Jonn: He's Done It Before

The Skyport Thieves had gathered in the meeting hall of their guildhouse -- all shady and sketchy and unwilling to touch each other, and crammed in more than they would normally be, thanks to the recruiting efforts.

Jonn had been basically useless in these efforts. He was great at lying to people, but convincing them to work for his guild -- it was just too many steps. One of the other thieves posted out in Glimmerton, Shallah -- she'd written a list of things for him to say, a flowchart, she called it, and she sat back to back with him and drilled him on it for a few nights. He could recite it back, no problem, and if she followed the script she'd written, he could ace it. But when she'd started changing things up, going out of order, he floundered.

So Glimmerton had turned into sort of a vacation that he didn't want to be on. The rest of the gang (two archers, two spellcasters, one bruiser, and he was the bruiser, all five feet four inches of him; it was hilarious) went about their work, and he wandered the town and was bored. It had been exciting when Roddy had gotten in touch with him -- and seeing Gwydion again, that was good too -- but still, it was better to home.

Finch shifted closer to him in the hall, arms crossed, just to shift further away from a red-cloaked thief. Jonn pushed a hand into his arms to cling to him and shifted behind him a little, taking up less space, half-hiding, keeping his eyes to the front of the hall.

He fucking hated Morgan Wyn.

She always put a hard, heavy feeling in his gut, like there was something wrong with her and he just couldn't put his finger on it. From what he'd been able to tell, that was how some people felt about him -- people like Finch, probably, but Finch didn't shrug him off this time, and let him use him as cover. Finch didn't care about Wyn, but he hated having to come up to the guildhouse and rub shoulders with other people, and Jonn took a little satisfaction in knowing that Finch at least preferred to have Jonn taking up space next to him rather than a stranger. Jonn cut venomous glares at anyone who got too close to them. It was a good system.

Wyn addressed them, sitting on the table at the head of the hall, her little red dragon curled across her shoulders. Told them the next step. Told them when they'd get their specific orders. Jonn fidgeted with the red sash around his waist and pressed his face against Finch's arm and fought down the on-edge feeling that looking at her gave him.

Then she dismissed them and swung her legs around the table, and set off back down to what used to be Helena's office. (She went somewhere and hadn't come back. He had tried to find her but now he didn't have his notebook and he didn't know what to do.)

When the crowd thinned, as thieves and assassins slipped away through the gaps in the walls, Finch shook Jonn off and took a breath. He started to leave and Jonn followed him automatically, still looking at Helena's door, slamming directly into Finch when his partner abruptly stopped short.

A familiar small voice snarled, “Watch where you're fucking going!”

Jonn turned in time to see Finch squint and look incredulous. “What are you, a fucking … kobold, or something?”

“I'm a fucking dragonborn,” Amren snapped.

Quietly, Jonn put in, “Hansel told me it's not nice to ask people what they are.”

They both ignored him -- Finch snorted with laughter and started to say something like “the fuck you are,” and Jonn's danger sense prickled. He jerked Finch back as Amren leapt at him, claws out, tearing the front of his tunic. Finch backed away -- not laughing anymore -- lifting a hand crackling with electricity -- as Amren dropped to a crouch, baring his teeth, the same blue electricity burning in the back of his throat.

For fuck's sake. Jonn put himself between them, pressing his back against Finch's chest and taking a couple steps back, forcing them further apart. He dropped one hand to his knife, but held the other one up.

“Fucking stop it. Stop.”

Amren skittered back a few steps, the glow in his throat dimming, and he just glared up at them instead. (It was weird being glared up at. Usually Jonn was glared down at.) Finch sighed through his teeth, but the static feeling in the air by Jonn's head, pulling his hair to it, went away as he dropped his spell.

Jonn had a second to be pleased with himself for making them settle down -- Hansel would be so proud -- before Finch ruined it by grumbling, “Fucking stupid to get in a fight in the guildhouse, anyway.”

Amren immediately bowed back up, growling, “I'll fucking meet you outside, then --.”

“Fucking shut up!” Jonn pushed Finch back with an elbow and thought about kicking Amren, but that seemed like a good way to get bitten, or zapped. Plus, it wasn't what Hansel would do. He probably wouldn't have yelled at them, either, but he didn't have to yell because he was big, so people listened to him automatically. Jonn had to yell to be paid attention to.

And that part worked, at least. Amren's eyes cut to him instead of Finch, and narrowed. “Why are *you* in Skyport again?” he snapped.

“I fucking live here.” Jonn had the vague impression that he should try to get along with Amren, because he was Roddy's brother, so it was kind of like they were brothers, too. Didn't fuckin’ like him, though. It was that same gut feeling.

Amren scowled. “I thought you got moved out to Glimmerton. Watch Morningstar Keep or whatever, keep outta trouble.”

Jonn shrugged. He expected Finch to complain about how he'd fucked up and gotten sent back to Skyport exclusively as karmic punishment for Finch, but he didn't.

Amren kept studying him and shifted a little. He kept a low stance even though he was already short. Still had a little drum strapped onto each leg, even though he wasn't working as a bard anymore. Still needed them to do magic, Jonn guessed, and felt that prickle of danger again when Amren tapped out a quiet, idle beat on one of them.

“Hey,” he said. “You should tell me how Roddy's doing. 'Cause we're brothers and all.”

