#but abigail hears her in the night and calms her and stays w her

[wildlcck]

she eepy

[adri-2022]

Whatever it takes

Fandom: Chicago PD

Characters: Jay Halstead x FemReader / OC Dahlia "Lia" Halstead / CPD

Warnings: angst/ swearing/ violence/ kidnapping

Word count: 3054

Jay Halstead Materlist

A/N: Hello my beautiful readers. I worked really hard on this one and I'm really excited for you all to read. Portraying Dahlia "Lia" Halstead is Abigail Cowen. Here is a request from @hngbrooks

[You can listen to "Are You With Me" by nilu]

Don't be afraid to leave your comment!

Part II

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It was the call you never expected or wished to have, your daughter screaming at the top of her lungs. Nothing was supposed to happen she was at her friend’s house for a sleepover, it was supposed to be a calm and quiet night. Now a couple of hours after the horrible call, the team had reunited at the district to take on the case. You and your husband both replayed in your heads her words and the desperation that came with them.

You and Jay laughed as you sat in the living room both appreciating the night alone and off work. Your 16-year-old daughter Dahlia -Lia as she likes to be called- was currently at her friend’s house. Her parents had planned it for Lia and Lucy -Lia’s friend- and since you had interacted with them before, you both agreed to let her go. It was approximately 11pm when Jay’s phone rang Lia’s face popping on the screen, he answered putting it on speaker.

“Hi honey. Everything alright” Jay asked between chuckles as he laughed at something you said

“Dad…” the tone of her voice made both of you freeze and sit up straight on the couch

“Baby what’s going on? Everything okay?” you asked leaning slightly towards the phone on Jay’s hand. Shallow breathing could be heard from the other line, along with silence.

“There is someone in the house” she whispered. At this your eye widen as your hand on reflex grabbed your husbands forearm, his hand falling into the grasp

“Lia. Listen where are Lucy’s parents?” Jay asked trying to maintain calm during the situation but inside he was as panicked as you were

“I don’t know. I think they left without me. There is no one here, not even Lucy… Dad I’m scared, I don’t know what to do” her voice broke as she still whispered into the phone. You shared a look with Jay before you both jumped into action, grabbing your keys and rushing to climb into the truck.

“Lia babe. Where are you?” Jay asked as he pulled out of the driveway

“I’m in Lucy’s room” she said as you heard her shuffle around the room silently

“Jay-” you started to talk before getting quiet as you heard noise from the phone. There was a banging on the other side of the line that made you jump, a small cry followed by hurried footsteps.

“Dad- they’re here. I locked myself in the bathroom. But I think they saw me” Lia sobbed as she panted panic invading her senses

“Baby, listen to me alright. We’re on our way. I promise. Stay where you are. We’re coming to get you” Jay said sternly at the thought of something bad happening to his daughter

“Mom” Lia cried into the phone as screaming was being heard, a banging noise after making your heart drop.

“I’m coming Lia. I swear” you exclaimed, making Jay go faster as you both heard struggle from the other side

“MOM! No. Let me go. Dad. DAD!” Lia screamed before there was a thud on the other side. You thought they had done something to make her quiet, but Lia exclaimed one last time.

“Three guys. Dragon tattoo on their necks!” before you heard a slap over the line and silence after that.

Jay started cursing, his hand hitting the steering wheel as your eyes stayed on the screen of the truck her name still there. Hearing shuffling which you could only imagine was her being dragged away. As you arrived at Lucy’s house you both entered guns pointed in case they were still in there. But luck wasn’t on your side, clearing every room you both arrived at the bathroom. The door was ripped from the hinges and there were clear signs of struggle.

“Shit” you barely heard Jay’s curse, as you shook your head. The denial.

“No” you whispered as you frantically moved to look around the bedroom again, almost hoping she was hiding somewhere. Your husband noticed your panicked state so he went towards you.

“Hey Y/N. Listen we’re gonna find her” Jay said cupping your cheeks as your breathing picked up

“You don’t know that Jay” you cried, as he brought you into his arms whispering reassuring words. But nothing made it easy for either of you.

An hour later you were sat at your desk your head in your arms as you silently cried. Jay stood next to you a hand on your shoulder for support as the team was silent, none knew what to say to their friends. Being woken at almost 1am by the news the team didn’t hesitate to spend extra hours trying to find Lia. By now everyone had changed into tactical uniforms prepared for anything that could come up.

“Anything on camera?” Jay asked Kim, the brunette shook her head painstakingly

“She said they had a dragon tattoo on their necks” you said, as you straightened yourself sniffing

“I’ll look into it” Kevin answered as rushing to his desk.

Hank called both of you to his office after he finished his call, neither taking a sit arms crossed with a mixed of concerned and pissed looks on both your faces. 

“Patrol found Lucy’s father, Jason. But. Before we take on this. Are we doing this my way or yours?” Hank asked looking between you and Jay. Nor you neither Jay said a word looking straight at the sergeant, he nodded.

“I don’t give a flying fuck how we do this. Just bring my daughter back. You bring her back” you said jaw tensed as tears burned your eyes.

“Whatever it takes” Jay nodded beside you agreeing with you while he gently squeezed your shoulder.

The older man nodded gesturing to both of you to follow him down to the garage. As you three entered you saw him sitting inside the cage. As he made eye contact with you, you fasten your steps grabbing a bat and opening the door with a swing. Jay wasn’t going to stop you, and neither would your sergeant.

“Where were you? Where is she?” you asked inching yourself closer to him, he shook his head in response

“I SWEAR I’M GOING TO SWING THIS BAT INTO YOUR SKULL!” you screamed, before you raised the bat, he recoiled raising his cuffed hands -you weren’t gonna hit him, not yet at least-

“Where is my daughter, Jason? Talk you coward piece of shit” Jay said next, standing in front at the door of the cage

“You know who has her” you said pointing at him threateningly

“I don’t know what you mean” he said looking directly at you, trying to hide a smile. When you saw this you felt helpless, he was supposed to look after Lia while she was in his house and here he was nonchalantly like he didn’t care.

“You were supposed to look after her, why didn’t you?” Hank asked inching closer, Jason shrugged his shoulders, turning his head avoiding all eye contact 

“Why did you leave her alone at your house!?” you continued grabbing his jaw harshly and turning his head back to look into your eyes. You were met with Jason’s stoic unbothered face.

“I swear to god! I don’t even care if I go to jail” in a swift motion Jay pushed himself of the door and grabbed Jason by the collar of his shirt pulling him to his feet and into the wall behind.

“Talk. Or I’ll let her swing. You wanna play tough, huh, how about now” your husband said grabbing his gun and pointing it at Jason’s throat

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry I owe them money” Jason said trying to wiggle out of Jay’s hold,

“And you left my daughter at your house! You knew they were coming after you. You ran like the coward you are, taking your family. What about mine?! You left her there! You should be grateful I don’t put a bullet to your fucking head” Jay exclaimed before smacking Jason with the gun.

“You’re going to regret doing that” your husband said putting his gun away grabbing Jason’s arm pulling him off the ground fixing the latter’s shirt. Standing toe to toe with him, face inches away.

“You can’t. You’re a cop” Jason said eye wide as he looked between the three

“Who’s going to stop me” Jay said in a tone so cold it made shivers run doing your spine, he turned to looked towards you taking the bat from your hands.

“Go upstairs” Jay said as you looked up at him with a confused expression on your face. Before you gazed at Hank,

“Go Y/N” the older man said nodding to the stairs

“Jay-” you whispered shaking your head, you were both in this together

“If things go south, one of us has to be out of the loop” Jay gazed into your eyes, making you shake your head in protest

He wanted to make sure that if this got out, somehow, that you would be clear and Lia wouldn’t be alone. Before you could object, you shared a look with your sergeant who nodded encouraging. Hank Voight wouldn’t let anything get out; he would have both of your backs.

“Trust me. He’s gonna talk” Jay said tightening the grip on the bat. You looked towards Jason’s frozen form; he didn’t know how much and with whom he had messed up.

“Do it” you said looking back at Jay and nodding once, before rushing upstairs.

At the same time in some place in the city of Chicago a 16-year-old girl was sitting in the dark, knees pulled to her chest as she laid her head in them. She was tired, confused and scared.

-Who are this people? Are they after my parents?- these were one of her many questions. She was pulled out of her thoughts as she saw the doorknob shake slightly before a man walked in.

The way he held himself made Lia understand he was important, his face was still in the shadows so Lia couldn’t see who it was, the only visible thing was his blonde hair. The three men that had dragged her out of Lucy’s house -thing 1,2 & 3- still wore their ski masks as they stood behind him. Lia recoiled to the corner of the room, silent tears ran down her face as she waited for the man to move or say something.

“YOU HAD ONE JOB” the new voice screamed.

He had an accent that Lia recognized -Russian-. She sobbed silently daring to raise her eyes slightly, confused as she saw that the man wasn’t looking at her instead she was staring at his back as he raised a finger towards the other man.

“Sir?” thing 1 said but was interrupted,

“Who is this kid?” blonde man asked looking over his shoulder at Lia who immediately snap her eyes down, before he turned back to the three.

“That’s-. That’s Jason’s kid. I thought you wanted us to bring her here”

-So, he’s the boss- Lia thought as the kidnapper laughed slightly thinking his boss was joking -oh but he wasn’t-. As she gazed at them again the blonde started laughing making the thing 3 laugh nervously. He turned to Lia,

“Little lady cover your eyes” he said, Lia confused followed what he said putting her head back on her knees. Jumping and covering her ears as she heard a loud popping sound -gunshot- she thought

“You DUMB FUCK” he screamed at the bleeding body.

“God damnit! I gave you a picture. She’s a redhead! Jason’s kid is a brunette, you dumb assholes” he screamed rubbing his forehead, biting his lip as he raised his fist like he was about to punch the other two guys.

“You both are gonna fix this. Now. I’m not happy” the blonde man said as he turned around at the teenager who’s arms covered her head, before he shook his head. The sound of gunshots were heard between the silence.

Back at the district you sat at the edge of your desk. It felt like it had been hours since you left the cage but in reality it had been 20 minutes. Being pulled out of your thoughts when you saw Hank walking into the bullpen, Jay trailing behind

“We’ve got a location. Let’s go!” not a second was waisted after hearing those words as everyone ran to the cars. Jay drove both of you, you took a shaky breath that broke into a sob. You felt your husbands hand on the back of your neck thumb caressing it as you cried.

“Please let her be okay” you kept repeating between sobs bending forward slightly.

Still rubbing his hand on your back Jay was no longer trying to hide his tears. You were both emotionally exhausted and the uncertainty of Lia not making it was destroying you from the inside out. As you arrived at the abandoned building the team dispersed, you followed Hailey as Jay went with Hank.

The place was cold, wet and dark it made you tear at the thought of your daughter being in this place, alone. Room by room, you felt your hope disappear at the emptiness of each of them. The team had cleared the rooms on their side and were coming towards you and Hailey for backup.

“It’s the last one” you whispered voice breaking, Hailey took a deep breath before turning the doorknob and pushing the door open. Both gasping at the sight in front of you.

“Lia. Let her go!” “Drop it!” both Hailey and you exclaimed as you saw a blonde man pointing a gun at your daughters head while she sat tide to a chair tape on her mouth. You could hear her muffled screams and the tears running down her cheeks at the sight of you -her mom- but you were unable to understand anything.

“No, I think I won’t” the man said, as you barely heard Hailey

“There’s bodies” she whispered to you as you flickered your gaze to the floor looking back at your daughter as she closed her eyes

“Lia. Baby open your eyes” you said taking your eyes off the man threatening the life of your only daughter and looking directly at her.

Lia followed what you said making eye contact with you as you gave her a reassuring smile. She knew you were going to save her because, if there was anyone in this world that could do it. That would be you and her dad.

“How cute. You must be mom” the man laughed nudging the tip of his gun into Lia’s head

“You wanna know what your biggest mistake was?” you clenched your jaw as you spoke to the man

“Sending this dumbasses to do a job I could’ve done” he asked humorously

“Yeah- and taking my daughter you asshole” you said before firing your gun.

