Alison fumbled so much that she dropped her keys. Sighing heavily, she continued easing herself out of her car. With her bag's strap over her shoulder, she lowered herself to pick up the keys from the asphalt. She had been a jittering mess ever since the phone call from Phillip Ruiz. For the rest of her workday, Alison had not been able to focus. Her mind repeatedly and frequently shifted to what awaited at home. Now she was here. Taking a steadying breath, she walked the path leading to the backdoor of the house. Her strides were wider than normal, heels clicking hard against the concrete. She nearly tripped as she moved up the steps. Forcing herself to calm, though she felt anything but, Alison pulled open the screen door and quickly slid the key into the lock.

Upon unlocking and opening the door, she found the kitchen light off. There was no smell of food. Faintly, she could hear the television on in the next room. "Kurt…?" Alison called out, setting her workbag and purse on the table. She then lifted her knee, hands reaching to slip her shoe off. "Kurt, I'm home!" she called again, removing the other shoe. She curled her fingers around the ankle collars of the shoes and headed further into the house. She managed to take a single step into the dining room before her daughter dashed towards her legs, exclaiming her title. "Oh! There's my demigoddess!" Alison crooned, lifting the girl to embrace her. She pressed several kisses across her face, causing Naomi to giggle. "Where's daddy Bunker?"

"Down," Naomi answered, using her finger to point to the floor. "Han's here!" Alison immediately darted her focus to the living room. Hank Bunker sat idly on the loveseat, wrapped snugly in a soft blue blanket she had not seen before. The blanket covered his head—most of his body, in fact. Only his face remained visible. He did not acknowledge Alison's presence at all. He only continued to stare at the television, seemingly entranced with whatever cartoon played. His eyes focused on the screen, but… his mind lied elsewhere. Alison could recognize it. He was so young—too young—and yet he had gone through something terrible. And now, his entire life had been uprooted. This must be an overwhelming change for him. "Han sad," Naomi mentioned. "He don't play." Expected. "Dabun said Han staying."

"Yes, for a little bit," Alison confirmed. Maybe, she thought. With what Phillip had told her, the boy might end up staying a lot longer. Jesus Christ. This had been what she wanted, but not like this. Alison pried her gaze away from Hank and turned to her daughter. "Okay, so make sure you're a little bit nicer to him, Naomi. He's been… through a lot." Dutifully, Naomi nodded her head. "Best behavior, okay?"

"Kay!" Naomi agreed.

Smiling, Alison lowered her daughter to the floor. Naomi dashed back into the living room and plopped herself in front of the entertainment center to watch the cartoon. Alison glanced at Hank. His position did not change. The poor boy… Frowning now, she turned away, doubling back to open the basement door. She wanted to talk to Kurt before approaching his nephew. She wondered if anything had truly been explained to him. The life he had known changed, after all. His mother in jail. His father a target. His grandfather presumed dead. Hank had lost so much. Others would have the luxury of having those events span a lifetime. For him, it had only been what? Had it only been two days?

Alison huffed lightly as she placed her shoes on the top step. Then she walked down the first flight of stairs. There were two. They connected, forming a platform to the side door of the house. Alison continued down the second flight, immediately spotting Kurt. He stood at the washer, loading laundry into the dryer. She sighed out, and the soft breath must have caught his attention because he sharply turned to face her. "Alison," he greeted, relaxing. "When did you get in?" She made her way to him, greeting him with a chaste kiss against his cheek. His mouth twitched into a smile before he returned the greeting. For a fleeting moment, the unease left her and she could pretend this was a normal evening with her family.

"Just a few minutes ago," Alison replied, shaking away thoughts of normal. Their situation was far from it. "You didn't hear me come in?"

"No… This basement is mostly soundproof with insulated wall panels and fiberglass," Kurt said. "A lot of the homes in Banshee are like that since the winters can be harsher than other places." Huh. Alison had not known that. She briefly wondered how Kurt came to know it. Probably something he had learned while fixing up his own house. Kurt cleared his throat and finished tossing the laundry into the dryer. He then pressed buttons to turn on the machine. "How was work?" he questioned, turning to face her. Alison found herself scoffing.

"Nerve-wracking the last couple of hours," she admitted. "I wanted to leave work as soon as Phillip told me about Hank. I can hardly believe it happened so quickly. What exactly happened? It's an ongoing police investigation, so the officers did not tell him much."

"It's not my case," Kurt said. "I didn't actually know about it until after Hank showed up. He only told me that Hank's home environment was unfit for a child and that I was the most suitable to take care of him until his own investigation ended. He also gave me the details of Hank's school schedule, so we shouldn't have to adjust our schedule too much to pick him up and drop him off. What about you? Did this… Ruiz tell you anything more?"

"… Basically, he said the same thing," Alison said. She frowned deeply. "He mentioned due to the circumstances, Hank needed to be removed straightaway. He wouldn't tell me why, but I figured that he knew something." Phillip seemed much too enthralled by the story behind her union with Kurt. She had only given the basics. Because it was not his business. "He said that Hank… was picked up from the hospital. He wasn't hurt physically, but…"

"After I left work with Hank, I found out from another officer what happened," Kurt told her. He licked his lips before continuing. "Last night, Calvin got a motel room for them. He called up a few members of The Brotherhood as a precaution—a protection detail—so he hasn't completely lost his mind." Alison pursed her lips, finding that matter entirely debatable. Kurt folded his arms against his chest. His teeth visibly clenched. "There was a shootout." Despite knowing something terrible had happened, hearing the confirmation was jarring on her senses.

"Jesus Christ…" Alison murmured, lifting a hand to cover her mouth.

"Yeah…" Kurt sighed out and shook his head. "They're calling it a shootout between gangs, but the only dead bodies were Brotherhood. Bullets belonged to an Uzi—a foreign submachine gun."

"Proctor," Alison guessed. Of course. The man had his finger in all illegal activities. Of course, he would have access to firearms not easily obtained. "Any witnesses…?" While she did not truly intend to go back on the deal between herself and Rebecca, she could not ignore the prospect of observing the man's fall from grace. Even if she wouldn't be the one to push him. "You said a motel, right? Could that place have surveillance…?" Doubtful that Proctor would get his own hands dirty in this matter, but perhaps he sent a known associate in his stead. That assistant of his perhaps. But as far as methods go, a shootout seemed so… flashy. Not his normal style. Still, these were unprecedented times.

"No, no witnesses or cameras," Kurt answered. "According to officers, Calvin didn't see a thing either. Too busy trying to get himself and Hank out the bathroom window. A bullet managed to get him, which is why they were at the hospital."

"And Hank truly wasn't hurt…?" Alison questioned.

"No, thank Christ," Kurt said, frowning. "But I'm wondering if it was Proctor… That guy has been avoiding jail time because he covers his tracks. Would he really not find out about the bathroom window ahead of time?" Alison bit her lower lip, wondering the same thing. Probably not. As she thought before, the shootout had been too flashy. Too blatant. Sloppy. Those were not traits normally associated with a man such as Kai Proctor. Could he have issued the order? Something told her no. Such a display indicated urgency and perhaps immaturity. "Regardless, it means Hank will stay with us, so I went by Calvin's house to gather some of his things. So, in the end, your plan worked."

