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purkinje-effect · 7 years

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The Purkinje Effect, 18

TW: Drug use and synth vore. Lol uh

Table of Contents

"Deacon...?”

Geek glanced the figure up and down, nearly uncertain of it. The pair had arrived under the Lexington-Concord Interchange, and found this one tatterdemalion pile of human being topped with dark glasses and a trilby.

“Ah, you brought a friend with you,” Deacon confirmed. “Sometimes three wheels make an operation run more evenly.”

“That getup is ridiculous,” Hancock muttered, unimpressed. Even without having met him before, he knew Deacon was in disguise. He’d broken out a pair of aviator shades and a red ampuole. “What kinda trouble are you intending to get into, dressed up like that? A garbage heap?”

“I call it the ‘Wasteland Scavver’ look,” Deacon replied impressively, striking a pose. Clearing his throat, he briefly changed to a husky, irate intonation. "This is my pile of trash. Just be glad I didn’t do one of my face-overs. Heh. Heheheh.”

“I imagine you’ve got a pair of Groucho Marx glasses, too,” Geek cracked, seconding Hancock on it being silly. “Why the getup, though?”

“I collect intel. Gotta go under the radar with folks, depending on the type of information I’m digging. As far as what trouble we’re going to be getting up to... our previous base was underneath the Slocum’s Joe here. The Institute discovered it and we didn’t have enough time to get everyone, or everything, out. We need to check with our information man before we head in preemptively, though. There’s no telling how much of a synth hotbed it still is.”

“And... where’s this information man?” Geek asked.

Deacon pointed up.

“Follow me.”

"Oh brother,” Hancock mumbled with a heavy eye-roll, following furthest behind to take a hit off the ampuole of jet.

"Who's Groucho Marx, anyway?"

The trio found a downed slope of overpass pavement and scaled it, following along the Route 2 overpass as the crumbling concrete path would permit. Peppered among the mixture of eighteen-wheelers and automobiles, as well as an abandoned tent, several ghouls tried to ambush them along the way; but, the three made quick work of them, between two guns and a knife. As they walked, Deacon indicated the various graffiti trail markers the Railroad used, as a way of teaching Geek the ropes before he’d even gotten his foot in the door. He got well-acquainted with the ring of light rays with an ‘x’ in its center, suggesting ghouls frequented the overpass.

“You take the lead here,” Deacon told him, holding Hancock back and nudging Geek to approach the figure at the cooking pot at the abrupt end of the interstate. "And whatever he says, reply mine is in the shop. Trust me.”

“Why me?” Geek started, looking back over his shoulder after a moment.

“You’re gonna have t’learn this stuff sometime,” Hancock retorted with a smirk.

The two hung back behind a few yards to chew the fat over something. The trio’s presence became noticed by the lone man in plaid who tended the fire. The long-haired older man stood, both urgent and irate, his peppered whiskers nearly bristling as he spoke.

“Do you have a Geiger counter? Do you have a goddamn Geiger counter?”

“Mine... is in the shop?” Geek steeled himself not to reply that he’d eaten it.

"It's about damn time. Name's Ricky. ...I thought there was just gonna be two of ya. Who's HE?" Ironically, the man pointed at Deacon and not Hancock. "The whole lot of ya looks like a bunch of clowns, honestly. I was on the brink of a heart attack."

"I, I'm new," Deacon replied apologetically, before anyone else could. "These guys are just showing me how it's done. Pink guy here's the lead."

"Besides the getup, you all look serious in the face, so I've gotta tell you. This ain't a place to be dragging your training wheels, boy," Ricky chastised, visibly stressed. "It's crawlin' with Synths, and God knows what else."

"What can you-- tell us about the location?" Geek stuttered out, glancing startled back to Deacon, who'd put him on the spot to look the seasoned one. Why the fuck had Deacon taken the role of a greenhorn?

"They're all over the front end. Turrets and mines, too. It'd be suicide to go in headlong."

"I, thank you, Ricky," Geek said, offering a handshake to make it feel official. "Your efforts and information are invaluable."

Ricky's demeanor softened in the handshake, and he smiled through his haggard fatigue.

"I hope it helps. Really, I do. It's a thankless job for the long of it, so it means a lot to hear."

As they walked away to retrace the interstate back to how they'd merged into it, Hancock was taking in the other half of the ampuole from earlier, sighing pleasantly. Geek himself lit up a cigarette, and snarled briefly.

"Deacon, why the fuck--"

"He's not an agent," Deacon interjected, watching the drugged ghoul cautiously rather than looking to Geek. "I have to cover my steps to separate the confidentiality of cases from the individuals working it, on a need to know basis. If he knew I was in the inner circle of agents of the Railroad, he'd know the value of what we were diving for."

"--What exactly is it we're doing here?" The incredulity in Geek's voice crackled through, and he just stopped walking for a moment to focus on his cigarette. He stared out off the overpass at the forested skyline below them.

"You think I'm not telling the truth? What about our man Ricky?"

"I don't know that I have reason t'distrust him," Geek replied, exhaling sharply at the end. "On the other hand, you're making me wonder whether you're t'be trusted. Seriously. You coulda at least given me some forewarnin' before throwin' me in the fire like that."

"I suppose it's a good lesson, to take every statement with a grain of salt," Deacon suggested, glossing over the elephant among them. "Most people won’t lie without a reason to. If you can figure out why somebody would lie, it becomes so much easier to tell whether they are. I mean, he's probably telling the truth, but I'll follow your judgment call here, Boss. This is your crash course, so I'm your backup."

"Why am I startin' t'suspect you just wrangled me into doin' your dirty work, and that you got no idea what we're up against?"

"Grain of salt," Hancock echoed, unamused. The aviators concealed just how glassy his gaze was then.

"Well, going with your theory Ricky's honest, the front entry would require us going in guns blazing. But if that's not your style, there's also the back way." The postulation held in it the implicit irony that he felt like brute force seemed exactly to the pink fellow’s preference.

"Which way's easier? In your expert opinion?" The ghoul offered the ampuole to Geek, who took it and swallowed it. "Heh, rubbish bin on legs. Convenient."

"Takin’ advantage of the fact I snack under stress. Clever."

"Did you just. I had no idea jet was edible," Deacon deadpanned. "...Sake of ease is subjective. The front door is a matter of thick skin and brute force. If you trust my finesse with a keyboard, the terminals will make sneaking in the back way doable--not easy, but still doable. So what'll it be, Boss?"

"First order of business, y’stop callin' me that."

"...Right. Geek."

"Secondly: Which way has a chance encounterin' fewer Synths? Seeing as this is my first time fighting one, I'd like to even out my chances best I can."

"Back way, in my opinion, but that's no promise."

"Back way it is, then." Geek stormed off ahead of them.

"I think I trust the front way better," Hancock jabbed, taking aim at an airborne enemy only he could see. "Least we'd get inside faster, away from these things."

"You're a keeper, Mayor," Deacon remarked, astounded.

