Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Watching the vamp dust before her, Sansa let out a groan of frustration.

“I do believe that was a victory, despite your bemoaning,” Davos, her Watcher, commented from where he stood leaning against a headstone here in their local cemetery.

Sansa held her most treasured stake, the one she’d secretly taken to calling Mr. Pointy, expertly in her hand. She shook her head at Davos before whipping the other way as another vampire careened from seemingly out of nowhere. She heard an indelicate yelp from her Watcher in surprise, as Mr. Pointy found its way home into another vamp’s chest.

As the dust cleared, Sansa turned back to Davos with a smirk. “Knew it wasn’t the last of them,” she told him.

Her watcher pulled off his glasses and began cleaning them with his shirt. “Yes, well, it does seem to be more active tonight, doesn’t it?” Davos remarked.

“Of course it is,” Sansa groaned. Davos shot her a condemning eyebrow raise. “I know, me again with the bemoaning. But Davos, a girl’s Senior Homecoming only happens the once.”

“You still have a few days before the dance,” Davos said.

“Yes, but I’m all out of time for buying a dress and completing my look,” Sansa tried to explain to him patiently, even as Davos looked at her in puzzlement. She knew it was no use. Sansa could never get him to understand how hard it was to be a teenage girl and the Slayer. But she plowed ahead anyway. “Beth, Jeyne, and Podrick are all renting a limo with their dates, and I, freaky weird girl, will be their—oh God, Davos!”

He looked at her in alarm. “Are you alright?” his eyes scanned around for threats.

“I will be their seventh wheel!”

He huffed at her. She couldn’t help but aim her stake slightly at Davos (Mr. Pointy seemed to have a mind of his own sometimes). “You have no idea how humiliating an experience that will be!”

They headed out of the cemetery, done with patrolling for the night, which only left Sansa more wallowy about her predicament.

“We do have bigger concerns, Sansa,” he reminded her needlessly.

“Yes, including the latest round of vampires and demons who are looking to sabotage any semblance of a normal high school experience for me,” Sansa muttered.

---

Jon was at her window when she got home that night. “You can use the front door, you know,” Sansa told him in the most nonchalant tone she could muster as she put her weapons away in her chest. “Invited in and everything!”

He had to be. Jon was a vampire.

His eyes gleamed devilishly as he leaned through her windowpane, his gaze tracked her from head to toe in that way that seemed to always bring a flutter to her stomach. “I like it better this way,” Jon said, voice all gravelly.

“Of course you do. Are you going to come in or sit on the windowsill like a creep?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Jon said with a grin as he climbed through her bedroom window.

Sansa should not be at all remotely affected by his proximity, and she willed her heart not to pick up its pace, as he would surely sense it. “What do you want?” she asked.

Jon tsked at her in amusement. “That any way to treat an old friend?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I could stake you instead, if you’d prefer,” Sansa offered. But the threat was completely hollow and Jon knew it, she could hear it in his warm laugh.

Jon was different. He was a good vampire, whatever that meant. Davos had explained to her before, forces of good and evil came in all shapes and sizes. But she knew it was way more complicated than the Watchers or Council understood. She may not fully understand the how or the why, but Sansa knew some vampires chose to be good, to not hurt people.

Her older brother’s best friend. He was nineteen now. Would he stay that way? Sansa wasn’t sure on the immortality business either.

Jon had held onto himself when he turned. He could have chosen to shed his humanity, to lose all morality if he wanted, letting his powers keep him elevated above such concerns, but he hadn’t. In most ways, he was the same Jon she’d known for most of her life (the one she’d harbored a crush on)—simply with a penchant for blood, sharper senses, and strength he’d never had before. But then there was something else too—

Sansa could see it in the swagger as he walked over to her and took her hand, whispered in her ear, making her skin break out in goosebumps from his (unnecessary) breath: “Later, maybe. I’ve got something to show you.”

---

“Jon, so help me, this better be something real!” Sansa warned him as they headed to Willy’s Bar, a disreputable establishment on the outskirts of Wintertown, frequented by a variety of creatures (with a spectrum of benevolence to villainy).

Jon turned to look at her, walking backwards with an easy grin. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“You don’t really want me to answer that question, do you? Because I seem to remember—”

Jon raised his hands in defense and cut her off. “Sansa, I was eight!”

“And I was six, when you and Robb convinced me to go into the basement and locked me in!”

“And you didn’t get hurt!”

“I was stuck in there—” this argument was so well-worn now, he joined her words, finishing her declarations in tandem.

“For an hour! And mom nearly called the fire department!”

Damn him, he even had her hand gestures down to a T.

“You’re awfully bold to challenge me on a night like this, Jon—I’m all bad moody.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” Jon said with an unfairly sexy smirk. “I ask again: aside from the Incident when I was eight, have I ever steered you wrong?”

Before she could come up with some retort—perhaps tell him off for the pet names she secretly adored—a short man traipsed out of the shadows, donning a black fedora, and as he approached, she noticed his eyes were mismatched. Her Slayer senses tingled but she knew he was no vamp—perhaps a warlock, or a djinn? Something partly human, but with a supernatural power stirring somewhere inside.

Sansa gripped Mr. Pointy and braced herself, but as the man held his palms out in a signal of surrender, she knew at least for now not to fight. She wasn’t the sort to slay first and ask questions later type of Chosen One.

“Tyrion,” Jon greeted the man.

“Snow,” the man—Tyrion—drawled as he gazed between them warily, nodding in acknowledgment to her. “Sansa,” he said.

Sansa furrowed her brow. “Do I know you?”

He gave a small grin as he took off the fedora, holding it in his hands. “You wouldn’t. But I know you—who wouldn’t know the Slayer?”

Sansa watched Jon move closer. Like he didn’t want Tyrion too close to her (which was ridiculous, Sansa could take both Tyrion and Jon on her own if she had to). “Tyrion’s got important info, don’t you?” Jon said, crossing his arms at his chest as he gestured for Tyrion to get on with it.

“Well, allow me first to introduce myself, Tyrion Lannister, at your service,” he said with a flourish, bowing dramatically with his hat in hand.

Jon rolled his eyes at the theatrics, but Sansa froze at the last name. “Lannister? As in those Lannisters?”

“Unfortunately so, dear one. The youngest of Tywin.”

“Tywin? I thought Jaime and Cersei—”

“Oh yes, I’m the big family secret, but that’s not the point.”

Sansa looked at Jon with disbelief. “This is who you wanted me to see? Brother to the Evil Bitch Monster of Death?”

Tyrion barked a laugh that nearly bowled him over. “Boy, I am so glad my sister’s nickname stuck.”

“I’m very happy for you,” Sansa said dryly, a little annoyed at the turn of events but not entirely unamused.

Tyrion smiled. “Slayer strength, beauty, and a sharp tongue. You’re the full package,” he said appreciatively.

Jon growled. “Watch it Tyrion, she’s mine to protect,” he warned.

Sansa looked at Jon, eyebrows high on her forehead.

And of all wonders: was it possible for vampires, undead creatures of the night, to blush?

Jon hung his head, looking to his shoes as he kicked a nonexistent pebble. It was so similar to the little boy he’d been in grade school, that Sansa nearly grabbed him and kissed him right there.

But that wouldn’t do. Sansa looked back to Tyrion in full Slayer Seriousness ™.

“So what, is your sister actually an Evil Bitch Monster of Death? Because if I could slay her…” Sansa mused fondly.

(Okay, so she wasn’t exactly the same gentle, always polite and appeasing Sansa of a few years ago before she was Called. The Sansa who would never think of exacting vengeance on the human monsters that hurt her. She was mostly okay with that).

“Unfortunately, no. It’s about her son,” Tyrion said darkly.

Sansa’s eyes widened. “Did someone turn the little shit?” Now there was someone to stake.

“No, thank the powers that be for small favors. But—he’s trying to harness dark magics and cast up some trouble.”

“He’s what?” she asked, anger flooding her veins and heightening her Slayer powers.

“Tyrion, get to the point,” Jon snapped impatiently.

Tyrion sighed. “The boy’s an idiot no doubt. He’s been using a spell to lure more nasty creatures and vamps into Winterfell, and if he manages, he’s hoping to coordinate a small undead army to attack all your classmates at Homecoming.”

“How do you know all this?” Sansa asked.

“As I said—the boy’s an idiot. He tried hiring some of my…associates, if you will. Mystics, shamans, that sort of thing.”

“And how many allies among your associates has he made?”

“None that I’m aware of. The brat may not know you’re the Slayer, or even what a Slayer is, but all of us are aware this is your territory.”

“But he’s still managed the latest uptick in vampires, demons, and monsters,” Sansa concluded.

And Joffrey was looking to set up their whole senior class for those monsters to chow down on.

Ugh. When she’d told Davos that this round of baddies was here to sabotage any semblance of a normal high school experience for her, she hadn’t thought she was actually right!

Well, that was the nature of being the Slayer. She’d never get that chance to be normal. Sansa could live with that, even if it bummed her out at times.

But going after her classmates—taking this night and their chances for a normal high school milestone and ripping it away?

No.

Sansa would never let that happen. It was more than her job; it was her sacred duty. He wouldn’t get away with it. “I have to stop it. Jon, will you help me?” she turned to look at her vampire friend.

Jon met her gaze straight-on, near hypnotic in its intensity (Sansa was all too aware it wasn’t just his vamp allure). He smirked at her once more. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Text

As they made their way back to her home, Sansa cleared her throat a little too pointedly, and Jon looked over at her. “So, about earlier…” she ventured.

Jon immediately knew what she was talking about, Sansa figured, from the way he averted his gaze.

Still, Sansa pushed forward. She wanted to know and couldn’t help the urge to needle him just slightly. If Jon could throw off her game, she damn well deserved the right to dish it back a little, didn’t she? “That whole ‘she’s mine to protect’ thing?” Sansa lowered her voice as she mimicked Jon’s gravelly tone, making him chuckle even as he ducked his head.

“It’s a vampire thing,” Jon said, still not looking at her directly.

Sansa waved her hand, urging him to continue.

“It’s just—okay, natural predator, right?”

“You don’t kill people,” Sansa said.

“I don’t. And I don’t want to, but the instincts of a predator come along with sniffing out threats and there’s this sort of…” Jon paused, searching for the right words. “Possessiveness.”

“Possessiveness,” Sansa repeated. Her heartrate picked up and Jon looked at her, scrubbing a hand down his face with a sigh.

“For the people you care about, family, the ones you want to protect,” he explained.

She didn’t want to feel disappointed, but his use of the word family was not exactly promising, was it? Sansa shoved that feeling away. “I don’t need you to protect me. I can take care of myself. I could take you, even,” she said with a smile.

Jon smirked at her. “True, and I love that in a woman.”

Her heart stuttered again, and damn him, she had to think he was doing that on purpose.

“But my instincts don’t really care either way. And besides, it’s not like a Slayer’s invincible.” Jon looked a little nervous with those words.

“Yes, that’s true,” Sansa acknowledged. “But I’ve done well for myself. Are you worried?” she asked.

“Me? Worried? Of course not,” Jon scoffed, though his manner obviously contradicted his words.

“Me neither. I’m all with the coolness, not a care in the world,” Sansa said, putting a skip in her step, defying the nerves in her stomach.

Jon smiled at her antics. “All the same though, we should get the gang together,” he said.

Sansa nodded. “I’ll call Davos in the morning.  Are you up for a daytime meeting?”

“Sure, what vamp doesn’t love starting his morning by clinging to the shadows or sizzling under a blanket?” Jon said with a grin.

Sansa smiled back. “You think we can trust this Tyrion guy?”

Jon nodded, though a little warily. “Yes. At least in this, he hates his family.”

Together they shimmied up the drainpipe of the Stark house, into Sansa’s window. Once they’d entered Sansa’s bedroom, she stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Jon looked at her with eyes she had a hard time reading. “So, library in the morning?” he asked as he edged back toward the window.

“Yes,” Sansa agreed.

“Did you just get back?” a small, somewhat accusatory voice came from Sansa’s doorway. Her little sister Arya let herself in and closed the door, looking between her and Jon.

Jon opened the window. “Hi, Arya, bye Arya,” he said with a smile and a nod.

“Bye Jon,” the sisters said in unison, yet they looked only at each other.

Sansa heard the window shut and knew they were alone.

“I thought you were supposed to be back from patrol more than an hour ago,” Arya said, crossing her arms at her chest. She gazed along Sansa’s form, as if looking for the Slayer weapons she no doubt carried.

“I had to make a pit stop,” Sansa said. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to share at the moment.

“A pit stop. Right,” Arya said, a touch skeptically.

Sansa and Arya had always had a complicated relationship. But since Sansa had been Called, things had gotten even weirder between them. All the petty resentments and jealousy reared their heads for both of them.

Arya couldn’t understand why Sansa of all people had been Called as the Slayer. Arya was the tomboy who didn’t mind getting dirty, who liked the rough and tumble of fighting. Sansa was girly, she cared about clothes and makeup and boys. Sansa had never been one for fighting—she had no interest in taking karate lessons along with Arya. When she discovered Sansa’s secret, her envy of her older sister had only grown. If one of the Stark daughters had to be the Slayer, Arya had made clear she believed it should be her.

Sansa had been hurt by Arya’s reaction. It wasn’t as if Sansa had asked for any of this. And she couldn’t help but resent Arya’s good fortune coupled with her attitude. Her little sister had the chance to be normal, to be safe, to live to an old age which Sansa was sure she’d never have the opportunity to do. Not only was Arya not grateful for it, she had the nerve to be jealous?

Still, Sansa could admit it would have made more sense for Arya to be the Slayer. But they had no say in these things. Whatever fate or destiny was responsible for her Calling didn’t care who took karate or who was into fashion. It chose whomever and no one got a say in it, much less an explanation of why. Sansa couldn’t help but feel the sisters were the butt of some great, cosmic joke.

And then there was Jon.

