#and the flu is notorious for not giving you symptoms until suddenly from one moment to the next it’s like HEY DUMB FUCK PAY ATTENTION TO ME

[coffeebutterstyle]

I am. So. Done oh my god I’m so done bro what even is this anymore

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Unmasked

Spider-Man is forced to fight the Sinister Six while he’s sick, which leads to his enemies making unexpected discoveries about their arch nemesis.

Chapter 2

Doc Oc’s notoriously dull and empty lab was filled with bodies and excitement that evening. The Sinister Six piled eagerly into the large room as Octavius dumped a bloody, unconscious Spider-Man onto one of the examination tables. An uproar of cheers and laughter followed.

“The spider is finally squashed!”

“Is he still alive? No way he’s still alive.”

“Heart’s still beating, according to the computer.”

“Who cares? The little bitch finally got what was coming to him.”

“I wanna break his other leg. Can I break his other leg?”

“Now, now, listen, my comrades.” Octavius rose above the group on his metal limbs, tapping a glass against a bottle of champagne until the room fell quiet. “Before we continue, I think a win this spectacular deserves to be celebrated accordingly.”

Using the prehensile pincers at the ends of each tentacle, Otto poured and distributed the alcohol with ease, and everyone raised their glasses.

 “A toast to us, the greatest super villains to ever grace history!”

“Here, here!”

“And a toast to Spider-Man! The biggest, most obnoxious pain in all our asses—vanquished at last!”

Laughs and shouts preceded the communion. After downing his drink, Otto wiped his lips with a grin. 

“And as the leader of this great and glorious team, I am nothing if not giving to my loyal followers. Since you all deserve personal retribution for the many, many grievances this wretch has inflicted upon us, I promise each of you at least two minutes of reparation time to do to Spider-Man whatever you feel he deserves. Once we wring his throat dry of whatever information he possesses, he’s all yours. So long as I get to deal the final blow.” He chuckled. “Well, if he survives that long, anyway.”

“I’ll snap off all his fingers!”

“I’ll gag him with his own webbing!”

“I’ll pop his head like a grape!”

“I’ll zap him ’til his heart stops, then zap it back to life, then zap him dead again!”

“Revenge is sweet,” Octavius concurred, walking around the table to stand behind Spider-Man’s head. The rest of the Sinister Six went silent and gathered on either side of the fallen hero, with Rhino at his feet. “But first,” Doc continued, reaching forward with one of his mechanical tentacles. The tips of the metal prongs pinched the fabric at the top of Spider-Man’s mask.

“Let’s have a look at our arch enemy’s face.”

In one quick yank, the mask peeled off the hero’s head. Six pairs of eyes absorbed the bruised, pale face lying lifelessly before them—the face of their sworn nemesis. A face none of them were anticipating. Gradually, the grins and snickers faded away, replaced by furrowed brows and puzzled glances.

“Wait…” Electro said, breaking the long stretch of silence.

“I’m…confused,” Scorpion added.

“Is he—does he look—?”

“Like…a kid?”

Everyone’s gazes rose to Octavius. The brilliant scientist looked between them and Spider-Man bewilderedly, his mouth hanging agape.

“I…” he began, rolling the hero’s head to the side. An ugly gash marred his left cheek; dried blood was smeared all the way to his hairline. “I don’t…understand.”

Spider-Man had the soft, innocent face of a child. It was the kind of face grandmas couldn’t resist pinching and puppies just had to lick. His hair was a wild mess of brown curls that was sticking up all funny because of how long he’d been wearing his mask. He severely lacked the sharp, signature features that defined man from boy. Hell, he even had acne: tiny constellations of it dotted across his chin and forehead. No way was he considered a legal adult by the state of New York yet.

Spider-Man was no man at all. Spider-Man was, in fact, a Spider-Kid.

Otto lifted his eyes to the others. He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s not him,” Scorpion suggested.

Sandman scoffed. “What do you mean, ‘it’s not him’?”

“Maybe this isn’t Spider-Man,” he said. “Maybe the real Spider-Man sent a double. Someone to stand in his place while he’s busy or whatever to keep us at bay.”

“Spider-Man’s despicable if he’s sending some kid to fight his battles for him. Doesn’t sound like his style.”

