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in-tua-deep · 5 years ago

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Angsty au idea, five makes it back except he arrives dead and only Klaus and Ben can see him. (What happened to his body? Could be that his body got stuck between space time or he drops off as his thirteen year old sib and thats gonna traumatize the sibs probably) (Ig he could have also either died from wounds because the commision figured that he'd be turning and got strained from the time travel or an error in equations)

me, resurrecting myself over here

okay okay okay i’m going to take your idea and tweak it just a teeny tiny bit and produce:

Time travel isn’t viable.

Not the way five travels. Not without a conduit. Not when he’s essentially harnessing all of time, all of those endless possibilities, within the heart of a human being. It’s so much. It’s too much. Five died the moment he blinked away on that street outside of the Hargreeves mansion.

But Five doesn’t know that.

He doesn’t notice that no one gives him a second glance when he appears out of nowhere on those bustling streets. He just jumps again, because why not! He’s excited, he’s proving his father wrong, he’s liberated! And then.

And then.

He’s in the apocalypse.

He doesn’t notice that he can’t interact with anything until he touches his Luther’s corpse and his hand goes right through. And then, his first thought isn’t - I died. It’s - something went wrong with the last jump.

Which makes sense to him. He’s managed to get himself trapped on some kind of in-between plane. And that’s why his time travel powers aren’t working! Because they don’t work right on this plane!

Five wanders the apocalypse, and it’s a little better than in canon because he doesn’t need to eat.

(Oh, he misses eating.)

He’s a smart boy. A brilliant boy. He’s thirteen, and he thinks he’s invincible. But his powers are jumping, and he can take himself apart molecule by molecule, and eventually eventually after years and years have passed he manages to solidify his hand enough to pick something up.

The first time he turns a page in a book feels like victory.

He camps out in the destroyed remains of a library. Being solid enough to pick something up is... exhausting. He can’t do it for long periods of time. But he has a little stack of useful books, a little pile of chalk, the store mannequin he likes to talk to (he named her Dolores), and a blanket that has seen better days. He can’t exactly feel the ground when he curls up on it, and he can’t really sleep in this messed up pocket dimension or wherever he’s stuck, but he closes his eyes and pretends with all the power of the child he isn’t.

He’s in the apocalypse for a long time, trying to figure out a two-fold problem: how to get out of his pocket dimension and back into the ‘real world’ and also how to get back to his siblings when he does. He isn’t stupid. Time travel when he was capable of it was a crapshoot, he needs a way to get more exact.

And then the woman comes. Pristine and blond and carrying a suitcase. She frowns when she steps over the rubble in heels that click click click and frowns harder when she presses gloved fingers against Five’s equations written in chalk.

Five hides behind some rubble, but gets brave. Gets curious.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

He comes out, he says “Hello?” and isn’t sure what he expected when she doesn’t even turn around. Five goes towards her with silent footsteps, footsteps that don’t disturb the dirt and chalk dust of the apocalypse because they don’t exist.

He doesn’t know who she is, but he’s curious what’s in her suitcase, and waits patiently for her to open it. He’s also planning on following her back to whatever settlement she came from? He hadn’t thought there were any people alive, but clearly she is proving him wrong.

So when she walks away, he puts his hand on her suitcase so that he doesn’t lose her, because even if she wouldn’t feel it putting his hand on her and watching it go through would be... demoralizing.

And then she opens the suitcase, and suddenly they’re somewhere else. Except not somewhere else. Its bustling with people and the woman’s heels click loudly against the tile floor and someone walks right through Five and he trails after the woman because everyone seems to give her a wide berth and being walked through sucks.

Someone addresses her. The Handler. That’s not - that’s not a people name, Five is pretty sure. That’s a title. But no one addresses the woman by name, so the Handler it is.

Five doesn’t know how old he is, but he still looks thirteen. (He doesn’t feel any different, because he isn’t. His growth is permanently stunted, he will always have died at thirteen-years-one-month-and-nine-days-old.)

So he lives at the Commission headquarters for a few years, invisible and a tiny bit mischievous. He can travel through the walls if he wants, so no door is locked to him. He makes himself a little den in one of the vents where he gets a small collection of office supplies that he steals from the assholes as punishment. He doesn’t do anything major.

He finds out what the commission does. He tags along with some assassins on occasion. He once distracted Cha-Cha by shoving a glass off a counter and breaking it to try and give a child witness time to flee.

(Hazel found her in the closet, terrified and silent with huge glassy brown eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips and quietly closed the closet door. He yelled “Clear!” to Cha-Cha, and then he and cha-cha and Five all left. Five looks at Hazel differently, after that.)

(Hazel has a soft spot for kids and bird-watching diner owners. This is important.)

Five scribbles equations on the walls of the vents. He gets more data every time he travels with the agents so he starts traveling with them a lot, even though he hates it, even though he sees so much death and destruction and he can’t stop it. He helps, sometimes. As much as he can. It’s not enough.

Five finds something, one day, when he’s wandering around. He finds a picture of Vanya, framed. He recognizes her immediately, from the back of Vanya’s book that he found in the apocalypse. They have lots of pictures of famous people around the commission, and lots of pictures of ordinary people. All of them significant in some way to the ‘preservation of the timeline’.

He goes to the Handler’s office, and among her many souvenirs he finds a cracked violin, and he remembers the background music that made up his entire childhood.

(He steals the violin and puts it in his vent nook. He flips it over and traces the tiny V that’s shallowly carved shyly into the bottom, the same one Vanya has been putting on every violin she’s ever had since she was seven-years-old, after Diego and Luther broke hers and tried to claim that it was just a random violin, not her violin and it wasn’t their fault she didn’t take care of her possessions -)

(Why is Vanya’s violin in the Handler’s collection of weapons?)

Five is aware of something. He thinks the commission has something to do with the apocalypse. They protect the timeline of whatever, right? And yet the apocalypse happened. Which means it must be planned.

Five has been trained to fight ‘villains’ since he was tiny, and he recognizes a villain when he looks at the Handler’s shiny smile and too long nails.

Vanya has to have something to do with it. Do the commission kidnap her? Do they kill her? She’s important, somehow.

(Maybe before he traveled he would have doubted that. Vanya was ordinary. Why would she be important? But Five has tagged along on so many missions where they killed perfectly ordinary people in order to spark a chain of events. In fact, it’s almost always ordinary people.)

Five solves one of his equations on a regular, ordinary day. It’s the time travel one. Not the one about his... unfortunate circumstances.

So Five finds a nice empty room, and he gives it a try. He’s not expecting much, since the pocket dimension bullshit fucks up his time travel anyway (though he can still spatial jump curiously enough) except - it works. He splits the world apart, and it’s hard. Way harder than he remembers it being.

He chalks that up to the whole pocket dimension effect.

He pushes and pushes and then - something breaks. Like ice shattering for a spring thaw, and he’s through. He’s on the ground, winded. He looks up and - it’s them. His siblings. Older than he remembers, clearly the equation wasn’t exactly right, but they’re here and they’re alive and Five can feel himself tearing up and he lets it happen because none of them can see him anyway and -

“Five?”

Two voices, overlapping. Five’s head snaps over, eyes wide with shock and alarm and -

It’s Klaus and Ben. Both staring at him, equal alarm and shock in their eyes.

“You can see me?” Five demands loudly, patting at his body frantically. Is this it? Did he kill two birds with one stone? Did coming back undo whatever bullshit he put his body through - ?

“Klaus, why would you say that.” Allison scolds automatically, “That was in poor taste.”

Five looks at her, and her eyes scan straight over him, in the way that’s been familiar for - for -

(Five didn’t bother to keep track of the years. Not when he was unaffected by time, by seasons, by weather. What was the point?)

Five’s eyes snap back to Klaus’s, who hasn’t taken his eyes away. It’s weird, Five thinks absently. His skin crawls under the attention, not used to it.

(Isn’t that strange, in a boy who used to demand attention with every breath he took? Isn’t that odd?)

There’s a hand on his arm and Five just about jumps out of his skin, whirling around and flailing and - oh look, that’s Ben on the ground, looking absolutely shocked. Five is also shocked, because he hasn’t been touched in - in forever.

