I've been meaning to post this here but it's been kind of delayed - sorry - so anyone looking for up-to-date posts might consider reading it on AO3 where I initially posted it as that's where I post first. :)
Series Title:
"this bud of love by summer's ripening breath may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet" - Romeo, Act 2: Scene 2, Romeo & Juliet
Chapter Title:
"an open mouth, screams and makes no sound
apart from the ring of the tinnitus of silence
you had your ear to the ground"
- Death Dream, Frightened Rabbit
The full moon has just crested over the top of the tallest tree in the wood when the doors to the Academy seal shut and the boundary spell at the gate triggers; the howls of the wolves in the wood enough to chill the blood.
When the school was first founded, every wolf had been made to turn in the transition chambers below the school but as the pack grew and every wolf became more and more anxious after every turn the Headmasters had decided on a new plan. They would seal the school and set up a boundary and cloak the woods from the humans and let the wolves run free during the full moon.
They had taken to the new conditions with delight, though some of the students – vampires in particular – had been apprehensive. Wolf bites were lethal and even more so on the full moon when they submit to the predator in them. A predator that wouldn't simply bite their prey but rip it to shreds – a prey that happened to be their classmates.
But the truth was obvious; there was no threat, so long as you were inside the doors when they were sealed.
The exception to that of course is Hope, who can be outside without fear and can stay indoors without issue.
Except, looking at her now, Josie wonders if that is really true.
Hope is in the commons with them, perched by the window reading and bathed in moonlight. She's beautiful and her normally crystal blue eyes are practically electric, the honey tones of her hair more obvious in the moonlight. But what truly draws her attention is the way Hope looks up every few minutes, staring listlessly out the window into the night, her fingers tightening around her book enough to crimp the edges of the pages.
They haven't really had ample time to talk, though Josie had committed to the idea that day with the monster arachnid. But with things going a little haywire after that – Dorian going missing, the knife disappearing, Landon undergoing some kind of testing that had turned up nothing about him – they haven't really had the chance. And honestly Hope has been kind of…distant.
Which, okay, Hope is always distant – but Josie can tell that this is different. She still smiles at Josie but they're just that smidge smaller, almost distracted looking. Her eyes are that bit dimmer and glazed over and Hope's attention has been so gone even in their classes that they'd been evacuated from a Magical Theory class when her table had spontaneously combust.
And she's certain – beyond so, that as much as Hope is twitching now, her distance isn't some weird moon-centric PMS symptom.
It's been way more than that and yet Josie can't quite figure it out.
Or maybe Josie's making it all out to be something bigger than it is, and it really is about the full moon. Hope might be a werewolf but she's not part of the pack. Hope had refused to submit to the pack Alpha, Jed, in part due to her own isolated nature after her parents' death, but a large part of it, Josie knows, is Hope being an Alpha in her own right. There is a fragile respect between the two Alphas and Josie suspects it's the reason Hope doesn't go out on full-moons. She can wolf-out on a whim, where Jed and the others only have this one opportunity every month and to infringe on their space during that more primal time would break their tender peace.
It's a lot, Josie sighs, but it still doesn't shake that feeling of…more. Hope's restraint and respect for the wolves is only the tip of the ice-berg.
Like she can hear Josie's thoughts, Hope shifts again that second just as the clock chimes and the hour changes over; their curfew now hanging over them less than thirty minutes away.
Lizzie stands up beside her as the other students still in the commons begin clearing out, quickly giving her goodnights before she heads down the hall towards their father's office.
Josie distractedly returns them, getting up to set her book back on the shelf and chances a glance at Hope only to see her still at the window.
She's seemingly given up all pretence of reading, her full attention on what lies beyond the glass, her entire body turned and leaning towards it. She looks completely unaware, like she's trapped in some trance and Josie moves towards her hesitantly.
"Hope?"
The tribrid doesn't respond, not even when she calls her name again, this time much closer. She goes to place her hand on Hope's shoulder and flinches back when her head whips around just as Josie makes contact.
Hope's eyes are glowing, locked on hers, not even blinking.
She doesn't seem to have registered anything other than the touch and the infringement on her space; still stuck in that trance.
"Hope?" She tries again.
She takes a step closer, half-expecting Hope to start growling but she doesn't move. Josie raises her hand, going to place it on Hope's shoulder and shake her out of this but she grazes Hope's cheek by accident and startles back at the electricity that cuts through her skin. Hope startles then too, her eyes flickering between blue and gold before they settle; the tribrid blinking furiously to try and regain herself.
Her whole body pitches back into the couch, the movement seeming to jar her again, like she hadn't realised she was moving at all.
"Hope? Are you okay?"
"Yeah?" she tries but Josie is pretty sure that's a lie, watching her blink and hold it, her head swaying in a half-hearted shake, like the world is swimming around her.
"Are you…are you sure?"
"Yeah. Yeah – I'm – I'm fine. Sorry, I've just got to –"
The tiny gasp Josie lets out seems to halt Hope in her tracks. She cuts herself off, her eyes a little fogged and wide as she realises their position. Concerned, Josie had been that little bit closer and in Hope's haste to get up she hadn't quite clocked it. They linger now, inches apart, Hope's every breath a hot brush of air against Josie's mouth; a whispered ghost of a kiss.
She's not sure why she's not moving; maybe it's shock, because she's never been quite this close to Hope even holding hands and doing magic with her. The only other time she was this close to her, Josie was unconscious and Hope was carrying her back to her room so it doesn't really count and really, maybe her brain is shutting down and that's why she's not moving. Maybe she's dying.
