Make no mistake, I don't actually have an idea or plan for an overall plotline, much less an ending. I'm unsure this work should have either, in a strict sense. Aside from Stark improving himself, personally and professionally (and looking for a way to kick Lilith out of the Room of Thirteen Doors), Slim Chances is mostly going to be a collection of basically standalone plotlines, with their own endings, and occasional interludes to tie the plot threads closer together. This is subject to change, of course.

While I'll try to give context to the series involved as often and in as much detail as possible, I'll also mention their names, so you can check them out for (and inform) yourself. In addition, while reading this fic's prequel is not mandatory, as there will be callbacks and references, it is recommended, and useful.

* * *

One of the good things about being Assistant Inspectre-and I hope this job kills me soon, before I get another dumbass title-is that I'm my own boss. I set my own hours, my own free days, and sometimes, if I'm drunk enough, I can even convince myself that I'm rewarded for this.

Yeah, right. With smiles and good vibes. Truth is, since the Lilith War has ended, Hadleigh hasn't been the same. Oh, he's still as powerful as ever, despite his wounds, but the old, cold fire in him is gone. These days, when he's not teaching at the Deep School, he's at home, making up for lost time. He's become a fucking family man, and that's one of the few things I've never expected to say about him. I rarely see him, mostly when we pass each other as we travel realities. On the rare occasions he goes out into the field.

I guess I really am the assistant, if I do the most work and get the least billing. Still, the job has some perks. Like being able to pop in almost wherever and whenever I like, or need to be.

It also lets me give Dresden surprise visits and tweak his nose, which is always worth it.

I appear on the shore of his private island-but don't think it's anything glamorous. The shit heap is basically him, if he was a geological feature. So, foul weather, bad terrain, and random landscape shifts.

I've never tested how far I can go into Demonreach. The place is sentient, and I think it hates me on principle. Pretty smart.

A deep sigh, from behind me. "Again? That's the third time this month...it better not be another pixie."

I turn to smile into Gandalf the Grouch's scowling mug. "I find your lack of faith disturbing...but wholly reasonable. Nah, Dres. This time, I'm here to stay."

I've never seen someone pale so fast. "Permanently?"

My smile widens. " 'Course not. Well, unless I die before this shit is over. I'm on leave, for lack of a better term."

Dresden raises an eyebrow, gesturing with his staff at the dark horizon. Very fucking subtle, right there. "I don't know if you've hit your head, again, but we're kinda in the middle of a war. And this wouldn't be a vacation spot even if we weren't."

"I know!" I say brightly. "I knew I'd find you here, Warden." I force myself to look more serious, but fail. "C'mon. I don't think I have a bad reputation around these parts, and we can't let that stand, now can we?"

Dresden sighs again.

He doesn't actually let me stroll around the warzone Chicago has become and bust heads, of course. I think it's less that he doesn't want to be shown up on his turf, and more that he doesn't trust me not to fuck things up. I'm not sure whether I should be offended, so I err on the safe side, and pick yes.

My mood quickly sours as he tells me that, if I'm gonna stay, we'll speak at his wizard's lair (I mean, tower. I mean...) and nowhere else. He opens a Way there, both because the portal is fast and because it keeps me from learning the way. He doesn't want to take the long way around, even after I promise to close my ears and stick my fingers in my eyes.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Fucking brilliant, Dresden. The fuck am I gonna do if I have to come here in a hurry, call you to give me a lift? He knows very well I can't travel through shadows anymore, because the insane overpowered bitch that is Lilith is always there, ready to get revenge on me for trapping her.

So, we pass through the Way and into a featureless hallway. There aren't even chairs. All the better for Dresden to loom over me, the fucking beanpole. He's tall, lean rather than big, and in that black leather duster, he always looks half a step away from flashing something really disturbing. Under messy brown hair, he has the type of face you just know is used to block punches. The rest of his body is just as battered, for all of a wizard's healing.

He has a long, wooden staff in his hand-the focus of his magic-and he's packing heat, though a vanilla mortal wouldn't be able to spot it under the duster.