“I don’t know! I’m just brainstorming here! I mean, you saw how pathetic he was today. Spider-Man normally puts up a better fight than that.”

“Yeah,” Electro said nervously. “Maybe it’s not him.”

“He was sticking to things and shooting webs and mouthing off just like the real Spider-Man always does,” Shocker retorted. “I’m pretty sure this is him.”

“Silence!” Octavius shouted, holding up his fist. He turned to the large screen on his right. “Computer, run biological and forensic diagnostics on Spider-Man.”

A series of beams and lasers scanned across the hero, gathering and analyzing information. About a minute later, a robotic voice spoke up.

“Facial and DNA match confirmed,” the A.I. replied. “Subject is Peter Benjamin Parker. Born to parents Richard and Mary Parker on August 10th, 2001. Age: fifteen. Address: 42-42 80th St, Queens, NY 11373. Current occupation: Intern at Stark Industries and sophomore high school student at Midtown School of Science and Technology.”

Stinging disbelief pricked all of them. Rhino’s jaw fell.

“Fifteen?”

“Sophomore?”

“High school?”

It was strange to finally be able to put a name and face to someone they had all known only as a masked caricature for so long. Peter Parker. Peter. And yet, the face still had everyone reeling to the point that the name hardly registered. Otto slammed a metal arm against the table.

“Shut up, all of you!” he spat. “Computer, relay back all the biological data you’ve gathered on Spider-Man.”

“Confirmed,” the A.I. said. “Subject’s current heart rate is 52 bpm. Subject’s current blood pressure is the 79mmHg. Subject’s current temperature is 105.8 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“None of those sound normal,” Sandman said with a snort.

“Relay DNA findings,” Doc Oc barked impatiently.

“Confirmed. Subject’s DNA is mutated and abnormal. Subject’s blood emits low levels of gamma radiation. Subject’s genome is human combined with an unidentifiable species of arachnid.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped up at once. The realization drizzled over them like baleful mist.

“Oh my god,” Sandman breathed. “It’s him.”

“You mean he’s actually part spider? Gag!”

With a scoff, Electro stepped away from the table, cupping his hands against the back of his neck. “You’re kidding me. You’re shitting me. You’re telling me this is the person I’ve been trying to kill this whole time? This is the guy I’ve been frying like a mozzarella stick?” He kicked a trash bin across the room. “Dammit! I do a lot of bad things, but I’d never knowingly hurt a child!”

“Spider-Man is just some fifteen-year-old high school brat?” Rhino said, pouting his lip. “Geez. I can’t believe we just beat the shit out of some kid.”

“Spider-Man is not just some kid!” Otto roared. “Who cares about his age! Have you all suddenly forgotten how much this bastard has antagonized every last one of us? How he’s foiled our plans and ruined our lives again and again for the past two years?”

Sandman pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “Oh my god. Does that mean I’ve been beating him up since he was fourteen? My niece is three years older than him, and I can’t imagine putting her through what I’ve done to him!” He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. “What kind of monster am I...?”

“I broke his damn leg,” Shocker said distraughtly. “And I enjoyed it.”

“Hell, guys…this is so messed up…”

Five members of the Sinister Six stewed in a sauna of shame and guilt. Octavius refused to join them.

“You spineless morons! All of you! Our enemy lays defeated in front of us, yet you choose to wallow in remorse! We should be celebrating! Nothing has changed! He’s young—so what? That doesn’t undermine all the frustration he’s caused us, or our glorious victory over him! Come on, now! Raise your glasses with me! To the Sinister Six! Guys...?”

Nothing he said could wipe the queasy looks off all their faces, or the guilty stickiness he felt in his own gut. Everything—all of this—it just felt wrong.

Sandman stood over Spider-Man and gingerly placed his hand against his forehead. It was startlingly hot and damp with sweat. “Computer, why is Spider-Man’s temperature so damn high? What’s the cause?”

A couple seconds later, the A.I. pinged. “Confirmed,” it said. “Subject has a norovirus infection. It appears subject has been infected for at least twenty-four hours. Norovirus is commonly diagnosed as gastroenteritis or the stomach flu. Symptoms include fever, cramps, dizziness, lightheadedness, and nausea.”