You breathed out as you ran into the room to your daughters sitting figure. Her eyes closed tightly afraid to open them. As you slowly took it off the tape on her mouth and arms, she started crying in relief

“Mom” “Hey sweetie. You’re okay” you said pulling her to her feet and hugging her tight, hearing heavy footsteps from the hallway.

“Jay! She’s in here” Hailey screamed at the latter who had come into her view.

The rest of the team following closely behind guns raised since they had heard the gunshot echo through the building. Your husband ran like hell towards where Hailey was pointing. He thought of all the possibilities, all of the outcomes and prayed.

As he came into the room he sighed in relief before running towards you engulfing both into his chest as he kissed Lia’s forehead. After a minute you pulled away letting Jay wrapped Lia into a bone crashing hug. His hand protectively tucking her head into his neck your daughter sobbed as she buried herself deeper into her dad’s arms while you caressed her hair.

“You guys came for me” she cried in Jay’s chest, making tears escape your eyes

“Of course, we did” you whispered

“Hey sweetheart. Did they hurt you?” Jay said in her ear desperately, as he silently prayed they hadn’t laid a finger on her hair.

“No. I’m okay” when you heard Lia’s confirmation, both you and Jay breath in relieve as the team closed their eyes relishing in the same feeling.

“Halstead let’s get her to Med” Hank said as he made eye contact with you

“Just give me a minute to hold her, alright” Jay said voice breaking as he locked eyes with the older man who nodded, signaling the team to give you some privacy.

Hours later of rushing Lia to the ED and dealing with a panicked Will Halstead as he saw his niece in a stretcher with the whole team behind it. He had been informed of the whole situation briefly by Hailey, he had mixed emotions about it. He felt hurt Jay hadn’t contacted him as fast as it happened -maybe he could’ve helped- but Will understood the priorities, he knew he would’ve only been in the way.

Now you and Jay sat beside your daughters sleeping form. While she laid on her left side, one hand in yours and the other on Jay’s. Jay brushed the fallen hairs off her face with his free hand as you rested your head on his shoulder. Both looking at your most prized possession, a gift that could’ve easily been snatched from existence.

“I thought we were going to lose her” you whispered trying not to wake your daughter up. At your voice Jay turned his head slightly pecking your forehead before sighing.

“I know, me too. But she’s right here and nothing will ever happen to her. I swear on my life” Jay said as he continued looking at his daughter and brushing her hair.

Before she had fallen asleep Doctor Charles had visited. Lia told the three of you what had happened, what she heard and what the man said to her. You listened carefully; still on edge as parents hearing what she endured. The fear in her voice hunted you both even after hours of looking at her because after this, life would never be the same again.

[rpgexperience]

My servant Devil - Session 1

Abigail Maglocke, daughter of one of the most important English earls, Lord Maglocke, is travelling by a ship to America, together with her parents for her father’s business. She’s woken up in the middle of the night by a commotion outside of her room. Shouting, screaming, sounds like a fight. 

She leaves her room to see what’s happening and check up on her parents. Just as she opens the door, she is greeted first by thick black smoke, then soon after her mother. She drags Abigail back into her room, ushering her to stay there, go to sleep, not leave her room. She takes an amulet, which she has always worn around her neck, and hands it to Abby. “Whatever you do Abby, you need to keep this. Understood? Keep it with you. Always.“ With these words, she tugs Abigail in bed and exits the room, leaving Abigail standing there alone. 

Abigail hears more explosions going off outside, she cannot stay here in her bed when there’s obviously something going on outside, no matter if her mother says that it’s just a dream and everything is fine. She’s 17. She’s big now and she’s tired of her loving parents keeping things from her like she’d be a little girl.

She thinks for a moment but soon throws a gown over herself and leaves the room, making her way to the deck. The smoke is still there, causing her to cough, so she crawls on her knees. Before reaching the staircase, she bumps into a tall figure with dirty shoes blocking her way. As she looks up, she sees a very dirty man with stinking breath and red nose, many of his teeth are missing. He picks her up, throws her over his shoulder like she’s a doll and carries her up on deck. 

On the deck, she’s throw on the floor, the cold wind blowing in her face. Her hands are held behind her back. She sees her parents at the front of the ship, surrounded by a group of tall hooded strangers.

“Let her go! She has nothing to do with this!“ Says Abigail’s father when he notices her there. One of the hooded men opposes in deep and calm voice: “Nothing to do with this? Maybe she will change your mind. Agree to our conditions and we will spare your daughter.“ Her father looks creamy distressed now as her mother is pleading him. 

“No. I will never agree,“ her father decides in the end. 

“Such a shame,“ states the man, sounding like he’s actually sorry about it. Then he raises a hand and  together with other two hooded men, pierce a blade through his chest in nearly inhuman speed. Abigail gasps and freezes as she has to watch her dad be murdered, while her mother screams in agony. “Don’t worry, you’re next,“ the man says, still calm and wraps his strong hand around her neck. She’s struggling against his tight grip until eventually she stops moving, strangled to death.

“What about this one?“ Asks the man holding Abigail. 

The leader replies: “Chuck her into the water. There can't be any of them left, we need to clear out the bloodline.” With that, the man who was holding Abigail’s hands until now, grabs her, throws her over his shoulder again, carries her over to the railing and chucks her into the cold water, unbothered.

The water is freezing and she’s trying to swim but soon you loose feeling in your limbs, the ice cold water is everywhere. Soon she looses feeling in her limbs, her clothes dragging her down, water finding its way into her nose, mouth, lungs. She struggles to fight on, but death seems inevitable. There is nothing here. Absolutely nothing. She is trapped in never ending darkness.

“Well, well, well,” suddenly she can hear voice… where is it coming from? “What a shame. So much potential. So much... beauty. It's been a long time I have seen such a bright little soul. And so much anger too.” Abigail notices that the water and the cold is gone. It’s just darkness now. “Oh yes, I can feel your anger. Bursting through your veins like black poison. Sadness and anger and the desire for revenge. Died long before your time. Ripped from the ones you love so dearly, what a shame indeed.”

“Who are you? Where am I?” Abigail asks, looking all around, trying to locate the source of the voice. 

“Who I am? Well, you are the one who called me here. I can be whoever you want me to be. Oh yes. Your desperate struggles to cling onto life. Such a loud call I could not possibly ignore.” Abigail is confused. She…called him here? Whom? 

Suddenly two red glowing eyes appear in the darkness in front of her.  

"What do you want from me?”

“Me? I told you, you are the one who called me here. So tell me, Abigail, what do you want from me?”

She thinks for a moment. She’s still weirded out and confused by the whole situation. Who is he?! Well, she’s not going to let such generous offer just go: “Can you bring me back my parents? Can you rewind back time? Get rid of those pirates?”

The voice chuckles darkly. “I can do anything, the question is, what are you willing to pay?” Abigail thinks and after a moment offers her family’s riches, their mansion, anything. But the voice doesn’t seem to be satisfied: “I don't need material things. And I'm afraid I can not afford to wind back time, not even your pretty little soul would be worth the trouble. But I can propose you a deal. I can feel your desire for revenge... oh so much hatred indeed. So let me help you. Let me help you find the man who so cruelly took the lives of your parents before their time. And in return… you will give me your soul.” 

After a moment of contemplation, Abigail decided to take on the offer. She wants her revenge. Those bastards will pay. And she’s not quite ready to die just yet. She agrees. Suddenly, strong pain shoots through her hand. As she looks down, she notices a glowing symbol carved into the back of her hand. “This symbol marks our pact. You are not allowed to show it to anybody.” The voice states as a matter of fact. “With this symbol I vow to be your servant to fullfill any of your wishes and help you to take your revenge. Our pact is broken by the day you will take your revenge and I will get to devour your soul.”

Then, the darkness starts to disperse and Abigail feels like she’s falling. Falling from great height. Suddenly, she’s standing on her feet. She hears birds singing, she opens her eyes and sees the sky. It’s a bright sunny day. She’s standing in front of a mansion. It feels familiar but when she tries to remember more about it, her head starts to hurt and spin. 

“W-where am I?” she asks herself, trying to figure it out, not expecting a reply. 

“At Maglocke mansion,” a deep velvet voice replies. It’s the same voice as she heard in the darkness. Only now she notices that there’s a second person standing next to her. It’s a very tall man, she has to tilt her head back to look up to see his face, however that is absolutely worth it as his face is the most beautiful face she has ever seen. It looks like it was drawn by an ancient master, perfectly symmetrical and exactly the way she would have liked to paint it in her dreams. He has black perfectly styled hair, is clear shave, has very dark black looking eyes, soft smile is playing on his lips.

"I must say, I have had worse. You have a good taste,” he says as he’s watching his hands. Abigail is confused: “Worse what?” He replies simply: “Bodies.” 

“Should I be afraid of you?” Abigail asks him, slightly scared. “Maybe. But as long as our pact lasts I vow to be your humble servant,“ he says with a slight bow.

They enter the house together. It appears to be empty inside. There is a thin layer of dust on the ground, it looks like nobody has been inside for a couple of months at least. All the furniture is wrapped up or covered by blankets, it's very dark. The whole house seems foreign to Abigail but at the same time she feels like she should know it. 

Abigail walks through the mansion, trying to find her room, remember something. Her legs seem to know the way but her head is hurting the more the more she tries to remember. Her new servant eyes her worried: “Are you alright, my lady?” placing a gloved hand on her shoulder, his touch is soft like a feather. She shakes her head. “Oh well it's not every day you come back from the dead. It probably took its toll on you. Maybe you should lie down.” he advices.

Her legs lead the way, eventually they end up  in a spacious kitchen. “Is this your room?” He asks rather confused. Abigail shakes her head, now noticing her rumbling stomach but there’s no food. Her servant suggests her to go to bed and he will bring her food there.

Her legs leads her to her room, large bed is standing in the middle, covered in dark blankets. He uncovers it in inhuman speed, preparing it for her. He lights a fire to warm up the room and helps her out off her dresses and shoes, preparing her to sleep. Then he rushes off. 

Abigail is nearly asleep when he returns, bringing multiple plates of food, serving them on a tablet over her legs. Where did he get all the food? How did he manage to cook it all so quickly? She’ll never know. She begins to eat, all meals tasting incredibly delicious and there’s far more than she could possibly eat. He watches her eat, then cleans up, tucks her into bed, wishes her goodnight and leaves her to rest.

Abigail is woken up by soft ray of sunlight and smell of fresh croissants. Before she can even open her eyes, she is wished Good morning by her new servant, offering her breakfast in bed, holding a tray of freshly baked croissants. She has another delicious meal. 

“I am not allowed to harm any human. You should be aware of that.” he says quite out of nowhere, surprising Abigail. 

“But you said you'd help me with my revenge…” to which he nods in agreement. “Without harming them? Can you assist in harming people? Can you harm animals?” Abigail asks, full of curiosity. 

“Animals are not humans. He only cares about you lot,” he answers, rolling his eyes while he’s cleaning up the breakfast. 

“He? Who’s he?” Abigail asks, watching her very fast servant. 

“Oh, our creator, of course. My father.” He grins devilish, helping Abigail get dressed, being her only maid now, in the same dress she wore yesterday. 

“Your father? As in the God? Who are you?” 

“I am your servant, that's all you need to know. I am bound to fulfil my contract with you. Whatever you think that may imply will count.“ 

“Are you the Devil or something?” Abigail watches him with a hint of fear but mostly curiosity. Did she make a pact with the devil? Who else would want her soul anyways, right?

“I had some people call me that,” he admits: “But I prefer you wouldn't, it causes ruckus on the streets. You may call me Lucian.”

They leave the room, Abigail exploring the mansion, trying to remember more about her life before she…died. Noticing that she has no other clothes - she’ll have to go shopping soon. 

