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holdmytesseract · 2 years ago

Text

Narfi

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki x fem!Reader

Summary: You're going into labour - unexpectedly. The problem? It's way too early and Loki isn't home...

Warnings: pregnancy things, birth, pain, swear words? angst, panic attacks, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 5k (Whoopsies 👀)

a/n: Yaaaay! It's time for y'all to finally meet Narfi! 🥳 Ella is a big sister now! 🥰 I decided to wrote things slightly... 'different'. You'll see. I hope you like it! I tried my best! ☺️

Sidenote: I'm not a pregnancy/birthing expert, so... 😅🙈

Tagging: @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @eleniblue @vbecker10 @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @lokisninerealms @peaches1958 @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @loki-laufeyson-1054 @lovingchoices14 @simping-for-marvel @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lou12346789 @kimanne723 @coldnique @lady-rose-moon @mostclevermiss @aagn360 @acefeather2002 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

The day had started quite normal. Well... As normal as a day could start with being a little over six months pregnant. You had gotten up quite early to prepare breakfast and say goodbye to your husband, since he left for a mission quite early. Seven in the morning, to be precise, so you got up at six, in order to surprise him with your self-made pancakes. No, you didn't do that for Loki before every mission, but you did it today, since he had to go with Tony - about which he was everything but amused. He had been grumpy all day yesterday after getting to know that. But well... The mission had to be done and Tony was the only one available together with Loki. Though, it wasn't just that. Loki didn't like to leave you alone, now that you reached the seventh month. Sure, you weren't close to birth yet, but nevertheless... It didn't sit right with him. He didn't have a good feeling about it.

Just when you flipped the first pancake in the pan, the door to the kitchen got quietly opened and closed again. "Darling? What in all the nine realms are you doing here?" You knew that he would protest, seeing you up this early. You didn't care, though. You were pregnant not sick. "Preparing a delicious breakfast for my husband," you announced, turning around to face him with a smile. "Since he has to go on a mission with the mean and annoying man of steel." Loki sighed, shaking his head, "Don't even start..." and stepped closer to you. He was already dressed in his full Asgardian armour – except for his helmet, ready to go. "That's really sweet of you, my queen, but you didn't have to do that. I'd rather have you in bed, resting and growing our baby boy." Loki said, cupping your big bump and leaning down to bestow a loving, but sensual kiss upon your lips. You couldn't help but smile in the kiss, lifting both your hands to rest on his leather clad chest. "I know, baby, but I just wanted to do that for you. Wasn't able to sleep anyway for the last two or three ours." The God's expression changed; his face now reflected worry and concern. "Why couldn't you sleep? Is everything alright?" You nodding and rubbed you palms up and down his chest in order to calm him. "Yes, of course, Lokes. I just had a few Braxton Hicks contractions, got kicked by your son a few times and needed to get up to pee two times." Loki nodded, now slightly relieved by your answer, but not entirely. His big hands roamed over your protruding stomach, caressing it gently. "Are you sure, my love?" "Yes, I am." You said, capturing his lips for a quick kiss. "Now sit down and have some pancakes - unless you like 'em burned." Loki rolled his eyes but smiled, causing you to giggle. He gave in in the end, of course and sat down, eating your self-made pancakes. The God couldn't lie... He loved your pancakes and he loved that you surprised him with it. But no matter how much he would love to help you clean up now, wake Ella and bring her to the kindergarten, before spending a lazy morning in bed with you, he had to go... And he absolutely hated it.

"Be safe, okay?" You told him, standing in the door frame of the main door. "Of course, darling. Don't worry about me." Loki wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. "You two be safe, yes?" He said, nodding at your belly and you. "Yes." "Good. Take it easy and rest. I'll be back in two days." You nodded, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him one last time. "I'm going to miss you, Lokes..." "I'm going to miss you and my princess and prince as well." You smiled at him, squeezing his thick leather clad shoulders. "Don't annoy Tony so much, yeah?" You said, teasing him slightly and knowing exactly that this would never even happen in your wildest dream. They were going to annoy the hell out of each other... "I'm afraid I can't promise you that, my love." Loki chuckled, winking; before he turned to leave.

After saying thoroughly goodbye to Loki, you cleaned up the kitchen, woke up Ella and got her ready for kindergarten, before bringing her there, of course.

While your daughter was away, you cleaned up the house a bit and did some laundry. Much to your dismiss, you had to take a lot of breaks, due to quite a lot Braxton Hicks contractions. At some point, it even really started to annoy you. It hadn't been that bad with Ella...

Hours ticked by and the Braxton Hicks didn't get better. Rather worse. So, you tried to lay down and sleep, give your body some rest. At first, that was perfectly fine - until you woke up again, with a sticky feeling between your legs. Rubbing your eyes tiredly, your brain needed a moment to catch up. Frowning, you shifted, feeling like you've gotten your period - what was impossible. What in all the nine- Oh no... That was the moment in which your brain had finally caught up, sending a shockwave through your whole body. Within seconds, you sat up and threw the blanket aside. On your sleep shorts was a wet patch - and no, you didn't pee yourself. Your eyes widened at that sight, heart hammering against your chest. Your water broke. Your fucking water broke. That couldn't be. It was way too early. You were not even seven entire months pregnant. "Oh no, no, no..." Panic started to course through your system, as you got up and made your way as fast as possible into the bathroom. It was true. Your water broke. The Braxton Hicks contractions weren't Braxton Hicks... They were real contractions. Not knowing what to do or how to react, you did the only thing your panicking brain could think of... Calling your husband. Grabbing your phone, you quickly tapped on his contact in order to call him; praying to the Gods that he was able to accept your call while flying on the Quinjet. To your sheer relief, he could. "Darling? Everything al-" You didn't even let him finish his sentence. You couldn't. You were way too afraid and panicky. "M-My water broke, Loki." There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "I beg you pardon, w-what?" "My water broke. I-I'm in labour." You said, swallowing hard as you felt the tears coming up in your eyes. "I-It's way too early, Loki! I-I shouldn't be in labour now! I'm not even halfway through the seventh month! I-I don't know what is going on! I-I'm afraid! Loki, what do I do now?!" You sobbed, rambling. "Okay, okay, darling. First, take a deep breath please, then tell me exactly what happened." "O-Okay." You did what your husband said, took a deep breath. "I-I had contractions all morning. I-I thought they were just Braxton Hicks, but they weren't. I decided t-to lay down, have some rest, a-and now I woke up and my... my water was broken. I-I'm in- Ughhh..." Another contraction caused you to cut off your own sentence. "L-Labour... I-I'm in labour."

On the Quinjet, Loki literally froze to the ground in pure shock. Your water broke?! You were in labour?! How could that be? It was way too early and- Oh no... His eyes widened at the realisation which dawned suddenly on him. It was too early - for a normal pregnancy, but... not for a Jotun pregnancy. His blood froze in his veins. Seemed like that baby inherited way more of his Jotun genes than he anticipated. Than everybody anticipated. Not even the healers on Asgard saw that coming...

"L-Loki?" Your weaky, shaky voice snapped him immediately back into reality. "I'm sorry, darling, I'm right here. Listen... Normal pregnancies last for about nine to ten months, but Jotun pregnancies last about seven, which means..." "Oh gods... O-Our baby is a Jotun?" Your voice was filled with so much fear. "Not entirely, I think. But my Jotun genes are strong, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry, my love. If I would've known, I-" "No..." You interrupted him on an instant. "Don't blame yourself, please. I-I think I'm ready to give birth, it's just... so sudden, I..." You took a deep breath, feeling the next contraction creep up on you. "I just want our baby to be okay. I-I couldn't stand if something would happen to him. Y-You said he's presumably not entirely Jotun, so what if it's still too early? What if he's not ready to survive outside my womb yet? O-Oh gods..." Another wave of panic rolled through you, causing you to stumble back slightly. "Y/N, love, hey... Listen to me. This won't happen, okay? Everything is going to be alright. You will be alright and our baby as well. Don't panic, please. This is not good for either of you." You nodded, more so to yourself to persuade yourself that he was right. "O-Okay.... Okay. I-I'm going to call Heimdall, so that he can open the Bifrost for m-" "No!" Your husband interjected immediately, voice filled with fear and worry. "W-What?" You were confused now. "You can't do that. I-It's not safe. Travelling with the Bifrost while being pregnant - no problem at all. Travelling with the Bifrost while being in labour - dangerous. It could harm the baby. You can't go to Asgard, my love. It's too late. You need to have our baby here, on Midgard."

That didn't help your anxiety either. Not at all. You were prepared to give birth on Asgard, just like you did with Ella. It was way safer, given the fact that the healers knew what they were dealing with. Your babies weren't just normal babies after all. Certainly not your son. He was a Frost Giant. How on earth would be human doctors able to deal with that? "Ohhh no, no, no, no... I can't do this, Loki. I can't do this here, without the healers!" You could swear, you never felt so much fear in your life than in that moment. "Love, please... I need you to stay calm. I know this isn't easy, but hyperventilation is going to make it worse. Please, my queen, please." "A-And what do I do now?" You cried, unable to hold back the tears anymore. Loki's heart ached, knowing that he should be with you right now and not on a damn Quinjet, heading for Sacramento. "You are going to call an ambulance and make sure you're under medical supervision, okay?" "O-Okay." "I'll look after the rest and try to come back home as fast as possible. Call me, if you need me, yes?" "Y-Yes." "Good. I love you. We're going to make this, I promise." Loki hated to hang up now, but he had to. The God needed to make sure that this Quinjet was no longer heading away from you, but back to you. So, he headed for the cockpit, where Tony was.

The billionaire said casually in his chair, working on new blueprints for an even better suit. The Quinjet was on autopilot. "Stark!" Loki bellowed. "We need to turn around and fly back!" An exaggerated sigh could be heard from Tony, before he swiftly turned around in the chair. "No, absolutely not, Reindeer Games." "It's urgent, Stark. An emergency!" Another annoyed sigh from Tony. "I know you don't like to be on this mission with me - what goes both ways. I don't like spending time with you either, but this mission is impor-" The man didn't get any further. Loki, which had clearly lost his patience with the billionaire already, grabbed him the lapels of his sweatshirt, pulled him roughly out of his chair and pinned him with a thud against the nearby metal wall. Tony was way too perplexed to fight back. Not that he would stand a chance against the God. Without his suit, he was nothing more than a normal man. That was what Loki thought at least. "This idiotic mission is not even in the slightest important to me. My family is important to me. I tell you there's an emergency and you just keep on mocking me?" Loki snarled; a dark chuckle leaving his lips. "Big mistake - and you should know that, Stark. I have to go back to my wife and unborn baby. Y/N went into labour way too early. I don't care about rescuing cats from trees. All I care about right now is the safety and health of my wife and child." He tightened his grip a bit, while Tony just stared at him like paralyzed. "Now turn this Quinjet around, Stark or you are going to wish you had taken my brother on this mission instead of me." Tony blinked; the words reaching his brilliant brain. Immediately, the usually so quick-witted man lifted his hands in awe. He didn't know. How could he know? "Okay, Reindeer Games, okay! I surrender! Just... Let me down." With another angry snarl, Loki let go of Tony - who went to the control board on an instant and changed the destination of the autopilot again. The God witnessed it, gave the man another intense look, before he turned to leave. "Idiot... He could've just said that this was about Y/N instead of threatening me..." Tony muttered under his breath, unable to hear for Loki, as he sat back down on the chair. "Don't fret, my love. I'm coming." Loki mumbled, staring out of the small window. His heart was aching for his wife. He should have never left. He just should've stayed.

You couldn't remember much. Calling an ambulance and riding with them towards the hospital was one of those things.