A groan swept through the room. Scorpion crossed his arms against the table and buried his head between them.

“He’s sick. That’s why he seemed so sluggish and off during the fight. Because we were beating up a sick kid.”

“Shit. Last time I had the stomach flu, I didn’t leave my bed for two days. He really thought he could take us on in his condition?”

“Not like we really gave him a choice,” Shocker murmured.

“The little punk probably didn’t even think twice about it,” Sandman said miserably. “After all, his dumbass adolescent brain is still developing.”

Rhino sulked. “Yeah, as long as we didn’t permanently damage it...”

The Sinister Six fell into a dreadful silence.  

At that moment, Spider-Man coughed. The group jumped and gasped, automatically assuming defensive positions with their fists raised, weapons drawn, and muscles coiled.

Spider-Man coughed again, his head lolling to the left, but he didn’t wake up. A collective sigh passed everyone’s lips. Electro went lax, his hands falling to his sides.

“So…um…what the hell do we do now?”

Scorpion frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, what do we do? We have him here, beat to a pulp. What are we going to do with him?”

For the first time, Spider-Man was at the complete mercy of his most powerful enemies. And for the first time, none of them wanted to chop off his head and impale it on a spike. 

Sandman gazed across the bruises on his face, the road burn striped across his limbs, the bloody puncture wound in his chest. His swollen leg, his black eye, the charred fabric and flesh. He hadn’t allowed himself to take all the damage in for what it was until now. A truly abominable and grisly sight.

“He won’t survive long if we just leave him like this,” he said quietly.

Again, all eyes rose to Dr. Octopus. Otto grimaced between their pitiful looks, their reluctantly pleading stares. Pathetic! he wanted to shout, but he couldn’t find the will to conjure the word—any words.

Soon enough, he felt his own callous facade melting away. He sighed.

“I…I suppose keeping him alive is in our best interest. For now.” He cleared his throat and pulled the goggles off his face. “I’ll clean and treat his injuries as best I can. At least to the point that they’re not life-threatening.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Go—get some rest, all of you. We’ll, uh—we’ll regroup in the morning.”

The Sinister Six exchanged nervous looks with each other, then turned back to the face of the half-dead fifteen-year-old in front of them. Hesitantly, they filed out of the room and up the stairs, shooting a couple anxious glances over their shoulders before climbing out of sight.

The room was eerily quiet now that it was just the two of them. An evil scientist and an unconscious super-child in spandex. The only noises were the beeps from the monitor on his right and the kid’s shaky, labored breathing.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Octavius scoffed. “Of course, now that we’ve finally bested you, this is what we end up with. This is what you are.”

With a thought, the claws at the end of one of his tentacles reconfigured into large shears. The material that made up Spider-Man’s suit was tough, but with a few strategic cuts and snips, Doc was able to tear through and peel the clingy fabric off his body. Now that he was stripped down to nothing but his boxers (which had tiny cartoon Iron Men on them, a sight that made him snort, despite his efforts not to) the devastating harm they’d inflicted upon him was painfully evident. The ratio of undamaged flesh to damaged flesh was sickeningly skewed toward the latter. There was so much to tend to, he wasn’t sure where to start. And it wasn’t like his doctorate had been in medical care.

“We really did a number on you, didn’t we Spider-Man?” Otto murmured. He looked back at the screen. “I mean…Peter. Peter Parker.”

The name felt salty on his tongue. He didn’t like how it humanized him, transforming the famous vigilante from vexing public figure to baby-faced teenager. He’d always dreamt of unmasking the scourge that was the elusive Spider-Man. Now he wished the day had never come.

He left Peter’s side to grab the medical kit from under the sink. Then he got to work, undoing the damage they had reaped.

___________________________________

“Computer, summarize what you’ve gathered on Peter Parker’s personal life.”

Roughly four hours later, Octavius flopped into a chair by the kid’s side, exhausted. He had treated all the wounds he had the capacity to treat, hooked him to an I.V. full of fluids and electrolytes, and was now monitoring his steadily improving vitals. The kid was a suture-filled, burn cream-lathered, bandaged-up mess, but at least he was on the mend instead of his death bed. Seemed like a good time to take a break and do some research on the person behind their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

“Confirmed,” the A.I. responded. “Compiling personal file.”

