Thanks to everyone who read and to 1983Sarah and Scififan33 for reviewing.
Continuing crossover, lines up with Ch. 8 of Meaning Makes It but can be read separately.
So, on the upside, Roddy had yet to be kidnapped or murdered. On the downside, he was in a room—a basement, even, so not a lot of exits—with someone who's idea of 'too far' had somehow managed to encompass kidnapping and murder. Attempted, at least. And no doubt Nick would point out that Roddy's own little run-in with the police last spring had involved him taking things a little too far too, but forgetting how strong a mesmer he was or that some of the rats who answered his call would be hungry and therefore less controllable than his 'tame' lot was on a slightly different scale in Roddy's opinion. Regardless of how...incidental? Roddy was still unclear on that part...said kidnapping and attempted murder had been to whatever ritual Barry and his friends had been trying to carry out.
And the really sad part was that hanging out with a guy who'd attempted kidnapping and murder was still the best thing that had happened to him since they'd arrived at this log cabin mansion. At least Barry wasn't throwing out random topics in an attempt to force conversation out of him.
Seriously, Nick had been at his place often enough to know that he didn't even have a television; how in the hell was he supposed to know what the latest shows were about? And the Trailblazers?
He and Barry brought their racecars across the finish line of the last of this round of tracks one right after the other, and as the little video announcing their scores played, Roddy sat back and rolled his shoulders. It was easier for him to play when he was able to keep his hands on top of the controller rather than holding it the way that Barry did, but it meant having to sit hunched over in a way that wasn't entirely comfortable. It would probably work better if he was lying down on his stomach, but even if Barry had been reasonably decent thus far—more than any of Roddy's classmates, anyway, despite why they were here—that was a level of vulnerability that Roddy wasn't quite willing to risk.
"We could do something else," Barry offered, apparently noticing his discomfort. "There's movies, or pool, or darts."
Even the idea of movies made Roddy grimace since, as another forced attempt at conversation had proven, he wasn't exactly up to date on those either. Even the old movies available on free streaming tended to run up against the trailer's questionable-at-best internet and half the time he ended up giving up partway through. He just loved having to admit that shit.
"We don't have to if you don't want to, though," Barry said quickly. "We can keep playing. This game or another one or whatever, it's fine with me."
"No, it's—darts would be cool," Roddy said, forcing himself back to the present. "Sorry, I was just thinking about something else."
Barry smiled and waved it off, holding out a hand for the controller. "Cool. Uh, the darts are in the cabinet under the boards if you want to grab them."
The boards themselves were set higher than Roddy's at home, maybe even higher than regulation given how tall Barry and his dad were, and Roddy grabbed two sets of darts and went back to figure out where they were supposed to throw from as Barry put away the video game stuff. The distance marked was further than he used at home as well, no surprise given that this game room probably had more square footage than their—his—entire trailer did, but he'd always had decent aim so he wasn't too worried about embarrassing himself.
It wasn't until Barry was back beside him again that he remembered exactly how big, not just tall, the other boy was, but at least Barry was politely keeping himself to the inside of the room rather than getting between Roddy and the exit. Not that Roddy figured that it would make much of a difference if Barry ever decided that his skull didn't need to be intact anymore, but all things considered it was nice of him.
They got through a game and a half before footsteps on the stairs drew both of their attention, and Nick and Mr. Rabe came in a moment later. "Hey," Nick said. "How are you two doing?"
"We're good," Barry said, looking down at Roddy. "Just playing."
Roddy nodded in agreement. If it had just been Nick he might have made a smartass remark about getting all the blood cleaned up or something like that, but he didn't get the impression that Mr. Rabe liked him very much—that, or maybe he was just reserved, what did Roddy know—and there was every chance that a comment like that wouldn't go over well.
"Do you mind if we join you?" Mr. Rabe asked.
Roddy had no idea why the question made everyone look at him, but when he looked over Barry seemed amenable so he nodded. "Please."
