A/N: Haley gets drugged in the first sentence, so if that's too uncomfortable to read, skip to the last line and you'll be able to guess what happened.

Haley expects the potion they force past her lips to taste foul, but it's sweet, tooth-achingly so.

When they hold her jaw shut, head tilted up and nose tightly pinched, her choice quickly becomes swallow or choke.

She makes the only decision she can.

There's not really enough left in her mouth to spit out when they release her, but she still tries.

She doesn't accomplish much more than having a bit of spittle dribble off her chin.

"There we go," Marco says, tucking the empty vial back into his pocket as she blinks blearily up at him. "We'll just give it a moment to loosen your tongue."

Haley isn't sure how this potion is supposed to loosen her tongue, but it's certainly fogging her mind; she doesn't think the sleepiness is simply an adrenaline crash. She coughs, but that doesn't help. It only seems to trigger a dull pounding in her head.

The others leave her chair in its corner by the poker table and withdraw to the far side of the room before they start talking in low voices. Bananas B goes with them without a second look at her. It might be a trick. He could be buying time, lulling them into a false sense of security before rescuing her. He could be getting information out of them first or hoping to steal something off Rekin before she eats her winnings or whatever she does with them until she can put them somewhere safe.

Except her winnings are still on the table by Haley.

Jerry's with the others, so Haley tries to wriggle the ropes binding her wrists. She can barely move them, and moving hurts, the rough fibres digging deeper into her skin as she rubs off layer by layer—

She's so tired.

She has to pause to catch her breath, and her own breathing sounds louder to her than the murmured voices from across the room. Even trying to transform her ear to listen with the Ear of the Dragon fails miserably; she can't seem to concentrate enough to do that. She goes back to rubbing her wrists raw in what feels like a vain attempt to loosen the ropes, and this time, the tears track silently down her cheeks. She's too exhausted for anything else.

Haley isn't sure how long it is before the others break up their conversation and come back over to her, but she hasn't made any noticeable progress beyond ensuring that every bit of her that can still move even the slightest bit against a rope is sore and, if not bleeding, then weeping.

She looks to Bananas B for help, but he shakes his head at her.

Some magical guardian he is.

Then again, he's not her magical guardian. He's not obliged to protect her or risk losing his license. Not that she's convinced he'd help even if he were.

"Well, well, well," Marco says, and his hand is on her chin, turning her face up to study it. "Let's see if it's been enough time, shall we? What's your name?"

"Haley Long," she says before realizing that's a bad idea. It's not that they couldn't find out if they didn't know—they already know she's the American Dragon—but just telling them….

Marco hums and pulls his hand back, and Haley's head drops back to her chest. Looking at them all gathered around her is too much effort.

"Yo, ask about the Huntsclan's pet. I'll be able to confirm some of that."

That's Bananas B's voice. He's not even pretending to be on her side anymore, is he?

Then again, he never really was. He was only ever on his own side.

"We'll start with something simple, then. The Huntsclan's dragon."

That's not simple. That's the furthest thing from simple. She doesn't say that, though. If protesting gets her anything, it's not likely to be anything but a cut from Jerry's scythe that will do so much more damage than any wound that bleeds.

Well, any wound that bleeds and won't necessarily kill her, anyway.

"What colour is he?" Bananas B asks, and she can just imagine the way he must be looking at her right now, all superior because he's put her in this position. He must have always intended to do this to her, and—

"Red." The word is out of her mouth before she has a chance to wonder why she's answering instead of clenching the words against her teeth. "Yellow. Green."

"You have to be more specific," Marco says, and she's not sure if he's talking to her or Bananas B. "What's his main scale colour? His chest colour? Spines if he has 'em?"

"Red. It's his belly that's yellow, and his spines are green." Why is she answering? She should be fighting this. Holding her breath or something. It's a potion. There are counters to potions.

Of course, most of the counters to potions are other potions taken to neutralize the effects of the first.

"You know where they nabbed him from?" Seamus asks.