The back entrance was through the water drainage pipe, and Deacon hacked the terminal of the weed-overgrown entry to let them inside.

"It shouldn't be too rough," Deacon narrated as they walked to the first checkpoint. "It's likely mostly just Gen Ones and Twos." Geek looked to him for elaboration. "The Institute went through a few different prototype models before they got to the ones that look exactly like a human. Had to work up to that level of hubris. Depending on who you talk to in the Railroad, opinions differ as to where to draw the line between the true AI and simply being a smart robot. Some of us even get into semantics as to whether Assaultrons and even turrets have rights. There's a lot of grey area to mince in the downtime between action."

"...Be straight with me for once. What are we here for?"

"Like I said, Geek, when the Institute hit us, they hit fast and hard. You met most of the survivors already. We couldn't even pack up resources and still make it out in one piece. ...You can understand why we're so short-handed on training availability at the moment. We're here for something the Doc was cooking up. According to Dez, it’s a pivotal piece of prototype tech."

"A grocery store run, seems more like it." Deacon took Hancock's tone as a jab at the value of the recon, rather than it being fun at Geek's expense. After a moment, an easier-to-read joke slipped out of his tremulous mouth: "Shopping when you're hungry means ya pick up more than was on your list." In it, an implicit I know you're teetering on stress-eating anything that isn't nailed down.

Geek muttered a forced laugh, rolling his eyes at him.

"There's probably not food supplies left, but you're welcome to all the ice cream and pickles you find," Deacon offered, hacking the next terminal. "It's not like we're leaving anybody standing when we walk out of here."

The security gate opened, and they descended the split cobblestone steps into the sewer. Deacon and Hancock still favored their guns, but in the face of an unfamiliar enemy, Geek fell back on the comfort reliability of his knuckledusters.

"Is anyone there?" they heard an artificial voice inquire.

Silently, they all armed themselves, and squared up against the single Synth. Geek's eyes went wide to see the thing was an amalgamation of wire and plastic on an exposed metal skeleton. Horror overtook him and he froze up, leaving the Synth to come across him first. The way the ocular lenses intimated lidless sockets, the fake metallic teeth... It was like a skinned human face devoid of gore. The pit of his stomach dropped even heavier.

"Shit." Hancock’s intuition snapped, and he cocked his shotgun and unloaded a pair of shells into the Synth from a short distance. When the dust settled, he walked up to Geek. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"My reflexes are just fine." Seconds later he flinched at the aftershock memory of Hancock's gunfire. "Fine."

"Mmm. A little... something to liven up the day?" Hancock surreptitiously slipped a syringe into Geek's gloved palm and looked at him slyly. Psycho. He had some in his pocket too, from the gym, but he hadn't even considered using it. The gift wasn't so much the item itself, but rather the observation that Geek might make use of it. "Help you steel your nerves a bit."

"Do you peddle candy, too, or just drugs?" Deacon joked naively. "I want a lollipop, Mister."

"Knock it off," Hancock muttered.

"Ah! a turret terminal," Deacon sidestepped, ignoring Hancock's displeasure. "Let's fire it up and give our freeloaders a nasty surprise." The two gave Deacon some time to tinker with the computer.

The next chamber of the sewer had in it multiple Synths, as Deacon predicted. Deacon held up his hand to pause their forward motion, and he held it up to an ear eager with anticipation. Sure enough, the turrets powered up and unloaded hundreds of bullets before several laser shots and a short explosion rang out. The two had been around Deacon enough to read the childish prank-like pride in his otherwise expressionless features. Hancock genuinely cracked a smirk for once at something Deacon had done, though the same couldn’t be said of Geek.

The smell of charred metal, oil smoke, and gunfire wafted down the moldy, damp corridor. The hard and angled, inorganic face of the first Synth overlaid Geek’s conscious thoughts. He glanced down to the yellow tri-component syringe in his clenched fist. In his history of chem use, such substances intended to becalm his tumultuous, anxiety-depression addled mind--but would dialing all that up to eleven instead serve him in this situation? He knew that the military had given soldiers the chem to override cowardice and increase pain tolerance, but he had no idea what to expect as to how it went about achieving that. Hancock briefly looked back to check on him, and when he was observed not having moved, the pink wreck impulsively followed through with plunging it into the underside of his jaw, shutting his eyes in the moment and not giving it a another thought.

Within seconds, the stringent injection lit his veins afire. His lip curled, and he began to drool a bit as his breathing became off-kilter. Everything was uncomfortable, and he had to find the source of it and dismantle it. Hancock noticed his companion had administered the hit and poorly hid an admiring smile, nearly proud of him for letting chems help him through this rough patch.

Grease. Gunpowder residue. Titanium alloy. Nuclear components. Geek’s senses heightened, intensifying the discomfort like a bad migraine. The spotlight in the room threw a nasty halo on the whole place, and he growled through frothing, clenched teeth. Before, the Synths’ footsteps had been nearly silent, but now he could likely pinpoint their location in this room with his eyes shut. He squinted in frustration and, trembling with distress, grunted hard.

His stomach hurt so badly. He had to fix that.

The face of the nearest Synth found itself between his hands. It cracked on the cobbled steps, over, and over. The chest plate cracked open with only a few flung punches, exposing the soft innards. Analogous to ribs, the chest of the now mangled Synth easily accommodated Geek’s ravenous mouth, and he burrowed face-first in to chew apart wire and fluid line alike, pulling them out by the teeth.

Coolant, oil, and other substances saturated his face and front as he could tell a second Synth was beneath him. There was no slaking the thirst that overtook him as he guzzled the construct dry. If he’d been outside himself in that moment, he’d have noticed himself rip out and swallow this one’s ocular lenses.

But he didn’t notice anything.

#fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #hancock #deacon #fallout 4 oc #fo4 oc #geek #the purkinje effect #cannibalism tw... technically...?#synth vore #drug use #ricky dalton

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motleymoose · 8 years

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The Devil’s Backbone

Challenge: @sdavid09 ’s Tale Teller’s Winter Writing Challenge 2016

Prompt: Farm/Country AU & The Devil’s Backbone by the Civil Wars

Characters: Jody Mills x Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum; mentions of Bobby Singer x Jody Mills, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Charlie Bradbury, Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Rufus Turner, OFC (Jax, Ben, Marlene)

Words: ~3,210

Warnings: Language, fluffy angst

Summary: Life had a way of providing Jody Mills with lemons, but she had always been too broke to make lemonade. Yet sometimes there are mistakes one can’t afford not to make.

A/N: I loved writing this. It just came out on its own. No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Feedback is appreciated! <3

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Farming is a thankless job.

From sunup to sundown, Jody Mills worked. There wasn’t a day that went by when something didn’t break down or escape. If a day did happen to pass by with nothing springing a leak or tearing down a fence, Jody would find herself sitting at the local bar early on in the evening, enjoying a watery beer and rambunctious company.

Those days were few and far between.

And, damn, did she need a beer.

