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stones-x-bones · 4 years ago

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It’s Only Blood (Night 1 Cont.) || Mina and Bex

TIMING: Current (continuation of this) PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable and @inbextween SUMMARY: The eye of the storm. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, References to child abuse

For a moment, Mina allowed her nails to change again, growing sharp and dangerous. She’d never been taught to use them as weapons, but they’d honestly served her better than any knife. They’d ripped the head off of a harpy well enough. “I make a piss poor sword,” she said, lightly. She hadn’t been a good weapon, too anxious, too afraid, too cautious. But she’d put her body in between enough people and danger to know that she made a damn good shield. As much as she could, anyway. She made the claws go away, the effort not as bad as it had been before. “I hate them for hurting you, and I hate them for making you go back to them,” she murmured. Not even for herself. She couldn’t care less about herself. But anywhere was better for Bex than being with her parents. She’d prefer her to stay with the Youtuber, Eddie. Anyone but her parents. Mina tasted blood at Bex’s words. She’d bitten into the inside of her cheeks. “I--” Of course she loved Bex. It was a fact of life. Pi was infinite, music sounded best when it was played by someone who was passionate about it, and Mina loved Bex. And Bex loved Mina because it didn’t matter if Bex could lie. She wouldn’t lie to Mina. Not about this. Not about something that hurt so much. “I love you, too. So much. It’s like a hole in me. But I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t get rid of-- If I could make it easier for you, I would. I will. Please tell me how. I’ll do anything. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’ll do anything. I’ll leave town if you want. I won’t come back. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean selfish that way,” Bex said. They weren’t selfish because they wanted more for themselves, or because they wanted to keep things for themselves. They weren’t selfish in the way small children who refused to share were, or old businessmen who hoarded their wealth were. They were selfish because they chose their fear over everyone else. They were selfish because they hid themselves away, afraid that any gentle touch or voice was just a lie. Bex turned her head to look over at Mina on the couch. Thunder shook the cabin and lightning momentarily lit up the inside. Bex used to be afraid of thunderstorms, as a child. But the one time she’d tried to find comfort in her parents, she’d learned the lesson quick that she was alone in life, that she had to deal with her fears alone, and that’s when her closet, and the shoes on the floor, and the small hidden space behind the shelf, had become her sanctuary. Fear had always meant safety. “You’re not greedy or mean or anything like that. I just mean...you’d rather hide than let someone in. Or run, then let someone hold you. It’s the kind of selfish that keeps you safe. The kind of selfish that comes with being afraid of so much. We hide and we keep ourselves to ourself because it’s easier and it’s familiar...and it’s selfish.”

Bex looked out the window and squinted into the dark, wondering if she might see Frank’s shadowed form waiting for them just outside. But all there was were trees and rain and dark. “I’m so scared,” she whispered, “I’ve been afraid for so long. I don’t even know what life would be like without. I thought leaving them would make me less scared, but it didn’t. I thought going home would make all of this stop happening, but it didn’t. I don’t know what to do anymore. All my life all I wanted was the chance to make my own choices and now I’ve made all the wrong ones and I don’t know what to do.”

Her eyes drew down as Mina’s hands turned to webbed claws again. “Swords aren’t the only tools,” she said back quietly. She turned herself so that her shoulder was against the couch and she could look at Mina more fully, before she slipped her hand out from under the blanket and prodded at Mina’s fingers, still clawed. They turned back to her human looking ones and Bex turned her hand palm up to let Mina’s fingers rest there. She hated her parents, too, she realized. As desperately as she wanted her mother’s love, she hated her for it. She hated how much she ached for just one iota of love from her. Just one real moment where her mother would look at her and see her and love her. It would never happen, but still Bex wished for it. She hated Mina’s dad for making her feel the same. She knew Mina felt the same. The lengths they would go to to convince themselves of a parents’ poisoned love was too big. “Please don’t leave,” was all she said, and she blinked as a tear fell from her chin. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Is that not self preservation as opposed to selfishness?” Mina asked. Maybe there wasn’t a difference. Maybe it was selfish to want to guard one’s heart, one’s mind. Mina didn’t know. It did feel selfish, sometimes, when she knew that Morgan needed her but she just couldn’t make herself go home. “Sometimes it’s just-- it just seems like it’s for the best, to run or leave or take care of myself. I don’t want to bother other people.” And she didn’t. Her whole life, Mina was taught to not be a burden. She walked on broken bones, she found her own shelter, she taught herself. If she needed something, she figured out a way to get it for herself, and if she wanted something… she figured out just how desperately she wanted it, if it was worth it. And it hadn’t always been hard; she’d been given nice things, but she knew to provide for herself first if she wanted to be provided for. That’s just how life was. “I don’t want you to be afraid anymore. I wish I could help you. I would, if I could.” If you’d let me.

“I know they’re not. There’s also knives and crossbows and guns and…” she trailed off, and she’d almost been joking, but not really. She wasn’t raised to be a tool. She was raised to be a weapon. Whatever Bex’s parents had wanted her to become, whatever tool they were attempting to shape her into, it probably wasn’t a weapon. She put her trembling hand in Bex’s palm and, before she could think about it too much, she let the webbing reform between her fingers, even if she kept the claws away. She felt exposed in ways that she hadn’t, even though there were plenty of people that had seen this. But it was Bex, and she wanted to prove that she trusted her. She didn’t think that Bex would shy away, not in the way that Mina would have shied away from herself. “I won’t leave unless you tell me to. I won’t. You’d-- You’d have to give me a few days, regardless. I don’t think I’ll be traveling in the immediate future.”

“I don’t know the difference,” Bex admitted. And truly, she didn’t. Her parents called her selfish for wanting something more. They called her cruel for not giving them what they wanted. They told her she was selfish because she couldn’t be the way they wanted her to be. She’d believed them, she still did. She’d started to wonder, to change, but she still believed them. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” She was still angry, but her weary body had stopped gathering up enough energy to be that way. She laid her head on the side of the couch. Mina still needed to be stitched up, she needed to check the pots outside, and go down to the boathouse to check for buckets before it stopped raining. She should check the level of the basin outside, maybe there was enough to fill the tub halfway. Mina could soak and they could try again in a bit. There was still so much to do, she had to keep going. But her body wouldn’t let her move. She closed her eyes for a moment. “You’re not a bother, Mina,” she said absently, “I can’t think of one situation where you were ever bothering anyone. Morgan agrees, I think even Deirdre would agree. And Rio, he likes you, too. He said you’re a good person and a good fighter. And Nell. She likes you. You guys both really like knives, too. I think Nell likes talking to you.” The words were partially slurred and Bex remembered the bottle next to the couch. She wondered what it might be. “Even Adam seems to like you. You’re not a bother.” But being taught to be small and not a burden or a bother was just another thing Bex understood too well, too.

“People,” Bex added on to Mina’s list. Money, wealth, power. Influence. They were on opposite sides again. Where Mina was raised with metal and blood, Bex was raised with smoke and shadow. “Whatever you did while with your dad was never your fault,” she mumbled absently. She opened her eyes when she felt Mina’s hand shift again. “You just wanted him to love you. You’d do anything if he just told you he loved you.” Why were parents so cruel? She smothered Mina’s hand with her own and ran her fingers along the silvery scales on the back of her hands. “I don’t want you to leave. I didn’t drag your unconscious body miles through the forest in the rain just so you could leave.” She scooted a little closer, close enough to bring Mina’s hands up to her lips. Her skin was cool. “I want to stay with you.” She said, barely audible. The fire crackled, the rain poured, but her voice could still be heard. She wanted to stay, but they weren’t people who got things they wanted.

“I don’t either,” Mina said. Perhaps the difference had been that Bex had been taught to believe in selfishness whereas Mina had only known self preservation. She only knew how to take care of herself. She didn’t know how to lean on other people. Even in the field, she’d still had to watch her own back. It was nice being in White Crest because she didn’t have to perpetually be on guard, but old habits didn’t go gently; even with Adam in the portal, even with her plans to make sure he got out no matter what, there’d been a part of her that still didn’t know if he would have her back the way she had his. She picked at the hole she’d made in the couch, unsure of what to say. She felt like a burden, just like she didn’t feel like a person. It wasn’t about anyone else, not really. It was about her and how she saw herself, and maybe it was wrong, and maybe she was wrong, but that didn’t change anything. She could be told that all day long and there would always be a part of her that still wouldn’t believe it. Instead of commenting on it, she said, “You need rest.” She could probably make room on the couch for both of them. Bex was injured, too, and Mina didn’t forget about that. Falling asleep on the floor wasn’t going to do her any favors.

“People,” Mina echoed. People could be tools, too. She could be a person. She was a person. She reminded herself of it again and again until it almost felt real. “I don’t think that’s true. I still did it. I’m still accountable. I wasn’t always a child. I was never really a child.” She knew what she was doing, even if she hadn’t. She’d always felt that it was wrong. She should have known that it was wrong. “He could have changed.” She was just repeating what she’d said in her dream, what she told herself all the time. “He wasn’t given a chance.�� And how could he have been, when his upbringing had probably been something similar to her own? He didn’t talk about the way he was raised, but Mina could only assume. “Then I won’t leave.” She flinched a bit, though. “I tried to stay awake. I just-- I couldn’t, and I couldn’t hear what you were saying even though I know you were talking. But I did try.” She wished she’d been able to try harder. “That’s good. I don’t-- I don’t want you trying to get out in this.” And, more importantly, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

Then, maybe, there wasn’t a difference. Bex didn’t know. Mina didn’t either. She wished she could ask Morgan. She wished there was someone else here, helping. They’d know what to do. Bex didn’t know what to do and she was so tired and Mina was ignoring her again. Ignoring some of the things she was saying. She furrowed her brow. She couldn’t make Mina understand that anymore than someone could make her. In the end, it had to be them to make the decision to feel that way. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. Bex understood what conditioning was, she’d read about it so much. She knew it’s what her own parents had done. So of course it’s what Mina’s father had done to her. Maybe worse. Mina thought she was nothing more than a killing machine, something made to destroy. She wished she could show Mina that she could heal, too. That she could create. That she had life in her touch. Bex drew in a breath. “I’m fine,” she said, “I slept a little earlier. There’s still things to do. And the fire--” she turned to look back over at it, and it was dwindling, its heat disappearing before she could feel it. “The fire needs tending. And I can’t sleep if-- in case he comes back.” She wouldn’t let him just come trudging in here and kill them both.

“You were a child,” Bex said, a bit harshly. She had been a child, too. “Whether or not you actually got to be one, you were a child.” It didn’t matter how many times Mina tried to excuse him, she would never let her get away with thinking what he’d done was okay. If what her parents was doing wasn’t okay, then nothing Mina’s father had done was, either. It was worse. He had taken a child and made her hate herself and her species and made her feel less than a person and used her to kill other people. So much so Mina thought it was her own fault. “I’d never put that on you. I don’t think any of that was on you.” But what did she know? She wasn’t really a part of this world. She wasn’t a part of Mina’s world. “He doesn’t deserve a chance.” She said darkly. Her parents didn’t deserve a chance, either, but she was giving them one, wasn’t she? She was a hypocrite, but she knew that already. She moved her hand from Mina’s and pushed herself up with a great effort. There were things to do. Maybe she could find a real bed for Mina. She looked down at her, eyes soft. “I’m not leaving you.” Not right now, at least. “It’s okay, Mina. You were--” dying, so close to dying. She had practically been dead in her arms and Bex couldn’t forget what it looked like. “It’s okay now.”

“You’re not fine.” Mina frowned, looking Bex over. “You’re only doing marginally better than I am, actually.” She sighed. “If you get any water, save what you boil and clean for yourself. The only water that’s harmful to me is saltwater. My body could use a puddle to heal, at this point.” And she didn’t want to say that she’d done that before, years ago when she’d had a cut on the bottom of her foot and hadn’t been able to find water for kilometers in any direction. “You need to drink more than,” she glanced at the bottle, the strong scent of alcohol reaching her even from a distance, “that.” She looked at the door, almost expecting Frank to be conjured into existence, but he didn’t show. She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s coming back tonight. He expected me to die, when he left. If he comes back, it won’t be until tomorrow to retrieve my body. Now that he knows what I am, he might even wait longer if he thinks that the rain will keep me alive.” He didn’t expect anyone to come for her, and he’d wanted her to suffer. That’s why he’d taken the knife out. He hadn’t wanted the iron to kill her; he’d wanted her to bleed out. But she hadn’t, and he’d made a mistake, not watching her die. Mina was going to kill him. She was going to kill him.

“I was… It doesn’t matter, not anymore.” But Mina didn’t think that children were brought up to think the way she had. She didn’t think she’d ever been a child. She didn’t know if she would have been a child even without her dad. Her mother might have made her into something much, much worse. “I still… I think about it all, a lot. Morgan asked me, once, how the hunters I grew up with would have treated her, and… they’d have tried to kill her. They wouldn’t have hesitated. I did because I knew her before. I did because I’ve never been able to kill anyone.” And that made her weak, so weak, but she couldn’t regret it. She couldn’t. Not if it meant that she got to know Bex. Not if it meant that Bex didn’t see her as a monster. She remembered the relief, from her dream, when the blood had faded away and Bex seemed to realize that none of it was real. Mina didn’t know what Bex would think of her if she’d actually killed someone with her own hands. (The little voice in her head reminded her that she was going to kill Frank. She was going to. She was going to. If he walked in right then, she’d have given it her damnedest, regardless of her injuries.) She looked down, and maybe she understood why Bex hated her dad so much. Maybe they were both destined to hate each other’s parents. “He-- He’s dead now. It doesn’t matter.” She reached for Bex’s hand even as she stood up and pulled away, and she couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice as she just said, “Bex, please.”

“I’m doing much better than you, actually,” Bex pointed out. But only because Mina had been nearly dead, so close to dead, so close to dying. Bex hadn’t actually made it in time. If it hadn’t rained, Mina would have died. Bex choked on the thought. “Don’t. Don’t-- stop. Please don’t talk about him, I can’t-- I don’t want to--” think about him, talk about him, anything about him. Even if her mind still tried to bring him back to the forefront every time she glanced at the door, she needed to not think about him. About what he’d done to her, about how close he’d come to killing Mina. About what he might do next. She swallowed. “I just want to-- focus on you. On getting you better.” She gave a little laugh, and it didn’t sound or feel as hollow somehow. “There’s a boat out front full of water. I used it to drag you up to the house with all the supplies.” She was reminded of the pots again, and she went to move, but her body gave out and she stumbled to her knees, shaking. She didn’t want to think about Mina dying anymore, she didn’t want to think about Frank trying to kill her. She didn’t want to think about it all being her fault. She wanted to go back to yelling. Or maybe just talking. Or maybe she could get away with just sitting with Mina in silence. Or maybe drinking. Her eyes went back to the bottle. “I need to go get more water.”

She lifted her gaze to look at Mina again. “It does matter,” she said, “but..we can not talk about it anymore.” She didn’t really want to talk about any of it anymore. She didn’t know how she’d feel in the morning, but maybe things would sort themselves out. There was still so much to talk about. She had to keep going. She lifted herself back up. “Not killing someone doesn’t make you weak. I think, in the face of what you were made to be and how you were treated-- I think that makes you stronger.” It certainly made her a better person. Not that Bex would have thought less of Mina had she killed as a child. It wasn’t her fault. She was a child who had been tainted. She moved away from her but stopped, chewing on her lip. “I’ll just-- I'll be right back. I pro--” she paused. It was such a simple thing to promise, but it made her tongue taste sour. “I’ll be right back.” And she pushed out the front door again. She left it open so Mina could watch her, shaking with such an exhausted tremor, water spilled over the edges of the pot. She made it close enough to the fire before collapsing, setting the pot inside it before throwing another log on. “I can see if there’s enough water in the basin to fill the bath, if you need.” She turned to look back towards Mina. She looked so tired. “We still need to stitch your side up.” She prodded her own side. “And...maybe mine.” Definitely hers too.