"Okay, ma'am can you walk?" One of the friendly paramedics asked. A man with ash blonde hair and a lip piercing. You nodded, steadying yourself at the hallway wand. "I-I think so, yes." "Alright. We will steady you." Together with the two paramedics, you made your way down the elevator and hallways of the Avengers compound. It was quiet. Nobody was home. Except you. It was a rare thing to happen, but it did happen. Unfortunately, right on that day. "How far apart are your contractions now? Can you tell that?" The woman with a ponytail asked. "I-I, um... Uh..." You were still shaken up. Loki's words managed to calm you, yes, but only to a certain extent. "I think about an hour apart now." "Okay, and your water broke?" "Y-Yes." You reached the ambulance after a fifteen-minute slow walk, the paramedics helping you inside. "And how far are you exactly?" Asked the man. You swallowed. "Twenty-five weeks." The man and woman's eyes widened, shock written all over their face, causing you to quickly add some more information. "B-But, uh this-" You started, but help your breath as another contraction rolled over you. The pain causing you to bend over, gritting your teeth. The grip of both the man and woman tightened, in order to keep you steady. After taking a few deep, deep breaths, you continued. "This isn't a n-normal pregnancy... M-My husband isn't from, u-um here. He's uh, halfway Asgardian and Jotun, a-and this baby has a lot o-of Jotun genes apparently. T-That's why our son's coming earlier." Your gaze met both their eyes, which reflected still shock, but also disbelief. They clearly needed a moment to get along. Blinking, the man nodded. "O-Okay, um. We just get you to the hospital first. Then we'll see." Said and done. About fifteen minutes later, you were in the hospital - and from that point on, everything went a bit blurry. Your heart was beating fast against your chest, as the car came to an halt. You weren't ready for this. You weren't. No matter if this baby was actually ready to be born, it was still too early. Even for the Jotun pregnancy - as you realized a few minutes ago. This caused a fresh wave of angst and panic course through your system, making your hands shake. So many thoughts were cursing through your mind. What if the baby wasn't going to survive this? Loki wasn't here. What if he couldn't make it back in time? You needed him. You couldn't bring this baby into this world without him, could you? And with that not enough... A contraction like you never had before rolled over your body, causing you almost to black out from the amount of pain. Panting hard, you suddenly felt something else within your body. "I-I-I need to push. I-I, oh gods. I need to p-push." You stammered out, shocking the paramedics again. "Ma'am, are you sure? You just told us your contractions were about an hour apart." "I-I know, but- ahhhh." You couldn't resist this urge any longer. You had to. "Okay, quick, get her inside. We need to check on her!" The woman said, quickly helping the man to get you inside the hospital.

This didn't help your anxiety as well. Quite the opposite. It became even worse. So bad, that you couldn't fight it anymore. It started to cloud your mind; invading your brain. You halfway passed out on the way, but everything was a blur; constantly switching between consciousness and unconsciousness. Bright light, some strange voices saying words you couldn't make out - and the faint cry of a baby was all you could remember.

The Quinjet had been going as fast as possible - and yet it took Tony and Loki almost three hours to get back to the Avengers compound. Without even saying a single word to Tony, Loki stormed out of the Quinjet the moment it touched the ground. You and his son were everything he could think about right now. There was nothing more important to the God in all the nine realms - except Ella and probably his oaf of a brother. So, he made his way straight to the hospital, stormed through the doors and headed immediately to the maternity ward. Good thing that he was here before, when little Morgan was born not so long ago. It helped him now to remember the way.

With quick steps approached Loki the first nurse he saw in that big, white hallway... A man with very short, pink hair.

"Excuse me, would you please lead me to my wife? Y/N Y/L/N. She must be here." The nurse stopped in his movements, turned to face Loki, eyes widening slightly. You could tell that the man was quite a bit shocked at what his eyes saw. And maybe he wasn't taking Loki seriously. "I, um... I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm afraid I can't." The God frowned. "What? Why not? I demand to see my wife!" The male nurse shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sir. I can't allow a stranger to go-" "I'm not a stranger! I'm the husband and father of the child my wife is currently bringing into this world!" The God balled his hands to fists, clearly angered now. But the nurse didn't budge. "I understand your worry and concern, but I am not allowed to, Sir, until I have this checked." Loki sighed. Probably it wasn't a good idea to literally storm into this hospital, still dressed in full Asgardian armour and armed to the teeth... Loki was sure he was going to hear from Fury about this - and Steve. But what was he supposed to do? That was Y/N - and his unborn baby! A deep breath left Loki's lips as he turned around and took a few steps away from the nurse. With a snap of his fingers, a green shimmer enveloped his body, changing his armour into a hoodie, black jeans and a pair of sneakers. Then he turned to face the man again, who stood open-mouthed across from him, clearly shocked and surprised at what he just witnessed. "Please. I'm begging you. I just want to see my wife and child." If his son wasn't born already - what Loki didn't hope... He was never one to beg. Never. But this situation, with him not knowing how you and the baby were doing, had him on his knees. At Loki's pleading look, the nurse gave in. "Alright, Sir. I'll have a look. What's your wife's name again?" "Y/N Y/L/N." "And you are...?" "Loki Laufeyson." "Okay. I'll be right back." Loki nodded, being very relieved. "Thank you."

About five minutes later, the man came back - with a woman in tow, which definitely looked like a doctor. The God felt how his heart sped up. Was this a good sign or a bad sign? He didn't know. "Mr. Laufeyson?" The doctor approached him. "Yes. My wife is she...?" "She is alright." Relief washed over Loki. "Thank the norns... A-And the baby?" "Alright as well." Loki swallowed. "S-So he's already born?" The woman nodded, giving him an apologetic smile. "He is." His shoulders slumped, sadness overcoming him like a big shadow. "I missed the birth of my son..." He mumbled under his breath, nevertheless loud enough for the doctor to hear. "I'm sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, but the little man couldn't wait for his dad to arrive." Another nod from the God. "How did the birth go? Without complications, I hope?" "Yes. It was a natural birth, although your wife went through a lot of stress and panic attacks. During the birth she was constantly slipping in and out of consciousness." Loki's eyes widened at that. Oh norns... Apparently, you had been so afraid of the sudden situation you were thrown in. Fear of giving birth. Fear of giving birth too early. Fear of the baby's health. And he couldn't be there. No, he sat on a fucking Quinjet towards Sacramento with Tony Stark. Great. "Can I see them, please?" "Of course. Want to pick up your son first?" Loki's heart sped up at the thought of seeing and holding his son for the very first time. "Yes, please." "Follow me."

The doctor led Loki down the hall and around the corner into another hallway, until they came to an halt in front of a big door with two window panes in the middle. "This is our newborn nursery. Before you can enter this room, you have to change." She handed Loki a blue hygiene coat, who quickly put it on. "Ready to meet your son?" The God nodded, almost impatiently.

The woman then led him through the newborn nursery, in which countless cribs stood. Some empty, some with a baby inside. Loki was pretty sure that he had never seen so many babies in one room in his life before. His eyes travelled from one to the other, as the doctor was leading him through the big room.

"There we are." She announced then, stopping in front of one of the cribs. "Meet your son, Mr. Laufeyson." Loki wasn't able to see much yet, but what he saw, was a tiny, blue hand peeking out of the crib. Like Ella, was his son born in his Jotun form - as it seemed. The God's eyes widened slightly, before they searched for Dr. Martin's - as he could read on the little name plate; his brain already working fast to come up with an explanation. Sure, they didn't see a blue baby every day... Just as he wanted to open his mouth, Dr. Martin spoke up. "Your wife told us." She said, smiling softly. He blinked, was a bit taken aback. A blue baby... And nobody lost it? The doctor seemed to read the confusion on Loki's face. "Your baby boy isn't the first special baby we had here." She explained further, before she turned on her heels to leave. "I give you a few minutes of alone time with your son now. I think after that we can take him to his mama." Loki was still in some kind of shock, unable to say a word and just watched the friendly and understanding doctor leave - until a soft, but demanding whine ripped him out of his trance; causing his stomach to flip. The God's head snapped immediately direction crib. Cautiously, he approached the little bed, taking the first look on his newborn son. The little boy was wrapped up in a light blue teddy bear babygrow. Little legs pulled up against his belly; tiny hands balled into fists. His eyes were still closed, but his face was contorted, as another soft whine left his pouty lips. A tuft of black hair was on his head. Loki wasn't able to see a lot of his skin, but as he could tell from afar, it was blue. Familiar marks and ridges adorned his son's face and head. Loki's heart did another somersault, as it fell hopelessly in love with the baby boy. He was beautiful. Just absolutely beautiful - and he was his.

"Hello, little man." Loki spoke in a soft, hushed tone. As soon as his voice urged to the baby's ears, his tiny face seemed to relax; clearly feeling and hearing that his father was close. Without hesitation, Loki reached inside the crib and took the baby carefully up in his arms. "Welcome to this world, Narfi." He managed to choke out, before his emotions got stuck in his throat and a few tears escaped the corners of his eyes. He was blessed with becoming a father again... It was hard to grasp for Loki. He needed a few moments to realise it; feeling pure love and proudness course through his veins. It eased the pain and sadness of missing Narfi's birth a bit. He was here now - and he would not leave his or your side again. "I am so sorry I missed the moment you saw the light of the day, but I am here now, my little prince. Daddy's here now." Loki enjoyed the first precious moments he spent with Narfi, holding him close and letting him feel all his love. One thing was missing though... A thing he did with Ella as well. A thing he would make sure to catch up on later, as soon as he was alone with you and his son.

You blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the sunlight, which flooded the room. The first thing you noticed was the white ceiling above you. You tried to remember what had happened. Your memory was blurry. All you could think of was calling Loki in a panic, telling him you were in labour. You remembered his words and that you called an ambulance, just like he said. You remembered riding with them towards the hospital, but after that it became a haze. "Y/N?" A voice called suddenly out to you. "Love, are you awake?" A familiar voice. Loki. You turned your head in the direction where his voice came from; gaze landing on your husband, who sat beside your bed on a chair, shirtless, skin tinged in blue - and with a small bundle resting against his bare chest, causing your eyes to widen. Loki wore a smile, gentle ruby eyes looking at you. "Hey, my love." He whispered, reaching out his hand for you to take - which you did. "Would you like to meet our son? I think he's very eager to meet his mama." A wave of emotions and feelings over rolled you. You had given birth? How could it be that you couldn't remember? "I-I-I yes, oh gods, Loki... I-I-" "Shhhh, everything is alright." He hushed and reassured you immediately, giving your hand a squeeze, before handing Narfi over to you. You took your newborn son into your arms with shaky hands. This moment seemed so surreal, and yet it was happening right in front of your eyes. "H-Hi, my little prince." You whispered, feeling the tears pooling in your eyes. At your voice Narfi opened his eyes, his father's beautiful matching ruby eyes looking up at you. "Hi... I'm your mama." The baby just stared at you with big eyes, cuddling closer to you. You couldn't help but smile, feeling the tears fall now. A thing you immediately notice was, that - unlike Ella, Narfi stayed in his Jotun form and didn't shapeshift. Perhaps he needed a bit longer for that - which wasn't a bad thing, of course. "What happened?" You asked then. Loki was more than willing to explain everything to you, from the very start.

"How are you feeling now, love?" Your husband asked in the end, after having a long conversation with you. "Tired and exhausted, but I-I- Norns, Lokes, I'm so sorry you missed the birth... I-I should've called you earlier o-or-" "Hey, it's okay, darling." He interrupted you, leaning forward to place a lingering kiss on your forehead. "Please don't blame yourself for this. If anything, I am the one to blame, because I wasn't here earlier. But I am here now - and that is what counts." You gave him a soft, but still slightly saddened smile. "Does Ella know?" Loki nodded. "I called Jane, explained everything to her. She agreed to pick Ella up from kindergarten and to tell her." You smiled, thinking of how excited your daughter must be. "I can't wait for her to meet her baby brother." Loki chuckled, placing a big hand on Narfi's back. "Me neither. But for now, you have to rest, my love. I'm right here." He said, learning down to kiss you leisurely, before he rested his forehead against yours. "I love you so much, my queen... And my little princess and littlest prince as well. Thank you for gifting me the wonderful life I never thought I deserved."