Driving in the last staple, Jody straightened up, stretching out her stiff back and sore shoulders. “Fuuuck me,” she groaned, gazing back at her handiwork. Fixing fence wasn’t something she enjoyed, but at least it would keep the cows in, if even for a short time. Tucking the hammer under her arm, she shook off a glove, letting it fall into the fresh snow, and pulled out her phone. It was late, judging by how fast the sun was disappearing on the horizon, but not late enough for her to pack up and head inside to the warmth.

Sighing, Jody pulled her glove back on, grabbed the bucket of staples and tools, and trudged back toward the four-wheeler. The cows were starting to gather up around the cattle guard, mooing plaintively. She knew it was a long shot, but she fiercely hoped the tractor would start despite the cold. If not, she knew she’d be out way past dark finishing up chores.

I’m getting too damn old for this, she grumbled internally as she revved the ATV and bounced across the frozen pasture, a tally of the next day’s work already forming in her mind. …………… “You really need to hire somebody, girl.” Donna handed Jody the corkscrew as she dug into the dishwasher for wine glasses. “You’re going kill yourself trying to run everything on your own.”

Popping the cork, Jody filled the glasses with Pinot Noir, handing one back to Donna. “I’ve been running it by myself since Bobby died. The only thing that’s changed is I’m getting older.”

Donna took a long sip of wine before biting into a chocolate chip cookie. “Yeah, well, everything else is getting older, too. You’ve spent half your time just trying to keep that old farm house from falling down around your ears!” She flicked crumbs off of her chest as they moved into the living room.

A fire was lit in the stove, and between the warmth and the wine, Jody could feel her defenses relaxing. She plopped into a recliner and pulled a brightly colored quilt over her lap. Donna’s dog Jude got up from the rug in front of the stove and climbed into her lap. Scratching Jude behind the ears, Jody sighed heavily. “Okay, fine. Let’s say I do need to hire someone.” She paused, ruminating. “I can’t pay much of anything, and I don’t have time to train them how to run a tractor or do anything else farm-related.”

Stretching her legs out on the couch, Donna nodded. “That knocks out teenagers and anyone from the city.” She took another drink of wine, her brow furrowed. “Maybe someone retired? I think Marlene was wanting to get Rufus out of the house. And Ellen was saying she was going stir-crazy being cooped up with Jo over the holiday break. Surely one of them could help?”

Jody shook her head as she talked around a mouthful of cookie. “Couldn’t pay either one of them enough. Besides, Ellen’s got the bar now, and Rufus just had his shoulder replaced.”

Rolling her eyes, Donna got up from the couch and went into the kitchen, returning with the bottle of wine and the plate of cookies. “You’re just too damn stubborn.” She topped off Jody’s glass and emptied the rest of the bottle into her own.

Jude’s head shot up when the backdoor banged open. “We’re home!”

A tall, handsomely scruffy man trundled in with a toddler asleep on his shoulder and another trying desperately to push past him.

“C'mon, Dad! I’m freezing!” the boy whined as he ducked under Dean’s arm and dashed into the living room. He launched himself at Donna, giggling as she blew a raspberry on his neck.

“Boots off the couch, Jax,” Dean admonished quietly as he shifted the sleeping Ben in order to kick off his boots. The wiry preschooler grumbled under his breath as he stomped back to the door to take off his winter gear. Dean arched an eyebrow, giving Donna a knowing look. She tightened her lips in an effort to suppress a grin. Rolling his eyes, Dean padded across the living room and shooed Jax ahead of him. They disappeared down the hall, Jax trying to wheedle a later bedtime out of his dad, and Dean barely holding back his laughter as his eldest son continued to come up with excuses. Donna watched them go before turning back to Jody.

“His brother’s back in town,” she whispered, keeping an eye on the boys’ bedroom door. “Got laid off at Boeing. Dean didn’t even know he was in the area until Garth told him.” Donna glanced back down the hallway, taking another swallow of wine. “Sam - he hasn’t been in a good place in a while. Ever since Jess left…” She looked back over her shoulder and beamed. “Hey, toots.”

Dean returned, dressed in a t-shirt and joggers, and dropped onto the couch next to Donna. He snagged the glass from her hand and finished off what little that remained. “Hey yourself. Need a refill?” He gave her a cocky grin, barely dodging a pillow as he pushed off the couch and shuffled into the kitchen for another bottle.

“Something a little sweeter, please!” she called after him before reaching for another cookie.

Jody watched her friends as they teased one another, a pang of emptiness sharp in her chest. Bobby had been gone for almost six years, but she still missed him. Memories of the way his eyes twinkled when he smiled, how warm and comfortable and engulfing his hugs were, the scratchy roughness of his beard on her neck… It was too much to bare. Attempting to hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes, Jody buried her face in Jude’s dense fur, hoping Donna wouldn’t notice.

Luckily, Donna was a little too good at drinking wine, and also too distracted with finding someone to work for Jody. “Hey hey hey, wait. That’s it!” she exclaimed, taking the newly filled glass from Dean and curling up against him when he sat down again.

“What’s it?” Dean quirked an eyebrow, glancing between the two women.

Donna slapped him playfully on the chest, sloshing a little bit of moscato on the blanket. “Sam! If he hasn’t found anything yet, that is.”

Dean’s face turned dark for a moment as he gulped his drink. “What exactly are we talking about?”

Shifting Jude back to her lap, Jody explained, “Donna thinks I need a hand on the farm. Which I do, I guess. I can’t quite keep up with everything like I use to.”

Shaking his head, Dean set his mug down on the coffee table and leaned forward, causing Donna to slip sideways behind him. “Listen, Sam… he’s a good kid. S'been rough since Jess left. He’s - he’s probably not the most reliable at the moment.”

Donna had pulled herself up out of the cushions and was squeezing his shoulder. “Maybe working out there would help him clear his mind.”

Snorting derisively, Dean leaned back into the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. “He’s broken, babe. Ain’t nothing going to clear his head until he pulls it out of his ass.”

Looking up at the clock above the wood stove, Jody stretched and gently dislodged the sleeping pooch. “Listen, you guys talk it over.” She stood, ambling over to the pile of boots by the door, finding her own. “If you think he’s a good fit, you’ve got my number. I gotta get going; Charlie said she be in early to take steers to the sale barn.”

Donna got up and tripped over to Jody, giving her a big drunken hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow, love.” She pulled back, a goofy grin spread across her face.

Dean appeared beside her, looping an arm around Donna’s shoulder. “C'mon, you lush. Let Jody get going.”

Smiling, Jody bid farewell, and crunched across the frozen ground toward her rusted truck. It was always fun getting together with her old high school bestie, but sometimes Jody wished Donna wasn’t so persuasive. Shaking her head in defeat, Jody turned her high beams onto the deserted blacktop, taking her time to wend her way home. ……………… Three days had passed without seeing hide nor hair of Donna, but Jody wasn’t worried. Her friend was good at making drunken promises that wouldn’t come to fruition right away. She expected probably in the next month or so Donna would finally remember and send Sam out to work.

