The first thing I do is grab some grubby clothes from my backpack. I always keep a spare set on me for situations like this. I really need to do laundry, but I also really need to not be covered in blood, so I guess it's a draw. I tug them on, wincing a little as the fabric drags over a small cut in my side - it's already scabbing over, but it's sort of tacky and sticky and pulls at the skin. There's nothing quite like having an open wound tug on a cotton-poly blend t-shirt. I can't in good faith recommend it.

Jordan's staring at me as I pull the shirt on, their eyes flicking down to where the wound is sealing itself up. "You good, Bee?" they ask, concern lacing their voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, tugging the shirt down over my stomach. "Just a flesh wound." I grin at them, but they don't seem to find it as funny as I do. Tough crowd.

We're all beat up, but we've got work to do. I grab the backpack full of Jump pills and sling it over my shoulder, nodding at Spindle. "C'mon, let's get these to the Defenders." He nods back, and we head out, leaving Jordan and Derek to deal with the aftermath of the fight.

The trip to the Defenders' base is uneventful, just a quick jaunt through the city. We drop off the pills with a brief explanation of where they came from, and then we're on our way back to the Tacony Music Hall. No fuss, no muss. Just another day in the life of a superhero.

----------------------------------------

When we get back to the Tacony Music Hall, Derek's got a handful of Monopoly money spread out on the table, sorting through it with a furrowed brow. He glances up as we enter, a wry grin spreading across his face.

"Admiring your handiwork?" I ask, dropping my backpack by the door and wandering over to the table.

"Something like that," Derek replies, holding up a bright orange $500 bill. "Just thinking about how much easier our lives would be if this was real money."

Jordan snorts, flopping down onto the couch. "Yeah, because using counterfeit cash always ends well."

"Hey, I never said anything about using it," Derek protests, but there's a glint in his eye that makes me think he's not entirely joking.

"Uh-huh, sure," I say, poking at the pile of fake money. "So why'd you use Monopoly money for the drop, anyway? Wouldn't it have been more convincing to use, I don't know, actual cash?"

Derek shrugs. "Oh sure, let me just pull 60 grand out of my ass real quick," he says, rolling his eyes. "Monopoly money was the best I could do on short notice."

"You could've at least gotten some of those prop bills they use in movies," Jordan suggests, but Derek waves them off.

"Oh please, like you can just waltz into a store and buy that stuff," he scoffs. "Trust me, I know a thing or two about fake money. It's not as easy to get your hands on as you might think."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "And how exactly do you know so much about counterfeit cash?" I ask, a teasing lilt to my voice.

Derek freezes for a second, then shrugs, a little too casually. "I read a lot," he says, but I'm not buying it.

"Uh-huh, I'm sure that's it," I say, grinning at him. "Admit it, you've got a secret life of crime we don't know about."

"I do not!" Derek protests, but he's fighting back a smile. "I'm just… resourceful."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" I ask, laughing. "Resourceful?"

"Hey, it's not a crime to be smart about things," Derek says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Besides, it's not like I'm out there passing fake bills or anything. I just know how to get creative when I need to."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I shake my head, still grinning. "Whatever you say, master criminal."

Derek grumbles something under his breath about ungrateful teenagers, but I'm already moving on, my attention caught by Jordan, who's hunched over their laptop with a look of intense concentration on their face.

"Whatcha got there, Jojo?" I ask, plopping down next to them on the couch.

Jordan doesn't look up, their fingers flying over the keys. "GPS tracker," they mutter, their eyes glued to the screen. "I'm trying to get a lock on Squeal's location."

That piques my interest. I lean in closer, peering at the laptop screen. There's a map of the city pulled up, with a little blinking dot moving slowly across it.

"Is that him?" I ask, pointing at the dot.

Jordan nods. "Yep. We might not have gotten him tied up and singing like a canary, but at least we can keep tabs on him."

"And we got some of those nasty pills off the street," Derek adds, coming over to join us. "That's a win in my book."

I hum in agreement, watching as the little dot that represents Squeal winds its way through the streets of Kensington. It's moving erratically, doubling back and taking odd turns like he thinks he's being followed.