#the baby fever au #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki x you #tom hiddleston x reader #loki x y/n #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader

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bbgem329 · 1 year ago

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Where’s My Love?—Chapter Seven

Parings—Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary

Two years ago, you and your husband built a life for your growing family at a safe camp during a world wide apocalypse. Everything is good until Bucky catches wind that a rival group is out to dominate the rest for their own gain.

What happens when, one day, the most capable men and your husband are out on a hunt when the camp is attacked? Will you be able to get your children and your heavily pregnant self to safety? Will Bucky find you before it’s too late?

Warnings

MINORS DNI!!! 18++. Language. Violence. Zombies. Apocalypse. Pregnancy. Labor. Angst. Blood, gore. Mentions of death. Strong! Mama!Reader. Did I miss anything?

Note!!!

Thanks for your patience and support. This was somewhat unedited so bare with me !! 🥰

Series Masterlist

—————

This could not be happening.

Breathe. Just breathe.

There was absolutely no way.

Inhale. One. Two. Thre-

Maybe if you willed it away–ignored the truth, it would just go away.

Exhale. One. Two. Three-

If only that were the case.

In…

But mother nature always was a ruthless bitch. And the pain rippling through your abdomen wasn’t something that you could easily ignore.

Out!!!

As much as you wanted to pretend it was just Braxton hicks, you’d been through this before and knew your body well enough to know better.

Leave it to you to go into labor at a time like this.

Breathe. Nice and slow.

Bucky’s kids, for whatever reason, always did have a thing for dramatics. It shouldn’t surprise you that this one would pick a time like this to make their entrance into the world.

“Mama, okay?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying desperately to breathe steadily and slowly through your nose. If you opened your mouth, there was no biting back a groan and you didn’t want to alarm the kids.

They were already scared and confused as it is.

They didn’t need to see you like this, especially not right now.

“Mama’s okay.” You choked out, wrapping your arm around Becca as she leaned into your side, her little head resting on your shoulder.

The contractions were getting closer and closer together, coming on stronger now. You’d been up all night–partially because of the pain but mostly to keep watch as your babies fitfully slept on top of you.

You were lucky enough to come across some sort of cave type thing as the sun began to set last night and you knew better than to push your luck. Your babies needed to sleep a little after you put Rosie to rest.

So not only were you exhausted and in pain, but you were emotionally wrung out too.

With the stress, trauma, and physical exhaustion, it shouldn’t have surprised you this much to find yourself heading in the direction of full blown, active labor. Those attributes were a very well known catalyst to unexpected, fast and hard labor.

And with this being your third…

You needed to move now.

Having a baby out in the open, in the woods just might actually be the death of you.

Literally.

“Jamie.” You called gently, wiping away at the sweat beading your forehead. You needed to get it together. Between the two of them, he would be the most aware if something were off. “Jamie, baby. It’s time to wake up.”

Your hand found his head resting atop your thigh, face squished snuggly against your belly. You called his name one more time, fingers combing gently through his tousled locks.

“Don’t wanna wake up.” He grumbled, “So comfy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, thumb brushing affectionately along the curve of his jaw as he pressed a little kiss against where his youngest sibling lay. Even in the darkest of times–one of the worst days of all of your lives, and your little boy still managed to shine the brightest light down on it.

“I know but we gotta get moving, Jay.” You wiggled your leg, his pillow, “If we want to beat daddy to the new house, we should go now.”

Make it a race–make it a game.

They didn’t need to be burdened with this yet. They’d been through more than enough in the past few days and they were probably too young to understand what was happening with their momma anyways.

Just as you leaned forward to help Jamie to his feet, that familiar tightening twinged in your lower back and rippled across your abdomen. You lurched forward, shoulder hunched as a low groan slipped past your lips.

“Momma!”

Fuck.

Jamie jumped to his feet, a frantic, wild look in his eyes. Never before had he looked so much like his dad and that was saying something, seeing as they were practically twins.

“What’s wrong?” He hesitantly lifted his hand to your cheek, pressing himself close to your side, “Are you hurt?”

When you didn’t respond, too busy trying to breath through the pain, he turned to his little sister, “Becca, what’s wrong with mom?”

The two year old gave a little shrug, patting your shoulder on the other side. “Don’t know.”

You were squished between your kids, both of them rubbing and patting at you, clearly concerned but all you could focus on was the pain and the way your entire body pulled tight.

In.

Out.

You didn’t have the strength to handle this.

Would it be better to stay and wait this out, give birth to the baby here in this cave? Or did you risk venturing out, and hopefully have the baby in the safety of your own home?

Traveling with a baby was a risk of its own. You had no supplies to help if something went wrong, nothing for the baby to wear to protect from the elements. It would be harder to protect Jamie and Becca out here, not while trying to quietly deliver a baby.

And it would be harder for Bucky to find you.

You’d ventured off the path to find shelter for the night and even though it wasn’t that far off the main road, you knew him. His mind would be focused solely on the original plan in place, he’d trust you to follow his directions and go straight to the new house.

To be there when he returned.

You couldn’t imagine the panic he’d go through if he arrived at an empty home.

He would absolutely come and find you, and he’d succeed eventually but you didn’t want to think about the state he’d find you in when he did.

No.

You needed to go. You needed to try.

And you couldn’t hide this from the babies—from Jamie. He needed to be somewhat in the loop just in case something went wrong.

You didn’t want to scare him anymore than he needed to be.

“Jamie.” You called, trying to keep your voice calm and soft. “Listen to me carefully. You do not need to worry but momma is in labor, okay?” You tilted your head towards him, hand lifting to cradle his chin, “Do you remember when we talked about what that is and what that means?”

His bottom lip jutted out in a small frown, bright blue eyes tracing over your face, “It means that my baby brother and sister is coming.”

“Yes.” You nodded, forcing a small smile, “You’re so smart. And I need you to know that it might be a little scary and I’ll be honest with you that momma is going to be in some pain,” You took a deep breath, brushing your thumb tenderly along his jawline. “I might cry a little and groan but it’s completely normal, alright?”

He gave you a hesitant nod, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“I need you to help me take care of your little sister,” You gave Becca a little squeeze, eyes flickering between their fear filled faces. “We need to move quickly, we don’t have much longer until we make it to the house. I need both of you to put on your best listening ears and we are going to try really, really hard to keep our lips zipped,” You made the motion, drawing your fingers across your lips, “And our feet quiet.”

It broke you just a little bit inside to see them like this.

Worried. Unsure. Scared.

They shouldn’t need to worry about things like this, they should be worried about things like what cool t-shirt they were gonna wear today or fighting over little things like blocks and who got to take a bath first each night.

Not this.

Anything but this.

“Okay, momma.” Jamie spoke up, and you watched with a baited breath as he put on a brave face. “I’ll protect you and sissy until daddy gets back.”

The determination in his voice made you want to cry.

Your brave baby boy.

As much as you hated to put that on him, you knew you could count on him.

You tightened your arms around both of them, squishing them to you in a very much needed embrace, “I love you both so much.” You pressed a quick kiss to each of their heads, “We are going to be strong. We are going to be brave. And we are going to be okay.”

“I love you, momma.”

“Love you.”

It didn’t take long for you to pack everything up. As much as you wanted to strap Becca to your back, you knew you couldn’t handle it right now, not in the state you were in. Instead you took Becca’s hand and she took Jamie’s and you led them out of the safety of the cave and into the woods with Bucky’s gun held in your free hand.

Luckily for you, it was a short walk to the road. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes and you hadn’t had a contraction yet which meant there was still time.

You could make it you were sure.

Maybe it was Braxton hicks after all.

You really couldn’t be far, a few hours down the road and then you would cut into the woods where he said and everything would be fine.

But the moment you pushed through the bush and out into the clearing, your gut dropped into your ass.

You only had a second to react, you scooped Becca up and pushed Jamie back the way you came with a command to run.

But you knew it was too late, you’d been spotted by more than a handful of the dead and they were coming for you. The growls and heavy steps storming behind you could attest to that.

With your gun positioned behind you and half a glance back over your shoulder, you started firing aimlessly over your shoulder.

It didn’t matter that the sounds of the shots might draw more.

It didn’t matter that Becca’s screams would no doubt be heard even miles away.

All that mattered was now.

Picking them off and getting you and your babies away from the twenty or so stumbling after you through the woods.

“Stay ahead of me, Jamie but don’t go too far.”

“I’m scared, momma.” Jamie screeched, “What do we do?”

“Run, baby.” You urged, “Don’t look back. Everything will be okay!”

How many more times would you say that before it finally became a lie?

No.

You’d make it the truth.

You wouldn’t go down without a fight.

You wouldn’t let your babies die.

—————

“It’s alright.” You cooed softly, praying to whatever God above that your babies didn’t notice the unmistakable tremble in your voice. The words felt heavy on your tongue as they fell quickly from your lips and left a bitter taste in your mouth. It wasn’t necessarily a lie but you couldn’t be sure it was the truth either. “Everything is going to be okay.”

The inhuman groans and grunts echoed throughout the darkened forest behind you, the heavy, shuffling steps pounding steadily after you, closing in with every brutal second that passed.

You don’t know how long you’ve been running, if you could even call it that at this point. All day, according to the darkness that had settled over the sky, you’d been dragging yourself and your babies through the woods.

You’d lost most of the dead. Picked them off one by one but there were a few stragglers after you and you knew you couldn’t take them down anymore.

Not on your own.

Not in this state.

Not without any bullets in your gun.

Your grip on your son’s hand tightened, pulling him gently but desperately along with you, your other arm cradling your crying daughter to your chest.

You couldn’t let go–you wouldn’t, afraid that if you did they’d disappear for good right before your very eyes.

You wouldn’t survive then. Not without them.

“I want daddy.” Jamie sobbed out, his little legs stumbling and wobbling with every step over the uneven, rough ground. “I'm scared, momma.”

“It’s okay, baby.” You croaked out, tears welling up in your eyes and your heart clenching painfully in your chest. “Daddy’s coming. He’s coming, okay? We just have to keep going and he will find us.”

How could you expect him to be brave when you weren’t feeling very brave yourself?

You’d never been so scared in your twenty seven years of life and you wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, at least then you wouldn’t have to watch your children be eaten alive.

You had no other choice but to push through, if not for yourself, then for the three other innocent lives depending solely on you.

You bit back a cry, teeth digging harshly into your bottom lip as a sharp pain tore through your swollen abdomen, core tightening and pulsing as your body prepared itself for labor. The ache was quickly followed by a familiar, unwelcomed gush of liquid between your thighs, soaking your overalls from the waist down.

It was just a matter of time. You’d been ignoring it all day.

If you wanted this baby to survive you would need to stop to push. You could already feel the need rising up from within, the contractions were now minutes apart and growing longer and harsher.

“We’re almost there.” You mumbled, thighs beginning to shake with the strain of every step. The pressure rising and tightening rapidly within your naval as the baby within your womb slipped further down, ready to come out and into this cruel world. “Daddy’s coming and we’re almost there.”

“South down eighth street,” He whispered, lips skimming gently up the slope of your neck, full beard rubbing deliciously against the sensitive skin there. “Once you reach the yellow fire hydrant about fifteen meters down, take a sharp left into the woods.” He tightened his grip on either side of your hips, dragging you back until your back was pressed to his broad chest, hands brushing tenderly over your growing bump. “From there it’s a straight shot. I set solar lights up to guide you to the fence, you can’t miss ‘em.”

Bucky’s voice rang persistently in your head, urging you on and forward.

You had to be close.

You’d followed his directions and found the path of lights. Any moment now the cottage he’d been building you would come into sight.

But perhaps not soon enough.

You didn’t want to imagine what he must be feeling, the desperation and guilt weighing down on him as he fought to find you.

Or worse, how he’d fall apart if he found your bodies in the aftermath—torn to shreds or turned.

Jamie let out a blood curdling scream as he was yanked back, the force of it dragging you along and sending you tumbling full force to the ground. You landed harshly on your back, gasping for air as the wind was knocked from your lungs.

“No.” You cried out, flipping up on your hands and knees to scramble after him. The desperation to save your baby boy overriding the pain tearing through your swollen belly and the dread clouding your mind. “Jamie.”