“Much better is a stretch. Though, to be fair, I’m only doing marginally better than a corpse,” Mina said, and she flinched a bit. “I’m sorry. That was morbid. And I don’t particularly want to talk about it, either, but I’ve lost a lot of the control over what I say, recently. I-- I lied, too much, and now I have a hard time shutting up. But we don’t have to talk about that. We can talk about anything else.” Whatever Bex wanted to. Mina was willing to do whatever. “You… dragged me up here in a boat? I-- Wasn’t that heavy? How? Where did the boat come from?” She looked around them again, still trying to figure out where they were. The house was small, smaller than her own near the lake, and dingy with disuse. She couldn’t help but feel impressed that Bex had managed to drag both her and a boat up to it, as well as getting Mina inside and on the couch. She reached out when Bex buckled in on herself, but Mina was useless. “Bex!” She worried the inside of her cheek with her teeth, trying to figure out what to do. “You’re exhausted. Please, just-- You need to rest, too. You’ll be no good to either of us if you pass out.”

Mina took a breath and looked away. “Thank you.” She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It didn’t matter. She didn’t think that it mattered. It had happened. There was no getting that time back. There would never be any sort of reclaiming of childhood, no rediscovery of her inner kid. Such things didn’t happen; such things didn’t exist. “It-- I’m glad I didn’t. Kill anyone. I’m glad. But it would have made things easier. I would have had an easier time when I was younger if I’d proven myself more.” She might have gotten nicer things, more rewards for doing her duty. Of course, there would have also been satisfaction in herself over the fact that she’d done what she was trained to, that she’d been good. She would have been more than a monster; she would have been a monster that slayed other monsters. She watched Bex go. “Just-- please be careful.” She didn’t care that Bex wasn’t going far. She just wanted her to be careful. There was nothing she wanted more than to help Bex, and she was so frustrated at how useless she felt. She was tired and in pain and useless, and she almost wished she had that jar of pain reliever that Nell had given her when she cracked her ribs. The thought of resting in a bathtub sounded lovely. “I’m fine with whatever. I probably just need to soak my leg and my side. After the stitches.” She sighed, knowing that Bex wasn’t going to let her do them herself. “I can help with yours if you’d like, after we do mine.”

Bex winced at the analogy. “You’re not a corpse,” she said in a low voice. She’d made it in time and Mina wasn’t dead which meant Mina wasn’t a corpse because Bex had made it in time. She’d made it in time and that was all that had mattered. She’d kept going, beyond the point of exhaustion, and something inside of her had pushed her more and further, and she’d made it. Adrenaline and her magic had left her empty, drained from all the things she’d used it for to get here. “There was a boat house, down by the dock. By the-- we’re by a little lake. I don’t know where. There’s no trail signs or anything.” She moved the pot to sit on top of the fire, watching the pot turn red hot from it. “I couldn’t carry you anymore. And I needed to find supplies. I couldn’t carry you and supplies. So I dumped it all in an old, wooden boat-- more like a...canoe, like those wooden boats they let you take out on the lake at the Cryptid Corner-- and dragged it up here by the tie rope. I don’t have a lot of life experience, but I’ve read enough books about what to do when you’re lost in the woods that I knew what to look for, I guess.” She licked her lips and looked back at Mina. “Magic helped, too.” She’d seen Nell use her magic to make herself momentarily stronger, and she’d read the spell on how to do it several times in one of the books. Maybe it was books that had saved her life.

She ignored Mina’s pleas for her to rest. She couldn’t rest yet. She wondered what time it was, but the only clock in the house-- an old analog that looked older than the cabin, even-- wasn’t working. Had probably stopped working long ago. “Don’t thank me,” she murmured, scooting over back towards the couch after she’d gathered up the medical supplies. She didn’t make any comment on how Mina felt about her childhood. She couldn’t understand that decision. She couldn’t understand wanting to add more hurt to the world when it hurt so much already. Even if that’s what a parent wanted, she could never do it. That was the one line she’d always drawn with her parents-- she would do no harm. She didn’t want to hurt or kill anyone. She wanted to kill Frank. Blinking, she looked up at Mina on the couch. Her thoughts had made her mind drift for a moment and she needed to concentrate. Her eyes dropped to the bottle next to her foot and she made to grab for it before pausing. She needed to be clear headed for this. Drawing in a breath, she looked up at Mina again. “I’ll fill the tub and hope there’s enough water in the basin to reach your side. The tub is a little small, but it’s better than nothing.” The bathroom was small, too, but there was room between the built-in sink and the tub for Bex to sit or lay. She started unraveling the thread that was already hooked through the needle. There wasn’t much. Her eyes went to Mina’s side, the gash that was hidden underneath old, poorly applied bandages. God, she really was exhausted. They’d have to do this before Bex really did pass out. “Only if there’s enough thread,” she mumbled and reached forward, beginning to pry the bandages gently away from Mina’s side. She shook as she touched her, conscious, for the first time, or her fingers grazing Mina’s skin. It’d been so long since she’d touched her. She bit her cheek and kept going. “I don’t...there’s nothing for the pain,” she said, her voice worried. “This is probably gonna hurt. More.”

“No, I’m not. Because of you. I’m not.” Mina didn’t think she’d ever truly get over this, even after she healed. She’d never get over Bex doing this for her. She’d never really understand it, either. But, then again, wouldn’t she do the same for Bex? Wouldn’t she do more? Wouldn’t she tear cities and walls and people for the girl in front of her? Wasn’t she already planning to kill the boy that put her in this position, even if it wasn’t for herself (especially if it wasn’t for herself)? This was love, and it was painful, but somehow it was what the two of them had, wretched and awful as it was. If Mina could, she’d take it away from Bex. It was hurting her. The last thing Mina ever wanted to do was hurt her. “Well, knowledge is power. I think we’d both be in considerably worse shape if you didn’t know what you know.” And there was something like pride in her voice. Bex had managed to do all of this, on her own, with no prior experience. Sure, magic helped, but magic was an innate part of who Bex was. Of course she’d been able to utilize it to help herself.

“Sorry,” she said, more of a reflex than anything. She stayed still as Bex checked everything, her fingers trembling as she touched Mina’s skin. She was so close. Mina just wanted to reach out and hold her. That was it. She just wanted to hold her. The featherlight touches were a good confirmation that she was alive, though. That this was real. She’d known it was. Of course she’d known it was. Still. It was nice to be sure. “As long as there are stitches and I can cover my side up with a towel or something, all that matters is that we soak my leg.” She was going to have to reset it in the morning, something she wasn’t looking forward to at all. “It’s definitely going to hurt, yes,” Mina said, unable to sugar coat the situation even if she did keep her voice soothing. “But I’m not going to move while you do it, so it’s going to be fine. Don’t worry about hurting me, and don’t worry about making the stitches pretty; just make them functional. Have you read up on how to do a continuous suture? That’s what you’re going to try and do here.” She looked at the bottle that Bex had been reading for. “And maybe let me have some of that, please.” She wouldn’t drink much, but it might help a little.

“You wouldn’t have been hurt, either, if it weren’t for me,” Bex mumbled off-hand. This was her fault. In every sense of the word. Frank would have no reason to go after Mina if it weren’t for her. He’d never even have met Mina, probably. And then, when they’d had him, Bex had made Nell let him go. And then, when he was clearly running rampant, stabbing people, she still hadn’t told anyone. This was all her fault. She felt her cheeks growing wet again and she had to stop for a moment, wiping at them. “I should’ve let Nell kill him,” she whispered. Mina would be dead if Bex hadn’t been able to do what she’d done. She hadn’t known she was capable of doing what she’d done, but she had. Some deep desperation inside of her had pushed her to be able to do what she’d done. Still, her mind toyed with what ifs. What if she hadn’t even made it to Mina in time? What if she hadn’t been able to get her out of the trap? What if she hadn’t been able to carry her for so long? What if when she’d fallen down the hill, she’d lost Mina? What if she’d never been able to find water? What if, what if what if? If Bex hadn’t been a part of her life, none of this would have even happened.

She needed to listen. Mina was explaining how to do the stitches and Bex needed to listen. But it was hard. She was crying-- sobbing, really-- and she couldn’t listen. They didn’t need to be pretty and they didn’t need to be good, they just needed to be there enough to hold Mina together. She looked at the wound in her side and remembered how painful the knife had felt sliding into her own side. How much more painful it had been coming out. How it had torn at her insides. How the doctor’s had looked at the wound in worry, and the mangled muscle, and how Bex was looking at Mina’s now and it was so much worse. Bex felt her heart gurgling in her throat. “I'm so sorry,” she murmured, and she reached out absently for one of Mina’s hands and squeezed it as she buried her face in the side of the couch. “I’m so sorry he did this to you.” She needed to keep going, but her body suddenly had other plans. It had stopped moving and it was really all she could do to not let her sobs grow too loud, repeating the apology like a mantra. Like maybe it might make everything magically better. If only, if only.

Mina started shushing Bex gently. “Hush. If not him, I’m sure I would have run into someone else. And a lot sooner, too.” Hers was never supposed to be a long life, not with the way that she was raised. Mina knew that. She’d come to terms with that a long time ago. Her dad hadn’t made it to fifty. She’d always thought that thirty would be her cap. “Something like this would have happened regardless. It’s not your fault. It’s not.” Honestly, if she’d encountered Frank without Bex around, he still would have tried to kill her. He might have not been as vindictive, as vengeful about it, but he would have still gone for her. She was a threat. She was something to be disposed of, and he probably would have gotten rid of her in that alley behind the theater if Bex hadn’t intervened. Mina shook her head. “You were standing by your beliefs. That’s what mattered. It’s not on you. It’s not.” And even though Mina wanted to kill Frank, she was glad that the decision for his death wasn’t going to weigh on Bex. That was going to be Mina. Because she was going to kill him. She was going to kill him. If there wasn’t anything else to keep her going after this, then that would.

“You don’t have to apologize. You don’t. You don’t.” She squeezed Bex’s hand and used her other to slowly brush it through Bex’s hair. “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t stab me. You didn’t tell him to stab me. This isn’t on you. It’s not. It’s not.” She took the needle and thread out of Bex’s hand and set it down before she put her hand on Bex’s cheek and nudged her to look at her. They weren’t going to be working on this any time soon. There was no way that they could, anyway. She’d tend to her injuries, later, if she had to, if Bex fell asleep. She’d wake her if she needed to stitch her up as well. “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for any of this. I don’t. Please, Bex, I don’t.” She didn’t want Bex to cry. She didn’t want them to have to do this. She wished that Bex was somewhere safe. She wished that Bex wasn’t hurting like this. That was Mina’s fault. She was the one that should be apologizing.

It wasn’t a comfort to know that someone else could’ve-- would’ve-- done this to Mina. Bex felt a strange fury building inside of her. She hated the unfairness of it all. Why was it okay for people to run around killing other people? Why was she so powerless to help Mina? She’d gotten there too late. She could’ve stopped Frank if she’d just told someone. If she’d just tried to do something. If she wasn’t such a coward. If she had just let Nell kill him. If she had just-- if she had just. There were too many. “That doesn’t really make me feel better, you know,” she sniffled, trying to keep the quiet rage out of her voice, “and this time-- this boy-- it is my fault. I had so many chances to listen to someone and to stop him and I--” she squeezed tighter before remembering Mina’s condition and trying to relax her grip. She’d never felt so angry before. It reminded her of her mother’s anger. She didn’t want this anger, but how was she supposed to get rid of it without being just like her? Bex tried to swallow the rage and the tears and she choked on them. “My stupid beliefs keep getting people hurt,” she croaked, “maybe I need to...rethink them.” She wished she wasn’t such a coward.

Bex shook her head. “It is! I do! I have to because it’s-- it’s my fault! It is! And not just because-- not just because I stopped him from dying. But because-- my mom-- my parents--” she stuttered and felt the words catch in her throat. Mina’s hand on her cheek felt so warm it almost burned. She shouldn’t have this, she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve a happiness like the one she knew Mina could give her. She turned her face away. “You should. You should. If you’d never met me, none of this would’ve happened. None of it. And I--” she watched Mina set the suture aside and tried to bring a focus back to her mind, but she couldn’t. She was so tired. She needed to sleep. “I need to fix this. I can do this. I can, I--” her body shuddered when she tried to breathe in and she could feel her chest seizing up. No, fuck, no, she couldn’t have a panic attack right now. No. Mina needed her. Mina needed her to be here and be present and make sure neither of them died in this stupid, dingy, abandoned cabin. She held her breath and closed her eyes and realized all she really wanted to do right now was wrap herself up in Mina’s arms. “This was all supposed to stop when I went back, and it hasn’t and I don’t know-- I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Mina said again. Again and again and again, it seemed like sorry was all that she could say. “I know it’s not reassuring, but it’s the truth. It’s-- That’s how my life is.” She shook her head. “But no, this boy is not your fault. You don’t control his actions. You didn’t make him attack me. You didn’t make him do anything. That’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.” She squeezed Bex’s hand back, enough to let her know that she was still there. Enough to let her know that she still could. She was only still alive because of Bex. That was it. She was the reason. And Frank might have found another time, another place to kill her whether Bex was involved or not. “You can’t control other people’s actions, Bex. It’s just not possible. And your beliefs had nothing to do with it. You gave him the benefit of the doubt. It’s not your fault he was a disappointment.”

Bex turned her head, but Mina pulled it back towards her. “It’s not your fault,” she repeated. “You’re not responsible for him. You’re not responsible for your parents. This isn’t on you. You didn’t stab me. You didn’t do this.” She stroked Bex’s face with her fingers, keeping the gesture soothing, simple. “If I’d never met you, I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t know what it’s like to be genuinely happy. I mean, I’d been happy before knowing you. Only recently, really, mostly because of this place, but I have known genuine happiness because of you. Even right now, I’m-- there’s a part of me that’s okay because you’re here, and I hate that, and I hate that this is what’s happening right now, but I am glad you’re here, even if I wish you were somewhere safe.” She watched as Bex started to panic, and she felt her own. She sat up even more and made room, trying to get Bex closer to her on the couch. “Hey, hey, it’s-- Breathe, please. Just breathe. Let’s just breathe, okay?” She exaggerated her own breathing, making a show of doing it, even as it made her side hurt. “It’s okay. It’s okay to not know. It’s okay.”

“He almost killed you, Mina!” Bex exhaled. If she’d had more energy, she would’ve yelled it. But she didn’t. “That’s not just-- it’s not disappointing, it’s-- it’s-- if I had just done one thing! Just one thing differently, this wouldn’t have happened. I-- I could’ve talked to him sooner, o-or told him what was going on, or if I’d just gone home sooner or never stayed with Morgan or let Nell kill him or fuck-- done it myself! One thing was all it took. One thing and I couldn’t even do that.” Her chest heaved. Mina was trying to get her to get up onto the couch with her but Bex’s eyes stuck to each of her injuries individually and she tried to pull away, too exhausted to even really fight. She felt her body sink into the couch. She tried not to lean on Mina too much. She didn’t want to hurt her more. She couldn’t hurt her more. Her eyes went to the knife on the table. “It might as well have been me,” she said, “my decisions keep getting people hurt.”