She mulled the pros and cons of hiring help as she climbed the windmill tower to tighten the brake. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the large diesel dually pull up underneath her perch. It wasn’t until the tall, muscular driver slammed the door that she looked down. Waving, the stranger shoved his hands into the pockets of his Carhartt, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears to keep the biting wind at bay. Intrigued, Jody began her descent, carefully choosing her foot- and handholds on the slippery steel. She was still six feet off the ground when her boot hit a particularly icy rung, sending her feet out from under her.

“Watch it!” a deep voice growled as strong arms impeded her fall.

Surprised, Jody gaped up at the giant of a man holding her awkwardly in midair. The stranger blushed, setting her down on her feet. “Umm, thanks,” she murmured, straightening her ratted hoodie over her frayed overalls. “That could have ended badly.”

Nodding, the man stuck out an ungloved hand. “Good thing I was here then.” He beamed mischievously. “I’m Sam Winchester, Dean’s brother. He said you had some work that needed done?”

Eying him for a moment, Jody accepted his handshake. “Yeah, shit’s breaking faster than I can fix it.” She paused, wondering what the hell Donna was getting her into. “Do you know how to run a tractor?”

Sam’s eyes lit up, and his smile widened. “Lady, I was born on a tractor.”

“Good.” She smirked back at him as she motioned toward the house. “We just shipped steers off to the sale barn, so the herd’s a little smaller. Won’t need as much hay to put out.” She began walking toward the four wheeler, picking up supplies as she went. “You wanna follow me, I’ll show you where everything’s at.”

“Alright.” Sam headed back for his truck - and damn, was that a nice truck - waiting patiently for Jody to get ahead of him. …………………… The wintery months came and went like a screaming banshee, with little to no break from the howling winds and freezing temperatures. Already halfway through March, calves were starting to hit the ground, and Jody was thanking her lucky stars for giving her help like Sam.

Both Donna and Dean were utterly surprised that Sam had even stuck around past December.

Of course, they couldn’t know the real reason he had stuck around for so long. Jody knew all the shit she’d get from her friends if they found out she and Sam were sharing a bunk.

She had a good thing going, and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as she could without any outside input.

The work and the weather were good for driving any thought other than the task at hand completely from his mind. They were getting on good, and Jody could even feel a connection forming between the two of them, something she hadn’t felt since Bobby.

It was well past lunchtime when they finished with the grinding. A heavy cloud of dust and hay floated lazily around the tractors as Jody shut down the bale processor and climbed into the cab to kill the ancient Case. She signaled for Sam to head up to the house while she finished checking over the equipment. Satisfied, she followed him up the drive on foot. As he pulled around the back of the machine shed, Jody kicked off her boots in the pump house and headed into the main house to make them some lunch. she hadn’t even gotten out of her coveralls when a knock came at the door.

“Hey, Cas. What can I do for you?” Jody greeted the Deputy Sheriff, inviting him into the spotless mud room.

Castiel removed his sunglasses, smiling at Jody as he dragged his shoes along the boot scraper before entering. “Afternoon, Jody. Just getting in?” he asked, noting her halfway unzipped winter gear.

Looking down quickly, Jody shrugged. “Storm’s suppose to be in later this evening. Thought we’d better get shit down before it got here.” She led him into the kitchen, pulling out luncheon meat and cheeses from the fridge. “Sandwich?”

Shaking his head, Castiel drew out a barstool, taking a seat across from Jody’s busywork. “I heard you hired on Dean Winchester’s little brother.” It wasn’t a question.

Slowly, Jody spread mustard on a slice of bread, choosing her words carefully. “I needed the help. I’m not as young as I use to be, Cas.”

Humming knowingly, Cas shifted slightly on the stool, fidgeting with his sunglasses. “I know, Jode. It’s just… We got a warrant in. For Sam.” Castiel watched Jody like a hawk as she stacked meat onto half of the sandwich. “He’s a fugitive, Jody. I need to take him in.”

Ignoring Castiel, Jody finished making her meal and pulled a plate from a cabinet. She placed the sandwich squarely in the middle of the chipped dinnerware, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and joined her old partner at the bar. “I don’t care what he did, Cas. I can’t just let you come in here saying you need to arrest him.”

Sitting silently for a moment, Cas pushed back the stool and placed the sunglasses on top of his head. “Listen, the Sheriff’s been gunning for Sam for a long time now. A personal vendetta, I reckon.” He turned back around to face Jody, his eyes pleading with her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Keep safe, Jody.” He walked out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Jody stared at the space Cas had occupied for a moment, the cogs turning violently in her head. She had known that Sam had been in and out of trouble since his wife had run off on him, but she didn’t know that he was putting himself in jeopardy of going back to jail.

Finishing her sandwich, Jody threw a couple more together for Sam and headed back out, making a beeline for the machine shed. If she knew anything, it was that she didn’t need this shit, not when she had finally gotten her life back together after Bobby’s passing. It scared her to death, but she knew she was going to have to confront Sam. And, no matter the outcome, she wouldn’t allow her feelings for the youngest Winchester to blur her judgement. ………………. Sam was squatting underneath the faded green Deere, cutting twine from around the front axel. “Be out in a minute!” he hollered, a ball of shredded red twine flying out from behind the tire.

Jody picked up the wad and tossed it into the bucket near the wall. She laid the paper bag full of sandwiches on the oily workbench and fished the cold beer from the pocket of her coveralls. Leaning up against the large back tire of the tractor, Jody waited patiently for Sam to come out. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Hey, you.” Sam’s eyes twinkled as he straightened up and strode over to her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her to him, kissing her forehead gently. “What did you bring?” He pulled back, a smile still spread across his face. Seeing the troubled furrow on her brow, Sam faltered. “Everything okay?”

Sidestepping the tractor and Sam, Jody went back to the work bench, fiddling with the sack lunch she had brought out. “Cas stopped by…” she trailed off, swallowing back the sorrow and the anger welling up in her throat.

“What did he want?” His voice was shot with steel, eyes hardening as he approached her.

“You didn’t tell me you were on the run.” The tension was almost palpable; she couldn’t control the hurt in her voice any longer.

Cursing, Sam slammed a fist into the workbench, startling a mouse from behind a toolbox. He watched as the little varmint scampered through the gap between the door and the frame. “What did you tell him?”

Numbly, Jody laid out the sandwiches, cracking open the beer with the stationary bottle opener screwed into the side of the table. “I told him to leave,” she said simply.

Exhaling sharply, Sam hung his head, scrubbing at the back of his neck with a greasy hand. “Listen, Jody-”

“No, you listen. I took you in,” she snapped, drawing herself up to her full height. “I’ve risked everything having you here. Hell, I even invited you into my bed, Sam! The least you could do was tell me you had a warrant.”

Shame faced, Sam leaned back onto the bench, eyes glued to a spot on the floor in front of him. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Jody. I thought I’d be safe here for a little while, that the whole thing would blow over.” He gazed back up at her, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I’ll finish up chores before I go.”