"… Yeah, but at what cost?" Alison muttered, gaze lowering to the floor between them. Her plan had been to keep him from danger. However, it had been true danger that sent him here. Jesus Christ. One stray bullet could have been the end. The very thought made her eyes sting. "How is he?"

"Quiet…" Kurt replied. "He's a smart kid, but I don't think he can process this—it's a lot to take in. Even if he were a little older."

"Did you try to explain…?"

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "I'm not sure I would be the best one. I don't think I can. But right now… He's not here. In the moment."

"I got that impression, too," Alison admitted. She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth. This situation felt akin to how she became after… after she had not been spared. In a way, Hank had not been spared either. Alison squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in deeply. However, she would not snap him back to reality like her mother had done—like Proctor had done. Hank did not deserve that. She would ease him out of his mind. She hoped to, at least. Clearing her throat, she opened her eyes again. "Alright… What's for dinner?"

"Uh… I thought maybe we can order something, actually," Kurt said, probably confused about the topic change. "I didn't want to worry about cooking while getting Hank situated. Is that okay? Has Naomi had pizza before?"

"She has, yes," Alison stated. "She likes to pull the pepperonis off and eat the slice."

"She doesn't like pepperonis?" Kurt questioned.

"She loves them, so she saves the best thing for last," Alison replied, smiling a bit. Kurt let out a small chuckle. "Okay, I'll… I'll talk to Hank while you finish with his things."

"Thank you, Alison," Kurt said earnestly.

"Sure. Just out of curiosity, what do you need to finish up? Where he's sleeping?"

"I hope you don't mind. I set him up in Naomi's room," he replied. "I'm hoping this weekend, I can buy him a bed. I'm pretty sure her room is big enough for both of them."

"That's fine."

"As for finishing up… I had to wash his clothes," Kurt continued, clearly hesitant. Alison suddenly frowned, realizing what he had implied. A bullet might not have hit hank, but his father's blood must have… "He's fine," Kurt stressed, perhaps noticing her expression. "I checked everywhere, though I'm sure the hospital did the same. With us, he'll be fine. I'm sure of it." Alison pressed her lips together and nodded her head. She had to hold herself back from crying at what could have been. Kurt took a step in her direction, and moved to lift her head with a curled index finger under her chin. "Hey," he said. Alison slowly locked eyes with him. "We can protect him now. Because of you. He's… one of us."

"Yeah," Alison agreed, breathing easier. Her hand rose, fingers curling around his wrist. "Yeah. We're fine now. He'll be okay." Kurt leaned into her, pressing his lips against hers in a sweet kiss. It made her smile again. His support and confidence in her—in them—meant a lot. "Okay, I'll head up now." Kurt nodded and told her he would be up in a minute as well. Alison steeled herself, and then turned to go up the stairs again. The steel faltered as she ascended. What could she hope to do at this point? Admittedly, she had experienced trauma, though not this young and certainly not on this scale. Of course, she would never think to react how her mother had reacted. But… That was all she had in terms of direction. What was a normal way—an effective way—to comfort a child put through something like this?

Finally, she made it to the top. She stepped over her heels on the first step and into the small corridor, which connected the kitchen to the den. It only took a few more steps before she stood in the middle of the den, eyes on the boy she had been determined to help. As if he were her own. Alison chewed her on lower lip, words of comfort lost to her. Still, she ventured forward into the living room. Her daughter barely glanced away from the television. Hank, again, did not acknowledge her presence at all. Her gaze flickered towards the television, noting the advertisement playing now. She pressed her lips together before giving her full attention to the boy.

"Hello, Hank," she greeted. Finally, he looked her way. Only for a second, but it had been better than not responding at all. Another difference between them. Alison, herself, had not responded to any outside stimuli. Alison pressed her lips together again, unsure of his reaction. She wanted to ask him how he felt. However, she distinctly recalled herself annoyed with prodding questions into her feelings. She had been numb. Why hadn't it been enough for people to understand that? Perhaps, in this instance, her fifteen-year-old self and Hank were the same. Taking a deep silent breath, Alison took another step forward. Then she sat down on the loveseat beside Hank. "What are we watching?" It took a few seconds, but Hank eventually opened his mouth.

"It's Teen Titans," he replied, keeping his eyes on the screen.

"Ah, DC," Alison muttered, feigning nonchalance.

"… It's cool," Hank said.

"I mean, it's no Marvel, but…"

"What is Marvel?"

"Eh? Do you want to see my collection?" Alison questioned, turning his way to smile. The boy pressed his lips together, but turned to look at her as well. "Despite what your uncle says, it's a passion—not obsession. Do you want me to introduce you the wonderful world of Loki?"

"Loki!" Naomi echoed delighted. She pushed herself off the floor. Then she moved towards the loveseat, grinning at her cousin. "Loki is best! A prince! Let's watch!" Apparently, her glee was contagious because Hank could not help but smile back at her.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Alright then," Alison agreed. "We can watch while we eat dinner. Your uncle's ordering pizza. I told him to get your favorite—anchovies." Of course, this garnered a less than pleased reaction from Hank. He exaggeratedly stuck out his tongue in a disgusted manner. Naomi mimicked her cousin. "Mushrooms! Oh! My bad! I'll tell him mushrooms."

"No!" Hank protested, shaking his head. So quick the movements that the blanket slipped from his head. "That's nasty!"

"No!" Naomi repeated.

Alison chuckled lightly. "Oh, fine… Pepperoni it is," she conceded. "Kids these days have such simple tastes." Her comment caused Hank to laugh. It was wonderful to hear. Gentle, instead of hard, worked just as well to bring him back to reality. A part of her wished her mother had known that. At any rate, this was progress. Just out of sight, she noticed the door to the basement open. Alison turned her gaze away from the two children and watched as Kurt approached them. "They both want pepperoni," she announced, causing the both children to turn their heads in Kurt's direction. "Could you order now?"

"Yeah, I can do that," he answered with a nod. He went over to her desk in the den, arm stretching to grab his cell phone. "You want supreme?" Alison smiled, pleased that he remembered her preference. At her nod, Kurt began tapping at his phone's screen. Without warning, Naomi turned and rushed at her father's legs, obviously wanting to demand his attention. Or perhaps she wanted his cell phone. Kurt merely smiled down at her before lowering himself to pick her up with one arm. "I'm guessing you want to pick the drinks?" he asked as he walked towards the kitchen.

"Ice cream!" Naomi corrected.

"Just like your mother," Kurt replied, disappearing into the next room.

