AN: Long, but I wanted to end it with the season finale. Let me know what you guys think, and enjoy!

Chapter 2

Sweeney was sat in a back booth, gnawing on the remnants of what used to be a 32 ounce porterhouse steak –with full sides, and a twenty-year-old Irish whiskey to wash it down. He fully abused Tove's offer for food and drink on the house. He'd feel guilty if he thought it'd put her out in the least.

It was tender and well-seasoned, but it did little to alleviate the weight on his shoulders. He felt bogged down by everything, from the coming war to the guilt at sacrificing the young woman upstairs. He still hadn't come to terms with giving her the coin back. Part of him cursed the action over and over. It berated him for being so stupid. He could have saved himself mountains of trouble if he'd just walked away.

The other side, a smaller, but persistent side, reminded him that he owed her. He had murdered a relatively innocent young woman. Mad Sweeney was a lot of things. He was a mad king, a cursed blasphemer, a traitor, and a coward. He was a drunk, an asshole, and everything in between. He'd killed many people through his long life, but never had he taken the life of someone who didn't deserve it. At the very least, they were able to defend themselves. What he did to Laura Moon was worse. There was no honor in it, which, despite the last few decades, still meant something to the Celtic king.

So he felt obligated to return the coin to her chest, to give her the temporary life it'd granted her. He thought –whether foolishly or not- that if he somehow found a way to resurrect her, it'd wipe his slate clean. If he was lucky, maybe it would give him better balance when it was him time before the scales.

He drank the stinging alcohol in one long gulp, washing down the steak he'd been chewing on. When he set the glass back down, he spotted Tove weaving through the area heading for him. She looked entirely out of place wearing what most might sleep in, and no shoes. If she didn't own the establishment, they probably would have thrown her out.

Whether he could help it or not, Sweeney was still in awe of her at first sight. It was simply a byproduct of her kind, no different than with mermaids, sirens, sprites, or nymphs. It was their beauty that would distract humans –or men in general- from how dangerous they really were. In the case of the Valkyrie, Sweeney assumed it was to calm the warriors they reaped. Then again, it could just as easily been because the Vikings who dreamt them into existence dreamt them as being the most beautiful women in Scandinavia.

She slid easily into the booth beside him and settled into place.

"Where's the Dead Wife?" He asked as he sliced into his steak.

She noticed the mass of dead cow on his plate and arched a brow to it, but didn't comment.

"Drying." She replied simply. "She has a mouth on her, doesn't she?"

Sweeney scoffed sarcastically. "That mouth o' hers what got her into this mess."

Tove didn't remark on his comment. She leaned back and got somewhat comfortable in her seat. She fit in the booth about as well as he did. Sweeney might have had about five inches in height on the six-foot-tall Valkyrie, but they both had long legs that struggled to fit beneath most any table.

"Are you taking her to Ostara?" Tove asked.

Sweeney stabbed another chunk of meat and shoved it into his mouth. "Aye," he said around it before he began to chew.

"Why? Why is this girl so important to you?"

Sweeney's chewing had hesitated as he thought briefly on how to answer, but he didn't linger. Instead, he did his best to appear more in control and nonchalant than he felt.

"Cause I need to." He said.

He suddenly felt a chill creep down his spine, one that raised the hair on the back of his neck and his arms. He knew it was Tove and didn't want to look up to confirm it, but the action was reflexive. She was staring at him blankly, with no expression twisting her features one way or the other, but he still felt the power behind it. She was disappointed, or angry, and it caused a very real chill in him.

"What?" he asked.

"The truth, Shuibhne." Her voice was as icy as her eyes.

He fought the urge to say anything at all, but as before, he reacted instinctively, and the truth spilled out regardless of his desires.

"She has my coin." He reluctantly told her. Tove arched a single brow. "It's what's keepin' her alive, alright?" Her other brow rose to meet it. "I need to get her kickin' again so I can get it back."

"Just take it back." She said as though the choice should've been obvious.

"I can't." He hissed through his teeth. "I gave the fuckin' thing to 'er man, and he gave it to her. I can't fuckin' take it back."