Arya looked at him as another older brother. Since Jon had become a vampire, however, he and Sansa were thrown together a lot. It wasn’t that they didn’t have a friendship before—they had. It was just that they were closer now. And Arya didn’t like that very much either. She didn’t want to share.

But Sansa did not and never had looked at Jon as a brother. And she held out hope that Jon didn’t look at her as a sister, as he did with Arya. She could still hear his words from earlier that night.

I love that in a woman.

“Something big is happening,” Arya remarked and drew her back to the present.

“I have it handled,” Sansa said evenly.

“I could help you,” Arya offered.

Sansa stared at Arya blankly. If you didn’t know Sansa’s little sister, you’d think the offer was casual. Sansa knew it was anything but. That was the thing. If she wasn’t resenting Sansa for being the Slayer, she was looking to jump into battle. “No,” she said flatly.“It’s too dangerous.”

“You always say that!” Arya accused.

“Because it’s always true,” Sansa said.

“You let your friends and Jon help, why not me?”

Sansa sighed, looking for patience. “One, Jon is a vampire in case you forgot, two, Podrick is a werewolf,” she began ticking the points off on her fingers. She didn’t even take the moment to enjoy Arya’s slack jawed reaction to the news about Pod and continued. “Three, Beth mostly just helps Davos with research stuff, and four, Jeyne helps with spells and magic.”

Arya stepped back slightly, and Sansa could see she was considering what she said. “Well, I can help too,” she continued. Stark stubbornness was exhausting. “I may not be as strong as you, but I can fight, you know I can.”

“That’s not the problem,” Sansa muttered. She pulled the comforter on her bed down, and grabbed Lady, her stuffed wolf, ready to settle herself in for the night.

“Then what is the problem?” Arya asked.

Sansa surrendered to the inevitable. She was not getting out of this conversation. “You don’t listen to me.”

Arya raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing.

“Arya, the people on my team are there because they help, they support. But they know that I’m the Slayer, and that the responsibility is ultimately on me. When I tell them to stop or fall back, they listen.”

“Even Jon?” Arya asked incredulously and Sansa laughed.

“Yes, mostly. And if he doesn’t, he knows he’s gone rogue and it’s not my job to save his ass. In fact, I may be the one kicking his ass in that instance. But I’m sure he has his own vampire stuff that he does on his own.”

Arya snickered. “Vampire stuff?”

Sansa threw her hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Well, I don’t know! I’m just saying.” She felt herself blushing when she thought back to Jon’s possessive vampire thing. “But when he’s on my team, he’s on my team. He falls in line. Arya, I love you, but you have never been one to follow orders from anyone, let alone me.”

“I can! I can fall in line,” she said pleadingly, even though her posture stiffened as if it physically pained her to say so.

“Can you, Arya?” Sansa stood to face her younger sister once more, face serious. She worried at some point that Arya would dive in headfirst without Sansa’s knowledge or consent, and she needed to prevent that.

Maybe Sansa could get her to agree to do just a little helping out, but get her out before things got too dangerous? “If I tell you that you can’t do something, or to run away, will you listen? Because that’s what we’re talking about here, Arya. I can’t be out there, worrying that you might disobey me or put yourself in danger while I’m fighting.”

“I’m not saying it will be easy, but I can do it. Just give me a chance. Please, Sansa,” Arya turned her big puppy eyes on Sansa.

“Not fair,” Sansa pointed at her. Arya stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. “Ugh—fine! You can come to our meeting in the morning, but everything’s preliminary right now so don’t count on seeing any action—”

Arya tackled Sansa in a bear hug. “Thank you, thank you! I promise I’ll be good,” she said excitedly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sansa hugged her back. Maybe they could get somewhere. Sansa just hoped she wasn’t making the wrong decision. “You should get to bed. Early start in the morning.”

“Fine,” Arya said quickly, displaying her suddenly agreeable nature. “So, what nasty will we be fighting?”

Sansa huffed in amusement. “Joffrey Baratheon.”

“I knew it!” Arya did a fist pump.

---

“Jon! You’re here early,” Sansa noted the next morning as she entered the school library.

Jon shrugged with a smile. “This way I beat the sunlight,” he said.

Truly, there wasn’t much sunlight for him to avoid at this time of year. A silly, girly part of Sansa thought maybe he wanted to see her. Sansa walked over to sit with him at a table, biting her lip and brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.  She really needed to control herself a little better. She was the Slayer; she couldn’t afford this kind of distraction.  

“I was hoping we’d also get a minute to talk,” Jon said.

“Yeah?” Sansa asked hopefully.

Jon nodded and cleared his throat. “I was just wondering if—”

Because destiny really hated her, Arya and Beth barreled in, interrupting whatever Jon had meant to say. Sansa closed her eyes and willed her irritation away.

“Hi, Beth. Arya,” Jon said, brow furrowing in confusion.

“I’m part of the Slayer team now,” Arya said nonchalantly.

Jon sent Sansa a questioning look. “Later,” she said. “What were you saying before, Jon?”

Jon’s eyes scanned the rest of the room, where Davos was now entering. “Later?” he asked.

Sansa swallowed her disappointment and smiled. “Sure.”

A few minutes later Jeyne and Podrick had arrived. Sansa stood from her seat to fill everyone in on the news she and Jon received the night before.

Beth frowned. “I don’t get why he would do this,” she said softly. Beth was always a sweetheart, Sansa observed. She never really understood the villains they faced, though after this long Sansa had to imagine she was less naïve than before. Still, she appreciated her friend’s gentleness. Slaying made you hard in a lot of ways.

“He’s an ass, I don’t think he really needs much reason,” Sansa replied.

“I think it’s more than that,” Jon said from his perch on the table. The group turned to look at him. Even before he’d gone fang-y, Jon had always been a taciturn sort of guy. His dark eyes met hers and there was that spark she’d always felt with him. “I think he’s targeting you, Sansa,” Jon finished with a grimace.

“Me? Why?” Sansa asked. “Tyrion didn’t say anything like that.”

Davos pulled out his journal and pen, beginning to take notes. Great, now her Watcher was making this a whole thing.

“No, but Sansa, you and Joffrey talked about going to Homecoming as King and Queen when you were together,” Jon said.

“Yeah, before she dumped his ass!” Jeyne said appreciatively. Sansa threw her a look. “Oh, well, I guess that sort of makes sense,” she said more quietly.

Sansa turned back to Jon. “Still, that’s no reason to assume it’s about me. That was like, two years ago! Besides, he’s after the whole class.” Sansa could hardly believe she'd dated Joffrey in the first place, but she was fifteen and didn't know any better. Fearing she'd never manage to get her brother's best friend's attention. A few months after their break up she'd been Called. Joffrey was firmly in the ether of irrelevance for her. But if Jon was right, maybe Joffrey didn't see her that way.

Jon nodded in agreement. “The whole class—but it’s your graduating class. Your senior year. I don’t know for sure. It’s just a hunch.”

Sansa understood why Jon would suspect. She just hoped he was wrong. She didn’t need another reason to feel responsible. “Either way, we have to stop him, and we don’t have a lot of time to do it. I figure the first thing we need to do is look into what kind of magics Joffrey is using. What book it might come from, or what spell it is specifically. Davos and Beth—can you get working on that?”

“Absolutely,” Beth said.

Davos nodded. “You said he would want a kind of army?”

“Sort of?” Sansa said. “It’s not an exact analogy. They’re gradually ramping up their numbers like we’ve seen on patrol. And we know these monsters don’t have enough discipline to be a real army. But something close to it, yes. We might look for something that commands demons or exercises some sort of mind control for them?”

“Very well. I have a few ideas already,” her Watcher said, sorting through his collection behind his librarian’s desk. Sansa breathed a sigh of relief at that.

“Podrick, could you and Arya search around Joffrey’s hangouts? See if there’s anything you can pick up on. Quite possibly interrogate some of his buddies to see if they know anything?”

They both agreed. “What about you and Jon?” Arya asked.

Sansa looked over at Jon to find him looking back at her, almost as if no one else was in the room. Oh, had he been looking at her that intently this whole time?

(She really had to get it together).

“I thought we could check the basement here and range outward for any hotspots, see if any creatures are hiding close by. We might get the drop on them early that way.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jon agreed with a grin.

Three days until Homecoming. Three days to stop Joffrey and save the senior class. Her Slayer senses were already tingling in anticipation. Or, she thought as Jon placed his hand on her lower back as they headed out on their mission, those tingles might have been for a different reason altogether.

Chapter Text

It was a good thing they’d all arrived at the school early, before morning classes had begun. Sansa and Jon walked the thankfully empty hallways. The rest of her friends could get a little work done before classes started. Jeyne would mostly be on standby since she couldn’t do much magic before Davos and Beth had a better idea of what they were facing. She just hoped Arya wouldn’t pepper Pod with questions about being a werewolf. The boy was shy and didn’t need her pestering, but strangely she thought they’d work well together.

“So, you’re including Arya now?” Jon asked curiously as they headed toward the school’s basement. Could vampires read minds? She didn’t think so, but it was uncanny how Jon seemed to follow her thinking. Still, she remembered his earlier words in the library.

“Oh no, you had something you wanted to talk to me about first. So, what was it?”

Jon gave a half-smile she found hard to read. It was almost like he was nervous, which didn’t really make sense to her. He was much more confident since becoming a vampire. “I was wondering if you’d given any more thought about telling your parents.”

Sansa halted her steps in surprise at this unexpected topic. “I…no, not really.”

Jon dug his hands into his pants pockets. “I know it’s not what you want to hear but Sans, I think you should tell them, and soon.”

Sans. Her heart fluttered. It didn’t matter that others called her by the same abbreviation at times. When Jon did it, it felt special. “Why? I mean—I know we’ve had this conversation before, but why now?” she asked with a tilt of her head and a little suspicion.

Jon’s eyes took on a distant quality as he considered his words. “You’re targeted.”

“And that’s new?”

“No but, with Joffrey and everything. Sansa, I don’t want to see you or your family hurt.”

She softened at his concern. “I know, Jon. But I think they’re safer not knowing right now.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. There was an electric current between them, she felt it. “Do you really believe that or is it just that you’re not ready to tell them?”

“A little of both,” Sansa admitted with a shrug. Of her family, only Arya and Robb knew. Hell, her parents didn’t even know Jon was a vampire. They knew such creatures existed, everyone in this area filled with supernatural activity had some idea of what existed throughout Wintertown, even if it wasn’t up for discussion in polite company and functioned more as an open secret. But what they didn’t know was how close those forces were to their doorstep, or in Sansa’s case, in their own home. Her parents had noticed changes in Sansa’s behavior, her grades slipping (though she still managed a B minus average, of which she was quite proud given the circumstances that led to many missed classes), quitting cheerleading, and becoming more socially withdrawn. So far, they had chalked it up to the mood swings and phases of a teenager’s mercurial nature. Robb was at college in the Riverlands now, but Arya had helped cover for her a lot. It was true: she wasn’t ready. They would be terrified and try to get her to stop. They wouldn’t understand that she had no choice.

And what’s more, she couldn’t let the image they had of her change so drastically. Not yet. She shook her head to clear it of those thoughts and started walking again, with Jon following. “I’m still wondering: why now?” she asked.

Jon sighed. “I just thought it was worth considering. I get it if you’re not ready.”

Sansa nodded when it became clear he wasn’t saying more. There was something that felt incomplete in his answer. She didn’t think he was deceiving her, and if it was actual information, she knew he’d tell her. But at the very least, he had a thought process he wasn’t sharing. Still, she could see he was sincere in his concern, and that made her worry, too. But she had her senses—if there were portents, she’d be clued in soon, wouldn’t she? If not through fighting monsters, then through visions or dreams. She decided to leave it for now.

“Do you think it was wrong of me to involve Arya?” She was second-guessing herself as she thought about her parents. They already had one child in danger on a regular basis whether they knew it or not. She could be putting their other daughter in peril.

Jon didn’t answer right away, and she knew that meant he was giving it some thought rather than answering immediately. She liked that about him. “No. She’s too determined to get involved and this way, it won’t be her all on her own terms, which would likely get her hurt.”

She grinned. “That’s what I thought too.”

“Great minds,” he said with a wink, and she flushed.

They arrived at the basement door, leading to the neglected ground floor containing a boiler room and a storage of old school supplies, worn out textbooks, and deflated dodgeballs. But it wasn’t just a basement. Of course it wasn’t. It was a center of mystical convergence—forces that made the town a hotbed of supernatural activity and magic, drawing forces of both darkness and light, good and bad. Jon opened the door as its hinges creaked from disuse and touched her lower back again as she stood at the top of the stairs.

Immediately after Jon closed the door behind them, she felt it. The energy emanating around her was strong—even stronger than normal. Her Slayer senses ran like static along her spine.

“Whoa,” Jon said from behind her.

“You feel it too?”

“Yeah, I feel it. Smell it, too.”

“Ew,” Sansa said automatically, scrunching her face.

 Jon’s lip quirked. “You asked.”

“I did. Well, what does it smell like, then?”

“Magic,” he said, and she could see him sniff again. “Conflicting magic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dark magic fighting with some sort of protective force, I think.”

“Okay, probably not of the good,” she said.

“No, but it could be worse. Could just be dark magic. I think someone might have done a protection charm.”

“Jeyne probably sent a general protection spell down here, knowing we’d be here but not knowing what we’d find.”

Jon nodded and they walked down the stairs. A few steps from the bottom, Sansa felt the mystical energy hit her even stronger, making her dizzy. She swayed on her feet, held her hand to her head as if to protect it. “Oh,” she said, overwhelmed with the sensation.

“Sansa!” Jon called out suddenly, and it wasn’t until she heard his alarm that she realized she was falling down the last few stairs. Jon grabbed her, trying to catch her before she hit the ground but only succeeded in making them both stumble and roll.