But that doesn't explain why Hope isn't moving away either.
Hope's eyes flicker again, the gold rushing in and out of them like a light turning on and off – there and then not and Josie's breath escapes her in a gasp.
She feels like she's almost in a trance herself, seeing her hand raise to graze Hope's cheek but yet not really connecting to it. The tingles that shoot up her arm don't feel real and it doesn't feel like her hand even though she knows, logically, that it is.
Hope's eyes flutter shut, her eyelashes a butterfly touch against her cheek, dark and enchanting against her pale skin and the slight flush of red that's slowly leeching in.
They open again and the gold is there, longer this time and Josie can't help herself, the words escaping her quietly; a half-sentence like ice-water over the two of them.
"Your eyes…"
Said eyes widen dramatically, the gold flickering before it disappears entirely and Hope jumps back, her knees whacking into the back of the couch and stripping her balance entirely. Josie catches the front of her sweater to stop her falling and Hope tumbles into her, their whole bodies pressed against each other for a split second before they spring apart and Hope is dashing to the exit.
"Hope!"
The girl tosses up a hand in some weird, uncommunicative gesture, calling "Later" over her shoulder before she disappears in a burst of speed and Josie is alone.
/
Hope rushes into her room, the panic in her veins as real as the glow of her eyes and slams the door shut behind her. She engages all the locks and deadbolts it shut but even that doesn't seem enough, and with waning strength she seals it with a boundary spell and hurries into her bathroom
The shower is turned to the coldest possible setting before she throws herself into it, fully clothed.
She doesn't know what's happening, but she can feel a change in her bones like when she first turned under the moon. It's utter agony as her body stretches itself in her skin but it only gets worse as the bones creak and break; rearranging themselves slowly.
It's not natural for a hybrid to be forced to shift and Hope fights it every inch of the way, clinging to her mortal skin with a kind of desperation she's never felt before. The cold water isn't jarring enough a sensation to cling to as she'd hoped and, legs scrambling against the bottom of the shower, she stretches to reach for the switch. Her back bows, threatening to split and reform – and Hope cries out as she snaps forward under a wave of torrid heat.
It's as shocking as she hoped, stinging and blistering her skin in a tangible way and she clings to it desperately, as the change unwillingly recedes.
It is not gone, she knows, but gone enough.
She doesn't know what's happening other than that it should be impossible. It's not a spell, she knows, can tell by the feel of her turn. It's like her body is rebelling against her – surrendering to something it knows it can resist. Since her first turn, Hope has only felt similarly on one other occasion – when she'd first returned to school after staying with Kol and Davina, and had resisted turning on school grounds for weeks. She hadn't needed to – but being human for so long when she was so much more was wearing on her soul and in one burst of emotion she'd nearly lost control; the change stirring in her bones.
It was then that she'd learned the joy and necessity of running to destress.
But this – while like that, is not the same. It's not emotion compelling the turn, not a spell or even the moon. It's like her body is being called to action, her wolf being summoned by something she can't quite perceive and as much as the curiosity to turn and follow the urge overwhelms her, she resists.
The school is sealed and Hope sealed within it, and if she turns, even in the safety of her room where she's concealed, everyone will know. Though Hope is known to be a tribrid, all her school has ever seen of her is the witch. No one has ever seen her wolf – no one but her father – but more than that, Hope is the epitome of control. She doesn't turn without wanting to. The mere flash of her eyes is only because she wills it. This is not natural – but it's not happening to the other wolves, just to her.
The only tribrid.
She thinks back to Landon; how her trust in him had let him into this school and then turned him loose, that mystic knife in hand and knows it must be tied to that.
There's a list of rules in the information packet of attending the Salvatore Academy, she recalls.
Rule One: if you make a mess, clean it up.
There's of course some additional content to that – something about scale and help and the difference between domestic and homicidal but Hope had only read so far before she'd ceased all caring and figured that if she broke a rule, someone would let her know.
But if this is about the knife – well, there's a bunch of information about it stockpiled in Alaric's office. There must be something in it about the supernatural knife's effects on supernatural people.
And if there isn't, well…she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it.
If she comes to it.
Though, she admits, there are some issues with keeping this whole thing a secret.
Josie had seen her eyes, she realises, her brain already scrambling for some way to deceive her before a rigid guilt runs through her at how she'd left the girl standing in the commons. She'd seen the real concern in Josie's eyes before it had contorted itself into some other emotion she's never quite encountered before, leaving her eyes dark and fascinated. The siphon hadn't seemed at all frightened by Hope seemingly losing control – something that now concerned Hope because that was either brave, dumb or a serious lack of a preservation instinct, all things that were seriously worrying things to be as a siphon in a supernatural sea of sardines.
But Hope now has to think up some ruse, a seriously inconvenient thing to do when her bones are busy breaking themselves in a serious test of her patience.
Or, some small part of her whispers, you could tell her the truth.
The silence that comes with the thought feels deafening.
The roar of the shower, the creak of her bones, the agony tearing through every inch of her body – all of it seems to disappear.
She could tell Josie the truth.
It's so simple and yet almost radical because Hope doesn't have to lie. She doesn't have to keep this to herself – not that she's ever really had to but still, the point stands. If she tells Josie, Josie might help her. Or at the very least keep it a secret.
She thinks back to the past few days; how little she's seen of the brunette, and how much she's almost missed her. Josie had been busy helping Rafael integrate into the school and Hope was near overwhelmingly pre-occupied, between administering supernatural tests to an unwilling – and particularly rude – Landon and helping a slightly testy Alaric with research and trying to track down a missing Dorian.