"Yes." It's an answer, it's enough, it has to be enough—

"Where did he come from?" clarifies Rekin before Haley can see if the words come on their own anyway, and Haley sucks in a breath and holds it.

The words spill out of her lips in an explosion of air less than ten seconds later. "The NYC. He's from the NYC."

"Your territory? They grabbed a dragon from you in your own territory and we're only now hearing about this? Why?"

The entirety of the United States is my territory, she wants to tell Seamus, to tell all of them. I'm the American Dragon, not the New York City Dragon. Instead, the words passing her traitorous lips aren't something she meant to tell them. "Yes, but you're not only hearing about him now; I've been looking for a missing dragon for months." She bites her tongue hard enough to taste blood, but more words find their way out of her mouth anyway. "He only came into his power recently."

Why is she telling them so much? Why is she correcting them when they're wrong? Is it only because she's being compelled to answer and that's part of the answer, or can they command her as well as ask her questions she can't help but answer? Marco had said to be more specific, but she can't remember Fu telling her about a potion that would do that.

Of course, right now, she can't remember a lot of what Fu's told her.

"Huh," says Jerry. "If he's that young, you'd think one of us would have heard something more substantial already. His family's not dead. Least, not unless he's a runaway and not actually from the NYC. No one with dragon's blood has been reaped from these parts in years. The Huntsclan slayed a dragon a few years back—different branch or we'd know their hideout here already—and the Strigoi got the Canadian Dragon and their family maybe ten years before that, but otherwise it's been quiet."

Her tongue throbs, but it's a different throbbing than the one in her head, and it helps.

It helps enough that she can parse some meaning from Jerry's words. She's back on American soil, and if not in the NYC, then she's at least somewhere near enough to be lumped into it. Granted, she doesn't know how big a reaper's territory is; she just knows it's smaller than hers.

"Is he their captive?" continues Marco.

"No."

"So he's not forced to work for them?"

"No."

"He is working for them willingly?"

"Yes." Is that right? It's getting so hard to think. The questions she's asked are clear, and her answers come readily to her lips, but everything else…. "I think so."

"You don't think he's being compelled? Or threatened?"

"No. No, not by anything other than the threat of his true nature when he's with the Huntsclan."

"You sound like you think they're planning to slay him," Jerry says.

"I think they would," she whispers, even though it's not a question. The truth of that terrifies her. "He's a dragon. They hunt us down."

"But they haven't yet because they're using him?" presses Marco. "He's too valuable?"

She latches onto the word like a lifeline. "He's valuable." She wants the words to stop there, but they don't. "They used him to trick me."

"Trick you?" Seamus repeats. "How?"

She tells them the story even though she doesn't want to.

They keep asking questions, and she tells them that Huntsgirl traded her for him, and they're all quiet as they realize what that means.

She doesn't know how much of it they can figure out, but she's sure it's enough. If nothing else, it's a clear demonstration of how the Huntsclan—or at least Huntsgirl—values their dragon above capturing the American Dragon. They're willing to bet that they can capture her again but they aren't willing to risk losing the dragon they have. It's further proof that Haley's words aren't merely a lie she's been told but a truth she believes. If the Huntsclan could have that hold over any dragon, that particular one wouldn't have been as much use to them. If they could control dragons, they would have been better off controlling her before they even contemplated a trade.

"Speaking of Huntsgirl," Marco says after a beat, "what does she look like?"

"She looks like Huntsgirl," Haley replies, and pain blossoms from her cheek before she comprehends that she's been struck. Her whole head hurts, but it's not enough to stop her mouth from moving. "Blonde hair. Blue eyes. A mark somewhere other than her face."

"We need identifiable features. Other birthmarks? Beauty marks? Scars? Tattoos?"

She wants to laugh at the idea that anyone from the Huntsclan would walk around with so visible a tattoo when they try to hide their identities, but all she says is, "No." No, no, no, no.

At least they can't make her show them, even if they can make her answer. Shapeshifting isn't within her power on a good day, let alone right now.