“Oh, yeah.” Amren wasn't that bad, really. Jonn didn't know why he'd thought he was. “He's doing good. He was just in town but he's back in Glimmerton now, I think, at the castle.”

Finch smacked him in the side of the head, jarring him. “Hey, he's fucking charming you, idiot. Snap out if it.”

Jonn looked back at him, insulted. Amren wouldn't -- wait, no, yes he would. It was his entire fucking thing. That little shit.

“Hey, fuck you --.” Jonn started towards Amren, drawing his knife.

The song changed. Amren sharply commanded, “Sit down and stay there,” and Jonn did it. He looked down at his knife blankly. Amren hadn't told him not to move, or not to throw it, so he did, and it thunked into the hide covering of one of the bard's drums, ruining it.

“Fuck you,” he said again, while Amren screeched and hissed over his drum.

Finch tried to pull him to his feet, snorting, but Jonn's body fought to stay sitting as he'd been told, even though he knew he wanted to stand up. Couldn't move. Wasn't in control. He felt himself starting to panic, and there wasn't anything he could do about that, either. He started trying to tell Finch to stop, and -- just sit down with him, or something, until the spell wore off, but Amren pounded on his remaining drum and Finch stopped on his own, abruptly. Except, not on his own.

“Slit your throat,” Amren snarled, and when Jonn didn't feel the compulsion, he looked back and up to Finch with alarm.

His fingers were twitching over the knife in his belt. He was resisting the spell, it looked like, but only just. His other hand buzzed with electricity as he tried to defend himself, managed to slowly jerk it up, lightning dancing between his fingers, trying to arc towards Amren -- who stared him down, drumming out a more insistent beat, taking a step back just in case -- and Jonn couldn't fucking do anything but sit there, couldn't move, couldn't --

Asya cracked in between them, and all the magic died, and she regarded them from behind the red lenses in her mask.

Jonn shot up as soon as he was able to and snatched the knife off Finch's belt, holding it behind his back with both hands. Finch stumbled away a couple steps, looking dazed, and Jonn followed him without thinking about it, then backed away. He knew Finch had only been going for the knife because of Amren's magic, and that it was over, but still. Finch blinked and ran a hand through his hair, twisting the locs. He looked from Jonn to Asya and then down to Amren, and his jaw clenched.

He grabbed Jonn's arm and stole his knife back and turned to walk away without saying anything.

Jonn started to trail after him, then turned back and quickly hugged Asya, even though he knew she wouldn't respond. She was really good at knowing when he was in trouble, and showing up. Not always to help, but -- still showing up.

And since he was close enough, he did lash out with a boot behind her back and slam it into Amren's gut, doubling him over. He expected retaliation and hid behind an impassive Asya, then remembered no one could do magic around her and decided to make a run for it while Amren was still wheezing on the floor.

“You're a shitty brother,” he said matter-of-factly, and chased after his partner. He caught up in time to slip out the door after him before it slammed closed behind him, and clung to Finch's arm. “Hey! Hey. Hey, Finch. That --.”

He was going to say *that was fucked up, are you okay?* because he thought it was what Hansel would say, but Finch shrugged him off roughly -- more roughly than he had in a long time -- and rounded on him.

“You know that little shit?” he demanded.

Jonn was taken aback. “Kinda. I met him in Glimmerton.”

“You didn't fucking tell me about him.” Finch started off again, and Jonn chased after.

“Yeah, I did,” he insisted. Why was Finch so fucking mad? “He's Roddy's brother. I checked him out for the Runners. I said that, you just weren't listening to me --.”

Finch turned to him again. He was shivering, which made sense, because it was cold out here, and he didn't have warm clothes because he didn't leave the bunker, and his shirt was ripped now. He jabbed a finger at Jonn, and Jonn ignored it and stepped closer.

“You didn't fucking tell me about that mind control shit!” Finch snarled. “I didn't have -- I wasn't fucking prepared for that because you didn't fucking share your intel, you just fucking --.”

“I didn't know about it. I talked to him for like, twenty seconds, all right?” He dodged Finch's finger to hug him. 'Cause he was cold. And upset. Hansel would hug him.

Wait, didn't he know about that, though? It'd been his first thought when the charming effect had worn off -- that that was the kind of shit Amren did. How did he know that? Maybe he was just imagining things.

Finch didn't shove him off, but it seemed more like it was because he'd frozen up in thought than because he appreciated it. Ungrateful, honestly. “It seemed like he fucking knew you,” he said suspiciously. “And that you fuckin’ get in trouble.”

“Like I said, I talked to him for twenty seconds.”

Finch snorted. Then he untangled himself from Jonn's arms and pushed him away, and ran a hand through his hair again. “I need you to get me a book.” He turned away again, but kept talking. “On charm and compulsion magic. So we can defend against it. Undo it and shit.”

“'Kay.” Jonn skipped after him and linked an arm through his. “Amren's on our side, though, I mean -- if Asya hadn't shown up, you really think he would've gone through with it?”

He didn't specify what *it* was, because that made him think about Finch dying, and made him think about Hansel, empty-eyed, worrying with a knife after he'd come home. He pressed his cheek against Finch's arm.

“I bet he's fucking done it before,” Finch muttered.

“What makes you say that?”

He was quiet for a second. “Just a hunch.”