“Ben?” Five half-asks, voice smaller than he’d like with a tremble that he kind of wants to kick in the gut.

“Five.” Ben responds, kind of sounding like he’s been punched in the chest. Actually he might have been, Five was never very gentle when it came to removing his limbs from others grasps.

“Well!” Klaus says loudly, making Five and Ben look over. “If the crisis is over, and we’ve lost a perfectly good fire extinguisher to the void, i’m going back inside!”

Klaus gives Ben a significant look as he turns on his heel and marches back in, and Ben winces. “Come on,” He whispers to Five, getting up and brushing himself off. “It’s better to talk when no one else is around.”

Ben hesitates, and Five hasn’t spoken to anyone but himself in a very long time. It’s been even longer since - well. And Ben looks so lost all of a sudden, that it’s really for Ben’s benefit when Five takes Ben’s hand in his own and tugs him in the direction of the mansion, “Well get a move on.”

Ben looks like he’s about to cry, looking at their joined grip, but nods and leads Five into the building. He gives Five’s hand a squeeze, as though making sure he’s real, and Five allows it gracefully.

Finally, they’re tucked into Klaus’s bedroom, Klaus sprawled across the bed and staring at Five like he’s something entirely alien.

“I don’t understand.” Five says, because the silence is getting awkward. “How come you guys can see me, but the others can’t?”

And Five is very confused when Ben’s face just - crumples. He looks like he’s about to cry. And Klaus, the contrary bastard, starts laughing, just a tiny bit hysterically.

“Take a guess shortstack.” Klaus wheezes out, “What’s my power?”

It��s seeing the dead, of course. But Five isn’t dead he’s just - in between. Right?

Besides, there’s a glaring flaw in Klaus’s theory.

“Uh, Ben can see me.” Five points out, lifting his and Ben’s conjoined hands where Ben’s grip is actually getting a little bit painful.

But isn’t a good kind of pain. Five hasn’t felt pain in - equally long.

Klaus’s laughter cuts off and Ben makes a noise like a squeaky toy that’s been stepped on. “Yeah,” Klaus says, uncharacteristically serious, “Well. You missed a lot, kiddo.”

“Ben’s not dead.” Five protests, because he’s not. Five can see him. He’s right there, and he’s never had Klaus’s powers. He turns to Ben and -

Ben envelops him in a hug, a tight one. The kind that Five would never have allowed unless absolutely necessary before he’s left, but now just sort of - melts into. It’s the pressure of it, honestly. Ben’s a good hugger.

“Five I’m so sorry.” Ben whispers, pressing his face against Five’s hair. It tickles a little, where Ben breathes out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulls back, and brushes trembling fingers against Five’s hair. “Five, Five. Haven’t you - haven’t you wondered why you can’t - Five. You’re still - it’s been so long and you’ve been alone and - ” Ben breaks into sniffles.

“I’m just stuck.” Five says blankly, trying his best to process, “I’m just - I jumped wrong, and I got - I got stuck in between. I’m not - I’m not dead.”

“You’re deader than a doornail, kiddo.” Klaus interjects loudly.

Five, never one to take that lying down, untangles himself from Ben just enough to pick up a knicknack and hurls it at Klaus’s head with a scowl. “I’m not a kid.”

Except now they’re both staring at Five again, even as Klaus presses a hand against his forehead where Five had whalloped him (his aim was a good as ever, clearly).

“How -” Ben stutters, staring between Klaus and Five with alarm.

Klaus sputters as well, “What the fuck! How did you do that!”

“Well you see, Klaus.” Five says, voice toxic with the sweetness he exuded, “When someone leans down, and picks something up, they can exert a force on it. This force interacts with other forces to form the trajectory of an object - ”

“Not that!” Klaus sputters, “You picked something up!”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Five says dryly.

Ben prods him in the side, making Five look over (up, if we’re being technical. Grown-up Ben is... kind of tall, actually. Compared to Five.) “How did you do that?”

And Five isn’t dead. He isn’t. But - he remembers the early days. How terrifying they were. How he couldn’t interact with the world around him at all. And if Ben is going through the same thing - “It... it took me a while to figure out. Um. It’s - it’s kind of hard to explain? Because like, when I jump it’s - it’s kind of like taking myself apart and then putting myself together somewhere else. And it’s like, like taking that feeling, except instead of putting yourself together somewhere else you like, layer it over yourself as you are? Like, making yourself denser somehow, I dunno.”

“If you can do it, then I can, too.” Ben says ferociously, a determined glint in his eyes. “I’ll finally be able to throw things at Klaus when he’s being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Klaus protests, looking very offended.

This is all very nice, but Five did come here with a mission... so he tugs at Ben’s arm. “Ben, what’s the date?”

Ben shrugs, because why should the dead care about the date? He looks at Klaus. Klaus looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Um.” Then he brightens, “Right!” He grabs something from his pocket, it’s rectangular and flat. There were lots in the apocalypse, though Five has never figured out their functions. Except when Klaus clicks his, it lights up.

“Uh, March 24th.” Klaus says, squinting at the screen.

“What year?” Five asks, leaning forward.

“2019.” Klaus says.

“Fuck,” Five says, with feeling. “A week.”

“What’s a week?” Ben asks warily as Five flails and untangles himself from his grasp to stand up and pace.

“You don’t understand.” Five says, turning to them both, “I haven’t just - just been traveling the world as a fucking ghost. I time traveled. It worked. But - the future - ”

“Five?” Ben asks, all concern and love and it’s painful.

“The world ends in seven days.” Five tells them both, voice cracking, “There’s nothing but - but rubble and ruin and - and - ”

He remembers their bodies, remembers them splayed out in the rubble.

“You died.” Five told Klaus, “You all died. The whole world died. Everything was - ash everywhere. I was there for - for...”

“The courtyard scene.” Ben realizes, reaching out as something like comprehension dawns on his face. Five dances back a few steps, his breaths coming in funny little pants. “You came back from - the future?”

“Breath, Five.” Klaus advises, sounding a little bit worries himself.

“If I’m dead why do I need to breath?” Five snarls, and Klaus’s face drops and he curls in on himself a little looking pathetic. It’s enough for Five to toss out a mildly panicked “Sorry” because? That’s what you do right?

(Five hasn’t interacted with people who can talk back in decades and it shows.)

And Five tells them everything, in halting uncertain breaths. He winds up curled up on the bed with Ben’s arms around him, steady as a rock, while Klaus manages to somehow sit in the desk chair in a manner that makes Five a little uncertain that his brother possesses bones and ligaments.

He tells them about the future, about finding their bodies, about learning to - to condense himself just enough to interact with the world. He tells them about the woman, about the suitcase, about following her. He tells them about the Commission, and how he’s sure they have something to do with it - the Handler had Vanya’s violin -

By the time Five is finished talking, he’s exhausted. The sun has slipped below the horizon already, and he feels like dead weight in his brother’s arms. At some point, Ben had started running a hand through Five’s hair, and the repetitive motion is soothing.

“That’s - that’s a lot.” Klaus says, and something must have shocked him a little bit out of his goofy persona.

“I just wanted to go home.” Five mumbles.

“You are home.” Ben tells him, squeezing him tightly, “And we’re going to make sure the apocalypse doesn’t happen. Right, Klaus?”

Klaus shuffles, awkwardly. “I mean. I’m not exactly uh, number one choice for team apocalypse you know?”

“Ben’s number one choice for team apocalypse.” Five points out, flopping his head against Ben’s arm. “You’re an okay second choice though, I guess.”

It makes Klaus bark out a laugh, and Five can feel Ben’s snicker through his chest.

“Vanya’s gotta be on the team.” Five mumbles, loud enough for them to hear. “She’s important. Gotta make sure, make sure no one uh, no one kills her or anything.”

Ben and Klaus exchange a look over his head that he doesn’t see.

“We’ll plan everything tomorrow.” Ben tells him gently, “In the morning, okay?”

“Mmkay.” Five agrees absently.

The dead don’t sleep, but they can get - tired. Being in the living world is exhausting, and Five closes his eyes and just. Ignores the world. Just for a little while. The dead don’t dream, but that’s okay, because Five’s dreams have never been anything approaching peaceful.

