Chapter Text
There's an old woman who wanders the village.
Karl has seen her several times over the years, and she's always dressed the same way. Raggedy black cloak, equally raggedy and beaded hair, carrying this god awful stick. The stick itself is probably a walking stick, but it's covered in things that are obvious references to him and his siblings. Two human skulls, a horseshoe, a little bag with three coins above it, a string of beads.
Needless to say, she freaks him out.
Karl isn't stupid. He knows who she really is, he knows the purpose of the crows that stay even in winter. He knows her games, even if he has to stay complicit in them, for now.
He knows what game she's playing right now too. Karl clips the end of a cigar as he watches her speak to Ethan Winters. The security cameras he has spread around the village are useful but old. The mics don't work so he can't hear her, but he can imagine what she's doing. Sending the father to his death, probably.
Ethan is none the wiser. If his grainy expression is anything to go by, he's hanging on the hag's every word.
"Real kind of you to manipulate a grieving father, Miranda," He says out loud.
Karl chews on the end of his cigar as the hag points in the direction of the castle. So she is sending Ethan Winters to his death! Lovely. Send the man to the castle the villagers describe as, "nothing but blood and death." That's not a cheap kill at all. For a woman who likes blood on her hands, she sure has a habit of passing the murder duties to her kids.
His sister has a blood cellar, for fuck's sake. If Alcina doesn't kill Ethan, the blood cellar will traumatize him for life.
He doesn't know what he expected, honestly. From the moment Karl first saw him enter the village, he knew Ethan was a goner. He's a bit surprised, actually, that Ethan survived that Lycan raid, lacking two fingers nonetheless. Most people would've carked it by now, but Ethan doesn't seem like most people. Hell, the man ripped an arrow out of his thigh like it was a fucking splinter!
There's something special about that man. Karl just isn't sure what.
The hag is walking away now, Ethan chasing after her. They're nearly out of view and Karl has to squint to see them, but it looks like the hag is ignoring Ethan. Good. The less the bitch talks to him, the better.
The gate closes behind her. Ethan turns, and runs a hand through his hair, mouth agape in what Karl imagines is either a swear or a frustrated scream.
Karl is close to swearing himself. Of course the bitch would point Ethan in the direction of the castle, where his sister turned men into literal flesh scarecrows. Smart, he supposes, a guaranteed death, but still a dick move.
Then again, it's Miranda. Every move is a dick move.
Karl sighs, tossing his legs up on the desk. The noises of the factory carry even to here, a room on the topmost level. The constant groaning and screeching of metal has become a comforting white noise to him, one that spoke of safety. Something rare in this shithole village.
He watches as Ethan carries on up the path. He's a very scatterbrained man, stopping to inspect every last goddamn thing and go through every house for some reason. He's getting closer and closer to Luisa's as well, and Karl can't tell if that's a good or bad thing. At this rate, he'll be at the castle by midnight.
At this rate he'll be at the castle by midnight.
Holy shit.
Karl has to stop himself from laughing out loud. Fate must be on his side today, dropping opportunities into his lap. If he hurries, he can beat Winters to the gate into the castle.
The plan? Beat Ethan to the castle gate in the graveyard, intercept him, report him to Miranda, convince her to let him keep Ethan, and keep Ethan on his side. Then, kill the Bitch Supreme.
Foolproof and genius.
Karl spares one more glance to the TVs as Ethan examines the graveyard goat cart. The reliefs to open the castle gate should still be hidden, so he has some time to get there.
Actually, given how much Ethan likes to explore every nook and cranny, maybe Karl should leave now.
He pulls the top half of his hair back into a ponytail, grabs his coat and hat, takes a quick swig of his flask of whiskey, and heads out into the cold morning air.
-----
Unsurprisingly, Ethan takes forever. (Well, like an hour. He's impatient.) Karl is starting to question if he's somehow died in the past hour, and the smoke rising into the sky isn't encouraging. He thinks it might be Luisa's house. A shame, really. He'd been rooting for them.
"Safehouse no more," He mutters.
Eventually, Karl spots the man of the hour walking towards the bridge. He looks oddly defeated, shoulders slumped, pausing to shoot a crow for some unknown reason. Fun, maybe. Stress outlet. Waste of a good bullet, either way.
Suddenly, Ethan glances towards the hallway. Shit.
Karl melts away into the darkness, hoping he wasn't spotted. Ethan seems to be a very vocal man, though, so if he had been spotted, he'd know.
Now that Ethan's here, Karl realizes he doesn't exactly have a clear plan.
Not that it's uncommon for him to do things on impulse, but maybe he should've thought this through. It's already clear Ethan is dangerous, if his little trek through lycan hell was any indication. So a safe distance would be smart, even if Karl could easily overpower him. Safe distance, and maybe a little show of power to intimidate him.
Christ, he really didn't think this through.
He slips behind a door nearly hidden by barrels, and waits to sense Ethan's footsteps. Just as an extra precaution, he slides the lock on the door shut. A tingle runs through his hands as he stretches his abilities, tracking Winters via his pistol. Cheating, maybe, but this isn't a game, so who cares?
Ethan's taking his sweet-ass time. Karl fights the urge to roll his eyes. It's a goddamn storage room, anything interesting would be out in the open.
He waits just until Ethan's about to pull the lever before making his appearance, the door swinging open with a soft creak. Somehow, Ethan doesn't hear him until he says, "Well, well."
The blonde whips around, guns blazing, mouth agape. His dinky little pistol is aimed directly at Karl's face, and he nearly scoffs.