But this wasn’t supposed to be about her. This wasn’t. Mina was still on the fringes of dying. She needed water, she needed medical attention, she needed more than Bex could give her. She tried to stand back up off the couch, legs shaking with such great effort she couldn’t even get them to support her weight as she tried. She tried to breathe in time with Mina, but all she could think about was the pain in her side and how much worse Mina’s must be. “I can’t-- I can’t sit here. I have to-- do something. I have to-- I need to be doing something. I can’t sit here and watch you in so much pain and not do anything.” She was losing it, losing the grip on her focus as the adrenaline began to drain away. It would leave nothing behind. She had no more reserves to pull from. “Please don’t hate me,” she choked out, “please don’t hate me. I-- I ruined it. I ruined your happiness and I’m sorry. I just wanted you-- want you-- so much and it hurts and all I do is cause you pain. I’m sorry.” The words were jumbled, slurred. Her exhaustion felt more like a drunken stupor than any of the ones she’d been in lately. She was still too afraid to touch Mina, to get too close to her, so she wrapped her arms around her own stomach and repeated the words. She just needed to rest a moment. Just a moment. Then she’d be okay. Then she could go back to taking care of things. The rain outside felt like nothing compared to the rain on her face.

“Yes, well, he somehow didn’t.” Despite literally having the perfect opportunity. Mina couldn’t think of a more foolish thing to do. When she killed him, she was going to make sure that Frank was dead. What kind of hunter didn’t know to make sure their quarry was properly killed before claiming victory? She hoped he raged when he found out her body was gone. She hoped he felt panic. She hoped he felt fear. Because she was going to destroy him. She still had a hand to take, after all. But none of that mattered, at the moment. None of it mattered. Not right now. “And it might not have mattered at all. It might be that nothing would change. If you’d gone home sooner, things might have even been worse.” She pulled Bex’s hand to her lips and kissed it softly, though she followed Bex’s eyes to the knife. It was impressive that her blood had managed to cling to it, despite the rain, despite the lake. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t.”

Mina kept her focus on her own breathing, hoping that, if she did, Bex might possibly follow along with her. “If you try to get up right now, you’re going to be of no use to either of us. I’m not going to keel over if you take a few minutes to breathe, okay? I’m not.” Not unless Frank jumped in through the window and decided to finish the job. But he wouldn’t. He was probably gloating over his victory. Mina leaned forward and put her forehead against Bex’s. “I don’t hate you. I don’t. I could never hate you. I love you. I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you.” She couldn’t hate Bex if she tried. She would never try. She didn’t want to. “You don’t only cause me pain. You don’t. You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. I don’t hate you.” She didn’t know what else to do, what else to say. She couldn’t fix this. She could only hope that Bex would take some time to breathe before she started moving about the cabin again. Honestly, Mina hoped that Bex would just fall asleep. She needed to sleep. Mina could tend to herself as much as possible and then try to rest a bit herself. It probably wouldn’t be wise to go to sleep again. She needed to make sure she made it through the night.

Somehow didn’t make the millions of possibilities floating around Bex’s head quiet any, but the conviction in Mina’s voice made her quiet a moment. Somehow she’d made it in time. Somehow it had rained and helped Mina’s wounds from getting worse. Somehow Bex had found the strength within her to get Mina to water and to safety and to here, on this couch. They were all somehows and there was nothing definitive about it, but here they were. Both barely alive, bleeding on a couch in the middle of the forest, tired and exhausted and pushed beyond their limits. But they were alive. She was alive. Mina was alive. Whatever scenarios Bex wanted to concoct in her head, this was the situation they were currently in, and no amount of speculating or wishing was going to change anything. Frank had tried to kill Mina, but Bex had gotten there in time, and now all they had to do was make sure it stayed that way. She would make sure it stayed this way. Mina’s lips were warm on her knuckles and Bex realized again how cold the house was. Without insulation or a heater, the rain had chilled the entire place to match the temperature outside. Aside from the fire, slowly fading. Bex shivered. ”I won’t let him hurt you again,” she croaked. “I won’t. I’ll kill him if I have to. I won’t let him hurt anyone else.” And she’d do it-- she would. She’d almost killed that Warden for just breaking Mina’s arm. She’d rip apart Frank’s brain memory by memory if he even got near Mina again.

Bex was trying to breathe. Really, she was. It was harder than it looked. But Mina was so close to her now and how could she not be calmed by the other girl’s presence? Even when she could clearly see the pain and worry in her eyes. Her forehead was warm. Maybe too warm. Could Nymphs get fevers? Bex didn’t know. The thought strangled her insides, but her exhausted mind tucked them away for later. She couldn’t freak out about another thing right now. “D-don’t promise me that,” she stuttered out between sobs, “don’t. You should. You should hate me.” She reached out tentatively, placed her palm on Mina’s chest, fingers pressing lightly into her skin. “I broke your heart. I knew what would happen and I still did it. I just wanted to save you. I thought I could spare you the pain. I didn’t know,” she said, drowning in her grief, “I didn’t know I loved you, too. I didn’t understand.” She was so close. She was right there. She shouldn’t do it. Mina was in pain. Mina had nearly died. She was with Eddie. She shouldn’t do it. But Bex couldn’t stop herself. She closed the distance-- the oh so short distance-- and kissed Mina. And she’d craved her so bad. And she remembered how it had felt in her dream and this was better. So much better. This was real. And so she kissed her and she cried and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

“He’s not going to hurt me like this again,” Mina said, her voice quiet and cold. “And he’s never going to hurt you again, either.” He was dead the moment that he told Mina what he’d done, what he planned to do. He died right then. His heart was just still bleeding. The second that she was able, though, she was killing him. And she’d draw it out, and she’d make it slow, and she’d make him suffer, but she wouldn’t leave knowing there was still air being forced into his lungs and a heart pumping blood through his body. Frank had made many mistakes. Mina was smart enough to learn from the mistakes of others, sometimes, when she set her mind to it. She pulled the blanket closer around Bex’s shoulders, fighting off her own chill. Her skin was hot, her mouth was slightly parched, but she felt the cool air working its way through her body. “You’re not going to have to kill him. You’re not.” She wouldn’t. That was all on Mina. She wondered if it was the fever that was making her just focus on this or if it was the rage that she still couldn’t get over. He wanted to kill Bex. He was going to die.

“I can promise it because I want to, because it’s true, because it’s never not going to be true. I don’t hate you. I don’t. I could never hate you.” She wondered if Bex could feel her heart fluttering under her touch. She wondered if Bex knew it was hers. She had to. She had to. Mina had all but told her. “I’d let you break it again. More than once. A thousand times, I don’t care. I wish you’d let me help you, but I understand why you didn’t, why you don’t. I know how hard it is to rely on other people. It’s okay. It’s okay.” There was a moment when Bex was right there, and Mina could see her move, and her heart might have stopped, just for a moment, but then Bex was kissing her, and, oh, that. She missed that. She missed that so much. Yes, she was a bit in pain, and yes, this probably wasn’t smart, but Mina deepened the kiss a bit more, and maybe it was a little selfish, but she didn’t care, in the moment. This wasn’t self preservation. This was selfishness. She was selfish. She wanted this. She’d been wanting this for so long.

There were things that needed doing. The fire was dwindling, the pots outside needed to be pulled in and dumped somewhere to store the water and refilled, the bed needed to be checked. Mina needed tending still, her wounds were so raw. Bex needed to check the basin and see if there was enough water for Mina to soak in. She needed to look for some sort of food. She needed to drink water. They needed to rest, to sleep. They needed to talk about so much more. But, instead, she just kissed her. She just kissed Mina because fuck she’d been wanting to kiss her for so long now. For weeks now. Her hands went up to hold Mina’s face so she could kiss her better, kiss her more. There was a pain in her side as she twisted to get closer, but she didn’t care. She just wanted this. She just wanted to kiss Mina. Even when she had to break away to breathe, all she wanted was to kiss her more. She needed to say something. She just kissed her again instead. What else was there to do? They’d started and now she didn’t want to stop. She shouldn’t have kissed her at all. She didn’t want to stop.

There was so much that needed to be done, but maybe it could wait until tomorrow. Once the rain stopped, it would be easier to portion out the water that would have gathered in the basin. She could dump whatever was left in the boat into the tub, potful by potful, first. Portion out the rest for drinking. Maybe there was a fishing pole down at the shack. Bex didn’t know how to fish. They could re-assess the wounds tomorrow, once Mina had made it through the night and was more stable. There was so much to be done, but it could wait until tomorrow. So Bex just kissed Mina instead, and moved further onto the couch and tried her best not to hurt her or herself but she just wanted to kiss her because it had been so long and she needed it. She needed her. She loved her.

The only thing that Mina was worried about, aside from kissing Bex, was making sure that she didn’t bleed everywhere. Really, nothing else mattered. Not the pain from all the wounds, not the old bruises that still hadn’t healed, not the fact that there was still so much to say. There was still so much to say. Mina wanted to tell Bex what she was. She wanted to explain herself. She wanted to try. Just… not right now. Later. They could do it later. She was happy with them doing it later. Literally nothing mattered more than this. Nothing mattered more than pulling Bex as close as she could without injuring her or herself, hands running up and down Bex’s arms, feeling the softness and the heat of her skin. This wasn’t comfortable, by any means. Both of her legs were injured. Her shoulder hurt. Her side was a mess. She was a mess. Bex was a mess. They were both messes, truly. They always had been, when they were together. She’d never minded. She didn’t mind any of it. If anything, she just wanted it more. She’d missed this so much, and it wasn’t like the hole in her chest was healed, not completely, but this made it stop aching as much. That was really all that she could ask for; it was more than she could ask for.

Bex needed to have some semblance of self control. There were so many reasons she needed to have control but she couldn’t remember any of them, because her entire mind was taken up by concentrating on just kissing Mina. And the taste of Mina’s lips and her tongue and the feel of her skin under Bex’s fingertips. The feel of Mina’s hands on her own as she moved them from her arms to her sides, her bare stomach. And if she didn’t stop soon, she was going to lose herself and she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do that. Bex broke away to breath, panting. Her head was pounding, her side was jolting with pain. Her lips felt raw, they were tingling. She leaned in to kiss her again, but managed just enough of herself to restrain, lips just barely grazing Mina’s. “We have to…” she breathed, “we can’t…” They had to what? They couldn’t what? She couldn’t remember. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She kissed her again. Slow, soft. She didn’t want to move. She needed to move. “If we’re not doing...the stitches tonight…” she mumbled against her lips, “we at least need...to get you in some water…” She wondered if Mina would change again. She didn’t wanna think about it. “At least let me do that for you tonight.” It felt like a small plea. She knew she needed to take care of herself as well, but Mina came first. She was dying under her fingertips and Bex needed to do everything she could to make sure that didn’t happen. Neither of them were going to get much sleep tonight, but maybe they could rest. Just a little. They could rest.

“You’re right. You’re right. We have to… We have to…” Mina trailed off, too distracted to remember what they had to do. Because Bex’s lips were on hers, and she could feel Bex’s skin beneath her fingertips, and this was real. This was real. It was painful and wonderful and real. She splayed her fingers over Bex’s heart, feeling it beat. This wasn’t hers. She wasn’t going to get to keep this. It was real, but it wasn’t for her. She wanted it to be. Mina wanted a lot of things. She’d learned to do that, want things, and she’d learned just how useless that was. She wanted to keep kissing Bex. She… wanted to not be hurting. Desperately. She’d really enjoy that. But it wasn’t that important. “If you get me water, you should let me look at your side. Since you can’t heal like me.” It was the least she could do. She wanted to do more. She wished she could, but Mina was all but useless at the moment, and her brain wasn’t working like it was supposed to, and she knew that was only partly from kissing Bex. “I can do that. And you need that more than I do.”

Bex felt her body shudder as Mina’s fingers grazed across her chest, her heart. She wished she could rip it out and give it to Mina. She wanted to give it to Mina. Maybe she already had it, maybe that was why Bex felt cold and empty when she was away from her. Mina had her heart and when she wasn’t around her, she was nothing. She was heartless. It wasn’t fair to Eddie. She needed to tell him. But she needed him, too. She needed him to pretend like her life was normal. She needed him as her shield. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Swallowing, she nodded stiffly. She wanted to keep kissing Mina. “I’ll…” her breath was still thick in her throat. “I’ll fill the tub and you can...look at it in there.” There should’ve been enough water in the basin by now. The rain outside was torrential. She could hear it. And if it wasn’t enough, she would carry in the water in the boat, pot by pot, until the tub was full enough. “Just--” she pulled away, pushing off the couch slowly, “stay here. I’ll be--” her heart hammered. Despite the pain in her side and the tremor in her knees, she leaned down and kissed Mina again, softer this time, slower, a silent promise that she’d be right back. She wasn’t leaving. Not yet.

She stumbled backwards for a few steps before turning to head to the bathroom, supporting herself with walls and doorways as she did. She needed to clear her head, otherwise she was going to turn right back around and go back to that couch and to Mina and to kissing her. She needed to do this first. She sank to her knees near the tub and reached out for the faucet, struggling to even turn the knob with exhaustion pulling at all her muscles. Finally, it broke, and water poured from the spout into the tub. She let out a long sigh of relief as she rest her head on the edge of the tub for a moment, watching the water slowly fill it up. They had water and everything was going to be okay. Greedily, she stuck her hands under the faucet and filled them up with enough water to drink. It soothed the ache in her throat and she wanted more. The pot in the fireplace should’ve been done by now. Standing back up, the tub about half full now, she made her way back out to Mina on the couch. “There’s enough,” she said, coming back over to her and sinking onto the couch, her body deflating. “Just...give me a minute. And I can help you...into the bathroom…”

“I can stay here,” Mina said. “I can do that.” It wasn’t like she could do much else, anyway. Her eyes were still heavily lidded by the time Bex went towards the bathroom. She could have just stayed like that, in a state of waiting and watching and hoping, but she needed to do something to make this easier. She’d need to be able to walk a little bit, to not make Bex have to drag her all the way to the bathroom, but she couldn’t do that when her feet were barely even feet. She moved on the couch, covering her legs with the blanket again, and she started trying to shift the bones in her legs back. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But before Bex got back, they were feet instead of fins, and that was really all that she could ask for. Walking was still going to be a struggle, seeing as how one leg was mangled and the other had been shot, but, at least she’d be able to semi walk to the tub. She curled forward a bit from the pain, some of her wounds starting to sluggishly bleed again. She was running out of blood, though. It was fine.

She felt Bex sit on the couch before she saw her, opening her eyes and glancing at the younger girl, who looked almost as bad as she felt. “Take your time,” Mina murmured, clearing her throat when her voice came out pained. She hadn’t realized how much that would hurt. She didn’t think it was possible to be in more pain, but her body was truly surprising her. “I need a moment, too, before I can try to get up. Even with help.” She put a hand over her side, trying not to flinch at the stickiness that she could feel now that the bandages were gone. It was fine. It was going to be fine. “I think I would be fine with a puddle at this point, if I’m being honest.” And she was. Being honest. She really had no choice but to be.

Bex sat up immediately at the sound of Mina’s pained voice. She looked over and saw old wounds reopening, thick, blackish blood draining from them. “Fuck…” she muttered. They’d gotten distracted, they’d been stupid. Mina was dying this was no time for Bex to have kissed her. How could she have been so stupid? She pushed herself up from the couch, ignoring her exhaustion and the burning pain in her legs as she did so. “This is bad…” They didn’t have nearly enough supplies to take care of both of them. Mina was getting worse. Every moment she wasn’t in the water, she was getting worse. Bex should’ve just stayed in the lake with her. But how was she supposed to know? No one told her. Mina hadn’t told her. She shook the thought away and grabbed the towel, pressing it to Mina’s side in hopes of quelling some of the bleeding while they waited. They couldn’t wait much longer, though. She drew in a breath and tried to find something inside of herself, something had to be left, right? She couldn’t have used it all. Maybe some of it was back by now. “It’s fine,” she said suddenly, “I can-- I’ll carry you.” She’d carried her here, what was a few more feet to the bathroom?