"I can." She said with a shrug. "I can go upstairs right now and pluck it out of her body."

When he didn't immediately reply, Tove seemed to take his silence as her answer and attempted to rise, only to be grabbed by Sweeney and yanked back down into her seat. He held her wrist firmly, but wouldn't meet her eye for more than a second.

"Don't." He muttered under his breath.

Tove settled in her seat once again and his hold relaxed as a result. She readjusted herself and gave him her full attention.

"Perhaps you should tell me exactly what's going on."

Sweeney took in a deep breath and let it out in another long sigh. He'd hoped to avoid the truth, but there was little else he could do at the moment.

Upstairs, Laura was still lying on the floor where Tove had left her, reading one page after another about the leprechaun Mad Sweeney. It took her a little longer than she would have liked to find anything on him that she'd believe, but she eventually managed. Laura took what he'd said in the truck before their wreck and used it as a template. If what she was reading was true, she… well, she didn't know what to think.

Wikipedia was where she finally found her "answers".

"The Madness of Sweeney," She mumbled to herself, "Is an old folktale… blah, blah, blah…" She scanned ahead, "The curse of Saint Ronan caused the king of Dal nAraidi…" She knew she butchered the name the moment it left her lips. "In Ulster, Ireland. Hm,"

Laura continued to read and learned that the Mad King was angry the church was trying to encroach on his property. Pissed off, he confronted them and killed a monk with a spear. Saint Ronan cursed him with insanity. Apparently, that insanity caused him to flee the Battle of Mag Rath.

That must be the battle he was talking about. She thought to herself.

Further on the page, it said that while he wandered, the king crossed paths with Saint Ronan again, attacked him, and was cursed… again. Laura had to admit that sounded about right. She could see the dumbass picking fights with the same person more than once.

The legend rounded out by saying that the second curse was for Mad Sweeney to wander the world as a bird, never able to settle, and that he'd eventually die at the end of a spear.

Laura wasn't entirely certain how to comprehend what she'd read. She almost didn't want to believe it because, naturally, it was fucking ridiculous. On the other hand, she was dead and moving around because of a magical coin.

Curiously, she clicked on a link that would tell her what the Battle of Mag Rath was, and felt her jaw drop.

"Holy shit," She said to herself. One line stood out in stark detail to her. The Battle of Moira, known archaically as the Battle of Magh Rath, was fought in the summer of 637 AD.

If that was true, Mad Sweeney was well over a thousand years old.

When she looked up leprechauns, she wasn't given anything overly helpful. It was a lot of shit about making shoes, or granting wishes if caught. None of it suited the man she'd spent the last couple of days with. Strangely enough, the leprechaun lore was easier for her to dismiss, especially since they were –according to the internet- tiny little creatures. Mad Sweeney, most definitely, wasn't a tiny little creature.

Next, Laura did a quick search about Valkyries, though she figured she had a fair idea of what they were. Then again, maybe she didn't? It wasn't as though she ever thought they'd be real, too.

"Goddesses of life, death, battle, and magic," She read on an obscure answer site. "Divine escorts of souls, knew that." She mumbled and skipped ahead through the short paragraph until finding something more interesting.

Valkyrie would apparently ride into battle, descending from the heavens on the backs of giant, ethereal wolves, not horses. For some reason, that moment, it donned on her that the tattoo on Tove's shoulder and arm looked a lot like a wolf.

Their battle cries would strike fear and awe into the warriors below, but they didn't actually fight. Instead, they'd remain in the background and choose who would die and who would win. After the battle was over, they'd take those they picked to one of two halls, either Valhalla or Fólkvangr.

They were fierce, brave, and vicious women who served the highest of the Norse Gods. They could transform into either ravens or swans, and had a habit of falling in love with other warriors, but one thing caught her attention and refused to let it go.

Valkyries were the personal warriors of the Norse God, Odin, and fulfilled his wishes in the mortal realm, Midgard.