Luckily his hand cushioned her head from any blunt force, she so didn’t need a concussion! Then she felt the acute awareness of Jon’s body—on top of hers. She squirmed beneath him, not on purpose, mind you (well, maybe a little). She was simply trying to eliminate the discomfort and oh, his hips fell between her legs. Jon looked down at her, eyes wide and darkened, moving from her eyes to her mouth and back. She could swear she saw heat in those eyes, making the purple flecks in the gray more vivid.

They stared at each other, and could she feel him down there? As if a part of him had taken attention? She blushed. For a moment she froze, not knowing what to do, before she gathered her thoughts and forced herself to speak. Much as she wanted to explore this heat in his eyes, this excitement, the fact that Jon looked like he might kiss her, she couldn’t right now. Besides, getting ‘happy to see her’ could just be his body’s instinctual reaction.

“Uh, Jon?” Sansa asked and looked down at their bodies, indicating their compromising position.

Jon shook his head. “Oh, yeah,” he said, lifting himself off her and offering his hand to help her up. She missed the feel of him against her already. “Sorry, got a little distracted,” Jon said with a smirk as he looked her up and down and proceeded to lick his lips.

She refused to acknowledge Jon’s reaction, or hers, for that matter. Oh God, would he have been able to smell her arousal?

Nope, not thinking about that. Not now.

“Slayer!” Sansa heard the angry snarl of a vampire, interrupting the moment of heat between them.

Sansa quickly turned, whipping out Mr. Pointy and regarding the vampire with a completely unimpressed expression. “Great, this is just what was missing in my day!” she said with a sarcastic smile.

The vampire was clearly a newborn. He likely fed from a human for the first time in the past few days. Those newly turned who went straight to killing always seemed to have a visceral hatred of the Slayer. Unfortunately for them, this tended to make them utterly stupid and led them to attack the Chosen One before they had even learned how to fight with their heightened strength.

And of course, she was stronger.

The vamp—a young guy who could have been a classmate once upon a time—hurtled himself toward her sloppily. She sidestepped the attack and aimed a kick to the vampire’s legs, sweeping him off his feet. Before the vampire could fight back, she put her foot on his neck and held him in place.

Jon circled her in case she needed backup, but it was also clear he enjoyed the show of Sansa in action. And Sansa had to admit to herself, if no one else, that she liked being watched by Jon. The look of admiration in his eyes made her feel strong and even sexy.

“Now tell me,” Sansa said sweetly to the vamp beneath her boot. “Is this a solo gig or did you bring friends?” She already knew he was alone, but it was the easiest way to get the vampire talking.

“I’ll never tell you anything, Slayer,” he spat with disdain.

“Oh, what a shame,” she said regretfully. “That hurts my feelings!” Sansa pressed her boot harder into the vamp’s neck. If it had been a human beneath her, they would have lost consciousness by now. “Why are you here?”

The vampire smiled darkly. “The power will be mine, Slayer. Master Joffrey promised it,” he said. They gave up information so easily, she almost felt bad for them.

“Did he now? Ever met a used car salesman, fangboy?” Sansa asked.

His brow furrowed in confusion.

Sansa groaned. “Ugh, see, I had this whole thing about used car salesmen being more trustworthy than your Master Joffrey, and now you’re mucking it up. Work with me here, Count Pathetic!”

“Hey!” the vampire said in outrage, almost sounding like the teenager he must have been before.

“You know I’m really doing you a favor. I stake you now and you’ll never have to be disappointed when Joffrey fails to deliver,” she told the vampire.

“You will die Slayer, and your corpse shall be a feast!”

Sansa figured she’d get nothing more from the fledgling vampire. “That might be so, too bad you won’t be around to see it.” She swiftly dropped down onto the vampire’s chest and staked him through the heart. She wiped the dust that had formerly been the vamp off her jeans and top as she stood once more.

When she turned to look at Jon, he grinned appreciatively. “Nice work. I don’t think there’s anyone else down here for now.”

Of course, Jon jinxed it. A purple burst of smoke erupted several feet from them, and the mist was too thick at first to make out the figure amidst the fog.

“Ah!” Sansa yelped. She immediately chastised herself for that reaction. But damn it, even on Slayer duty, people didn’t just appear out of thin air all that often! As the smoke cleared, a woman who looked just a few years older with white, blond hair in ringlets down her back, purple eyes and a smirk on her face looked at her in amusement.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman said.

Only she wasn’t just a woman. Sansa could pick up what she was instantly, unlike with Tyrion where her senses told her there was something, but she couldn’t get a specific reading on him. This woman was a vengeance demon. She’d had little interaction with vengeance demons. Some of them were more mischievous than evil, granting wishes like making an ex-boyfriend unattractive to the opposite sex. Others, well, they granted wishes much darker. Sansa gripped her stake, trying to determine if she needed to attack.

“Aunt Dany?” Jon said in surprise.

Sansa looked over at Jon, matching his response. “Your aunt’s a vengeance demon?”

“I didn’t know she was a vengeance demon!” Jon said defensively. “I haven’t seen her in a few years.”

Ah, his father’s side of the family, Sansa realized. The Targaryens weren’t high on Jon’s list of loved ones. He hated his father for abandoning him and his mother, flitting in and out of their lives on his ever-changing whims.

“Don’t speak of me as if I’m not here,” she said testily to Jon and turned to introduce herself. “The name is Daenerys Targaryen, and we prefer the term justice demon, actually,” Dany said with a self-righteous tone, chin raised upward in defiance. Sansa bit back a laugh. She had to admit, she’d never seen a demon get up on their high horse like this.

“Why are you here?” Jon asked in confusion.

“I’m here to warn the Slayer, of course,” she said, as if it were obvious.

“Warn me?” Sansa said, eyeing this Dany like she might strike at any moment. Jon’s aunt or no, she’d kill the demon if she had to.

Dany’s eyes widened at Sansa’s fighting stance and held up her hands. “Not that kind of warning! Not here to hurt you or anyone. I’m the avenger of scorned women, I’ll have you know! Don’t even think about staking me.” She actually wagged her finger at Sansa like she was some child. Jeez, this Dany was a piece of work.

Jon shook his head, seemingly still processing the revelation of his relative’s demonic status. “Staking is for vampires,” he said absently.

“Eh, you’d be surprised how many creatures a wooden stake to the chest will kill,” Sansa said, more observation than threat.

“Oh, it will not kill me child,” Dany said as she raised her brow in challenge, “it will merely make me angry.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and continued: “What are you warning me about exactly?” Her patience was wearing thin. Why did demons seem to have such a flair for the dramatic?

“I believe you know this Joffrey Baratheon fellow, your ex?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sansa said, a bad feeling turning her stomach.

“What is it, Dany?” Jon asked angrily.

She answered her nephew but looked at Sansa. “He summoned me. Idiot boy apparently didn’t read the fine print that I help scorned women, not men. Wanted me to somehow curse you. Nasty, that one,” she said with distaste.

“I so did not scorn him! What did he wish?” Sansa asked.  

Dany shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. He never got the chance as I was quite cross to see he dared summon me. May have been hoping to kill you or make you miserable. Hard to tell.” The woman looked mostly bored.

Sansa eyed her suspiciously. “You’re here to warn me, but you didn’t even bother to ask about his plans?”

Daenerys looked at her impatiently. “Look, the only reason I’m here is because I hate men. No offense, nephew,” she said with a glance at Jon.

Jon shrugged and Sansa saw a passing resemblance in the careless gesture.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t warn a woman of a vengeful man. Plus, you’re the Slayer and my nephew is quite attached to you. This Joffrey may find another demon ready to help or continue working on his little revenge mission. The details hardly matter. I’d recommend you kill him now.”

Sansa was taken aback. She hated Joffrey, but still. “I don’t kill humans,” she said. She was Called to protect people, even bad people. She needed to stop him without killing him.

Dany rolled her eyes. “A Slayer slays monsters but only in magical form? I should have expected,” she said in disappointment. “This has grown tedious. I’ve done my duty. Give me a call if you’d like to exact some justice of your own.”

A moment later, she disappeared the same way she had appeared, leaving a misty trail of lilac-colored smoke where she had stood.

Jon and Sansa looked at each other in astonishment.

What the hell do we do now? Sansa thought. She supposed she had her portent.

Chapter Text

He had known that his mother practiced dark arts since he was twelve, but she has refused to teach him any of her skills. Mother believes he is too foolish to be accomplished in her kind of magic. She also believes his ambitions are misguided, that Sansa Stark is an “inconsequential twit.” She would know, mother says, from coaching her in cheerleading for three years.

Joffrey knows that in a certain sense she is right about Sansa, but he also believes that his mother doesn’t fully understand. Even mother has the weakness of a woman. Sansa Stark may be a twit, but she is the only such twit to believe herself above her station, to see herself as superior to Joffrey and his family. Her family was made of nothing but savages. When they dated she adopted a gross, low-class person’s idea of sophistication. She could never hope to meet the standards necessary to join his family, even if his mother was a priestess of dark magic and his father a drunk.

And yet, Joffrey had given her the time of day. She was amusing, eager to please, and it gave him satisfaction to see a girl willing to submit to him and tend to him in the same way mother cared for him.

But for some reason, after a few months, things with Sansa had changed. She looked at him with distaste—as if he were beneath her. It was absolutely absurd, and Joff wouldn’t stand for it. In one argument, he’d raised his hand to her and she had shoved him away before he could punish her for being such a brat.

“It’s over, Joffrey,” she had spat at him and walked away.

And he had been furious inside ever since. Had needed to teach her a lesson. Had dreamed of his revenge and how it would be to have the girl on her knees begging for mercy. And once she had realized the natural order of things, he might even grant that mercy, for a little while at least.

Two years and all his attempts, in one way or another, had failed. What was worse, from then on it had been difficult for Joffrey to even find her and keep her in one place long enough to get his revenge. She was hardly ever in the hallways between classes, virtually disappeared from the social radar, and seemed to duck out of school at odd times. The bitch likely skipped because she was too stupid to pass her classes, he thought with a grin. The problem was that it left his plans in ruin. But not this time, and it will be all the sweeter for it—to bathe the Senior Homecoming in blood and make Sansa Stark scream in terror. Then Joffrey would reveal himself and she would know it was her fault, that her mistreatment of him had led her classmates to the slaughter.

Wintertown was special, even if he preferred the South, where he’d venture after graduation. Joffrey would call on all the dark forces he could, lure monsters and force them into submission. The vengeance demon had not worked out. He’d swiped information on her from one of mother’s books, but he couldn’t translate the bits of Latin. How was he supposed to know the bitch would look down on him the same way Sansa fucking Stark did?

But that didn’t matter. He had cast his spell which sent out the signal to the demonic masses and hypnotized them, at least as much as such creatures could be controlled. The newly turned vampires would serve as his lackeys, the easiest of all to use as minions. They would guard the center of mystical convergence while Joffrey promised them untold power from the magical presence in the school basement. It wasn’t even totally a lie, since they got stronger simply by being near the energy. Joffrey was mortal, so he couldn’t risk guarding the center of magic himself. Worst case scenario come Homecoming night, he’d pay the likes of Janos, Ilyn, and Sandor to be his human shields. The dumb beefy jocks would do anything for a little cash.

Everything should be ready soon. Joffrey was certain to be prepared. Sansa Stark had no idea what was in store for her, but she was going to find out.

That morning he headed for his classes only to find the soft boy Podrick and Sansa’s bitch of a sister cornering Pod’s second cousin Ilyn and Sandor in the hallway. From their voices he caught that Janos had been there earlier but made a run for it. Why would he be afraid of them? As Joffrey reached them and Arya scowled at him, he saw something dark and fierce in Podrick’s eyes that defied his typical weakness. Joffrey's first thought was a spell.

“What the hell is this?” Joffrey demanded of them. Sandor and Ilyn slipped away after the lowly boy and girl had turned toward him.

Podrick did not answer but shoved Joffrey, his back dug into a locker with the force of Podrick’s attack. “You fucker!” Joffrey screeched and went to punch the boy, but Podrick caught his fist firmly and twisted his arm around his back. “Oww!”

Joffrey was humiliated by the cry of pain, but he couldn’t help it. “Let me go!” Joffrey put as much menace as he could in his words. “I could have you sent to juvie—no, jail—for this!”

To his surprise, the boy laughed. “And what, you’re going to tell everyone I kicked your ass?” Podrick asked. The Stark girl snickered behind her hand. Joffrey then noticed the stares of some of his schoolmates as they made their way to homeroom. Hell no. Joffrey couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be humiliated even more. He would just have to make sure these two paid as well.

For now, he had to save face. “Let me go,” Joffrey ordered again.

Podrick gripped his arm tighter. How was the boy so strong? “Say uncle,” Podrick said in return. Joffrey could not see his face from the way he was turned, but he could hear Podrick’s smile and Joffrey gritted his teeth.

“Uncle,” he muttered and tried in vain to pull his arm away. The fucker was near to breaking it!

Podrick loosened his grip but pinned Joffrey to the lockers. “You are playing with things you don’t understand,” Pod said darkly. “Watch your back.” The boy released him abruptly, and when he turned Podrick was already gone. The Stark girl smirked at him and walked away.

Why had he said those things? What had Ilyn and Sandor said? Joffrey determined it didn’t matter. His spell was cast and there was nothing to stop it. Strong or not, the insignificant gnats couldn’t stop it. Joffrey furtively rubbed his arm as he walked to class and tried not to let his cheeks burn with embarrassment. They would all come to regret laughing at him. If Podrick had used some spell to make himself stronger, then Joffrey could do the same, couldn’t he? Or give himself some sort of protection? He’d need to swipe mother’s books again.

---

After classes ended, they all met in the library again while Sansa recounted what had happened in the basement (leaving out the details of her and Jon’s stumble—though the omission seemed to be caught by Jon who smirked at her). Then she let the others report what they’d learned.

Podrick and Arya had interrogated Sandor, Janos, and Ilyn to find out what they knew—which turned out to be very little. “They definitely know he’s planned some shenanigans, but they seem clueless to the actual extent of his plans. He’s bringing them along as paid bodyguards, but I don’t think they know just how dangerous it could get.”