Five made it back. He might be a ghost, but he made it back. An impossible goal, and he accomplished it. After that, taking on the apocalypse will be a piece of cake.

(And if Ben and Klaus think Five is going to give up on his idea to un-dead himself, they have another thing coming.)

#unviable au #tua au #Anonymous #far tua long #the umbrella academy #long post #five hargreeves #number five #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus ben five and vanya are going to make up team apocalypse #five might be a ghost #but he's also a poltergeist #and also thirteen #ben says 'i am your mother now' to five #to be fair to ben five is the only person he can touch and outright interact with #five CANNOT interact with people only objects #he isn't sure why #living people i mean #ben is a cuddler and five is touch starved and that's that #klaus thinks it's very very cute #but also tragic #also he keeps getting dragged into saving the world shenanigans #when he could be doing LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE #klaus might be a bit grumpy #ben is unsympathetic #five can and will throw things at klaus #vanya is just. very confused #but also happy because five is?? back?#the family bugged klaus about five's ghost for years

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skruffyfairy · 4 years ago

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the suicide journalist , Chris Morris https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwiA8C6oiJo

Susie and a thin man found me in the park. I was walking slowly round the pond, making the bones in my nose tickle by hooting. Susie said my mother had tipped her off, after hearing my voice while throwing stones at the ducks. I had been there a day and a half. "It's because of my job," I explained, "batch testing New Age CD's." "But Hal said he didn't hire you in the end," she said. "That would explain why he hasn't paid me." The thin man with Susie coughed up a small laugh, and spat it onto the ground. "You'd better come to dinner on Saturday," Susie said. "Clive will be there too." She squeezed the man's arm. "Clive is the suicide journalist." He was ghostly pale, with black hair and a sad wit in his eyes. I'd say he looked like John Cusack, if I could remember who the hell John Cusack was. As he gazed moodily at the pond, Susie explained that Clive had announced in his weekly column that he had six months to live. On April the fifteenth, he would be committing suicide, and until then he would write about how it felt to be staring death in the face. Clive took aout a notebook and muttered something about the blackness of a moorhen. "Do you know what month it is now?" she asked. I thought it might be Martober. Susie dabbed a damp eye, and said that the suicide column was the saddest, funniest, most tragic and uplifting thing she'd ever read. "He has just twelve weeks to go." I looked across the pond and started honking again. Susie turned to collect Clive, who was puffing on three cigarettes and smirking at his notes. "Eight or late with a good excuse," she crooned, and popped a sweet in my mouth. I arrived well after dark. A smart woman opened the door. "I couldn't afford a bottle of wine," I said, "so I've drawn one on a piece of cardboard." I had prepared for the party by eating half a jar of instant coffee I'd found in the bins at Sainsbury's. She took my cardboard and said "That's brilliant. Could I use you in a programme?" When I asked her what sort of programme, she said "I could make a whole series about the things people bring to parties." "What do you do?" I said, thinking of the window at Dixon's. "My name' s Hosanna Bell. I work in the warm arts." We stepped past Susie's yachting gear and into the dining room. Seven people sat noisily round a large bowl of oysters, but Susie wasn't a single one of them. I thought I was at the wrong party, until they explained that the whole point was to be late, but with a good excuse. "Why are YOU late?" they asked. I said I'd had no money for a bottle of wine, and the homeless bloke at the tube station who normally subs me a couple of quid because he says I look worse off than his dog was being mugged when I asked him this time and hadn't given me a penny, and then I'd got lost whether Susie's house was directly opposite some trees, or directly opposite no trees at all. Several conversations had started by the time I got to that bit. Susie arrived to great squeals and kisses. She announced that she had spent the last three hours in bestial congress with a junior cabinet minister. Gobs hung open, because everyone had thought he was gay, and several of them also knew that he was her half-brother. She wore a grin as big as a harbour. "Do you think Clive is still coming?" said a sincere man in glasses, and the talk turned at once to his column. Hosanna Bell said she had seen more truth in Clive's writing than the entire works of any writer she could think of. A woman called Emma agreed. "I'm still reeling. I don't know whether to weep, laugh, throw up or hug everybody." "That's just your protein rush," observed a man called Paddy, pointing to the seventeen shells on her plate. Emma touched his leg. Paddy was Clive's editor, and was busy milking the table by mildly deprecating the praise for Clive's column, so people doubled it in protest. He was just declaring that the columns would have to be polished up for the book, when swearing in the hall announced the arrival of Clive. He looked a bit drunk, and seemed small with his coat off. He said he was sorry he was late, but actually he didn't give a fuck. Everyone laughed, except Paddy. Susie said "This brilliant man has asked me if you would all take it easy on the suicide questions tonight," and helped him liberally to bivalves. We nodded, of course, and I asked him if he thought oysters could commit suicide. Susie glared at me. I said I was just wondering if an oyster could make a decision like that, and if so, how it would die, because it couldn't really hang itself. "Are you being weird, or sarcastic?" said Emma. I didn't know, because I get the two feelings mixed up. She called me a plankton, and started telling Clive about the time she had cut her wrists. "Look at my scars," she said. "They are beautiful, but not as beautiful as your columns." For some reason, Clive looked at me as he said "Only the very ugly is truly beautiful. And if the printed word has any meaning, then it must come from the very edge of fuckybumbooboo." There were titters. Paddy muttered something about Clive alienating his fans, but was cut off by Emma. "No, Clive has every right to be drunk. You are in masses of pain, Clive. You are doing it for us." "Yes," agreed Hosanna. Clive asked her what the hell she knew. "In the warm arts, we're strong on people power," she said, "and what you have done in volunteering to take your own life is illuminate with poignant resonance the self destructor in all of us." There was a ripple of applause. Clive, who had been sousing his oysters in vodka and setting them alight before hurling them down his throat, now added a cigarette to the turmoil, and belched the word "bollocks." Paddy banged the table, and started telling Clive that if all he could do was get pissed and shove drugs up his bum for the last twelve columns, he would lose all his priceless empathy. "This is the finest copy I've ever commisioned," he said, "and I'm not having it ruined by some jumped-up little floozy going all diddums." A man called Stitt said that Paddy was threatening the purity of Clive's columns. "If he uses the bottle, then that should come through in his work." "But he'll end up writing about you lot!" said Paddy. Suddenly all the guests were telling Clive about the time they'd nearly topped themselves. Hosanna Bell described how she'd been suicidal for six months after giving birth, until she'd decided to sue her baby for what it had done to her figure. Clive was insulting everyone and writing notes on his cuffs. "Losers! Crap attempt!" he shouted. "I want something that actually works." Someone said hosepipes work. Clive knew a bloke in a garden centre in Maidstone who actually cuts them to length for your particular car. He said the people carrier length hose was the most popular. "Wow," said Hosanna Bell, now also scribbling feverishly. "So then, Mr Superstar," Paddy was saying, "what is the best way to kill yourself?" Clive said that in fact the best way he knew was to buy 200 foot nylon rope, tie one end round your neck, the other round a lamp post, and get into your car and floor the accelerator. He said that's how his great-uncle had done it. He'd made Clive help him. He was just nine years old. And he'd had to ride in the car and stop it crashing when his uncle's head came off. The blood had made the pedals very slippery. Clive blinked, smarting eyes. The table fell silent. "Really?" said Paddy, genuinely shocked. "Of course not, you moron!" brayed Clive, and went on to explain that we were all idiots, he could say anything and we'd lap it up, just because we thought his pain meant something, how we wouldn't give him a second thought if he wasn't going to kill himself, except that actually he wasn't anyway, because the whole thing was a hoax, and he was going to say so in his column next week. Paddy erupted, and decked Clive with the oyster bowl. Then he stood over him, roaring that this was his f***ing idea, Clive had agreed to do it, and he wasn't going to wriggle out of killing himself now, not now there was a book. Clive crawled from the room. The general opinion was that Clive had just treated us to his most savage and moving cry for help yet. We had all understimated his pain. "I feel choked up now," said Emma, "but if I read about next week, I'll be crying for the rest of the year." "Someone bring me a f***ing fag." Clive's voice sounded glutinous. Susie gestured to me, as everyone else was still debating the meaning of his actions. He lay on the floor, two regurgitated oysters a tongue's length from his leaking mouth - one of them still slightly alive. His nose seemed a better place for the cigarette. The caustic fumes revived him, and he stumbled to his feet. "I'm going out," he said "I'm going to break into a car, and drive around drunk until I crash." As he lunged past me into the hall, his foot snagged on a rope among Susie's boat bags, and he fell on the sea grass. We both looked at the large coil of blue nylon. "Are you good at knots?" he said. Susie's car keys were hanging by the front door. "You might as well use the Discovery," I said. "She'll be so thrilled to have a new story." About an hour later, I revealed that Clive hadn't just gone for a walk. He'd gone to divorce his head. And how I'd helped him with the keys and the knots. I needed to go to sleep, and had correctly anticipated that Paddy would punch my lights out.

