Bonnie decompressed from the pressure of the interview by considering what she could do to find Issac’s body. Magic wasn’t going to be of much use, but the coven seemed to be the obvious starting point. She didn’t think she could infiltrate them entirely on her own, and she had little to barter in exchange for information. All she could do was watch and hope that some morsel was left out for her to track. Her hues traveled along the room for a moment then as she caught a glimpse of Emily in her peripherals. She swallowed-the imagery of the woman was becoming more forceful and demanding the more she’d tried to ignore it. It seemed even her conscious thoughts weren’t safe anymore.

“I think even he knew that he was in over his head. You can fight it all you want, but the idea of not having to fight is a welcomed one after some time.” Bonnie mused as she shook her head. She’d had to coax Issac into her home carefully, and it wasn’t without hardships that she’d gotten him to stay. To this day, Bonnie hadn’t been able to discern if the boy had actually trusted her or not. “I’ve got a few friends and the Gilbert siblings. That’s what I have left.” Bonnie murmured to the man before meeting his gaze. “So, the idea of me being alone like he was isn’t that far off. If it was me, I’d want the help, and so, I don’t turn people away that need it for themselves.” Bonnie whispered, taking another sip of her tea to settle the emotions that had begun to dance around in the corners of her mind. “Anything else, Agent?” The woman murmured softly, setting her cup down onto the worn coffee table.

‘A friend of the family’. Quentin searched the man’s gaze at that, somewhat taken aback by the nature of his connection to Jenna - or lack thereof. John seemed to be in charge of this thing; it was a lot to undertake for a family member - moreso for an outsider. He wouldn’t have done it, not for anyone - not by a long shot. The comparison made him feel… Something in the pit of his stomach as he recognized for the second time in as many encounters that this ‘John’ guy was more selfless than most people he’d ever met… Combined. 

“That’s-… Uh, that’s real nice. Of- of you.” He gestured vaguely and swallowed back his discomfort as he glanced down at his feet. “I can try to put you in touch with this girl - can’t promise it’ll help though.” He hoped Charlie wouldn’t be mad at him for this; hoped she wouldn’t think he was taking advantage of her skills. But she’d been able to trace Isaac when he’d needed it, and damn it - maybe she’d be more useful to John than he could be at any rate. Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t wanna  t r y . “Gonna go, but If I can help with anythin’… I-… I want to.” It felt strange on his tongue, he hadn’t stuck his neck out for anyone in this city thus far, and as a rule, he liked to keep it that way. But this felt different. “… For Jenna.” 

Evelyn was grateful when he cut off her rambling. She often forgot how lucky she was  to have a friend who didn’t ask too many questions. If he thought it was odd that her husband wasn’t accompanying her or that she rarely mentioned him, then he kept it to himself. If anyone knew the extent  of her unhappiness it was Vic, and she tried not to burden him with it either. 

“Well the perks of being not employed mean  I don’t have to schedule around a  job,” she joked back. “It’s at 1:00, right after their lunch so I shouldn’t have to wait long.”As much as she wanted him there, she also didn’t want him to be put out in any way. Being a burden was not her style.

“And thank you. Really.” 

“Good.” Bonnie whispered, nodding her thanks to the man. She didn’t want to be difficult, but when people were just trying to full more newspaper articles, resistance was her fallback.

“Then I’ll help you in any way I can. I don’t want Issac to be-” Bonnie cut herself off as her breath caught. “I don’t want him to be forgotten. He barely got a chance to live, but he was here. He was just here.” Bonnie whispered, looking at the couch that John was residing on. Issac had slept there for months, and she’d seen glimpses of it in his face. He’d felt safe; he’d thought that maybe it was going to be okay. The irony of that. Bonnie resumed listening to the man before doing her best to answer him. 

“He hung around Scott McCall and that Argent girl. I saw him with them a few times in passing, but he didn’t really talk about them here. I don’t know what they were. Could’ve been just school stuff or maybe they were even friends?” She admitted, wringing her hands together before frowning a bit as he talked about bruises and scars. 

“He never came home hurt, but the way he was-the way he acted makes me think he was hurt by someone at some point in his life. He’s skittish, and he trusts as easily as you do.” Bonnie murmured before nearly smiling. She’d found Issac’s naked body in her yard under a full moon. “He was passed out in my lawn. Poor kid was exhausted. I offered him a place to crash for the night, and somehow, he just never left.”