Sansa wasn’t surprised by this. She figured Joffrey had no true friends, and he wasn’t going to lose their support by revealing his plans to them.

Arya then jumped into the conversation with glee. “And you should have seen Pod slam Joffrey against the lockers and nearly twist his arm off!”

Wide eyed stares met Podrick’s sheepish face. He shrugged. “It was nothing,” he said modestly.

“Nothing? I think he cried!” Arya said.

Jeyne gave a celebratory whoop while Jon nodded appreciatively, and Davos shook his head at them in admonishment. He may not like Joffrey, but such childish pettiness was beneath them, her Watcher said.

Sansa couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “You did good, Pod,” she told him. She was proud of Podrick for getting better with his powers. It was still weeks away from the full moon when he would be at his greatest strength, but he had been improving in harnessing his power between full moons and was able to control himself during his transformation to the wolf. Now that he could use superior senses and strength while still human, he was a great addition to the team. “If there is anything that would convince Joffrey to give up his plans, it would be threats and intimidation. It’s the only language he understands.”

“Unfortunately, it will not convince him,” Davos said solemnly, “as he’s already in too deep from what Beth and I have found.”

Sansa turned to look at him. “What do you mean? What did you find?” She quickly made her way over to the book he and Beth had nearest them on his desk. The page was opened to some sort of spell, a crude illustration of a man with his arms midair, looking like a conductor of an orchestra as a group of vampires and monsters stood to follow him. “It looks a bit like the Pied Piper,” Sansa said.

“That’s what I said!” Beth said with a smile. Sansa grinned back at her. She loved when Beth got all nerdy and excited.

“Yes well, it is somewhat similar to the legend,” Davos said, directing their attention back to him and the book. She felt Jon come to stand behind her, but she kept her focus on her Watcher. “Joffrey may not be playing any instruments, and demons do not follow perfectly as minions, their nature is too chaotic. But the spell he cast was a vengeance spell that allows him to draw the demons like a magnet and compel them to attack at a fixed place and time. Between now and Homecoming, they will roam as they like, but once it is time they will be directed here to the dance. Once the spell was cast, Joffrey could not undo it as they have already been fed the instructions to attack.”

“But we can undo it, right?” Sansa asked hopefully. Davos frowned at her, and she deflated. She knew that look.

“I’m afraid we cannot,” he said. “But there are a few things we can do.”

“And you’re sure this is the spell?” Sansa asked.

Davos nodded. “Jeyne and I cast a revealing spell that showed us without a doubt. But there are a few things we can do.”

“Like what?” Jon asked, leaning against the desk with a furrowed brow of concentration.

“I can cast a general protection spell like I did earlier. You felt it, right?” Jeyne said.

“Yes,” Sansa confirmed.

“Good. All this will do is boost Sansa’s defensive and offensive powers while weakening the demons compelled by dark magic.”

“I hate to ask this,” Beth said timidly. “But are we certain Jon and Podrick won’t be compelled by the dark magic Joffrey cast?” she looked at the two apologetically.

“I will not,” Jon said with certainty.

“I don’t think I would,” Podrick said but with a hint of fear as he looked to Davos for an answer.

Davos smiled reassuringly. “Jon and Podrick are safe, they are enmeshed with the Slayer and the cause of good. Vampires and werewolves must shun their human side in order to fall under this spell and neither have done that.”

Podrick breathed an audible sigh of relief. Sansa was touched that Jon knew without needing Davos’s word, but she understood Podrick’s worry. He had not been a werewolf for as long as Jon had been a vampire.

“What else can we do?” Sansa asked.

“We can pick off as many of these would-be foot soldiers as possible before Homecoming. Then we will have to fight off the rest that night. Get there early and be ready before they can overrun the dance,” Davos said.

“That’s it?!” Sansa said somewhat shrilly. She hadn’t meant to, but she didn’t like this one bit. She needed more options!

“We can do it, Sansa,” Jon said and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t know that Jon,” Sansa retorted.

Jon didn’t flinch. “I know you. You can do this. We can do this. I won’t leave your side,” he said.

Sansa bit her lip. The devotion she saw in his eyes stoked a warmth throughout her body.

“We’ll all help,” Arya supplied.

Sansa looked at her younger sister and sighed. “Arya—”

“Don’t. Just don’t, Sansa! You can’t keep shutting me out. I'm good with fighting and fencing, I’m fast and stronger than I look,” she pleaded.

“This isn’t a game, Arya. This is life and death.”

Arya scoffed. “I know that. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m not saying you’re stupid. I’m saying that this is going to mean fighting a practical army. Even I don’t have experience with that.”

“Which means you need all the help you can get.” Arya argued.

Sansa tried and failed to come up with a response. She looked around at Davos and her friends and it looked like they agreed. Sansa looked at Jon who nodded at her. “Okay, you can come with us on patrol for the next two nights. We’ll pick off as many as we can and if that goes okay, you can fight on Homecoming night. But remember what I said—when I tell you to run, you run.”

Arya clenched her jaw but nodded.

As the meeting ended and everyone made their way out of the school, Sansa pulled Jon aside. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yes. I think. Maybe,” she said.

“That clears it up,” Jon said with a grin.

“Ha, ha,” Sansa said with a false glare. “Will you promise me something?”

Jon’s grin faded. “Anything,” he said. Anything. Without qualification. Her heart stuttered once more. How could he do that?

“If things go bad, if Arya is in danger…” Sansa paused. She had a hard time imagining her sister hurt.

“I’ll get her away,” Jon answered. “I promise.” Seeming to sense her unease with the situation, Jon pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead. Sansa’s breath hitched. Jon pulled back but still held her face in his hands. He stared at her lips. Almost…she thought…

But it wasn’t the right time. Not now. She imagined Jon thought the same, as he seemed to nod lightly to himself and let his hands fall away. “But you promise me something,” he said.

“What?”

“Protect yourself Sansa. I’ll be by your side as much as possible but if I have to protect Arya, please look out for yourself. Keep hold of Mr. Pointy like he’s an actual limb, alright?”

Sansa’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

Jon smirked. “You mutter it to yourself sometimes when you hold it,” he tapped his ear. “Superior vampire hearing.”

Sansa couldn’t help but blush. C’mon Mr. Pointy, she would sometimes think, but she hadn’t realized she ever said it aloud.

Jon laughed. “Don’t be embarrassed. Everybody cool names their weapons. I named Arya’s needle, you know.”

Sansa laughed too. “That was you?”

“Uh huh.” Jon moved forward to hold Sansa’s hand and pulled her along the hallway. “Now, let’s go slay some baddies.”

Sansa intertwined her fingers with Jon’s and when he smiled in response, Sansa allowed herself to hope.

Chapter Text

She was running down a long hallway and some part of Sansa knew she was dreaming for the way the hallway seemed to grow longer with every step, for the way her Slayer strength rose to the surface unbidden. She was impatient to get to her destination, even if she didn’t know yet what that destination was. There were flickering florescent lights above her, and her surroundings flashed in and out of darkness as she continued running. Sansa summoned as much of those Slayer senses as she could to take in her surroundings through the snatches of light, and she realized she was in her high school.

Why did it always have to come back to the high school? It was where the town’s center of magic resided, of course, but it almost felt cruel for the way it gave her no reprieve. The school did look somewhat different though, if only for the way the corridor seemed to stretch, leaving her destination always beyond reach.

Finally, Sansa saw an end to the hallway. A door to what looked like the principal’s office stood merely a few feet away. Sansa ran toward it and burst through the other side.

But then, she was not alone.

Joffrey stood before her. He wore a menacing grin she’d grown familiar with when she was fifteen. Sansa always thought it was that grin that set off her alarm bells, that prompted her to get away from him as quickly as possible and never look back. Now here it was again as he taunted her.

“I know something you don’t,” she heard Joffrey’s nasal voice, but his lips weren’t moving. It was as if he’d somehow spoken it in her brain. Joffrey parted his lips, but to Sansa’s horror his mouth gapingly extended, leaving an inhumanly long jaw—the mouth was nothing but black. So large it could swallow her whole.

She tried to scream but there was no sound and then she was falling, falling, as Joffrey laughed. Sansa stopped midair above a large shining orb, and she knew this was the basement, the center of mystical convergence brought to sparkling light beneath her. As she realized the orb’s significance, she fell into its light. Sansa cringed, expecting it to burn, but instead it suffused her with a warmth and a feeling of safety, with a happiness she hadn’t felt since she was a girl.

“Sansa,” a man’s voice called. But it wasn’t Joffrey. No, it was…

“Jon,” Sansa said as she turned within the light to face him.

He stood smiling on the edge of the light. “You’re radiant,” Jon said, then extended a hand over the glow toward her. “Come with me.”

Without hesitation, she reached out. Jon pulled her to him and kissed her, and Sansa finally tasted him. She was dizzy with the intensity of his kiss, his hands in her hair, his tongue brushing against hers. This was what she was meant for, Sansa knew it. For how long they remained there, kissing, she could not say. Soon, Jon scooped her into his arms, bridal style. Sansa looked at him curiously.

“We have to go,” he told her. “You’re the only one who can beat him,” Jon said.

Joffrey, Sansa remembered. I’m the only one—

Sansa jolted forward in her bed as she woke. Morning’s dawning light shone through her curtains. She was panting and could feel her skin covered in sweat. This was not any dream, but a Slayer dream. Usually symbolic, always prophetic, Sansa often needed Davos to help interpret her dreams.

But she didn’t need help to interpret this one. Sansa was certain the dream was telling her that there was more they could do, in fact, that she had to do to help save her senior class. All the energy found in the center of the convergence, it had to be dealt with somehow. She needed to battle the dark magics and fight for the light. That was why Joffrey had sent a vampire to the basement: to guard the center. He needed that energy devoid of protections. Sansa didn’t know quite enough about magic to know just what needed to be done, but she would have to speak with everyone, especially Davos and Jeyne, to determine their counterattack. She realized too, that this dream's implications could go beyond battling Joffrey.

If they could properly protect the area, perhaps they could even reduce the flocks of dangerous supernatural creatures drawn to Wintertown, stop the threats to Wintertown’s people. At least make it as safe as any other city. It was an impossible dream, at least Sansa had thought. A permanent way to make her hometown and its people safer, that wouldn’t simply depend on her slaying performance every night. Now, she might have a chance to reduce death and suffering on a greater scale.

The other parts of her dream were a bit trickier. Joffrey had to be into some bad mojo for him to take on that ghastly appearance. She had to hope that whatever it was, it would be more harmful to him than anyone else. Only time would tell. And Jon…

Well, Sansa was pretty sure she knew what that meant. Jon was her partner, her sometimes protector, her friend—just hers. And Sansa was his. She was a little wigged by the notion that a Slayer prophetic dream would offer insight on her love life, but she knew without a doubt that this was what the dream was telling her.

Now she only needed to decide what to do about it. That kiss had been incredible. Sansa could swear she still felt it, her lips buzzing from the dream’s phantom touch.

She was so lost in her thoughts, Sansa nearly missed the light rapping at her door. “Y-yes?” Sansa called out, brushing back wisps of her hair currently stuck to her forehead, not wanting it to be obvious she had woken sweating like a pig.

Her mother entered with a light smile, but Sansa could read the hint of caution beneath it. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, mom,” Sansa said, forcing a smile on her own face.

She and her mother used to be so close, but Sansa had needed distance after being Called. As with so many aspects of her life, it was hard to know exactly how to be both a Slayer and a daughter. Sansa could no longer be the obedient girl her parents always knew her to be. She had to sneak out nearly every night, and it wasn’t like she could worry about curfews when she had to save the world.

Sansa knew her parents had expected her to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Cheerleading, student government, honor society, debate team, Homecoming Queen. Much as Sansa missed some of her old life, she couldn’t bring herself to regret being the Slayer. It was an integral part of who she was now. She couldn’t unlearn the things she’d seen or battled, and Sansa didn’t want to go back to that state of ignorance.

Her parents and especially her mother had been patient, more than she could have hoped for. But she still saw the mystification in their eyes when they looked at her, confused about the young woman she was becoming. There wasn’t a lack of love, though. And there was still a desire on her mother’s part to connect with her daughter again. It was written all over her mother’s face.

“I wanted to see if—are you alright? You look a bit flushed,” Catelyn said as she moved to feel Sansa’s forehead.

“I’m fine, just got a little hot under these thick blankets,” Sansa said, making a show of kicking the comforter down her bed.

Catelyn pulled her palm back from Sansa’s forehead. “Well, you don’t feel like you’re running a fever. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Feeling great, really. You said you wanted to see about something?” Sansa asked, eager to change the topic.

“Oh, yes.” Her mother smiled again. “Just give me a second,” Catelyn said, stepping out of Sansa’s room only to return with a hanger attached to a long white clothing bag which almost reached to the floor. “I took the liberty of getting this for you,” she said warmly.

Her mom unzipped the clothing bag to reveal a light blue formal dress, one Sansa had had her eye on, when she thought she’d be able to go to the dance.

Sansa stood from her bed and approached her mother and the dress, brushing her fingers against the bodice. “Mom,” she gasped, feeling like she might cry.

“I know you wanted this one, but we never really got the chance to pick it up or try it on shopping before. And it’s probably too late for us to make an appointment with a tailor, but it should be a good fit and I think it will look great with your silver heels,” Catelyn Stark rarely babbled nervously, Sansa thought. Her mother was really trying.

While a part of Sansa felt guilty, the larger part of Sansa just felt grateful. She immediately enveloped her mother in a hug. Her mom hugged her back with one hand as the other balanced the dress. “I take it this is good?” Catelyn asked with a light chuckle.

Sansa laughed, chin resting at her mother’s shoulder. “Very good,” she said. “I mean—it’s great.” Sansa pulled back to look at her mom. “I’m just not 100% sure I’m going to the dance.”

Catelyn gently cradled Sansa’s cheek in her palm. “I’m sure from this reaction that you want to go,” her mother said.

Sansa bit her lip and looked away.