Under the guise of finding making the order privately, he clearly wanted to give Alison more time to speak with Hank. She saw it for what he intended. After a few seconds, she tilted to the side, leaning her body against his. Hank did not react to the sudden weight. With Naomi gone, he refocused his attention back on the television. The commercial break had ended, after all. Still, Alison and he had reached a point where touching became normal for them. Probably because of all the mock wrestling. Another moment passed before Alison curled her legs and lowered her head to his lap. Again, Hank did not mind this. He and his cousin often watched television in a similar position. Soon, his hand ventured out of the blanket and began running through her hair. Alison inwardly smiled. The boy probably did not realize his actions simply because he had done the same to Naomi many times.

"My friend, Mr. Ruiz, told me a little about what happened," Alison began. She felt his body tense somewhat, but his fingers did not falter. Good. Still relatively comfortable. Swallowing a bit, she continued. "Your uncle will take care of you for a little while because of it. That means that I will take care of you, too."

"… Daddy said that Uncle K did something bad," Hank mumbled.

"Your uncle did nothing wrong," Alison refuted. "I'm sure you realize he's a good police officer." She felt Hank nod his head. "But sometimes… people you love do bad things. They have to be arrested for it. To protect other people."

"Mommy was… arrested," Hank said, sounding out the new word. "Daddy said it wasn't my fault."

"Of course, it's not your fault, Hank," Alison agreed. "Why would you think that?" Hank did not answer that question. However, she got the sense of why. Before the extraction, Phillip told her that Hank hadn't revealed who had hit him. He fell, he told anyone who questioned the bruise. Scripted, Phillip remarked. Then, all of a sudden, police had been at his home. It wasn't too far of a stretch for a kid to connect such things. Though, if it were her, she would feel an arrest was justified for striking a child so harshly. Especially if it had been for something out of their control. "The actions of your parents, not you, are the cause of what happened."

"Would I…? Can I see them?" Hank questioned hesitantly.

"Right now, that might be hard to do," Alison said. "I'll ask your uncle about visiting your mother. Would you like that?" Hank shrugged, body tensing again. Alison looked away from the screen, turning her head in his lap. A sudden thought came to her, and it formed like a bolt. The boy tensed further, supposedly realizing where her gaze focused now, yet he kept his eyes on the television. Further indication of her thought. "Hank… Did…? Was it your mother that gave you the bruise?" Hank bit his lower lip, looking elsewhere but not at her. Alison turned the rest of her body. She now lied there completely face up. "Your uncle told me he saw it. Don't lie to me."

"She…" Hank stuttered, eyes finally finding hers. "She said she didn't mean to."

"… I'm sure that's true," Alison said eventually. Then she lifted her hand, the back of her fingers lightly touching his cheek. "Can you tell me what happened?" It took a moment more, but Hank did tell her. Jesus Christ. Alison was ready to go down to the police station herself. She doubted it had been the full story, but even the smallest truth caused anger within. According to Hank, not only had that woman—Maggie—talked shit about Naomi, but she had also struck Hank in retaliation for defending his cousin. For calling her family. Alison stifled her anger, mostly because Hank's story also warmed her heart. The smart boy knew they were related without being told.

By the end of his retelling, Hank furiously wiped at his eyes to stop the tears. Alison smiled lightly, and then lifted herself. She then shifted until her arms wrapped around Hank in a soft embrace. He jerked at the sudden embrace, and then relaxed. "You have been very brave, Hank," she told him. "Not just then either. I know you've been through a rough time recently. You've experienced things no one should have to go through, but you have been brave through it all. I'm proud of you."

"I'm not bad? I'm not a bad boy?" Hank asked, voice watery. His fingers curled around the back of her clothes. "It's not my fault?" Despite the way his voice muffled with restrained sobs, she understood him. Alison pressed her lips together, swallowing the ire that flared up again. Hank had been punished for doing a good thing, leaving him confused about his own actions. About what he had been taught in the first place. Family. Alison hugged him tighter.

"No, you are not at fault," she told him. "Regardless if your mother didn't mean to or not, you did not deserve a hit for doing the right thing—saying the right things. I said you were brave, and I meant it. It takes courage to stand for what you believe in." Hank squeezed her tighter in response. "It's okay if you don't want to see her right now. Nothing like that makes you a bad boy. Just know that whatever happens next, you are welcomed here. Unconditionally. Your uncle and I will do anything we can to keep you safe."

"Okay," Hank murmured.

Little did she know…

Her vow would be tested.

Fairly soon.

0-0

"What you've done was reckless, Rebecca."

With no hint of a greeting, her uncle turned to face her with a scowl. Rebecca pressed her lips together, already annoyed. The first words should have been praise. She stepped further into the room, her brother at her side. Admittedly, she had been putting off showing up to her uncle's estate. It hadn't necessarily been avoidance. Well, she had ignored the handful of times he had called… Mostly because, she suspected his incredulity. Eventually, she had brushed it aside in order to answer the summons. Surely, her uncle would see the necessity of her actions, she convinced herself. Clearly, he had not. Feeling herself glower, Rebecca sat down at the dining room table. Solomon mirrored her actions but chose to sit opposite of her. Their uncle sat at the head of the table as usual.

He had finally gave up on calling. Instead, he had sent Burton to retrieve them with a cordial invite to dinner. Judging from the mostly stoic man's expression, the cordial invite was mandatory. For both herself and Solomon. Rebecca had decided to leave her home. She would never really resist Burton's silent demands. She could, of course. However, she found herself not wanting to. After all, he rarely made demands of her. Well, this certain demand had come from her uncle. Really, she hadn't had a choice. Therefore, the two Bowman siblings accepted the offered car ride.

Now, they waited for their meals. As far as Rebecca could tell, their family—and Burton—were alone in the house. As a given, her uncle did not employ many people for the upkeep of his home. Burton usually did most of the housework when he did not shadow her. Of course, her uncle hired a personal chef, but it seemed the chef had went home for the night. It was getting late. Fortunately, Rebecca had skipped out on an evening meal tonight before coming. Obviously, Burton would be bring out the plates. Rebecca idly wondered if he would join them for dinner, or would he stand behind her uncle, patiently waiting for the meal to end. Like a loyal dog returning to his rightful owner. Suddenly soured, she felt herself tense in her seat, arms tightening in their clasped position against her chest.

"And to drag your brother into your actions…" her uncle continued, disappointment palpable. "He is new to this world and all its… wonders. You should not have-"

"I did not drag him into anything," Rebecca retorted. "He wanted it as much as I did." She refrained from poking out her lower lip. "Besides, you are the one who taught him how to shoot." Her brother had yet to speak on the matter. Seemingly not aware, or completely uncaring, of the tension in the room, Solomon kept his blue eyes trained on the table in front of him. He retreated to routine, Rebecca realized. Her brother normally kept to himself even amongst family. Shyness did not keep him from speaking. It was tradition. Living under the pressure of their household with a pious mother and a reticent father. Keeping one's voice in had been expected. However, action was a different matter entirely. Solomon had already proved that.