It had kept them from doing much more than smiling at each other from across rooms and then tonight, the first free time they'd had, Josie had approached her and Hope had run and this had happened.
Well, Hope had run because this was happening.
But they still haven't talked since the day with the Arachne and Hope really, really wants them to.
Hope has long forgiven Josie of the things she said the day the gargoyle attacked and as much as she had wanted Josie to initiate the conversation, the longer it was drawn out and they were kept away from each other, the less she cared. To have their first chance to talk ruined by this – while it couldn't be prevented and she wouldn't have chanced it – is upsetting but the opportunity it presents… It almost feels too good to be true.
Because as messy and tortuous as it is, it still is an opportunity. It's a chance to have a full conversation with Josie – and even more than that; a chance to prove her trust and openness to her. It's a chance for that half-formed friendship to fully take root and blossom and for them to grow from this together.
All she has to do is ask.
And in the morning, she thinks, bearing down against the change as it rattles through her bones again, she will.
/
Hope doesn't show up for breakfast and the pit in Josie's stomach grows deeper as the minutes drag on and she still doesn't see her. She'd gone to bed after Hope had disappeared and spent hours tossing in her sheets, worried out of her mind and thinking of all the reasons Hope might've run. There weren't a lot, but the most destructive ones had presented themselves and haunted Josie in her dreams, turning them to cruel nightmares. In some Hope had reverted to her isolated, distant self and rebuked all attempts at conversation with harsh and cutting remarks. In others, Josie was tortured by the sound of bones breaking and the howl of a wolf on the hunt, spending what felt like hours trapped in the woods, running from a wolf she couldn't see but knew was Hope; following her.
She'd woken from one such dream minutes before her alarm went off, Hope's name on her lips and the tribrid's glowing eyes a searing image in her mind, Lizzie's concerned face hovering over hers.
Her sister had been reluctant to leave her side after that but Josie had finally herded her off, knowing she was helping their dad out with checking the wards after Wolf-Night. And now here she is, alone at breakfast, her eyes darting to the entrance every other second; her food barely touched and cooling on her plate.
The wolves had shown up a few minutes ago and were busily packing their plates. She can spot Rafael among them, smiling at the other members of his pack and she nearly flinches when he looks back and their eyes meet. They've talked about her kissing him to siphon and she's explained herself but she could swear he's seemed off ever since she mentioned it. She's not ignorant to his more friendly inclinations towards her and how despite talking to Lizzie, he doesn't act the same way towards Lizzie that he does to Josie. He's interested, she can tell.
But she isn't.
Or at least – not right now. As much as Lizzie might advise crushes to even out lingering feelings and as much as she might think he's handsome, she isn't looking for a boyfriend right now. She wants to work on her feelings after Penelope, on her relationship with her dad and, she thinks, on her relationship with Hope.
The clocks chime, the fifteen minute warning for first period and with another quick glance around, Josie finally accepts that Hope just isn't coming.
But that doesn't mean that Josie can't go find her.
With that little thought, Josie abandons all pretence and grabs her bag, struggling not to run and settling on a brisk walk towards the stairs; the worry swirling in her gut not abating in the slightest as she climbs them and heads up to their floor, still not glimpsing her.
She's just headed down the corridor from her room when Hope's door opens and her stomach turns at the sight of her.
Hope is beautiful, always is, but she seems less composed than normal in tight leggings, a long shirt, cardigan and convers. Her eyes are tired and glazed and red-rimmed like she's been crying; her skin paler than normal and her face almost gaunt looking. She seems exhausted and all Josie can wonder is what happened to her between running away and arriving now.
It's something to do with what triggered her wolf eyes, it must be but whatever it was must've done more than trigger just them.
Hope finally sees her and despite how tired she must be, her eyes still manage to light up and a smile just barely tugs at her lips. She looks relieved to see her, happy even, gently grabbing Josie's arm when she's in range and squeezing softly
"Hope?" Josie wonders, stepping closer when Hope teeters and looping an arm around her to draw her against her side. Hope doesn't even protest the contact, perhaps the more serious indicator of how she's feeling, just leans against her and lets her head rest heavy on Josie's shoulder. Her quiet "hi" is nearly lost even in the quiet of the hall and she sways unsteadily even with Josie holding her.
She's sick, maybe, Josie figures, brushing the back of her hand against Hope's cheeks before she rests it on her forehead. Hope doesn't respond to the contact except to lean towards it, her hand grasping around Josie's wrist and the lightest hum escaping her. She doesn't have a fever, but from the way she's acting she's probably delirious. Or seriously sleep-deprived, Josie figures, dragging the back of a knuckle against the dark edge of the skin beneath Hope's eye gently, the weight of Hope's hand around her wrist making the skin there tingle.
"Hope?"
"Josie? I broke my bones," Hope whines, "all my bones."
"Hope – Hope, what do you mean?"
There's a voice coming towards them, one of the witches calling back to a friend about a missing notebook.
Hope whines again, waving their arms in the direction of her door and Josie quickly leads them towards Hope's room, corralling the tribrid with a tender grip of her waist. She moves sluggishly and when the door is closed and Josie stops moving, she curls back into her, nuzzling her nose against Josie's skin and then resting there contentedly.
Josie squeezes her waist softly, "I'm going to help you into bed, okay?"
Hope just shakes her head, pulling away from Josie just barely, seeming torn between nestling against her again and trying to have an actual conversation.
