let the shadows fall behind you

by Sweetbriar

AU Canon Divergence. :: "You don't understand. My world doesn't work the way yours does." Nevertheless, Mal tells her mother no...and suffers the consequences, alongside the captured royalty of Auradon, as the villains rampage and her trusted best friends remain unfettered, feigning loyalty to their parents. Divided, relying on old allies and their new peers, they must choose.

19. part 19

Disclaimer: none of this franchise is owned by me.

Author's Notes: Playlist songs for this chapter: "The Wicked" by Andrea Wasse, "Team the Best Team" by Doomtree, "Beyond the Throne" by Zach Hemsey, and "Evil Beauty" by Blackmill.

:: ::

let the shadows fall behind you

::

part 19

::

"—so, they came with us," Ally huffs, her shorter legs straining to keep up with her mother's intent march. "A large part of our plan to take back Auradon came from them."

"I shan't debate you on that," her mother replies. "You've a clear head on your shoulders. But when the nobles in Wonderland hear…" She shakes her head, blonde wisps falling loose of her otherwise tightly-bound hair. "Quick to anger, slow to cool. The Queen of Hearts left her mark."

Easily followed during her bloody reign, she doesn't say, and slow to resist her tyranny. A warped painting covered over with a fresh coat, and peeling away at the edges.

"They are paranoid—"

"From experience, and with reason," her mother replies, reaching first steps up to the palace. "Wonderland has never trusted the Isle's security, not when Atlantica's own will pass those same sentiments along. And that much became apparent when the existence of your new friends became widely known."

"I wouldn't say we're friends," Ally interjects, her hands curling into fists at her side. That seems to be a long way off for those ragged, rough teenagers she met on the Isle. "But they're still not responsible for what their parents did. We can't let Wonderland push for—"

"I'm no queen, Ally. Lately, I'm barely even the hero of memory." Her mother pauses for a moment, meeting her eyes. Clear blue to clear blue, the exact same shade, with a matching shadow of weariness in each set. Merchant-warrior-mother is not nobility. Her mark, indelibly made on Wonderland, does not give her ruling powers. "Come on. The High King will need an update."

Ally swallows down the words that threaten to rise up. This conversation has not gone where she thought it would, and the ugly surprise of it is unsettling. Asking her mother to speak up is the least of all actions possible. To not even consider it?

She may not be friends with those from the Isle, and possibly doesn't even like them. Rough is the kindest description she can confer upon their unruly, violent, tendencies. Giving grace for their upbringing can only bring light to their dubious choices, not absolve or forgive them. Bringing them to Auradon just might save them from themselves, though she won't hold out hope. Sometimes, the rot is in too deep.

But the Isle's gone, so it's not like they can let the truly rotten ones return to their own kind. Far better to scoop them all up and try to teach them better before letting them loose upon the rest of Auradon. At least then, it will be apparent who is irredeemable and who has potential to be more than their own genetic lot.

If Wonderland will not consider supporting Ben's efforts to bring the Isle youth into Auradon…

Well, there's at least one Isle girl who is a breath away from the crown itself. None of the lands can afford to ignore how disastrous a mistake it may be to deny her companions a place off the island. None of the lands can outright ban the dangers those Isle teens pose.

She glances at the back of her mother's head. She cannot imagine what it would take to turn her so against her own mother that they would fight in the streets. And that's what those newcomers from the Isle did, without hesitation. Having watched them fight, having raced along at their sides, Ally knows exactly how threatening they will continue to be.

Wonderland must find a way to bring them fully to their side. To save them from their parent's mistakes.

Otherwise…

Ally cannot imagine what the result might be, but she fears it. She fears it as much as the boogeyman of childhood stories, a queen whose hands ran red with blood upon a throne of thorns, lies, and terror.

The snapping concerns at her heels drive her ever onwards, never looking back to the streets calmed behind them.

Outright fighting is well, and truly, done. The wounded seek shelter—citizens with their makeshift weaponry, bodyguards and soldiers who escaped notice or capture, those who followed her mother. A long night and brutal morning weigh heavy on their shoulders. The world seems to hold its breath, awaiting word from the High King, jerkily starting to shift into cleaning the mess, into reclaiming the buildings and homes that lay in the crossfire.

Hugh had returned to the palace a while ago, messenger carrying news to and from their reinstated ruler. Now, having delegated all her own tasks, General Alice of Wonderland intends to confer with their High King herself.

The last forms that ascended these same stairs brought with them an unbearably few Isle refugees, the youngest children left to shelter in place.

So few of them. Mad Mim's last gut-punch blow hit hard.

Her mother strides across the battle-scarred plaza just as static hums into the air. Ally pauses on the top step of the palace stairs, breath caught in her throat. The nearest electronic billboard—where ghastly executions would have been played just this morning—flickers to life, and to a wholly different image.

Ben sits upon the throne.

Composed, his expression neither closed off nor jubilant: weary yet resolved. He sits upright, as though ready to leap back into further battle should the need arise. A red-tinted slash on his shirt's arm is just visible, though his posture conceals the extent of whatever wound he carries. He hasn't changed out of the Isle-influenced outfit, yet somehow manages not to clash with the white marble throne room.

There's another person with him, camera held in steady hands, a whispered fragment of a voice that is far too soft to be clear. A moment is taken to refocus and carefully zoom in, better framing the reclaiming king.

A breathless pause, under which the tiniest hint of noise precedes Ben's chin fractionally tipping down.

"Auradon is ours," he declares without further ceremony. "Citizens of the city, you have been extraordinarily brave today, banding together and rising up under your own free will, determined to defend your home. You joined me and our allies in reclaiming our kingdom."

Below in the street, a ragged cheer rises.

On the screen, Ben tilts his head in a way that could be considering. "Yet my peers and I only succeeded due to the assistance of our newly-forged allies, whose former lives were ended as soon as their parents were freed. As they faced their own parents in order to free us and fight at our sides. As they chose the promise and hope of our country, so too, must we choose them."

A challenge.

The citizens in the streets below won't turn on him. The shipwrecks still float above, after all, and their crews ran the street at their side. This challenge is not laid down for them, but for the kingdoms on the other side of this broadcast.

Ben's confident gaze turns cold as he continues, declaring, "Those Isle prisoners who threatened the lives and livelihoods of our kingdoms have now been restrained, incapacitated… or removed." His grim tone underscores precisely what subtext he means to convey. "Any scattered remnants of this threat that still walk free, heed the warning that you will be found, you will be caught, and you will face the same fate. Auradon will not forgive. Neither will we forget the choices that led us here."

Below, the noise in the streets grows solemn. Delight to win a fight fades at a reminder of the toll.

