Author's Note: This is one shot based off the TikTok series Cafae Latte, by C.M. Alongi. It can be read fandom-blind, but I recommend going and watching her series. It's Urban Fantasy with a twist. It's LGBTQ+ friendly and she takes on some heavy topics such as Autism, Race, Religion, Current Events, and many more things.
Anyways this fic is about two side characters that don't get a lot of screen time. Said characters were the main focus of her Halloween Special. This is my take on if things had been a bit more whumpy. Keep in mind these two characters have worked together once in the past, but the slow burn tension is there.
Enough of y rambling, please enjoy.
Almost as soon as Herla had subdued George the serial killer, John collapsed where he stood. The adrenaline that had been keeping him going for the past few hours dissipated as soon as his body and brain agreed that he was safe.
Herla ran over his not-friend-but-sometimes-coworker "John!?" He knelt down next to him and assessed him for any injuries. He had a nasty cut on his forehead, some bruising on his arms, and other possible injuries hidden under his clothes.
"Is he okay?" Jessica asked as she hovered nearby.
"I don't know," Herla admitted. "That'll be a job for the EMTs." He looked around and noticed some of the wildlife coming out to see what was happening, perhaps smelling all of the blood. "I need to get him out of here."
With practiced ease, Herla picked John up. He looked over at the ghost of the young woman. "Police will be here to arrest him soon. Afterwards, you should move on."
Jessica nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure the other victims will be happy to know that they've been caught. It'll be nice to deliver the news to myself. Maybe we'll take turns and come back to haunt them now and again."
"Wouldn't recommend it," Herla stated, feeling like he didn't need to go into explanation before he headed back the way he came with John in his arms.
After a bit of trek, Herla managed to make it to the edge of the woods where his horse and dog were patiently waiting for him. He set John down and pulled the unconscious man's walkie-talkie off of its belt clip.
He pressed the talk button. "To whoever is listening this is King Herla. Ghost Hunter Jonathan is injured and in need of medical assistance. We are located near the Northeast Exit of the Chippewa National Forest. Send police and EMTs."
"Uh copy that, Herla. Help is on the way," the disembodied voice stated through the walkie-talkie.
Herla set the radio down and began assessing John's injuries once more now that they were in a better-lit area. The head wound still looked pretty bad, but at least the bleeding had stopped. It didn't appear deep enough to require stitches.
The nomadic king stood and walked over his horse. He reached into his saddle and pulled out a bottle of water and several rags. He stepped back over to John, knelt back down, and began to clean the blood away. That way it would be easier for the EMTs to tend to the injury.
In the distance, he could hear sirens, but they were still too far away. He skipped over the bruises he had seen earlier, determining they weren't life-threatening. Carefully, he lifted the much younger man's shirt to check for more bruising. Despite being around for over a dozen centuries, Herla nearly threw up at the sight of John's bruised chest. Either he had a bad fall while running, or those two murderers had kicked him around before he managed to get away.
He pulled the shirt back down and moved on down toward John's legs. If he had fallen, he'd probably have a sprained ankle or a break he was unaware of. He gently rolled up the pant legs just enough to check to see if he was right about John falling. Because if he discovered that the brothers beat him up, he was going to head back into the woods and kill them himself instead of leaving it up to the modern justice system.
Herla nearly breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that John's right ankle was swollen. His not-friend wasn't beaten. He was still angry though, those two had chased him for hours for sport because they were bored.
He stopped what he was doing for a moment. Why was he doing this? Nicole the Witch only said he needed to save John otherwise he would die before the sun set. He didn't need to be assessing the man's injuries. He shouldn't be feeling anger over a job. Sure those wastes of skin were horrible people, but that shouldn't affect him as long as they pass on to the afterlife.
The king shook his head as blue and red lights lit up around him. Once the ambulance and police were in sight, he picked John back up and carried him to meet to first responders.
A few hours later, Herla found himself sitting in the most uncomfortable chair ever made, listening to the steady beeps of a heart monitor.
John was still unconscious after his ordeal in the woods. According to the doctor who was taking care of him, John would probably sleep through most of the night. Once he woke up, depending on how he felt determined if they admit him for observation or not.
One of the nurses suggested that Herla could come back later after he, himself, got some rest. But he insisted on staying. He knew Jonathon didn't have anyone else and leaving him alone in hospital after what he just went through didn't seem right.
After a while, without meaning to, Herla managed to fall asleep. As always he dreamed of the family he had lost centuries ago, but this time for some strange reason Jonathon was there. The modern man sat with his family as they dined in celebration. What they were celebrating, Herla didn't know. He just knew he was happy. The scene shifted to him standing alone in what used to be his throne room. The Drawf King had just left after apologizing profusely for what had happened. Neither were aware of the time difference.
The scene shifted again to the Drawf King offering him the fruit of the immortals in the hopes of forgiveness. But instead of the Drawf King, it was Jonathon handing him the fruit. He was smiling from ear to ear as if he had a secret he was eager to share but wouldn't.
