now, the faucet has broken in the bathroom, and is spraying water everywhere. There is glass from the windows on the old rug, furniture is upturned, and at the moment, the coffee table is shattering as Derek hits it after being thrown across the room. She is rushing down the stairs to him, calling his name before she randomly cries out and has to stop. Legs shaking as she sinks to the ground, one arm clutching to the railing as the other wraps around a swollen abdomen. Her jaw remains clenched as another labor contraction grips her, but she still manages out a choked "Ben!" as her head falls back against the wall.

"Stay there!" It's an order, barked out as the man quickly rolls over and is soon back on his feet. Crowbar cast aside, but that doesn't matter; his hand snaps out and rips the fire poker out of its stand, just as the pale and grotesque image of a middle-aged woman comes forward, eyes dark. He risks a glance over to Jenna, watching as she presses herself against the wall, jaw clenched, breaths sharp. Anger rises. They had been careful for the past few months, to the point of exasperation. Staying low, keeping safe. This house was their last night before they moved into a better place, for the baby to spend its early life in at least. Apparently, though, occupants didn't leave so easily.

He didn't know how he'd missed it. But he had, and she's crying out in such pain again, and the ghost is looking so fucking smug, and he's pissed.

It tries to come at him again, this time lashing out with its hand to do something – grab him, send him back, something. It's a mistake though. The second it moves, so does Derek. He swings the iron poker up, and with a loud, haunting screech-like noise, the spirit dissipates, cast away for now.

There is a moment of tense silence, where he attempts to catch his breath, and then assess the situation. Everything hurts, is sore and bruised and cut; but nothing he can't handle with something as simple as water and a bandage. What is the source of panic is yet another cry that comes from Jenna. He's immediately running over to her as she grabs at the step she's on with both hands, face incredibly pale, forehead beaded with sweat. There are tears burning in her eyes, a sight he hasn't seen in a very long time. When he asks her if she's hurt, if she's okay, what he needs to do, she just manages a sob, and then another contraction seizes her body, and holds it in its grasp, this time refusing to let go. The infant in her womb kicks hard once more before shifting.

Please do not think that this chapter has been placed because of this pain, and the action beforehand. It does surely prove a good purpose, in showing the now solid bond between Ben Derek and Jenna Winters, and the skill that the latter has provided the former with. This is all not the main point, however. The main point comes in the morning light, when all is relatively calm. A hidden grave in the backyard is smoldering with the ashes of burnt bones. The sofa has been fixed to the best of Derek's ability, broken glass swept away, broken furniture dumped outside. Jenna is surrounded by blankets and pillows, and the baby boy in her arms is content and asleep in her arms. When Derek returns from grabbing them both food, he dumps it on the counter and then slides up behind her. Wraps his arms around her, and plants a kiss to the top of her head as he gazes with a fond smile at their son.

The fourth chapter is personified in day-old Mason Jay Winters-Derek. As a future of companionship, a past of trial, and the promise of a secret kept. Now this point is where things shall end for now; though keep in mind, for the hunters and their new child, it's a long, long road ahead.

And it all started with a single, quick, glance.

In an indefinite multiverse, there is no such thing as fiction.

Disclaimer: Jenna Winters is an OC created by Liza, and Mason Derek is an OC played by her. She also created this AU and I randomly put it into weirdly-styled story form (written at 2am).