On the screen, Ben rolls his shoulders back and rises to his feet. The cameraman moves synchronously with him. "Auradon, we will persevere and become stronger together. At this time, the city is once more a refuge. Those in leadership and service at the palace are invited to join in our efforts to rebuild, help those in need, and re-establish contact with the interconnected kingdoms of all Auradon. Tomorrow, we'll speak again."

A final gracious incline of his head, and the screens flicker black.

"A strong speechmaker," her mother says, her lips curving upwards. "He'll need that, when the Council of Kingdoms sees fit to question his decisions. Triton's people, especially, will not be pleased."

Ally blinks at her mother. Of all the other kingdoms, Wonderland has the strongest connections with Atlantica. Yet the connection baffles her. "Why would the Council question the King?" she asks, closing the distance between them. "We've won back Auradon from your—from their enemies."

Her mother peers down at her, clearly catching the slip. She does not address it, instead saying, "He declared your new friends to be heroes, and implied that the Isle was a mistake."

"He declared their assistance with our cause," she replies, stung at the implication. Heroes? Hardly. But allies they were, and they could continue to be, if… "We just can't return them all to the Isle, not after they helped us."

"Most of Wonderland would disagree," her mother says, turning away. Ally's stomach clenches and rolls. "And those who had the power to create the Isle still have that power today."

With that troubling warning, mother and daughter head deeper into the palace.

:: :: ::

"That's it?"

Ben nods in response, slouching into his seat on the throne. Unlike his on-screen performance, without the camera his pain is clear. He leans into one elbow, lines deepening around his forehead, jaw clenching.

Jay leaves the video-streaming equipment on a battered table that they had dragged into the throne room. Other tools of Ben's trade lie on top, too—documents and pens and a now-buzzing phone. He moves to pick the last up, but the High King grunts and waves one royal hand. "They won't expect an immediate answer, or even know I found it."

"Avoiding your duties?"

"Unsure what questions I could even answer." Ben presses one palm to his forehead. "The others—"

"Probably still in the sick-room," Jay answers, stepping closer. His shoulder throbs when he crosses his arms.

("I'll choose to believe you about that arm." Green eyes flare. "Better I stay here, instead. Guard him for me.")

Letting the others out of his sight is harder than Jay expected. Days without being able to guard their backs ended with the chaos of outright battle. The few breaths taken in tandem with his gang have hardly been enough to leave him confident of their safety. Jay would be far twitchier if Ben wasn't Mal's, and thus theirs, by alliance rule.

"General Alice must have an update by now on the city-wide efforts to restore order or clean up—"

Jay stops at the first step onto the throne's dais. "That cut needs cleaning." Ben is not trying to hide it with his posture anymore. Now visible, the clotted edges could use a good dousing of alcohol and wrapping up with whatever scraps of fabric they might have in that sick room. "Time to head back."

"She's likely going to come here, first, after seeing the broadcast," Ben replies, unmoving. "Hugh's told them what they need, for now."

Is Ben trying to be difficult, or is he making it up as he goes along, too?

Jay has vague expectations for what a High King should, or can, do, but wounded and separated from the group is not a good Isle strategy. If there's any sort of connection to gang alliances, Ben cannot afford to stick it out on his throne for much longer. The released adults need more answers than Hugh, or their children, might be able to give. And he doesn't remember seeing a TV in there before following Ben on his task, either. The broadcast alone is an update that they have to hear.

"Why did you stay?"

Jay thinks Ben means the palace throne room, at first, means the white marble sheen under his grimy boots. Those boots don't quite belong here, in a reclaimed hall of shining silver and glittering gold. His old, worn footwear belongs in back alleys and dirty sidewalks, under the ever-present haze of island fog. But when he meets Ben's cautious, thoughtful gaze, he can only shrug his own lack of comprehension.

Ben clarifies, "Our alliance was strong enough to fight together, but we left behind injured. Why trust that my father and his companions would bring them to Auradon?"

Jay shrugs one shoulder. "We don't trust them. But they're not ours." Ben's eyes narrow. "Pretty much anyone in a gang followed their leader here," Jay clarifies, shifting his crossed arms and holding back a hiss at the throbbing in his shoulder. "We take care of ours over splinters and loners, and that's most of the wounded."

"I thought everyone understood, by the time we came here," Ben replies, tone utterly calm. "They're included in this alliance. You're all my subjects, my responsibility."

"Yeah. We know you think that. And you sent yours to handle it."

What else was his father doing, but asking permission? That's how the other heads would have seen it, too. The only one with a claim to the left-behind on the Isle was Anthony, and he's too injured to retrieve his own family's remnants. Even he had bowed to Ben's command, which Ben seems to be missing. If Anthony thought for a second that Ben wasn't going to hold his end of the agreement, he'd have tried to stumble his bleeding way there.

"Is that what I did?" Ben asks, rubbing his forehead. "I thought my father basically ignored me."

"You didn't tell us to go instead," Jay replies. Ben doesn't get it, yet—the impossible task he just accomplished, what he's got on his side, now. And what it means.

Is it really falling on Jay to tell him…?

(Who else will do it?)

Jay shakes his head and adds, "Gaelle would have ignored you if she believed they were still alive."

For Anthony's sake, Gaelle would have gone…but she recognized what she was seeing. Jay took longer to pinpoint his reaction: freezing loss, not fighting rage.

It's a classic trap, actually, though Ben wouldn't know it. He didn't take their class on Evil Planning 102. The scenario was simple: have the hero focus on one action or enemy, and when they're distracted or even winning, a minion is already destroying whatever they tried to protect—be it object or person. That cruel streak in their textbook, the cheating and deceit and cutting a person's heart without a physical weapon? The likes of Mad Madam Mim came up with those.

So. Gaelle didn't lead a rebellious charge against Ben's implicit command. Those left behind, unwell and injured, no warning, Mim intent on slaughter—

Jay doesn't think they made it, either. No knowing, yet, if that's the case, until they get back to the sick-room where the others are cooped up.

Ben shakes his head, the lines creasing far more deeply around his mouth. "They survived Maleficent's attack. They were sheltered. There is cause for hope."

"Maleficent wasn't actively trying to kill them before. She just didn't care who got in the way. Mim wasn't heading back with that same plan."

A sharp glance up, a twist to his mouth. "She's like that, now? Ruthless, intent on murder?"

"Is that a surprise?"

Ben leans more heavily into his good arm, eyes falling to the floor. "No. Yes." A rough sigh. "I thought Maleficent was the worst. That your parents… I considered the four of you when Yen Sid claimed you showed promise, but made the decision when we also considered the most dangerous."

Jay bites the inside of one cheek. He turns slightly, lowering himself to that second stair leading up to the throne. The enormous emptiness of the hall makes every soft step echo, so he hasn't needed to keep one eye on the door. Still, now that he has his back to Ben, he watches the open entry to make sure no one else hears what he really does not want to put to words.