“Is this because you don’t know what boy you want to take you? Because you don’t have to have a date, Sansa. You can go with your friends and have just as much fun.”

Not because I don’t have a date, Sansa thought. She didn’t have a date but that wasn’t the big thing. I highly doubt I can fight a horde in that dress, no matter how well made it is.

But she couldn’t tell her mother that. Not even after Jon telling her she should. “I’ll think about it,” Sansa said, allowing her mother to think what she already thought.

Her mother let out a small, disappointed sigh, the kind which Sansa thought all mothers must go to some school to learn, but nodded. “Think about it, that’s all I ask.”

Sansa nodded. If this was all she could give her, Sansa would at least agree to that. Her mother hung the dress on her closet door, kissed Sansa on the cheek, and went to wake up her siblings for school.

Sansa turned to look at the dress again. Against her will, she wondered if Jon would like it.

---

That evening she got Davos, Jeyne, and Jon together in the school basement to talk with them about her dream. Well, parts of her dream, anyway. Of the group, they were the most likely to be knowledgeable about how to protect the center of mystical convergence. Moreover, she needed Davos to provide the resources necessary to take on this mission.

“Do you think we can do it? Protect the center? Joffrey is sending minions to guard it for a reason. He clearly doesn’t think he can afford to neglect it, so neither should we.”

Davos had nodded and scribbled down notes. She knew it was part of his job as a Watcher to document their discoveries, but sometimes it was frustrating when she really needed him to talk to her.

“Davos,” Jon called out, and Davos raised his head to look at them.

“Oh yes, sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile at Sansa. “Got a little carried away there.” Davos put his notepad away. “We’ve been working on the protection spell for you on Homecoming night, but this is a bigger sort of project, especially if you’re hoping to keep it as a continuous protection.”

“That’s definitely what I’m hoping for. We spend all this time reacting to the threats posed here. This lets us do something proactive, Davos.”

He nodded. “We’re going to need more help. I am going to contact some mystics and shamans I know from the Council, just to get a better idea of what we need. A weaving spell, I think, is most appropriate.”

“Weaving spell?” Sansa asked.

“Yes. It’s more of a figurative sort of title—like weaving baskets. We are weaving a protective guardianship. It has to be not only strong but dynamic, responsive to the changing levels of energy.”

They quickly began work. Davos hadn’t been kidding about this being a bigger sort of project. They spent most of the night researching and formulating the right sort of spell, and her Watcher had to consult with others over the phone or email. She and Jon passed the time slaying vamps sent by Joffrey. Between minions they talked.

“This is a big deal, huh?” Jon observed, glancing over to where Jeyne was working, spellbook in her lap, purple sparks of magic bursting between her fingers as she worked on forming some indistinct shape from the energy.

“It could be,” Sansa said. “It might help save a lot of lives.”

Jon looked at her. “Yeah, but I meant for you.”

“Me?” Sansa asked.

“If you can keep the energy in check, you might not have to guard Wintertown anymore,” Jon said, studying her quizzically.

“Oh,” she said as she realized Jon was right.

“You really never thought about it?” he asked curiously.

Sansa honestly hadn’t. “No.”

“You’re going to be graduating come spring.” Jon pointed out. “There’s traveling, potentially college, a lot of stuff you can do.”

She shook her head. Sansa tried to tell herself that Jon was just looking out for her best interest, but part of her feared that maybe he didn’t want her around. “No,” Sansa repeated, and it must have come out sharply. Jon didn’t look offended, but he tilted his head in question. “I stopped thinking about that a long time ago. Slayers don’t have much of a future after all.”

At that Jon’s eyes grew thunderous. “Don’t talk like that,” he ordered.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Slayers don’t typically live long, you know that.”

“Slayers don’t typically have vampire partners looking out for them either,” he said.

Partners? He couldn’t mean romantic partners, could he? “So what, you’d go where I go? Always look out for me?”

Sansa hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but now it was out there.

“If you wanted me to, yes.” He didn’t look away, and as much as Sansa thought she needed to, that she was getting too hot in this basement with her Watcher and friend nearby, she couldn’t.

“I like it here,” Sansa finally said.

“Me too,” Jon said with a small smile.

“Sansa,” Davos said from across the basement floor. He looked between Jon and Sansa, seeming to realize he had interrupted what was a private conversation. Davos looked at her questioningly, but she didn’t take the bait.

“What is it?” she asked instead.

“Jeyne and I are ready for the weaving now.”

“Great,” Sansa said as she and Jon made their way over to them. “What do you do?”

Davos and Jeyne looked at one another, something passing between them that Sansa didn’t understand. That made her nervous. Her Watcher apparently let her friend take the lead. “Actually, we need you. The both of you,” Jeyne said, grinning at them.

“How’s that?” Jon asked.

“Well, it's essentially because you’re both supernatural beings. One is a natural predator, the other a natural protector. Brought together by common cause and um, affection,” Jeyne said with a quirk of her eyebrow, and Sansa could tell the girl was enjoying this way too much. “If we combine your energies together, they will provide a catalyst that balances the center and powers the weaving spell to continuous protection. Isn’t that right, Davos?” Her friend asked.

“Yes, Jeyne is right.”

“Well, how exactly do we, what was it you said? Combine our energies?” Sansa asked. Damn it, if she blushed anymore, she would match her shade of hair. She didn’t even need to look at Jon to know he had that stupid, arrogant (sexy) smirk on his face.

“It’s nothing much,” Davos quickly responded, likely to spare Sansa further embarrassment. He approached and placed one hand on Sansa’s shoulder and  the other on Jon’s as he led them to the center of the room. “We’ll just need you to stand together, facing each other, holding your hands out, palms touching.” Davos maneuvered her into position and Jon mirrored it, placing his palms against hers.

Jon’s hands were warm. Weren’t they supposed to be cold? Were her hands sweating?

“No problem, Davos, I’m great at standing in place,” Jon said to the man. Sansa knew instantly the words were for her, though. To put her at ease.

“Great,” Davos answered, though there might have been a trace of sarcasm to his response. “Now we’ll do the rest. Jeyne,” Davos nodded to her friend.

Jeyne’s hands sparked to life again, and Sansa realized how similar this was to her dream. It was strange like déjà vu, but it felt right too. Like the warmth was flowing through her as it did when she fell into the ball of light.

(Or was that just the feeling of Jon’s hands touching hers?)

The purple sparks elongated as Jeyne drew her hands further apart, and they reached to join Davos’s fingers as well. The two began chanting something in Latin that Sansa obviously couldn’t follow. The energy then began to braid and weave, light as gossamer.

Davos and Jeyne began to walk around Jon and Sansa, circling them, pulling the threads until they surrounded them.

Sansa felt it humming in her body, and she was sure Jon did too. All the time, his eyes never left hers.

Eventually, Davos and Jeyne finished their chanting and slowly the weaved threads disappeared. Left behind was only a sense of heightened energy. Of the sort she had experienced with her dizzy spell days before, except this made her feel stronger, safer. Happier.

“I thought you said the weaving title was figurative?” Sansa asked Davos.

Davos laughed easily. It seemed they all felt a greater sense of relaxation and levity now that the spell had been cast. “I thought it was until I consulted with the shaman.”

Sansa checked the perimeter for any potential foes who might spring up, but there was no sign of Joffrey’s minions. Sansa hoped that was a good sign. “Now what?” she asked.

“We’re done, at least for now,” Davos said. “I think we can all go home.”

“I’ll stay a little longer to patrol, see if anyone shows up looking for trouble.” Sansa said. She wasn’t ready to go home. She also wanted to stay close to Jon, though she wouldn’t say that aloud.

“I’ll stay too, as backup.” Jon said casually, but the look he threw her way told her he felt similarly.

Jeyne and Davos left; Sansa breathed a sigh of relief to have some time alone with Jon.

Jon surveyed the room, looking satisfied. “You think it’ll work?” Sansa asked.

Jon smiled. “I do. I can feel it. Can’t you?”

“I can,” Sansa admitted. It surrounded them like a blanket, warm and bright and peaceful. She had a hard time imagining any monsters wanting to be near this place.

“Not that I would have had any doubts if we couldn’t feel it,” Jon said. Having distanced themselves after the spell ended, he now sauntered toward her. And just what gave him the right to walk like that, to look so good doing it?

Sansa shrugged. “You’re overconfident,” she said with a teasing smirk.

“I don’t think so,” Jon said. They met in the middle. “Besides, it’s not confidence in myself. It’s confidence in you.”

Sansa didn’t know what to say to that. She was taken in by the intensity in his eyes.

Jon looked at her searchingly. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, but not unkindly.

“Get what?” she asked.

“You. What you’re capable of, how amazing you are. The kind of difference you make in people’s lives,” he said. Gone was the quippy, sarcastic Jon (much as she loved every version of Jon) and before her was the serious, earnest boy beneath the layers.

“Jon,” she said with embarrassment, ducking her head.

“Hey,” Jon tilted her chin up, and she met his eyes again. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Don’t diminish yourself, don’t hide.” Jon let go of her chin, but she could feel his reluctance to stop touching her.

And it was all too much for her, suddenly. Sansa didn’t want to hide, especially from Jon.

“Yeah, okay, so,” she paused, but refused to let herself get too tangled in her nerves. “There’s just this thing that I need to do,” Sansa said. Jon looked curious. Maybe even eager?

“Something I have to try,” she continued and moved closer to him, her hands going to Jon’s chest.  

“Yeah?” Jon asked hoarsely.

Sansa only nodded. Automatically, his hands fell to her hips as she leaned forward. Jon met her halfway as her lips finally brushed his.

Chapter Text

Sansa might not have chosen to be the Slayer if she had had the choice, but it had chosen her and that was enough.

But this, with Jon? Slayer dream notwithstanding, Sansa chose this for herself.

If the kiss from that dream had been incredible, this real one was enough to unravel her. At the moment Sansa brought her lips to his, she’d only been a little hesitant. Despite her insecurities, she thought it was most likely that he would return the kiss.

And boy, had she been right. Sansa felt his arms engulfing her as he responded, open mouth on hers, a moan in his throat, a grip on her waist. The hot slide of his tongue against hers. Lips that were so soft yet powered through with such a passion she could feel them practically bruising her own. This kiss almost hurt, yet it was the sweetest kind of pain. It was the kind of thing she’d always imagined a kiss should be. Jon’s hand traced up her back and gripped her hair in his fist. Sansa groaned at the feeling.

When he finally pulled back to let her breathe, Jon’s lips were swollen, and his eyes glinted with heat. “Something you had to try?” he asked with a grin as he leaned his forehead against hers.

“Yes,” Sansa said, and she’s not sure her voice has ever been this deep.

“Well, I must say I’m a fan so far,” Jon said, now placing a quick and sweet peck to her lips, his smile against hers.

“Me too,” Sansa said. One of Jon’s hands went to her hip and squeezed lightly. She kissed him again and he pulled her closer. Feeling his response, Sansa boldly moved to kissing and sucking along Jon’s neck (she would appreciate the irony of that later), trailing upward before gently biting his earlobe.

“Oh fuck,” Jon groaned in surprise and pleasure. He gathered his wits. “Sansa, what is this?” he asked her.

Sansa looked at him. “Do you have to ask?”

“I think I do,” Jon said with a small quirk of his lips. He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. And suddenly, he had a mischievous gleam in his eye, head tilting as he studied her. “Just what are your intentions, Sansa Stark?”

Sansa felt a flutter in her stomach from his expression and words. She wasn’t the only one to be unraveled. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel strange answering his question. In her mind, it felt like the question should be the other way around. She’d wanted him so long, he must have known. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Jon shook his head in amusement. “Oh no, I asked you first. Besides, think the kisser has to answer before the kiss-ee.”

“Kiss-ee? Jon, that’s not even a word!” Sansa laughed.

Jon pointed at her. “Don’t change the subject, Stark!” His stern tone was belied by the grin he was fighting.

Sansa sighed. “Don’t you know?” She took his hand in hers. “I want you, Jon.”

Jon’s eyes met hers, open and soft. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed as he pulled her back against him.

“I want you too, Sansa,” Jon said. He cradled her face in his hands, his thumb rubbing along her bottom lip. “More than I can say.”

Touched by the tenderness in his voice, Sansa kissed the thumb playing at her lips. Jon growled before crashing his lips into hers, their bodies molded together.

When they eventually pulled back once more, Sansa was about to ask Jon to say it anyway; to tell her as much as he could even if he couldn’t put all of it into words (feeling quite greedy in that moment for his affection) when there was a pointed throat clearing behind them. They stilled before Sansa turned.

“Arya, what are you doing here so late?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded even. How long had Arya been there? Sansa’s hair was likely mussed from Jon’s hands. Even if her little sister hadn’t seen any kissing, Sansa and Jon had been too close in their positions for any platonic interpretation of whatever Arya had interrupted.

Arya raised a brow as she looked between them, as if daring them to explain the embrace she’d found them in before answering. “The parental units want you home. I told dad you were at Beth’s so she could tutor you for calculus,” Arya pulled out her phone to check the time, “which should buy you about a half-hour.”

“Shoot,” Sansa murmured. She wondered if she would have stayed here all night kissing Jon had Arya not shown up. “Thanks for covering for me.”

Arya nodded and looked at Jon in amusement. “Hi Jon,” she said.

“Hi Arya,” Jon said with a grin and wave. But strangely he looked less embarrassed than Sansa was feeling. In fact, when Jon glanced at her once more, she thought he looked more uncertain about what Sansa would do than what Arya might think.

“We should get going,” Arya said, motioning with her head toward the stairs.

“Yeah,” Sansa said with a reluctant sigh. She stepped toward Jon, knowing that he needed to see that she was serious about what she’d said before. Fighting back a blush because Arya was right there, she kissed Jon once more for a quick goodbye.

Sansa didn’t even care that Arya muttered under her breath an ugh, gross. Because Jon looked at her warmly and repeated his earlier words: “definitely a fan.”

Yup, she could have stayed out all night had Arya not shown up.