“Just like that? For no reason?…” It doesn’t occur to him that maybe it’s rude to ask. His civilities and consideration for the proper code of conduct is somewhat paltry to begin with - the surprise of Jenna’s death makes him even less likely to think twice. “Porca troia…“ The bouncer mutters under his breath. “Was she-… Your wife?” He guesses, because it occurs to him that it’s a particularly shitty blow for someone who, just weeks ago, was selfless enough to help a stranger out of what might’ve also ended up in murder. The events are probably unrelated, but he can’t help but feel a stab of guilt. Reflexively, the thought pops into his head that he should offer the grenade back, in case John wants to put it to good use. But another voice in his head rises just as quick to shut down the thought; revenge isn’t going to bring Jenna back to life during her own funeral. So he thinks of something else.

“I know someone. She’s real good at trackin’ people, findin’ shit - I don’t know the details.” Quentin admits a little vaguely, keeping his voice to a discrete level for fear of being overheard. “But if-, y’ know, after all this… If ya plan t’ look into it, maybe I can help. Put you two in touch or somethin’.”

John shrugged, because damn it, funerals made him emotional, and he hated the senselessness of Jenna’s death. It wasn’t fair, it was worse than unfair, it was downright cruel. “So far, they haven’t come up with anything.” I haven’t come up with anything. “Oh, uh, no. I’m just...” What? How did he explain the Gilberts? A family fell in my lap and I was just selfish enough to keep ‘em. “A friend of the family.” He finished somewhat lamely. The urge to give more detail, justify his claim to this little family was overwhelming for a moment, but he remembered at the last moment, the Gilberts’ lack of family other than some random stranger they imprinted on... well, that wasn’t his story to tell. 

It wasn’t fair to him. Essentially, she was asking him for the support she should be getting from Rogan. It was too much to ask of a friend. But god it was tiring to do this alone. Telling her husband she was pregnant certainly hadn’t been the solution to that problem. Besides that, she was scared.

“I have a doctor’s appointment and…” she said, trailing off as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed it.  Hopefully he remembered the offer he’d made. He had made it, hadn’t he? Good grief, get a grip. “I don’t want to…I mean I could but…” Jesus, Evelyn, stop sounding like a babbling idiot. “I could use some company.” To her own ears, it sounded weak and if her voice wavered, it could be chalked up to nerves and not fear.

He breathed a sigh of relief as she mentioned a doctor’s appointment, and couldn’t help but smile. Was it inappropriate to be happy she had deigned to ask him for help? He’d been worried about her since they first met weeks ago. Had he ever actually seen the psychologist recommended to him so long ago, this impulse of his would no doubt be a subject worthy of discussing, but... what harm did it do? So he had a thing about protecting pregnant women. Hardly surprising. 

Ever since the curse his mother had bestowed upon him and his siblings, death never beckoned at his door again - but that didn’t sway his fascination of it. So maybe it was wrong to visit the funeral of some woman he had no relation to or any interest in whatsoever, but the line of people mourning….it was curious. Human life was so easily gone and yet so many people seemed affected by one. Oh, and the family photo revealed a girl that resembled Katherine, he needed to see this truly was a doppleganger - something that he was sure his dear brother Klaus was already involved in.

So here he found himself ambling along in a line of mourners, observing the actions of those around him behind a facade of his own grief. He barely spared the man a glance as he arrived at the front of the line and shook his hand, blue eyes instead scanning the ground for Katherine’s lookalike. “Of course,” what was he supposed to say again? “sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sorry.” Bonnie finally gave, eyes pouring into her tea as she shook her head. “It’s just every officer that’s come in here is treating Issac like a dead end. They aren’t trying to find who did it or what even happened to those other kids.” The witch said quietly as the words left a bitter taste lingering in her mouth. “Those kids died over a month ago, and there’s been no justice. They didn’t get a funeral or a memorial; they got plastered all over page six until they were replaced by headlines for the latest jazz festival. It’s not right.” Bonnie said as she looked at the male. Hands placed her tea onto the coffee table in front of her before looking up to find his gaze lingering on her. Bonnie stared back before nodding slowly. “Most nights, yeah. He didn’t always come in at the same time though. Varied.” She sighed, looking to the couch adjacent from her before frowning slightly. “-I don’t think he had a job or anything that I know of. I mostly left food for him.” Eyes drifted to her hands then as she chewed her lower lips as she thought about the plate of food she’d left out that had never been eaten. She should’ve called sooner; maybe, just maybe, she could’ve saved him. 

