AN: Oh, God. Sorry this took so long! I've bitten off more than I can chew, lol. Too many stories going at once, and I still need to figure out how the hell to incorporate Tove into later chapters. Still, if you guys are still reading, I hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think!

Chapter Four

(lil' bit o' smut, lol)

They continued to pass untold miles beneath the wheels of Ol' Betty. More than once, the driver shifted. It was only fair, apparently. At the moment, it was Shadow behind the wheel, Wednesday snoozing in the passenger's seat, Dead Wife still pressed against her window, with Tove in the center, and Sweeney rounding out the trio.

Most everyone who could had drifted, but there was no sleeping for Dead Wife. She never slept a wink, which bothered Sweeney greatly. It creeped him out, honestly. She's dead. Wasn't that what the dead were meant to do, sleep? Sounded about right, but no. There she was, stinking up the car and casting her cold, milky eyes disapprovingly in his direction more than once.

Tove had taken to leaning against him at some point during her nap. He'd managed to place his back to the corner as best he could, and she rested her back to his chest. They were "lying down" as much as possible given their sheer heights, and Dead Wife taking up the adjacent corner.

He's spent time staring out the window briefly, an arm draped over the back of Betty's seat with the other resting on his knee, but when he looked back around the car, he noticed Laura eying him and Tove again. She'd done it more than once, each time with a blank expression that darkened the moment she was caught. Now was no different. The minute she realized he'd caught her yet again, she glared, slid her sunglasses back up her nose, and looked out the window.

He scoffed and shook his head, but let his attention drop to Tove as well. Her head was facing the front of the car, her forehead against his chin, and she was currently nestled beneath his denim jacket. It was a shit blanket, but served its purpose. He didn't need it with her covering as much of him as she did even though the car was cold as balls. That was for Dead Wife. With the windows up or merely cracked, blasting the AC was the best way to keep her stink down.

As he stared down at Tove, Sweeney was filled, once more, with the desire to "touch". It was a constant companion when they were together. He didn't know why he had little to no control over himself when she was around, but assumed it was for one simple reason: she let him. What straight man –mythical or otherwise- could say no to a beautiful woman who got off on being touched by them? None.

The urge to touch began to consume him to the point Sweeney didn't care that they were in a car filled with people, and Wednesday was among them. The arm that had been on the back of the seat slowly, gradually, slid down the slick leather and promptly disappeared beneath his jacket. The instant his hand wrapped around her breast, he felt a wave of desire wash through him. He had to genuinely bite back a groan at the feeling of the tender, soft mound in his grip.

Her shirt was thin, her bra equally lacking in fabric, which meant he felt everything, including the way her nipple perked. Sweeney was consumed in the feeling, one that was added to when she shifted against him. A soft sigh left her lips and he knew in that moment that she was not only awake, but receptive.

A thought, a truly devilish thought, sparked to life in his mind. Sweeney adjusted himself just enough that the hand which had once been resting on his knee clutched her hand beneath the jacket. He didn't hesitate to wrap it around his growing erection. He heard Tove giggle which made him grin.

In ancient Gaelic, he whispered in her ear, "Bit o' magic could make this fun."

He knew she understood, that she caught his meaning, and he knew she wanted to fool around too. But Tove seemed to have other ideas.

She said back in the same tongue, "No,"

Before Sweeney had the chance to ask why or make his case for what he knew they'd both enjoy, he felt his zipper give way. That hadn't been the magic he meant. Mad Sweeney had initially hoped that she'd put some sort of glamor around them so they could proceed to fondle each other like a pair of overheated teenagers with the rest of the car being none-the-wiser.

What happened, instead, was Tove being a viciously cruel woman.

Tove's hand wrapped firmly around his dick, no longer safely within his slacks, but safely hidden beneath the jacket. Mad Sweeney fought a groan like he had before, but some of it managed to escape. Laura heard and shot him another glare for a moment until returning her attention back to the window. His jaw clenched tightly as Tove's hand began to move up and down. Her giggle was like torture.

"Witch," He hissed under his breath.

She shifted her face and nuzzled it partially within his beard when she whispered, "Then I'll stop."

And she did, true to her word. A shock of fear swept through him in an instant and on instinct, he tightened his grip around her wrist, and began to move her hand again. As before, he heard the soft tinkling bell of her laughter in his ears.

"Fuckin' witch," He said with a sigh as his head fell back, his eyes drifted shut, and he was "forced" to succumb to his fate.

Sweeney let himself sink into the sensation. Her grip was perfect as it always was, tense, but not strangling as she endeavored to stroke him to completion.

He was left swimming, guided only by touch as the tension rose higher and higher within him. He ground his teeth and tensed his muscles, biting back a multitude of sounds that threatened to escape him. Mad Sweeney was a vocal man, whether grunts or actual words, and being locked in a car with other people meant he had to be silent. The only sound he could muster were the heavy breaths through his nose. He was afraid that too much would escape if he dared open his mouth.

The evil witch hadn't done what he asked. She left everything that was happening open to being seen. It was fun for her, but torture for him. Sweeney didn't give a shit if Dead Wife or Shadow overheard, or saw, but he didn't want Wednesday to know. That was what kept him silent as Tove persisted.