Up close (well, closer), Karl can't help but note he's...kind of hot. In an average-Joe sort of way. Messy blond hair, brown eyes, a smattering of freckles. There's the beginnings of a bruise on his cheekbone, face covered in dirt and blood. It's easier to see detail in person than on a shitty black and white camera, and Karl can say he's thoroughly impressed.
Back on topic, though.
Karl carries on with his speech, trying to act like he hasn't been trailing Ethan this whole time.
He lifts the nearby scrap metal with a flick of the hand, mostly for theatrics. "I didn't think anyone was left! You must be pretty tough, huh?"
Ethan scrutinizes him for a moment, surprisingly unresponsive to the large amount of levitating metal. "Who the fuck are you?"
Oh. So the hag didn't tell him about us. A good and bad thing, he supposes.
"Oh, you're not local! Even better," Is what he says instead.
Before Ethan can say "what the fuck", Karl flicks his wrist towards him. Admittedly, the intent was just to knock Ethan over, maybe unconscious, but it's a little too late for that, as a copper bar plunges into Ethan's chest.
Ethan screams. Karl cringes. It's not pleasant for either of them, it seems. Blood pours onto the bar, dripping into the floor. Ethan's shaking.
Well shit. Nice job Karl.
The tips of his fingers tingle with electricity as he guides the rest of the not sharp metal to cover Ethan's body, more to incapacitate than harm. Frankly, he has no idea what he's going to do with the man, but he's sure Miranda would want him supervised somewhere, rather than burning the goddamn village down.
He chuckles, stepping over to the now laying down Ethan. The man's eyes are wide with fear and pain, pinprick pupils, old tear tracks freshened by new ones.
Karl ignores the guilt pooling in his chest. "Mother Miranda is going to love you."
Ethan closes his eyes just as Karl slams the last piece down over his face.
------
Okay. Maybe he did a lot more damage than he thought he did.
It's been twenty minutes. Ethan is still dead to the world. Miranda is going to kill him if she finds out he damaged the goods.
Ethan groans. Karl has to hold his shoulder down with a gloved hand to keep him from rolling off the tiny twin bed.
He'd dragged Ethan Winters into a nearby house to call Miranda. Well. Less dragged and more levitated. There's a nice little trail of blood leading through the graveyard to this house, that he's sure the lycans are lapping up like the canine fucks they are.
He'd dialed the phone as sure as he got Ethan situated and found some first aid stuff. And, well, if he cleans up Ethan's wounds a bit while they talk, that's none of Miranda's business.
It's a little foolish, honestly. To see Ethan as some hail-Mary. The chances that he actually survives and they escape this hellhole are slim to none, and the odds that he doesn't just murder Karl outright are pretty much zero. The most Karl can do is show him a little kindness, even if he knows his siblings won't.
Actually, it's more than a little foolish. Its goddamned stupid. Naïve, even.
Karl huffs, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder. His hands are preoccupied with a bottle of vodka, a washcloth, and some wistful dreams of freedom.
"Lord Heisenberg. Are you listening to me?"
Shit. "Apologies, Mother. I was distracted."
He can hear Miranda sigh through the phone. "I said, bring the man to our meeting site by three. I shall arrange a meeting with the other Lords, and we shall decide what to do with him then."
Fuck's sake. Of course he has to carry a passed out lump all the way back to the spot where he'd found him. Fan-fucking-tastic.
He carefully keeps all traces of annoyance out of his voice. "Yes, Mother. I won't let you down."
"Good. I trust that you won't."
Miranda doesn't say goodbye, just leaves him with the hang-up tone. She never says bye, or uses any formalities really, leaving as abruptly as she does in person. Not caring to be near the people she called her children longer than she has to.
Bitch.
Karl doesn't bother to put the phone down properly, just letting it drop onto the bed. Chances are the homeowners are dead or lycans by now anyways. He's sure they won't mind.
Ethan is out cold. If it wasn't for the slow rise and fall of his chest, Karl would've thought he was dead.
Fuck. He really hopes Ethan doesn't wake up, because this'd be really hard to explain. The guy who stabbed you, suddenly cleaning up your wounds? If Karl were in that situation, he'd probably attempt murder. (And get away with it.)
He sets the bottle and cloth down on the bedside table, and turns to the sleeping man. It's a pain, but he manages to wrestle Ethan's shirt up high enough he can see the wound. Except there's no wound there.
Instead of a bleeding puncture wound like Karl had expected, there's a circle of fresh, pink skin, like nothing had ever happened.
He blinks. "What the hell?"
No way. Karl had seen the metal impale him, yanked it out and dealt with the gushing blood, felt it on his gloves as he set Ethan on the bed. No fucking way he healed that fast.
The only people he knew who could heal like that were Alcina and Miranda, both of whom are not entirely human anymore.
Karl leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, something of a Cheshire grin spreading across his lips. "Well I'll be damned, Winters. You really are special."
He has half a mind to call Miranda and report this. Then again, he doesn't particularly want to explain why he had his hands up the baby Rose's father's shirt, even if it's completely innocent. Miranda would interpret it as "compassion for the enemy" or some bullshit like that, and he'd get bitched at, and maybe even punished, if she's in a bad mood.
Not to mention he'd stabbed her little plaything.
God. He'd really rather not deal with her fucking experiments today.
So he doesn't tell her. Instead, he tugs Ethan's shirt back down, and pulls a cigar out of his coat pocket. Lights it. Exhales smoke into the frigidly cold air.
The clock across the room says it's only 1:35. He has about an hour to let Ethan rest, and to mentally prepare himself for the ordeal that is a family meeting.
Karl sighs and takes a drag of his cigar, leaning his head back against the wall. Ethan mutters something in his sleep.
A crow caws outside.