You would never forget the look of pure terror in his cerculean eyes or the sound of his screams as the diseased, bloody figure clawed at his little kicking legs.

Without a second thought, you snatched a nearby rock off the ground beside you, throwing it as hard as you could at its head. It was enough of a distraction and it released its hold on your son long enough for you to pull him back and behind you.

Jamie pressed himself into your back, burying his face in your shirt as he sobbed uncontrollably. The shakes and tremble of his little body mirroring your own.

The creature snarled before lunging at you, you only had a moment to brace yourself, hands scrambling for something, anything to defend yourselves with. Before you could blink, the thing was on you, pinning you to the ground.

You grasped the walker’s shoulders, holding it away, knees pressing into its abdomen to maintain a distance as Jamie cried out in pain beneath you and Becca screamed from where she rested on your chest.

“Help.” You cried out, though you knew it was pointless—reckless even. The excessive noise would only lure more within a three mile radius. “God, Help. Please.”

Your life flashed before your eyes and that of your childrens.

They didn’t deserve this. They still had so much life to live.

They didn’t deserve to die. Especially like this.

A heartbreaking sob tore through your chest, arms shaking with strain and the urge to push hitting your tenfold. You were losing your strength, you couldn’t hold it off for much longer.

This was it.

You were going to die.

Your son, your daughter, and unborn baby too.

“I love you.” You choked out, “Momma loves you and she’s so sorry.”

You turned your head to the side, eyes clenched shut as a copious amount of drool and blood slipped out of the creature's mouth and landed with a disgusting plop against your cheek. You could feel your arms beginning to buckle as its chomping nips neared closer.

But then your eyes opened to meet the soft, direct glow of the solar light. A quick glance between the creature above you and the tip of the light buried in the ground, and you only had a second to decide.

One hand slipped from its shoulder to grab at the stick as it barred down on you. You wiggled as best as you could away from its harsh bite, kicking at it with all your might.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest as your fingers wrapped around the stem of the light, yanking from the ground with a determined cry just as the creature moved to sink its teeth into your babygirl.

—————

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@ginger-swag-rapunzel @buckystevelove @snugglingbucky @slamminmine

@here4thespice @ameerakane20

@netflixxgodess @animegirlgeeky @futur3corps3 @toldyouitwasamelodrama @tanyaherondale

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader

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al1x00 · 4 months ago

Text

⚠️CHAP. 7 SPOILERS⚠️

"CW POISONED WITHOUTH YOUR KNOWLEDGE"??? KATY WHO TF HURT YOU?😭😭😭

OH SO THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED TO R'S PARENTS! They went for an expedition and never returned after that, and after that R was left with her uncle and aunt in that horror of a house😭😭 that must've been tough.

"for they only wanted to eat yet they ended up getting eaten themselves." KATY IS THIS FORESHADOWING?🤨🤨 Also ngl this sentence right here almost made me sob.

The fact that R keeps remembering that Hobie will wake up hits me like a goddamn truck, it's like the only thing that keeps R from going insane and just continue to be by his side without losing hope because if the roles were reversed, he would do the same. R continues to talk to him and saying things that have always been in the back of her mind like he could hear all of it. (SORRY I LOVE YAPPING 😔😔)

THE DREAM/NIGHTMARE SCENE WAS SO COOL LIKE HELLO?? KATY YOU'RE FEEDING US GOOD WITH THIS CHAPTER I'M LOVING IT

OKAY WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING? WHY ARE THEY TRYING TO SEDATE R?

Thomas and the others are starting to get a bit suspicious tbh, they're acting a bit too calmly for my liking. I feel like they're trying to do something to R and Hobie, maybe bring them to the lawmen for the bounties on their heads?🤨🤨

I KNEW IT I FUCKING CALLED IT THEY WERE ALL BASTARDS R AND HOBIE NEED TO GET OUT OF THAT PLACE AND BURN IT TO THE GROUND GOD ADSJKDSADSDHBS

Hobie woke up, saw that R was't anywhere near him and immediately went in "I gotta save my wife" mode LMAOO

WAIT WHO TF IS CULVER? I'M TRYING TO REMEMBER BUT MY MIND IS JUST BLANK I DON'T REMEMBER THAT MAN AT ALL😭😭😭

THEY DID BURN THE MARSH TO THE GROUND HELPP WHY IS MY BRAIN SPOILERING THE CHAPTER BEFORE I EVEN READ THE PARAGRAHPS😭😭

Forget matching clothes or anything else R and Hobie have matching mentall illnesses and scars🥰 couple goals fr /j

Okay so Hicks wasn't R's uncle until after six months that he did that horrible shit to Hobie just because he had "competition" and was basically just jealous and R's aunt was like "Let's marry this man and make this house hell on earth for my niece so I can get more money, fuck them kids🥰🥰" LIKE WTF??

"you'd break yourself, break every muscle and bone in your body, tore it limb from limb so you'd be broken together. That you'll fit right in where his jagged edges lie just like before." KATY DAKSDAKDNKA I'M SOBBING😭😭 THEY LOVE EACHOTHER SO MUCH I'M SO GLAD THEY'RE TALKING AND EVERYTHING'S ALRIGHT FOR NOW

Also the fact that they love eachother so much that they aren't afraid to show their vulnerabilities to the other, that R would tear apart every single muscle and bone just to understand how Hobie feels and learn to love him even more than before has me crying and sobbing into my pillow. R doesn't see his imperfections and actually thinks he's still the boy who used to wait her under the oak tree, maybe he's just tougher and a little more scared now for all the things he went throught.

"You are love incarnate" UIFSJAKASK KATY YOU GOTTA PAY FOR MY THERAPIST ONCE OPIN IS OVER BECAUSE THIS SHIT IS MAKING ME CRY GAHH MAKE THEM BE HAPPY FOR ONCE IN THEIR LIVES

Also the kiss at the end?? MADE ME GIGGLE AND KICK MY FEET BUT CRY AT THE SAME TIME LIKE HELLO?😭😭 Also the fact that he just kept loving R even after all those years they spent apart, even after he told himself that he was just a hull of who he was before, but R saw right throught him the moment they met again and Hobie fell in love all over again.

Katy I swear I'm gonna need to file a restraining order against you to keep R and Hobie away from you BECAUSE YOU NEED TO LET THEM BE HAPPY FOR ONCE ABJSDAKD THEY DESERVE ALL THE FUCKING LOVE IN THE WORLD LET THEM GO BACK TO THEIR OAK TREE AND MAKE THAT THEIR HOUSE AGAIN

me rn as I type this:

This was so bittersweet but I LOVED IT SO MUCH, thank you Katy for another amazing chapter❤️❤️ly!!!

Rotten Floorboards

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Cowboy AU, Wild west AU, CW hallucinations, TW poisoned without your knowledge, CW violence, religious talk, CW guns, TW abuse mention, CW food mention, CW panic attack, CW injury, TW death, TW blood and gore.

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CHAPTER 7 >>> CHAPTER 8

Skinned knees, scarred hands, and venomous words, you've endured it all back home. Survived it all— his tight, firm grip on your hand that only loosened around guests, finger always running along the gold band on your finger, a reminder of your hatred, a different reminder for him. Then your aunt's yelling in your ears until you could only hear her thunderous words at night even when you're alone. Her pen that does more than sign documents, the sharp end pointed directly on your palm, stabbing and cutting along your life line as if it could end your life right then and there— sometimes you wish it could. Then him, your uncle who had his hand in cutting your ties with the man you love, whose echoing footsteps walk outside your door at night, never giving you reprieve from the pain of being awake in that mausoleum of a home. All that pain, all that abuse you've suffered from your so-called kin doesn't compare to seeing Hobie's limp body under the monstrous weight of steel and ash.

Your heart has stayed inside your stomach since then, his green eyes closed, breathing shallow than the well that your uncle threatened to push you inside— you won't drown in it, you'll just crack your neck and your spine while you lay in tepid dirty water. You feel like that now, hopeless, blank eyes staring at the sky, seeing the world pass by from inside the well.

You've never left his side, feeling as if you'd regret it if you did even for a moment. You've regretted a lot of things, letting your parents go on that doomed expedition, and letting your aunt dictate the rest of your life. Never again. So you don't leave, you don't drink, you don't eat while the stranger who helped carry Hobie into the shabby inn treats him.

Your own wounds ache, festering under the heat of the southern sun. The humidity is clinging to your skin, making it all worse, making the pathetic bandage around your ear throb from the pain, tethering from infection. The walls of the small room they've put you in is suffocating, walls that feel like it's closing you in, dark hardwood that sweats from the sheer heat, and floorboards that creak and squeak from your footsteps. But you'd rather stay upstairs than what's below you. It smells there, especially when the day runs hotter than the surface of a boiling pot. It's probably because the whole building is old and moldy. Or there's something dead hiding underneath the rotten bloated wood.

The alligators outside your window hiss and groan, birds you've never seen before get eaten the moment they step foot inside the marsh. It's not fair, you think, for they only wanted to eat yet they ended up getting eaten themselves.

The night gives your nerves a break, the cooler air breezing through your injuries, taking the pain away for only a moment. Fireflies gather outside the willow tree that you've been staring at since you've arrived. Hobie sleeps under it all, from all the noise and the heat. You've held his hand the entire time, even with the bandages around your palms you could still feel him, feel his pulse, feel how he still breathes. Your eyes are dry and red, tears gone from how much you've cried on his bedside, and pleaded to the man to save him whatever it takes. The rickety armchair that has one leg missing has been your home, the room is your land, and Hobie has been your reason to stay.

You held his hand in yours, watching as his eyelids moved about, a sign that he still lives and thinks despite the trauma to the head he endured when the train crashed. The bandage around his head has turned red from his wound. He protected you, did everything to shield you from death. You'd cry if you still had any tears left to give.

Dawn has arrived, and you hear a knock at the door. It's quiet, almost silent as if the sound would disturb Hobie's slumber.

“Come in,” your voice is still hoarse from the noose that wrapped around your neck. It's small, barely there, barely having the resemblance of your former self.

With a creak, the door opens, and a familiar face pops out. “Just checkin’ on ya.” His southern drawl is thick, shaven face illuminated by the lamp he holds. “I need to change his bandages. And yours if you'd permit me.” Entering the room, he shakes his leather bound bag with the initials ‘T.M.’ embossed on it. The metal and glass inside clinks against each other.

You watch him carry himself with confidence, but with apprehension from his gait. “Do him first.” Moving the chair aside, you still don't fully leave Hobie.

“Alright,” his friendly eyes look at you with uncertainty. Kneeling down next to the bed, he examines Hobie's head, gently unspooling the cloth. That's the only time you look away, refusing to see him that way or it might wiggle its way into your dreams. “I’ve realized that I haven't asked for your name, miss.” You hear his bag unzipping while you stare at the outside world blanketed in deep blue. “Not your fault though, Holden brought you in haste.”

“Holden?” You ask, eyes scanning along the marsh.

“That's the big brooding man that carried him in. My name's Thomas, by the way, what's yours?” The smell of putrid ointment hits your nose, you refuse to cover the smell.

You give him a fake name, a name that isn't known to many, a name that isn't plastered in every bounty board across the country. “It's Clementine.”

“What a pretty name, I'd shake your hand but 'm occupied right now.” He chuckles, and you hold your breath while he continues to treat Hobie. After minutes of silence, you hear the rustle of fabric as he closes the bandages around his head.

You turn to look, the sight of Hobie just laying there is sobering. You've always known him as a strong person, always burying his heels in, independent in all the ways, and speaking his mind when he needs to be. The opposite of you, but right now, you have to be the one that's strong enough for him, to fight, care, and protect him if need be while he recovers. You don't know if you can do it, but it comes easily to you because it's Hobie, you've already done so a lifetime ago. You inhale deeply, finally meeting Thomas’ brown eyes.

“Thank you, for helping, you don't know us but you still helped. I promise I'm going to pay you back for the room and…” you look at the room that still bares Hobie's blood all over the floor, and his things thrown in the corner. “And everything else.”

