A/N: Warning: JALEX. Incest (ish). This takes place during Wizards vs Werewolves - yeah, I know it's been done. But this was the idea that stuck with me, and I hope it's worth a read. On the show, after Juliet and Mason wander off into whatever place all non-Jalex significant others must go, we didn't really get to see how they got home. I like to think they were stuck there until morning, when Justin could find his wand. And who knows what could happen, overnight?

Like other authors, I needed to get this up before the series officially ends tomorrow night. RIP, WOWP - I hope we can keep the fandom alive for at least a little while. I've just starting writing for it, it's a lot of fun, and posting stories that no one reads is no fun at all. Thank you for taking the time to read it! I'm new to this site AND fanfiction, but not new to writing. A little nervous. R&R?

Midnight:

Alex is asleep. Okay, so she's maybe not completely asleep, if you want to get all technical about it, but. Her eyes are closed and she's not moving and it seems like the best way to be left alone. Because there's just something about watching your werewolf boyfriend (sorry, ex-boyfriend) and your surprisingly not-a-total-loser brother beat the crap out of each other that makes a girl want to be, well, not there for a little while. She knows, not being totally asleep and all, that Mason is still lurking in the shadows of the tomb, where she'd be able to see him if she peered out through slit eyelids, which she's not. If she even cared, which she doesn't. Much.

After all, breaking up is normal, right? It's not like she's the only girl to ever get dumped, by a werewolf, for a two-thousand-year-old vampire who just happens to be already dating, oh I don't know, her brother? Also, the question of who exactly they were fighting over, whether it had been Alex herself or the vampire they were both in love with, and which one would be grosser, is not something she is going to think about tonight. Or possibly ever. Moving on.

And oh yeah, her brother, speaking of. Justin is another problem she doesn't want to deal with right now. He's acting weird – no big surprise there – but this is weird even for Justin. He's been all nice to her for the last hour or whatever, and it's weird. She and Justin don't do Nice.

She's stuck in Transylvania, they all are, until Max finds Justin's wand. Despite being three wizards and two assorted monsters, they traveled to the Mummy's lair in Transylvania with the aid only one wand, Justin's. Which someone, (okay Alex), tossed off into the dark in a vain attempt to dislodge the true love necklace from its ledge. And since Max is currently howling at the moon and trying to mesmerize himself with the mummy's eyes (don't ask) it could be a while. Justin would search for it himself, except that he was insistent somebody should stay with Alex all the time. Possibly because after Mason became a wolf and Juliet aged a few thousand years and they both vanished into the night, she maybe freaked out a little or whatever. What? She has feelings, okay. And since Max is busy being, well, Max, that means Justin on Alex-watch. She can hear him pacing the courtyard. She focuses on not moving.

One in the morning:

Alex isn't asleep. But she's acting like it. This way, she doesn't have to pretend not to see the furry Mason-shaped shadow lingering just beyond the illumination of the torches. She doesn't need to notice her brother staring into the dark, in the general direction that Juliet had gone. Also, she doesn't have to look at Justin's sad, blank face. God, if he keeps it up she's in danger of actually feeling sorry for him. As if.

When the cold Transylvania wind cuts through the open space of the courtyard, she tries to imagine she's a statue, because statues don't get cold, don't suffer from broken hearts, don't freeze their asses off and wish they'd just stayed home watching late-night movies where the girl gets rescued, the monster dies, and there's popcorn and everybody can have a happy ending after that.

Two:

Alex isn't asleep. Well, maybe a little. Still, she isn't caught totally off guard when she feels someone crouch down next to her, stroking her back in slow-smooth strokes. She's also not surprised when she feels someone wrap his flannel shirt around her thin bare shoulders, which helps a little. The someone sighs, in this annoyingly reproachful and kind of familiar way, and how do you do that with just a sigh that doesn't even have any words in it, and goes, "Alex," kind of soft, but she doesn't do anything. After all, it isn't her fault that they're stuck here until the sun comes up… okay, so it kind of is. Big deal. Get off her back.

She's a little bit surprised when the won't-take-a-hint somebody she refuses to look at settles down on the stone steps where she's lying balled up. With a long-suffering sigh, he gathers her up like a small child, hauling her into his arms. Oddly, he is not lacerated or bruised immediately following this, he retains both eyes, and isn't bleeding… but she's asleep, remember. So almost none of this is her responsibility.

Being held feels nice, though you won't catch her admitting to it, if the subject should ever come up. It's a whole lot warmer, for one thing. But also it makes her feel slightly more together, less broken, and that's an improvement. Isn't it?

Sometime almost three:

Alex is almost asleep, this time. Very almost. Come to think of it, maybe what comes next is pretty much a dream. Sure, that sounds right. Moving from almost asleep to almost awake, she becomes aware of his body cradling hers, his arms around her. She feels his breath in her hair, damp heat. His chaste kiss on her forehead, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face. She must be all dirty now, and gross and snotty from crying, but she's too busy being asleep to care. She feels relaxed, almost. She doesn't feel loved and comforted by this, because ew.

"Mason," Alex mutters, even though she knows better, probably.

"Yeah," he whispers in her ear, and her heart leaps with this totally unfair hope. Until he adds, weirdly, "If that's what you want, Alex," screwing it up like always. His hands are in her hair again, soothing. Alex is asleep. This is a dream, obviously. So, that's completely the only reason she murmurs, "Mason, kiss me," in that devastating low purr she only has right between sleep and waking.

"Alex, I don't think that's—"

"Please."

It's the kind of plea that takes no prisoners. So with infinite tenderness and not a little trepidation, someone cups her face between his long-fingered hands, slightly clammy with unease despite the persistent cold. And even though she's asleep (remember?) her arms reach out, pulling him in tight. His mouth covers hers, and it's the nicest thing to happen to her all night.

Their lips touch, tentative, just a soft press of mouth on mouth at first. His lips are a little chapped from the long time outdoors, but hers are too, so that's okay. The warmth of the contact leads to shy nibbles and close-mouthed pecks. Her heart beats a little faster, in the dream. His lips on hers are just right, they fit perfectly. His tongue is ticklish against her lips. He tastes like salt, she thinks. She tries not to think about what she must taste like right now. He doesn't seem to mind. He's stroking the inside of her mouth, deliberate, and it goes on forever until their kissing and licking and sighs all start to make a kind of rhythm, making her ache in a way she's not quite prepared for. Still, it's a nice change from all the feeling miserable she's been doing. His hands stroke her sides. She wouldn't want to have to explain this to anybody (as if she would, right?) but he touches her with underlying kindness, a deep knowledge her that wasn't there with Mason – or anyone. The warmth from his body spreads to hers.

She refuses to look, but she's drawn to him anyway, a force that's almost magnetic. Mason she thinks, in case anyone should ask later on. I thought it was Mason. I was dreaming. We both were. She snatches the front of his tank top with one hand, twisting and yanking him against her. She pulls hard, angry about it. (And what was he thinking, giving her his shirt? He must be freezing his stupid face off right now).

She's a little unclear on when, exactly, but their needy kisses gave way to softer ones, which in turn fade into fitful not-quite-sleep that is a drifting feeling anchored only by his proximity. Neither one willing to move either forward or back, they stay huddled against the cold and the weird Transylvania night. Somewhere in the distance, she thinks, Max howls. She's almost completely sure it's Max. Alex refuses to move, period. Her eyes stay resolutely closed. Yawning hugely behind one dirty hand, she mutters, "And don't think this means you're getting your shirt back, egghead." Justin doesn't say anything. He rests his chin on the top of her head, laces his hands around her back, and closes his eyes. Eventually, they sleep a little.