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nightwingshero · 5 years ago

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Okay, buddy! @jayjaynerdybird here’s your commision for your awesome deputy, Samantha “Sam” Clarke and Joseph Seed. I took a different angle with Mary May and Hudson (I love them both, I swear), I really hope you like it! I had a lot of fun with this AU, it was an interesting concept to play with!

She sighed as she eyed her best friend, her left hand clutching the truck’s steering wheel tightly. Her aviators shielded the blue green irises that she knew held nothing but mischief as she received a toothy smile. Wren had her hair up in a ponytail, pieces loose and dancing as the wind came through the open passenger window. She popped her gum, leaning back with her feet on the dash. She looked nothing short of a wild child, her energy buzzing in the cab of the truck.

Sam rolled her eyes and scoffed, not at all affected by Wren’s smirk. She tucked her blonde locks behind her ear in an attempt to keep it under control, to no avail. She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, sweat gathering at the back of her neck. She regretted the jeans she had on, forgetting just how hot it was in her hometown. Georgia’s heat was unforgiving, the humidity clinging like a second skin. The AC in the damned truck had been broken for months, but she never seemed to have the time to fix it. At least her tank top gave her some reprieve.

“You know it would be fun.” Wren’s voice called to her, a tilt as she taunted Sam in a singsong manner that was oh so convincing and filled with honey. It was Wren’s version of puppy dog eyes, but more…cunning. She was more silver tongued than Sam was willing to admit, in fear of Wren’s ego inflating. One of these days, she was gonna meet someone that gave her a run for her money, Sam was sure of it. And Wren was going to be way in over her head.

“We just got back from Montana. I don’t think another trip is really necessary.” Sam insisted. She was tired. The flight had been delayed and sleeping in the airport was not at all idealistic. She could still feel the creak in her neck. “Besides, I have no clue as to what kind of trouble you’re gonna drag us into.”

Wren gasped, her hand pressing against her chest dramatically. “Samantha Denise Clark! How dare you think for a second that I would do such a thing!”

“Yeah. You remember that time we ended up at the Sheriff’s station because we got caught trespassing to have a bonfire on the Rye’s property? Nick’s dad almost killed us.”

Wren pouted as she crossed her boot clad feet, setting them out the window and leaning against the center console. “Fine. Fair enough. But still, think about it. It’s not like we’re going to a different state. It’s just Atlanta. Only a few hours from here, we could stay for a few days, maybe a week at most. It wouldn’t be that long.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t—”

“And, I don’t know, maybe you could meet someone. Like, a rebound. Or an actual good fucking guy.”

Sam grew quiet at first as she bit her lip in indecision. Her and Wren have had this talk before, multiple times. Sam’s parents had died when she was young, leaving her in the care of her uncle on his farm. Her father had been a deputy, so Sam had wanted to follow faithfully in his footsteps. Wren had moved here not long after her mother died, and with her father being distant at best, they had practically grown up together on her uncle’s farm. Wren and Sam had both went to college, venturing into some interests, but had found themselves in the police academy. Sam knew, deep down, that Wren wanted to help people. To keep others from living through what she had. A father that was a barely functioning alcoholic. Her music becoming a hobby she indulged in on the side.

The vacation was Wren’s idea, her claiming that it was much needed for both of them. Sam knew better, though. It had been six months. Six months since Sam had come across the texts, the emails, and the bra that definitely wasn’t hers. She had wanted to marry him, foolishly believed that he was going to propose soon. God, had she been wrong. And she left, moving back in with her uncle. She didn’t want that damn apartment, so she let him keep it only for him to turn around and move down to Savannah instead. Good riddance. Weeks turned into months as her heart slowly pieced itself together. Eventually, Wren put her foot down. Insisted they needed some girl time, a little vacation to get out of this small town.

“Maybe.” Sam murmured, appeasing Wren just enough for the moment as they pulled down the long drive of her home. Wren only sighed in response, stretching out as they pulled up next to an old brown Chevy truck. They groan, jumping out and grabbing bags. “Feels good to be home.”

“Feels good to not be in a fucking plane.” Wren grumbled and Sam couldn’t help but smirk. She found her friend’s fear of heights and flying ironic, being named after a bird and all. Wren threw her a glare in response to the chuckle that had escaped the blonde’s throat.

“Fuck off, Sammy.” Wren stopped suddenly, grasping Sam’s arm tightly. Her green orbs scan Wren’s face, searching for an answer to her sudden change. Her dark brows her furrowed in confusion and Sam frowned. Had they forgotten something at the airport? “Sam, who the fuck is that?”

Sam turned her head to find what exactly had caught the brunette’s attention. It hadn’t taken much, and she wondered how she hadn’t noticed before. A few yards away, a man she didn’t recognize worked on the picket fence, a new coat of paint shining in the sun. His dark brown hair was in a bun, but a few strands had escaped. A pair of yellow aviators were pushed up as he focused on his task, the muscles in his arm flexing with his movements. Tattoos covered his chest, and one stood alone in the center of his back. Wren’s brow raised as she threw Sam a Cheshire grin. Sam was too shocked to even notice, her mouth suddenly going dry. She had always been a sucker for men with longer hair, but that damn beard gave him a certain touch that she really couldn’t put her finger on.

“Hey girls! Welcome home!” A booming voice finally pulled Sam from her trance, and just in time for the stranger’s gaze to fall on them instead. Sam gave her uncle a beaming smile as he approached them. He gave her a bear hug, pulling her close. Sam felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. It had felt like forever since she had seen him, and deep down she was happy to be home.

“Hey Uncle Earl.” Sam replied sweetly. He chuckled as he patted her back before pulling her back, finally, taking her all in.

“Montana did you good?”

“Oh yeah. I had a blast and it was gorgeous. You should come with us next time.” Sam insisted with a tilt of her head.

Earl Whitehorse just shook his head as he waved her off. “Nah. Not for me.” Sam wasn’t shocked in the slightest, but that didn’t keep the twinge of disappointment from her chest. Her uncle deserved some time away, especially after dealing with the two of them. Seeming to have read her mind, he threw Wren a look. “Wren. Y’all stay out of trouble up there?”

Wren answered with a smile, her eyes bright with a false innocence. “Why, of course. You know me better than that.”

“Yep, sure do.” He replied with his brow raised, but that only made her smile widen even more. Her eyes glistened a bit as she looked past him before throwing him a curious look.

“Who’s your new friend?” she asked, motioning to the man who was still busy painting the fence. Earl’s eyes widened.

“Oh! Hang on, let me introduce ya!” he turned, his hands cupping his mouth as he hollered. “Joseph! Come here and meet my girls!”

The man looked over as Whitehorse waved him over. Sam gulped as he stood, setting his brush aside, and took long strides on his way over. She watched, mesmerized, her eyes taking him in the closer he got. Her dark green eyes traced the sharp edges of his toned torso, from his chest and abs, to the defined V that flirted with the jeans that hung low on his hips. Sam looked away quickly as he approached, scolding herself for openly ogling him like some silly schoolgirl, only to find Wren’s shiteating grin. She clenched her jaw and groaned internally. Of fucking course.

Her uncle put his hand on one of his broad shoulders, turning to them. “Girls, this is Joseph Seed. He’s new to town, him and his family just moved here from Atlanta. He’s helping me around here for a little bit. Joe, this is my niece Samantha Clark, and this hellion is her best friend, Wren Blake. Practically family.”

