Chapter Text
Michonne sat in the car outside her new high school, attempting to focus on her mother’s lecture. She had heard it so many times throughout the long summer that she could recite it by heart. This is a fresh start. King County is just what we need. Don’t burn down any more gyms. Well, the last one wasn’t part of the lecture so much as it was the subtext behind every conversation they had had since she was expelled from her Atlanta high school.
Seven months ago, this all would have been unthinkable. Straight A student, star fencer and track team ace — Michonne had never had so much as a single detention. Her best friend Jocelyn used to joke that Michonne was so disciplined, trouble simply moved out of her way. Then one day she woke up strong enough to break down doors, and a strange British man wearing far too much tweed was telling her that vampires and demons were real, and she was the one chosen to defeat them.
Michonne had worried at first that she was having a mental break — her mom was always saying she took too much on. Maybe the pressure had gotten to her without her realising? And then the attacks began. She would never forget the first dead body she ever saw — Coach Andre, torn up and left for her to find in his office, a macabre offering. Some vampire gang had moved into the neighbourhood and they wanted first crack at the brand new slayer.
From there, her carefully ordered life fell into a downward spiral. Her grades were slipping, she had to drop track, and she could only watch as her personal relationships fell apart one by one. Her friends couldn’t understand why she kept disappearing on them, her boyfriend Mike tried to give her space but was growing resentful, and her mom looked at her like she was a stranger. In many ways she felt like a stranger to herself — the Michonne who spent her nights patrolling cemeteries and fighting vampires was a far cry from the hyper-focused, hyper-ambitious girl she had always been.
And now one dead Watcher, one burned down gym and one traumatised ex-boyfriend later, she was banished to this hick town, having to watch her mom pretend that a gallery job here was just as good as the life they’d left behind in Atlanta. Michonne was less hopeful that they'd find a thriving art scene awaiting them in King County, Georgia.
“Just, give this place a chance sweetheart. I know it’s… different but sometimes that’s what we need.” Elodie Anthony reached out and squeezed Michonne’s hand. She smiled, and Michonne tried not to notice the desperation behind her eyes as she returned the pressure.
“I’ll try.” Michonne gave her mom a reassuring smile before exiting the car. It felt like the first day of kindergarten; she could feel her mom’s eyes on her every step of the way as she entered her new school.
Principal Blake set off every warning radar Michonne had, from her well-honed bullshit detector to her newly developed Slayer senses. He stood over her as she sat at his desk, clearly enjoying the advantage his height gave him.
Between the weird principal, the distinct lack of students of colour, and the abundance of flannel on display in the hallway, it was fair to say Michonne’s initial impression of her new school wasn’t promising.
“Now Michonne,” Principal Blake drawled. He’d been talking non-stop for the past 10 minutes and showed no sign of slowing down, “King County High School is a finely tuned machine. Every student and faculty member is a cog that keeps it running, and it’s my job to spot when a cog stops functioning and fix it. I’m a busy man — I don’t have time to be dealing with stubborn cogs that don’t fit with the rest of the machine. Do you understand?”
He paused, waiting for a response. He’d have a long wait ahead of him, Michonne thought, every nerve in her body revolting at the thought of saying the dutiful Yes Sir she knew he wanted to hear. He stared down at her and she kept her face impassive, meeting his gaze full on.
He nodded to himself after a moment before taking the seat opposite her. Michonne’s eyes fell to the framed photo in front of him, a smiling girl in a pretty, if rather old fashioned, dress. Principal Blake pasted on an affable smile that was somehow more disconcerting than his looming had been, and made a show of leafing through her file on the desk.
“But of course, I don’t have to tell you that,” he continued. “Before the spot of trouble last spring you were by all accounts an exceptional student. Now we don’t have a fencing club,” his eyes roved over her toned arms, on display in the orange tank top she wore, “but I’m sure we can find somewhere for you to direct all that extra energy.”
Subtle . Michonne was repulsed, but like hell was she going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he had gotten to her. She stayed silent, focusing on the clock in the corner as she waited to be released from one indignity to the next.