"No – I…no…I need – Josie, I need your help," she grumbles, blinking her eyes slowly. She's still teetering precariously, her whole body taking up an unconscious sway and Josie keeps her arm steady around Hope's waist, guiding her to the bed and trying to think if this is a werewolf thing she's heard of. All the other wolves had been present at breakfast and fine, if a bit late, but with a first timer like Rafael with them that wasn't at all surprising.
Hope sits down on the bed and her eyes automatically start to drift closed, the fight against sleep seeming to grow harder and harder by the second. Josie helps her swing her legs up and lie back and sits by her legs, gingerly removing her shoes before pulling the blankets over her.
"I need your help," Hope slurs again, clasping her hand around Josie's and twining their fingers together when she tries to move, like holding her hand will stop her leaving. Her face is half-buried into her pillow, her eyes practically closed, and Hope pulls until their joined hands are against her cheek, Josie's arm contorted strangely as she's dragged to lean over Hope as she tries to both keep her arm and not hurt the tribrid with pulling away.
"What do you need my help with?" she asks her, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Hope's ear and thinking of how nice it is to see Hope so calm and vulnerable as unfortunate it is that it's a side-effect of her exhaustion.
"Stay," Hope mutters at last, followed quickly by a tug on her captured hand, "Sleep."
"I don't think you need my help with that," Josie says softly, but Hope doesn't reply, her eyes fully closed, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek and her breath a steady rhythm against Josie's hand.
It's tricky to escape from without rousing her, but she manages, standing from the bed and looking down on the unconscious Mikaelson, her features slack and soft in a way Josie knows she'll not see again for a long time. She knows Hope needs to sleep and yet she can't quite bring herself to leave, her heart hammering at the idea of leaving the girl alone when she'd asked her not to. And then there's the matter of what caused Hope's exhaustion and what she actually needs help with, because Josie doesn't doubt that though her sleep addled mind had confused its purpose, the request for help had been genuine.
It warms her heart and chills her blood to know that Hope is asking her for help.
A glass of water would be nice to wake up to, Josie decides, if only for a way to delay her departure that bit more.
She heads into the bathroom, already moving towards the sink only to stop and stare down at the slick of the floor-tiles. The shower door is open and she can see the way the water collected in the basin at the bottom has leaked out onto the floor, creating the massive puddle she's walking in. There's blood in the shower, on the glass walls and on the temperature dial and though it's turned off, Josie is near horrified at the temperature it was set to; can only imagine the blistering burns that it might cause. And yet the reason for it is obvious, if the claw marks in the glass are anything to go by.
Hope's eyes hadn't just flared last night – she'd started to change. And headed to her room for safety and probably stayed the night cooped up in her shower, burning herself just to get a focus to supress the change.
Josie traces a finger over one of the girl's claw marks, her heart aching at the thought of Hope alone and in pain, suffering already and then injuring herself just to stop her wolf emerging. Hybrids have more control, she knows, but that wouldn't stop the vampires from rioting at a wolf turning inside the school.
In silence, Josie fills up a glass of water and carries it back; setting it on Hope's bedside locker before heading to the bag she'd discarded at the door. She takes a book out of it before shucking off her shoes and settling herself against the headboard beside Hope.
Hope has spent so long alone, with everyone leaving her.
But not her, Josie decides there in that moment.
The world could turn against Hope Mikaelson; forsake and abandon her time and time again.
But not her.
/
Hope is so comfortable she almost thinks she must be dead. It's the only reasonable option because the safety that inhabits her bones, the warmth against her skin and the soft touch through her hair that could only be a breeze is unnatural and heavenly. It's the lightest she's felt in ages.
And yet, she's not dead and it isn't literal heaven or peace, like she knows exists after death. Instead it's a strange contentment, a living peace, that when she opens her eyes makes all the sense in the world.
Josie is beside her, a hand gently tangled in her hair as she reads; slumped back against the pillows enough to cushion Hope's head where it rests on her stomach. She's dozing lightly, her book resting against her chest but her eyes open the minute Hope stirs, and when Hope looks at her the smile on Josie's face is as tender as she's ever seen it.
"Hi," she mutters, the corner of her mouth twitching up like some Pavlovian response to Josie's smile.
"Hey," Josie says softly in reply.
She doesn't make any effort to move, seeming content to run her fingers through Hope's hair and so Hope remains for another moment, simply enjoying the touch before she sits up. Her whole body aches with strain and she can't stop the groan that escapes her. Josie's hand is a soft press against her back the moment it does, the girl sitting up beside her in concern.
"Hey," she says again, leaning into Hope's body like her presence alone will take away all her agony, "You okay?"
The press of Josie's body against hers is honestly fogging her brain and that bud of truth she's been ignoring sprouts new roots in her, even as she tries to deny it. She shakes her head lightly, feeling the ache of the turn still in her blood even though the moon is gone and knows that whatever happened last night is likely to happen again.
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I didn't – I didn't want to rush off but –"
Josie tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, letting her fingers follow it down, brushing against Hope's ear and then her cheek and down her neck, "Hope. I saw the bathroom."
The bathroom.
She'd meant to clean it up – to scrub the blood out of the shower and mop up the water on the floor and fix the cracks and scrapes along the glass but she'd been so tired – she'd barely had the energy to take down her boundary spell. The effort it had taken to get dressed and start down the corridor was already more than she'd had and it occurs to her now, she's beyond lucky that Josie found her.
But it doesn't stop the embarrassment, knowing Josie saw the result of her struggling; that lack of control.