His blue eyes were dark and deep, so deep that Sam felt she could get lost in them forever. But that wasn’t what had taken her breath away, no. No, it was his soft gaze, a hint of gentleness that she had never seen before in her life. It pulled her in, making her feel warm all over, and she didn’t want it to end. She could see the sweat glistening on his skin, and she fought the blush that threatened to bloom on her face. He gave a small smile, his hand reaching out in greeting.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He replied and she could’ve melted into nothing then and there. His voice, God his voice. She didn’t think it was possible, but it was even more gentle than his eyes. The Georgia twang accent rolling off his tongue in all the right ways. She reached out, in what felt like slow motion, and grasped his hand with hers. His hand was rough, calloused from hard work, but warm.

“Likewise.” She breathed out; her eyes wide as his gaze pierced her. Wren chuckled, breaking Sam from the trance, and she let go of his hand, stepping back as the blush finally made its way across her cheeks.

“Its nice to meet you, too.” Wren said as she shook his hand, strong and sure. Sam gave her a bewildered look behind his back, wondering how the hell her best friend wasn’t as affected by him and she was. “I guess we’ll be seeing you around, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose you will.” He was eloquent in a way Sam had expected. He was comfortable in his skin, seemed to know his way around a farm, but seemed more well-mannered than the people around town.

“Alrighty, I’ll give you girls a chance to get settled. Joseph, you mind taking a second?” Earl Whitehorse asked as they turned away. Sam watched as Joseph and Uncle Earl walked, both talking quietly among themselves. She nearly jumped out of her damn skin as Wren draped her arm around her neck, pulling her close.

“You know what, Sammy? You’re totally right.” Wren said, her tone teasing as she smirked. “We don’t need a trip to Atlanta. Nah, I think we should stay right here.” She was quiet for a second, contemplating as Sam’s face burned brighter. She hummed before giving a thoughtful look. “You think he has a brother?” Sam groaned and shoved her away before making her way towards the house. “What? Hipster is your style! Is it so wrong to ask for a hot brother? Think of the possibilities, Sammy! And your best friend! Hey, don’t leave me hanging!” Wren called as she jogged to catch up with the embarrassed blonde that wanted nothing more than to hide in the house for the rest of her life, cursing Wren every step of the way.

Sam had to say that she was rather proud of herself. Catching up on reading, shows, and other things. Leaving early for work and coming home later in the evening. She had successfully avoided Joseph Seed the past week, and she couldn’t have been more relieved. She didn’t give it another thought as she stood outside, filling the Yeti cooler with ice. It was the weekend, and with her understanding, Joseph didn’t usually come over on the weekends. So, she sang along to Justin Moore without a care. She adjusted her white bikini top as she stood back up, a sigh escaping her lips. She pulled at her newly cutoff shorts. She didn’t know how some girls pulled it off, she missed her yoga pants.

The sound of an engine and the crinkling of gravel under tires brought her attention from her task, the cases of beer and bottled water momentarily forgotten. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she spotted an old black mustang coming up her drive. It wasn’t a vehicle she recognized, no. She would have known if someone in town had gotten something like that. She wondered briefly if perhaps Wren made a decision on impulse and groaned at the trouble her and Sharky could get into with it.

She rubbed the back of her neck as it came to a stop in front of her, the driver’s door opening. Dark boots stepped out and her brows shot up as she watched the stranger emerge fully. His dark brown hair was slick back, blue sunglasses covered his eyes before he was pushing them back. She crossed her arms as she eyed him suspiciously when he shot her a smile, not unlike some Wren had done when trying to sweet talk someone. Sam wasn’t fooled one bit. He was trying to make an impression of some sort. His medium beard was trimmed neatly, his one earring caught the sun a bit. His black button up was wrinkle free and untucked, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. This gave her the opportunity to acknowledge the ink that decorated his skin.

Who the hell was this? She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from asking him just that, but a passenger stepped out, almost immediately answering her question. Joseph was wearing a t-shirt that clung to him in ways that shouldn’t be allowed, Sam swore it. She felt cornered immediately and took a hesitant step back, her wedged sandals shuffling over the gravel beneath her feet. The yellow aviators covered his eyes this time, making his eyes an unfair shade of green that she envied. He smiled at her then and waved. Shyly, she gave a small wave back before eyeing the other gentleman again. He tucked his tattooed hands in the pockets of his (probably) expensive jeans.

“Hello Samantha.” Joseph greeted softly, his smile still in place.

“Sam.” She corrected immediately, a light blush warming her face.

His smile widened just a tad before he breathed out, “Sam.” The other man’s eyes glistened in amusement at the interaction before lightly clearing his throat. Joseph looked to his side, almost in shock to see another person standing next to him despite their drive to her home. “Oh. Forgive my lack of manners. Samantha—Sam—This is my little brother, John.”

John smirked as he extended his tattooed hand in offering, and Sam took it with a polite smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.” She said brightly, trying hard to calm herself down on the inside.

“Pleasure’s all mine. Good to finally meet the niece that my brother told me so much about.” He flashed a smile that showed off his perfect teeth, his blue eyes twinkling. They had the same color eyes, but they were so different. There was a certain mirth in John’s gaze, one that countered the softness in Joseph. It didn’t pull her in the same, and she suddenly wondered how much he could back the confidence that rolled off him in waves. Sam pretended not to notice Joseph throwing him a pointed look as red tinted his cheeks lightly. She had a feeling hers were no better.

“Johnny, is that you?” Sam heard her uncle call. John’s smile became a bit forced as he cringed just the slightest. Sam chuckled before whispering to him.

“Once Uncle Earl gives yah a nickname, it kinda just sticks to yah. Hope he doesn’t offend.”

John just gave a slight shake of his head. “No harm done, dear. Just going to take a bit of getting accustomed to it is all.” Sam raised her brow, noting that eloquence was something the brothers shared. “Earl, how have you been?”

Her uncle grunted as he came to stand next to her. “Eh, you know how it is. Damn back giving me problems.”

“I can only imagine.” John’s smile doesn’t waver, and it made Whitehorse chuckle.

“Well, I imagine you’re ready with those papers, then?” he drawled out.

John made a sweeping motion with his arm. “Whenever you are, sir.”

Whitehorse grumbled lightly with a wave. “Drop the sir, makes me feel old.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam cut in, looking at her uncle. “What papers? What’s going on here?”

Whitehorse turns to her, shock painted on his face. “Oh. Oh, darlin’, I’m sorry. Forgot to mention this to yah. I’m sellin’ the farm.”

“You’re…you’re selling the farm?” she breathed out. Whitehorse grabbed the brim of his hat, taking it off as he scratches his forehead.

“Yeah, well, some of the farm. I’m keepin’ the house, ‘course. But there’s just too much damn land, can’t keep up with it. Even with Joe’s help. So, Johnny here, he’s a bigshot lawyer from the city. He’s helpin’ with all the legal nonsense. I’m sellin’ them part of the land, and Joe’s gonna turn that old building, you know the one on the edge of the property? Yeah, he’s gonna make it into a church.”

Sam’s head spun around, catching the older brother’s gaze in shock. “You’re a Father? I mean, not like—I meant you’re—”

“Religious? Yes, ma’am.”

“Sam.”

Joseph cleared his throat, shifting his weight a bit from foot to foot. “Yes, Sam. I am religious and would like to…have a church of my own to preach in.”

She didn’t really know what to expect, but she knew this was at the very bottom of the list. This man looked nothing like the many figures of religion she had met in her life. But somehow this drew her in more. He was rugged, polite, and wanted to make a major impact in other peoples’ lives spiritually. She underestimated the man that stood before her, and it only made her heart race faster.

“Shall we, then?” John asked, breaking the silence as he tucked his hand back in his jeans with a tilt to his head. She had to admit he was handsome, you’d have to be blind to not see it, but he wasn’t exactly her type. They didn’t get a lot of guys like him here in town, sure, but she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off the older brother as they followed her uncle back to the house. Seeming to sense her gaze, he looked over his shoulder. Dropping her gaze immediately, embarrassed at being caught, she takes just a moment to question if it’s his chuckle she hears.

