tendentious | adjective | ten - den - tious | meaning - having a tendency; written or spoken with a partisan, biased or prejudiced purpose, especially a controversial one.

03; Prodigals Son

Miles held out a hand to Allison, who gave him a quizzical look. He had hardly spoken a word to her since they'd left school, and then there he was offering to help her out of the car. Not without hesitation, Allison took Miles hand and stepped out of the car. Wordlessly, Miles shut the door behind her.

The pair were dressed in all black; Allison in a buttoned black trench coat covering up a a very formal black dress and Miles in black jeans, a black buttoned up shirt, and a silky black tie. He too had been wearing a jacket, but all the uncomfortable overthinking he'd been doing on the ride over had led to overheating, so Miles had opted to discard his jacket and leave it in the car.

As they approached the cemetery, camera quickly took notice of them and began snapping photographs. At some point Miles wrapped his hand around the lens of one of the photographers camera and gave him and incredibly colorful threat that lead to him and all the others to point their cameras at the ground instantly. Of course the camera clicking was replaced by a critical silence with a few ghostly whispers floating around here and there.

Frowning deeply and not daring to look at Allison's expression, he put his hand on his cousins back and quickly led her through the pack of hungry vultures. It wasn't until Miles and Allison had crossed the barricade into the cemetery that the vultures dared to hold their cameras in their talons again.

When the two young Argents made their way to their seats, Chris and Victoria were already there expectantly waiting.

"He's not here yet." Miles said. It was more of an observation, not entirely directed towards anyone in particular, but Chris still shook his head.

"No, he's now," Confirmed his uncle, "But he will be soon."

"Who?" Allison asked. She'd already taken a seat next to her mother, and were now looking up at the two men with vague confusion. Miles had at this point had grown used to the look seeing as that was almost the only way she'd look at him in the past hour, but Chris let out a long sigh and looked to his wife for assistance.

"You'll see in a moment, sweetheart." Victoria assured the girl.

Chris took a seat next to his wife, and Miles took the seat on the other side of Allison, who he noticed shifted when he did, but he couldn't quite tell if it was to further herself from him.

When Chris stood up, Miles could tell just by his expression who had arrived, and hurried himself to stand also. Miles straightened his broad shoulders, his hands clamping behind his back. Even after all the months he'd spent in near solitude in France, Miles had not forgotten how to properly greet his grandfather. That had been burned into his head right along with all of his other training.

"Christopher," Gerard greeted once he got close enough to his son.

"Gerard."

Moving with an odd amount of stiffness for a hunter, the two embraced each other. Miles couldn't see his grandfathers face during the hug, but he could see Chris's. There was no change in his usual expression, no display of affection of compassion, which might be odd between most pairs of father and sons, but Miles understood it because he was raised with the same expression.

When Gerard let go of Chris, he moved towards Miles. Placing an elderly hand on the boys muscular arm, Miles was half expecting a hug to, and had even began to unclench his noticeably clammy hands when he noticed Gerard moving past him. His jaw loosened a bit, and Miles racked his mind in hopes that his grandfather had said something to him besides a murmur of his name, but Miles new the search was pointless. His eyes falling down to examine the blades of grass in front of him, Miles tried not to notice how his grandfather was embracing his aunt, kissing her on the cheek, and apologizing to her for their loss.

Realizing that he'd slipped out of form, Miles straightened back up. His back was as stiff as a board, but his eyes flitted around restlessly as they followed his grandfathers every movement. He was now looking at Allison, and Miles felt a fist reach into his stomach and tear out his gut as the older man smiled down at his younger cousin.

"Do you remember me?" Gerard asked coyly. Their was an amusement in his tone that Miles had only heard in rare occasions, and it had never been directed towards the dark haired boy. Once, he recalled, he had heard him use that very tone on his father, who had actually responded with a grin. Apparently, like father like son, and perhaps, in an unwelcome and unnoticed way, like grandson, too.