Thanks to Principal Blake’s love of his own voice, she was late to her first class, English Lit, drawing even more attention to herself. Luckily the teacher wasn’t one of those “stand up and introduce yourself to the class” types, and she was allowed to slip into an empty seat at the back with minimal fuss (but maximum staring). She chose a seat next to a Korean guy who hadn't looked up from his notebook since she arrived, a red baseball cap shoved low over his face. He startled slightly as she sat down, jarring the sketch of a zombie he had been working on with such focus.
He smiled sheepishly and introduced himself as Glenn, and she found herself returning the gesture instinctively. It was her first genuine smile that day.
“So you’ve met Blake huh?” he asked, once she’d gotten settled in.
“Yeah, is he always so…” She trailed off, unsure how to put the malignant energy he gave off into words.
“Chatty? Creepy? Inappropriate towards teenage girls? Yes, yes and yes . We don’t know how he’s still got a job either.”
Michonne’s eyes narrowed. Something told her he didn’t stop at simply making his student’s uncomfortable. Principal Blake was trouble. Ink bled across her page as she dug the nib of her pen deeper into her paper.
The change in atmosphere wasn’t lost on Glenn. “I swear the rest of the school isn’t as bad,” he added.
Michonne scanned the classroom. “Jury’s still out. These aren’t exactly the kind of people I’m used to.”
“Right. Who the hell leaves Atlanta for King County anyway?” Glenn asked.
Glenn seemed nice enough but he also had no filter and Michonne wasn’t going to fuel the gossip train around her more than she could help. She told him her mom had gotten an offer to run the gallery here and left it at that.
“Well, most of the school are idiots but they’re also pretty harmless. There’s always some petty drama but that’s just ’cause there’s nothing to do for fun in this town.” That didn’t surprise Michonne. Her and her mom had attempted to order some late night takeout the day they moved in only to find everywhere closed by 9pm. They'd split a Big Kat bar and gone to bed hungry, not the most auspicious start to their new life.
“There’s one club that lets high school students in, Carriage, and that’s pretty much it," Glenn continued. "Oh and Friday night football — it’s a pretty big deal, the whole town shows up.”
Michonne thought back to weekends in Atlanta, visiting comic book shops and dragging Mike to street food festivals to find new dishes to try. But that life was gone now, and she doubted she’d have much time for a social life anyway once word got around that there was a Slayer in town. Although, she thought with uncharacteristic optimism, maybe the forces of darkness also took things at a slower pace in a town like this?
At lunch, Michonne sat with Glenn at his usual table, where they were joined by a blonde named Andrea. She had a no-nonsense energy that Michonne immediately liked. She didn’t seem to mind that Michonne barely contributed to the conversation, immediately launching into a rant about her new bio teacher Mr Mamet and his reputation as a terrible grader.
She was a little surprised by the close bond between Andrea and Glenn; Glenn’s open and friendly nature so at odds with Andrea’s quick temper. “Andrea and I have been next door neighbours our whole lives,” Glenn revealed. “We’ve been friends since before we could walk.”
“That’s sweet,” Michonne said. She was forcibly reminded of the friendships she had left behind in Atlanta. Her and Jocelyn used to joke that they were more sisters than friends, that’s how close they were. She hadn’t heard a word from Jocelyn since the night she got expelled, too scared to reach out and face the inevitable rebuff or ghosting.
She was still lost in thought when she felt someone stop at the table, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling as her personal space was invaded. The guy who had pulled up was the textbook definition of a jock; dressed in his letterman jacket, his wide build and close-shorn hair would probably have intimidated most people. She got the feeling that it was intentional.
“Hey new girl,” he said, grinning down at her. Michonne was really getting sick of guys hovering over her today. “Nice to see some fresh blood around here. I’m Shane.”
She assessed him coolly, and he just smiled wider in response. “They don’t make girls like you round here,” he smirked, giving her a once over. “Why don’t you join my table and we can get to know each other better?”
Michonne felt Andrea freeze beside her at his words.
“I’m good here,” she said, turning back to her food and hoping he’d get the hint and walk off.
“Hell, I can join you here. I’m sure Glenn won’t mind. He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you anyway.” He clapped Glenn on the shoulder, shaking him slightly. Glenn flushed red and Michonne felt her patience running out.