Bex wasn’t particularly strong, but she didn’t need to be. That was one thing Nell had taught her that had stuck the fastest. Even though her specialty was mental magic, there were plenty of practical spells she’d been taught that were easy enough. She hadn’t purposefully practiced magic in so long, and while she knew she’d used some intentionally in order to get Mina here, it wasn’t exactly the same. Control seemed nearly impossible, but she had to try. She had to get Mina into that tub where she was sure, if she did accidentally fall asleep or pass out, Mina wouldn’t die. The water wouldn’t let her. She reached out to touch her arm, wrapping her fingers around her wrist delicately. “You’re getting worse, we have to get you in the water,” she urged. “Just let me do this. I can-- if i get you there, I can rest, too. Okay?”

“It’s not as bad as it was,” Mina said, trying to sound reassuring, but she knew it probably wasn’t working. It was bad. It was really bad. It was bad enough that Mina would be forced to acknowledge it. She’d thought that the wolf, the cliff, the ocean was bad. But none of that had been iron. None of that had burned quite like this. Some things didn’t heal right. There was a reason Mina was covered in scars. She knew pain. She knew iron. But not like this. Still, she gritted her teeth and struggled to put her feet in front of her on the floor. “No. No, I can’t ask you to carry me. You’re exhausted. That’s not fair.” Not when she thought Bex herself was in absolutely no shape to be trying to lift anything, much less Mina. She attempted to stand.

It was a useless endeavor. Mina gritted her teeth as she managed to stand on shaky legs for half a second before she ended up collapsing back to the couch. She hated this. She hated it. She hated being useless. She hated being aware of the fact. It was different, when she wasn’t conscious, when she had no awareness of what was happening. She needed help, then. She knew she needed help. But she wasn’t struggling to stay awake. She was just struggling. She looked at Bex’s fingers around her wrist and then to Bex’s face. Finally, she hung her head. “Okay. Okay. Please help me. But if you start to hurt yourself, stop. Seriously, just put me down if it’s too much. I can probably walk with some support.”

“Hey, stop-- stop it!” Bex tried, but Mina was Mina, and that meant she would try on her own anyway. Bex let her and watched her fall directly back to the couch. They really were two peas in a pod, weren’t they? “I might be exhausted, but I’m not dying. Or bleeding out or covered in--” she swallowed. She absolutely hated seeing Mina like this, it made her blood boil, knowing the boy who’d done it wasn’t far off. Knowing that he probably thought he had been in the right to do this. She tried to not let her anger flare too much. If she was going to use whatever trickle of magic was left in her, she couldn’t waste it on being angry. She couldn’t afford to waste anything right now, and that included brain power arguing with mina. Finally, the other girl relented. Bex nodded and moved herself into position, scooping an arm under her legs and the other around her back. “Just-- hold on. This might...feel weird.” She knew when she used magic it felt weird, but not if having magic used on you was weird.

She tried to picture the rocks she’d dropped off ledges with Nell, how heavy they’d felt in her hands, and how light they’d been a moment later. She poured that intention into lifting Mina, struggling only for a moment before she found her footing. Her arms shook, her legs shook, but she could make it. She could make it. She wanted to hurry but was too afraid to jostle Mina, and too afraid if she went faster than one step at a time, she herself would collapse. She tried not to think about either of those, as she made her way over slowly, arms gripping Mina tightly, like they had in the lake. Like they had when Mina had changed. She made it to the edge of the tub and set Mina down as gently as possible before her legs gave out. The tub faucet had water barely trickling out of it, but it was full enough to submerge her. Bex smiled, tired. “See? I told you I could make it.’

“I’m not dyi—“ Mina choked on the word before she bit her tongue, trying not to scream in frustration. She wasn’t dying. She wasn’t. She wasn’t. But maybe there was a part of her that was still worried about that, worried enough to believe it. She was worried what would happen if she fell asleep, if she lost consciousness for more than a few minutes. She’s never been stabbed like that before, and especially not with cold iron. Mina allowed Bex to maneuver her until she was in the younger girl’s arms, the wound in her shoulder twinging as she wrapped her arms around Bex. Something washed over her, something warm and comforting that made her feel fuzzy around the edges. She sunk into the feeling, burrowing her face is Bex’s neck. “Not weird. It feels nice.” It felt so nice. She almost didn’t think she needed the water as the feeling wrapped around her, soft and caressing and distinctly Bex. It ended when Bex put her down, though.

The relief was instantaneous as the water touched Mina’s skin. She was still in pain, but it was no longer excruciating. She no longer felt like the knife was still inside of her, something she hadn’t even been aware of until the water touched her wounds. She sighed, eyes closing minutely before she opened them again to look at Bex, a smile of her own crooking it’s way onto her mouth. “I didn’t doubt you could. I just… I just didn’t want you to strain yourself.” Scales were breaking out across her skin again, but there was little Mina could do to stop them. She rested her head on the side of the tub instead. “Are you alright?” She asked, concerned at the way that Bex had collapsed. It wasn’t good for her to use that much magic. It wasn’t good for her to stress her body and her mind when she was already injured as well.

Not weird. Nice. Bex clung to the words a little. She hadn’t known what it might feel like for Mina, she was worried it might hurt her as much as it had hurt other people. As much as it hurt herself sometimes. She laid her head on the side of the tub as she watched Mina sink in, the relief palpable on her face. She almost wished there was something as soothing for her to lay in, besides, perhaps, Mina’s arms.

So this was what Mina had meant by fast healing. Bex could almost see the water holding her wounds together, it was strange. The bleeding stopped, the only red from the dried splotches on her side. Bex’s eyes stayed transfixed on whatever piece of Mina she could find that wasn’t covered in red. It was all washing away, hiding beneath silvery scales. She wanted to reach out and touch them again, remembering the feel of them against her arms in the lake. Mina's voice startled her and she looked up, lifting her head. She blinked, let a tired smile fall on her lips. She was too tired to feel upset anymore, even if she still felt like she wanted to yell at Mina. She just wished she’d told her earlier. She wished she’d trusted her enough. She wished for a lot of things, but wishing didn’t change anything. So she just scooted closer, and laid her head against the side of the tub as well, on the outside, looking at Mina. She reached a hand up and brushed it through Mina’s hair gently. “I’ll be okay now,” she murmured, already feeling the fringes of exhaustion pulling at her eyes. Her entire body was deflating now, now that she knew Mina was safe, that Mina wasn’t going to bleed out or keel over. Her job for tonight was done. She could rest, if just for a bit. She knew she needed to assess herself-- there was a dull ache in one of her wrists now, and she distinctly remembered landing on it when they’d fallen, and her head was killing her, there was surely a bruise; and her side, god, her side hurt so much-- but maybe that could just wait until morning. Maybe it all could. She closed her eyes. “I miss you so much.”

It was draining, to feel her body knit together, even if it was slow. Mina knew it was a good thing; she was healing, she was going to probably be fine. It hurt, though. Faster healing didn’t take away the hurt. She was used to pain. Maybe not to this caliber, but she was well acquainted to the feeling of iron slicing through skin. This was just a bit more intense. She was more worried about things becoming numb, blurry. That would make things bad. That’s when they’d need to panic. But for right now, there was just the pain. Mina closed her eyes for a moment as she leaned into Bex’s hand. “Are you sure? It’ll only take a moment. We shouldn’t leave it like that.” She needed to make sure Bex was alright. She needed to make sure Bex was taken care of. At least, she had to do as much as she could like this. She had to. She felt useless. There was nothing Mina hated more than feeling useless, like she couldn’t do anything at all, like she needed help. She didn’t need help. She didn’t. She… did. Desperately. She needed Bex’s help. But that didn’t mean that she wanted this to be one-sided. She couldn’t let this be one-sided. Mina’s eyes stayed closed, though, and she said. “I miss you, too. All the time. Just… Really, all the time.”

Even if Bex wanted to, she wasn’t sure she had the energy to lift herself from this spot anymore. She wasn’t even sure she could go get a blanket, she should’ve brought a blanket with her. Or one of the couch cushions, or something. Anything. Oh, she’d brought the towel in. That would do. She reached over limply and grabbed it, pulling it up over her shoulders as she felt a chill settling in. Once Mina was okay, they could worry about her. She just hoped she could stave off an infection long enough. Her wounds didn’t close like Mina’s could. She swallowed and her mouth felt dry again. She just wanted to sleep. She looked at Mina, her head resting against the side of the tub, so close to her own-- but it was on the other side. Mina was always on the other side from her, wasn’t she? They were just two souls reaching across a line that neither of them understood. If she hadn’t been so dehydrated, she was sure she would’ve teared up at the thought. At her words. She blinked and turned her head down so she didn’t have to look at how painful and sad Mina was. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, so quiet in her throat she’d wondered if she’d even said it at all. Her eyes drifted closed again, and this time, they stayed that way. She didn’t have the energy to fight off sleep anymore.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: mina #it's only blood #child abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #//i"M SORRY THESE ARE SO LONG #and that there's SO MANY #mina

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kittyknowsthings · 5 years ago

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A Nice and Accurate Timeline of the Apocalypse (and its Aftermath)

As shown on the Good Omens TV show

Happy birthday to me, a gift for myself and the entire Good Omens fandom.

MONDAY

Hastur and Ligur check on the Hellhound

Warlock and his mother argue about his birthday party while Aziraphale and Crowley watch.

Crowley suggests Aziraphale could kill Warlock. Aziraphale suggests they go to the birthday party instead.

WEDNESDAY

Warlock's (and Adam's) 11th birthday

3 pm - Hastur and Ligur let out the Hellhound

Sufficient time later for a thorough cake fight:

Aziraphale and Crowley have to admit they've got the wrong boy since the Hellhound, who should be there by now, is not showing up.

(The Hellhound had to get to Tadfield instead of London, it's a bit of a trip, I suppose, since it must be some time later when:) The Hellhound arrives in Hogback Wood between 3pm and 5:00pm, assuming Agnes Nutter and Deirdre Young define teatime the same, but with definitely enough time for

Crowley (back in his usual outfit) and Aziraphale (who had time to get changed and wash the cake off) to have decided to have a drink over their failure at Aziraphale's bookshop (where they have returned, presumably by car, though to be fair, the Ambassador's residence to Soho, which is about 3 miles, at Crowley's typical speed is a matter of a couple of minutes, really) when Crowley announces the Hellhound has been named

Newton is fired, meets Shadwell, is told to show up at his place at 11 o'clock the day after

Anathema is implied to arrive in the UK either Wednesday or Thursday, but a bit difficult to nail down - did they show it chronologically, in which case Anathema arrived before Newton meets Shadwell, or did they alternate the scenes to juxtapose Anathema and Newton more clearly, but Anathema's outfit, make-up and hairstyle are still the same when we see her move into the cottage on Thursday

THURSDAY

Gabriel and Sandalphon show up on Aziraphale's shop to corner him

(The scriptbook implies Crowley stayed at the shop through the night and is only now sneaking out, nearly caught by the Archangels, but it wasn't shown, so follow your bliss.)

Hastur and Ligur check in with Crowley and say their "operatives in the State Department" have arranged for the boy to be flown to the Middle East

The Postman delivers the Sword

Anathema moves into Jasmine Cottage in Tadfield and gets to work

Crowley threatens his plants

Aziraphale is on the phone with someone who wants to buy the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter

Newton comes to Shadwell's and is initiated so we can assume it is now 11 o'clock

Aziraphale calls Crowley with the idea to check the convent, they take the Bentley together

(If we're assuming 90 mph is Crowley's standard speed, and Tadfield is in about the middle of Oxfordshire, we can assume it took them about 40 minutes. So, either they left later, or Crowley actually bothered to slow down on occassion.)

Anathema meets the Them while scrying for the Antichrist

Aziraphale and Crowley meet Mary Hodges, interrogate her, and ignore the police blockade to leave the former convent at sunset

Shortly after, Anathema is scrying by yet a third method (poor girl)

Anathema's bike and Crowley's Bentley collide, they give her a ride

by the time they arrive at Jasmine cottage, it is fully dark

Anathema has a video chat with her mom

Aziraphale and crowley discuss the possibility of asking a human for help with locating the antichrist over cake

Adam is starting to be reached out to when asleep by infernal forces

Back in front of the bookshop, Aziraphale finds the book and blows off Crowley to read it

FRIDAY Crowley calls Aziraphale to check in

If we are assuming Aziraphale's office clock is correct, it is about 6:45 am when he calls the Young's home phone, the Young parents are having breakfast, and Adam is training Dog

Aziraphale attempts to script an explanation to Gabriel

Anathema invites Adam in

Crowley meets with Shadwell

Aziraphale meets with the Archangels and realizes they have no intention of averting the war, Michael states "The other side are currently transporting [Warlock] to the plains of Megiddo"

Aziraphale claims, to the Archangels, not to be sure about the Antichrist's location even though we saw his notes on the matter include his address

Aziraphale calls in Shadwell, who ignores Newton's quite accurate recognition of the oddness of Oxfordshire's weather

The scales are delivered to Famine

At about 7pm, Crowley calls Aziraphale and suggests the meeting at the Bandstand in "15 minutes"

(When they are actually meeting, it's sunset, but given filming schedules and stuff, I will leave it to you if you decide Aziraphale is really late or the sunset is just early)

During the night, Adam starts actively affecting reality

SATURDAY

Aziraphale intercepts Gabriel jogging at Battersea Park

Michael presents pictures and gets Gabriel's tacit permission to check in downstairs about Aziraphale and Crowley and calls Ligur

Crowley goes over possible escape locations

Lesley delivers the crown to Pollution (the sun is still rising) and the message that it's time to Death

Newton gets sworn in by Shadwell and sent off to Tadfield, he has the accident Ligur talks to Hastur who is supposed to be leaving for Megiddo about his suspicions of Crowley, they decide to find proof

Hastur gets to Megiddo

Anathema is well-prepared for Newton's arrival

5 hours and 48 minutes to the end of the World

Newton wakes up

The Them separate for lunch, agreeing to meet up again after

Warlock is at Megiddo Hastur confronts Crowley, who was having a pity party at a cinema

Anathema catches Newt up, it's about 13:15, and "about 4 hours and 15 minutes" to the apocalypse

Crowley tries again to convince Aziraphale to come with him, fails

Sets up the holy water booby trap

Crowley melts Ligur

Aziraphale appears to have taken a short walk to clear his head, as he is on his way back to the bookshop when he is accosted by the Archangels and the horn is sounded

Adam is starting to really scare his friends

13:30

Anathema and Newton are about to leave, but are stopped by a storm

They start making out under the bed

When the pin in the map starts sizzling, Shadwell realizes he may have sent Newton into danger, and Tracey convinces him to go after him, but Shadwell refuses her money and instead resolves to ask Aziraphale for an Advance

Newton has scruples and asks if he shouldn't buy anathema dinner first, but she quickly dissuades him

Aziraphale contacts Heaven in a last-ditch attempt to ask Her for help, the Metatron quashes his last hopes of Heaven's assistance

Shadwell goes to Aziraphale's shop, sees the late end of the Metatron bit through the letter flap,

Aziraphale calls Crowley but Crowley hangs up on him to deal with Hastur.