"Looks like someone's got a case of the paranoids," I muse, tracing the dot's path with my finger.

"Can you blame him?" Jordan asks, glancing up at me. "Dude just got jumped by a bunch of superpowered teenagers. I'd be looking over my shoulder too."

I snort out a laugh. "Fair point."

We fall silent for a bit, all three of us huddled around the laptop, watching Squeal's signal move across the map. It's almost hypnotic, the way it weaves and bobs through the city streets. I find myself getting lost in the motion, my mind wandering.

I start thinking about the fight, replaying it in my head. The adrenaline, the chaos, the blood - both mine and the bad guys'. It's a familiar dance at this point, but it never gets any easier. Every fight takes a little piece of me with it, leaves me a little more battered and bruised, inside and out.

But then I think about the pills we took off the streets, the dealers we put out of commission, even if it was just for a little while. I think about the people we might have saved, the lives we might have changed. It makes the bruises worth it.

"Huh, looks like he's heading into Port Richmond," Jordan says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I blink, refocusing on the screen. Sure enough, Squeal's signal is moving north, towards the river.

"What's he doing all the way out there?" Derek wonders, frowning at the map.

I'm so focused on the screen that I almost don't notice the way Derek's gingerly touching his nose, wincing a little. Almost.

"You okay there, big bad wolf?" I ask, nudging Derek with my elbow. He startles a bit, then shrugs, wincing as the motion jostles his clearly broken nose.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, but I'm not buying it.

"Dude, your nose is like… crooked," I point out, and Derek sighs, reaching up to gingerly prod at the misshapen appendage.

"It's been broken like twelve times," he admits, and I gape at him.

"What? How?"

Derek shrugs again, then seems to regret it as pain flashes across his face. "When you get punched in the face, either your nose goes or your jaw goes. Nose is the most prominent part of your face, so…" He trails off, like that explains everything.

"That can't be healthy," I mutter, but Derek just grins, a little lopsided due to his busted nose. "How do you sleep? Do you just mouth breathe it?"

"In werewolf form," he says, like that's a totally normal thing to say. "It resets to peak condition and then re-breaks itself when I wake up. So it's only really a problem during the daytime. I just go and get it handled at the doctor the next day. I know a guy. Does dogs and people."

That catches my interest. "Wait, really? What's that like, sleeping like a dog?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Derek snorts. "I don't just curl up on the floor, if that's what you're thinking," he says, shaking his head. "I've got a big cage, like the ones they use for those huge dogs that keep people warm. Great Pyrenees, I think they're called."

My eyebrows shoot up. "You sleep in a cage?" I ask, a little incredulous.

Derek nods. "Have to. When I'm in wolf form, I lose the dexterity to handle doorknobs and stuff. Plus, it's hard, to control the urge to murder other human beings. The cage keeps me contained. It's for people's safety."

There's a heaviness to his words that makes me pause. I never really thought about how much control it must take for Derek to keep his wolf side in check. The fact that he has to literally cage himself at night just to keep from hurting people… that sucks!

"That sounds rough, man," I say quietly, and Derek shrugs, then hisses in pain, apparently having forgotten about his nose again.

"It is what it is," he says, but there's a weariness in his voice that belies his casual tone. "I lose about half my life to the nighttime anyway, so I might as well spend it sleeping. I get up with the dawn, get a jump start on the day while the rest of you are still snoring away."

That piques Jordan's interest. They look up from their laptop, eyebrows raised. "So you're like, a super early riser then?" they ask, and Derek nods.

"Yep. Up with the sun, every day."

"Huh," Jordan says, looking thoughtful. "I never pegged you for a morning person."

Derek grins, a little sharp around the edges. "Nobody's pegged me."

"Huh?" I ask, not understanding. He cackles. I'm about to ask what else is part of the werewolf lifestyle when Jordan suddenly sits up straight, their eyes going wide as they stare at their laptop screen.

"Uh, guys?" they say, their voice tight with concern. "We might have a problem."