"I taught him for the same reason I taught you," Uncle said, frowning. "For your protection—for greater things—not for you both to go poorly prepared against men like them." Rebecca hardly contained the urge to roll her eyes. Greater things, he said. What other things came from teaching one's nephew how to fire an Uzi other than gunning down men who had the audacity to kill their blood? No, she was sure that her uncle planned to use Solomon in the same way further down the line. Rebecca, though, did not have the patience for further down. Neither had Solomon. "You could have easily been killed. You could have easily left behind evidence, implementing you both in the crime. Then where would I be?"

"Sparing us from a long-winded lecture perhaps," Rebecca sassed. Her uncle, not appreciating the humor, outright glared at her. She sneered in return. "This might have been Solomon's first push into our world, uncle, but it certainly was not mine." Even now, she fondly remembered the first time she aimed a gun to take a life. Never had she felt more powerful. Until she held all the players in her hands, of course. She became the puppeteer and she lived to make her foolish puppets dance to her whims. "I would not have let him face it alone. We were together for that reason. Moreover, I would have liked to have Burton with us but he was needed elsewhere."

Elsewhere had led Burton away from Banshee for two days. He had successfully tracked down the elusive District Attorney. Only tonight had he confirmed that Mark Franklin would not be a problem in the future. Good. That sniveling fool had worn out his worth anyway. Being ensnared by another so easily. Still, it had been the truth of wanting Burton with them. Perhaps, their target would not have gotten away. Perhaps their target could have been strapped down for his crimes against her family. Perhaps she would have reveled in Burton's less than straightforward methods. It would have been the least Calvin Bunker deserved. Rebecca would not feel any remorse. She would not falter, even under her uncle's disapproving gaze, until the man responsible suffered.

"I had a plan in place, Rebecca," Uncle said. "Calvin Bunker would have gotten the retribution he deserved. But your spontaneity ruined-"

"Your so called plan would have had us waiting around for months," Rebecca interrupted. "To deter the police from suspecting our involvement." Her mocking echo of his words caused a twitch at the corner of her uncle's mouth. "None of that matters. We held the power in this town until you gave it away to Nazis. And they turned that power against us—against you. Your plans allowed them to grow and fester—turn them into a force that threatens your livelihood. As they are, they could topple you. You turned them into that. Now, you want to do nothing while my mother—your sister—grows cold?" She shook her head in disbelief. When he had shared the plan of his, she had been outraged by the lack of action. The outrage remained even now. "I saw what needed to be done and I did it. The only misstep—my only error—was missing. I won't miss again."

"You won't be doing anything in this regard again," Uncle said, only raising his voice a bit. However, it had been enough for both herself and her brother to flinch. He did not realize how similar he and their mother sounded. Rebecca clenched her teeth. "I know how it appears to you, but I promise this is what's best for our family."

"What's best for our family right now is justice," Rebecca retorted.

Before her uncle could further lecture, Burton entered the room. He carried a tray with four plates. Rebecca found herself relaxing. She uncrossed her arms and lowered them to the arms of the chair she sat in. Her eyes watched him as he meticulously set the plates down. Burton eyed her in return, fingers lingering as he sat her place down in front of her. She blinked first, gaze drifting to her uncle. He only stared with narrowed eyes—back and forth between her and Burton. She smirked spitefully back at him. She could hold the leash as well.

Only when Burton sat—beside her—did Uncle continue his diatribe. He picked apart her actions as they ate, calmly complaining of the results. Apparently, she had only been thinking of the present and not the future. Admittedly, that had been partially true. She had only thought about short-term. She was angry, and she had every right to be. Her parents were dead, along with others. Rebecca had left that life behind. Had not forgiven those who had banished her from that life. Had wholeheartedly embraced and acclimated to the new life. She had died and been reborn. Still… The anger and hurt swirled within her, and she could not contain it. She could not just sit idly by while her family's murderers thought themselves powerful.

"Pardon me… uncle," Solomon's voice, surprisingly, broke through the ranting. Three pairs of eyes looked his way, but her brother kept his gaze on the plate before him. He had been taking small bites, but more than half his food was gone. Voice as low and serious as usual, her brother continued. "You speak to my sister as though she merely a child. She is no child, and neither am I." Rebecca could not help the rush of affection she felt towards her brother for his defense of her. "I have already experienced the, as you say, wonders of this world. Forced to see. Forced to act." His eyes lifted, cutting to their uncle. His expression did not change, but Rebecca saw the hard resolve in his eyes. The same as when he decided to go with her to that motel. "Those… men took my home from me. They are the ones who dragged me. But I am the one who made the decision."

"Solomon-"

"My sister tells me that when you were her age, you had already come into your power," he cut in. "That you were already running this town, quickly and permanently ridding yourself of those who opposed or disrespected. A child no longer. Can you not extend the same courtesies?"

"When I was her age, I had no one to stop my impulses—no one to protect me," Uncle responded. "What I am striving to do is take care of my remaining blood. Do you think I want to see the two of you locked up or killed?"

"We're not children!" Rebecca blurted.

"Then stop acting like it!" Uncle snapped back, glaring at her again. "Only a child would throw a tantrum like you!" He raised his voice again, louder than before. Rebecca found herself clenching her teeth again. "Lashing out because another child took away a toy you haven't touched in years!" Swallowing the sudden bile in her throat felt like swallowing shards of glass. A toy…? A toy! He would so easily compare his sister—her parents—to a measly toy?! "Your version of justice—as uncontrollable as wild fire—will see you killed. I intend to handle this with the precision of a lightning bolt when the time comes. You are not to do anything further to jeopardize that. This is a dangerous situation, and I will not-"

"I'm fucking dangerous!" Rebecca exploded. The knife in her hand slammed against the table. The crack of metal against glass ricocheted off the walls, drowning any other sound. Her insides throbbed, unable to hold the anger that coursed within. Her uncle seemed completely thrown by the outburst. He stared, stunned into silence. "You guided me through this world, but I've found my own way. Our business ventures split, but that doesn't make me any less capable than you. I don't need your protection anymore, uncle. So, if you want to sit around, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, as it were… be my guest. But my fire will wait for no one. Not even you."

She stood up then, uncurling her fingers from around the knife. It clattered against the table, jolting her uncle from whatever trance she placed him in. It was a bit satisfying to see him so staggered—to be the one who managed it. Before Rebecca could storm off and end this farce of a lecture, she felt her forearm grabbed. In her tirade, she had nearly forgotten the others sitting at the table. All the anger, confusion, and disappointment at the situation felt like a torrent inside, but the moment Burton touched her, those swelling raw emotions fled. Rebecca sharply turned her head, eyes on the silent man. To his credit, he did not appear to be aware of his actions. However, now all eyes were on him. He stared straight ahead, blinking once. Apprehension replaced her earlier flood of emotions.

"If you make another move," Burton began slowly. "Mr. Proctor will not be pleased."

Rebecca pursed her lips, realizing in this moment that Burton had chosen. He had been her shadow for two years, but he would remain a loyal dog to her uncle until the end. She tried not to allow the hurt pass across her face. It had not been her intention for him to choose. That had been the last thing on her mind when she had accepted the dinner invitation. This had not been how she pictured this evening going. Breaking completely away from her uncle. It had not been the plan, but she could not help but think that way. Burton turned his head, gaze lifting to meet hers. Rebecca immediately hardened her expression so that he would not see.