Shadwell picks the lock

and Aziraphale, trying to keep Shadwell safe, accidentally steps into the circle, discorporating himself.

Shadwell slams the door on his hasty way out, shaking the ground hard enough to kick over one of the candles in the communication circle setting the shop on fire.

Parallel to this, Crowley finished dealing with Hastur and makes his way to Aziraphale

14:30

Crowley, on his way to Aziraphale's shop, tries to call Aziraphale,

the store is already very on fire

Crowley goes in and tries to find Aziraphale, rescues the book

Adam announces his "new" friends - the horsemen - will be together soon and are on their way

Shadwell arrives back home and is put to bed by Madam Tracey

Aziraphale argues with the Quartermaster and decides to go back to Earth without a body if he has to

4 pm -

Anathema is getting dressed again

Crowley has gotten really quite drunk, having downed an entire bottle of Talisker and asking the bartender for a second by this point

Aziraphale finds him at the bar

The Seance starts

The Horsemen meet up at the café

Aziraphale crashes the Séance and quickly wraps it up so he can get Tracey up to speed

1 hour and 43 minutes to the apocalypse

Crowley is stuck in the traffic jam due to the M25

Shadwell wakes up, Madame Tracey and Aziraphale make him tea

The M25 lights up with Crowley still inside

Lisa from the call center accidentally frees Hastur, who thanks her by eating her and her colleagues

Aziraphale recruits Shadwell, who packs the Thunder Gun

Hastur appears in the car, prompting him to brave the fire out of sheer spite

Adam chases away Dog and the Them, whose rejection makes him snap back to himself. They resolve to stop what Adam started, and to "meet back in 5 minutes"

Anathema and Newt figure out they have to go to the airbase

Aziraphale makes the scooter fly

The Horsemen arrive through the official entrance, pretending to be a surprise inspection

Anathema and Newt sneak in through a hole in the fence a fallen tree has made

Adam and the Them meet up again

31 minutes to the end of the world

RP Tyler delays the Them

The Horsemen take over the base, starting ... everything, basically

17 minutes to the Apocalypse

after asking RP Tyler for directions, Crowley hurries

The Scooter reaches the airbase

Aziraphale argues with the airbase

Crowley arrives making his heroic entrance

(of course Adam and his friends do the real work)

The Bentley explodes

Aziraphale sends off the guard off while Crowley is having a moment

Crowley takes care of the next load of soldiers

When the Sergeant chickens out, Aziraphale attempts to use the gun on Adam, but Tracey stops him

Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale take out War, Pollution and Famine

Newt breaks the system by trying to fix it

Adam confronts Death

Anathema and Newt walk on

Crowley returns the book

Aziraphale receives the prophecy

Gabriel and Beelzebub arrive

Aziraphale and Crowley rules-lawyer them into cancelling the war

Satan shows up

Aziraphale threatens Crowley to never talk to him again, so Crowley stops time, giving Adam enough time to think

Adam rejects Satan, declaring that that is not his father, so Arthur Young appears

After Nightfall, Aziraphale and Crowley wait for the bus, sharing a bottle of wine

Lesley picks up the horsemen's items

Aziraphale and Crowley take each other's hand as they sit down in the bus

SUNDAY

Crowley, already in Aziraphale's body, investigates the restored bookshop

Aziraphale, in Crowley's appearance, is happy to find the Bentley restored

Anathema and Newton wake up together

Crowley and Aziraphale meet at the park and are abducted for each other's trials.

Madame Tracey and Sergeant Shadwell agree to retire together

Agnes has the next book delivered

Anathema decides to burn it

The Them check in on Adam, who is sure he'll be grounded for "years and years", but his parents will have forgotten by tomorrow - his powers to affect reality do not seem entirely gone.

Summer is ending.

Crowley and Aziraphale are sitting on a park bank, they swap back and agree to go to Lunch

They dine at the Ritz to romantic music and toast To the World.

#Good Omens #Kittywritesthings #technically #long post

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inspirationdivine · 4 years ago

Text

Faeby Driver || Lydia and Rio

Timing: Tonight and Tomorrow Parties: @3starsquinn @inspirationdivine Summary: Several hours after being attacked by Kaden, Lydia completes her promise Warnings: medical blood, body horror, mentions of gun use

Lydia had pulled herself into the car’s backseat by the time she heard someone approaching. Sometimes, when she moved wrong, white hot pain filled her vision with stars, and the only way the world stopped spinning was if she pressed her forehead against the cold window. Inch by inch, she had eased her coat off her body. It was torn and useless now, good only for protecting the cream leather of her carseats from the blood and mud that covered her from where Kaden and her had grappled on the forest floor. Wooden splinters dug into the palms of her hands and on one side of her face, but she couldn’t reach to pull them out. Instead, millimeter by millimeter, she tried to straighten the shattered boneos of her right forearm. This was no easy feat, considering the heavy iron burn and still-bleeding cut from Kaden’s iron-tipped crossbow bolts. She didn’t even know how to begin looking after the shredded wing that hung lightly to her side. Without help, Lydia wasn’t sure she would even get out of here. Her promise to Kaden was slowly beginning to eat at her insides. When she heard Rio approach, Lydia wrapped her glamour around herself like a blanket and growned with the effort. He couldn’t hurt her. He was afraid of hunters himself. If nothing else, he would be ever such a good bargaining chip. Still, her heart beat as fast as a rabbit’s as she watched him approach.

In the hurry that Orion was, he hadn’t had much time to get ready before rushing out of the door. He still had on the same sweatpants that he had been sleeping in and had only been able to throw on a hoodie and a pair of shoes before he was rushing out the door and jumping into his car. Rio had no idea what Lydia’s car looked like, but he figured he would just get to Derry Lane and go from there. “Lydia?” Rio called out once he jumped out of his car. His hair stood on end. As far as he knew, that hunter could still be out here and looking for Lydia. Was Rio ready and willing to get in their way? To try to fight the hunter if he had to? The thought alone made Rio want to throw up, but he wasn’t about to let Lydia get killed. He didn’t exactly keep himself well armed on normal occasions, but did have a small hunting knife in his car that Athena had insisted that he keep with him. Just in case. His hearing picked up on a nearby noise and he took off towards it, coming to a stop when he noticed a car along the woodline and jogging to a stop in front of it. “Holy crap.” He whispered, noticing the figure in the backseat. She looked brutalized. Dirt and wood covered her face and she cradled her arm as if it was damaged. There was a nasty burn across it. Up to this point, Rio had never given much thought to what supernatural species Lydia might be. In the grand scheme of things it didn’t really seem that important. But now, Rio was starting to get a ballpark idea. “Thank god you’re alive. Do you have your keys? I need to get you somewhere that’s not here.”

“Thank the lord indeed,” Lydia groaned. She grit her teeth together and hissed as she reached into her pocket, pulling out her keys and tossed them into her hands. “Out of town. I have to- I have to get out of the town,” she insisted. They could stop just outside the border, but she had to leave. The promise was starting to make her sick. There wasn’t even any time to go back for her humans, but she could get Deirdre to get those, if need be. Lydia shifted slightly and cried out as her vision whited out from the searing pain. Her glamour fell to the wayside, her skin glowing only faintly as her wings unfurled and ears extended.

“Out of town?” Orion questioned almost immediately. Sure, a hunter was dangerous but did they really have to leave town? If they could get somewhere safe Rio could figure out how to keep the hunter away from her. “How far out of town?” Rio asked. He was apprehensive about the idea, but hadn’t completely counted it out yet. He was desperate to help Lydia. Desperate to prove that he was worth more than the murder of his two parents. If driving for a few hours to drop her off somewhere safe was what she needed, Rio had to at least consider the idea. Before Rio could answer, something happened. Rio knew about glamours. He had never seen one drop so quickly. But in an instant, Lydia had gone from a completely normal woman to a woman with glowing skin, elongated ears and undeniably Fae wings. Though the most shocking visual about this wasn’t any of those things, but instead how maimed and shredded the wing looked. The hunter that had attacked her had been ruthless. The way it looked, Rio didn’t have much choice but to give in. “Yeah. Fine okay. I uh- I’ll drive. Where do we go?”

She could hear him hesitating already, and almost screamed that he didn’t have a choice. He owed her a debt, he would do as she damn well pleased. But honey caught more flies, and she wanted to keep him sweet as long as she could… Lydia was in no mood to be clever or cruel right now, even to a human, as she pulsed blood out of injuries she couldn’t even wrap herself. He didn’t panic when he saw her, even though for many hunters her distinctive appearance only meant one thing. Not that he could, but it was a small relief that he wouldn’t even try. “Just- just out of town. I promised. I’ll- I’ll explain, I just need to get out first.” Lydia could barely even sit up for the ride, each tiny movement jolting her like hornet stings. She could barely think, barely stay awake, barely plan the next step, like where the hell they should go. How many people she loved that she was leaving behind. “I- I don’t know where to go,” she said, her voice cracking. She could barely believe she was alive.

Lydia didn’t seem like she was in any state to make a rational decision where to go. But she seemed adamant about leaving town. The more time they spent here, the more they risked that hunter catching up with them too. The way Orion saw it, he wasn’t left with much choice. With a deep sigh, less because of Lydia’s own situation and more because Rio’s own anguish about making a decision might legitimately force him to break into hives.But finally, he relinquished, “Tuck in. I’m closing the door.” He shut the backdoor and circled around to the driver’s seat. One last chance to call 911 instead. But he knew with her state she wouldn’t be able to keep up the glamour. That may put her in even more danger than driving her out of town in her current medical condition. Rio was no doctor. The only training he had was dealing with his own wounds following a particularly brutal training session. Either way, Lydia’s life was in danger. Rio had just decided how much he was willing to participate in keeping her alive. “Try to stay conscious, okay? You might be concussed.” He started the car and gripped the wheel tightly, twisting until his knuckles grew pale. He had no idea where he was going to go, he only knew that he needed to drive.

Lydia pulled in to the car, shifting her weight until she found a way to lie that hurt the least, as her blood trickled down her clothes, into the cream leather of her seats and into the creases that only professionals could keep. Staying conscious was manageable, but each bend and bump and everything had her cringing. The weight of the promise lifted off her with every mile, until at least that was one pain untangled in her chest. “I kept making promises,” her voice cracked, and she wasn’t sure if this quick confessional was for her or for him. “God, he just kept hurting me. I was begging him, I couldn’t do anything and he wouldn’t stop. I promised to leave town and he wouldn’t stop. I- I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” And Lydia didn’t know if that counted as a truth because she hadn’t been doing anything except walking in that moment, or because she believed that she hadn’t made a single mistep when it came to Regan while she was here. Her ears rang and her arms hurt too much to wipe away the sudden tear. “Y-you can stop for a little now.”

Hearing Lydia recounting what happened to her made Orion’s chest tighten. A hunter just as evil and monstrous as his parents had been. So willing to torture someone just for having been born as anything other than human. He wished he had the strength to keep them all safe from hunters, but he knew that in a physical battle Rio didn’t stand much of a chance against most hunters. He never regretted refusing to take part in his parent’s training. But sometimes he wondered if he would have been better off playing along so that he could learn what he could from them before flipping sides. Not that it mattered now, obviously. It was too late to go back and change anything. “Yeah. Sounds good. Let’s just get some rest.” Rio had no idea how long the two had been driving. A glance at the clock showed that it was getting closer to morning, but Rio could barely remember when he had started driving in the first place. He pulled off at the next exit and parked as soon as he could, rubbing at his tired eyes and failing to stifle a yawn. “So what do we do next?”

“Can you- Can you stitch me up? I have- I have tape for my wing, I just- I can’t reach.” It was the wing she’d just regrown, the wing she’d poured hours and hours of care and ancient fae wisdom into growing. It would heal in time, but slowly with the iron burns, and it would never be complete again. It might have been better if he had torn it right off. Lydia shook that thought away immediately. Her own vanity would be the death of her. First, she would get to Peru, then she would worry about more superficial things. And then the thought struck her again. Peru was the place she needed to go. She could sink into the cultures of the local Aos Si, wait a couple decades for all the hunters in town to die out, maybe even start the family she so desperately desired. When her face would no longer be associated with Lydia Griffin and everyone who wanted her dead was dead themselves or had long forgotten her, she would work out how to break her promise about Regan, and return. It would take time, but time healed most wounds. That was what she needed to do. Lydia reached for her phone, only to yelp, recoiling abruptly and collapsing into the backseat again. “Oh god, oh god,” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut. “To hell with fucking Kaden Langley.”

“Uh” Was all that Orion managed to draw out for a long moment. He was barely confident in his abilities to patch up his own wounds. A practice that he had spent most of his life doing on a fairly consistent basis. He definitely didn’t have much faith that he could carefully and painlessly wrap up a Fae’s wing. The practice seemed dangerous. But he wanted to help. “Sure. Uh. Just let me know where the tape is.” Rio finally gave in, moving quickly to find the tape so that he could get started. “So uh, I’ve never done this before. Just tell me what to do.” He was ready to get started when the name threw him completely off base. “Wait… what?” Rio recoiled, a sliver of doubt running through his mind. Kaden and Rio had too many arguments to count about the morality of hunting, but even this seemed too violent. “Kaden did this to you?”

“Glove compartment,” Lydia murmured. “I have a first aid kit there.” His nerves were palpable. She couldn’t in good conscience lead hunters to her healer, she couldn’t call Deirdre, she couldn’t do much of anything other than trust this human child to do a tolerable job. “Start at the back of the wing closes to my spin and closest to my joint. You can slowly work out where it needs taping.” Lydia shuddered at the thought of any human touching her wings, but the situation demanded it. “Just make sure everything's aligned. I’ll try to keep still.” Lydia braced herself as well as possible against the backseat. “He did. I was just walking through the woods, the first thing I heard were gunshots. I don’t know how he kept missing me. Then he wasn’t-” Lydia hissed sharply through her teeth, gripping the seat in front of her sharply. “I guess he stopped missing. It was almost like he was enjoying making me hurt. He was… I’m terrified, Rio, I’m so scared.”

Orion got to work quietly, focusing on the wrapping to make sure he wasn’t too rough. One of the many cons of super strength meant that it was far too easy to put too much in what should be a regular push or pull. When Rio’s strength first came in he had made unfortunate victims of many door hinges and freezer doors at grocery stores. At this point in his life, he had mostly gotten a grip on that strength, but stressful situations always made Rio lose focus. But he tried to focus on her instructions as he slowly wrapped the damaged wing. His mind kept straying to Kaden though. How could he have done something like this? Maybe that was just who Kaden was. Rio hadn’t wanted to see that. Maybe he had been fooling himself into thinking that Kaden was changing. Kaden had been very clear on many situations that he didn’t see them as people. Rio shivered at the thought. What was he supposed to do about this? “He’s not going to hurt you.” Rio reassured her. “We’re going to get you out of here and then I’m going to talk to him when I get back to town and… you’re going to be fine.”

Once he began to tape her, Lydia’s mind shrank to white static, digging her nails into the bloodied leather as she screamed between her teeth. Her body burned like lightning had hit her. Not that any hunter deserved to think they were that powerful, but if the last seven decades hadn’t done it, Kaden had cemented her belief that hunters all deserved to die, Even the ones she could weaponise, Lydia screamed on last time, and then Rio let go. Lydia slumped, pressing her face into the seat. “Please don’t. I don’t think you can reason with him. He might even hurt you.” He would be dead by the time Rio tried, but that was neither here nor there. She reached for her phone, trying to think, trying to win. Kaden Langley would send more. They couldn’t stay here. “I think I- I can get in touch with a friend, I can get out of the country. Can you- god, I hate asking, but can you stay until they’re with us, wherever they want to meet?”