A slide with pictures and lists regarding Peter’s life materialized on the screen.

“Peter Parker was born in Queens, New York and still lives there today. He lived in a house in Forest Hills until 2005, then moved into the apartment complex he currently lives in now.”

“A house in New York City?” Otto scoffed. “How lavish. Why the downsize?”

The A.I. enlarged a photograph—a man and a woman holding a bright-eyed, squishy-faced toddler sporting a familiar headful of brown curls.

“Peter’s biological parents, Mary and Richard Parker, died in a plane crash in March of that year.”

A knot formed in Otto’s gut as he stared at the happy family portrait. “Oh,” he said.

“Orphaned at age four, Peter was then adopted by his aunt and uncle, May and Ben Parker. They couldn’t afford to live in the house in Forest Hills, so they moved Peter into their apartment nearby.”

Another picture floated up, this one of a different couple hugging a slightly older version of the curly-haired toddler. After that, a series of images flashed across the screen—young Peter at Central Park, at a science fair, at the zoo, at home, on the subway, on the Brooklyn Bridge, passed out on a couch. With each new picture, he got bigger, older, but not by much. Sometimes his aunt and uncle were with him. Sometimes he was with others his age. Sometimes he had on glasses as thick as windshields. His smile was wide as the sun and just as bright.

In the last picture, he was standing next to Tony Stark, holding an upside-down certificate congratulating him on his acceptance as a Stark Industry’s intern.

“Barf,” Otto muttered, but he couldn’t displace the warm, uneasy feeling he got when he looked at Peter’s smiling face. He really was just a kid. A young, dorky, stupid kid. A kid they’d beat into the dirt ten times over.

“Last year, May Parker became Peter’s sole guardian.”

Octavius blinked, his shoulders tensing. “What happened to the uncle? Ben Parker?”

“Ben Parker was murdered last April by an unknown shooter. The culprit was never caught.”

Octavius swallowed, staring at the photograph of Spider-Man’s uncle. Then he turned back to the mummified teenager on the table beside him. For an instant, something he never thought he could feel for the spider-themed superhero brushed his heart. 

Sympathy.

With a huff, Otto stood from his chair. “Come along then, arachnid,” he said, lifting the kid and the I.V. stand in his metal arms. “Let’s find you a more comfortable spot to rest.”

It was well past 4am by the time Octavius slumped into his own bed.

[incmorata]

A Tragedy In Six Parts

Self Para / Past

ACT I

                  It was a particularly hot day in Chicago when Sierra steps into the doctor’s office. For the last couple weeks she’d been feeling sick. Overcome with nauseousness that would overwhelm her, mostly in the morning but would be easily triggered throughout the day. School was finally over, Sierra no longer shackled by the confines of the daily, mundane routine that was high school. She barely graduated, never caring enough to put forth the effort. Always more focused on her social life and whatever extracurriculars that came along with them.

Most kids her age would be thinking about college but Sierra’s mind is on a summer vacation. Basking under the sun at the French Riviera, shopping in Paris. Most importantly, being home on a more consistent basis meant she’d get to see and spend more time with her brother. Which, honestly, is another reason she wasn’t particularly fond of getting out of the house and going to college like her older siblings. 

The only thing that could stifle those plans is this pesky summer flu bug that’s rearing its ugly head. Her name is called, Sierra grabbing her bag and heading into the room. Hopping up onto the examination table. She thinks nothing of it, going down her list of symptoms, letting the doctor examine her without thinking anything serious of it. An hour or so later, after a few blood tests, the beginning of what would turn Sierra’s is triggered. 

“I understand why you would think you have the flu but after hearing your symptoms, we ran an additional test just in case.” The doctor begins, causing Sierra to look on in confusion. “Miss. Calhoun, you’re seven weeks pregnant.”

Her eyes go wide, feeling like the world around suddenly comes to stop. Looking back at it now, she couldn’t tell you what emotion ran through her veins. Worry? She was eighteen and pregnant, of course that was a reasonable reaction. Excitement? Which was naive, she wasn’t qualified to be a mother, but the thought of a child -- their child in a fantastical sense felt like a shred of hope...happiness that only he could provide her. 