Jody stared at him, stunned. “Go?” she repeated, her voice small and weak in her ears. “That’s not what I’m saying, Sam-”

Sam shook his head. “No, it’s better if I leave. They can’t do anything to you if I’m not here.”

“But Sam…”

“No buts.” He finished off the last of his beer, folding the paper bag neatly into a smaller rectangle. “I need to finish up feeding the bulls.” Avoiding her eyes, he walked toward the wicket gate, pausing before he opened it. “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.” With that, he exited, leaving only the bitter March wind in his place.

“I love you, Sam Winchester,” she muttered, pulling the door closed behind her as she watched him unhook the Case from the processor. In her heart, she knew he had to leave, but she didn’t like it. Maybe one day he’d be able to stop running.

And just maybe she’d be there, waiting for him.

#TaleTeller's winter writing days 2016 #sdavid09 #sam x jody #farm au #the devil's backbone #the civil wars #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn #supernatural #fanfiction #dean x donna #moose fic

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s0ulfulsapph1c · 7 years

Text

Chains

Hey dudes! I wrote a little story, so I decided I’d share it! Let me know what you think!

Lights. That’s all she was aware of. The bright lights of the city. It was hard to believe that this had all been woods once, though Munna would never let her forget. How she longed to have seen it when it was all trees and animals. It must have been spectacular… “TORI! You alive?” Victoria jolted out of her daydreaming to the sound of her favorite voice in the world and the smell of close-to-burning rolls. She immediately scrambled to take the bread out of the oven, shooting a grateful smile to her best friend. “Thanks Sara. I’m pretty sure Louis would eat me at dinner if I burnt these rolls,” the redhead chuckled, flushing softly, the color almost blending with her freckles. “Of course, darling! I’d be simply devastated if anyone took you away from me!” The taller blonde came up behind the short cook, wrapping her in a hug. Even though Sara referred to Vic by pet names frequently, and the redhead was sure it was friendly(right?), it still flustered her. “You’re gonna burn yourself, Sara,” Vic warned her playfully, glad the green-eyed girl couldn’t see her very red face. “Maybe. It’d be worth it for you, though.” Vic laughed at that, at the teasing tone Sara had used. “Idiot.” “Again, possibly true. But I’m your idiot,” the short-haired blonde shot back, smiling. “Yeah, and you’ll always be, buttercup,” Vic chuckled, voice fond. The short blue-eyed girl turned around, smiling at her best friend. They stood like that, close and smiling, until a shout startled Sara, breaking them apart. “Victoria Genevieve Wainwright, what do you think you’re doing!?” The words had reverberated around the kitchen before the man who’d said them had even entered the small room. “Sorry Louis. I thought the work was all done,” Vic muttered guiltily. Louis took a breath, his anger deflating. “I’m sorry as well. That was a bit too loud. I guess I’ve just been so stressed lately, with the new baby, and…..” Louis trailed off, but he didn’t have to finish. Everyone knew at this point. The master of servants had lost his daughter in the Rockefeller Oil Strike, the last bit he’d had of his deceased wife. The only family he now had left was a small grandchild, Ronnie, who was barely a year only. Vic knew how it felt to lose family. After all, Sammy….. “You need to make the pie, Vic. Then you can have all the time to talk with Sara. Once she finishes her own duties,” the grey-haired man chuckled. He started out, but paused at the doorway, looking as though he just remembered something. “Oh, the new apples for the horses are in the cellar. Could you please give them to Blake once you’re done?” “Not a problem,” Vic answered chipperly, beaming. —————————————————————————— The chocolate pie had taken longer than Vic had realized, but sneaking a bit of the velvety sweet chocolate definitely made up for it. In her arms, she carried a basket of apples, heading for the stables. One she reached the buildings, her focus shifted from what she’d do now that she’d finished to trying to find Blake. She wandered around, stopping a few times to stroke horses. She had stopped by one, stroking its nose, when suddenly… “BOO!” The small cook let out a scream as she felt something touch her. “Blake! That was not funny!” Laughter was the only reply for a while. “C’mon, it was.” Vic merely glared at him. “It was most certainly not, you ninnyhammer.” Blake gasped dramatically, hands over his heart. “Tori, you wound me!” He fell to the floor, acting as though he was dead. “Ha ha, Blake. I’ve told you, only Sara calls me Tori.” Blake sat up, pouting slightly. “You’re acting like a child.” The master of horses sighed and got up, brushing himself off. “You’re the worst. So, why exactly are you in my neck of the woods? Miss me that much?” “In your dreams,” Vic snorted. “Louis asked me to bring you the apples for the horses. So, here’re the apples.” Blake bent down, inspecting the fruit before taking one and biting a good chuck out of it. “Blake! Those are for the horses!” “Horses won’t notice. Besides, this is a pretty thankless job. If I take a small reward, no one could blame me. You won’t tell.” It wasn’t a question. “I hate you,” Vic playfully sighed. “Hate you too,” Blake replied teasingly. “I’ll see you later, Ponyboy.” “That’s Ponyman,” Blake called as Vic started down the path to her quarters. —————————————————————————— Vic was coming out of the stables when she felt her sleeve being grabbed. She turned, only to find a little boy. It took her a moment to recognize him. “Don? What do you want?” Vic frowned slightly when she realized how upset the young boy looked. “Miss Vic, something terrible’s gon’ happen! I need your help to stop it,” the short boy exclaimed, panic clear in his voice. “Woah, woah, little buddy, calm down. Nothing terrible is gonna happen. It’s safe here. Louis can be grumpy sometimes, but he’ll keep us safe, Don. That’s what he does.” “But he can’t protect us! Not from this! He won’t protect us!” Vic bit her lip, thinking. “Hey, bud, I’ve got something for you. It was my mom’s. She gave it to me, so whenever I felt upset or scared, I could look at that and I’d feel better. I think you need it more than I do.” The short cook took off a woven bracelet around her wrist, gently putting it on Don’s smaller one. “And I’ll make you a deal- if you ever feel too frightened and need somebody, or just want to talk, come to my quarters. I’m in the kitchen staff’s quarters, second door on the right.” The puppy-eyed boy nodded, smiling a bit as he touched the bracelet. Vic, on impulse, pulled him into a hug before getting up. “Now, I’ve gotta head back.” “Stay safe, Miss Vic.” “Only if you do, bud.” And with that, Vic was gone. —————————————————————————— “Why did you leave me? Why did you let me go on that boat? I trusted you, Tori. I trusted you. And you let me die. You were supposed to keep me safe. Have you ever drowned, Tori? It’s like someone squeezes all the air out of your lungs slowly. People say it’s the worst way to die. That’s how I died, Tori. You let me. You let me die.” Vic awoke with a start. Sammy’s words still rung in her ears. She shook her head, trying to take deep breaths. It’s not my fault. Sara says it’s not my fault. She’s right. She’s always right. They said it was unsinkable. I couldn’t have known. Sara’s words did little to comfort Vic. Not if they weren’t coming from the taller girl. The redhead took a deep breath and grabbed her cloak, wrapping it around her nightgown, and heading out of her quarters, barely sparing the thought to grab a lantern. She needed to see Sara. Vic made her way to the servant’s building, nearly being thrown back as the door