Allison nodded slowly. Feel tense and vaguely uncomfortable under the mans stare, she almost looked over to Miles for support, but she didn't dare breaking eye contact. By the way Miles stood, respect and duty radiating out of every fiber in his being, Allison doubted he'd understand her discomfort anyways. He seemed to be much more familiar with Gerard then she was even though neither of them went out of their way to show it. That was just Miles, she guessed.

"Considering I haven't seen you since you were three I don't suppose I can assume you'd call me grandpa," Gerard continued, his eyes wrinkling in accordance to his tight smile. "So, if it's comfortable, call me Gerard for the time being," Gerard paused for a second, turning to find a vacant seat to sit in. "But, I'd prefer grandpa."

Sitting down in the seat next to Miles, he motioned for the boy to sit down. "We'll have to catch up later, Miles."

The sentence was short and all the acknowledgment Miles could expect to get for the time being. Nodding at his grandfather, he sat down in his seat. He already knew that catching up didn't actually mean catching up, or even sympathizing over their identical loss, but it meant that they would be discussing the course of action with the other hunters, and Miles was just happy that he was being so readily included in the family business. In all honesty, Chris could learn to use him in action as much as Gerard did.

As soon as the funeral had ended, Gerard has pulled Miles, Chris, and a handful of others to the side. The plan was already partially made, apparently, and a trap had been set up to catch a creature that had raided the cemetery that morning and, during the funeral, attacked an ambulance. Most of the men surrounding Gerard listened attentively, and Miles tried not to look as desperately hungry for a hunt as they were. At the end of the speech, when Miles had began heading to his car to get his desired gear, Chris had abruptly stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"You have school tomorrow," he reminded the younger boy. "You don't need to go anywhere tonight. Being at the funeral was enough of a service to this family for one day."

"I'm going, whether you like it or not. Grandpa asked me too." Miles said firmly. He shook of Chris's hand from his shoulder, but he couldn't quiet manage to shake off his iron tight gaze.

"And if he asked you to jump off a cliff, would you?" Despite the comment, there was a lack of sarcasm in Chris's tone. He watched Miles, and, when Miles didn't respond, he suddenly realize the boy probably would. A wave of concern crashed over Miles, but he never had the chance to express it.

"Miles is as good as trained as anyone else we have, his father understood that before he died." Gerard interjected, appearing so suddenly, Chris was almost surprised. "And he's not a child, he's a man. Argent men hunt."

"Just because he doesn't look like a child anymore doesn't mean we have to force him into adulthood." Chris argued calm and swiftly.

"Look, Uncle Chris," Miles spoke up. "I'm not being forced into anything. I want this and I can handle what ever your little town wants to throw at me. And I don't really care about what you have to say about it."

Chris shook his head, but he knew there was no way to win Miles over so long as Gerard was standing over his shoulder, influencing Miles' every decision with just a mere look. He'd seen Gerard do it before, with both of his younger siblings, and some how both of them were both six feet under. Chris could only hope that Miles was right, and he really could handle himself.

Without another word, Chris and Gerard left Miles alone to grab his things. Grabbing a few necessary weapons, and finally his jacket, he closed the trunk of his car before anyone could ask any questions. Before he knew it he was with his family, trekking through the woods to check all of the traps. Most of the Argent clan hadn't changed out of their funeral attire, all of them were carrying some sort of weapon, and all their expressions were a cross between not-at-all-amused and ready-to-kill. This, for some reason, reminded Miles of a mob movie he'd once seen.

Hearing snarling up ahead, they all picked up their pace. Eventually, Miles saw a figure dangling by their hands. As he got closer, he saw it was a werewolf with matted hair and teeth barred. Miles jumped down a rock and into the clearing where the werewolf hung. Chris and Gerard followed after him quickly.

As Miles walked around the werewolf, checking for anything unusual and making sure the restraints were holding up just fine, it tried it best to lunge at him, its growls fierce and futile as he remained suspended in air. He snapped his elongated teeth in between his snarls, but Miles didn't even flinch, which seemed to only make it angrier.