Worst?

"There was no worst, not to us," he says, slowly. "Didn't matter if it was being forced to sleep in a closet with bear traps or paid to sleep in beds you didn't want to be in. Didn't matter if your face got cut up so you ran or you got chased out in a screaming rage. Didn't matter if it was the choice to fight or to steal, to follow orders or run your own crew or take lead in a family business." He looks at his own hands. "Having a bed or sleeping in the alley, it was all the same—you protect yourself and your own, because no adult will."

Isle realities are incongruous to this shining-white city. The streets might be a bit dinged up with battle grime, but underneath, there's still a smoothness to the cobbled streets that's nothing like the rough-hewn stones of the Isle.

Sharing what he knows, the truths they lived on the Isle, out loud, in front of the ceremonial throne…it's almost blasphemous. Harsh for a young king who only inherited the mess, who didn't create it—but who, Jay thinks, is stubborn enough to take on the responsibility of facing it, anyway.

He smirks into the silence at his back. "You pulled off the impossible, you know. Taking back your throne with that insane plan. Didn't really believe you could do it."

"… Gee. Thanks."

Jay laughs, a short burst of twisted delight at Ben's utterly dry tone. "Just saying, if you pulled off another one and survivors come back from the Isle? We'll really start believing your promises."

Maybe even in hope. Friendship. Other random Auradon nonsense that, the last time he was in this particular hall, Jay realized he wanted to keep. A desire that took over his vocal cords, falsely obedient to his father's schemes even as he undercut them at every turn. Auradon nonsense that had him playing solider and spy, that made him check those stables and haunt the castle near terrified castle staff and implicate himself on a video bluff that wasn't called.

Mal demanded it of them, but Ben asked it. And in the end, they all fell in line not because they feared Auradon's young not-yet-crowned king, but because the terrifying Isle pseudo-queen who drew the lines actually believed in him.

The silence at his back remains thoughtful and deep.

Now, if only Jay could figure out that undercurrent of tension keeping Ben firmly in its grasp. He thinks it has something to do with the battle. With actions taken or not taken. Much as he's sure Ben knew coming into it that ideals are set aside when weapons are drawn with deadly intent, this is the young King's first time living it.

Jay's long known what it's like to see blood on his knives. He knows what it is to witness electrical burn scars being made and the bodily functions prompted by poisons and the way a spine curves as a body falls to the stone. Now, Ben knows… some image, some scent. A sensation in arm muscles and bones. Or an urge deeper than that, a fighting instinct that he did not know existed inside his own mind. A shift in perception.

(A conversation for a later time.)

The Wonderlander general and her daughter appear, backlit by mid-morning sunlight in the entrance to the hall.

:: :: ::

"Got a minute, Mallie?"

Carlos despises being caught unaware. This one overshadows all the other small upsets in their gang—whatever Mal did to get help from an actual god. Damnit, how'd she even get in touch with Hades? He hadn't been on the Isle when they were hiding out there. Unless she'd lied to them…

Mad as he is, Carlos still moves to follow in Mal's wake as she backs away from the sickbeds of their allies. He's at her heels until a gentle hand clasps his elbow.

Evie shakes her head, lips pursed awkwardly. "Trust me. She'll be fine," Evie whispers. Twitches. "Well. He's not going to—he won't try to hurt her." Such a senseless statement, uttered with complete certainty. Evie knows something.

Something Mal hasn't shared with him. Did she keep it from Jay, too?

Running with the gang was protection from a stab in the back, not the promise of a sympathetic ear to his thoughts. That doesn't mean they didn't start leaning into each other's steady shoulders. Now that he's experienced a fragment of Auradon, he can see other names for their gang hideout in a battered warehouse, for the moth-eaten blankets on a shared lumpy mattress, for the quick grins and wicked laughter as they tumble through a dank alley on each other's heels. Misunderstood words, like love and trust. New words, like friendship. Family.

In the aftermath of this battle, he is uneasy with not knowing about Mal's connection to Hades—just as much as he knows he's a hypocrite, that he's held back, too. There's plenty Carlos never said to Mal, things that he and Jay have kept tucked between them with bowed heads and nights shrouded in moonlight, never letting the girls into—small wonderings and wishes, about themselves, about the parents neither of them knows, about what twisted future might lay ahead. Just as surely as the girls kept a handful of whispers close between them. He never pushed to be let in to their private world back on the Isle.

Well. They're not on the Isle anymore. Auradon-style, all the way: Carlos will be asking, and he will definitely make them all uncomfortable if he must. No more secrets in their gang.

Stalled from stepping forward, Carlos resumes watching Mal's back. This includes the edges around her composure, the ways that Hugh and Phil's parents bristle nearby, mother latches on to father's arm. Shifting adult bodies go only so far as to edge defensively around their children.

Hades may not be trusted, welcomed, or liked, but he's also not here on the attack. Mal is his entire focus—not any of those old hero families.

(Of course, they don't rush to defend his own.)

Never mind that Evie thinks Mal doesn't need them to stand with her.

She strides with purpose and intent, stopping just shy of the center of the room. One sharp, overhand toss, wrist flicking at the end, sends blue flames spinning out of her hand.

If she could throw any faster, it would land in his face. Hades is quicker: the borrowed ember thuds into his open palm. He smirks, tucking it into a vest pocket. "And not a scratch on it, too."

Mal lobs back, "I'll keep my end when I get to it. Deal's done for now. Thanks for your uselessness, as always."

(Does she want to be set on fire?)

Carlos will deny the squeak that emits from his lips. He's not the only one making a strange noise—for all Evie knows, that was Gil.

"Oh, what, I don't get a say in the when? Harsh." He smiles as he says it, stepping further into the room. Widely, eyes crinkling, like they're speaking the same weird, sarcastic language.

Is that why they're getting along? Because they are, he realizes. It's in the tilt of her shoulders, the fact that acerbic banter usually signals a momentary ally. Not a reliable one, but certainly not an enemy. Not someone to back away from, because she lets him walk within arm's reach.

Carlos dips his head closer to Evie's. "Gonna clue me in?" he whispers and she flaps one hand at him.

Mal crosses her arms, feet planted wide. If she's conscious of all the attention afforded to this conversation, she's not showing it. "You lost that right years ago. Besides, there's no rush. I don't break my promises."

"Not so fast," he replies, shaking one finger inches in front of her nose.

Her shoulders tense again. "You said—"

He shakes his head, sighing theatrically. "No, no, not that. Sure, you say when, call me up, we'll do dinner! No, much as I'm here for you—" He points at her and pauses, raising an eyebrow as though there is something of significance buried in those words. "—we've got some long-overdue information for your boy king, before I'm back to the Underworld."