“I’m good,” she repeated and then, deciding subtlety was overrated, “you can leave now.”
“And why would I wanna do that? You and I are just starting to get to know each other darlin’”
“Shane!” Another guy pulled up at the table and Michonne sighed internally. He was more lean than Shane, dressed in the flannels/jeans/boots combo that served as the unofficial school uniform. He nodded at Glenn who smiled back. She hoped that meant he wouldn’t be a problem.
“I do love a challenge,” Shane continued, ignoring his friend and bending down further into Michonne’s space. She gritted her teeth, thoughts of her mom’s reaction if she got suspended on her first day keeping her in her seat. “You ever dated a white guy before?”
Her eyebrows rose involuntary but before she could respond, the new guy was pulling Shane away. “What the hell, man!” he said, mortified. “She’s not interested.” Michonne rolled her eyes; she didn’t need some knight in shining cowboy boots to speak for her.
Shane shrugged, giving her a mock salute as he walked, or rather swaggered, off.
His friend stayed back at the table, ears flushed red. He scratched at the back of his neck, where his hair was beginning to curl. “I’m really sorry about that,” he said, trying to catch Michonne’s eye. “Shane can be a bit of a dick.”
She didn’t respond, but he was better at reading a room than his friend and didn’t press the point. “Right. Erm, I’m Rick by the way. Nice to meet you.” He moved to hold out his hand and then, perhaps realising how weird that would be, pulled it back jerkily.
When she didn’t respond, he nodded quickly. “Right,” he repeated, shoving his hand into his pocket. “Sorry again. Bye Glenn, Andrea.” With a quick wave he walked over to the table Shane had joined, sliding into a seat next to a willowy brunette.
“Sorry” Glenn said, a blush still lingering on his face. Michonne shot him a quelling look; he certainly had nothing to apologise for. “Shane’s an asshole but Rick is cool. He can usually reel Shane in when he’s taking something too far.”
“No offence but I don’t really care about either of them,” Michonne said and Glenn chuckled.
“That’s fair. Shane’s like the hero of the football team... which probably explains why he is the way he is.”
Andrea still hadn't said a word, picking at her food. Michonne had half-expected her to lead the charge in badmouthing Shane.
Almost like he’d read her mind, Glenn added, “Oh and we hate him because he hooked up with Andrea and then ghosted her.”
So Andrea had terrible taste in guys. Michonne filed that away as her impression of Andrea began to solidify.
Andrea's head popped up, eyes narrowed. “He didn't ghost me,” she hissed, “we just made out at a party. Not everyone's a sap like you.” She turned to face Michonne, a glint in her eye. “Glenn's been pining after Maggie Greene for years and she barely knows he exists.”
“Lies, we have Bio together!”
“She’s the one with the short hair,” Andrea said, gesturing to where Shane and Rick sat. “She’s talking to Lori — that’s the skinny girl next to Rick.”
Seeing that they weren’t going to drop the subject, Michonne looked over at the table. Her eyes were drawn to Rick first, only to find his piercing blue eyes already locked on her. When he realised he’d been caught, he lowered his eyes, flustered. She continued her scan of the table. Maggie was smiling widely at something her friend said, her face lit up, and Michonne could see immediately why Glenn would be drawn to her.
“Maggie and Lori are both cheerleaders. Lori and Rick have an on-and-off relationship. She keeps saying she wants a break and then any time he tries to move on she lures him back.” Glenn seemed determined to fill her in on the minutiae of the lives of every student and faculty member. She half expected there to be a pop quiz at the end. “Last year they were off for like 3 months,” he continued, “and then she heard that another cheerleader, Sheila, was going to ask him to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Next thing you know, they're attached at the hip again.”
“Rick's a nice guy,” Andrea chimed in, “but he's also a chump.”
Michonne took in the information but her mind was elsewhere. She’d never been one for gossip, preferring to make her own mind up about people. Her own life had been pretty drama free, Mike was her first and only boyfriend and they had been together ever since he asked her to a dance in middle school. Now, gossip represented something more — the simplicity of a life where high school drama like who was dating who was all that mattered. The stakes were so low it was laughable, and yet she envied them.