It ended up being Barry and his father, who also politely skirted around Roddy rather than remaining between him and the exit so even if he didn't think much of random Reinigen violinists showing up at his house at least he wasn't an ass about it, against Roddy and Nick. And okay, maybe every Wesen in the room should have realized how handing a Grimm a handful of sharp objects and pointing him at a target was going to go, but hell, it wasn't like the circumstance came along every day.
"Can we make him play blindfolded?" Barry asked as Nick nailed yet another shot.
"I think you could probably make him play from upstairs and it wouldn't matter," Roddy said.
"Ha ha," Nick said. "I—" His phone rang, and he pulled it out with a frown. "Excuse me for a minute, would you?"
He only stepped around the staircase, and without even a door between them it would be no trick at all for Roddy to listen in, but that probably wouldn't be the smartest thing to do in front of the Rabes so he only took his own shot and then moved aside so the Rabes could make theirs.
"Why don't you throw for Nick?" Barry suggested when Nick still hadn't returned when his next turn came around. "Give us at least a chance of catching up."
"I'm sorry, but we're going to need to get going," Nick said before Roddy could answer, stepping back into the room. "I wasn't expecting to get called into work today, but apparently we're shorthanded."
"Of course," Mr. Rabe said. "Thank you for coming. And for bringing Roddy." He nodded to Roddy as well. "Thank you for coming."
"Thanks for inviting me," Roddy said automatically. Just because he didn't get asked places very often didn't mean that he didn't know how to be polite about it.
"You could come back sometime," Barry said before his dad or Nick could say anything else. "I mean, if you wanted to. I'm usually around." He gestured vaguely downwards.
Roddy hesitated, remembering again the ankle bracelet and the whole kidnapping and attempted murder thing. Coming back here would almost certainly mean coming back without Nick since he couldn't really expect the guy to be his personal security blanket, doubly so since he and Barry had escaped Nick and Mr. Rabe and the conversation of awkward two hours and some ago and had been hanging out alone down here ever since. But they had been perfectly fine...
Barry's face started to close down, his head starting to sink, and Roddy abruptly decided to hell with it. Barry had been nicer to him than most of his classmates, and Roddy made plenty of bad choices in his life anyway. "Sure. I mean, I've got school most days and it runs late since the orchestra plays afterwards, but why not?"
"There's weekends," Barry said, brightening again, and then reached into his back pocket. "Here, trade you phone numbers."
"Well, it seemed like that went well," Nick said as they started to make their way down the winding driveway.
"I'm totally asking some rats to eat your tires," Roddy informed him.
"What? Where did that come from?"
"The Trailblazers? I can't keep up with recent movies or television, and you somehow thought I was going to be able to say anything about basketball? I don't even like most sports." Certainly not ones where he was basically guaranteed to get elbowed in the head, and he was still glad that Von Hamelin's idea of a PE requirement had been a single class that had been half Heath and First Aid.
"I was just trying to make conversation."
Roddy scoffed.
"Well, you and Barry weren't exactly helping. Did the two of you talk at all, or were you just playing video games and darts in silence?"
"A little, I guess," Roddy said. "He told me about the ankle bracelet—you could have warned me, by the way—and why he has it. At least some of it."
"The Roh-hatz?"
"Well, he said it was some kind of Jagerbar ritual that ended up going too far so if that's what it's called, sure. I don't exactly study Jagerbar history so it's not like naming it means anything to me." A pause. "If I do go back I'm leaving a message for you and Monroe saying where and when I went. Just saying."
Nick shook his head. "Did you tell him about what happened with your quartet last year?"
"Some of it." That got a raised eyebrow, and he shrugged. "There are Reinigen who don't believe that mesmers are real never mind other Wesen, and I'm sure as hell not interested in advertising." Dad had warned him against even telling his own relatives, never mind anyone else, and Roddy still couldn't see many downsides to that advice.
"I guess I can understand that," Nick said after a moment. "Do you think you'll go back?"
This time Roddy was the one who hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe." Games weren't a bad way to kill a few hours, and Barry had been okay. The bus would be inconvenient, but he was used to that.