---

She and Arya had fallen into an awkward silence as they headed home. Sansa wasn’t sure what to say or even what Arya was thinking. The girls had been getting along better. Sansa had taught her little sister a bit about applying her existing skills to vampires and demons, and had taken her on patrol. Arya had done well, though she did better at assisting Sansa (distracting foes or helping to send them Sansa’s way) than in one-on-one combat.

Would Sansa kissing Jon change their tentative growing bond? Sansa had been a patient person for most of her life, but she honestly didn’t have time for it now.

“Just say it: are you mad at me?” Sansa asked her. Might as well be direct.

Arya frowned. “Huh? Oh, you mean because of Jon?”

“Well, yeah,” Sansa said (she reigned in the duh before it slipped out).

To her surprise, Arya chuckled and shook her head. “Mad? No. Disgusted, but not mad. It was only a matter of time. Just wish I hadn’t seen it,” she scowled. Sansa grinned looking at her, it was the same face Arya made whenever their parents kissed in front of the kids (which, to be fair, was totally gross).

A second later she realized what Arya said. “What do you mean a matter of time?”

Now Arya looked exasperated. “Oh, please. Sansa, everyone knows.”

“Everyone knows what?!”

“That you and Jon got it bad for each other.”

Sansa’s breath hitched. She wasn’t sure if she should be more alarmed or more excited. She’d thought she was better at hiding her feelings, keeping them close to the chest. But the notion that others thought Jon had feelings for her…

“Really? You thought Jon had feelings for me before tonight?”

Arya gave her a sidelong glance. “You cannot be surprised.”

Sansa had no words. Not really. She merely gaped at her sister. Why wouldn’t Arya have told her? Did she think Sansa knew?

Arya laughed and shook her head. “Love makes you do the wacky, I guess.”

It made her wonder. When had it begun for Jon? Sansa couldn’t pinpoint the beginning for herself. But she’d known Jon for most of her life, and these feelings seemed to have always been there. Before she was the Slayer. Before Jon was a vampire. Was it after she became the Slayer that Jon developed feelings for her? Somehow, that thought didn’t sit well with her. Sansa supposed in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. Being the Slayer was a part of her. But she also wanted to be wanted just for being her, just for being Sansa.

“Stop that,” Arya said with annoyance, interrupting Sansa’s musings.

“Stop what?”

“Overthinking it, doubting yourself,” her sister explained.

“Is that the wacky?” Sansa asked with a raised eyebrow. Arya must have been talking with Jeyne, because that was a Jeyne-ism if she ever heard one.

“That’s the wacky! Look, I almost can’t believe I’m gonna say this but, you two are good for each other,” Arya said somewhat begrudgingly.

“So does that mean we have your blessing?” Sansa asked, bracing herself.

Arya looked at her bluntly. “Would it make a difference if I didn’t approve?”

She tensed. “It would matter to me,” Sansa paused thoughtfully. “How you feel about it matters to me. But no, if you’re asking me if it would stop me. It wouldn’t.”

Arya nodded. “I thought as much.” Her little sister sighed as they made it to their street, their home in sight. “I don’t really. Disapprove, that is. It’s still pretty gross to me, so I’d appreciate if you could try not to get all mushy in front of me. But, you have my blessing for whatever it’s worth.”

Sansa smiled. “It’s worth a lot. Thank you.” She enjoyed talking to her sister like this. It made her feel a little bad that she hadn’t told Arya that Jon had agreed to protect her if need be, but she figured Arya would either need it or not. There was little point that Sansa could see in telling Arya beforehand.

They didn’t need any more distractions. As much as it pained her to admit, that also meant she and Jon would likely have to wait before talking more about what their relationship was now. The mission had to come first.

“What do you think is going to happen tomorrow?” Arya asked.

Homecoming night. They’d not had much time, but they were as ready as possible. Sansa knew tonight’s spell would make a difference. Still, it would be stupid to be unafraid.

But Sansa also believed in her friends, Davos, and even Arya.

And Jon.

And in herself. She understood what Jon had said before. There was a difference in confidence and arrogance, and Sansa understood that difference.

That’s why Sansa answered with certainty: “We’re going to win.”

Chapter Text

The morning of the Homecoming dance, Sansa was surprised to come downstairs and find none other than Jon sitting at the breakfast table, drinking coffee with her mom. As soon as she entered, Sansa saw her mother tuck something away behind her back as Catelyn and Jon both quickly pretended to be doing something else.

Sansa watched them with narrowed eyes as her mother refilled Jon’s cup. “More coffee, Jon?” Catelyn asked.

“Thanks so much, Cat,” Jon said with an unassuming smile before ostentatiously turning to look at Sansa. “Oh, Sansa, you’re awake!” he said with (completely fake) surprise.

“What are you guys doing?” Sansa asked.

Her mother had turned toward the stove where she was making eggs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear,” Catelyn said with a mere glance over her shoulder at her eldest daughter.

“Yeah, Sansa, are you feeling okay?” Jon continued their ruse, standing up with a smug grin as he moved to feel her forehead, as if to see whether she had a fever. But as soon as his skin touched hers, she knew it was more of an excuse to get close.

“I’m fine,” Sansa said suspiciously, taking Jon’s hand off her forehead and placing it in her own. He was so warm. Seriously, weren’t vampires supposed to be cold? She could ask Davos. On the other hand, maybe not. It would create way too many questions—her Watcher had accepted Jon as a vampire team member, but how would he feel about her with a vampire boyfriend? And was Jon her boyfriend? She shifted her focus back to the matter at hand. “Other than not knowing what you guys are up to, anyway.”

“It’s nothing, sweetie, honest,” her mother said breezily. “Ned, Arya, boys, it’s time for breakfast!”

Almost immediately she could hear the hurdling footsteps of her brothers rushing downstairs as her father and Arya entered, leaving Sansa no opportunity for follow up questions. Well played, mom.

Her father smiled and kissed her mom on the cheek as he came in, then turned toward the table. “Hello, Jon,” Ned said, looking between Sansa and Jon’s hands, still enclosed with one another.

She thought Jon might startle and let go, but instead she felt him squeeze her hand in his. “Sir,” Jon said, looking down to his feet. As if her father was some military commander and you couldn’t meet his eyes. Jon had taken to calling her mother Cat since he’d turned eighteen, but her father was another matter…

There was a twinkle in Ned’s eye as he moved to them and slapped a hand jovially on Jon’s shoulder, causing Jon to startle just slightly. “Staying for breakfast, son?”

Sansa glared at her father for his apparent delight, but he smiled at her unrepentantly.

Jon looked up, and Sansa finally pulled her hand from his. It’d been growing sweaty. “Um, actually—”

“Jon offered to take Sansa on some errands this morning,” Catelyn supplied as she set the table. Sansa’s eyes snapped to her mother’s. “Honey, I was hoping you’d pick up the dry cleaning,” her mom said, pulling a slip from the dry cleaner’s out of an apron pocket, and handing it to Sansa. “If you wouldn’t mind. Jon can accompany you,” Catelyn said, with a look in her eye that told Sansa it wasn’t a question.

Her father looked curiously between them, while Arya was smirking behind her glass of orange juice, and her brothers Bran and Rickon were oblivious to the entire interaction as they tore into their breakfast like animals. “Sure, mom,” Sansa said with a smile that likely didn’t hide her suspicion, taking the slip from Catelyn. Suddenly Jon was handing Sansa her coat and they headed out.

The morning had a gloomy, early fall overcast. But she liked it cloudy. Jon didn’t have to dodge sunlight. “Okay,” Sansa said to him as they left her home. “What the hell was that about?” she asked.

In reply, Jon hooked an arm around her waist, pulled her to him and kissed her. Her hand palmed his cheek, and his hand rested on the small of her back. His tongue lightly caressed hers and she felt butterflies in her stomach. Sansa’s breath hitched as if he hadn’t kissed her like this just last night. There was something hypnotizing about being in his arms like this.

“What was your question again?” he asked when his lips left hers.

Sansa shook her head, trying to regain equilibrium. “What was that about, you and my mom?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Jon shrugged. “It was nothing, really,” he said and took her hand in his, beginning their walk once more.

“Jon!” Sansa objected, but she let her fingers lace with his.

Jon chuckled. “Your mom was nice enough to try and give us some time alone, that’s all.”

Sansa frowned. “Time alone? Why would my mom give us time alone?”

Jon turned his head toward her with a sly grin, looked her up and down and licked his lips.

“Jon!” Sansa gasped, scandalized, feeling her cheeks heat.

Jon rolled his eyes fondly. “Sansa, your mom wasn’t giving us time for me to kiss your lips off, though that’s a swell bonus,” he said with a wink. “She’s helping me woo you.”

“You’re trying to woo me, Jon Snow?” Sansa said, suddenly feeling almost shy. How absurd that was, when they’d known each other for so long. When they’d kissed like that.

Jon sighed. “I’m trying to, you impossible girl,” he said with affectionate exasperation.

“I’m impossible now?” Sansa asked. Internally though, her head was practically spinning. Arya and her mother were aware of Jon’s feelings? And why did no one feel fit to tell Sansa anything?

“Have been for most of your life, I’d wager,” Jon muttered.

Sansa huffed indignantly. “Well maybe you’d like to find a less impossible girl,” she said, not really meaning it.

“A girl who’s not you? Not interested.” Jon said, bringing an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple. Jon was very tactile, she was learning. Sansa liked it. It was all oddly traditional, not in some ancient sexist way, but it was almost courtly, Jon holding her close and walking her places. Perhaps there was something to this wooing thing, Sansa decided. “On the way, tell me about Homecoming,” he requested.

Sansa wasn’t sure what Jon wanted to know. “You already know—as soon as it’s dark, we’re cutting them off before they can get to the gymnasium. Try and keep all the monsters away from the rest of the class. Hopefully give Beth, Jeyne, and Pod time to meet up with their dates,” Sansa said.

Jon shook his head. “Not that. The fun stuff,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance. “Does this dance have a theme? Who’s taking who?”

Sansa grinned, feeling something light and floaty in her chest. Jon was speaking to a part of her that wasn’t quite gone, but certainly on the backburner. The inner girl who delighted in dressing up or engaging in gossip. “No theme as far as I know. Beth is going with Pyp, Jeyne is going with Theon, and Pod is actually going with Margaery,” she told him indulgently.

Jon’s eyebrows raised. “No kidding? Margaery agreed to be seen in public with him?” Jon asked with a grin.

Jon was well aware that Pod and Margaery had been dancing around each other for a while now. But Margaery had been something of a snob in the past, and she didn’t want anyone to know about her burgeoning romance with Pod, who was always a bit of an outcast due to his shyness. But she was coming around now, and if it seemed strange that the glamorous outgoing likely-Homecoming-Queen was taking the sweet, introverted Pod as her date, Sansa supposed opposites attracted each other sometimes. How different were she and Jon? Sansa wasn't sure but she thought they complemented each other well. She nudged Jon’s shoulder in a light reprimand. “Hey now, she’s not so bad, at least not anymore.”

“As long as she’s not still trying to sabotage you like when she tried to kick you off the cheerleading squad,” Jon said protectively.

Sansa chuckled. “That was ages ago, Jon. I’m surprised you even remember that.”

Jon looked at her intently. “With you, I always remember.”

Sansa’s heart fluttered.

They were almost to the dry cleaner’s when Jon suddenly halted, going completely stiff. “Jon?” she asked in alarm.

Jon didn’t say anything, he just gripped her tighter in response and quickly dragged her into a side alley between buildings. Her back was against a wall and Jon was in front of her, one palm on each side of her head.

A moment later, she heard what Jon must have. “You are a foolish boy,” a woman spat with contempt. She recognized that voice and whipped her head to the side. She couldn’t see them, but she knew. It was Cersei.

Cersei and Joffrey.

“It is handled, mother,” Joffrey said with petulance.

“Handled,” Cersei repeated irritably. “You know not what you trifle with, and all for that inconsequential twit of a girl.”

Sansa stiffened, she had a feeling they were talking about her, but she didn’t want to believe that.

“Sansa Stark needs to be put in her place,” Joffrey said, and Sansa’s eyes went wide. She moved forward slightly to see the mother and son exiting a bank. Cersei was fiddling with her purse, and what looked to be a large cash deposit, with one hand while the other kept a vice grip on Joffrey’s forearm.

“Sansa Stark is nothing and we are everything. This is beneath you, beneath us all.” Cersei said, practically shaking with anger. “You meddle with forces you don’t understand! You will bring shame to your family, is that what you want?”

Joffrey tried to push her away. “You’re hysterical, mother,” he said with a sneer.

Cersei pulled Joffrey closer. She spoke under her breath, and if not for her Slayer hearing, Sansa would miss Cersei’s words. “We will be on a plane out of Wintertown tonight,” she commanded.

“I’m eighteen, I don’t have to go anywhere with you.” In other circumstances, she might have found it funny. Joffrey had never seemed so childish to Sansa as he did now.

Cersei released Joffrey from her grip and straightened her back as she opened the door to her black Mercedes. “I will be on a plane out of Wintertown tonight, with your brother and sister. If you value your life, you will be with us. Joffrey, if you are not there—so help me,” the woman let out an angry and resigned breath. “There will be nothing anyone can do.”

Joffrey’s jaw tightened. “You’re wrong,” he said insistently. Instead of getting into the car with Cersei, he walked away from his mother.

“Joffrey, Joffrey!” Cersei called to him to no avail. Once he was out of sight, Cersei huffed and quickly got into her car, slamming the door and screeching out of the bank’s parking lot.

Sansa felt herself growing faint.

“Sansa,” Jon said insistently, drawing her attention back to him.

“I don’t understand,” she said blankly. “What could he have done to make Cersei run?”

“I don’t know, but nothing good,” Jon said with a grim expression.

Sansa’s hands had clenched into fists. “You should see Davos. I’ll pick up the dry cleaning,” Jon said, slowly getting her to open up her palm, his hand in hers grounding her enough to think more clearly.