"But will you be pleased, Clay?" she wondered. Not waiting for an answer, she snatched her arm away from his grasp. "We're leaving." Rebecca turned, knowing her brother would understand. She heard the sound of a chair sliding across the floor, signaling his intent to follow her. "Goodbye, uncle."

"Mr. Proctor-"

"It's her decision—let her make it."

"Yes, sir."

"I won't stop you, Rebecca," Uncle called to her retreating form. "But you understand your actions are now your own."

"I do," Rebecca called back. She and her brother walked away. "Perhaps I have known all along…" she whispered.

0-0

Alison halted her movement. She had been about to climb back into bed when she heard the distinct sound of her screen door opening. The thing jammed a bit because it did not fit properly, so each time the door opened, it scratched against the frame. Furrowing her brow, she looked at her bedmate's form. Kurt slept on, unbothered by the sound. Perhaps it had only been the wind. Biting her lower lip, Alison slipped back the sheer curtains above the headboard and used two fingers to lift the thin metal of the blinds. In the backyard, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the two vehicles. Narrowing her eyes, she removed her fingers from the blind and allowed the curtain to fall back into place. It was nothing. But her body did not relax. She turned her head, ear straining to hear anything else.

Alison tensed, spine becoming steel at the sound of muffled footsteps. Releasing a silent, ragged, breath, she pressed her knee to the mattress. Her hand slipped beneath Kurt's t-shirt. Instead of a gentle caress, her fingers curled, nails lightly digging in. Kurt jerked awaked. Already, his mouth parted, expression screwed in confusion. Alison hurriedly covered his mouth with one hand while she held a finger to her closed lips. Understanding, Kurt tensed just as much. They both scrambled off the bed. Quietly as they could, they moved to the entrance of the bedroom. Alison opened the door and moved out of the room, Kurt hot on her heels.

While she checked the second bedroom, Kurt moved on down the stairs to assess the situation. Perhaps she was just being paranoid. Maybe the footsteps belonged to Hank. After all, he was in an unfamiliar environment. But the deep sleeper that he was would not have gotten up in the middle of the night. Stepping into the room, she expectedly noted the children asleep on the remnants of a fort. Hugging in their sleep, they had not been disturbed in the least. Jesus Christ. Despite the planning and assumptions, it was happening, wasn't it? The Brotherhood had come for them. Clenching her teeth, she plucked a rat-tail comb from the top of Naomi's dresser, and then left as silently as she had come, shutting door behind her.

She moved down the stairs, halting at Kurt's back. He turned to her and nodded. Then he held up his hand, showing all five digits. Five. Just as Kurt predicted. A seemingly overwhelming force to take him—them. Alison swallowed the sudden bile in her throat. Using Hank as a shield had not worked, after all. Damn it. She gripped the head of the comb. Well… She had planned for something like this as well, hadn't she? More like assumed this would happen eventually. Now that the time had come, her confidence faltered. Five men. Would they be able to take them all, especially considering they might be armed? Kurt got her attention again, waving his hand. He then held up to fingers and patted his chest. His other hand held up three fingers and pointed elsewhere. There were two of them closest to their position. The other three were farther away.

Alison patted her arm. Kurt shook his head, indicating he had not seen any weapons. It could be that they didn't have any, or had concealed them. Either way, they were running out of time. Their opportunity for some type of advantage dwindled the higher the trespassers ascended the stairs. Steeling herself, Alison released a deep silent sigh. Then she nodded her head. Kurt turned his head back. Underneath his t-shirt, she saw his back become rigid in preparation. He straightened his legs and lifted both arms at chest level. Alison, too, prepared herself for the onslaught. They had to be quick and merciless.

Finally, one of the intruders stepped onto the base that connected the two flights of stairs. Kurt immediately grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and then sharply turned to slam the man into the opposite wall. The one behind the man shouted something, but Alison gave him no time to lunge at Kurt's back. She quickly moved in between them, using what little space she could to launch herself at the second monster. Stunned at her presence, he did nothing to avoid or block. She raised her arm, and then hastily brought it down, ramming the metal tail of the comb directly in the monster's right eye. He screeched in pain, and Alison used that to push him down the first flight of stairs.

She did not count on the monster blindly reaching out. His fingers managed to curl around the front of her nightshirt, pulling her along with him. Fortunately, he landed first. With a resounding crack against the floor. Alison collapsed on top of him. Though her fall had been cushioned, the impact had been no less jarring. It took a moment for her to regain her senses. That moment was all it took for the other three to come into the den. One grabbed her by the arm, dragging her from their fallen comrade.

"And you must be the black bitch!" he remarked with a nasty smile on his face. Alison grimaced, leaving her free arm to drive the metal tail in his face. He only deflected the attempt, and then used the same hand to smack her across the face. She toppled to the floor, senses once again rolling. She lost her grip on the comb. "Where's the kid?" Alison, of course, did not answer him. Quicker than before, now that she was used to it, her senses returned. Curling her fingers into fists, she shifted her weight. Her leg shot out and backwards, nailing the monster in the gut. He wheezed and stumbled backwards into his two other comrades.

Alison turned, standing up as she did. On her right, she heard a cry of pain and surprise. In the next second, a body went flying down the stairs, landing on top of the already fallen monster. Then Kurt moved quickly down the stairs as well. He swiped his leg, knocking his bare foot against the monster's face. "Pony Joe!" Kurt growled, snapping his eyes up to glare. "How the fuck did you get out?!" Get out…? Alison shifted her full attention to the monsters in her living room. She could not exactly see them clearly without light, but she recognized the features she could make out. Their police sketches had been etched into her mind. Mammoth. White Snake. But… they had been arrested. Could they have been released?

"Traitor," Pony Joe returned the glare while holding his mid-section. "I knew you were a dumb piece of shit, but taking the boss' kid? That's a line not even the dumbest fucker could cross, but here you are, vaulting. We're not leaving here without the kid."

A surge of anger pried Alison's mouth open. "Then you're not fucking leaving!" she spit out. No more warning, she rushed forward. Her fingers latched on his shoulders and simultaneously brought up her knee to drive it into his solar plexus—the same spot she had managed to tag him before. She spun on the ball of her foot and shoved Pony Joe into the den. In the next instant, a large hand grabbed her right shoulder. She sank down and stepped forward, twisting her body to face her attacker and loosen the vice grip he had on her shoulder. White Snake had been the one to grab her. She smacked at his extended arm with her left hand, and then bent her arm to knock her elbow against his jaw. With her right hand, she straightened her fingers before jamming them into his side. He let out a pained grunt and lurched away from her.