Josie seems to read it on her face though because she cups her cheek, angling Hope's face so their eyes meet and all Hope can see in those eyes is understanding and concern. She isn't weirded out or frightened by Hope's loss of control, just worried – worried for her, and something shifts again in her chest. She places a hand over Josie's, pressing it against her skin that touch more firmly before they seem to mutually pull apart.
"I think it's the knife," Hope starts, "When I fought the dragon –"
"Dragon?"
"I…yeah. The day we found Landon with the knife, there'd been a mass homicide on the bus – the one we saw, remember?"
Josie nods.
"It wasn't him, like we thought. He said there was a girl chasing him and I thought maybe it was a pyromancer but surprise, that'd be too simple. It was a dragon – a dragon that could change into a fire-spitting person," Hope cheers sardonically, raising a fist in salute in utter sarcasm that makes Josie smile.
And then her own dims, because Josie doesn't know what Hope did but in the interest of full honesty, of trust, she should tell her. But if Alaric's reaction is anything to go by then Josie will be out that door in a split second and Hope will be alone again.
Josie bumps their shoulders together when the pause draws out too long and Hope sighs.
"…Rafael and I…we fought her and I used the knife against her fire and then he killed her with it. Or… we thought he did. But he hadn't and she just turned back into a dragon. So I – I used a Death Spell on her. One that I shouldn't have had with me – but I did. Because…"
"Because you were going to kill Landon," Josie finishes for her.
Josie doesn't say anything but Hope isn't at all surprised by that. There's a big difference between setting your abusive ex on fire and flat-out murdering someone. Honestly, Hope sometimes wonders if she's not destined to be as bad as Esther or Dahlia. Her whole family – bar her grandmother and great-aunt – had gotten down and dirty with violence, their passion was their rage and their lust was for blood and bodies full of it. They'd torn people to shreds – but always with hands or fangs. They felt the blood wash over them and every action was personal; by their own hand.
Hope's every act is through magic. If triggering her curse had taught her anything, it was that it didn't make things any different; death was death, but she can't help but believe that the devil was truly in the details. That somehow killing people with magic is cowardice. If she didn't break their neck with her own hands, tear out their beating hearts into her own palms, rip their throats out with her own fangs, then what does she truly know of the cost? The decision to kill people would always be easy if it was one made with magic – if it was one made with the knowledge that she would never feel their life fade and spill over her own skin.
What does it say about her if she only ever kills with magic? Esther had done that and she had acted like her children – who did things by their own hands; who knew the fragility of a mortal body, the cost and weight of death – were beneath her. Hope doesn't ever want to be like her grandmother but it's times like this that she wonders if she's not already on that path.
Feeling sick, Hope stands from the bed and gathers a set of clean pyjamas to replace the leggings she'd slept in before ducking into the bathroom. She feels dirty suddenly, like her own thoughts have revealed a kind of cowardice soaked into her skin and the urge to scrub her skin to redness and blisters is overwhelming. The bathroom is still in total disarray but she casts a quick spell to clear the most of the mess from the floor and steps into the shower; her ears carefully focused on the water hammering into her skin.
She expects Josie to leave, to slip out while she's distracted – has purposefully removed herself so she can do just that – and yet when she returns, the siphon is back sitting against the headboard, book in hand, quietly expectant eyes watching Hope the minute the barrier between them opens.
"You didn't leave?" Hope wonders aloud; the hesitance and awe of the sentence calling Josie from her seat on her bed. The siphon crosses the space between them with a few long strides, her arms reaching out for Hope the second she's in range and pulling her firmly into the cradle of Josie's body.
Her arms are tight around Hope; grounding and solid, unforgiving in their hold and Hope freezes in shock at the action as Josie leans her chin against her rigid shoulder and husks a hot breath against her ear, her voice sounding suspiciously thick.
"I'm not leaving you," Josie declares, an edge of anger to the words as if the very thought of it is unthinkable and infuriating, "You're not alone anymore. You don't have to be again."
She keeps the embrace even without Hope's reciprocation, like she can feel that Hope needs this time to process. But as Hope's arms loop around Josie's waist in return, her grip near-desperate, her eyes wet with tears, Josie speaks again, her voice so much softer.
"Please stop running," she beseeches the tribrid, "Or if you're going to run – take me with you. Just. Don't shut me out, please. I want to be your friend, Hope, I want to be here with you – for you. I'm not going to judge you for things any more than you would me. So you almost killed a threat to our school – to our way of life, one who's proven to be nothing more than a liar and – and a manipulator. So what? When I set Penelope on fire it certainly wasn't for anything as noble as our protection."
Hope snorts lightly, hiding her mouth against Josie's shoulder and edging further into the warmth the other girl provides. She doesn't run as hot as Hope does, but her mere presence and their closeness is like a balm on her soul; a kind of warmth she's never really encountered before, explicitly different from family and friends. She wonders absently if this is what Toni is to Cheryl before she shoves the thought to the back of her mind with all the rest.
"You know," Hope laughs, hoping in vain that it doesn't come off as wet as it probably does, "if your dad heard you call murder noble, he'd have an aneurysm."
"If my dad heard that I helped you do black magic, he'd lose his mind. But what he doesn't know, doesn't hurt him," Josie chides, before knocking their heads together lightly and pulling away from her, her expression stern, a silent I know what you just did that Hope can't avoid.
Hope chuckles breathily, swiping a tear off her cheek and glancing away from the probing depths of Josie's eyes.