Suddenly there’s knock on the door. Abigail jumps up, scared. Who is it? She sends Lucian to answer the door: “and don't tell them I’m here.”

From outside she can hear a male voice, higher than Lucian’s: “Uhm... Is Miss Maglocke here?”

“The lady is not here I am afraid. Who are you and what can I help you with?”

“I saw the light and thought maybe the Maglockes were back? Are you the new tenants?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Oh uhm right, my name is Whitlock, Oliver Whitlock, Sir. Are the Maglockes back? If so could you tell them I visited?”

"Very well, I will do so.” Lucian says in the end and closes the door, Oliver leaves.

[pumpkiwi]

“ The Farmer’s Daughter “

       I remember it all too well. My feet moved swiftly through the cornfield, my vision slowly decaying, barely catching my breath. The cold winds caused my running even more pain, and the moonlight didn’t help me much. I didn’t know what I was running from, I didn’t bother turning my back. For if I did, I’d be done for. The only thing I could hear aside from the ringing in my ears, was a girl singing a lullaby of some sort. I couldn’t make out the words at all. However, the singing wouldn’t stop. Suddenly, my foot met with a treacherous stone, concealed within the shadows, as if it were waiting for me. My body slammed hard into the dirt surface below. Letting out a sob, I pushed myself on my feet and looked up to see what exactly was chasing me.

A car horn blasted through my ears. I sat away from the taxi window, awaking from a cold sweat. Didn’t take too long for me to realize that it was all just a nightmare. A surreal nightmare.

“Outta my way, ya rats!” The old taxi driver barked in front of him. . His voice sounded like he had smoked seven cigarettes each and every hour of his life. He noticed me and flashed a ugly grin.

“I see ya finally awoke, old sport!” He chirped with glee. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Fine.” I answered back, “How far are we from the farm?”

“Ooh, only a few miles away! Don’t ya get yer panties in a bunch!”

The farm in question belonged to my uncle, Joe Norton. A large yet sweet man, heart full of gold. His hair matched mine, a copper brown. That was one of the few things we had in common. Despite that, I truly cared for him. That’s why I had to pack my bags and get to his farm as quick as I could. You see, ever since my cousin, Abigail, went missing this summer, things haven’t been the best. Not only was the grief unbearable, Uncle Joe told me all about how his crops were dying, as well as his animals. He didn’t have enough hands to help out. Being promised payment and food, I agreed to come.

“Oi, here we are, old sport! Badger Hill Farm!” The driver announced.

I took one look out my window and saw it: my childhood in mere ruins. Perhaps, I shouldn’t be too surprised. Uncle Joe was an old, divorced man with nothing but the pain and sorrow of his daughter’s disappearance. Strangely, he didn’t seem as worried as a parent should be. Maybe, he’s just keeping himself calm, as if it hasn’t been months. Poor bastard. Regardless, the farm gave me unnerving vibes. Maybe, it was just my anxiety kicking in again.

I escaped the taxi, waving the taxi man goodbye. There, on the ever so creaky porch, was Uncle Joe. His droopy eyes stared at his only company at this time. He then smiled.

“Good to see you again, my dear niece!”

I only huffed at his greeting.

“Nephew, Uncle Joe. I’m your nephew.”

“Right .. right. My apologies. How was the trip?”

“Fine.” I replied, “You doing okay yourself?”

The two of us went on a long conversation of each other’s lives, even though we already were pretty updated from our last call. As we talked, he took me around the maze of Badger Hills Farm. I knew it was going to be hard, from all the chores and tasks we had to complete. But, you would be surprised by my experience with farm life, even before my transition. So, it shouldn’t be too bad … right?

After a few exhausting days of cleaning, feeding and other various tasks, we celebrated with a small night of board games and chips. We played an old version of monopoly, as well as watched some TV for the first time in forever. His favorite show was this old black and white show that reran on some channel I’ve never heard of. It was about a vampire being neighbors with a werewolf, one of the episodes was about the human protagonist witnessing a murder being commited by one of the two. I liked it too. So, on that stormy night, we binge watched the hell out of it. Before one of the episodes could properly end, however, the lights shut off. As expected, it scared the devil out of me. But, Uncle Joe was happy to comfort me.

“Don’t ya worry yer butt off, Gabe.” He told me, rising up from his worn out chair. “I’ll go and take care of that.”

Uncle Joe grabbed the flashlight from the nearby counter and soon enough, left the front door, closing it behind him. There, I sat in the dark, alone. Funny enough, I used to be afraid of the dark, mainly of what could be in it. I’d always have my nightlight on, as if it would wear away any creatures or ghouls. Now that I was older, I knew better.

A shuffle of movement swimmed beside me. I jumped from my seat, glancing the direction it came from. Couldn’t have been a mouse, maybe a cat? Uncle Joe didn’t own a cat. Then, I heard it. That same singing from my dream. However, this time, I could understand the lyrics…

“ Wolves asleep amidst the trees

Bats all are swaying in the breeze

But one soul lies anxious wide awake

Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths

For your dolly Polly sleep has flown. “

The singing alerted me greatly. I didn’t stay for the song to finish. So much so, I dropped everything and bursted through the front door. Someone was in that house, I thought. I need to warn Uncle Joe. However, I couldn’t find him or the shed he must have been at.  What came next was similar to my dream. Running through the endless field in fear, unsure of who was coming after me, the endless singing of a song I had never heard of before. The rain had already taken a toll to my clothes, weighing me down as I ran. That unfaithful stone took out my ankle once more. I finally had a look at who I was chased back.

No… it couldn’t be…

There, floating up above me was my dearest cousin. Execpct, she didn’t look like herself. Her eyes were blank like a Tv screen, with a bloody rose covering her left eye, as well as an area around her chest. Her brown, long hair was as dirty as the ground below me and her outfit torn. I sat there, frozen in place, wondering if this was some sort of sick joke.

“ Abby..?” My eyes filled with tears, shaking at the cold, hard rain.

“What… W-hat happened to you? Why… what?”

Her gloved hands held out to me, as if reaching out to help me up. To my surprise, I could hold her hand. I rose up from the ground, still taking in what I was seeing. She released her grip and  stared down my soul before her haunting voice spoke:

“Follow me.”

Her body wasped through the air gently, making sure I was with her. There was no way in hell I would run off. But, despite that, I wanted to know why or what. What happened to her? Eventually, she led me to a now ruined garden. It had been blocked off from the farm itself, most likely due to the respect of Uncle’s daughter. All the flowers were deader than whatever she has been corrupted into. My nose cringed at a rotting and nasty smell.

“This is where he killed me.” She suddenly croaked, no emotions whatsoever.  

“Who..?” I nervously asked her.

“...Father.”

My heart stopped at her words.

“Uncle.. Joe? But … he’s old. And, he’s so sweet…”

“No.” A growl erupted from her. “He isn’t. He’s a murderer. He’ll kill you too if he finds out you know.”

I had to process this. All the things I had ever thought… is that why Uncle Joe was so calm about her becoming missing? I wanted to puke at the mere thought of it. A father killing his own daughter? Why? What was the motive?

“Why.. did he kill you?”

An index finger shot at the nearby flower beds. My gut twisted at what I even thought.

“You .. weren’t the only one..?”

She nodded firmly. I lifted the empty flower bed to reveal one of the almost decayed out corpses. The sight caused me to instantly drop the flower bed. I covered my mouth and nose to prevent myself from throwing up. This can’t be real. It can’t be. It has to be a dream.

Soon, bad news rolled in. The wet steps of mud trailed behind me. Uncle Joe stood there in the rain, holding a crowbar of somesorts. His happy smile that I always saw was twisted into a deep, dark frown.

“So… you found out, huh?” He questioned me. “You found her garden.”

It didn’t take long for me to realize what was going to happen if I stayed put. I was going to end up like Abigail. I raced over the fence and hopped over that bitch. He had thrown the crowbar at the fence, barely missing my back. Uncle Joe followed in pursuit, in a different route. I felt like I was in a horror movie, my heart pounding against my chest and running as quick as I could. I didn’t know where, but somewhere away from here.

“GET BACK HERE!” HIs voice boomed from behind me. “I AIN’T GONNA HURT YA! PLEASE, GABBY!”

I made it to that same dirt road I  entered from. A red pick-up truck happened to be driving on that said road. Taking my chances, I got in front of it, waving my arms fractionally at the driver. Luckily for me, he stopped inches away from me. Checking back on where Uncle Joe was, he near damned was right there. The driver must have seen him, waving me to get in.

In a panic, I hopped on the back of the truck, holding on the edge for dear life. The truck began to drive away as quickly as he humanly could.

I still remember seeing Uncle Joe standing in the middle of that road, watching me with cold, evil eyes. That day, I found out the truth about him and Badger Hill Farms. A death trap it was. He was planning on killing me off that night, and I know.

I have to report him to the authorities, about the missing cases and everything. But, that was going to be my next step. For right now, I took in my freedom with a sigh and laid back on that truck.

I was alive.

[alexandriteobscuraarchive]

~Can I have a drabble where Mell helps Nellie with a bad dream? (Rose manor verse)

His sleep hadn’t been sound at all—in fact he’d spent the majority of the evening in bed just tossing and turning. He wasn’t hot, wasn’t cold, but uncomfortable all the same. Mell had the feeling that his body was waiting for something—something horrible. He didn’t have to wait long.

A scream rent the air within the manor and Mell reacted immediately. He knew that scream, that v o i c e—!!!

“Nellie—!” He’s out of bed in a flash, his nightclothes billowing wraith-like around his ankles as he practically runs to his door. If it were any other time he’d let an abigail handle it—that was only proper after all. They were siblings yes, but nothing changed the fact that he was a male and males ought not enter a woman’s chambers—especially in the dead of night. But his sister….she was s c r e a m i n g.

Mell ran faster, moving down the darkened hallway with flashes of lighting spreading his shadow’s form ahead of him, a sinister implication rising to his mind unbidden. What if she was being attacked and he failed to get there in time?

But get there he did, bashing his way into her room with a force he felt himself incapable of up until that very moment. The room was dark; the candle by her bedside was unlit but he didn’t need it: he could see his sibling very, very clearly.

Nellie sat upright in bed, the bright, deathly pale moon of her face almost shining in the dark; the visage interrupted by her much too open mouth, a scream still pouring out of the dark, circular hole.

“NELL!!!” He felt he had to shout for her to even hear him, she was being that loud. He crosses the space between them in all of four steps and hurls himself at her, heedless of danger decorum. Mell wraps his arms around her as tight as he can but it’s almost useless—he sister is in a frenzy. Her screaming now broken by horribly loud sobbing as she c l a w s at him as he tries to hold her. “Nellie!! Nellie, stop!! it’s me–! It’s Mell, it’s me!!!”

His voice seems to reach her and the dig of her small, sharp nails changes—clinging now, clinging to the front of his nightshirt as her voice changes a third time: a choked wail of words.

“It was a wittttcchhh!! A witch was in here Melllll—! She said I’d–that you’d—Mell—Melll don’t let the witch get me, don’t let her—-”

“Ne–Nellie…!!”

She was holding onto him as if he were the only thing saving her from drowning; as if someone was only seconds away from tearing the two of them apart, perhaps forever. And how right that feeling was.

“Nellie please—there’s….there’s no one here, just us. It’s okay, it’s okay.” He said the same things he’d said the last time this happened—and although his face wore a strained smile; one he desperately hoped would help to calm her, the fear in his eyes was palpable. A witch. It was the exact same thing she said last time. Another dream about a witch. It was the EXACT same.

“N—nothing is going to happen, Nell. I’m right here. Your…your p r i n c e is here. I’ll protect you Nell, I promise.” It was a promise he’d fail to keep. Again and again and again.

The words—magic to his sister’s ears—help calm her. She was still crying, still trying to talk, but the slashing and the pulling of her hands had slowed almost to a stop. Mell settled a hand against the top of her head and pressed faintly until Nellie’s cheek lay against his chest. “It’s okay Nellie, it’s okay.” It wasn’t. Not at all. His hand stroked her tangled locks rhythmically in an attempt at lulling her back to sleep. “Go back to sleep Nellie, I’ll stay here with you.”