Herla was startled awake by someone screaming. He sat bolt upright and quickly took in what was happening. John was awake and freaking out. He stood and walked over to his not-friend-but-kinda-friend.
"It's okay, Jonathon," Herla said as calmly as possible. He didn't dare touch John, fearing he might be violent in his current state of mind. "You are in the hospital."
John looked at Herla and seemed to calm down almost instantly. He then looked around, taking in his surroundings. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He looked back at Herla. "What happened?"
"What do you remember?" Herla asked in return.
John thought for a moment as flashes of the day flooded back into place. "I was investigating a possible ghost that was supposedly luring people into the woods and killing them. Turns out it was two brothers murdering people for sport. I spent hours running through the woods, regretting that I never took up jogging. The ghost of their last victim and a Sphinx helped me get away, but eventually one of them caught up with me. That's when you showed up and shot him in the arm."
"I tied him to a tree and you made a quip about me waiting until the last minute. Afterward, you collapsed as all of the energy reserves that kept you going vanished," Herla said, picking up where John left off. "I carried you out of the woods, used your walkie-talkie, and radioed your coworkers to send help. Help eventually arrived and now we're here. You've got a sprained ankle, two broken ribs, a ton of bruises, a head wound with a possible concussion. The cops still want to talk to us, but you are in no condition and I don't like them. The nurses are keeping them from coming back here, but eventually, we will have to tell them what happened."
"You don't like cops?" John asked. "I mean, I get why I don't like them, but I never suspected that you didn't like them."
"Everywhere we go, the cops try to butt in or hide information that might be crucial to stopping a ghost horde," Herla explained. "And in recent years it's gotten worse. A lot of places are starting to push back on the Wild Hunt, setting up "proper channels" for us to go through in order to do our job. Those channels only slow us down and give hordes more time to strengthen in numbers."
"Ah," John said. "Understandable."
"Anyways, I'll go let someone know you're awake," Herla said as he made his toward the door. "Hopefully they'll discharge you instead of keeping you here for gods knows how long."
After what felt like forever and several more tests, it was determined that John had a Grade 2 concussion on top of his other injuries. The doctor decided not to admit him for observation. John was pretty sure it was only because of the death glare Herla was giving the doctor as they discussed treatment moving forward.
Herla listened intently as the doctor discussed at-home treatment. John was to stay in bed and rest, only getting up if necessary. No working or doing anything that required mental or physical stress.
The king wanted to make a quip that John had the no-thinking part down but thought better of it. This was not the time or the place. Maybe when John was feeling better he'd say something.
"Do you have a way of getting home?" the doctor asked.
"I could probably get an Uber," John answered, unsure if that was okay.
"I can get him home," Herla offered.
"You don't drive," John pointed out.
"No, but my horse can fly and get you home faster than any car can," Herla argued.
"I don't really recommend flying as the best way of getting him home," the doctor interjected. "With his broken ribs, it'll make it hard to breathe in such high altitudes."
"I can fly low. Just enough to where we won't cause any accidents and it won't cause him any breathing issues," Herla promised. The doctor looked skeptical, still unsure about the whole thing. "I have been flying for 1500 years, I know what I'm doing."
The doctor didn't bother arguing any further. "Alright." He stood up from the stool he had been sitting on. "I'll have a nurse bring you your discharge papers, then you are free to leave."
Once the doctor was gone, John looked over at Herla with the excitement of a five-year-old on the morning of his birthday. "I get to ride the flying horsey."
Herla rolled his eyes in bemusement. "Yes, you get to ride the flying horsey."
It took a while, but Herla eventually managed to get John settled into bed. Once he was sure the man was going to finally stay put and go to sleep, he headed out into the living area, picked up John's home phone, and called one of his lieutenants who he knew had a cellphone. He had one as well, but in his haste to get to the forest, he had left it at the Stoughton Street Coven.
After a few rings someone picked up. "Alette speaking, who is this?"
"Alette, it's Herla. How goes the hunt?" Herla asked.
"It went well, sire," Alette responded. "The spirits put up a bit of fight, but nothing we couldn't handle. Was your solo mission a success?"
"It was," Herla said. "I managed to rescue Jonathon. The two that were after him are in police custody and Jonathon is now home and resting."
"Will you be returning soon?" Alette asked.
"Not for a while," Herla answered. "The police still need to talk to everyone involved in order to get all the paperwork in order. Jonathon is in condition to be talking to the police right now, so I figured I'd stick around to make sure they don't try anything stupid like twist his words."
On the other end of the line, it sounded like Alette was trying to suppress a giggle, but managed to remain professional. "Of course, sire. Please do keep us updated so we can prepare for your return."
"Will do," Herla promised and hung up. He sat on the couch and picked up a random book off the table. He figured if he was going to stick around, he might as well find a way to pass the time.
Author's Note: Let's just assume the conversation with the cop happened a few days later instead of right afterward.
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