“No, need.” Thomas smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Crow's feet evident in his smile. “Just seein’ him get better slowly is enough for me.” You give him a weak but genuine smile. “Your turn, miss?”

“I'm fine.”

“I've been a doctor for twenty years, and you're clearly not fine. Especially that ear of yours. I've seen better ears from pigs in line for the slaughter.”

You glance at Hobie's sleeping face, finally relenting. “Okay.”

“I'll try to be quick, I promise.” You scooch your chair closer, immediately holding Hobie's hand like his skin is magnetized. “I don't want to ask but, this injury doesn't look like it came from the train derailing.” He starts to peel off the shoddy bandage that you hastily put on, your skin feels like on fire. You don't mind it anymore, you've felt worse.

You sniff, eyes glued onto the gold ring dangling from Hobie's neck. “A piece of metal from the train nicked it.”

“And your hands?” He nods at your burned palms hidden under cloth.

“Heat from the metal when I tossed it off him.” A half lie.

“Ah,” Thomas cleans your wound with the same putrid ointment. He tugs at your raw skin, you bite your tongue on instinct. “Maybe I shouldn't ask about your neck then.” The angry mark left by the lasso still stays, you know it'll stay there forever. If not, then in your mind.

You look back at the stranger, eyes pointed and daring. “Don't ask.”

There's new cloth around your ear, muffling the sounds made by the house. “Then I won't.” He seizes his movements, eyeing your hand around Hobie's. “May I treat your hands?”

“It's fine, mister Thomas.”

“It's doctor, actually,” there's amusement in his eyes. “I’ve got a license and everythin’. You should see it, it's very professional lookin’.”

You crack a smile, “sorry, doctor.” With slight apprehension, you slide your hands away from Hobie's before laying your palms on your lap. “Do you own this place?”

“I do, sort of.” He unwraps your hands, revealing the angry skin underneath. Sucking in his teeth, you already know it's healing badly. But he still tries, for that you owe him everything.

“Sort of?”

“It's my sisters’ you see, they went on this business trip to get more funds for the place so they asked me to look after it for a few weeks.”

“I'm guessing that you had to leave your practice.” You flick your eyes over to Hobie's rising and falling chest to check on him. Satisfied, you look back at the doctor handling you with care. “That must've been horrible.”

“Havin’ sisters?” He jokes.

“No, leaving it all behind.”

His smile falters. “Don't cry crocodile tears for me, miss, I'll be back there treating the sick in no time.” His head tilts curiously at the old scar on your palm, ghosting his thumb over it. “What happened to this one?”

You want to say that it was because of her, that she did it. But this is one of the rare times that it wasn't her fault. Yet, when it was, she's good at hiding the evidence. Your aunt wasn't an idiot, she knew how to turn a girl into her personal workhorse that you whip and punch to obey without leaving any marks, without showing the world and causing them any concern for your well-being. So you tell the halfhearted truth.

“It was a long time ago, there's no cause for concern on that one.” It healed, a remembrance, telling you that everything will heal if you give it time— that Hobie will heal. You meet his eyes, finding it hard to read the old man. “How about Holden and the others I saw? I didn't get a good look at them when I entered but I saw a few guests. Are they guests?” You question him because that's what Hobie would do.

“Holden lives nearby who just happens upon the train wreck. He has a small stable in town, in Saint Denis. If you want he can take in your horses? They're mighty fine, I don't want them getting soiled by the marsh.”

“That…” you think for a second. If the horses are gone then you'd lose your only way out. Hobie would say no. “No, thank you, I'll take care of them.”

“You sure? Fine by me, there's hay inside the stable for ‘em.”

“The others? You were talking about them.” You continue to push the subject.

“Ah yes, sorry ‘bout that, old mind and all. Well, there's Eli, he's been stayin’ with us for quite a while. A priest on a mission we call him.” You listen intently, taking note of every single detail. “Then there's Lucy, she's a regular ‘ere, always comin' and goin'. Accordin’ to my sisters.”

You nod as he finishes your hands that's now tightly wrapped with bandages. Thomas begins to stand up, gathering his things. “Will he be okay?” Will he wake up?

He sighs, there's something behind his eyes that you can't quite pinpoint. “It’s hard to tell.” Your heart hammers inside your ribcage. “But he has so far survived the night, I think he'll pull through.”

“Thank you, again. I'll repay you, I promise.” You reach for Hobie's hand, letting your warmth seep through his clammy hands.

Thomas' eyes flick between your hand and eyes. “Don't mention it. I'll bring a basin with drinking water for him. Drip water onto his lips every few hours so he won't dehydrate.”

You nod in understanding. “I will, thank you ”

“Then some food and water for you.” He smiles, opening the door and looking over his shoulder to glance at you.

“No need—”

“How would you care for him when you don't take care of yourself? You need the energy. What would he say?”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand tighter. “He’d call me a wanker for not eating.”

Thomas knits his brows, turning back towards you. “A what?”

“Nothing, it's something profane.”

He chortles, wiping his hand across his nose like he smelled something foul. And you smell it too— the sourness, the moment he opened the door. Maybe a rat died under the staircase. “I won't ask then. Get some rest, miss Clementine.”

The door clicks and you're once again alone with him. It hits you again, how dire your situation is. There's a rock in the back of your mind that keeps rolling about, reminding you how close Hobie was from dying in your arms. But there's another boulder in the pit of your stomach, it tells you of a fate that could befall you now that you're here, close to the person looking for you. You'd rather jump towards the alligators than be back in their hold.

Hobie will wake up, you know he will. For now, you'd stay by his side, play the good nurse and protect him as much as you can because he would do it if the roles were reversed. You hold his ring in between your fingers, letting the cold metal melt into your warm skin.

—

You whisper to him, words that you're afraid of letting go, words that you wish would wake him up. You wonder what he dreams of, is it home? Is it something good? Or is he dreaming of you? You'll ask him when he wakes up, he'll wake up, you know he will.

There's another knock at the door a few hours later. Thomas enters with a tray that smells of something savoury, you've forgotten how hungry you are. But how could you indulge when Hobie lays there like a statue?

“I have some duck for ya, and a loaf. It's not much but it'll fill you up.” He senses your trepidation. “Please eat, you'll get weaker if you don't. ‘sides, no one will take care of him if you fall ill.” The utensils rattles as he places the tray in your hands.

You stare at the food with a blank stare. Guilt eats you alive, grief devouring what's left of you. “C-can you…” you clear your dry throat, “can you check on him? See if his breathing is alright?”

Thomas nods curtly after a moment, placing his fingers above his pulse, timing it on a watch that dangles from his waist coat. You don't touch the warm food until he's done. “His breathin’s fine, he's a fighter.”

You finally feel like you can exhale again. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” standing up, Thomas points at the bowl filled with water where a cloth floats atop it. “That's for him, from what we talked about.”

“I remember.” You're already squeezing the cloth, releasing excess water before you place the tray on his bedside to slowly let the water drip on Hobie's dry lips. With every drop, you pray to whoever is listening to will him awake.

“I'll leave you to it,” the door closes, and you're once again left in your dark thoughts where your fears have come true.

In between eating and playing nurse, your eyes start to get heavy with every bite of the succulent meat. You couldn't help but finish it to the bone, letting it fill your belly, leaving half of the loaf for Hobie when he wakes up. After chugging a whole pitcher of water and emptying Hobie's bowl by slowly but surely letting him drink, you place the tray down on the ground to lay down next to him carefully. There's a headache forming in-between your eyes, maybe you're incredibly fatigued than you thought you were. You're mindful of his injuries but not your own as you lay on your injured ear. It's self flagellation, as if everything that has happened was your fault the moment you stepped foot in the new world. As your eyes get uncomfortably heavy, mind foggy, you fall asleep curled up on his side.

You open your eyes and you're back home. The gilded walls of your room open up to you like a theater curtain. Your chest heaves, eyes filled with tears that you refuse to let go. Chiffon and velvet dress hugging you tightly, too tight, suffocating you slowly like a hand on your throat. Hand upon your chest, you rip it all off as if the garment burns you. But it isn't enough to get rid of it all, so you walk over to your table in haste, grabbing a sharp letter opener to slash and tear at the threads putting it all together. One by one, the once pretty gown is torn to shreds at your feet, from bodice to skirt, it all lays on the ground like discarded meat. In a flash, your eyes see red and bloodied muscle still writhing on the floor instead of fabric. As soon as it appears, it's gone after a beat.

You stand there in your slip, but the heaviness in your chest persists, hands and legs going numb— a testament to your shallow breathing. Your hands glide along your body to find anything tight around you, gasping and still in a panic, your hands stop around your neck that holds a string of diamonds. Without a second thought, you snatch the shiny thing away from your clammy skin, breaking the chain in the process.

Air enters your lungs the moment it's gone. Palms above your chest, you inhale and exhale whilst hot tears flow out of your eyes in a shower of sorrow. Leaning over the table for balance, your eyes meet with a familiar handwriting addressed to you. You're brought back in time the second your hand touches it, brought back to five years ago when Hobie slipped you a note during a party. You read it again, telling you that everything was ready, that he's ready to run away with you, somewhere far away and that you should pack your things.

After you read it, the letter dissolves into dark ink that drips down to your feet. You're holding the new letter again, opening the plain wax seal, you read the contents. Then you read it over and over until you get your mind wrapped around the saccharine yet sorrowful words that are all written in his hand. Hobie, the one you've been mourning since the news hit you.

His address is written hastily next to his own name, you laugh and then sob, hugging the letter to your chest. The scene shifts as if you've entered the fog and into a new world. You're in front of the docks, a large ship looming over you. You're dressed in a pair of borrowed trousers from Peter's wife, whilst the older man himself speaks by your side but you can't make out his words. It's all a garbled mess. For some reason, his hands are dripping with blood, but you don't point it out.

You tell him something, and he shakes his head with a smile, eyepatch moving as he gently nudges you towards the ship. The night hides his face, and all the secrets haunting you, even with the full moon shining down. As you wave goodbye, the ship unfurls its sails, sailors reeling the anchor up, and the captain steering the ship towards your future. You watch as Peter's silhouette gets farther until he's a mere dot in your sight.

You raise your head up to watch the swirling sky, falling stars raining down, and the moon smiling back at you. Someone whispers your name, and you instinctively turn around, expecting a fate worse than death thinking that they've found you. But you're greeted by Hobie himself, still in the same clothes you last saw him in, hair short, and face flat.

“Hobie?” You sound like you're underneath the waves.

“Run.”

You're awoken by the squeak from the rotten hinges. Sitting up, your eyes adjust to the light, seeing a silhouette of a tall, bony man in black and white. Vision focusing, you see him awkwardly stop in front of the doorway, the white square on his collar tells you that this is the reverend Thomas was talking about. He has a patch work of a beard and an aura of weariness.

“Eli,” your mouth speaks before you could think.

“That's me,” he chuckles, clearing his throat right after. His hands are behind his back, prompting you to be more wary of the man.

“What are you doing here?” You sit properly, hand placed on your gun belt, feeling the cold metal of Hobie's gun on your palm.

“I–I was…” his blue eyes flick from your gun to Hobie's sleeping face. “Thinking of p-praying for him.”

“He’s not dead yet, reverend.” Your harsh voice cuts through the man.

“I don't mean any offense.” He holds his empty hands up, you glance at his rough hands and the tattoo on his wrist revealed from how his sleeve rode down. It's something you can't quite get a good look at. Noticing your stare, Eli brings his hands down, pulling down his sleeves. “Praying for his swift recovery. That's what I meant.”

“You can pray for him outside our door. Better yet, pray downstairs.” You stare him down. “Where's your book of prayers?”

“I'm sorry, I should've knocked.” You can't place his accent. “I thought you were asleep—”

“And that makes it alright to barge in?”

He balances on the balls of his feet, your eyes instinctively flick over to his leather shoes that are too shiny, too kept as if he just bought it or cleaned it for the occasion. “We got off on the wrong foot, I'm sorry, miss…Clementine. My name's Eli.” Reaching for you, you only look at his hand without shaking it.