"We?"

"We," a different voice, a shadowed figure, drifting in on Hades' heels. She drawls back her cowl, uncovering a marble-pale face and ice-white eyes. Her skin has the faintest ethereal glow—one that, Carlos belatedly realizes, Hades himself shares. A goddess?

Bystanders and shocked audience to the dramatics of the moment finally give way to someone who seems to think an adult should step in. Queen Belle edges forward, wringing her hands anxiously. "Ananke. What brings you so far from Olympus?" Her eyes dart to Hades, who stands with one hand in his pocket, casual stance despite a rigidity to his jaw. "Together?"

"Necessity." The goddess' lips curl. Vague and threatening. Carlos feels absurdly comfortable with this stranger.

Belle stammers, "Ah. You—you are not usually so direct in your involvement with fate."

"My daughters may cut the threads, but destiny is yet mine to oversee. There is a tapestry woven here."

:: :: ::

"By your leave, then, your Highness," General Alice replies. Ben's mindful of her determination, all too eager to let someone else take a turn running the show. She's already led the fighting. She's the natural figure to entrust with a city of people restoring what they can of their lives.

"You'll have your reinforcements within the hour," promises the lieutenant of the guards, his expression solemn as he turns back to Ben. "We'll see to the city as best we can, sir."

"I am confident in your ability to do so," he replies.

(It can't be a lie.)

The General and the members of the guard who have made their way to the hall salute as he departs. He's left them all the resources he can, at their disposal, with the promise of keeping one of the phones within reach in case of an immediate emergency.

But it is a relief like no other that he feels, to hand off certain responsibilities to adults who know far better how to manage them.

(Trust himself, to make more decisions? He just let—)

(Put aside the battle. It's done.)

He may have been at his coronation when the Isle caught up to Auradon, but he hadn't been expected to step in to fully for years yet. A transition of power into leadership among many individual kingdoms should have taken time, more duties coming to him as his father stepped down within his own kingdom. Circumstances being as they are…

Navigating how to restore order and balance will continue to challenge him.

Ben's mind spins through countless tasks and knowledge that they must impart when they reach the waiting. To notify them that the city is presumed free of villains. To announce that the damaged and disrupted communication lines are patched up—phone services and internet have been restored, which means the kingdoms outside the city can be contacted. Aid sent for, outside status asked for, decisions made.

Accountability. Responsibility. Restitution. Justice.

(Is he going to make it all right or worse?)

(Auradon must come out of this better. It must.)

Ally and Jay remain at his side as he heads into the palace corridors, eager to reach their companions in the infirmary. His allies have also taken up roles that Ben did not expect, which they might not realize run the risk of permanence under this atypical transition of power.

Jay strides through the halls at his side, eyes darting like a seasoned warrior—a bodyguard. He slid into the role easy as breathing, as though he'd taken specialized training for such a behind-the-scenes role as a career. Even if Mal hadn't ordered it, Jay would be a half-step away, ready to leap into a fight should they be ambushed in the corridors.

Ally, though not one of his closest friends, has papers in her arms and a strictly matters-of-state cell phone in her hand. She sends text messages while they walk, already knowing his responses to various questions and asking for short additions if a new one arises. Ben's certainty that he could handle the phone is tempered by the gratitude that he does not have to do it himself.

Their assistance lets his cluttered mind seek solutions. Thoughts race each other, around questions and under worries and into different choices. He needs advice. He needs more heads than his own, more voices to deal with the concerns apparent and immediate. And he wants—

(The day's not over yet. There is no room for wants or wishes, not now.)

Nearing the last corner to the infirmary corridor, he hears Mal's faintly echoing voice. "…lost that right years ago. I decide when, that's it. I don't break my promises."

"Not so fast," says a deeper, older man. An unfamiliar one.

Jay's stride abruptly lengthens, cutting ahead of Ben. His fists curl at his sides—he knows the speaker.

(From the Isle?)

His pace speeds up that much more, hurtling around the corner to the words: "No, no, not that. Sure, you say when, call me up, we'll do dinner! No, much as I'm here for you…we've got some long-overdue words for your little king, before I'm back to the Underworld."

They're quick enough to see a hooded figure step through the doorway.

The blood pounding in his ears distracts him from other words, but as he nears the door his heartbeat does not obscure his mother's voice. "Ananke. What brings you so far from Olympus? Together?"

Threads of tension, but no panic, no fear. Relief does nearly wash out his understanding of her questions—

"A goddess," he breathes, and Jay's posture radiates marginally less threat.

Jay might not know what Ben does—that deities are bound by cosmic rules, rarely step in to mortal affairs, probably don't mean harm to a roomful of important people—but he does react like he knows that what's through those doors is bigger than any Isle threat. He slows, turns slightly, jaw tight and eyes wild-wide.

That slowed pace allows Ben to step into the lead of their trio again. He positions Jay at his shoulder with a single touch to his arm, keeps Ally guarded behind them both. She clutches at the materials in her arms with white knuckles.

"My daughters may cut the threads, but destiny is yet mine to oversee. There is a tapestry woven here."

Rather than pelt head-long into the room, he holds himself in check as they emerge. The infirmary is primarily lit by a gray mid-morning through tall, wide windows. He doesn't pause at the door, striding with confident poise even as his eyes flicker and dart, even as his shoulders are wound tight with tension.

Ben notes the reunions that have occurred—a cluster of smaller Isle orphans at the far end of the room, parents clutching their own children—divisions that remain between his Isle allies and those rescued from the dungeons. The peripheral to a central scene, figures that have taken the floor ahead of him and his companions, and holding the attention that is their due.

There are two full-fledged Olympians in their midst.

His heart hammers loudly as one blue-flaming head turns to the right, sending back a critical gaze from the creased corner of one eye. Hades, definitely an escapee from the Isle.

Mal stands with her shoulders back, facing off with the god who stands mere feet away from her.

And, turning in counterpoint to Hades, her left shoulder leading the motion, Ananke's white eyes land on Ben.

She is the mother of the fates, the overseer of destiny, the root source of clairvoyants. Ben's ancestors might not be from the lands she calls her own, from the peoples who pray to Olympians, but that does not mean she has no power in Auradon. Cosmic rules.

He tries not to appear frozen under her gaze.

(He's not sure he succeeds.)

Ananke makes a small, obscure gesture with her hand. "That is all simply to say that I watch the strings of fate, when they lead to brilliant futures. And so, I needed to return now." She turns again, this time gazing slowly from face to face in the room. "Many a soul here sits again in counsel, to decide the future all over again. They must know that this is where the strings led, all those years ago."

