Rush wakes up.

Again.

Jode is long asleep next to him, the top of her breast peeking out of the duvet. She’s drooling on the pillow again, but he can’t bring himself to be too upset.

The longer he watches her, the more he lets himself relax. He counts the lines on her face, the creeping crows feet in her corners, even in the dark, the sunspots that dance across her cheeks are clear as day.

Rush lets out a quiet sigh.

He slides out from under the covers, cringing at the cold air that slams against his body. He moves as quiet as he can, picking up articles of clothing and shoving them on as he goes.

Suddenly, as he desperately slides his sock onto his left foot, Rushito scurries between his legs. At least the little beast understood what he needed.

He forgoes the helmet Jode begs him to wear, he can say he’s sorry later.

By the time his boots hit the gravel, Rushito is running in front of him, morphing, shifting–

His bike is in front of him now, the beastly purr of the engine rattles his bones just a bit, but he jumps on regardless.

Then Rush just drives.

He drives.

He drives.

Why he agreed to go with Jode on a hunt in the Florida countryside, he couldn’t explain why.

Qais asks, Liam giggles, Rigby and Fran roll their eyes.

He follows her anyways,

The night sky without the hell that is blood or peanut or eclipse weather is clear, nicer than most nights in the neon hellscape that is Miami, so eventually, as the stars roll by, he stops.

His boots hit the pavement and Rushito is between his feet again, it scurries off into the trees, in search of something to eat no doubt, and Rush takes the opportunity to lean against a thick oak close to the shoulder.

Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he shimmies out a cigarette from the crushed pack. He feels around in the other two pockets–

He let Jode borrow it, didn’t he.

Rush sticks the cigarette in his mouth. Rolling his eyes, he snaps his fingers, and a purple flame engulfs his pointer finger. He lights the tip and takes a breath.

He moves his finger away, but does not put out the flame. Instead, he stares.

That’s right.

Why did he wake up in the first place?

It’s that damn bat. Rush knows its that fucking bat.

Every night it’s the same. Dream–vision maybe?

Every fucking night, he’s been waking up suffocating. It’s a blinding light. It’s a dark void. He loses the ability to breathe every single time.

It’s light.

It’s heat.

It’s Jode Crutch, and every night, she stands at the end of his world.