Miles felt his grandfathers gaze on him, awaiting for his grandson to do his job. The other Hunters, Miles quickly noticed, were also standing back and watching. He didn't actually know most of them, but they new him. He was Noah Argent's son, and for the first time in his life that thought didn't just stand over him tauntingly, it loomed over him like a Death's shadow. Miles felt his stomach twist as he wondered what they thought about him, what they knew about him, the prodigals son, some probably saw him as, who had returned from France to avenge his aunt.

Sliding out of his sleeve, an electric prod found its way comfortably into Miles hands. All eyes were following his every movement, and it made Miles skin itch with unease. He wanted them to stop analyzing him, stop comparing him to his father, so he gave them something else to look at. Moving so quickly, he hardly registered what he was doing until the screaming started, Miles jabbed the werewolf in front of him with dozens of volts of electricity.

"Who are you?" Chris asked once Miles withdrew his prod.

For a second, Miles thought the question was directed towards him, and he had no idea how the hell he was supposed to answer it. But then he saw his Uncle staring at the werewolf expectantly, and Miles suddenly felt like an idiot.

"What are you doing here?" questioned Chris, this time with more conviction that resulted in a hurried response.

"Nothing." The werewolf looked at the hunter, then at the nephew, then to the stick of electricity, then quickly back to the hunter. "Nothing, I swear."

"You're not from here, are you?" Chris asked next. When the response didn't come repeatedly, he yelled, "Are you?"

"No. No, I came- I came looking for the alpha." The werewolf stuttered nervously. Gerard moved closer, and more words spilled clumsily from the werewolf's lips. "I heard he was here, that's all. Look, I didn't do anything. I didn't hurt anyone. No one living. He wasn't alive in the ambulance! He wasn't, I swear!"

"Gentleman." Gerard stopped the werewolfs rambling with his booming voice. "Take a look at a rare sight. You want to tell him what we caught?"

Seeing his grandfather was looking to him, Miles smoothly answered in a surprisngly steady tone. "An Omega."

"The lone wolf!" Gerard elaborated, a twinkle of entertainment in his eyes. "Possibly kicked out of his own pack. Or a survivor of a pack that was hunted down. Maybe even murdered. And possibly alone by his own choice. Certainly, not a wise choice."

Gerard stepped away from the Omega, and for a second Miles wasn't sure what was going on. He let his gaze fall to his uncle, who looked as confused as he felt. When he looked back to his grandfather, he saw Gerard taking an object wrapped in lilac cloth. Setting it carefully on the large rocks of the small clearing, Gerard unwrapped the cloth and pulled out a large sword. It's blade glinted mercilessly in the moonlight, and Miles quickly realized he'd seen many quite like it in the mansion back in France.

Gerard stepped forward, towards the werewolf, and Miles had the horrible feeling that he knew exactly what he was going to do with the sword.

"Because, as I am about to demonstrate, an omega rarely survives on his own."

Just as the last words fell out of his mouth, Gerard put all of his power into swinging his sword, and soon was swiftly cutting the dangling werewolf in half. As the body split in two, and his innards began flowing ungracefully to the ground, Miles fought the urge to look away.

There was a silence hanging in the cold nights air, its only disruption was the rhythmic sound of dripping blood from the werewolves severed body.

"We have a code." Chris' rough voice shattered the silence.

"Not when they murder my daughter." Gerard growled in response. He threw the sword into the ground, it's blade embedding itself deeply into the damp soil. Satisfied with his dramatic display, Gerard turned to the other hunters. "No code. Not anymore. From now on, these things are just bodies waiting to be cut in half. Are you listening? Because I don't care if they're wounded and weak, or seemingly harmless, begging for their life with the promise that they will never, ever hurt anyone. Or some desperate, lost soul with no idea what they're getting into. We find them. We kill them. We kill them all."

A shiver went down Miles' spine, and we wasn't sure if it was the cold or the over flooding of undetermined emotions that caused it.