Ben edges closer, following her slow assessment of the room. His mother's pale face and his father's clenched jaw are one hint, but as he keeps looking, Audrey's father lowers his gaze to the floor, Chad's mother bites her lip to a pale white. Some look at each other in the way that people do when they share a secret. He starts to clue in, his classmates, too, as their parents react to her words and to her eyes.

To her reminder.

"You were there when they decided to create the Isle of the Lost," he says, recalling that old, original Council report. Where she said—

"All fates flowed without disruption," she repeats, lips curling in satisfaction.

Their allies ripple in reaction, tremors of suspicion flitting from Carlos' creased eyebrows to Evie's pursed lips.

She inclines her head toward Ben. "I am always present at a turning point in the fate of the world, when a choice is to be made with rippling consequences for every possible future. The greatest of these futures had to be realized."

No. She won't distract him with her airy, grand demeanor. She means—

"You knew what would happen when they created it. You knew there would be children on the Isle."

A goddess spoke, as the decision was made. Ben's family were no devotees of hers, and in fact, the kingdoms all had their own devotions, deities, and spirits. But that did not matter in that council chamber all those years ago. Her power did not need to be worshipped to be recognized. Her tacit approval of the Isle of the Lost would have convinced so many that the choice was right.

And the final fragment of truth, one buried in the official history of that Council, has fallen into place. The official vote was unanimous, and ever since, Auradon was so certain of the righteousness of the Isle of the Lost. That certainty contributed to a subsequent denial of magic's place in society, despite magical rulers and discontent over the prison's existence under the surface.

Gods and goddess played by cosmic rules. But by words, by presence, Ananke had condoned the Isle.

Mal's eyes glow with green flames. The sight makes his fists clench.

Ananke tilts her chin, considering. She turns to Mal, one palm lifting in a sweep that includes their Isle allies behind her, and croons, "Theirs is a great destiny, and a promising fate."

Mal's eyes flash emerald fire. "You knew we would be—"

"Your existence was required," Ananke interrupts, her tone abruptly shifting from light to stone-heavy depth. "Your pain, regrettable." She steps forward, while Mal's eyes flash. "Your suffering was not necessary, though I did not expect so many of you to remain to the end of the tale. But had Yen Sid sent you to Auradon earlier, the tapestry we have now would be far lesser."

A tiny shift in Ananke's shoulders tells of her awareness at Uma's approach, leading a shift of Isle counterparts in her wake—Claudine and Gaelle on her heels, their less-injured crews shifting inwards. Even Jay side-steps nearer, though not too far from guarding Ben's side.

"Who did keep Yen Sid from talking, then?" Uma growls.

Hades grins, clearly amused. "Olympus didn't send down the command. Others did that all out of the goodness of their tepid little hearts."

Uma's fierce and rightfully furious, but this is Ben's to demand, by right. "The Council and High King went uninformed about the Isle's children for years," he interjects, stern and drawing on his long-held frustration. "Yen Sid's attempts were countered. If we are to believe that you weren't the one pulling our strings to cause harm—" Ananke stiffens, turning. "—then who did decide that children should suffer for their parent's mistakes?"

Gravelly and low, Ananke pins Ben with her bright eyes and hisses, "We do not follow the threads of fate to harm humans. Fate is more than a single life, and well beyond your understanding, little King. Their suffering rests in the hands of humans who decreed it."

From the corner of his eye, he can see his mother cringing from both the truth and fear. Her eyes plead for him to back down. He's verging on disrespect towards an entity that could unravel him with a thought. They've never been a family to directly communicate with any deity, not even the one his ancestors prayed to, and Ananke…is fate itself.

Rather than becoming stifled by fear, Ben remembers a conversation with one Isle ally who has experience in this realm

("Faith can be powerful." Blade scrapes against blade. The training arena before Mal's fortress echoes with these clatters, Isle amongst Auradon in practice. "So, your magic is a gift from your goddess?"

A laugh, wickedly sharp, and Freddie tosses her head. Her braids shake loose. "More like I badgered her into it with years of offerings, and she took over the second she had a chance to reach me when the barrier was gone. Nearly swamped me out with her mocking. Called me a damn fool."

"That's…not what I thought a goddess would be like."

"Why not? We're made in their image. Human is as goddess does.")

Over Ananke's shoulder, recognizes Freddie's sneer and rolling eyes.

If he'd had a full night's sleep, he might have been able to retain a little more diplomacy. If he wasn't still containing his own magic-powered aggressive instincts, deeply buried in the back of his mind, he may have been able to summon a contrite response before demanding answers.

Instead, he looks the prideful goddess in the eye. "You needed them here, but didn't protect them. You observed the harm others enacted instead of stopping it. You show up now, when the battle's over, and offered us no help in the fight. That came from him." Hades holds his hands up as though he is innocent of an accusation, and Ananke steps so close that she looms, forcing him to look up to meet her eyes. He still tells her, "You cannot expect our gratitude."

(Mine. My allies. My kingdom.)

Isle or Auradon, he's inherited the responsibility—but not the guilt.

The room is stifling, rampant with fearful whispers and enraged mutters. Ananke seethes, her radiant glow far brighter—like the difference between a campfire and a forest inferno. Hysterical laughter bursts out at their side, and Ben squares his jaw, hoping that Hades is not losing it because he gets to take Ben's soul with him to the Underworld.

Through gritted teeth, the goddess snarls, "I hardly expect a human boy to understand the complexities of fate and—"

"Ananke," Hades interjects, still biting down his chuckles. "He's right and you know it."

She whirls away, her ire directed to her fellow deity. The moment her attention has turned from Ben, he feels the sweat on his forehead and the thundering of his own pulse again. She snaps, "You have not had to uphold your duties for years—"

"Now, that's too far," Hades interjects, all traces of amusement wiped away again. "Or did you really not know what I was up to, all that time?"

Ananke's prideful anger seeps away almost immediately, her jaw tight in the telling gesture of someone stubborn but regretful. She also tilts her head, considering. "No. I knew."

Hades shakes his head at her, then turns to Ben. "Ananke doesn't want to admit is that she's not omniscient. She didn't anticipate some of our family holding a grudge."

Ben breathes in, steady and striving for patience, as Mal repeats, "Who stopped Auradon from knowing about us?"

Ananke, back to a high-handed calm, explains, "Our nephew's kin and subjects. Triton's people were displeased when the eldest, the sea-witch's son, was born."

Hades says, "Triton wasn't as hard on the topic as he should have been. They took it upon themselves to do what they thought their king wouldn't mind."

Ben's gaze strays to Ariel's white-lipped terror. A response to learning the truth, or to being found out?

Ariel lifts her chin in defiance, and Hades adds, "It wasn't the whole royal family—but."

"My sisters," she says, voice heavy with realization. Ananke nods once.

Her eyes close. Aria, curled into her side, eyes fixed on the floor, remains breathlessly still. Suspicious. Ben catches Carlos' eye and receives a nod in return—they'll address it. Later.

