Just a short chapter for today! I didn't update yesterday because we were having a belated birthday party for my sister and it was mayhem D:


Charlie was going cross-eyed staring down the barrel of the latest twist. Sage drew her knife and Danielle her pistol, albeit clumsily. Her hands shook as she pointed it at Tank-Man. His thumb flipped the hammer and Charlie suddenly realised he did not fancy dying today, no thank you.

"Um... we were looking for the bathroom?" He squeaked.

"You have no business here."

"How about you just let us go and we forget that any of this ever happened?" Charlie suggested, voice slightly higher than usual. The cold metal pressed against his forehead.

"Drop your weapons." Tank-Man snarled.

"Gladly!" Danielle's pistol clattered to the floor and her hands flew into the air. Sage gritted her teeth, grip clenching on the handle of her knife.

"Sage, I'm not very pretty with a hole in my head." Charlie hissed. Sage cursed profusely, throwing her knife down. It wedged itself in the cement between paving stones. Charlie felt heat prickle over his skin and Tank-Man took a step back, angling his body to keep the gun in place.

"What is that?" Charlie risked a quick glance down, seeing flames dance up his left arm.

"Oh, it's a, um, a nervous habit. Crops up in certain situations, like asking your crush to the movies or hanging out with relatives you'd rather not admit you're related to or having some huge guy point a gun at your head. I mean, I honestly wouldn't know, I've not really had any of those problems."

"You talk too much."

"You're vaguely Russian, aren't you?" As if to confirm this, Tank-Man swore in his native tongue. "Big fan of the Russians." Charlie smiled weakly, patting his left hand against his thigh. The fire went out.

"Domovoi!" Charlie startled at this new voice. Tank-Man growled, head roving on his thick neck. Lights flared on behind him, illuminating his hard, square face coated in thick, harsh scars, one eye a crystal blue, the other scarred and blinded. His hair was cropped close to his scalp and tattoos that looked vaguely Celtic to Charlie cocooned his neck, disappearing under his shirt. "Domovoi, for fuck's sake! Put the gun down!"

"Intruders-"

"They're not intruders, shit-for-brains!" Domovoi swelled angrily. His gun retreated, aiming at this new and very rude threat. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and sank to his knees. It was always a good sign when he didn't get shot through the head. Sage recovered her knife behind him, Danielle whimpered as her pistol was handed back to her. Charlie saw a pair of sneakers come into few, stopping inches from Domovoi's combat boots. He tipped his head back, seeing this new player rest his own forehead to the end of the gun. "Go ahead." He dared boldly, squaring his shoulders. Charlie squinted at him.

Domovoi didn't waver for the count of four, five, six seconds. Then he cursed profusely in Russian and stomped off. "Bastard." His would-be victim muttered. He looked down at Charlie. "What are you doing?"

"My life just flashed before my eyes. I'm allowed to take a knee, I'm still reeling from the awesome."

"Ugh. Lame jokes. You're fine."

"My jokes aren't lame-" Charlie started feebly. His saviour was no longer paying attention, taking note of the girls. He swore in a language Charlie didn't recognise- Sage later told him it was Slovakian- and reached down, yanking Charlie to his feet with an iron-grip and a strength that surprised the three visitors.

"So," Theo sighed, "I guess you may as well come in."