Allison internalized the strangling pressure of John’s arms around her. The little girl trapped beneath the fibrous walls yearned for any kind of touch to soothe her aching heart. The warrior who none took residence in her shoes couldn’t be bothered with such erroneous emotions. She drew in one lasting breath, waiting for him to release her from her own personal torture. 

Be calculable and clinical. There’s no room for anything else. 

Her mother’s voice tightened the bounds that sentenced her love for her uncle and compassion for the world to unknown depths in her soul. Right now, all that matter was a lead on the witches who orchestrated all of the chaos; and to find her father. That wasn’t John’s cross to bear so she wouldn’t push for him to drop his agenda to help her. No one could come above their own needs–she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself to find him. 

“If she’s anything Blake, she’s gonna crack. Power is a potent driver for insanity..” she offered with a poignant sneer. “I know you don’t want to hear this but she’s the ring leader for all the bad juju in this city. You find her, you find all of them. Innocent people dying and I don’t know about you but I can’t stand by and watch it happen.” 

His question shouldn’t have thrown her off but it did. Any mention of her father rattled her cage. Allison gnawed on her lip contemplating the merits of opening up to him. “No. I’ve checked all the hospitals and morgues in the city. He’s not there…” a fact that only ignited a rage inside of her. “I’m not going to stop looking for him…even if that means I have to start getting creative.”

John couldn’t help but wonder what Allison knew about power, or insanity, then remembered who her parents were, and barely concealed a wince. He wanted her life to be better than his, and it seemed like that just wasn’t in the cards. 

jchnalden:

The blood rushing in his ears drowned out the words she spewed down the barrel of his gun, and he tilted his head. For one strange, clear moment, she had no power over him; her mouth moved and he couldn’t hear the words she spoke and he was free, and he pulled the trigger.

He watched her fall dispassionately, but for the budding shame that he’d had his chance, and hadn’t taken it. She would live, and that, that was not a good thing. It wasn’t. 

Her words landed, but couldn’t quite sting as badly when she’d just thrown a scrap of fabric at him, which fluttered unthreateningly to the ground. She wouldn’t die, he knew that, but she would bleed, and she would hurt, and for now that would be enough. He said nothing as he walked away, the old screen door slapping shut behind him on his way out. He would do better by the Gilberts. There was no other choice, not anymore. 

Mary kept her gaze on John the best she could as she pressed her hands against her lower abdomen. She’d try to keep herself conscious for as long as feasibly possible, but even she knew that she had maybe three minutes at best before the blood loss won out. Dark waves were dampened at the ends from where crimson spilled out of her. “Goodbye, John.” She whispered bleakly, finally closing her eyes as she heard the slap of the screen door. A soft cry of pain left her then, but it wasn’t caused by the wound her lover had dealt. The physical pain had stopped a few minutes ago, probably lost in the shock and adrenaline that were being spread through her body. No, this cry of pain was an emotional one; John was a lost cause. At least, that was what she had to tell herself. She’d find Rain and get the hell out of this city. What she’d come for didn’t exist any longer, and without it, there was no reason to dwell. 

Mary’s thoughts slowly dulled out soon after, replaced by the dull ache of her gut until there was nothing but darkness. 

He didn’t know what he was doing here, he didn’t normally enter places of worship, let alone when they were intended to host semi-private events. But he’d recognized her picture out of the corner of his eye while walking by the church, and it was enough to make him do a double-take. Jenna Sommers was dead?… How? Why?…

Appalled, Quentin entered the church, only to come face-to-face with another human he’d recently met. John. He looked down at the hand the man offered him automatically, glancing back up to meet his eyes before taking it a little awkwardly. “Uh-… Sorry, I’m-… Shouldn’t be here, but I saw the thing outside, the-… She’s dead?” He asked in disbelief.

John was functioning on autopilot, so it took him a moment to realize that it was that wolf, Quentin, the one from the whole grenade debacle. He winced internally, because that had been a lot, even for him, but hell, it had worked. Seeing the wolf in this context was a little disarming, particularly, the drastic difference in temperament on both their parts. Still, he was touched by the obvious emotion on Quentin’s face. She wasn’t his family, not really, but she kind of was.