He didn’t care if he caught hell for it—he wasn’t leaving until his sister was sound asleep. It took a long time, his whispered endearments and soothing murmurs only allowed to stop when the night around had faded into a faint rosy pink of dawn.

That afternoon in the garden was the same as always; his sister played in the garden and collected the various roses and, ever the dutiful brother, Mell watches her as she skips to and fro. She showed no sign of remembering the nightmares of the previous nights and Mell kept them it to himself. And although he smiled at her as he always did and spoke warmly as he always did whenever his sister wasn’t paying attention his disposition faded into something dark.

Inside his mind and heart Nellie’s ‘witch’ lurked, busily sowing a black seed within their sunny garden.

[ohdeputy]

100 Letters PART IV

Arthur Morgan x John Marston

Words: 6,812

Read on Archive

Part III

-

Pain crept periodically in and out of existence for John, alongside his blurred vision. He felt no sense of time and his thoughts were not tangible. The only consistency being the agony of his wounds. His face was hot and sore, causing him much discomfort through his restlessness. He was sure he had a fever from the amount he was sweating.

What John could only assume were days that passed by as he lay bedridden felt like hours for all he knew. Sometimes he could feel splotches of sunlight against his skin cast through cracks from the nearby window and distant chatter of people around him. Abigail’s fussing also made it through the haziness every so often. He preferred to tune it out when he could, wishing she could just let him be. It was bad enough having to listen to her when he was fully conscious. Other than those instances he was surrounded by black.

For the most part, that is. Sometimes John swore he could feel someone’s hand holding his. Rough and slightly calloused, yet so gentle. It was always at night, from what he could tell. When no one else could be heard and the air was at its coldest, making him shiver in his sleep.

He had the creeping suspension that perhaps... No. He thought, there is no way. Feeling foolish for even thinking it was who he imagined and somewhat hoped it might be. Nevertheless, John always held on tightly, feeling a deep comfort at the contact.

Soon, he started to stay awake for longer than the short moments he could only manage before. He was still confined to the cot he lay on, but he was not in a permanent state of confused slumber any longer. The pain had subsided slightly, yet he still could not move his face too much.

The first time he awoke fully rested, he reached a hand to the fresh stitches holding together the deep slashes in his skin. He winced, partly from discomfort. He couldn’t help feeling a little sad over it, too. It was… strange. This sort of thing never really bothered him before. He’d been shot a couple times, injured in countless other ways and had never thought twice about it. His scars were deeper than physical, serving as a reminder of how he alone he felt on that mountaintop.

Just off to his side, he could see Abigail. Whether her expression was of anger or worry, he did not know.

“Hey.”

Her brow shot up, “hey?! Seriously, John Marston, that all you got?”

He closed his eyes, too tired to start this again with her.

“You are a silly, silly man. You really are.” She stood up from her seat, “eaten by wolves. Never heard of such a ridiculous idea.”

She sat down again, clearly indecisive with whether she wanted to leave or continue shouting at him. “Who gets themselves eaten by wolves? I mean really, who?!”

John breathed out through his nose in frustration, his tone curt as he responded, “I didn’t mean to, Abigail.”

Now Abigail sighed as she put a hand on his shoulder. Some of the anger had gone from her voice, “you never mean to but you always do. Always… trouble.”

“Well, I’ve certainly made my mistakes.” John blinked, looking away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she retracted her hand and he felt her intensive gaze on him.

“Whatever you want it to!” His words were a little more vicious than he intended, but he was fed up. He winced from the discomfort of moving his stitches as he spoke.

Her hand was back on him, “just shut up and get some rest.”

Underneath all the aggressiveness, John knew Abigail cared about him. He just could not understand her methods of showing it, most of the time finding her unbearably exhausting.

John continued to stay confined to the small bed for the next few days. He spent that time resting, and when he wasn’t asleep he listened to the people come and go around him. He would hear the hushed conversations between Arthur and Hosea, other times the soothing repetition of Javier sharpening his knife. One time he woke to sound of Miss Grimshaw shouting at the other girls. He pretended he was still asleep for fear of her shouting at him, too.

Throughout all of it, Abigail was always around. She mostly fussed about how foolish she thought he was, but also kept him updated on everything that was happening. When she told him how the gang finally planned to move on, he grew eager. Back down south, she had said, into the state of New Hanover. At this point he did not care where they went, as long as it was far away from the past. The land here was cruel and had already given him too much trouble.

Sure enough, once they were certain there would be no worry of another storm, they set a course south. John did not see much of it, since he was still too weak to do more than walk a few steps anywhere. After Abigail and Charles helped him into the back of one of the wagons, he did not see anything but the shifting of daylight across the canvas cover he lay under. Only emerging once they arrived at their new hideout of choice.

There, the first couple of days had blurred together. He was still not up to his usual strength, especially exhausted from their journey into the new state. He spent much of his time resting while the other gang members settled into the place around him. It was nice. Small, but not bad.

They found themselves in a clearing just beside a cluster of trees that kept them hidden well enough from any unwanted attention. At least for the time being. It had grown a lot warmer now that they were free of the snow, but a chill lingered that still caused his breath to hang in the air during the early mornings.

John had come to know this place as Horseshoe Overlook, having a wide view of the surrounding land. The lush forests and the winding Dakota River had become familiar to him from all the time spent confined to the camp. He couldn’t complain too much, though, as it was a sight to behold. Calming too, with sounds of nature all around him whenever he sat at his favorite spot just at the edge of camp. There, stood a tall oak that he would always situate himself under. Either with a book, propping himself against an old tree stump with a fresh cup of coffee, or his thoughts.

John could almost say he liked it here, but often he was reminded of the circumstance of their arrival. Blackwater always lingered in the back of his mind, lying dormant but never forgotten. He waited for the day where Dutch would properly address the complete disaster and wondered what he might say of Nico. He found himself looking over his shoulder more often, watching out for Dutch and avoiding him as much as he could. It got to the point where it may have even started to look suspicious. John couldn’t help it. He felt like a coward, but he could not bring himself to look at him.

When a week had gone by and still nothing was mentioned, John thought that the whole thing would pass by unspoken. So when he sat in his usual spot viewing the river below him, he was taken aback when he heard Dutch call for their attention.

“Everyone, gather round.” His voice came from the centre of camp, where he had set up his tent.

It wasn’t since Blackwater that he had last properly seen him. Since the day he had killed Nico and left John for dead. Because he was at the top of John’s list to avoid, and had managed it well enough, the realization hit him so suddenly. He originally thought Dutch might approach him once they had settled in. That he would corner him someplace to threaten John about what he saw back in Blackwater. To his surprise, it never happened. Dutch never once mentioned Blackwater since before the heist, and John had no intention of asking.

But it felt wrong. Not only for the horrors John faced at seeing his friend murdered in cold blood, but also for the ones they left behind. Jenny and Davey left in unmarked graves back in Colter, and the unknown whereabouts of Sean and Mac. After everything, John was left almost convinced that Dutch had put the whole mess completely behind him, never to be spoken of again. Until now.

When he hesitantly approached, their eyes locked momentarily. The blood in his veins ran cold like he was a deer caught in the sight of its predator. Fear seeped through his body when Dutch gave him a sadistic smile, and already John was preparing himself for the worst.

He joined the cluster of people around Dutch’s tent. Hosea and Arthur could be seen seated next to the gang's leader from recent conversation with him, looking a little tense. Others now stood around them, eager to listen to his speech.

“I just wanted to say how proud I am of all of you.” Dutch held a hand to his chest, feigning a sense of appreciation. John had to refrain from letting his face express how sickened he felt.

“Things may not have gone well in Blackwater, we lost some dear friends.” He paused to evoke some sort of sorrow around his words. “And we mourn them, we do. But we must stay diligent. We must carry on, or it was all for nothing!”

He looked at everyone pointedly, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his words, “would you have them die in vain? Davey, Mac? Jenny? Poor Sean?”

“We don’t even know if Sean is dead, it just looked like he was captured,” Lenny interjected, a couple of other murmuring in agreement.

“This is true.” Dutch nodded his head, “he may very well be alive. And if that is the case, we will bring him back safely. I promise you all-”

“What about Nico.”

Silence fell over the group as everyone turned to face Charles, who’d interrupted.  John was overwhelmed by a sudden appreciation for the man. Charles stared expectedly at Dutch, a couple of others turned to do the same. When everyone waited for him to answer, John noticed Hosea hanging his head. He thought the older man looked ashamed.

“Nico,” Dutch gave a heavy sigh. “She was like a daughter to me.” He looked off in the distance, eyes tearing up. He blinked and returned his attention back to everyone, his gaze turning dark. “But in the end she betrayed me. Betrayed us.”

He continued, “I regret to inform that it was she who alerted the law to our plans. I do not know what caused her to become a fraud within our midst, to take advantage of our hospitality," he spat the last word out. "After all this time to find out she was not who I thought she was.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Her real name was Heidi McCourt, nothing more than a mere charlatan who infiltrated our family for self-gratification,” Dutch spoke with conviction. He turned away taking the opportunity to become wistful once more, “I only wished I’d known sooner.”

The more he spoke, the more worked up John became. Heidi McCourt? Betrayal? He felt a hand on one of his, not realizing he had clenched it in anger. Turning to see Abigail, her expression was one that pleaded him not to do anything rash. John retreated his hand away from her.

“I say good riddance, she was a rat,” Micah snarled out once Dutch was finished. “They always weasel their way into groups.”

Arthur suddenly shot up from his seat. He looked furious, glaring at Micah, but didn’t say anything.

Micah made no attempt to hide his smug expression as he focused his attention on Arthur, “you know I’m right, Morgan.” He snickered a little before continuing, “but don’t worry, rats always get what they deserve.”

Arthur held a fist at his side like he was about to hurl it into the other man’s face. “At least we can agree on that.” He walked off without another word.

John left, too. Not wanting to stick around the conversation any longer. Abigail followed, but he didn’t give her a chance to catch up as he pursued the direction Arthur had stormed off in.

He found him not far from the edge of their new camp, his arms crossed as he leaned against a tree.

“Fucking Micah,” John said as he approached.

Arthur didn’t look up as he responded, “don’t get me started.”

“And I can’t believe that stuff Dutch said about Nico, he-”

“Oh, just leave it, Marston.” Arthur cut him off, his tone short.

John reeled back, caught off guard by the harshness of his voice. His surprise quickly turned to anger, “are you kidding me?” He tried to keep the volume of his words down so they wouldn’t be heard, but could barely suppress his aggravation, “don’t tell me you actually believe any of that horsecrap!”

Arthur turned on John now. “Maybe she did deserve it!” he snapped.

John blinked at him. Arthur winced, instantly seeming to regret what he said, “oh, I don’t know.” He pressed his fingers to his temple, turning away.

John could tell he was conflicted. Still, it was no excuse for saying what he did. They had both known Nico the longest, and Arthur’s doubts only confirmed how deep Dutch’s grasp was on him.

John walked away, not sure why he even bothered to try and talk to him in the first place. The impulsiveness of his actions suddenly catching up with him. He got too emotional, deep down still believing Arthur was a good man and knew right from wrong. It was what he might have thought, but was being proved otherwise again and again.

Miserably making his way back to his tent, he threw himself on the corner of his bed. Thankfully, Abigail wasn’t there. He did not feel like talking about any of what just happened with her.

With nothing else to do and a newfound frustration, he decided to call it an early night. Not realizing how tired he was until his head hit the pillow, instantly falling asleep.

When he woke the following morning, the camp was quiet. Much of the gang had dispersed, leaving the place a lot less occupied. Micah was gone, much to John’s relief. Hopefully without the intent of coming back anytime soon, either. Arthur, Javier, and Charles had left as well. Something about them going to check out the nearest town.