"Bitch!" Mammoth shouted. Alison barely had enough time to turn her head. Using his entire weight, he tackled her. Knocked the wind out of her. She hit the entertainment center hard, breaking the left glass cabinet. She fell to her hands and knees. She felt a cut just above her left brow. She inhaled through clenched teeth, pushing herself to endure the pain. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mammoth coming towards her again. His arm stretched to reach her. Alison hurriedly scrambled back to avoid the hand. Then she reached for him, grabbing his sleeve. With a harsh tug, she yanked him in the same direction him moved. Losing his balance, Mammoth slammed face first into the cabinet, knocking the collection of DVDs out of place.

Alison released him then and moved further away. However, White Snake stood from the couch and aimed a kick her way. She could not quite dodge the toecap of his boot. It hit the underside of her chin, springing her head back. However, it had not been the full impact because she jerked backwards. She fell onto her back, and the position gave her an upside-down view of the den. Kurt and Pony Joe grappled with one another, unaware of another monster approaching Kurt with a swinging fist. "Behind you!" she shouted. Paying heed to the warning, Kurt swiftly angled his body to the left. The fist struck Pony Joe instead. Skinner—she recognized him, too—caused both of them to fall down. Alison quickly lifted her legs, tucking them in to roll on her shoulder.

The momentum allowed her to stand upright, facing White Snake again. He lunged at her, fingers wrapping around her throat. Predictable. Before he could squeeze any tighter, Alison bent her knees and raised her arms. She swiftly brought them down, hands posed in a chopping motion at his arms. Groaning out, White Snake's hands slip down. Alison backhanded him with a left closed fist. His head jerked to the side, so he did not see the follow up uppercut from her right. Her knuckles hit the underside of his chin. Not done, she raised her leg and kicked him in the gut. White Snake tripped over Mammoth's legs and fell backward.

Speaking of Mammoth, he had recovered. The massive monster stood up, sloppily aiming a punch her way. Alison ducked, missing the strike at her face. She then countered with a hard punch. He barely flinched. Gritting her teeth, she hit him again, knuckles colliding with his nose. She felt, rather than heard, a satisfying crunch. Mammoth released a howl of pain as blood spurted from his nostrils. Victory was short-lived because he jerked forward, wrapped his arms around her and pushing his entire weight against her. It felt like a bulldozer had crashed into her body. Laughing, Mammoth pressed down on her, maneuvering his arm free to raise. Without mercy, he brought his fist down on her face.

For a moment, she could not see. However, the adrenaline coursed through her already. Honestly, she could not feel it. A familiar feeling overtook her entirely. The next time his fist came down, Alison brought her arm up to block. With her other hand, she recklessly reached for anything she could use. Her fingers found Naomi's xylophone. She swung her arm and the bright-colored keys smacked against the side of Mammoth's temple. She had to smack him again in the same spot for him to roll off her. Free, Alison panted through clenched teeth. She did not allow herself a moment to compose her breathing. She turned her head and spit out blood. Then she stood up, faster than Mammoth could.

She sharply kicked at his leg, making him topple over again. The monster fell to his knees in front of her. She raised her arm, and then slammed the metal toy down on the back of his head. Repeatedly. From the corner of her eye, Alison noticed White Snake coming at her. She twisted, grabbing the toy with her other hand and swinging it at him. Apparently seeing it coming, the monster jerked back to avoid it. He did not avoid her foot against his shin, though. Like his comrade, he fell. Alison immediately lifted her knee, striking him underneath his chin. She swung the xylophone again, and this time, it crashed into his face with a merry jingle. White Snake sharply twisted to the side.

"Uncle K…?!"

Eyes widening, Alison turned to see Hank at the junction of the staircase. His uncle, however, remained focus on Pony Joe and Skinner. "Get back upstairs, Hank!" Alison shouted. The boy flinched violently, and then ran up the stairs. Then she felt herself being grabbed from behind. The sneak attack effectively pinned her arms to her sides. Even as she struggled against White Snake's hold, she saw that Pony Joe had broken away from the fight in order to head up the stairs as well. "Shit!" Thinking quickly, Alison brought up her legs. She used Mammoth's body like a platform and propelled herself, and White Snake, back. He hit the entertainment center with a pained grunt. She heard more glass break upon collision.

He lost his grip on her and Alison planted her feet on the floor again. She turned in his arms with just enough room to ram the xylophone in his solar plexus. White Snake coughed out in pain, choking on spit and blood. Alison hit him again with the toy and he fell to his knees. Then she punched him with her bare fist. Again and again. Until thoughts returned to her. My baby…! Jerking away from the unconscious man, Alison turned dashed to the den. Kurt fought off Skinner, who held a blade. Alarmed, she nearly halted her movements. However, she hadn't needed to. Kurt deflected and dodged all swipes from the knife. He then slammed his knuckles against Skinner's throat. The monster gagged, free hand reaching for his neck. Kurt used it to grab the Skinner's wrist and maneuver the blade directly into his former brother's gut.

Not needing to see anymore, Alison continued her way up the stairs, taking three steps at a time. Reaching the top, she turned quickly and went into the now opened door of Naomi's room. She came to a full stop. Everything inside her seemed to stop at the sight before her. Pony Joe stood in the middle of the room, looking directly at her. Right arm extended to a corner of the room where Hank protectively curled his body around Naomi's. Both children silently cried, shoulders bodies trembling to hold in the sobs. The monster had them at gunpoint. Alison remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed with absolute fear.

"Stay where you are," Pony Joe threatened, breathing hard. Bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth, he appeared haggard and desperate. "This was supposed to be fucking easy!"

"Pony Joe!" Kurt shouted. He came to stand near her, but Alison could not look away from the children. "Joey, please…! They're kids! You don't hurt kids!"

"Yeah, well, we're under new management, aren't we?" Pony Joe muttered. "You shouldn't have ticked off Calvin's wife." Alison twitched. Calvin's wife. Maggie Bunker had sent them here. Once again, she had underestimated that woman. Once again, her plans fell through because of that woman. "So, here's what will happen. I'm gonna walk out the front door with Hank and your half-bred. For leverage, you understand. I'm sure Calvin wants to meet his niece. Then, the two of you will not say a word to the police. Now that we know where you are, we're gonna send wave after wave to take you. Both of you will submit to The Brotherhood for the sin you committed."

"That's not gonna happen," Kurt said through gritted teeth.

"Shut the fuck up, Kurt," Pony Joe retorted. "That's exactly what's gonna happen. God—you've become everything wrong with the world. Now, slowly lower your weapons to the floor, and then kick them to me." For a few seconds, no one moved. "Now!" Swallowing, Alison bent her knees, placing the xylophone on the floor. "There, now that's a good field nigger." She twitched again, forcing the reaction down. Kurt, however, growled deep in his throat, offended by the slur. Alison lightly patted his arm, fingers trailing down his bleeding skin. A superficial cut she just noticed. Kurt nearly snarled but complied with the demand. He, too, lowered himself and dropped the bloody blade. Since the toy had wheels, a simple push was enough to move it closer to the monster. Kurt tossed the knife. "You better not fucking move."