Orion was quick to move away from Lydia and her wings once he had finished wrapping it. Something about it all felt so… wrong. He couldn’t touch them without flashing back to the moment Lydia deduced that Rio was a hunter. The disgust and fear in her voice had been so visceral. So absolute. What right did Rio have to help her, knowing what his family had done to fae just like her? He wanted to keep a healthy distance if he could. For her own comfort as well as his own. “I don’t think-” Rio wanted to defend Kaden. Rio knew the image of Kaden that he had built up for himself. Someone who truly believed that they were doing what was right. Someone that had seemed so black and white when the two had first met. But now seemed conflicted in all the opposite reasons Rio was. In a way, Rio and Kaden seemed to be two different sides to the same coin. How could someone Rio considered a friend do something like this? But Lydia’s condition was hard to ignore. So for now, Rio would listen to her pleas. He wouldn’t reach out to Kaden. Not yet at least. At least now Lydia seemed to have a plan. It meant leaving the country, which seemed a bit dramatic, but Rio wasn’t about to argue. All he needed to do now was hang out with her until this friend of hers could step in. “Yeah. Of course. You got it.”

“He did. He did, please, you have to-” Lydia coughed from the bruising ache of Regan’s last scream. Or perhaps it was from when she’d plummeted to the ground where Kaden had shot her out of the sky. Every inch of her ached, all the way to her heart and the weight of newfound family, and everyone who had been left behind. She made a call to her friend, black stars flashing in front of her eyes. She’d need ID, enough to get on the plane, and the plane itself, but nothing else until she landed. “Okay. Can you… drive me to Castle Rock and my friend’ll- my friend’ll-” The dark swallowed Lydia as she collapsed in the backseat. Her body was healing itself, and it would not wake her for another several hours.

Just drive her to safety and wait for her friend and then you can go home. Just drive her to safety. Wait for her friend. Then go home. If Orion kept repeating the same mantra over and over again, he could convince himself that nothing about this could go horribly wrong. She would make it there without dying from her potentially very serious wounds. Her friend would show up with everything that Lydia needs to make sure Kaden can’t hurt her again. Then Rio could go home knowing he had helped someone. He refused to consider any other scenario. Acknowledging all the things that could go wrong seemed counterproductive. “Castle Rock- Got it. I-” Rio was already in the driver’s seat and starting the car when he realized that Lydia hadn’t just trailed off. She had passed out completely. “No- Hey… Lydia.” Rio began quietly, trying to ease her into consciousness. When that didn’t work, his voice became increadingly louder and frantic. “Lydia! You need to wake up okay? You could have a concussion. Lydia!” He started driving, still mumbling her name as he got back onto the main road and headed towards the highway. He would start heading in the direction of Castle Rock. If she didn’t wake up soon, he would have to detour to a hospital. He didn’t have any plans on how to explain her anatomy or her appearance if the glamour failed, but he couldn’t just let her die.

When Lydia woke up, the light had changed, dark into daylight. Her bones had begun to stitch together incorrectly, the bleeding stopped and caked onto her skin and the leather behind her. Her phone was vibrating by her cheek, like a call was coming through. After reassuring Rio, she sat up, blinking blearily at the screen. Hermana. Deirdre. Lydia blinked in confusion, before declining the call. She could answer later once she was on the flight. They could discuss Regan and Kaden and whatever dead rabbit Deirdre had found then. Lydia checked her messages about the flight. Three more hours. She set her phone down, only for the buzz to come through again. Deirdre. Lydia declined on the first ring this time. “Where are-”

It was her phone. Again.

#para #chatzy #rio #medical blood tw

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thatconfusedanon · 1 year ago

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Heh, yeah... You know you get me...

*Altair moved a hand and produced a tissue from the air and passed it over to her.*

Yeah... The worst thing about having friends is you put your heart out there and they take a space in it where you didn't think you'd have the space.

*Altair exhaled softly, falling silent with Deirdre before giving her an incredulous expression. He perked up at the idea.*

I mean I'd be happy to start anew. No more guns for either of us though... I mean... The loop restarted, Deirdre. New beginnings. New flowers to grow and most importantly, new friends to be made... I don't see why not.

...Hey, I know you like music. Maybe I could teach you a new type of music? Well- it's technically magic... but you'd probably have it in you to do. I know very few things about music. Y'know I'm not exactly a refined, proper gentleman. I'm coarse, hardy, and well... Perhaps a little conceited... I'm no musician.

*When Altair re-emerged from the basement he looked over at Deirdre.*

Hey, wanna like... Have a drink or two and just chat?

*Deirdre perked up when she heard Altair.*

Hm? Oh sure, I don’t see why not. It’s probably best to chat anyways. Oh what’s your bunny’s name? When I was house sitting she was quite the cuddly little friend.

#deirdre...

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detectivedreameater · 4 years ago

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Three To Be Ready|| Morgan and Marley

TIMING: Thursday, Oct. 8th PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: This is why the town tourism board advises against evening cemetery strolls. CONTENT: Gore, Body horror

Marley was getting real tired of yelling at teenagers for hanging out in cemeteries. But here she was, patrolling through one because the precinct got a phone call about some kids knocking over headstones again. If it were up to her, they’d all spend a night or two in lock up, by themselves-- that would change their minds real quick about doing shit. Sure, it wasn’t the worst thing they could be doing, but it was interrupting her job and she wanted them to stop. At least it was nearly night, so any vampires who decided to pay a visit would surely get a surprise. Maybe she’d give the kids a healthy dose of fear, instead. Let them live out their own nightmares. Though...she knew how that felt, now. Seeing your nightmares come to life. She might have slaughtered the thing in the basement with Jane, but she could still remember it. It and the real thing. All she wanted now was to move on. Move past what happened.

When she made it to the cemetery, however, the place was completely silent. Maybe the kids had moved on, but they could have also been hiding in one of the mausoleums, which meant Marley had to go check them. She was halfway up the hill when she spotted a figure. Even through the dusk light she knew who it was. Furrowing her brow, she stopped a ways away from her. “Are cemeteries like the new clubs or something?” she said loudly, hands on her hips. She didn’t have her glasses on, but her eyes did not glow yet. Only a little bit longer. “Why do people insist on hanging out in them? You don’t happen to be this group of teenagers knocking headstones over, do you? Cause that would make my job much easier.”

Morgan was trying to convince herself that cutting through the cemetery alone was a totally fine and not at all dangerous course of action. It was like a corpse walk, but by herself! And those were fine. The ghosts on those were just friendly bystanders and acquaintances, not demented murderers still working out how zombies died. This was fine. She just needed to make it down the hill and around a few more blocks, and she would be fine… The voice in the quiet made her jump, squealing with shock. “Who’s there! I have salt!” She cried, scrambling for composure. She stumbled into the open, where she could at least see someone coming, her hand already brimming with salt crystals. But there was no one except for… “Marley Stryder?” Reluctantly, she poured her handful of salt back into its pouch. “I’m surprised you’re not a fan, Detective Edgelord. They’re really good for brooding.” She dusted her hands off and approached the officer with caution. The memory of what she’d done to Deirdre was still fresh in Morgan’s mind, but she was relieved to not be alone, at least for the moment. “If you don’t like cemeteries, Edgelord, what are you doing lurking in one?”

Marley frowned at the name. She really hated it. But she wasn’t going to show Morgan that, it would just give her fuel to use it even more. “Cemeteries are depressing as fuck,” she answered finally, folding her arms across her chest. “Why would I hang out here when I could go literally anywhere else?” She scoffed, rolled her eyes. “Hello? Police officer here,” she grumbled, motioning to herself as she headed up the path towards her. “Doing my duty and checking out a disturbance call.” But she didn’t see any over turned graves or fallen headstones. Behind Morgan there was a mausoleum, the door slightly open. A shuffling could be heard inside. Shit, were they in there again? Marley shoved past Morgan without another word, and went up to the doorway. Pulled out her flashlight, one hand on her holster, as she prodded the door open. “If there’s anyone in here, put your hands up and stand up slowly,” she called, before peering in. But the place was empty. There was nothing. “Huh…” she muttered, “I could’ve sworn…” But in the next moment, there was a noise above her and Marley looked up just in time to see something on the roof. In the next second, it was descending on Morgan.

“They’re peaceful,” Morgan said back. “And this one’s actually taken care of! It’s beautiful. The ghosts like it too. Hey, Chuck.” She waved at someone past Marley, or pretended to, knowing the detective probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. “And what disturbance?” She gestured around to the nothing going on around them. And that’s when it happened. Just a noise, nothing too conspicuous to Morgan’s ears, but as she tiptoed behind Marley, calling out, “How do you even know it’s a human or a person at all?” What if it was a vampire trying to get a good day’s sleep or relax until sundown? “See!” She said. “Maybe you scared some squirrel away or—fuck!” She was on her back, flailing under something that felt like a giant bug. Morgan covered her face with her arm, screaming. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ She wriggled underneath, kicking wildly, but this thing, whatever it was, was so heavy and something like a hand was pulling on her hair.

No way. No way. “No fucking way!” Marley shouted, stumbling back. “I killed you!” She was nearly frozen in her spot, one hand still on her weapon. “I fucking killed you!” But it didn’t seem to care. It didn’t even seem to hear her or see her or care about her. It was tearing ruthlessly at the zombie it had pinned to the ground. Shit. She whipped out her gun and fired a few good rounds into it, but-- nothing. It barely even moved. So she ran up to kick at it, only to be shoved out of the way and tripped. Dirt and grass filled her mouth, but she rolled quickly to try and right herself. The thing was dragging Morgan towards the mausoleum. It was making her its new prey. Did demons eat undead? “Hey!” she shouted, picking up a rock and throwing it. “There should be a-- underneath! Hit it underneath! Or-or bite it! Jane bit it and it let go of--” well, no, it hadn’t actually let go of anything when Jane had eaten through it. She wasn’t sure Morgan wanted to stomach this thing, and she wasn’t sure she could stomach watching another zombie eat this thing again. If this was even the same thing. Why wasn’t it wearing a pink hat anymore? Had been wearing one back when her and Nell had stumbled upon it? She needed something bigger, something sharper-- like the ax. She took a second to look around for something, anything-- and when she looked back the creature was nearly through the door. “Fuck!” she picked up the closest thing she could find, a larger stick, and ran straight for it. And hoped to god this would work.

“No! Fuck, no, no—!” Morgan clawed the ground with all she hand, but there was nothing to grab onto. The thing had her by the legs and waist and no matter what she did with her feet, no matter how she screamed, nothing slowed it down. Morgan could see the dark coming for her and the inhuman face flashing a hungry mouth her way as it made its shrill sound again.

Think. Do something. Do better. Morgan felt her knife riding out of her pocket and grabbed it before it was gone for good. Her arms were too short to free her legs, but she could try to get the hand on her hair severed. If she could just— Morgan screamed as something caught her wrist and bent it so far her hand turned into a limp, dangling mess. The knife was gone and the hands weren’t just in her hair anymore, they were around her face and neck, smothering her, closing around her neck. Morgan let out a muffled scream, looking at Marley for help. Any concern or intelligent thought she had was peeled away. The only thing left was, I can’t die here. Don’t let me die here.

Marley swung the stick down as hard as she could on the monster. Did it have more hands than last time? Wasn’t it just one hand last time? She blinked, and Morgan was looking at her with those big, stupid eyes of hers. And she was begging Marley to do something. Hadn’t Marley already killed this thing? Twice now? She shook the thought from her head. The stick came down, but nothing changed. The door was shutting. Marley slipped through quickly. She picked up the knife and stabbed at the thing. Kicked it. Why didn’t it want her? Wasn’t it supposed to want her? “Let go!” she shouted, stabbing furiously. “Fucking-- let go!” This wasn’t working. She jabbed the knife back down into the creature, turned and grabbed Morgan’s hand. Pulled as hard as she could, hoping she wasn’t just going to pull Morgan’s damn arm off. Then again if it did, maybe she could just beat the thing with that. She didn’t know why she was trying so hard. Morgan had been nothing but mean to her. She’d looked at her the same way everyone in her life had up until now. Maybe that was why she was so desperate to prove her wrong. “Fight, dammit!” she shouted to Morgan, kicking at the creature as she held onto her arm. “Don’t give up you stupid zombie!”

Morgan clutched onto Marley like a lifeline. Fight how? With what? She let out another muffled scream as her broken hand fixed itself. The sound was throaty and broken, crawling its way through the pressure on her windpipe. Morgan dug her fingers into Marley, beyond bruising. She was already half in the mausoleum, the dark was closing in. Morgan kicked more wildly, flailing and wriggling. I’m not dying here. I’m not dying broken and afraid. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… With their combined weight, they were slowing down. Morgan needed one more hand to get the pressure off her neck before her head popped clean off. She opened her mouth and bit hard enough to make her jaw pop and hurt. Something snapped—was it her teeth? The creature’s fingers? Didn’t matter. The grip loosened and she was able to let out a throaty cry. “Can we shoot it?” She rasped. “What do we—fuck!”

The creature’s grip was loosening. They were winning. Well, winning wasn’t quite the right word. But the grip was loosening and it gave Morgan enough leverage to pull the thing off from her throat and Marley let go with one hand, screeching as Morgan’s fingers dug into her arm hard enough to break skin. God, why wasn’t it night yet? “I shot it like four times and it did nothing! I need something bigger, I need--” her grip slipped and the monster yanked and Morgan’s hand slipped right through Marley’s, leaving streaks of blue down her arm. “Fuck!” she whirled. There had to be something, there had to be-- an idea struck her. Marley picked up that stupid stick she’d found and dug into her pocket. Ripped off a piece of cloth from the mausoleum wall, old and dry and perfect. She set it aflame, wrapped it around the stick, and charged for the creature. Jabbed the flame directly into the wound she’d stabbed before and listened as the thing screamed with such a pained bellow that it finally let go of Morgan completely. Marley stumbled back as something hard collided with her stomach as the monster reeled and screamed and lashed out. She scrambled, grabbing at Morgan and yanking her away from the thing. Its body, just as dry and crusted as the old rag, lit ablaze as if it were doused in accelerant. “C’mon,” she called to Morgan, still tugging on her, “we gotta get out of here! Go!”

Morgan didn’t hesitate, she grabbed Marley again, hand locked on with all her strength, and ran. She wasn’t sure why the cemetery gates looked so special, like a magic barrier that couldn’t be crossed by evil, but as she ran, pulling Marley behind her, she was sure if they could make it through, everything would be okay. She would get home, she would kiss her girlfriend, she would never go anywhere without her car again, not alone, and everything would be okay. They just needed to make it. She leapt the last few paces, over a crumbling headstone and the curb, and turned the corner, out of sight from anything that might be after them. “T-thank you,” she wheezed. “I know you...definitely don’t like me...so, thank you.”

Marley wasn’t really sure what was happening. She was being dragged along almost faster than her feet could keep up with, running through the cemetery fields, leaping over headstones. She turned more than once to look behind them and see if they were being followed. But she saw nothing, and she hoped quietly she hadn’t just set an entire plot on fire. They reached the exit, and it almost felt like walking through a veil, from darkness to safety. Marley let out a long breath and bent over, hands on her knees, panting. Zombies didn’t get tired but mara sure did. She looked over at Morgan warily. “I wasn’t gonna let you fucking die....just because I don’t like you,” she grumbled through her panting. Winced when she moved her arm, pulling her sleeve up. Angry, blue streaks marked her forearm, bruises forming on her hand. She frowned. “Talk about not knowing...your strength…”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan mumbled, wincing as her windpipe expanded back into shape. “I wasn’t really thinking about moderation. I just didn’t want you to get left behind.” It was not a phrase she would have expected herself to say as recently as this morning or an hour ago, not to Marley Stryder. But when someone saved your life, you didn’t let a grudge get in the way of leaving together. Her face scrunched up with morbid fascination at Marley’s wounds. She’d never seen anything like that before. “Are you uh...okay?”