Ananke gently interjects, "They received the aid of others, uprooted and displeased in Wonderland. Yen Sid's daughter, who resides there, was welcomed among them." She turns her white eyes upon Ally, at Ben's side. "The hearts of your Queen's people have long and bloody memories."

Ally meets Ben's gaze evenly, her wide-eyed and stormy expression unclear.

He doesn't want to ask the question. But he must: was it a grave mistake, leaving her in charge of the crews outside the palace?

"Your mother…?"

Ally's chin quivers, eyes rabbit-wide.

"No," Hades answers for them, and Ally's shoulders slump heavily. "That said, there's no telling it would have stayed in Atlantica or Wonderland." Ben meets the god's heavy gaze. "Fear's funny that way. Especially when you create a whole place to hate, and toss all your unwanted garbage in."

"The garbage was tossed there because it stunk up the place."

Ben cringes—he had wondered how long it would take. True to form, Megaera's planted herself in front of her sons, even in front of her own husband, her lips curled in distaste. How her husband Hercules has yet to speak—and why his eyes are conflicted—is a passing interest to the insult thrown.

Hades looks her in the eye, a half-smile teetering on his lips. "You're right. I deserve anything and everything you'd throw at me." Megaera's head jerks back in surprise, and he gestures to the Isle teens loosely grouped and scattered in the room. "But they didn't deserve my punishment. They deserved to live."

Momentary silence falls. No one moves, though more than one shift signals uncertainty and discomfort. And others don't react to the bland accusation at all.

Ben watches Hades slip his hands into his pockets and wonders. Why is Hades invested in them, when so many of their parents were not?

Ananke murmurs, "You ensured that, outside of the Olympian agreement with Auradon."

Mal rests one hand on her hip. "You sure like your deals. What's that one?"

Hades rolls his eyes. "Nah, that one wasn't mine. See, the deal Olympus made was that I get all the souls they wanted out of their various pits, hells, and otherworlds, before serving out their sentences behind that magic barrier. Great god Zeus never mentioned I'd be joining them." He turns back on Ananke, one finger pointed out in a threatening gesture. "And you never said anything about kids when Olympus agreed. We kept them around despite your grand plans—should have known you were banking on it from the start."

"Wait." Mal raised her hand, palm out, and the confusion on her face was a mirror for Ben's own lurching stomach. "No. The barrier kept us alive, on the Isle."

"The barrier was attuned to your parents," Ananke replied, her voice far softer than before. "By blood, it kept you in, and no more. Blood heritage did not extend that far. The barrier was not what kept you alive."

Mal's lips thinned.

Hades crossed his arms, shrugging with a contrived nonchalance. "I'm a god of the underworld, not of the dead. Plenty of others out there, picking up souls that don't head down my way of the cosmos. I'm lucky I got a decent intern come knocking at my door just when I was heading into lock-up. Persephone's probably got a whole system figured out without me, seemed like a real organized type when I hired her."

Ananke raises one unamused eyebrow. "You hired no one. Persephone danced down on her own and refused to leave."

"Sure, but, she'll still give me the throne back. Take a vacation or something. She deserves it! Hasn't had a break in years—"

"The point!" Mal snaps. Her eyes are wild. "If it wasn't the barrier, then. Then you…?"

Hades stops looking around at the ceiling, the floor, and his companion. His shoulders round inward, and that's when Ben realizes that his strange tangent is reluctance. Guilt.

"I kept you here. I didn't have much power, but in the greatest irony, the one thing I could do was make the Isle more like the underworld. Just different enough that you couldn't go wandering off to the real deal. Side effect? You kids are still alive and kicking." He shrugs one shoulder.

There's no unifying expression on the faces of the Isle kids—they range wildly: rage, despair, awe. Ben focuses on Mal, on her confusion and an old, aching pain. Her feet shuffle forward in tiny steps, closer to Hades.

Her voice is almost toneless, so aloof and careful. "Never thought about letting us go?"

He looks down at her and says, "You didn't deserve that kind of life, but you did deserve to live."

Mal's lips curl back from her teeth. "Oh, that's all you could do?"

"What would have been better?" he snaps back. "Show I care? On the Isle? What, get into it with your—" His eyes flicker up, toward the others. "—parents, create a little lost kid orphanage? I'm nobody's idea of a great dad."

"You could have done more," Mal accuses, and—Ben frowns, catching a glimmer of a tear. A certain crease to her eyes.

Mal is—

"You were better off without me," Hades snaps, and—

Oh.

"You don't know what she was like—"

(Her only known parent was Maleficent. But there must have been—)

"Of course, I did. How could I not? It was the same old story, over and over." Hades tilts his head, close enough for Mal to touch, and says, "Your mother was insane and we hated each other. That's how it went, that's how it ends, and I did what I had to do."

Oh.

Mal's hands curl into fists. She snaps, "Keeping us all alive makes up for nothing."

And he lets her. "Without her, you wouldn't be here today."

(Isle affection is twisted or non-existent.)

Mal's eyes flash. "Despite her, I am here today."

Hades looms over her. "Exactly." Ben watches, tense, ready to step in if she needs him, because one of her parents already tried to kill her—

But maybe, the other kept her alive.

(Wait for her to confirm it. Don't assume—)

"You're the worst," Mal snarls.

"Never said I wasn't." With a sneer on his lips and a line of tension in his shoulders. With a blink covering the emotion in his eyes as she whirls around, turning her back on him, and stomping into the mass of her allies and gang. He turns his own back on her, pinning Ben with the weight of a turbulent gaze, acting as though—

Hades wears a cold mask of indifference. Ben's meant to think he is unaffected, unable to see the burning in his eyes and the lines around his eyes.

(Not a confirmation. But close.)

"We will not express gratitude," Ben cuts in, before either Olympian can speak, before the gossiping whispers on the sides of the room can grow. "But your assistance is appreciated, nonetheless." He nods to Hades, recalling Mal's abrupt arrival on the battlefield. "Both in loaning your ember to help us win the battle, and—" He turns to Ananke, meeting her white eyes again. "In explaining facts that we were as yet unaware of."

The goddess inclines her head. "When I first glimpsed the pattern of the threads, I knew of my task today. All else is in your hands, young king." Without further word of either warning or farewell, she walks toward the door.

Hades takes a moment longer to follow, sighing and grumbling, "Looks like my vacation's over. Back to the underworld—" He directs a taunting grin outward, either at Hercules or Ben's own father or both. "In a class of its own, as far as soul-sucking pits go. Hope to see none of you there."

He pauses when he nears Ben and claps him, hard, on the shoulder. As if sensing the interaction, Mal starts to turn—but Ben's attention becomes instantly absorbed when the god leans in. "Be careful while you're cleaning house," Hades purrs, fire in his eyes. "I'd be reluctant to send you back upstairs to her if you mess it up."