Laura's jaw tightened. In parenthesis next to Odin's name were a few additional names that she assumed were his aliases. One of them struck a chord: Grimnir. She'd heard that word before, that name. Sweeney had said it while she was kicking his ass in the hotel room

According to Sweeney, Wednesday was Grimnir, and according to the article Grimnir was Odin himself. That meant Tove was serving the man keeping her from Shadow and that made Laura very, very angry. As far as she knew, Tove wasn't helping her. Instead, she was helping Wednesday keep her away from her husband.

As she lay on the floor, Laura's anger grew. She nearly vibrated with rage, making herself madder and madder as the seconds ticked by. She was tired of Gods getting in her way, of assholes keeping her from Shadow. She'd had enough of it.

Minutes after her rage had hit its fever pitch, the door to the apartment opened, and Tove and Sweeney entered. Laura shot to her feet and charged angrily towards the towering woman.

"Where is he?!" she demanded.

Tove and Sweeney were temporarily stunned, surprised into silence by her sudden accusations.

"Who?"

"Shadow." She said angrily. "Where is he?"

Sweeney sighed and rolled his eyes. He stepped around the two and regained the seat he'd once had at the dining room table leaving Tove to deal with the furious corpse.

"How should I know?" Tove replied nonchalantly.

She took a step to the side with every intention of moving around Laura, but the angry little woman was unwilling to let that happen. She reached out and grabbed Tove by the arm, holding it as tightly as she could while she stared hatefully up at the Valkyrie with increasingly muddying eyes.

"Where. Is. Shadow?" She repeated through a tight jaw. "I may not be able to hurt you, but I can break every bone in your little hubby's body." The serious tone left her voice immediately, replaced with a downright chipper sound. "I don't think it'll kill him. I mean, you guys are technically immortal, right?"

Laura ended her threat with a flash of a smile. She released Tove's arm as well and took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for an answer. Sweeney remained in his seat with a lighter inches from the end of his cigarette, frozen in the moment. His eyes danced between the two young women, waiting for whatever was about to happen. Laura, meanwhile, was quite proud of her threat. She'd become rather good at them in recent days.

But Tove's reaction wasn't what she expected. A wide smile spread across her full lips, one big enough that Laura was given a glimpse of her perfect, pearly-white teeth. A gentle giggle formed in the Valkyrie's throat.

"That was foolish." She cooed before, suddenly, she reacted.

Tove's hand shot out faster than Laura could register, and wrapped around the dead woman's throat. Laura suddenly felt the weight of her body pulling down on her neck from where Tove held her, and her feet leaving the ground. Slowly, she became eye-level with the Viking until she was forced to look down at Tove. She clutched at Tove's forearm and struggled to release herself, but it was useless.

Her eyes were cold and distant, flashing periodically with bits of what Laura could only describe as fire. As before, Laura was consumed with an unmistakable chill. She felt it deep in her bones, a deeper cold than she felt on a regular basis since she'd been revived. It scared her because she knew, on some level, that Tove was the cause.

"Never threaten me, little girl." She said with a surprisingly innocent voice. "I'm not the sort of being you want to anger, especially someone in your condition." She lowered Laura until she was eye-level once again. She even brought the young woman within inches of her own face. "I will plunge my fist through your chest and rip that precious coin from within you, and return you to the Netherworld, where you can pay your debt." A stab of fear shot through Laura at the thought and Tove seemed to notice. A sinister smile twisted her lips. "Ah, you know what awaits you, too, don't you?" Laura didn't respond, but Tove let out another soft, unsettling giggle. "I can read a soul as easily as a book, and I see yours, Laura Moon. You believed in nothing, so you are nothing, and nothing awaits you in the end." Still beaming, Tove dragged her bottom lip through her teeth before she added, "Know your place, Dead Girl."

And with that, Tove dropped Laura. She barely caught herself before she would have crumbled to the floor. Laura coughed and choked on the air she struggled to take in. There was no need, her throat didn't hurt, but it was reflexive, as was her need to tenderly massage her neck.

Laura gradually rose to her feet, the whole while Tove stared down her nose at the corpse. Her eyes gradually drift back to Sweeney.