Gerard instructed the hunters to split up, check the other traps and make sure they weren't missing anything. Everyone did as they were told, some creating small groups, but Miles decided to remain alone.

He'd trekked through the woods for almost an entire hour and was almost ready to head back to his car when he heard sticks snapping behind. Moving in one fluid motion that you would miss if you so much as blinked an eye, Miles turned on his heels and defensively extended his arm that held the electric prod.

Miles quickly realized two things. The first being that he was mere inches away from electrocuting a shivering teenage girl, and the second being that the teenage girl was in every way absolutely naked. Her arms shakily covered up her chest, and Miles quickly instructed his eyes not to look at anything below her shoulders.

"Wh-what do you think you're doing?" The girl snapped, though her clattering teeth and mangled hair made her seem much less menacingly then Miles was sure she thought she was.

Quickly, Miles put away his electric prod, his mind suddenly remembering what Chris had told him about a girl running away from the hospital when he had first arrived. He parted his lips, trying to recall the what the girls name had been, when she cut him off with yet another question.

"Well," she said expectantly, an odd sense of calm in her voice. Miles hadn't remembered the details of the story, but the girl wasn't at all like he imagined. In fact, he was almost positive she wasn't a werewolf. "Aren't you going to give me your jacket?"

It took a moment for the question to register in his Miles' head, seeing as he, for once, was caught almost completely off guard. "Of course," He finally said, taking his jacket off and wrapping it quickly around her. Seeing as the girl was just shorter and had less muscle volume then Miles, the jacket covered up her exposed body incredibly well, all of her private bits perfectly covered for the first time in god knows how long. Miles suddenly remembered the knife he had in one of the pockets, but then he figured that her hands were too busy drowning in the far to long sleeves to even worry about her being able to rummage throw all the pockets.

"We should call someone," Miles declared. His first thought was his family, but then he looked back at the girl, who was watching him with calculating green eyes, and then he thought of what his grandfather had just done to the lone wolf they'd captured. He was sure this girl hadn't done anything to deserve any kind of interrogation from his grandfather, who didn't seem to be in quite the right mind in the wake of his daughters death. He remembered when his own father had died, and how much more intense his grandfather was on him.

"The police." Miles decided, somewhat surprising himself. "Let me take you back to my car, and we'll call the police, alright?"

The girl nodded slowly, her eye lids looking heavy as they blinked. Miles realized she must've been weak after doing what ever it was that had gotten her so dirtied up, and took a slow step forward. Leaning down slightly so there wasn't such an obvious height difference between the two, Miles gently touched her arm.

"It's got to be a mile and a half away, at least." Miles explained, the softness in his voice making it sound like he was hearing a stranger speak. "I can carry you, if that's okay."

Again, the girl nodded. Trying to be as gentle as he could, Miles picked Lydia up in his arms. She didn't say a single word as he swept her off the ground, and so neither did he. After all the training he'd gone through, holding a girl nearly a foot shorter then him was easy and involved very little effort. For some reason, Miles didn't feel the least bit awkward about the situation he was in, even though the girl was a complete stranger to him. This was what he was supposed to do after all, save innocent people. That was assuming that the girl was innocent, but so far she'd done nothing to prove she wasn't.

"Lydia." He said finally, sure he'd remembered the girls name. "That's you name, isn't it?"

When he didn't get a response, Miles looked down at the girl with worry, only to find she'd fallen asleep. He allowed himself to study her a bit finally, noting the strawberry blonde shade of her petrified hair, and the fact that her skin was pleasantly pale, even when dirt was splattered across it. Even as she slept, her lips seemed to be pursed.

"This is not how I was planning to end my night," Miles murmured as he continued walking. His voice was aiming for displeasure, but he didn't quite reach it.

okay as I wrote this i felt like it might've been a little creepy at the end but i wasn't trying to be and im sorry????? also, what do you guys think a good ship name for Miles and Lydia would be? Thank you for reading, until next time my smol beans!!!!