John itched to leave, too. He’d become so bored from not doing anything and was once again suffocated from the people around him. He heard the town wasn’t too far away and thought he might finally be well enough to explore it.

Abigail was back to nagging him, and the combined company of Uncle and Pearson was starting to drive him insane. But more than anything else, John felt an uneasiness at the particular presence of someone else. Unlike a lot of his adept peers, Dutch had stuck around. And after his speech from the day before, John wanted to be as far away from the man as possible. The only issue was his means of getting to the town.

John sat in his spot on the stump under the oak tree. He held a book open in his lap but had stopped reading a while ago. Now he pondered on a way to make it into town. Under any normal circumstance, he would take the journey on foot, with it only being down the road. He couldn’t take his horse because… He thought back to the night he got attacked by the wolves.

He shuddered at the memory, remembering the last time he saw his horse. The last image of her fleeing from the predators that stalked him.

Though, if he was being honest, that wasn’t his horse. His actual horse was still somewhere in Blackwater, abandoned after the unanticipated turn of events.

John was struck by guilt, he hadn’t had time to think about any of it since then, with everything that followed. All he remembered was being thrown on some random horse with Javier in their escape, leaving behind the mare he’d been riding for years prior.

“How are you feeling, son?”

John turned around to see Hosea approaching him, and shook off the memory. He gave a warm smile to the old man, “a lot better. Nearly fine… but not quite there, y’know?”

“Course I know. It must be boring for you, but I’m glad you’ve been letting yourself rest.”

John was nodding, “it’s been a tough few weeks.”

“That it has,” Hosea agreed. The old man looked away wistfully as if preoccupied with something of his own.

“I was, uh, thinkin’ of heading into town.”

Hosea raised his eyebrows, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah, looking to get myself a new mount.” John gave a sigh, “thing is I don’t got no means of getting there.”

“Why that’s no issue, just take ol’ Silver!”

John faltered, “It’s kind of you to offer, but… you don’t have to do that on my behalf.”

“Nonsense!” Hosea waved his hand in dismissal, “she’ll be happy to stretch her legs. It’s only Valentine you’re heading to. Please, take her out for me. I insist.”

“Well, alright… thanks, Hosea.” He nodded his thanks after getting up from his spot. Briefly, he stopped by his tent to collect his things, slipping his arms into his coat and grabbing his satchel before being was on his way.

He walked the short distance to where the horses were left to graze. There, he spotted Silver Dollar and mounted up. The horse barely even looked up as John lifted himself up onto the animal. The older mare had known John for years now, trusting him almost as much as Hosea at this point. When John was younger, he and Arthur would joke about how the two of them, Dutch, Hosea, and Silver were the original members of the Van der Linde gang before any others had joined. He smiled at the thought, giving the old horse a pat.

John took the hidden path out of camp, emerging from the cover of trees and onto the main path toward the town known as Valentine. The ride there was relatively quick, seeing the bustle of people come into view as the buildings became more abundant around him.

It was a decent place, with a gunsmith, doctors office and saloon as well as a hotel. There was also a general store and train station, but most importantly a stable.

Horses and wagons churned through the muddy streets. John rode down them at a steady pace to take it all in. Piano music and loud conversation flowed from the saloon as he passed by. The sound of hammer and steel could be heard off in the distance, too, the town alive with folk keeping busy all around him. He always enjoyed seeing the different civilized places he was brought to. Studying new and diverse people sometimes proved to be even wilder than the western lands that surrounded them. It was fascinating.

John approached the considerably large barn at the end of the main street. He could make out the name painted in white with big lettering across the wood just above the doors.

AMOS LEVI & SONS.

Upon entering, the smell hit him before he even saw any of the horses stabled within. “Looking for a horse, mister?”

John turned to see a man polishing a saddle. “Err, yes, I am.”

“Well,” the stable owner wiped his hands on his leather apron, “what takes your fancy? We’ve got Kentucky Saddlers, American Paints... lots of fast ones.”

He thought for a moment, not really knowing exactly what he was looking for. “You have any sturdy ones?”

“Like a warhorse, sir?”

“Sure, something like that.”

The man moved to a stable just across from where they stood. “Well, we got this here Hungarian Half-bred. She’s a beaut.”

John studied the mare. She looked strong, with a dappled grey coat that stretched across the wide, lean muscle underneath. “She sure is.” He brushed a hand down her neck, “how much for her?”

“Two fifty.”

John almost choked at the price, suddenly aware of how hollow the satchel strung across his shoulder was.

“Do you have anything similar for…um, slightly less?”

The stable owner shook his head, “I’m afraid she’s as decent as we get.”

John couldn’t help but think to himself that it was no wonder they’ve always stolen their horses in the past. He left the man with an apology and the lie of a promise that he would be back when he had more money.

With no horse and a newly acquired sour mood, John returned to where he had left Silver. He untied the reins but was unsure of what to do. He couldn’t go back empty-handed, the time would come when he would need to rely on his own mount.

He walked Silver through town aimlessly, eventually wandering toward another couple of barns surrounded by pens full of livestock. Sheep, pigs, chickens, cows, the place was full, putting in perspective just how self-sufficient this town really was. It seemed too many animals were present for it to only be a ranch, though. Upon further inspection, John noticed a couple of men walking around the pens, one with a clipboard in hand. It looked like he was counting each animal in their sections, and only then did John realize the whole place must be some sort of auction yard.

As the two men strolled closer, John could just make out what they were saying. “…if we move the pigs into that barn, this area should be good for the sheep we got comin’ in from Emerald Ranch,” the one with the clipboard said as he wrote something else down.

The other nodded, taking his hat off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Sounds good. I’ll let the boys know when it’s time. You was saying it were for later this season, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Then, if you don't mind my asking, sir, why you thinking about this now?”

“Oh, cause it’ll be a big one, Pete.”

John listened, all the while making a mental note. He was no sheepherder, but neither was he a complete fool when it came to knowing there was value worth investing, or in his case stealing, in livestock.

“John? John, is that you!” The formation of an idea was suddenly interrupted when he heard his name being shouted. He looked behind him to see a coltish man make his way to where John stood, giving an awkward wave as he did.

“Hey, John! It’s me!”

John squinted, still unsure of who exactly this person that seemed to know him so well was. His memory was struck with realization when the man gave a goofy smile,“…Reedus?”

Reedus nodded with the same amount of enthusiasm John remembered him having. Save for being even taller than before and growing out a wispy looking beard, the stable hand was still the same as when he’d last seen him.

“What’re you doing here?” John asked him.

“I’ve actually come looking to work in the stables here. Amos, the owner, was kind enough to offer me a place. I grew up near Valentine, so I thought it would be nice to be around my ma again. How ‘bout you, what brings you to town?”

“My gang’s hindin’ out not far from the place, seems we are well suited in living a nomadic lifestyle.”

Reedus’ eyes widened, “no kidding! How is Dutch n’ Arnold getting along? And that Hosea!”

John smiled, “real fine, Reedus.”

The man pulled at the reins he held onto, “I actually came by the auction yard tryna sell this here horse. Won’t be needing one since I’ll be workin’ in the stables.” He gave a reluctant laugh, “you wouldn’t happen to be in need of one, would you?”

John blinked in surprise, “uh, yeah, actually.”

Reedus’ eyes lit up, “well, fry me in butter and call me a catfish! He’s all yours if you’ll take him!”

John hesitated, “I… don’t have too much to offer, I’m afraid.”

He waved a hand, “don’t be worrying about that, please, he’s all yours.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, Reedus, I couldn’t possibly accept.”

Now Reedus shook his head, “Y’all have always been good to me, I insist.”

He held the reins out to John, who reluctantly took them. “He’s an old boy, but he’s young at heart. Loyal and sturdy, too. He’ll treat you well.”

John didn't know what to say. “Thank you, Reedus.”

They said their goodbyes shortly after, and John made his way back to camp with both Silver and his new horse. Old Boy, he’d decided to call him, since Reedus admitted he never actually had a name for him.

The saddle was worn but surprisingly comfortable enough during his ride back to camp. The horse gave him no trouble and over the next while he’d grown quite accustomed to Old Boy. He took the time to care for him with not much else going on in the following days other than trying to get word of where Sean might be. Only after about a month or so of being at Horseshoe Overlook was there talk of finally getting him back. Trelawny had apparently heard about him being caught and held by some bounty hunters near Blackwater.

Arthur had spent little time around camp, but one particular night when he was around John heard him discussing with Dutch and a few others about Sean’s supposed rescue mission. When word travelled, both Abigail and Hosea advised him not to go. He reluctantly agreed, not that he was particularly fond of going back to Blackwater. He just couldn’t help but feel useless at doing nothing but sit around camp.  

After a plan was put into place, Arthur, Charles, Javier, and Mr. Trelawny all rode out. Two days later they returned successful, coming back with worse company than they left with. John didn’t have anything against Sean, but the boy just didn’t know when to shut up. Already he filled the camp with his annoying rambling, though people didn’t seem too bothered. They mostly used the fact that he was back as an excuse to celebrate. So that evening crates of alcohol littered the campsite with people drinking and dancing.

The sound of laughter mixed with music flowed through the night air outside where he sat in his tent. Almost everyone was celebrating Sean’s return, though John didn’t feel too up for it. He was glad that everyone’s spirits were lifted for the first time in a while, but it just felt too soon for him to be taking part in the joyous occasion.

He grabbed his rifle and pulled aside the tent’s opening to leave. Thinking he might make himself useful at the very least, he headed toward the camp border to patrol it. He spotted Charles already at its edge, looking out into the surrounding forest.

“I can take over if you’d like.”

Charles turned to face him as he approached.

“Thanks brother, but I think I’ll leave the festivities for the others.”

“You sure? I honestly don’t mind.”

The other man gave a nod of his head, “I find more comfort amongst the trees, no risk of drunken social interaction. You should go enjoy yourself.”

John dropped his eyes, “No, I… I can’t. Not yet.”

Charles gave a look of understanding, “Yeah. I get that.”

The two men stood in together in a silence that was not uncomfortable. John always did like Charles, probably because he was one of the few of them who actually had his head screwed on right.

“You should still go to relax a bit. It might take your mind off things.”

He looked over to Charles again as he continued, “mind you, that doesn’t mean get blind drunk.”

John chuckled at that, “I hear ya. Alright, well, let me know if you want to swap out.”

“Will do. Try to take it easy, John.” Charles gave him a pat on the shoulder before continuing his route.

John was a little lost on where to go, but as he walked back he could spot Hosea sitting off to the side at a table alone.

“John, my boy! Come, come. Join me.” His words were already slurred though the night was still young.

He motioned with over-exaggeration to the spot just beside him. John had no choice but to take a seat there.

“Here, here, take a drink,” he forced a beer into John’s hands, sloshing some of the liquid on him in the process. If it were anyone else, John might have minded. But Hosea could never do anything wrong in his eyes, so he didn’t give it another thought.

“You never did tell me how you got on in Valentine, huh?”

“It was good, yeah.”

“Didn’t get into any trouble, then?”

John smiled, “Hosea, who do you think I am? ��Course not.”

“Goooood. Good, good,” the older man slapped the table a little. John didn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this drunk.

“That makes one of my boys. You know I tried to raise you decent, right? ‘Course Arthur had to go and make some trouble for himself in town, and, and… well, y’know…” the old man trailed off.

“Sure. You okay there, Hosea?”

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah…” His intense nodding slowly turned into his head shaking from side to side, “No, no…I don’t think so.” He frowned, “You know, I blame myself for Nico’s death.”

John was taken off guard by his sudden confession, he looked around wide-eyed in case anyone has overheard. He had said it a little loud, but nobody seemed to pay them any notice as the others sat around the campfire. Javier strummed away on his guitar, accompanied by the terrible singing of Karen and Arthur. Some others clapped along while Sean was already passed out in the dirt beside them.

John turned his attention back to Hosea, not understanding why he would say such a thing.

“How do you mean?”

Hosea sat slouched over the table now, his giddiness replaced by a somberness.