It forces them get more inventive with their questions, but they come in a flood from multiple people. Cleft chin? Broad nose or narrow? Does she have a widow's peak? Acne? Braces? What's the shape of her face? How old do you think she is? Does she have any piercings? Where?

Haley finds herself wanting to answer in the order she heard the questions, so she does, but it's a jumbled mess even to her ears. She can hear the annoyance in Marco's tone as he snarls at the others to shut up, that he's going to ask the questions from now on. He repeats the first one, and her mouth opens to answer.

The door to the room slams open, covering up her quiet no.

There was no secret knock, no time to plunge them into darkness so the newcomer can't canvas the room at a glance—but no locked door? That doesn't make sense. The door would have been locked, just like the door she'd tried to go through had been locked. This must be someone who isn't stopped by locked doors.

"Jer, you grab my compass?"

Haley knows that voice.

She can't hear footsteps, but the newcomer is coming closer as he speaks. "Promise I'm not pulling your leg this time; I really do need it ba…ck." His voice stutters in the middle of the last word, losing all lightness and plunging to solemnity with the last syllable.

Why does she know that voice?

Wariness threads through the tone of the newcomer as he asks, "Why do you have the American Dragon tied up?"

Haley can't think.

She can't lift her head, either.

That would take too much effort.

The words slip past her lips anyway. "I lost the game. Tried to steal the skull and run without paying up."

She hears a sharp intake of breath, accompanied by a rattling that sends a shiver through her entire body even as it lets her weary mind make the connection she'd missed before.

"You made her play?"

She's not used to dark thunder in that tone.

She's used to playfulness.

Even as she breathes out a quiet agreement, Marty continues, "Whose bright idea was that? She's just a kid!"

"She had information—" starts Rekin even as Seamus begins, "—Bananas brought 'er—" and Jerry protests, "—Marco said—"

Their answers drown out hers.

"She's a kid," snarls Marty, and Haley finds the strength to lift her head. She's never seen any grimness in the Grim Reaper before, but she sees it now. Grimness. Darkness. Danger.

It's everything someone who doesn't know Marty would imagine him to be.

"She owes us information," Marco says, his voice even. "This is how we can ensure its validity. It's nothing personal."

"You used a serum on her," hisses Marty. "It doesn't get more personal than that. Your reputation precedes you, Marco, but this is low even for you."

"She knows Huntsgirl's face," says Bananas B. The traitor. "Yo, you know that little nugget of info would benefit all of us, but the dragons have been sitting on that with no intention of sharing it. Least, she wasn't up to sharing till she realized it was in her best interests."

Haley isn't looking at Marty anymore, but she can imagine him going still at that.

"They wouldn't endanger us," says Marty at last, but Haley isn't sure if he believes his own words.

"Yeah?" Jerry's bony hand shoves her shoulder hard enough to rock her chair since she can't roll with the move. "You ever see Huntsgirl's face? You wanna tell him what you told us?"

Haley breathes out an affirmative to the first question and a negative to the second but can't bring herself to look at Marty to see his reaction.

"Stop taking advantage of her like that," Marty snaps, and Haley can feel his magic seeping out and prickling along her skin. It's thick, powerful, dangerous, deadly—capable of doing serious damage even when not guided by his scythe. Jerry's threats don't hold a candle to Marty's, and Marty hasn't even bothered to spell his out. "You got what you wanted out of her. Her debt is paid."

"She stole from me," protests Rekin.

"Tried to," corrects Marty. "Her own words. And if what you've won is the loot on the table, it's already been stolen once. That compass is mine." A beat. "I'll give you something for that skull, too, unless you want the Huntsclan coming down on your head in pursuit. I'm a little better equipped to deal with them than you are."

"What?" asks Rekin, and Haley's glad of it, since she doesn't understand what Marty means, either.

"They are hunting down the bloody skulls," says Seamus in a tone of disbelief. "I heard there wasn't anything to that rumour."

"Yeah, well, when the choice is lie or die, people'll spread a bit of false info to save their own skins. Not that it helps for long. Which Jerry knows as well as I do."