Pony Joe swung his arm away from the children and instead pointed it at them. A mistake. Alison and Kurt glanced at one another, an agreement passing quick as lightning between their eyes. Without speaking, they moved as one. She went for the children and he went for the gun. Alison dropped down to the floor, using her own body as a shield if necessary. She turned around, spreading her arms to make herself a bigger target. However, it appeared she had not needed to. Kurt had grabbed the barrel of the revolver, expertly directing it to the ceiling. He weaved his arm around Pony Joe's, fist cracking against jaw. He swung on Kurt in kind.

The two moved around the room, struggling with other and exchanging blows. All the while, the gun aimed at the ceiling. Then one of the tripped. Alison did not see which one, but the cause lied with the xylophone. They both fell to the floor. The gun went off, causing her to flinch violently. Staring wide-eyed, she felt her lungs seize up. Because neither of them moved again. Her hearted battered against her chest. In the back of her mind, she realized her daughter had begun screaming in earnest. After all, the sound of a gunshot was loud and sudden. Still, she stared. There was blood—spattered on the wall above their heads. A gut-wrenching cry of his name left her lips but she did not hear it. For an agonizingly long moment, the stillness of the two bodies threatened to overwhelm her.

Then Pony Joe's shoulder moved. No. Unbidden, thoughts of violent retaliation filled her mind. She would bathe in his blood for what he had done. Already, her gaze darted around for a weapon. However, the monster continued to move in a most awkward fashion. Then, he was pushed from on top of Kurt's body. Breath returned to her lungs in an instant. Alison nearly choked on the relief. Though his face had been spattered as well, he definitely had not taken a bullet. Pony Joe, on the other hand, had not made it through the confrontation. Face-up on the floor, Alison could see the bullet hole, gushing with blood, underneath his chin. She released a rough breath as Kurt shimmied out from under the body. He slid a hand down his face, attempting to wipe away the blood. Then his eyes were on her, and she felt tears well. They had won this night.

But…

Quickly, Alison shifted, turning around to embrace the children. "Hush now…" she soothed, rocking them in her arms. "We're okay. We're fine. We're fine. We're fine. We're fine." It became a mantra, and soon, she felt both Naomi and Hank put their arms around her as well. Her daughter still cried, but she no longer screamed. Hank no longer shook so violently. Then another pair of arms wrapped around her—around them. Kurt sat behind her, squeezing them all. His familiar weight pressed against her back. He sighed heavily, nose against her neck. They were fine. They were all fine. Perhaps next time, they would not be. Alison squeezed her eyes shut, but the action did not stop the flow of tears.

0-0

Stiff as a board, Kurt stood outside, along with Sheriff Lucas Hood and Sheriff Deputy Brock Lotus. Morning had come, and with it, so did police cruisers, first responders, and mortuary transport. The house had become the newest crime scene in Banshee. Christ. They just kept popping up. This one had been too close. Too fucking close. Even now, Kurt could not shake the anger. No amount of wounding himself tight managed to suppress the whiplash on his senses. He wanted to hunt down every single member of The Brotherhood. Starting with the one responsible for last night. Kurt gritted his teeth, feeling like a complete idiot. Had he been more serious—had he immediately began to see her as the enemy, then maybe it would not have happened at all. If he had just come up with an excuse himself… If only. If only. It did not matter much now. Not when shit already hit the fan.

Brock and he crowded around the Sheriff, who held a tablet in his hands. After questioning and such, his boss decided to show him the surveillance footage from inside the station. Kurt watched the screen, arms folded tightly against his chest. In the video, Maggie, of all people, lured an officer to his death, and then shot another at his desk. The footage went on to show her releasing the newly arrested. Pony Joe, White Snake, Lynch, Skinner, and Mammoth. Out of the five, only two had lived to see the next morning. Clearly, Maggie had sent them here. She had lost her mind.

"Did you know about her?" Hood questioned once the video stopped playing.

"No, sir," Kurt said. "Well… I'm pretty sure one of her dates with Calvin was to a shooting range, but… I guess she kept going." He frowned deeply. "Christ. I can't believe she-"

"She's a wanted criminal now," Brock stated. "And a cop killer. We've already been given leeway to bring her in. Do you have any idea where she could be?"

"She might seek refuge at one of the hideouts," Kurt said. "She's the wife of the leader, so… anyone could be hiding her."

"Guess we have to go door-to-racist-door then," Hood muttered. "We already put a BOLO out for her. The news will run a broadcast, too."

"Do we have eyes on Calvin?" Kurt questioned. "She might reach out to him first despite the heat."

"As he's person of interest, we do have uniforms tailing him," Brock told him. "If anything more happens, we'll be the first to know." Kurt swallowed but nodded his head. "How are you holding up, though? I can't imagine how you must feel…"

Kurt's eyes flickered over to the porch. Alison sat on the edge, knees raised to hold up Naomi and Hank. They were all huddled together under the comfort of an emergency blanket. After giving her statement, Alison had not spoken a word to anyone else. Other than the kids. Low and calming had been what she conveyed to them. However, underneath the warmth, Kurt could tell there was a smoldering rage. She put on a front with the police. But Kurt saw she wanted nothing more than to right the wrong. Three dead were not enough. He found himself clenching his teeth again. Honestly, he did not feel any different.

"I can't let them get away with this," Kurt murmured. "I can't let her get away with this."

"Hey, Bunker, I know how you must feel, but you are definitely not on this case," Hood said. "The best thing you can do for your family right now is get them somewhere safe. I doubt this is the last time they'll come for you. What Maggie did was desperation. Desperate moms won't stop at nothing until they get their kid back."

"Yeah, you would know, wouldn't you?" Brock remarked, rolling his eyes. "I'm still offering you my place." He directed his next statement to Kurt. "Until all this blows over, I mean. I know what Alison said, but even she has to admit, relocating would be for the best." Kurt kept his eyes on the woman in question. Even from the distance, he could see her tear-stained face. He wondered if she would admit something like that. Probably. But only to him. It was all about trust with her.

"Thank you, sir, but it's still not necessary," Kurt replied. Brock opened his mouth, expression contorting in confusion. "I already have something lined up. I might need a few days off."

"Of course, anything you need," Hood agreed with a nod of his head. "In the meantime, I'll have Job try to piece together how anyone could have gotten their hands on an ADA's home address in the first place. After they left the station, according to your statement, it seems they came straight here. So either they knew beforehand or-"

"Maggie told them," Kurt said, barely containing the growl.

"Maybe, but how would she had known?" Brock wondered. "Albeit, she's not a normal housewife, but civilians don't have access to records like those."

"Could it have been the District Attorney?" Kurt questioned. "He's been a pain since he stepped in his position. Alison made him resign. Might have a grudge."

"I have Raven looking into that," Hood said. "It's the only reason he's not here." That information tempered him somewhat. Knowing that his coworkers—his friend—was covering all bases. "We'll take care of everything until you're ready to come back."