It never occurred to Sierra -- at least not until her life blew up into a million pieces way later -- that going to the doctor would be easily be trackable to her family. That they donated a fucking wing to the hospital and that within a few days, Leonard Calhoun would get a call that would break client-patient confidentiality notifying him of his daughter’s indiscretion. 

ACT II

                  Happiness is short lived. A few day window of a false sense of peace and a blissful naivety that can only be blamed on age. She’s more careful the second time around, although the damage is already unknowingly done. Going down to the other side of town, the more risky areas she’d never set foot in on a regular basis. A place where she’d normally look down on the girl’s who walked inside of here -- that’d she’d stereotype as poor and unloved.

Not her, not Sierra. Alistair’s been distant as of late, more moody than usual but she has the feeling her news would bring him back to her. That whatever bullshit that hack of a doctor is feeding him would wash away. He loves her, she knows it. There’s no way they could stay apart after this. They could be together, for real this time.

Eloise Wyatt -- her middle name and mother’s maiden name is the pseudonym she goes under. Unlike before, she gets onto the examination table with more certainty. Allowing this doctor to do a full check on her and the growing baby inside of her, it’s there she learns the baby can be described as looking like a tadpole. 

“Do you know the father?” The doctor asks, clearly out of concern because probably a handful of girl’s coming in here without any clue of who the father is. Not her, not Sierra. Fooling around with a few guys at school never went beyond heavy petting, her desire only saved for Alistair. No one’s touched her in that way since he came into her room late one night and took her, making him her first. A few times since then, she’s taken matters into her own hands, unable to stop the desire and love she feels for him. Only wanting him. “Yes, but he wasn’t able to make it today. He’ll be here the next time.” She responded, sure of herself and ignoring the skeptical look from the doctor.

With the mother’s health in good condition, now it was time to check on the baby. Sierra lays back, lifting up her shirt, heart beating erratically. A cool gel is applied, making her shiver and the instrument follows, moving around her stomach, giving some discomfort to Sierra. It takes a few moments -- although it feels like a lifetime -- but the thudding sound of an heartbeat fills the air.

Her eyes begin to water, the smile on her face involuntary. The view on the monitor looks like a lot of nothing but the doctor points out where the baby is. “Do you know what it is?” Sierra asks, eyes still fixated on the screen, somewhat in awe. “Not yet but you’ll know soon.” Her head nods absentmindedly. “I bet it’s a girl.” Sierra  turns back to the doctor. “Would you like a picture?” 

With a bag filled with vitamins that are shoved to the bottom of her purse, Sierra walks out of the clinic clutching onto the ultrasound and not letting it go until the car pulls up to the house. It then too meets the bottom of her bag but handled with much care, only retrieved when she’s back in her room and safely put away in her bedroom nightstand.

ACT III

                  The timing couldn’t be anymore perfect. She’d been away, a few friends from school meeting up to enjoy the beginning of summer before they all went their separate ways before college. She was supposed to be gone for the rest of the night but feeling sick was good enough excuse to want to go home. Plus, she finally felt like she could muster up the nerve to talk to her brother.

Sitting in the back seat of the town car that usually drives her around, in the distance she could see some movement at the front of the house. Usually, she adores the long driveway that leads up to the massive estate that is known as the Calhoun’s home. But instead, it feels her with panic and dread as she sees a tall, lanky figure come out of the front door while maids are carrying bags.

“What’s going on!?” Sierra panicked, hands immediately going to the door and trying to unlock it but unable to do so. “Stop the car! Let me out!” It’s as if everything is moving in slow motion, she sees Alistair get into the car and the lights flash. And now she’s beating against the window, unable to open that as well. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she feels helpless as the car he’s in begins to pull away as she pulls up. “ALISTAIR!” She screams but it goes unheard as the car begins to drive around the large fountain. The car comes to a stop, making the doors unlock and Sierra jumps out of the car. 

“What did you do?” The question is geared towards Damien who is standing there but she doesn’t wait for an answer. Their eyes lock and they both know Sierra is aware of what’s going on. Despite how she acts, they both know Sierra is smarter and more intuitive than what she looks. Not waiting for an answer, Sierra, goes running in the direction of the car. It’s already got a good head start and she’s sure the cars been instructed to drive away as quickly as possible, but that doesn’t stop Sierra.