Harder and harder, faster and faster, she built up his climax with ease. His grip on her breast began to tighten and he knew he was close. She seemed to sense the same and increased her attention. Sweeney was undone.

Biting down so hard he swore he'd crack teeth, he came. For seconds, he couldn't even breathe, so focused on remaining silent that he did nothing, until his body started to relax. When it did, he let loose a long breath and slumped in his chair.

She stroked him for only a moment longer before she let go entirely. He didn't care about anything at that moment, totally and completely at ease.

"I fuckin' hate ye." He mumbled.

"I know," She replied, sounding anything but offended by his clearly insincere remark.

When they finally arrived at the house, Tove all but sprang from the back of the car. She needed to stretch and groaned when her back popped a bit as she did. Sweeney was slower to rise, though she knew why and cast him a cheeky glance when he finally did emerge. He met her stared head-on, entirely serious and blank. Still keeping her eye, he zipped up his slacks again which caused a wide smile to break out across her lips.

She truly did adore that asshole sometimes.

Sweeney took a seat on the hood of O'l Betty, soon joined by Laura. Shadow was told by Wednesday to break open a lock, while Tove paced. Her long legs carried her the short distance easily. She didn't like being cooped up for extended periods of time, or being inactive in general. She wasn't made for it. She was made for fighting.

The others argued briefly over Shadow's inability to make the gate bend to his will, though what he was expected to do with a flathead screwdriver, Tove didn't know. Shortly after Laura offered her assistance, however, the gates parted. On the other side stood Mr. Nancy, draped in fancifully bright fabric. Few would be able to pull off a blue plaid suit of such a bright shade, accented by brilliant yellow, but Mr. Nancy wasn't most people.

"Mad Sweeney!" He chimed, lips parted in a smile. He sauntered forward. "Is that you? Or is that Wednesday's bullshit I smell?" Ha patted Shadow's shoulder in passing.

"Keen nose, Mr. Fancy-Pants, but that ain't Irish Sexy yer smellin'. That's Road-Kill Rhonda over here."

Laura leaned forward, a cigarette still burning between her fingers, and smiled.

"Heh," He grinned before his dark eyes fell to the Valkyrie. "Tove, Tove, Tove," He cooed as he glided toward her. He slipped his hat from his head, swept it behind his back fluidly, and offered her his hand. "Been a long time, Shield Maiden."

"Anansi," She greeted him kindly, placing her hand in his. Mr. Nancy raised it to his lips and placed a small kiss across the back of her knuckles. As he stood again, another swift motion saw his hat seated on his head once more. "Looking fine as always."

"Ain't not better weaver than me, baby." He said with a smile and a wink.

Tove smiled, too. She always like Anansi. He was a passionate man, driven, loyal, and deceptively smart. Not many knew his story, which meant they underestimated him greatly. His intelligence and knowledge rivaled Odin's, and she knew it.

"Nancy!" Wednesday declared as he slammed his trunk shut. He emerged from behind Betty with his coat, drawing Anansi's attention away from the others.

The two spoke briefly about who had come to play. Not many, to be sure. What surprised Tove the most was that she wasn't surprised. Grimnir was a prick. Not many wanted to join his side, least of all against the New Gods.

Soon, they set off toward the house in a line. Up the stone steps they wove, through the gardens and trees.

They weren't far into their journey before Tove head Sweeney and Shadow tossing barbs at one another. They'd clearly met before. Tove admired the way Shadow was unimpressed by Mad Sweeney's jabbing remarks, and how easily he shot his own back at the leprechaun. She could always enjoy a fight, even a verbal one.

As the continued on, led by Mr. Nancy, Tove felt someone close in behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Shadow and felt compelled to speak to him. She stood just enough to the side that she could slow her pace and soon stand close to his side. He noticed, but was apprehensive to meet her gaze. She expected as much.

"Tove," She said, offering her hand to him.

"Shadow Moon," He answered a bit reluctantly before he shook it.

"I gathered." She smiled. "You seem a little… disoriented."

"Yeah," he said with a weak laugh. "This is… it's kind of crazy."

"I suppose." She nodded.

"I mean," He inched closer to her while they climbed. "You're a God, right?"

Poor thing. Tove genuinely wanted to hug him. He was like a lost little puppy, unable to understand the world around him. It wasn't his fault. It simply meant that he was a rational man. Rational people had trouble believing in things that seemed otherworldly, even if there was evidence staring them in the face.

"I'm a Valkyrie." She told him.

"Valkyrie…" He nodded. "Right. This is just… it's a lot to take."

"Well, perhaps you should think of it like this." She said sweetly. He glanced to her. "All stories had to come from somewhere. Once you believe that anything is possible, Shadow Moon, everything is possible."

He tried to nod, but she could tell he still had trouble. All she could do was offer him a kind glance and a gentle smile.

When they reached the interior of the massive building, and the coins were being handed out, Tove remained in the distance. She didn't assume there was one for her. Why would there be? She wasn't a God. She was a servant, a minion to someone bigger. This meeting wasn't for her, and she had no intentions of joining it.