“I just.. I should’ve noticed. Something, anything.”

He looked up at John, eyes welling up. His heart twisted in pain from the sight.

“How could I not notice, John?” He said the words with such remorse, like he was actually asking him for an answer.

John was lost at how to respond, still not fully comprehending what the man was trying to say. Hosea was back to staring at his almost empty bottle. He looked at it intently and John knew he was somewhere far away.

“If I would have seen it coming perhaps I could’ve prevented her from turning away from us... I always tried, John, I did. With you and Arthur, too. She was misunderstood, I know that. But I loved her like she was my own.”

Worry was replaced by a wave of anger that boiled within John, having to sit and listen to a man who did not deserve the harsh treatment he was bestowing upon himself. Mistaking Nico’s distance for disloyalty when in reality it was nothing of the sort. He wanted to shout out the truth, that Dutch was the one to blame, not him. Yet, John held his tongue as he listened to Hosea blame himself. No matter how bad John wanted to tell him, he couldn’t. Hosea trusted Dutch too much.

“I cannot believe it. It almost sounds like one of my elaborate stories, doesn’t it?” He shook his head grimly. “Heidi McCourt…” he said under his breath. “And now she’s gone. An old man like me shouldn’t outlive a young girl like her. It just ain’t fair.”

John thought perhaps it might be the drink talking, but it sounded as if Hosea didn’t fully accept her betrayal as being true. Not that John could risk saying anything to him. And the little consolation it was, it still gave John the tiniest bit of comfort. Hosea wasn’t fully convinced, even if he wouldn’t admit it if he were sober, the thought was enough for John.

“Things… may have been complicated, but it wasn’t your fault Hosea. It wasn’t your fault.” He emphasized the statement to try and convince him.

Hosea gave a forced smile, blinking away tears. “You would say that, son.” He gave a heavy sigh before getting up from his chair, “I think it’s about time to call it a night.” Before John could say anything else, he stumbled off toward his tent, leaving John to wallow in the weight of their conversation alone.

The prospect of drinking now became tempting after the exchange. He picked at the label on his untouched beer. The singing had stopped a while ago so the night was filled with its usual sounds once more. People still drank around a fire that was far from burning out, just with much less enthusiasm. He thought he might turn in, too, until he heard someone call out to him.

“Joooooooohhhhhhnnnnnnn Marston,” the unmistakable voice of Arthur Morgan called through the air as John saw his form blundering toward him.

“Now don’t you start.”

“Ohhhhhh, take that stick out of your ass, Marston.”

He raised his brow at that. Arthur took some uneasy steps toward the table John sat at, sloppily flopping into one of the empty seats. He was obviously quite drunk. John watched his delayed movements as he slammed down the whiskey bottle he gripped in his hand.

His lids hung low as he swayed a little in his spot. As disoriented as he was, Arthur still managed to focus on John. He gave a little smile, and John had to look away. Even after all these years, Arthur could still make him flustered just by looking at him like that. He felt so stupid for letting the other man affect him so much, like they were still young kids sitting on a roof sharing candies. He knew full well things could never be like how they once were, but still his eyes darted to see if Arthur was still looking. And he was.

John cleared his throat, avoiding Arthur’s gaze once more. He looked around them, seeing the low light of Dutch’s tent at the other end of camp. John knew he had retired to his quarters with lady O'Shea quite early.

“Ohhhh loosen’ up, John. Dutch ain’t comin’ out.”

John was surprised by his quick wit despite being far from sober. He was about to respond when  Arthur continued. The ramble he went on was one John did not anticipate, making him second guess that perhaps he wasn’t really with it at all.

“So I went to Valentine, right, nd somehow managed to get into a fight.” He raised his hands innocently, “don ask mehow, I do not know. But we was fightin’ and this guy, this BIG guy was comin atchu from what I could see from the corner of meye, since, uh, this other sonovabitch was comin at me. But I knocked him out in one punch, so I go, ‘don worry Jahn, I gotchu!’”

Arthur paused to wheeze, “but it wasn you! It was Javier, nd he looks at me like whaaaat? Nd then BOOM, gets hit square in the jaw, nd. Well, I just. It sounded funnier in my head.”

Silence followed briefly after he finished. John could now make out the cut that split Arthur’s bottom lip, and how it was slightly swollen. John eventually responded, “… well, did you get the guy?”

Arthur blinked, eyes wide like he was reliving the tragic event all over again, “let’s jus say things escalated nd we nded up takin' the fight outside.” His voice drifted off slightly, “it were real muddy.”

“That sounds like quite the trouble you got into.”

“It weren’t jus me! Charles were there, too. Nd Bill, mmpre sure he started it. Nd you’s was there! Expect it were Javier stead o’ you.”

Arthur pressed his lips to the bottle of whisky, and John almost missed it as he mumbled, “you never come no more.”

John was sore just from the thought of the brawl. “I don’t think a bar fight would have been the best thing for me in my state.”

Arthur nodded, “mmprobably best.”

Another pause followed, John finding a certain comfort in their silence. The only source of light came from the low burning candle placed in the middle of the table, flickering across Arthur’s face and making his features dance.

It would be so easy to tell him. John didn’t know why the thought suddenly struck him. Maybe it was after everything he had gone through in the short span of the last couple weeks. Nico getting killed so easily and John’s close brush with death combined, life just seemed so fickle. To just to put it out in the air was so tempting. Arthur probably wouldn’t even remember the following day.

Dutch lied. About everything. I cared for you. I still care for you. I wrote you a letter every damn day and he burned each and every one of them to stop you from ever knowing…

Deep down John knew he wouldn’t say it. It was selfish. He couldn’t drag Arthur into all this, not now. Even if he did believe John, it could cause catastrophe, swaying the very foundation of the gang they’ve dedicated their lives to.

Perhaps after all this time, it had turned into John protecting Arthur from the truth. To avoid any more unnecessary damage. John already felt broken to the point beyond repair. But Arthur, he didn’t deserve to have his life completely turned upside down. For everything he knows to be a lie. At this point, it would just be a burden for him to know the truth.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, John didn’t notice Arthur moving closer until he took up most of his vision. John blinked back to reality, noting the way Arthur focused his attention on him, squinting his eyes a little as if he were trying to study John.

“Yur heal scarred up pre well.”

It took a second for John to understand what he meant, then he snorted, “you mean my scar healed up pretty well?”

Arthur frowned in confusion, “isn’t that what I said…”

John cracked a smile, unable to stop himself laughing at Arthur’s drunken foolishness. Arthur began laughing, too.

“What’re we laughing at?” Arthur asked him.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re laughing at, but I’m laughing at you. You’re ridiculous.”

It took a moment for Arthur’s stupid grin to slowly disappear as he processed what John had said. “Hey, thas not very nice of yoummarston.”

“Apologies, Mr. Morgan.” John tried to keep himself from seeming too amused, his efforts futile as he cracked up once more.

As if he had already forgotten, Arthur joined in again. He slapped his knee like John just told the funniest joke and the world seemed to stand still around them, making him briefly forgot about all his troubles. It was nice. Too nice, like it was too good to be true. John felt like they were teenagers again, getting up to no good with the fear of being caught by a scolding adult, all while acting like they could conquer the world. Talking similar to how they once did sparked that same nostalgic courage, like they could do anything. But they couldn’t, and the moment passed just as fast as it had come.

“I should, uh, go.”

“Yeah, alright, Marston. You always do.” He said knowingly, taking another swig of his whiskey bottle.

It was hard to get up from his seat. John wished he could let the moment last, but it felt…wrong. He didn’t want anyone to see the two of them like this. So he just smiled and turned away, slowly letting it fall away from his lips when his back was to Arthur.

He did not know whether it hurt less or more to talk with him like it was old times again. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, but it was a harsh reminder of what he could not have. A taste of what they once did have. And it only left John desperate for more. It was dangerous, he knew, and much too risky. And he knew It couldn’t happen again.

[veryangryhedgehog]

“The Product of Sacrifice,” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

Buttercup lay on the cot in the cell, pretending to sleep. Though her heart had been nervously thumping in her chest for hours, she tried to remain realistic. What were the real odds of escape, that the Doctor had come up with a viable plan to get her out of here? Next to none. The man was intelligent, but emotional. Clearly, Buttercup reminded him of his daughter.

It was depressing how easy people had become to read, like the world around her had morphed into a bad soap opera. Nothing was hidden from her view. Would it be any better outside? That was the one thing Buttercup couldn’t deduce.

The seconds ticked away as she lay there in the dark, wondering when the Doctor would come, if he would come at all. Then, distantly, she heard it: a heartbeat. Fast, panicked, and coming down the hall towards her cage.

She didn’t dare move a muscle. If they sensed and movement from her, any intention of escape, there would be consequences. Even when he opened the door, she stayed perfectly still.

“I’ve disabled the cameras,” he whispered, and only then did she sit up and snap the chains that held her down on the bed, easy as breaking a toothpick. The Doctor gulped at the sight. “But we have to hurry,” he continued, “They won’t be down for long.”

He threw her a bag, filled with clothes. “P-put these on,” he said, turning his back. “They’re my daughter’s. You’ll be a lot less recognizable with real clothes on.”

It was true that the grey prison shift she had worn for god knew how long stood out quite a bit. Without hesitation, she pulled it over her head and began to dress. The underwear was scratchy—it’d been so long since she’d been allowed to wear any—and the shirt was covered in flowers that hurt the eyes.

The Doctor turned back around, and smiled, bemused at the obvious reaction. “She’s refused to wear that shirt,” he admitted. “Says it’s too ‘kiddish’. I try but I don’t really know what nine-year-old girls want to wear.”

He was the one buying clothes for his daughter. That meant she probably didn’t have a mother to do so instead, Buttercup inferred immediately. She wanted to ask about it, but this wasn’t the moment to pry.

“Oh, your hair.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two hair ties. She took them, and tied her hair into two small pigtails.

“So the plan is just to walk out of here?”

He nodded.

“That’s surprisingly clever,” she offered. “Though it still probably won’t work.”

“W-what makes you say that?” he seemed concerned.

“Pessimism mostly.”

It was a lie, but it seemed to make him feel better.

“A-are you ready?” he asked. He clearly wasn’t, but she didn’t mention it. Buttercup simply nodded, and allowed him to open the door.

The Doctor nearly froze up, but when no alarms sounded he seemed to calm, and began to walk forward. Buttercup held his hand and together they walked down the bright, sterile white hallway together.

For a minute, everything went according to plan. They walked achingly slow down the hallway, while Buttercup listened for the hum of the closest elevator. It was close, just at the end of the hall, right around the corner. But at the pace they were going, it would take an eternity to reach it.

They were nearly halfway there when a woman in a lab coat turned the corner ahead of them and headed their way.

“Dr. Hodge,” the woman smiled and waved. “Good evening.:

But Buttercup tensed. She knew that voice. It was the woman that spoke to her over the intercom. But if she knew the woman, that meant that the woman also knew her.

Buttercup buried her face in the Doctor’s side, trying to appear childlike with the added bonus of hiding her face.

“Is this your daughter?” the woman asked, far too close for comfort.

“Uh… yes,” the Doctor stuttered. “Her nanny was sick so I had to take her in with me.”

“That’s a shame,” Buttercup could hear the woman shake her head before leaning over to address her. “Abigail, right?” she asked, but Buttercup dare not respond.

The Doctor’s hand had become sweaty. “She’s a little shy…”

But this woman was pushy. “it’s alright, dear,” she said, grabbing Buttercup’s free arm. “I’m a friend of your dad’s…” then, she pulled. Buttercup was trapped. If she resisted, the woman would know she was far too strong for a child her age, but if she saw her face…

Buttercup let herself be pulled, hoping against hope that somehow the woman wouldn’t recognize her. But of course, the instant she saw her face, the woman straightened in surprise.

“You…” she managed.

“Run!” Buttercup commanded, and she and the Doctor took off towards the elevator.