"What's she talking about?"

"Her man." Sweeney replied as he rolled another cigarette. "Grimnir's got 'im on a short leash."

"Hm," Tove nodded absently. She looked at Laura again. The young woman had shrunk away a little, pulling her jacket back around her body to shield herself from sight. "Come here,"

Tove motioned for Laura to follow, and for some reason, she did. Tove grabbed the duct tape once more and positioned herself in front of Laura so that the Dead Girl's back was to Sweeney. She unfurled a long piece of the silver tape. Laura instinctively opened her shirt and as she assumed would happen, Tove pressed the duct tape over the Y incision marks, adding a second layer of adhesion to keep her skin together. Laura thought it was a little over the top given she planned to be in a living body soon, but she said nothing of it. The sliver of fear Tove had forced into her prevented it.

"Stay here."

The giantess left, slinking off to her bedroom to retrieve a shirt, which she proceeded to toss at the corpse.

"It won't fit, but it'll cover you." She replied.

Laura mumbled something like thanks under her breath and quickly shed herself of her torn and ratted clothing. She pulled the simple t-shirt she'd been given on, but as Tove warned, the much smaller woman swam in the off-white fabric. It surprised no one given the size discrepancy.

"Ostara's not going to be happy with this." Tove said to Sweeney as she approached her kitchen cabinets.

"Yeah, well," He grumbled. "Ain't got much choice."

"Yes, you do." She said easily.

Sweeney shot her a stare through his brows, a warning glance that surprised Laura, but he didn't elaborate. Clearly, the two had spoken about something while she wasn't around.

"It's just a suggestion." Tove walked back to the living room with a bottle of white powder in her hand. She unstopped it and poured some of it into her open palm. With her gaze on Laura, she blew into the small mound in the center of her hand, spreading it wide over the dead woman.

"What the fuck?!" Laura spat hatefully. She swatted at herself and coughed as she was covered in the powder.

Tove didn't immediately reply. Instead, she repeated the action once more before moving toward Sweeney. He barely had a chance to open his mouth in protest before Tove blew a cloud of dust onto him as well.

"Damn it, woman." He growled angrily.

"What the fuck did you just throw on me?!" Laura yelled.

Tove arched a brow as she placed the glass stopper back into the mouth of the bottle. "Bone dust," She said, "And a few other things. It will help with the smell." She looked briefly at the glowering Sweeney. "You both stink."

Sweeney offered a forced, sarcastic smile in response. She winked back.

In Ostara's mansion, after the loud declaration that Laura wouldn't be brought back that day, Sweeney struggled to catch his breath. The ache in his groin hadn't subsided in the least. It continued to throb with each heartbeat. He wondered if Laura had done irreparable damage when she held him against the wall by his balls.

"What do you think Gods do?" He asked the young woman at his side. For the briefest of moments, he was genuinely shocked she seemed surprised. "They do what they've always done. They fuck with us. They fuck with all of us." He let out a small sigh. "Don't take it personally. I don't."

But he could see Laura's agitation rise. He both envied and pitied her. On the one hand, up until that point, she'd been blissfully ignorant to the shit-ways of the Gods. She'd been able to go about her life thinking nothing happened for a reason, it just happened. Now he pitied her because she knew the truth.

"He needed yer man." Sweeney told her solemnly. "He needed 'im in a place where he had nothin' left in the world, nothin' to lose because he'd already lost everything."

Laura shook her head. She ran her bottom lip between her teeth in frustration. He watched her carefully. If she lashed out again, he knew he'd have to run because she probably wouldn't be able to stop herself a second time.

"What does Wednesday have to lose?"

His brows tugged together as he looked at the still-Dead Wife. "You serious?"

"Yeah," She said as though it should be obvious. "I want to take everything away from him, like he did me."

Sweeney scoffed and shook his head as he leaned it against the wall again. "They're Gods." He shot back at her. "You can't jus' wage war on 'em."

"Watch me." She growled. Laura pointed a stern finger at him. "And I don't care if that creepy fucking Valkyrie shows up. If she gets in my way, I'll kill her, too."