“It’s…” Marley started, then looked away, “whatever.” She looked back down at her arm-- she’d have to clean the wounds later, right now she needed to call in a possible fire hazard. Log this and make sure she came back at night to confirm the thing was actually dead this time. How many times had she killed it now? Would it just keep coming back? She needed to ask Nell to tell her everything about this stupid, fucking demon. She needed to-- “What?” Morgan had said something, but Marley hadn’t heard it. She looked over to her. “Oh, uh--” cleared her throat, rolling her sleeve back down. “Fine. Just a flesh wound. Zombieism doesn’t spread through scratches, right? That’s just TV propaganda?”

“It’s a biting thing,” Morgan confirmed. “Supernaturals can’t even be turned, they just get really sick. Although,” she smirked bitterly, “Without a really good healer they can still die, they just don’t get to come back to all the fun dissociation games and bland diet. Maybe uh, get something a little stronger than Neosporin on that, to be on the safe side.” She met Marley’s eyes for a brief moment, uncertain how to act around her now that they weren’t trying to one up each other or compete for Erin’s attention. She offered a small smile and fussed with the mud and scrapes on her arms, already healing. “For someone who’s such an asshole, you really do have a pretty sizable amount of decency in you, Marley. It’s a shame you don’t show it more often.”

“Gross,” was all Marley said. She moved away awkwardly, looking around them. The sun was finally dipping below the horizon and her eyes began to glow a soft red, but it was too little too late. Anita would probably want to know why there were scratches on her arms and Marley wasn’t sure she really wanted to explain it. Glancing back at Morgan, she furrowed her brow. “If you think not leaving someone to die is basic decency, then I guess I’d hate to see what you think is cruel,” she muttered, wiping some of the dirt off her pants. “I was just doing my job, don’t be nice to me just because of that.”

“I don’t just mean not being completely psychotic, although, you know, before the bowling alley, you kinda hand me wondering.” Morgan replied. “I just mean...I think I see you, Marley Stryder. You could stand to be less afraid of your own shadow.” But Marley was not looking anywhere near her, and was starting to seem uncomfortable all over. “Whatever,” she sighed. “Don’t get killed while you’re brainstorming a stupid lie to tell the humans at the station, huh?”

Marley gave a gallow chuckle. “Yeah, well...so did everyone else in my life.” She had finally caught her breath enough to stand up properly, rubbing her non bruised hand across her eyes. “Well, just...don’t.” It was a truth she didn’t often confront, but faced now with someone who thought her a monster and was deciding to take her word back, Marley didn’t know how to feel. So, instead, she took the out offered to her. She didn’t need to respond to Morgan, just gave a nod, before turning away and heading off. Now, she just needed to think of a stupid lie to tell the humans.

#chatzy #chatzy: morgan #three to be ready #morgan #wickedswriting

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rocket-remmy · 5 years ago

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Running Up That Hill|| Deirdre and Remmy

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @deathduty and @whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: A stroll through a cemetery and a stroll down memory lane. CONTENT: Suicidal ideation mentions, Descriptions of dying, PTSD Trauma, Guns

Life isn’t fair, Remmington. His voice echoed in Remmy’s head despite having not talked to him in almost thirteen years. Get used to it. Their dad had told them that a lot. The last time was when they’d come home bruised and battered, late, and he’d been there, ready to add to them. But he’d paused when he saw the shaking in their arms and the blood smeared on their face. And they’d asked him why, and that’s what he’d said. Later that night, they’d called the recruiter back and told her yes. A week later, they’d left for good.

It wasn’t a fond memory, by any means, but it was the memory that stuck to Remmy’s head like tar stuck to feet. It stretched and burned and stuck and wouldn’t go away. Even as Remmy scrubbed at their face until the skin was raw and red. It healed in an instant anyway. Even when they beat their fists into the walls or the punching bags at the Ring until there were dents in both and everyone else around had backed out slowly. Even when they’d screamed into the night in the middle of the forest and Moose had whined and put his tail between his legs and suffered through it because he had to. Because he loved Remmy. Even after everything with Morgan, the words still clung to Remmy, as if they were a part of their soul now. Such simple words, too. Words that rattled in their head as they stopped in front of the cemetery gates and glanced around for Deirdre. They wondered if she’d come. They’d understand if she didn’t, though. She was mad at Remmy, she blamed Remmy for Morgan. And that wasn’t entirely wrong. But Remmy didn’t know their place in her life anymore. Even if she said she wanted to be friends. Remmy didn’t know their place anywhere, anymore. And so they just waited.

Time had its way of expanding and closer and escaping through Deirdre’s fingers. Or it did, recently. Normally horribly punctual, she found herself unaware of how time progressed, and where she stood among it. She made her way to the cemetery late, out of breath and apologetic--things unbecoming of her. Deirdre had lost much of who she was, it seemed apt then that she’d lose her grip on this one thing too. “Sorry I’m late, Remmy,” she flattened invisible wrinkles on her shirt, meeting Remmy’s eyes briefly. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but the forlorn look was a surprise. Of course, Remmy couldn’t have been taking this any better than Morgan was. And they’d been so sad before, so much longer before any of this. Dwarfed again by her inability to help, she moved closer to the zombie, arms outstretched. “Sorry, friend. I’ve been looking forward to this walk all week, you know.” She paused, offering a weak smile, “hug?”

Remmy looked over when they heard the crunch of gravel under shoes. Deirdre was making her way up the path, and even from this distance Remmy could see the weariness on her. It hung on her like a cloud, like it ached her bones or her muscles or maybe her soul. Remmy pushed away from the post they’d been leaning on and met her a little ways up the path, as if them doing that might make her trek up easier. Even when she reached her arms out and gave that tiny, weak smile, they wondered if there was a way they could be the one reaching out to her. Even through the pang of anger they still felt and held close to their unbeating heart. “It’s okay,” they finally answered, “you can’t really be late for something like this.” They moved in without a word and hugged her, falling into her arms very suddenly and tensely after a moment of hesitation. They hadn’t realized how much they’d craved this contact until it was happening, hands digging into the back of Deirdre’s shirt for a moment. When they pulled away, not looking up at her, they gave a matching, tiny smile, “Me, too.”

"Can't I?" Deirdre wondered aloud. Couldn't she? This must have been one of those things, she decided, that Remmy simply said to make it better when it wasn't. But Deirdre was smarter, she knew not to fall so easily into false comforts. Even so, as she held Remmy and they held her, she could almost believe it—that she truly hadn't done anything wrong. But the hug broke apart, Remmy was back to finding Deirdre's eyes too atrocious a sight. But selfish, she pulled Remmy closer to her, walking with them with her arm wrapped around. The two of them had never shared any manner of bespoke physical intimacy, but she'd become skilled enough at learning what Morgan liked as a zombie, and wondered if it translated. Besides, if there was ever a time to reveal her embarrassing secret about how much she enjoyed being close to people, it was now. "Was Moose Day okay? I know it was a while ago but…" She never really asked, never really followed up. She sighed as she led them through the gates, into their long—and perhaps not as exciting as she first anticipated—walk. "I guess I'm asking if you're okay." But she assumed the answer to that was a resounding 'no'.

“No,” Remmy answered as they started their walk. They noted the way deirdre held them close, even after they’d left the hug. They didn’t know if it was to help her feel better or them, but they weren’t about to move away. It did make them feel better. It also made them feel worse. How could they be angry at her if they craved her closeness so much? Why was it easier to yell at Morgan and not Deirdre? It was too much to process right now. Right now, they just wanted to go for a nice walk with a friend. They could yell later. “Moose-- oh. Yeah...it went fine. Blanche did some stuff with me and had us take a lot of photos. Moose was happy with the meat cake I made him, too.” Passing through the gates seemed to signal something. Whether it was a start or an end, Remmy wasn’t sure. Glossy eyes looked up at her. Well, one glossy eye. The other was still covered with a patch. “But I’m not okay,” they answered, gaze dropping to watch their feet. They weren’t walking in tandem despite their arms intertwined. Remmy didn’t bother to try to make them, either. “I don’t think I’ve been okay for a long time.”

Good then, Deirdre noted. Remmy used the word 'fine' but it sounded better—comparatively at least. The admittance that followed was less inspiring. Deirdre frowned. She had suspected as much, she knew as much about Remmy, but it was different to hear it. She had nothing to offer, just as she could barely carry Morgan through her own pit, she didn’t know where to start with Remmy’s. “That makes two of us…” she sighed, mumbling. “I’ve heard it said that admitting it is just the beginning.” She barely had the facilities to be a good person, there was no capacity to become a therapist. Deirdre continued to walk, her strides were longer than Remmy’s, and she moved faster--but she slowed herself, hoping Remmy would spare a glance up at her. “Can I make it okay?” She asked quietly, “can we--can I--Is there something I can do to help?” She paused, wondering if the question was too daunting. She tried one with a simpler answer. “Why do you think you haven’t been okay? Is it the anger?”

“I guess,” Remmy admitted, “I just wish I knew where to go from here.” Their feet weren’t interesting, and Remmy didn’t notice Deirdre slowing her pace to try and give them leeway. They didn’t look up quite yet, but moved their gaze from the path to the grass that lined it. “I don’t know,” they answered truthfully, though that was a fallacy. If only they could take the time to think about it, if only they could take the time to remember what happened, maybe they could know what to do. “I’m not okay because I died and I can’t remember and now I’m having blackouts and everywhere I look I see my squadmates’ faces and I can’t concentrate on anything. And it makes me angry. It all just makes me angry. And you make me angry and Morgan makes me angry and everyone who told me that this was okay makes me angry. And I don’t want to be angry at any of you, but I don’t know how else to be anymore.”

Deirdre listened, her face fallen into a frown. There was one simple answer, and several more complicated ones. "It is okay, Remmy," she sighed, knowing it wasn't as convincing as it used to be, especially with Morgan vocally against any part of zombieism. "Is that it?" She tilted her head, now forcing them to halt their slow walk. "That you want to know how you died? I can do that. I can summon that vision." She didn't imagine it would help, but she knew enough to say that Remmy certainly thought it might. And if she could offer some peace to her friend, she would. But what happened then? If it didn't? If Remmy held hope just for another thing to crush it. Deirdre's face betrayed her skepticism, "are you sure you want to know? I can—If you really think it will, then you don't need to live without the knowledge any longer." She couldn't summon her odl arguments to convince Remmy that being a zombie truly wasn't terrible, but she always knew how to summon death and its visions. This, at least, she could do.

“No, it’s not and I wish you would stop saying that! I wish you all would!” Remmy said, pulling away from Deirdre. “Clearly it’s not okay if this is what it does to people! If the only thing Morgan can feel is this anger and pain and sorrow! Clearly it’s not okay!” And it wasn’t and they weren’t sure they’d ever think it was. Or had ever believed it was. “I-- you-- you can?” They stopped, still parted from Deirdre’s grip, looking at her with confusion and hurt mixed on their face. “H-how? What-- you mean you can see how I died?” The desperation clear on their face. They knew it wouldn’t solve all their problems but the reality had been a black space in the memory for so long, since they woke up, that it had to have some sort of catharsis for them, right? It had to. I had to. “Yes,” they said, “I want to know. I need to know. Please. I-- I need to know.”

"It is," Deirdre replied evenly, though she did not push it as far as she might have weeks ago. In her heart, she held the belief that if Remmy truly had thought it was completely terrible—completely hopeless—they wouldn't have bitten Morgan in the first place. And whatever it was they were experiencing, it would pass. "She says she loves me still, and if there's the capacity for that, there's always hope for more. And there is for you too." She sighed, far too exhausted to explain this. It would have been nice to just give in, give up, crawl back to Ireland and pretend everything was one long, bad dream. She held her hand out, "I can. I'm a banshee. This is…" What they did. What she did. And though she was a failure by most accounts, she could do this still. "...what I offer." Her frown grew deeper, with her eyes she spoke a silent desperation: this will not help. She didn't think it would. But, then again, what did she know of help? Her best efforts only served to push people away, the best things she ever did was….murder. What did she know, really? Deirdre gestured to her open palm. "Give me your hand, Remmy. And I can start." And though she knew little of gods, she prayed Remmy could find the pace they were after.

Remmy didn’t want to argue the point anymore. They were tired of listening to people lie to them about it. It wasn’t okay, no matter what they said. Cearly, it wasn’t okay. But Deirdre was offering something Remmy had wanted since the day they’d woken up. A memory that was lost to trauma and time and the hole in their head. The doctor had told them that it was probably for the best, that they didn’t remember. It was too traumatic, and their brain had purposefully blacked out the memory. But they needed it now. They needed it because they needed to know, they needed to understand. How they died and why no one cared and why no one cried. They needed to know what made them different from Morgan. They needed to know if they were alone. Remmy reached out. Deirdre’s eyes told them this wouldn’t help, but they didn’t believe her. It had to help. Silently, they took her hand.

Deirdre squeezed Remmy's hand back, offering a small smile. At once, the whites of her eyes flooded with deep black. The world darkened with it and she searched around her for the right threads to pull. This was always harder in a cemetery, so many people had died and all of them clamored for attention. She pushed through newly deceased housewives, around worn men and past confused children all to pull at the core of Remmy in front of her. She tugged. The visions met her with resistance. She tugged again and again until she tumbled backwards into it. She was consumed by sights and sensations that were not her own. All she understood, suspended in time, was that this was how Remmy had died, and death had granted her the vision of it—her body lurched until suddenly it was not her own. The cemetery dissolved into the rocky desert. The lazy sun above, not yet pulled to its height, still burned with a ferocity Deirdre did not know, but that this body she was in had grown accustomed to. The body was light for a moment, then sharp pain split across their chest in an instant. The body did not move, the body could not. The body fell backwards by the simple force of the impact, caught by the arms of another. He was handsome, despite the circumstances, though fear and panic twisted his soft features. He took the body tenderly against his dark skin, curling himself against them. He sobbed, his words lost to the whistling sounds of gunshots overhead. He tugged on the body a moment later, quick for even the way the world had slowed to a crawl, clawing across sand to drag them behind a rock. The body's eyes rolled lazily to the cover, Deirdre could feel the inevitably of it: the rock was too small, there was too much happening around them. She tried to will the body to speak, to tell this man to leave as the body's gaze turned back to stare up at him. Yet all sound was consumed by gunfire and shouting, as if their little world behind the rock was not sacred enough, not precious enough to be protected. Tears streamed free from the man's face, he pulled the body closer to him, a hand futilely pressed to their chest. The body watched helplessly as bullets struck the man, red staining his military browns. The body had stopped feeling pain, perhaps so far consumed by the kind that rippled out of their chest. The body watched the man cry. The body was—"Remmy."

Deirdre's eyes blinked back into their usual whiteness, she dropped Remmy's hand, needing hers to clutch her chest as she heaved, then as she tried desperately to pull out a bullet that wasn't there. She picked at her shirt, unaware her face was lined with its own tears. She spoke Remmy's name desperately, choked up by sobs. Her fingers ran frantically over the fabric of her shirt, drawn to her eyes only to verify that there was no blood. The lazy morning sun had been replaced with the cool midday one she knew, and there was no rock too tiny for their bodies. Slowly her body relaxed, and slowly she brought her gaze up to Remmy. "W-who is he?" She asked first, swallowing as she knew he'd died too—they all had, hadn't they? "There was this guy—" She began to mime the shape of his hair, the way his face wrinkled when he cried. "He had a good smile, I think. I couldn't see it. But I bet he had a—I could tell he had a good—" It was wrong to see him so struck by horror, she could tell. "W-who was he?"