opened. Another cloaked figure darted out, face turned from her. “Hey,” Vic cried, trying to grab the figure by their cloak and see just who was so rude. Instead, she only got a fragment of the garment they wore. She glared at the rapidly disappearing figure for a moment before turning and heading inside. Her bare foot was immediately coated in a warm, sticky liquid. She lifted her light to the substance, hoping to find the source, only to drop the lantern and let out a scream. —————————————————————————— The scene was horrific. What she’d stepped in was blood. From how sickly warm in was, it was fresh. But the pool of red liquid was nothing compared to the secret hidden behind the desk. The body was revolting. There were several slash marks, from the torso to the thighs. Whoever the killer was, they certainly enjoyed inflicting pain. The worst wounds weren’t anywhere below the neck, but on the body’s head. Both eyes had been slashed, and there were long cuts on the cheeks and forehead. The mouth had nearly been cut off. The fatal wound, however, seemed to be a long cut across the entirety of the body’s throat. It was the least fresh of the wounds. The killer must have wanted to body to remain unrecognizable. But Vic knew who it was. The mistake the killer made was leaving clothes on the body. Specifically, a small woven bracelet. Vic had given that bracelet to a young boy not a day ago. The body was of Don Rodgers, the young stable boy Vic had talked to, barely 11 years old. —————————————————————————— By the time Vic had thought all of this, other people, servants, had joined her in the hallway, called by her shriek. There were equal cries of horror and outrage at finding the dead body of the boy. At some point, the police were called. Vic didn’t notice until they were in the building, bustling around and roping things off. Vic was pulled away by Sara, but she couldn’t even savor the maid’s touch. Artemis, Sara’s dog, greeted them at the door. The sheepdog whimpered as she realized the distress Vic was experiencing. Everything felt numb. They went back up to Sara’s room, and the blonde held Vic while she cried. In the first hours of the morning, an officer knocked on Sara’s door. Vic was the last person to see Don alive, and the first to see him dead, so they needed to question her. Sara argued for a while, but nonetheless, Vic found herself in the bedroom now being used for the investigation. The police asked her a series of questions. What was Don acting like when you last saw him? Why were you up? Why did you come here? How close were you to Don? The list went on. It was six in the morning by the time they were done. Vic was absolutely exhausted. Sara suggested she say she was sick so she could get some rest, and Vic didn’t argue, instead passing out on Sara’s bed. She had no dreams or nightmares that would wake her. It was all simply black. —————————————————————————— Vic awoke to angry voices in the hall, and Artemis barking at them. Trying to smooth down her ruffled red hair, or at least get rid of some of the bed head, she yawned, petting Artemis to calm her, and opened the door. She saw not an argument as she stared into the hallway, but what looked like a mob. “What in God’s name are you doing? You all should be at work!” For indeed, every man, woman, and child gathered there were servants for the Rockefeller house. They all turned their gazes to her, and she saw several familiar faces, including Blake of all people! She said a silent grateful prayer that Sara was not in the crowd. The higher-ups would have her head if she was. Lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear Blake’s angry voice. “We know Louis killed Don! His alibi was that he was ‘going out of town for the night’, but we all know he lied! I saw him that night, and Gertrude saw him a few minutes after Don was killed,” the man roared, a fire in his green eyes. “Blake, just calm down-“ “Calm down?! Calm down! My stable boy, my own, who I loved like a son, is dead, and only one man could have done it!” “Enough! I know you’re all angry, but you still have families, still have to provide! After the Oil Strike, the workers still did their jobs! You know why? Because they had people to take care of! You can’t strike over one boy and let your own children starve! I knew Don too, I knew him better than most of you, but you don’t see me shouting about justice! The police will find the killer. Until then, let’s do our jobs!” That seemed to work for most of the people. The crowd dispersed, muttering curses or threats. But Blake stayed, still angry. “This isn’t over. I will get what I want. You won’t stop me,” he growled in a low tone. “Look around. It is over. Now go do your job.” Blake left through the door, but Vic heard a soft ‘I hate you’ come from her friend. There was none of the usual playfulness behind it. Though Vic knew, or hoped, rather, he didn’t mean it, it still stung. —————————————————————————— Vic couldn’t go back to sleep after that. She waited for Sara to come back, trying to find some comfort in Artemis, and when she heard the doorknob turn, she leapt up happily, more excited than even the sheepdog, embracing Sara and clinging to her tightly. “Woah, woah. I heard about those servants in the hall today. You ok? They didn’t hurt you, did they? If Blake touched you, I’ll-“ “Hey, hey, I’m ok. Just a bit spooked. Artie is probably just as upset. Blake was just mad, which is understandable. Don was his staff. He’s probably still hurting.” “We all are. He doesn’t have exclusive rights to try and start riots.” They were silent for a few moments, as Vic couldn’t really argue, and then Sara looked as though she’d just remembered something. “Oh, hey, I managed to get some apples and chicken for dinner!” “No way! Sara, that could get you fired!” “Eh, not like I’ll be here much longer. I’m pretty sure I nailed my audition for 90 in the Shade!” Vic’s face lit up. “Sara, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you! Just don’t forget me when you become a big star!” “Aw, Tori, how could I ever forget you? Now, enough talk. Let’s get cooking!” “Only if you help,” Vic playfully replied. —————————————————————————— The two girls were happily eating their stolen food, laughing and talking, Artemis under the table begging for scraps. Vic relished every moment in Sara’s company, and when night fell, she was reluctant to leave. Luckily, Sara was just as reluctant to see her go, which is how they ended up sharing Sara’s bed, cuddled close together. Vic’s head was tucked under Sara’s chin, and the blonde’s arms were wrapped around her, comforting and warm. Artemis was curled at their feet, snoring softly. They both drifted off to sleep, and Vic let out a soft sigh. “Why did you leave me Tori? Why? You were supposed to protect me. To keep me safe. Instead you went to watch plays with Sara. You know you’ll lose her. You can’t protect her. Just like you can’t protect me.” Vic awoke with a start, heart racing and tears staining her face. For a moment, she had the terrible sensation Sara was gone. But then she felt her warm embrace and sighed softly, snuggling up to her. She tried to steady her breathing, hoping to not wake Sara or the sleeping dog up. Unfortunately, the former effort was in vain, as she heard her voice not a moment later. “Vic? What’s wrong? Did you have another nightmare?” Vic nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s ok. It’s ok. That’s not Sammy. Sammy is ok. He’d never say those things to you. Hey, why don’t we go down the the stables? You love it there. We can go up to the loft...You know it’s the best view of the stars. You love stargazing. It’ll be great.” The red headed girl nodded again, still trying to calm down, and they were off, Artemis still asleep. —————————————————————————— They’d soon reached the stables, and Sara had to grab Vic’s hand as she nearly fell off the