“You’ll come, right?”
Apparently the conversation had moved on without her. Glenn was unfazed by her blank stare. “Carriage? We’re going to go on Friday. Like I said, there’s nothing much else to do and it should be fun.”
Michonne knew she should say no. Chances were she’d have to cancel or leave early to deal with a slaying emergency. Better to be seen as standoffish than labelled a flake. But Glenn looked so hopeful, and she remembered her promise to her mom that she would try.
“I’m in,” she said. She could only hope that she wouldn’t regret it.
She was walking to her next class after lunch with Andrea (they were both taking AP History) when a voice called her name.
A man with snow white hair and a beard to match was standing in front of an open door. He was leaning on a cane which, combined with his hair, made him look older than his years.
“Miss Anthony, I’m the school nurse Hershel Greene. Sorry to delay you, but I need to just confirm some records with you. I’ll write you a note for your next class of course.”
“I can wait for you,” Andrea said, “so you don’t get lost.”
“That won’t be necessary Miss Harrison,” Hershel said, “I can show her to class.” He retreated back into his office, leaving the door open behind him. Michonne shrugged apologetically at Andrea before entering.
He continued past the examination room into his office and Michonne followed him in. He locked the door behind her, and her anxiety began to build. What was with the men at this school? She put one hand behind her back, feeling the trusty stake she carried tucked into her jeans.
His eyes tracked the movement but he didn’t comment on it.
“Please take a seat Miss Anthony,” he said, beckoning to the chair beside her.
“It's Michonne,” was all she could think to say, keeping her hand firmly on her weapon.
He smiled at her — he has kind eyes, came the unbidden thought — and then turned to unlock a large cabinet. It was full of books, many of them antique, their bindings faded. He pulled out a particularly large tome; the word Vampyr emblazoned on the cover.
“I thought Watchers were all British,” she said. She relaxed her arms at her sides, but kept the space between them.
“A common misconception,” Hershel said. “The Watchers Council is based in London, and I spent some time there in my youth. But it's not the 18th century anymore, Slayers are international, and Watchers should be as well.”
“Well I’ve done the whole Watcher thing before. It didn’t work out so well for me — or him.” Empty eyes, face unnaturally pale… Michonne closed her eyes, forcibly removing the image of Tomi from her mind.
“This isn’t something you get to pick and choose Miss Anthony.”
“Michonne.”
Hershel's voice took on the cadence of a well-rehearsed speech. “Into each generation, a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, the Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to hunt vampires. To stop the spread of their evil.”
“To alienate their loved ones. To risk their life and watch the people around them threatened or worse. To walk around with a massive target on their back. Yes, I got the memo.” Michonne could feel her voice rising with each word, the forced calm she had held on to all day nowhere to be found.
“Miss Anthony— Michonne , a Slayer cannot refuse the Call.”
“I'm not ‘refusing the Call’, I'm refusing you!” Hurt flashed across Hershel's face for a moment before he regained control. “I do this my way, alone.”
He opened his mouth but she cut him off. “No offence but I don't really see how you'd keep up with me anyway." Hershel's hand tightened around his cane in acknowledgement. "King County is no Atlanta, I'm sure I can handle any vampires dumb enough to think there's good hunting here.” In her experience vampires liked crowds and anonymity and drunk people who didn't ask too many questions.
“I’m afraid that’s not the case. In fact, King County has been on the Watchers Council's radar for a long time. You see, we believe it to be a Hellmouth.”
Michonne felt her dreams of a life outside of slaying slipping through her fingers. “Is that metaphorical?" She asked. "Like this town has no Jamaican restaurant, it’s a total Hellmouth?”
Hershel’s lips twitched. “Sadly no. A Hellmouth refers to a sort of portal between Earth and the next dimension. Now, this particular portal is thankfully closed and has been dormant for some time but even in this state, they can attract supernatural activity. Hellmouths influence the population in strange ways; they’re a beacon to supernatural creatures and mystical convergences. Whatever you saw in Atlanta was just the tip of the iceberg."
The weight of his pronouncement hung in the air between them. Michonne bristled at the pity she could see in his eyes. He gave her a rueful smile.
“Welcome to King County Michonne.”