“Security!” The woman screamed, and Buttercup winced. The Doctor was slowing her down. Without him, she would be at the elevator right now. But she couldn’t leave him behind. He was an accomplice now. If they caught him… Buttercup didn’t want to think about what they would do.

Two security guards had already fallen in behind them as they turned the corner. Ahead, there was one more, but he had been sleeping, for he blinked blearily and looked at the incoming cacophony in confusion.

Buttercup briefly let go of the Doctor’s hand. Using the wall as a spring, she flew through the air and landed a roundhouse kick to the man’s jaw before he even knew what was happening. He fell to the ground, the second after the sickening crack reverberated through Buttercup’s leg. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the Doctor’s hand again and they ran into the elevator.

“What are you doing?” The Doctor asked as Buttercup hit the button for the second top floor.

“They’ll be waiting for us at the top,” she explained. “So we’ll go to the second floor and sneak right past—”

But just then the door opened and the words died in her mouth. Because for the first time since becoming a Paragon, Buttercup had made a mistake, the only one she was capable of: she had underestimated the enemy.

Twenty guards stood directly outside the elevator, pistols pointed directly at them. Buttercup raised her hands in surrender, but her heart dropped as she heard the click of twenty safeties removed. They weren’t going to give them a chance.

“No!” she shouted, trying to throw herself in front of the Doctor. But he small body was never going to be an adequate shield.

Even before she hit the ground, her own torso littered with bullets, she knew that he was dead, the absence of his brainwaves was deafening.

~~ o ~~

“I’d like to go over the events of three nights ago again for the record,” the woman in the lab coat sat across the metal table from Buttercup, who couldn’t help noticing the slight redness around her eyes, from tears or lack of sleep she couldn’t place. Possibly both. Why did I scream, I didn’t think they would kill him, this one was particularly easy to read. “Specifically in regards to the involvement of Dr. Aaron Hodge.”

Buttercup took a deep breath. She knew what she had to say. “I used him,” she stated. “As soon as I caught wind of his sympathies towards me, I immediately began work on strengthening them. I reminded him of his daughter, it was child’s play.”

The woman’s face hardened. Yes, that was good. Hate Buttercup. They already did anyway.

“After that, it was an easy task to swipe the keycard from his pocket and escape my cell. I took the Doctor hostage in order to blend in. Unfortunately, the guards called my bluff and killed him.”

A pause. She didn’t want to say this part.

“He was slowing me down anyway.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, a curious expression there. “That will be all,” she said, and stopped the recorder in between them. Then, not wasting a second, she leaned forward and said. “If that’s true, then why did you try to save him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You could have avoided getting shot easily, taken out all of those guards, and escaped without so much as anyone else hearing a sound. And yet, you jumped in front of Aaron instead. Why?”

Buttercup watched her carefully. “Is it so hard to believe that I still have a modicum of human decency?”

Though she opened her mouth, the woman quickly closed it again. She nodded, just once, and stood, making to leave.

“Tell them what I told you,” Buttercup looked downwards. “Please.”

The woman paused.

“There’s a little girl out there named Abigail who’s now all alone in the world. It would be much better for her to go through the rest of her life believing her father was a hero.”

………..

“I will.”

[elfnerdherder]

Magnum Opus: Chapter 24

You can reach Chapter 24 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 24:

           He slept, but he did not sleep. It came in blurred images, shifts between dreams and muted realities so that they blended to an unrecognizable nightmare.

           “Where am I…?”

           “I found you outside, you collapsed. You’re running a fever, Will. What’s happened?”

           Hands passed over arms, legs, wrists, feeling, touching, caressing. Blood spattered across a concrete floor, and Charlie cried in agonizing horror, begging to let it end, begging to let it…

           “Stop lying, j-just stop lying to me, please!” Begging. Hands grasping, gripping, kneading against threads that hold and do not break, arms that ensnare and do not let him get away. A blue light flashes, flashes. With each flash he is farther gone, and he cries, teeth gritted against the ache that builds just at his temples, screaming for release, clawing for the small bit of relief, just one more dose of pain medicine, just one more to keep it away…

           The feeling of falling, falling, falling, though there is no ground to fall to, no place where he will land. An eternity of darkness gives chase, suffocates him until every last drop of breath is gone.

           “You’re in a safe place. You’re safe. When you close your eyes, you will feel calmness, serenity. No harm can come to you here.”

           Nicholas Boyle does not lunge, does not fight. He is terrified –why? Reaching for him but he’s dead, he’s gaping open in the air, and the kisses taste like triumph, a bitter, ugly victory.

           “You’re going into shock. I can help with that.”

           No, no, no, no, no…

           Jared Freeman speaks through him, and he sees it is not his skin anymore, but a patchwork quilt of all those he’s tainted, ruined. He’s running, sprinting, but someone stops, reaches palm to palm in holy palmer’s kiss. It’s not enough –it’s a lie. He lifts the gun and shoots, and it’ll be over soon, it’ll be over soon.

           “I killed him, I feel like I killed him, oh my god –what am I? What am I?”

           The cold, the snow, the headlights. He’s drowning on air, but he sees everyone is breathing fine. The ravenstag impales him, and it takes the hit of the car, harming him but ultimately saving his life in the process. He goes flying, and as he lays in the dark, dark forest, he passes hands over his wounds, thinking that if this is how he’s going to go, at least no one had to see him fall.

           “Will?” Abigail asked, and Will opened his eyes. He was in Abigail’s bed at the institute, the short distance between them shared by the quiet whisper of his name. He stared at her face, features sharp in the muted light, and he reached up, brushing away a stray hair. She allowed the touch, although her gaze narrowed when he shivered.

           “I don’t know how I got here,” he confessed, and he pressed his head to the pillow to ease the pounding in his skull.

           “You came in through the same window I sneak out of,” she replied. He thought that it would be appropriate to sit up, to put distance between them and what Abigail was capable of, but every inch of him ached, and breathing was too difficult. He lay on top of the covers with her underneath, her hands placed under her head as a prop. It was alright to lay still for a little while; it was alright.

           “Did you sneak out after last time?” he asked when he could speak again.

           “Only once,” said Abigail. Her eyes traced his face, and she inhaled sharply, finding something awful there.

           “To see Hannibal?”

           “It’s not always to see Hannibal. Sometimes to just sit in the park you and I sat at, once. Before everything fell apart.” Will knew the park. He nodded, and he was there between Alana and Abigail, staring at the vast expanse of a world that got along far better than he could. Things were better then. Tentatively grasping, but at least he had a hold. Something tainted the park, though, something with nothing but a black abyss for eyes and antlers stained with blood. The memory was no good, and he shook his head rapidly, whining low in his throat.

           “I feel like I’m drowning, Abigail,” he said quietly. “And I’m losing what little grasp I had over myself.”

           “Do you think you’re my dad?” The question was presented with wide eyes. She froze, and he thought of the first time Hannibal had cornered him, how he’d frozen as well –no one liked to talk about the prey that froze. No one liked to talk about the prey that knew no matter what they did, they were trapped. It was to acknowledge that sometimes, fighting or fleeing didn’t work, the same way that freezing didn’t work. Sometimes, one was trapped before they ever even began.

           “I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t understand what I’m capable of…I’m bleeding into the skins of people I’ve never even met.”

           “Not a skin that hates me, though?” she asked.

           “Not even close,” Will promised. Abigail nodded, and the tension left her shoulders. They were two secrets compressed on a small twin bed in a psychiatric institute, and for the moment, the world was holding its breath.

           “Hannibal said you’re having a hard time,” she informed him when he didn’t say anything else. He swallowed heavily and nodded.

           “I am,” he agreed. Hannibal, Hannibal; there was something about Hannibal.

           “You look like you have a fever,”

           “I do.”

           “Why did you come here, then?” She blinked slowly, languidly at him. Will laughed, a hiss of air between his clenched teeth.

           “You’re the only thing that I have left,” he said. “Isn’t that sad?”

           “A little,” she said, and they shared a smile, one of savagery and horror alike, like they could somehow make it better if they suffered together. That was the truth for survivors, though, and that’s what they were. Will just wanted to know when he could finally stop living like it, when he would finally stop seeing the monster in the mirror.

           “I think maybe I should check into a hospital,” he said, and she nodded.

           “You look like you should check into a hospital.”

           “I won’t stay the night, don’t worry. I don’t want you to get into trouble. They’ll think I’m taking advantage of you.” Abigail snickered at that, her eyes rolling dramatically.

           “Hannibal told me that the two of you were lovers,” Abigail revealed, and even she seemed shocked by her words. Her hands moved to cover her mouth, like she could somehow reel them back in, and Will was horrified to discover the emotion underlying his reaction wasn’t disgust or discomfort, but a steady pulse of pleasure. Was that the thing about Hannibal? They were lovers? Hannibal said they were exclusive? God, he couldn’t even remember something as important as that anymore.

           “Is that what he said?”

           “Is it true?” she pressed. He shook his head, mouth gaping to try and find the words.

           “I don’t know what we are. I don’t feel like I know anything anymore, at least; not enough to answer with conviction.”

           “But you long for him,” Abigail said, and it appeared that whatever expression was on Will’s face, it was enough for her. “You want to be with him right now.”

           “I do,” Will said quietly. “But I’m afraid.”

           “What are you so scared of?” she asked. “What does Will Graham have to fear above all else?”

           “What if I’m not enough? What if in the end…I destroy myself?” Abigail reached out, and she pressed her palm to his heartbeat, staring at it intently. She glanced up at Will, and she smiled gently.

           “You survived me,” she said, and that was all that Will needed to hear. He grabbed his coat, and he snuck through the window, ignoring the biting chill of the late night, as it protested his presence. Short, curt puffs of air billowed from his lips, and he climbed into his truck, firing it up. He blinked, and frantic, trembling hands shook as it steered him towards freedom, towards safety. He blinked again, and he was driving with a steady grip, heading towards a house he’d driven to for many times before. When he reached it, he put it in park and strode towards the door, knocking on it with short, heavy bursts, his fingers tapping and drumming against his pant leg erratically.

           When Hannibal opened the door, expression guarded, Will did not hesitate. He threw his arms around his neck and kissed him, all of his fear, his rage, and his confusion melting away, leaving nothing but the taste of his lips and the heat that radiated off of him in intoxicating waves. Hannibal was surprised for only a moment. When he realized who it was, he dropped something with a clatter and grasped at the door, yanking it closed against the cold as he hungrily moved his lips against Will’s. There was a fumbling of hands, of teeth that crashed against one another as they pressed too close. There were no words; words were long since burned away, nothing but a primal, dark need to devour, to consume.

           Will pressed him against the wall in the hallway and dragged his tongue over Hannibal’s lips, hands roving over his chest, his shoulders, and along his neck. He tangled his fingers in his hair, and he dragged his teeth along his lips, needing. Wanting. Hannibal groaned, a low rumble in the back of his throat, and he pushed back, slamming Will against the opposite wall as his body slid along his, thigh pressed taut between his legs. Will was trapped from knee to chest, unable to do anything but let out a low, agonized groan as Hannibal undid the snaps to his coat, yanking it off of him and throwing it to the ground, his breath smooth and even despite the way his heart thundered against him as he rubbed his thigh against his growing desire.

           Will wasn’t quite sure how they managed to get from the hallway to the bedroom; everything was a blur of clothes, of teeth on pleading skin, of pauses between fumbling footsteps as they stopped to steal another taste. Will found himself on his back on Hannibal’s bed, Hannibal sliding along his body sensually, slowly. His hips pressed to Will’s, acknowledging his arousal with a teasing pressure, and his gasp was swallowed up as Hannibal pressed a lazy, deep kiss to his lips. Will was drunk off of it, and as Hannibal paused, poised above him, he opened his eyes and stared, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

           “Do you know what you’re doing?” Hannibal asked, his voice gravel. He let go of Will’s side to reach up and slide his fingers over his cheek.

