Fan Club

for the prompt: hurt/comfort, wounded ego


Salem,

March, year four

"Is it true that you killed a djin all by yourself?"

Conrad blushed, faintly purple around the ears, and looked away from the big eyed chick hovering near his chair. They were sitting, Worth and Conrad, at a bar that served things they could actually drink, on a street in the spookier side of Salem. The prices here were sky high, but they'd made a killing on their last trip into Boston for salvage, and sometimes it was worth it just to have someone else do the procuring and mixing for you. The most exhausting part of being a vampire? Finding food sources the princess wouldn't turn his nose up at. Worth would have been happy to swoop down on some traveler and siphon off a pint, but nooo, that sort of thing wasn't kosher around here.

So they came to the bar while Hanna was out getting pancakes with the dead guy, looking for a peaceful breakfast and a little breathing room (figuratively speaking), and what do you know but suddenly there's this little chit and her giggling buddies crowding around the bar stools.

Worth grimaced, lips peeling back over a couple teeth.

"Uh," Conrad said. "Well, I don't know who told you that—"

"Oh everyone is talking about it!" the chatty one interjected, patting her hands nervously on her jeans. They had dirt stains rubbed so deep into the knees you'd be better off cutting the whole area out than trying to clean it. "The battle in Captain? Last month? Oh, you must be in so many wars I bet it's hard to remember!"

Conrad looked bewildered. "Not… that many?"

The girl bounced, and then she stuck out her hand. "I'm Judy," she said. "Judy Garsburough, these are my friends Nadia and Babs. We are so interested in you? Or, oh, sorry, that—we're interested in your adventures? We've been collecting the updates from the council, we've got some of your letters, where do you find your clothes you always look so fashionable!"

"…What," Conrad said, preening nervously, "these old things?"

Worth sat there, at the bar, fist jammed into cheek as he tapped his nails against the polished wood. Look at that vain little ponce, you kill one measly metaphysical superbeing and you think you're hot shit. Wouldn't catch Worth bragging like that.

The bartender, a hunched scaly motherfucker, passed him another Bloody Manfred before he could shout out an order, a sympathetic look on the protruding snout. Boyfriends, huh? he seemed to say. Maybe he did say—Worth couldn't remember if those things were telepathic or not.

"Well," Conrad was saying, "you know it's mostly a matter of focus but yeah, I guess the senses have gotten a little stronger the last couple years?"

Worth snorted, audibly.

"Excuse you," Conrad said, glaring over his shoulder. "Do you have something to say, doctor?"

"Ah, me? Nah, what'd a lowly physician have ter say about it? Ain't like I ever killed me any monsters or anythin'. Good old peaceful doctor, that's me. Hey, why doncha tell 'em about th' time ya got dizzy in the river an' we hadda rescue yer ass from the castle, Princess Peach? Mebbe they'd like ter hear about the time ya—"

Conrad smacked him in the head hard enough to make his jaw ache.

"I don't know why I give him the opening," Conrad muttered, shaking his hand out. "Sorry girls, he's not always this bad."

The girls looked a little bewildered, but they were sharp enough to take advantage of Conrad's preoccupation. They shoved their addresses into his pockets and talked him round to some kind of girls' night out—what the fuck even—and left the bar before the non-human denizens could get too uneasy about daylight children knocking around their private haven.

Worth gave his companion a sour look.

"What?" Conrad demanded.

"Nothin," Worth said. "Hope you 'n yer lady friends are reaaaal happy together."

"they're not—we're not—they're like twelve."

"Give it a guess 'round sixteen myself but alright, I ain't here ter kink shame."

"Worth! You—" but then Conrad paused, lips working silently as some new line of thought occurred to him. He turned his narrow gaze back to Worth. "You're jealous!"

"Wha, jealous'a you? Don't flatter yerself Princess."

"No no no," Conrad pressed, holding up one firm finger. "You're totally jealous. You big fat hypocrite, you hate being bothered by admirers. You should be grateful those girls weren't after you."

Worth took a huge swallow of his Bloody Manfred. "Am," he said. "Whadda I need some soppy little punks trailin' after me fer?"

"Yeah. Exactly. Glad you're seeing reason," Conrad replied. His eyes flickered with sharp amusement. "Otherwise someone might just have to leak to them about the time you engineered a fairy death trap all by yourself with fifteen minutes on the clock."

Worth paused with his mouth half way to the mug.

"Would they?" he said, as casually as he could manage.

"Maybe," Conrad said. "Maybe they'd have to tell some people about the time you dismembered a troll that was standing between you and a door you wanted to go through. Or the time you faced down a skinwalker in close combat."

Conrad leaned in close, red eyes lidded and sly. "Maybe," he repeated, and tipped the mug of cocktail back so that he could take a delicate sip. "Luckily," he added, after a moment, "you're not actually jealous, so none of that is necessary."

Then he dropped back into his seat, and he had the audacity to wink.

Worth blinked down at his drink. He had a feeling something important had just happened, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was.