"I can't promise I won't run," she says at last, "But if I do…I won't do it alone."
It's a tentative offer, one she doesn't expect Josie to quite understand even if she's seemed to follow Hope's every other thought but it's all she can offer in the moment. An acceptance and an acknowledgement in one; I won't run from you and I want you too in the same breath.
Hope watches the words settle in the air, sees Josie's mind whirring behind her eyes and feels her breath catch in her chest because, by God, the smile on Josie's face could shame the stars into dying.
/
The bell rings for the end of the school day and it's like a fog lifts from over them, the bubble they've immersed themselves in popping. Josie is sprawled across Hope's bed, books stacked in front of her and a sheet of notes written out in concise cursive. Hope is curled in an armchair in what Josie has decided to call her 'art corner', her own book balanced on her knees, a sketchbook in hand that she'd taken to scrawling notes in.
The books are all from Alaric's collection, carefully pilfered by the siphon while Hope caused a raucous distraction in a senior Latin class. Josie isn't quite sure what Hope had done – isn't entirely sure if she wants to know, given the devious smile that had lit up her face and the positively mischievous gleam in her eyes as she'd high-fived a group of devil-eyed primary students in greeting before the group of them had scurried off with her – but it had been beyond effective and her father had practically sprinted out of his office, Lizzie and MG in tow, toting a collection of strange equipment from fire extinguishers to tweezers, a variety of buckets and a book she's certain was about the life of geese.
Josie was perhaps most concerned by the book; especially when not a few minutes after they'd left the panic had escalate and she'd started hearing chickens screaming and clucking from down the hall.
The pair had reconvened upstairs, Hope practically shaking with laughter as she picked feathers out of her hair, and split the research papers and books between them, quickly getting to work reading and writing notes, occasionally noting something intriguing but otherwise working in a companionable silence.
It's been a slow-go of it though and although Josie has a solid page or so of notes about the knife, there's not a lot she can really say about its potential effect on the supernatural. There's even less she could say about its effect on Hope – the more important factor of all this, Josie had decreed.
Because Rafael had touched the knife too, used it to kill someone even, but he had been out during the moon and come back fine – having been perfectly normal before and after Wolf-Night too. Landon – even though they still had no idea how he was supernatural, or if he even was – had also remained unaffected by the knife beyond his weird compulsion to steal it in the first place.
So the only factor they could really consider was Hope.
It wasn't something about the knife that was inherently affecting the supernatural; it was something about the knife that was inherently affecting Hope.
Josie blinks, stretching her arms out above her head, not noticing the way her shirt slowly drags up over her stomach or the way Hope is quietly observing her, the pencil in her hand twitching across the open page of her sketchbook. She only refocuses as Hope closes it, standing up to crack her neck; rubbing at it with that same tired expression from earlier.
She's been doing that for a while, Josie notes, moving and rubbing at her skin like it itches. It reminds her of last night, when Hope had been fidgeting before she'd sprinted to the safety of her room. She'd spent hours fighting the change in the shower, and Josie can only hope that that won't be the case tonight.
"Ready for dinner?"
Hope just groans in response, shuffling over to where Josie is and flopping onto the bed beside her.
Josie tries not to laugh, settling for rubbing the tribrid's back to ease some of the tension there.
"Is that a no?"
"No," Hope huffs but her stomach rumbles loud enough to wake the dead then; and Josie just snorts; shoving at her.
"Yeah, right. Don't think I don't remember that you skipped breakfast and napped through lunch, wolf-girl," she chides, poking at Hope's shoulder again, "You need to eat something."
The tribrid just rolls over until she bumps against Josie's arm and noses into her sweater, her whole body relaxing into the bed beneath her.
"I'm tired."
"And hungry," Josie pesters.
"Is this going to be a thing?"
"What? Me making sure you don't starve?"
"No – you poking," Hope jests, pointedly jabbing her finger into Josie's side and hiding a smile at how the siphon tenses up to fight the instinctive need to flinch away.
"Most definitely. That's what being friends with me is like, Hope, I thought you'd read the fine print before you signed your soul over to me."
"Oh I signed my soul away, did I?" Hope laughs, "I'm sorry – I didn't know you were the Devil."
"Just the Satan-Spawn," Josie declares, clearing up the books and setting them into stacks by Hope's night-stand, the smile on her face starting to hurt her cheeks. The lightness of Hope's tone is something she hasn't heard before and the quick rapport between them is a wonderful surprise. Sure Hope has always been witty and sarcastic but Josie had always felt a large part of it was a bluff – that once people were let in, she'd tone it down so much it would feel like talking to another person entirely. She's glad it's not the case.
"Eh, I'm pretty sure that's me," Hope interjects; a hand pressed against her chest like having her title stripped from her will wound her very soul.
"No way, Hope, you're way too sweet for that."
The strangled sound that escapes her makes Josie's day as Hope shoots up, looking downright insulted.
"I am not sweet,"
"Says the girl who carried me to my dorm instead of waking me up."
"Says the girl who tucked me in!" Hope retorts.
Josie merely smirks, leaning over the edge of the bed to slip her shoes back on before she shoots a look back at Hope, already victorious.
"Says the girl who did me first."
The double entendre is too much for Hope and she flops back onto bed, her hands hiding her face as she groans exasperatedly; trying not to give away the sudden burst of images racing through her mind, thoughts unearthed and liberated from her fervent hold with only a few words and a flirty smile.
Josie seems none the wiser, mercifully, and is instead dorkily fist-pumping to herself as she collects her things, like she isn't in clear view of Hope.