On that threatening note, Mal's probably-father heads for the door.

He has hardly blinked away his shock when the half-fae, half-god he's in love with stands in front of him, her lips pressed tight and her eye a storm of emotion. "That's done. What now?"

Ben shakes his head, clasping her hand gently in his own as he moves out of her path to the door. "I'm not the one you still have questions for," he says. Chattering rises up around them, reactions and consequences falling into place, and—

None of it is what she needs right now. Not before Ben's had his say. Not before he's defused the room, set busybodies on tasks to rebuild instead of fret over lineage and parenthood and powers. Not before she loses her chance to say whatever she couldn't say with an audience.

(Protection on the Isle. Protection on Auradon.)

Her eyes narrow. The twitch of her feet betrays her longing to run.

Evie appears at their sides and reaches out to touch Mal's shoulder. "Remember when we took those ratty blankets out to the roof, and watched stars that managed to shine through the Isle haze, that one night?"

Mal stares. Whatever memory this is, Ben thinks it'll do what he could not.

Sure enough, she swallows hard, releases his hand, and sprints for the door. She catches herself on the frame, skidding out into the hall, and her eyes narrow in determination.

As she disappears into the corridor, Evie stammers, "With—well, I mean—"

Ben holds up his hand to stop her. "Mal can clarify it if she wants."

He turns to the room. To his mother's tearful eyes, his father's stern jaw. An abundance of adults who don't know Isle ways, and rattled classmates from Auradon, and those who only know their Isle lives yet still, by their expressions, have begun to trust him.

Bearing witness to the grand plans and so-human foibles of those with far greater power has knocked him only slightly off-course. The worries and ideas circulating in the back of his mind come back to the forefront as he carefully shuffles this newly-gained knowledge aside, and lifts his chin.

Through the chatter of an audience recounting the drama, he cuts through with his own voice, louder and stronger. "Deliberations will have to wait. We have kingdoms to rebuild, and I need your help."

:: :: ::

The doorframe catches at the edge of her palm and Mal winces at the scrape. But her eyes alight on the figures still striding away—not vanished into the unknown, disappearing as a god must be able to do, to side-step out of the land of the living to the actual Underworld.

She hesitated before, on the streets in the middle of battle. Oh, she stayed easily enough while sending her allies on ahead, and failed to restrain her sniping and snarling. Prickly and defensive as she was, he retained that aloof, prideful distance. No, she hesitated at the opportunity to demand answers to myriad questions always kept silent on her tongue. Hesitation (fear) stopping her, as always.

And despite her unwelcoming responses, Hades still offered a deal—

("What's the catch?"

A flickering blue stone in his palm, a smirk. "You get the ember. I get an open invite to darken your doorstep in the future."

Disbelieving laughter. "You—what?"

"You knew how to come by my hideout—"

"Your dirty, pathetic cave is hardly a place I wanted to come visit—"

"The least you can do, with the Isle off the map and both of us free of it, is let me pop by your place every now and then."

"You want to couch-surf in my dorm room at Auradon Prep?"

"At least let me buy you dinner.")

There had to be some catch. The deal is insensible without some sinister plot lurking as a motive. Maybe he really wanted to influence her classmates, or Ben, or the teachers at the school. Maybe he'd try to interfere in her life—even though he's kept strictly hands-off and deadbeat-distant through far too much of it. As much of it as she could remember clearly, anyway.

His request made no sense. And now, she has burning curiosity and suspicion firing through her veins, and he is far too many steps ahead and might vanish at any moment, so she bargains the one way she can.

"Dad."

Low blows work best. He's her father, but she rarely calls him anything to his face. Except—

("Deal."

"Go destroy that gnarly mistake of a spell for your dear old dad."

"I'm not doing it for you, Hades.")

Low blows work best.

They both stop. Him, and the goddess that Mal must also be related to, in some distant way. They turned around, looking at her, and in a rush of hesitation (fear), Mal turns her ire back on the goddess.

"Back there. You implied that everything about the Isle, everything we went through, had to happen." She swallows hard, blinking back the memories (of blood and panic, of triumphs and pride, of lessons and alleys and gangs). "Why?"

The white-eyed woman peers from underneath the cowl raised back over her head. She steps closer, leaning in, and cups Mal's cheek with one ice-warm hand. "Mortal eyes never see the twists of fate and destiny," she says, almost kindly. "Allowing you to turn the world upon its head and forge a better one out of the ashes did not require your happiness. You are who you were fated to be, Mal—you never could have become a hero, if you had not begun with your roots in the Isle."

(A hero?)

No.

(That's not the point.)

"I didn't want to be a hero." Her voice came thickly through a tight throat. "I wanted—"

(someone to steal earrings or a hairclip to make her smile—

to make her a new dress to make her feel beautiful—

to feed her strawberries—)

She coughs to clear her throat. "I wanted a life. A real one."

Ananke smiles. "Nothing in your past prevents you from growing new roots, new paths, new threads of choice. You are not broken, my dear niece. You are healing, your strength sourced from inside, not from what you endured."

(How—utterly selfish.)

Her hands itch to turn into claws, dragon sharp and stronger than steel. To release fire from her throat, in great spouts of destructive flame. Her wings would batter this horrible, monstrous—

Goddess. She's fuming at a goddess, whose domain involves watching humans live their silly little lives. A goddess, whose face betrays not a single line of remorse or humanity. For all that she watches them, she doesn't understand a damn bit.

(There are some battles that cannot be fought, let alone won.)

Ananke nods serenely, turns around, and walks away.

Hades steps closer, eyebrows pinched just slightly. He must sense her seething resentment. He, at least, has never once seemed to separate himself from people. He's as much a flawed failure, embracing his vices, as any other person. Usually their conversations are fully tempestuous, aggressive and sarcastic, loud and hissed through clenched teeth in turn. Their tempers, infuriatingly, match.

There's no flicker of surprise at her harsh tone. "Tell me the truth. This wasn't about some grand destiny. Admit it. You were selfish."

"And a coward. Yeah," he admits readily, devoid of the normal sarcasm. He picks up where they left off, no longer trying to avoid mentioning their place in each other's lives. "Nobody would have picked me for a dad. I earned my place on the Isle, Mallie. We both know that."

She never challenged him, on the Isle.

But now? She's a girl who was brought to a foreign country on the fated proclamation of a young king. She's a girl who's come crawling out of a dungeon cell under a death sentence, run across a storm-tossed sea on a magical bridge, commanded the respect and allegiance of her peers from the Isle and from Auradon. She fought to free all the kingdoms from a dragon-fae. A dragon-fae he left her to be raised by.