ladder. Coordination was never the cook’s strong suit. Luckily, Sara had enough for both of them, and pulled Vic up. “Careful Tori, you might fall for me.” Vic chuckled, flushing softly at the response rolling around in her mind. “Let’s just watch the stars, dork.” “I may be a dork, but I’m your dork.” “And you’ll always be.” They sat together, watching the stars shine through the inky black sky, like tiny fireflies. Vic always loved the stars, and night itself. It was always so peaceful, so calm. Watching the stars with Sara, though, made it infinitely better. The shorter girl moved her hand to touch Sara’s, but stopped when she felt it brush paper. “Wha-“ She grabbed the thing she’d felt. It was, indeed, paper, folded over a few times, hiding in the hay. Whatever it was, someone didn’t want it seen. “Hey, Sara, I found something buried up here.” “Really?” Sara shifted to look over at the strange paper. “You think it’s a treasure map? Maybe it leads to Rockefeller’s secret stash of gold bricks.” “Creative, but I've got no clue. Whatever it is, it’s important to someone.” “Ooh, maybe it’s a love letter! I’m a sucker for love letters, myself.” Note to self: write Sara a love letter. “Maybe…” “Well, go on, open it!” Vic unfolded the paper, and let out a strangled gasp. “So, what is it,” Sara prompted. “I-It’s not a love letter.” For indeed, it was quite the opposite. It was a plot. Not just any plan, a plot of assassination. The paper contained the name of an untraceable poison, and plans to put it in a drink. Plans that centered around the murder of Louis. And it was all in Blake’s handwriting. —————————————————————————— “Oh my God, this is bad. Really bad. Louis is kinda strict, but he’s a good guy! He doesn’t deserve...this! And he won’t stand a chance! He’s your average grandpa! Blake fought in the Mexican Revolution!” Vic was listening to Sara rant. They were back in her quarters, with the door tightly barred and locked. Sara was downright panicking. Vic was too numb to feel anything. Her best friend, the person she trusted with her secrets, from stealing sugar for a pie to her love for Sara, was a killer. The person she’d spent the past three years forming a bond with, laughing, talking, going out to shops and restaurants and movies on weekends planned to murder a man in cold blood. “-and we can assume that he killed Don, too. But why? I mean, he loved the kid-“ “He knew. Sara, he knew what Blake was planning. He tried to tell me. The day he died, he said something terrible was going to happen, and that Louis couldn’t stop it. I thought that meant Louis was guilty. Oh, God, I should have listened to him. I should have-“ “Hey, don’t start. You did fine. You did what I’d do under those circumstances. Don’t blame yourself for his death, too.” Sara was quiet for a moment before she asked the question that was plaguing them both. “What do we do?” “We save Louis. We’ll warn him, and everyone else we can, and go back for the papers tonight.” “Don’t you mean tomorrow?” “Sara, it’s dawn. Look around.” “That’s….crazy. I thought it was still night.” “I wish. So….Time to go work with a killer.” Artemis whined, looking downright miserable, a perfect mirror of Vic’s feelings. —————————————————————————— “I hope you’ll do your work today, Vic.” Louis’ teasing voice greeted Vic and Sara as they entered the main building. “In all seriousness, I am glad you’re back on your feet. It hasn’t been the same without you. And hello to you, Miss Morrison.” Vic nodded, with a strained smile. It was Sara who acted first. “Mr. Barnett, why don’t you stay in the city with Ronnie for a few days? You deserve a vacation, after all.” “Oh, wouldn’t I love that. But I’m afraid there’s too much to be done. I’ll be dead before Rockefeller gives me even a day of rest. That was thoughtful of you, though.” “Are you sure? With all the angry servants….” “Oh. Them. I suppose it’d be nice to get away from the accusations of killing a young boy, whose mother is barely older than my daughter was. But of course, work doesn’t care if you’re accused of murder. And running would make me look guilty. Believe me, I know how their minds work. I’ve read quite a few mysteries in my day.” He smiled and winked playfully at the two girls. “While I’ve loved talking to you, I have to go round up the younger house boys. They’re in a particular tizzy. Have a nice day, girls.” They watched the older man disappear through the doorway, and sighed in defeat. “I suppose saying ‘You’re going to be killed, run you moron’ would have been a bit extreme,” Vic grumbled. “And crazy, since we don’t have evidence.” “We just need to get it. It’ll be fine tomorrow.” “I still can’t believe we didn’t grab it,” Sara sighed. “I mean, being shocked is hardly an excuse.” “Well, when you find out your best friend is a cold-blooded killer, you tend to be a bit forgetful.” The two said goodbye, and went to their duties, Vic counting the seconds until the day was done. —————————————————————————— They were to meet under an oak tree, the night’s chill nipping at every exposed part of Vic’s skin. “Sara, please get here soon,” she muttered under her breath, which billowed around her in a white cloud. “Did you call?” Sara’s familiar voice answered her, and Vic looked up to see her friend, Artemis trailing behind. “Sorry, she wouldn’t leave. I eventually gave up trying to get her to stay, and just let her come.” “Maybe she wants to help? A regular Argos,” Vic chuckled. The atmosphere soon turned serious once again. “Let’s go.” It was a strange sight. Two servant girls, one short and chubby and one tall and willowy, with stormy expressions to rival Edgar Allen Poe, and a fairly large dog trailing after them, head on a swivel, wading through grass as though on a warpath in the middle of the night. It was almost funny, if the situation wasn’t so dire. But when death was involved, little was funny. The group reached the loft, and Vic glanced at Sara before she climbed up, Vic staying to keep watch. “What the- Vic! Vic, it isn’t here!” “What?! How could it not be here! It was here yesterday!” “Funny how fate can change.” Vic froze. No. “Hello, Victoria.” No. Blake had found them. They were going to die. —————————————————————————— “I must admit, I hadn’t planned on you finding my plans. Of course, I hadn’t planned on Don either. But plans do change, don’t they?” “Vic? Vic, what’s going on?” Sara’s voice drifted through the air, as melodic as ever. She had no idea. Blake’s own voice was too quiet, too soft. “Nothing is wrong,” his hiss came. Artemis apparently did not like his voice. She’d crept up behind him, and promptly sunk her teeth into his leg. Blake let out a scream of pain, and tried to get the fierce dog off him. “SARA, RUN,” Vic screamed, and the blonde looked down. She spotted the danger, sliding down the loft, and the two girls ran out, Sara whistling for Artemis. “Ok, we need to get Louis. Now.” “You still have your car, the Paterson,” Vic huffed. “Do I still love theatre?” “Great. You go, start it. I’ll get Louis. Meet me in the driveway. We’ll go to the police.” “Ok. And Tori? Stay safe.” “Only if you do too, Sara.” —————————————————————————— Vic ran faster than she ever had before to Louis’ room. It was locked. Of course. Vic bit her lip, trying to find a solution. “Oh, what the heck.” She summoned all her strength, and kicked the door down, running into the room. “Victoria? How are you in my room? Why are you in my room? My door! What happened?!” “Short version- Blake’s gonna kill you. We need to go.” “What?! Ok….Ok. I’m not leaving Ronnie. I’m all he has left.” “Then you’d better live ‘till he’s past a year old! Let’s go!” Vic grabbed Louis by the arm, dragging him away. She shoved him out the doorway, never even sparing a thought to grab Ronnie. She merely closed the door, and the two ran. They soon reached the driveway, catching sight of Sara and Artemis in the car. They ran