"I suppose it's too late to back out of this friendship thing, then?"
"But of course," Josie announces, flouncing off the bed towards the door. Hope doesn't make an effort to follow her, merely sitting up on her elbows to watch Josie as she pulls the door open.
"Besides, you'd never back out. You like me too much," The siphon says, before she departs with a wink and a quick, "Dining Hall in ten minutes."
The door swings closed with a click, a waft of Josie's perfume jettisoned towards Hope in the draft it creates. A wave of citrus and rose breaks over her and Hope inhales it with a sigh, groaning in despair because Josie is right.
She does like her too much.
/
Hope has lost her mind if she thinks Lizzie will give up Josie.
It's all that Lizzie can think, storming down the hall a while after dinner. She would've come sooner but she had gotten caught on her way out of the dining hall by her scratched-up father, who'd requested a research aid for a few hours.
At first she hadn't noticed, too distracted by a traumatised MG, who was clucking under his breath and her sister laughing at her and picking feathers and fluff out of her hair even after Lizzie had washed and scrubbed what she thought was the last of them out in the shower an hour ago. That had led to the terrifying thought that maybe she was turning into one of the chickens and she'd quickly had to swap dinners with Rafael – taking the onset of teasing with a proud tilt to her head.
And then she'd seen Hope.
With half the senior class missing for poultry-related reasons and half the staff corralling chickens – and one wild, insidious bastard of a goose – in a classroom, trying to figure out how to fix them, Hope Mikaelson was an easy spot, sitting alone on the only side of the room with no people on it.
Well no, that's a lie. There were absolutely people there. A curious group of primary students had strayed from their year and were huddled around her, all talking avidly, with Hope nodding along and looking riveted and totally engaged with them.
For some reason, Lizzie could only picture her surrounded by small demons, but that might just be the chickens still tormenting her. Out of sight, she had learned, does not always mean out of mind. As if she could forget the trauma of fire-breathing chickens, shitting explosive eggs every five seconds.
But small demon children aside, it was beyond weird.
But from there it all grew weirder because Hope looked up, stared straight at her and didn't look away – this weird, almost fond, glazed quality coming over her eyes. It honestly reminded Lizzie a bit of the way she looked at doughnuts when she was on a diet or the way MG stared at her and slowly, her eyes had widened and she'd frozen in her seat, somewhat horrified as the two thoughts collided and merged and – oh my God Hope Mikaelson likes her.
Josie had looked up then, probably concerned about the drink her sister had just spat across the table and had reasonably followed her gaze passed a sputtering, spit covered Rafael to the staring Hope –
Only Hope wasn't looking anymore.
She was talking to one of the eight year old kids, a little rosette haired boy named Ander, hiding a smile as he waved his hands behind his back and started rocking his head back and forth like he was pecking something, the other kids laughing and all of them reaching across the table to share high-fives with the older girl.
Josie had given Lizzie a searching look before she patted her on the back, handed Rafael a few napkins and went back to her food.
And Hope looked up again.
And stared.
And Lizzie's stomach had started turning because it wasn't about her at all. Hope didn't like her. No, that would be ridiculous; a product of the chickens fucking with her mind, most likely. No, it was about Josie. Hope was eyeing her sister like Caleb would a cheerleader and that could honestly only mean one thing;
That tribrid bitch was going to steal her sister!
She wasn't sure if Josie had noticed, maybe she had, maybe she hadn't but it didn't really matter because Lizzie had and she was certain she'd put a stop to this now. Hope may be hurting and Lizzie may get it a bit more now – might have a little bit of sympathy for the girl, not that she'd ever let anyone but Josie know – but that doesn't mean she's okay with her plotting to steal her twin, as if one member of her family wasn't enough.
Lizzie can't even fathom the rage-out that would happen if Mope Mikaelson lured her sister away from her so soon after she just got her dad back from her.
So she tears down the corridor from her room to Hope's, fully intent on bursting through the door in the most dramatic show of aggression she can manage and is beyond offended when she collides with it instead, the knob twisting but the door not opening.
She tries again and again and finally settles for slamming her fists against it and calling Hope's name over and over again but nothing seems to change.
She's not there.
The realisation makes her flustered and she growls in frustration, throwing her arms out exasperatedly before adjusting her shirt in an effort to regain her composure. It's probably a testament to how normal this has become that not a single student or staff member has come looking for the disturbance and well, that just won't do. She wants them to be worried they'll have to tear her off of the tribrid – for Hope to know this is a genuine and legitimate threat. It's not threatening if no one even takes her acts of aggression seriously.
With a last glare at the door, Lizzie leaves and the sighs of relief from the neighbours in their hall have her grinding her teeth as she reminds herself that this is not surrender. Not defeat.
She'll just come back again later.
/
Hope can feel the change tearing through her the second the moon rises and knows, without a shadow of a doubt that she won't make it back to her room before her bones start breaking. The only safe alternative are the werewolf transition cells, but she's not sure she'll make it there either.
Regardless, she knows she has to try. If she can even get to the basement, someone can seal it shut and the rest of the school would still be safe.
With a burst of speed she knows will only increase the risk, she manages to hurl herself through the basement door when the most terrible pain she's ever felt rockets up her spine, bone and muscle shearing itself apart and healing almost as quickly, her back rippling as her spine rips apart and her body forces it back together. It's agonising, enough to make her cry out and send her sprawling to the floor, her whole body shuddering with spasms. She clatters down the concrete steps and lies in a pile at the bottom, panting as she tries to fight the change long enough to crawl forward.
