All credit to my friend Ashley for the mug on this page, a suggestion that killed me during one of my Patreon streams. Thanks for reading! You can support Paranatural on Patreon and Ko-fi, and you have my eternal gratitude for any support you've shown or will show! Thank you!

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[Transcript]

        “You’re kiddin’ me. That little baseball twerp is June’s brat?”

        Jean Garcia was sprawled out on the Activity Clubroom’s couch, sipping school-budget coffee and generally acting like he owned the place. The only place he truly owned was a tent in the Bayview backwoods, but, for better or worse, Jean always felt at home around Spender, whose house he crashed at on occasion, and had a key for, and paid a portion of the rent for every month. When you lived as a lone wolf in the wild outdoors like he did, you put your feet up when you could—and the ottoman they’d bought for Spender’s study was a showpiece, not some shoddy store-brand stepladder, which Jean respected even if they’d disagreed about the color. He’d find his rest on the road... like the unbound, untamed drifter that he was.

        “I know...” Spender sighed, leaning back against his desk. “I was just as surprised as you are.” He glanced up at a laidback Garcia, who was taking a tranquil sip of coffee. “Actually, I may have been a little more surprised than you.”

        “Not a competition.” 

        “No, of course not,” Spender chuckled in concession. When Jean was nonplussed, he fit both disparate definitions of the word. His stoic companion could calmly contain contradictory multitudes... or was maybe just bad at conveying his feelings. Spender was certain he’d determine which at some point, once they’d both had time to breathe and settle down. “She may have been my Consortium mentor,” Mr. Spender continued, “but I know that Agent Summers left her mark on you as well.”

        Garcia nodded nonchalantly as he took another sip.

        “Yeah, she’s why I started smoking.”

        “...Mm.” Spender sighed and pushed up his sunglasses. “Truly an inspiration to us all.”

        Garcia scoffed into his coffee.

        “You gonna squash that beef you got with her before you tell the boy you knew his mom, Rick?”

        “I don’t have beef with her, I just...” Spender trailed off. 

        It was true that, having lost contact with Agent Summers once she’d put Bayview behind her, he’d never taken time to face the feelings he’d been left with in her absence. She’d disappeared so suddenly, breaking promises she’d spoken with such surety, that a young Spender had been hard-pressed to forgive her on his own... and then life had moved on. When he’d heard the news that she had passed, however, he’d turned away from her memory to spare himself a different sort of pain. For a while, that had been that. If her ghost had lingered, it had far better friends and a family to haunt. Spender never thought he’d see a single fraction of her legacy up close, let alone have the chance to reprise her role in his life for her son.

        “It’s just... hard to lose a mentor,” Spender finished softly, idly watching golden vapor slowly spiral from his hand.

        Garcia stared off into the shadows on the ceiling, still blue and calm beyond the low sun’s reach.

        “...Yeah.”

        “Losing a parent at that age, though, when you’re only just waking up to yourself and the world...” Spender shook his head. “I can’t imagine how that loss compares.”

        “I can,” Jean scoffed with irreverent sincerity. “Wouldn’t recommend ’em back-to-back.”

        Spender set a hand on Jean’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

        “...We were both raised by wolves, weren’t we, Jean? Some truly wild women.” Spender smiled. “It’s a wonder that we all turned out so normal.”

        Jean cocked an eyebrow.

        “Normalesque,” Spender corrected.

        “Great name for your perfume line.”

        “As if you could stand me if I sold perfume,” Spender joked, sitting down on the couch just beside him. “I might as well start wearing silver jewelry.”

        Garcia scoffed and scratched at his stubble.

        “You’re really limiting the pool of phoned-in gifts that I can give you,” he said, “by being mindful of my beastly sensitivities.”

        “Gold jewelry suits me far better than silver,” Spender shot back with a wink.

        “Doesn’t suit my budget, rich boy. Scrape it off your statue.” Mr. Garcia thumped a leg across Spender’s thigh, having turned to slump against the couch’s arm rest. “You gonna tell Mina about Max? Might be the first time that she gives a kid the time of day.”

        “The kids have smartphone lockscreens for that, Jean. One daunting task at a time.”

        “Right, you still need to tell her about the wicked spirit burns you’re tanking.”

        “...But enough about ME,” Spender said through a grimace. “Let’s talk about YOUR concerning medical conditions. It’s a full moon tonight, Jean. Have you made preparations?”

        Garcia sighed and looked away, setting a hand on the old scars that cut across his shoulder.

        “Takin’ a half-day, got the spare key, fuel in the tank—the usual routine. You don’t gotta worry. Old dog’s got no new tricks to spring its leash.”