The Irishman's eyes shot to her and found laser-sharp focus. At first, Laura met his stare without reservation, but as the seconds ticked by, she could have sworn she saw them darken. The longer she stared back, the more certain Laura became that the hazel in his eyes was growing blacker and blacker until they were like two polished obsidian stones.

Her stoic exterior wavered under the weight of his gaze.

"What is your deal with her, anyway? How the hell did the two of you even meet?"

A single brow twitched upward briefly. Sweeney rolled his head lazily to the side. He propped up his leg and rested his forearm against his knee before he spoke.

"I've been courtin' death for as long as I can remember." He said with a solemn, distant voice. He shrugged a single shoulder as he added, "Can't get much closer to death than a Valkyrie. S'pose it's the same with 'er. When I finally die, she'll be the one to take my soul off."

Laura's brows furrowed. "She owns your soul?"

A small, listless sort of smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he mused over what she said. "S'pose so."

Laura opened her mouth, ready to speak again, when every hint of light in the hall where she and Sweeney sat was choked out of existence.

"What the hell?" She asked absently as she rose to her feet. Sweeney stood as well while Laura looked out the windows. "It's… it's almost completely dark. Where the hell did the clouds come from?"

"Give ya one guess."

Laura spun with her confusion still clearly plastered across her face. "Bullshit."

Sweeney arched a single brow. "Still think ya can wage a war on 'em?"

She didn't believe him, he could tell. In fact, she looked like she was openly trying to find some other explanation.

When she couldn't, she instead chose to seek it out. Sweeney watched with detached curiosity as Laura charged out of the hall and into the manor. He followed lazily behind her.

Shortly after leaving his side, Laura pushed open a pair of doors that led to an outside walkway that overlooked the back garden. She paused at the railing, giving him enough time to reach her. He saw quickly what held her attention. Everyone was downstairs, including her husband. Shadow, Wednesday, three of the New Gods, and Ostara were stood debating, or "talking" to one another while a handful of droogs stood behind them.

The man who shimmered and pulsed, who seemed without a true body, was the one speaking when they'd arrived.

"My message to you," He said with a cool ease, "Is don't fight."

"I don't have to fight." Wednesday said confidently. The clouds in the sky began to undulate and flicker with lightning. "I have faith, faith in my followers."

"You don't have any followers, old man." Tech Boy taunted. "You're a fucking relic!"

Despite his back being to the pair, Sweeney could practically feel Wednesday's slimy grin.

"Oh, don't I? Valkyrie!" He bellowed his call, his voice echoing through the clouds above as though it was thunder itself.

Eyes instinctively drifted skyward. Another distant, but clear boom could be heard somewhere in the darkness. A moment later, a silvery, almost luminescent projectile sailed to the ground with vicious intent. It slammed into the well-designed stone porch so hard that Sweeney felt it vibrate through his feet.

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. From his perch above, Sweeney saw a shockwave of dust fly away from her and gradually settle. Tove had been the projectile, the silvery thing that flew through the air only to land knelt over on bent knee a few feet from the man who'd summoned her.

The warrior woman slowly rose to her full height. She wore no armor, no leather, or glinting mail, but exuded her strength and power despite the denim jeans, boots, and loose-fitting tee.

"I offer these deaths to Ostara," Wednesday said.

Tove casually approached the beautiful woman in the spring dress. She removed a silver pipe roughly ten inches long from her back pocket. When she reached Ostara, Tove knelt before her, and dipped her head. Ostara's smile was serene, but undeniably happy. She touched her delicate hand to her chest and bowed her head respectfully to the woman before her. Tove rose.

She positioned herself in front of the New Gods and their small army. Media didn't seem able to remove the shock and terror from her perfectly selected face.

"Which deaths?" She asked in a surprisingly meek voice.

But no one offered a response. Tove flicked her wrist. The pipe in her hand expanded in an instant, growing exponentially in length. What was once a small, possibly dangerous chunk of metal had suddenly transformed into a six-foot spear with a ten-or-more-inch oblong blade at the end. Sweeney could practically hear the weapon sing from his stance on the balcony.