Even pregnant, she still has the vigor of an eighteen year old as she goes bounding down the long driveway. “AL!” She screams, mostly into the void. The  estate takes up a large amount of land, which meant there weren’t any nosy neighbors to peer out of their windows to see a sobbing Sierra Calhoun calling out her brother’s name. It also meant there was a long stretch of road that was empty and endless. 

“STOP! PLEASE!” Sierra cried out, voice burning and hoarse from all the yelling. Her legs are still going despite the exhaustion, every step she takes feeling heavier and heavier. The distant red light on the back of the car is longer seen in the night, but she’s so damn persistent she doesn’t want to admit defeat and stop. “AL! COME BACK! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” The body wracking sobs make it harder to breathe. In between the yelling and the tears, she’s gasping for air but it does little to fill her lungs. Their still burning as she cries out to a person that’s no longer there.

Sierra doesn’t know how long she’s been running but, eventually, her legs give up. She drops to her knees, not caring that they’re now bloodied and bruised from the gravel. All she can do is cry, tears streaming down her face as she sobs out his name. “Al...please...come back...don’t leave me...”

ACT IV

                  It’s a while before anyone comes for her, finally catching up. The footsteps don’t fully register, Sierra so out of it as she could feel her heart crumbling into a million pieces. Arms a wrapped around her stomach, hunched over as she continues to cry.

The only thing that snaps Sierra out of the grief is that she realizes it’s Damien. “Get off me!” But already he’s picking her up, hoisting off the ground. Sadness turns to rage as she violently squirms and wiggles around in his arms. “How could you?! What did you do?!” Sierra screamed as he brought her back to the house. “How could you do this to me?! He’s all that I have! I love him!” She sobbed out. The notoriously vicious Calhoun is quiet, taking every slap and jab and whatever else the younger Calhoun throws at him. 

“No! Let me go!” She struggled, already exhausted but her defiance made her preserve. “Let me fuckin’ go, Damien!” Sierra screamed, becoming more and more irritable as she got closer to the house. They get to the house and in an attempt to kick the door shoot, Damien’s grip on Sierra loosens. Wiggling out of his hold, she runs into the house as he attempts to follow her, a loud voice booms throughout the house. “Leave her be, Damien.”

The words come from the mouth of Leonard Calhoun as he emerges from his office. Making his way towards his daughter whose face is flushed and mascara stained tears running down her face. “I hate you.” She spat out, chest heaving up and down. “You are vile and you make me fuckin’ sick. He is the only person in this godforsaken family who gives a shit about me and --.” Before she could get another word out, Leonard’s hand is grasping Sierra’s jaw. At 60 he’s not the spring chicken he once was, but still possessed enough of a firm hand to rule this house and get his point across.

“Enough with the dramatics. You are nothing but a spoiled brat, I should’ve sent you away when I had the chance.” His grip tightens, blunt nails digging into her cheeks as her father draws Sierra closer. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out, Sierra? That you could keep that bastard of a child a secret from me?” His tone is low but lethal as he continues to talk. “The maids used to whisper about how easy you were but, Jesus, I didn’t think you’d whore yourself out to your own brother.” 

There’s a whimper that sounds from Sierra, his grip refusing to ease, making it hard for her to speak. “I...love him...” She grated out, to which Leonard all but growls before freeing his hold, it catching Sierra off guard to the point that her already weak frame crumbles to the ground. The gasp is audible from the few maids who were around and Damien already was about to take a step forward, ready to assist. “No, Damien, leave her. Leave her on the ground like the piece of filth she is.” Leonard snarls, looking down at Sierra one last time.“You disgust me -- both of you. Be glad this is the only thing that’s happening to you.” Leonard finished before turning around, heading back into his office, slamming the door shut, leaving her remaining on the ground.

ACT V 

                   It’s been a week since all hell broke loose in the Calhoun house. Despite Sierra’s best efforts, she couldn’t find out where Alistair was and the feeling of loneliness began to take over her with each passing day. Which made her even more reliant on the child growing inside of her.

Eight weeks.