"Thank you, sir," he said. Hood nodded his head again. Brock hit Kurt's shoulder and gave a nod of his own. The two walked off, leaving Kurt by himself. He sighed heavily, but the breath did not ease him in the slightest. More than likely, he would not be okay for a while. Not until he did something about this. Frowning again, he began to make his way towards the front entrance of the house. Naomi lifted her head at his approach, and then immediately stretched her arm towards him. In response, Kurt sat down next to them and lifted his daughter from Alison's leg. "Hey, sweetie," he said, setting her down on his legs.

"Dabun…" she said, voice subdued. Kurt glanced at Hank. The boy remained curled in Alison's embrace. He appeared to be sleeping. It was surprising that Naomi had not submitted to sleep as well. "Dabun is hurt." Her voice stole his attention again. His daughter lightly patted his arm, which had been bandaged. The medical dress showed a bloodstain. Skinner, line his nickname implied, had brought a knife. Fortunately, he died by his own weapon.

"I'm okay," Kurt said. Truly, it was a flesh wound. It could have been much worse. "Your dad's strong." Naomi dipped her head, and then abruptly pitched forward to hug him. Kurt lightly patted her back. Of course, she could not have really understood what had happened. But she understood that her father had been hurt. So had her mother. Again, he turned his eyes to Alison. Still, she had not spoken. He sighed deeply, realizing they needed to talk. He eyed her bruised skin underneath her eye. That fucker had hit her so hard. If he ever saw Mammoth on the street again, Kurt did not think he would be able to stop himself from throttling him. "Alison-"

"Don't," she interrupted. Kurt pressed his lips together. "I know I messed up. I know-" She swallowed and hugged Hank tighter. "I was too prideful… and it nearly cost us… everything." She lowered her head. "I should not have waited so long."

"Alison," Kurt tried again, free hand squeezing her thigh. This time, she turned to look at him. He could tell her so many things. Words of comfort. It wasn't her fault. She could not have known. Their family had made it through. However, those words would be hollow to her right now. Hollow to himself. "What happens now?" he asked instead. Alison eyed him quietly for a moment before turning her gaze to the lawn.

"They can't be so close to danger again," she whispered. "We get them out—like you wanted."

"And then…?"

"They wanted this… this war so badly," Alison said. She shook her head. "They could have kept to themselves. But they chose to involve you—to try and win you back to their side. They split us apart. Then they chose to go against Proctor—provoke him in the worst way. And now, they've chosen to come for me—for my family. Again. It's just a vicious cycle. Without an end, there can be no beginning. So… fine." Her voice hardened, coming through bared teeth. "They've gone too far, so I'm going to give them exactly what they want. Because this can't happen again. Never again. Never again. Never again."

Kurt lifted his hand from her knee and made a grab her hand. Her dark brown eyes looked his way. Her eyebrow shot up. Her expression dared him to object. No. he wouldn't. Before, he might have been reckless in his—nonexistent—plan to kill Watts, and he still thanked Alison for talking him down, but he had not been completely wrong. Something drastic had to be done for the change. Otherwise, it would not come.

The long, and tedious, process of law would eventually get them to a tolerable environment for raising their child. But not the best. And now that they had tried lawful methods, which failed, there was no other options. As far as he was concerned, they had both reached the same conclusion. Together, they would force the change. Together, they would ensure Banshee became safe for their family. Together, they would become the ruthless monsters of their pasts. All for the change.

"It will be worth it," Kurt assured, matching her unwavering tone.

0-0

Eyes wide opened, Calvin Bunker took in all corners of the television in his motel room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, roughly turning the ring around his finger. He was alone in the dark, only the light of the television catching his hunched form. His teeth clenched hard as he continued practically soaking in the blaring news report. Blaring though it may have been, it compared little to the thrumming of his own heart. The ringing reached his ears, constricted his throat, and made his eyes water. So loud and unyielding. It completely drowned out the buzzing from behind him. His cell phone had been buzzing for hours—probably from those who wanted to tell him what he already knew. What everyone already knew.

His wife in the wind—wanted for murder.

His son taken from him—lost in the system.

His best friend gone—first locked up, and then dead.

His entire life was falling to pieces.

Calvin pressed his hands together in front of his face. He released short and uneven bursts of air from his mouth. His knee bobbed uncontrollably. The news report seemingly echoed in his mind, playing on repeat. The longer the news dragged, the more he felt the pressure. The weight of it all threatened to crush him. Filled him with outright fury. Calvin abruptly stood up and walked to bathroom. He flipped the light on, and then went to the sink. His reflection stared back at him, breathing harshly through clenched teeth. He gripped the edge of the sink. Unwanted memories of the past few days ran through his mind, fueling his anger.

Where had it all started? Maybe finding out that his brother fathered a half-bred child. Maybe learning that Proctor had his guys killed at The Reich. Maybe realizing that his wife had been unfaithful. Maybe watching his kid as he had willingly gone with that beaner. Maybe it was the combination of it all. And then to find out that Joey was dead? What the hell had he been doing a run for anyway? Especially after escaping from the police station. It hadn't made sense. The man followed orders, and Calvin had not initiated an order for a run. He wouldn't have with all the heat. And now his friend was dead. Clenching his teeth, he watched his face harden further. Piled on and heavy, the recent events bore deep inside him.

Unable to hold back any longer, Calvin lashed out. His fist smashed against the mirror, shattering his reflection. He punched the mirror again and the glass cut into his knuckles. He could not feel the pain, so he struck at it repeatedly. The mirror broke completely, falling off the wall. He pushed himself from the sink, panting heavily. Blood dripped from hand onto the bathroom floor. A heavy sigh left him then. For the moment, the pressure subsided. But it would come again. However, it was enough to clear his mind a bit.

He blinked once, and then stared down at the sink full of glass. He felt as though he lost control. His power slipped through his fingers, and right now, no amount of scrambling could grasp it. He was losing. The thought caused him to shake. He trembled, barely restraining the desolate feeling of despair. Losing and he only hid away from the world in this cheap, dirty motel room. How could he face any of his comrades like this? How could he still rise above all these fuckups? He had to get back on top. He had to head this off somehow. But how? He was losing traction. Another wrong move and everything he built could come crashing down. He needed to take back his control.

Calvin roughly rubbed at his forehead and sighed again. A thought struck him. One he had had before. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. Why had he brushed it beside? Oh. His unfaithful wife. Of course. A calm swept over him then. He would gather everyone. Every single person under his command. He would make this town his. Completely. It was the only way to rise above this heap of failures. The only way to brush off this pressure. Banshee would be under his heel. Whether it be Proctor or the law, no one could stop the full force of The Brotherhood. No one. After he was finished, there would be no other doubts. Calvin exhaled slowly before turning to walk into the main room again. He grabbed the cell phone from the bed and jabbed his thumb against the screen.

"I am the leader," Calvin said to himself. "I am in charge." He put the phone up to his ear. "I am The Brotherhood…" The phone rang in his ear. "And it's about time everyone fucking knows it."


Guess who still hasn't reached the end?

Oh well!

Maybe next time?

Thank you, again, for all who have continued reading this story.