“I didn't give you my name.”

The reverend takes his hand back with a wince. “I–I got it from Thomas.” Your jaw tightens, eyes boring holes into his forehead. Thankfully, he reads the room and your expression. “I should go—”

“You should. Goodbye.”

The reverend doesn't turn his back on you, opening the door with what you could read as a cursory apologetic look. “I'm sorry, again.”

You grunt in reply. With the door clicking close, you stand up, taking a spare chair that Thomas always sits down on to lodge it under the doorknob. Locking the door and battening down the hatches. It's what Hobie would do, it's what he always does when he thinks you've fallen asleep.

“Wanker.” You scoff out before sitting back down next to Hobie. You don't find sleep after that. Your mind is too noisy, too chaotic to find sleep even though your body demands it.

—

Two days in and Hobie is still unresponsive, he breathes, even twitches in his sleep but he's unable to wake up. It's pure torture for you, seeing him lay there while you try your best at taking care of him. You've even tasked yourself at watching the good doctor clean his wounds and replace the bandages so you could do it yourself. You miss his smile, his laugh, and how he holds your hand. It’s just like how you've felt for those five long years, but this time you can see him, touch him, and take care of him but he doesn't speak nor look back at you. You don't know which one is worse.

Thomas says he's getting better, but you still worry. You play his nurse and a grieving widow at the same time. Everytime Hobie's breath hitches or even when his finger twitches you sit up, frantically calling the doctor to check on him. He always says the same thing, ‘he’s just dreaming,’ it doesn't fill you at ease, especially if it's anywhere near the dreams you've been having.

Three meals are brought to you every day, and each meal has brought you to sleep. You blame the trauma you've experienced, the things you've seen, the things you've done— it brings you towards the precipice of life and death each time, and without fail, you dream of him. Hobie still sleeps on the lumpy bed, body lay still, breathing sturdy and true. You don't mind the sleep, but the dreams you've had aren't always good, so you'd rather keep your eyes open than face the horrors that sleep brings.

Sometimes your mind wanders off, vision whirling to something else, something worse than him laying unresponsive to the world outside. In the corner of the dark room, you see a bloodied fountain pen with soiled grain littered around it. You turn around to look away, and you see something worse, his pristine white suit is a glaring contrast to the almost dilapidated state of the room, acting like a beacon of pain for you. He doesn't smile, nor come closer to you, he just stands there, back straight like he owns the place, light green eyes aglow like the fireflies outside but none of the comfort.

The blood in your veins runs cold at the sight, so you turn away from him as he stands guard with his judging eyes. Your eyes land towards Hobie to calm you down and bring yourself back to reality. He still sleeps, bandages wrapped around his head, eyelids twitching while he dreams. With a sigh, you suddenly see a pair of eyes under his bed, you're frozen at the sight of a large hand appearing from underneath, nails dark and rotten, wounds littered around the arm, decaying and sour smelling. You see it give you a crooked smile. Heart thrumming, the hand grabs Hobie's wrist, blackened blood oozing from its touch. With horror in your belly but bravery in your heart, you yank the hand away, finding it bursting into a cloud of smoke the moment you touched it.

“You alright?” Thomas asks, he watches you catch your breath from the doorway.

Your hand is closed around nothing, still held up in front of you, gasping at nothingness. You inhale, clearing your throat and bringing down your trembling hand to your lap. “Y-yeah, I think I'm just too hot.”

Thomas nods, eyes roaming around the room. “You've been cooped up in this room for two days. I think some fresh air would do you some good.”

You immediately shake your head. “I can't leave him. Besides, there's a window here, I get enough air as it is.”

“Pardon my bluntness but, you need to stretch around, get a different scenery or you'll go mad seeing the same walls.” Thomas crosses the gap, tentatively placing his hand on your shoulder. His palm hovers slightly above your blouse, not truly holding you. “I can watch him for you, the worst has come to pass already. I know he'll wake up eventually.”

You glance at Hobie's face, he does look better than before. There's color on his lips again, his breathing stable, skin no longer clammy and his wounds are starting to scab over. And the horses need your attention too, you have no idea how they're faring since they got here. You ponder leaving him for a moment.

“...okay, j-just for a few minutes.” But you still don't trust Thomas enough to leave Hobie alone with him. “You don't have to watch him.”

“Alright, I understand where you're comin' from. Hell, I'll give you the key to the room if it makes you feel any better.” Thomas takes out a ring of keys from his pocket, and then he takes out an old key from the metal ring to hand to you. “Just bring it back after.”

“Alright, thank you, that actually fills me with ease.” You close your fingers around the key, letting the metal press down into your burned palms.

“I'll be downstairs. I promise if I hear anythin’, even a squeak I'll come runnin’ out to get you.” Thomas smiles, back already turned to leave.

Your voice calls him back. “Doctor, you've seen death, do you think there's an afterlife?” You suddenly ask him, Thomas stops in his tracks, chuckling softly.

“I don't know, love.” You raise a brow, head turning immediately to face him. “I think it's best if you ask the reverend that. I'm sure he can provide you with an answer.”

“But you've seen people die, right? From your patients, to just…living. I want your opinion on the matter.” You push the subject, eyes heavy and tired. You can feel every bone in your body as your vision shifts, seeing iridescent light pass through the windows and shine in Thomas' face. When your eyes focus, the light is gone.

Thomas scratches his head. “From what I experienced?” You nod, “I don't think so. I think there's just darkness right after.” He sniffs, hands placed in his pockets. “I really think you should talk to the reverend, he might provide a more comforting answer.”

“Maybe I should.” Your voice drifts off, eyes blankly staring outside.

“You sure you're alright?”

“I don't know.” You don't see how red your eyes have become, or the bags weighing it down.

Thomas leaves without another word. You don't leave the room after that, and the key stays with you to hold onto, letting the metal dig into your palms.

—

Startling awake, you sit up from the whispers that have managed to slither its way inside your ears. You look over your side, seeing Hobie asleep and safe, you begin to sit up, head pounding roughly against your skull as if you've been hit by something in your sleep.

More whispers echo out into the darkness, your eyes wander around the room, finding no one so you listen closely. You glance at the floor, ears straining to hear, you realize the voices are coming out from beneath.

Slowly clambering away from the bed, hand reluctantly releasing Hobie's hand, you make your way onto the floor, laying yourself down on the cool wood. Pressing your ears, you listen in on the murmured conversation.

“She barely sleeps!” A woman's voice exclaims, it's followed by shushing. “It doesn't even work on her. I'm at my fuckin’ limit.”

“We need to be patient—” Someone says.

You press your face down closer to hear better. “We've been patient. We need to—” the floorboards creak from your movement. And they immediately quiet down.

You lay there perfectly still, but no sound from downstairs can be heard. Standing up, you check the doors if you've locked it properly this time, and you pat the gun on your hip to feel if it's still there. The unfounded trust that you've given to the strangers downstairs are wavering by the minute. But you can't leave, not until Hobie wakes up, or you might disturb his healing.

—

You gasp awake, trembling in your seat, the wounds on your palms have reopened from how your nails have dug into your broken palms. It's another nightmare, another nightmare that has kept you awake. Hobie still sleeps, and you're still trapped inside the small dusty room.

The heels of your palms rub roughly on your eyelids, washing away the nightmare and sleep. Laying your head on the back of the chair, you stair at the ceiling and the cracking paint. There's a dark red spot near the middle, it's barely noticeable but it's there. The longer you stare at it, the bigger it gets. You fight a sob as you abruptly stand up, maybe you should take Thomas on his offer by going outside. It doesn't hurt to leave for a few minutes, right? Surely no one is awake at the break of dawn, so Hobie is safe to be left for a moment. And he's comfortable with the window opened, letting the cool early morning breeze inside.

You sit down on his bedside, hands gently cupping his own. “I'll be back, alright? I just need to check on Buck and Cherry.” He doesn't answer. “Maybe they can tell me how they managed to find us. Or maybe what you told me before was actually right, that they can smell us. Like loyal hounds we had back at the manor.” Your words drift away as your eyes lose focus, staring at the raised scar on his neck. You sniff, bringing yourself back to reality. “Please wake up, I feel like— just please wake up. Yell my name when you do and I'll come running back.” You kiss his knuckles, eyes glancing at the pair of white trousers standing in the corner. “I'll be back.”

You stand up, ignoring all the ghostly eyes staring at your back. They're not real, you whisper to yourself. Opening the door and locking it behind you before you could change your mind. The key is safely tucked away in your breast pocket. A headache rushes by, you almost fall on your knees from the pain.

As you stand shakily in the hallway, the floors seem to shift and change. It stretches before you while you walk, as if it won't allow you to escape the place. You close your eyes tightly, grounding yourself by holding onto the wall. When you open your eyes, you see your aunt standing at the end of the long hallway. She's clad in black, a long coat hiding her entire body, from her neck to the tips of her feet. Her hair is stark white against the dark material, strands that are longer than you last saw her. You can barely see her face, but it's odd, like something's amiss.

“Where are your eyes, dear aunt?” You ask in a small voice, as if you've returned to the young age you first met her.

She opens her maw, a deep dark crevice of sharp teeth all lined up in rows. You hear your name escape from her unhinged jaw, it's whispered close in your ears. “You can't leave.”

“I just did.” You say without remorse, and without guilt. “Watch me leave again.” With measured steps you walk closer to the vision, as you get closer and closer, her body turns transparent until you've walked through her. And everything returns to normal. You've reached the banisters overlooking downstairs, hand clasped tightly around the wood. Shaking, but victorious. “Not real.”

You look over the railing, eyes roaming around the small space. There's a small common room where a fireplace that doubles as the kitchen lies. A large man sleeps on the single couch facing the fireplace, snoring softly, arms crossed over his chest. A humble bar is placed across it, where amber liquid in foggy glass sits on the shelves. Leaning closer, you spot a door on the floor that could lead to a basement of some sort. The surfaces have been wiped clean except for the tops of the shelves that are caked in dust. There's minimal decorations, save for a few pictures hanging on the walls. Then it hits you, the smell of the place. From sour milk to rotten eggs, you can barely decipher what it is, only decay.

You can see the place being homely after a renovation if not for the stench.

The wooden bannister creaks when you put your weight on it, you flinch away before it gives out from under you. You walk slowly down the small steps of the stairway, legs shaking from the thrumming headache behind your eyes, feet swaying like you're drunk off of moonshine. You attribute it from the vision you saw and from how fatigued you are. But your shoes barely clack against the floor from your footsteps. Your eyes skim over the photographs on the walls, yellowed paper and old frames of family. You look for Thomas in any of the pictures, but he's absent in every single one.

You finally make it down without waking anyone. The man, Holden, you surmise based on the description Thomas gave you, still snores on the couch. Crossing the threshold, you unlock the front door to go outside.

The entire marsh is bathed in blue, sun barely peeking in the horizon. A breeze passes by, goosebumps rising on your arms from the cold. You should've brought your coat with you, but it's too late now. If you go back upstairs, you think you cannot go back down.

You already feel like you're coming back to your old self. Eyes still weighing heavy in its sockets but at least the air and the greenery have grounded you back to reality. You have no idea what has befallen you, why you've been having visions of your family. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, or maybe the living has decided to haunt you for all the things you've done to survive.

Walking along the wooden paths that prop you up from the mud, you follow it further down towards the small stable. The birds are beginning to wake up, chirping just above the canopies of tall willow trees. With every footstep, your feet sink slightly into the mud, soil swallowing down the planks of wood laid down as a makeshift path. Flies buzz around your legs, you swat away any that comes near your healing wounds.

You finally make it towards the stable, opening the door with slight force since the hinges are long rotten from the wear and tear of the moist environment. You finally crack it open, seeing seven horses in their little pens on the side. The wood inside is in the same state as the inn, bloated and decaying from age. Light filters through the cracks, dust and bloatflies flying all over the horses.

Bucky peeks his head when he hears you enter, he immediately recognizes you, hind legs stomping in excitement. You smile genuinely at the dark horse, walking towards his stable, still swaying slightly on your feet. Cherry appears from behind Bucky, coat muddy and hair tangled. You guess that they had to share a pen because of the lack of space in the stable.

