Deuce sat at the back of the class, seething quietly at the - very inaccurate and poorly researched - movie. He refused to make a scene, but that! That right there! That bullshit is not how the gorgon clans were made but whatever dude. Nevermind that the presenter has absolutely no respect for the sacred grounds he's trampling.

Thank the gods for the bell and everyone else's boredom, pushing one another out of the history class.

Slouching in on himself, jacket hood pulled down low over his head, Deuce stalked into the cafeteria. He begged no one would notice his uncharacteristic bad mood - really wasn't a big deal, he'd get over it - but he really should know his friends better by now.

"Dude, wassup? History isn't that boring is it?" Clawd laughed, concern obvious in his voice.

"Nah bro." Deuce shrugged. "Video just rubbed me the wrong way - no biggie."

Heath, with his wonderfully horrific timing decided then would be a good moment to join the conversation. "Deuce, dude, that shit's wild! Why didn't you say your dad is a literal god?"

Deuce grit his teeth and rubbed his neck to calm his hissing hair. "He's not. That thing was incredibly misleading at best and downright rude at worst, so." Hoping he sounded more nonchalant than he felt, Deuce shrugged again.

"But the documentary said-"

"My dad's not a god," Deuce hissed.

Heath held his hands up. "Sorry man, just wondering."

Clawd frowned. "Should you maybe tell someone, if the video was that bad?" He suggested.

"No idea what else we're doing with it," Deuce mumbled. "Maybe next class we'll get told we watched it so we would know exactly what NOT to do."

"I don't know if that's going to happen, man."

"I'll let someone know if it keeps going on."

"Deuce, seriously. You should."

Deuce sighed, for once grateful his tired and angry eyes were hidden behind his shades. "Alright. I'll think about it."

Clawd opened his mouth to say something else, but Deuce stood up and plastered a smile on his face.

"I'm starving, imma get some food."

He made his way to the line, and locked eyes with Cleo who beckoned him over. He held up a finger, letting her know he'd head over in a second. He really was hungry.

Tray piled with food that could be better, he made his way to his girlfriend's table. He often secretly wondered to himself if his type was popular, gorgeous people way out of his league.

"Hey Cleo, what's up?" He cracked a blinding smile.

"That video was interesting," She said, pulling him to sit next to her.

Deuce wondered if he should A) complain about the inappropriateness of it or B) if he should laugh and feign mild annoyance.

"Ugh, no! It was so boring!" Option B it was. No need to worry his favourite person.

"That place the presenter was at with all the moss was really pretty though!" Frankie chimed. Gods, Deuce was lucky she couldn't see his eyes roll.

"It's better in person," he said. It is. It's even better when it's treated with respect and it practically glows with life.

"You've been, have you?" Cleo smiled softly.

Deuce nodded. "I've been to all the places in that thing." He refused to mention that he had been there before they were ruins.

"We should go sometime," Cleo said. "I'd love to see them properly."

"Sure thing princess." Deuce kissed the crown of her head, and hugged her to his side.

"Yeesh, get a room!" Clawdeen teased.

Deuce flipped her the bird and shoved overcooked fries in his mouth. His friends are a wonderful distraction.

The bell shrieked for fourth period and had dozens of hands stuffing food into mouths and trying to finish conversations as everyone scrambled to beat the hallway rush.

Deuce had gotten home, ate the (far too bitter) dinner he made for his Mum, and collapsed on his bed. Homework could wait, he still had way too much anger bursting under his skin. Maybe nine was too early to sleep but he didn't even have to try, so maybe it wasn't.

Deuce woke with stiff shoulders and a strong feeling of wrong. Thankfully he hadn't been blessed with any of his usual nightmares, though something was telling him there was a trade off.

With a groan, he groped around for his shades and opened his eyes.

His phone was exploding with texts from. Well. Everyone, it seemed. Strange, at six thirty on a Thursday morning.

Missed calls and a handful of texts from Cleo, texts from Frankie, Clawdeen and, for some reason, Howleen.

And.

Oh.

Thursday

5:41am (3) Missed Call: Clawd W ?

5:42am Clawd W ?: Dude

5:42am Clawd W ?: Fuck

5:42am (4) Missed Call: Clawd W ?

5:43am Clawd W ?: please, pick up

5:43am (6) Missed Call: Clawd W ?

5:45am Clawd W ?: Draculaura's missing

Deuce hoisted his ass out of bed and into school-appropriate clothes (can't go in only boxers and an oversized hoodie, now can he), and frantically tapped at his phone one-handed.

Shit I'm so sorry

Shit Clawd

Where should I meet you

We're at school w/ BG. There's a

normie who thinks he knows

where she is

A normie?

Yea

I dunno

He's talking to Mr. D

seems ok

I just want Laur back.

I'm running over now.

The twisting in his stomach grew as he ran in the barely-broken sunlight, stretching through his veins and agitating his hair.

Deuce wanted to believe it was because Draculaura had been taken. He really did. But something else was setting him on edge. Did he know what? Of course not.

Deuce almost fell flat on his face as he dashed up the front steps of Monster High. The hallways looked different in the early morning light, the gentle and peaceful golden rays directly contradicting every instinct in his body.

He crashed, ragged and out of breath, into Bloodgood's office ready to blurt his apologies, offer help, listen. Instead, his voice caught in his throat when he met the only human face in the office.

There, in the Headmistress' office, was the man who slaughtered his family. Or, at least, it looked like him. His dark hair framed his sharp face and cold, icy brown eyes that were far too familiar. The scar running from the corner of his eye to his jaw was what made Deuce's heart stop and hands shake. That scar. Gods, that scar was unmistakable.

The man smiled at him, though the hatred glistened in his eyes.

"Gorgon filth," he murmured under his breath. His strange, Tarentum latin meant no one else noticed.

He knew who Deuce was, he was sure. Deuce wanted to throw up. Or deck him. Or slowly slowly tear his heart out.

Deuce couldn't do any of that, though, because apparently the man who slaughtered his family was the man who was helping them find Draculaura.

Wonderful.

I'm so so so sorry. It's been FOUR YEARS?

Hey, Lori? Thank you for commenting on this fic... two years ago? I am going to finish it this time. I was never going to touch it again but. I'm going to finish it. For you. And for me.

It's going to be. Different and. Less confusing (I see you, miceaholic) and much better written this time ahaha!

Thank you for reading everyone.