As Remmy waited, they wondered. They wished they could see it, too. They wished Deirdre didn’t have to go through this. Tears were forming in her eyes. “Deirdre?” Remmy asked, but she didn’t move, still caught in the vision. Remmy’s body tensed. They shouldn’t have done this, they shouldn’t have asked her to do this. Was she hurting? Did this hurt? Had their death been so painful that it was hurting Deirdre, too? She cried out their name. Not loud, not fearfully-- but desperately. As if searching. Remmy caught Deirdre’s other hand, trying to steady her, until she pulled away. They watched her frantically pull at her own clothes, her own chest, and something struck a chord in Remmy. A painful throb, just above their heart. Remmy looked down, bewildered, but nothing was there. No blood, no bullet. Blinking, the pain was gone, like a ghost. They found Deirdre’s desperate eyes again, shaking with the memories fighting to claw their way back into their head. Her words echoed in Remmy’s head. Who was he? The one with the gentle smile? Remmy knew. Remmy knew right away, but his name wouldn’t form in their mouth. Who was he? He was their everything. He had been their everything, even after they’d decided they couldn’t be together. Remmy had been ready to start a life with him. “After we get back,” they had said, “maybe we could settle down? Retire? I think we’ve earned it.” They hadn’t known what was going to happen back then. “Darius,” they finally said, found themself fraught with tears of their own. “His name was Darius Mullberry--” a strained chuckle, “--we all always made fun of his last name. It’s just funny sounding, isn’t it?” They weren’t sure what they were saying, or why they were saying it. Deirdre didn’t need to know this. Remmy’s jaw quivered. “Did he-- was he in pain? Did you see him? Was he--?” the thought of their own death suddenly unimportant. “Was it quick? For him? Please, I-- I don’t want him to have suffered. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t even want to be there. He was only there because of me. I told him I’d keep him safe and he--” died. Their failure had gotten the one person they’d loved with all their heart killed. Remmy crumpled. “He was a good person. He didn’t deserve that.”

“Darius,” Deirdre repeated the name with reverence, holding the sound of it against her tongue, against the memory of the man she saw, burned into the back of her eyelids. She could see them together, laughing about the Mullberry. She could feel a flicker of Remmy’s life, what she knew her mind manufactured, but what felt no less real. All her visions were of death, her mind toyed with the idea of a vision of life instead and she held the story to her heart. She wished she could have seen that instead. She closed her eyes and tried to force it to play out. “I don’t know.” There was nothing. She opened her eyes. “You died first, I think. And he was crying so much I couldn’t tell if--I don’t think he was thinking about anything else besides you, Remmy.” And she hadn’t really stayed long enough in the vision to replay it, or start picking it apart. “You’re a good person too. You didn’t deserve--” Her voice caught, she gulped away another onslaught of sobs. Deirdre wanted to ask for more stories about the jokes they shared, about why Mullberry was so funny or if he ever said anything about Remmy’s name back. Instead, she sighed. “How could you have known it would’ve gone that way? How could you hold on to that? To any of this? Is this what you carry, Remmy?” This. Their mother’s death. Was there an end to Remmy’s pain somewhere? An easy answer on how to release the poor zombie from it? “You died in his arms. He wept. He died holding you. Some time later, I imagine you awoke.” Hungry, probably. Did someone move Remmy’s body or did they eat---Deirdre gulped. “Was he special to you? Darius?” They seemed special to him. Special enough to hold, to cry for. To die by.

Words flew by Remmy. He had cried for them. He had died holding them. He had lost everything in that moment as well. He had cried for them. Someone had cried for them. Someone had longed for them. Someone had cared for them. Remmy didn’t even notice the stream of tears down their face as they looked back at Deirdre. She was asking so many questions, but they couldn’t hear them. Their mind couldn’t process them. It was just words. Flying by them. Floating around them. The memory of his face. His smile. The way his eyes scrunched up when it got too big, the way his cheeks puffed when he smiled so big it became a toothy grin. As if it couldn’t be contained. The way he could see everything about Remmy even when they couldn’t. They way he knew they loved him but could never be with him like they both had wanted. They way he had always looked at them like they were the world, even when no one else noticed. When no one else cared. Was that why they’d loved him? Was that why they’d asked him to be theirs? Remmy didn’t know anymore. Is this what you carry, Remmy?

They couldn’t see through the tears as they looked up at Deirdre, crushed under the weight of the question, of her words, of their memories. They wanted to reach out, to touch, to hold, to feel something, to know someone. Would they ever know someone like that again? Frozen in their spot, frozen in time, frozen forever. They looked down at their hands, their feet below them. The dirt underneath them. Searched for a metaphor in it, in the way the grass scrunched under their shoes, the way the neatly paved path held everything in place, in the way the dirt caved under the weight of their shoes. But they found nothing. Was he special to you? Remmy’s eyes wandered back up to Deirdre’s. Was he special to them? “He was the first person I ever loved,” they finally said. And it was all they said, and they couldn’t look at her anymore.

Deirdre’s hand twitched at her side. She ached to reach out, to hold Remmy the way she learned to care for Morgan--learned to care in general. She stepped closer, hovering beside them, a hand awkwardly raised as they cried and she could do nothing to soothe the pain. Was it better or worse to be doing this in a cemetery? Surrounded by people who had lost in this same way, who had perhaps lost more, who had come out of pain without their lives--or those that had passed with peace, something Remmy could not be offered. He was the first person I ever loved. Deirdre swallowed. She gave in and reached her arms around Remmy, pulling them tightly against her. This was not her job, this was far from something she even thought herself capable of doing, but in that moment, she thought nothing of her short-comings and only of comforting her friend. What could she say no except that she was sorry? Would Remmy even want to hear it? “Do you want to tell me about him?” She asked softly. “Do you want--What can I do? Tell me what I can do, Remmy. Please.”

Remmy just crumpled further, trying to fold themself up so they could be put away and not have to deal with anything anymore. Maybe Deirdre could slide them into her coat pocket and take them away and none of this would have to happen. They wouldn’t have to face their death or his death or any of this. Any of this unfairness that life was dumping on them. They were drowning already, and the room was still filling with water. Remmy pressed their face against Deirdre’s shoulder and sobbed. And finally, it felt relieving. Like they were deflating with each sob, crying out the sticky tar that had swallowed their insides. “I’m sorry,” they said after a long moment, “I’m sorry. You don’t need-- I’m sorry.” They drew in a breath and held it-- not for the breath itself, but for the feeling. Closing their eyes, counting to ten. Letting it go. The exercises they’d been taught back in the hospital. They wiped their hand across their one good eye, prodding the patch over the other. “You’ve done enough, Deirdre,” they whispered quietly, drawing their knees to their chest. “You’ve done so much.”

Where had she heard those words exactly before? Deirdre held Remmy tighter, gritting her teeth. Hadn’t Morgan told her something similar? How could she be doing enough if there was still so much pain? How could she be doing anything at all if nothing was better? At least death made it clear when she’d done a good job, at least her family told her when she did her job well. What proof was there that she was helping anyone at all? “You can’t live like this, Remmy,” she said, her voice rising with anger at the helplessness of Remmy’s situation--of their life. “You can’t be this---it can’t be like this for you. All this suffering, all this pain. You can’t live like this. You can’t live holding on to Darius like that. With anyone’s death like that. Remmy--” She loosened her grip, tilting her head to try and meet Remmy’s eyes--well, eye. She’d have to see about getting them a new one. “--you need--” Help? Someone better at taking care of people? A new life as someone else? “--something.” They said answers would help. Did they? “I won’t let you carry this, Remmy. So you tell me what you want and I’ll do it. But you’re not keeping on like this. What’s in the past is in the past. You move forward and you…” Deirdre’s voice finally gave to her muted sobbing. She wasn’t sure why she was crying exactly, but something tore up her insides watching Remmy this way. “Tell me what to do, Remmy.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Remmy asked immediately, still not looking up at Deirdre. “Where am I supposed to leave them? On that battlefield? At the memorial? In their graves? If I do that, then they’ll be gone forever. I can’t do that. I won’t do that to him. I can’t let them be forgotten. It’s why I-- it’s why I woke up, right? Why I’m here? To carry them. To make sure they’re not forgotten on that battlefield. So that they didn’t die in vain.” They shook their head violently, planting their hands to push themself away from Deirdre on the ground. “Stop, please. I don’t-- I don’t need anything. You’ve done enough, Deirdre. I-- I can’t ask anything more from you, please.” Because if they did, they’d just ask for everything. They’d ask to be held and loved and carried and cried for, just like Morgan. They’d ask to be happy and soft and gentle, things so far out of reach right now they wondered how they’d even gotten there in the first place. They’d ask for a do over. They’d ask to just be done with it all. They’d ask for just...just one person to look at them they way Deirdre looked at Morgan. Just one. Because the one they had was gone now. And they didn’t get to watch him wake up. And they didn’t get to hold him again. And they didn’t get to cry with him again. Even if he’d cried for them in their death, who had cried for him? They did. They would. That’s all they understood, now. Why they’d woken up. Why they were still here. Someone needed to cry for them. Remmy clenched their shoulder, where the tattoo was. Remembered the touch of the needle, even if they hadn’t felt it. Remembered the warmth of Luce’s hands. They wanted to feel again. “Just make it all stop,” they said quietly, “I just want it all to stop.”

“Maybe you hold them.” Deirdre sighed. Once, she had known so much about death and loss. Once, she might have had true words of wisdom to offer. But what she once knew laid still under the weight of everything else. The Deirdre that could have helped was dead; perhaps she had never been capable of help at all. “Maybe you hold them in your heart, instead of carrying them. Maybe you keep it safe, and warm, and treat it with kindness...instead of...pulling it along with you. Maybe it’s different, Remmy. I don’t know. All I know is...that you can’t keep on, carrying everything alone. And maybe that just means you let someone else carry something too. I--” she swallowed. “I don’t know.” She let herself be pushed away lamely, unable to summon the strength to fight this too., to rend herself in there. She thought of Regan, with her hatred of her wings--begging them to be taken away. Her mind fell to Morgan, grappling with the loss of her anchor, asking to be turned back. She considered Remmy, another person asking for something that couldn’t be. And how many more were there? If she focused, she could feel hundreds of ghosts asking for the same thing. When did it end? How did she begin to help? Why did she want to? Why was this suddenly her problem? Why did she care? And why did it hurt not to? “I can’t do that.” She replied, curling into herself on the ground, defeated. “I can’t. You know I can’t.” She sighed, offering a meek glance up at Remmy. “You can ask for more, Remmy. I can’t give it, but you can ask. You should ask. You should ask for more things, Remmy.” She swallowed, thinking back to the vision. “He wanted you to live. And you’re living. And as long as you’re living, there’s always something to be done. And don’t---life is more than just a heartbeat, or the echo of where one used to be.” With great hesitation, she summoned a quiver: “what do you want to stop, Remmy?”

Remmy watched Deirdre from the side of their vision as she, too, curled up in defeat on the dirty ground. Remmy’s fingers curled against the skin on their arms. “I don’t know how to do that,” they said, “how to put them there. I don’t know if I can do that. What if I can’t do that?” they asked, a desperation in their voice that couldn’t quite figure itself out. As if they couldn’t possibly have a big enough heart to put them in, to carry them in. “I can’t ask anyone to do that. I don’t--” have anyone? And those that they did have-- Blanche, Skylar, Morgan, Deirdre-- they were all already carrying so much. They shook their head again, this time much slower, in defeat. “I can’t.” Repeating Deirdre’s words, in the same tone. Neither of them could. It was an impassable situation, stuck between the fallen rocks of their failures and the sheer cliff of what was ahead of them. “What’s the point of asking if no one can give it? What’s the point, Deirdre? Please, tell me. What’s the point? I don’t-- I’m not strong enough to know the answer. I can’t-- I can’t take it anymore.” They wrapped their arms tighter around their legs, head burrowing into their knees. “I want him to be alive again. I want him to be here instead of me.”

“You have to,” Deirdre asserted, her voice equally as desperate. Remmy had to. Something would give, eventually, it always did when carrying something like that. And either Remmy figured it out or--Deirdre swallowed. She didn’t want to think about the alternative. “You will,” she said, a fierceness took her then, and she looked over at Remmy with a steadiness. “And you ask. You do. You have to. You need to ask as many people as you can, no matter if they can’t give you anything. You have to ask. You have to let people try. You can’t---asking is half the battle, isn’t it?” And it had to be. It would be. She couldn’t let Remmy live like this. She wouldn’t. She didn’t know the first thing about care or comfort but she needed to do something. “Everyone can give you parts and pieces and maybe they make a whole if you let them Remmy but---” Deirdre reached across, the palm of her hand pressed firmly into Remmy’s shoulder; a strong presence, not a forceful one. Her voice took the same quality, stubbornly sure now that something had to be done. And that she wouldn’t let remmy succumb to defeat, not if she had to personally fight it herself, tooth and nail. “Absolutely not. One life is not more precious than the other. And you love him, and I’m sure he loved you, and no one who cares that much would ever agree to such a thing. You are alive. And you will live. And you’ll figure it out, what you need to do, the kind of things you should ask people for, and where to hold this pain in your heart. You have to, Remmy. I know it’s--” she swallowed, weavering for a moment. “I know it’s hard. I know it’s unfair. I know I sound like I’m spewing crap at you right now, Remmy. But you’re my friend.” Deirdre paused. “And I love you too. And I won’t let you think that way, not forever. Maybe we can figure this out. And maybe for now it starts on the floor curled up in a ball but…” she inched closed, her voice dropping to a gentle breath. “Will you let me hold you, Remmy?”

The sudden turn of Deirdre’s voice threw Remmy off. The sternness, but it wasn’t filled with anger. It was filled with assuredness. As if she’d simply figured something out in the moments of silence that had hung between them. Her palm pressed firmly against Remmy’s shoulder, a steadying grip, somehow both pulling Remmy up and keeping them grounded. They blinked through their haze, through the pain still clawing at them, as their mind continued to process all the new information it had been given, still not reaching the spot where they’d been told how they’d died. Deirdre’s eyes were blazing and gentle all at the same time. They didn’t know how she did it. How she stayed so steady and so firm and so soft at the same time. How she could confidently say these things and support all the people in her life, while still holding all of her own pain, all of her own misgivings. If Remmy could help her, even a little, even with one small thing, it wouldn’t even hold a flame to all the things Deirdre gave and never asked for in return. They wished they could offer that for her, too. For anyone. They wanted to be to someone what she was for them. Hands gripping tighter for a moment, Remmy finally let out all the tension they’d been holding in. “I don’t wanna be alone anymore,” they finally admitted quietly, whispered into their lap. They lifted their head to meet Deirdre’s gaze. “I’m tired of being alone.” Of being angry, of being tired, of only remembering pain. There had to be more, didn’t there? There had to be more. And maybe there was. They hadn’t been alone in death. Maybe that was enough to hold onto for now. Remmy nodded in answer to Deirdre’s last question.

Deirdre waited until she had an answer before she moved forward, wrapping her arms around Remmy again, holding them tightly to her. There was not much else she could say that she hadn't already. Not much else she could do. This, at least, she hoped could be some manner of a start. "You're not alone now, Remmy." Not anymore. And they never would be again.

#chatzy #chatzy: deirdre #deirdre #running up that hill #wickedswriting

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