“Hi, you two.” You reach up towards their faces, Bucky nuzzles your hand while Cherry huffs against your palm. “I'm sorry, I should've visited you earlier. But Hobie needed my attention.” With the mention of his rider, Buckeye neighs, leaning away, almost standing up on two legs. You think that he worries for him. “It's alright, calm down, boy. He's getting better.”

Bucky shakes his head, so you scratch the back of his ear where he always seems to like. You coo at him, whispering kind words towards the horse for finding you and Hobie amidst the wreckage with Cherry in tow. You enter their pen, brushing your hands along his fur and hair. Hobie's canteen peeks from his saddlebag on Bucky, so you take it, taking big gulps before placing it back inside the pack. You feel a lot better already.

Cherry watches you and Bucky interact. When she's had enough of Bucky getting all of your attention, she nudges your shoulder, nodding and huffing like a petulant child. “Alright, alright, I didn't forget about you.” Chuckling, you rub along her snout, you find that she likes to be pet there the most. “Have you been good? I'd give you both an apple or sugarcube but I don't have any on me.” You spot the bundle of hay near the entrance. “Is hay good enough? When we get out of here I'll give you both all the sugar cubes and fruit you could ever want.”

Leaving their side after numerous pets, you grab a pitchfork laying on the corner to grab some hay to place in their pen. Once both horses are properly fed and petted, you look around the stable for a horse brush, but the only thing you could find were more horses looking at you with curious eyes. You're more confused though, you see five horses in each pen, but there are only four guests inside the inn that you know of. There's Thomas, Eli, and Holden that you've already met. Then there's the mysterious Lucy. Whose horse is it that is alone in the corner? Maybe it's a spare? Nevertheless, you feed all of them.

“I'll be back,” you fold your knees to grab a bucket on the floor. “Let me just get some water for—”

“You're speaking to horses.”

“Jesus!” You clutch your chest from the sudden intrusion.

“Just me, sorry.” A woman stands in the doorway, hands on her shiny belt buckle, red corset tight on her torso, revealing freckles dusted on her shoulders and clavicle. She smiles, showing a gold tooth in the bottom row of her teeth. The sun has now fully risen outside, bathing her back in light, shadows hiding her face from you. “I'm Lucy, you must be Clementine.”

You clear your throat before you almost made the mistake of correcting her. “Y-yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“Why are you doing manual labor? Aren't you injured?”

“I am, but I'm feeling a lot better now thanks to the doctor.”

“Thomas?”

“Yeah, is there another doctor here?”

She chuckles, stepping forward out of the shadows. You see her chiseled face, lips full and pretty, more freckles lined around her eyes and cheeks. Her blond hair is tied in a neat braid, cowboy hat perfectly fitted around her head. There's a hunting rifle strapped on her back, and a large ornate knife on her waist.

“I'll take care of the water. Breakfast is being served inside if you're hungry.” She says with a lilt in her tone. “There's sausage, the good kind. I think you'll like it.”

“You've got their water?” You ask, glancing at your horses.

“Yeah, I've got them.” She crosses the small distance towards you, you don't drop your guard even when her hand grabs the bucket away from you. “I've been the one looking after them.”

“Oh, thank you then. I hope they're not too much of a bother.”

“Not really. Especially your Arabian there, she's real pretty.” Lucy eyes Cherry like a piece of meat on the chopping block. “How much for her?”

“Excuse me?” You scoff. “She's not for sale.”

“Alright, understandable. How about the thoroughbred?”

“No,” you stand stiff, jaw clenched. “They're not for sale.”

She grins slowly, brown eyes flat and staring at your soul. Shrugging, she begins to walk outside. “Eh, it's worth the try. Your loss, I would've bought them at a mark up.” Her voice fades away as she leaves.

You stand there with your fists shaking, you're perturbed by the people residing in the inn. You think Thomas and Holden are the only decent ones inside.

Cherry neighs behind you, you look over your shoulder to meet with her eyes. “The nerve of some people, huh?” Buckeye agrees by trotting in place.

Walking back towards the inn already has you sweating from the humidity. Once you open the door, all eyes are on you. Thomas stands behind the bar, preparing a plate. While Holden eats on one of the empty bar stools with a cup of steaming coffee paused on his lips as he stares at you. The reverend was just about leaving the basement when you entered, hand frozen on the handle of the basement door.

The doctor breaks the awkward silence. “Good morning. Did ya have a nice walk outside?”

You flex your hands on your sides, biting the inside of your cheek. “It was…pleasant.”

Eli casually stands up and then sits on the sofa near the fire and the cooking pot. He opens a large book, reading like he didn't just leave the basement as if he owned the place.

“Come have breakfast with us.” Thomas beckons you over, sliding the plate he was just preparing over to you. “I was just about to go upstairs and give this to ya.”

“Thank you, I'll eat it in my room. I don't want to disturb you all.” You come closer to the bar, fingers placed around the porcelain plate. You feel eyes on you, Holden continues to eat in the corner of your eyes. Eli is mouthing scriptures at his seat.

“No, no, come stay!” Thomas hands you a cup of coffee. The smell brings you back home. It's not a good memory. “It'll do you some good to have company, even for a moment. Please stay.”

You nod, clammy palms rubbing along your trousers. “...sure, just for breakfast though.” Rubbing your nose, Thomas notices.

“Sorry ‘bout the smell. We think there's a rat that died in the basement but we can't seem to find it.” He picks at his own plate while leaning on the other side of the bar. “That's why the reverend was down there. It was his turn to look.”

You nod, glancing briefly at the trap door on the floor. “Can I have a glass of water instead? I don't like coffee.”

His fork clangs on the plate as he lets go. “Oh of course!” Turning around he takes a pitcher of water and then he pours you a glass. While he does that, you look at the pictures behind the bar.

“Which one are your sisters?” You gesture towards the frames, Thomas still has his back towards you as he continues to pour you a glass.

“Oh, the picture that's in the middle.” You follow where he pointed at. A photograph of two smiling women in front of the inn when it was still new and shiny hangs in the middle of the bar. Their faces are flat and serious but the way their arms are around each other says that they're particularly happy in the picture. If not for the long exposure needed to take the scene, they would be grinning widely.

You tilt your head at the picture, eyes scanning their features and comparing it to Thomas' face. “You don't look like them.”

He twists around, handing you your glass of water. “I've been told.” Chuckling, he looks back at the picture briefly before turning towards you. “They got my mother's features and I got my father's. Which parent do you look like the most?” His eyes watch the mouth of the glass against your lips.

“I barely remember their faces now.” You don't drink the water just yet to answer his question. “So I don't know.”

“That's too bad.” And yet, he smiles. “How ‘bout you, Holden? Who do you look like?”

“My mother.” He says gruffly, tone monotone and uninterested.

“Ah.” Thomas picks at his plate again.

“I haven't thanked you yet for saving him.” You address the large man. “Thank you.”

“I just happened upon the place. My eyes couldn't leave the train wreck.” Holden stares at the same spot on the bar, you follow his line of sight, once you've reached the end, you see a dark red splatter on a glass of gin.

Before you could ask, Eli interrupts. “As is his will.” He's now in front of the fire even though it's sweltering inside already. “It's very lucky that Holden happens to be riding that way.” Eli says those words with humour, as if the train derailing is the funniest thing in the world.

Thomas clears his throat, “I heard no one else on the train got hurt.” You sigh in relief, knowing the real Clementine and her family are safe and sound. “A few railroad workers were injured but they're fine now, last I heard.”

“Yes, it's good that no one else got severely hurt.” Lucy appears inside the inn, smiling at you. She stalks silently around you like you're prey. Your hand instinctively slides down towards your gun belt.

“Well, except for your lad.” Thomas says, you look at him with wide eyes, blood running cold, gun now fully in your hand. The world swirls around you, your breathing gets faster, heartbeat loud in your ears. The air shifts, everyone except Thomas stiffens. “We know who he is. He's a fuckin’ legend ‘round ‘ere, but don't worry, we won't tell any lawmen. We're not like that.” Thomas continues to speak even with your world crumbling around you. He doesn't know what he just revealed. “Drink your water, we don't want you goin' thirsty now.”

“‘L-lad?’” you almost whisper, but the entire room is silent, a pin could drop and you'd hear it. Your words are thunderous compared to the fire cracking in the fireplace. “You said you're from here.”

Thomas chuckles nervously, you stand up, eyes flicking over towards the occupants. The rotten stench under the floorboards has increased ten fold in your panic, the tiny splotches of crimson on the walls and glass aren't just dirt and grime.

It's blood, and the entire inn is covered in it. Hastily scrubbed off the surface, but the mark of death remains.

They all look at you, Holden stands behind you, his shadow casting over you. Lucy continues to smile while Eli looks on amidst the backdrop of the raging fire behind him. Thomas gives you a look, shaking his head subtly.

You don't miss a beat, gun aiming behind you to shoot. But no bullet flies, you don't hit your mark for the chamber is all emptied out without your knowledge. You don't know when it was taken out but you don't have time to ponder it. Running past Lucy towards the stairs, you yell his name.

“Hobie!” You manage to get to the third step before you fall flat on your face, nose harshly landing on the stair, shoulder oozing something warm. Looking over the source, you see Lucy's hunting knife embedded in your shoulder. “No!”

Lucy giggles, and the reverend joins her side, face downturned, eyes following how your blood oozes out of your back.

“Fuck! They said don't draw blood! What the bloody hell is wrong with you!” Thomas shows his true colours, yelling at Lucy angrily. You continue to crawl up the stairs despite the searing pain. “Fuckin’ grab her! Get the key, it's on her.”

“I'm…” you still fight, elbows pressed on the rough wood, crawling relentlessly up the stairs. “Going to fucking kill all of you.” You say through gritted teeth, ignoring the seething pain as your body trembles.

Eli's voice pipes up. “We just want to get you home. God will strike you down if you do that.”

“Strike me down all he wants. He knows where I am.” With determined eyes, you keep crawling even though your arms are split apart by splinters.

You're about halfway up the steps when you hear loud heavy footsteps walk towards your form. Groaning, you dig for the key inside your pocket. The second you find it, you toss it with all your might, it flies up and then it lands and slides under the bar shelves. It's your turn to cackle. Large hands grab you, turning you over. Holden's scowl looks back at you. Puckering your lips, you spit at his face, laughing as he lets you go, desperately cleaning his face.

“Move over, big guy. Do I have to do everything around here?” Silent steps cross over to you while you try to desperately climb up. You can't feel your back anymore. Suddenly, you feel a cloth press on your mouth and nose. You know this smell, it's sweet and tart, but there's an underlying bitterness. Recognizing it from the description on the botanical books you've read, the ones that they say a proper lady shouldn't read. And you know you're about to black out within ten seconds. You try to fight back but you're weakening.

“Shh,” Lucy coos, arm tightening around your neck as she presses the concoction harder on your nose. Her own arm hits the knife still in your shoulder, you gasp in pain, inhaling more. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

The last thing you hear is his voice calling out after you. You're not sure if it's real or not, but you still cling to hope that it is.

—

The rope around your body is rough against your skin, the hemp seems to tighten around you as you move. You feel bandages on your shoulder blade, stab wound aching and throbbing. Entire body covered in sweat, your clothes are drenched from the heat. Your vision swirls, mind tethering between reality and fantasy. You see your aunt standing near the rake you just held, your uncle crouched in the corner, watching you struggle against your binds. And him, who sits next to you, as if he's guarding you. His face crosses your line of sight, it shifts between Hobie's soft smile, and his grinning face.

“I told you, you can't leave.” He says, hand reaching up to touch your face. You know he's not real, that he's a result of what Lucy gave you, what they've been giving you— but you still feel the air around him shift, how his palm sits on your cheek like a hot pan against your skin.

“C–Cross,” you gulp down as much air as you can amidst your state. “What did I do to deserve this?”

He could only grin at you.