On Auradon, she challenges him. "You could have done more to help me."

Again, he breaks script, shaking his head and lowering his voice. "I might have been selfish, but that doesn't mean I didn't think of you at all."

Her simmering rage surges, a blazing fire in her chest. "How can—"

"You loved her." He meets her gaze squarely, eyes flickering blue flame, but she feels instead like he's doused her own internal fires with water. "You listened to her. When you were a toddler, if she came into the room, you'd leap out of my arms like you could already fly." His eyes go distant, recalling memories. "She wasn't always cruel to you. When that place, and her ambitions and anger, grew into an infection, she wanted me to stay away. So, she hurt you, bad enough that you were the first one I had to bring back. And then she told you that I didn't want to be there, told me she'd do it again if I stayed. It was better for me to go."

("We're not behind the barrier anymore. When you die this time, you won't come back again.")

Maleficent's cruel words at the coronation, seemingly so long ago, are finally given sense. She hadn't been able to explain it, not to Evie in whispers in the dungeon, or Carlos on the Isle under the cover of night, or Ben the one and only time he asked in the quiet of her childhood room. Not to herself, because she didn't recall a moment when Maleficent was the one responsible for a death.

She thought it had been a warped threat, lining up with her execution, and that's what she'd told all of them.

(The scent of clean smoke, cool hands grasping hers.)

Fragments of memory were all that remained. Perhaps she's fortunate that instead of imprinting a memory of utter terror, all that lingers is the last sensory memory of her father's presence.

She clings to her banked fires of fury. "Are you serious? I was a child and you left me with her instead of—"

"A child who didn't need to see the two of us in a drag-it-out-to-the-death fight. Which it would have been. I could keep you alive without being close, and you didn't need to see me try to kill her," he replies.

She snaps, "Maybe not, but maybe you should have anyway."

(It wouldn't have turned into falling from the sky—)

"Maybe." He throws his hands up between them, palms open and up. "But you'd have been angry at me for the rest of your life, not knowing what she turned out to be on this side of it all. Not when she wouldn't have died, which I couldn't make happen inside the barrier. So, yeah, I left. I stayed away. I could've done more." He shook his head. "But I told myself that if you lived, that was enough. That I gave you everything by giving you nothing."

He's wrong—

(Her childhood was full of the worst, ugliest memories. Maleficent never satisfied. Gang warfare. Evil Schemes lessons. Untrustworthy adults. A father, distant and never there to protect her from any of it. A father who wanted to leave her, who never told her otherwise whenever she would duck the notice of anyone and everyone, venturing into his cave.)

But he's also right.

(Her childhood has a handful of shining bright moments. A gang of her own, their hideout. The clean smoke scent, a faint impression of a hug. A father whose ridiculous cave was utterly last resort, but still, a hiding spot all the same, simply because he never told her to go away.)

None of it absolves him of all his failings. He did end up on the Isle for a reason, as he reminded her; they both know it was deserved. She still tilts her head as she reminds them both, "I did what I had to do. Made it on my own, no thanks to you."

Usually, Mal's words would have brought them back into their usual pattern of loud, hot-headed argument.

This time, instead of defensiveness, Hades replies, "You did." The glow in his eyes is unreadable, an emotion she does not recognize. "I can't see the future or read minds, Mal. I failed you in a lot of different ways. Your blame's the least of what I deserve. But you're still my daughter. All I want is the chance to make up for any small bit of it that I can."

Is this why he wanted that deal with her? Guilt?

Is he telling her now to ensure that she'll let him in if he comes knocking in a month, a year? Is he breaking a pattern, or exposing one she never realized was there, without the messy lessons she's grasped about Auradon ways?

Auradon-influenced Mal wants to tell him a specific truth. A truth kept close to her heart, in words she only ever uttered to Evie on a dark rooftop, curled up together under the night sky. Knowing why—

(why he left why she was trapped why she lived why)

Maleficent, in the barrier, manipulated and lied and never learned to love her. Hades, in the barrier, stayed cool and let her invade his space and never turned her away. Maleficent, free of the barrier, tried to kill her again. Hades, free of the barrier, gave her a tool in time for her to save herself.

Lying, manipulating, secretive, distant, abandoned her and lurking nearby anyway… Never has she more clearly seen him as a god than now. He's better about it than Ananke, but he's still not human.

Those thoughts she only ever shared with Evie still burn on her tongue. So, she tilts her chin and tells him, "I blame you—but I blame her more."

His eyes widen and yet more of that completely unreadable emotion flickers through his eyes. It isn't pride or satisfaction, so she finds herself unwilling to poke or pry.

He nods slowly, then sighs deeply. "Underworld's waiting. Duty calls," he says, looking over one shoulder. Ananke has disappeared, but might be waiting out of sight—either in this world, or another one that Mal does not see. When he turns back to her, he steps closer, eyes intent. "You'll learn what family really is over here."

It's in the crease between his eyebrows. The lift in his voice. The drop of one hand, so casually, into one pocket, and the tilt of his chin. Uncertain. Hinting. The emphasis on one word, right in the middle of an otherwise casual statement.

("…an open invite…

… pop by your place…")

Maybe it wasn't guilt, before. Mal asks slowly, "Is that your way of asking to be one?"

(Maleficent never would have loved her. Is that true of Hades?)

He clears his throat. "That's up to you."

The clearest confirmation possible.

Hades holds her gaze as she considers their deal in this new, unexpected light. She still perceives his motivations the way she'd eye a pit of vipers. If there is a scheme, then she can't pick it out alone. She'll need help, and of course, knows exactly who to ask for backup (for their watchful eyes, flippant smile, confident stance) and who to ask for information (of the kind that those Auradon-born hold).

She steps closer to Hades. "I don't trust you."

He smirks. "Fair."

"You weren't around, you didn't help…but you didn't try to make it worse. You kept my gang around, too."

"Yeah. I did." His smirk is wavering into the lines of a mask, of aloof confidence and a lack of concern. He looks down on her like he thinks she's about to surge back into aggressive, contemptuous familiarity. The line of his shoulders hints that he'd even accept it.

Whatever he may be plotting, if he's plotting… Mal knows one more truth.

"Then… I do want to know you."

His jaw goes slack, eyes wide. Total surprise, at least, hints that he might not be plotting after all.

Pulling him into a hug is just as strange a behavior as his uncharacteristic avoidance of sarcasm. The tension in his shoulders is worse when her palms wrap up around his back.

(She did remember that clean smoke accurately.)

A few moments later, they draw apart. He clears his throat again, and pats one open palm on her shoulder. "Take care of your hooligan friends. And that sappy little king." His lips quirk in a grin as he backs up. "He's going to need your spine of steel."

She says nothing else, and neither does he, as he turns around and walks away.