           “I haven’t been this much in control of myself for a long time,” he replied, and he grabbed Hannibal by the back of his head, pulling him down for another spine-tingling kiss that left him reeling, stars behind his eyelids as Hannibal showed him just how much he wanted to consume him.

-

           He woke late; laziness was a drug that’d soaked into his skin and left him sunk into the pillows and blankets piled about him with languid bliss. Sunlight spilled across the bottom of the bed, and Will opened heavy-lidded eyes to study the slant of it, a sleepy groan passing his lips. He rubbed his head and considered sitting up, but the effort was too much. His thumb brushed along his bottom lip, and he could still taste Hannibal’s skin. At the thought of it, he smiled ever-so-slightly and arched his back, rolling over to press his face to the pillow.

           Just at the edge of the bed, Charlie Yorkman watched without eyes.

           When he found it in himself to get up, he debated taking a shower, but he tossed that idea aside. For the first time in a quite some time, he felt that his skin was his own, and he could still feel every inch of it that’d been touched. He didn’t want to ruin it. He nudged his feet into his jeans that were discarded by the bedroom door, then found his shirt in the hallway about halfway down. Part of him wondered where Hannibal was, and if he minded the mess of clothes strewn about –he decided it wasn’t important. He followed the scent of cooking meat, and he found Hannibal poised over the stove in the kitchen, making breakfast.

           “Good morning,” he said, ducking his head. He couldn’t quite meet his gaze, somehow sheepish now that he was wearing yesterday’s clothes. Hannibal looked up, studying from head to toe before he smiled.

           “Good morning, Will,” he said lightly. “Did you sleep well?”

           “I did.” Will walked closer and paused, keeping the island between them. “I’m…sorry for bursting in like that.”

           “On the contrary, I found it rather pleasant,” Hannibal said, adding a pinch of salt over whatever was in the pan. “When you surprise me in the future, it should be more along those lines rather than lost time and disappearances that result in my almost calling Agent Crawford.”

           “What?”

           “Do you remember your visit to my home just two days ago?” Hannibal looked back down to his work, elegant fingers dancing over the minced and chopped herbs and onions.

           “…No.” Will’s neck grew hot, and he gripped the counter top.

           “You collapsed in my front yard Tuesday afternoon, and by the time I found you, you’d been unconscious for some time. I was able to regulate your temperature and lower the fever, but you became erratic upon waking. You left despite my protests, and I didn’t hear from you Wednesday or Thursday.”

           “…What’s today?” Will asked hollowly.

           “Friday morning.”

           “…Oh,” he said, and that’s all that he could say. His fingers pawed at his phone and opened it, but there were no messages or missed calls from his father or Jack. He looked at the text messages, but the last one was from Beverly on Tuesday, confirming homework. He shut the phone with a snap and set it on the counter, nodding.

           “I lost time,” he informed Hannibal. Hannibal nodded gravely.

           “You lost time.” He stirred a few things around in the skillet and frowned down at it, like it could solve his problem. Will sat down on one of the stools, and his fingers dug into the cushion of it, like it could rip it in two with will alone. His rear twinged with a pleasant sort of ache, distracting.

           “I remember waking up at a crime scene…I thought I’d killed them.”

           “Is that what you last remember?” Hannibal asked.

           “That’s why I came here,” Will said slowly. “I don’t remember going to the crime scene, I don’t remember…” He stopped. Started again. “Someone murdered Charlie.”

           Saying it made it real. He leaned across the island and buried his face in his hands, fingertips pressed roughly to his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to fall. His eyelids burned, coals against his retinas, and he shuddered.

           S-stop lying –please stop lying to me!

           You’ve had a seizure…

           “That was the crime scene he took you to?” Hannibal asked. He stopped cooking and walked around the counter, grabbing Will’s shoulders gently. “You don’t remember going?”

           “I’d have said no; I don’t remember ever saying yes,” Will whispered. He allowed himself to be turned, and he lifted his head to look up at Hannibal, teeth gritted together tightly.

           “My condolences, Will.” Hannibal said, squeezing his shoulders tightly. “I know he meant something to you.”

           “When I came to… I felt like I’m the one that killed him,” he confessed, and he reached up to grab Hannibal’s hand tightly. “Anyone that gets too close to me becomes endangered. What if that’s what I’m doing when I lose time? I don’t know the Will that’s Will when I lose time. I feel like I’m drowning on air, like I’m forcing myself under, and I…I can’t fathom what it is I do when I can’t remember. What if I’m-”

           “The one that’s killing them?” Hannibal suggested. It stopped Will cold, and as he stared at Hannibal, a calm, light glow from the window outlined him. It was ethereal, peaceful. Will swallowed heavily and looked down, blinking rapidly.

           “I think,” he said slowly, “that I should see a medical doctor.”

           “Are your headaches worse?” Hannibal asked, lifting a hand to his head. He felt his temperature, then released him, moving to oven as it pinged.

           “Yes.” Hannibal hmm’d under his breath at that, and he turned as he removed something from the oven, the smell of freshly baked potato filling the air. It contrasted the somehow bleak, tepid air that draped around Will oppressively.

           “If they could bring some insight to your position, it’s for the best. What happens if it is not neurological though, but mental?”

           “What do you mean?” Will asked, looking up.

           “What are you going to do if they run the tests on your brain and it’s not a neurological illness, but a mental illness?” He set the pan down on oven mitts on the counter, leaning in to inhale the scent.

           “…Probably try and find someone that can treat that,” he said reluctantly.

           “You don’t trust me to?”

           “Is it really ethical to? If we…” His voice trailed off, and he coughed to dispel the pressure in his chest. He looked down and traced over his wrist, almost able to see the kiss marks Hannibal had left behind there. From over his shoulder, Charlie peered down to see, too.

           “That is a fair statement,” Hannibal said. “Although, as I said before, I’m not your psychiatrist. I’m your friend.”

           He served a salmon quiche, Will to his right at the elegant dining room table. When Will would look up from his food, he’d find Hannibal watching him, a small, delicate smile on his lips. It made him self-conscious in a heady, dizzying way, and he looked back to his food, taking another bite. His left hand rested on the table, and halfway through the meal, Hannibal reached over and lightly caressed it, encasing Will’s hand in his own to hold. Will looked at it, then to his face, and he swallowed his food with difficulty. He made no move to remove his hand.

           “I must correct my earlier statement,” Hannibal said lightly, like they were discussing the weather. “We are far more than just friends, Will.”

           “…Oh,” Will managed. He swallowed his food and nodded, a short laugh bursting from him. “That’s a relief.”

           “And I do offer my sincerest condolences. Would you like to talk about what happened at the crime scene, when you saw your friend?” That stopped his smile cold. He grimaced, and the blood pooled between them, hands without arms that lay in the loss of life, forgotten.

           You take them fishing?

           I take them fishing.

           “I don’t want to think about that right now,” he said hollowly, taking another bite of food. It turned to ash in his mouth, dry and rotten. “I think that’s…something I’d actually just like to forget entirely. One of the few things I’d trade if I got a better memory instead.”

           “Is that why you came here? You needed help replacing it with something else?” Though faint, a sliver of apprehension slid through his question. Will shook his head.

           “I wanted something real. Something…tangible. When I closed my eyes to think about what I wanted most in the world, all that I could see was you.”

           “I’m happy to oblige,” Hannibal said, and Will heard the smile in his voice.

           “You’re going to get eaten,” Jared said from across the table. He glared at Will, and it was the most tangible he’d been in a long, long time. Will forced himself to swallow his food, and he stared at the image, frozen. God, he needed to see a doctor.

           Hannibal saw Will to the door after breakfast, when they’d collected all of his things from the hallway to the bedroom. At the slight tear near one of the buttons on his shirt, Will laughed, then Hannibal laughed, and they stood in the hallway, arms full of clothing they’d been in such a hurry to remove that they’d ripped them to pieces. When he got into his truck, he headed towards home and decided that everything was going to be alright.

           It had to be.

           Such ideals, while optimistic and hopeful, are ultimately, tragically wrong. When Will pulled up to the house to the image of five SUV’s and a couple of police cars, he realized with a sinking, dark sensation that no matter how hard he grasped, he’d always lose his footing and fall.

           Jack Crawford waited for him as he turned off the car and climbed out. The police lights lazily flashed although no siren sounded, and he winced at the blue that spun about and occasionally hit him with its beam. It wasn’t an invasive light; it was muted. It still stung him though, pricked at something in the back of his head he couldn’t reach, couldn’t quite touch.

           “Good morning, Will,” Jack said, and it wasn’t anywhere close to the same tone Hannibal had used when he greeted him earlier. Will frowned at the cars, then back to Jack, confused. His fight or flight instinct was flaring up, telling him that he had to run, and he had to run far.

           He froze.

           “Is something wrong?” he asked shakily.

           “You know, there really is,” Jack laughed, and he slung an arm around Will’s shoulder, pulling him in tight. “Tuesday, I had you take a look at the crime scene of a man by the name of Charlie Yorkman. You had a fit of some sort, and I removed you from the crime scene. Interesting enough, not once in that entire encounter do I recall you ever mentioning that that very man you faced down in that warehouse was actually one that you lived with up until that point when he disappeared.”

           Will’s blood turned to ice. Bits and pieces came back to him, of Charlie’s face, of his missing eyes, his missing hands. Breakfast churned in his stomach, and he had to fight to keep it down, his eyes darting from the cop cars to the agents that scoured the entire property with purpose. He’d thought to tell him, thought to inform him of his dark, twisted luck, that kept piling bodies up around him until he was going to drown in them, but he’d blacked out before he could, time lost and never regained. Now, it seemed, it was too late. What little time he had wasn’t even his own.

           “I didn’t…”

           “So then I show up here, and I find a dog that isn’t registered to you keeping guard. We ran the chip information, and that dog belongs to the deceased Cassie Boyle.” That was news to Will. He almost doubled over, sucker-punched, but Jack hauled him along, unwilling to let him drop. His grip was iron, a dark suspicion rippling off of him.

           “If it was the one, I’d chock it up to a nasty coincidence from a kid who’s seen a lot in a little bit of time,” Jack continued. He shoved Will forward until he stumbled and fell against a cop car, and his expression darkened. “But two in one day is probable cause, and we’re searching this place.”

           “I didn’t…do anything,” Will stammered, and Jack held up his hand.

           “If you haven’t, then we’re not going to find anything. But for now, you probably don’t want to say a word,” he advised, and he motioned to two cops to keep an eye on Will. Jack walked away, towards the barn, and Will pressed his palms to his face, sweat beading at his temples. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening,

           “This isn’t real,” he told himself, but he was grounded enough in the moment that he knew it was a lie without even having to consider it. Lazily, the blue lights flashed and blinded him with each pulse, unheeding of the way that his breath came short with it, the way his palms grew clammy and cold.

            You’re in a safe place. Safe. Comforted. Safe.

            “C-can you turn off the lights,” he asked one of the cops, but they didn’t answer. He rubbed his eyes, the light piercing him, swaying against him as it knocked him back into the waves, reeling, spinning. Needles, sharp and vicious pricked along his veins from his feet up, and the longer that Will stood there, the worse it became, red-hot in the way that it spread like a rash, burning, burning, and when he whined in pain, a cop turned towards him.

            He’s going to devour you.

           “What’s he doing,” one of them murmured, but Will couldn’t hear it, not the way that heard Charlie’s screams as he begged for mercy, for the pain to end. He blinked, and he licked the blood from his knife, the taste of iron and pennies hot on his tongue. It was the sweetest of flavors, the essence of another. Across from him, Garrett Jacob Hobbs smiled, his mouth black and gaping.

           Would you like see what someone else’s blood tastes like?

            Will fell to his knees and grasped his head, the blue light flashing, flashing. Heat poured from him, and across his arm he saw his skin blister and burst. He was cold, he was hot, and he clawed at his arm to get the needles out; he didn’t need the needles in his skin, he didn’t want the needles in his skin. Shivers racked his body, and as someone came running, the last thing he saw was the ravenstag watching him between the police cars before it all went black.