I meet his expectant look with a bored once, manifesting two Maledictions in the corner of my mouth. One of the first and best tricks I learned in the Deep School, the Nightside's premiere repository of eldritch bullshit, it's not magic, as such. Not as I understand it, at least. Graduates warp reality through sheer willpower, like those Madness Maze people from that possible future; this lets me create stuff out of nothing. Mostly on or next to my body, but I'm working on that. It helps to always have ammo, shivs and my favorite cigs. They taste like cotton candy and a fire in a tire factory, and I tend to go crazier if when I can't find one.

"Be serious, Stark," he says tiredly. "You know you can't just come here to screw around..."

He means I can but shouldn't. I let it slide. "Fine, fuck. I really was just checking in. When I said I'm on leave, it doesn't mean I can stay for long."

He snorts. "Guess it was too much to expect you to solve this mess."

Look at the skinny turd calling me incompetent, like he's solving shit. "Funny as it would be to watch your bony ass get close and personal with a shoggoth, I wouldn't let every poor sod on your planet bite it if I could help it. Bur here's the thing, Dresden." I breathe the smoke in. "Remember how our arrival in the Nightside messed destiny up and let the hag come home early? Well, it's kinda like that everywhere. 'Foreigners' can't go around as they please, or the local universe or multiverse changes for the worse, even if they don't do anything. If it was up to me, I'd assemble a team of asskickers and come send your Outsiders and other headaches packing, but that would do more harm than good."

"Then how can you just go wherever you please?" he asks, frowning.

"Pure, concentrated audacity." I blow a dick-shaped smoke cloud at his mouth, but he dodges, the bastard. "Besides the wheelbarrow for my balls, one of my graduation presents was...well, let's call it an inbuilt safety. I can go where trouble is, without bringing more, but only if I do it alone." My voice grew more series. "Don't worry. I keep getting better and better. Promise I'll come back here one day and put a stop to this, even if I have to put everyone I can get my hands on through a Deep School crash course."

Dresden nods, leaning backwards against the wall. I mirror the movement, folding my arms. My leather jacket, which changes color constantly, like my eyes, creaks softly.

He lets slip a few details. In short, the farce his world's supernaturals have kept up for, jeez, I dunno, fucking millennia, has come to an abrupt and unplanned end, and every jackass and their mom's dog wants to kick the vanillas while they're down and scared. There's vamps and freaks straight outta Celtic legend and eldritch dickbags, just spoiling for a chance at the mundanes, not to mention the Fae and fucking gods, who are about as helpful as you'd expect.

And-and I'm not sure Dresden knows, because the guy talks about knowledge like I talk about my eleven years in Hell-there's something in the air, so to speak. His multiverse's metaphysics has an interesting, by which I mean it's a pain in my goddamn neck, and theirs, relation to information. In short, some stuff gets stronger the more people know about it, some gets weaker as the juice is spread around. I have to wonder how many things are benefitting from being in the open, and how many secrets are about to be revealed.

I don't tell Dresden about my growing power. Not that I'm humble or anything, but I don't wanna give him hope and fall flat on my ugly face. My Nephilim nature has always helped me heal faster and better than any old human, as well as grow tougher with each scar. Hadleigh Oblivion, my Deep School instructor turned partner, thinks my exposure to weird energies out in creation's ass end has supercharged it, or something. I grow stronger whenever I fail to break something, and tougher after something breaks me. I become fast enough to react to anything that outspeeds me, after a while. But I don't know if this can go on indefinitely, or if I'm overclocked and burning myself out.

And I don't care much. For the people back home, I was gone for a year, vanished into thin air. They've moved on. My girlfriend has a girlfriend, they're happy, and I'm...busy.

My ability to sense oncoming disaster is a goddamn relief, with what I was about to start thinking of.

"Gotta run," I tell Dresden, before he can even mouth 'already?' I knew he loves me. "There's an universe pretty close to either of ours, metaphysically-speaking, whose reality is about to get torn a new asshole."

Stubbing my cigs against my eyes, I give Dresden a lazy salute, turn around, and jump through a portal of my own making.

Once more, into the breach.