“You’re awake, good. Lucy didn't accidentally kill you.” Eli stands near the doorway of the stable with a gold gun in his hand. Fingers yanking off his tab collar.

“Eli, you creepy motherfucker.” You slur your words, but you fight the haze. “How much did they pay you just to bring me back?”

He sniffs, “a lot.” The horses neigh in the background, you turn your head and you see Bucky and Cherry frantically thump and kick their hooves inside their pen.

“You’re not even a reverend are you?”

“No,” He says, turning away from the doors to face you. “I was once though.”

“Let me guess, you weren't cut out to be one.” You lean up, almost folding yourself to squint at him. “Or they fucking kicked you out.” He flinches, it's subtle, but you saw it. “They did, didn't they? What did you do, reverend?” You taunt while you try to ease your wrists off from the rope. Your skin stings from the movement, but it'll be worth it once you get your hands around his scrawny neck. “Oh shit, don't tell me it's—”

“It was gambling. I've racked up a debt.” He was quick to answer, as if he's still trying to protect his reputation. “I used all the donations.”

“That's fucked up.” You scoff, riling him up, playing him like a fiddle. “Seriously, so fucked up. And you decided to what? Scam more people by wearing the uniform?” Eli doesn't answer, you see him bounce on the balls of his feet, anxiety rolling off him in waves. “Is there an afterlife, reverend?” You say in a small, weaker voice to rag on him on more. It works when he turns towards you.

“Stop talking,” He saunters over to you, crouching down to your level. “I've already heard all those words before, you don't get to hurt me back, girl.”

“Was it all of you? Holden looked like he didn't want to be in there.”

“Please, he was the one who recruited me. He knew that Thomas needed more men the moment he heard Hobie's name.”

You chuckle bitterly. “You know that one of you has damaged the goods, right?”

“Thomas healed you.”

“Yeah, but still, you've left a mark. That means the pay will go down, that means your share will go down thanks to Lucy.” You can practically see the cogs in his head turn. Tilting your head, you turn him against his own team. “Tell me, would it hurt if you got someone out? You know, increase your pay.”

“What are you saying?”

“There are plenty of alligators here. I'm saying that accidents happen.”

Eli knits his brows, “but which one—?” The unmistakable sound of a gun going off echoes around the marsh. It's so loud that the horses are startled, panicked neighing fill the stable, birds scramble off the trees to fly away. “That came from inside the inn!” He stands up, you drop your façade as he turns away. “Shit!” More shots ring out, then a dozen more, suddenly, it's quiet in the marsh again.

Eli is in the perfect position for you, his body shields you from the afternoon sun as he stands there in a worried state. His gun is in his clammy hand, hammer pushed all the way down. Without a thought, you sit up in a crouched position slowly without startling him. And then you push him on the back of his knees with your shoulder, earning a pained groan from you and a sudden bang when he falls that has you flinching away.

Rubies pool around Eli's body, and you realize, he has shot himself when he fell on his face.

“Fuck.” The voice by the doorway says, you can only see his silhouette, the setting sun directly at his back. He's hunched over, silver gun in his bloodied hand.

“Hobie, are you real?” You could cry, on instinct, you move to get to him but your binds prevent you. Tears cling to your eyelashes as he slowly makes his way towards you. “H-how?”

You can see his face fully now, blood coats his cheeks and neck, eyebrows contorted in pain but his smile tells you otherwise. “I woke up.”

“You did.” Sobbing, you try to hold him even with the ropes around your wrist. “Are you okay?”

Hobie holsters his gun, wiping the blood off his hands on his trousers, and then he cradles your face. Thumb brushing along the tears. “‘m alright, dizzy and a bit of a headache but ‘m alright.” His viridescent eyes are aglow, trapped tears glimmering. “Are you—? Did they hurt you?” He asks in a small voice, afraid of your reply.

You frown, and he already knows the answer. “I thought you wouldn't wake up.”

“With you waitin' for me, of course I'd wake up.” Hobie lays his forehead against your own. He's real, and he's holding you in his arms again. “‘m real, love. I'll never leave you again.”

You cry in his arms even when he cuts off your binds. Your mind is still reeling from the previous event. Body free, you embrace him, face tucked on the crook of his neck. He holds you, kissing your temple, hands rubbing up and down on your back. He apologizes against your skin a hundred times. And you forgive him a hundred more.

Hobie releases all the horses from the stable, all the now riderless horses gallop out in a rush. He guides Cherry and Bucky out to hitch them just outside on the trees and away from the inn and stable. Coming by to get you, who stands in front of the inn.

“I need to get my things.” He says next to you, pinky curled around your own. “Your letters are still in there.”

“I'll come with you.”

“No, you don't need to see that.” His eyes warn you of the sight ahead.

“Too late for that, Hobie.” You thump your head on his bicep. “I’ll watch your back. Just in case.”

“Stay close, yeah?” He smiles softly, letting go of your hand reluctantly. You nod behind him, gun drawn and loaded.

The door opens, you try not to look at the bodies at your feet but your eyes seem to gravitate towards the violence that was left. There's blood splattered all over the walls, Holden's body is hunched over itself, blood seeping out from his numerous gunshot wounds. You walk a bit more, following Hobie's path. Broken glass crunches at your feet, and you see Lucy laying on the ground with her own knife shoved inside her chest. Her eyes are wide open, mouth agape in surprise. By the stairs, in the same position you were in mere hours ago, lies Thomas with a shotgun wound on his back, making you see through him.

“H-how'd you manage this on your own?” Your nails scratch along the metal of your gun.

“You were in danger.” Was all he answered.

As you stand there, you hear something on the floor next to the bar, glancing downwards even though you've had enough of the sight, you find someone who shouldn't be there.

“Culver?” You ask, and he whizzes out.

“Help. Me.” He tugs at your trouser leg, he's drenched in crimson, from his face down to his boots.

“He was hiding underneath the floorboards with the bodies of the actual owners.” Hobie says, guilt is written all over your face. “It's not your fault, love, you gave him a chance and he spat at it.”

“P-please,” he wheezes out, voice hoarse and broken, “they hired me, I-I was just following orders.”

You sniff, fists shaking. “It was my aunt wasn't it?”

Culver shakes his head, desperate to please you, desperate for you to save him again. “No, it was your h—”

Your bullet cuts him off, he lays there, now unmoving, and the gun in your hand smoking. You feel like you're deprived of air. Hands shaking, tears flowing out freely.

Hobie reaches for you slowly, you don't flinch away so he pulls you in, letting you weep against his chest.

—

The flames ebb away at the building, ashes flying off into the air as the roof collapses down on itself. You let the smoke fill your lungs, watching the fire light up the entire marsh, but it acts as a beacon to where you are. And you can't risk being found, especially when he's back on your side.

You kneel down, placing the framed photograph of the actual owners on the ground, apologizing to them quietly.

“We should go, Hobs.” You softly say, tugging at his sleeves.

He nods, eyes flicking between you and the burning inn. His palm is pointed towards you, waiting for you to reach for him. When your hand slides on his own, all his fears melt away. You're safe, and he's alive— that's all that matters.

—

Midnight comes, you and Hobie rode further north and away from the chaos you two left. Bucky and Cherry sleep next to each other, both tired from the ride. You tend to the fire while Hobie cleans his hands in a nearby river. The murky water turns a dark shade of red as he scrubs his hands clean, there's blood under his fingernails. And shallow crimson slashes on his arms. Once all the blood has been washed away, he sees a slash on his palm, identical to yours, the one he sutured himself. He winces, and you turn around to check on him. The both of you had been quiet the entire journey, preferring to look on whenever one groans in pain or when either one of you shifts on the saddle. You don't want to talk about it, and he doesn't want to either. Both thinking that it was his and your fault for everything that had happened.

He holds up a hand to you, wordlessly telling you that he's alright. Nodding, you turn back towards the fire, your vision shifts from the campfire in front of you to the burning cinders of the inn. A wet cloth on your cheek jerks you awake.

“Sorry,” Hobie flinches, taking the cold cloth away from your skin. “You have soot all over your face.”

You smile softly, hand reaching for his wrist, gently placing the cloth back to your face. He understands, wiping away the ash off of your skin. You stare at him, face unreadable, bandage still wrapped around his head. “Hobie,” he hums in reply, continuing to wipe the grime off. “You said you had to leave but you never told me how you left. Please tell me what happened that night.” Why did you leave me?

Hobie scooches closer to you, knee to knee, hand still wiping along your forehead. “Hicks did it.” You listen, hands fisting his vest to tamp down your frustration and everything in between. “He was the one who found out, told your aunt and got a group from the factory to ambush me in our meeting place.” His voice breaks but he composes himself. “He was the one who slashed my throat and…” faltering, the cloth slid downwards to your neck, rubbing along your skin. “buried me alive under our tree.”

Your heart clenches, imaging him clawing his way out of the dark earth. “Hicks, h-he married my aunt six months after you left. That motherfucker boasted that he killed you, hid your body in the woods. But I knew better.”

Hobie runs his thumb under your eye, wiping away a stray tear. He gives you a brief smile. “Fucker wasn't content in bein’ the factory manager, he had to ‘eliminate the competition,’ he said. I wasn't even participatin’.”

“I'm sorry,” you wrap your arms over his shoulders, hands holding his jaw. You apologize to him like an acolyte asking for retribution in front of the shrine. “I'm sorry, I should've done something— I could've—”

“There was nothin' you could've done, love. Just like how I couldn't fight back.” He pulls you in, face pressed on the crown of your head. “They used you against me. Told me that you didn't want me anymore. Told me I was a burden to you.”

“No, never. I'd never do that.” You pull away, holding him close, meeting his emerald eyes that reminds you of the best parts of home.

“I know that now. I knew it back then too, but my anger and frustration got the best of me.” He presses a heavy kiss on your forehead as you close your eyes, listening to him breathe. “Peter helped me get out, and all he got from it was getting his eye taken out.”

You gasp softly. “He helped me too,” Hobie looks at you, hands still cradling your face. Hands that are warm against your soft skin. “He didn't tell anyone where you were, I didn't know until now, until your letter. He helped me get on a boat.” You remember that day, it was raining, it was also pouring down back when Hobie left. Your nails dig into your palms when your mind gives you the image of him digging himself out of the flooded soil, lungs inhaling in rain water and dirt. “I–I really wanted to look for you, to run after you but I couldn't.” Hobie presses you against his chest while you heave, tears flowing down your cheeks as you feel his own drop on your head. “They had me under lock and key, they guarded my doors for years, until—” You pause, hands bunched up on his shirt. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Hobie cradles you in place, arms holding your form as he lets his touch calm you down, accepting your apology, and accepting his faults. “You did good, love, you survived. But I'm ‘ere now, you'll never be back there.” You nod against his chest, Hobie hides his sorrow filled face in the crook of your neck, lips pressed on your skin, mumbling apologies. “When I was runnin’ away while I was still bleedin’, I thought I should at least say goodbye to you. But I changed my mind and went towards the docks while Peter hid me in his cart.” He leans away, just like back then, he doesn't want to sink his teeth into you, to bite hard and draw blood. “I thought that you deserve someone who isn't me. Someone who's not broken. 'm broken, and 'm afraid I'll never return to who I was before.”

You reach up to touch his cheek tenderly, head placed on his lap, cradling your body just like he did under your oak tree. “You are not as broken as you think you are. Not to me, never. You are everything to me, Hobie Brown.” You hug him, for you have no idea how to tell him that you know he can't be ‘fixed’, that there's nothing to be fixed. That even if there was, you'd break yourself, break every muscle and bone in your body, tore it limb from limb so you'd be broken together. That you'll fit right in where his jagged edges lie just like before. But you know you don't have to, because you're just as broken as he is.

"Is there still room left in there for me?" You poke his chest right where his heart is.

His yearning has taken a form in you, it has your face, and it has your voice. You are love incarnate.

"Always. you've never left.” He says softly, words that are only for your ears. You nod, smiling, tilting your head up as he leans down. “Let's go home, love.” He wants to carve out your name in his heart, but he'll settle for the next best thing— etching your lips upon his own.

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