It only took another ten minutes before the Jeep she’d been expecting to show. She wanted to wring her friend’s neck for being a bit late, she could have used the back up while being ambushed by the brothers. Mary May gave a wave as she hopped out of the passenger side and Sam sighed, returning it. She prayed that they could get out of here quickly. Her Daisy Duke get up almost made Sam laugh, she was so used to that woman wearing nothing but flannels and jeans. The red bikini top complimented her, though.

Mary caught sight of the car on her way to Sam, her brow raising just a tad with Wren following a bit behind. Even with her dark aviators, Sam could tell her best friend was tired. She pulled a late night with her dad, and Sam had insisted they reschedule, but Wren absolutely refused. Rowan wasn’t going to be in town long, and she wanted today to be special. The navy-blue bikini top was more Wren’s style, its why she was assigned the color. Blue always made her eyes pop, and Wren was honestly eager for any opportunity to show off the ink she had acquired over the years. If you looked closely, you could see the roots of the tree playing peek a boo with the edge of her shorts. Sam watched as her friend did a quick double take, finally noticing the car, and she lets out a low whistle.

“That’s a nice fucking car, Sam.” Mary May said as she raised her brow at her.

“That’s a nice car to fuck in.” Wren threw back and Sam rolled her eyes with a groan.

“Seriously? You have to be that vulgar?”

Her best friend whipped her head around quickly to shoot her a look. Or at least, Sam assumed that. She couldn’t see with how dark those damn glasses were. “Do you not see this? You know how much a car like this would cost? If someone is driving me around in that damn thing, you better believe I’m getting the most of that experience.”

“Everyone has a dream car, Sam. And sometimes that dream car is a car that you gotta have sex in because you can.” Mary chimed in before throwing her a sly smile. “Especially if the owner is as rich as they seem. Good thing I swing both ways.”

Wren pushed her glasses back, her and Sam sharing a look before she went back to checking out the car. Sam and Wren were both thinking the same thing. Mary May was one of the close friends they had grown up with. Joey Hudson, Rowan and Eli Palmer, Nick Rye, and Staci Pratt were some of the others that were in their tight circle. It wasn’t a secret to anyone about how Mary May felt about Joey, who was open about her sexual orientation. Mary May wasn’t as open, she made jokes like this often even though she couldn’t just come out and say it. Mary had a way about her, she would always flirt with good looking guys, even dating Pratt and Rye once or twice. Anything to get Hudson’s attention, without risking being honest. Wren just smirked as she glanced at their friend.

“Willing to go down on a girl, Fairgrave? Let Hudson know you’re willing to top.”

Mary May glared at her. “Shut up, Blake. I was kidding.”

“Hope not! Gotta show some love, Mary May. It’s all about give and take.” Wren was eating this up and in the corner of her eye, Sam saw the three men walk out the screen door. She bit her lip nervously as Wren circled her, the scales on her shoulders on display as Sam frowned at her back. “Addie swears on it—”

“Adelaide Drubman gets around, Wren.” Mary May sighed heavily with a roll of her eyes. “She’s—”

“Like sixty years old and has a twenty-something little boy toy. I think the woman deserves some credit, there, babe.”

“Wren. Serisously.” Mary May rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a lesson about going down. Besides, it’s not that important.”

Wren scoffed, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder at Sam. “Really? Because dipshit never went down on Sam, and she was never fucking happy.”

“Wren!” Sam gasped out, but neither of them were listening.

“He was a total asshole, though. No wonder she wasn’t happy—”

“I’m right here, guys.”

“Yeah, and because of that, he wouldn’t go down.” Wren shook her head while eyeing Mary May. “Dude, you can’t say you swing both ways if you’re not down to eat a girl out.”

“I don’t like this conversation, and my uncle is coming.” Sam hissed as she gave a wary glance to the men that were approaching them. But Sam watched as Wren put her hands on her hips, shifting her weight just a bit as Mary May sighed.

“Yeah, I don’t think Hudson—”

“Hudson would love,” Wren leaned forward a bit and Sam could only imagine that smile on her face. “For you to go down. Take one for the team, Fairgrave!”

Mary May finally laughs as she glares playfully at us. “I’m not going to just fuck your—”

“Tongue fuck.” Wren corrected as she threw Sam a devilish smile, which caused an exasperated sigh to escape from her.

“I’m not going to tongue fuck Hudson!” Mary May burst out, face beet red. “You guys are ass—oh.” Mary May sobered up quickly, and Wren and Sam turn quickly to see what had caught her attention. She hated her life and her friends, more than she ever had in her life, in this moment. Her uncle’s face is beet red, but there was no way that he was shocked by what he heard. Joseph had his hands clasped in front of him, cool as ever as he observed. John did the same, but there was a glimmer of amusement that made Sam groan internally. She wondered how much they had heard. Ugh, she could throttle her friends.

But Wren turns and sees Whitehorse first. Sam shakes her head as that all-too-familiar innocent smirk is back, gracing Wren’s lips. “Good morning, Whitehorse!” Wren’s voice is upbeat, not taunting like it had been mere seconds before. “How are you?”

He only sighs and shakes his head before grabbing a beer from the cooler. “I don’t know what to do with you girls.” He grumbles. Wren goes to respond, but Mary May slaps her arm in a way that Sam knows she’s trying to be subtle, but it’s painfully not so. Wren freezes as her eyes finally take in their audience, only then becoming aware of the situation they’re in.

It’s amusing to Sam, as she watches Mary May and Wren react. Mary May is shamelessly eyeing John and Joseph up and down, and she can imagine she’s trying to decide which one she likes better. Sam feels a slight offense to the notion, and she can’t figure out why she’s ready to get defensive and snap at her. She glances at Joseph, only to find that he’s already looking at her and she gives him an apologetic smile. Wren wasn’t normally this crude, but Fairgrave had a tendency to bring out the worst in her, and Sam couldn’t necessarily blame her.

“Boys, these are Sam’s friends. Joe, you’ve met Wren, practically a second daughter.” Earl explains, sighing as he tips his hat towards Wren. Wren just give a small smile and a wave, and Sam is almost floored. She has seen Wren nervous and shy before, she got that way around men she didn’t know or trust. It happened. But Wren could barely meet John’s eyes, and Sam couldn’t help but find it a bit funny. John throws them another smile when her uncle introduces them, and Mary May’s eyes are sparkling. “Joe here is looking to rebuild that rundown building into a church, and John is opening up that tattoo shop in town.”

Sam almost howls with laughter at the way Wren perks up, almost like a puppy, her attention caught immediately. Sam and Joseph share an amusing look, and it’s like they’re sharing an inside joke. It makes Sam’s heart flutter. Mary May flips her hair over her shoulder as she takes a step closer to John.

“Oh, that’s pretty cool! I was wondering what was going on in that old café down the street.” She gives him a smile before giving a glance to the car behind her. “Is that yours or your brother’s?”

“Mine.” He replies with a smile, and Sam can tell he’s proud of it. She’s curious about the story she’s sure is there. Joseph sends him a side glance and it warms her heart at the love that shows behind those aviators. She knows he’s proud of his little brother and her smile just spreads.

Mary May laughs, a hand finding her hip as she cocks it to the side. Wren shuffles her feet a bit to hide the step back she takes, making a show of messing with the fabric of her cut offs. “I would love to take a ride in it sometime. It’s not everyday you see a car like that.”

He only hums, his eyes glancing at Wren. She’s playing on her phone now, and that’s Sam’s clue that she’s out of her element. Wren can’t see John eye her as she shuts herself from the situation, and Sam watches as Mary May’s smile falters a bit. If Sam was completely honest, one of the only reasons she wanted Mary May to just admit it, was so this shit would stop. She held no true ill will towards her friend, but Mary had gone about this all wrong. She looked for Hudson in other places, and when she showed a bit of interest towards someone her or Wren might have given a second look to, they backed off. Something in her snaps, a sickly-sweet smile coming forward, the gears in her mind turning.