Clearly, she was alone in this realization. Mad Sweeney was rather angry that there wasn't a coin with his name on it.

Bad luck.

At some point, Tove had taken to lying on a glass base that housed a number of bits and bobs. She hummed a tune to herself to pass the time while the others meandered elsewhere.

"Hey," Laura chimed loudly, drawing attention to her. "I want a fortune. Everybody coming to your boss's thing already have coins. Give me on."

"No," The Djinn snapped. "And I told the two of you to get the fuck out of here, so-"

"Wait," Salim-Not-Salim interjected quickly, clutching at the Djinn's arm. "Please, I have seen what she is capable of. You don't want to make her angry."

"Actually, you haven't seen even a little bit." Laura replied.

"Oh, jus' give the fuckin' corpse a coin." Sweeney snapped hatefully. He spoke like a man that had listened to Dead Wife far too many time, and simply didn't want to listen anymore.

The Djinn reluctantly handed over a coin and a moment later, the space filled with the music of the Fortune Teller's booth. When it chimed, Laura reached for her card and paused.

"It's broken." She said.

"You have a broken fortune?" Salim asked.

"It's blank." She replied, flashing the card in their direction.

"That's because the dead have no fortune." Tove said. Laura looked at her. "To have a fortune, one must first have a future. Clearly," she smirked, "You don't have one of those, either."

Laura glared, which widened Tove's smile. She could tell the corpse wanted to say something, but didn't. It was possible, and Tove thought so, that she put a very real fear in the corpse.

"I'll give ya a fortune." Mad Sweeney told her. "In the very near future, you give the leprechaun back his fuckin' coin then rot."

Again, Laura glared hatefully, but he didn't seem bothered in the least.

"Wanna try your luck?" She openly taunted him.

"All my luck is yours, Dead Wife. No need to break the fuckin' machine."

"That will happen soon enough, darling." Tove told him as she returned to her aimless thoughts.

Hours had passed before the entire congregation of supernatural beings finally retired to the diner. Sweeney needed a drink. He always needed a drink, and now it was simply a more desperate one.

After pouring himself a hefty glass, he spun in his seat to look around. A group, small compared to what they'd need, milled around eating bad food and talking. His gaze drifted over them all. Sometimes, he wished the war would hurry up so he could just die and be rid of Wednesday. Other times, the fear resurfaced and he felt as though his feet would carry him away.

As he looked around, he saw Tove speaking to Mama-Ji. It didn't surprise him. Those types tended to flock together, warrior types.

He turned to his left and saw Shadow speaking to Laura. As she had a thousand times before, Dead Wife was doing her best to convince Shadow to leave with her. It was fruitless as far as Sweeney was concerned. Shadow would never leave, not now. Wednesday had shown him too many wonders, and the man was only human.

As Shadow left her, summoned by Wednesday, Sweeney stood and approached Laura. She stared daggers at the pair, but her stares meant nothing.

"He's Wednesday's man, now." He said as he fell into a seat nearby.

"No," She shook her head. "He's still my puppy."

"Sure," He scoffed, letting his eye drift in the same direction. "Hurts when someone takes what's yers, doesn't it?"

Laura didn't speak, and he didn't expect her to. Sometimes, increasingly, in fact, Sweeney considered Tove's offer. He need only ask, and he knew it. In a heartbeat, she'd plunge that delicate fist of hers, the fist capable of breaking stone, through Laura Moon's chest, and snatch his coin from inside. She'd present it to him in the center of her palm, bloodied and covered with goop, and he'd take it. He'd feel the rush of his luck returning and know that everything was right again, while Laura's body crumbled like a puppet with its strings cut. He only had to ask.

Sweeney looked at the Dead Wife again. The urge was strong, so goddamned strong he could nearly taste it. The words lingered at the tip of his tongue. He could be done with this whole thing, done with it in an instant.

He felt his tongue begin to form the words as his gaze drifted back to the Valkyrie. She was standing, still, with Mama-Ji.

His mouth opened, the tip of his tongue curling beneath the roof of his mouth.

A shot suddenly tore through the window, and when he called for Tove, it wasn't for what he'd initially wanted.

"Tove!" He called loudly.

She spun the instant another shot ripped through the face of a nearby patron. Then another in quick succession. It struck her and took her violently to the ground. Tove landed in a heap with her back to him.

"No, no, no, no, no." He mumbled quickly as he crawled across the floor on his hands and feet, scuttling to get close to her.

He was at her side in seconds and relieved to see her moving. When he helped Tove roll onto her back, he saw a slice through her cheek. It was a graze, nothing more.

"Fuck," He said on a sigh.

But they weren't out of the woods. Bullets still roared through the dinner. Most everyone ducked for cover, and he and Tove were no different.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the shooting stopped.

People were reluctant to stand, but gradually did. Sweeney helped Tove to her feet. Blood trailed down her cheek, though she didn't seem to notice when her gaze landed on a heart breaking sight.

Zorya Vechernyaya, the Evening Star, was dead.