"You were trying to play us," says Marco, the confident accusation clear in his tone, and Jerry immediately squawks out a denial that's ignored. "You lost on purpose. To set us up. Get yourself a clean slate in a way that wouldn't be immediately suspicious."

"No, look, Marty's intel isn't—"

"Finish that lie and I'll eat more than just the stolen food you brought," growls Rekin, and Haley's stomach drops even as Jerry chokes off his words.

She doesn't want to know how any of this ends.

She should.

She knows she should.

It's her job to protect magical creatures, from each other as well as from threats in the non-magical world. Of course, it's her job to protect those in the non-magical world from magical creatures, too, but the Huntsclan hasn't exactly been part of rule, so this wouldn't be the first time she's ignored her responsibilities, but—

"I'll do you a favour in return for that skull," Marty says. "Dealing with him will be a freebie."

"I'd rather deal with him myself," says Rekin, and Haley can as good as hear her fierce smile. "But you're welcome to giftwrap him for me if you'd like."

"Suits me just fine." Marty takes a few steps and then Haley hears a rustle of cloth. Pocketing his compass, maybe the skull? If he had and Rekin hasn't moved to stop him, she must have agreed to his terms. It's no small feat, holding a future favour from a reaper as powerful as Marty; even Haley knows that.

It's one of the reasons Haley forces her head up in time to see Marty turn from the poker table to face Jerry. "Scythe. Now."

Jerry takes a step back, even though Marty hasn't moved towards him. "You can't."

Marty pulls his own scythe from thin air. "Watch me."

Haley tries to follow the fight, to follow the flitting shadows and guess the outcome, which might be why she doesn't see the others leave. She's half aware of Rekin scooping the rest of her winnings onto the empty dainty tray and eating the entire thing, but she doesn't see, let alone hear, Marco, Seamus, or Bananas B move. The next time she tears her eyes away from the swirling shadows Marty and Jerry have become, she's alone.

She also, somehow, misses seeing (though not hearing) the bone-cracking blow that leaves Jerry crumpled on the floor.

Marty makes both scythes vanish with a flick of his wrists that twirl the weapons into nothingness before walking over to her. He crouches to untie her feet. "You okay, kiddo?"

"No," she whispers, which isn't the answer she means to give, but it's out of her mouth before she can consider trying to fight it.

Marty clicks his teeth together. "Yeah, I figured as much, but we'll get you sorted once I get Jerry tied up for Rekin. Just hold on a little longer for me, okay?"

He doesn't wait for her mumbled answer before moving behind her to free her hands.

She's not sure how long it takes him to free her and truss up Jerry. Time feels…slippery. Not quite real. He doesn't ask her any questions as he works; he fills the silence with his own chatter instead. She can't follow all of it and stops trying because all that matters is that Marty is here, Marty is helping her, and she's not alone anymore.

She pushes herself off the chair once it's clear he's finished and promptly collapses as her legs give out beneath her.

She's not sure when she started crying again, but the world is a blur through her tears.

"Hey, hey, I'm here now, Hales, I'm here." Marty crouches down and scoops her up with ease. His cloak is warm and soft, but she can feel the surety with which he holds her, pressing past the softness and into the sturdiness of his entire being. His embrace might terrify others who don't know him, but she feels safe.

That might be why the confession slips past her lips as her head rests on his bony shoulder. "I made a lot of mistakes."

He huffs out a laugh. "Show me someone who hasn't."

"But I never meant to really tell them about Huntsgirl. And I only went with Bananas B because I thought the Dragon Council would punish me and Gramps if they found out I overheard what they planned to do to Jake, but now I have to tell them everything anyway and it's so much worse than it would have been because I was never supposed to leave Draco and—"

"Hey. What matters is that I've got you now. You're gonna be okay. I know the sort of serum Marco favours, and I'll track you down a counter so you don't have to wait for it to wear off. I'll take care of you for now, yeah? It'll be okay. I promise."

"Yeah," she murmurs.

Marty always keeps his promises.