The air was electric, aided by the lightning still sparking through the dark clouds above.

"Do it," Wednesday's two words, barely uttered, was all the prompting Tove needed.

With a ferocious battle cry, the Valkyrie launched herself into the middle of the droogs. She swung her spear with vicious and deadly precision, and sliced through the faceless men with ease. They fought her as best they could, but they made no headway against the mythic warrior.

Tove wielded her spear with the dexterity and lethal accuracy of a small blade, all the while cutting down her enemies. Within seconds, the air had gone silent again, the fight brought to an end when she swept her spear tip through the gut of one of the faceless droogs, slicing him in half. His blood and internal bits landed on the grass with a sickening thwack.

With her hands and her dangerous weapon dripping with crimson, Tove stepped around the New Gods and joined Wednesday's side. She slammed the end of her spear into the ground with a deep, reverberating thud, and went motionless.

From his perch, Sweeney couldn't fight his grin. "That's my girl." He chuckled to himself. He couldn't help it. Watching Tove fight always stirred something within him.

Technical Boy and Media shifted uncomfortably. Their fear was barely hidden, and it was delicious to the Old Gods.

Wednesday turned to Shadow, the poor young man too stunned to do much else. "Do you have faith, Shadow?" He asked with his smooth, silky voice, the voice that rewarded him with anything he desired.

"What are you?" Was all he could ask.

"Do you know me? Do you know what I am?" Wednesday countered. "Do you want to know who I am?"

"Tell me," Shadow replied unsurely.

"This is what they call me. I'm called Glad-of-War, Grim, Raider, and Third." The storm began to intensify around them. "I am One-Eyed. I am also called Highest, and True-Guesser. I am Grimnir, and I am the Hooded One. I am All-Father, Gondlir Wand-Bearer." More thunder echoed in the sky and blinding lightning sliced through it. "I have as many names as there are winds, as many titles as there are ways to die." Wednesday's voice grew in volume, "My ravens are Huginn and Muninn, Thought and Memory; my wolves are Freki and Geri; my horse is the gallows. I. Am. Odin!"

His voice tore through the air and sent shockwaves through those who stood near. It nearly took Shadow from his feet, both in tone and the declaration behind it.

"Odin?" He asked, unable to hide his fear.

"Woden!" He exclaimed before turning on his heel and pointing a stern finger at their hostess. "And you are Ostara of the Dawn! Show them who you are!"

Beaming with an infectious smile, Ostara stepped forward and unleashed a terrifying power. The clouds parted and sun bore down on them. The wind picked up shortly after and, as though flexing her muscles, Ostara truly went to work. A patch of death spread from her, all green vanishing to nothing as she took back the life she'd given. The Queen of the Solstice, Mother of Spring, rescinded the gift she had so freely given.

Within seconds, the once sculpted woman was reduced to her true state, with tendrils of golden, sun-colored hair settled around her head. After such a display of power, it was disarming to see her appear so innocent.

"What have you done?" Media asked in a wispy, fearful voice.

Ostara only smiled wider.

"You wanted a war," The sputter, unnatural voice of Mr. World drew attention to one of the bodies Tove had dissected. His face flickered in and out of existence as he spoke. "God of War. Be glad. It will be the war you die in."

"Tell the believers and the nonbelievers," Wednesday declared, ignoring Mr. World's statement entirely. "Tell them that we have taken the spring and if they want it back, they're going to have to pray for it." He smiled before glancing to Shadow, "Do you believe?"

The poor man hesitated, too consumed with the awe he'd witnessed to reply at first. "I believe." He muttered.

"What do you believe?"

"Everything…"

"Eh-hem,"

The strange voice drew eyes to the upper balcony. Sweeney could tell none of them expected to see Dead Wife or him there.

"I'd like a word with my husband, please." She said.

Sweeney rolled his eyes at her before they fell to Tove. The moment he saw her smile form, he couldn't help but smile, too. He winked at her, to which she blew him a small kiss.