“She called me an inconsequential twit,” Sansa said, suddenly feeling a new level of peeved.

“She’s the Evil Bitch Monster of Death, Sansa, can’t worry about what she thinks,” Jon pointed out with a quirk of his lips.

Sansa scoffed. “She’s an inconsequential twat, that’s what she is!”

Jon let out a bark of a laugh and kissed her forehead. “There’s my girl.” Sansa blushed a little, whether from her coarse language or Jon’s words she wasn’t sure, while he took the dry cleaner’s slip from her. “I’ll take care of this, go talk to Davos and I’ll meet you there when I’m done, alright?”

Sansa nodded, and he pecked a quick kiss to her mouth before heading in the direction of the dry cleaner. “Jon?”

“Yeah?” he turned back to her.

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

---

“What do you think it means?” Sansa asked Davos as she paced in his living room.

“I can’t say for certain,” Davos said as he slowly sat in his armchair, thoughtful Watcher face intact. “But it likely means he’s endangered himself too—and possibly his loved ones. I can’t think of any other reason Cersei would be so hellbent on getting her and her children out.”

“She said something about him shaming the family,” Sansa supplied.

Davos nodded absently, still seeming deep in thought as he made his way over to the bookcase. “It’s likely the family has a history of sorcery. She could be worried Joffrey is sullying the legacy of the Lannisters,” Davos observed.

“So, Cersei’s a witch, tell me something I don’t know,” Sansa quipped, hoping to lighten the mood. She got a small smile from her Watcher and took that as a victory.

The quiet stretched on long enough that Sansa began working toward a discomfiting conclusion. “Endangering himself, you said. Does that mean I might have to protect Joffrey?” Sansa shuddered at the very thought.

Davos looked at her plainly. “I wouldn’t say so. There are people who put themselves in danger so they can hurt others, why should a Slayer concern herself with them?”

“It’s my job to protect people,” Sansa said.

“It’s your job to slay monsters,” Davos said, clearly beginning to lose his patience, as Sansa was familiar with his cues by now.

“What’s the difference?” Sansa challenged, throwing her arms out to her sides.

“When it comes to someone who aids monsters, I’d say it’s a very big difference!” Davos said sternly. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t like this,” Sansa said.

“I know,” Davos said, replacing his glasses and meeting her gaze. “It’s quite alright. Sansa, I know you don’t want to see any humans hurt, but not every human is worth your sacrifices, he cannot come before your larger duties.”

Sansa nodded.

“I’ll try and do some more research on what spells he might have performed, but at this late notice, I don't think I'll find anything definitive,” Davos told her as he pulled out a few books. “In the meantime, I’m sure you and Jon have some pre-battle snuggles to do.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped at her Watcher’s words. She couldn’t decide if she was more embarrassed or more creeped out by that word choice.

“Snuggles?!” (Creeped out, apparently.)

Davos raised a brow at her with a satisfied grin. “I may be many things but give me a little credit, Sansa, I am not clueless.”

“I—I didn’t think you were! Jeez—does everybody know?!”

“Oh yes, that’s quite right,” Davos said in his most serious, erudite tone.

At least he didn’t seem upset. On the contrary, Davos seemed eager to tease her. She’d had about enough of that for today. “I’ll see you later,” she said, marching to the door with her Watcher’s soft laughter echoing behind her.

She opened the door and there was Jon, fist raised as he'd been about to knock. "Hey," he said. "I found out Tyrion skipped town, too." Jon stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked between her and Davos who still chuckled knowingly. "What's so funny?"

---

“We’ve got this,” Sansa whispered to Mr. Pointy as she bounced on the balls of her feet, working out the tension from her body as she and the rest of her crew readied themselves. She’d given Arya some of her lesser favored stakes and sent her into the right flank with Pod. Jeyne was gathering her energies alongside Beth while Davos nervously cleaned his glasses on the left flank, while Jon stood to her immediate left. “Back-to-back if we need it,” he murmured next to her, and she nodded. Sansa didn’t look directly at Jon, though, she was scanning the tree line where they expected the nasties to converge, a few football fields’ distance from the gymnasium where Homecoming would soon begin.

She also didn’t think she should look at Jon directly because her feelings could get the best of her—and she couldn’t afford that kind of distraction.

Then it began.

First, a newly fledged vamp or two—easily handled as they threw themselves right at Sansa. Then, vampires who were at least a little more experienced and worked in groups, and Pod’s claws had started to come out.

“Arya!” Sansa yelled for her sister to push a vampire her way, and thankfully Arya listened.

Then there were other demons and monsters. A blue-skinned thing with horns and sharp teeth. Sansa wrestled with it on the ground, and she started to panic momentarily when it had her pinned, but she quickly outmaneuvered the hulking figure, knocking it backward until it fell onto Davos’s axe. And if Sansa weren’t busy quickly taking on a small group of three vamps right after, she might have taken a moment to laugh at Davos’s muttering about being too old for this.

As the group swelled, Jeyne was working her magic with Beth’s help to construct a barrier between the horde and the gym. Beth warned as she read from a spell book that it wasn’t clear how long it would last.

“Back-to-back,” Jon said, his fangs out and his eyes a little more purple than usual. She and Jon quickly got into position, taking down monsters left and right.

Sansa didn’t want to think or acknowledge for even a moment that this was going better than she thought it would, that the horde was thinner and the spell they’d performed before was apparently working. In that way laid complacency. It didn’t matter how well things went; a Slayer could never have complacency in battle.

But Sansa needn’t have worried. She soon found fate had an intervention for that as a certain blond-haired menace with a magic book appeared from the tree line. Shock, glee, malice, and maybe even a hint of fright were fighting for predominance in his eyes as he took in the scene before him. “Well, well, well,” Joffrey drawled as he leered at her. “If it isn’t Sansa fucking Stark.”

“Well, well, well,” Sansa answered him nonplussed. “If it isn’t Joffrey fucking Baratheon.”

Joffrey shook his head looking at the group, warily eyeing Jon and likely noticing his fangs, and Pod’s claws. “I should have known you’d have your own little freak show here.”

“SLAYER!” A newly fledged vamp came flying from the trees, knocking Joffrey down to his hands and knees as the vampire, a girl no more than five feet tall, headed straight toward Sansa.

“Not yet! You work for me!” Joffrey called to the vampire, his eyes widening as he realized what his foot soldier had just called Sansa.

Sansa normally didn’t like being a show-off (okay, maybe sometimes she did), but she wanted Joffrey to understand just who he was dealing with now. As the vampire lunged for her throat, Sansa immediately grabbed her and twisted her around, the vamp’s back to her front as she met Joffrey’s eyes. “That’s the thing about vampires, especially newborns,” Sansa told him and plunged her stake through the vampire’s chest as the girl disintegrated into dust. “They tend not to listen to masters. And they especially lose it around a Slayer.”

“A Slayer?” He said angrily as he struggled back to his feet. But Sansa couldn’t respond yet. Five more vampires went straight for her and Jon. After they took them down, she looked back at Joffrey, clutching his book and shaking as he frantically flipped pages. But now the book was stained with mud from his fall. “You?!”

“Poor Joffrey,” Sansa said with an exaggerated pout. “Even with all of mommy’s money, you still can’t buy a clue.”

“You bitch,” Joffrey snarled.

The vampires and demons around them slowly began to stop their assault and watch the spectacle. Arya was edging toward her and Joffrey in a way she didn’t like. Jeyne’s chanting was a continuous noise in the background. And somewhere, further off, a slow dance was beginning in the high school’s gym.

“You’re an idiot,” Arya said, glaring at Joffrey. “You have no idea what she is, what she can do.”

“Stay out of it, Arya,” Sansa commanded, though she couldn’t deny it warmed her heart that her sister sounded proud of her.

“There’s only one in the world!” Joffrey said incredulously.

“Yeah, and that’s her,” Jon said, stepping up next to Sansa. Joffrey’s eyes grew wider, and he looked genuinely fearful.

Sansa gripped her stake tighter. “Can you call them off, Joffrey?”

No, Sansa didn’t truly think for a minute that he would. But given his pale coloring and obvious growing panic, there was a small chance that he’d end it. She at least had to offer him that chance.

Joffrey shook his head frantically. “No. No! What are you all standing around for?” He looked at his army. “Attack!” he screamed, pointing toward the dance.

Several monsters ran straight into the barrier, bouncing back dazed. Others circled Sansa, Jon, and Joffrey. “You lie,” one vampire accused Joffrey. “You promised us power and what do you give us?”

This vamp’s senses weren’t haywire around the Slayer, and he clearly could reason enough to see beyond the immediate need to kill and feed, to see that Joffrey had misled them. “You cannot even break this barrier!” he shouted.

“I will!” Joffrey said desperately looking back to his spell book for answers and began chanting in inexpert Latin.

Too quickly for Sansa to comprehend, Arya dove for Joffrey, knocking him to the ground as the two struggled and his book went flying.

“Arya, no!” Sansa said.

But she couldn’t get to her. The crowd of monsters began mobbing around them as the scent of blood filled the air.

Arya’s blood? She thought in a panic. Joffrey’s?

“Arya!” Sansa yelled but she couldn’t hear a response in the din of noise created by the monsters’ melee.

The scent had driven them mad, Sansa realized. The demons and the vampires were even going against each other.

Sansa frantically shoved as many monsters as she could, staking when she had to. “Jon!” she called out.

He would save Arya. He had to. Jon let out a huge roar as he dove into the chaos. Podrick jumped into the crowd and joined Sansa as they fought and fought.

She wasn’t losing anyone she loved tonight, Sansa promised herself.

She fell into the fight’s rhythm as she had so many times before. Senses heightened and focused. Vampire, stake, vampire, stake, demon, stake…

And on and on she went. She couldn’t think about anything else until finally, the mob thinned, and the few stray monsters left fled or perished before her eyes. But what will be left?

There was Jon, cradling Arya while she clutched her arm. Sansa flew straight toward them. “Arya, please tell me you’re alight.”

“I’m fine,” Arya said, trying to free herself from Jon’s hold. “Would you let me go?! It’s just a scratch on my arm.”

Jon slowly released her, but she could see how tense he had been. “From what? What got you?” she asked her little sister. Depending on what creature had gotten her, even a scratch could be dangerous.  

She rolled her eyes. “It was Joffrey digging his nails into me,” Arya complained.

“Don’t you ever do anything that stupid again!” Sansa ordered, pulling her up, and she knew she should calm down, but she couldn’t.

 She released Arya and crouched in front of Jon. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No, just a bruise or two—this cut is already healed,” he pointed to a light wound that dulled into a whitish scar on his jawline right before her eyes. “Some vampire did it,” he traced his thumb along it. “Called me a traitor to my kind,” he said with a smirk.

Sansa didn’t quite know why her eyes filled with tears then, but she didn’t overthink it as she threw herself into Jon’s arms gratefully. His hand in her hair, his other arm around her waist. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You never have to thank me, Sansa,” Jon said, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “We’re a team.”

“We are,” Sansa said. She pulled back and kissed him lightly.

“Sansa?” Davos called from where he stood with a troubled expression. She and Jon hurried to their feet.

Davos nodded his head and Sansa looked in that direction. She couldn’t help but gasp. Sansa had been so relieved that Arya and Jon were alright she’d nearly forgotten the instigator of this whole thing.

But there Joffrey Baratheon lay—dead.

Chapter Text

Sansa stood frozen in place for several seconds, and the quiet seemed to echo around her until she finally took a step forward.

Joffrey’s body looked strangely bloated, his face swollen and almost purple. But it was his eyes, open and unseeing that unsettled her most.

This boy who had lived to torment others, in the end, practically killed himself. Sansa felt tears pricking at her eyes and she blinked them back. Why would she cry for him? After all he had done, not only to her, but his plot to kill as many of the senior class as he could. She should feel victorious; relieved, shouldn’t she?

A part of her was relieved, Sansa realized. And as she stared at him, she also understood that the tinge of sadness was connected to a well of anger within her. Anger at the pointlessness of it all. Anger that anyone would be so reckless and hateful.

It was not a comfortable thing to admit to herself—that a tiny part of her felt bad for him. The rest of her, though, inevitably concluded with conviction that the world was better off without him.

A soft hand met her shoulder, and she turned to find Jon studying her with concern. Sansa swallowed thickly. She could feel that he understood the swirl of conflicting emotions within her. No one understood her as Jon did.

“How?” she asked him. “Did you see what happened?”

Jon sighed and briefly glanced at the body before looking her in the eyes. “It wasn’t pretty. They fought over him like a piece of meat,” he grimaced in disgust. “Drained from him. Not just the vampires either, even the other monsters seemed to want his blood.” Jon looked puzzled by it.

“Persona non grata,” Beth said softly. She looked at Davos for confirmation.

Her Watcher’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

“What does?” Sansa asked.

“It’s a spell that someone uses to mark themselves as an outsider to humanity,” Davos explained. He moved closer to examine Joffrey’s body. “Joffrey likely would have used it to give himself some extra nonhuman strength or ability, making him different or as Beth said, persona non grata to other humans. Only problem is, if you don’t perform the spell just right, you don’t just make yourself separate and repulsive to humans, you in turn become a magnet for monsters of all kinds. You’re still human but your blood becomes even more potent and desirable for its unusual properties.”

Davos looked uncomfortable but continued. “It’s sort of how, when a newborn vampire first drains a person to death, after that their senses will go mad around the Slayer.”

Sansa shuddered. “So the way fledgling vamps come at me—”

Davos nodded. “It’s how all supernatural beings would come at him. Once the scent of his blood hit the air, it was a free for all.”

Beth held her flashlight and retrieved the book from Jeyne. “And that’s why Cersei ran away with her kids.”

“And Tyrion too,” Jon said.

“What? How?” Sansa said, feeling two steps behind. Looking to Pod, Arya, and Jeyne, it was clear they felt the same.

