Mystery Beyond Compare - Fablehaven Oneshots

Aftermath

(Warren always escapes death- until the time he doesn't.)  

The warm sound of laughter follows him outside into the cool winter air of the porch. It's cold, but there's a heavy warmth and a flush across his cheeks that keeps the chill from hitting him- he's a little tipsy, he thinks. Not enough to feel it tomorrow, luckily, but just enough to take off the edge of nerves that still thrum through him before a mission (not that he'd ever admit to it). It's not top priority or particularly high difficulty, but since when do these ever go as planned?

He breathes a stream of fog into the night air and watches as it dissipates under the moonlight, snow sparkling in the absence of clouds, a frosted garden pristine even in the heart of winter. There are definitely perks to being in the center of a hidden magical world, even if it comes with the downfall of something trying to kill him around every corner. There's snow on the porch railing he's leaning on, but he's not cold, even without a coat. Not too far away is the looming barrier of trees that marks the edge of the protected yard. If he squints, he thinks he can see something flickering in the shadows of the boundary, shrouded in shadow, and Warren smiles. Chances are, it's probably taken a shot at him once or twice. Most things have, in fairness, but hey, he's still standing.

(Usually. He's just gotten out of crutches, and he hasn't forgotten it.)

The sounds of laughter and shouting slip out onto the porch as the door opens with a sliver of the hall light and shuts once more, followed closely by the sound of footsteps approaching to lean next to him on the railing. Warren smells Vanessa's strawberry shampoo before he sees her, tilting his chin up to look at the soft light framing her face.

"Hey," he says, and smiles up at her, because how can he not? There's the mischievous twinkle in her eyes even now, but there's a softness to her features that's taken him years to earn the right to see, and that he cherishes every day. A sharp facade falling away to sweet smiles, loud snorts of laughter at bad jokes at 3 a.m., pink flushed cheeks that she still tries to hide behind a curtain of hair to stop him from noticing. They've been together for years now, so of course he notices, but he lets her have it. After all, she pretends not to notice when he trips over air first thing in the morning on the way to get coffee, so it seems only fair.

"Warren," she teases. "You're staring again."

He laughs. "Maybe." Not many people notice that she has freckles, but he does. Every day. There are just a few scattered over her nose and dusted over her cheekbones, not very noticeable unless you're up close, and Warren loves them.

Well. He loves her.

Vanessa reaches out to flick him lightly on the nose and he realizes that he's spaced out again. "I swear, you're gonna start drooling. Are you drunk?"

With a grin, he manages to tear his eyes away from her face long enough to take another sip from the bottle dangling from his fingers. It's almost empty, but there wasn't much there to begin with. "Nah, not really."

"Good, you really don't want to be hungover tomorrow."

"I know, babe, don't worry."

Vanessa's laugh is the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. He hopes she knows that.

From inside down the hall he hears the sound of something heavy being dropped, followed closely by the unmistakable noise of a glass shattering and a loud but muffled "Nice going, Doren." Vanessa sighs loudly through her nose and Warren lets his head fall to his folded arms on the railing with a snort.

"It's like babysitting, I swear," she groans, and he laughs in agreement.

"Can't argue with that."