Someone must have seen her. Someone needs to have seen her, because she's not there – just out of reach of the thing that will protect the school from her, and not able to bridge the distance. Her fingers claw at the ground, trying desperately to muster the strength to pull herself forward but she can barely find the breath to cry out as the bones in her leg break and begin the process of reshaping themselves.
She hurts – so much more than she's ever hurt before and all she can think is that she needs someone to have seen her. She needs someone to have seen her and she needs that someone to get Alaric or a teacher to get Alaric or anyone to get Alaric because if they tell him, then Josie will know and what Hope really needs is Josie.
She just needs Josie.
/
Someone does see Hope.
/
Josie grabs Rafael.
She doesn't want to bring him with her – knows with every ounce of her being that Hope will resent her for it later, but the minute Ander told her he saw Hope running to the basement with her eyes glowing, Josie had known it was serious. She knew that her every hope had been in vain and that Hope was fighting the change again and that it was overwhelming her. And if it was that bad, if Hope was going to the cells because she couldn't keep herself in check then Josie had no doubt that she had done her best to get there, but if she hadn't…if she hadn't, then as much as she wishes she were, Josie isn't strong enough to carry Hope to the cells – especially not during the change.
The thought of Hope in pain is bad enough, but as they reach the door to the basement and the snap of breaking bones reaches her ears, Josie is already preparing herself for something so much worse.
Nothing can really prepare her for this.
Hope's body is a mangled mess at the bottom of the stairs, her legs broken and starting to reshape themselves, the muscles an undulating mess under the surface of her skin, white fur already sprouting and tearing her out of her jeans. Her back has forced itself out of her shirt, misshapen and bruised from fighting the shift, Josie assumes and her fingers are bloodied, scrabbling for grip on the smooth floor beneath her. Her lower lip is shorn through, fangs gleaming with blood, golden eyes filled with tears and her mouth open in silent cries that she doesn't have the energy to voice.
Hope is so lost in her pain, she doesn't seem to even realise anyone else is there, not even when Josie crouches on the floor beside her and tucks her hair behind her ear in that familiar way; the siphon's heart breaking with every aborted sob, every choked breath.
"It's going to be okay," she manages to tell her, cupping her cheek and smoothing the tears from her cheek with her thumb, as softly as she can manage, "I'm right here, Hope and everything's gonna be okay."
She turns to Rafael, standing silent and horrified in the doorway, his eyes wide with pity and fear.
"What's wrong with her? Is this…is this how hybrid's change?"
"No – Raf, I need you to just not ask questions right now. I need you to help me get Hope into a cell, with the least amount of hurt possible," she chokes out, knowing that they won't be able to do much better than that – that no matter how they try or what they do, they're going to hurt her.
"A cell?"
"A wolf cell – they're for really bad shifts," she fills in quickly, motioning to him to come closer and crouch on Hope's other side, "I need you to help me get her to a cell and then I need you to go get my dad."
Hope's back arches then, rippling and bowing until she snaps forward towards Josie, the crack of her bones sliding into place echoing around them. She doesn't seem capable of sound anymore, just the agonised quake of her wounded shoulders as she sobs silently, even her body's response to the pain only perpetuating a vicious cycle of agony.
Any hesitance in Rafael disappears with the deformity in Hope's spine, sympathy overcoming him instead as he gingerly slides his arms under her, lifting her with an ease that Josie bitterly envies and following after her as she leads them to a cell. He looks to her for direction, eyes widening slightly as Josie motions to set her on the floor, near the wall.
She sits down first, resting herself against the wall like it's Hope's headboard and guides Rafael's hands as he lays Hope down. The skin over Hope's ribs swells and distends, rippling briefly before her lowest two give way with a pop. Hope shakes, claws just barely extending from her nail beds, digging into the meat of her palms and Josie coos, easing them out of the flesh she's tortured for an anchor. With utmost tenderness, she lifts the quivering girl's head to rest against her stomach, angling Hope's head with care until the tribrid's ear presses firmly against her.
Pain is a masochistic and successful anchor but Josie knows if you swarm the senses of a wolf with something they've found comfort in before that it can work just as well. It's almost narcissistic, she thinks, but she knows Hope could hear her heartbeat earlier, from the subconscious tap she'd taken to as she slowly came out of sleep. One, two, three, four…One, two, three, four…against Josie's leg.
She can only hope it works to help soothe her now.
Rafael pauses then, looking between the two of them as Hope shivers, a massive spasm wracking her body. He's probably recalling his first shift yesterday, and Josie quickly figures that nobody has gotten around to telling him the differences between werewolves and a hybrid wolf, the level of control that they retain. Hope turning will be nothing like that, even when she's like this.
"Go get my dad," she instructs, keeping stern eye contact with him until he leaves, locking the cell door behind him.
Hope's hands clutch at Josie, desperately as the pain surges again and she catches one of them, twining their fingers together and leaning over her, to kiss at her shoulder, her free arm wrapping tightly around Hope to keep her ear tight against her.
She's burning up, her skin coated in a sheen of sweat, the spasms still wracking her muscles. She still doesn't seem aware that she's even been moved and Josie wonders if that's one of the worse parts. Hope suffering is awful but Hope not even knowing that she's not alone, that someone who cares about her is with her, is maybe just as bad.
"I'm here," Josie tells her, tears finally slipping down her cheeks, as the sheer helplessness of the situation settles into her bones, "I'm right here. You're not alone, okay? You're never alone."
/