in, Vic practically shoving Louis inside. They sped off towards the city. —————————————————————————— Everything seemed to be going fine. They were halfway to the station. Louis seemed less than amused, but that was to be expected. They talked casually about their story. Another car approached, but they payed it no mind. Until the gunfire started. The fire hit the window. Louis’ face turned white as a ghost, and Vic had to shove him against the floor so he wouldn’t get shot. Glass cut into her, and pain blossomed, red and hot, like fire. Blake was tailing them. Another shot rang out, hitting the outside of the car. And then another, hitting the windshield. Glass rained down on the two hunkered down figures. They were so close now. Another shot. Blake seemed to have missed. But how? He was a soldier, wasn’t he? All thoughts of the inconsistency fled as they reached the station. All three people ran in, but Artemis stayed out. The last Vic saw, she had tackled Blake, and the gun was out of his hands. Then, police uniforms filled her vision. —————————————————————————— They were sitting in a room, and it was quiet. Really quiet. No one knew exactly what to say. Blake was arrested. Artemis, loyal dog she was, held him down until the police had put him in handcuffs. Vic’s heart felt as though it’d leap out of her chest at any moment, pounding so loud even Rockefeller in his great splendor could probably hear it. But it was at least quiet. Vic hadn’t had a quiet moment since she’d found the papers. She felt grateful for the silence, but she also feared it. Silence, in her experience, meant something bad was waiting to happen. And indeed, as if fate itself had heard her and decided to play along for some cruel amusement, misfortune swooped down. It did not come onto Vic herself, but instead chose to make its prey an innocent. The silence was broken by a coughing fit, and then by the sound of someone falling. Vic turned, and to her horror, saw Sara lying on the floor, a bright red stain on her back. “Help! HELP!” —————————————————————————— Vic watched with bated breath as Sara was taken away in an ambulance, lights flashing and siren singing the song of the injured. She’d go to Sara as soon as the doctors let her. After all, she wasn’t family. Instead, she went to see Blake. He was sitting in a room, looking as though he couldn’t care less about his imprisonment. She watched him through the one way mirror, watched his calm smile. He was watching the wall, as if it was the most interesting sight you could find. Then, calm grin never wavering, he turned. Turned towards Vic. He looked at her, as though he could see right through the glass. “Hello Victoria. I know you’re there. By this point, Sara will have been affected by the gunshot, so you must be there. Fair, is it not? Taking the one thing you want the most- a happy life. After all, you took what I wanted most from me. I would have been promoted, once our dear Mr. Barnett was dead. After all, death is merely opportunity. Don’t act like you wouldn’t have been happier. Louis is old, and very unpopular. Didn’t you see how everyone turned on him at the slightest prodding? How they all turned to me? No one would have grieved. It could have all been fine. But no, of course people mucked it up. I was assured it would have been fine. They said so. But, I suppose I’ve talked enough. I suppose I’m just stalling. No longer. I have an appointment to keep.” A police officer, as if on cue, came in, holding a tray with two pills and a glass of water. He gave Blake one pill and a sip of water, and took the other tablet and the rest of the glass. In less than a minute, they’d both collapsed, white foam frothing at their mouths. —————————————————————————— The police were shocked at the deaths, and so was Vic. They said it was cyanide. They said the officer was loyal. They said this was about as out of character as a cat barking. Personally, Vic didn’t know about that. The look on his face told a different story. But, in any case, they were already dead. Sara was still fighting. Vic was at the hospital now, beside Sara’s bedside. She was writing something down. The love letter she’d promised herself to write. Now she didn’t know if Sara would ever read it. “C’mon…Sara, please. You gotta wake up. I need you. I need your jokes and your smile and your kindness and your love…I need you. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me now, please.” She was crying now, the tears splashing onto Sara’s skin, onto her unresponsive body. “Sara, please…wake up.” “Miss, visiting hours are over.” A stone-faced nurse escorted her out. Vic barely had time to leave the letter.—————————————————————————— Hey Sara. You know I was never good at writing, but I’ll do my best. Where do I start with someone like you? I love how you laugh. Your laugh is like music, and as sweet and flowing as honey. Your smile shines brighter than a thousand suns, and fills me with warmth even on my coldest days. Your voice is so gentle, so soothing, and yet so assured, as though you know everything will be ok. Your eyes shine with the starlight we watch every day, and in them I find my whole world. You can always make anything ok, and no matter how bad my fears get, or how scared I am, you always turn my nightmares to dreams. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember, and probably even longer. I remember, once, when I was around nine and was convinced I wanted to be a ballerina, I had a rehearsal. I got up onstage, and I was so terrified, I couldn’t even move. But then you climbed onstage, and did the whole routine with me. That’s when I knew no matter what, I’d be ok as long as I had you. And through all of it, all the death and fear and sadness, there was you. You are my life and my courage and my joy. Sara Faith Morrison, I love you. ~Your Tori —————————————————————————— Vic sat by herself. Well, not by herself. Artemis, leg bandaged from a wound, sat with her, licking her hand. “What would I do without you,” she sighed softly, scratching the dog behind the ears. “Hey, I thought that was reserved for me! Did Artie already take my place?” Vic would know that voice anywhere. She ran faster than Artemis, pulling Sara into a tight embrace. “I thought you were dead,” the redhead girl sobbed, clinging to Sara for dear life. “You know a little bullet won’t stop me, sweetheart.” The nickname brought red color matching Vic’s hair to her face. “Sara, did you read…” “Your letter?” At this moment, red took over the blonde’s face, surprisingly. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I loved it. It was so beautiful. Just like you.” Vic smiled softly, and then, suddenly, she felt a sensation that she’d only imagined. She was being kissed. By Sara. Overjoyed, Vic returned the affection, practically melting. After a few minutes, they broke away, both flushed and extremely happy. “And…Vic, I love you too.” They walked away hand in hand as they talked about how Sara was getting a starring role in a new play, and Vic would open up a restaurant with an apartment for them, Artemis trailing behind happily. —————————————————————————— The baby was crying. It was one of the most unpleasant sounds the woman had ever heard. “This is why I won’t have kids,” she muttered as she picked the infant up. “Hush...Hush, Ronnie.” One of her assistants came into the room. “Ma’am, Rabbit was captured. He and Hawk took the pill, as they were trained. No one knows.” “A shame, but a predictable one. Rabbit always did have poor judgement. I imagine he made one of the mistakes we predicted. But he served his purpose. We were able to obtain a child.” Lioness looked down at the cooing baby. “You, my dear, will be extraordinary. A moldable, dedicated soldier from birth. Your loyalty will be to the Chain, my dear Lion.”

#original work #writing #original writing

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