“Mary May, Hudson has a Camaro.” Sam chimes in, tilting her head innocently as she makes an act of looking a bit confused. “You could—”

“It’s a Dodge Challenger.” Wren corrected immediately. And Sam needs to fight the smirk and laugh that is just beneath the surface. She’s practically humming with the excitement of her carefully laid trap. She knew her best friend wasn’t as oblivious as she led on. “It’s a ’79 Challenger, she supped it up last summer.” Wren throws her a look, her brows furrowed. “You work with her all the time, you should know this.”

Sam just shrugs dismissively. “You know me, Wren—”

“I thought you girls helped Joey work on that thing?” Her uncle chimes in, scratching his beard a bit. Wren is calculating as she stares at her best friend, unsure as to what she was getting at, and Sam wants to scream at her uncle and best friend. This woman couldn’t take a hint when it concerned her, but if was anything else, she would’ve jumped on it. Sam just smiles, shifting gears to try and navigate this the best she can.

“You know what, I think I remember that. Because you told Hudson that she should have gotten a Mustang, and Mary disagreed.” Sam snaps her fingers with a thoughtful expression, praying that she wasn’t coming off as crazy as she tried to pull this off. Sam turns her attention to Mary May as Wren’s eyes widen just a fraction. Finally, Sam thinks to herself. “So, my point is, I thought that you would prefer a ride in Hudson’s car because you prefer Challengers. You should ask Hudson, so you can ride in your dream car.” She quickly turns to John, her hands going up peacefully. “Nothing against your girl here, though. She’s gorgeous.”

John quirks a smile at her, a knowing look in his eyes that she isn’t sure is a good thing, because it could mean she wasn’t as subtle as she had thought she had been. “None taken. Challengers are a respectable choice.”

“So, what plans do you ladies have today?” His voice shocked her, not exactly expecting him to say anything at all. He was always so quiet, but Joseph is looking softly at them before those eyes land on her. She can’t the help the smile or blush that she returns.

“Swimming.” Sam responds and god, it’s like she’s in a trance. She could get lost in those eyes for hours, her own little wonderland. “We’re going swimming.”

Whitehorse hums and raises his brow at her. “Not the fair? I’m kinda shocked.”

“Rowan is in town.” Wren chimes in, finally recovering and returning mostly to herself. “We thought we would go swimming with her today, and then maybe go to the fair tomorrow. We have time, they’re here until the end of the week.”

“We thought it would be a cool idea to do the whole red, white, and blue thing in respect for her service. You know, since it’s the Fourth of July.” Mary May smiles as she points out their color scheme. This has Sam’s uncle shaking his head, lightly chuckling to himself.

“What am I gonna do with you girls?”

It’s dark when Wren is pulling back into Sam’s driveway, having dropped Mary May off along the way. They were both exhausted, muscles sore from the running and jumping, the chicken fights…all before catnapping in the sun right off the bank of the river. It had been the most fun they’ve had in a long time, and Sam could only think about their days as kids doing the same thing. Most of it had been sneaking out at night, but Sam loved her friends, loved the ties that she had created over the years. She wondered if maybe creating more wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“So,” Wren finally broke the silence, glancing briefly in the blonde’s direction. “what was that about?”

Sam frowned, looking over at her friend, the lights on the dashboard making Wren’s face glow. “What are you talking about.”

Wren scoffs. “I mean that pissing contest you pulled with Mary May.” Her blue green eyes are scanning Sam again before they return to the road. “Seemed kind of…I don’t know…weird? Since when do you pretend to not know what kind of car Joey has? We were with her all the time when she was fixing it up.”

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Sam asked, huffing out as she crosses her arms and throws Wren a serious look. “She acts like some sort of lovesick puppy over Hudson one second, and the next? She’s flirting with the next exciting thing she comes across.”

Wren raised her brow. “So…You’re jealous?”

“Of what?” Sam scoffed, a look pure disbelief on her face.

“Of how Mary May was looking at Joseph.” Another glance, curiosity staring back at Sam. “Is that what you’re talking about?”

Sam sighed as she ran her hand over her face. “It’s not just about Joseph—”

“But I’m right.”

“That’s not the point—”

“But I’m right—”

“Yes!” Sam let out an exasperated sigh as Wren nodded slowly. “Yes, I was jealous. Which is stupid because I barely know the guy.”

“You’re constantly avoiding him, and he’s only been here a week.”

“He’s super hot, though.” Wren lets out a laugh and Sam can’t help but smile with her. “What? It’s true! Besides, I’m not the only one that’s getting a little thirsty.”

It was Wren’s turn to look at Sam like she was crazy. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Joseph is not my type. And I don’t share, sweetie.”

Sam hums with a smirk on her face. “No, but John is.” Even with the dashboard lights, Sam can see Wren’s blush, and she’s laughing. “Oh, you are so into the bad boys, I’m surprised you’re not married to some fucking mafia boss.”

“Mafia…Sam, we’re in a small town in Georgia. What fucking mob boss would set up shop here?” She shakes her head and Sam laughs harder. “Doesn’t really matter though, does it? Mary May—”

“There!” Sam snaps her fingers and points at Wren. “Right there, that’s what I’m talking about. Because that whole time you were ignoring that conversation between those two, he was totally checking you out. And I’m just…” Sam shakes her head slowly and laughs. “I’m just tired of walking around Mary May because it’s her. She will always be hung up on Joey, and what? We wait on the sidelines while she has her pick, and we get what’s left?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“No, but that’s what happened at prom, remember? She can’t just do that anymore. We’re adults. And you’re right, she needs to make a move on Hudson or move the fuck on.”

Wren laughs as they pull into the driveway. “Is this you saying you’re gonna go for Joseph Seed, Sammie?”

“M-maybe.” Sam replied with a false confidence as Wren parked behind the black Mustang.

“Well, looks like you have your chance. Because they’re still here.”

They hop out of the Jeep, Sam pulling her jacket tighter. She followed Wren, leading with the dark blue flannel to protect her skin against the chilly evening. Only a few lights were on in the house as they entered, but they could hear shuffling and light laughing in the kitchen. They found Sam’s uncle laying his head down on the table, John leaning back in his chair with one arm on the back and his other hand around his glass, and Joseph held a coffee cup in his hands.

Sam laughs lightly as she approached her uncle. “What happened here?” She sees that he’s out cold, passed out from a long day and too much alcohol.

“Well, one thing led to another…” John started as he gave her a sheepish look.

“He made a bet with you, didn’t he?”

“Yep.” John smirks as he finishes off his drink and Sam playfully rolled her eyes at her uncle. Wren saunters in.

“He can’t handle it like he used to.” Wren mused before grabbing the glass in front of him, and down it in one go. “Remember when he would give Mary May’s dad a run for his money?”

“Don’t remind me.” Sam groans as she begins to put things away. “We’ll have to move him.” She turns, ready to find the best way to pull this off. Joseph stands then, and throws a smile her way.

“Please, allow me.”

Joseph wrapped Whitehorse’s arm around his neck as he pulled him up from the chair, Whitehorse only becoming conscious enough to give him a bit of help taking some of the weight off. John offered to help, but Joseph waves him off. Sam leads the way to Earl’s bedroom, flipping on the hallway light as they go upstairs. When they finally get to his room, Joseph carefully sets him down on the bed. Sam removes his glasses and hat, setting them on the end table as Joseph takes his boots off. They quietly exit, Joseph turning to gently shut the door behind them.

Sam turns and watches him before he’s turning back to her. She doesn’t know why, but she’s suddenly nervous. She bites the inside of her cheek before meeting his eyes. “Thank you.” She says softly with a smile. She’s warm under his gaze, and she likes the way it feels.

“You’re welcome.” His voice is gentle, and she swears that he will never let any harm come to her. Her skin tingles as he takes a hesitant step forward, brushing a lock of hair from her face. She’s surprised that she hadn’t combusted yet, the electricity charging between them is breathtaking.

“You should come to the fair with us.” Her words are rushed, the excitement way too obvious and she feels stupid. “I mean, if you want. Tomorrow is the last day, and we’re all going to be there. It would be a good way to meet the town.” Ugh, she’s an idiot. She’s kicking herself, downplaying saved her ass, but she knows she’s friendzoning him.