Time is ticking away and everyone around the house is growing anxious because of it. She doesn’t leave her room, afraid that if she goes out they’ll take the baby away from her. The maids secretly leave food outside her room, mostly of concern and pity. She can’t hide away for forever, she knows that, eventually they’ll come for her but Sierra is trying to cling on for as long as she can. Part of her wishing...hoping that Alistair would come home and save her, like he’s always done for as long as she could remember. 

The door to the bathroom opens and immediately Sierra becomes frigid. She’s curled up in the corner of the bathroom, back pressed up against the wall, arms fiercely wrapped around her stomach as if that would protect her baby from them.

“Sierra...” The voice is soft, almost unrecognizable until the figure kneels down into view, making Sierra realize it was her older sister Sloan. They weren’t particularly close. The age gap between them wasn’t all that large but as they grew up, Sloan became colder and closer to Damien, and Sierra found solace in other ways...with Alistair. “You can’t stay here for forever.” Her hand reaches out to tuck a strand of Sierra’s hair behind her ear. It was odd hearing Sloan’s voice sound so warm...caring...and if Sierra didn’t know the woman so well, she’d almost think she’d care. “I know they sent you here.” Sierra stated, head lifting, gaze meeting Sloan’s. “No, I came on my own. I figured you needed someone right now.” Sierra probably wouldn’t believe but it was somewhat the truth. And whether she believed it or not, Sloan was convincing enough to get Sierra out of the bathroom and into a car an hour later, driving into the city and into a private doctor’s suite. 

Sloan’s hand is gripping tightly onto Sierra’s, the room dead silent as they waited. “You’re doing the right thing.” Sloan reassured, but Sierra’s unresponsive, a single hand resting on her un-protruding stomach. It feels like a lifetime but eventually her name -- her real name -- is called, signaling it was time. Her head snaps in Sloan’s direction, the look in her eyes almost pleading with Sloan to convince her to not go through with this. “Everything is going to be fine. Do you want me to go with you?” Meekly Sierra nods, Sloan giving a nod of reassurance before getting up and going into the back room.

The paperwork is nonexistent, the appointment never logged, the files from the first one shredded, the doctors and nurses paid off to never say a word, and with the flick of a machine, the procedure now done, it’s as if the baby never existed....

ACT VI

                     The ride back to the house is once again silent. Sierra’s head is resting against the window, awake but eyes lacking any sort of life to them. She’s looking out to the window but processing nothing, the feeling of numbness washing over her. She doesn’t even register that Sloan hasn’t let go of her hand, her sister occasionally squeezing or running her thumb across Sierra’s knuckles anytime she’d hear her sniffle. 

The front steps to the house remind Sierra of that night and the sadness pulls hers deeper into an inevitable depression. She can’t move, one of the guards coming out to help Sierra out of the car and bring her inside. Set into her bedroom, she remains still for a movement, unmoving. Slowly she’s feeling herself go numb, ready to shut down completely but there’s one thing she has to do. 

With every ounce of strength she has, Sierra rolls out of the bed. She opens up the nightstand drawer, blankly staring at that photo that rested at the very top. She’s hesitant to reach for it, but she does, hands shaking as it’s in her grasp. “I’m so sorry...” Sierra rasps out, eyes squeezing shut as a tear drops from them. The idea of motherhood was romanticized, Sierra not entirely sure if she wanted a child but it was theirs...it was the only thing left of him that she had left. Losing it felt like she had nothing left to live for, all she was left with was emptiness. 

Standing upright, Sierra leaves her room, padding down the long hallway before entering Alistair’s room. His scent hits her nose immediately. The clothes on her frame are shed, grabbing one of his shirts from the dresser drawer and letting it drown her frame as she heads towards his bed. Crawling under the sheets, the comforter wrapping around her is the closet she has to him being next to her. The ultrasound find its way under the pillow as she curls up, quietly crying until she can’t anymore and she fall asleep. 

She stays there for at least three months, the maids coming in to wash her, feeding her anything with liquid in order to keep her going.

A family function forces Sierra out of her depressed stupor, her presence required in order to keep up appearances. Mid-way through the party, Sierra stumbles across her father’s latest girlfriend doing a line of coke in the bathroom. 

And that is how Sierra discovered the newest love of her life and how she got the pain to go away...