“It’s not a sure thing, but, if he had relatives close by, with a blood connection, they could become magnets too. They needed to leave and get out of range. If I’m not mistaken coming back to Wintertown given its energy would be risky for anyone related to Joffrey, at least for awhile,” Davos said.

“So that means...I killed him,” Arya said in shock, looking at the body.

“Arya, no. Joffrey did it to himself,” Sansa said immediately.

Arya shook her head. “No. When I tackled him and he scratched me, I hit him back and his nose bled. That’s what caused the mob.”

Sansa went up to her little sister and hugged her. “No, Arya. If it hadn’t been you tonight, it would have happened some other way. Like, as soon as he had to get his blood drawn or gotten a papercut.” Sansa pulled back and looked Arya in the eyes, willing Arya to believe her words.

Arya nodded absently. Then a clarity came to her eyes. “You were right,” she told Sansa.

Sansa couldn’t help but raise a brow at that. When had Arya ever said those words to her?

“I didn’t understand what I was getting into. Fuck, I’m not sorry he’s dead, Sansa,” Arya said and shook her head. “I’m really not. But I don’t think I got it—how life or death it is. I should have taken it more seriously when you warned me.”

Sansa was stunned. She knew how much it cost for Arya to admit something like that, so there was no way she would do an “I told you so” now, no matter how tempting it was. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked. Arya nodded, but Sansa knew it would take time for her to process. Sansa desperately wanted to take Arya home, but she couldn’t forget her Slayer duties.

“Will he—could he change into something?” Sansa asked Davos and Jon instead. Would they have an undead Joffrey on their hands? A vampire, a zombie, something else? The thought of an even more monstrous Joffrey was awful.

“No,” Jon shook his head.

“How can you be sure?”

“The smell,” Jon said. “I could smell it if he was.”

“Me too,” Pod said.

At least there was that.

“We need to burn him,” Jon said grimly.

“What?!” Sansa quailed. She hadn’t even thought of what they would do with the body. She’d never had to deal with a human corpse before, not unless it was changing.

“Jon is right,” Davos echoed, circling the body. “He’ll still attract monsters until he’s disintegrated.”

“We can’t bury him?” She asked. Burning felt wrong. Criminal, even.

Jon shook his head. “They’ll still sense him underground.”

It was then that Sansa noticed how Jon clenched his fists, his nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated as he tried not to look at Joffrey. Pod, she noticed, looked much the same, except his claws were retracting in and out. And it hit her then: they were also affected by Joffrey’s blood; they were being called to it. Sansa understood now why Jon had looked so tense, even though he and Arya weren’t seriously hurt. The restraint it must have taken him…she had always trusted Jon, but somehow this made her trust him more deeply, love him more deeply.

“How do we—I don’t even know,” she looked at Davos helplessly. Her Watcher nodded and began to motion them away.

“You kids go,” he said, looking back at Joffrey and then at Sansa. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Davos?” Sansa said, unsure how to ask the question or even, exactly, what the question was.

“The Council has a protocol. It will not be the first time I’ve needed to do something like this,” Davos said.

Her Watcher had hidden multitudes. Sansa had always known that. Things he didn’t want her to know and wanted to protect her from. She normally bristled at that given her position, but now she could only feel grateful. Davos looked at her steadily in an authoritative way that reminded her of her father. “Go, now. All of you.”

Sansa nodded and began to take the group away. Jon’s arm draped over her shoulder, and she took Arya’s hand on the opposite side. “Another day, another monster err—human—defeated,” Sansa said.

“Hell yes! We should get dressed for this dance and celebrate,” Jeyne said, looking at the rest of the group.

Sansa cracked a smile at that. Jeyne’s spirit when it came to things like school dances was truly something to behold, even if others thought it was frivolous. It was why Jeyne was one of her closest friends. “I’m not much up for it. But you guys should definitely go,” Sansa encouraged Jeyne, Beth, and Pod.

Jeyne’s shoulders slumped. “C’mon Sansa! This is one of your last chances for a perfect high school moment.”

“Okay, a.) there is no such thing as a perfect high school moment, and b.) I’m exhausted. Arya and I need to get home. I won’t be any fun tonight if I join you,” Sansa told her.

Jeyne pouted slightly and Sansa shook her head good-naturedly.

“You guys go,” Jon waved them away. “I’ll take Sansa and Arya home.” The rest of her group reluctantly agreed and headed to get cleaned up and changed for the dance.

Sansa, Jon, and Arya strolled quietly and peacefully. No monsters were following them tonight. Sansa figured it was because they had gotten rid of a good deal of them. It was nice, Sansa thought. She leaned her head into Jon’s neck, and he pressed her closer. This was the best post-battle scenario Sansa could hope for: all of her loved ones safe, feeling tired but relieved.

Happy. In Jon’s embrace, she was happy.

Still, a small voice inside whispered, it’s a shame I didn’t get to wear that dress.

Chapter Text

“Sansa Stark, will you go to Homecoming with me?” Jon asked as he stood in her backyard, looking dapper in his suit and fidgeting self-consciously with his tie.

“Jon, Homecoming was a week ago!” Sansa said in charmed befuddlement.

She looked around the terrace lined with twinkling lights, the small table with a bowl of punch, and a speaker to play music. The spacious patio her parents installed years ago would serve as their dancefloor.

Jon shrugged. “Minor detail. This is your Homecoming,” he grinned.

“You did this all for me?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Sansa had been saddened to miss the school dance, but she’d been far too tired after the battle with Joffrey to even entertain the thought. A week later, and things were easing back to normal for everyone. A missing persons report had been filed on Joffrey by Robert Baratheon, but it seemed even his father wasn’t very concerned, not after his wife had fled with their other children. The cops believed he had simply run away. Sansa didn’t know just how Davos disposed of his remains, but it seemed things were over now. Cersei and the other Lannisters would not be back for some time, if ever, after Joffrey’s botched spell. Strangely, it seemed Robert hadn't needed to flee despite being Joffrey's father. Davos and Jeyne had done some sort of detection spell (she was murky on the details) and found no such danger on Robert. Sansa had to wonder if the rumors about Cersei and her twin brother were true after all.

The protection spell at the center of the high school was holding, and Sansa had a little more room to breathe and relax.

And enjoy her time with her vampire boyfriend, of course.

“I had help from your mom. We wanted to make sure you didn’t miss out on this,” Jon told her sincerely. “Now get inside and change into your dress, I have a matching corsage.”

Sansa planted her hands on her hips and studied him. “That day—did my mom show you a picture of my dress?”

“Maybe,” Jon smirked. “So, what do you say?”

“I can’t even get my hair done or—” Sansa’s words were abruptly cut off as Jon moved with unnatural speed to grab her face in his hands.

“You’re gorgeous, anything you do with your hair or your makeup doesn’t matter.” Sansa leaned into him and kissed him lightly.

“Besides, your mom is upstairs waiting to help you.”

“I don’t know how to feel about you and my mom conspiring,” she said.

“We’ve already established this wooing business Stark. Now, you won’t embarrass me by leaving me here alone, all dressed up with no date for the dance, will you?”

She chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised with a peck of his lips to hers.

---

“I can’t believe you two put this together,” Sansa hesitantly said to her mother, who helped her pick out a pair of earrings and place a few pins in her hair for a quick style.

Catelyn smiled as she looked at Sansa in the mirror. “It was his idea, I just assisted along the way. That boy is crazy about you, Sansa.”

“You really think?” Sansa asked, her face felt hot.

“I know. The two of you remind me of me and your father, in fact,” Catelyn said. After finishing her hair and Sansa slipping her shoes on, her mother faced her. “Sansa, I know things have changed for you in these last few years, and I know that whatever is going on…”

“Mom…” Sansa began.

“Let me finish, dear,” her mother said gently. “I know that whatever was going on the night of your actual Homecoming—and I don’t expect you to tell me tonight—meant that you couldn’t make it to the dance. Whatever happened, when you and Arya came home, the two of you were closer than I’ve ever seen. And I know that somehow, whatever is going on, Jon is helping you.”

“He is,” Sansa said, throat thick with emotion.

Catelyn paused and seemed to consider her next words carefully. Sansa felt a pang of guilt, knowing her mother felt she had to be so tactful. “I understand that you’re growing up and you’re changing. I hope that sometime soon you will talk to me and your father. Let us get to know you as you are now. Let us know what’s going on in your life. When you’re ready.”

Sansa closed her eyes and nodded in silent agreement. “I’ll be ready soon,” Sansa said, opening her eyes again and seeing her mother’s smile of relief. “I promise,” she said, before her mother engulfed her in a hug.

And Sansa knew it was true. She wasn’t quite able to tell them yet. Not tonight and maybe not for a few more weeks…but soon. Jon was right when he nudged her in this direction, and she thought it would be easier now, with Jon at her side.

“Let’s get you to your dance,” Catelyn said.

---

She hadn’t spent nearly as much time as she wanted getting ready. Still, Sansa felt beautiful when Jon took her in, his jaw dropping. “Wow,” he breathed, looking her up and down.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Sansa told him, stepping closer as Jon slid the matching corsage on her wrist.

“Do you like it?” Jon asked, studying the flower before meeting her eyes. He looked like all his hopes hinged on her simply liking this corsage. She melted thinking about how romantic he was. They were well matched in that way.

“I love it,” Sansa responded earnestly, wrapping her arms around him and allowing her hands to meet at the nape of his neck. Jon let out a shiver with her movements and placed his hands on her hips.

The two of them began to sway in a slow dance, foreheads touching.

“I forgot the music,” Jon said suddenly, and she pulled him back before he could leave their embrace.

“Later,” Sansa pleaded. “This is perfect.”

Jon smiled. “No disagreement here.”

They circled around the patio floor without music, and she found herself completely entranced by Jon. This boy that she’d loved for so long, and she’d had no idea he reciprocated until recently. Sansa’s mind was focused only on them, and she couldn’t help but think of all the things that had transpired lately, and how it almost felt like fate that they were together now.

A Slayer and a vampire.

But it was all she’d ever wanted.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Sansa told him.

“Hmm,” Jon answered. “What about?”

“Well…I was just thinking about your aunt,” Sansa started. Jon frowned in confusion. “She said that you were quite attached to me.”

“Yeah,” Jon agreed.

“But you said you hadn’t talked to her in years,” Sansa pointed out.

Jon stiffened just slightly, and her suspicions were confirmed.

“Does that mean you mentioned me to her years ago?” she asked.

Jon blushed again—this vampire blushing was becoming her favorite sight—and reluctantly met her eyes. “Yes.”

“And when you mentioned that I should tell my parents I was the Slayer?” she asked, unable to stop the smile forming on her lips.

Jon turned redder. “…I thought it would be easier.”

“Easier?”

Jon sighed in defeat. “I thought it would be easier for them to accept you having a vampire boyfriend and date to the dance if they knew you were a Slayer. That they’d feel better knowing you could protect yourself.”

Sansa kissed him hard. Jon’s grip on her tightened and he groaned into her mouth. She was panting when they finally, reluctantly pulled back.

“Sansa, how do you think I became a vampire in the first place? Did Robb never tell you?” he asked.

Now it was her turn to frown in confusion. Jon grinned and palmed her cheek. “I was trying to help you, sweetheart.”

Sansa stopped dancing. “What?”

“Now, this is going to sound like I’m a stalker, but I swear, it’s not like that. One night I saw you headed down this dark alley and some funny looking guys headed in the same direction. I wanted to protect you. Little did I know you could take care of yourself or that the group of guys were vampires.”

Sansa gasped and stepped out of his arms, hands covering her mouth in shock. “Oh no, Jon, I’m so sorry!” She was horrified (and feeling incredibly guilty about every time she joked about staking him, even if they both knew they were jokes. Never again, Sansa vowed to herself.)

Jon stepped toward her and grasped her hands. “Sweetheart, don’t be sorry. Why are you sorry?” He looked genuinely perplexed at her reaction.

“I damned you!”

Jon actually laughed at her.

“It’s not funny!”

Jon looked sheepish and shrugged. “It’s a little funny, Sansa. You didn’t damn me. It’s not like I’m some evil demon or immortal or something.”

Sansa’s head tilted. “You’re not immortal? How do you know that?”

Jon shook his head. “Jeez, what is Davos even teaching you? Sansa, vamps aren’t immortal. They age a little slower is all, and the same thing is true with Slayers.”

She took a moment to think that over. “Huh,” Sansa said, fascinated and a little relieved.

“What?”

“I’m just thinking I should have read that Slayer’s manual,” Sansa admitted.

Jon laughed and Sansa joined. He started some music and finally brought her back into his arms. “Don’t be sorry, Sansa," he whispered at her ear. "I’m glad that I can help you and we can grow old together.”

So many guys would never talk about the future like that. It was true that they were different, but Sansa still felt her stomach flutter at the confidence he had that they would live their lives together.

“Jon…why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“About what: how I became a vampire or how I’ve been in love with you since we were kids?”

Her breath hitched.

“I wasn’t sure you felt the same,” Jon said. “Sansa, I thought it was obvious how I felt all these years. Are you telling me you really didn’t know?”

Sansa shook her head. “I really didn’t know. You didn’t know I was in love with you?”

Jon pulled her closer, hanging on her words. “You are?” His eyes searched hers for an answer.

She nodded. “I love you,” Sansa confirmed, joy bursting in her chest.

Jon pressed his lips to hers and lifted her off her feet. Sansa felt weightless, both her heels popping like in a movie.

“I love you too, Sansa. I always have and I always will.”

Sansa knew to believe him. She sighed happily as he placed her back on her feet. As she and Jon danced the night away, she had to admit she had been wrong before with what she said to Jeyne.

There was such a thing as a perfect high school moment. Maybe it looked different for Sansa than most high school seniors, but here it was, nonetheless. Sansa was different. But she was starting to realize that wasn’t a bad thing. And that this moment was hers and Jon’s alone made it even more special. 

And Sansa knew that with Jon by her side—no matter the obstacles ahead or the monsters they’d face—they had a lifetime of perfect moments ahead of them.