        “Unless its owner grows complacent... or decides to go for a hike in the woods a day before the big event—”

        “Waxing gibbous is my best shot at tracking down Shrike and surviving, Rick,” Garcia protested, “when she’s on her best behavior—”

        “That’s a theory, Jean.”

        “—and I’m still mostly me.”

        “Which is why it’s such a pity you’ve resolved to stay inside for your own safety,” Spender replied, using his powers to make his glasses flash for emphasis, “and the safety of stray cats across the island. You’re not fit to hunt when a moonbeam makes you lose your mind, Jean, even if the missing sliver spares your body.”

        “I can handle it. Just takes self-control.”

        “Which you will have already spent, Jean, to resist the call of the wild... and spend the night with me instead,” said Mr. Spender with a reprimanding pout. He crossed his arms. 

        “Uh. Yeah,” the scruffy science teacher mumbled in response. He looked away. Jean hadn’t yet told Richard that he had his own Max-related secret, having been witnessed floating downstream by the tween the other day. A particularly juicy-looking raccoon had arrested his attention that night, while he was out stalking the woods for signs of Shrike, and the rest had been a blur. He’d lost a perfectly good compound bow in the process... and that had been a few nights before the lunar peak, when the most its glow would do was make his arm hair stand on end. No harm, no foul, though, Jean had figured, and no need to make confession. Rick had plenty to worry about already. He didn’t want to be a burden. 

        Lone wolves, together—that was how they’d kind-of-sort-of half-negotiated their complex or maybe actually straightforward relationship, at least as Jean had understood it. Spender had sat him down once, a few years ago, to ask if he was tired of his tent out in the woods (Garcia had said no), and if he maybe wanted to move in with him (Garcia had told him that wasn’t necessary, not wanting to intrude or tax his sympathy). Spender had taken the hint before Jean had noticed it himself, and they’d ended up setting mature and thoughtful boundaries between their personal, professional, and paranormal lives that both men had thought the other was requesting. The end result had been enjoyable enough, and so, for better or worse, those terms had stayed in place for some time since. Plus, there was the matter of Jean’s curse, and Shrike’s, and all the other secrets that the pair still shared with Mina. Much of their lives were better off in shadow.

        “Well... I double-checked everything back at the house,” Spender relented with a sigh. “I bought a bunch of meat in bulk, and the chains are secure in the basement—”

        Isabel swung the door of the Activity Clubroom open wide at just the precise time required for a bedraggled Ms. Baxter, walking past, to hear just that last sentence. The beleaguered math teacher shut her eyes and dreamed of darker days, continuing to sleepwalk down the hallway.

        “Morning,” Isabel said, a little embarrassed about barging in without knocking. She gave her teachers an apologetic wave as they quickly snapped into a less intimate position.

        “Indeed it is!” laughed Spender, sitting up as straight as he wasn’t. “And a good one, too. Hello, Isabel! Ed.”

        “Hiya!” Ed beamed back, bounding into the clubroom. “Hi, Mr. Garcia!”

        “My top student,” said Garcia. He gave them a coffee mug salute. “Heads up, I tossed out one of your experiments today. Green vial. It was lookin’ pretty gnarly.”

        “Oh, yeah.” Ed shrugged. “That’s okay! She’ll find plenty of prey at the landfill, and probably puppeteered you to do it with her pheromones in the first place, so no big deal.”

        “...Huh?”

        “What were you two talkin’ about?” Eddy asked, completely unconcerned by his concern.

        “Social studies,” Spender said.

        “Science,” said Garcia simultaneously.

        “The social sciences,” Spender agreed, nodding along. “Say, er... Isabel. Have you seen Max, by any chance?”

        “Not yet,” Isabel said, setting her bag down on the table. “Why?”

        “Ah. No reason.” Spender smiled and hurriedly looked away from his student. This was... far too sensitive a situation to freely share with the kids of the Activity Club. He’d check in with Max first, once he... once he could sit him down with all the time and space the tricky conversation needed. Spender thought back to his discussion with Agent Day. He owed Isabel and the others much more than he had given them. He’d reach out, like he’d resolved to, when he found the opportunity. 

        Isabel, however, heard only his usual secrecy. Spender was always so... whatever. Mr. Garcia was here, too; sharing the news of the looming apocalypse could wait a little longer, then, until she’d decided whether or not her bespectacled mentor could be trusted with it... if he even looked at her for long enough for her to get a single word of warning in.

        The morning sank, instead, into its usual routine, with small talk filling in the growing gap they’d yet to bridge.