He tilts his head only slightly. “Perhaps. John and I could stop by for a bit, maybe meet up with you—”

“No.” she says it with more confidence than she feels, and she looks down at her fidgeting finger. “No, I mean that you could come here first, and…” She hesitates as she looks up at him from under her lashes, terrified of rejection. “we could go…together.”

He smiles at her, taking one of her hands in his, rubbing his thumb across her skin. “That sounds lovely.”

Sam buzzed with energy she had never felt before. She’d gone on dates before, but nothing like this. She barely knew him, but she couldn’t exactly explain what had driven her to do this. There was just something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. And maybe…maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing for her, to finally put herself out there like Wren had suggested. Was is so wrong to want to be happy?

When they had walked back downstairs after, Sam had found Wren and John standing close, a flirty smile on Wren’s face as John leaned against the counter next to her. It was after the brothers had left that Sam told Wren what had happened. The high five she received hurt like hell, but it wasn’t enough to wipe the smile off her face. The idea of being out in the crowd today made Sam groan, though. She didn’t normally mind grey skies, but the humidity was high and borderline unbearable. She would bet money that Wren wouldn’t even step foot out of the house today.

As Joseph’s truck pulled into their drive, an idea occurs to her. So, she double checks herself in the mirror, making sure the lavender dress looked good. Slipping on her flats, she dashes down the stairs, and she’s out the door before he can even make it to the porch. Whitehorse had just left, on his way to meet some buddies at the Spread Eagle. It was strange for her to be there all alone with him, but it gave her such a thrill, her mind jumped impulsively to an idea.

Joseph wore a plain shirt with jeans and boots. His normal attire, including the smile he was giving her. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes and no.” She replies, coming to a stop in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. “I actually got an amazing idea. We’re not going to the fair.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “We’re not?”

“Nope!” she’s practically beaming at this point. “I want to see the building. I wanna see how your church is coming along.”

It takes a moment, but he’s smiling and walking her to his truck. He opens the door for her before walking around, getting in behind the wheel. She’s ecstatic. Sam would be lying if she had said she wasn’t at least a bit curious. She wanted to see what he had been up to. So they drive down the dirt road that she has only been down a few times in her lifetime. Most of it was in their teens, sneaking down here to drink beer and think they were cool. Looking back, it was the silliest thing, but part of her missed those years.

Ten minutes. That’s all it takes. And he’s pulling off, parking the truck. He opens the door, offering his hand to help her down. The field sways in the breeze that’s picking up, making the sweat on the back of her neck go cold. She can see it in the distance, and she can already tell that they’ve made some improvements. The newer wood contrasting against the old, plastic hanging inside, also covering the hole in the roof. It’s a work in progress, she knows. But as Joseph begins to talk, laying out what is being done as if he talked about it in his sleep. She wonders what it would be like to hear him preach, if maybe that gentle voice of his wasn’t always gentle. And she shoves that thought in the back of her mind, because her body shivers just a bit.

She can see it, every detail he has described to her, and she’s suddenly filled with something she can’t explain. Sam has never been very religious, but she feels something in this moment as he passionately invokes his will for his vision. Its an anchor to her, pulling and holding her to every word that leaves his mouth, and she’s scared because she has this feeling in her gut that she would follow his words anywhere he went.

That’s when it hits them, the rain. Its hard and fast, the water droplets are bigger than she expected them to be. The news had said drizzling later in the evening, but they’d obviously gotten their information wrong because Sam is drenched in seconds. They’ve walked to far to turn back to the truck, so she runs, without looking back, towards the building. She feels Joseph take her hand, and its suddenly him leading her to their salvation. She giggles, both from the ridiculous of this situation and from the irony of the thought. He, again, opens the door for her, before shutting it behind them. The church isn’t pitch black, but its dark. The pounding of the rain makes it hard to hear her own thoughts, and it drives her nuts.

Joseph pulls a lighter from his pocket, lighting old candles along the way. She sees broken pews, old pages scattered along the ground, and it occurs to her that this was some point a church before. Smethign to old and sacred was left here, abandoned. He pulls his shirt off, wringing out the water. Her heart is hammering, she can feel it as she crosses her arms over her chest, both from the cold and the consequences of not wearing a bra in the rain.

Despite the chill, her cheeks are warm, because that damn candlelight is dancing, and causing sinful shadows over his skin that she wants to trace. The lines of him are beautiful, even down to the tattoos that adorn his chest. She’s done for, whether or not he knows, doesn’t matter. She knows. Oh god, she knows. And Sam is scrambling, wishing more than anything that they were at the fair instead of here, because this is what she has been fighting since she came back home. She freezes, her breath stopping in her throat as he looks at her.

She’s burning all of a sudden, and it has to be this damn Georgia heat. He walks to her, slow and steady, and the first thing that comes to mind is that he isn’t as saintly as he seems. Men of God didn’t tattoo their bodies like this, or at all. There’s something more here, something deeper and she should probably run. She doesn’t know him. But she lets him squeeze her shoulders as he asks if she’s alright. She can’t hear a damn thing over the rain, but she reads lips well enough. She’s always watching his. She takes a step back, watching to see what he’ll do as her back hits a wall. His head tilts and she can’t help but think of a wolf, so curious but ready to eat her alive. She doesn’t think she would object.

And that’s what’s making her drop her arms. Testing to see if he feels it too, if he’s going to take that leap. She would catch him, she knows that, but does he? Suddenly she realizes that maybe its not the cold that’s doing this to her body. Her skin is tingling under his scrutinizing gaze, and she wishes that he would do or say something.

He hesitates. Of course, he does, she realizes that this is unknown territory. The fear grips her heart, because he has more at stake than she does. He risks the wrath of her uncle if this is something that he doesn’t approve of. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She doesn’t know what to say, but in the end, it doesn’t matter, because his mouth is answering that unspoken question. His hands are cradling her face gently, but he’s devouring her. Biting and licking, he doesn’t seem to get enough. She whimpers softly as she tugs on the loops of his jeans. But that’s only making him grab the back of her thighs, hoisting her up against the wall.

She wanted to take things slow, to get to know him bit by bit, but her dress is gone, and his fingers are exploring her. Testing, teasing, learning. Sam doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend, how he practically knows her like the back of his hand already. She’s whining now, as he sucks on her neck, his fingers rubbing her exactly how she needs him to. She’s got whiplash, she’s almost positive. She’s never moved this quickly, never allowed someone so damn close, but she is. She’s oh so close.

She was never much of a singer, no. A poet, yes. Avid reader, through and through, literature was her life. But damn it does she sing for him, his name leaving her lips when his fingers delve into her. He works with his hands more than anything, and it shows. That’s what throws her over the ledge, crying out in time with the storm. But she doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want this stop because she needs more. Its almost a sigh that escapes her when he undoes his jeans. She could almost cry from the relief, the mercy that she has been granted.

He’s slow at first, and she believes its because he’s unsure. The barely know each other, he’s afraid to hurt and doesn’t know what she likes. It’s written all over the way he moves against her, so she bites him and bucks against him, hoping he gets the message. She’s in awe of this, how well they can read each other, because it’s a flip of a switch, and she’s seeing stars. She wonders if she’s going to Hell for this, because this is a sinful bliss that she’s never felt before. God, this man was otherworldly. Holy in his own right, and she prayed to him, over and over. He answered her every call, every moan, his lips all over her. He leaned back, just enough to watch what it did to her. How she moved with him, meeting him as she took every bit of him into her.

He smirks, and that gentleness is long gone, replaced with a darkness that makes her clench around him. It excites her when she knows its not only her face, but her chest and in between her legs he’s watching. Something primal stirs between them, and its intoxicating. She comes again, but he swallows her scream, as if it’ll fill him up. He’s becoming uneven his pace no longer creating the same rhythm before he’s following her, his own bliss overcoming him, and she wonders if he sees the same stars she does. They breath heavily, both exhausted and spent. It’s the only sound in the church between them, the rain coming to an end.

She glances up at him, dares to meet his eyes. “The storms over.” She breathes. He only chuckles as he rests his forehead against hers.

“It’s only just begun.”

#deputy sam clarke #joseph seed #john seed #wren blake #fc5 ocs #my writing #commision

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